Bloodlines

“Yes.”

“Do you have a deadbolt lock?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Bolt the door. Turn on your cell phone, because you may need it. Do not let anyone but me in the door. If your own mother comes to the door-”

“She’s dead, so I’ll assume it’s just a zombie pretending to be my mother. But I won’t let anyone else in. I won’t go out in the corridor, even if someone sets the building on fire.” His tone was flat-he sounded resigned, a little too resigned.

“Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Don’t you need directions?”

“Still living on Chestnut?”

“Yes-oh, you got it from the phone book. Apartment eight.” He paused. “You think someone else could get my address the same way.”

“Exactly. If someone tries to get in, call the police. Don’t hesitate.”

I hung up, then asked Hailey, “Did Yeager know you were there when he talked to Ethan?”

She shook her head. She was looking a little pale. I think she was starting to get the bigger picture.

“I want you to promise me that you will never, ever attempt something so stupid as going one-on-one with Mitch Yeager.”

She promised. She promised to be careful driving back to the paper.

“Ask security to walk you out to your car when you leave,” I said.

I tried to call Frank. His cell phone wasn’t on, and he wasn’t back at his office yet. I left a message on both voice mails, telling him I needed to talk something over with Ethan and would be home late, but he could reach me on my cell phone if needed. I also gave him Ethan’s home number. “It’s a long story, but-it might be a good idea for him to stay with us for a few days,” I said. “Would that be okay? Let me know.”

Ethan lived in an old apartment building in a tough part of town. I found a street lamp and parked beneath it. As I locked the Jeep up and set the alarm, I prayed I wouldn’t have to call LoJack to find out where it was later that night.

The building was long and two stories tall, a flat-roofed Spanish-style structure, probably built in the 1930s. The mailboxes at the entrance indicated there were sixteen units in the building.

Although it was moving toward nine o’clock on a weeknight, I could hear voices and music and laughter coming from the building. A party palace. The noises coming from it were the kinds of noises you might hear in the hallway of a college dorm on a Friday night-a confined space occupied by individuals watching a dozen different television shows at high volume, listening to just as many different kinds of music, each trying to hear their own above others-apparently, not one of the tenants believed in headphones. The glass front door was framed by dark wood and could have easily been smashed open by anyone who really wanted to get in, but I took the easy route and pushed the buzzer above Ethan’s mailbox. I pulled his name tag off it, which made it one of five blank ones. There was no sound from the intercom, but the door started humming and rattling, so I pushed it open.

My senses were assailed by both a louder edition of the noise I had heard outside, and a strong odor of urine and dried vomit in the foyer. I rushed back outside, remembering just in time not to let the door latch behind me. I took a deep breath, went back in, and held the breath all the way up the stairs, not exhaling until I reached the second level. The stairs ended at a short hallway at the front of the building. I glanced out a window there and saw that the Jeep was still where I had left it.

Apartment eight was to the right and at the rear of the building. The air quality was better in this dimly lit hall, but not by much. As I passed doors, the particular music of that apartment dweller intensified and became a little clearer. Two steps later, it was jumbled into the mix.

No wonder Ethan wasn’t getting much sleep.

I knocked on his door, saw the peephole in it darken, and heard the lock click back. The door opened.

“Hi,” he said, and gestured me inside.

He was still wearing his work clothes, a suit that hung loosely on him. His dark blond hair was slightly shaggy, but it actually looked better that way than it had in the shorter style he had worn before he went away to rehab.

The room we were in was neat and furnished in a spare way, with a table and chairs and sofa that looked as if they were not with their first owner. Or second or third, for that matter. I glanced around. It might as well have been a hotel room-nothing personal.

He had watched this perusal as he leaned against the back of the door, arms crossed. “No, it’s not much,” he said.

“Not home, either, is it?”

“I’ve only noticed that recently,” he said, and moved toward the kitchen. “Can I offer you something to drink?” He smiled at my raised brow and added, “Coffee, water, tea?”

“Coffee would be great-but before you do that, call Mitch Yeager and tell him that you are sorry to have bothered him and won’t be coming over, that you were trying to impress a girl who dared you to get an interview with him. That you never actually interviewed Harmon and will not be troubling him in any way. That will be the first call. I may have you make a second one to the homicide division of the Las Piernas Police Department, to tell my husband what you’ve done, so that he can tell you whether or not you have just completely fucked up a major investigation.”

“I was trying to help it. I’m not so sure that I shouldn’t still try to help it.”

“Ethan, this is all very noble, but you ca

“No, but…no, it’s not.” He put his hands up to his face, ran them up through his hair. “I let Hailey get to me. She was-no, never mind, I’m not going to blame her.” He opened his cell phone, used it to look up Yeager’s number, then called from his land line. He hung up. “The line’s busy.”

“We’ll try again in a few minutes. In the meantime-Ethan, I’m so worried about you.”

“Afraid I’ll start drinking again?”

“No-I mean, maybe you will, maybe you won’t. Right now I’m seriously hoping you will live long enough to struggle with your alcoholism. You’ve undoubtedly pissed off a man who arranged for the deaths of more than half a dozen people because he wanted to seek revenge in the cruelest way possible. He was willing to scheme and wait for years to carry out vengeance the first time, but at his current age, I doubt he’ll bother with long-range pla

He sat in silence. Then he said, “Maybe if he comes after me, he’d be doing the world a favor.”

“Ethan, if you will just pull your head out of your ass, you’ll see that you’ve got a bright future.”

He laughed. “Okay. I’ll call a halt to the pity party. Thanks.”

“Good. Try Yeager again.”

He called. This time, someone answered. I heard Ethan ask for Yeager, then say, “Oh… Well, listen-will you please tell him that Ethan Shire will not be coming by this evening after all?…That’s right, I called earlier… No, I’m notcoming by… and please tell him that-that I’m very sorry to have bothered him, that I was just making stuff up, and it was all a stupid dare to impress a girl, and I’m sorry. And he can call me later and I’ll explain and apologize for disturbing him. Did you get all that?… Yes, that’s it… Thank you. And sorry about earlier, when I made you bother him… Thanks…Bye.”

He hung up and said, “He couldn’t come to the phone. Do you think that will be enough?”