The Night Crew

'Aw, Jesus,' Harper said, involuntarily turning away, closing his eyes.

'Get out of here,' Anna said.

'Naw.' He turned back, transfixed, as Jason zoomed in on Jacob's face. The camera hung there, staying with the face, suddenly pulling back to get some perspective, then closing in again, getting tight, catching expressions. Professional, Anna thought: very, very good.

At one moment, Jacob looked as though he might be dreaming. At the next moment, he seemed confused, or happy. He reached out once and Anna thought, 'Here it comes,' but he leaned back, seemed startled to find a wall behind him, and Anna blurted, involuntarily, 'No, no.'

Harper stared. The kid started talking, maybe back to the window he'd climbed out of. The camera view pulled back: yes, he was talking to the window. He looked down at the pool, then back at the window. A pale schoolboy face appeared at the window, then a girl's face, then the boy again, and the kid looked at the pool again.

'He thinks he can make the pool,' Harper said.

The camera closed in on his face, and suddenly, Jacob shook his head, said something, and the first faint wrinkle of fear crossed his face. He turned to the window, and one hand went out, touching the wall behind him. He took a step back to the window, but his right leg had to pass his left, and there was nothing out there, and suddenly, he was leaning over empty space: he was falling, and at the last possible instant, he tried to jump, to propel himself out toward the pool.

Jason stayed tight, the face and the trailing body, so close, the feet almost behind the head as Jason stayed with it.

'Stop!' Anna shouted.

Louis cut the tape, looked at her.

'Back it up, rerun in slow motion. Look at his right hand.'

In slow motion, Jacob almost seemed to be swimming in the air. And at one point, a white, almost formless shadow seemed to pass out of his right hand. It stayed in view of the camera only for an instant, but it was coming at Jason, possibly passing over his head.

'That's the paper,' Anna said.

'You can hardly see anything,' Harper said shakily.

'There's something there,' Anna said positively. To Louis: 'Let's see Creek's stuff.'

Creek had been further away, going for a longer perspectivebut the paper coming out was clearer. The paper itself was no longer than a dollar bill, and only half as wide, and it fluttered, twisted, and landed behind Jason's leg.

Jason stayed with the body for five seconds, zooming close; and Creek was still on the scene when Jason turned, almost stumbled, looked down, looked up and around, then stopped to pick something up.

'That's it,' Harper said. He stood and turned away from the television and said, 'There's no connection: none. We've been chasing a wild goose. Goddammit, I'm dumb. Goddammit.'

'God,' Louis said. 'We should've looked.'

'No connection. I didn't see how there could be no connection. I thought Jacob had to be part of something bigger, that it couldn't be that simple, that he just took some bad shit and flew off a ledge.' The words were coming in a bitter torrent. 'He was myson. If he was dead, it had to be important. Instead, it's just. this fucking everyday ratshit life. No reason, no plot, nothing important, he's just fucking dead.'

'Ah, God, Jake.'

'What can I do? I thought I wanted to kill the guys involved, and it turns out, nobody really even knew what they were doing. So I break a guy's legs. Fuck it,' he said. 'Let's go see Creek.'

Creek was dopey, but awake. He smiled, a lopsided smile, and mumbled something.

'He's much better,' Glass said, almost domestic. Anna thought he still looked caved-in. They sat for a while, Anna and Pam talking at Creek like he was a child. Harper sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. Anna wasn't sure how much Creek understood of what they were saying, and she was as worried about Harper as she was about Creek. When Creek drifted off to sleep, they left.

In the hall, Harper said, 'I'm sorta impressed by Pam. She's really taking care of him. How long had she known him? Couple of days?'

'Creek makes an impression,' Anna said grudgingly. She didn't want to, but she was starting to like Glass, brittle as she was.

Harper said, 'What next?'

Anna shrugged. 'Well. I don't know.'

He picked up her tone and said, 'Listen, I'm sticking with you. No way you're gonna get rid of me.'

'You really don't have any obligation.'

'Yes, I do.'

'No, you don't.'

'Look, if you don't know what I'm talking about, then you've really got your head up your ass,' he snarled at her.

She thought about that a minute and then said, 'We go to BJ's and start tracking the sex story. But that's later onit doesn't get started until late. Until then, I don't know. I'm numb.'

'So am I.'

'The tape. God, Jake, I'm so sorry.'

'Yeah. I wonder, if you don't mind. could you drive me somewhere?'

'Anywhere,' she said.

'I want to hit some golf balls.'

'What?'

He didn't look at her, just bobbed his head: 'Yeah. That's what I want to do.'

Chapter 16

Anna drove to a range east of Pasadena, a dusty place on the side of a mountain where, Harper said, 'You can hit from real grass.'

'That's important?'

'Essential,' he said.

The parking lot was up the hillside from the range itself, and they walked down a flight of stairs to the small clubhouse. The owner was a high-school friend of Harper's, happy to see him.

'This is Larry,' Harper said to Anna. 'Larry, this is Anna.'

'Pleased to make your acquaintance,' Larry said, his eyes shifting from Anna to Jake with some private amusement. He wouldn't take money for the range balls: offered as many as Harper wanted to hit.

'Do you want to hit a few?' Harper asked Anna.

'No. I'll get a coffee and sit and watch.'

There were a dozen golfers at the range, banging luminescent yellow balls down three hundred yards of sorry grass and desert rut. A fifty-foot-wide strip of longer, slightly healthier turf made up the teeing area. Larry got a plastic chair and a cup of coffee for Anna, and she settled in as Harper began hitting the balls. He hit a six iron for fifteen minutes, one ball after another, like an automaton, his swing seemingly slow, almost lazy. Easy as it seemed, the balls rocketed away in long, soft, left-curving parabolas.

As she watched him, she realized he was emptying his head, or trying to. When he failed, the golf balls, though their flight still looked perfect to her unknowing eye, were followed with muttered imprecations.

Anna got up once for a fresh coffee: Larry was leaning on the counter, watching Harper hit. He called her ma'am, and then said, 'He looks sorta sad. You two had some problems?'

Anna said, 'His son died last week.'

Larry seemed to contract: 'Aw, man.'

'He's pretty messed up.'

'I knew something was wrong.' He looked out toward Harper and said, 'He's got the prettiest swing I ever saw, outside the pros. But he looks tight today.'

Ten minutes after Harper started hitting, Larry turned on the lights. Harper stayed with the six iron for a while, then switched to a fairway wood. When he finished with that, he put it away, grinned quickly at Anna and said, 'Could you run an errand for me?'

'Sure.'

'In the trunk of my carpush this trunk button on the keythere's a shoe box with a pair of brown golf shoes.'

'Be right back,' Anna said.

She headed out to the parking lot, climbing the stairs, whistling tunelessly as she went. Harper was hitting balls again, a louder crack now, and she turned to look back, saw the balls bounding into the net at the end of the range. He was hitting them hard now, working at it.