Rob Cornell - Ridley Brone 01 - Last Call (29 page)

“That girl… or whatever she is, dragged my daughter down, nearly caused her to go to prison. She got what she deserved.”

“Did you tell yourself the same thing when you killed Doug. Because that’s what this is really about. No one is good enough for your daughter.”

His nostrils flared.

“I’m good at this once I get started, aren’t I? I tell you—once a detective, always a detective.”

“Are you through?”

I stared him dead in the eyes. “Am I?”

“You forgot about Kelly.”

“I’ve done all the talking, Lincoln. Why don’t you tell me about Kelly Simple?”

His brow wrinkled. He looked at the tape recorder in his hand as if to make sure he had in fact turned it off. He waved an elbow at Autumn. “Check his other pockets. Make sure he doesn’t have a second recording device.”

Autumn came over and patted at my jacket and my pants pocket.

“Don’t just feel him. Reach into his pockets and check.”

Autumn obeyed and found nothing.

“Happy?” I asked.

Lincoln frowned. “People like Kelly are expendable. I have one like her in a number of places across the state. They help me find children who need good homes.”

“And they help you kill people.”

“Not all are as versatile as Kelly was. She’ll be sorely missed.”

I shook my head, out of ways to buy time. My fate was now in the hands of… well, fate. I snuck another glance at the shadows under the trees.

“If you’re through, I’ll get back to the task at hand. You have two very clear choices. Autumn wishes to be reunited with her daughter, and I sense you want the same.”

I folded my arms.

“You’ve figured out quite a bit,” he continued. “If you’re willing to forget it all, I will tell you where to find your daughter. Mind you, I’m the only one with this information. I’ve kept tabs on her from time to time. She’s doing quite well.”

“What’s to guarantee my amnesia is permanent?”

“Have you ever seen the insides of a fifteen year-old girl?”

Autumn cringed and hissed through her teeth.

I decided if he so much as moved his aim an inch to either side, I’d take the chance and throttle him.

“Ironically, you now have an idea what a father might do to protect his daughter. We’re in the same boat, you and I.”

“I have my limits.”

“Your only other option is death.”

I imagined where my daughter might be, what kind of life she might have led for the past fifteen years. Was she really in a good home, with parents that cared for her? Or was the kind of affection she received the same brand as Lincoln’s? My heart almost stopped at the thought.

“Where is my daughter?”

“Does that mean you agree?”

I gritted my teeth. “Where is my daughter?”

Lincoln raised his gun. “This is sad. Autumn hoped the two of you might form some sort of relationship with your child together. I hate not being able to give my daughter what she wants.”

Autumn stared at the ground, shivering.

Lincoln lifted the tape recorder and gazed at it with an amused smirk. “You really thought this was going to work? Taping my confession?”

“I guess not,” I said. “Especially since there isn’t even any tape in there.”

His eyes bugged. “What are you …” He flipped open the recorder and found it empty. He tossed the tape recorder onto the ground and zeroed his aim in on my face. “This was all a joke to you?”

“Daddy, wait.”

From the shadowed path into the trees came a voice. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to come out?” Palmer emerged from the shadows, his pistol trained on Lincoln. “Because you could have filled me in before you assumed I would follow you here.”

Lincoln swung his aim toward Palmer, but before I could make a move, Autumn steadied her aim on me.

“Everyone stay calm,” Palmer said.

Lincoln’s face turned deep red. “Autumn! What is this?”

Autumn shook her head, eyes wide, my gun trembling in her hands. “I don’t know. I don’t.”

“Both of you,” Palmer said. “Put down the weapons.”

“You’ve made a grave mistake,” Lincoln said to me. “You’ll only get another policeman killed.”

Palmer gestured with his pistol. “Nobody is killing anybody.”

“Tell me where my daughter is, you bastard.”

“The hell I will.”

“You sick fuck. It’s over. You’re caught. Tell me where she is.”

“That’s enough!” Palmer shouted. “Drop the guns. Now.”

Autumn shook, but her aim never wavered. Lincoln’s own gun remained locked on Palmer. The sun colored the sky orange, and in the light I could see Lincoln’s knuckles going white. Everything was moving too fast. Palmer had followed me like I had hoped. I also suspected Autumn might turn on me, which was the reason for the whole tape recorder ruse. She didn’t know I’d meant for Palmer to listen in. But when I had played the rest of this out in my head, I saw it differently. I saw Lincoln giving up when Palmer came out, saw him telling me everything I needed to know to break down his network of baby selling, saw him giving me my daughter’s location.

I took a step toward Lincoln.

Autumn jerked her gun up.

“After all he’s done,” I said to her. “You should be pointing the gun at him.”

Palmer twitched. “Jesus Christ, are you trying to get us all shot?”

“Turn the gun on him, Autumn. Make him tell us how to find our daughter.”

“Brone, you are way out of line.”

Lincoln’s lip curled. “Shoot him, Autumn.”

“You kill me, Palmer kills your dad. We’ll never know then.”

Palmer grunted.

“Kill him, Autumn!”

“Stop telling me what to do,” she screamed.

Her hands opened, and the gun tipped off of her fingers and thumped to the ground, and Lincoln’s finger curled against his trigger, and the morning light reflected off of Palmer’s glasses, maybe blinding him, and Autumn covered her face and dropped to her knees, and I dove for my gun, knowing Lincoln was probably pulling his trigger at the same time, and the shot cracked the sky, the report echoing through the trees, a flock of red robins scattering from branches, while I sailed down, and down, down, until my hands touched my gun, my fingers curled around the grip, and I tried to turn at the same time I scooped up my gun and slipped my finger through the trigger guard, and Lincoln still pointed his gun toward Palmer who was now behind me, out of sight, maybe injured, maybe dead, but I couldn’t turn to see, had to follow through—this man knew how to find my daughter—so I aimed the gun at his chest before he could swing his aim toward me, and I caught him, saw his eyes widen as he knew it too, and I shouted with such force that something wet like blood rolled up the back of my tongue, “WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER!”

Lincoln froze.

I waited.

He cocked his elbow, brought the barrel of his gun to his temple.

“You’ll never know.”

And he shot himself.

Chapter 26

My daughter is sixteen years old. She lives with a slightly older couple who couldn’t have children and couldn’t get through the whole adoption process because the husband, Dennis, had some financial problems that put the couple in debt for a number of years. Their debts are now paid, even after what they had to spend to finally get a daughter.

My daughter lives on a street named Morningdale, in suburban Michigan, in a single family ranch style home, with a detached garage that Dennis installed a basketball net to when my daughter was ten, because she loved watching the Detroit Pistons play on television. My daughter shoots a mean free-throw, and continues to improve her lay-ups every night that she practices after school. Dennis thinks she will start first string on the high school girls varsity team when she tries out.

My daughter’s name is Dorothy, after her adoptive mother’s mother. Some kids at school call her Dot or Dotty, but she prefers Dorothy, unless she’s with Dennis, who nicknamed her Doro when she was just a baby.

Virginia, Dorothy’s adoptive mother, is teaching my daughter how to play piano. My daughter isn’t very good. She has a hard time remembering how to work her fingers to play the right chords, and she doesn’t have the patience to keep trying. Eventually, she will give up and run outside to shoot hoops. This makes Virginia sad, because my daughter can sing. Man, can she sing.

My daughter’s birthday is in September. I’m going to visit her to celebrate her seventeenth birthday. I bought her a car, after checking with Virginia and Dennis to make sure it was okay with them. I think they’re uncomfortable with such an expensive gift, but I try to explain to them that I have more money than I would ever need, and I’m happy to spend it on my own daughter. Our daughter.

Virginia and Dennis have unofficially adopted me, too. I have a family again. We’re happy. Everything is okay.

Only it’s not.

Because all of this …

… was simply a fantasy that ran through my mind while I crawled toward Lincoln Rice’s body. When I reached him, I noticed his chest hitch and fall as his body struggled to live on even while the bastard’s brain leaked into the grass. One look at his broken skull told me he had nothing left to give me.

Snot dripped from my nose, and I tried to wipe it away with a quivering hand. The tears on my face kept flowing. I had to gasp to breathe.

But I wasn’t dead or dying. I only felt like I was.

The groan from behind me made me turn. Palmer lay on his back, but he reached across his body and prodded at a bloody spot on his shoulder. I couldn’t see him too well since I was on the ground myself, laying on my side by Lincoln. Observing the life in Palmer brought some life back in me.

I struggled to my feet and staggered to Palmer’s side. Lincoln’s shot caught him high and to the side. The wound wasn’t fatal, but the damage looked ragged, and probably hurt like a mother.

His glasses sat askew on his face. He tried to wriggle his nose to get them on straight. I adjusted the frames for him, rested a reassuring hand on his chest.

“You son of a bitch,” he said. “Could have told me I’d need a vest.”

“If I’d come to you first with this, you would have locked me up for sure.”

“I wouldn’t have believed a word if I wasn’t here.” He studied my face for a second. “I’m sorry, about your …”

It was pointless to voice it, and he knew it. Saying it only made it more real. It did not need to be more real.

I nodded because I felt like I ought to do something to acknowledge his sentiment.

“Get me to a hospital, or you’re out an important witness.” He tried a smile, but his expression came across more like a wince, showing too many teeth.

“We’ll take your car,” I said. “No way I’m letting you bleed all over my Rolls.” It felt good to banter. It kept my mind off of all the shit.

Palmer actually laughed. Then his expression turned grave. He tried to twist, to look past me.

“What are you doing? Let me help you—”

“Where is she?”

The question had become such a routine from him that I almost spat an inappropriate comeback until it struck me that during my shock following Lincoln’s death I had lost track of Autumn.

I searched the surrounding park with my eyes. The sun had risen high enough to illuminate the clearing with only a wreath of shadows remaining around the edges by the trees. I saw the playground on the opposite side, as well as the Rolls Royce and Lincoln’s Lexus parked in the far lot.

I saw no sign of Autumn.

Chapter 27

Three months later, I sat in the back booth of the new
High Note
. Like Sheila had said, the insurance coverage on the bar was top notch. But I added a good chunk of my own money to speed up construction and get the place reopened as quickly as possible.

At first, I thought I’d have them totally reconstruct the place, recreate it in my own image. But I couldn’t think of any other way to design a karaoke bar. My parents had thought of everything, making sure that the focal point at all times was the stage, and whomever was performing. So I did everything I could to rebuild the
High Note
exactly the way it was when I inherited it.

Most of the bar’s features proved easy to recreate—the tables and chairs, the wallpaper, the stage lights, even the damn tacky disco ball. But a few things turned out irreplaceable, especially my parents’ wall of fame.

I salvaged as many of the signed photographs of famous performers as I could, but many of them had been destroyed in the fire. I took it upon myself to hang new pictures, sending letters out to my favorite performers and getting autographed photos sent back like I was some teenaged groupie. I’m still adding, but I’ve got Madonna, Lenny Kravitz, all members of the Beastie Boys, and one of Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers—a favorite band I’d put up there with Zep.

Unlike my parents, I haven’t met any of these entertainers in the photos, but as the bar was being rebuilt I spent a month working on a website to draw musicians of all stripes to come check out the
High Note
and even book a show. I realized that was how my parents had made the place so famous in the first place. Somehow I’d forgotten the many nights when karaoke would close, and the stage would open for a professional performer—some of them famous, some working their way up. Even my parents would perform on occasion.

While I finally managed to book my first act, I didn’t see myself taking the stage any time… ever. But I tried to stay true to the spirit of the
High Note
, and remained determined to bring it back to the level of local fame it once enjoyed.

I did make one significant change. I added a little—okay, a lot—more rock and roll to the musical selection. I wanted to see more tone-deaf schmucks try to tackle Led Zeppelin or the Rolling Stones or even Metallica. I mean, if the singers were going to suck anyway, they might as well sing badly to good music.

On stage at the moment, a heavyset black guy was signing “Music of the Night” from
Phantom of the Opera
and doing it better than Michael Crawford any day. I was into it, and I didn’t even like
Phantom of the Opera
. (He won’t admit it, but I think Paul snuck that one into the musical mix. I’ve learned through the grapevine that my bartender is a sucker for show tunes.)