“Wait here,” Stanton said.
He jumped out of the car and caught up with Royal as he was walking through the parking lot next to the strip-club.
“Hey, Hunter.”
“Jon? What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I needed to talk to you.”
“Now? Why didn’t you just call me?”
“No, not over the phone.”
“What is it? What’s the matter?”
There was only the slightest hesitation. A single moment in which Stanton’s mouth opened but no words came out. It was enough.
“Shit!”
Royal sprinted in between two cars and out of the parking lot and into the street. Stanton started running and shouting toward the Mustang for Jessica to call it in, but she wasn’t paying attention.
Royal ran into an alley and there was a chain-link fence behind a dumpster. He climbed up the fence and tore a cuff on his pants as he hopped over. He dashed for the intersection out the other side.
Stanton hopped the fence and felt the burning in his hands as he scraped the top on the way down. He saw Royal run through the intersection on a red light and two cars screeched as they tried to stop but both rammed into a large SUV coming from their right, the first one knocking it sideways and the second rear-ending the car and battering it into the SUV again. Horns were still blaring when Stanton got there. He maneuvered past the mess and got to the sidewalk on the other side and saw Royal run into an apartment high-rise.
Stanton ran in and instantly recognized the building. It was low-income housing and the cheap red carpet and tacky wallpaper of the hallways screamed government contractors. He’d been here several times previously on various calls.
There were a set of stairs at the end of the hall past the elevators and Royal was bounding up them two at a time. Stanton got there just as he was rounding a corner to the second floor. Stanton reached the top of the stairs to the second floor and looked down the hallway to his right and then his left. It was empty.
He closed his eyes and listened and all he could hear was his own heavy breathing. And then, almost as softly as the patter of mice, there was the quiet sound of shoes on carpet.
Stanton ran down the hall and came to a utility closet. He opened it and Royal bashed him in the face with a janitor’s mop bucket.
Stanton heard a crunch in his nose as blood instantly began to pour. He stumbled back as Royal tackled him. He felt his hands searching him for his gun and it gave Stanton just enough leverage to twist him off and onto his back. Stanton climbed on top of him, cradling him with his thighs and smashed his fists into his face until they were coated in blood, small droplets raining over his face and clothing.
Royal went limp; his breathing labored and gurgled with blood. Stanton collapsed next to him, his lungs on fire and his shoulders aching and stiff. Blood began to pool on the carpet and Royal stirred but was dazed and couldn’t focus. He waited a few moments without moving and then became more aware. His hand went to his face and he attempted to stop the bleeding by applying pressure to the gap in his teeth.
“You knocked out my fucking teeth!” he stammered, out of breath. “I forgot you don’t carry your gun.”
“Why did you run from me?” Stanton said, his chest tightening from the exertion and making it difficult to breathe.
“You know why I ran asshole.”
Stanton realized no one had called it in. He had no help coming and was alone with no protection.
“Look, Johnny. I’m leaving. You’re not taking me in.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Royal climbed on top of him with a yell and pressed his forearm into Stanton’s throat. He was heavier than Stanton by at least fifty pounds and Stanton, out of breath and weak, couldn’t get him off. The world began to go black and little sparkles of color appeared in his vision.
There was the sound of a hammer cocking. Royal looked over to see Jessica pointing her firearm at his face. He waited to see if he could tell if she would actually fire and she steadied her arm and naturally fell into the Weaver stance. He put his hands up and Stanton choked and spit as air rushed back inside him.
53
Maverick Hunter Royal sat in an interrogation room for the second time in his life. Though the first one was years ago in a different state, they both looked the same.
It was gray and empty of any semblance of normality. There was a desk and two chairs, a pad of paper with no pens or pencils. A camera was mounted in the corner and covered with a tinted hard plastic shell. A two-way mirror sat in front of him and he stared at his reflection.
The paramedics had done a good job cleaning and bandaging his face. His teeth had stopped bleeding. He knew protocol said they were supposed to take him to an ER whenever there was “substantial bodily injury,” but that phrase meant different things in different jurisdictions.
Life had a sick sense of humor, he thought. Yesterday at this same time he was getting a blow job in his hot tub from a model he had met at a Hollywood party. There were no A-listers there but there were some actors that had passed their prime and were now in sitcoms or made for tv movies. He had done cocaine in the basement with at least ten other people and drank Bacardi and Cokes.
Now he was beaten and bruised and sitting in a room staring into a mirror; wondering where his youth had gone. He was forty-two years old and was still a boy; clinging to everything he had dreamed about when he was a kid.
Stanton walked in, shutting the door softly before sitting down across from him. “How’s your teeth?”
“Only one fell out but a couple of ‘em are loose.”
“I’m sorry about that, Hunter.”
“You want to know the fucked up thing? I think you actually are.”
Stanton gave him a courtesy grin. “The homeless man at the Salton Sea, Darrell, identified you.”
“I figured. He was so high when I spoke to him I didn’t think he would remember me.”
“How many more are there?”
“How many more what?”
“Victims, Hunter. How many more girls am I gonna find?”
“Whoa, wait a second. You think I killed those girls?”
“What should I think?”
“Johnny, you know me. I’m not into that S amp; M stuff. I like my sex nice and sweet. I could never do that. Tami Jacobs-check my calendar and with my secretary-I wasn’t even in the fucking country when that happened. All I did was tell Darrell to give you that message and paid him a hundred bucks.”
“The note I got was signed Quaker. You went to the University of Pennsylvania. I think that’s the mascot isn’t it?”
His eyes went wide. “That motherfucker. He’s trying to set me up.”
“Who, Hunter? And why did you pay Darrell a hundred bucks to tell me that?”
He looked away, toward the camera and then back to the table. “I want a deal.”
“A deal for what? If all you did was pay someone to tell me something you won’t get an accomplice or conspiracy charge. Maybe obstruction of justice at worst. I won’t go forward on assaulting a police officer or fleeing. A good lawyer’ll take care of it in a month.”
“I take it you have an arrest warrant for me?”
“Yeah.”
“And a warrant at my house?”
“Yeah.”
“I want a deal on what’s going to be found in-”
The door opened and Harlow walked in. He placed a CD carrying case on the table and stared at Royal.
“What’s that?” Stanton asked.
“Tell him, Hunter.” Royal kept his eyes low, staring at the table. “Should I tell him? Okay. Well, Jon, these are homemade DVD’s. Short films starring a new up and coming actor: Maverick Hunter Royal. Tell him who your actresses are, Hunter. No? Cat got your tongue? Okay, I’ll tell him: the actresses are young girls. We’re talking-what Hunter-seven and eight year olds?”
“That’s all overseas, man. Never here. You got no jurisdiction.”