Crushed Ice (15 page)

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Authors: Eric Pete

BOOK: Crushed Ice
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Chapter 30
“Is any of this your doing?” I asked, quickly shifting the Audi TT down Highway 183 en route back to my place.
“Hello to you as well, nephew,” Jason scoffed. “What are you accusing me of this week?”
“I'm not accusing. I'm just asking,” I said, easing off my accusatory tone. More flies with honey and all that.
“Will you persist with being vague, or will you spit it out? I have much on my plate at the moment and nothing to hide on my end.” That meant he had nothing to do with it directly, but he still may have known something of my predicament.
“Anyone being nosey on your end?”
“About some photos?” Yeah. He knew all about it.
“About anything,” I answered. “Heard anything? Know anything?”
“Why would I? It seems you might have had something extra as a result of our most recent arrangement and chose not to share. Didn't the purple dinosaur teach you, nephew? Caring means sharing.”
“Look, you got what you paid for. Anything else was mine to do with as I saw fit.”
Jason chuckled. “And I see where that's gotten you.”
“So you do know something.”
“Certain people are asking certain things.”
“And?”
“And I'm not quite sure how to answer, dear boy. I'm making major moves in this industry which call for new alliances and new considerations.”
“Alliances and considerations that could be detrimental to me?”
“Hey, you told me yourself that our relationship is over, that we are done. Count yourself fortunate that I discussed this much over the phone, son.”
“Indulge me one more question,” I requested.
“It's your last chip. Place your bet.”
“The girl I was with in Vegas.”
“The stunning beauty that still haunts my illicit dreams? What about her?”
“Did she have any kind of side deals with you?”
“Honestly, no. But seeing as how she's on your mind at a time like this, I sincerely wish she had.”
“Fuck you,” I said, not knowing whether to believe his answer.
“Be well, nephew. And don't call me again. With these new
friends
of yours, you're too hot to deal with. I take great joy in being the one to say that we're done.”
After the finality of our conversation, I decided to turn to Collette, as she might have some valuable information on Sophia. Of course, any chance to see her made me happy. As observant as she was, I had to be careful to conceal what a predicament I found myself in and shield her from it at the same time.
From Oak Lawn, I took a right onto Lemmon Avenue, speeding past William B Dean Park when I saw flashing lights ahead. I pulled over in front of Hook, Line & Sinker to observe without getting too close to the action.
The flashing lights were from police cars stationed outside a building down the street.
I felt bile creeping up in the back of my throat as I processed what I saw. Remembering what had been done to San Antonio Jackson, a wave of nausea overcame me.
The police were at Collette's place.
Chapter 31
I walked hurriedly down the sidewalk toward the two police cars next to the curb, keenly aware of every face, every stranger I passed. I was material, no longer that unknown figment to everyone. That meant I could be touched; could be harmed.
Or hurt through others.
I passed the open gate to Collette's stairwell, dialing her number first. After all, the police could be there for another resident. All she had to do was answer and I could calm down for now.
But she didn't answer.
I hung up, deciding to risk any threat that might await me. Spinning, I reversed direction and headed for her stairwell. Skipping two and three steps at a time, I quickly darted to the top. I tried to breathe deeply, to prepare myself for whatever awaited me. Turning the corner, I bumped into two officers as they left.
“Sorry,” I said, not making eye contact. I overheard them saying the other officer could handle this, whatever it was. That had me calmed, until I saw Collette's door ajar, its frame smashed. I rushed in and was greeted by still another officer. The tall, crisp brother almost drew his gun on me.
“Sir, do you live here?” he asked by the book. Kane was the officer's name.
“What happened?” I asked, surveying the strewn-about plants and dismantled book shelf. The rage that had subsided was roaring back. I stepped over a broken piece of ceramic.
“Collette!” I yelled.
“Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step back,” he urged. I ignored him, wondering where Collette was and if anything had happened to her on my account.
“Collette!” I called out again. Somebody had connected me to her and this place. Knew that much as sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Had to be Sophia, but would she expose her own flesh and blood to people like this?
“That's it. Put your hands up and step back!” he yelled, his gun now drawn and pointed at me.
“Where is she?” I asked, ignoring the peril. I raised my hands to show him I had no weapons and meant him no harm.
With his gun still drawn, he reached up with his free hand, preparing to radio in that he had a situation. Being a good officer, he was probably committing my features and description to memory. Made me regret not disguising them before I came here. I began debating whether to disable him or simply run for it. Collette's unknown status made me freeze instead.
“Officer, it's okay. He's my friend,” Collette said as she emerged with her cane. She reached out to touch something, but it wasn't there, obviously moved or destroyed in whatever had taken place. I wanted to go to her and take her hand, but the officer's gun was still drawn. The only plus was that he'd released the button on his radio for the moment.
“What's your name?”
“Chris Davis,” I replied innocently, hoping that he wouldn't ask for some ID. The only one I had in my suit belonged to a different name—one I'd used to travel to Cleveland and back. “May I help her?” I asked, motioning with my hand about her visual impairment and current predicament.
He hesitated, but holstered his weapon as I knew he would. Breathing a sigh of relief, I thanked him and went over to take Collette by her arm. Instead she hugged me tightly.
“I'm so glad you're here,” she said, exhaling deeply as her pent-up emotions passed over me like a tsunami. “Where have you been?”
“I was out taking care of some business. Sorry I wasn't here for you.”
“Do you know anything about what happened here?” the officer asked, a report form having replaced his sidearm in his hand.
“No,” I replied, although he was waiting on human nature to make me volunteer further, even if I knew nothing. I'd faltered, but was back on my game. “Do you?” I asked back.
“Break-in, looks like.” He sighed. “We don't usually get these kinds of calls around here. Somebody was looking for something or someone. Don't think they found what they were looking for.”
“I was so afraid,” Collette offered. “I screamed at the top of my lungs when I heard them.”
“Hold up,” I stated, cutting her off. “Do you know for certain it was more than one person?”
“Pretty sure,” she replied, touching her ear. The officer and I both understood. “I was in my bedroom. I got to my door and locked myself in. They just kept breaking stuff. I have the police on speed dial, so I curled up behind my bed and waited. Chris, I . . . I thought—”
“Shhh. It's all right,” I cooed. “You're okay now.”
“When we got here, we found the place like this. My unit was nearby, so we may have chased them off before—” He caught himself, realizing he wasn't making things better. “I recommend that she get the door secured and stay someplace else. She shouldn't be alone, sir.”
“She won't be,” I assured him.
While Collette finished giving her story to the officer, I went to her bedroom to retrieve a few things. At her bedside was a framed photo, something that wasn't present during my previous times shared with her in here. It was of her and her husband, somewhere on a cruise during a different period of her life. Like some of her old books, a remnant from times of sight. She probably placed it in the drawer when I was around. Still had feelings for him, but why wouldn't she?
I felt regret, worrying about her paying the ultimate price for another miscalculation of mine. Right there, I vowed to a ghost of her past that I would be the guardian of her future. After we got maintenance to make some temporary repairs, I took her with me, careful that we weren't followed.
“Have you talked to Sophia lately?” I asked, driving in circles just to get to my apartment.
“You're always asking about her. Damn. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear the two of you had something going on.”
“Highly unlikely,” I responded. “You said so yourself that she had some questionable doings in her life. I'm just wondering if she had anything to do with this.”
“Why would my cousin have anything to do with my break-in?”
“I don't know. Just a feeling.”
“For someone you barely met, you sure have a low opinion of her.”
I shook my head, frustrated with the quandary I found myself in. If she'd known what Sophia was capable of, she'd probably agree with me. Of course, knowing that would expose a different side of me to Collette also. A no-win situation.
“Don't mean to be hard on your blood, but—”
“I haven't heard from her. There,” she spat out, cutting me off.
“And you're sure you don't know where she's at?” I pushed on. She had no idea how serious this was. Penny Antnee and his people were gunning for me, probably because of what Sophia had done. And from what they did to San Antonio Jackson, there was no limit to their ruthlessness.
Collette sighed. “Is your novel a crime drama? Because you sound like you're interrogating me right now.”
“Sorry. I'll back off. I'm just wondering if somebody she knew is responsible.”
“Your guess would be as good as mine, Chris.”
But I didn't have to guess. “C'mon, let's get you to my place,” I said as we made our final lap around Uptown.
Chapter 32
Opening the door to my place, I let Collette in first, sliding her bags off my fingers and onto the floor. She took a few steps, her cane tapping a clear path ahead before she stopped.
“You're not going to leave me alone here, are you?” she asked, turning her head back to where I stood.
“I just need to run downstairs for a moment. You're safe here,” I said, not fully believing it. Somebody had connected the dots. It was only a matter of time before a direct line led here, in spite of my changing apartment units. I needed to get out of Dallas altogether and take Collette with me. Breaking cold, hard facts like that to her would be tough. Both the creation Chris and my real persona were liabilities at the moment, thanks to Sophia. If Penny and his boys had some kind of code, I could just disappear and they'd leave Collette out of it.
But they didn't. And they wouldn't leave her out of it. Not now. She was my kryptonite crack, capable of rendering me a mere mortal, but that which I couldn't live without.
I took Collette by the hand and led her to my sofa. I sat with her for a moment, brushing her hair aside. “I have a package downstairs waiting on me, but I want you to know that I'll be right back, I swear. I promised I'd protect you, and that's what I'm going to do.”
“Who?”
“Huh?”
“Who'd you promise, Chris? Who'd you make that promise to?”
“Oh,” I replied, fumbling for a second. “Myself. I just meant—”
“Do those people that broke into my place have to do with Sophia . . . or you?” she asked, cutting me off in mid-lie. She moved her body away from me in a way she never had before. The one person I cared for was being driven away with every deceptive utterance.
“I just know they're dangerous, Collette,” I answered with a non-answer. “We need to talk about it . . . as soon as I come back up.”
“Go on, Chris. Go get whatever is so important,” she said, waving her hands in disgust. “Maybe it'll give you time to come up with some real answers.”
I got up from the sofa, knowing better than to reach out to her at the moment. She was right though. Maybe I would have some answers when I returned. I grabbed a nearby backpack and left for the lobby, taking with me a computer that had probably been compromised at some point.
In the lobby, I sat in an empty chair near the front desk, retrieving my laptop from the bag while watching for anything unusual that might creep up. While the Windows symbol greeted me, I placed a call to California, the true reason I had for getting away from Collette.
“Agent Fuentes,” the parole agent answered.
After greetings were exchanged with Dom Fuentes, I took him back down memory lane, to a past job I'd done for noble purposes, but one that would still cost him his job if anyone knew. When I was done reminding him, he agreed begrudgingly to cooperate with my simple, lone request.
“Whatchu got?” he asked.
“African American female, first name Sophia, probably born and raised around Inglewood. Driver's license says her last name is Williams and she lives in Santa Monica, but it's probably a fake. She's done some modeling before. No visible scars. Tiny heart tat around her waistline. Probably served time in the past five years, maybe had a male partner/accomplice in some kind of scheme,” I rattled off.
“Do you have her accomplice's name or a last known address?”
“No,” I embarrassingly admitted.
He sighed, perhaps sensing his job might be in jeopardy if successful with my request. “Do you at least have a visual for me?”
“That, I can accommodate.” I provided Agent Fuentes with a description of Sophia, minus the lurid details I was privy to, and sent an e-mail to his personal account with Sophia's image from her night with Natalia. From a quick check, it seemed my files were only copied rather than stolen. Besides, if Sophia somehow had the ability to monitor my online activity, I wanted her to know I was coming for her first chance I got.
Dom acknowledged receipt of the photo. “Look, I'll see what I can do. No promises,” he offered.
“Just hurry. I need to know if she's reporting in to you guys and where she's currently staying. She might've had a temporary address in Dallas earlier this year.”
“Then we're through?”
“Yes,” I said as something on the mounted flat panel TV above me caught my eye. “If I don't answer, just leave the info on the voice mail.”
Bad-boy football player Andre Martin had crashed his car in the wee morning hours, going through a guard rail and down a ravine. Dead. Claimed there was alcohol on his breath. All the bad luck befalling the Oakland team was the chief topic these days, and the new rumors swirling about Andre's sexuality had been the cherry on top. Now this tragedy was being milked by the media wolves for all it was worth.
I knew Collette must've been on pins and needle, but I quickly jumped on the net. 4Shizzle was offering condolences to Andre Martin, all the while teasing a blockbuster story about a man behind the scenes of so much out there. Ballsy.
I sent a message to the editor via our standard means of communication:
Last chance to stop. It would be in your best interests. You have no idea how bad it could get.
She didn't reply.
So be it.
I ended the fruitless connection, preparing to shut my laptop down and return to Collette when my alarms went off. I spied two people who stood out by the desk: one large, one small. The diminutive one made me more wary as he asked questions of the man at the desk.
Without it completely depowered, I slammed the lid on my laptop and stood up.
“. . . went by his old apartment, but he's not there. We wanted to surprise Chris while we're in town. Do you know where he moved?” I caught coming from the small visitor as I walked by, headphone earbuds inserted and bobbing my head, but with no music playing. The man at the desk was new, and fortunately didn't know the tenant “Chris” by sight.
I closed my eyes behind the sunglasses I'd thrown on, glad I'd switched apartment units on a hunch, but desperately hoping the deskman wasn't an idiot.
“I'm not supposed to provide that kind of information,
but
since you're his boys,” he volunteered, eager to be down and oh-so-helpful. I didn't wait to hear him give me up to those who would be my killers.
Probably the same ones that killed Andre Martin.

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