I spent the night in jail—a first for me. And although I was certain Warnick and the others had followed me there, it was evident they were not allowed to see me. As Hannity led me through the building to the holding cell, I passed through a front office bursting with activity. Twenty or thirty cops—all strangers—sat at desks, up to their necks in paperwork. The room was noisy and the jokes were flying.
Entering the large holding cell, I found I wasn’t the only occupant. A teenager, wearing a Billabong T-shirt and ripped jeans, sat at the end of a long bench, sulking. Tattoos covered his forearms and his ears were gauged. He didn’t bother making eye contact.
“What are you in for?” He was surly and didn’t look like he wanted to answer. “Fine, don’t tell me.”
“B and E,” he said a little while later. “Not like there’s anything left worth stealing.”
After a couple hours, Hannity showed up again with an MRE and a bottle of water for each of us. Just like old times.
“I guess a lawyer is out of the question,” I said to him. No response. “What happened to the former captain?”
“Red Militia got him.”
“You guys aren’t from this area, are you?”
“No. LA.”
“So, no outbreak down there?”
“Stop asking so many damn questions, Pulaski.”
He left us for the night. I ripped open the MRE and stared at the off-color beef franks that real soldiers liked referring to as “five fingers of death.” The beans didn’t look any better. I didn’t feel like eating and set the container aside. I opened my water, took a swallow, and lay down at the other end of the bench.
The kid had heated his up in nothing flat. I could smell the hot dogs and bean gravy. After he finished his MRE, he sat there eyeing mine. Sighing, I waved vaguely towards it.
“Be my guest.”
As he ate with his fingers, I wondered what would happen to him. I doubted he would come back with me to the command center. And the thought of him being left on the streets to fend for himself… How long would he be able to last out there?
“So where did they pick you up?” I said.
“Some no-name street. I don’t get it. I was just lookin’ for food. What’s the big deal? There’s nobody left in those houses anymore.”
“Run into any draggers?”
“What?”
“You know, the undead?”
“Oh, the freaks?” He laughed, revealing the beans stuck to his teeth. “Me and my friend—well, he’s dead—anyways, we used to dump gasoline on them and light them up. It was sick, I swear. It’s like they’re too stupid to know they’re on fire. So fun…”
At first, the kid hadn’t wanted to say anything. Now, I couldn’t get him to shut up. I closed my eyes and tried ignoring him. Eventually, he got the hint and quieted down. I could hear Black Dragon LMTVs outside patrolling the streets. Sometime after midnight, I drifted off to the sounds of intermittent gunfire. Bizarre dreams haunted me all night. The last one I remember clearly.
I was in the medical lab at Robbin-Sear, naked and strapped to an operating table. Dr. Royce, his head twitching like he’d been tased repeatedly, came at me with an oversized scalpel. Starting below my Adam’s apple, he made a precise vertical incision down the length of my torso. I noticed my skin was dry and rubbery, and there was no blood. He reached deep inside me and pulled out Perro’s head. It snapped and snarled as it was being forced to exit my body.
I screamed.
When I looked up, Jim was standing there, holding the dog in his arms, the wet fetal thing dripping with the gore from my mutilated insides. The gash around Jim’s neck pulsed with wriggling kidney worms. He smiled at me with bean-encrusted teeth.
“It had to come out eventually,” he said.
In the morning, Hannity forced me into a police cruiser. O’Brien was already waiting in the front passenger seat.
“Where are we going?” No answer. “What’s going to happen to that kid you’re holding?”
“I’d be more worried about what’s going to happen to you.”
Though they’d taken me to the yard behind the police station where no one could see, I couldn’t help feeling a burning shame getting into that police vehicle. And to make things worse, they’d handcuffed me again.
We drove in silence to a sprawling house on a hill overlooking the valley. The estate was vast, with no signs of draggers. A wrought-iron gate fronted the long, curving driveway with stone pillars on either side, a security camera mounted on one of them. As our vehicle approached, the gates opened automatically and we passed through.
Though the house was impressive, it didn’t seem overdone. Not that I would know. I was surprised there was anyone with money left in Tres Marias. After we parked, O’Brien got out and, grabbing one of my arms, walked me to the front door and rang the bell while Hannity remained in the cruiser. A moment passed before a Latina housekeeper answered. When she saw us, her eyes got huge, and she let us through without speaking or looking at me.
The foyer was minimalist and elegant, with recessed lighting. A staircase with a polished banister led upstairs. The housekeeper brought us into the ultramodern kitchen. O’Brien released my arm and took a step back.
“What now?” I said.
He ignored me. Looking out the French doors, I was surprised to see the mayor, wearing blue jeans and a yellow golf shirt, out on a massive lawn playing touch football with two pudgy young boys who were maybe seven and nine. The mayor was of average height, with wiry red hair, a ruddy complexion, and a wide amorphous body I guessed had gone from high school jock muscle to politician flab.
A slim, pretty blonde woman in her mid-thirties—the mayor’s wife?—wearing beige pants and a pink cashmere sweater entered the kitchen and was momentarily startled to see a stranger in handcuffs lurking there. Not having showered, I was pretty ripe and felt bad for her. She made the best of it, though, and smiled. Then, she went outside and spoke to the mayor. He tossed the football to his older son and jogged towards us.
“Sorry,” O’Brien said, feigning humility as the mayor entered the kitchen, “but you said to bring him right over.”
The mayor gave me a once-over and led us into his home office, which was tastefully decorated—probably by the missus. The walls were covered with framed photos of his family. Through the sheer white curtains hanging over the French doors, I could see the boys playing football on the lawn as their mother sat on the patio, drinking coffee from a china cup. It was hard for me to comprehend that outside this quiet place was a town still ravaged by the undead. And Mrs. Mayor? How did this affect her? And what did she do all day? Shopping trips were out.
“Close the door,” the mayor said to the cop. “I don’t think we’ll need those handcuffs.” Then to me, “You’re not planning on running away, are you?” He sounded like Ray Liotta.
“No.”
I had never actually met this guy. I recalled that six years before, he’d been elected after a bitter campaign between him and the affable, elderly, long-time “Mayor Bob,” who had recently suffered a stroke but had no intention of leaving office even though he now talked like Carl from Caddyshack. I remembered seeing the old guy playing cards at the command center.
During that campaign, this upstart had promised us state redevelopment funds courtesy of his close ties to Sacramento, as well as new business investment in the community. He himself was a successful real estate developer who apparently had a hankering for politics. Since the people were tired of the previous do-nothing Mayor Bob, this piece of work had been easily elected.
“You can wait outside,” he said to O’Brien, as if he were the gardener.
When we were alone, he gestured for me to take a seat. As I rubbed my wrists, he went over to a small refrigerator and pulled out a beer.
“Can I offer you something?”
“I’m fine. What’s this all about?”
“What, the arrest? Well, as we work to return things to normal, we’re going through case files to determine who’s been breaking the law.”
He opened the middle drawer of his antique Chesterfield desk and pulled out a dark green file folder with a coffee stain on the front. I recognized it as the one Detective Van Gundy had kept on me during the investigation into Jim’s death.
“Seems you’re the subject of a murder investigation.”
“Is that a question?” He ignored me. “So, am I going back to jail?”
“We’ll see. I wanted to have a chance to talk to you first. Look, Dave, I won’t lie to you. Things are still chaotic around here. We don’t even have a police chief for shit’s sake. I’m not just in real estate; I’m also a lawyer. So, I’m pitching in.”
I waited while he scanned the file. I knew it was all for show. He’d studied it thoroughly way before I ever got here, and he already knew what he was going to do. If this was his way of building suspense, it wasn’t working. I’d seen better play-acting at dinner theater.
“You last spoke to Detective Van Gundy in the summer, that right?” he said, not making eye contact.
“Yes. From what I can recall, there was never enough evidence to connect me to anyone’s death.”
“You married, Dave?” I love the way lawyers ask questions they already know the answer to.
“Yes.”
“Then, why were you seeing Melyssa Soldado?”
It always came down to this—the stain on my life that wouldn’t wash out. Like blood. I hated my past, what I’d done to Holly. I thought when I’d destroyed the maniacal creature Missy became, the whole sordid business would be over and done with. Hearing her name conjured up her image in my mind—not the rasping dragger but the sex-starved girl I refused to save.
“I had an affair with her.”
“Your wife know?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “Marriage is hard. We go in with the best intentions, but sometimes…we slip.” I couldn’t tell if he was talking about me or him. “Is that what happened, Dave? Did you slip?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“You’re Catholic, right? Confession will put you on the right track.”
It was an odd comment. I scanned the room and found a photograph on the wall of the mayor wearing a Knights of Columbus uniform complete with hat and ceremonial sword.
“And James Stanley. How does he fit in?”
“He was my best friend.”
“Also having an affair with Missy?”
“No.”
“Interesting. Detective Van Gundy made some notes here saying that’s what you told him.”
“I lied.”
“I see. So, no romantic triangle here.”
“No.”
“How did Mr. Stanley die?”
My instinct to avoid the truth came on strong, but I resisted. I was finished with lying. I decided to tell this fat clown what had really happened that day.
“Missy killed him with an axe, out of fear for her life. He’d turned and was chasing us through the forest. I panicked and hid inside a ranger station.”
“Where was she?”
“Outside. With him.”
“And you didn’t try to help her?”
“No.” My mouth tasted like copper, and I realized I’d bit the inside of my cheek.
“Wow, that’s cold. I’ll bet she was screaming, too. ‘Dave, help me. Help me, Dave.’ Am I right?” The son of a bitch was enjoying this.
“Something like that.”
“What happened next?”
“She found an axe and killed him.”
“And then?”
“She ran away. But Jim had bit her, so… Eventually she turned, too.”
“Well, that sucks. So all in all, not a very good day for Melyssa Soldado.” He closed the file. “Let’s take a walk.”
He led me through the French doors into the patio. When his wife saw us, she gathered up the boys and took them inside through the kitchen. We made our way to a meticulously maintained garden. The mayor stared ahead as we walked.
“I’ll be straight with you, Dave. I think I have enough evidence to go to trial. I can prove that, by your own admission, you were with James Stanley and Melyssa Soldado at the time of Stanley’s death. I might not be able to get a conviction on first-degree murder, but I’m confident I can get the jury to find you guilty on an accessory charge.
“I’ll paint the picture as romantic in nature. I’m sure jealousy will come into play. And I might suggest something kinky. Juries love that.” He looked at me. “How does that sound?”
Rage boiled in me like hot lead. The mayor bent down and picked a few brown petals off his prize camellias. I wanted to stomp on his fat neck and beat him senseless with one of his kids.
“What are you after?” I said.
He straightened up, brushed himself off, and got up in my grill. I could smell the beer on his breath and, angry as I was, wished I had one.
“Stay out of my business.”
“What business is that?”
He backhanded me hard across the face, his class ring busting open my lip. The stinging made my eyes water. It took me a second to refocus.
“I don’t have time for your games, Pulaski. You need to stay out of my way. Or you’ll be saying goodbye to that pretty little wife of yours.”
“Leave her out of it, or—”
“Or what? A lot of people are going to be arrested over the next few weeks. Wait and see. And we’ll process them as fast as we can. I have every intention of making your case a priority.”
“There’s no evidence.”
He laughed. “Don’t be an asshole. It’s like I said, we’re all pitching in. Who knows? I might have to step in later and…comfort Holly. My boys over at the police station tell me she’s a looker.”
He saw my balled-up fist and smiled with small, pointy teeth, his orange eyes gleaming.
“That’s all I need to seal the deal. You taking a swing at me.”
He looked past me, and I turned around to find Hannity walking towards me. The fact that my mouth was cut didn’t appear to faze him.
“I think we’re going to keep Mr. Pulaski under surveillance for now,” the mayor said, wiping off his ring with his handkerchief. “Give him a ride to the high school. I’m sure they miss him.”
“Yes, sir.”
As I followed the cop, the mayor called to me. I wanted to keep walking, but I stopped and glared at him.
“What we discussed?” he said. “That goes for your friends, too.”
Instead of walking me to the police vehicle, Hannity escorted me through a side door into the detached garage. Inside, it was dark and cold.
“Why are we here?” I said, but I already knew.
The light came on. O’Brien was standing a few feet across from me between a silver Volvo Cross Country and a candy-apple-red Audi R8.
“Hold him.”
Hannity grabbed my upper arms from behind and thrust his foot between mine to brace me. I prepared myself for what was coming. Then, O’Brien stepped closer.
“We need to make sure you don’t forget what the mayor told you.”
O’Brien hit me solidly in the solar plexus. The wind went out of me. I would have collapsed if Hannity hadn’t been propping me up. Then, the cop hit me again. And again. I lost count how many times. I must have blacked out.
When I awoke, my abdomen was on fire. O’Brien was gone. Hannity tried getting me to my feet. I made it as far as my knees and vomited, the pain shooting straight up through the top of my head like a volcanic eruption. Finally, Hannity got me to stand and walked me outside to the police cruiser, where I collapsed on the backseat.
O’Brien stayed behind and Hannity drove me. He kept eyeing me in the rearview mirror. I avoided his gaze. Eventually, he spoke.
“You gotta understand, Pulaski. The mayor has a lot on his plate right now. The governor breathing down his neck, the feds, Black Dragon. He wants what’s best for the community, is all.”
“So, I should keep my mouth shut.”
“You should do like the rest of us and help get this community back on its feet.”
“Easy for you to say. You guys are not even from around here. What, was LA having a yard sale? Who are all those other cops?”
“A community is a community.”
“Sure. Can I ask you something, Hannity? Did you ever lose anyone?”
He hesitated. “My sister. Drunk driver.”
“Sorry. Well, we lost a lot of people, too—good people. And now I come to find the mayor might be involved. That’s why he’s threatening me, isn’t it? Doesn’t that kind of thing piss you off?”
The cop drove past the command center guard station and parked in front of the administration building. Turning around, he glared at me.
“Yeah, it pisses me off. But I’m keeping my head down. It’s the only way to survive around here. The sooner you learn that, the better chance you’ll have to make it out of here alive.”
He got out and opened my door. I stood looking at the administration building, the people coming and going, the kids playing. I saw the community starting to thrive. Priorities. It was all about priorities.
I felt lost.
When I got to my trailer, Holly and Warnick were waiting for me. Griffin was gone, mostly likely hanging with Fabian.
“Dave, are you okay?” she said, touching my swollen lip with her finger. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing.” I pushed her hand away. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
I found the sofa and sank into it, groaning from the pain. Holly unbuttoned my shirt and gasped at the massive red-and-purple bruising blossoming from my abdomen.
“Oh, Dave, what did they do to you?”
“Taught me a lesson, apparently.”
“Pederman wants to see you,” Warnick said. “I’ll tell him it can wait.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m coming with you,” Holly said, helping me to my feet.
We met Pederman in one of the conference rooms. He didn’t look happy to see all three of us.
“I thought this was going to be a private meeting.”
“This concerns us too,” Holly said, glancing at Warnick.
He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and looked at me with a mixture of sympathy and disappointment. Then, he glanced down at what I guessed was a report.
“I see they roughed you up. I’m sorry. Dave, why didn’t you tell me about the murder investigation?”
“Because I was never charged with anything. I didn’t think you needed to know.”
“Does this mean he’ll lose his job?” Holly said.
Pederman sank into a chair and sighed. “Well, the background check never turned up anything, so I think you’re fine. But, dammit, I need you to be honest with me. Any other secrets I should know about?”
“I’m a recovering alcoholic.”
There was an uncomfortable silence as Pederman digested this. Holly squeezed my hand encouragingly. Then, Pederman responded.
“You wouldn’t be the first.”
“Mr. Pederman, how involved is Black Dragon with the mayor?”
“Well, he’s the one who signed the contract.”
“So, does that mean he’s involved in the day-to-day?”
“No. But I have to file a report once a week. Why?”
“Don’t you think it’s strange he didn’t let the police handle this? I mean, they brought me to his house.”
“It is unusual.”
“Are you going to let us continue investigating Evie’s death?” Warnick said.
“I’m thinking the police should handle it.”
“Something tells me they would bury it,” I said.
Pederman looked at Warnick for confirmation. He cleared his throat.
“We know it was Creasy who called the cops. In fact, he probably called the mayor directly. That’s why they grabbed Dave so quickly.”
“And it was the cops who beat him up,” Holly said.
Pederman threw the report across the room. “I hate this political bullshit!” Then to Warnick, “How many men do you need to continue your investigation?”
“This unit should be enough, including Springer.”
“Look, I’ll give you more time, but I expect results. There are other priorities. We have to get this town ready to turn over to civilian control, asap.”
Pederman stopped me at the door on my way out. “How bad did they hurt you?”
“I’ll live,” I said.
We sat under a tree outside our trailer—Holly, Griffin, Warnick, Springer, and me. My abdomen was throbbing; the ibuprofen still hadn’t kicked in.
“The mayor belted me in the mouth,” I said. “Then, he threatened me.”
Springer stared at my lip. “Was that before or after the cop worked you over?”
“Before.”
Warnick got to his feet and began pacing. “So, are we to assume the mayor’s involved with Robbin-Sear?”
“Why not?” Holly said. “It could be something as simple as money.”
I touched my lip and winced. “Well, he did warn me to stop the investigation.”
Grunting, Springer stood. “What if we do the opposite? You know, find out everything we can about the operation.”
I turned to Warnick and Springer. I could see they were counting on me. I didn’t want to tell them, but I had to. I owed it to them.
“I’m out.”
Springer slammed his open palm on the tree trunk. “Dude, no.”
As much as I hated the mayor, I was scared he could actually do what he’d promised: get me out of the picture and assault Holly. It made me sick, and I wanted no part of it. I had no plans to tell my wife what he said, but I would do everything in my power to keep her away from him.
“Look, this guy’s not just some sleaze; he’s also dangerous. And he’s got the cops working for him. He could ruin Holly and me. I can’t take that chance.”
I got up and gave Holly my hand. She stood and rested her head against me. Though I felt as if I was betraying my friends, I got the sense she understood.
“You sure this is what you want?” Warnick said.
“I’m really sorry.”
“I’m out, too, I guess,” Holly said.
“You guys do what you have to. But the mayor’s warning also applies to you.”
Springer laughed. “He ain’t got nothing on me. What do you say, Warnick? Do we keep going?”
“No, let’s wait. For now.”
Holly and I sat on the sofa in our trailer. My eyes were closed, and I could feel her small, delicate hand stroking my hair. Griffin walked in with Greta. When she saw me, she came over and gave me a hug.
“Ow, easy…”
“Wait, are you hurt?”
“I’m better. Everything’s been cleared up.”
“I was really worried. Do you want me to stick around?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Um, would it be okay if I met Fabian in the cafeteria?”
“You’re asking our permission?”
“It’s fine,” Holly said. “Don’t be too long.”
“I won’t. Come on, Greta.”
The dog pricked up her ears and trotted after Griffin. The girl seemed happy. I smiled as she went out the door.
“Am I doing the right thing?” I said.
“I don’t know.”
“I feel like I’m letting Warnick down. I mean, I was the one who wanted to get to the truth. But I don’t want to lose you. Or Griffin. Or the baby.”
“You won’t.”
I closed my eyes again and leaned back, my entire being in turmoil. Holly lay her head on my chest.
“What do you do when you don’t know what the right thing is?”
“You pray.”
“It’s been so long.”
“Hang on.”
She got up and went over to our bed. When she returned, I saw she was holding her rosary, and smiled.
“Time to bring out the big guns,” she said.