Secrets and Ink (13 page)

He took the rope off without hurry, rubbing my stinging skin as he went. Later, cleanup and personal hygiene sorted out, we sprawled out on the couch in each other’s arms, and the television murmured in the background. Neither of us paid much attention to it.

I held my arm up to study the patterns in my skin. The looked a bit like tiny tire marks. “I take it this is a hobby of yours?”

“You could say so.”

“How does one even get into this stuff?”

“One gets involved with an older Japanese man of refined tastes. I was young and impressionable at the time.”

“Why did it end?”

“The same reason anything ends. We didn’t fit in the long run. Ken needed new students to teach, and I wasn’t keen on sharing.” While he talked, he traced his fingers over and over the same spot of my lower back. As if he could feel the ink embedded in my skin through his fingertips.

“I looked into tattoo removal once, but it seemed like cheating,” I said in answer to the unuttered question.

“And?”

“Erasing the past like it never happened—like revirginizing yourself. I don’t believe in that crap.”

“Oh-kay.”

“Plus, I really like it. Is it still bothering you?”

“No. Actually I was wondering what rope pattern would go well with it,” he said and pulled me closer.

Chapter Nine

I spent the next day much the same as the previous, with the difference that by noon I was sick of being trapped inside. I missed work, people—even the cranky customers—missed swimming, and I wanted to check in on Mrs. G. Several times I had my hand on the doorknob, ready to fly the coop. It took all my self-control not to. I knew I couldn’t take another day like this. To make things worse, what Nick had said about him walking a fine line kept pecking at my brain.

I had my bag already packed, sitting on the couch and waiting when Nick got home. He noticed it at once. He didn’t carry a badge around for nothing.

“What’s this?” he asked in his curt schoolmaster voice.

I stood. I needed my full height to stand up to Nick. “I’m moving out.”

“Like hell you are.”

“You can’t keep me here against my will. I’m pretty sure that would count as a federal offense.” Nick huffed and started pacing. In that small room, it was a lot like being in a cage with an irritable lion. I refrained from getting behind the chair for protection, but chose a soft approach. “Look, I’d love to cohabit with you, but not quite like this. I can’t live out of a bag. I need my own things around me.”

“We can bring over more of your stuff.”

“No offense, but this place is too small for two. Why do you even live here? I thought cops made decent money.”

He threw himself on the couch. I took it as a good sign, even if he rested one proprietary hand on my bag.

“It’s rent controlled. I pay seven-fifty a month.”

I would’ve guessed twice that much. “Yowza! What the hell do you do with all the money you’re not paying for rent?”

“I’ve been saving to buy a house. You know, with a yard, room for a dog, etcetera.” He swept the house-talk diversion to the side with a flick of his wrist. “You can’t go home. It’s not safe. Even if you change the locks it won’t be safe. Your bedroom window opens to the balcony.”

I sat back on the chair. At least we were talking. “I thought of that. I’ll move in with my sister for now, till I find a different apartment. I’ve already talked to her. Charly’s roommate is a traveling nurse, and she’s staying in Salinas for at least two more months. She’ll let me stay in her room if I pay her part of the rent.”

“I still don’t like it.” He drummed his fingers on the bag.

“Charly lives on the third floor, no balcony, and the building has a buzzer.”

“Not exactly Fort Knox.”

“I know, but I can’t stay here indefinitely. God knows when Detective Lipkin will solve this case. Maybe never. Meanwhile, I have a job and a life. For exactly how long do you expect me to hole up like a fugitive?”

“Possibly not long. Gary thinks he’s on to something.”

“And that’s another thing. It can’t be kosher for you to be shacked up with a person of interest in a murder investigation.”

“Listen to yourself. You sound like one of those cheesy cop shows on TV.”

“Fine. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Nick huffed again, crossed his arms, but gave no rebuttal.

“Well, that’s settled, then,” I said.

He pushed himself off the couch. “Do you want to go now?” If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought he was sulking.

I got up too, closed the distance between us and wound my arms around his waist. “Well, I could wait till morning, if you don’t mind getting up early and giving me a ride back to Burbank so I can get my car.”

“I can do that.”

Nick stayed true to his word. He not only drove me back but waited around as I changed out of the jeans I’d been wearing for the last three days into loose-fitting cargo pants. I quickly threw a bunch of clothes into a suitcase. He walked around the building and scrutinized my balcony from underneath while I checked in on Mrs. G. We met back again on the street.

“Don’t open the door to strangers, don’t go out at night, and call me if anything’s suspicious,” he said as I wrestled the bag into the car. “I’d rather you didn’t go back to work yet,” he added.

“I’ve talked to my boss. I got the rest of the week off, but I’ll have to go in on Sunday. It’s a busy day.”

He gave me a peck on the lips. “I’ll come by your sister’s later.”

I watched him drive away and then got behind the wheel myself but didn’t drive straight to Charly’s place. Mrs. G needed groceries, and knowing Charly, she likely didn’t have much more than a box of baking soda in her fridge. I decided I’d cook us something, since I had nothing better to do. There was a Ralph’s a couple of blocks away, and I stopped there for the food stuff, bringing my FTP canvas bags with me. After dropping one bag off with Mrs. G, I drove over to Pasadena.

Charly had second shift that week, so I found her still at home. I’d had to give her a summary of my recent troubles to explain why I had to move in with her for a while, so naturally, she now buzzed with anxiety.

She was on me like a dog on a bone from the moment I stepped inside. “I can’t believe you’ve kept me in the dark. You haven’t even bothered to mention that Riley was murdered.”

“It was on the news.” I fled to the kitchen and started unpacking the bags.

She kept hovering around me. “You know I don’t watch the news. Too depressing. Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

“Because I knew you’d flip out. I’m sick and tired of being treated like a natural disaster.”

“You’re the one who claims to be cursed!”

“Well, I am, but it’s not just that. I love you like a sister, but you overdo the doting sometimes. I’m the older one, for fuck’s sake.”

She took the bunch of fresh dill I was waving about. “Hey, you don’t have to swear. I care about you. We all do. When was the last time you saw Mom and Dad? She was asking about you.”

I groaned. “Every time I visit, she ends up crying.”

“She’s in menopause—it makes her emotional.”

“Oh really? Does she have a breakdown when you visit?”

“Sometimes. Yeah, okay, not that often. She’s worried, that’s all,” she said in a more conciliatory tone.

“Everyone always worries about me. It makes me feel like I’m still sixteen. Do you think you can stop worrying, fretting and fussing for a while? I’ll make us baked salmon with dill sauce, and we can talk about your boyfriend. Is he back in town yet?”

She huffed. “He’ll be back tomorrow. Fine, we can talk boyfriends.”

I didn’t miss the plural in her reply but let it be. I was happy she’d gotten over her upset. “And for dessert… Where is it? Crap! I left the ice cream in the car. It’s probably strawberry soup by now. I’ll be right back.” I rushed out the door.

Charly’s building was an older one from the twenties or thirties, which meant a mix of charm and inconveniences. The location was great—on a quiet, tree-lined street but only a few minutes from the freeway. Unfortunately, there were only enough dedicated parking spots for one car per tenant, so I’d parked on the street. At least in middle of the day I’d found plenty of space right up front. As matter of fact, mine had been the only car in front of the building when I’d arrived. A silver sedan had pulled in front of it since.

I’d gotten the bag out of the backseat, locked the car and headed back to the building when I heard a car door open. The next moment, the strangest combination of pain and shock shot through my body. My muscles went rigid, and I plunged facedown onto the grass.

A man seized my wrists and clicked handcuffs on them. I tried to resist, but the pain and shock came back with force. I heard a sound like a bug zapper. It had to be a fucking Taser. I’d seen them on videos before. The fucker Tasered me! He dragged my unresisting body to the curb and wrestled it into the trunk of the sedan. I was too fucked up to get a good look at his face, but I had a suspicion.

I started kicking the trunk lid as soon as I could move again, but it did no good. The trunk could’ve doubled for a dry sauna, and I got winded in seconds. I stopped struggling. Acrid terror rose from the pit of my stomach, but I forced it back down and concentrated on getting my breathing under control. Do not panic, keep calm, think. I repeated the mantra till my heart stopped racing like a greyhound.

I lay still and listened. The sounds of cars and the smooth ride made me think we were on the freeway. There was no point banging—nobody would’ve heard me. A sudden buzzing under my right thigh scared the crap out of me, till I realized it was my phone. I’d totally forgotten stuffing it into the cargo pocket. That was good, I had a phone. Unfortunately, with my hands cuffed behind my back, I couldn’t reach it. Cursed!

But at least I knew what I needed to do next—get my hands to the front. Five, six years ago, it would have been easy, but having put on some body mass made it more difficult. I was sure I could still do it if only I could sit up properly. In this confined space, it would be much harder, but I had to try. Unfortunately, the space was just too small—despite all my efforts, I only managed to scrape my wrists raw

I needed a new plan. When I heard the tires driving on gravel, I coiled up and waited so I could kick my kidnapper in the chest when he opened the trunk. I forgot about the Taser. Barely had the lid opened when Warren zapped me again. It hurt like fuck. I fell back, panting. Well, at least I knew for sure that my kidnapper was Warren, Clay Carson’s manager.

“The next one will be with a real gun, if you don’t stop the foolishness,” he said in a mild tone, as if we were discussing the weather. “Will you be a good boy?”

I nodded and let him haul me out. It was awkward with my hands behind me. We were inside a small garage, far too small to be part of Carson’s house. As Warren manhandled me inside the house proper, I could tell it was your average two-bedroom family home. I got a better look at Warren too. In blue work pants and shirt, he looked like a completely different person. He had the same old dark glasses on, though. He’d switched the Taser to a mean-looking revolver and jabbed me in the ribs with it. I’d used to think of him as a funny little man, but the pistol obliterated the fun factor altogether.

After my speech to Charly, getting kidnapped by a gun-wielding goblin was just too much to stomach. Fear and annoyance made me sassy. “If you wanted to see me, you could’ve just come by the store. Although, I must tell you, you’re not my type,” I quipped as he dragged me through the kitchen and down a short hallway into the bedroom.

“Don’t worry, I’m nobody’s type,” he said without self-pity and shoved me into a chair. “We wouldn’t be here if you’d just done what you were supposed to.”

“And what would’ve that been?” I asked irritably.

He made a sweeping gesture with his gun hand. “To blackmail Clay, of course. I had such high hopes when you showed up at the house. But you turned out to be an utter disappointment. Why? I practically handed you Clay on a silver platter. I told you when he’d be home, and when you didn’t show, I gave you an invitation to that fucking party. All you had to do was show up, flash your tattoo at Clay and demand money. Is that too much to ask? You were plenty eager for money that first time.”

Oh hell, he almost made sense. “So you sent the photo, and that was really Clay in it.”

He stared at me unblinking for several seconds. “You can’t seriously tell me you don’t remember fellating Clay Carson. He was already on TV by then.” His voice bubbled with disbelief. He didn’t know me well.

“I was most likely on Ecstasy, and I have a shitty memory for faces to begin with.”

With his free hand, he took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Unbelievable.”

Before he put his glasses back, I got a glimpse of his eyes—one blue, another brown. I’d only seen eyes of that color combination once before. Recognition hit me like a sledge hammer. Had I not been cuffed, I would’ve pointed at him. “I know you! You picked me up on Hollywood Boulevard in a big black car!” The images flooded back. “You had more hair then. And a mustache. We drove to a house in the hillside, and there was another man there. The rest is a bit blurry.” I vaguely recalled two hundred-dollar bills and a blowjob. I also remembered taking X just before getting into the car. Yes, I’d been stupid.

Warren gave me a disgusted sneer. “There were other boys…who I’m sure would’ve done the right thing and run to Clay with their grabby little hands held out. But no, I had to pick the one idiot. Just because that tattoo was so distinct.” He waved. “Well, it doesn’t matter now.”

It mattered to me. “Why didn’t you just do it yourself? And why blackmail Carson to begin with? You’d surely make tons as his manager now that he’s becoming a big movie star.”

His face twisted into a scowl. “It has nothing to do with the money. I wanted to remind him he needed me. That I was the only one who truly understood and was his only friend. A little threat, I come to the rescue like last time, and we would’ve been back like we used to, before that bitch.” He spat the last word as if it was poison. He took a deep breath. “But it’s too late now. It all ends here.”