Vanished - A Mystery (Dixon & Baudin Book 1) (20 page)

43

The closest bar to the hospital was a place called the Dirty Raven. Baudin sat at the bar and drank shot after shot, barely tasting them. He wasn’t drinking for taste, anyway.

The smoke-filled bar stank so strongly of pot and cigarette smoke that he thought he could feel the stuff permeating his skin, as if he would never get that stink off. And for a moment, panic gripped him and tightened his chest, then it faded away.

Baudin didn’t know how many shots he’d had. The bar wasn’t the type to cut him off. The bartender, an old man with a balding head, kept pouring the amber drink into the same glass, over and over and over.

A few construction workers sitting next to him were speaking loudly about some NCAA game. Baudin took another shot and dropped the glass on the floor, shattering it.

“Why don’t you cocksuckers shut your damn mouths?” he spat.

One of the workers, with a thick bushy beard, turned to him. “What’d you say?”

Baudin lifted the cigarette he’d laid on the ashtray. He took a final puff and then flicked it onto the man’s shirt. “I said, why don’t you cocksuckers shut your damn mouths?”

The construction worker, without a moment’s hesitation, swung.

Baudin ducked and came up with a right into the man’s kidneys. Then he swung with a hook and hit the guy hard enough that he stumbled back into his friends. One of them grabbed a bottle and came at Baudin, who jabbed him in the nose, and the bottle went wide. Baudin jabbed him four more times until his nose gushed blood, confusion on the man’s face as Baudin’s strikes came like snake bites.

Baudin kicked him in the groin just as the bearded one hopped over the bar and came up behind him. Baudin kicked out, connecting to the man’s gut, but it wasn’t powerful enough to send him sprawling. The bearded one still came at him and got hold of him from behind.

Baudin thrust his head back, smashing into the guy’s nose as the third one came up in front. Baudin tried to kick out, but the third one wasn’t new to brawls. He brushed aside Baudin’s kick and hit him so hard in the face that he thought he might pass out.

The guy kept hitting him, a flurry of punches that Baudin was helpless against. He felt himself going out and made one last attempt to get the bearded one off his back. He ducked low, using all of his bodyweight to fall, and the man’s grip loosened. Baudin came up with a left hook that sent the guy in front of him over a table.

The bearded one was swinging wildly, more with rage than anything else. Baudin was bloodied and dizzy, but he dodged as many as he could before grabbing the bearded man with both hands behind the neck. He brought the man down to chest level and came up with several knees into his groin and chest.

But that all ended in one loud crash. A glass bottle broke over Baudin’s head. There was no pain, but the noise was deafening. And the last thing he saw was the floor racing toward his face.

Baudin felt coolness against his skin. A breeze. It brought him out of his unconscious slumber and made him aware that he was now in the gutter outside the bar. He felt as though he could sleep right there, even though his back was twisted on the curb in a way that shot pain up and down his leg. But the effort of moving was too great. Instead, he closed his eyes.

“Come on, hon, let’s go.”

He felt hands on him, soft hands but firm. They helped him to a standing position. As soon as he was on his feet, he bent down at the waist and hurled a putrid mix of alcohol and bar peanuts into the gutter.

When he was through, he wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, and the hands were on him again, helping him up the sidewalk and to a car waiting on the corner.

44

Baudin smelled incense. Before his eyes even opened and he was aware that he was still alive, he smelled incense, and it took him back to college. He’d shacked up with a granola girl who believed in free love as if it were still the 1960s. Baudin would occasionally come home to find another nude man already in his bed. She encouraged him to experience other women, too, but he never could. He liked her. And one day, she was just gone. Her things were packed and the room empty. She dropped out of school and didn’t tell any of her friends why.

As he opened his eyes, his first thought was of that girl and where she was now. And then in the periphery of his vision, he saw Candi sitting in a recliner watching television. He inhaled deeply and turned to her, his head pounding as though he were still being punched.

“Where am I?”

“In my room, hon. How ya feelin’?”

Baudin tried to sit up, but the world spun so violently he collapsed back. “What happened?”

“Well, looks like you got into a scrape with a few fellas you couldn’t take. You lucky one of my friends was in that place and recognized you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Uh-huh. Well, you’re free to leave.”

Baudin tried to get up again. The pain felt as if his guts had been smashed like a bug on a windshield. He groaned.

“That’s what I thought,” she said. She lit a cigarette. “What you doin’ gettin’ in bar fights with three fellas big as bears, anyhow? I thought you was a cop.”

“I was. I don’t know if I am anymore.”

“Oh, one of those.”

“Yeah,” he said, reaching up and placing his hand on his head. “What’s this?”

“A bandage. Your head was bleedin’.”

He looked at her. “Why would you help me?”

She turned back to the television. “Few enough people I like in the world. Couldn’t very well let one die in the gutter if I could stop it.” She rose and walked over to him, sitting next to him on the bed. She took the lit cigarette and put it between his lips. “What happened?”

He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke tingle his lungs before blowing it out in a forceful gust of breath. “Just a shitty day.”

“Ain’t they all. But what happened today?”

“You are nosey, aren’t you?”

“I just saved your life. You’d think you’d be grateful.”

He lifted his arm, the pain in his shoulder radiating down to his fingertips, and removed the cigarette. “My daughter tried to kill herself.”

She nodded. “I been there. Sometimes life feels like a cruel joke. Like there’s some power behind it all just laughin’, laughin’ that you think you got control. Shit, we ain’t got control over nothin’.”

“No,” he said, and took another drag. “We don’t.” He looked at her. “Your scar’s healing.”

“It ain’t gonna go away. I don’t think I’ll be a whore much longer. I’d have to lower my prices so much it wouldn’t be worth it.”

“People that want work can find work. You’ll land on your feet.”

“I’m sure I will. So will you. You got that in you, you know. That desire to live. I think you’d live through just about anything and never even think of just offing yourself. Like most normal folk.”

“Everybody wants to live.”

“No, they don’t,” she said quietly. “Anyways, we best get you to a hospital. You took a blow to the head and probably have a concussion. She took his cigarette and took a drag before putting it out on the nightstand. “I’ll drive.”

Baudin had her drive him to the same hospital Heather was in. He got out of the car without goodbyes and turned to her. “Thanks.”

“Come see me sometime, when you get better.”

Night was already descending, and Baudin wondered exactly how long he’d been out for. He felt out of sorts, as if he’d fallen into a coma and woken up in a different time. Everything had a hazy appearance, and he hoped he wasn’t suffering from brain damage.

As he walked into the waiting area before the emergency room, he saw Kyle Dixon lying across four chairs. The man had his suit coat pulled up over his shoulder and was sound asleep. Baudin went over to him and sat down. Dixon stirred and then woke. He inhaled deeply and sat up, twisting his neck.

“You here this whole time?” Baudin asked.

“I figured you’d be back. She’s up if you want to see her.” He paused. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Long story.”

They rose together, and Dixon followed a step behind as Baudin asked to be buzzed back into the actual emergency rooms. Heather’s bed was on the right-hand side, up the corridor. When he saw her lying in that bed, bandages around her wrists, the white flesh that seemed sickly, he nearly fell to the floor. She was all he had left, the only glimmer of beauty the world held for him anymore. Even the suggestion that she would rather die than be here with him…

He stopped next to her bed, and she saw him. She closed her eyes and turned away.

“Please go away, Daddy.”

“Sweetheart… I’m… I don’t even know what to say.”

“I’m so embarrassed. I can’t even kill myself right. Why am I alive, Daddy? Why am I here if I can’t do anything?”

Baudin, tears rolling down his cheeks, pulled a stool next the bed and held her hand. No words were exchanged between them, but he leaned down and rested his forehead against the back of her hand, his tears dripping onto the linoleum.

45

The doctors wanted to keep Heather in the hospital a few days for observation, and Baudin agreed. By eleven, she was asleep for the night, and Baudin sat in the waiting room. Dixon had stayed by him the entire time. He sat in one of the chairs and watched Sports Center on one of the televisions mounted on the wall.

“Her mother killed herself,” Baudin said, staring out the windows.

Dixon was silent a long time before saying, “I didn’t know that.”

“She went to the doctor and got sleeping pills. Two days later she took them with a fifth of Jack. She spent that day after the doctor’s visit with us. The whole day. It was a Saturday. I didn’t want to do much, just hang out at home. But she insisted. We saw a baseball game, went to a museum, and had a fancy dinner in Malibu at a restaurant that served fresh seafood right on the beach. I can still see her there, the way the sunlight reflected off her eyes… She’d made up her mind she was going to die, but she wanted one last day with us.”

“I’m sorry,” Dixon said. “I can’t even imagine what that would be like.”

“I’ll tell you what it’s like, it feels like you can’t know anyone. Not really. There’s always caverns in their hearts that they’ll never reveal to you, no matter how close you think you are.”

“It’s still worth it.”

“Yeah,” he said, exhaling loudly.

Dixon waited a beat before saying, “Well, I’m gonna head home, I guess.”

“We’re not done, man. We’re not done by a long shot.”

“Done with what?”

Baudin turned to face him. “You know what.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now.”

“We’re not cops anymore, man.”

“I keep telling you, there is no law. We don’t need to be cops. But it’s gonna get dirty. If you can’t handle that, I’ll do it alone.”

Dixon rose. “Where do you wanna start?”

46

Baudin smoked while he sat in the driver’s seat. Sigma Mu was about fifty feet ahead of him. He and Dixon were parked at the steepest part of the incline and had to fight gravity. Looking up the hill created an odd feeling, like moving through water. Dixon seemed calm, calmer than Baudin had seen him in a while. Making up his mind about a course of action could do that.

“He may not come out tonight,” Dixon said.

“He’ll come.”

“How do you know?”

Baudin tossed the cigarette into the ashtray of the car. “I’ll show you.”

They left the car and crossed the street to the same side as the frat house. Trudging up the hill, Baudin felt like some grunt in the Spanish Civil War, or some other long forgotten conflict in which blood was spilt and no one remembered why. Or maybe he was the deserter. It didn’t matter to him either way.

The red Volvo was parked out front at an angle. Baudin took the gloves out of his pocket and slipped them on as Dixon did the same.

“You sure about this?” Dixon said. “Ain’t no going back.”

“I crossed that line a long time ago. You sure you ready for it?”

Dixon swallowed and looked at the house. “Let’s do it.”

Baudin ran at the car, thrust out his foot, and slammed into it, leaving a large dent. The car swayed back and forth, and the alarm sounded: a piercing, shrill cry that broke the night’s silence. The two men ducked in front of the Volvo, the alarm so loud Baudin wished he’d thought to bring earplugs.

Orridge ran out of the house. He stood on the lawn, pressing the alarm button on his keychain. He scanned the neighborhood a moment and then slowly examined his car.

Baudin was on him in a second. He tackled him from behind, the impact knocking the breath out of Orridge, who couldn’t even get out a cry for help. Dixon wrapped a bag around his head as they duct-taped his wrists and ankles and dragged him into the darkness of the trees next to the house. Dixon sat on his back, pushing his weight into him.

Baudin ran back and got the car, and they threw him into the backseat. As they sped away, Baudin looked into his rearview and didn’t see a single frat boy out on the porch checking up on what was happening.

“You see that, Dustin?” Baudin said. “You really see who your friends are when you need ’em.”

The car raced up the service streets before getting on the interstate. Orridge tried to get up several times, and every time Dixon would tighten the bag so he couldn’t breathe. When he behaved, Dixon would loosen it.

The industrial section of Cheyenne was a mass of manufacturing plants, warehouses, and storage units. Baudin sped up the street at double the speed limit. He hit the brakes hard, Orridge flying into the seats in front of him and the car screeching to a stop, before turning into the parking lot of a warehouse.

The warehouse, something he’d seen on his drives through the city, was abandoned. A “For Sale or Lease” sign was mounted on the side wall, covered in graffiti.

The two of them dragged Orridge while he kicked and swore the entire time. But the boy was too frightened to put up any real resistance. It was more like the fighting of a drowning man, lashing out at anything that was near.

The doors were padlocked, but the windows had been broken out and someone had gone in and opened several of the loading bay doors. Probably bored youths, or the homeless who made these buildings their temporary residences until the owners caught on.

They dragged him in through the loading bay and tossed him on the floor. Baudin went back to the door and slid it down, slamming it shut, more for effect than anything else.

The warehouse was empty except for some abandoned shelves. Cobwebs covered everything, and in the dim light of the moon, it gave the steel walls and the concrete floors an eerie, otherworldly glow.

Baudin removed the bag from Orridge’s head. He’d taken his gloves off on the drive over, but now he put them back on, as did Dixon.

“Dustin,” Baudin said, “I know you’re thinking this is bullshit and that you’re not gonna give us anything. You’re gonna fight us because you think your daddy will save you. But that’s not smart, my friend. It’s not smart because no one’s coming to save you.”

Dustin, drenched in sweat, panting, watched the detectives. “You guys are cops. You guys are cops, you can’t do this shit!”

Baudin came close and grabbed him by his hair. “I’m a very special type of cop.”

Baudin swung with a left that slammed into the boy’s jaw. Before he could recover, Baudin flipped him onto the ground and kicked him in the head, and then the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Dixon stood by watching.

“I wanna know why you confessed,” Baudin said.

“’Cause I did it.”

Baudin kicked him again, causing the boy to nearly vomit. He dry heaved, getting up to his hands and knees, and Baudin kicked him again, sending him sprawling onto his back. Before he could do anything else, Dixon came over and stopped him. He put his arm around Baudin’s chest and pulled him away.

“We just want to scare him, not kill him.” Dixon approached the boy. “Sorry, man. He’s… I don’t know. He gets all worked up and just loses it. But he’s right. You gotta help us. I can only control him for so long.”

Orridge spat a gob of blood onto the pavement. “I don’t know anything.”

The statement was more a plea than anything else, so pathetic and hopeless that Baudin nearly grinned. He turned away from the boy, staring at the cavernous black of the empty warehouse, taking in the scents of dust and mildew.

“Why did you confess, Dustin?” Dixon said. “We both know you didn’t do it.”

Orridge began to cry. Dixon put his hand on his shoulder and let it go on for a few moments before saying, “Why?”

“They told me they’d take care of it.”

“Take care of it how?”

“They said it would be dismissed before it went to a jury. That a lot of judges and lawyers were on our side.”

Dixon looked at Baudin.

“The bail,” Baudin said. “It was set lower than I’ve ever seen it for a murder. That’s why he’s out right now.”

“Which judge?” Dixon said. “The one handling your trial?”

“I don’t know. My dad told me I had to do it. That they’d take care of me.”

Baudin stepped close to the boy, leaning down over him and causing Orridge to recoil. “Your father was a member of Sigma Mu, wasn’t he?”

Orridge nodded.

Dixon softly touched the boy’s hand. “Dustin, who killed Alli? It wasn’t you. Just be honest with us. Please.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know…” he cried. “But people are saying it was probably Casey.”

“You know Casey?” Baudin said. “That’s his real name?”

“I don’t know him. I just know ’bout him. People talk ’bout him. He was, like, a legend at S Mu.”

“Where can I find him?” Baudin said.

“I don’t know, man. I swear it. He’s got this, like, house up in Valley Mills. Some of the brothers been there. But I ain’t never been. I ain’t important enough. I ain’t shit, man. I’m just fuckin’… I do whatever they tell me to.”

Baudin looked at Dixon. “You know where Valley Mills is?”

“It’s a neighborhood up 200 North. Prime stuff, expensive.”

Baudin helped the boy up. “Dustin, I’m gonna find Casey. And if you go running to Daddy or your lawyer about this, I’m gonna tell Casey who sent us to him. You hear me, boy?”

He nodded. “I won’t tell anybody.”

“Good. Then you’re free to leave.”

“I need a ride.”

The detectives looked at each other. “Fine,” Dixon said. “Get in back.”