Into the Fire(45)
Evan tapped Jerry Z’s phone number into his RoamZone. Through his VOIP provider, Evan was able to set his caller ID to any name or number in the world. It was currently programmed to identify him as Jean Pate with a San Bernardino area code. The French approximation of John Doe was a source of secret amusement for him.
LOVE THIS NECKLACE!! Evan typed from behind the fake ID, cringing slightly at the double exclamation point required to stay in eager-buyer character. WANT IT FOR MY LADY. WILL PAY IN FULL. WHEN CAN YOU MEET?
“Mr. Smoak!” Hugh’s voice held an insistence that indicated that this wasn’t the first time he’d called Evan’s name. “I implore you to pay attention. This is as severe a security challenge as we’ve faced at Castle Heights in my seventeen years as HOA president.”
As Evan nodded, the Turing Phone went again. He flicked his eyes down to scan the text: I’M GOING TO HAVE MY MEN SKULL-FUCK MAX MERRIWEATHER TO DEATH AND MAKE YOU WATCH.
Eyes back up to Hugh. “I understand the gravity of the situation,” Evan said.
On Evan’s left knee, Jerry Z’s reply arrived on the RoamZone: MCDONALD’S @ CRESSENT HEIGHTS + SUNSET TOMOROW @ 10PM DONT B LATE BRING ALL THE CASH
“We are simply not safe until this madman is in custody.” Hugh removed his black-framed glasses with soap-opera aplomb and wagged them at the captive audience. “Now, as many of you know, Mia Hall is helping with this issue. It’s not often we get a big-case DA overseeing a robbery. She has graciously offered to update us on the investigation.”
Under the table Evan tapped a reply to Jerry Z. NO PROBLEMO. SEE YOU TOMORROW.
Another hum on his right knee, another threat from the Unidentified Caller on the Turing Phone: AND THEN MY MEN WILL DO WORSE TO YOU.
Mia rose slowly to address the group. Noting Evan’s distraction, she frowned at him with concern and mouthed, You okay?
He flashed a low thumbs-up.
Left knee: I’M AFRAID WE’LL HAVE TO PUT THE DOG TO SLEEP TOMORROW.
Evan had a moment of confusion until he saw the 323 area code. This was the animal shelter now, not Jerry Z, purveyor of stolen jewelry.
Left knee: WE’RE WAY PAST CAPACITY, AND NO ONE WANTS A FIGHT DOG.
Right knee: YOUR TIME IS COMING, BOY. I AM CONSULTING THE KAMA SUTRA FOR NEW IDEAS ABOUT HOW TO VIOLATE YOU.
Left knee: EVEN BAIT DOGS. SAD BUT TRUE.
It was like Dada poetry but even more awful.
“Can we have pets?” Evan blurted out.
A painful silence ensued. Mia’s hands were clasped, her shoulders squared. Clearly he’d interrupted her closing-argument-level focus. Her head was cocked more in disbelief than irritation.
“Absolutely not,” Hugh said, punching the words to make clear his irritation at the non sequitur. “This is a strictly allergy-free building. No pets, no smoking. Even the plant life in here requires a board approval process.”
Right knee: IT WILL BE LONG.
Left knee: I’M SORRY.
Right knee: AND MORE PAINFUL THAN YOU CAN POSSIBLY IMAGINE.
Left knee: THERE’S NOTHING WE CAN DO.
Across the table another tossed olive struck Peter’s chin and flew into Lorilee’s cleavage.
Peter reddened. “Oh, boy.”
Evan used the distraction to ease back from the table and slip away.
* * *
Though his balance was still in and out, Evan managed a shower, bracing himself against the wall. Toweling off brought forth a swell of nausea, and he rushed to sit down on the bed. He wanted to go to the bureau to get a pair of boxers, but his head hurt too much, and the city lights, diffuse through the window, started to streak.
The RoamZone indented his sheets where he’d tossed it, and he picked it up, thumbing down the brightness as a concession to his light sensitivity.
A deep, long sleep could be incautious; a patient was supposed to be awakened every hour and checked for focal neurological abnormalities that would suggest damage worse than a simple concussion.
To be safe, Evan set the RoamZone alarm and turned the volume all the way up before collapsing onto his side. A clammy sweat enveloped him. Closing his eyes seemed to intensify the pain where his head met the pillow.
He told himself to doze lightly so the alarm could pull him out for a self-exam.
Before he went under, a parting thought glanced off his consciousness: It would’ve been nice to have someone here to look after him.
24
Amphetamized
Bouncing footsteps sounded inside the apartment after Evan rang the doorbell. Then a voice: “Are you a rapist?”
“Not funny, Joey.”
“So that’s a no, then?”
“Open the door.”
She did. Her lopsided grin faded when she saw the bag of kibble tucked under his arm. Her gaze tracked down to his hand and then along the leash he gripped to the Rhodesian ridgeback puppy panting at his side.
“Uh, no,” she said. “No way.”
Evan said, “They’re gonna put him down.”
“Why is that my concern?”
“You need a guard dog anyway.”
“I do not need a guard dog. Plus, it’s all banged up.”
“He was a bait dog.”
“A bait dog?”
“A dog they throw to bigger dogs to tear up so they’re blood-hungry before a fight.”