WALK FOUND HIM AT THE edge of the cliff.
The rear fence pulled down, Vincent stood with his toes free of the rock, the slightest wind would carry him a hundred feet down. He wore jeans and an old T-shirt, his eyes cloaked with tiredness. Walk knew how he felt. He’d been woken a little after one, the call about Darke’s club. He’d pulled on his uniform and driven the mile, the sky lit red. Fourth of July all over again. He’d followed the heat, noise and lights, left the cruiser across two lanes, a little traffic building but most having the sense to double back.
Darke stood apart from the onlookers as smoke rose and grayed the sky. No emotion.
“You want to take a step back from the edge, Vin? You’re kind of making me nervous here.”
Together they walked back up to the shade of the house.
“Were you praying or something, standing there like that? I worried you were going to jump.”
“Is there a difference between a prayer and a wish?”
Walk took his hat off. “You wish for what you want, and pray for what you need.”
“Pretty sure mine are one and the same.”
They sat together on the steps of the rear deck. New panels leaned beside them, not yet stained. It would take a lifetime to restore the place.
“You know that guy, Dickie Darke?”
“I don’t really know anyone, Walk.”
Walk waited, did not press.
“The Radley girl, and Star. He was giving them shit so I stepped in. No one else seems to.”
Walk took it. “Star says they’re friends. She won’t press charges.”
“Friends.”
Walk heard it again, that softest note of jealousy. Vincent still cared.
“His place, it burned last night.”
Vincent did not speak.
“He owns a club on Cabrillo, money in the jar. Darke mentioned your name, so I had to—”
“It’s alright, Walk, don’t even worry about it.”
Walk ran his hand along the leaning rail. “So, you were home last night.”
“I imagine a man like that has a fair few people pissed at him.”
“I’ve got a fairly good idea who I need to talk to.”
Vincent looked over.
“We had a call, driver, saw a kid on a bicycle.”
“Can you just, I mean, could you just leave it? I know what I’m saying, I don’t have a right to get involved, but she’s a kid. Star’s kid.”
“She is. Anyway, whoever did it had the good sense to take the security tape, so long as they keep quiet …”
“Right.”
And that was it, Vincent said nothing else and Walk left him to it. He logged the conversation, he was doing his job, he would always do his job.
He left Vincent, then found the girl and the boy on Sayer, the long route, away from Main. They walked, Robin out in front, crossing yards, every now and then checking back that he wasn’t alone. And Duchess, that careful way she carried herself, like she was listening out, expecting trouble at all times. She turned as he drew up and regarded him with that same equanimity he saw in Vincent.
Walk killed the engine, got out and stood, the sun creeping above a clad house. That morning his hands did not shake, the dopamine, the new dose. Respite would not last long.
“Morning, Duchess.”
She had those tired eyes too. She carried her bag and her brother’s. She wore jeans and old sneakers and a T-shirt that had a small hole beneath one arm. Her hair was tousled, blond like her mother, the bow there, like always. She was pretty enough that the boys would have lined up, if they didn’t know, if everyone didn’t know.
“Do you know about Darke’s place?”
He looked for a tell, she had none at all. He was glad of that. He willed her to play it right, to give the answers he needed.
“It burned last night. Someone saw a kid on a bicycle, around that time, you know?”
“I don’t.”
“It wasn’t you?”
“I was home all night. You can check with my mother.”
He rested his hands on his bulging stomach. “I buried a lot over the years. Each time I questioned myself. The times you got caught stealing—”
“Food,” she said, sad. “It was just food.”
“This is different. A lot of money, if someone was in there they could’ve died. Some things I can’t protect you from.”
They stood together as a car passed, a neighbor, old and looking on, a quick glance at them and then away. Star’s girl, not a hint of surprise.
“I know about Darke and what he’s like.”
She palmed her eyes, too tired, her muscles all tight. “You don’t know shit, Walk.” She said it quiet but he took it hard. “Why don’t you go stroll up Main and help the vacationers with their dogs.”
He looked for something to say, instead he dropped his eyes to the grass and thumbed his badge, redundancy fit him like a second skin.
She turned and walked on, not looking back. He knew if it wasn’t for Robin keeping her straight, his hands would be all full.
At the school gate she saw the car, the Escalade, black with windows that shaded out the world. It sat idle, the unknowing passed by. Yellow buses lined like flowers.
She knew it would come; Star always talked about balance, cause and effect. She waved off her brother and watched him into the red doors.
In the air was still fire, floating embers that charred her arms and clung to her nose. She wondered who’d seen her at that hour, that night hour when the socially concerned should’ve been home and sleeping off the perfect day. Bad luck, that was all. A part of her was glad, because fuck Dickie Darke.
She crossed the street and walked up to the window outside her school, where she was safe, with teachers and people who promised to notice strangers.
The window dropped. Darke’s eyes, swollen, bloated like he’d been dredged from the water, except instead of the ocean it was money and greed that filled him.
She stood still, her knees shaking beneath her jeans but she fixed him with a hard look.
“Get in.” Not angry, not loud.
“Fuck you.”
A group of kids from her class passed and did not see her, all excitement, last week of school. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like, a little more ordinary, a little more nothing.
“Kill the engine and take the key out.”
He did.
She walked round. “I’ll leave the door open.”
He gripped the wheel, thick fingers, huge knuckles.
“We both know.”
She watched the sky. “We do.”
“Do you know about the principle of causation?” He looked so sad, so fucking big and tough and sad. A creature not of this world.
“Come at me.”
“You don’t know what you did.”
On the mat was a single spent butt, just stubbed and burned in. The brand her mother smoked.
“You’re not like your mother,” he said.
Duchess watched a bird hold still and perfect in the air.
Darke rubbed a hand along the wheel. “She’s got a way out. She owes rent. I need a favor.”
“She’s not a whore.”
“Do I look like a pimp to you?”
“You look like a cunt to me.”
The word sat there a while.
“That’s okay. So long as I don’t look like the man I really am.” He spoke with a flatness that chilled her.
“You took something last night.”
“You’ve got enough.”
“Who decides what enough looks like?”
She stared.
“Your mother can make this go away. You need to ask her. That would level things a little.”
“Fuck you, Darke.”
“The tape, Duchess. I need the security tape.”
“Why?”
“Trenton Seven. You know what that is?”
“The insurance place. I see the boards.”
“They won’t pay the money because the tape is missing and they think I had something to do with the fire.”
“You did.”
He took a long, deep breath.
She grit her teeth.
“I won’t forget.”
She met his eye. “You shouldn’t.”
“I really don’t want to have to come for you.” Something in his voice made her believe him.
“But you will.”
“I will.”
He reached across her, into the glove compartment, took out his sunglasses, not before she saw it, sitting there, the barrel facing her.
“I’ll give you the day. You tell your mother what you did. She can fix it, or I’ll have to. And you get the tape back.”
“You’ll give it to Walk.”
“No.”
“The insurance guys will get the cops involved.”
“Maybe. But you got to ask yourself something, Duchess.”
“And what’s that, Dick?” Maybe he caught the tremor then.
“Would you rather have the cops come looking for you? Or me?”
“I heard you stamped a guy to death.”
“He didn’t die.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Business.”
“The tape. Maybe I’ll hold on to it.”
He stared at her, those eyes that bore deep.
“You stay away from my mother and maybe one day I’ll give it back to you.”
She climbed from the car, then turned. He watched her, studied her, taking in every feature, committing her to memory. She wondered what he saw as she walked into the school building, beside other kids, their lives so light they dazzled her.
The day crawled. She checked the clock often, her eye on the window, the teacher’s words not reaching her ear. She ate lunch alone, watched Robin from the fence and felt what little control she once had slip from her grasp. Darke could do immeasurable damage. She needed the tape. She believed he wouldn’t take it to Walk. She reasoned there were two types of people in the world, the kind that called the cops and the kind that did not.
When the bell sounded she watched the other kids file in, kids playing ball tried for one last play, Cassidy Evans led her group.
Duchess slipped down the side of the main building, then ran across to the parking lot and drifted through Fords and Volvos and Nissans. She would get caught, no doubt about it, but she’d tell her mother she was feeling sick, time of the month, something the school would not press.
She walked fast, feeling the eyes of everyone she passed. She skirted Main in case Walk was looking out of the station. It was hot, so fucking hot she could barely breathe. Sweat all over her, T-shirt damp.
When she made it to Fortuna she found the old house, for once glad she had fucked up, that she didn’t make time to destroy the tape.
But then she stared at the yard, all the junk cleared, the garbage truck had already come.
The tape was gone.
She looked up and down, breathing hard, like her last hope had deserted her.
She spent the afternoon on the beach, sitting on the sand and watching the water. She clutched her stomach, the pain was hard and constant and followed her all the way back to collect Robin.
He talked the whole way home, about his birthday, about being six and what came with that. He asked for a house key, she smiled and stroked his hair, her mind someplace she hoped he’d never follow. In the empty house she fixed scrambled eggs and they ate together in front of the TV. And, when the sun fell, she got him into bed and read to him.
“Can we have green eggs one time?”
“Sure.”
“And ham?”
She kissed his head and cut off his light, closed her eyes for a moment, then woke to darkness. She walked through the house, turned on a lamp and heard music from outside.
Duchess found Star on the deck, the old bench needed painting. The moon lit her mother as she strummed the old guitar. Their song. She closed her eyes, the words cut her.
She needed to tell her mother what she had done, that she had taken a match and burned the very bridge that kept them out of troubled water. They were in the shallows now, but the deep would come for them, it would swallow them down till not even moonlight made it through.
Duchess took steps, feet bare, she did not notice the splinters.
The strum of soft chords. “Sing with me.”
“No.”
Duchess slid along till her head came to rest on her mother’s shoulder. No matter what she had done, no matter that she was tough and she was an outlaw, she needed her mother.
“Why do you cry when you sing?” Duchess asked.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“I called that guy, the music guy from the bar. He wanted to meet for a drink.”
“Did you go?”
Star nodded slowly. “Men.”
“What happened last night?” She did not ask often, but this time she needed clarity.
“Some people just can’t hold their liquor.” Star shot a look at the neighboring house.
“Brandon Rock. He hit you?”
“It was an accident.”
“He couldn’t take no for an answer.”
Star shook her head.
Duchess watched the tall trees sway against night sky. “So Darke didn’t do nothing this time.”
“Last thing I remember was him helping me into the car.”
Realization was cold, and for a while Duchess could not speak. And then she thought of Darke, his hands on her. She grit her teeth, steeled. Bad things happened to bad men.
“You know it’s Robin’s birthday in the morning.”
Star looked sad then, not broken but close, her lip still a little swollen, her eye still dark. The kind of look that made the pain worse. There was no gift for her brother. Her mother had not remembered.
“I did something bad, Mom.”
“We all do bad things.”
“I don’t think I can fix it.”
Star closed her eyes, still she played and sang as her daughter gently leaned on her.
Duchess wanted so desperately to join in, but her voice began to break.
“I’ll protect you. That’s what mothers do.”
Duchess did not cry, but right then she came close.