The Last Whisper in the Dark: A Novel (15 page)

I had to either get a job, go to college, head back out west, or commit entirely to being a second-story man. Instead of pulling Chub out of the life maybe I could throw in with him.

My mother appeared in the doorway. “You’ve been up here for hours. Do you want to talk?”

“I don’t think so. Not right now.”

“All right. You know I’ll always listen.”

“I know.”

“Don’t forget we have Dale’s show tonight.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be down.”

I didn’t go down. I fell asleep and dreamed awful dreams and woke up in the dark panting and sweating. I felt certain I’d just had a premonition but couldn’t remember what it was. The great mystery of life wasn’t what to do with it but that you were lost and needed to find a way out of the black room and off the edge.

I took another shower. I let the hot water clear my head and get my blood moving again. My face was looking better. I removed most of the tape and butterfly Band-Aids. I wanted to look good and show support for my sister. I wanted to warn her off the Rogues and get her out of New York. Maybe she’d be safer in L.A. waitressing and going on auditions and following a dream that might break her heart eventually but wouldn’t land her in the bin fifteen to life.

My father found me in my room. My old man said, “Your mother wants to stay home tonight.”

I didn’t ask why. She needed time alone, and staying with Gramp was about as alone as you could get. “I’m on my own?”

“No, I’m coming with you.”

To anyone else this was a trivial moment but to us it was big. My father rarely left the house to go out in public. He never left it with only me. We didn’t take in ball games. We didn’t go sailing. We didn’t catch movies.

“That all right?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“I want to leave a little early, maybe get a chance to see Dale beforehand and wish her luck.”

“You mean ‘break a leg,’ ” I explained. “Wishing an actor good luck before a performance is actually bad luck.”

“I can’t tell my daughter to break a leg. I know too many guys who’ve had their legs broken.”

He wore a black sweater and dark slacks that would’ve looked nice on anybody else, but on him it made him look like he was getting ready to go creep an apartment complex. I wondered if he might be planning on paying a visit to old Crowe tonight.

“You want to ride with me?” he asked, handing me a cardboard ticket that read
ADMIT ONE
.

“I’ll follow you,” I said. “I have something to do after the show.”

My mother had a dish of salmon and greens waiting for me in the kitchen. I was hungry and dug in. Above that, I was painfully aware that I had to start being more concerned about the health of my brain, even if four-man pro crews were going to keep kicking the shit out of me.

My mother said, “You don’t mind?”

“Going to the show with dad? No. But he can stay home with you. Dale won’t care.” the only one I had leftndor

“I think she might. Just tell her I wasn’t feeling well.”

“She’ll be fine. Will you?”

“Yes.”

“You know you can always talk to me too,” I said.

“I know.”

She gazed lovingly on me with red-rimmed eyes and I knew my course was set.

We got to the cars and I let my old man pull out first. I followed him to the high school and was surprised to find the auditorium packed. My father and I found our seats. We were in the fifth row center. I made sure I sat up straight so that if Dale peeked out from behind the curtain she could see how invested I was in the show.

Ten minutes later a matronly teacher I didn’t know stepped out to a smattering of applause and asked that everyone turn off their cell phones. She introduced the play, discussed the playwright for a moment, and then asked us to enjoy the show. I clapped like my hands were on fire.

There was a dramatic flare of music: violins, cellos, bombastic bass drums, and a lot of brass. The curtain went up. The set was dressed like a European parlor room. Actors came out wearing Renaissance clothing. There were kings and queens and fops and courtly gentlemen in white wigs and ladies-in-waiting. They said their dialogue with a lot of bite and while coyly looking at the audience. The kids snapped off a lot of double entendres, some of which I figured out on my own. People laughed and yawped. Maybe it was funny and I wasn’t in the right mood. Maybe it was a case of the emperor’s new clothes. I didn’t want to be a bitter prick but it felt like that was all there was. Maybe I just needed to turn myself in to the cops. Aside from the Cell-Block-C ass-raping, it couldn’t be much worse than living the rest of my life like this.

Dale played a married woman whose husband was apparently having an affair with a countess, but not really, so she attempted to seduce the duke’s son. They ran around a bedroom chasing each other and then hiding in the armoire when other couples broke in and chased each other around and hid under the bed and behind the curtains. At one point there were four couples concealed in the room
from each other. The audience roared. My father chuckled throughout, which for him was laughing like a maniac.

Dale was good. She owned the stage when she was on. She had a bright, confident energy and she put real feeling into the words, even when she didn’t have to. She paused in ways that amplified the power of what she was saying. She offered up body language that gave insight into the character. She struck poses, she stared and smiled. She wasn’t just a vessel for someone else’s ideas. She made the work her own and gave herself over to another identity. The comedy had a real grounding thanks to the contrapuntal way she emoted. Dale underscored the action. She gave it honesty, significance, and purpose.

When the curtain came down the audience exploded. The cast took their bows and the applause throbbed louder and louder. When Dale came out I got to my feet, clapping and whistling.

After the final group bow together the lights came up and folks started to split.

“I watch her reading lines with your mother,” my dad said. “And I’ve seen her in other shows, but I never really picked up on just how talented she is. She’s amazing. She’s the real thing.”

“Yes, she is,” I agreed. the only one I had leftndor

“I’m proud of her.”

“So am I.”

“I just wish I could figure out what the hell the whole play was about. All those people running around hiding. Kids in the curtains? It was very … very …”

“French,” I offered.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Along with the other relatives of the performers we crowded around the foot of the stage waiting for the kids to come out. Soon they appeared to gasps and hoots from their parents. The mother of the lead actress had a dozen long-stemmed red roses to present to her daughter. When Dale emerged in her street clothes my father swept
her up in a ferocious hug. He found the words to tell her how wonderful she was. Dale looked shocked but happy. She thanked him and called him “Daddy,” something I hadn’t heard her do since she was ten.

He stood there unsure of what else to say so he repeated himself, telling her again how talented he thought she was. He swept his hand through her hair. Then he mentioned that Ma wasn’t feeling well and was sorry she couldn’t make it. She let him off easy and said she had some last minute things to do backstage and she’d see him at home. He said he understood, nodded to me, and walked lithely toward the exit with the rest of the crowd. I hung back with the stragglers, Dale beside me. She took a breath and looked at me like she wasn’t sure she expected a kind word or an ax in the neck.

“You were fantastic,” I said.

She gave me a guarded grin. I caught a whiff of her Cool Sea Breeze Vita shampoo. Her mascara hadn’t run. She had great waterproof fantasy lashes. “You really think so?”

“I do.”

“Did you understand the play?”

“Not in the slightest.”

I saw a flash of her real smile. “I told you.”

“It was French. It seemed very French.”

“It was.”

“But I didn’t need to understand all the ins and outs of the story to see that you’re a terrific actress, Dale. I mean it. You were centered. You put a tremendous authenticity into the performance.”

“That’s very generous of you to say.”

“The characterization … swallowed you. The others were playing to the assembly, but you were up there for yourself.”

I didn’t know if it sounded like a compliment. I wasn’t expressing myself as well as I wanted. I fought for clarification but couldn’t explain myself any better.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You could’ve gotten the lead. You were better than the girl who took it.”

“You think so?”

“I do. And I think you let her grab it. I just wonder why.”

“The lead wasn’t the most interesting or important role.”

“So you outfoxed her.”

“I did.”

“There’s my sis.” I put my arm around her shoulder and pressed my lips to her temple">“I don’t think so.re couple of . She tightened up and I released her. “I’ll drive you home.”

Her face closed like a fist. “I’m going out with some friends.”

“Can you give me a few minutes first? I think we should talk.”

She backed up a step and held her hands up to ward me off. She spoke with a hushed edge. There were still a lot of people around, split off into groups, neighbors and friends who hadn’t spoken for a while, loud and laughing, talking about local theater, talking about the PTA, talking about church. “Oh God, no, please don’t say things like that, Terry. I never want to talk to you when you say things like that. No, don’t you know that yet? Never.”

“I don’t exactly want to do it either. But we need to discuss
ROGUES
.”

She seemed to consider it. “No,” she said. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ll talk to you about that, Terry.”

“Dale—”

“Cool it, Terry. Just go home. Thank you for coming. But go home now.”

“They—”

In my head Collie said,
You know what to do
. I had no idea what to do. I took her by the shoulder and led her away from the receding crowd and noise. I got her up against the emergency exit, leaned in close, and put my mouth to her ear.
“They pissed on our brother&x2026; 

All Hallows’ Eve turned out to be the largest
building in an industrial park in Islip. The security system was older than I was. I tricked out the wiring in under a minute and eased inside with my satchel and tools.

The studio was pretty much what you’d expect from guys who churned out low-budget slasher films. It looked like an assembly line for fast action and quick pack-ups and reshoots. The place was split into four separate sets designed to look like cabins in the woods and sorority houses where young women could run away from killers holding machetes and chain saws. There were catwalks twenty feet in the air and a lot of stage lighting. The walls were all white to catch bright splashes of faux blood. The place smelled faintly of air freshener, disinfectant, and the unmistakable odor of freshly smoked meth.

At the back of the building was a large office with triple locks. The door and frame were solid, unlike the walls and doors of the sets. I got out my tools again and within a minute I was inside. I was still a little rusty.

Framed poster art decorated the walls of the office. I thought I saw cousin John’s room design flourishes. Sexy, seductive women gazed down at me as faceless figures in cloaks and capes rose behind them hungrily. Various awards stood out on shelves choked with DVDs bearing the AHE logo. Best Murder Scene. Best On-screen Death. Best Shotgun-to-the-Head FX. Six expensive-looking cameras covered with thick cloths had been stacked side by side. There were five laptops at five desks. The biggest desk had a fancy nameplate that read Erik Blake.

I went through the drawers of each desk and pulled out all the
discs and flash drives I could find. Together they didn’t add up to more than a couple pounds. I tucked them all into the satchel. Physical media was dying out. Everything was downloads and streaming now.

In the bottom drawer of Blake’s desk was a .38 S&W. I pocketed it.

It took me thirty-five seconds to find the safe. It was beneath a mismatched piece of carpeting under the empty watercooler. I moved the cooler aside, opened the cache, and saw the faceplate to a forty-year-old safe. I wasn’t);
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font-style: italicre couple of the world’s best jugger. It would take time to crack it. Unless Blake and Nox did what most lazy pricks did, which was leave the dial a couple numbers off so the latch would open immediately. I tried it. It didn’t work.

If Crowe was right about the quantities of money then I expected drugs to be inside. I guessed that Blake and Co. probably wouldn’t trust their memories when it came to a safe combo. The number had to be around here somewhere.

I found it taped to the underside of Blake’s keyboard. I gave him points for at least making a modest effort to throw off a burglar. I tried the combo and it didn’t work. I reversed the numbers and was met with a satisfying click. I popped the latch.

Inside was a ten-pound bag of meth and maybe a hundred grand in cash. There was also a set of cooked books. I went through them carefully. In a half hour I could see how Blake had been making additional films on the same sets with the same casts, distributing them under the table, and selling them outright to another company called Fireshot Pictures, all on Crowe’s dime. Blake took the extra cash he made and invested it into his meth business, conveniently cutting Crowe out. He paid his kick-up to the Thompson crew but only about a quarter of what he really owed. That would work in my favor.

I took the money and the cooked books. I left the drugs.

I toyed around on Blake’s computer. He had pictures of himself
with the casts of girls in various states of undress as a slideshow. He was short, lean, and a little fish-eyed with an ingratiating smile. He wore his hair tight to the scalp with overly moussed ringlets spread out across his forehead.

Different killers popped up in horrific poses: Bear-Face, Driller Killer, Mudd the Maniac, No-Heart, and others. The makeup FX were pretty good. The poster art worked about as effectively as anything I’d seen in the theaters. No bald mutant cannibals, but you couldn’t have everything.