BSG Noir Part Nine
The haunting echoes of better days float through the open windows of my apartment from across the street. Air conditioner conked out two weeks ago, building super’s too cheap to fix the system in the building. Not like I’m complaining…wide open windows and a cool evening breeze is all I need anyway. Plus, there’s just nothing like sitting back, having a cold beer, and listening to somebody else’s record collection from a few apartments over and down. As long as they’re good records, of course… Tonight’s selection’s been a mish-mash selection of big band favorites, a few new songs that just hit the charts…stuff for coloring good memories with. Can’t think of too many I’d like back at the moment. Right now it’s a sad, slow tune drifting in the thick, steaming air, sung by a woman with a voice that goes down like a stiff drink, the kind you need in your hand when you want to forget about the world, leave it behind. The sky glows a fiery orange as the light fades back below the skyline, the surrounding forest of steel and brick shining in the shaded pinpoints of light flooding out from full apartments, families settling down after a day out, people getting ready to go out on the town, enjoy the weekend. I’ve already had enough for the day.
I squint hard in the dull amber light; give my eyes a break from the loose pile of paper and photos scattered over the coffee table in front of me. I reach for the cold cheap cardboard box and even colder noodles inside, work my fingers around the sticks and slurp down another mouthful. Not exactly “gourmet”…but then again, what is after two days in a fridge? My wife used to do all the cooking, let me get out of practice, concentrate on more important things like my job…career… “us”. Usually just tried to sit back and have a drink, think about nothing. Never felt like there was much to talk about even when there was.
Well…when she felt like there was.
I drop the takeout box back on the floor and reach for my ice cold glass, take a long, deep drink and scan over the puzzle of images and information running wild through my brain. Long last couple of days… First there was one Mrs. Kara Thrace who came in wanting me to find her daughter by way of her husband… Then Romo Lampkin comes out of his lair in the fog with an enigmatic warning about Tom Zarek and a photo that gives me the identity of Mrs. Thrace’s husband…Samuel T. Anders, famous pyramid star, missing for over two weeks. An address on the back of the picture of Kara’s daughter lead me to a shark by the name of Hotdog who gave me some interesting details on Kara’s activities, still nothing on Sam Anders…and an odd detail about somebody else who’s been shadowing her… Can’t help but feel I’m bound to bump into that guy. Hotdog tips me off to a visit to a Mr. Laird, C-Buck’s trainer, guy that knows Sam Anders…but not so much about “Mrs. Thrace”. Also picked up the real deal about Ander’s “vacation”… Just more questions, way less answers than when I came in. Not one straight answer from any of them. Not until it all lead back to her. That’s where everything seems to go, where Romo was telling me to look for answers…all I got from her. I know whatever answers I’m supposed to have, Kara Thrace has them. Even if it just gets me more names that don’t ring a bell, more numbers that run together. Still can’t be sure if I should trust her.
FRAK… If I even can trust her.
I do want to believe her though.
What the hell is happening to me?
Business, Lee… Business…
And then after a few stiff drinks and easy company, I find out somebody’s been in my office…and that somebody else is waiting there for me. Couple of Zarek’s thugs, probably hired em’ cheap right out of stir. Weren’t professionals by any means. Still doesn’t make sense. Zarek might be back to do what he does best, but having a few of his guys dig around in my office…not really his style. He’s the kind of guy that likes his work personal. Quiet…but personal. Just doesn’t feel like Tom Zarek.
None of it’s on the level. He warns me, threatens me…offers me a job. Then he threatens me again? Doesn’t add up… No way would he use that approach unless I really was in…
No.
Don’t want to go down that road. Not for him. Not even for Zak. Not again… Even he’d think it wasn’t worth it anymore.
I pull back, let myself fall back into my couch with a heavy sigh, hear the warping springs creak and groan. My head bounces slightly off the soft, deep upholstery, sinking in. Can’t remember how times I’ve fallen asleep right here, how many times I’ve woken up with an aching back to an empty room. The fact that the bed’s just one room away doesn’t seem like any real motivation to spend the night on a sagging, worn-out mattress instead of a sagging, worn-out couch. Not like anybody will complain if I didn’t.
I throw myself up and forward, knock the near empty cardboard box of cardboard noodles on its side, almost spill my glass. My hand shoots down instinctively, saves the deep amber brew from meeting its doom spilled over the floor. No use letting that good beer go to waste. I hold it up; watch the froth rock back and forth, sparkle in the dying red glow of dusk against the backdrop of bleak grays of my apartment. The glass tips back as I slowly and deliberately down the rest of it in one long arc. The heavy glass comes down hard in my lap, my eyes clinch closed hard and take another sweep over what little I have to work with still staring back up at me. No answers…just questions. Why was she so vague from the beginning about who her husband was? Why send me to somebody she knew instead of one of Sam’s “friends” first? Why hadn’t she reported any of it to the police? Who was really in my office, and why? What does Zarek want with me? And what…
And what the hell is Romo’s angle?
I try and make it a rule never to take a case that doesn’t present an easy answer within the first five minutes. Guys in my line of work are supposed to get the answers that nobody wants to believe, not ask questions that nobody wants asked. Stuff’s great for cheap pulp thrillers that sell for pocket change at a corner newsstand, not so much for a real job where real people are involved…people that get hurt. My eyes burn, lock onto the small, wrinkled photo in the center of the pile, take in the sunny gold and soft blue nearly buried under dingy soot smeared grays. Out of all the world, why the frak did she have to get dragged into this?
All of this over one little girl…
FRAK…
Might not be smart…might not even be worth it…
But it’s the right thing to do.
I push myself up, lay the empty glass on the table, take the takeout box to the trash and go for another beer. Fine way to cap off tonight’s gourmet cuisine. Can’t complain…no worse than any other night by myself. Coming back from the fridge, I pass by clean, blank walls, only accented by a few cracks and water stains. I can still remember when they weren’t so blank, weren’t so empty, when they had more on them than just a fading coat of paint. Well…lose enough people for as many reasons as I have and…
Doesn’t feel so bad to miss them smiling back at you.
Even less to fake a smile back at them.
I get back to the couch, slump my tired muscles into the cushions and start to pour the new bottle into my glass. My hand starts to lay it down, drifts over the names and numbers on the coffee table in front of me. Everything seems to blend together. Everything but one number…two words… The bottle goes down; glass goes up in my right hand once more; left picks up the small white, folded napkin from the bar. I feel it between my fingers, light, delicate. Quirky letters gracefully bled into the smooth paper.
“Call me.”
More soft band music in the air as the last rays of sun disappear in the murky glow of the city waking up to the night outside. I flip on an old table lamp beside me. Deep greens and golds and reds scatter beams of soft light along the room. One of the few things still left over from my earlier life. No point in getting rid of it…it’s a good lamp. I take one last look at the white napkin now wilting towards the floor in my palm, stare at the number…the words…
Kara’s words…
There’s a phone on a small, high table to my right near the kitchen area, black and smooth, just like the one in my bedroom. Can’t seem to take my eyes off it. What the frak…
No hurt checking if it isn’t another dead-end.
I walk over to the table, bring the phone back with me; spin the dial.
One ring.
Better be for real, this time…
Two rings.
Don’t know why I’m worrying about this now…
Three rings.
Probably not in…
Four rings.
Not there…just let it…
Five rings.
I start to pull it away from my ear.
“Don’t worry Lee. You’ll get me again.”
The speaker slides back up to my face.
Six…click…
“This is Kara Thrace. Who’s calling?”
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Her voice comes across smooth and warm over the cold hard plastic. The sounds from the street outside drown away. “Just checking if you were alright.” I reply.
She giggles playfully over the distance; wide smile’s probably shooting across her full lips. “Just checking?” she says, already on to me. “Were you worried about me, Lee? Or is it just a slow night…”
“Same as always.” I smile back.
“You sound like a real fun guy…” she smirks, sarcasm laced in her breath. She’s got my number alright. “So…what’s the reason?”
“You did tell me to call.” I reply, hushing each word over the receiver. “Thought I’d take you up on your offer.”
“Um hmm…” She pauses, same perky, sensual tone even when she’s not saying a word. “And about my daughter?”
“Already checked up on your source. Girl at the office said I’d have the best chance of catching em’ in the morning. Said he usually gets called in for weekend work down by the industrial park. Goin’ there first thing in the morning.”
“Good boy.” she answers almost with a whisper. “I almost hate to steal away your entire weekend for me.”
“It’s nothing. Just my job.”
“Do you always take your job this seriously, Lee?” she asks, almost melting the speaker against my ear.
“When it’s important.”
“Dedicated man… Thank you, Lee.” I can almost feel her fingers smoothly stroking the phone in her hand, running through silky blonde hair, along her warm skin… Hear her breathing against the phone, relaxed, easy…
“Well, Mr. Adama…” she says, breaking the heated silence “Is that it? Or did you want to read me a bedtime story?”
“Not tonight…” Business, Lee… “Thought I’d keep you up to date with the case.”
“You didn’t think I gave you a fake number, now did you?” she asks, bighting into my defenses.
“Never crossed my mind.” I reply, straight and true.
She giggles under her breath again. I know what that means… “Well, since this is only a business call, I suppose I should let you go now…being that you’re such a dedicated man…”
“I’ll keep in touch.” I answer, not quite wanting to pull the phone away again. Not wanting to admit to myself why…
“Then I guess I’ll say goodnight, Lee.”
“Goodnight Kara.”
I put the phone back down, pull in a deep breath, let it out… Take in another sip in the bold, warm light. Feel a cool breeze blow through the open windows behind me as the echoing song fades back into silence. Another long day tomorrow.
Gods… what a woman…