Last Man Standing (58 page)

He shut down his computer and looked at Web. “Any more questions?”

The admiration was clear on Web’s features. “Okay, you convinced me, you know computers.”

“Yeah, I bust my ass in school, finally get a job that doesn’t require me to wear a hair net and the fine folks at Social
Services tell us we make too much damn money and we got to leave our home we been at for the last five years.”

“System sucks.”

“No, people who have never been on it think the system sucks. For people on it, we wouldn’t have had anyplace to live without
it. But it still ticks me off that I’m making a little more than damn Burger King pays and we get kicked out. It’s not like
my employer dropped any stock options on somebody like me.”

“Look, it’s still a start, Jerome. And better than the alternative around here, you know that.”

“I’m gonna keep moving up. Work my ass off and then we are out of here and we’re never looking back.”

“You and your grandmother?”

“She took me in when my mama died. Brain tumor and no health insurance, that ain’t a real good combo. My daddy bit it on a
.45 he stuck in his own mouth when he was high on something. You damn right I’ll take care of her, just like she took care
of me.”

“And Kevin?”

“I take care of Kevin too.” He glowered at Web. “If you people can find him.”

“We’re trying. I know a little about his family. His relation to Big—I mean, Francis.”

“He’s Kevin’s father. So what?”

“A little more than that. I’ve met Francis up close. Too close, actually.” Web pointed out the remnants of his assorted facial
injuries inflicted by the man.

Jerome looked at him curiously. “You lucky that’s all he done to you.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that feeling. He told me how Kevin came into this world. With his mother and all.”

“Stepmother.”

“What?”

“She was Francis’s stepmother. Strung out most of the time. Don’t know what happened to his real mama.”

Web let out a relieved breath. It wasn’t incest. He glanced at Claire, who said, “So they’re actually not brothers. They’re
father and son. Does Kevin know that?”

“I never told him.”

“But he thinks Francis is his brother? Is that how Francis wanted it?” asked Claire, while Web watched her closely.

“What Francis wants, he gets, that answer enough for you?” “Why would Francis want Kevin to believe they were brothers?” “Maybe
he didn’t want Kevin to know he was screwing his step-mom and Kevin’s mom. Her name was Roxy. She was into drugs and all that,
but she was good to Kevin before she died.”

“How did Kevin get shot?” asked Web.

“He was with Francis, got caught in some gang shootout. Francis brought him here, only time I ever seen that man cry. I took
him to the hospital myself ’cause cops just arrest his ass if Francis took him. Kevin never cried, not one time, and bleeding
like a son of a bitch. But he’s never been the same since. Other kids tease him, call him a retard.”

“Kids can be cruel, and then they grow up and get even more cruel, they’re just a lot more subtle about it,” commented Claire.

“Kevin ain’t stupid. Smart as a whip. And he can draw, man, draw like you can’t believe.”

Claire looked interested. “Care to show me?”

Jerome checked his watch. “I can’t be late for work. And I got to take the bus.”

“To your big cookie shop?” asked Web.

For the very first time Jerome and Web exchanged a smile. “I tell you what, Jerome, you show us Kevin’s stuff and talk to
us a little bit more and I’ll personally drive you to work in one bitching machine that’ll have all your friends envious as
hell. How about that?”

Jerome led them upstairs and down a short hallway that ended with a very small room. When Jerome turned on the light, Web
and Claire looked around in amazement. Every inch of the walls and even the ceiling was covered with drawings on paper, some
in charcoal, others in colored pencil and still others in pen and ink. And on a small table next to a mattress on the floor
were stacks of sketchbooks. Claire picked up one and started going through it, while Web continued to gaze at the drawings
on the wall. Some of them were things Web could recognize, landscapes and people; Jerome and his grandmother were reproduced
in amazing detail.Other drawings were abstract in content and Web couldn’t make sense of them.

Claire looked up from the sketchbook and her gaze swept around the room before focusing on Jerome. “I know a little something
about art, Jerome, because my daughter is majoring in art history. Kevin has serious talent.”

Jerome looked to Web like the proud father. “Kevin says that how he sees things sometimes. ‘Just drawing what I’m seeing,’
he tells me.”

Web looked at the art supplies and sketchbooks piled on the table. There was also a small easel in the corner with a blank
canvas on it.

“All this stuff costs money. Francis contributing?”

“I buy Kevin his art stuff. He gets Kevin other stuff, clothes, shoes, basic things.”

“He offer to ever help you and your grandmother?”

“He offered. But we ain’t taking that money. We know where it comes from. Kevin’s another matter. It’s his daddy. Father’s
got a right to provide for his son.”

“Daddy come around much?”

Jerome shrugged. “When he wants to.”

“You think he might be the one who has Kevin? Give it to me straight.”

Jerome shook his head. “As much as I don’t like Francis, if you ask me, he’d cut off his own head before he’d let anything
happen to that boy. I mean, he’ll kill you so much as look at you. But around Kevin he was gentle. A gentle giant, I guess
you could say. He didn’t want Kevin living with him because he knew it’d be too dangerous.”

“I imagine that was a big sacrifice for Francis, giving up something that he loved so much. But that’s the true test of love,
really: sacrifice,” said Web.

“Well, man changes where he sleeps all the time ’cause people looking to kill him. Hell of a way to live. But he had people
watching Kevin, making sure nobody got to Francis by going after him. It ain’t like everybody knew of the connection, but
he wasn’t taking any chances.”

“You seen him since Kevin disappeared?” asked Web.

Jerome stepped back on that one and put his hands in his pockets, and Web instantly sensed the wall going back up.

“I’m not looking to get you in trouble, Jerome. Just tell me straight and I promise you it won’t go any further. You’re doing
really well, keep your string going.”

Jerome seemed to think about this, one hand playing with his tie, as though wondering what the thing was doing around his
neck.

“The night Kevin didn’t come home. It was late, maybe three in the morning. I had just got home from work and Granny was up
and all a mess. She told me Kevin was missing. I was upstairs changing and getting ready to go looking for Kevin and wondering
whether we should call the cops. I hear my granny downstairs talking to somebody, or
he
was talking—yelling, that is—at her. It was Francis. He was mad like I ain’t heard him mad ever before.” He paused and looked
for a moment like he might bolt again. “He was looking for Kevin too. Was sure Granny had him hid somewhere, at least maybe
he was hoping that was it. The way he was talking, I thought he be going after Granny. I almost come down the stairs. Now,
I ain’t no coward, and I ain’t stupid either; hell, that man probably take only a second to kill me, but it ain’t like I’m
letting him or anybody come in here and hurt her without trying to do something about it. You understand me?”

“I do, Jerome.”

“Francis, he finally calmed down, he was getting it that Kevin wasn’t here. So he left. Last time we’ve seen him. That’s the
truth.”

“I appreciate you telling me. I guess it’s probably hard to trust people right now.”

Jerome looked Web up and down. “You saved Kevin’s life. That’s worth something.”

Web looked at him warily.

“I read the papers, Mr. Web London, Hostage Rescue Team. Kevin be dead, wasn’t for you. Maybe that’s why Francis didn’t bust
your skull.”

“Hadn’t really thought about it that way.”

Web looked at the stack of sketchbooks again. “The other agents who came here, did you tell them any of this?”

“They didn’t really ask.”

“How about Kevin’s room? They search up here?”

“Couple of them looked around, didn’t take very long.”

Web looked at Claire. They seemed to read each other’s thoughts. She said, “Do you mind if I borrow those sketchbooks? I’d
like to show them to my daughter.”

Jerome looked at the books and then at Web. “You gotta promise to bring them back. That’s Kevin whole life, right there,”
he said.

“I promise. I promise I’ll do everything I can to bring Kevin back too.” He gathered up the sketchbooks and then put a hand
on Jerome’s shoulder. “Now it’s time to get you to work. You’ll find my chauffeuring fees are very reasonable.”

As they walked downstairs, Web had one more question. “Kevin was in that alley alone in the middle of the night. Did he do
that a lot?”

Jerome looked away and said nothing.

“Come on, Jerome, don’t get tongue-tied on me now.”

“Hell, Kevin wanted to help us out, you know, make some money and we get out of this place. It bothered him that he never
could do much like that. He was just a kid, but he thought like a grown-up on some things.”

“I guess a particular environment might do that for you.”

“Well, Kevin, he be out on the streets sometimes. Granny too old to keep up with him. I don’t know who he was hanging with,
and whenever I caught him out there, I brought his butt home. But maybe he might be trying to make a little cash on the side.
And around here you can get that money, no matter how young you are, you hear me?”

They dropped Jerome off at work and headed back to Claire’s house.

“By the way, you handled yourself like a pro back there,” he said.

“I guess it’s more mental than physical, and that’s my jurisdiction.” She glanced at Web. “You know, you were pretty rough
on Jerome.”

“It’s probably because I’ve seen a million guys just like him in my life.”

“Stereotyping is dangerous, Web, not to mention unfair to the person being categorized. The fact is, you can only know one
Jerome at a time. And I could tell this Jerome busted your preconception all apart.”

“He did,” admitted Web. “I guess when you’ve been doing my kind of work for so long, it’s easier to lump folks together.”

“Like fathers?”

Web didn’t answer that one.

Claire said, “It is sad about Francis and Kevin. From what Jerome said, he must love his son very much. And to have to lead
such a life.”

“I don’t doubt the big guy loves Kevin either, but I’ve seen that same big guy kill a man in cold blood right in front of
him, and he’s also cleaned my clock twice, so my sympathy has its limits,” said Web very firmly.

“One’s environment does tend to dictate one’s choices, Web.”

“I can accept a little of that argument, but I’ve seen too many guys from even worse backgrounds make it just fine.”

“Including maybe yourself?”

He ignored her question and instead said, “I figure you pack some things and we find you a safe house with some agents there
to make sure those folks don’t come back.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“I want you to be safe.”

“I want to be safe too, trust me, I have no death wish. But if you’re right and that person was just pretending to be Francis
to scare me and throw suspicion on him, I’m probably not in any real danger.”

“
Probably
is right. That’s only one theory, Claire, and it might be the wrong one.”

“I think if my routine remains the same, they have no reason to think I’m a threat. And I have something I really need to
work on.”

“What?”

She glanced over at him and Web had never seen her look so troubled. “I’m thinking about a very brave man going into an alley,
listening to a little boy say something quite extraordinary and then being unable to do his job.”

He shot her a look. “You can’t be sure there’s a connection.”

She held up a page of the sketchbook for him to see. “Oh, I’m pretty sure there’s a connection.”

The drawing was stark, exacting, possessing a powerful clarity that seemed beyond a young boy. A figure that looked so like
Kevin it could have been a self-portrait was standing in what looked to be a high-walled alley. A man who could have been
Web in complete combat gear was in full running stride next to Kevin. The boy’s hand was extended. What was in the boy’s hand
had Web fixated. The device was small, easily secreted in a trouser pocket. The stream of light that shot out from it reached
across the page and ended at the margin. It was as though the boy held some sort of futuristic weapon that shot light beams,
à la
Star Wars
or
Star Trek.
Actually, it was a device that all people, especially kids, would be familiar with these days. It was a remote control, and
this one was sending out a beam of light. It could have been to a TV, stereo or some other electronic equipment. But Web knew
that it wasn’t. He hadn’t even seen a TV in Kevin’s house and there was certainly not one in his room. This remote control,
Web felt sure, had activated the laser in the courtyard that, in turn, had triggered the mini-guns when Web and Charlie Team
had come thundering into the space. The kid had kick-started it all. And somebody had prepared the boy for exactly what he
would see that night, namely men in body armor with guns, for it wasn’t like Kevin Westbrook had come back to his house to
make this drawing after the fact.

Who was that someone?