Liquid Smoke (7 page)

“Guy named Landon Keene. Can you look him up on Google?”

“Don’t talk dirty to me,” he said, smiling and navigating on the computer. He hit a few buttons, then shifted the screen in my direction. “There you go.”

Two items popped up under the name. One was a high school football roster in Florida, listing Landon Keene as a sophomore lineman. The other had Landon Keene as a hairstylist in Alabama. I guessed that neither of those two was the Landon Keene who Russell Simington had told me about.

I swiveled the screen back to Klimes. “Thanks.”

“Anything you wanna tell me about?”

“No,” I said, not wanting to get into it. “Another thing I’m working on.”

Klimes pursed his lips. “Alright. Ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“This girl. Gill. Was she tough?”

I thought of her approaching me in the water and tailing me up the beach. “Seemed like it.”

He thought about that, focusing on something over my shoulder.

“What?” I asked.

“ME didn’t see any sign of a struggle,” he said. “You think she got surprised?”

He rubbed a hand over his sweaty face. “That or she knew the cocksucker who shot her. Waits for her to turn around in conversation, then whammo. Maybe knocks her out, then does her with the gun.”

“Somebody went to a lot of trouble, then,” I said. “Killing her like that and taking the time to bring her to my house.”

“Yep.” Klimes shifted in the seat, the vinyl screaming beneath him. “You were the only reason she came down here?”

“Far as I know. That’s what her paralegal said, too.”

“Mind another question?”

I shook my head.

“You think you’re gonna get your … this Simington off the row?”

I appreciated him not referring to him as my father, but it didn’t change anything.

“No. I think Darcy thought she could, though.”

“Doubtful,” he said, shaking his head. “Just doesn’t happen. So I’m glad you don’t have any wild ideas.” He looked at me. “And I hope that means you’ll stay out of the way.”

“She’s in my house, Klimes.”

“We’ll get her out,” he said, grinning. “I promise. But after that, I hope you’ll let us do what we are paid so shittily to do.” I laughed. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” he said, then waved me out of the car. “Zanella’s gonna be here any second. Scoot.”

I got out and shut the door.

The window slid down, and Klimes leaned over, his rotund face looking up at me. “You owe me.” “How do you figure?”

He held up three fingers. “I let you use the computer, I gave you the ‘she didn’t struggle’ info, and I flattened you before Zanella could take your head off.”

“Woulda been hard for him to take my head off while he was sitting on his ass.”

He waggled a thick finger in front of me. “Whatever, son. You owe me. That Keene name rings a bell, I expect you to ring mine.”

Klimes was sharp. He hadn’t taken my bluff. I liked him. I didn’t want to lie to him.

“Deal,” I said, doing it anyway.

The lights on the Coronado Bridge shone brightly in the early evening. The long gone sun had forgotten to take the heat of the day with it, and the wind blowing in my window as I crossed over to the island felt like an industrial-strength hair dryer.

Liz’s house was perched on a nice little curve of street that fronted San Diego Bay. She was on the rooftop deck when I pulled up, and she waved me in the front door.

She was sitting in a beach chair, facing the lit-up buildings across the water. Her long, tan legs were stretched out in front of her, and she wore an old Chargers T-shirt and blue running shorts. She motioned with her beer to the small fridge on the corner of the deck.

“I splurged for you,” she said.

I opened the fridge and found a bunch of Red Trolley bottles. I grabbed one and sat down in the empty chair next to her. “Thanks.”

We sat in the dark for a while, drinking but not talking.

When it came to our relationship, Liz being a cop had a lot of drawbacks. But one of the things I appreciated most was that she understood silence was a necessary thing. It didn’t mean anything was wrong or one of us was mad. It was just a way to decompress. Most people didn’t understand that.

“Was it odd?” she asked as I grabbed us a couple of new beers.

I knew she was talking about Simington.

“Yes and no,” I said. “In a lot of ways, it was like going to see someone I didn’t know. Someone who wanted to hire me or something. Detached.”

She nodded.

“But it was strange that he looked so much like me,” I said, shaking my head. “Some people think Carolina and I look alike. But this was like looking down the road thirty years.”

“Except you won’t be in jail,” she said.

I didn’t say anything and took a drink.

“You know that, right?” she asked, glancing over at me.

I kept drinking.

“Don’t confuse what he looks like with what he is, Noah. You’re not him.”

I’d said as much to Simington through the window, but that had been more of a defense mechanism than true belief. It was hard for me to separate the two.

“I’ve killed people,” I said.

She pulled her legs in and sat up in the chair. “You think that makes you like him?”

“I think it means we share some of the same … abilities.”

“No one has ever hired you to kill anyone. And if they tried, you wouldn’t do it.”

I shrugged, watching the lights bounce off the water.

“You were on the
right
side when those things happened,” she said. “You never set out to kill them just for the sake of killing them. Or for money.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. It seemed trivial to distinguish between right and wrong when a life ended because of something I’d done. I wondered if there had been underlying reasons for the things I had participated in. Had I been more of a willing participant than I’d realized? Maybe sought out those situations to enact some sort of latent feelings I had? I’d killed when I thought my life was in danger, but now I was second guessing whether killing had really been necessary.

“Simington killed for a paycheck,” Liz said. “I did some checking this afternoon. He was a brutally cold killer. Putting a bullet in the back of a head is a barbaric way to take a life. He’s done it. You haven’t. And he did it for no other reason than someone paid him to. He wasn’t making a moral choice. He was doing his job.”

I appreciated her belief in me, and while it didn’t satisfy me, I didn’t want to spend the evening dissecting my screwed-up psyche.

I reached over and held her hand. “Anything interesting in what you found on him?”

She hesitated. “You sure you wanna hear it?” “No. But tell me anyway.”

“What Darcy told you was basically true,” she said. “The arrest reports made him as a hired gun. He drove these two guys out in the desert and took ‘em out. The two vics had just crossed over a few days earlier.”

“Was Simington a coyote? Bringing them over the border?”

She nodded. “At one time, it looks like. But a lot of that was guesswork because Simington wouldn’t give up any names.”

That didn’t surprise me. The stoicism and calm I’d seen in him at the prison weren’t fake. He seemed at ease with where he’d ended up, with no need to take anyone else with him.

“He was also in debt,” Liz said.

“Surprise.”

“Huge debt, though,” she said. “Half a million.” “Wow.”

“Appears he had a nasty gambling habit.” “Darcy mentioned he worked in some casinos.” “Yes, he did. And I did find one interesting consistency.”

“What’s that?”

“All three casinos that employed him are owned by a guy named Benjamin Moffitt. He owns Bareva out in Lakeside and a bunch of others.”

“Any mention of a Landon Keene?” I asked. “Nope.”

I felt her fingers fold into mine, and we lapsed into silence again. The black water rippled in the distance, warped images of the skyline floating on top of the bay.

I didn’t know what Liz was thinking about. But I knew where my thoughts were.

Benjamin Moffitt would be my starting point.

I slept restlessly, images of Darcy Gill and Russell Simington clogging my mind for the better part of the night. I was out of bed early and did four hard miles next to the water, trying to clear my head and develop a plan. I knew I had to make one phone call to get the ball rolling, and it was the thing I was least looking forward to doing.

I was back at Liz’s, sweating and tired, when I sat down on the front steps and dialed Carter on my cell. He answered with a grunt. “It’s early, I know,” I said.

“Then why the fuck are you making my phone ring?” “Because we’ve got things to do.”

“We?”

I was hoping he still thought of us as a
we
after the previous day’s conversation. I knew I needed to explain to him a little more about why I’d kept him out of the loop, but I wasn’t going to do it over the phone.

“Yeah. You interested?”

The line hummed for a moment. Then he said, “What are we doing?”

“Feel like gambling?”

“Vegas?”

“No. Lakeside.”

“Blue hairs and penny slots?”

“You in or not?”

“Yeah.”

“Want me to pick you up?” He hesitated. “No. Where should I meet you?” That stung me a bit. It was probably his way of staying pissed at me, and I couldn’t blame him.

“Bareva Casino,” I said. “Noon alright?” “Noon’s fine.” “See you then.”

I hung up and went inside to shower.

I checked on Liz after getting dressed. She was wrapped in the sheets like a mummy. I had a hard time sleeping in even when I did sleep well. She had a hard time getting up if she didn’t have a reason. She had the day off, and there was no reason to disturb her. Plus, I knew she might try to dissuade me from going to the casino, and I didn’t feel like being dissuaded. I left her a note telling her I’d call her later and headed out.

I stopped at a café on Orange to grab some breakfast. I got down an omelet and some juice before I realized I needed to make another phone call. I paid for my meal, walked outside, and dialed the Law Offices of Gill and Gill.

Miranda answered on the first ring, sounding more annoyed than she had yesterday.

“Miranda, it’s Noah Braddock.”

“Hold on. Let me get excited,” she said.

I guessed from her tone that the police hadn’t spoken to her yet. “I need to tell you something.”

“Did you hear from Darcy?” she asked. “Because I haven’t, and I’m starting to get pissed off about it. I’ve got people calling here looking for her, and I have no idea what to tell them. And I can’t believe you just waltzed out of town without—”

“Miranda,” I said. “Shut up and listen to me.”

I could feel her making a face at the phone. “Fine. I’m listening.”

I took a deep breath. “Darcy is dead.”

“Funny, asshole. Shitty sense of humor.”

“I’m not kidding, Miranda.”

I watched several cars go by as I waited for her to say something. “You’re not kidding, are you?” she asked, her voice smaller, weaker.

“No. I wish I was. I found her body. She was in my house when I got back.”

She cleared her throat. “Okay. I’m coming to San Diego.” “Well, you might want to wait until the police get in touch with you,” I said. “They’ll probably—”

“I’m coming,” she said, and hung up.

Lakeside was a small community on the eastern outskirts of San Diego County. When I was growing up, it was one of those places that people made fun of as if it were three states away. But as the region grew, more and more folks moved out that way seeking affordable housing, and it was no longer a forgotten outpost. The Bareva Casino had only heightened the city’s profile.

Reservation casinos were all the rage in southern California. The legality of gambling seemed grayer with the construction of each new cash cow in the nether regions of the county, and no one seemed to care. Throw up a huge monstrosity of a building with some neon lights and the chance to win money and people would come.

Bareva was no different. The casino was a castle-like structure lit up even in the afternoon. The massive parking lot was jammed with tour buses, motor coaches, and cars that had come from all over. It took me ten minutes to reach the entrance from where I left the Jeep.

Carter was waiting out front. He wore extra baggy cargo shorts, a neon-green Quiksilver T-shirt, and sandals. He was holding a Slurpee the size of a small trash can.

I motioned at the Slurpee. “Get me one?”

“Nope.”

“Thanks.”

He shrugged. “Figured we wouldn’t look that tough if both of us had one.”

“Oh.”

“But if we don’t have to look tough for whatever the fuck we are doing here, then I apologize.” He stuck his tongue out and took a long lick on the straw. “And you can have mine.” He held it out.

“I guess we’ll have to look tough.”

“Vindication.” He nodded at the casino. “Are we here to try our luck?”

“Something like that,” I said.

We walked inside. It might as well have been Las Vegas, with coins hitting trays, the relentless ringing of slot machines, bright lights, no clocks, and a noise level that made it hard to think. An occasional joyful scream as someone hit what they considered a jackpot. Old couples huddled at machines, slowly extracting quarters from a plastic bucket.

“Oh, I love the
Wheel of Fortune
one,” Carter said, pointing at a giant machine with his Slurpee. “I wonder if they have
The Price is Right
one.”

“I’ll see if we can get you a roll of quarters.”

We moved through the casino to a cage in the center that had an information sign. I asked where the administrative offices were, and we were pointed to a bank of elevators.

Riding up, Carter asked, “We applying for jobs?”

“Yeah, I thought you’d look great in one of those cocktail waitress outfits.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened.

“Thank you for noticing,” Carter said.

The admin floor felt like being miles away from the casino. Plush carpeting. Tasteful artwork on the walls. No incessant bell ringing. The elevator had transported us to another world.