Eddie was so pleased with himself he cackled with glee, but the cackling erupted into the wet, hacking cough.
“Eddie, c’mon. Quit the smokes.”
“Lemme get lit up.”
I heard him light up.
“Eddie, c’mon.”
He inhaled between coughs and the coughing settled.
“Now listen, I’m waiting to hear on a couple of things. I’ll get back to you.”
“Quit smoking. I’m begging you.”
“Beg some woman for a piece of ass.”
Eddie hung up.
If Rachel Bohlen had learned about shady dealings from Grady Locke, she might have told Josh. Josh wanted to go mainstream, so maybe he began researching the rest of it and Locke found out. This part of it bothered me. Even if Locke told Richter a kid with a podcast was onto them, and even if Crystal Future was a PRC Intelligence front, their reaction seemed over the top. Josh was an unknown with almost no audience. The smart play would’ve been to deny Josh’s charges, write off his allegations as coincidence or misunderstanding, and dismiss him as a crank. Yet they had ripped apart Rachel Bohlen’s apartment, murdered her, and were hunting for Josh. None of this made sense unless Josh and Rachel had come by evidence they couldn’t dismiss. Maybe some physical thing Rachel had taken from Grady Locke, so they’d brought in professional operators to get it back. Maybe Josh had it now, which was why they were hunting him hard.
My job was simple.
Find him first.
33
I let myself in through the carport and found Lucy in the kitchen. She was at the counter near the sink, chopping. A large pot on the stove smelled terrific.
She said, “I’m making jambalaya.”
Her back was ramrod straight and her jaw was tight. I knew something was wrong the moment I saw her.
“Where’s Ben?”
“Went for a run. He’ll be back soon.”
I joined her at the counter. Neat mounds of chopped onions and bell pepper were pushed to the side. A small mound of skillet-fried andouille sausage was draining on paper towels.
“How’d it go today?”
“Tense.”
I wanted to eat a piece of the sausage but didn’t.
“He didn’t like it?”
She stopped chopping and sighed with a soul-deep exhaustion.
“I don’t know, I think it was me.”
“You pushed.”
Her eyes closed. She nodded.
“I tried to be encouraging. I was enthusiastic and positive and I don’t know what I was thinking. He loved it. He’s excited about it, he wants to do it, but I kept pushing.”
“Cut yourself some slack, Lucille. He’ll be fine.”
She opened her eyes but didn’t look at me.
“He told me if I wanted to get rid of him so badly I should bury him in a box like his father.”
We stood there silently for a time and I put my arms around her.
“I’m sorry.”
“I feel awful.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“It’s been a really bad day.”
“The worst.”
Lucy said, “Crap.”
I hugged her tight and stepped away.
“So how’s Ben?”
“Quiet.”
She turned back to the chopping board and continued chopping.
“Cooking helps.”
“Always. Mind your fingers.”
I left her to it, changed into gym shorts and a T-shirt, and lugged some workout gear onto the deck. I was setting it up when Ben got home. He saw me from the living room and came outside. His T-shirt was wet and sweat trickled from his hair. Lucy was still in the kitchen, frying her anxiety in bacon grease.
I said, “Good run?”
“Really good. Ran to Coldwater. Gonna work out?”
“That’s the plan. Want to join me?”
“Sure.”
Ben had enrolled at a karate dojo in Baton Rouge and had gotten pretty good. Lucy believed Ben’s interest in martial arts stemmed from me. I liked knowing it had. He watched me rope my old heavy bag to the rail. The bag was a beast. Sixty inches tall, its leather was cracked and patched with duct tape, and it weighed a solid one hundred ten pounds. Heavy bags were usually hung so they moved when they were hit, but I didn’t want it to move. I roped the old bag tight to create an immovable object.
I set up facing the bag and waved Ben away with a finger flick.
“Stand back. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Ben said, “Ha ha.”
I attacked the old bag with aggression and purpose. Right front kick, right roundhouse kick, left front kick, left roundhouse kick, right reverse spin kick, left reverse spin kick. The wraparound gardener, the ponytail gardener, the meatball, Leifertz and Osch. The strikes hit fast and sounded like muffled explosions.