I pushed the door open. The lights were bright an’ the AC was barely keepin’ the room livable. I focused on turnin’ off the lights. All but one. Ignorin’ the area where the bodies lay. Then I found my jeans off to one side, clear of blood. But my shirt was soakin’ in it. Didn’t matter; I could make do with one of Wayne’s shirts. But I still took it with me. Used it to clean off my shoes. I turned the last light off an’ closed the door, leavin’ the AC goin’.
I snuck back to the upstairs bedroom. Shayes hadn’t moved. I pulled the jeans on, found one of Wayne’s t-shirts an’ pulled it on. It was snug but looked like I was tryin’ to show off my bod instead of just bein’ too small. That’d work. I grabbed a pair of his socks an’ put on my shoes. An’ I was back to bein’ Curt, again.
Second off, I needed to get the fuck out of there. So I gently carried Shayes downstairs an’ lay him on the couch. Then pulled this “throw thing” that was on the back of it down over him. An’ then I dug through the whole condo -- every fuckin’ room -- lookin’ for the keys to the Malibu they’d promised me. I found ‘em in a side desk drawer, along with over eight hundred in cash. Which made things easier. I looked out the window. The Malibu was parked in front. There was some other shit in the joint that I knew I could hock, but I didn’t feel like takin’ the time.
I shoved my bloody shirt into a trash bag then peeked out the front door to see if anything looked scary. There wasn’t anybody anywhere on the street, from what I could tell. I lifted Shayes up, sort of walked him out like you’d walk a buddy who was too drunk an’ got him down to the car. I sat him in the passenger seat, buckled the seat belt around him, tossed the bag of clothes in the trunk an’ was about to get behind the wheel when I froze.
The tapes! The fuckin’ videotapes. Lenny had caught it all on camera, from the point where I carried Shayes into the shed to where I killed ‘em. Cops wouldn’t need a confession if they saw those. Shit!
I scrambled back into the condo an’ out to the shed. I almost hesitated -- but I went on in, this time. I ignored their bodies an’ yanked the tapes from the cameras. I did a quick once over of the room; it felt even scarier, now. An’ then noticed Shayes’ shredded clothes an’ shoes. I grabbed them...an’ finally remembered to grab his gun an’ gym bag from the van. Jesus, that would’ve been a real dumb-fuck move, leavin’ all that behind. I ran back to the car with everything, which joined my clothes in the trash back.
Just as I got behind the wheel, I noticed the shadows of some people approachin’. So I lay his head on my shoulder, put his hand between my legs, started the car, slipped my arm over his shoulder to pull him close an’ quietly pulled away. To them -- to all the world -- we looked like lovers out for a drive. It was after midnight when I turned onto Sunset.
I drove over to PCH then up to Santa Barbara. Shayes’ head rested on my shoulder the whole way. We passed Zuma Beach, an’ it was dark an’ empty. An’ I only gave a hint of a response to the memory of my first time there. That was some other century when that happened. Some other lifetime.
Anyway, the drive didn’t take real long. That’s the one time of life traffic moves easy in So-Cal. The night was cold an’ still threatenin’ rain. An’ the hills ahead an’ to the right were black an’ the ocean on my left was stormy. An’ for that hour an’ a half -- maybe two hour drive...since I wasn’t in a rush...I felt more at peace than I’d felt in years. He was warm beside me. Breathn’ soft. Still smelled clean an’ alive. I held him close as I could as I drove. Loved the weight of him leanin’ against me. I almost kept goin’, it was so nice, but I was back in control an’ knew I couldn’t.
Santa Barbara was shut down, as usual. Empty streets leadin’ nowhere. All I saw for blocks an’ blocks was a couple of drunk college kids an’ one or two illegals headin’ home on their dinky bikes. Over by the university, it was completely dead. Nothin’ alive for acres in every direction.
I lay Shayes on a bus stop bench just before two. There wasn’t anybody around; I made damn sure, but I heard club music playin’ nearby. I hated to just dump him there, still blank an’ cold an’ open to get hurt, some more, an’ it about to rain. So I took a book of matches, set one on fire, slipped it into the side of the strikin’ area an’ dropped it into a trash can, then I lit out in the car. I was two blocks away when the can started burnin’. The second I saw it, I headed for Vegas. An’ my heart ripped at me the whole way.
Chapter Eight
Man, the kidnappin’ of Officer Shayes was huge fuckin’ news in L-A. He had been missed when he didn’t show up for work. They’d found his car an’ the still open trunk an’ the hanger of clothes in nothin’ flat. In seconds, every cop in the county had been lookin’ for him. Shit, every cop in So-Cal was tryin’ to find out what happened. An’
