Come Find Me Page 2

  Nate turned left onto the last street in the neighborhood and followed it to Kemper Road. After he made a right, he pulled into a dusty gravel parking lot next to Dickies.

  The hole-in-the-wall store was really called King Kwik Pony Keg. He couldn't remember why, but he and his friend Jeff Roe always called the place Dickies. They mostly sold beer, cigarettes and lottery tickets to Highpoint locals.

  Nate killed the engine and got out—his Charger was the only car in the lot. Near the entrance, two bicycles were propped up against an old rusty icebox. A couple of scraggly teenage boys came out as Nate went in.

  He didn't recognize the late twenties, bleached-blonde girl behind the counter. He hadn't seen Patty, the owner, working the register in years. He avoided eye contact and made his way past the snack aisle, toward the cold beer and soft drinks.

  Nate was no stranger to cheap beer but decided to go with a local microbrew. He picked up a six-pack of something called Sinister Stout. There was an evil-looking robot on the label.

  He took the beer to the front of the store and put it on the counter.

  "How are you today?" the girl asked.

  "I'm good, sweetheart."

  She looked at Nate's wide shoulders and smiled.

  "Hey, do you know if Patty still owns this place?" Nate asked.

  "Yeah, that's my aunt Patty."

  "Your aunt? I remember her from when I used to come in here when I was a kid. I'd come in here all the time with my friend or my little sister."

  "You grew up here?" the girl asked.

  "Yep, me and my sister Ruby."

  "I guess it couldn't be Ruby Randolph?" the girl asked.

  "It is. Ruby's my half-sister. I'm Nate."

  "I'm Lacy. Me and Ruby used to get into some trouble."

  "Oh yeah, what kind of trouble?"

  Lacy looked down. "It was before I got clean."

  "Ruby's been clean for six months," Nate said.

  Lacy looked up and smiled. "That's awesome! Does she still live around here? How's her little boy?

  "Yeah, she lives with some clown named Mick. The little one's getting big."

  "I think I might have met that guy once. You want a bag for your beer?"

  Nate shook his head and handed her a twenty. "Keep the change." He noticed Lacy's eyes kept falling to his chest. "You like fast cars, Lacy?"

  Her eyes widened. "I do!" she said.

  "I got a brand-new Dodge Charger. Maybe I could swing by here sometime when you get off work."

  "Give me your phone," Lacy demanded.

  Nate handed over his phone and she added herself as a contact. "Call me anytime, Nate," she said as she handed him the phone.

  He grabbed his beer and winked at Lacy before he left the store. On the way to his car he whistled a happy tune. When Nate got in, he put the beers in the passenger seat, except for one. This one he popped open with a bottle opener attached to his key chain.

  Nate leaned his head back on the rest, closed his eyes and tried to remember why they started calling the store Dickies.

  FIVE

  July 15, 1997

  The summer heat and humidity had little effect on thirteen-year-old Nate. This time of year, his best friend, Jeff Roe, would spend nearly every day with his grandparents in Highpoint. The two boys would stay outside as long as they could, seeking new adventures.

  Nate banged on the door, excited to see his buddy, or homie, as Jeff would often call him.

  When Jeff opened the door, Nate was wearing a sneaky grin. “You ready to come out and get ruthless?” Nate asked.

  “Grandma, Nate’s here, I’m going out to play,” Jeff yelled.

  “Be in by dark,” his grandmother shouted from another room.

  Jeff pushed by Nate and closed the door behind him. "Let's get out of here before my grandma changes her mind and makes us stay in."

  "Can we steal a beer?" Nate asked, knowing Jeff's grandpa always kept his garage fridge stocked full of Burger beer.

  "Yea, hurry and grab one and we'll go to the tree."

  Nate took a can of beer and they pushed their BMX bikes out of the garage. They rolled them around to the side yard. Jeff's grandparents had one of the nicer lots in Highpoint. It was a small brick house, with a fenced-in yard that was larger than any of the neighbors’, and a big oak tree grew near the middle.

  The boys pushed their bikes over to the tree and laid them down. Nate tucked the beer under his arm, and they started climbing the old oak. When they were high enough to be out of sight, they sat on a thick branch and Nate popped open the can.

  "Got any girls’ numbers?" Jeff asked.

  Nate took a big chug of the swill. "Boniva."

  "Think she'll mess around with us?" Jeff asked as Nate handed him the beer.

  "She said she would play truth or dare if I get her some cigarettes," Nate said and gave a grin.

  "Let's get her some," Jeff said, excited.

  "Where are we going to get cigarettes?" Nate asked.

  "Dickies."

  Nate sighed. "They won't sell them to us. I've tried. Remember me saying the dickies wouldn't sell me any smokes?"

  Jeff laughed. "I almost forgot, that's why we call the place Dickies."

  "Truth or dare with Boniva would be so cool," Nate said.

  Jeff sipped the beer. "Let's try again, maybe someone different will be working."

  Nate nodded. "Fine, let's take the long way?"

  "Why?" Jeff asked.

  "I want to go by the house on Fifth Street."

  "The one where that crazy guy lives?"

  "Yeah, Junk Man. I heard people can hear him in his house yelling sometimes."

  "Why the hell do you want to go by his house?"

  "I want to see if Junk Man is outside, just to see what he looks like."

  "Fine, whatever, dude, let’s finish the beer and get out of here. My grandma will freak out if I'm not in by dark," Jeff said as Nate tilted his head back and guzzled down the rest of the cheap lager.

  The boys made their way out of the tree and were off on their bikes. Jeff popped a wheelie and they did bunny-hops over anything they could find, as they peddled toward the Junk Man's house. "You think he's really insane?" Jeff asked.

  Nate raised an eyebrow. "I bet he kills people."

  "I don't know, but my grandma said to stay away from the place."

  “You scared?”

  “Heck no.”

  They got close to the ramshackle house and slowed down. Pea green paint was fading, and mold stains covered the aluminum siding. Blankets were hung in place of curtains.

  A chain-link fence wrapped around the yard, with weeds snaking their way to the top. The front of the house was littered with hubcaps, old tires, and lawn-mower parts.

  "I don't think anyone lives here anymore," Jeff said.

  “I've seen an old truck in the driveway before," Nate replied, slowing to a near stop.

  “How long ago?” Jeff asked.

  “About a week.”

  Jeff grinned. “We’ll come back this way.”

  Nate pedaled faster. All the houses in the neighborhood were ugly and run-down, but this one was different. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

  SIX

  September 23, 2015

  Nate opened his eyes and took a drink of beer. Swallowing hard, he enjoyed the familiarity of bitter hops, dancing across his tongue. One bigger gulp, then he started his car and took off out of Dickies' parking lot, slinging gravel as the Charger fishtailed onto the main road.

  The drive home seemed shorter than usual, as Nate's mind was still lost in old memories.

  He parked in front of his apartment, grabbed his six-pack and got out.

  The complex was quiet; nobody was around to drink with, so he went straight to his second-floor place.

  He threw the beer in the fridge, between some moldy cheese and a gallon of soured milk.

  Nate hated the quietness of his apartment but tried to resist the urge to drink
. He’d been hungover too many mornings in a row.

  When his phone broke the silence, it was Boniva calling.

  Nate finally answered, even though he was dreading her voice. "Hey, Boniva," he said, after putting the phone to his ear.

  "Hey Nate. I'm going to stay with Uncle Boyd for a few days. Just pick me up here tomorrow," she said over the phone. "I don't have anywhere else to stay right now," she added, her voice begging for pity.

  "You don't have to go to the funeral with me, if you don't want to," Nate said.

  "I want to be there for you. Plus, you promised to take me to the Olive Garden after."

  "I'll pick you up at Boyd's," Nate said, heading to his bathroom.

  "Are you sure you don't want to party again tonight?" Boniva asked.

  "Not tonight. I need to hit the gym early tomorrow," Nate said, taking a syringe and a vial of testosterone enanthate from his medicine cabinet.

  "Trying to stay big and strong for me, right, baby?" Boniva asked in a low voice, a feeble attempt at sounding sexy. Boniva was attractive, but her voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

  Nate rolled his eyes. "It's all for you," he said, popping the cap off and poking the thick eighteen-gauge needle into the vial.

  "I'll see you tomorrow," Boniva said.

  "Bye," Nate said, and hung up. He pulled back the plunger and watched it fill up.

  Testosterone enanthate was viscous and needed a big gauge to load the syringe. Injecting into the leg with a needle so thick was uncomfortable at best, and when it hit a nerve, it would send a sharp pain shooting through his entire leg.

  Once the syringe was full, Nate twisted off the needle at the base, and swapped it with a smaller twenty-two gauge. He learned this trick from a fellow gym rat.

  Nate pulled his pants down and sat on the toilet seat. With a deep breath, he jabbed the inch and a half needle into the side of his leg, just below the hip.

  SEVEN

  September 24, 2015

  Nate looked into Boniva's eyes. "Are you fucking high?" he asked as they walked under the shade trees, past rows of headstones.

  "I had a couple Percocets, what's the big deal?" Boniva asked as they closed in on Nathan Senior's casket, perched above the final resting place. A very small group was trudging toward the burial plot, Nate and Boniva lingering near the back.

  "You're stoned at a funeral?" he whispered as he watched the preacher move to the front of the group. When he felt the tap on his shoulder he turned around, and was shocked to see Ruby's mother, Ebony. "I didn't expect you'd be here," he said.

  Nate hadn’t seen Ebony in years. She seemed different now, and was standing straight, with her shoulders back. Her close-cropped hair looked freshly frosted, and the sun reflected off her silver hoop earrings.

  "I came to say my piece. I knew your father for a long time, but I won't lie. I'm not sad to see him go," Ebony said.

  Nate swallowed hard. "I don't think a lot of people are," he said, turning his attention toward two Hispanic men, making their way through the group.

  The men were wearing suits, but they were crumpled and worn, with wide, outdated lapels. One man was bald, and his long beard was blowing in the wind. The other man's big belly was pressed tight against his outdated suit, and he wore his long black hair pulled into a tight ponytail.

  Nate had developed an observant eye and could tell they were concealing guns under their jackets. Nate's dad was an ex-con, so he wasn't surprised or overly concerned, but kept a close eye on the men.

  "How's Ruby doing? I thought she might be here?” Ebony asked.

  "She's doing better," Nate said, staying focused on the rough-looking men.

  Ebony shook her head. "I don't blame her for skipping this. I hate to say it, but your father was a son-of-a-bitch."

  "I know he was, Ebony, but you were no saint either, running out on her like you did."

  “There’s not a day goes by that I don’t regret my actions, Nathan.”

  The preacher held up his Bible. "Please join me in prayer. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come..."

  Nate looked over at Ebony as the preacher continued the prayer. "You should stop by and see your grandson. He's getting big," Nate whispered.

  "I will, Nathan."

  "I know she'd like seeing you."

  Ebony dropped her head and stared at the ground. "I should have been there for her. I wasn't much of a mother."

  "You were young, and the way my father treated you… She understands."

  "Please tell her I said hello," Ebony said as she turned and walked away, her smile fading.

  Nate was angry with Ebony, but he understood the situation, and at times, he felt sorry for her. She looked well, now, and Nate was happy about that.

  "Are we still going to the Olive Garden?" Boniva asked.

  "Jesus, Boniva, can you at least wait until they get the man in the ground?"

  "I'm hungry," she whined and crossed her arms.

  Nate wanted to scream but kept his voice down. "Fine, let's go," he said, stomping away.

  Boniva chased after him like a puppy.

  EIGHT

  September 25, 2015

  "My first year I led the whole department in collars," Nate told Flint, as he pulled the police cruiser to the curb. "I'll take mine black and hurry up, rookie."

  "You got it, Nate dog," Flint said as he hopped out.

  The reason Nate led the department in arrests was because he didn't care about the rules. He'd do anything to make a collar; first it was against petty crimes, then he started zeroing in on drug dealers. The steroids made Nate big, strong, and athletic. He'd spot a corner drug deal in action, chase down the seller, and rough him up until he squealed on his supplier.

  The wind sent a paper cup flipping down the street, and Nate watched, until Flint was back with two large coffees and a box of donuts.

  "Just because we're cops doesn't mean we have to eat donuts," Nate said as Flint got in and handed him his black coffee.

  "I've always loved donuts," Flint said.

  "I can tell," Nate said as he reached under the seat and brought out a tiny bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey.

  Flint's eyes widened as he watched Nate pull back the coffee lid and pour in a splash of Jameson.

  "You're not a snitch, are you?" Nate asked.

  "No, of course not," Flint said.

  Nate shoved the bottle back under the seat and started to take a drink when a medic assist call came over the radio. "What a boring day," Nate said. He took a sip of his coffee and whiskey before hitting the flashing lights.

  They were heading toward an area called Price Hill, a low-income neighborhood on the west side of town. "Never boring with you, Nate dog," Flint said.

  "Cut it out with the Nate dog crap," he told Flint.

  "You got it, boss."

  They were silent until Nate pulled behind the ambulance. Two medics were attending to a twenty-something female, flat on her back, in front of place called Pop's Chicken.

  Both Nate and Flint got out and made their way to the scene, where one of the medics was administering Narcan to the unconscious woman.

  She woke up and puked.

  "The woman going to be okay?" Nate asked.

  The medic stood up. "She'll be fine. These junkies all seem to have nine lives."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Nate asked. He could feel the vein bulging on the side of his neck.

  "They just OD over and over and let the taxpayers pick up the tab."

  Nate stepped forward, invading the medic’s space, leaning in close to his face. "So, all you care about is money, asshole? That's somebody's daughter, maybe someone's mother." Nate gave the medic a shove. "She's a human being, have some damn respect."

  The medic stepped back. "Whoa man, calm down."

  Flint stood silent until Nate turned and walked away.

  "Fucking asshole," Nate said as he stormed back to the cruiser.

  Flint foll
owed him. "What was that all about?"

  "That guy's an asshole, that's what it's about," Nate said as he got in the car and slammed the door. "My sister has struggled with drug addiction, but keep that between us," Nate added when Flint got in.

  "I'm sorry man, I got someone in my family that's had some problems as well," Flint said.

  Nate sped off. "It just drives me crazy when people act like that. They wouldn't be so quick to judge if it was their sister or mother."

  "I'm with you on that," Flint said. "Were you and your sister close?"

  "Yeah, technically she's a half-sister, but I practically raised her," Nate said.

  "Same mother or same father?"

  "Same father, he was in and out of jail. Nether one of our mothers was around much."

  "Just one sister? Any brothers?" Flint asked.

  "Not that I know of, but my dad got around. When he wasn't in the pen, he was quite the ladies' man," Nate said.

  “So, you’re a chip off the old block?”

  Nate shook his head. “I’m nothing like that asshole.”

  Flint checked his watch. "Heading back to the precinct?" he asked.

  Nate nodded.

  •••

  "Where you want this setup, Sarge?" Scarecrow said, dragging a weight bench into a room that hadn't been used in twenty-something years.

  "Over there," Sarge said, pointing at one of the dingy walls.

  "You think they could've had maintenance throw on a fresh coat of paint," Scarecrow said, dragging the bench.

  Sarge propped his feet on the old metal desk he sat behind. "They cleared out this old storage area and assigned it to the task force because they want to hide us."

  "Because we look like fucking cretins?"

  "Exactly."

  Scarecrow was tall and so thin, he looked like a walking stick. His head had never seen a comb, and his thinning black hair stuck out in all directions like he’d stuck his finger in a light socket. Sarge began calling him Scarecrow a few years earlier, when they were working their first case together.

  "Any word on who else they're putting on this task force?" Scarecrow asked.