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I WAITED UNTIL THE sun set and the streetlights started coming on. I hadn’t seen any movement, which made me worry that maybe I had followed the wrong guy. Maybe Ray-Ray did meet with Edward Stratton somewhere else, and now he was flying to some faraway destination, like the Philippines.
I couldn’t shake the feeling I was right, though. That this was the guy that Matty fought. That this was maybe the place they were holding Patrick. I thought about calling Ito and telling her what I had found, but, what did I really have? A hunch? Ray-Ray might be known to the cops, but that didn’t mean he was involved in this. And a hurt shoulder? The young guy could’ve hurt himself playing volley ball at Venice Beach for all I knew.
I needed something more. Something that she could act on.
Climbing out of my car, I looked up and down the street. Quiet. Just like it would be right before Michael Myers jumps out of a tree and stabs you with a butcher knife.
(I guess that movie freaked me out more than I realized at ten years old. What was my dad thinking?)
I walked to the front of the house, a nice American Craftsman. The lights were on, but I didn’t see any movement. There was a camera by the door, but I was guessing — hoping — no one was staring at a monitor. One last check of the street — no Michael Myers — and I headed up the driveway, to the left of the house.
Squeezing past the Jetta, I came to a window that looked into the dining room and the kitchen beyond. The light was also on here, but no one was there. I reached the back corner of the house and took a peek.
The driver of the car was out back, vaping and staring into his phone, his back to me. He took another drag and chuckled at something on the screen. I looked and saw a back door. I gritted my teeth and thought about making a bad decision. I really shouldn’t, but I still had nothing.
With his back turned, I crept through the back door. I stepped into a family room by the looks of it. A pretty Spartan one. There was an IKEA couch and chair, a TV, and beyond that was the kitchen I had passed. To my left were stairs leading up. There was nothing distinctive about this place.
It was a rental. Maybe an Airbnb. But that’s not a crime and I still couldn’t call Ito.
I looked at the stairs, then back through the door. The guy was still vaping. I wondered where Edward was. Looking at the stairs again... Well, I thought, in for a penny.
I took them two at a time, on my toes, trying to be as quiet as possible. I had spent a lot of my youth sneaking home late at night, after some party or another, and for the most part I didn’t get caught.
On the landing I looked around. One of the doors was closed, another was cracked open, and the third opened onto a bedroom that someone had been sleeping in. One could have Patrick behind it, or some innocent person who actually belonged here. And there was still no sign of Edward.
A toilet flushed. My heart thumped in my chest. I moved behind a corner on the landing.
The door opened, and out came Patrick, drying his hands on the front of his shirt. I’ll forgive that unhygienic transgression, given the circumstances and the fact that my heart was thumping in my chest. I had him; the day could still be saved.
He spotted me and stopped moving. I put up a finger to shush him, then mouthed, “Where’s the other kidnapper?”
He shook his head, confused.
I tried again. “Where’s the other one?”
He shook his head again.
“The other — ”
He got it. He pointed to the door that was cracked.
I nodded and waved him toward me.
He looked confused again. Kids these days.
“Come with me if you want to live,” I said.
Patrick’s eyes went wide. Clearly this kid hadn’t see any of the Terminator movies.
“Come on,” I mouthed.
Patrick walked closer to me, and I led the way down the stairs. At the bottom, I stopped him from going on. I moved closer to the back door and looked outside.
The guy was gone.
Shit, shit. I looked around the yard. He wasn’t there! Where the fuck was he? Where —
Then I saw stars exploding in front of my eyes, and the world narrowed to a tunnel. I thought about throwing up, but instead I let gravity take hold of me. I fell to the floor, into blackness, as I muttered, “Not again.”
***
AN ETERNITY LATER, someone was shaking me. Who the fuck was shaking me? It felt so good to lie on the floor. No obligations, no potential disappointment. Just some rest. I opened my eyes and slurred, “Stop it. Just stop.”
It was Patrick; as he realized I was awake and responsive, his hands let go of my sport coat. He looked terrified. “We have to go,” he whispered.
I wasn’t sure why — the floor was so comfortable — but he pulled me up anyway. As I rose, I saw what had gotten him so nervous. On the floor, with a halo of red around his head, lay Edward Stratton.
“What happened?” I asked. “How long — ?”
Patrick pulled me out the back door. I glanced back at the family room. Everything was happening so fast. I also kept wondering if my head was actually that heavy.
Outside, we moved down the driveway. Patrick moved around the Jetta, but I didn’t quite make it and banged my knee into the bumper. “Ow,” I hissed. Stumbling, I still managed to stay on my feet.
At the sidewalk, Patrick stopped and asked, “Where did you park?”
I vaguely pointed down the street, digging for my keys. I aimed and beeped my car open. We moved in the direction of the light flash.
When we reached the car, Patrick said, “That’s your car?”
Hey. What did he have against my car?
I put a hand on the roof to steady myself before opening the driver’s-side door.
“Should you be driving?” I couldn’t see his face well, but Patrick sounded concerned.
My eyes narrowed at the shadow I hoped was Patrick. “Well, yeah,” I tried for cool and collected. “It is my car, after all.” Like I was going to let him drive after he insulted my Toyota. Besides, I’d driven in worse conditions.
Spoilers: And in none of them should I have been driving.
I got in and looked back toward the house. It was hard to tell... Was someone coming out? Where was the other guy?
I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. I slammed my door shut. Patrick got in on the other side, and I brought the car to life and floored the gas. The road waved back and forth like a crazy river, but I managed to navigate it.
I shook my head. Things were starting to come back into focus. The back of my skull felt like a big, throbbing mess. I touched it and found a glob of blood on my fingers.
“What happened?” I asked Patrick.
“Edward. It was Edward. He was downstairs. He hit you, and I was able to...” His voice broke. “Oh, God. Is he dead?”
Dead? Oh, boy.
“What about the other guy?” I barely paused at a stop sign before turning right.
Patrick shook his head, shrugged. He looked like a mess. He swallowed and said, “You were there, weren’t you? When that guy got killed?”
I nodded. “Your parents hired me to find you.” I pulled out my phone and slowed — I didn’t think anyone was following — and dialed a number.
Ito answered on the first ring. “Jimmy?”
“Heeeeeeeyyyy.” I pulled over and looked around for a street sign. Where was I? “Good news. So don’t be mad.”
“What did you do, Jimmy?” she asked, slowly, clearly, and sounding very worried.
“I have Patrick Beverly. I found him.” I looked at him, making sure he was still there. His head was resting against the window, staring out. “But. There might be a problem.
She said nothing for a long, hot second. “What sort of problem?”
“It was sort of a breakout,” I explained. “There was a fight. One of them might be dead.”
“Jesus, Jimmy.”
“I said might. Probably.”
“Probably or might?”
I paused. “I didn’t check his pulse. We were in the middle of an escape. There was another guy.”
“Where are you?”
I gave her the cross streets and the house’s address.
She said, “I’ll send units right now. When it’s clear, I’ll tell you. When that happens, I want you and Patrick back at the crime scene.” Then she hung up.
Patrick had heard what she said and looked afraid. He was clearly not a fan of that idea. I put up a hand, trying to reassure him.
“We can’t go back,” said Patrick.
I shook my head. “The other guy’s not going to stick around, especially not when he starts hearing sirens. It’s going to be fine.”
He wrapped his arms around himself and stared down at the dashboard.
It was quiet while we waited for her to call me back, and in the silence I kept looking at Patrick. I sort of didn’t believe it. After all this, I was finally looking at him with my own eyes. It’s funny how I had built up an idea of what it would be like and then to be confronted by the real thing. He wasn’t quite as tall as I thought he’d be. His voice was a little different than what I had heard in his social media posts.
It was like the first time I had met someone really, truly famous. I was out with Dad, and we were out eating lunch at a deli in Beverly Hills. Burt Reynolds ended up in the booth next to us. He was old by that point, a little frail, but he was still Burt Reynolds. His image and the reality smashed together, and it was all a little disconcerting.
“You OK?” I asked Patrick, then immediately regretted it. Of course he wasn’t. He’d been held hostage for over a week. Why was I even asking?
“I don’t want to go back,” he said quietly.
“I know.” I nodded. “The police will be there. We’ll call your parents. They’ll be happy to see you.”
He looked at me. He didn’t look happy.
My phone rang. Ito.
“Hey,” I said.
“It’s all clear. Go over there now. I’m in my car. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”