Since You've Been Gone (41 page)

“Sorry. I told you last call.”

“Yeah, so I want my last call. One more.”

“The one
before
was last call. Besides, you've had enough.”

“I already got one mother. Or let's say a Medusa that passes for a mother.”

“What's a Medusa?”

“A woman in Greek mythology whose look could turn a man to stone. An ex-friend of my sister's told me about her a long time ago.”

The bartender smiled. “Cochran, you're always coming up with weird shit like that. You're a damned scholar. Maybe you should go on one of those quiz shows. Make a fortune.”

“Other ways to make a fortune. And don't call me a scholar. I read a lot in prison. Nothin' else to do but read in there. Read and fend off a few inmates that got romantic
'tentions.” Larry's lips were numb by now. The pain in his leg had also subsided by half. “Come on. One more.”

“Can't do it. I make one exception and I'll get my license pulled. That's my luck. Don't give me a hard time, Cochran. We've always been friends.”

“Got no friends.”

“Suit yourself. But leave. Vamoose. Hit the road.” He leaned forward. “Leave under your own steam or you'll land on the sidewalk like Densh.”

“Oh hell, all right,” Larry mumbled, suddenly seeming to lose interest in scotch and The Gold Key. “Mind if I hit the facilities first?”

“Just make sure you
do
hit the facilities. You miss the commode, and I'll make you clean it up.”

Larry nearly fell off the bar stool laughing at this. The bartender had no idea he was so funny, but at least the guy wasn't going to give him trouble. He set about loading the last of the glasses into the dishwasher while Larry lumbered down the hall toward the rest room, occasionally bumping off a wall.

The odor of Pine-Sol made Larry draw back as soon as he opened the door. As a frequenter of the bar, Larry was used to the smell, but it seemed particularly strong tonight. Of course, his head felt like a pumpkin propped on his shoulders. He'd heard people talk about migraines but he'd never had one. Now he wondered if he were experiencing his first. The light hurt his eyes and sound reverberated painfully around his brain. He also felt like he had an ice pick jabbing into the base of his skull.

An ice pick. Skeeter Dobbs. No loss to the world, Skeeter. The guy had always given him the creeps. Gave Wendy Wright the creeps, too. God how he missed her. But she was back at school, making up in summer the classes she'd failed in the spring. Not that it really mattered that much. If she were home, she'd have to stay with her sister Nurse Jean, who kept an eagle eye on her and pronounced Larry strictly off-limits. In fact, she hated Larry for sullying her pretty little sister with his ex-con body. But Wendy sure
didn't hate it and sneaked back to town whenever she got the chance. At this time in his life, Wendy was the only bright spot, the only person who gave him joy, not grief. He intended to marry her, no matter how much of a howl Jean put up, no matter how much she threatened him. Said she'd get his parole revoked. Said all kinds of weird shit. Damned uptight nutcase. Wendy detested her, couldn't wait to get free of her.

Larry relieved himself and left by the back door. That was what Burt would expect. A few feet of concrete separated The Gold Key from the back of what used to be Fanny's Fine Fabrics but would soon be Lynn's store. He hoped it would be a success. Then she'd be so busy she'd get off his back.

An overloaded Dumpster sat under a sodium-vapor lamp. On this warm night, the smell emanating from the Dumpster was revolting. Burt really should have the thing emptied more often, he thought virtuously. Should keep the place clean.

He'd take the alley out to Second Avenue, then cross the park on his way home. It was midnight now. The park would be empty. Great timing. Then just three blocks to his apartment.

A lot of people had stupid ideas about this alley and avoided it because it was where Slim Tanner stabbed her husband to death. People seemed to think it was haunted or something. Larry snickered. Of all the damned nonsense. Haunted. Poor old Earl Tanner didn't have the guts to haunt anything. He'd scare himself. Larry remembered him from when as a teenager he'd sneak in The Gold Key under the protection of older, tougher friends. Earl had been a good-natured drunk, always buying rounds for the house. Sometimes his dorky kid Alvin had come in after him. He'd been skinny with big glasses and a cowlick, but Earl acted proud of him, of all things. That had never made sense to Larry. They said Earl beat the kid near to death, but he'd been affectionate to him in the bar, holding him up to play pin-ball, letting his girlfriend make over the kid like he was
something special. People were hard to figure. Maybe Earl was one of those split personality types.

As Larry staggered down the alley, he wondered if Slim Tanner regretted what she'd done. Sure, she probably regretted getting caught. Everyone in the joint did. But when Alvin came to visit her, did she look at his woebegone face and wonder what she'd gotten herself in so damned much trouble for? Larry had thought there might be a bond between him and Alvin. They'd both suffered because of Rebecca the bitch Ryan. But Alvin didn't seem to feel any bond. He just seemed prim and sanctimonious. Sir Douglas Do-Right's type. Larry was sorry he'd defended Alvin to Densh. Sorry he'd pissed off Strand in the process. Both were hot-headed, dangerous enemies.

Larry thought he heard something behind him. A footstep. He turned. There were no lights in the alley and it was long. A little artificial light filtered in from the street, but he saw nothing. Probably just an echo of his own footsteps, he thought, and slogged on.

A moment later he heard something else. He turned again. Nothing. But the skin on his neck prickled. “Okay, Cochran, this week's been a little too much, even for you. What you expect to see? Ghost of Earl Tanner?” He tried to snicker again, but the sound came out a sickly gag. He faced the street and picked up his pace.

Sixty or seventy feet to Second Avenue. That's all. Just keep walkin', Cochran, he told himself. Keep walkin' and stop thinkin'.

Was that breathing he heard? Rough, ragged breathing not too far behind him? He looked a third time. Was that a shadow? Something hugging the wall of The Gold Key? “Hey, Strand, that you?” he called. “Didn't mean to piss you off earlier. Had a few too many.” No answer. It sure wasn't Densh. Maybe he'd made it home, maybe he hadn't, but wherever he was, he was passed out. A stray dog or cat. That's what it was. Scotch played tricks with the vision, made things look bigger than they were. Think of it—Larry Cochran, scared by a cat. He'd never repeat that one.

He took a few more steps, wondering what Wendy was doing. He was going up to the university this weekend. They'd spend Saturday and Sunday in bed like usual. He wouldn't drink tomorrow so he'd be up to speed in the love department. “I'm just a love machine,” he sang, then broke into laughter. That song was before Wendy's time, but it was true. Nobody ever had any complaints about Larry Cochran in bed.

He stopped. He could feel someone looking at him. Not
something.
Not a dog or a cat.
Someone.
“I'm gettin' tired of this shit,” he called. “A real man would come out and be seen. That you, wimp Tanner?” Silence. Larry would not turn around. He'd already looked three times. He wouldn't look again. Point of pride, he told himself. No more peeking over his shoulder like he was afraid. But actually, he
was
afraid, afraid to look behind him because someone was behind him, someone breathing hard, breathing excitedly, someone coming fast, someone coming for
him.

He stumbled through a puddle of water left by the week's earlier rain but the sound of splashing water made him squeal. Squeal like a pig. Densh had called him a pig. He was mildly afraid of Densh, but not
this
afraid. Not afraid enough to have his spine turn to ice, his mind to blur and begin screaming, “Run! Run as fast as you can!”

And he tried. But it was too late. Someone was on him. The weight hit with tremendous force, knocking him to the concrete. He banged his head and his bad leg twisted under him. He cried out, but the sound was weak, mewling, shameful. If only he wasn't drunk. If only he could coordinate legs and arms, fight like he'd learned to fight in prison, kick the shit out of whoever was on him. But his equilibrium was shot. The blow had made his dizzy head even dizzier. His arms were pinned under his own body.

Suddenly he felt something metallic under his ear. Something like the head of a shaver. He heard the sound of electricity crackling. Blue flashed in the darkness. Then he was out.

As Larry lay motionless on the cold concrete of the dark alley, rendered harmless by a stun gun, someone rolled him onto his back and coolly and neatly pushed an icé pick into his closed right eye. Blood trickled. A latex-gloved hand then drove the ice pick deeper, deeper, until it was buried almost to the hilt. The attacker turned Larry's head for a better view, then watched as blood gushed down the side of his face and gathered in the very spot where Earl Tanner's blood had once pooled while his wife coldly looked on with a knife in her hand.

SATURDAY
, 7:15
A.M.

Pain. In the right side. Stabbing. Scary. So hot. So thirsty. So scared. Mommy, Mommy. Please don't let me die here.

Rebecca awakened with a scream. Sean scrambled away from her, his ears perked forward, then dived for her, burrowing close. “My God,” she murmured, holding him tight. “He's dying. Todd is dying.”

Her door flew open and Frank stood there in a robe. “Rebecca, what is it?”

“A dream. A vision. I can't tell which this time. Todd is sick. He's alive but not for long, Frank. He's really suffering. I have to do something—”

She tried to get up but Frank rushed forward and put his hands on her shoulders. “I want you to calm down first.” Sean showed his teeth and Frank abruptly removed his hands. “I'm not going to hurt your mistress, so take it easy, boy. I only want her to relax, get her breath.”

“Frank, we have to see if someone got that money,” Rebecca said urgently. “If they did, then maybe they'll get in touch with us soon about where to pick up Todd. Every minute is crucial.”

Frank lowered his gaze. “Clay called about fifteen minutes ago. He's already checked the men's room, Rebecca.”

She stared at him. “The money is still there.”

“Yes. No one ever picked it up.”

She lay back against the pillows. “Then what was this all about? Why all this drama about ransom? I don't understand!”

“There's something else,” Frank said gently. “Clay said Larry Cochran's body was found in the alley beside The
Gold Key less than an hour ago. He had an ice pick in his eye, just like Skeeter.”

“Larry … an ice pick … the alley?” Frank nodded. “I don't believe it! I mean, it's so close to the park!” Frank kept staring at her. “Do they have any idea who did it?”

“No. Clay only knew because he's at the hospital. Lynn is probably being informed right now.”

“Oh Lord, she's become intolerable, but I feel sorry for her. She adored Larry.”

“Yes. I don't feel sorry for Larry, though. He was a lost cause. But you're not thinking of what this might mean. Maybe it was Larry who took Todd, Larry who was supposed to pick up the ransom, only he couldn't because he was murdered before he could get to the money. The owner of The Gold Key says he got in a couple of verbal scraps last night. That's nothing new for Larry, but I suppose the men he insulted were the violent type. They're both being questioned.”

“But the ice pick. Certainly they didn't murder Skeeter, too.”

“Maybe one of them did. Or maybe someone got inspired by the method and decided to use it on Larry. Anyway, this is what we have. Larry murdered. Ransom money intact. Draw your own conclusions.”

Rebecca closed her eyes. “Oh, Frank, if Larry took Todd, if he was only going to give up his location when he got the money, there's no chance of that now.”

“I know.”

“And Todd's sick. I've had this vision before. Clay thinks he might have appendicitis. If the appendix ruptures—” She broke off, her eyes filling with tears. “Does Molly know about the money yet?”

“No. I'm leaving for her house right now. Clay has gotten someone to fill in for him at the hospital and I asked him to meet me at Molly's. She might need another one of those injections.”

Frank rose from the bed and walked slowly to the door,
his shoulders slightly bent. “Frank?” He turned and looked at her. “It's all over, isn't it?”

Rebecca had never seen him look so sad, so beaten. “I'm afraid so, dear.” He shook his head. “Poor little Todd.”

Rebecca tried to lie in bed for a while to piece everything together, to think of a way they could possibly retrieve Todd without a kidnapper safely holding his ransom money, but no answers came. The only hope lay in her. She needed a vision that would tell them exactly where to find Todd. But she felt no headache portending a vision and time was of the essence.

Last night when she'd returned from the park, she'd made a pot of decaf coffee and sat in the kitchen, feeling deflated. Frank had come in awhile later, wanting to know how the drop had gone. He looked awful, gray and tired. She'd told him they'd seen no sign of someone picking up the money.

“That doesn't surprise me,” he'd said. “He'll wait until the park is empty.”

“But wouldn't that make him more noticeable?” Rebecca had asked. “And don't they lock the rest rooms at night?”

“I'm sure this guy knows how to pick locks. And the rest room was probably crowded last night. Someone would have noticed a man pawing through the trash can. Cheer up, honey. I'll bet the money will be gone tomorrow morning.”