Fish in the Dark 1
THE SKY was getting that soggy concrete sort of gray that happened as shadows drew long during a damp and rainy day. Jackson piloted the minivan through rush-hour traffic, trying to picture the block where the Stepford Dragon Castle sat and wondering where to park.
“The church,” Cody said, breaking into his thoughts. “There’s a church about four blocks away. They have meetings at night and sort of a ragged-looking batch of attendees—you know, like me—and this….” He swallowed, probably because Jackson had done a good job of impressing the temperamentality of their ride upon him. “This wonderful vehicle will not stand out like the shining star she is.”
Jackson nodded approvingly. “Nice one,” he said. “We want to keep her.”
“Of course we do,” Cody told him, nodding along for good measure. “A, uhm, flashier vehicle that, say, your boyfriend could afford certainly wouldn’t do, now would it?”
Jackson could hear the question in his voice.
“Those vehicles don’t have Jennifer’s… shall we say, strength of karma,” Jackson said diplomatically.
He watched Cody play with that one a couple of times before he absolutely had to ask.
“How many cars did you go through?”
Jackson wrinkled his nose. “Four? Wait… five. No, four and a half. Because one got rebuilt and then it got taken out, and then we shipped it down to SoCal to get rebuilt again. I don’t think it’s coming back.”
“Wow,” Cody said, sounding truly stunned. “And this one’s lasted longer?”
“Than any of the other two combined,” Jackson confirmed, slowing to let a couple go by. They were both androgynous under their rain gear, but they were huddling under a giant pink-and-yellow flowered umbrella. Jackson would guess female, but he wouldn’t put money on it, and he smiled a little when they cleared the intersection and he could go.
“Impressive,” Cody told him sincerely. “I’m still tooling around in the Sportage I got a couple of years ago. It was paid off, so it was one of the few things I could keep after I got out of rehab.”
“Can’t shit on a vehicle that works,” Jackson said, patting Jennifer’s steering wheel so she’d know she was included. Something was niggling him, something about what had just happened with Ellery, and he realized he was gnawing at his lip as he was gnawing on the problem.
“What are you thinking about?” Cody asked, and Jackson grunted, realizing it was sharing time.
“How? How did that woman that Ellery pissed off know where to find that starving kid? I mean, we’re going to assume that poor Otto was like Cowboy. He was indoctrinated into the pray-the-gay-away thing, and then he ran away. Well, Ellery said he looked like he’d been on the streets for as long as Cowboy—and Cowboy said that Otto had gotten recaptured during the great escape. When did he escape again? And how did that Piper Lutz/Bertha Dunkel woman know where to find him? I mean, the pray-the-gay-away camp obviously has a problem keeping kids—have they simply kept replacing them as they bleed away? Or do they know where they go? And what happens to them once they return and piss off Shitbag Retty or her friends again? Because I was hoping if a kid was coming back out of the woodwork, it would be Caleb—but Otto mentioned Caleb and started to cry, so….” He shuddered, his stomach in knots.
“No happy ending for Caleb,” Cody said soberly.
“I’m really thinking not,” Jackson muttered. “It’s why we gotta check inside this compound. I need to see some papers or something, or talk to some of the inmates still there. This feels… bigger somehow. Like this isn’t just the story of one kid, or one rogue piece-of-shit enforcer nailing Henry, but like there is something big that everybody is afraid is going to come out if Cowboy talks to somebody who will listen. Am I making any sense here?” he asked, a little desperate for affirmation. It occurred to him that his head was starting to pound with a sleep headache from hell, and while he wasn’t hungry, he could really use a soda or a coffee or something. “And is Starbucks still open?”
“Yes,” Cody said. “Turn right at the next intersection, my treat. It’s not Starbucks, but it’s close and independently operated.”
“Fair,” Jackson said. “So I’m making sense?”
“If I was still on the force, with an entire department at my disposal and the DA on speed dial?” Cody prefaced.
“Yeah?”
“I’d be giving out assignments in a briefing room and having search warrants started. Why haven’t you contacted the po-po again?”
“Because Cowboy would have to testify,” Jackson said grimly. “And once a kid hits the system like that….”
“Gotcha. And now it’s not just Cowboy, is it?”
“No. It’s anybody these monster-twats have ever touched. I want to find out what they’re doing and who they’re doing it for. I want them wrapped up and arrested and in cuffs and put away where they don’t have a chance to even see where we got our information before our witnesses talk to a single person with a badge.”
He didn’t ask if he was making himself clear now, because he didn’t care. Goddammit, he knew who he worked for.
Cowboy. Otto. Isabelle.
And Henry. Who would fight to the death for any of them—and almost had.
“Wow,” Cody said with a sigh.
“What?”
“A year ago, I would have argued with you until you kicked me out of the car. But then, a year ago….”
His brothers hadn’t turned on him and used him as a scapegoat to mask their own corruption.
“It’s a shitty lesson,” Jackson admitted, pulling into the queue at a kiosk that had a big placard on the front announcing the Midnight Bean. “But lucky me, it means tonight I’ve got somebody riding shotgun who knows about a brand-new coffee place. I’m stoked.”
“Are you stoked enough to get one of their sausage/egg empanadas?” Cody asked hopefully. “Because it’s teatime. You know, not dinner, but still….”
“You’re feeling a little peckish,” Jackson said dryly. “I hear you.” His headache throbbed behind his eyes with his pulse, and he thought about Ellery asking if he’d eaten again. “I might join you,” he conceded. “It might be our last chance to eat for a few. We should take it.”
Oh my God. I must be a grown-up. I didn’t even have to fight with myself!
Besides, sometimes carbs could substitute for sleep when one was desperate enough.
A few minutes later, a jumbo-sized sugar caramel pistachio latte with some coffee in it in the drink holder, he munched at the flaky crust of the breakfast pastry at five in the afternoon and decided Cody had good instincts for this kind of thing.
“I’ve never been there before,” he said through a full mouth. “I’m gonna have to….” He trailed off before he could say “take Henry there” because it felt rude and also like he might jinx Henry’s recovery just suggesting it.
But Cody wasn’t stupid. “Don’t worry about it. He’ll be fine, and I’ll be benched in no time.”
“No reason to be benched,” Jackson said. “I mean, we’re tapped out at present, but you know. We’re not the only game in town.”
Cody shook his head. “I don’t know if I could do cheating spouses and workman’s comp fraud. It feels so….”
Jackson blew out a breath, because he was well aware that he’d lucked out. Jade had been a paralegal for Lyle Langdon, and she’d talked Jackson up after he’d gotten his license. Since Pfeist, Langdon, Harrelson, and Cooper had been one of the premiere criminal defense firms in the area, Jackson had been able to cut his teeth on more action as a PI than he might have gotten as a flatfoot, if he hadn’t been given to a corrupt trainer.
But then… “There’s more than one criminal defense firm out there,” he said. “And Fingerling, Loser, Hamster, and Cottonmouth might take a recommendation from Ellery.”
“Didn’t they, like, fire him?” Cody asked uncertainly.
“Well, yes,” Jackson said. “But reluctantly. Jade and I, on the other hand, left sort of an impression upon exiting.”
Cody snickered. “I saw the picture behind Jade’s desk when I changed. Jade’s ass is, of course, fabulous, but it’s good to see you’ve put on a little weight since then.”
“I was stabbed in the liver ,” Jackson retorted grumpily. “And I got back to Langdon telling me they were going to let Ellery go but would be happy if Jade and I stayed on. I mean, we made him the guy who would go to the wall for the little guy. We couldn’t very well let him go out on his own, right?”
“And you personally were in love with him,” Cody said dryly.
“There was that,” Jackson returned. He smiled a little. “I don’t think any of us have regretted it since. But what I’m saying is there are some good defense firms out there who would give you a break, and if we don’t have any spare work for you, Ellery and I will write odes to your godlike abilities after Henry gets back, so… you know….”
“There’s life after the force,” Cody said dutifully. “You’ve been telling me that since November, Jackson. Don’t worry. I’ve drunk the Kool-Aid. I’m a believer.”
Jackson chuckled without humor. “Good. Just be careful. Being a believer got Henry an intestine full of lead.”
“And like you, I’m sure he’d agree it’s worth it,” Cody told him firmly. “And thank you. I’ll keep up hope you suddenly add partners, but I honestly hadn’t thought of other defense firms—or even your old one. Silly me.”
“Out of the box thinking,” Jackson said absently. They were passing a row of small businesses and coming up on an alleyway. An employee was hefting a rather large cardboard box down the sidewalk, heading for the alley, and Jackson—who had been pondering how they were going to get into the Stepdragon Fortress of Solitude and Death suddenly had an idea.
He had to cross two lanes of traffic—and return an extended middle finger in greeting—in order to swerve to the side of the road and into one of the “outside of the bike lanes but hopefully not in traffic” parking spots to do it, but he managed to cut off the surprised man hefting the box.
“Do me a favor, would you?”
“Wha—”
Cody was busy clutching the chicken stick, so Jackson threw Jennifer in Park with a silent apology and hopped out. “Wait here, sweetheart,” he said, making sure he left her automatic keys in the drink holder. “I’ll be back.”
He trotted out into the drizzle and hailed the surprised employee. “Hey! Can I have that?”
The man—young, with line tattoos up and down lean arms—eyed the minivan dubiously. “Sure, man, but you got a vehicle to sleep in. Are you sure you’re going to need one?”
“I’m not sleeping in my car!” Jackson retorted, and then double-checked his outfit, grumpily pleased that both jeans and hoodie appeared washed and worn but intact. “This is for a… uhm… art project.” He smiled winningly.
“Glory hole?” The clerk asked, balancing the enormous flattened box on his head to keep off the rain.
“If that’s what makes you want to throw it in the back of the van, sure,” Jackson told him, raising the hatch.
“No, seriously, dude,” said the thin-faced clerk. His straw-colored hair was plastered around his eyes and neck, and he was starting to shiver, so Jackson handed him a beach towel as he grabbed a canvas bag filled with various uniforms he and Henry used to, uhm, blend as they worked. “Are you moving? What?”
“I’m pretending to be a UPS worker so I can see if a bastion of toxic white women are holding LGBTQ kids hostage,” Jackson told him flatly as they shoved the box in over the dolly lying crosswise in the back for this very reason.
“Seriously?” His helpful friend had wide hazel eyes, and he appeared to be charmed. “So, like, I’m helping superheroes?”
Jackson shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “It’s your good deed for today!”
The kid laughed. “Naw—fuck that, dude. I’m adopting a puppy today. You saved me five minutes of unnecessary work breaking that down so I can get out in time. Have fun storming the castle!”
And with that he turned and jogged back to the store as the sky opened up.
Jackson hung back for a moment, sheltered by the lifted back of the minivan, before slamming it shut.
“Hunh,” he said, climbing into the driver’s seat, aware that Cody Gabriel was staring at him.
“Just like that?” Gabriel said. “You… you told him the plan just like that?”
Jackson stared back, his hands fastening his seat belt automatically. “Was it a secret?”
“Well, I would have figured it out!” Cody told him. “But… but I wasn’t expecting you to tell people!”
“Who’s he gonna tell? His girlfriend? His parents? His roommate?” Jackson shrugged. “Man, he was trying to make a gray crappy day a little bit more magical. I got no problem with that. I thought I’d help.”
Cody chuckled. “I’d say mission accomplished, but he already had you beat.”
“Yeah,” Jackson said. “I know. That man was gonna get himself a puppy!”
THE DOWNPOUR had let up as night crept in, and Jackson took a risk when he found a parking place the block behind the Moms for Clean Living house instead of the church. For a moment, the two of them sat in the shadows, since there were few sodium lamps on this block. The grounds of the house extended to the backside of the lot, and Jackson could see security cameras up on the trees, but he was pretty sure they wouldn’t extend to the minivan’s position.
“What are you thinking?” Cody asked.
“For one, I’m hoping the rain holds off until we get the dolly around the block. For two, I’m wondering what we could possibly put in that box to weight it down.”
Cody stared at him. “Well, I was thinking me ,” he said, but Jackson shook his head and threw one of the brown shirts he’d grabbed from the back at him.
“No, we need to be able to go in there, find the office, look around. One of us can use the head, get lost, find the other one of us. That doesn’t mean it’s not a good hiding place to get out of there, but we need to come in and be a team.”
“Are they gonna see our faces?” Cody asked uneasily, but Jackson reached behind the passenger seat and into the little mesh carryall there and produced two hats with logos.
“Nice,” Cody said appreciatively, slipping one on. “Does it got Henry cooties on it?”
“I’d say yes, but he bathes pretty scrupulously, and he gets his hair cut so short you can see his sunburned neck. Zero cooties on Henry’s hats.”
“No, seriously, how many outfits like this do you have in here?” Cody was glancing around the minivan’s interior like whole closets might open up, and Jackson had to chuckle.
“Some basics—scrubs for hospital areas, lab coats, same. Blue chambray with fake name tags for HVAC workers or pest control. A few other outfits. I mean, nothing beats the posture of somebody who belongs where he is.” Jackson paused and thought about it. “And a certain resistance to embarrassment,” he said after a moment.
“Resistance to…?” Cody frowned at him.
“Chief, we just climbed down a trellis from the attic of a big rich-looking house in a rich-looking area, and I had to flick slugs from your back when you fell. If you’d been more afraid of being embarrassed than you had been of talking to the cops about our witnesses, you would have been too afraid to pull that off. Don’t worry. You’re good.”
Cody was still chuckling as Jackson pulled some postal tape from a compartment in the back and started to fix up the box.
THEY GAVE their acting chops a workout on the stairs up the porch of the building, calling out to each other as Cody balanced the package and Jackson pushed it up. The porch was wide and protected from the rain, with classic Victorian peaks and gables and large french doors that probably let in the light during the day. The outside of the place was really very handsome, with dark blue wood paneling in the front, cream trim, and a stone facade beginning about midway along the back, its origins obscured by myriad hedges and flowering trees that flanked the house itself and obscured the great yard in the back. Behind, where they’d parked the minivan, Jackson had seen a lot of wrought iron and hedges as well, and he was pretty sure in the spring and summer, the place would be abloom with pink flowers, and half the people inside would be high off Sudafed and Benadryl because that was how allergies in the Sacramento valley went.
But now, in the sodden early March, everything was dark and shiny and dripping, even though the downpour had eased, and Jackson wished he’d brought his hoodie to throw on over his ugly brown shirt, because he was shivering as he and Cody danced on the porch, trying to get somebody to come open the door.
The woman who answered had artfully streaked ash-blond hair framing a face made of cheekbones and disdain. She wore navy slacks with a cream Chanel jacket over a navy blouse and pearls and, fortunately for Jackson, a laminated ID that read Piper Lutz.
Oh. So this was Bertha Dunkle/Piper Lutz.
Good to know, Jackson thought, as he turned on whatever charm reserves he had left that day.
“I’m sorry,” she said, peering out at them from the half-closed door, “we’re having a meeting right now—”
“But I’ve got a delivery for a Valerie Trainor?” Jackson held his tablet like it gave him needed information. “Is she in?”
“Oh, I can sign for it,” Lutz said, looking annoyed and half afraid. “Just leave it there―”
“In the rain?” Jackson protested. “Ma’am, they would have my job for leaving this package in the rain. You go ahead and sign for it, but it has got to see the inside of the foyer first.”
“You can’t leave that thing in the foyer!” Piper Lutz gasped.
“Well, we’d offer to put it in an office or something, but you seem to think we want to come into your place and steal your stuff!” Jackson protested. “And Jack here may have to piss in your pot, but we do not steal people’s stuff.”
“How rude!” Piper complained as Jackson got a foot in the door.
“You think he’s rude now, you should hear him if we have to get back in the van and he hasn’t had a chance to pee,” Jackson told her seriously. “But that’s neither here nor there. I can’t leave the box on the porch ’cause it’s gonna start whizzin’ down rain like a cow pissing on a flat rock, if you know what I mean. I don’t got no idea what’s in here, but if it’s paper goods or something, no good can come of it sitting out on the porch and soaking rainwater up like a sponge.”
Piper’s eyes flickered from Jackson’s face to the box and back again, and Jackson could see her weigh her boss’s displeasure against the contents of the box—whatever they were—being ruined or the box itself being somewhere visible in the building.
“All right, Jacky,” Jackson said to Cody, “let’s leave this thing here and take a picture along with Ms. Lutz here, so they know we tried—”
“Oh very well,” Piper said with little grace, opening the door and allowing them to push the crate inside. “The office is down the hall and to the left. There should be room in the back.”
“And the can?” Cody asked, sounding desperate.
“Keep going. It’s around the corner and to the right,” she told him, not even trying to conceal her disgust.
“Thanks, lady!” Cody called as he and Jackson maneuvered the oversized box through the corridor. Cody was a little too tall to be walking backward and pretending to balance the box, and he awkwardly hit the wall with his shoulder, knocking the framed certificate on the wall off.
Jackson caught it deftly and paused before replacing it.
“Hunh,” he said, staring at it for a moment.
“What?” Cody asked. Jackson put the certificate back on the wall and, with a glance over his shoulder to make sure Piper Lutz had left them alone, took a picture of it.
“It’s one of those award deals,” Jackson said. “For organization of the year or buttplug of the century or douchenozzle empress or whatever. Left here.”
Cody reached out and opened the door of the office they’d been directed to, and Jackson noted the name on the door—Valerie Trainor—with satisfaction.
The Big Cheese-esse. There should be something to learn here.
“Why’d we take a picture of the Douchenozzle Empress award?” Cody asked, as together they plopped the giant empty box right in the middle of the big room with the pink-champagne-colored plush carpet on the floor. “Also, this area rug is giving me a yeast infection.”
Jackson grunted. “It would give Jade a yeast infection, and she is not afraid of pink. And we took a picture of it because Ellery’s mother told him that places like this are usually an arm or a pinky or a foreskin of a political party or….”
He paused in the act of folding up the dolly to tuck under his arm, and Cody finished the sentence.
“Or a certain politician,” he said, pulling out his own phone to take pictures of the stuff on the desk. “I hear you. Do we have any ideas?”
“Well,” Jackson muttered, rifling through a filing cabinet. He paused at a file marked Property Taxes and Mortgage Receipts and pulled it out.
“Well, what?” Cody asked, and Jackson glanced up from what promised to be a very interesting slog through something that could prove very important, to remember what he’d been talking about.
“Well,” Jackson continued, reasoning hard, “Sacramento is more liberal than you might think. Most of the right-wing politicians try to cloak themselves—hide the crazy. You have to look for certain phrases. Things like ‘give parents control of education’ or ‘protect our children from unwholesome influences’ when you look at the ballot. And sometimes they hide the crazy under fiscal conservatism. So I’m thinking that whoever is giving these women ‘Douchenozzle Empress of the Year’ will also have connections to whatever politician is currently involved in trying to hide the crazy. You know, a big right-wing circle jerk.”
“Oh!” Cody said, brightening. “Got it. Wow, you and Cramer—big brains. Maybe I should stick to taking pictures of cheating spouses and workman’s comp fraud.”
“Ew!” Jackson replied, genuinely put off. “Hell no. Henry and I wouldn’t do a friend like that. No, stick with us. We’ve got contacts, son, and we’ve got a little bit of job knowledge.” He frowned. “Speaking of which… I really do need a few minutes with these files. How about you go get lost looking for the head.”
“What am I looking for instead of the head?” Cody asked.
“Kids,” Jackson said grimly. “Try to get lost on the second or third floors, okay? And if you can’t spot kids, take a look at their back garden and see if there’s any place to stash a body.”
“Oh wow.” Cody sobered. “God. Yes. Okay. What do we do if we get busted?”
Jackson grimaced. “Well, first play stupid, and if that doesn’t get you out of the sitch, yell my name and start charging for the exit. Remember you don’t have a badge—cut and run first. I mean, we’re both in good enough shape to scale the back fence. If I’m at the car first, I’ll fire up the engine and start circling the block in the place I think you’ll exit. How’s that?”
Cody Gabriel gave him a fierce grin. “Batshit insane. Looking forward to it. Back in ten.”
He “wandered” off, and Jackson spent a moment wondering at Cody’s undercover experience. He’d never gotten that far in the force—was much of it scripted there? Of course the television perception was of an agent—male or female—walking into giant drug deals with nothing but their brains and a swinging cod, but having spent some time in the department, Jackson imagined Cody had been given a great deal of structure, even when he was undercover.
It made sense, Jackson thought sadly. Cody’s job had gotten stressful. He’d been forced to make decisions he hadn’t liked—unethical decisions given to him by unethical people. And he’d been surrounded by product in his cover as a drug dealer. The temptation would have been amazing . No wonder he’d succumbed.
Watching him now, cheerfully throwing himself into scenario after scenario—the sense of fun pulsing from Cody Gabriel was seriously soul-sustaining. Henry had that same sense, and in the quiet of this stranger’s office, Jackson took a moment to check his phone for messages.
Galen had texted—it must be his turn on deck—with a quick, Henry wants to know if you’re sitting on your ass crying or actually doing something.
Ha, ha. Jackson texted the picture of the “Civic Group of the Year” award, along with a Pull your weight and tell me who runs this and which politician thinks it’s a dandy idea.
Ooh, research. You are giving me an erection, which is both improper and titillating. I shall tell Ellery you’re being naughty.
Jackson held back a chuckle. Galen was being his charming self—with a dose of IDGAF, probably aided by sleep deprivation.
Well, good. Jackson was right there with him.
Do that. But do what he’s doing and make sure you are not alone. He thought of Piper Lutz, bribing poor Otto with food. How had she known where he would be? How many “errands” had she had the boy run for her before?
Jackson heard voices coming down the hallway and shook himself, realizing with a start that he’d almost fallen asleep during his woolgathering. Okay, then. He’d pushed himself pretty damned far today—this had to be his last adventure before he went and picked Ellery up from Jade’s house. Hurriedly he sank to the inside of the desk, the property management files on his lap, and he started rifling through them, taking pictures of any document with a signature and sending them to Galen and Ellery without any more banter.
Galen would know what to look for, and it was time to get to work.
HE’D GOTTEN most of the property management file, as well as a couple of Miscellaneous Expenses files, none of them on computer, all of them neatly done, by hand, in triplicate. Sometime as he took his umpteenth picture it occurred to him to wonder why he hadn’t made a beeline for the laptop. Plenty of women were amazing at technology, he thought, trying to follow his gut instinct back down to its root. It wasn’t a misogyny thing. What was it about these particular women….
They all know each other.
He blinked, the thought important enough to take a moment with it.
Retty did what Twitty said. Piper got a guttersnipe to do her bidding. Cora was blackmailed by Retty and Twitty for a mistake she hadn’t even made a million years and three thousand miles ago.
The ties that bound these people wouldn’t be in the computer. Of course records could be subpoenaed, and there would probably be a list of employees on the payroll, but that wasn’t going to prove anything. There were personalities at play here, things that were understood and not said.
Now she’s the package.
Things like that, which would make their henchwoman so terrified she’d fight against going with people who clearly worked for the same outfit she did.