Dismantling the Glock had taken him some time to master. It wasn’t like the old model 10 revolvers or the simply assembled shotguns he’d used as a rookie. The Glock was a little like one of those wooden block puzzles where each movement had to be done in the correct order to open it up.
First, he pulled the trigger until it clicked back into place. With a claw-like grip on the top of the gun, he pressed a tab and the slide came off.
He squirted a little Hoppes oil into the three pieces — the spring, the slide and the barrel — then wiped each dry with a piece of an old t-shirt. The Glock’s frame was polymer but he always took the time to blow away the gun powder residue from the crevices.
As he reassembled the Glock, he thought suddenly of Bud. He was his firearms instructor back at the academy, a small soft-spoken bald man whose quiet reverence for guns had earned him the name of the Buddha. He could still hear Bud’s words.
Take care of it and it will take care of you. For those of you who ride alone it is the only partner you’ll have.
Louis reassembled the Glock, slid it back in its holster and set it on the counter. The phone messages were still waiting. He hit the rewind button.
“Hey Rocky, how the hell are you?”
It was Mel. He had met the ex-Miami detective on a case here on Captiva Island years ago and they had forged one of those old-marriage bonds that withstood the benign neglect that colored most male friendships.
“Look, we need to get together,” Mel went on. “Yuba and I are going over to the Roadhouse Saturday night to see Lou Colombo. We want you to come with us and don’t give me that shit that you have plans because I know you never do. Call me.”
Louis took a long draw from the Heineken. He hadn’t seen Mel since that case they worked together over in Palm Beach last Christmas. Yuba was a lovely East Indian bartender who had followed Mel back to Fort Myers. Mel never admitted it, but Louis knew they were in love.
Shit, that Palm Beach case had been seven months ago. Where had the time gone?
The next voice was a male and at first Louis didn’t recognize it.
“Hey, Louis, are you there? Pick up, dude! I guess you’re not home. But you’re never home.”
It was Ben, the boy whom Louis had befriended years ago after rescuing him from a kidnapping. He didn’t recognize him because the last time they had talked Ben’s voice had been an octave higher.
“You aren’t going to believe this, but she’s finally doing it,” Ben said. “Mom and Steve are getting married.”
Louis leaned closer to the phone.
“Anyway, it’s nothing fancy. You know Mom, she’s not even going to change her name.”
Well, what woman named Susan Outlaw would? Especially since she was a public defender. The fact that Steve’s last name was Fuchs might have figured into her decision. Despite that, Louis had to admit Steve was a good man. And he’d make a good stepfather for Ben. Still, it stung a little to know that Ben just didn’t seem to need him as much as he used to.
The next message on the machine began with a gruff cough.
“Yeah, this is Ned Willis, and this call is for Louis Kincaid, the private investigator.”
Willis…the district attorney on the fraud case he had just finished down in Bonita Springs.
“You were set to testify next week but the trial has been postponed,” Willis said. “We’ve rescheduled for September 3 but we definitely still need you to be here. My office will follow up with a letter. Thanks.”
The next voice was female, flat and all too familiar.
“You have no more messages.”
Louis stared at the machine for a moment then reset it to record. He got a fresh Heineken from the refrigerator, picked up the stack of mail and went out onto the screened-in porch.
Issy was curled on the lounge chair and he set her gently aside before he sat down. He took a long draw from the Heineken as he sorted through the mail. The stack was fat with supermarket flyers, bills, a Lillian Vernon catalog — how the hell had he gotten on that mailing list? — bank and credit card statements, and two copies of “Police” magazine.
He set the bills in one pile, gave the “Police” cover a quick glance and tossed the Lillian Vernon catalog to the floor. Something bright fluttered out.
A postcard. A postcard showing a horse and buggy.
Oh shit…
He retrieved the card but he didn’t need to look at the back. He knew who it was from. With a sigh, he turned it over.
Hi Louis,
I found this card at the farmer’s market. It’s Mackinac Island! Isn’t it funny that I found it here and it’s the exact same place where we’re going to go for my birthday? You don’t have to give me a present. You can take me on a buggy ride instead. I can’t wait to see you! — Lily
Louis looked out over the gulf. The sun was starting to set, leaving a pink smudge in the heat-hazed yellow sky.
Lily’s birthday was September 2 and he had promised her he would come up to Michigan and take her to Mackinac Island. But now the damn fraud trial had been postponed and he had to be here instead.
Shit. Shit, shit…shit!
He felt eyes on him and looked down to see Issy looking up at him.
“What?” he said.
The cat just stared at him.
“Yes, I know,” he said. “I’m a fuck-up. I’m a fuck-up who can’t be bothered to pay attention to a cat let alone a kid.”
Issy jumped off the lounge and went into the cottage. With sigh, Louis looked at the postcard again.
Until just a few months ago, he hadn’t even known he had a daughter. Lily’s mother Kyla had been an on-and-off girlfriend during his senior year at University of Michigan. The night she came to his dorm to tell him she was pregnant was etched in his memory like a bad dream.
Rain pounding on the window. Kyla standing at the door of his dorm room, so soaked from the rain he didn’t even notice the tears running down her face.
I’m pregnant, Louis.
What do you want from me, Kyla?
I want to know you love me. I want to know you’ll be there for me.
He didn’t tell her what he was thinking. That he was twenty years old and he didn’t want his life to be over. He just wanted — after too many foster homes, too many years bouncing from one place and face to another — he just wanted a clear smooth road ahead for a change.
Kyla’s last words to him that night still stung.
I’ll get rid of it then.
And his words stung worse.
Go ahead.
Louis stared at Lily’s looped signature. Lily…just Lily. That was always how she signed the cards. What did he expect? Love, Lily?
Lily. Just Lily.
Kyla couldn’t have known of course. Couldn’t have known that the name she had given to their daughter was a hybrid of her own name and that of Louis’s dead mother Lila. Strange that the two females in his life who were like strangers to him had blended into this third little female who was becoming…
Becoming what?
His daughter?
He wasn’t a father. Not yet. He had a long ways to go to earn that title. He had no idea what it was going to take right now but he had the strange feeling it was going to be like running the tactical course, a series of twists and turns where things would come flying out of the blue and you never knew what was going to hit you and lay you low.
He downed the last of the beer. The low slant of the sun told him it was maybe six-thirty. Still plenty early enough to call Ann Arbor.
He gathered up the mail and went back inside. Setting the mail by the phone, he dialed Kyla’s number but it went to the answering machine. He had a vague memory of the last time he had phoned and Lily telling him she was going to ballet camp in Interlochen sometime in August.