Read Online the Forgotten Man (2005) by Crais Robert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Crais Robert
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get to tell them how you tried to front me off even though everything I've done today has been done with the full knowledge and permission of LAPD. You'll look sweet with all that, Pardy. O'Loughlin might even help you pack."
Pardy watched me with the hard eyes as if his body had gone rigid, and he didn't know what to do because nothing was playing out like he imagined. Then he made it worse.
"I don't think you understand, Cole. Where's your gun? Let me see the gun you killed all those people with."
Pardy raised his right hand and rested it on the Sig's grip. A film of sweat made his forehead shine.
"I want to make sure you understand."
The hammer cocking on the Colt .357 Python at my front door sounded like cracking knuckles. Pardy turned to the sound, and shouted his warning like when he was in uniform.
"LAPD!"
Joe Pike said, "So?"
Pike stood framed in the shadows of the open front door with his .357 down along his right thigh. Pike was six feet one, with short brown hair and ropy muscles that left him looking slender even though he weighed two hundred pounds. He was wearing a sleeveless gray sweatshirt, jeans, and the Marine Corps sunglasses he pretty much wore 24/7, inside and out, daytime or night. Light from the setting sun caught the glasses, and made his eyes glow.
Pardy kept shouting, but had the sense not to pull out his gun.
I said, "This is my partner, Joe Pike. You read about him in the newspaper, too."
"I'm a police officer, goddamnit. Police officer! Put down that weapon! Tell him to put down the goddamn gun."
I looked at Pike.
"He wants you to put down your gun."
"No."
"What do you want to do, Pardy? You want to have a shootout? You were finished. If you want to arrest me, I'll go with you and we can sort this out with O'Loughlin down at the station. Did you want to place me under arrest?"
Pardy glanced back at me, and the moment was done. He could press it, but his shit was weak and he knew it. He was so tight his voice squeaked like a bad hinge.
"Sit this one out."
Pardy lurched around like a sailing ship tacking into the wind. Pike stepped down out of the entry to let him pass. When Pardy reached the door, he looked back at me. He didn't seem scared; he seemed certain.
"Sit this one out."
"Good night, Pardy."
Pardy left, and after a minute his car pulled away. When it was gone, Pike holstered his .357.
"Was this about your father?"
Just like that.
"He isn't my father, for Christ's sake. How do you know about this?"
"Starkey."
"Are you two phone buddies now?"
"She was concerned."
Pike knew much of it from Starkey, but I filled in the rest. Joe Pike had been my closest friend and only partner for almost twenty years, but we had never much shared the facts of our childhoods to any great degree. I'm not sure why, only that it had never seemed necessary and maybe even felt beside the point. Maybe it was enough that we were who we were, and were good with that; or maybe we each felt our baggage was lighter without the weight of someone else's concern. When I reached the part about the Home Away Suites, I showed Pike the bill with Faustina's name and address. Pike glanced at it.
"This isn't the right area code for Scottsdale. His address and phone number don't go together."
The motel record showed 416 as the area code for Faustina's home number.
"What's Scottsdale?"
"Four-eighty."
I brought the invoice to the phone, and punched in the number. A computer chimed immediately to inform me that no such listing existed. Next, I booted up my iMac, signed on to Yahoo's map program, and entered Faustina's address. No such street existed in Scottsdale. I leaned back in my chair and glanced up at Pike; everything I thought I knew about Herbert Faustina was wrong.
"His phone number and address don't exist. He made them up."
Pike studied the invoice again, then handed it back.
"My guess is he made up more than that. Maria Faustina was the first saint of this millennium. She was canonized for
Pardy watched me with the hard eyes as if his body had gone rigid, and he didn't know what to do because nothing was playing out like he imagined. Then he made it worse.
"I don't think you understand, Cole. Where's your gun? Let me see the gun you killed all those people with."
Pardy raised his right hand and rested it on the Sig's grip. A film of sweat made his forehead shine.
"I want to make sure you understand."
The hammer cocking on the Colt .357 Python at my front door sounded like cracking knuckles. Pardy turned to the sound, and shouted his warning like when he was in uniform.
"LAPD!"
Joe Pike said, "So?"
Pike stood framed in the shadows of the open front door with his .357 down along his right thigh. Pike was six feet one, with short brown hair and ropy muscles that left him looking slender even though he weighed two hundred pounds. He was wearing a sleeveless gray sweatshirt, jeans, and the Marine Corps sunglasses he pretty much wore 24/7, inside and out, daytime or night. Light from the setting sun caught the glasses, and made his eyes glow.
Pardy kept shouting, but had the sense not to pull out his gun.
I said, "This is my partner, Joe Pike. You read about him in the newspaper, too."
"I'm a police officer, goddamnit. Police officer! Put down that weapon! Tell him to put down the goddamn gun."
I looked at Pike.
"He wants you to put down your gun."
"No."
"What do you want to do, Pardy? You want to have a shootout? You were finished. If you want to arrest me, I'll go with you and we can sort this out with O'Loughlin down at the station. Did you want to place me under arrest?"
Pardy glanced back at me, and the moment was done. He could press it, but his shit was weak and he knew it. He was so tight his voice squeaked like a bad hinge.
"Sit this one out."
Pardy lurched around like a sailing ship tacking into the wind. Pike stepped down out of the entry to let him pass. When Pardy reached the door, he looked back at me. He didn't seem scared; he seemed certain.
"Sit this one out."
"Good night, Pardy."
Pardy left, and after a minute his car pulled away. When it was gone, Pike holstered his .357.
"Was this about your father?"
Just like that.
"He isn't my father, for Christ's sake. How do you know about this?"
"Starkey."
"Are you two phone buddies now?"
"She was concerned."
Pike knew much of it from Starkey, but I filled in the rest. Joe Pike had been my closest friend and only partner for almost twenty years, but we had never much shared the facts of our childhoods to any great degree. I'm not sure why, only that it had never seemed necessary and maybe even felt beside the point. Maybe it was enough that we were who we were, and were good with that; or maybe we each felt our baggage was lighter without the weight of someone else's concern. When I reached the part about the Home Away Suites, I showed Pike the bill with Faustina's name and address. Pike glanced at it.
"This isn't the right area code for Scottsdale. His address and phone number don't go together."
The motel record showed 416 as the area code for Faustina's home number.
"What's Scottsdale?"
"Four-eighty."
I brought the invoice to the phone, and punched in the number. A computer chimed immediately to inform me that no such listing existed. Next, I booted up my iMac, signed on to Yahoo's map program, and entered Faustina's address. No such street existed in Scottsdale. I leaned back in my chair and glanced up at Pike; everything I thought I knew about Herbert Faustina was wrong.
"His phone number and address don't exist. He made them up."
Pike studied the invoice again, then handed it back.
"My guess is he made up more than that. Maria Faustina was the first saint of this millennium. She was canonized for
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