Tracing the handwriting with my fingertip, I think about the missing women. Beyond Detective Becker, is anyone else asking about them?
If I’d gotten a better vibe from Detective Becker, I might call and give this to him.
But I don’t have a good feeling about him. He gets under my skin. Makes me nervous, even a little anxious.
Drawing in a breath, I reread the date. Stevie wrote this note six months ago, right before she vanished.
Not sure how long I can hold it together, but I’ll fight the good fight while I can. No one gets out of here alive, right?
I start reading the diary.
Chapter Four
STEVIE PALMER’S DIARY
Saturday, July 1, 2023
8:00 p.m.
When I wake up, I realize I’m in my car. It’s hot, and I’m sweating. My back aches, and my head is spinning. I blink, look around, and realize I’m parked in an alley. The car’s passenger side is inches from a cinder block wall. The engine is dead, and the windows are open. The smell of trash floats up from a nearby dumpster.
“Shit. What have I done this time?” I push a thick shock of muddy-brown hair out of my eyes. I do a quick check. My jeans and T-shirt are dusted with dirt, but otherwise intact. I have both shoes and my small wallet. No cell phone, but I don’t own one. Jackpot. At least I wasn’t rolled or raped this time.
As I sit up straighter, my head spins. I blink. Bright orange drains over the side of the building and splashes on the hood of my car. Sunset. Must be about 8:00 or 8:15. Leaning against the steering wheel, I give my mind time to settle.
In my rearview mirror, I notice a parked truck and see a couple in the back seat. The woman sits up, and the flat of her palm presses against the rear window’s glass as she raises her head. For an instant our gazes meet. Her panic pins me. A man rises behind her, puts his hand over her mouth, and pulls her backward. She grips the back of the seat, like a drowning woman reaching for a life preserver.
I blink again, look around, and seeing no one, grab the baseball bat I keep on the passenger-side floor. Gripping it tight, I get out and stride toward the truck’s back taillight. I note the plates are Virginia but don’t register the numbers as I raise the baseball bat like a major league player and hit the truck’s red plastic light. It cracks. I draw back again, and the second blow breaks it. As I move to the next light, the man jerks his head up. I’d have thought the first blow would’ve gotten his attention, but he’s clearly focused on what he’s doing. The woman screams for help.
As I draw back the bat, the back driver’s-side door opens and a tall, lean man scrambles out. He’s reaching for the fly on his pants, zipping and cussing.
The passenger-side door opens, and a girl tumbles out. She’s young, maybe midtwenties, and has curly light-brown hair and a mascara-smudged face. She’s wearing a purple sequined top, a short skirt, and one silver ankle boot with rhinestone accents. She might have gotten into the truck willingly, but it’s clear she doesn’t like what’s happening now.
“What the fuck are you doing?” the man yells at me.
I keep the bat cocked. It doesn’t take much pressure to break a knee, but you’ve got to be dead-on with the aim. “Looks like the lady is telling you no.”
He glowers at the young woman. “You don’t get to say no after I’ve paid.”
The woman hovers in my side vision. She’s straightening her skirt and wiping the smudges from under her eyes. The other boot is now in hand.
“You okay?” My question is directed to the woman.
“Yeah.”
“Is he hurting you?” I ask.
“Yes.” She glances toward the guy. “I mean no.”
“No?” I don’t ease up on my grip. “Want me to walk away and mind my own business?”
“No,” she says quickly. “I have to get to work.”
“You haven’t finished with me,” the man complains.
“Where’s work?” I ask.
“Next door. Joey’s Bar.”
I smile. “Sorry, pal. Lady said she’s got to go. Time to move on.”
“You busted my taillight,” he rages. “This is bullshit.”
“I had to get your attention somehow, didn’t I?”
He lurches toward me. So predictable. I let the bat swing, and the end catches the side of his knee. He goes down hard.
I might have come looking for trouble, but I wasn’t expecting it this fast. It usually takes an hour or two.
The young woman moves to my side as the man grips his knee. “Be careful. He can be mean.”
“I swear to God, I’m going to kill you both,” the man shouts.
Tensing, I stand my ground and ask the woman beside me, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, thanks. You okay?”
“I’m good. What do we do with him?”
“You’ll leave, won’t you, Pete?” the woman asks. “He doesn’t want trouble with Joey.”
“The bar owner?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
I look at Pete. “Joey sounds like a badass. That true?”
Pete glowers.
“We can get Joey, if you’re not sure,” I offer. I can finish him off myself, but if someone else will do the work, let ’em.
Pete rubs his knee, winces. “Never mind.”
I watch as he limps toward the driver’s door and slides behind the wheel. Wounded animals can be very dangerous, so I keep a close eye on him.
“Come inside,” the woman says. “You look like you could use a drink.”
“I don’t need a drink.”
No one does anything for free, and certainly not out of the goodness of their heart. Everyone has an agenda. Even me. Best to know what it is.
Pete fires up his engine. The one working taillight blinks, signaling he’s shifted into drive. I stand ready to fight, but Pete pulls out of the alley and onto the main road. I glimpse his license plate and commit the numbers and letters to memory.
I’m tempted to ask the young woman where I am but don’t. Salt air suggests near the ocean, indicating I’ve likely returned to my favorite place. And when I say favorite, I mean most hated.
“My name is Nikki,” the young woman says as she rubs her arms, a sign adrenaline is rocketing through her body. I also feel jittery and flushed.
“I’m Stevie.”
“Where did you come from?” Nikki asks.
“Just happened by.” My voice is rough, forcing me to clear my throat.
“I saw your car parked in that spot an hour ago. You were sleeping, and I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Don’t worry about me.” The last words sound awkward, rusty. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m a bartender at Joey’s.”
An engine revs, tires screech, and a truck with a broken taillight races past the alley. “Who was your friend, Pete?”
Nikki drags shaking fingers through her hair. “A really big mistake.”
“You make a lot of mistakes like that?” I lower the bat but decide to keep it close.
“Sometimes. Not all the time. I only said yes because rent is due in four days. Well, technically rent is due today, but I get a four-day grace period.”