Burn (32 page)

She'd put the top up. With the reflective sunshade unfolded across the windshield, and the tinted side windows, the cabin of the Beemer was like warm dusk in the middle of the blazing afternoon.

He heard her curse outside.

She slid into the leather bucket seat behind the wheel and looked at him. “What are you trying to prove?”

“Now you know how it feels. Frustrating, isn't it?”

“Give me a break.” She reached over the wheel, took down the sunshade, folded it up, shoved it under
her seat. She looked at her watch. “Please. I need to go.”

He wouldn't have pushed it this far, all the way out here to this secured lot in back of the building, if her bluster had seemed the least bit convincing. But it didn't.

Wherever she was off to in such an uneasy rush, Andrew got the feeling that she didn't altogether mind the thought of company. Out loud, she said otherwise. Until now, he couldn't think of anything Heather Lomax had said to his face that he hadn't believed.

“Don't worry, ” he said. “I'm not going to twist your arm.”

She didn't seem to think that was funny.

“Look.” Andrew took his cast out of the sling and rested it across his lap. “As hard as it is for me to admit, when it comes down to it, you actually helped me this week. It's been weird knowing you, Heather, but the truth is it's done me some good. I owe you.”

“You don't owe me anything. Please get out of the car.”

“I'd like to help if I can, ” he said.

Heather sighed and gripped the wheel. “I don't mean any offense. Okay? You're obviously going through some kind of thing here, and maybe you think this little white knight, damsel-in-distress role-playing scenario you've got in your head might help in some way. But this is my life. It's not your self-improvement project. Okay?”

“I know you don't
need
my help, ” he told her. “If you really want me to leave you alone, I will.”

She looked at him. She looked away. She cursed again under her breath. She shook her head.

Andrew couldn't quite decide how to read her reaction. He waited.

After sitting for a minute, seemingly locked in battle
with herself, Heather finally slammed her door and started the car.

She didn't drive far.

A few blocks from the LAPD building, on Figueroa, just past a gigantic complex Andrew took to be some kind of expo center, Heather turned into a parking garage. She took her ticket at the gate and rolled on into the structure, out of the sunlight and into the shade.

She started climbing the levels, rounding each turn and climbing on to the next. Andrew rode along quietly.

Empty slots began to appear here and there the higher they climbed. Andrew figured they must be nearing the end of the trail. The parked cars continued to thin, growing fewer and farther between.

Heather drove straight to the top level.

As they rounded the final hairpin, she sat up a notch behind the wheel. She headed toward a car sitting alone in plain view, snugged up against a large round concrete support pillar. A midnight blue Mercury Mystique. Rental plates.

Heather pulled up at an angle across the empty slots on the rental car's passenger side. She set the brake, cut the ignition, and pulled her keys.

“Will you wait here?”

“If that's what you want.”

She got out of the car, leaving her purse but taking her keys. Andrew opened his door a crack and waited.

Heather walked quickly to the other car. She knocked on the window, then opened the passenger door and leaned down. Holding his door a few inches open, Andrew could hear bits and pieces of her half of the conversation with whoever sat in the other vehicle.

What are you doing here? Where's your car?

I don't think that's a good idea.

No. I won't get in. Tell me what's going on.

Andrew watched the door open on the driver's side of the Merc. He watched a man step out into the narrow space between the car and the big corner footing. The man had dark smudges under his eyes, a white strip across the bridge of his nose, and a loosened tie hanging around his neck. He motioned to Heather across the roof of the car with both hands:
Just wait one minute.

The guy leaned back into the car, then straightened again.

Now he hobbled around the rear bumper using a golf club like a cane. One foot wore an elastic compression bandage instead of a shoe. He didn't even look toward Heather's BMW. He focused completely on Heather.

Andrew could hear both of them now. He sat and watched the show.

“Todd, what on earth happened to you?”

“I told you, sweetie. Just a little fender bender. It's nothing. I'm fine.”

“The police are looking for you, ” she said. “They're looking for you right now.”

“I know, I know … they were at the office when I came back from lunch. I drove by home on the way here, and they were there, too.” The guy shook his head like he wouldn't have believed it himself if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. “I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. A terrible misunderstanding.”

“What kind of misunderstanding?”

“Heather, I can explain.”

“If you can explain, why are you running from the police?”

“I'm not running from the police. Lord, what do you think?”

“I think the police are looking for you, and you know it, and instead of talking to them about whatever they want to talk to you about, you're skulking around a parking garage in a rented car like some kind of desperado.”

“Heather. I know it seems strange, but I can explain everything. Please, get in the car and I'll explain everything on the way.”

“On the way where?”

“Just get in the car and come with me.”

“I will not.”

Andrew didn't know if he should take this as a cue, but he pushed his door open and stepped out of the Beemer anyway. As he walked toward them, adjusting his sling, he watched the guy with the black eyes and the bum wheel. He spoke to Heather, but he kept his eye on the guy.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything's fine, ” she said. “You said you were going to wait for me.”

The guy had been watching Andrew just as closely as Andrew watched him. When he spoke, his voice came out like vented steam.

He said: “You.”

Andrew looked back at him. “Do we know each other, pal?”

The guy ignored him, turning to Heather.

“What are you still
doing
with him? Who
is
this guy?” He stabbed the ground once with the handle of his golf club. “I can't
believe
you're doing this to me.”

“Todd, what are you talking about?” She looked at Andrew. She looked at Todd's face, at his foot. She looked
at the cast on Andrew's arm. Her voice grew suspicious. “How do you two know each other?”

“We don't, ” Andrew said.

The guy named Todd didn't answer her question. He seemed to be getting a bit wound up. He bent his knees as he talked, emphasizing his words with body language. Andrew thought of an unhappy kid getting ready to throw one mother of a tantrum.

“This man is
dangerous, ”
he said. “Don't you see that? Don't you know that this is the man who shot Luther Vines?”

Heather just shook her head at him. “Who?”

“Heather. After all the years we've known each other. I can't believe you're doing this to me again.”

“Todd, I swear, what are you talking about?”

“I think I've been patient, ” he said. “I've certainly waited my turn in line. Some of the
losers
I've had to stand behind over the years. But have I ever pushed? Have I ever been anything other than a perfect gentleman?”

“Todd.”

“Tell me where I've gone wrong, Heather. Please. I've been patient, I think I deserve to know.”

“Todd, this isn't fair. You're not being fair and you know it.”

Todd began to pace, sort of. It was really more like hobbling in a loose circle.

Standing there watching this jilted nut with the golf club working himself into a froth, Andrew began to suspect he'd judged Heather's father hastily. Especially when he heard the name of the guy who had jumped him at the beach house last night.

Doren Lomax hadn't been the guy who sent the guy.
This
guy had been the guy who sent the guy.

“Hey, ” Andrew said. He nodded toward the guy's foot. “How did you say you hurt that ankle again?”

The guy snapped up his head. He glared at Andrew with focused hate.

Andrew smiled.

“I thought I'd seen you somewhere before, ” he said. “Do me a favor. Turn around and limp away as fast as you can. I just want to be sure I recognize you.”

Heather turned to Andrew.

Andrew kept talking to Todd. “Long trip down those stairs, huh? Sorry about that. That top step's a doozy I really should fix it.”

Slowly, Heather said, “Todd?”

The guy named Todd didn't say a word. He didn't even make a sound. He just stood there. He began tapping the ground with the handle of the golf club. Andrew noticed his face seemed to be reddening, but it still seemed sudden when he finally boiled over.

In a quick convulsive outburst, the guy turned his cane around and gripped it by the handle with both hands. He swung the club down in a hard sledgehammer arc, dead-centering the rental car's trunk. The sound of the impact boomed loud in the cavernous parking structure.

The club head left a sharp dent and bounced off the trunk lid. The combination of the swing, the connect, and the high recoil sent the guy teetering for balance; he had to hop backward on one foot to keep from falling down. He panted slightly from the effort, and his eyes seemed a touch crazed.

“Shut up!” He put his bad foot down gingerly, steadying himself, and drew back the club like a baseball bat. He faced Andrew. “Just shut up and go away. Leave us be. This is family business and it doesn't concern you.”

“Todd, ” Heather said. “What the hell are you
doing?”

“Careful with that thing, ” Andrew said, walking forward. “You keep swinging it around like that, somebody's bound to get hurt.”

The guy took a vicious cut with the club, about waist level. Andrew had to take a step back and away. He felt the air from the club head as it whistled past.

He was starting to get a little tired of people trying to hit him with sporting goods.

“Next time, keep your left arm straight, ” he advised. “And stop pulling your head.”

“Take another step toward me, ” the guy said, “and I'll put a cast on your other arm. You want a matching set? Go ahead and take one more step toward me.”

“Andrew, ” Heather said. “Please. Let me handle this. Todd. Jesus. Chill out.”

The guy turned to her. “Come on, Heather. We're out of here.”

“I told you, I'm not going anywhere. Not until you tell me what's going on.”

But Todd didn't seem to want to talk anymore. He put the club handle back to the concrete and hobbled over to her. He put his free hand on her shoulder and tried to steer her to the passenger side of the Mercury.

When she resisted, he gripped her arm and tried harder.

Andrew was about to intervene when Heather saved him the trouble.

In one smooth movement, she reached across her body and grabbed the guy's paw in an overhanded grip. Then she pulled back, breaking his hold on her and twisting his palm toward the ceiling. At the same time, she kicked his golf club out from under him with the broad side of her foot.

The guy gave a sharp yell as he fell back. His voice
bounced off the concrete all around them, flat and echo-less as a duck's quack. He dropped the club and flailed for purchase with his free hand.

He found Heather's arm again, the same one he'd grabbed the first time. This time he locked on her wrist, still trying to catch his fall. Car keys jingling in her fist, Heather eased him to the concrete, straining back against his weight for counterbalance. He probably had fifty pounds on her, but she managed him fine.

Andrew would have applauded if he'd had two good hands himself.

He should have been paying closer attention.

Heather, too.

The moment she let the guy's right hand go, he pulled her wrist toward him hard with his left. Before she could recover from the jolt, he'd wrestled the car keys out of her grasp.

“Todd, knock it off, ” she said. “This is ridiculous.”

Todd scrambled to his feet—foot—and extended his arm. Heather's keys dangled from his fist. Heather put her hands on her hips and cocked her head.

“Todd.” A sharp scold. “Quit fooling around. I'm serious.”

“You don't have any idea, ” he told her.

And without another word, he blasted her full in the face with her own pepper spray.

Andrew couldn't believe it. For a moment, he just stood there, shocked. Heather shrieked and bent at the waist. Her hands shot up to her eyes but stopped; she seemed to will them to a sudden halt, fingers hovering a few inches in front of her face. No rubbing.

Todd stood over her now, screaming at the back of her head.

“All these years!” he shouted. “Isn't it
my
turn? Isn't it my turn
yet?”

Heather went down on one knee, coughing, choking, pounding the concrete with the flat of her hand. Andrew hustled over to her. Todd picked up the fallen golf club and hopped back a few feet.