Stuff Dreams Are Made Of (19 page)

“I want to find out what they know about you two. And James.”

“And you’re not interested in knowing what LeRoy says about you?” Em called him on it.

“Maybe, a little.”

“Uh-huh.”

I realized something else had to be addressed. It was important. “Daron, one more question.”

He was digging his toe into the damp dirt, his eyes watching the trailer. The padlock was hanging off the latch and the structure appeared to be open.

“Did you kill Michael Bland?”

He did a double take, snapping to attention. “Holy shit, no. Where did you ever come up with that idea?”

“I had to ask. I don’t know for sure who I’m dealing with.”

“Ah, I take a couple bags at the airport. I sell some stolen stuff now and then, but kill somebody? Are you crazy?”

I was glad I’d asked. Just by his reaction, I was pretty sure he was telling me the truth. Of course, with Styles, you never knew.

Em cleared her throat. She put her hand on my arm. “Daron, I have a question too.”

“Shoot. But make it a short one. I want to get in there and see if I can find this thing.” He seemed to brace himself.

“Okay. Here goes. Yes or no question.”

“Those I can answer.”

“Did you take his money?”

In the dark there were crickets, the call of a night bird, and the gentle lapping of water coming from the Intracoastal Waterway. In the distance I could hear a boat horn, a long mournful moaning sound.

“Daron?”

“Whose money?”

“Don’t play with me. Michael Bland’s money?”

Back to digging his toe into the moist earth. “Yep. I did.”

When I was about twelve, I found a wallet with a couple of bucks in it. That was it. Two bucks. The wallet was on a park bench and I figured it had probably worked its way out of some guy’s pocket. I didn’t bother to see who the wallet belonged to, I just slipped the two dollars out and put them in my pocket. My first heist.

I remember the situation because about twenty minutes later I went back to the bench to put the two dollars back. I had a bad guilt complex and decided I needed to return the stolen loot. The wallet was gone.

“I’ve got to get into the trailer. Hell, we stand here and talk all night and it’ll be morning before I get it done.” Daron pointed to the trailer/office. “I’m going to get some answers tonight.”

“You stole a dead guy’s money?” I thought the park bench incident was bad enough.

“Look, I didn’t say that. I’ll fill you in on all of the details later. Right now, are you two going to stand guard? All you’ve got to do is give me a signal if someone is coming.”

I wish I’d never asked the question.

Em shook it off. “What’s the signal?”

“Start a conversation. Just pretend that you guys can’t sleep, you’re out walking and you start talking — loud, so I can hear you.”

I looked at Em and she shrugged her shoulders. Kind of like, what the hell. We’re here, we may as well pitch in. Like she was game for anything. I was still thinking about Styles taking the money off of a dead man. And the fact that the Federal Bureau of Investigation was checking out my girlfriend.

Styles put his finger to his lips and walked softly to the trailer. He stepped up on the wooden landing and the wood creaked under his weight. We all froze for a second. Then Styles gently tried the door. The moon gave us just enough light so we could see him ease the door open.

A soft light spilled from the entranceway and I could see a dim lamp burning on what appeared to be a small wooden table. I watched Styles look both ways, then he turned to us, gave us a thumbs-up, and pulled the door behind him, leaving just a small opening. Hopefully enough of an opening that he could hear us if we had to start talking. Loudly.

Em took my hand and squeezed it. Then she let go and motioned to me. We walked several yards from the trailer.

“You get into the damnedest predicaments.”

“You were the one being followed by the FBI.”

“I hope your buddy finds out why.”

“Daron?” We were whispering, and my throat was getting raspy. You can’t whisper too long before it irritates the vocal chords.

“Yeah. Daron.”

“He’s not my buddy. He may be James’s buddy, but he’s not mine.”

She was quiet for a moment. “He took the money off of a dead guy? That’s sick.”

“It’s better than killing the guy.”

“I guess, but not by much.” Em looked up and down the grounds. “There’s no sign of anyone standing guard.”

“No. Remember, he said the trailer guard usually crashes on the couch. He’s probably asleep in there.”

“And if he wakes up and finds Daron working on their computer?”

I didn’t want to consider that.

“Styles will have to deal with it.”

“And, Skip. What was the deal with the shoes?”

“The shoes?”

“Daron brings me designer shoes and wants to know the value? What was that strange scene all about?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s another story.”

“You’re just full of stories, aren’t you? You and your friends.” She gave me an impish smile.

She was here because of me. I was here because of — probably James. And Daron was keeping the whole thing alive, with a bunch of stories that had a ring of truth to them. But with Styles, who knew?

“Tell me the story about the shoes. What’s he got? A foot fetish? Come on, I’ve got time. What else are we going to do?”

“Um, it’s not something you want to know about right now.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Don’t do this to me.”

“Em, I’ll tell you later.”

“Oh, I’ll probably figure it out anyway. But if he asks again —”

“Asks what?”

“The value.”

“Yeah?”

“The value of Loeffler Randall shoes.”

I’d never heard the name. But I wasn’t a student of feminine footwear. “Loeffler Randall shoes?”

“If he asks the value —”

“What?”

“About three hundred seventy-five dollars.”

“Wow.”

“They’re quality shoes. Think
Sex and the City
.”

Em cried when they cancelled
Sex and the City
.

“Okay, I’ll give him the price.”

“Maybe half that on eBay.”

Em had fallen asleep, stretched out on the damp ground, cradling her head in her folded arms. I was sitting next to her, watching her, her diaphragm rising and falling with her soft breath. Her blond hair spilled over her arms and I thought about watching her all night long. I truly believe I could have. I was still wondering how I’d gotten into this situation. James was probably right. It was the questions I’d asked. And the fact that I knew about Cabrina Washington. I’d met the girl. For some reason, that meeting and my questions had triggered a response. Possibly my meeting and questions were the reason that we were all in a situation that no one seemed to understand.

There was no breeze, just the heat and humidity, and I could feel sweat running down my back. My T-shirt was wet, and there was a thin layer of perspiration on my face. I strained to hear any unusual sounds, but the droning of some insects, the call of an occasional bird, and Em’s breathing were all I could pick up.

I may have dozed. I hope that wasn’t the case. I’d like to think that I was a little more alert than that. I’d like to think that if I am asked to participate, I participate with everything in me,
but the truth is, I may not be as reliable as I should be. Chalk it up to youth, or maybe too many beers during college. All I know is that Styles was standing above me, tapping me on the shoulder and I hadn’t seen or heard anything.

“Hey, Skipper, let’s get out of here.”

It only took a second to shake off the cobwebs. I reached down and touched Em on the cheek. She shivered and opened her eyes. Even in the dark, I could see the first sign of confusion. Then she shook the webs off too.

“Come on.”

“What did you find?”

“You’re in the notes.”

“What?”

“Back to your truck. Quick.”

I was struggling to get up.

“I’m what?”

“You’re on the computer. Look, there’s a little explanation, but basically LeRoy thinks you and James are plants.”

I couldn’t figure it out. Plants? My mother had plants in the kitchen window. James had a fake palm tree that someone had given him, sitting in the living room window in our postage-stamp apartment. What the hell kind of plant was I?

“Plants?”

Styles extended his hand, I grabbed it and he pulled me into an upright position. “The full-timers think you and James are plants. They think the cops or the FBI planted you to get information on the murder of the senator.”

No. Was he crazy?

“Are you crazy?”

“No. They may be crazy. I’m not.”

“Daron, they can’t be serious.”

“Damn it, let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Plants?”

“Please! Move.”

I was with him. The last thing I wanted to do was spend another night in this park. The sooner we debriefed, the faster we could get out of here and spend the night in a real bed. I realized it was late. James would have been back by now, the card game would have been finished a couple of hours ago. “Were you mentioned?”

“It’s not important.”

“Were you? Did Thomas LeRoy identify you as the guy who killed Bland? The guy who took his money?”

“Yeah. He did. He said they thought I was a prime suspect. Now, would you get your girlfriend so we can get out of here?”

Em staggered to her feet, and we stumbled around the tent, for all the world looking like two drunks trying to find their way home. And we hadn’t had a drink. Not one beer.

I pulled her, hurrying her along. If someone was going to wake up and start screaming “thief,” I didn’t want to be anywhere nearby. We started jogging, and reached the far end of the tent. I stopped and took in long, painful breaths. Too many beers, not enough exercise. We caught our breath, and as we made the turn, I looked around to see if Daron was following. There was no one.

“Where’s Daron?” Em slowed down. She glanced behind us.

“Daron?” I whispered in a loud, raspy voice.

There was no sound.

“My God, Skip. Do you think they found him?”

I ducked back around the corner of the tent, and quietly walked down the length, smelling the wet, stale odor of the large, damp canvas. I struggled to see in the dark, staring hard in the direction we’d come. In the distance I could see what looked like three people. The two on the outside appeared to be walking, the person in the middle was being dragged.

From the time I was probably six years old, I wondered what I’d do in the case of an emergency. Would I look out for myself? Would I step into the path of a bully to save a friend? When I was a little older I wondered if I would jump in the water to save a drowning child or stand there looking in horror as the body was washed downstream. And when I got much older, especially when I started dating Em, I wondered what I would do if we were accosted in a dark alley. Would I let it happen or step up and risk having a knife shoved in my ribs?

I don’t believe too many people are ever put in that position. I was, once before, and I can tell you that every situation isn’t the same. Em appeared at my back, and the two of us watched as the three people disappeared in the dark. I looked at her, tempted to start running, trying to save Styles.

“What just happened?”

“Em, I don’t know. Somebody figured out he’d broken into the trailer?”

“And why aren’t we trying to get him back?” She threw her hands up.

“Maybe because we know that if it’s the full-timers, they have guns. Maybe it’s because we don’t know what the hell he’s gotten himself into.”

“Let’s at least see if we can see where they’re taking him.”

Of course she was right. We walked quickly, trying to catch a glimpse of them, but the dark had swallowed any sign of the three.

“They could have gone to the camper village or one of the trailers or trucks. We have no idea.”

I shook my head.

“It happened so fast. We didn’t have a chance to see what happened.” She took my hand and squeezed it again. “Skip, I’ve always wondered what I’d do in a situation like this.”

“I understand. As you said, it happened way too fast.”

“So, what do we do?”

There was only one thing to do. Find James. If Styles was in trouble, we were all in trouble. If Styles was on the computer, and we were on the computer, the situation was not good.

“We’ve got to get James.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Em questioned me.

“No.”

“No, you don’t think we should get him?”

“No. I don’t think it’s a good idea. Yes, we’ve got to find him.” As far as I was concerned there was no choice. I needed to know if he was okay.

“James and I have our differences.”

“I know, Em. I’m in the middle of many of them.”

She smiled. I could see it even in the dark. “But I’d miss him if something happened to him.”

I thought about it for a second or two. There was absolutely nothing we could do for Styles. But with any luck James had stayed late. Maybe he was still playing cards and they hadn’t done anything to him. Yet. “Let’s check the truck. The poker game
should have ended about midnight. That’s when they start with the security detail.”

“What time is it?”

I strained to see my watch. “One thirty.”

James wasn’t in the truck.

“How about the card game? Maybe he stayed late? Had a couple of beers with the guys.” I motioned toward the path.

We jogged down. I was feeling a lot of guilt leaving Styles to fend for himself, but I had no idea where they’d taken him. We were both out of breath in the short run to the pizza wagon. I’d preferred the exercise we’d had earlier in the day at Em’s condo.

We slowed down as we got closer, and I noticed everything appeared to be dark. The poker table was empty. There was no sign of anyone, but a cigar still burned in an ashtray. Cigars go out if no one is puffing on them, so I guessed that someone, or a group of someones, had been there recently. Possibly they had gotten word that security had been breached. And if they knew that Daron had broken into the office and gotten into the computer, then anything was possible. They would probably know immediately that James and I were involved.