The Pendleton Omens - 15. Chapter 15

Monday was another day of phone calls and e-mail monitoring. I started with Scoot’s cell phone company, going to the office just down the block on Ventura. I figured if I looked like a cop and had a cop’s ID, it would be a lot easier to get someone to look at Scoot’s records than if I tried to prove who I was by phone. Plus, I had the advantage of being his dad.

“I don’t need to see the records,” I told the girl behind the counter. “At least, not at first. If you tell me he’s using the phone, then I’ll get the proper paperwork to see where he is.”

“He’s not using it,” the girl almost apologized, immediately. “He hasn’t been using it all month.”

On the way back to the apartment, I stopped at Scoot’s bank and repeated my routine. One of his credit cards came from the bank and was tied to his ATM card. But neither had been used since the statement I’d seen. Getting the same information on his other credit cards was trickier because I had to do it by phone. That meant the companies had to call Elena in Waldron to vouch for who I was. She got Owen involved at one point, and he nicely backed me up. But when I asked to thank him, Elena said he was busy.

That didn’t bother me as much as Scoot not using his credit cards. It would have been the easiest way to find him, and I’d almost depended on that. Early afternoon, after another three hours of calls, I faced the chance that Scoot had gotten into an accident. Clearly, not in his own car, but he could have been with friends. I doubted this. Someone would have called. But the police station was just up Van Nuys, so I went to check with them.

These guys were as friendly as the ones in West Hollywood, and they asked why in hell I’d stay in a place as cold as Massachusetts. “We’re always hiring,” they said. “Experience helps.”

“But why are you always hiring?” I joked. “Because guys are always quitting?”

They laughed and would have given me anything I needed. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be had.

Before I left, I had another thought, completely unlikely. What if Scoot had gotten into a fight? Or been picked up for drinking or drugs? What if it was something he was too embarrassed to tell anyone about? I had the guys check his records, but there was no sign of him in their system.

“What if it was in Mexico?” I asked.

“Kiss his ass goodbye,” one of them cracked.

“Seriously.”

“Seriously, I don’t know what to tell you. We can try and check it, but a lot of their guys are completely disorganized. Or corrupt. He could be sitting in some buttfuck town jail and no one would ever know. That could happen in the States, too, but he’d have to be way out in the sticks.”

It could happen anywhere, I supposed. But if Scoot was on location, working for someone, so with no personal expenses, some boss would have called.

And what if he was traveling and a local plane crashed? Or a bus went over the side of a road. A ferry sank. A train wrecked. It was too depressing to consider, and I was frustrated that I wasn’t going any faster. I’d warned Sharon. I’d told her what to expect. But I really thought I’d find Scoot and be back on a plane Monday night.

I still figured the answer was in his computers, and I thought about loading everything onto his laptop and taking that back to Massachusetts. I could work from my dining table.

Well, my former dining table. The one I’d used as a desk in my apartment. I’d have to find a new base at Noah’s, and I was looking forward to having more space.

“This place is so small,” Jamie had said, when she’d seen my apartment.

“It’s not like I’ll ever ask someone up here,” I’d told her. “I’d be a fool to have sex ten feet from the station.”

“Then why did you pick here?”

She didn’t have any trouble with my having sex. She probably never had problems imagining Sharon and me having it, either.

“I took it ‘cause it’s convenient,” I’d said. “And ‘cause it came furnished.” But I also knew it would keep me out of trouble.”

Looking around Scoot’s place, it seemed any money he spent after Carla left had mainly gone into equipment. I’d been using his laptop steadily, while his other computers sat dozing. But their lights were on. They hummed. And if I even brushed against a mouse, an image would pop onto their screens. Still, after a quick search, I knew to stay away from the heavyweight stuff. Scoot used these machines for business and editing, and the programs were out of my range

He’d tried to show me some of them. How they worked with his cameras. How he’d edit. He could also animate a bit – “But that software changes faster than I can keep up” – and when his computers stopped sleeping, their desktops were covered with icons. I carefully clicked on each one, and each started a different piece of a film. Twenty seconds of a interview. Dozens of unconnected images. Clearly parts of longer projects.

“What’s film and what’s video these days?” I’d asked him.

“It’s all images, Dad. It doesn’t matter what medium.”

I’d thought that. Occasionally, he’d send Sharon, Jamie, and me his latest DVDs: Various length documentaries. Not work he’d done for hire.

“Hoping to find distribution,” his enclosed notes often said. “Humping for grants.”

“You still enjoy this?” I’d asked on the phone.

“Oh, yeah.”

So though I was interested in seeing what he’d done, I had work to do, and I went back to calling. I’d made my own breakfast, stopped at the Middle Eastern place for lunch, and planned on having dinner with Amy. She was working days this week, but had Monday and Tuesday off.

“If I don’t get called,” she warned.

“There a chance of that happening?”

“Always. And I can’t say ‘No.’”

I told her I’d drive to Santa Monica. I needed to get out and wanted to continue my exploring. The directions didn’t looked too hard, and I told her seven-thirty.

“At that hour, give yourself plenty of time.”

I did, then had too much of it. I’d hit a pocket of no traffic, except slightly south of the Getty, so I walked along the nearly dark beach. The water was cold, and I couldn’t imagine putting more than my fingers in it.

“Know where I am?” I asked Noah on the phone.

“Want me to guess?”

“Can you hear anything?” I held the phone out so he could listen. “Well?” I asked.

“Birds?”

“Seagulls.”

“You hanging out with movie stars in Malibu?”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

“Well, don’t catch anything.”

I called Sharon and played the same game. Then I gave her my daily report.

“Where could he be?” she asked. “Why wouldn’t he let someone know?”

“I can’t tell you yet. But I’m working on it.”

Over dinner, Amy asked pretty much the same questions. She took me to another casual place near the beach, called Jake and Annie’s, and we slowly ate. “Want to go to a movie?” she asked when we were done.

“Sure.”

She picked it – some indie film I didn’t much like. But I didn’t tell her.

“That’s something Scoot would have torn apart,” she admitted over coffee.

“Why?”

“Mostly sloppiness. Not in the tech work. That was fine. But the thinking.”

“He likes taking things apart,” I agreed. “Always has.”

“He constantly analyzes.”

“Have you seen any of his friends?” I asked, drifting our talk back to work

“I’ve tried. But now that I’m off, they’re working. And I know more about them than actually know them. Scoot was always telling me stories – about people like Zak and Carla.”

“So you know about her?”

“Yes.” But she didn’t go on.

“My wife spoke with her,” I said. “And I sent an e-mail. She sent back a kind of vague reply.”

Amy laughed. “I think she’s pretty pissed at Scoot right now. For having a girlfriend when she’s still alone. But he said that will pass.”

“So you’re not worried about them getting back together?”

I’d spoken lightly, but her answer was serious.

“I’m not sure how I feel right now. The first week, I was so busy, I barely noticed he was gone. When I did, I missed him. The second week, I started feeling a little hurt when he didn’t call back, and that’s when I called your wife. It made me feel better that someone else didn’t know where he was. Now that we know he’s missing, I’m feeling differently.”

“It only takes ten days to break a habit,” I said.

“What?”

“Something I think they tell smokers. I’ve never tested it.”

Though talking about Carla made me wonder if Scoot was with her. Carla’s conversation with Sharon could have been a cover, along with her e-mail to me. Though I thought if Scoot knew everyone was looking for him, he’d never let that go on.

I dropped Amy at her apartment but didn’t go in. West Hollywood wasn’t on my way back to Scoot’s but was an easy detour. After dinner, a movie, and coffee, I just wanted to look at guys for a half hour.

Five minutes after I’d settled at the bar of the place I’d liked best, the guy I’d seen the night before found me. He grinned. We hadn’t talked, so I didn’t know his name. But he quickly told me it was Greg.

“Don.”

“How you doing?”

“Fine,” I said.

“I saw you last night.”

“I remember.”

“Did we say anything?”

I shook my head. “I was trying not to waste your time,” I leveled. “I’m married.”

There. It was out, and I was relieved. But I also knew it was a test I’d used before.

“Happens,” he said, grinning again.

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m not looking to get married. Not tonight. And I like straight guys.”

Now what I used to do from that point on was very different from what I was presently doing. Before, there was Sharon, and I didn’t have quite what I wanted. Now I had Noah.

So what the hell was I after?

“Relax,” Greg said, misreading my mood.

I laughed. “This is as relaxed as I get.”

He laughed. “That’s why I like straight guys. All that guilt.”

“Makes it hotter?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes, I just like to strip ‘em and lie next to ‘em. Watch them stew. We don’t even need to fuck.”

“Nasty.”

“Nah,” he bantered. “They couldn’t be happier. They’re always hard and then they go home guilt-free. Knowing they didn’t really do anything.”

“I wouldn’t let you pull that.”

“Maybe not this time.”

I laughed. “There wouldn’t another.”

“Now you’re getting me hard.”

I refused to look.

“How long are you in town?” he went on.

“What makes you think I’m traveling?”

He tugged at the neck of my sweater then let it spring back.

“Yeah, well,” I said, smiling. And he was charmed.

“I live just around the corner,” he offered. “Or would you feel safer at your hotel?”

“My wife could be there.”

“You’re traveling alone. If you had to check in with her, you’d have been asleep hours ago.”

“You’ve got me all figured out.”

He smiled and with one finger gently pulled down the collar of my T-shirt. “Just wanted to see if you had hair. East Coast guys are bright enough not to shave.”

“I never said ‘East Coast.’”

“But you’re from there.”

“Yeah... Massachusetts.”

“I don’t know it.”

“Why do West Coast guys shave their chests?” I asked, mainly to keep up my end.

“Why does anyone? They want to look like boys.”

“Do you?”

It was a stupid move, one I knew enough not to make, and he didn’t let it by.

“I never had much hair to start with,” he said, stretching down his own T-shirt. Then he left it there. When I laughed, he let it go.

“I can see why guys like you,” I allowed. “You’re very friendly.”

“It won’t buy me a drink.”

“You want one?”

“I’ve had mine.”

“Want another?”

“No.”

And for maybe a half-minute, we studied each other. Silent, he had control.

“So what did you see down there?” I asked, grinning. “Under my sweater?”

“Too many clothes. You must be roasting.”

“Just because you’re hot?”

He grinned, thinking it was a compliment.

“I meant sweating,” I corrected.

It didn’t stop his smile. And didn’t give me time to figure out why I was flirting. But it had to end.

“Now I’m gonna disappoint you,” I said, more honestly. “Don’t take it personally, but I’m really not interested.”

He laughed. “It’s always personal.”

“I’m just wanted to sightsee for twenty minutes. Relax. On home ground. With no surprises.”

“I can relax you in ten. With one surprise.”

“I’m sure of that.”

“You don’t even have to take off your clothes.”

“Now what would you get out of that?”

He stared like I was a fool.

“Okay,” I said, grinning. “But I’m weird that way. I like my clothes off.”

He watched me. Then smiled. Then shrugged. I didn’t blink.

“Another night,” he decided. But he didn’t leave.

“Good meeting you,” I said, getting up. I offered my hand, in my stiff East Coast way, and we shook, firmly. But flirting with him had just made me more sure of Noah.

“I’m not in here every night,” he almost warned, as I headed out. “On slow nights, yeah. I stop in around closing.”

“Slows nights?” I asked. “This is hopping for Springfield.”

He laughed. “Weekends, you can’t even get in. I stay home with friends.”

A nice, ordinary guy.

“Take care,” I told him.

“You, too.” Though his eyes wouldn’t let go.

So I left.

As it happened, it was too bad I’d stayed out so long. Because when I got back to Scoot’s, there was a message on the answering machine. And it was too late to return the call.

“Hi, this is for Don Burris, Scoot Burris’s father. My name is Julie Kent. You sent me an e-mail. Scoot sometimes works for my production company, but I’m sorry to say I don’t know where he is right now. But I know a lot of people in the business. They might be able to help. Please call me when you have a chance.”

It was nearly two AM. I’d have to wait till nine. Also, she didn’t leave her number, meaning she thought I had it. My notes said I’d sent her an e-mail, and when she didn’t reply, I’d left a follow-up phone message.

Listening to her call again, I realized it came in right after I’d left for Amy’s. I’d been fucking off when I should have been chasing down Scoot.

I set the alarm for eight though I knew I wouldn’t need it. I’d be lucky to fall asleep.