Halfway House (34 page)

Didn’t she have any other family? How healthy was it for her to be sitting on the concrete in front of a halfway house with a baby nearly due?

Bobby flipped through the phonebook, searching through the Howards until he found a listing for Desmond Howard. He dialed the number, hoping someone would answer. On the fifth ring someone picked up.

“Howard residence.”

“Hi. I’m looking for the home of Desmond Howard, who passed away last week. Is this the right number?”

“This is the right number.”

“I wanted to talk to someone about Johanna.”

“Jo? What do you know about her? Do you know where she is? Who did you say you were?”

“I’m Jimmy Hixon,” he said, dredging the name from his past. “Listen, I think I’ve seen Ms. Howard and was checking to see if she was missing. Maybe I shouldn’t even be calling. Who am I speaking with?”

“This is Becca, her sister. Where is she, Mr. Hixon?”

“She’s on South Pacific Avenue in front of the halfway house. Know where that is?”

“No, we’re not from here. We came for the funeral, but haven’t been able to find Johanna for days. We’ve been worried sick.”

“Did you file a police report?”

“We did, but they thought she was just mourning and would come back, so I don’t know how hard they looked.”
Shouting to someone away from the phone,
“Tom! I have a guy on the phone who says he knows where Jo is!”

“You should get down here and get her,” Jimmy said. He gave directions and right before he hung up he added cryptically, “You might want to bring the police. They might not let her go.”

“What do you mean they
—
?”

He hung up the phone. When he’d called, he hadn’t known what he was going to say. Now that it was over, all he could do was wait with barely contained anticipation.

It took half an hour for someone to show. In the meantime, he changed back into his clothes. They didn’t get the full dryer cycle and were still a little damp. But they were clean, which was what mattered. When he finally heard the sirens he stepped outside. Two police cars stopped in front of the halfway house. The curbs along either side of the street in every direction were crammed with parked cars. As the cops stepped out of their cruisers, lights still flashing, traffic immediately began to stack up behind them. A tall, thin woman, who must be Becca, came running down the street with her arms outstretched. Her husband Tom jogged behind her, his eyes assessing the situation.

“Johanna!”

The gray-garbed wardens, who’d been trying to figure out what was going on, suddenly snapped into action. Several began to herd the people into the house, while a pair of them approached the four police officers. By the time the police and the wardens met, everyone had been taken inside except the pregnant woman, who was the object of a tug of war between the slim woman and another warden.

“Give me back my sister!”

“Let her go, bitch!”

Before the police could react, Tom delivered a right cross that had begun somewhere in Phoenix and ended on the tip of the warden’s chin. A pair of police officers rushed toward the couple. Tom held up both of his hands and shrugged before he bent down and helped the pregnant woman to her feet.

“Johanna, we’ve been looking everywhere for you, honey.”

“Ma’am,” began one of the police officers, “please let this woman go until I can sort out the situation.”

Becca whirled on the cop. “I’m the one who called you. This woman is my sister. We filed a missing persons report three days ago and somehow you failed to see her here on the sidewalk of a busy street.” As if to aid her, the cars behind the stopped police cruisers began to honk. “How can you miss a pregnant woman sitting on the sidewalk?”

“I want to file assault charges,” the warden said, getting to his feet.

“Then I want to file kidnapping charges,” Tom snapped, taking the full weight of Johanna as his wife began to jab her finger at the cop.

“Why don’t you do your job and arrest these men?” she said.

“But they haven’t done anything, ma’am.”

“Didn’t you see them trying to pull her in the house with the others? Don’t you remember all the people here? Where are they now? Are they kidnapped?” She glanced back to her husband. “They don’t even know. Come on, honey, let’s get Jo home and get her cleaned up.”

“Wait a minute,” the cop said, one hand on his gun. “Do you want to file charges?” He looked from Becca to Tom and then back the warden. The warden shook his head.

“Can we go now?”

The cop nodded and Becca grabbed one of her sister’s arms, and with the help of Tom, helped Johanna down the block.

“Go get their information before they go,” the police sergeant said to his partner.

Bobby, who’d witnessed the whole scene, approached the remaining three policemen. “What about those they took inside?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who are you?”

“Bobby Dupree. I’ve been watching this place and those men won’t let them go.”

“That’s just ridiculous,” a warden said. “We’re state employees. We’re not kidnappers.” He pulled out his wallet and showed an ID card.

“What about that woman?”

“I don’t know anything about her. I suppose my men thought she belonged here. We usually don’t have a problem with people wanting to get into the halfway house. It’s usually the other way around.”

“But what about those you hid inside?” Bobby persisted.

“They’re all wards of the state and here for a reason. Many of them need this place to help them reintegrate into society.”

“But my friend’s in there.”

“I don’t think so, unless he was just released from detention.”

“He’s not a criminal. His daughter died. He thought he was speaking to her...” Bobby stopped before he appeared too crazy. “Can’t you check inside, sir? I swear my friend is in there.”

The cops, who seemed barely able to keep up with the conversation, looked from Bobby to the warden, who held his hands out helplessly.

“Sorry. Because of the nature of the privacy laws, if you boys want to come inside you need a warrant. There’s nothing I can do without it.”

Bobby wanted to wipe the self-satisfied smile from the warden’s face. Kanga was inside and he couldn’t even prove it.

More horns began to honk. Several commuters shouted for the cops to move out of the way. He saw it in their eyes before they did it. They’d lost interest.

“Listen, if you want to file a complaint, come down to the station. Otherwise, you need to leave this place alone.” To the other cops he said, “Come on. Let’s go.”

Within seconds they’d pulled away, relieving the traffic pressure. Bobby stood and stared at the warden, who stared back. Their hatred was palpable. It was the warden who finally spoke.

“You were going to say
soul
.”

Then he turned on his heel and entered the halfway house. When he closed the door, Bobby was left alone outside. Eventually he glanced to the sky, his eyes searching.

“Laurie?” he whispered. “Are you there?”

He waited half a minute until he began to feel foolish. He was about to leave when he heard a voice behind him.

“Bobby?”

He whirled around, surprise and fear in his eyes.

*  *  *

A man stood before him. A long scar tortured his right cheek, drawing the lips into a permanent smile. Three blue ink teardrops dripped from his left eye. He wore a light gray double-breasted suit, red tie, red handkerchief in the breast pocket. If it wasn’t for the long hair, the tattoos and scars, the man could have stepped off the set of a Cary Grant movie. This was no ghost of Laurie. This was someone he hadn’t expected to ever see again.

Vincent Macklin, Marley’s son.

“Looks like you need some backup,” Vincent said.

“They have Kanga inside and won’t let him go.”

“I know.”

“I have to get him out of there.” Bobby turned and gestured to the surrounds of the house. “This shit is crazy. Survivors talking to souls. A dead witch. And these wardens who keep everyone under wraps.”

“I know, I know,” Vincent said, nodding his head. He seemed preternaturally calm.

“Then come on, let’s do something about it.”

“Not a good time. Come with me, Bobby Dupree. We need to make some plans.”

Bobby was having trouble believing this man meant well. His gaze dropped to the teardrops.

Vincent brought up a hand and gestured to his tattoos. “These are from another time. Right now, I’m on your side. My father wants to help Kanga. I agree that there’s something wrong, but we can’t just go in without a plan. We need to talk about it and figure out what we’re going to do.”

Bobby hesitated, but only for a second. He had a feeling that if Vincent wanted to hurt him, he could have figured a better way to do it than on a busy public street.

They walked half a block and got into a silver Lexus. Vincent pulled into traffic and headed toward the harbor. He made one short call, but otherwise drove in silence. Within minutes they’d arrived at their destination. Ports of Call was a two-block long contiguous group of restaurants right on the water of L.A. Harbor. Bobby had eaten there just once and marveled at the amount of shrimp they could pile on a tray.

Vincent ushered him inside. Through crowds that were a mix of Mexican extended families and upwardly mobile yuppie couples, they angled for a table near the water. As Bobby approached, he examined the single occupant, who was wheelchair bound. He could tell by the long legs that ended at the foot rests that the man had once been tall. His skin was drawn tight over broad shoulders. A shock of blond hair broke from his head like a rogue wave. Still handsome, his bronze-tanned face reminded Bobby of Ron Ely. But a world-weariness had set into the slope of his shoulders and the frown tugging at the edges of his lips. Only his eyes spoke of the life he’d once lived. They were alive with the excitement one holds in a dead man’s grip while riding the crest of a wave. And as they looked at Bobby, he felt a tingle of that excitement and knew the man’s power.

Vincent showed him to a chair, then sat beside the man.

“Bobby, this is my father, Marley Macklin.”

They exchanged greetings and a few pleasantries until Boonie and Woody arrived, carrying mugs of beer and two cafeteria trays piled impossibly high with sautéed shrimp, onions and green peppers. They sat, making the table a tight fivesome. Marley, Boonie and Woody dove into the food, taking deep droughts of beer and peeling shrimp as fast as they could.

Vincent sat back and watched Bobby, occasionally popping a piece of shrimp and following it with a sip of beer The background buzzed with the constant hum of goodwill, families talking, and children laughing. Somewhere nearby a mariachi band played. Bobby felt himself relaxing for the first time in days. Marley finally sat back, wiped his face and hands, took a deep drought of beer, and began the conversation.

“You have some manners, Bobby Dupree. Is it true what they say of you, that you were raised in an orphanage in Memphis?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about your parents?”

“My mother and father are both dead,” Bobby said, deciding that he didn’t want to divulge the whole truth in present company.

“So sorry,” Marley said, smiling sadly. After a moment, he added, “You seem to have made yourself into quite a young man. Hardship tends to do that to people.”

“If it doesn’t break them first,” Vincent added.

Vincent’s comment caused everyone to pause. Bobby spoke up next. “I have Sister Agnes to thank for that.”

“That we all had a Sister Agnes.” Marley lifted his mug. “To the sister.”

The others joined Marley in his toast, took a sip of beer, then resumed their feasting.

“I had a sister help me in Australia when this happened.” He gestured to the wheel chair. “Without her, I never would have survived. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to die. I’ve never been religious, even after everything that happened to me; but I can’t help but respect other people’s beliefs and how it forms them.”

Bobby nodded. “She never had any children of her own, but a thousand of us thought of her as our mother. I owe her my life.”

“Aye, Bobby. There are those out there who are selfless and willing to help. I think if it weren’t for their kind, we’d drown ourselves in our own sin and evil. Thank God for them all.”

They paused as a Carnival Love Boat floated by on its way to Ensenada. Three thousand people lined the decks with the excitement of a sea voyage burning through their veins. Many cheered and waved. Bobby laughed as he realized his own juxtaposition. He’d love to stop traveling and find a home. To belong was his driving force. These people wanted the freedom of not belonging to anything for a while.

He returned to Marley. The man knew what he was doing. He was soft-balling Bobby, not offering any reason to hate him. And it was working.

“I hear Kanga is at the halfway house dealing with the loss of his daughter.” Marley tilted his head down, frowned and shook his head. “I miss that man. We were good friends once.”