Go-Between

Chapter Thirty-Three

They waited in the driveway for a taxi after the board-up men finished securing the door to Caitlin’s condo. They’d left the porch light on, and now it lit a sheet of plywood. Michelle had Danny’s ruck, Caitlin her small wheeled suitcase and Troy, a gym bag.

“I can drive the rental over,” Michelle had said, but Caitlin rapidly shook her head.

“I don’t think you should be driving,” she said. “If you could see your face in a mirror right now…”

Funny, she’d thought she felt calm. She took a few deep breaths, drew in the scent of damp eucalyptus.

“I wish we weren’t getting these damn exams,” Caitlin said. “I’m of a mind to skip the whole thing and just check into the Hyatt.”

“It’s best we go along with it,” Troy said.

Michelle wasn’t planning on having an exam. She hadn’t been drugged, and the cops had all the physical evidence from her they needed. What would be the point?

A few neighbors stood outside their townhouses in the dark, watching the scene. They’d had quite a show earlier, Michelle thought.

Caitlin smiled in their general direction. “If this whole thing gets out in the press, and I’m guessing it will, how do you think we should handle it?” she asked Troy.

“I think we stick with an attack by a nut job. Not comment at all unless we have to. But we might as well get these tests done, just in case it comes up. We should have all the evidence we can on our side.” He glanced sideways at Michelle. “In case.”

“Maybe we could use it as a pivot, you know, say something about how it points to the need for more mental-health funding in communities.”

Michelle could hear the enthusiasm in Caitlin’s voice, the part of her that could make those speeches, that knew how to reach out and hook people, and enjoyed it.

Troy laughed a little and gave Caitlin’s shoulder a tentative squeeze. “I like the way you think.”

Michelle wondered what would happen to them. She hoped they’d make it. After all that Caitlin had been through, having her life upended a second time and still be willing to fight back… Whatever her partnership with Troy turned out to be, maybe they could find some strength and comfort in each other.

They’d need it.

I did what I could, she thought.

Caitlin suddenly turned to Michelle, as though she’d picked up on her attention.

“I guess I should thank you.” She still sounded more angry than thankful. “I guess you could’ve just… let things take their course, and you didn’t. Why is that?”

Why wouldn’t Caitlin wonder? She had no reason to trust anything that Michelle had done, or might do.

Funny, how much it hurt being thought of that way.

“I didn’t want to go along with these people,” Michelle said. “I never did. I still know what’s right, and what isn’t.”

Maybe she knew better now than she used to.

“I’ll give you an email address,” she said. “If something comes up… I don’t know if I can help. But I’ll try.”

Caitlin seemed to study her. Michelle couldn’t tell what sort of conclusions she might have reached.

“I guess there’s nothing I can do to help you,” Caitlin said.

“I doubt it.”

Michelle fished around in her hobo for something to write on. Her hands closed on a business card at the bottom of her purse. She pulled it out. It was a card for Evergreen: the abstract redwood silhouette, the woodblock letters. She stared at it for a long moment, then carefully printed the email address she’d given to Maggie.

“Here,” she said. “I hope… I hope you won’t need it. But if there’s anything…” She shrugged helplessly and held out the card.

Caitlin stared at her for a long moment. Then she took the card. She held it close to her chest and nodded.

“What are you going to do, Michelle?” she asked.

Michelle smiled tightly. “I’m going to disappear.”

She took a taxi to Mission Valley and checked into the Motel 6. She debated about what name to use and decided on Emily. If the case against “Jeff” had been dropped, no one should be looking for her any more, should they? No one in law enforcement, anyway.

Gary would still be looking. If he didn’t already know where she was.

But she didn’t want to use the new passport. If she and Danny had any hope of really disappearing, she couldn’t risk being Meredith Evelyn Jackson, not yet.

She paid cash for the room. No sense making it any easier for Gary to find her.

Lying in bed, she thought about tomorrow, about what she was leaving behind her. The loose ends.

One of them was Evergreen.

Evergreen was hers. Her creation. Her responsibility.

Was there anything she could do to leave it the right way?

With the DEA out of the picture, maybe the restaurant could remain open, if Helen and the staff wanted to keep running it. She’d already cut her own salary in half when this whole thing started so she could bump up Helen and Joseph and Guillermo’s pay. She could take herself off the books altogether, just draw a small percentage as a return on her investment, have Derek set that up so she’d still have money to send for her father’s care and her nephew’s college fund. All it would take was an email now and then, wouldn’t it? That wouldn’t be too much of a risk.

Be real, she told herself. It was tempting to think that something she’d created might go on without her, at least for a little while. But she had a long way to travel between here and some form of refuge, if there even was such a place.

Gary wouldn’t give up so easily.

Danny called at 6:15 a.m.

“I’m still a few hours out,” he said. “Can you meet me at nine a.m. at the border crossing in San Ysidro? There’s a trolley that takes you right to it.”

“I’ll be there.”

“You okay? You sound a little rough.”

She laughed. “I’m fine. It was a rough night.”

“It’s good to hear your voice, Em.”

“It’s good to hear you too. I’ll see you soon.”

A taxi took her to Santa Fe Depot, the train and trolley station downtown. It looked to be a beautiful day, but most of them were here.

She drew in a deep breath, the air scented with brine from the harbor.

You can do this, she told herself.

She walked through the broad archway of the station entrance, flanked by Spanish-style towers that were topped with yellow and blue tiled domes.

The hall was an arched building with lines of copper chandeliers above, darkened wooden benches below. The station was close to one hundred years old; she’d read that when she was doing her research. The benches were mostly occupied; other people milled around the souvenir and snack counter, lingered by the arched exits onto the platform.

7:50 a.m. A busy morning.

The Amtrak counter was at the north end. Four people waited in line to buy tickets.

There’s plenty of time, she told herself. The train didn’t leave until 8:20.

Fifteen minutes later it was her turn.

“One to Los Angeles,” she said. “Reserved coach is fine.” She counted out fifty dollars.

“May I see some ID?”

This is it, she thought. It will either work, or it won’t.

She slid Emily’s license across the counter.

The clerk, a middle-aged black woman, held up the license, glanced at Michelle. Typed at her terminal. A printer whirred and clattered.

“Here you go, Ms. Carmichael,” the clerk said with a smile, the ticket in her outstretched hand. “Enjoy your trip.”

“I will,” she said. “Thanks. Have a nice day.”

Passengers had started to line up out on the platform, the queue already stretching into the lobby. Michelle took her place at the end.

She glanced around, as normally as she could-just a tourist, taking in the sights-to see if she could spot any obvious tails. She couldn’t, but then, Carlene had wanted to be spotted, back in Houston. There were so many people here. Any one of them might be following her. Or no one was. She couldn’t know, one way or the other.

A few minutes later, she heard the warning bells that signaled an approaching train. Funny, because the train was already here, waiting across a set of tracks. The line started moving.

Now she was out on the platform and could see the gate that had lowered to protect passengers crossing the trolley tracks to reach their train. A trolley waited on the other side of the barrier, its doors open, passengers getting in and out.

Michelle stepped out of the line, walking quickly up the platform toward the trolley. She kept walking till she reached a gap between buildings at the end of the depot and turned right, passing trolley customers heading to the tracks. She turned right again, doubling back toward the front of the station. The back half of Santa Fe Depot had been turned into a contemporary art museum; she glimpsed vaguely sculptural shapes inside through the glassed-in archways, on the exterior wall, a black sign with scrolling red diode letters spelling be all that you can be.

Up ahead, at the back of the train station proper, two taxis waited at the curb.

The taxi stand was there, like her research said it would be. “Just don’t expect to always find taxis waiting,” a guy on TripAdvisor had said. If there hadn’t been, she’d planned to walk to the closest big hotel.

Who knew if her feint to Los Angeles would work? But it was worth a try.

She approached the first cab. “Can you take me to San Ysidro, to the border?”

He nodded, and she climbed in.

She could see the city changing as they headed south, from the harbor with the tall ships, the shiny highrises and condos of downtown, to a more industrial area: shipyards, a Navy base, car lots; then small, faded stucco houses, graffitied cinderblock walls, a weed-choked wetland, outlet stores. There was less money here.

Twenty-five minutes, and she was at the border.

The trolley station was a giant McDonald’s: a cream and brick red stucco building that looked like it might have been a small warehouse once, or a garment factory, a long building with two low stories. There were three brick-red cement ellipses in descending order, like an upside-down series of steps, at the top of the building. McDonald’s Trolley Station was spelled out in square white plastic letters on the uppermost, largest step, next to a small pair of golden arches, just to clarify this was actually a McDonald’s, maybe. The building also had signs for check-cashing and money-changing in English and Spanish, and something called “Saldos Gigantes: Ropa, Cosméticos, Miscelánea.”

She’d gotten there early. It wasn’t even 8:45. Maybe a cup of coffee, she thought. McDonald’s coffee wasn’t bad.

She went inside.

The McDonald’s took up most of the back wall on the first floor. Above it was a Shoes for Less with a small neon sign that said Abierto. A few other small glassed-in stalls filled the remainder of the space. The middle was dedicated to seating for the McDonalds: Plastic-benched booths and tables divided by low orange walls topped with Plexiglas panels. The place was about three-quarters full, the languages she heard a mix of Spanish and English: tourists on their way to Tijuana, residents from both sides of the border. Michelle got her coffee and sat down at an empty table, facing the entrance, Danny’s ruck on the bench by her side.

About ten minutes later, Gary walked in, wearing his Humboldt Crabs baseball hat.

There was no point in running. Where would she go?

She waited as he crossed the room, pulled out the chair across from her and sat.

“Pretty good try at evasion there, Michelle.” He smiled, that phony grin she hated. “I’m sorry you and I never got a chance to work on that together.” He gestured at her cup. “Coffee?”

She nodded.

“Why don’t you go get me a cup? Black.”

Of course he wouldn’t get his own. Easier for him to watch her this way.

She returned with his cup of coffee. She thought about throwing it in his face and trying to run. She wouldn’t get away, but it would be satisfying, for a moment or two.

Instead she put the coffee in front of him and sat back down.

He sipped. Leaned back in his chair. “Do you know how much you piss me off, Michelle? I can’t think of many people who piss me off more.” He wagged a finger at her. “Believe it or not, I’ve got a pretty good track record with these kinds of ops. And this was gonna be so sweet.”

Her stomach twisted, thinking of what he’d wanted to do.

“Thanks for the heads-up about Carlene,” she said.

“Well, now, you turned off your phone. If you’d kept your phone on like you’re supposed to, I would’ve been able to let you know what the plan was.”

“Right,” she said.

“Be fair. If I’d told you, would you’ve gone along with it?”

“Of course not,” she snapped.

Gary sighed. “I told Carlene if you were in the frame, she’d better watch herself. She’s a great little killer. But she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.”

“She was going to kill me too?”

“Only if she had to. She was gonna trank you if you were around and being a problem. Having a second victim in that scenario… that would’ve been problematic.”

“What about Troy?”

“He was going to kill himself. You know, in a fit of remorse. That’s what the gun was for.”

Gary took a sip of his coffee. “I always figured you for a practical woman, Michelle. Once it was done, you’d rather’ve lived, right?”

He leaned forward, with an expression that appeared earnest, for Gary. “And I did want you to live. I’ve always liked you, Michelle. If Caitlin hadn’t done her one-eighty, I would’ve been just fine with you babysitting her, like I said. I mean, it seems to me you’ve done her a world of good. What do the Jews call that? A mitzvah?”

It was always going to come down to this, she thought. Me, running out of options. Gary, pulling the strings.

“Just tell me,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

Gary stretched out his legs, draped his arm awkwardly around the curved back of the metal chair. “Well, you know, it’s not just me you’ve pissed off. There’s some folks who are really upset with the way this whole thing’s turned out. They’re looking at losing a lot of money. Nobody likes that.”

She thought she knew Gary pretty well. She knew his capacity for violence, and she knew that he could turn on a dime. But for all that he claimed to be angry right now, he didn’t actually seem to be.

“I’m sure Safer America was a nice little racket for you. But what if Caitlin hadn’t changed direction? Those propositions are still leading in the polls here. Say Safer America poured millions of dollars into this election, and they won anyway. Then what?”

“Yeah.” Gary heaved a massive sigh. “Sometimes you can’t hold back the tide. Just between you and me, I think that’s what we’re looking at here. With legal weed there’s getting to be too much money on the other side of the equation. Oh well.”

He straightened up. “But you know what, there’s plenty of other ways to fill those prison beds. Can’t pay your debts? Go to jail and work them off. Cheap labor! That’s how we make America competitive again.” A snort.

“God,” Michelle muttered.

“And country,” Gary said, lifting up his coffee cup. “Oh, hell, Michelle, would you just relax? Look, you and Danny can go off and do whatever you’re gonna do. I’m not going to stop you.”

Michelle sat there, stunned. Of all the things she’d thought Gary might say, this was not one of them.

Of course, he was probably lying.

“Why?”

It was the only thing she could think of to say.

He shrugged. “All of this, you know, I like to think of it as kind of a game. And let’s face it, you won this time. I respect that.”

He reached into the pocket of his chinos and pulled out a mini bottle of Herradura tequila. Cracked it open and poured half into Michelle’s coffee and half into his own.

He raised his cup. After a moment of hesitation, she raised hers.

With Gary, it was generally better to play along.

They drank.

Finally he put his cup down. Rose. Tipped his Humboldt Crabs cap.

“See you around.”

She watched him weave through the tables and out the door, into the bright light of day.