CHAPTER EIGHT

 

Saturday – March 27

 

“Is it safe to come in?” Ray asked, standing at the threshold.

Jack had been so entrenched in his work he didn’t hear the door open.

“You’ve never waited for an invitation before. Why now?” Jack asked, only briefly glancing up from his computer screen.

Yesterday, after calming down, he’d unpacked his computer and set up the desk so he could get to work. He knew he couldn’t go back to the Sunset house to finish his job there until he finished his job here . . . figuring out who Rybak was and why he’d killed himself in Jack’s house.

“Maria and I talked, and she thought it was a good idea you and I should work things out.”

“What did she have to say?”

Ray crossed the room and lowered himself onto the sofa. Jack spun his chair in his friend’s direction, crossed an ankle over the opposite knee and leaned back with his fingers woven over his abdomen.

“Nothing I didn’t already know but certainly seemed to need reminding of. Used to be a time I could read you like a book, but lately . . . I don’t know.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Jack said.

“No, something has, and I think we’ve both been ignoring it.”

“Enlighten me.”

Ray sat forward on the sofa, elbows on his knees, and squared his gaze with Jack’s. “You’ve been keeping things from me.”

Jack chuffed. “Because I didn’t tell you I was taking a few days to myself?”

“Not just that, but that’s part of it. I noticed you were keeping things from me before you took the case with the crazy lady.”

Jack knew he meant Ginnie Whitney-Cummings, the former model who’d hired him to follow her husband before Christmas. “I told you everything about the case.”

Ray shook his head. “No, you didn’t.”

“She was a socialite—”

“Don’t go there. You’ve had other important clients and you’ve always told me about them. I tried brushing it off, but it made me realize it wasn’t the only time.” Ray counted on his fingers as he described three other instances in the last few months. He wasn’t wrong.

“Maybe I didn’t think you’d be interested. I was barely interested. Two of the cases were closed before the end of business the same day they signed my contract.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“The point is, it’s becoming common practice. You only tell me anything when you need my help. Or need something from the department you can’t get on your own.”

“Are you saying I’m using you?”

Ray inhaled slowly, then said, “Sometimes, yeah.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Ray. I—I didn’t realize you thought I was withholding things from you. I’m certainly not using you. Well, sometimes, but you’ve always been involved in those investigations. And,” he added, “you’ve always gotten credit for solving those cases. Hence your promotion . . . which you never mentioned.” Ray’s back straightened. “Look, I don’t care that you’re getting the credit. I expect it, but I’m sorry if you feel I’m using you.”

“Maria—”

“Maria what?” he asked, scowling.

“She said you two had a talk before Christmas.”

“And?”

“She’s as worried about you as I am. You don’t come to dinner anymore, you don't talk with me anymore, and . . . . We both feel like you’re pulling away. That’s how she put it. You’re putting distance between us, and we don’t understand why. Have we done something or said something that’s making you walk away from us?”

Ray looked truly worried, and it came through in his voice.

“Absolutely not. It’s not my intention to make you feel that way. I don’t know what else to say.” Of course it was his intention. If he hadn’t pulled away from Ray, from the Navarros, he wouldn’t have been able to go through with his plan to eat his gun. Little good it did him, because Ray had turned up anyway. After pinging my damn phone.

“Whether it was or not, I need to know where we stand. You had quite the blowout at Beep’s yesterday.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been under a lot of pressure.” The age-old response to everything.

“Over what? We used to talk through things like this. I know I’ve bitched enough at you about my problems.”

“I didn’t realize we were keeping score.”

Ray sighed heavily. “We’re not. You’re missing the point.”

Mimicking Ray’s posture, elbows on his knees and leaning forward, he said, “I get it. Yeah, I probably should have told you I was taking a few days to myself. Maybe I assumed you had your hands full with a newborn and a new teenager, and I didn’t think you’d notice I wasn’t around for a couple days.” Then he added, “And I’m sorry I got upset with you pinging my phone. I probably would have done the same thing if the situation were reversed.”

“Wouldn’t notice you weren’t around for a couple days? What kind of mierda de caballo is that?” Ray sputtered.

“It’s not horse shit, Ray. I don’t know what else to say.”

“I don’t know either. Just tell me where we stand because yesterday made me feel like shit. I feel like—”

“Like what?”

Ray sat back and inhaled sharply. Without looking at Jack, he ran his palms down his thighs and said, “I feel like I’m losing you.”

“You’re not losing me.” Tingles went up Jack’s spine at the lie, but hadn’t that been the point of not telling his friend what he was up to? “Trust me. We’re fine.”

“I’m growing to detest that word. Find another one.”

Jack scowled. “How about we’re all good? What else do you want to hear?”

“If we’re good, tell me why you were huddled up in your house drinking.” Ray leveled his gaze on Jack again.

“I had one drink. Just like I told you. The bottle and glasses were from Nick’s office. We always had one shot after we’d talked.”

“And you were at the house talking to Nick?”

Nodding, Jack said, “In a manner of speaking. I was doing all the talking. If he was there, he was only listening. When I was done, I drank my shot and was ready to leave.” Just not the way Ray thought. “Then you showed up.”

Ray’s features seemed to harden. He looked around the room at the boxes then back at Jack. “You told me you weren’t moving back to the house. Where were you going after your talk with Nick?”

“Home.” Not a lie either. He had intended on going home to his family. Let Ray take it he was coming back to the apartment.

Ray stared at him for a long moment, making Jack wonder if his friend had twigged that he never called the apartment home.

“When are you going to tell me the rest, or do I have to drag it out of you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Maria reminded me it was the anniversary.” After a short pause, Ray asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Just then, the wind went out of Jack and left him breathless. Neither of them flinched or even blinked as they looked at each other. He knew Ray was waiting for an answer, but he didn’t want to talk about it.

“There’s nothing to talk about. It is what it is,” he finally said.

“You could have told me that’s why you wanted to be alone for a few days. Not just drop off the face of the planet. I know Christmas was especially hard on you last year. Until Dewayne came along, we thought for sure we’d have you living with us for a while. We still want you to stay with us. We’ll move Zelda into our room—”

“Stop. I’m fine here. Your house is more than full as it is. Besides, Christmas is over and now that my house has been released back to me, I can finally get over there and gut it so I can sell it,” Jack said. “The place feels like an anchor around my neck. I need to sell it.”

“I’ll help you, if you’ll still let me.”

“Of course.”

“So, are we good?” Ray asked.

“I keep telling you we are.” Jack stood up and held out his hand. Ray reached out as he rose, but Jack pulled him into an embrace. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“I’m sorry I forgot about the anniversary.”

“It wasn’t yours to remember.”

After a few slaps on the back, the men parted. Jack threw himself back into his chair. Ray remained standing, hands on his hips. He nodded at the sofa. “When are you going to start looking for a new sofa?”

Jack grinned. “Soon. Have you looked into those boys from the university?”

“I ran their names. Prior to the date of Rybak’s and Warren’s disappearances, they were pretty clean. Logan Armstrong is another story.”

“How so?” Jack asked.

“Initially, he was busted for minor teenage stuff—weed, underage drinking. The reporting officers noted the joint and beer were taken off him and he was let go with a warning, but it got his name into the system.”

“I feel a but coming.”

“But after college, he’s been busted a few times for possession with intent to sell or distribute which earned him some time in county lockup. Seems he’s become quite the hophead,” Ray said.

“I bet his parents are so proud they invested all that money sending him to SFSU for him to become a drug addict.”

“Don’t forget his major was chemistry . . .” Ray left the rest hanging.

“Were you able to track down Rybak’s girlfriend?” Jack asked, grateful the conversation had taken off in another direction.

He didn’t like that he’d hurt his friend, but he'd make a better effort at being more open with Ray until it was time for Jack to go back to his house. Maybe if he told Ray he was going out of town for a couple days, he’d have the privacy he needed to get the job done, and without interruptions this time.

Ray nodded. “Her last known address is her parents’ house over on Wawona Street near the Irish Center.”

“Are you going over to see if she’s still there?”

Ray nodded, then checked his watch. “It’s still early enough. Wanna take a ride?”

“You bet. You’ll have to drive—unless you want to go on my bike.” Jack remembered the last time Ray had been on the back of his bike and smiled. He’d taken them over to a vehicle dismantlers last spring when they’d got a lead on a victim’s car.

Ray glared. “That’s gonna be a hard no, ese. I’ll drive.”