Yesterday's Echo (27 page)

“So, I give you what you think I have, and Turk is paid in full without having to worry about falling off a cliff or something else.”

“I knew under that tough-guy exterior there was intelligence. And pragmatism.” He took a bite of his Coast Toast. “In addition, you'll receive a commission for help in collecting the debt. Say, fifty percent?”

Fifty grand would be a nice life raft to float on while I figured out what to do with the rest of my life. Turk would be back at square one, but he'd be healthy. Stone would destroy the Angela evidence and do what he wanted with the rest. So what? The police had their killer in Melody. The images on the videotape had shown me they were probably right. Melody'd made her choices and now she had to pay the consequences. I had my own life to restart.

“What happens to the restaurant?”

“Its fate has already been sealed. Now you're determining Mr. Muldoon's.” Dead eyes with a flicker of life. “And your own. You have until nine o'clock tonight to do the right thing.”

He slid a business card across the table to me. An address was written on the back. “Don't make me wait.”

I limped down the patio stairs to the street and looked out over the ocean. A seagull knifed into the water and reemerged back into the sky, his beak full with the morning's first kill.

I stiff legged along the sidewalk toward the long cement staircase that climbed up to Muldoon's. I checked the street for the dark blue Impala. Nowhere. Grimes hadn't found me yet. The day was still young.

The sun had peeled away the last layer of gray and glared down at me, forcing my route into the shrinking shadows. The morning air now had a wiggle in it. The breeze blew hot and out to the sea. A mounting Santa Ana. The Devil Wind that sucked the air dry of moisture, raked an all-day itch along your skin, and induced closeted pyros to light a match.

It was the kind of day where impulse and irritation guided one's decisions. Controlled men like Stone watched from above, content to rummage through the aftermath of ruin.

Turk must have been riding the Santa Ana winds for months, maybe years. One hundred grand. How the hell had he gotten so deep? And how had I not seen what was happening? I'd been co-cooned in my own fantasy of someday owning the restaurant, unwilling to face reality. Hell, I'd stopped looking at the books over a year ago. What I didn't see wouldn't hurt me. We kept the doors opened, the bills eventually got paid. Everything was okay in my closed-off mind. I had had it all figured out without a real plan. In a couple years, I'd somehow come up with the money and Muldoon's would be mine.

Even if Turk had never laid a bet, I'd still be riding the same rudderless dream when I was fifty.

None of that mattered now. Stone had sifted through Turk's ruins and gotten what he wanted. Now he figured he could hold
the threat of the cops over my head and throw some cash at me and I'd give him the rest of what he wanted. Maybe he was right. Maybe everything had a price tag. Stone thought mine was freedom from the cops with a fifty grand cherry on top. But how free could I really be if I accepted money from Stone? He didn't have a badge, but he didn't need one. He'd give me a suitcase full of green and I wouldn't see the string until he tugged on it when he needed something.

When a man like Stone buys you, there aren't any refunds.

But he wasn't the only one with leverage. I had what he wanted. He'd hidden the desperation under his cool-as-Absolut-Citron-fresh-out-of-the-freezer façade. But, it crept out with the fifty-grand enhancer. Sure, in his mind he'd own me when I took the money, but the amount was too large. An over bet. He was protecting a weak hand.

I struggled up the long cement staircase, hoisting my throbbing ankle one step at a time. The sun peeked over the office building above, branding the back of my neck. The Devil Wind funneled through gaps in buildings and spat broiled gusts down onto my face.

I finally made it to the top, all sweat sucked out of me by the wind, leaving a crackling itch behind. The front door to Muldoon's was unlocked and I went inside. The missing sofa was back in its spot along the wall. Stone had made everything right again, while he made everything wrong.

Turk was cutting filets at the meat table and Juan was peeling carrots at the veggie prep station.

“Juan.” Both heads rose with round eyes at the sound of my voice. “Go get yourself a Coke and close the door behind you.”

Juan did as instructed, and Turk returned to cutting steaks. He kept his head down, exaggerated interest in his work.

“I just had a conversation with your partner.”

Turk continued to pretend I wasn't there.

“How long before Stone tears this place down and erects himself a Trump palace?”

“New Year's Eve is our last night.” His head stayed down and the words came out as a confession. “You can stay on until then if you want. You're still on the payroll. Stone doesn't know that I fired you.”

“But I know.”

“Then why are you here?” He finally looked at me, the freckles of his youth faded with age, his blue eyes dulled with shame.

“I don't know. This is where I used to come when I had no place else to go.” I scanned the kitchen that had once felt as home as my own and shook my head. “How did you let it come to this?”

“One win and four or five losses at a time.” He put the knife down and let out a long sigh like a dead man's last breath. “After a while, the losses add up and you make riskier and riskier bets to try to catch even. I never did.”

“You could have come to me for help. We could have figured something out.”

“You were helping. Your seven fifty a month was covering the vig until it got too high.” The big man I'd looked up to most of my life shrank before my eyes. “You never owned a piece of the restaurant. You owned a piece of my debt.”

I wasn't a friend, I was a mark. Maybe that's why Melody had zeroed in on me. A scarlet M that everyone but me could see.

Turk walked down the hall to the office, returned with an envelope, and handed it to me.

“We're square.”

The envelope was thick with bills. I looked inside and saw hundreds. Ten grand worth.

“Where did this come from?” Was he already skimming off Stone's investment? A dangerous practice.

“What does it matter? You're paid in full. You got out what you put in, Rick. That's the best deal anyone can get.”

Maybe he was right. Take the money and run.

I left the kitchen without saying goodbye. One last spin around the dining room and lounge for memories. I turned to leave the lounge when a void over the bar caught my eye. The Irish bagpipes.
The Muldoon family heirloom meant for the son Turk hoped to have someday. The only thing of value, financially or emotionally, left in Turk's life. Gone. Sold to cover a debt. And I'd been holding the IOU.

The envelope stuffed with hundreds felt heavy in my hand.

I went back into the kitchen and over to the meat table where Turk still stood cutting meat.

I set the envelope down onto the table. “Buy the pipes back.”

I stood under the awning on the top step of the staircase that led up from Muldoon's to Prospect Street. The Santa Ana had wiped the sky clean of clouds, clearing the way for the unblinking stare of the sun.

I needed wheels. My car was still at home, probably under the watchful binoculars of Detective Grimes. Cab companies kept records of their fares. They might not have names, but they had locations, destinations, and times. And cabbies could give descriptions of their fares. I'd already given one cabbie something to remember me by. I didn't want a whole fleet of them to be able to give my travels to the police if the time came. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket.

Kim answered on the second ring.

“I hope you're not calling to take Midnight home. He already feels like my best friend.”

“No. But I am calling to ask another favor.” As I said the words, it struck me that Kim was on the wrong end of our friendship. I took, she gave. Had it been that way when we were together? I didn't remember asking for much back then, but I didn't remember giving very much either.

“Name it.”

Still ready to give without reservation. The guilt edged deeper, but it didn't stop me from asking once more.

“Can I borrow your car for a few hours?”

“Sure, I'm just relaxing around the house, talking to your dog. He's a good listener. Is your car in the shop?”

“Not exactly.” I wouldn't lie to her, but I wouldn't tell her more than I had to, either.

“Ricky, are you in trouble?” Her voice pinched high. “Do the police still think you might have something to do with Adam Windsor's murder?”

“I don't know, but I need you to know that I had nothing to do with it.”

“Of course you didn't.” Quick, loud, allegiant. “I believe in you, Rick.” Softer. “I've always believed in you.”

It was nice to know I still had one person in my corner. Especially if the police found what I'd stashed in the locker at the bus station. I thanked her, and told her where she could pick me up.

Heather Ortiz called while I waited for Kim.

“Rick, meet me at the UCSD library in an hour.” Her voice didn't have the command of her words. She sounded less confident than she had earlier that morning. “Bring the ledger you claim is Adam Windsor's and the birth certificate.”

“Why the library?” It seemed like an odd choice for a clandestine exchange of information. The University of California at San Diego campus was in northern La Jolla. The library was an architectural focal point and sure to have plenty of students around, even on a Saturday.

“Well, it's convenient. Do you want to do this or not?” More edgy than angry.

“Make it an hour and a half.” I hung up before Heather could object.

Heather wanted to meet in a public place. Maybe she was afraid to be alone with me behind closed doors without potential witnesses around. Or maybe she'd gone to the police after our conversation this morning, and they'd be there waiting to arrest me with the incriminating evidence. The extra half hour would give me time to surveil the library to make sure I wasn't walking into a blue ambush.

Heather's and my exchange of information had initially been based on trust. Right now there wasn't any on either side. I needed
Heather. She could use the power of the press to expose the truth hidden in the bus terminal locker. If the cops wanted me, that exposure might be the only thing that could keep me out of jail. But only if Heather didn't reveal me as the source. If she'd already gone to the cops, I'd never be able to explain Windsor's blackmail booty in my possession. I'd either have to get a lawyer or run. Maybe both. First, I had to find out where Heather stood.

A few minutes after I got off the phone, Kim pulled up in her green Rav4. I stepped out from under the awning and the sun seared down into me and sent in the razor-clawed Devil Wind.

I hopped into the car and was embraced by the cold blast of the air conditioner and Kim's smiling green eyes. They were bright emerald and their beauty always stunned me on the first glance after an absence. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, full lips opened in a smile. She wore shorts and a tank top that showed off her tan, toned legs and arms. She looked like the tomboy next door who blossomed into a full-grown stunner.

Turk had called me an idiot when I broke up with Kim and told me I'd regret it. He'd been right on both counts. But when he asked why I'd done it, I couldn't come up with a decent answer. Still couldn't, not even to myself. Maybe it was because she wasn't Colleen. Or maybe it was because she was too perfect, too nice, too willing to accept me and not see the man I really was.

She was just too damn good, and I'd never measure up. It didn't seem to bother her, but it did me.

“Where to?” Kim asked as she pulled away from the curb.

“Back to your house so I can drop you off.”

“Why don't you let me chauffeur you around?” Her hand dropped with measured casualness onto mine. “I've got nothing better to do today.”

Her touch was warm under the cool of the air-conditioning. An inviting memory. The offer was tempting. It'd be nice to spend time with someone who was unconditionally on my side for a change. When I got past the guilt, Kim was easy to be around. She was smart and had always been a good listener, even when I didn't
have much to say. I could have used her advice right about then. I could have used it the instant I met Melody. If I had, I probably wouldn't have had to borrow her car to go pick up blackmail material I'd stolen from a dead man's storage locker so I could trade it with a newspaper reporter for more information.

But the water had already crested that bridge. I didn't have a choice to go back to a normal life.

“That's a nice offer, Kimmy. But I'd better go solo on this one.”

She waited for an explanation. I didn't give one.

“How's Midnight?” I needed to get us on a different track.

“He seems to be back to full strength.” She patted my hand. “He spends most of the day staring out the front window, waiting for you to come back. Sometimes I sit there with him.”

She squeezed my hand, then returned hers to the steering wheel. I didn't have an answer to her loneliness, only to his.

I did a couple circles around the Greyhound bus station before I parked. No one appeared to have followed me. Inside, I opened the locker and took out the backpack with the ledger and birth certificate, leaving behind the tapes, flash drive, and Windsor's computer. I stashed the backpack in the rear compartment of the Rav4 and took off for my meeting with Heather Ortiz.