Going to the Bad (3 page)

Ted uncovered the phone. “Dude, it looks like Rod's been shot. The ambulance is here now. I'll call again when I know more.”

The front door opened. We all jerked to attention. I expected to see either Handsome or the EMTs bringing out the stretcher.

A figure stumbled out onto the porch. Callum and Ted both gasped when they recognized him.

I tried to say his name, but I think it came out as a scream.

Rod reached the bottom of the steps. He looked around in a daze and then saw me running. “Lilly.”

I threw my arms around him. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I'm fine. I promise, I'm okay.”

Several officers had followed me, but stayed a step or two back from our reunion.

I didn't want to let go, but after a few moments Rod pulled back.

He wore the black shirt, shorts, and running shoes he routinely took to the gym. Something was wrong, though. My clothes were stained with blood where I'd hugged him.

I touched the wet, black fabric of his shirt. “If you're fine, then whose blood is this?”

“I'm sorry, Lilly.”

My voice rose. “Why are you sorry? What happened?”

“I went to the gym. When I got home, I found him in the living room. I tried to stop the bleeding, but he'd been shot.”

“Who? Who's been shot?”

From inside the house a voice yelled, “He's lost too much blood. We gotta go now.” Moments later the EMTs appeared in the doorway. Rod and I jumped to the side as the stretcher was brought out.

I couldn't see the face underneath the oxygen mask, but I recognized the leathery, tattooed skin on the forearm.

Uncle Bud.

I watched in disbelief as they wheeled the stretcher to the curb and loaded it into the ambulance. I knew someone was talking to me, but I was too off-balance to pay attention.

“Lilly?” Handsome said sharply. “I asked why your grandfather was at the house this morning.”

I finally looked away from the ambulance. “He's my uncle, not my grandfather.”

It was an easy mistake to make and I shouldn't have been so irritated. Bud was my father's much older half brother. When Bud's father and stepmother both died back in the 1950s, Bud had raised my father, the infant they'd left behind.

“Fine,” Handsome said, his annoyance growing. “But why was your uncle here?”

“I don't know.” I glanced at Rod, who shook his head. “We were supposed to see him tomorrow for Christmas dinner at his girlfriend Annette's house. That's where he's been living for the past year.”

A strand of my curly black hair had come loose from its ponytail. I pushed it away from my face and saw that my hand was shaking. “Was it a robbery? Is anything missing?”

“Nothing obvious.” Rod put his arm around me. “I'm so sorry. I called nine one one as soon as I found him, but the ambulance took forever.”

Handsome looked at Rod. “I understand he was unconscious and wasn't able to communicate anything to you about who might have shot him?”

Rod's body, pressed to mine as he embraced me, went rigid. “That's right.”

“Did you see anyone when you got home? Anyone suspicious you might have passed on the street?”

Rod shook his head. “I wish I had.”

A short burst of the ambulance's siren got my attention. “I'm sorry. We need to go to the hospital. Can you send someone to take Rod's statement there?”

Handsome gestured to a man in a suit getting out of an unmarked police car. “Let me consult with the detective sergeant.”

We followed him down to the sidewalk where Ted waited. “I'm really sorry about your uncle, Lilly. He was a cool old dude.”

“He's strong. He's going to make it.” A moment after I said the words, I realized that I didn't believe them.

The ambulance siren cranked up to full. As it pulled away, Callum was revealed shooting video on the other side of the street. For a moment I stared directly into the lens. The camera was mine. Callum must have got it out of my own van.

He lowered the camera, then gestured down the street to our competitor's live truck parked behind the police tape. “I figured you wouldn't want us to get scooped on a shooting at your own house.”

I was still trying to process that I was now a part of today's lead story when Handsome returned.

“Miss Hawkins, I'm sending you to the hospital in a patrol car.” He looked at Rod. “But, Mr. Strong, we'd prefer to take your full statement while the details are still fresh in your mind. Maybe you can even come to headquarters.”

Rod shook his head. “I'm sorry, but I need to be with Lilly right now.”

“You're our only witness. We need—”

Rod cut him off with uncharacteristic aggression. “I told you already, I didn't witness anything. I can't help you.”

Handsome took a breath and looked around. The gesture looked fake and I realized he was trying not to lose his temper. “It's possible you were the intended target. You got a lot of attention covering the wildfires last summer. You could have a stalker.”

“That's ridiculous.” Rod's voice was loud enough that other officers turned to look. “I don't even work in front of the camera anymore. You're deliberately trying to frighten me.”

I was surprised by Rod's tone. Usually, I'm the one getting angry at police officers while Rod counsels courtesy. “Rod, maybe you—”

But Rod ignored me. “There's nothing more I can say in my statement that you don't already know. Bud was unconscious when I found him and I didn't see anything.”

Handsome nodded. “Regardless, I suggest you cooperate. It would be very unpleasant for everyone if we were forced to detain you.” He turned to me as if the matter were settled. “I'll get an officer to drive you now.”

He left before Rod could argue further.

“Don't worry about me,” I said. “Make a quick statement and get it over with.”

I leaned in and kissed him. I hadn't intended for it to be more than a peck on the lips, but the drama of the moment tumbled into something more passionate.

“At least you weren't hurt,” I finally said. “If only the same were true for Bud.”

Christmas Eve, 9:19 a.m.

T
he uniformed patrol officer driving me to the hospital
had to take side streets to avoid the accident with the sludge spill. It took fifteen minutes to reach Bakersfield Medical Center. I filled the time by criticizing the officer's route.

In my defense, nobody knows city streets better than a shooter. Identifying the most direct way to reach a destination can be the difference between getting amazing video of breaking news or getting nothing at all.

The officer escorted me into the ER and then suggested I sit in the crowded waiting room while he tried to get information. At least the news wasn't playing on the television mounted to the wall. I dreaded seeing the scene outside my own house replayed on KJAY—or even worse, on our competitor's broadcasts.

I couldn't help but think about the time I'd spent with my mother and sister in a similar ER waiting room. All I'd known was that my father had been in an accident on the job. He worked, and lived most of the week, seventy miles from town at an oil field out by Lost Hills. When I was little, he'd come home every weekend. By the time I was sixteen, and waiting in that ER for news of him, his visits had become unpredictable and rare.

When had I realized that my father was going to die? A memory of Bud surfaced. He'd come through the ER door and my spirits had briefly lifted. Bud was fun. He loved to use colorful southern slang and delighted in teasing my starch-perfect mother. Crazy uncle Bud always had a crooked grin on his face, unlike my father, who was quiet and withdrawn.

But the grin hadn't been there that day. That was when real fear had penetrated my teenage brain. I watched my mother embrace her seedy brother-in-law. I could hear her crying into his chest.

“Oh, hell” was all Bud said as tears began rolling down his face.

That's when I'd felt it. The same feeling I'd experienced as I collapsed onto the sidewalk thinking Rod was dead. A feeling as if you'd do anything to change what was happening—make any deal, climb any mountain, make any sacrifice—but there was nothing to do because you were helpless.

The patrol officer returned and jerked me from the memory.

“They're prepping him for surgery. Someone will be out soon to talk to you.” He sounded official, but polite. “Are there any other family members you can call to come wait with you?”

“No. My mother and sister live in Fresno now.” I suddenly realized no one had told Annette, Bud's girlfriend. I explained and used a pay phone to make a collect call.

I hated telling her over the phone, but she took the news as well as could be expected. She promised to come as soon as she could find someone to stay with her daughter.

I returned to the waiting room just as Leanore arrived from the station. She hugged me and said, “I'm so sorry, Lilly.”

We sat down together near a trio dressed as the three wise men. They all wore sneakers under their robes, and one had a bloody towel around his hand, but otherwise they were straight out of a Nativity scene.

“You're not going through this alone,” Leanore continued. “Whether you like it or not.”

Leanore had brought the messenger bag I used as a purse when I wasn't working as a shooter. After thanking her, I checked my phone for messages. There were two.

The first was from Rod and was sent a little after seven that morning. “Hi. I didn't hear you leave. Did you go in to work early? Call me, okay? I'm going to the gym, but I thought maybe
we could go buy a Christmas tree on your lunch break.” The message ended.

“You were right to yell at me earlier,” I said to Leanore. “About Rod being too perfect to marry. I'm an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot. You're just afraid of getting hurt. Welcome to the human race.”

The door opened from the interior of the ER and a woman called my name. I was surprised to see the officer join us as Leanore and I went to speak with her. I shouldn't have been. This was a violent crime. Handsome had probably ordered the officer to keep an eye on us.

The woman directed us all to another floor where Bud would be taken for surgery. After a long walk and a brief elevator ride, we reached the surgical waiting room. I gave as much information as I could about Bud's medical background, age—which I guessed to be late seventies, but didn't know exactly—and of course insurance. When I'd finished those forms, I resumed checking my phone's messages and got a shock.

“Little Sister, it's Bud.” Even through the phone's crummy speaker I could tell his voice was hoarse and tired. “If you're not answerin', then I figure you're at work. Rod's down visitin' his folks, right? I'm usin' the Oildale house for a meetin'. Just wanted to make sure I'd have some privacy.”

I glanced at the patrol officer. I started to wave him over so he could listen to the message. Bud's own words stopped me.

“I got a situation needs tendin' and I need to be discreet like. The Law might not take kindly to this one, and it's best to keep you and Rod out of it.”

“The Law” could only mean the police. Bud had a long history of shady schemes that skirted legality, but he'd vowed off those kinds of deals when he'd moved in with Annette and her daughter. Had he relapsed?

Bud continued, “Don't come home till you hear from me. I'm real serious, Little Sister.” The recording ended.

I knew that I should forward the message to Handsome. He'd be trying to build a timeline of events, and the call might help. On the other hand, it sounded as though Bud had been doing something he didn't want the police to find out about.

Bud's girlfriend, Annette, arrived and interrupted my internal debate. As we hugged, I got a noseful of Chanel No. 5. It, and the nice dress she wore, reminded me of what Annette had been like when we'd first met.

Reeling from her daughter's terrible diagnosis, her husband's abandonment, and mounting financial troubles, Annette had exploited a flurry of attention from the media about her daughter's illness. I much preferred the jeans-wearing, down-to-earth woman I'd got to know as my uncle's girlfriend. I suspected her dressing up now, before coming to the hospital, was a way of coping with extreme stress.

Leanore kindly offered to go get coffee from the commissary while I filled Annette in on Bud's condition. Once I'd told her the little we knew, I gently maneuvered Annette to the opposite side of the room from the officer. He couldn't follow us without making his eavesdropping obvious.

“Do you know what Bud was doing at my place this morning? Was he involved in anything illegal?”

“Illegal?” The way she said the word was both a denial and a rebuke for even thinking it was possible.

“Bud has a history. Between you and me, was he doing anything he didn't want the police to know about?”

“Bud wasn't doing anything illegal, I'm sure.” She straightened the green wool fabric of her dress. “But he was upset yesterday. I've never seen him in such a panic.”

“That doesn't sound like Bud. I've seen him cracking jokes while narrowly escaping death.” This wasn't an exaggeration. I literally had. “What happened to set him off?”

“He went out shopping for Christmas presents yesterday morning. Something he saw at one of the pawnshops upset him, but
that's all he'd tell me. I don't know what the item was or why it was so disturbing.”

“Pawnshops?”

She gave me a sheepish smile. “That's where Bud likes to shop. I realize how it sounds, but he knows all the owners. He's bought and sold for decades.”

I didn't want to know the origin of the things he'd pawned over the years. Bud was never himself a crook, but he'd have no problem acting as middleman for shady merchandise. “What exactly happened when he came home from the pawnshops?”