Total Immunity (32 page)

The front porch was lopsided, the old pine beams twisted and half falling over.

One more earthquake out here in the Valley, and the Greg- sons' house would collapse forever.

Jack parked in front of the place and saw a battered old dog glaring at him from the broken-down steps.

He felt his tongue getting larger in his mouth. Like a toad's. Dreading every step, Jack and Oscar headed into the dusty

yard.

Oscar tried the doorbell, but there was no sound inside. He rapped on the old screen door, waited. Nothing. They rapped again, and the door opened, a half inch. A woman with good bones but deep wrinkles in her face looked out at them.

“Whatever you two are selling, I don't need any,” she said.

Jack held up his badge.

“Mrs. Gregson. We're with the FBI. We need to speak with you.”

Faye Gregson's head jerked back a little, as if Jack had slapped her in the face.

“FBI? I ain't got anything to say to you.”

“Ma'am, it's very important,” Oscar said. “Please let us in.”

Faye Gregson sighed, and gave a bitter little hiccup of a laugh.

“Like I got a choice in the matter. You people do whatever the hell you want.”

She stepped back and wearily held open the screen door. Jack and Oscar walked inside.

Faye Gregson's home was a place where the amenities were no longer observed. The yellowing shades were pulled down so that no one could see the old newspapers and magazines which spilled all over the battered furniture. Several soda bottles sat on chair arms, and the coffee table was covered with tabloid newspapers like
The Star
and
World Weekly News.

The old throw rug was covered with crumbs and dust and what looked to Jack like pieces of an old ham sandwich.

There was an odor in the place, too. An odor of mold, and from the back of the house what could easily be recognized as urine. Apparently, Faye Gregson didn't bother cleaning her toilets very often.

She made a halfhearted gesture for the two agents to sit down and sat across from them on an old overstuffed couch.

“So, what little surprises you guys got for me today?” she said, as though she were trying to be casual.

“Well, Mrs. Gregson . . .” Oscar started.

“Call me Faye,” she said sarcastically. “I know we're going to become great friends.”

Oscar looked at Jack who began to feel impatient.

“Faye, my partner here, Agent Hidalgo, and I are investigating the deaths of three FBI agents.”

Faye Gregson snorted a mocking laugh, then took out a Camel and lit it. She blew two trails of smoke across the room at them.

She looked, Jack thought, like an old, battered lizard on her last legs.

“You think maybe I did it? Well, can't say I blame you. I thought about it enough times.”

“Is that right?” Oscar said.

“Yeah, that's right. You ever have a kid, mister?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said. “Three of them.”

“Well, then you know something about it. Wonder what you'd do if someone just came along and killed one of 'em. And you knew he did it. And the law wouldn't touch him.”

“That would be rough,” Oscar said. “That's what happened to you?”

“You know it is or you wouldn't be here. So why don't you cut the bullshit?”

She got up so slowly that it seemed almost like a joke, a parody of motion, then walked over to an old, scratched-up wooden cabinet, opened the top drawer, and took out a picture. Just as slowly she walked over and handed it to Oscar. Jack leaned over and looked on.

“That's him. That's Jimmy. Just the smartest kid you'd ever want to meet. Had a career all lined up for him in film. You can ask anybody. He could have been a great moviemaker. Like Spielberg or one of them. 'Cept you guys let out a little shit name of Billy Chase, who happened to drop by just to kill my boy. Shoulda been in prison. But you guys let him out.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Jack couldn't meet her eyes.

“Listen to me. If I wanted to kill one of your agents, I would have every goddamned right to — you both hear me? But I didn't do a damned thing. 'Cept die myself.”

Jack sucked in his breath, then spoke.

“Faye, I know this is hard for you. But somebody is killing agents connected to your son's case . . .”

Faye Gregson looked at Jack, and blinked as if she'd made some kind of connection.

“I know you?”

“No, ma'am,” Jack lied. “What about your husband, Dick Gregson? He took it really hard, too, right?”

“Do I know you?” Faye Gregson repeated.

“Jack's been on television a lot lately about a case,” Oscar said.

“Oh . . . what do you want to know about Dick?”

“How he reacted. When —”

“When Jimmy was murdered by your informant? Isn't that what you called him? That's a great fancy name for a piece of shit. How do you
think
he reacted? He was very . . . very . . . upset. Angry.”

There was something curious about her words, Jack thought. When she described Dick Gregson's anger, there was no real fury in her voice. And she seemed to be staring off into space, as though her mind were somewhere else.

“What is it, Faye?” Jack said softly.

“Nothing. See, Dick didn't have a mean bone in his body. He was a long-distance trucker, and if he got, you know . . . upset . . . he just took on a few more loads. Used to say once he was out on the highway, his ‘road self' kicked in. It was like everything back here was a dream to him. Didn't mean a thing.”

“Where's Dick now?” Oscar said.

“Died two years ago. Had a big accident up near Eureka. Wet highway, big bend. He didn't make it.”

Faye Gregson took another hit off her cigarette and glowered at them both.

“Someone is killing everyone that was involved with my Jimmy?”

“That's right,” Jack said.

“Goddamn. Jesus Christ!”

She looked as though she were about to say something, then turned away and took two long drags off her cigarette.

“Look, Faye,” Oscar said. “These guys who've been killed. They have families, too. Some of them have kids. So if you know something, please tell us.”

She turned quickly then, filled with fury.

“Oh, really? I lose my son because of you guys, and now I should step forward and save the lives of the very people who did it to him? You take care of a kid for years and years, worrying about him at school, every time he gets sick, but you tell yourself it's all going to come out fine. But you know . . . you know somewhere deep inside you that it's been wrong from the start. That the whole thing, the father, the son . . . you know it's cursed, 'cause it was wrong . . . wrong from the start.”

She broke down and sank back to the couch, her body shaking with sobs.

Oscar looked through the dust motes at Jack.

“Your husband, Dick? He wasn't Jimmy's father?”

“No,” she said. “No . . . but Dick never knew.”

“Then who?” Jack said.

Faye Gregson put out her cigarette in a coffee cup and lit another one.

“Thing was, Dick was gone all the time. See, I was used to having a big family. And friends. That's how I grew up back in Iowa. So when we come out here, and Dick starts going away all the time . . . I was so lonely. I could hardly stand it. So finally I joined this tennis club. Which is where I met Roy Ayres. He was the owner of it. Supersuccessful man. He'd made millions of dollars in real estate, and he opened the club just for something to do. His wife had died from cancer, and he was lonely, too. Place was called The Palms, and it was beautiful. Roy also owned this restaurant and bar called The Ranchero. It was a great spot. Music and happy hour. It was just the gayest spot. Roy and I were friends at first, but he was so much fun, always ready with a story and a laugh. He paid attention to me. Thought I was beautiful. And you know what? I was. Yeah, I know I don't look it now, but I was back then. I was young and beautiful, and he just lit up whenever he saw me. It was like I was alive again.”

“You got pregnant?” Oscar said.

“Yes. That's right. And I was going to get an abortion. But Roy said not to. See, he and Dick were the same types. Dark complexioned, and near the same age, and sort of stocky. Roy said he'd always wanted a child, and the thought that it would be ours . . . He couldn't bear to kill it. We figured we might get away with it. So I did it. I had Jimmy and I never told Dick the truth. Dick wasn't all that into having a kid, anyway. But Roy, he was crazy for Jimmy. It was Roy who liked to take pictures and it was Roy who brought Jimmy his first camera, and it was him that saw that Jimmy had a natural talent for taking snapshots, and soon he got him a movie camera. By the age of four or five, Jimmy was making little home movies that were so clever. And with Dick away on long trips, Roy and Jimmy and I would drive in Roy's big old white Caddy convertible and we'd go to Beverly Hills to Chasen's and eat Sunday dinner, and we'd have our own little family. The
real
family, as I came to think of it.”

Jack tried to say something — something that would be comforting — but there was nothing comforting to say.

“And Jimmy, he just loved Roy. I never saw two people who loved each other so much. And he just blossomed with Roy helping him. Know what they did? They made little movies together. They wrote them down, real scripts with speaking parts and all that, and they acted 'em out. Started out with little horror movies.
Dracula
was the first one, 'cept they did their own, and they used the club and the bar as the castle. You never saw two people take to each other like they did. See, that's when I learned what life was all about, and Roy did, too. He used to say to me that all the money he'd made in all his real-estate ventures and his club and bar, why, none of it meant anything at all besides having me and Jim. And then Jimmy got his internship at Universal — the youngest kid ever to get one since Spielberg — and you shoulda seen Roy; you shoulda seen him. He was so proud he could have busted, and I had to tell him to bring it down a little, you know, 'cause we still had Dick to deal with. That was a great summer, us going over there to see Jimmy and meeting so many of the stars and the big directors and producers. It was like all our dreams were going to come true. No, that's not exactly it. It was more like dreams we'd never even knew we had were going to come true, 'cause being poor and from the Midwest, you don't even dare to have dreams like we were having now. I mean, then . . .”

She stopped and looked around, as though she'd suddenly dropped back to the real world, her sordid little living room with its smell of piss and death.

“And then it happened. Jimmy and that Billy Chase. At first we thought he was going to be just fine. He laughed about it a little. But for two weeks he got tired at night. And he wasn't interested in his cameras and his movies. He just didn't care anymore. I knew there was something wrong. I should have taken him right into the hospital. But Roy said he was fine, said it was just me feeling guilty. I did, you know? I wasn't a swinger. I believe in loyalty and my marriage oath. I wouldn't ever have started with Roy 'cept I was so lonely. And then Jimmy went to bed that night, and when I came into his room in the morning and called him . . . ‘Jimmy? Jimmy?' I said. ‘Time to get up, honey. You have school today, and they're going to show your film in class. It's your big day, honey.' But he didn't move. He just lay there. It's funny, when you see a scene like that in a movie, the mother always screams. But I didn't scream. It seemed like I knew this day was coming all along and the whole thing — me and Roy and Jimmy and our happiness — was all a setup, that life was just waiting to cut us down. 'Cause it was wrong from the start, and Jimmy . . . Jimmy was the product of a deal with the devil. I know that sounds terrible, but he was. He was an angel himself, but he came from us, and we were bad. And you . . . you guys were the devil come to get his due. And maybe I shouldn't hate you, but I do. Part of me. Part of me is glad if you all die. I can't help it. I just can't.”

She began to cry and make low mournful sounds, whimpering like a dog under a car wheel.

Jack felt a chill run down his back. Oscar grimaced and looked away.

“Faye, what happened to Roy?” Jack said, after she had quieted down.

“It was funny,” she said. “He had such a strange reaction. When I told him, he just said he'd come over. And when he saw Jimmy lying there in his bed, turning blue, he just touched his head and looked up at the sky. And he said, ‘It's all right. I can still reach him.' And I said, ‘You can?' and he said, ‘Yes, I can hear him. I can hear him talking to me.' And then he smiled, and he said he was going to take care of everything. That it would take a long while, but he and Jimmy had a plan. It was so strange. It gave me the chills. I asked him what he meant, and he said they were going to make a movie. It was going to be great. They had to work out the plot . . . they had to come up with a plot that would blow everybody away, but it was going to happen. It was going to be the greatest work ever . . . 'cause it was going to be a movie in reality. Real people would be the actors. Then he began to touch Jimmy's lips, like he could hear the words through his fingers and he was saying, ‘What's that, Jim? You what? Oh, good. That is brilliant. Jimmy.' And I told him we had to call the hospital, and he said, ‘Not yet.' And he sat there with Jim, running his hands over his dead body, laughing and nodding his head. And said he had it, he got it. It would take a long time, but he would do everything Jimmy wanted. And then, after two hours of this, which made me sick . . . after two hours or so, he got up and walked out. And I called the police and the hospital, and they took my son away.”

There was a long silence. Then Jack said:

“And then?”