The Famous and the Dead (9 page)

T
he next afternoon Mary Kate Boyle waited at the bus stop across the street from the Buenavista ATF field office. It struck her as funny that the big bad ATF had a little cluster of offices inside the Imperial Bank building. It was a reflective glass building, two stories high, with an investment company and an accounting firm and law offices and who knew what else. Downstairs there was also a café that had good muffins and expensive coffee.

The day was sunny and cool, not sticky humid like back home. A very old Native American man sat unmoving at the other end of the bench, arms crossed and head lolled forward far enough for his chin to touch his chest. His eyes were closed and he had neither moved nor apparently breathed since she had come off the eastbound bus and sat down two minutes ago. Her phone rang again, and again it was Skull.

“I told you not to call, Skull. I wasn't
kidding
when I said I was done with you. I am
done
with you. It's over. You can't treat a girl like that. You just can't.” She clicked off and glanced at the old man as if for approval. “Right?” He didn't move.

Near the end of her first week here in Southern California, Mary Kate was beginning to feel invisible but at least she wouldn't go hungry. For a skinny girl, she loved to eat, especially spicy food, and the zesty fast-food options here whipped her stomach into forest fires of appetite. Just seeing the graphic posters and signs made her want to order: the Angry Whopper, the Flame-Thrower Encharito, the XXL Chalupa, Spicy Chicken Crispers. The establishments: Del Taco, Pollo Loco, BK, and more, everywhere she looked. They put the bland Russell County DQs and Hardee's to shame.

Just two days ago she'd been down to her last two hundred bucks and change, and maybe one more week on Amy and Victor's couch if she was lucky. So she'd borrowed Amy's car and applied at temp agencies from L.A. down to San Diego, but she couldn't type except to text, wasn't handy with computers, and she had no high school diploma on account of chronic truancy while trying to keep up with Lyle and his bad-boy ways.

But yesterday a dapper young Latino had hired her on the spot at a KFC in downtown San Diego where she'd gone in for a snack, and after the three-hour lunch shift, she'd found a by-the-week hotel room not far away. By late afternoon she'd returned Amy's car, then come all the way back to San Diego on the bus. Trailways again. Her room at the Winston Arms was a dive but most of the dives wouldn't take women at all so she felt lucky. And she could pretty much eat all she wanted at KFC, which made her feel good about both her present and her future. Mary Kate had gone hungry as a little girl and it was a feeling she never wanted to have again. Ever. It made you feel weak and worthless and it took away your fight.

At KFC she was “front of shop,” which meant taking orders, bagging them up, and running a cash register. Just a few minutes ago, on her bus trip here to the ATF office in Buenavista, she'd seen a help-wanted sign at the In-N-Out Burger. They had better food than KFC except for the mashed potatoes and coleslaw, but the idea of her working in Buenavista and Skull being a few short miles away in El Centro didn't feel right at all. If their paths crossed, she might be able to convince him that she had come here because she missed him, because Skull had large ideas about his charm and desirability. He also might suspect something and just flat-out beat the truth out of her. Or worse. Her phone vibrated again and she saw the number and didn't answer.

A minute later she stood and looked down at the native. “'Til we meet again, chief.”

“Never answer a phone.”

“You ain't kidding.”

•   •   •

The lobby was spacious and the floor was shiny black marble with glittery shavings of something in it. The security guard was a large, muscular man with a scarred but not unfriendly face and a very crisp blue uniform. He was armed. His nameplate said
OSCAR
. Mary Kate signed in and Oscar gave her a hard look as he dialed the phone.

Charlie Hood led her back to his cubicle and pulled out a chair for her, then sat behind a small desk. On the desk were a computer with a rolling-river screen saver and a cup of coffee on an electric warmer. Mary Kate had called Hood specifically because he was cute and had diamonds in his teeth and no ring on his finger, and because his boss, Dale, was a fool. “He's been calling,” she said. “Skull. I thought you'd want to know.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Twice yesterday, twice today.”

“Does your phone have GPS?”

“It's your basic flip, comes with the plan.” She held it out and Hood took it and checked it over, then handed it back.

“No GPS. Skull thinks you're in Missouri?”

“I don't ever know what he thinks. Last time he called I didn't answer. His voice does kind of send a chill down my spine.”

Hood nodded. “You can help us. It's up to you.”

“I wouldn'ta called you if I wasn't ready to help. I get the feeling he'll keep calling me 'til you put him away.”

“If you can just let him believe that you're in Russell County, you'll be safe and he might get loose with information.”

“His Achilles tendon is that he brags.”

Mary Kate watched Hood unlock one of the file cabinets that stood beside his desk, and rummage through a shallow cardboard box. His hair was dark and long and it fell over his forehead when he leaned down. He wore strangely alluring suits and shoes, but when he smiled it was uncomplicated and boylike despite the showy diamonds. He brought out a small digital recorder and opened the back and spilled out the batteries. He got a new package of triple A's and took two. He did things patiently and seemed to concentrate.

“Do you ever put him on speaker when you talk?”

“If I'm busy.”

“If you can put him on speaker without making him suspicious, and use this, we'll have his words, too.”

“For court?”

“We can't use them in court. He's got an expectation of privacy. We can use them to help us find and arrest him, though.”

“I got a job at KFC in downtown San Diego.”

“I'm glad to hear that. So you were serious about staying in Southern California.”

“I was serious about the movie star, model, or nurse. I kid a lot but not about the important stuff. I'm at the Winston Arms downtown and it's a real pit.”

“Maybe you'll make some friends, find a roommate or two.”

“In San Diego they got the Old Globe Theatre, and a theater in La Jolla that wins awards.
Jersey Boys
got started there, not in New Jersey like you'd think. And
The Wizard of Oz
got written on some island near San Diego. The book, not the movie.” Her phone rang and she checked the number. “Skull.”

Hood pushed a black button on his desk phone and a red button on the digital recorder. “Answer and put him on speaker.”

She sighed softly, answered, and went to speaker. “I got one hundred percent of nothing to say to you.”

“Don't hang up. I miss you, Mary Kate. That's all I have to say. I wish I was back there with you. California isn't all it's cracked up to be. Doesn't look like it does on TV.”

Hood had a half smile and he was nodding. He looked to her like Spider-Man and she wondered if she looked like Mary Jane next door. She let a beat go by and thought again how truly easy it was to act so long as you believed your part. “Russell County looks just fine without you in it. You never even said you were sorry.”

“I am so darned sorry, honey.”

“You know how much that hurt? You should see me now.”

“I'd do anything in the world to make you feel better.”

She winked at Hood. “Well, that's easy to say from two thousand miles away.”

“Come on out. I'll pay for the ticket and we'll be together. We were meant for that, Mary Kate. You and I both know it.”

“And the worst hurt was I trusted you, Skull. I was so fooled and surprised when you started hitting me. I had your baby inside.”

There was a long silence. Mary Kate watched Hood, who was staring at the recorder intensely enough to hypnotize it.

“I can make it right again.”

“It wasn't right to start with.”

“Mary Kate, sometimes a man does things he regrets. I regret everything I did wrong to you. With all my heart. I'll be home soon. I'll make us right again.”

“Sounds like my invite to California just got canceled.”

“Where are you? What are you doing? What are you wearing? Did your lips heal up yet?”

Now Mary Kate let the silence grow again. She glanced at Hood and smiled slightly, though her lips still hurt. She winked at him again because she was about to deliver some very crafty words. “Lyle? I'm tired of talking to you. How 'bout you talk to
me
? Tell me something that won't hurt. Where are you? You making any money out there? Have you sold anything or not?”

“It's going okay. You know that big-ass thing we took out to the woods? The watermelons? I got us some good money for it. There's other sales pending. And we're about to get some new . . . items. Friends of mine out here, from the service. They got military stuff from the Naval Weapons Station. Big stuff, big money.”

“You mean like bombs?”

“I could say MANPADS but that might not mean much to you.”

“Nope. But I'm happy for you.” Mary Kate reached across Hood's desk and took a pen out of a coffee cup and wrote on his legal pad: “See? Has to brag.”

Hood smiled. The diamonds glittered. But Mary Kate could tell something had just hit him, and hard.

“You always had good luck, Skull.”

“Luck enough to get you.”

“Those days are most insuredly gone.”

“I don't want them gone.”

“Then when you coming back?”

“When the job is done, honey.”

“I do not qualify as your honey anymore. We were on brand-new footing as of the second you hit me.”

She heard Lyle sigh. As a bully he had no endurance. He had very finite levels of patience and forgiveness. When they were gone was when he started hitting people or whatever else was handy.

“I gotta go now, Mary Kate. I love you sure as the sunrise. I'll be home soon.”

“Maybe I'll be here and maybe I won't.”

“I'll bring you something.”

“What?”

“Something nice. You like a necklace or choker or something? They got the Walk of Fame up in Hollywood, maybe I could find something there.”

“Get me a Spider-Man doll,” she said, looking at Hood, who of course didn't get the reference.

“Since when do you like Spider-Man?”

“What I'd really like is for this shiner to go away and my lips to stop bleeding every time I try to smile.”

Mary Kate punched off her phone and watched Hood as he turned off the recorder. “It feels good to get a little even with that sonofabitch. Play his own kinda game right back on him.”

“You're good.”

“I can act, alright. Since I was born, Mom said.” She saw that darkness cross Hood's eyes again.

“A MANPADS is a Man-Portable Air-Defense System,” Hood said. “It's a guided shoulder-fired missile. They're not hard to use and you can take out a commercial airliner from five miles away.”

“Who'd want to do that? Oh, damn, stop—that was
utterly
idiotic. I'm getting hungry-dumb.”

“Transcribe the conversations with Lyle if you can. At least keep notes after you talk. Call me after every one. Don't press him and don't call him unless you feel him losing interest. Make him call you.”

Mary Kate studied Hood's earnest face, his clear steady eyes, and thought she saw something of the boy he'd been and of the man he would become. She sensed secrets and resident obsessions. “Charlie, I've been dreaming Double-Doubles. Can we go to the In-N-Out down the street? I'll pay.”

Hood pushed the recorder toward her. “Rain check? I've got paper to push.”

“That sounds exciting.”

They stood and Hood looked down at the computer screen and moved and clicked the mouse. From this angle Mary Kate could see the change in the color of the monitor light but not what was on the screen.

“What was the name of the fourth man? The one who disappeared?”

“Officer Pat Parsons.”

Hood nodded and rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “This morning the Russell County Sheriff reported his body found out by Birch Springs.”

“Miles of hollers out there.”

“Gunshot. Foul play suspected. Coroner can usually tell a suicide from a homicide.”

Mary Kate's heart stuttered a beat and she felt darkness falling over her thoughts. “I don't think Lyle and them are capable of that.”

“Why don't you?”

“Just what my gut says.” She watched Hood's calm eyes rove her face and she saw full well that he was looking at her shiner and her split lips. “Anybody that gets their heart involved can make a mistake. Whether you work for KFC or FAT.”

“That's the truth. It's good you're helping, Mary Kate. You're doing the right thing. And just so you know, it's ATF not FAT.”

“I'm funnin'. Last call for In-N-Out.”

“Sorry.”

“See you around, secret agent man.”

“I'll walk you out.”

She left him in the lobby standing behind Oscar's desk, both men looking at her with such gravity that she wanted to laugh but did not.

A
fter da
rk Hood got a large coffee and drove out to Castro Ford in El Centro. Again he parked off the street behind the parts-and-service yard. He sipped the coffee and turned the news down low and looked through his camera at the new-car prep bay, which was open and well lighted. Two men he didn't recognize were peeling the protective film off a shiny new Taurus. Beside it was a stunning Explorer painted a metallic cobalt blue, still partially wrapped in white. Across the expanse of flat sand desert that separated Hood from the dealership he could hear the sound of the Mexican music playing from the radio while the men worked.

Half an hour later he drove around to the front and parked again in one of the guest spaces. Israel's Flex wasn't there. Hood wandered through the showroom, coffee in hand, admiring the new cars, then walked past the financing cubicles and past the just-closing service center. He found a restroom, then took the
EMPLOYEES ONLY
door that let him into a hallway that led to the parts and used-car offices and the new-car intake area.

Hood walked across the compound, toward the spray of light coming from the intake bay. He came through the rolling door and nodded at each of the men, then approached the Explorer and stopped. The older of the two men slung a shop rag over his shoulder and walked to a workbench and turned off the radio. The other, young enough to be his son, continued peeling the film off the Taurus.

“What I can help you?” asked the older man. His hair was curly and gray and his face etched by the sun.

“I'm interested in this Explorer.”

“You talk to sales. We are not sales.”

“Does it have the same gas-guzzling six cylinder as the old one?”

“No. Is V-eight. Now you go to sales. They make you a very good deal.”

Hood walked around the car, frowning, fingers to his chin. When he had completed his circumnavigation the older man was still there, his polish rag still over his shoulder. Hood nodded and turned his attention to the two Lincoln MKZs and two Ford Tauruses that he'd seen delivered here a few nights ago.

He pointed. “Better mileage if I got one of those.”

“You decide, then go to sales.” The old man shrugged, then took his shop rag in hand and turned the radio back on and returned to the Taurus. Hood listened to the
banda
ballad, heavy on the accordion and tuba. He sipped his coffee and strolled closer to the MKZs and Tauruses. To him they looked showroom-ready, right down to the fresh tire black and the MSRP and Monroney labels. He threw open a driver's side door and leaned in. The smell was terrific. He pulled the trunk and hood latches and had a look at the engine first. It was amazing how densely packed the compartment was. Around back he lifted the trunk lid and thought of Clint Wampler's finger, and noted that the spare was not in its well but rather lying out in the open. The cover was loose and out of place. He pulled it up out of curiosity and saw the empty declivity where the spare would sit and the big bolt and plastic nut to hold it fast. He saw the dusting of off-white powder in the well, and he glanced over at the hardworking men before running his finger through it, then touching it to his tongue. The dust was cool and bright and a moment later the tip of his tongue was numb.
I'll be damned
, thought Hood.

He looked through the other MKZ and the two remaining Tauruses and he found another dusting of cocaine in one of the trunks, this time in a small tool compartment. He slammed the trunk lid authoritatively. He used the bathroom and strolled back through the bay. He found the delivery whiteboard propped on a long table between a water dispenser and a very stained coffeemaker. He saw that the MKZ/Taurus shipment of days past had originated at the Hermosillo Ford Plant in Mexico. He wondered if that was where they loaded in the magic powder, or if the new Hermosillo cars made another stop before Castro Ford. The next Hermosillo delivery was set eight days away at nine thirty
A.M
., a Saturday.

Hood returned to the Explorer, wrote down the VIN in his notebook. “I really want this car,” he told the older man.

“Then you go to sales.”

“I might need financing.”

“Go to sales and they give you it.”

“Maybe I need to think about it. The GMC Yukon gets better mileage.”

The man shook his head and turned his back to Hood and went back to his job.

•   •   •

Hood walked back through the dealership building to the showroom and paused again to check out the new Mustang. Over invoice but sweet. He stopped to talk to one of the salesmen about the Explorer back in the intake building, explaining how
Consumer Reports
had said buyers could sometimes save a few dollars by buying a vehicle that hadn't been totally prepped yet. The salesman offered to bring it around for a drive, but Hood said he was in a hurry. He drove away, then circled back a mile down and parked behind the dealership again, with a view of the new-car intake yard. The rolling doors were still open, and when he rolled down his window, he could hear the radio sounds lilting across the desert toward him.

He reclined his seat slightly and rested his head and watched. He called his mother, which he often did during surveillance. She was angry at the staff of her husband's board-and-care there in Bakersfield because they'd stopped trying to give him solid food of any kind and Douglas was “wasting away.” Hood's father had been struck hard by Alzheimer's five years back. It seemed as if he'd live on forever like that, sound of body but stripped of mind, until the stroke. Since then, just a downward slide—partial paralysis, atrophy, cardiopulmonary decline, infection. He recognized his wife and son only occasionally and, when he did, he was venomous in his complaints about the care they were taking of him. He loathed and feared the staff people, hated the food. Hood let his mother vent and tried to be comforting. He felt bad for her because she had loved her husband and pledged to endure with him in sickness and health, and that pledge was irrevocable. Three of Hood's several siblings still lived in Bakersfield, so at least she got some help, and Douglas got some company. Hood dreaded his visits, felt numbed by the dying, ghostlike oldsters and the knowledge that his turn for this would likely come. And his dread shamed him because the furious heap of skin and bone upon the bed before him, growing lighter by the week, was his father, who had been a funny and generous and gentle man, and Hood had loved him.

Hood saw the young man come to one of the rolling doors and grab the rope and pull it down. Across the desert and over the music he heard the metallic clanking and one rectangle of light was replaced by darkness. He told his mother about Buenavista's new Walmart and the surprisingly cold and wet winter they were having, and the unusual amount of seismic activity in Imperial Valley, but said nothing about world current events. She read no papers and watched no news and had little interest in the world outside her husband's care, the garden in her backyard, and her two now-aging Chihuahuas. Hood warbled on about Beth, working hard but saving lives at the ER, and how he cooked for her when she came home and they traded tales of the day, how it was tough to figure out a good meal when you only knew how to cook a few things, but really the secret was to buy good ingredients and not overcook them. He watched the big man pull down the second rolling door. “I love you, Mom. I'll be up soon to see you and we'll visit Dad.”

“When?”

“I'll be tied up this weekend. Maybe next.”

“I have you down for next. I'll make sure your room is clean. Beth can have Mary's old room. I got a list of things I need for you to do.”

“Terrific. I love you. Good night, Mom.”

The young man pulled down the third door and the last rectangle of light was gone. Hood sat awhile longer, watching and thinking, feeling sadness for the world and the people in it.