West Seattle Blues (19 page)

I was raging inside, wanting to kill Nick for this. I called Dustin at home. He offered to pick me up, but I said no. It took a good twenty minutes to reach the bus stop down on First, after heading past the blare of the Lusty Lady and the hammering man statue outside the Art Museum.

Thirteen

It was strange to have time to do nothing more than stare – first at the water, then at the houses we passed along Delridge and 16th. But it was also frustrating; I should have been driving, not sitting here as a passenger squashed up against the window of a Metro bus.

Arriving home, I climbed the steps to the deck and unlocked the slider. Inside, the house was quiet. There was no one in the living room. I tiptoed upstairs. Dustin was asleep on the bed. He lay on his back, cradling Ian with one arm up against his own body. It was way too cute. If I’d been carrying a camera, I’d have taken a picture. For a few seconds it was enough to soothe all the other emotions inside me.

But they returned as I crept back downstairs: anger fizzed and exploded inside me. I dug out my insurance policy and found the coverage included theft, although I wasn’t likely to receive much. The car was old, so the Blue Book value would be low. I couldn’t even report it as stolen for another twenty-four hours.

Breathe deeply and accept. That’s what my Buddhist friends would tell me. But my overwhelming urge was to find a rusty knife, hunt down Nick and rip out his guts. I made coffee and stood out on the deck, smoking two cigarettes, one after another.

Once it was over, I’d quit smoking again. If it was ever over. Right now I felt like I’d fallen into the heart of a nightmare and I wasn’t near the end yet.

By the time Dustin and Ian were up and around again I felt a little calmer. Calm enough to explain what had happened and who was responsible. Not that I needed to, since Dustin knew as well as I did. He hugged me close for as long as I could bear it.

“Have you called that detective about the missing car?”

“Not yet. I just got a report from the cops who took me searching for it.” I’d picked up the phone twice to call Detective Andersen and then put it down again. I wanted to wait until I wasn’t likely to shout and cuss like a mad woman.

“Do it,” he urged. “It’s more information for him.” He waited a heartbeat, studying the expression of fury on my face. “Besides, you know it’ll make you feel better.”

He was right. I laughed and immediately the tight atmosphere cracked. I’d spent the last three hours so tense my body was almost humming. Now it all drained away. Dustin certainly knew how to reach the core of me, the center. Okay, the car was gone. If it came back again, great. There were still more miles in it. If not, it wasn’t the end of the world. There were other cars out there. For all I fretted about money, we had some savings in the bank. So we could afford one. Maybe I was hitting that acceptance stage.

“Thanks,” I said finally. God, I loved him.

Andersen was out but I left a message, detailing what had happened over the last couple of days and voicing my suspicions. After I hung up, I called another number.

“Hey Carson, it’s Laura.”

“Hi,” he said hesitantly, not sure what I wanted.

“Have you heard anything more from Nick?”

“No. Why? Has he been bugging you?”

“Yeah. Well, I can’t prove it but I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized once more. “It was me who dragged you into all this.”

We’d gone through all that so many times and rehashing it one more time wasn’t going to take us anywhere. “How about you? Everything okay? No regrets about agreeing to the gig?”

“I’m getting by. Practicing for Tuesday.”

“You’ll be great. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Maybe it’ll be okay.” But I could hear a little pride under those words.

I poured another cup of coffee. Clearly Nick wasn’t going after Carson, but he was coming after me. Why? That didn’t make any sense. I couldn’t do anything for him. The phone rang and I reached for the receiver.

“This is Detective Andersen. I got your call and I just wanted you to know that we picked up Nick about an hour ago.”

I felt the relief ripple up through me like a wave. Those were the words I needed to hear. I leaned against the counter, all the tension of the last few days draining away. “God, that’s good news. Where did you find him?”

“Downtown - he was on Pike, between First and Second.” It was a block filled with street people pan-handling and hustling, right next to the big tourist attraction of Pike Place Market. It always creeps me out to walk there.

“What about my car? Anything on that?”

He hesitated before replying. “We found it. That’s not so great, I’m sorry.”

“Why?” I asked urgently. “What happened to it?”

“It’s a write-off.”

“Where was it?”

“On a street by Kinnear Park, on lower Queen Anne. Someone saw smoke and called the fire department. It’s burned out.”

I stayed silent for a moment. That had been a good little car.

“It was stolen on Queen Anne,” I said eventually.

“I already saw the report. There’s a crew going over it for fingerprints.” Then he said something to someone else, a muted blur of noise. “I need to get going now. I’ll see what I can get from Nick…but I wanted you to know that he’s off the street.”

“Thanks.”

I put the phone down. I might have lost the Horizon, but Nick was in jail. As trade-offs went, it could have been a lot worse. Now I just had to hope they’d find enough to keep him there. Forever would be good.

At least I knew what had happened to the car, so now I could call the insurance company. The clerk was brisk enough, as efficient as a robot and with the same amount of personality. As soon as their adjuster confirmed it was totaled, they’d send me a check. Three hundred dollars. I’d bought cars for less than that before. But I’d been younger then and satisfied with beaters. These days I had a kid to think about. Whatever I bought had to be safe and reliable. That meant I was going to have to spend some extra money.

“How would you like to go car shopping?” I asked Dustin. The last time I bought a vehicle, I’d taken my lesbian mechanic friend, but she was long gone, moved down to San Francisco with her girlfriend. I knew what car salesmen were like, a group of sharks with the scent of blood. They tried to beat women down with details that didn’t matter, hoping to dazzle us with words: Screw that. Dustin could fend them off while I took a look.

There were a couple of auto dealerships in West Seattle, just down from Alaska Junction. If there was nothing at them we could head over the bridge and into town.

Huling Brothers was the big one, filling up three corners of the wide intersection at Fauntleroy and Alaska. Half the car salesmen I’d ever met seemed to be high school football stars whose lives had gone downhill ever since graduation. The one who latched on to us wore a Sears suit, jacket buttoned to hide the growing paunch, a bad haircut and a look of resignation locked deep within his eyes. It wasn’t until I began examining a Ford Tempo that he said more than a couple of words.

I didn’t particularly like him, but he seemed honest enough. Dustin lifted the hood and checked the engine; I inspected the trunk and then the space inside. It was a four-door, just two years old and with low mileage. I sat in the driver’s seat. It was larger than the Horizon but still not too big. I didn’t feel swamped and I’d be able to get Ian in and out quite easily. Meanwhile he sat in Dustin’s arms, watching everything with curiosity. He loved playing with cars at home, and being around so many of them was like heaven to him.

Finally I took the Tempo out for a test drive, heading out toward Lincoln Park before turning around at the ferry dock and driving back. It felt comfortable. The steering was tight and responsive. When I hit the gas, the pick-up was good. It was a safe car. And it might have made me seem lame, but I liked its jade green color.

I wanted to buy, if the price was right, and so the haggling began. This was the part I always dreaded; I hated the back and forth. But Dustin came into his own. He was a salesman himself, even if it was books, not cars. He was used to the tricks everyone used and he had a few of his own. I sat back, with Ian on my lap, and watched him get to work. After fifteen minutes he’d brought the price down by four hundred dollars. Several times the salesman had scurried back and forth between his desk and the sales manager.

I’d had enough. “I’ll take it,” I said suddenly, making them both turn. The price was fair, and I was the one who’d be paying. I took out the checkbook from my purse, filled in the amount and signed with a satisfied
flourish.

As we stood outside, waiting for the vehicle to be washed and driven around, Dustin grumbled, “We could have gotten it for less.” He wasn’t happy. He’d wanted to take them as far as he could. He’d wanted to win. It was his opportunity to show me what he could do.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m happy with this.” I could see the salesman standing in the cabin they used as an office. The poor guy had a smile on his face. I’d probably made his day and put a little more commission in his pocket.

“I don’t know…”

“It’s my money,” I reminded him, and tried to sweeten the words by adding, “You did great. I’d like to just drive for a while now and get used to it.”

“Sure. We’ll be back at the house.” He kissed me and walked off, Ian waving over his shoulder, and smiling when I waved back. Dustin held himself stiff and upright. He was angry. I’d managed to bruise his ego. Men, they were so damn fragile. Between him and the sales manager it had been like watching a pissing contest. I loved him, and he’d done well, but for myself, I was satisfied with the deal.

After they drove away I stood on the sidewalk, watching the world go by until the car arrived, all waxed and vacuumed and filled with that fake new car smell. Then I took off, down the hill and over the West Seattle Bridge all the way to I-5, heading north to the U-District, then back down through Wallingford before slipping on to Aurora at the north end of the bridge. It gave me a real sense of the new car and I liked it: I’d made a good decision. The Tempo handled well and felt
natural
. As long as it didn’t break down anytime soon, I’d be content.

When I parked by the house, I saw Dustin’s car wasn’t there. Maybe they’d gone down to Young’s in White Center, to eat. I started the coffee brewing and made myself a sandwich from some deli meat.

I ate sitting at the window, gazing out at my new vehicle. I’d liked the Horizon. It had always run well, so I’d had no plans to trade it in anytime soon. It wasn’t nickel-and-diming me to death in repairs and it would have been good for a few more years. I certainly hadn’t forgotten who was responsible for all this. Maybe the police had picked up his prints from the burned out car. Then they could charge him with theft then send him off to the pen in Walla Walla for a few years. Or maybe it was back there.

When the phone rang I picked it right up.

“This is Detective Andersen,” the weary voice said.

“Hi.”

“I wanted to let you know, we had to let Nick go. I’m sorry. We didn’t have any evidence against him. We had nothing solid that would stand up in court.”

“What?” I could feel an explosion building inside my head. I was gripping the phone tight, almost yelling. “He threatened me. He burned up my car. He tried to sell information about a murder. And you don’t have any evidence? What is this shit?”

He gave a defeated sigh. “There was nothing to tie him to the car - no prints, no witnesses. As far as it goes with you and Carson Mack, it’s your word against Nick’s. We didn’t have any choice. It was the duty attorney who told us to kick him loose. It’s out of my hands, but I just wanted to call and warn you that he’s out there again.”

“My tax dollars at work here, huh?” How long had he been in custody? A few hours? The safe feeling vanished like someone had pricked a bubble.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Benton. I really am. I’ll make sure a cruiser swings by your house very regularly. That’s about the best I can do.” He lowered his voice. “Believe me, I’d prefer the guy behind bars. Nick Baker is about as low as I’ve ever seen. The guy has quite a record. He only got out a few months ago after three years for armed robbery. There are convictions going back to when he was a teenager. Stealing cars, dealing drugs, beating up on people. Minor stuff, really. Then he had his first armed robbery conviction in ’86. Wouldn’t rat out on the other guys. They got away with ten grand. Not a fortune, but not too bad. He got out at the start of 1990.”

“The start?” I asked suddenly. “When in 1990, exactly?”

I heard him move some papers. “January, why?”

“Carson’s son was killed in February.”

“And we don’t know of any connection between Baker and Carson’s son besides what you and Carson told us. Nick’s a smart son of a bitch. That’s what makes him dangerous. I’m sorry.”

I took a deep breath. Blasting Andersen wouldn’t help; it hadn’t been his decision.

“Thanks for telling me.”

“I figured you deserved to know first. Look, just watch yourself, okay? I’ll make sure the patrols are alerted. If you even see him, call me.”