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  Pudge

  Wes stared at the name for a moment, unable to comprehend why it would be here.

  Pudge?

  It was a nickname Wes’s dad had come up with.

  The name his father had called Lars.

  LARS LIVED ON RANDALL STREET, ON THE RIGHT side, near where the road dead-ended. His house was a modified ranch, longer front-to-back than side-to-side, with a lawn, lush and green, like most of the others in the neighborhood—their owners attempting to ignore the fact they lived in the middle of the desert.

  Wes and Anna pulled in to the driveway on his dad’s Triumph and parked next to an old Ford F-150 pickup. He wasn’t even off the bike when Lars ran outside, a bottle of beer in his hand.

  “Is that what I think it is?” He was grinning ear to ear.

  “You remember it?” Wes asked.

  “Hell yes, I do. We all wanted one just like it.” He circled the motorcycle. “Damn, it looks exactly like it did back then. You’ve kept it in great shape.”

  “Thanks.” Wes didn’t bother correcting him.

  Anna walked up beside him and slipped her hand into his.

  “You remember Anna,” Wes said. “You met her yesterday at the shoot.”

  Lars shook Anna’s hand. “You’re one of the few I do remember.”

  Wes’s eyebrow rose. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “It means keep her close or she may be riding in my truck by the end of the evening.”

  “Is that the 4.6 liter or 5.4?” Anna asked, nodding back at the truck.

  Both men looked surprised.

  “Oh, I like her,” Lars said. “You are definitely in trouble, my friend.”

  There was laughter all around as they headed across the lawn toward the front door.

  “This wasn’t your parents’ house, was it?” Wes asked.

  “You think I could afford this on a Navy salary, even in Ridgecrest?”

  “But I thought they lived on the other side of town.”

  “Moved here after you took off.”

  Wes realized he hadn’t asked his friend about his parents yet. “Are they …”

  “Very much alive. Believe it or not, living on a golf course in Phoenix. Retired to the desert from the desert. Would have expected nothing less from them. What about your mom?”

  “Still in San Diego.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Lars said. “Come on. Let me show you around.”

  He led them inside and gave them the dime tour. Living room, three bedrooms, two baths, dining room, and a nice, large kitchen. All of it neatly furnished in that Spartan way men living alone liked.

  “The only thing you need to remember is the bathroom,” Lars said as he pulled open the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. “Because the party’s out here.”

  And a party it was. Wes had thought it was just going to be the three of them, but there were half a dozen other people lounging around the pool, talking and laughing, and all with a bottle of beer or glass of wine close at hand.

  Lars made the introductions. Bob and Mary Cooper, Trent Unger, William and Nancy Quincy, and Janice Meyers. All of the men and one of the women—Janice—were naval officers like Lars. Mary was Bob’s wife, and Nancy was William’s. Not that Wes expected to remember any of it.

  “Something to drink?” Janice asked.

  Wes deferred to Anna.

  “I’ll take a beer,” she said.

  Wes smiled. “Me, too. Thanks.”

  Everyone gathered around the newcomers as Janice pulled two bottles out of a cooler, popped the caps, and handed them over.

  “Lars tells us you work in Hollywood,” Trent said.

  “Technically Los Angeles,” Wes said. “But yeah, Hollywood, I guess.”

  “Do you work with any celebrities?” Nancy asked.

  “Nobody anyone would have heard of.” Wes glanced at Anna, the hint of mischief in his eyes. “But Anna’s done makeup for Jennifer Garner.”

  “Are you serious? What’s she like?” Nancy said, gaping at Anna.

  “Uh … nice. Really nice.”

  “I knew she’d be nice.”

  Before Nancy could ask another question, Wes said, “Why is no one in the pool?”

  “Yeah,” Lars said. “I pay to keep that thing clean. I expect you all to use it.”

  Trent whipped off his T-shirt and threw it on a nearby chair. “I was just waiting for the go-ahead.”

  He took one step toward the water and jumped in cannonball-style.

  Bob dropped his pants, revealing a pair of bright red swim trunks, then took off his shirt and jumped in next. William, Mary, and Janice followed. Only Nancy refrained, sipping wine and finding a lawn chair in the shade.

  “You got my suit?” Wes asked Anna.

  She pulled his trunks out of her purse.

  “Jennifer Garner?” she whispered.

  “Hey, I got you out of it.”

  “You got me into it, too.”

  He smiled, then headed back to the house to change.

  When he reemerged from the bathroom, he found Lars in the kitchen pulling a stack of hamburger patties out of the refrigerator.

  “Let me help you,” Wes said.

  “Ah. Great timing.” Lars nodded toward the open fridge. “If you could grab that plate of onions, and the cheese.”

  Wes retrieved the items, then shut the refrigerator door with his elbow.

  He then watched his friend begin separating the patties and putting them on a plate. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  Wes hesitated a second, then said, “After I left, did you ever run into my dad?”

  Lars paused what he was doing and looked over for a second. “Your dad? Yeah, I guess.” He shrugged. “It’s a small town.”

  “You two ever do anything together?”

  “You mean like hang out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “With your dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. Why would I have done that? He didn’t even like me.”

  “What are you talking about?” Wes asked. “He liked you.”

  Lars smiled skeptically. “Yeah. Sure.”

  Wes gave it a moment, then asked, “You remember when he disappeared?”

  Lars glanced at him, then turned his attention back to the patties. “Of course. It was in the paper. I was surprised that you didn’t come back.”

  “No one told me until after they found his body and it was already on the way to Whittier.”

  Lars leaned back from the counter, his eyes full of sympathy. “Really? Damn, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Wes said, shaking his head. “Do you remember the last time you saw him?”

  Lars looked off to the side, quiet for a moment. When he spoke, there was almost a rehearsed cadence to his words. “Not specifically. Like I said earlier, probably ran into him in town somewhere. Maybe the grocery store. Who knows?”

  “I was going through his things and I found his day planner. You want to hear something weird?”

  “What?” Lars asked. The patties finished, he turned on the faucet and began washing his hands.

  “The night before he died, there was a note about a meeting with someone at eight-thirty.”

  “Busy man.”

  Now Wes paused. “The person he was supposed to meet with was you.”

  “Me?” Lars said. “I don’t think so.”

  “That’s what it said. So you didn’t meet with him?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Maybe you just—”

  The doorbell rang.

  LARS SET THE PLATE OF BURGERS DOWN ON THE counter, then walked out of the kitchen.

  Wes frowned. He sensed that Lars was holding something back. Then again, maybe he was just making a big deal out of nothing. What he really should be talking to Lars about was the proof he’d found online about the pilot from the crash.

  “Lieutenant Commander,” a voice said from the front o
f the house. “Hope we’re not late.”

  There was a pause, then Lars said, “No. Come in.”

  A moment later Lars came back into the kitchen with a couple of men in tow.

  “Wes. Want you to meet a couple colleagues from the base,” Lars said, his smile slightly strained. “Lieutenant Reid Wasserman and Lieutenant Ken Jenks.”

  “We’ve actually met already,” Wasserman said, holding his hand out to Wes and grinning broadly. “You’re the hero.”

  Wes cringed inside as he shook Wasserman’s hand. Why was everyone calling him that? “Not a hero.”

  “You know each other?” Lars asked.

  “Ran into him and his friends at Delta Sierra,” Jenks explained, extending his hand and shaking with Wes. “Good to see you again.”

  Smiling uncomfortably, Wes said, “Thanks again for the drinks. But it really wasn’t necessary.”

  “Wish we could have done more.” Jenks took a step toward Wes. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I know I’d really like to find out what went on out there after the plane went down.”

  Wes took a deep breath. “Uh … okay.”

  “Listen, guys,” Lars cut in. “I promised Wes we wouldn’t talk about the crash today. You understand, right?”

  There was a moment of awkward silence, then Jenks said, “Sure, sure. Sorry. You’ve probably talked about it too much already.”

  “We weren’t thinking,” Wasserman added. “Just forget we asked anything.”

  Before anyone could say anything else, Lars held the plates with the hamburgers and the onions out toward the two men. “Can you guys do me a favor and carry these out to the grill?”

  Jenks took the onions. “No problem.”

  “These look great,” Wasserman said, hamburger plate in hand. “Enough for two each?”

  “Should be,” Lars said.

  “Excellent.”

  A moment later the lieutenants were gone.

  “Sorry about that,” Lars said.

  “Thanks for running interference. I appreciate it.” Wes paused a moment, then, “Look, sorry about the thing with my dad. Seeing your name there just surprised me, I guess.”

  “I know that was a while ago,” Lars said. “But I’m pretty sure I’d remember something like that. I have no idea why I’m in his planner. I didn’t see him that night.”

  “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “Not a big deal.” Lars gave Wes a pat on the shoulder. “I’m hungry. Let’s get those burgers going.”

  Wes hesitated. “Um … Lars … about the crash.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve already told the others it’s a taboo subject.”

  “Thanks,” Wes said. “But, well, I know you told me to drop it—”

  Lars gave his friend a compassionate smile. “I told you to do that because there’s nothing there. You’re going to make yourself crazy otherwise.”

  “It’s just … I found his picture.”

  “Whose picture?”

  “The pilot’s.”

  Lars’s smile faltered a little. “Adair’s picture was in the paper. I would say you didn’t have to look very hard.”

  “I’m not talking about Adair. I’m talking about the pilot I saw in the cockpit.”

  Lars held up a hand. “For God’s sakes. You need to drop this. Whatever you think you’ve found doesn’t change the fact that Lieutenant Adair died in that plane crash. You’ve got it so screwed up in your head that your mind’s creating images of someone who wasn’t there.”

  “You think I’m making this up?”

  “No. I think you believe it. But I told you before, it’s the stress.” He put a hand on Wes’s back. “Come on. Let’s just go out, grill up some burgers, and have a good time. Okay?”

  Wes forced a smile, then nodded. “Sure.”

  THE PARTY WENT ON ALL AFTERNOON. THERE was drinking and eating and splashing and laughing and a volleyball game that no one could agree on who won. By the time the sun had started to set, Wes and Anna had talked to just about everyone—about sports, about the TV industry, about living in the desert. But Lars had been true to his word. No one brought up the crash.

  With the coming night, people started leaving until the only guests left were Wes, Anna, Jenks, and Wasserman. Wes had tried several times to get Lars alone again, but his friend was always in the middle of playing host. Wes wanted to finish the conversation they’d started in the kitchen, but it looked like that just wasn’t going to happen, so he walked over to Anna. “Want to head back to the motel?”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

  Lars was sitting by the grill, a nearly empty bottle of beer by his feet. “You guys leaving?”

  “I think so,” Wes said.

  Lars pushed himself out of the chair, then grabbed on to Wes’s arm as he found his balance. “I’m glad you could come.”

  “Wes.” Jenks walked over from where he’d been poking at the remains in the potato chip bowl. “I was hoping to talk to you a little bit more about your job before you left.” He leaned forward and added in a whisper they could all hear, “Not going to be in the Navy forever.”

  “Maybe some other time,” Wes said.

  “How do you get into something like that?” Jenks asked. “I mean, I assume you have to know someone, right?”

  “It helps.”

  “I do some camera work on the base sometimes. Training stuff, that kind of thing. I was thinking there might be some online classes I could take to learn the more advanced techniques.”

  “I’m sure there are. I’m just not familiar with any.”

  Wes put a hand on Anna’s back, but before he could start for the door, Jenks grabbed him gently by the arm.

  “Do you know anyone who might know?” Jenks asked.

  Wes forced a smile. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll do some checking, then email what I find out to Lars. That sound okay?”

  Jenks glanced past Wes, then said, “Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  Jenks held out his hand. “It was great meeting both of you.”

  Wasserman had been on his phone near the sliding glass door, but when he saw Wes and Anna talking with Jenks, he put his hand over the receiver and approached them.

  “Leaving already?” he said.

  “Been a long day,” Wes said.

  “Come on,” Wasserman said. “It’s Saturday and it’s still early. One more beer won’t kill you.” He stepped over to the tub and pulled out a wet bottle.

  “They’re tired,” Lars insisted.

  Wasserman dropped the bottle back in the container. “Only wanted to make sure they had a good time, Lieutenant Commander.”

  “We had a great time,” Wes said.

  Lars slid open the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

  Streetlights lit up the cul-de-sac, giving it that comfortable, neighborhoody feel. As they neared his bike, Wes said, “I’d still like to talk.”

  “Sure, come by before you leave town and we can catch up. Just the two of us.”

  “I mean about what we were discussing earlier. The crash.”

  Lars closed his eyes and shook his head. “Wes, come on. We’ve already—”

  “If what I have to show you doesn’t sway you, I promise I’ll let it go.”

  Lars thought for a moment. “You promise?”

  “Yes. I promise,” Wes said.

  “Okay.” He took a quick glance back at the house. “How about tomorrow? You’re not working, right?”

  “Not working.”

  “Good. We can go for a drive,” Lars said. “I can pick you up at your motel around two.”

  “That sounds good,” Wes said, then he and Anna climbed onto the bike. “Thanks.”

  He told Anna to hold on, then he swung the Triumph around and onto the street.

  It was a beautiful night, the evening air warm but pleasant, so Wes decided to take the long way back to the motel. For the first few blocks, it was bliss, then suddenl
y a dark coupe turned onto the road in front of them. Wes switched lanes and attempted to go around it, but had to quickly back off when the coupe mirrored his movement, in an unsettling reminder that other vehicles often didn’t see motorcycles.

  He eased the Triumph into the right lane and increased his speed.

  The coupe pulled in front of him again.

  “Come on,” Wes said.

  He could feel Anna glancing over his shoulder.

  Instead of once more trying to get around the coupe, Wes decided to be rid of it completely. At the next block he turned right, then drove rapidly down to the stop sign and turned left, heading once more toward Inyokern Road.

  He was nearly at the end of the block when the coupe raced into the next intersection, sliding sideways as it turned toward him.

  “Wes, be careful!” Anna yelled.

  As soon as the coupe had finished the turn, its engine roared and the vehicle all but leapt toward them.

  Stopping wasn’t an option. The only thing Wes could do to avoid being struck was to veer into the open field to his right.

  “Grab on tight!” he shouted, then took the bike off the road.

  The Triumph jumped and bounced on the uneven ground so much that Wes thought for a second he was going to lose it. But by some miracle he was able to maintain control and get them back onto the asphalt.

  Behind them tires squealed loudly.

  Wes glanced quickly over his shoulder and saw the coupe spinning back around so it could make another run at them.

  “Who is that?” Anna asked.

  Wes had no idea, and he was too busy figuring out what to do next to answer her.

  He took a hard right, and accelerated as fast as possible.

  The coupe turned onto the road behind them. A glance back told Wes the car wasn’t going fast enough to close the gap between them, but it wasn’t letting up, either.

  Wes had worked on enough true-crime shows to know exactly what he needed to do. Don’t stop until you get to the police station. That meant getting down to China Lake Boulevard and heading back across town.

  But at Norma Street he hit a Ridgecrest traffic jam—five cars all traveling in the lane he wanted to get into. He angled the bike sharply to the right and jumped it up onto the sidewalk. Anna squeezed him tightly, but remained silent.

  The nearest car was pacing him, while the car behind it was in tailgate mode. The only space available was a small gap in front of the car beside him. Wes increased his speed, then flew off the short curb and shot into the opening. The trailing car honked several times, but before the horn cut out, the Triumph was already in the middle lane and speeding away.