West Seattle Blues (15 page)

It must have been powerful stuff, because it took a few minutes before my brain returned to the thought of someone waiting out there with a gun. If he’d killed twice – maybe three times if he’d been responsible for James’s murder – then another body wouldn’t mean too much to him. I drew in a sharp breath and turned the key.

When I arrived to pick up Ian, I wasn’t sure who’d played harder, May or my son. Toys were all over her apartment. The rug in the hallway was bunched up as if someone had been sliding on it. He was grinning like a demon, hair disheveled, one sock vanished somewhere. May looked as perfectly groomed as ever, her black hair shining, clothes so perfect she could have just changed into them. The only thing that gave her away was the small sheen of sweat on her face.

“Looks like you guys had fun.”

“We did. He’s been great,” she said, lifting him up and rubbing her nose against his until he started giggling. “Seriously, anytime you want me to look after him, just ask.”

“Did he walk at all?”

“Nope, just speed crawling. He can definitely move.”

“Tell me about it,” I laughed.

We sat and drank a cup of coffee. With me around now, Ian wasn’t so hyper. He settled down to play with a plastic toy car May kept around specially for his occasional visits. That gave us a chance to gossip. She
didn’t date much, but the year before she’d been seeing a guy from one of the big Seattle bands. I knew she’d felt flattered, and then hurt when he broke up with her. Now he was calling her again.

“Do you think I should see him?” she asked. “He wants to take me out for dinner.”

“Do you want to?”

She had that slightly dreamy look, so unlike her. “I’m kind of scared,” May admitted, and I suppressed a smile. I was just beginning to know what scared felt like, and it had nothing to do with dating. “What if I fall for him again?”

For someone who was so competent and efficient, May wasn’t good at dealing with emotions. I set the mug down on the table and sighed.

“Do you really want to know what I think?”

“Yes.” Her voice was earnest.

“I think he treated you like a dick the last time around.” She opened her mouth to object but I carried on. “You know he did. I saw what you were like when he dumped you, remember? I just wonder why he’s coming around again.”

“Maybe he’s sorry.”

“Maybe. Or perhaps you’re making excuses for him. He stood you up half the time, didn’t call when he said he would.”

“He was busy.”

“He was a dick.”

“He…” she began, then stopped. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“You deserve better than him, May.”

“Thanks.” She leaned across the couch and gave me a hug. You’re right, I do.”

“Maybe I should go into the advice business,” I laughed. “Call it ‘Blunt Truths.’”

She chuckled. “So what’s been going on with you, anyway? Good interview?”

“Educational,” I told her. “There’s not much else right now. Except Ian, of course. He keeps me pretty busy. And Dustin’s thinking of changing jobs.” I wasn’t going to tell her that a madman might be out there, looking to kill me. I’d keep that stress inside the family.

“Really?” The two of them had met a few times although they’d never spoken much. “What’s he going to do?”

“He’s been talking to Elliott Bay Books, about maybe becoming a manager there. Less money, but less travelling, too. I don’t know, it’s still early days. I’m not even sure it’ll happen.”

“Do you want him to go for it?”

“It would be good to have him home every night. Depends how much money he’d lose by changing jobs, really.” I smiled. “We’ll figure it out. Now I’d better get this guy home and feed him. I really appreciate you doing this for me.”

“It’s my pleasure. How can anyone resist a face like that?”

It took us two trips to carry everything down to the car – stroller, diaper bag, baby food, toys. Then I gave her a hug and my thanks and then we were off as she waved to Ian. Homeward bound. I switched on the radio, the KCMU signal fading as I crossed the West Seattle Bridge. Ian was already asleep in his car seat; any car journey had that effect on him.

I carried him in gently, settling him down on the rug. All the gear in the car could wait. I checked the mail. I received so many CDs from record labels that we’d bought ourselves a bigger mailbox. Even that wasn’t enough; the mailman often left a plastic USPS box filled with packages out on the porch.

But there was little today. In the kitchen I started a fresh pot of coffee and noticed that the message light was blinking on the phone.

“Hey,” the voice said. “It’s Carson. Can you call me? It’s kind of important.”

“What’s happened?” I asked as soon as he answered.

“Can you get down here?”

“This evening,” I said. I couldn’t go anywhere until Dustin arrived home to look after Ian. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I said nothing. “Really, I am,” he insisted. “It’s just easier to tell you in person, that’s all.”

“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly.

It was almost seven-thirty by the time I parked on Beach Drive. Carson’s El Camino was there, his grandson’s beater in front of it. The evening was chilly but as I followed the steps down the hillside, I could see them standing out in front of the house. The ferry was just leaving Fauntleroy dock, heading over the water to Southworth. It was dark enough for the lights to reflect on the water, making one of those romantic sights that captured Seattle for me.

I let the magic hang for a moment, until the vessel sounded its horn.

“Hi,” I said as the noise drifted away toward the Peninsula. Carson and Jim both turned, both of them holding cans of Coors, and Carson leaning heavily on his cane.

“Always peaceful this time of night,” he said.

I nodded at Jim. “I went to see your mom,” I told him. “She’s nice.” He smiled and nodded back. I turned to his grandfather “So what did you want to tell me, Carson?”

“Someone came by to see me this afternoon.”

“Oh?”

“Said he knew what had happened to my son.”

“What?” I asked in surprise. What the hell was going on? Why was everything coming up now? “Who was this guy?”

“Said he was called Nick. He wouldn’t give me his last name.” Carson kept staring out at the water.

“What did he say? Tell me.” I took his arm and made him turn to face me. “Go on, tell me. Kyle and Rick are both dead and now there might be someone after me.” I’d checked the neighborhood before I set out and kept an eye on the rearview all the way here.

“He said that that he was willing to give me names. For money.”

I thought for a moment. This stunk. My mind was filled with questions. Who now? Who was this Nick? And how had he found Carson?

“Tell me everything he said to you.”

He gave a gentle cough and took another sip of the beer.

“Just turned up…didn’t call or anything first. I’d woken up from a nap.”

“How old was he? What did he look like?”

“Forty, maybe.” He shrugged. “Had long hair in one of those ponytails, and a thin face. He was like a scarecrow, all bones sticking out. Cowboy boots that had seen happier times.” He held up his right hand and extended the middle finger. “And a heart tattooed on the back of that.”

“A heart?”

“Yeah. A jailhouse thing, by the look of it.”

“And he said he knew who killed James?”

“Yeah. Said he’d heard what had happened to me. Told me that if I gave him a grand, he’d give me the names of the guys who murdered my son.”

“Guys? Plural?”

“That’s what he said.”

“But he hasn’t talked to the police?”

“No,” Carson answered slowly.

“They never questioned him?”

“I got the impression they never knew he was there.”

That was interesting. Whoever Nick was, he’d apparently seen the shooting and knew everyone involved. I didn’t like any of it. I wasn’t even sure if I believed any of it. Nick could have pulled the trigger himself. Not just once but three times.

“Where’s he been for the last four years?” I wondered. “And why’s he coming around now? How did he find you, anyway?”

“I’m in the phone book, Laura,” Carson answered with a gentle smile. “And Nick looked like he’d spent time inside recently.”

“That still doesn’t explain how he knew your name.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know and he didn’t say. But he offered me the names for a grand.”

“Why?” That was the real question. “Why not go to the cops?”

“I asked him that. He said if he did that, the people behind it would know and find him. With some money he could head out of state.”

“A grand won’t get him far.”

“It can take some people a long ways.”

“What does he think you’ll do if you get those names, anyway?”

“Kill them,” Carson replied coldly, and I didn’t know what to say.

“Jesus.” I found my voice after a while. It sounded hoarse, shocked. “You can’t.”

“Why not? They killed my flesh and blood.”

I looked at Jim, but his face was hidden in deep shadows.

“Is that what you want your grandfather to do? To murder people and go to jail?”

“No.” His voice was low and nervous. “We talked about it. I said all it does is make him no better than them.”

“He’s right.” I looked at Carson, his face caught by light through the house windows. “What about it? Are you going to pay this guy Nick?”

“He’s calling me back tomorrow for an answer.”

“And what will it be?”

“That’s why I wanted the two of you here.” He lit a Marlboro, inclining his head to draw in the smoke.

“Well, I guess you know what we both think. What
are
you going to do?” I pressed.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

“What if I tell you I’m going to talk to the cops in the morning, and tell them all about this?” I wanted them out looking for Nick. I wanted this over now. My insides felt so tense they might snap. I didn’t need Carson coming on like Clint Eastwood looking for revenge in a spaghetti Western.

He fixed his eyes on me and blew out smoke.

“I still don’t know. You want me to lie?”

“What I want is for you not to kill anyone, Carson. For Christ’s sake, let the police pick up this Nick guy and get the names from him.”

“He said he’d never tell them.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want anything to do with this. It’s fucked up. Whoever this guy is, his story just sounds wrong. Don’t do it, okay?”

He didn’t answer me, just stood there smoking. Jim hadn’t moved, staying still and silent as if he was hoping we’d both forget he was there. Finally I’d had enough.

“Jesus. You do whatever you’re going to do. If you decide not to pay him, call me.”

“And if not?”

“Then I guess I’ll see you somewhere down the road, Carson.”

I climbed back up the steps and started the Horizon. His tape was playing. I pulled it out of the dash and tossed it to the floor.

I was still burning with anger by the time I reached home. As I locked the car door, the grandson, Jim, pulled up behind me in his old Newport.

“Did he send you after me?” I asked after he got out.

“No.” He leaned against his car. “You know what he asked me to do?”

“What?”

“Go to the bank for him and take money from his account to pay this guy.”

“Are you going to?”

“I can’t,” he answered. “I told him I wouldn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Good,” I told him. With his injured leg, Carson would find it hard enough to climb those stairs from his house. And harder still to drive. “What did he say?”

“That he’d do it himself.” Jim looked up at me sadly. He’d done what he could. I could see he was torn, knowing he’d done the right thing yet feeling he was letting his grandfather down. “You know what he’s like, so he will.”

I shrugged. “It’s his choice. If he wants it enough, no one’s going to stop him. He wants to believe, then it’s his choice.”

“Yeah. But I just wanted you to know…” He let the sentence trail away and shrugged, not sure what to say next.

“Thanks for telling me,” I said, then added. “Don’t give up on him. He really cares for you.”

He nodded. I stood and watched as he drove away.

“What was all that about? Problem?” Dustin asked as I entered the kitchen. I poured myself some coffee. It had been sitting for a couple hours and tasted burned, but I drank some as I told him what had happened.

“Is he crazy?”

“He’s…” What was he, I wondered. Frustrated? Guilty? Carson was many things, and crazy could easily be one of them. This whole damn situation was crazy.

“What about you? Did he even ask about that?”

“No.” I was suddenly fuming. I glanced out the back window and spotted a police patrol car going slowly along the block. At least they were on the job.

“Do you think he’d really do it?” Dustin asked. “Kill them?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I’m sure he’d like to believe he could. But it’s going to be a while before he can even move fast enough. Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

“When are you going to call the cops?”

“In the morning,” I told him. Maybe Nick was the one behind it all. He seemed to have emerged at a very convenient time. “If the police find him, then who knows? Maybe they’ll find their killer. But then at least Carson won’t be shooting anyone.”

“What can I do?” he asked. It was the best thing he could have said. Not arrogant, not condescending. Simply wanting to help.

“Just be here. That’s what I need more than anything. I just want to be able to live without feeling I’m in the cross hairs. I’m trying to act normal but it’s getting to me.”

Dustin stood behind me and circled me with his arms. I leaned back with my head resting against his shoulder.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Cops in the morning and that’s it, I’m done. I told Carson that. I have enough to keep me busy for a while.”

“He’ll be back, you know,” he said as he pulled his arms tighter around me. For a moment I thought he meant the killer. But he didn’t. And he was right. A few more days and there’d be another phone call. Carson would sound bashful and apologetic. And I’d forgive him. My anger would vanish. I didn’t know how he managed it, but he did. God only knew why, but I liked him. I wanted to see his gig go well. I wanted him to record another album, a good one that showed what he could really do.