25 On the Way to Lakeside

Sheriff Hollabird slammed the door to his cruiser, taking in Mia’s pissed off glare and Amber’s apprehensive look, like a deer frozen in the headlights. “Ladies,” he took in both, tilting his hat but not taking it off; if Mia’s expression was anything to go by, he wasn’t exactly welcome. Not that it fazed him; he had matters at hand and he would get answers, one way or another. It didn’t serve his purposes to have the two women set against him, however.

“Ms. Spilner, Ms. Johnson,” he smiled disarmingly as he nodded to each and took his hat off finally and walking to the front of the police car. Mia came off the steps of the diner with a purposeful stride and, rather than move towards the Sheriff, she closed the distance between her and Amber, standing close to her. Something about the protectiveness of it reminded Hollabird of the older Toretto.

“What can we do for you, Sheriff?” All of Mia’s words were polite but there was a bite underneath, one that she only barely tried to cover.

“Well, ma’am, I’ve come into possession of some interesting information and was hoping I could have a word with Ms. Johnson about it.” Hollabird never let the hostility affect him. If anything, hostility made him more calm, like talking down bad dogs, and he raised his hands in a disarming manner. “Perhaps we can go inside and talk about it; ’steada talking out here in the yard in front of God and everybody?” There was no one around for miles; it didn’t matter.

Determination knotted Mia’s features but it wasn’t in her to be rude. Aside from that, she had learned that if the law had something of interest it wished to share, it was best to at least listen. Dom would have, if for no other reason than to not appear unreasonable and thereby attract more interest. She couldn’t hide her unhappiness about it.

“Fine. I won’t promise coffee though.” Without another word she started out towards the front door of the diner with Amber in tow. Holding the door open, she whispered to Amber, “Go wait at the counter. Don’t worry; it’ll be okay, no matter what it is.”

Snakes curled at the bottom of Amber’s belly; she had no idea what the Sheriff wanted but deep down she felt it was about her, and that it was bad. Like so many things, it was something she felt rather than knew; all that waited was for the hammer to fall. Closing her eyes when she reached the long counter, she rested her hand on the cool surface, pulling what she could from it.

No matter what he says, I am going to be okay.

If she spoke aloud, her voice would have shaken. Conviction was easier when she didn’t have to convince anyone other than herself that she meant what she thought. The counter beneath her hands was solid; her life was solid, in a way it had never been before. Amber thought of the worn, weathered wood that made up so much of her home. The timeless quality that had endured.

Before Amber opened her eyes, Mia had covered her hand with her own, just briefly, before she pulled up a stool on the other side of the counter. Sheriff Hollabird sat beside Amber, facing a stern-faced Mia; it was an odd position to be in as Sheriff, in the hot seat.

“If there’s no coffee,” he pointed towards the back bar as he settled more comfortably into the stool. “Maybe you’ve got a pinch of something a little warmer anyways.”

Arms crossed, Mia dropped her head and glared levelly at him. “Aren’t you on duty?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Hollabird didn’t smile when he said it; Mia was on guard and cracking wise wouldn’t help matters. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter he held her gaze. “That, and what I have to say might require something a little stronger.”

Amber spread her fingers across the counter top, all her intent on lining up the salt and pepper shakers. She could feel her heart thump in her chest, the silence between beats; not knowing if she was breathing or not and fascinated that it required serious thought to do so. “And what’s that.”

It sounded hollow to Hollabird’s ears, like something that she said because to not say it, to stay still and silent, was worse somehow than knowing. “Bring three glasses, Mia.”

Mia had already stood to get Hollabird an old fashioned glass, pouring a shot of tequila in the bottom. Without missing a beat, she set two more glasses on the counter and poured. Silently, the Sheriff and Amber reached out and took their glasses, downing them in one pull. Mia didn’t touch hers; she still had to drive.

Sucking air through his teeth, Hollabird put the glass down gently, pushing it towards Mia who refilled it. This time it stayed where it was. “Mike Anderson, you know who that is?” He looked up pointedly at Mia, who paled. Amber registered no emotion; frozen, listening, waiting, like some small animal waiting to see which way the wind blew.

Mia nodded; in a way she had expected this, even if she wasn’t sure what ‘this’ was. “I know of him, yes.”

“I got a package from him today.” Under normal circumstances, Hollabird might have preferred to keep that to himself, holding his cards close to his chest, but it served no purpose and he didn’t think the two women were a risk to any case that might develop.

Feeling confident that Mia wasn’t about to crack him in the head with the tequila bottle, he turned to Amber, who turned stiffly on the stool, the squeak seeming loud in the empty diner. “I don’t really have any nice way to bring all this out, ma’am, but do you know anything about your ex’s first wife?”

Everything froze and Amber’s jaw dropped as she tried to suck in a breath, failing. Her heart was a stone in her chest, sharp, heavy and painful. Words piled together and jumbled but she couldn’t make them come out. She blinked and blindly reached out for Mia’s untouched tequila, throwing it back. Her eyes stung and not all of it was alcohol. No matter what Alan had done to her this felt like one more betrayal. Like catching him in the act all over again. Mia reached out and held her elbow while Hollabird held her other arm, like she would fall; she wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t.

“Fuck.” Quiet, broken, Amber’s voice grated when she found it again.

Hollabird eyed her, sharp and hard. Did the shock break her, or was it guilt? Over the years he had seen both and he wasn’t so naïve as to make assumptions about what it would be this time. Someone else might have pressed the advantage, pushing to break her further, but Hollabird didn’t see much use in that; he just waited to see what else she would say.

“Sheriff…?” Mia demanded, standing, the stool forgotten, but Amber looked up at her, eyes haunted.

“I didn’t know that he was…married…before.” The lump in her throat threatened to choke her but Amber pushed on, blinking away tears that felt like sandpaper against her eyes. Mia poured her another shot of tequila but Amber just held the glass. “But….but I always thought.” Stop and start, the words hard bought came out. “I always thought there was….Someone.”

“Did he ever mention a name?” Hollabird pressed gently; it was his nature to doubt and question, all the while being seen to do neither. In his gut, he knew that Amber didn’t know.

Dropping her face into her hands, Amber seemed to slump, to get smaller, as she sighed; exhaustion weighed down on her heavily. “Al….he never spoke to me about other women. He hardly even spoke to me at all. Later anyway. But sometimes he would talk in his sleep, and he would say women’s names.”

“You ever confront him about it?” Who, what, where, when and how; Hollabird went from rock to rock in his own slow methodical fashion, just as he had always done.

Amber glared right into him, right through him. An answer in itself. Amber had never asked, or if she had, she never asked twice. She wouldn’t dare. Hollabird didn’t look away although he knew a lot of people would, just held her gaze until Amber turned back to the counter, her fingers reaching out to fiddle with the glass of tequila.

“He said a lot of things in his sleep. I never knew what to believe about half of what he said. I was too damned scared to do much of anything, even if I did wonder about it.” Violence had been a mainstay of Alan’s late night ramblings in his sleep. The tequila glass became her sole focus, turning it with the tips of her fingers, watching the alcohol stick high to the sides of the glass.

“He said women’s names, but I never said a fucking thing; I was too afraid by that point.” Mia sat on the stool once more, reaching out for Amber’s hand but Amber was somewhere else, in a personal hell. The sigh rattled out of her, a rale that would have fit a dying man. “Janet. It was a name he said frequently.”

Looking up, she hated her reflection in the mirror behind the counter but wouldn’t close her eyes. Whatever she saw there was who she was and there was no sense in turning away from it; there was no running, even if she wanted to. And she didn’t, not anymore. “What did he do to her?” That her ex-husband had done something to her was not in question; he had done something to someone, or the law wouldn’t be involved.

“She was Janet Arlington, and we believe she was his first wife.” This is where it got hard, Hollabird knew. In his experience, people got hysterical, they got caught up in the drama, or they got angry, yelling denials. He didn’t think any of those things would happen here, but it wouldn’t be easy. “From what Mike Anderson has sent me from El Centro, I’d say it’s a fair bet that he also killed that young woman.”

Mia gasped, her hands flying up to her throat in shock; Amber did nothing. Didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. It didn’t surprise her and denial wasn’t the first thing she sought; she had seen too much of her ex-husband to make any attempt at defending him. He had intended to kill her the night that he broke into her house.

“If it could be proven, I’m guessing you wouldn’t be here.” Stating that, Amber drained the tequila from the glass, turning it upside down so that Mia wouldn’t refill it from the bottle that she held, needing something to do.

“True enough, I don’t have a thing that I can go to a judge with and if I do this too soon…”

“You’ll lose everything.” Mia finished Hollabird’s sentence for him. Putting the tequila bottle down, she continued. “What do you need?”

Looking at Amber, Hollabird nodded. “I was hoping that you would give me a reason, something solid, that I could use to get a warrant to get into his place. Can’t exactly just walk in the front door, now.”

Lost in thought, Amber just stared ahead. “What did the private investigator send you?”

It wasn’t a matter of whether or not to divulge, just a matter of how much. “Some items were kept from the first murder. Some clothing and the weapon that was used.”

Pale and shaken, Amber continued to look out at her reflection but how much she actually saw was another matter. “Blood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly, intent on Amber.

Amber felt empty, like a husk that would blow away in a wind, everything whipped away. “If you had blood to compare it to, would that help?”

“Amber?” Mia reached out again, holding Amber’s hand, surprised at how cold her skin felt.

“It’s okay.” And it really was okay; it felt as though the very last dregs of Alan had just been scoured from her. The last straw. Amber turned to look directly at the Sheriff, pushing against the counter top to get up. Shaky, she staggered and sat back down heavily, both the Sheriff and Mia holding her. Mia let go and ran around the counter to stand beside her.

“I got a good piece of that bastard when he broke in,” Amber stated evenly, her voice more sure than her legs, finally getting to her feet; it wasn’t as difficult as she had originally thought. “We got it cleaned up. Guess I never got around to throwing it out.”

By the time Amber had reached the door to the diner she no longer trembled but Mia wouldn’t let go of her. Hollabird stayed just to her left all the way up to Amber’s front porch, staying in the living room as Mia and Amber continued on to the back of the house. A few minutes later the two women returned, Amber carrying a small plastic pail with a handle. Inside was the glass that had been swept up after Brightman had assaulted her; Amber wouldn’t let Mia take it from her but held onto it tightly until she could hand it over to the Sheriff.

Only then did the tears hit her. Silently, she cried as she looked up into Hollabird’s face. “I didn’t know about that other woman. Janet Arlington. I don’t know what it would change if I had. I don’t know what to say or if there’s even anything that fucking matters anymore, but I’m sorry for what happened to her. Maybe if…” Sighing brokenly, Amber waved off her own words, sniffling and wiping under her eyes. “Just get him for this, make it stick…. I’m sorry; I wish it was more.”

Mia shushed, pulling Amber to her and stroking her back. Hollabird looked at all the broken glass spattered with dried blood in the pail. It wasn’t much but then again he never had much to begin with. It was no sure thing that Brightman would have bled on the clothes and weapon in the box. If life handed out sure things he would be out of a job instead of standing in front of one battered wife getting evidence for the murder of a second.

“It’ll do, ma’am.” Leaving his hand on Amber’s arm he turned to Mia. “Guess I don’t need to say that staying here with no one else around is a bad idea?”

“We were just heading out when you showed up,” Mia whispered; she was shaken by everything that happened and it was starting to show in her voice.

“I’ll follow you out. Will you leave me a phone number?” Hollabird already had it, thanks to Spilner, but it didn’t hurt to ask; it often made people feel better, knowing that someone would be there. That, and he knew how bad he was about answering the phone.

Mia recited the number as they locked up the diner, the garage and Amber’s house, and then Hollabird followed them out towards the outskirts of Desolation.
…

They drove in comfortable silence for miles, Brian in the lead and Dom following a few car lengths behind. Often Dom would go out at night and drive for miles and miles. It wasn’t uncommon to drive all night, returning home just before dawn. He had always liked to drive; that had never changed, even if he didn’t race anymore, and he found that he missed it. Lately he hadn’t gone out to do that, especially not after finding out about Amber; he wondered if she would like to go with him one night.

They left Desolation and drove through a moonscape dotted with stones and hardy shrubs. On the outskirts of Yuma, the direction became less aimless and Dom followed the blue Supra as it drove down side streets, pulling into a gas station.

Picking a pump, Dom got out of the car and spoke across the hood at Brian, who did the same on the other side. “Good timing. I was running on fumes.”

Snorting out a laugh, Brian stretched, cracking his back and raising his arms over his head before he put the nozzle in the gas tank and left it there. He knew it was bullshit, that Dom always traveled with a jerrycan of gas in the trunk just in case. “I’m surprised that beast made it this far on one tank of gas. How much are you dropping in that tank? Fifty?”

Casually, Dom leaned his elbows against the hood; filling the tank would take a while. Without looking at the meter, he answered, “Looks more like eighty to me, at least.” He didn’t pull down the kind of money where that was a meager amount anymore, but it wasn’t exactly a hardship either. He lived light and his expenses were nowhere near what they had been when he was still racing.

There were other cars that he could have taken, but he liked the Chevy, even if she was a pig on gas and wasn’t finished yet. Unsaid, the thought barely formed, was that it was Amber’s car. Or it would be. He had been working on it with Jim, to give to Amber. When they had been getting ready to leave, it had just seemed right to take the Chevy’s keys.

Catching Brian’s nod, Dom turned as a blazing red Mazda pulled into the station with a roar, engines revving before dying. Raising an eyebrow, Dom took in the driver. Eddie. “Nice ride. It always make that much noise?” It sounded beautiful but Dom wasn’t about to give Eddie the satisfaction; there was a time when Eddie’s ride would have been his choice and Dom couldn’t really fault the car for its owner.

Like Brian, Eddie got out of the car and did a full body stretch before he leaned back and topped up his tank. “That boat yours?”

“Everybody’s raggin’ on my girl,” Dom chuckled good naturedly, patting the hood as he took a look at the meter which was nowhere near full, and peeled off the side of the Chevy, heading for the garage. They would need something to eat and road food would have to be it. “Shut her off when she’s done,” he said to Brian as he passed.

“S’he really taking that thing?” Eddie looked over the black Chevy; it wasn’t what he expected to see Dom driving. What he had expected was that Dom would show up in something much like what Eddie drove.

“Appears so.” Brian was in the odd position of defending Dom’s choice when he had just teased him about the same thing not five minutes before. Then again, Dom could have taken a tricycle and Brian would have defended that too, at least to someone else, that was just the way it was.

Eddie caught the defensiveness in Brian’s tone and knew it wouldn’t serve him; he needed both Dom and Brian. He switched the topic; they were missing someone. “Where’s Jim?”

Turning his back on Eddie, Brian shut off Dom’s pump, wiping his hands off on some paper towel. “We’ll meet up with him later.”

Saying nothing, Eddie just tilted his head to the side, but Brian had already walked away towards the garage, talking to Dom inside. Jim wasn’t with them and, from the sound of Brian’s voice, he wasn’t completely sure that Jim would show up.

Then again, Eddie had doubted whether he would meet Dom and Brian here at all; he had kind of expected to be ditched. Not that he didn’t have contingency plans, but he didn’t want to have to rely on official backup either; there was no way to be sure that bureaucracy wouldn’t gum up the works. Then the truck would be lost, the case would be lost. Probably his career would be lost as well; he’d be stuck on shitty little nickel and dime cases in the middle of the desert until he was an old man.

Last into the garage, Eddie pulled a few bills out of his wallet to pay for gas, grabbing a couple of bottles of water out of the aging glass front fridge. Looking at his food options, he was about to settle for a chocolate bar when Dom came up behind him, bumping him in the shoulder without saying anything.

He was about to get pissed off when Dom shoved a grease stained brown paper bag into his hand with no explanation given, before walking outside. Whatever it was, it smelled good. Eddie bought a few chocolate bars anyway, and reached into the cooler again for a six pack of soda; he didn’t think about why, just passed them to Dom and Brian as he walked past, getting into his own car. No thanks spoken.

It was just a greasy hamburger but he hadn’t asked for it, apparently didn’t need to, because no matter how it had happened, he was one of them now. A member of the team. Turning over the engine, he fell into place behind Brian this time, with Dom in the lead, heading west in the direction of Lakeside.

The conversation was stilted over the radios all the cars carried; Eddie had thought that Dom and Brian would talk more than they did. The miles and miles of silence were unnerving but eventually Eddie ran out of things to say and listened to nothing but the sound of the cars and the road.

No one was hungry when they hit the next stop on the outskirts of El Centro, but Eddie bought coffees, leaving them on the hoods of the other two cars without a word. The ritual repeated. Get out, stretch, bust Dom’s balls about his car. Eddie would never say it, but he had liked the black Chevy the moment he first saw it. The heavy muscle car stood out, even without a great paint job; they were the kind of cars that Eddie had always worked on when he was younger. But there was no way he would tell Dom that.

In the distance came another kind of roar altogether and the three of them looked up from what they were doing to watch. At first it was just a cloud of dust and then it took form. One bike in the front with eight trailing behind, riding side by side. It wasn’t a strange sight in the desert but they stayed close to their cars anyway.

The bikers slowed a little as they roared by but they didn’t stop, and the lead man raised his hand in a salute as he roared past. It was automatic more than anything, but Dom raised his hand in a casual salute in return.

“Shit, was that Jim?” Brian stared off down the road as the cloud of dust the bikers had stirred with their passing followed them down the road, obscuring them from view.

Copyright © March 2008 xxxevilgrinxxx