House of Smoke (39 page)

She steps back. The girl sags against the wall again.

Kate turns to their audience, half a dozen onlookers. “Show’s over, folks. I’m a cop. No big deal.”

The crowd disperses slowly, casting looks back at the three women.

“That was unnecessary,” the girls says to Kate, rubbing her arm where Kate had grasped it.

“It was necessary—for me,” Kate counters. “So now—one last time—do you have anything that can help us? You’ve got about a second and a half.”

The girl takes a deep breath, gathering herself. Shifting her glance from Kate to Laura.

“Okay,” she begins. “There’s these guys …”

She pauses. “… from Mexico,” she continues. Then she pauses again.

“Some guys from Mexico,” Kate repeats the girl’s words, to push her along. “And … ?”

“And fuck you!” the girl screams, pushing off the wall with more strength than Kate could have imagined she could muster in her condition, lunging for Laura’s purse and wrenching it from her grasp, starting to hightail it into the parking lot.

Kate recovers in a heartbeat. She tackles the girl from behind before the girl has taken five steps, slamming her hard to the asphalt, mashing the girl’s face into the hard dirty blacktop, pulling the pocketbook from her hand. She hauls the girl to her feet and tosses the pocketbook to Laura. Then she slaps the girl in the face, hard.

“I ought to call the cops on you, you extorting little cunt,” she tells the girl, right in her face, “after I kick you half to death. But before I do that I want to know who sent you.”

“Nobody.”

Kate shakes her head. “You’re not smart enough to set this up on your own. And how did you know about the Mexicans?”

“You showed their pictures yourself, up and down the eastside, remember?” the girl answers. “And I am smart enough. I was smart enough to get you to come meet me, wasn’t I?”

Kate lets go of the girl’s arm. “Get out of here,” she says wearily. “If I ever see you again, or if you ever call her—” pointing to Laura—“I will make you very unhappy.”

She takes a step back. The girl takes one last look from her to Laura; then she turns and runs away from them, disappearing around the corner.

Kate sags. “I knew it was going to be bullshit. I should never have let you talk me into this.”

“I’m sorry,” Laura whimpers, clutching her purse like a parachute.

“Yeah, me too. Well—live and learn.” She holds out her hand. “Good luck. And leave this behind you, okay?”

Laura nods. Then she starts crying, crying without sound, big tears flowing down her cheeks. “I’m such a jerk,” she moans.

“No, you’re not. You’re just …”

“Naive. It’s the same thing.”

Kate looks at her. Christ, she’s young. Not only emotionally, but literally, chronologically. The age differential between them is almost enough that she could be Laura’s mother, she realizes with an inner shudder.

This could be my own kid, she thinks.

She wishes she hadn’t blown Cecil off for the evening, is her next thought. At this moment she doesn’t want to be by herself; as importantly, she would love to be with him.

She looks at Laura, crying in the middle of a public parking lot. She knows Laura doesn’t want to go off into the night by herself, either. And the man in Laura’s life is dead, which is why they’re in this mess.

“I need a glass of wine. Do you want to have one with me?” she offers.

Laura nods. “I don’t want to be alone now,” she says.

“Me neither,” Kate admits.

They walk up State St. a block to Brigitte’s and take a table in the corner—they want to be some place quiet, but where people can see them and they can see other people, because they’re both coming off well-earned paranoia.

“Chardonnay,” Kate tells the waitress. “Whatever’s best.” No more decisions tonight.

“I’ll have the same,” Laura says. As the waitress leaves to get their drinks, Laura asks, “What happened back there? Something felt wrong, more than just general weirdness.”

“I’m not sure, but I agree with you about the weirdness. I’m almost certain she didn’t have squat. But whether she was pulling some scam on her own or was put up to it by someone else, that I don’t know.”

“What would you guess?”

“I want to believe that she did it herself, because I don’t want to think there’s people out there trying to set you up, or me, or both of us. So I’d like to think she was acting alone, but I just don’t know.”

“Could someone else have been watching us? Someone with her?”

“Sure. It’s possible.”

Laura shudders. “What about now?”

Kate shrugs. “Maybe. Probably not. We’re too public here. If someone was working this with her, they most likely would’ve gone after her to see what went down. Since nothing did, they’d back off—for now.”

“So what should we do?” Laura asks.

“Leave it alone—permanently. After a while, if there actually is someone checking it out, they’ll see we’re not pursuing this and they’ll give up hassling us.”

“I just don’t know if I can,” Laura says doggedly. “Not keep pursuing it. With all this … stuff … still dangling.”

Kate stares at her. “That’s up to you. But I’m out. O-U-T. Which I plan to make clear to anyone who might remotely think I’m not. Including you. You have to understand that.”

The waitress comes back with two glasses of white wine. They sip, not talking, each lost in her own thoughts.

“Do you know one thing I am sorry about?” Laura says, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“That I won’t be seeing you anymore. I like you. You’ve been a friend to me.”

“I like you, too.”

“Because I’m not your client anymore doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends, does it?”

“No. It doesn’t.”

Laura runs her finger around the rim of her wineglass. “You know what’s really weird? I barely know you, but I feel I can say things to you that I can’t say to anyone else. Even my mother.”

Kate shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s weird at all. Most kids have a hard time talking to their parents. Especially about stuff that’s important to them.”

Her daughters’ faces flash in front of her, as clearly as if they were sitting at this table. The three of them hardly communicate at all these days. She certainly isn’t making enough of an effort.

A wave of sadness passes over her. Tomorrow morning she’ll call them, first thing. And this weekend she’ll drive up. It’s been too long. She has to fix the connection, reattach it.

“You have two daughters?” Laura asks, as if reading her thoughts.

Kate nods.

“Do they live with you? You only mentioned them once, in passing, so I didn’t know.”

“They live up north. San Fran. With my sister. It’s temporary, a few more months, then they’re moving down here. I’ve been looking for a larger place.”

All lies, except that they’re living with Julie. Shit—does she have any maternal instincts left at all? Any nesting feelings?

“That’s great,” Laura gushes, cutting into her dark reverie. “I’ll bet they can hardly wait.”

“Yeah,” Kate answers flatly.

“How old are they?” Laura presses.

“They’re … fifteen … almost. Next month. And the older one’s seventeen.”

“You’re old enough to be my mom—practically,” Laura laughs. “I’m only kidding—you’re not nearly old enough.”

Almost, Kate thinks. Biologically, she’s more than old enough.

She was only seventeen when she got pregnant that first time. She had an abortion at the Free Clinic. Her mother never knew. No one did.

Seventeen. Wanda’s age. Pregnant and scared to death.

“Are you close?” Laura asks. “Did you do stuff together?”

“Yes. We did … things.” She just can’t remember, right now, what they were.

“My mother and I actually do pal around,” Laura says. “She’s a fun woman to be with when she isn’t trying to change everything in the world. We both love to ride, we have horses on the ranch. When you grow up in the ranch life you can’t not ride. I’ll take you out sometime. It’s a beautiful place.”

I know, Kate thinks.

“Actually,” Laura continues, “I do more stuff with my grandmother. In most ways I’m closer to her than I am with my mom. She isn’t judging me all the time, she’s happy with me the way I am.”

“That’s important.”

“She thinks I’m important.”

“I’m sure your mother does, too.”

Laura shakes her head. “I’ll never be the woman she is,” she tells Kate, “so she’ll never be satisfied with me. Not really.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“I’m realistic.”

Kate lets it go. It’s like she told Mildred Willard, at the first therapy group when she talked about her past: she’s not a social worker, a psychologist, or a nursemaid. She’s a private detective, and she knows when and where to draw the line.

She finishes her drink. “I’m taking off,” she announces.

“Where are you going now?” Laura asks.

Straight to Cecil’s arms, that’s where she’d like to go. But that’s not an option now.

“I’m going for a swim.” The words pop out of her mouth even before she realizes that’s what she wants—needs—to do.

“Can I come with you?” Laura asks eagerly. “I’ve got a suit in my car. Where are you going to go?” She’s almost yipping at Kate’s heels, she’s so eager to be with her, to not be alone.

“I’ve got a place.”

“Where?”

“It’s a secret.” She makes her decision. “That I’m willing to share with you tonight. Because you are my friend.”

And because I have two daughters who I should be with. But they aren’t here—so you’ll have to do.

Leaving Laura’s car in the parking lot, they cruise up Mission Canyon. It’s late, there aren’t many cars still on the road. Kate keeps an eye on the rearview mirror to make sure they aren’t being followed. A few cars trail them, peeling off periodically onto different side streets.

As they approach the hidden entrance to her hideaway Kate sees one set of lights a couple of blocks behind them, heading in the same direction. Rounding the sharp curve a few yards before her turnoff, she cuts her lights, pulls in quickly, drives forward enough so that her car can’t be seen from the road, and shuts off the engine.

“Where are we?” Laura asks, reaching for her door handle.

Kate lunges across and grabs Laura’s hand before she can open the door. “Wait,” she commands, feeling her pulse spiking right through the roof. If Laura opens the door the inside light will go on, revealing them.

They sit in silence. Nighttime sounds—crickets, some far-off frogs, the wind—float through the partially open windows. And the approaching sound of the car behind them.

Scrunching low in her seat, Kate turns to look out the back window. A car drives by, not slowing as it passes their entrance. It passes too quickly for her to tell what kind of vehicle it is, or how many people are in it. They can hear the sound of its engine as it continues up the hill, presumably to one of the houses further up, or else to the flat field at the top where kids go to make out.

She waits a good fifteen seconds after she can’t hear the car sounds anymore before she relaxes her guard.

“Do you think they were following us?” Laura asks nervously.

Kate shakes her head no. “But better safe than sorry.” She exhales—she’s been holding her breath since they pulled in. “Okay,” she says, no longer worried about being tailed. “Come on.”

With practiced dexterity she pulls some branches up against the back of her car so that it can’t be seen by casual observation. Locking and double-checking the doors, she leads Laura up the narrow trail.

“Watch out for your face,” she cautions Laura. “There’s sharp branches sticking out.” Normally she would light the way with a flashlight she carries in her purse, but tonight the walk will be done in darkness.

They emerge into the clearing by the swimming pool. Laura looks around in wonder. “This is incredible!” she exclaims. “Where are we?” she asks a second time.

Kate doesn’t answer. She starts to peel off her clothes.

“Aren’t you going to put on a suit?” Laura asks shyly.

“Not with just you here.” She lays her clothes on the deck, stands naked. “We’re both women. Bodies are bodies.”

Laura hesitates, then follows Kate’s lead, shedding her clothes and standing naked in the moonlight.

They walk to the shallow end. Laura dips a toe into the water. “It’s warm!”

“In another month it’ll be too cold. The sun’s the only heat.”

“I’ll bet that doesn’t matter to you.”

“It doesn’t,” Kate admits.

Slowly, luxuriously, they walk down the chipped pool steps and push off into the water, gliding across the smooth surface. The water is dark, warm, embracing. Holding her breath, Kate navigates the full length of a lap underwater, surfacing as she touches the deep end. From the corner of her eye she sees Laura swimming backstroke, slow, easy strokes.

Kate swims a few easy laps of breaststroke to warm up, then pushes off in a hard strong crawl, legs kicking in a four-stroke beat, arms pulling down: reach, grasp, pull. Back and forth she goes, feeling her muscles work, deep strong strokes, touching the wall with a few fingers, flipping over in a tumble-turn, push off, reach, grasp, pull.

She can feel her body draining of tension.

Laura, too, has been swimming laps. She has a clean, textbook stroke, the kind they teach at country clubs. Every so often they look across at each other and smile in passing, then swim on, each lost in her own space.

She swims until she’s tired but not exhausted; she doesn’t want to be so depleted that she can’t drive home safely. The water flows over her body, she feels like a dolphin, a seal.

She swims until she feels cleansed, expunged of everything that happened earlier.

She lies on her back in the center of the pool. Laura dog-paddles over to her. “This is heaven,” Laura says.

“Close enough,” Kate agrees, coming out of her float and treading water alongside Laura. “I think I’ve had enough for tonight.”

“Okay. But I hate to leave.”

“We can come back again.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

They smile at each other, start breaststroking side by side towards the edge.

The men come out of the woods. Six of them. Ragged, malevolent-looking bastards, moving towards the pool like a pack of dogs on the kill.