The Sanctuary

14

BRADEY’S DINER WAS a hole in the wall three blocks from the biker bar, nearly empty when Keith and I got there at ten fifteen that night. We sat in an isolated corner booth with two cups of coffee, having assured a waitress in an orange dress that we wanted nothing else. Nothing at all.

“You kneed him in the groin?” Keith asked. “You couldn’t have just grabbed the note and run?”

“And risk him coming after me?”

“Not likely in a place like that. Besides, you did what was asked. The man’s job was done. He’d have no reason to come after you.”

“He was a pervert.”

Keith couldn’t quite suppress his grin. “You really can handle yourself, can’t you?”

I shrugged. “I suppose, if I have to.”

“Just keep in mind that we aren’t in this to teach perverts a lesson. We do what we need to do and nothing more that might draw attention to ourselves. That includes physically assaulting a pervert. We have more immediate concerns, right?”

“Right.”

“Although I can’t say I blame you. Let me see it.”

I checked the restaurant, saw that the waitress was clear across the joint gabbing with a cook, and pulled out the bear’s note. It was on lined yellow paper, same as the first note, folded over eight times.

Keith opened it carefully and smoothed it out on the blue Formica table. We sat side by side, staring at Sicko’s third message:

Good girl.

Nausea swept through my gut. The idea of being anybody’s good girl jerked me back to the days when I had stooped far too low to please others and suffered abuse at their hands. For a moment I lingered on those two words, terrified that I was being drawn back into a similar place.

It had started with Cyrus Kauffman, who pulled me into the world of drugs and tried to kill me when I refused to prostitute myself to make good on a debt. Danny had saved me from that, but what if Sicko was about to resurrect my old self?

We all have memories of darker days pushed back into the corners of our minds, but mine were sucked up to the surface with those two words. Good girl.

Keith slid his hand over the note. “You okay?”

I nodded.

He put his hand on mine. “Look, sometimes things look bad, but we get through them. The truth is, you’re a free person. You could probably fold up shop and go on the run now…​never look back. It would probably be your safest course of action. Frankly, half of me thinks that’s just what you should do.”

“Then you don’t know me.”

“Actually, I’m getting to know you better. That’s what I’m saying. You could do it, but you won’t because you love a man that society has all but thrown away.”

A knot gathered in my throat. I nodded.

“So you’re doing this for love. Me, I’m sitting here for far less noble reasons. Self-preservation. The fact is, my own past is catching up to me.”

“By making an enemy in Randell.” I looked across the diner again. We were alone now except for one old couple on the far side.

He nodded. “But I did the right thing. I put him behind bars for the right reason, and now it’s coming back on me. You try to do the right thing and sometimes you pay a price.”

“You could walk away.”

Keith lifted his hand from mine. “I’ve been telling myself that all afternoon, but the truth is, I can’t any more than you can. If Randell’s working with someone who can do this to you, they can do it me. Are doing it to me. This goes deeper than either of us can guess. They could probably find a way to reach out and crush me anytime they wanted. We’re in this together, period. Okay?”

He was trying to ease my mind, and after my little episode with Bear, I needed him to.

“Okay. You should know that what Danny did, he did with a noble heart. He hurt some people, but only those who deserved it. No different from what you did.”

“Maybe.”

“No, not maybe. He confessed and now he’s paying a price. But to be honest, I love him even more for it.”

“Then remember that. You’re doing this for him. The truth is, no one else can help him now.”

I dipped my head, pinched the edge of the yellow paper, and slid it out from under Keith’s hand. Sicko’s note stared up at me.

Good girl.

There’s an old warehouse at the end of Sherman Road, Morongo Valley. You will be there Saturday night at eight o’clock. I’m watching. If you go to the police, I will know. If you go to the prison, I will know. If you deviate in even one detail, I will know.

Do what you’re told, Renee. The priest is suffering but he’s alive. Don’t make me kill him. Set him free.

There was no salutation, no name. Only the blatant assurance that whoever had written the note had all of the strings in his fingers and was eager to pull the ones that would end Danny’s life.

Keith turned the note over, then flipped it back. “That’s it.”

“Saturday? We’re supposed to just sit around for two days?”

“Keep it down.”

“I danced with that pervert for this? Why didn’t he just say this in his first note?”

“Because that’s the way it works. He playing with our minds, knowing that you would react exactly the way you are. So don’t.”

“We can’t just do nothing! Something’s not right.”

“Nothing’s right! That’s the whole point.”

“We’ve got to find out what’s happening to Danny. I can’t just sit on my hands for two days.”

“Slow down. That’s exactly what he’ll expect.”

“What?”

“You doing something crazy. Going to the cops. Finding an attorney. Trying to contact the warden—anything and everything he’s said not to. If we do that this guy’s going to carry through.”

“So, what? We’re just his puppets now?”

“No.” Seeing the waitress headed their way, Keith folded the note and slipped it into his pocket. “Hold on.”

The smiling server with stringy mud-blonde hair held out the pot. “Need a freshen-up?” She smiled wide, bearing front teeth that should have been put in braces when she was younger.

“No, thank you,” Keith said.

She faced me. “How about you?”

“Nope.” I sounded snappy, I know, but I was at the end of myself. It struck me as her face fell at my retort that Keith was right. This was exactly what Sicko wanted. But could I help it? I didn’t think so.

In fact, if it were only me I’d probably run into the bathroom, lock the stall, and have a good cry.

“No, thank you,” I said, as she walked away. She flashed a faint smile over her shoulder.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m not suggesting we do nothing.”

“Then what?”

“We have two days to think. To research. To try to figure something out. Then we go do what he says. Other than that, we go dark.”

“Dark.”

“He’s watching. We don’t react the way he expects us to. In fact, we do the opposite. We don’t break his protocol, but we don’t panic.”

I understood immediately. “Play his game.”

“Play his game. Try to shake him.”

“Make him second-guess us.”

“That’s right. We go about our lives as if nothing’s happened. We get a beer, we shop, we go to work…do you work?”

“No. And my routine is pretty simple.”

“Fine. We assume he’s listening to our phone calls, so we don’t talk on the phone. Only outside, in a park, on the beach, out of earshot. But we don’t act concerned or panicked.”

“Seems like a pretty weak play.”

“It’s a start. It’ll at least make him wonder. More importantly, it gives us some control—and trust me, honey, we need some.”

I took a sip of coffee, black, the only way I can force the stuff down. One cup and I’d be up all night, but I doubted I’d do much sleeping anyway. The next forty-eight hours were going to be screaming torture—Sicko’s whole point. Still, the thought of doing nothing without knowing what was going on with Danny was going to double me in half. I’d have to visit my therapist.

“Okay.”

“Trust me, it will drive him nuts. Take consolation in that.”

“Nuts,” I said, nodding. “We’ll drive him nuts.”

“Bananas.”

“Bananas.”

But all I wanted to do at that point was find Sicko and shove a gun down his throat.