The wake-up Read online

  Gregor was breathing heavily now, his face bent over the pages.

  The Engineer cracked his window. He hated missing the show. He had seen Shock Waves only on video, never a 35-mm print. He had no idea how Thorpe could have found out about his predilection for cheesy horror movies… but he didn't put anything past the man. He had been tempted to buy a ticket, but the idea of being fooled by Frank was unbearable. Fooled again. He remembered the girl, Kimberly. That had rankled. She and Thorpe had gotten him good. Well, the Engineer had laughed last. With Kimberly at least. He smiled to himself. Kimberly was merely a preview of coming attractions. Thorpe was the main feature. He turned to Gregor, annoyed. "Kindly stop smacking your lips."

  "Sorry."

  The Engineer stared at the marquee announcing Shock Waves. If Thorpe was setting him up, they would wait for the theater to empty, then catch him leaving, when his guard was down. If the showing of his favorite movie was just a lovely coincidence, then he and Gregor would simply stroll in afterward and confiscate the print. He hummed softly, thinking of the good times ahead. "That was a pretty decent movie," said D.K., packing up the first reel.

  Thorpe watched the remnants of the crowd filing out. The Engineer would have to wait. In twelve days, the Meachums would be back from Hawaii, but Thorpe had come up with a plan to keep them safe. It might even work.

  "Don't worry, kid. There's a woman for you out there. You just got to pick your shots."

  Thorpe helped D.K. with the other reel. "That's him," said the Engineer.

  "Where?"

  The Engineer eased the Buick forward, lights out, barely giving it any gas. He wouldn't have recognized Thorpe from this distance, but the film cans he was lugging down the alley marked him. The Engineer had waited until the crowd had left, then drove past the stragglers smoking under the marquee and found another parking spot. A few minutes later, someone stepped out of a theater exit he didn't even know existed, and he knew it had to be Thorpe.

  "Is that him?" Gregor tossed aside his magazine. "I'll grab him."

  "Even if you could grab him, that's not what I want. I prefer to see where he's going."

  "Because of the money?"

  "Very good." The Engineer watched the corner. "If we snatch him, it will degenerate into a contest of wills, and he might just choose to die before giving me what I want. The man is sitting on at least two or three million dollars; I'd like to see where he lives… perhaps who he's living with. Frank is stubborn, but he has a soft spot for the weaker sex." Smile. "And he does have some idea what I'm capable of."

  "I get it."

  "Down," hissed the Engineer, sliding lower. Gregor barely got his knees out of view before headlights illuminated their car and then were gone. Gregor was quicker than he looked, a world-class wrestler in his youth, now gone to fat and indolence, but still useful. Loyal, too. That was why the Engineer had spared his life.

  The Engineer had drugged Lazurus's whole crew at the party they gave in his honor for escaping, drugged them and shot them in the head, shot them one by one as they snored away. Except for Gregor. He had watched his bodyguard snoring, and the Engineer had actually placed the barrel of his pistol in Gregor's mouth, started to squeeze the trigger… and stopped. Sometimes he surprised himself. He had been so angry that night, angry at Frank for not staying at the safe house, angry at having to rush with Kimberly, not being able to take his time. Killing the crew had been necessary for security reasons, but it didn't really diminish his anger.

  "Up." The Engineer turned on the ignition, pulled away from the curb. He could see the red taillights of Thorpe's car far ahead. He didn't turn on his headlights until Thorpe turned the corner. He sped up now, afraid they were going to lose Thorpe.

  25

  Thorpe drove slowly down the alley, lights off, not knowing what he was doing here. He should be home. He should be knocking on Claire's door, apologizing for ignoring her these last few days, but he didn't want to lie to her about his reasons. Instead, he was dodging potholes and overflowing garbage cans at 4:00 a.m., still pissed off that the Engineer hadn't taken the bait. He wouldn't be able to sleep now anyway, might as well check up on the Meachums' house. They might have returned early from their second honeymoon. If they'd had a fight, Meachum would have run off to his girlfriend, but Gina would have come home to her paintings. The front of their house gave no indication of recent activity, but he drove down the alley anyway. He slowed as he passed their back door, continued on, and parked beside their neighbor's garage. He had seen something in the space between the window shade and the frame: the flicker of a television. He walked slowly toward the house, staying to the edges of the alley, where there were no pebbles to make noise.

  He edged closer to the window. The TV was on in the back bedroom, tuned to CNN, the sound low. Leaving the TV on when you went out of town wasn't a bad idea. That was one possibility. If Gina had come home by herself, she might not have wanted to sleep in her marriage bed anymore. That was another possibility. Someone changed the channel with a remote, the room momentarily brighter, and Thorpe glimpsed a man in the dimness of the bedroom. He put away the 9-mm, shaking his head. This was a possibility he hadn't considered.

  Thorpe knocked on the back door, and the door rattled, unlocked. He knocked again, opened the door. "Ray! It's me, Frank. Ray?"

  The kitchen light came on, and Ray Bishop stood there, barefoot, scratching his ass with a.38. "Come on in."

  Thorpe closed the door behind him, locked it. "Ray, what are you doing here?"

  "Same thing you're doing. Looking out for these people…" Bishop was wearing new Bermuda shorts and a sport shirt with a button-down collar. Clean-shaven. He padded over to the refrigerator, barely limping. "You want a soft drink? I got Coke, 7Up-"

  "How did you find this place?"

  "You think you're the only one who can run an investigation?" Bishop slipped the.38 into his front pocket, took out a can of Coke. "The morning after you came calling, I went to the library, did a search on Clark and Missy. The most recent entry was that nasty column that society broad wrote. I ran her next, and found out she got run down the same day the column came out. Didn't take much to figure out that you were worried that the Meachums were next. The gallery was closed, but it wasn't hard to find out where they lived." He cracked the can, Coke foaming across his knuckles, but he ignored it. "You told me at the construction site that you had put them in the soup, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what you might have done."

  "You can't stay here."

  "Why not?" Bishop sipped from the can. "The Meachums aren't going to be back for a while. They left their itinerary on a notepad, the hotel they are staying at, everything. They were either in a big hurry or just naive, I can't make up my mind. The lock on that back door… I opened it with a bankcard and a paper clip."

  The Meachums had been in a hurry. On the counter, Thorpe could see the hammer and the picture hooks Gina had been using when he interrupted her. "Ray… you being here, it's breaking and entering."

  "You going to turn me in?"

  "That's not the point. Vlad and Arturo might show-"

  "I hope they do." Bishop flipped off the light. "Come on, you want to watch some TV?"

  Thorpe followed him into the back bedroom. In the dim light from the TV, he could see Bishop's security uniform draped over a hanger, an overnight bag on the floor. He stayed standing while Bishop sat in an armchair. "You're planning on being a hero, Ray?"

  "After you left, I got to thinking." The images from the TV were reflected in Bishop's face, but he wasn't watching the set. "Vlad and Arturo are expecting to find a couple of Yuppies here, trusting folks who think calling 911 is the answer to all their problems." He finished his Coke, set the can down on a coaster. "Well, I know who Vlad and Arturo are, and I'm not about to give them a fair chance-they show up, I'm going to blow their brains out. Self-defense. I may not even stick around to call it in." He belched, proud of himself.

  Thorpe sat down. "What about
your job? You had a good thing going there."

  Bishop gave him the finger, and they both laughed.

  "Okay, it was a shit job," said Thorpe, "but you can't stay here."

  "You don't think I can handle myself?"

  "No… it's not that."

  "I used to be a good cop."

  "I know-"

  "I haven't had a drink since I saw you last… and, yeah, it's not the first time I've been sober for a few days, but this time feels different." Bishop leaned forward in his chair. "I'm grateful to you, Frank. That night at the site, seeing you all rough-and-ready-that used to be me. I was the guy asking questions; I was the guy standing up for what was right. I was no saint, but I did my job." His hands gripped the arms of the chair. "Clark and Missy beat me back in Riverside, they took away everything I cared about, and I let them. I rolled over and let them. Well, not anymore. I'm not going back to punching a clock, protecting lumber and drywall, and pretending it's all fine." He pointed at his uniform. "I keep that there to remind me. I actually had to buy that thing, you believe it?" He shook his head. "No thanks. I know who I am now."

  Thorpe nodded. "You look good."

  "I feel good." Bishop breathed easily, relaxed now, settling in to his flesh and his newfound certainty. "It's like I lost my way these last few years, but coming here, on my own, making that decision myself… it's like I got a direction again." He blushed, his face pink as a canned ham. "I guess someone like you can't understand what that's like."

  "Ray… I understand exactly what that's like."

  Bishop stared at him. "Yes, I believe you do. Otherwise, I wouldn't have felt so envious of you when you walked off the site, on your way to do what I should be doing." He leaned closer, his features grotesque in the flickering light of the TV. "I bet you made some outrageous fuckups in your time. I bet you made some real doozies."

  Thorpe just smiled.

  "You don't give anything away, do you? I like that. There's too many talkers, you ask me. I'd still like to know how you got mixed up with Clark and Missy, though. I can see how that newspaper column would set her off, but how was that your fault? Did you talk to this Betty B?"

  "No, but I might as well have."

  Bishop watched him, waiting for more, then gave up. He patted his belly. "You hungry? I'll scramble us up some eggs."

  Thorpe stood. "I've got some business to take care of."

  "At this hour?"

  "They'll be awake. If not, I'll convince them that it's time."

  "Anybody I know?"

  "I don't think so." It was a lie, but Thorpe was comfortable with it. Bishop needed to be here-he understood that-but there was no way Thorpe was going to let the man put himself in jeopardy. He had planned on waiting a day or so to talk with Clark and Missy, but he was going to do it now. Right now. He couldn't take the chance of Arturo and Vlad dropping by. Bishop might have convinced himself he was ready to take them on, but Thorpe knew better. Thorpe had to defuse the situation with Clark and Missy. Bishop could stay here as long as he wanted, on guard for an attack that would never come. Whatever brought him closer to the man he wanted to be.

  Bishop got out of the chair, hitched up his shorts. "My wife and kids are in Pennsylvania, living with her sister outside Pittsburgh. Her sister has a big house… They're not suffering. I… I've been thinking about paying them a visit. I got some money saved. What do you think?"

  "I think that's a fine idea."

  Bishop nodded, looked away. "I'm not quite ready yet, but I think about it. I was a lousy husband. I was a good father, but I was a lousy husband."

  "People can change, Ray."

  "That's what I tell myself… but I'm not so sure." Bishop looked up at Thorpe, fidgeting now. "How do you think I should go about it?"

  "You don't need advice from me."

  "The hell I don't," said Bishop. "Should I call first, or surprise them?" he said, whispering, as though someone else might hear. "Do I take flowers or gifts for the kids? I sent cards for every birthday and Christmas, but-"

  Thorpe put a hand on Bishop's shoulder. "You don't have to call first, but don't go by the house. You don't want to put any pressure on her, and you don't want to upset the kids. Go to where she's working. Go there just before she gets off for the day and ask her to go have a cup of coffee or just walk and talk. You'll be nervous, but that's okay, because she'll be nervous, too."

  "Not her," said Bishop. "That woman's a rock. I got no idea why she put up with me as long as she did."

  "She knows why. All you have to do is allow her to remember." Thorpe lowered his voice. "Don't promise her the moon; she'll have heard that from you often enough. Tell her the truth, Ray. Tell her that you're making your way back and you know you've got a way to go, but that you love her. Tell her you love her. You can't say that too often. Tell her you love her and you thought about her and the kids the whole time you were apart, and ask her for another chance. Make sure she knows it's her choice and that you will understand if she's had enough. Tell her you love her. Tell her you've been wrong about everything in life but her. Then hope she says yes."

  "You sound like a man who's had to beg a woman to take him back a few times."

  "No, but I'm ready."

  26

  The Engineer pulled Gregor back into the shadows as Thorpe emerged from the back door of a house down the alley, the kitchen light illuminating him as he stood there saying his good-byes to some ugly bastard in Bermuda shorts.

  "We can stop him," hissed Gregor.

  The Engineer yanked on Gregor's earlobe, silencing him. They might be able to shoot Thorpe before he reached his car, but they couldn't surprise him, and the Engineer needed Thorpe alive and talking.

  They had barely kept Thorpe's taillights in sight after leaving the Strand theater, staying well back, but had lost him as he entered Laguna Beach. For the last half hour, he and Gregor had been doing a grid search of the residential areas, cruising back and forth, searching for his car. Thorpe didn't live in Laguna-the Engineer knew that much. His wireless Internet connection was someplace in the Long Beach area, so Thorpe must have business in Laguna, the kind of a business that permitted a drop-in visit at 3:00 a.m. Love business maybe. The Engineer felt himself grow erect at the possibilities. A few minutes ago, they had spotted Thorpe's car in the alley and quickly parked on a side street, unsure where he was. They were in the alley when the door to the house opened. The Engineer was frustrated to see the ugly bastard with Thorpe. Not love business, but still… there were other possibilities.

  "He is leaving," muttered Gregor.

  "Stay." The Engineer didn't move until Thorpe drove away. He noted how the man on the porch waited until Thorpe left before returning to the house. He also noted Thorpe's license plate number. Bishop was whisking his eggs with a fork when there was rapping on the back door. "It's open." He smiled, beating the eggs to a froth. "I knew you'd change your mind." He heard the door open behind him, the floorboards creak. Too much weight. He dropped the bowl, reached for the gun in his pocket… The punch caught him across the temple, knocked him down, the.38 sliding across the tiles.

  "You're a messy cook, champ."

  Bishop slowly raised his head off the floor, trying to focus. There was egg yolk in his hair. A big man, a really big meatball, hovered over him. Bishop could see the hairs in the man's nostrils.

  "Back off, Gregor. Give him room."

  Bishop pushed himself up with one hand. There were two of them, but it wasn't Vlad and Arturo… It was two other ones. The meatball who had hit him, and another one, a soft intellectual type. He rubbed his head with his fingertips, winced. No blood, though.

  "Help him up, Gregor."

  Bishop felt himself being lifted effortlessly to his feet. His knees buckled.

  "I was hoping to get off to a better start," said the soft man. "Violence should always be the last resort, don't you think?" He stood next to the stove, flipped on the gas, dreamy-eyed at the pop of the pilot light.

  "You
guys… take whatever you want," said Bishop. He knew they weren't here to take anything, not anything that could be carried, but he decided to make the effort. "There's a stereo in the living room and a couple of good TVs."

  "Is that right?" said the soft man. "This is our big score, Gregor."

  Bishop bent forward, his hands on his knees. He used to be able to take a punch better.

  "Where did Frank go?" asked the soft man.

  Bishop straightened. "Frank who?"

  The soft man smiled. "There's no reason we can't all be friends. Gregor and I, we're the best friends you're ever going to have. I know we're off to a rocky start, but, hey, you were the one who pulled the gun."

  "I thought you were someone else."

  "A man with enemies. I knew I liked you, Mr…"

  "Bishop. Ray Bishop. I'd like to help you boys…"

  "Excellent, Mr. Bishop," said the soft man, clapping his smooth hands.

  "I just… I just don't know any Frank."

  The soft man looked genuinely pained. "Gee, Mr. Bishop, I wish you hadn't said that." He turned up the gas, the jets hissing louder, the blue flame four inches high.

  The meatball grinned. He was a huge locomotive, well over six feet, thick-gutted, with enormous hands and tiny, hateful eyes.