Listening to LeMond’s ‘bullshit’ speech had been tough, too.Same thing with talking to the sonofabitch and then punching him only twice and not raining a hundred blows down on his smug, artistic face.Very tough.
Of course, realizing that I hadn’t gained much from my little adventure at Chez LeMond hadn’t been easy, either.
But stopping at the liquor store and buying a nice bottle of smooth, Tennessee whiskey?Pouring glass after glass in my apartment?
Not tough at all.Easy, in fact.
A shower and a few aspirin put me back into the land of the living, just barely.The coffee that Cassie slid across the counter to me would help me on that journey.
“A plain bagel, too, please,” I told her.
“Cream cheese?”
My stomach wavered.
“No, thanks.Just plain.”
She nodded and grabbed one for me.I paid her, tipping her a dollar.She eyed the bill, a strange look on her face.
“I got some work,” I explained, stammering a little.
She nodded, but didn’t smile.“Thanks.Anything else I can get for you?”
I thought about asking her about that trip for ice cream we were supposed to make, but I knew that the time wasn’t right.It was a coincidence, really, me having enough cash to give a decent tip coming at the same time we’d made our first tentative moves towards a real date.But now the simple gesture had queered things up a little bit.Best to let it ride itself out.
“No, that’s it.Thanks.”
She nodded and gave me a smile sans the mystery to it and returned to work.
I grabbed a paper someone had left behind and read through the pages without really absorbing anything.It was all the same, anyway.The mayor and the city budget crisis.The Flyers actually tied Trail 3–3 the previous night, I was glad to see.Then I read a little further and discovered that they gave up two third period goals.That made it a bad tie, in hockey parlance.I flipped to the comics.
By the time Adam arrived, I’d finished half of the crossword.
I pushed the paper aside as he sat down excitedly.Cassie took his order and he fidgeted in his seat while she made the latte.
“Good news?” I asked.
He nodded and slid a manila folder across the table to me.I opened it up, holding it close to my body so Cassie couldn’t see the contents when she brought Adam his drink.There were three pieces of paper inside.The first one was the glamour photo of Kris I’d given Adam.The second was a printed Internet page.The logo across the top read, “Barely Legal Beaver!”A naked woman was featured, lounging on a pillow, her back arched and her legs open.Large red stars covered her nipples and pubic region.
It was Kris.
I glanced up at Adam and he nodded for me to keep reading.
At the bottom of the page, there was an invitation to come inside for just $3.95 a week and watch all sorts of sexual escapades by these barely legal girls.My eyes flitted over the descriptions of every sex act imaginable to the end of the tagline, where the viewer was invited to “Cum see Star in her debut film!See a virgin becum a slut right before your eyes!”
I closed the folder and took a deep breath.
Jesus.
She was sixteen.Sixteen!I closed my eyes and forced the images from inside the folder from my mind.I tried to see Kris dressed in a nice yellow dress, playing croquet on the lawn with her father.
Adam leaned in.“I have to report this.I’ll turn it in this afternoon.It’ll probably sit overnight.I doubt LieutenantCrawford will read any reports that come in at the end of the day.If he doesn’t read it until tomorrow and then decides to do something, you’ll have a one-day head start.”
I nodded.
“If he spots the report and goes off on a tangent, then they’ll hit the place as soon as possible.”He shrugged.“Best that I can do.”
“Thanks,” I managed.
His face lit up.“You should have seen it, Stef.I don’t know what they’re hooked up to, but my search speed tripled, maybe quadrupled.And their decryption software broke through firewalls like tissue paper.It was incredible.”
I nodded and opened the folder again. I turned to the third and final page.There was a name, a photocopy of a driver’s license and a single entry for a traffic ticket in the local computer all cut and pasted onto the same page.
“This him?” I asked Adam.
“Yeah.That’s who the ISP comes back to.I don’t know if he’s the one making the movies, but he’s the one putting them on the ‘net.”Adam shook his head.“I’ll never say impossible again.If I do, slap me.”He took a satisfied drink of his latte.
I ignored him and read the address on the driver’s license and looked up at the face.
“Make sure you shred that when you’re through with it,” Adam said.
I nodded absently and read the name slowly to myself.
Roger.Roger Jackson.
43
I stopped at my apartment and went inside.It smelled stuffy, so I threw open the window and let the cold February air flood in.
The bottle of whisky stood on the counter, still one-third full.I reached for it, and for one wavering moment, I almost poured three fingers into last night’s glass. Hair of the dog.
Instead, I unscrewed the cap and poured the brown poison down the drain. I threw the bottle into the garbage pail.Then I closed the window.
From under my bed, I drew out the most expensive thing I owned. It was the last holdover from when I was on the job.A Smith and Wesson.45 caliber Model 457 with a barrel just shy of four inches long for easier concealment.Seven rounds plus one in the pipe.
I slipped the gun out of the soft leather holster and pulled the slide partway open.There was a gleam of gold in the chamber.I let the slide snap forward.Then I clipped the holster to my belt, covered it with my windbreaker and left the apartment.
44
Roger Jackson lived on the north side of town on a quiet street named Midland.His house was on a corner lot and didn’t look any different than the other ranchers and split-entries on the block.A new Camaro was parked in the driveway.A four foot chain link fence surrounded the front lawn, which was currently a short, wintry yellow.
I sat behind the wheel of the Celica and considered my next move.Did Jackson have a regular job?If so, he’d probably be working right now.The Camaro in the driveway argued otherwise, though.
Was he married?If I knocked, would it be Mrs. Jackson who answered the door?I looked for a garage and didn’t see one.Maybe the little woman was at work.
If there was a wife, how much did she know?For that matter, how much was there to know?Maybe Jackson just had a deal with someone else to manage a website.
I pushed down all these questions and focused on what was important.Jackson was my only link to Kris.And sometime tomorrow, he would probably be in police custody.If I was going to get anything out of him, it had to be now.
My decision made, I got out of the car and walked directly to the front door.
I gave the screen door a friendly knock and waited patiently.When there was no reply, I opened the screen and knocked again, this time on the front door.
Still no answer.
I paused.Was he home and not answering?Or gone?
A moment later, I decided I didn’t care.I drove my hip and shoulder into the door and crashed it inward.
45
I stepped inside and shut the door quickly.My heart was pounding in my ears.I dropped low onto my right knee, wincing slightly as I bent the left, and listened.If anyone was home, they’d be on me in second or two.I wrapped my hand around my gun and waited.
All I could hear was the hum of the refrigerator in the next room and the tick of a clock on the wall in the living room.Even so, I waited several minutes before moving.I listened for creaks in the floor and I listened for sirens in the distance.I thought vaguely about the fact that I wasn’t licensed to carry a firearm.That led me to the fact that by bringing a gun along,I’d bumped this little caper up to a first degree burglary.