The Tin Collector

Chapter 20

SUSAN AND I can't come to the phone right now, but leave your name and number and, as soon as we can, we'll return your call." BEEP. Ray's voice sounded happy and unthreatening. Then there was another beep. "Ray, it's Calvin. Where the fuck are you, man? You gotta call me now." BEEP. Then: "Ray, it's Calvin again. The powers that be are asking questions. Don't fuck with love, man." BEEP. "Ray, it's Don and Lee. We're on for Saturday night. The Web after dark. Bring the jerseys." BEEP. "Ray, it's Burl. Call the special number." Then there were two hang-ups without messages.

Shane and Barbara were listening to the tape in his kitchen. He turned it off after the last message played.

"Burl that's Chief Burleigh Brewer… He knows about the house in Arrowhead. Shit," Shane growled. "Ray was the mayor's driver; I guess it makes sense that Brewer would be close to what Ray was doing." Shane was looking down at the answering-machine tape.

"Who are all these other people, and who the hell is Susan?" Barbara asked angrily.

"I don't know… Don, Lee, and Calvin. I never heard of them, either." He thought for a minute. "There were two cops who braced me in the Parker Center garage at six A. M. the morning I shot Ray. I think one of them was named D. Drucker maybe that's Don. The other was a Hawaiian guy named Kono. Maybe he's Lee or Calvin. I don't know. 'Don't fuck with love.' And 'the Web'… 'Bring the jerseys'… What's all that?" he said as they traded blank stares.

They stood over the kitchen counter, where the answering machine was plugged in. Finally, Shane changed the subject. "Barbara, look… you gotta go home. I'll drive you down to where your car is parked."

"I'm afraid to go home. I can't take any more of those calls."

"There's a good hotel a few miles south of here, in Marina del Rey. I can't remember the name, but you can't miss it. It's on Admiralty Way. Why don't you go check in there?"

"I get the feeling you're throwing me out."

"I'm not throwing you out. I've got Chooch in the guest room. Longboard is sawing z's on the sofa. It's like a men's dorm around here. Just check into the hotel. I'll talk to you in the morning."

She turned her face up and kissed him on the mouth. When he didn't fully respond, she pulled back and looked at him carefully. "Are you sending me a message, friend?" she asked with an edge in her voice.

"Barbara, let's not confuse this more than it is. We need to focus on what's going on who's behind this."

"If you promise that you'll let us happen again, once it's over."

"Of course I promise," he said, forcing it. "You know how much I want that." His words hung in the kitchen, bright ancj empty, like a broken pinata.

"What're you going to do?" she finally asked.

"I'm gonna get this tape analyzed by the Electronics Section at SIS."

"You don't need a voice print. It's Ray's voice, believe me. I recognize it."

"I know it's Ray. I'm more interested in seeing what else is on here. Answering-machine tapes are used, erased, and rerecorded on. Sometimes there are old messages hiding there. I'm gonna see what the ESIS can pull off the erased portions," Shane said, referring to the Electronics Scientific Investigation Section.

"Oh," she said softly. Then she squeezed his hand for luck, and they headed out the back door of the house.

He drove her to her red Mustang, parked a block away. She got out of the Acura and unlocked her car door, then leaned down into his open passenger window and smiled at him sadly. "Why do I get the feeling this is over?"

"It's your imagination, Barbara. It's not over. It's on hold."

She kissed her fingertips and gently put them on his cheek. "Night," she said sadly, then got into the red Mustang and drove away.

???

Shane drove back to his house and locked up. He decided not to wake Longboard, who was snoring loudly on the sofa. He turned off the light and moved into his bedroom, stripped off his clothes, and wearing only his Jockey shorts, dropped heavily onto his bed. His head felt like a forty-pound medicine ball, worn, seamed, full of cotton and lead. He looked up at the ceiling, closed his eyes, and fought a wave of intense self-pity: Why can't I catch a fucking break?

"When did you get home?" Chooch's voice sounded suddenly, pulling him up from useless thoughts. He opened his eyes and saw the teenager standing in the doorway, wearing a Lakers shirt and baggy shorts.

"I thought you were asleep," Shane said.

"I woke up."

"Well, go back to sleep. You've got school tomorrow."

Chooch didn't move; he had an expression that seemed both frightened and sad.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothin'. It's just…"

"What?" Shane turned on his side and looked at Chooch carefully.

"Sandy called. She wants you to call her first thing in the morning."

"Why? What's up?"

"She didn't say."

"She probably just wants to tell me how she smoked your geek principal."

"She didn't call St. John, I asked her. She said she's been involved in a big deal and hasn't had time to get in touch with him yet."

"Right. Well, okay." He lay back on his pillow. "So I'll call her in the morning."

"That means old Thackery musta talked to you, not her. You made him keep me in school."

Shane looked over at Chooch again, then rubbed his eyes and sat up on the bed. "Let's go outside for a minute. I can't sleep with this fucking headache."

"We could light up, toke some bang?" the teenager said hopefully.

"We're through getting high together. I wanna talk to you."

Chooch shifted his weight uncertainly, then nodded. "Okay, sure."

Shane got up, put on his pants and an old sweatshirt, then the two of them moved quietly past Longboard into the backyard. Shane pulled up chairs, and they both sat under a fruitless tangerine tree, looking out at the still canal. The reflection of an almost full moon wavered on the glassy surface.

"What is it?" Chooch asked cautiously.

"I'm in a lot of trouble," Shane started.

"Trouble's the exhaust of life," the fifteen-year-old said surprisingly.

"The trouble I'm in could get dangerous. Some of the people I'm sideways with could decide to make a play. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm not afraid." Chooch smiled. "Got your back, bro."

They were silent for a moment, then Shane continued. "I also think it's time for you to get to know your mother. Maybe you haven't given her a chance."

"I hate her," Chooch said softly. "Let's drop this, okay?"

"You can't stay here. When I talk to her tomorrow, I'm going to make arrangements for her to take you back for a week or so."

There was a long silence. Suddenly some crickets started up in the hedge between Shane's and Longboard's yards. They sawed holes in the silence with their back legs.

"I think it's time you gave your mother a break," Shane persisted. "Make me a promise, give it a week. Just five days."

"You're fulla shit, just like Thackery and all those other dick-wads. I thought you were never gonna lie to me. I thought we had a deal."

"I'm not lying to you, Chooch. I'm trying to keep you from getting hurt."

"I'm not stupid. I get what's going on here. I've become a problem, an inconvenience, so you wanna throw me out, simplify things for yourself."

"Just one week, till I can get my problems sorted out."

Chooch got up and started into the house. Shane grabbed his arm to stop him, but Chooch yanked it free.

"Look, it's not… I'm not trying to get rid of you."

"Eat me!" the boy said, defiance and pain shining in his black eyes.

"I care what you think," Shane said. "It matters to me. We need to talk this out."

"You came close. You almost had me fooled, but I got it straight now. I finally got it… nothing's changed. It's just like it always was I can only count on myself. So fuck off."

Chooch walked back into the house. Shane's head was still pounding. No matter which way he turned, he saw disaster. He didn't know what to do next, so he went inside and wrote a letter to his father.