Liquid Smoke (20 page)

It was two AM, and I wasn’t sleeping.

I’d wasted a whole day, pacing my living room, staring out at the black ocean, and ignoring the phone every time it rang. Now I was lying in bed, doing the mental equivalent of pacing.

Second thoughts were invading my head.

Miranda’s words had stuck with me. It wasn’t that I didn’t know that what I wanted to do was dangerous. Or that, in the entire scheme of things, it wouldn’t really change anything in my world.

It was anger that was propelling me forward, and I knew that was selfish.

But a man who’d killed two women whom I knew was walking around the streets just like I was. I had a problem with that.

The light shivered through the curtains. I could do the right thing. Let the police do their work and apprehend him. I could report the threats he’d made, tell them about the conversations he and I had. Yes, he was a career criminal and had done a good job, so far, of evading the law. But he’d made a few mistakes in the last few days, and he’d probably be caught. There’d be jail time, then a trial, and then most likely prison.

Then he’d be done walking around.

But I wasn’t sure I was alright with that. As long as he was alive, even if he was in prison, I’d be wondering about him, wondering what he was doing, what he was saying. Maybe bragging about Darcy and Liz. And I’d be furious. There wasn’t any legal justice that could extinguish that anger.

It would screw up my life, Miranda was right about that. But at the moment, I didn’t care. I was lying in bed without Liz, never to feel her hands on my chest, her voice in my ear, or her lips on my cheek again. I didn’t feel like anything could screw up my life any further.

I knew that was emotion talking. Everything was still raw. I had no perspective and no distance, two things I knew I needed before making a decision.

I rolled over in the dark and wondered if I’d have the patience to wait for those two things to arrive.

The rain was pounding the beach the next morning, but I decided to go for a run anyway. I needed to get out of my house, even if it meant getting drenched. So for an hour, I ran down the rain-soaked sand, letting the drops of precipitation rip at my face as I went. The exercise didn’t do anything for my mood, but my body felt loose and my mind a little sharper.

Carter was on my sofa watching television when I came back.

“Why in God’s name would you go running in this shit?” he asked, sitting up and sliding his massive feet off the arm of the sofa.

I peeled off my wet sweatshirt. “Why not? Making yourself at home?”

“You have cable. I don’t.”

“Right.”

I went in the bedroom, stripped out of the rest of my wet clothes and threw on a sweatshirt and jeans. Needing a jolt of caffeine, I grabbed two sodas out of the fridge, handed Carter one, and fell in next to him on the sofa.

“Miranda came to see me yesterday on her way out of town,” I said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. What’d you tell her?” “Tell her? Nothing.” I stared at him.

He winced, like he knew he’d been caught. “Look. She’s not stupid. She sort of figured out what we were talking about doing. She wanted to know. She kind of beat it out of me.”

“Beat it out of you?”

“Well, no. But she wouldn’t leave me alone until I told her.” I drank from the soda. “You’d be great under torture.”

“She’d be great at doing the torture.” I shook my head.

He gulped down the rest of his drink, then looked at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie in a lot of ways right now for you, Noah,” he said, a thin smile on his face. “I’m not looking for a laundry list, but you look … preoccupied.”

I spun the cold can between my hands, staring at it, but thinking of other things.

“I’m wondering if I’m wrong,” I said.

“Wrong?”

“In thinking about … doing this.”

“You mean taking this motherfucker out?” he asked, almost incredulous.

I drank some more of the soda, then looked at him. “Yeah.”

He stared at me for a moment, his eyes surveying me to see if I was serious or if he was missing my point. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the soda can dangling from his hand.

“Noah, here’s what I know,” he said, his voice lower than before, pronouncing each word carefully. “This asshole is partly responsible for your dad being in prison. He killed a woman who came to you for help and dumped her here, in your living room. He’s threatened your mother. And he killed Liz.” He held the can to his lips then pulled it away. “There is nothing
right
about keeping this guy around.”

“I don’t disagree with any of that,” I said, annoyed that he went for the easy points. “I get all that.”

“Then there’s nothing else to get,” he said, equally annoyed that I was looking at anything other than his points.

“Yeah, there is,” I said, concentrating on remaining reasonable. I didn’t want to fight with him.

He leaned back in the sofa and held out a hand. “Enlighten me.”

“The cops have everything they need to go find him,” I said. “Chances are they will.”

“Whoopee. Doesn’t mean they can arrest him, and even if they do, doesn’t mean he’ll be convicted.” He made a face. “And you think he gives a shit about going to jail? Probably like a vacation home for him.”

I could tell he liked countering my arguments. “Taking Keene out,” I said, measuring my words. “It’s crossing a line.”

“A line that
he’s
drawn,” Carter said, punching a finger in my direction.

I sighed and sank back into the sofa. Anything I gave him, he was going to find a way to spin it in favor of killing Keene.

“No offense, but it’s not like you haven’t done it before,” he said.

“Different. Way different,” I said.

“Really?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “How?”

“Nothing was ever planned out. Nothing was ever premeditated.”

“So as long as you don’t think about it ahead of time, it’s okay?” he deadpanned.

“In a way, yeah. But that’s not what I’m saying, and you know it,” I said, fidgeting and frowning.

“Then say it, dude,” he said. “Say what it really is. What’s really holding you back?”

I tilted the can back and finished the soda. I squeezed the aluminum between my hands, the condensation slicking my palms. “I know she would hate it. It’s the opposite of everything she believed in. I know that it would disappoint her like nothing else I’ve ever done. It would make me more like Simington than I want to be. And I could never take that back.”

I waited for his response, but he didn’t say anything. He stood and walked over to the glass door, one hand in the pocket of his shorts and one clutching the now-crushed soda can.

“I’ll buy that more than I’ll buy any of your other arguments,” he finally said. “I can understand that. But she’s gone, and you’re here. You’ll be the one who has to live with knowing that he’s still out there, that no matter what happens to him, he got away with it. And, yeah, to me, even if he’s arrested and thrown in a cell, it still seems like he gets away with it. Motherfucker would be a hero in prison for killing a cop.”

We were going around in circles, and it wasn’t doing me any good.

“And there’s one other thing,” I said.

He turned away from the glass. “What’s that?”

I stood and walked over next to him, my eyes fixated on what looked like a boiling ocean. “No matter what I do, nothing brings her back. Ever.” I watched several waves roll in and collapse into a mess of foam. “And I’m not sure anything else matters.”

“I need to get going,” Carter said. “Let me know what you decide.”

“Do my best not to disappoint you,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

He walked toward the front door and turned around. “You won’t disappoint me, Noah. Whatever you end up thinking is right. You have to do what’s right for you. You do that, I won’t be disappointed.”

“Thanks,” I said.

He nodded and opened the door.

The alleyway roared and the concussive force of an explosion sent both of us to the floor. I slammed my head against the leg of the dining room table.

I rolled over, gathered my bearings, and sat up. “You alright?”

Carter used the sofa to pull himself up. “What the fuck was that?”

Smoke filled the air and the doorway, but I didn’t see any flames. Something was on fire, though. We went out through the slider and around the boardwalk to the alley.

Sirens were already whining in the distance. We turned the corner to the alley.

Carter’s truck was a bonfire. Flames shot high into the air, black smoke billowing from beneath what was left. The skull and crossbones on the hood were unrecognizable.

“Was I supposed to be in that?” Carter asked.

Things are gonna start blowing up in your face.

That’s what Keene had said.

The first fire engine arrived and filled the alley with red and white lights. The firefighters got to work hooking up a hose, soaking the charred remains of Carter’s truck.

Cars didn’t just blow up in alleys. I knew it was Keene.

Maybe he thought he’d scare me off. He’d already figured out that going after the people in my life was more effective than coming directly at me. I hated that he somehow knew that. He was clearly threatened by the idea of Simington giving up information to me and he was striking out quickly and violently.

But he wasn’t scaring me off. He was forcing me to deal with him.

Staring at the smoke and fire and destruction that Landon Keene had brought to my life and feeling the ache that had taken up permanent residence in my gut, I knew my decision was made.

The fire department needed most of the day to clean up the alley. Carter waved me off when I offered him a ride home, mumbling something about the walk being good for his head. I felt guilty about the car, but relieved he hadn’t been in it. I’d already lost Liz. I didn’t want to lose my best friend, too.

I went to bed, thinking I’d make a run at Moffitt in the morning. I still wasn’t sure how that was going to work, but he was where I needed to start. And to start was better than to keep thinking.

But when I opened my door to leave the next morning, the media had discovered me.

A well-groomed Hispanic man was standing in my way, his fist raised, about to knock.

“Mr. Braddock?” he asked with a smile. “Cesar Grotillo, Channel Eight News. Do you have a moment?”

The knot in my stomach tightened like someone was yanking on one end of it. “No.”

“Russell Simington is your father. Is that correct?”

Now the knot seemed tied to a freight train.

“Are you aware that he is to be executed in two days?” he asked.

I said nothing.

“Mr. Braddock? Would you care to comment?” I slammed the door.

It happened four more times in the next two hours. I should have expected the attention. California had rarely followed through with executions since the state had reinstituted the death penalty in the early eighties. Any death at San Quentin was big news, and the media was diligent in finding anyone attached in any way.

I was attached.

And, now, with the media trying to capture every move I made, going after Keene had become even more difficult.

Carter showed up around noon. He walked in with a scowl on his face.

“What the fuck is going on out there?” he said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to the alley.

“They know,” I said. “About Simington.”

“Oh,” he said. “Want me to run them off?”

“Nah. It’s fine. They’ve stopped knocking on the door.”

“Simington’s all over the TV, too,” he said.

“I figured. That’s why I haven’t turned it on.” I picked up an envelope off the kitchen counter and handed it to him. “For you.”

“For me? For what?”

“Your car.”

“Noah, man, no. You don’t have to—”

Insurance wouldn’t cover the car and my guilt. “Yes, I do. It’s yours. I’m sorry it happened.”

He didn’t open the envelope, just shoved it in the back pocket of his shorts. “Alright. Thanks.”

I nodded. “I want to go see Moffitt, but I don’t see how we get out of here without them following.”

“No way we can bail right now,” he said. “They’re all up and down the alley. Think they’ll stay the night?”

“Some maybe, but not all of them,” I said. “Probably go home and come back first thing in the morning.”

“So we could get out tonight and be up there in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

“And I had an idea,” he said. “An idea?”

“About how to handle Moffitt. To make sure you get what you need from him.” “Let’s hear it.”

He told me his plan. I liked it. And I hadn’t thought of anything else.

“Let’s do it,” I said.

He went to the door. “Okay. I’ll get what we need. Why don’t you call me around midnight and tell me what it looks like around here. I can pick you up a couple of blocks away or something. I’ll have a ride by then.”

“Alright.” I hesitated. “Hey. You don’t have to do this. I can do it alone. I don’t know how it’s gonna go and I don’t want—”

He held up a big hand. “Stop right there. Liz and I … we weren’t close. But you and she were. That’s enough for me.” He nodded like he’d said all that mattered. “Call me around midnight.”

It took two more nights before I could shake free. The police had no luck in finding Keene, even after I shared my belief that he was responsible for the destruction of Carter’s car. He was running free somewhere.

The media had made themselves at home on the boardwalk and in the alley. I tried to get out once to go to the grocery store, but I was immediately swarmed and I retreated inside. The vans were spending the night in the alley—anytime I stepped outside, even in the middle of the night, someone on watch snapped to life.

I was fed up with being trapped in my own house and told Carter I was getting out that night, regardless of who followed me. We made plans to meet five blocks away a little after midnight. The boardwalk was empty, and I walked all the way down to the shoreline and then up the beach before turning back up and getting out onto Mission. My long way around worked, and I arrived out on the street alone.