Creekers. Part 12

"That's right, man."

What a mind-blow this was. They shook hands vigorously. "Christ," Phil said. "I haven't seen you since high school. So what've you been up to?"

"Nothin' much, same old d.i.c.kin' around," Eagle answered. "Got into some trouble up north a few years back, but I'm squared away now. Hangin' sheetrock in north county when there's work. I heard you were a city cop."

Phil figured Eagle had probably "heard" a bit more than that, so he tailored his spiel. "Not anymore. I got fired, but the job sucked anyway. That cop s.h.i.t wasn't for me. I'm working for a landscaper now."

"Planting bushes and pulling weeds doesn't seem your style."

"It ain't, but a buck's a buck."

Eagle laughed. Phil paid his tab-a wopping six dollars-and walked out to the lot with his childhood friend. Gravel dust flurried as countless pickup trucks idled toward the exits.

"Must've been a b.u.mmer, huh?" Eagle said.

"What's that?"

"You know. Walking into the joint and seein' your ex up on the stage doing a strip routine."

"It was no big deal," Phil lied. "I'd heard she was working here. She still looks good, I'll tell you that."

"She's the hottest ticket in the joint these days," Eagle informed him. "But she really took a nosedive since you left town."

"What do you mean?"

"Forget it, man. Let's just say that she's into a whole lot of s.h.i.t that you don't want to hear about."

Yes I do! Phil wanted to yell. But he held back. Eagle was just the kind of information source Phil needed to get a line on the underside of the town. It was best not to press the guy, better to slowly cultivate his trust. Besides, all Eagle probably meant was Vicki's plummet into prost.i.tution, which, thanks to Mullins' photographic enlightenment, Phil already knew about. I hope that's what he means, Phil thought. What could be worse than that?

"Gotta get rolling," Eagle said. "Got an early job tomorrow, hanging rock in Millersville."

"It was great seeing you again, Eagle. You hang out here much?"

"Most nights. Let's get together soon and shoot the s.h.i.t."

"Will do. Take care of yourself."

They forked off. Eagle got into a beat-up Chevy four-runner-Phil memorized the plates, an occupational instinct-and filed out of the lot. How weird. Phil hadn't given Eagle Peters a thought since the dreams had recurred, and now here the guy was in the flesh. And what had he meant about getting into trouble up north? And that stuff about Vicki-could Eagle have been implying that she was into more than just roadside trick-turning, or was Phil just being paranoid?

I'm being paranoid, he insisted to himself. He got into the Malibu, started it up, and sat a moment. So much gravel dust rose in the lot he could barely see, just as too many thoughts cropped up in his head, too much marauding him at once, from too many tangents: Mullins' PCP case, Eagle, Susan, the Metro sham, and, of course, Vicki.

Vicki...

...she's into a whole lot of s.h.i.t that you don't want to hear about...

"G.o.d," he muttered. This was no good at all. He'd only had two beers, but he felt drunk in drenched images. Her dance routine ground in replay in his mind, like a lewd, overbright film loop-garish strobe lights pawing at her flawless body, her red hair a shimmering dark fire about her sleek shoulders, and the large b.r.e.a.s.t.s-which he'd once caressed in total love-displayed on her chest like prime raw meat in a butcher's case...

Bait, no doubt, for her new trade.

"Yeah, the hottest ticket in the joint, and I used to be in love with her."

He felt pathetic, a putz, a wimp. Pining over a relationship that didn't work. But- Why didn't it work?

Because of me, he thought. She's a stripper and a wh.o.r.e now...because I abandoned her in this s.h.i.t-pit of a town.

He flicked on his headlights, prepared to pull out and head back to the station. But through the mist of dust, he spotted Cody Natter's big maroon Chrysler rumbling up to Sallee's entrance, and out of that same entrance Vicki Steele emerged, high heels at the ends of her long legs, a skin-tight blue sequin dress tight as frost about her body. She leaned over, was about to get into Natter's car, then she paused. Erected herself. And turned around... Through the gray dust, she stared. She was staring right at Phil's headlights. Phil's heart sank. More dust rose in the wake over another pickup truck, and when it eventually cleared, Vicki, along with Natter's long dark-scarlet car, was gone.

Twelve.

Phil came in offhis shift at about seven a.m., to take care of the night's paperwork and, much more importantly, to get the coffee brewing before Chief Mullins came in at eight. Susan hadn't asked him how things had gone at Sallee's when he'd come back to the station last night to change back into his uniform; perhaps she sensed his mental disarray.

What a night...

The entirety of his shift was haunted by thoughts and images of Vicki Steele.

He tried to clear his head, and sat at Mullins' big desk to finish off his DOR, but then he noticed the sheet of paper on the blotter. MISSING PERSON'S REPORT, it read; somebody named Orndorf had been reported missing by somebody named Sullivan. "Hey, Susan," he called out. "What's this missing person's report here on the chief's desk?"

Susan, from her commo cubby, answered rather snidely, "It's...a missing person's report."

"Funny. I mean, what's the scoop? You know either of these guys?"

"Nope."

"How'd this guy Sullivan look?"

"Like a typical creep. He came in about an hour ago, filed the report because he said he hadn't seen his buddy Orndorf in several weeks."

Phil's eyes scanned down the sheet of paper. "Why'd he file it here? These guys don't even live in Crick City."

"Yeah, but the last place Orndorf was seen was in our juris. At Krazy Sallee's as a matter of fact."

Sallee's? Hmmm. But why should Phil even care? Nine times out of ten, a missing persons was nothing. The guy probably owed a bundle in alimony or child support, so he blew town and didn't tell anyone. Happened all the time.

He went back to his DOR, but still, something was bothering him. Eagle's words: She's into a whole lot of s.h.i.t that you don't want to hear about.

"Hey, Susan," he called out again. "Do me a favor and run a rap check on Vicki Steele, will ya?"

Did she actually chuckle? "Checking out the ex, huh?"

"Don't break my chops. Just do it, okay?"

"All right. Give me a minute."

Phil waited, tapping Mullins' blotter with a pencil-end. From Susan's cubby, he heard computer keys clicking. Then: "Nothing," she said when her terminal responded.

He tapped the blotter some more, thinking. "Run a check on Eagle Peters," he said next.

"Who?"

"Eagle Peters. Long time resident, he might be into something. His real first name is James."

Another flurry of clicking keys. Probably nothing on him, either, he supposed.

"He might be into something, huh?" Susan came back a minute later. "This guy's got three outstanding traffic warrants, three suspended sentences, and four narcotics busts."

"You're kidding me. Eagle?"

"Yeah, Eagle. And that's not all. He served three years on a five-year sentence in Clay County Prison."

Phil fell silent, tapping the desk more rapidly. This information left him partly excited, partly disappointed. But it wasn't for another moment that the most pertinent question of all occurred to him.

"The jail stint-that was narcotics?"

"Yep," Susan answered. "Possession, transport, and intent to distribute."

"To distribute what?"

"Your pet peeve. Synthetic phencyclidine."

PCP. Paydirt.

Phil sat a moment more; now he felt geared up. Eagle would be the perfect schmooze. He didn't know Phil was a cop, plus they were childhood friends. If Eagle was in deep, he could lead them right to Natter...

"Hey, Susan?"

"Yeeees," she groaned.

"Do me a favor and run raps on these guys too, Orndorf and Sullivan."

"You know, whenever we run a rap check through the county mainframe, the department gets charged."

"I don't care," Phil almost snapped. "Just run the raps...pretty please."

"Well, in that case..." More clicking, more waiting. Then: "You got some sense of foresight. Both guys have several priors, same thing. Possession with intent to distribute."

"PCP?"

"Ten-four."

Well well well, Phil thought. This was getting downright interesting. Phil poured some coffee, oblivious to its acrid tang. Three rap checks in a row, three base hits on PCP busts. He couldn't wait to tell Mullins.

Mullins...

Then Phil looked at the cracked VFW clock mounted above the chief's shooting trophies.

"Hey, Susan?"

"What now! You want me to run a rap check on Snow White?"

"No, but how about the Easter Bunny? He hangs out at Sallee's, too... Where's Chief Mullins? It's almost eight-thirty."

A pause, then, "You're right. He's never late."

"Maybe he's hungover."

"Naw, he quit drinking years ago."

"Maybe you should call him. Maybe he forgot to set his alarm clock or something."

"I doubt it," she said, but then he could hear her dialing anyway...

"No answer."

That's weird. Then he shrugged. "He'll be in. He's probably waiting in the donut line at the Qwik-Stop."

"Now that's a possibility."

Well, looks like I'm stuck here till he comes in.He killed some time calling the county hospital, the lockup, and the morgue, but no one by the name of Kevin Orndorf had checked in. Then he called the state and had them run the name on their blotter program.

Nothing.

"Hey, Phil?"

We really should get an intercom,he thought. "Yes?"

"You ever gonna ask me out again, or should I just give up?"

Phil almost spat his coffee out all over Mullins' desk. He tried to recover as quickly as he could, but what could he say? The smart-a.s.s approach, he decided, might be best. "Hey, I already asked, but you were too busy. Remember? My rule is to never ask more than three times. Women have to stand in line to go out with me, I'll have you know. Sometimes they pay."

Susan shrieked a laugh.

"And if my memory serves me correctly, Ms. Ryder, your three chances have already been expended." Phil smiled at his own c.o.c.kiness, even though, from her commo cubby, she couldn't see him. "It's like baseball," he told her. "Three strikes, and you're out."

"Hey!" she shot back. "I can't help it if you only ask me out on days I have cla.s.s."

"Well, I suppose you're right, so just to show you I'm a man of character and fairness, I'll give you an unprecedented fourth opportunity to be graced by my presence." He paused for effect. "You want to go out tonight?"

"I can't. I have cla.s.s."

Phil winced. "You evil, toying, malicious-"

"But tomorrow would be great," she interrupted. "Call me when you manage to drag your behind out of bed."