Pain Management

“I’ll buy that. What makes you think it wasn’t that guy from Spokane? Robert Lee Yates. He just copped to a whole ton of hooker killings.”

“Any of the missing ones on the list?”

“Two.”

“Sure! So why would he leave out the others? He made his deal; all the details, plus he showed the cops where a couple of the bodies were buried. Took a life sentence in exchange. What would he have to gain by not mentioning some of them? Freak like that, the more kills he can claim, the more letters he’s going to get in prison. Better chance some asshole will set up a Web site for him, too.”

“Okay. But even if you’re right, we’ve got no starting place to look.”

“You might. You already have the lists of men who were released. Go back and check, see which of them ended up marrying a woman who met them through some kind of prison correspondence, or even a prison visiting program.”

“That happens a lot.”

“Sure. And most of it’s straight-up legit. People get together for all kinds of reasons, and some of them are righteous. But what you’re looking for is any of those women you can’t find now.”

“I’m not sure I . . .”

“The women, they were the citizens, right? Not the outlaws. So why would they go missing?”

“You think . . . ?”

“That the guy you’re looking for, he cut her off from her family and friends. That nobody knows where she is. That she’s some kind of ‘slave’ to him by now . . . or she loves the killing, too. And that her family . . . her friends . . . her old job . . . somebody would be worried enough about her to have said something. Maybe even gone to the cops, but—”

“If she was an adult, it wouldn’t be a missing-person case.”

“Yep.”

“It’s a real long shot.”

“It is.”

“But . . . okay, worth playing. Thanks.”

I got up to go.

“Wait. What did you come to see me about?”

“What I just told you.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Sit down a minute,” Hong said. He lit a cigarette, pushed his gunmetal case over to me.

We smoked in silence for a minute.

“You know what ‘Angkat’ means in Cambodian?” he finally asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I do. And I know you think you’re packing the glass slipper, too.”

When I got up to leave then, he didn’t say a word.

On my way back, I found the blues program on KINK-FM. Otis Rush was the featured artist. “You Know My Love.” I wondered if anybody did.

Gem and I watched a bull-chested raven float down onto the flat top of a mailbox, then calmly drop whatever he’d been carrying in his beak to his personal chopping block and go to work. When he was finished, he left the table. In a few minutes, another raven took his place, with his own score. Word gets around.

“We went for a long drive down the coast,” Gem said. “We packed a picnic dinner, because we wanted to sit on the seawall at midnight where we first met. To celebrate our anniversary. We were in that car,” she said, nodding toward the Corvette. “I remember setting the trip odometer, because Gordo was curious as to what kind of mileage the car gets, now that he’s worked on the engine. We got back to the loft around four in the morning. We made love. Twice. Then I took a bath while you watched TV. I will have the shows taped for you to watch when . . . later. You took a shower while I made us an early breakfast. You had a three-egg omelet, with mushrooms, onions, and roast pork. I had waffles, with ice cream. All the ingredients for these are in the loft. I will prepare the dishes. I will eat some of the food, and make sure the rest is disposed of. If you are there when the police come, then you never left. If you are not, you went out just before they arrived. I do not know where you were going, or when you will be back.”

The ocean was an angry slate. The winds were cross-gusting. I watched a hovering gull briefly resist, flapping its wings hard for stability before straightening them out and just going with it, riding the vector.

“Perfect,” I said, trying for the same path I’d just witnessed.

“Oh no; it’s not,” she said sadly. “It is not perfect at all.”

Gem dropped me off about a mile from the truck stop. I made my way through an open field, carrying my gear. Found my lurking place, and hunkered down to do what I do best.

It was almost eleven before the semi rolled in. Couldn’t miss it; big silver rig with the drug company’s logo covering the length of the trailer.

I watched the driver get out and head for the truck stop. He’d left his engine running—they pretty much all do if they aren’t going to sleep, and the word was that all his route permitted at this stage was a meal break.

Between SueEllen inside the diner and Ann slutted up somewhere in the shadows, we had him bracketed— provided he hadn’t already made a CB appointment with one of the lot lizards. I saw a couple of them strolling halfheartedly, so I figured most of the business was prearranged over the air. The rich lady’s info had been perfect, but it didn’t drop all the way down to the identity of the individual driver, much less his sex habits.

One time I never want a smoke is when I’m waiting. Too many men are doing time for that. Too many dead, too. I let part of my mind go to a safe place, opened my sensors to full alert. Another mistake amateurs make is to assume watchers don’t get watched.

Every time the door swung open from the inside, I was on it. No need for night glasses. They kept the parking lot dark, but the diner was bathed in floodlights, making it look like an oasis in a desert of darkness. I guess that was the idea.

When I saw SueEllen come out, long red hair swinging, her left hand on the right arm of a big guy in a blue windbreaker and matching cap, I knew it was a go—I just didn’t know exactly what the mark had gone for.

“My husband will whip my ass big-time, he ever finds out where I was tonight,” SueEllen said, giggling, as they passedby where I’d moved to . . . a pool of shadow between a pair of parked trucks. She made the prospect sound like fun.

“How’s he gonna find out?” the guy with her asked. “You said he works nights.”

“Well, my girlfriend—remember, the one I told you came with me?—she’s got a mouth on her.”

“But she’s doing the same thing you are, right?”

“Sure, baby. That’s right. But she’s kind of . . . well, she’s not exactly skinny, if you get my drift. So maybe she won’t get as lucky as I did. Just remember, this has got to be quick, okay? Next time you’re back this way, you let me know in advance, and I’ll . . .”

“You never gave me your number.”

“Oh, I will, honey. But there’s something else I want to give you first. . . .”

“My rig’s right over there. You sure you don’t want to get a room? They have some nice—”

“No way, baby! Every time I see one of those huge trucks thunder by, I wonder what it would be like to do it right inside the cab. You said there was a . . . sleeper thing?”

“Sure,” he said, proudly. “Wait’ll you see how it’s all fixed up.”

I stepped out of the shadows, the dark stocking mask pulled down, the watch cap concealing my hair. And the sawed-off shotgun riveting his eyes.

“Put your hands up,” I said. “Very quiet. If there’s even a little noise from you, there’s going to be a big fucking noise from this, understand?”