David Levien [Levien - Where the Dead Lay

WHERE THE DEAD LAY

David Levien

ALSOBY DAVID LEVIEN

Cityof the Sun

Wormwood

Swagbelly:A Novel for Todays Gentleman

ToBrian Koppelman,

agreat friend

ONE

Themorning was gray, and a cool that wouldnt last. Frank Behrsteered his Toronado across East Prospect and appreciated the emptystreets at 5:45 A.M. His neck still throbbed from a guillotine chokehe had barely escaped a day ago, and he was having trouble turninghis head to the left, but at this hour the city was his. He had ajump on the world, and that felt good. As he drove, he tried to leavehis mind distant and unfocused. Better not to dwell on the soft bedhed just left, or on the physical challenge that loomed.

Pummeling,clinches, fire feet and sprawl drills, takedowns, guard escapes, andtechnique work. Topped off by lunge walks with a hundred-pound groundand pound bag on his shoulder. It was enough to cause a replay oflast nights dinner, and that was just for openers, before theybegan to roll, which was what they called sparring atAurelio Santoss Brazilian Jiu-jitsu Academy.

Behrcut right on Sherman. There wasnt much traffic, but whatevercars were out at this hour would be along 74, so he avoided it. Behrtrained alone with Aurelio himself, and because of that he made damnsure he was on time for their six A.M. starts. It was a matter ofrespect. Behr had tried the normal group classes in the evenings atthe academy, but leaving the hardest thing of the day until the endwas exactly the opposite of how it worked for him now. The specter ofit tended to hang over his entire day. It was a concession to hisage, he figured, which was a little chunk on the wrong side of forty,but nowadays he needed to clear the physical effort first.

Aureliocharged him the regular fee of a hundred and fifty bucks a monthdespite the private lessons that should have cost that much per hour.For that, Behr figured, he owed Aurelio plenty. He had to consider,though, that it might not be a straight-up favor. Behr had a habit ofaccidentally breaking people. Six foot plenty and two-fortyish was ahandful for the recreational martial arts practitioner, and Behr hadcaused some unintentional injuries to various training partnersduring the decade and a half hed studied karate, boxing, andkickboxing before taking up jiu-jitsu. Regular-sized, civilized,often white-collar folk, plying techniques on someone of his mass anddimension, tended to lose faith in a system when the moves suddenlydidnt work. Even those of a much higher belt rank werentimmune. It wasnt unheard of for someone to quit outright andnot come back after practicing with him. Plain and simple, Frank Behrcould be bad for business. Maybe Aurelio had gamed that out.

Behrhit a string of green lights along Campbell, letting the big cardrift around some potholes, and then steered toward the academy onCumberland. He felt it before he saw it, as he rounded the corner andclicked his right-turn blinker: there was too much activity in theparking lot, which shouldve been quiet. His eyes zeroed on apair of patrol cars, done up in graphite and black, the color schemefor Indianapolis Metro PD since the consolidation with the SheriffsDepartment, which still wasnt the norm in his mind after allthose years of taupe and brown. There was also an ambulance in thelot. The ambulance had its flashers on, no siren. The patrol carswere split and parked in a wedge, one directly in front of theacademy, the other at the door of the neighboring check-cashingestablishment.

Thatdoesnt make much sense, Behr thought, as he pulled in andparked and saw that the metal grate over the door to the check-cashplace was securely closed and the lights turned off. Then his eyesfound the door to the studio, which was swung wide open.

Whothe hell robs a martial arts school? he wondered. That is no kind ofscore. Anyone whos ever been inside one could guess the officewould contain only disorganized paperwork, out-of-date liabilitywaivers, moldy addresses, and instead of a safe to break theredbe a petty cash envelope holding fifty dollars maximum. Not evenworth the trouble.

Maybesomebody hit the studio hoping to go through the wall into thecheck-cashing place, Behr considered, shutting off his car.

Ifthat was the case, and Aurelio had arrived to discover a thief withthe bad fortune to not be finished Well, Behr supposed, thatwould explain the ambulance. He opened the car door. He wore sweatsover shorts and a rash-guard top and automatically grabbed for hisgear bag, which contained mouthpiece, towel, and dry clothes forafter, and walked toward the studio. No workout today, it occurred tohim, knowing too well how long the bullshit paperwork with the copswould drag on, until the morning class started to arrive. Then hisexperience reminded him that burglaries didnt happen at sixA.M. very often. He quickened his pace.

Theair inside the academy was thick with it. It was unmistakable. Behrstepped through the door and saw it in tableau. Two EMTs sat back ontheir haunches, idle and staring at the walls. A pair of cops stood,arms crossed, heads down. Silence. Between them, on the ground, wasAurelio, his face and skull blown away from his neck like a snappedoff match head. Dark blood spattered the blue mat. The once supremelypowerful and intelligent body lay there, simply turned off, now justa pile of bone, sinew, and other dumb tissue.

Behredged closer. What stared up at him from the ground made him go cold:death, still and final. He felt his stomach knot and threaten to turnover. He bit back on it hard and held his mud. It was the least he,the living, could do.

Then,even as he stood there, stunned, not saying a word, his eyes began towork, undirected. Aurelios fists were clenched, the knucklesraised and purpled, as to be expected after his fourteen-year mixedmartial arts career. There were damp patches on the mat. Water orsweat? The few pieces of furniture in the studio chairs and atablewere upturned. A chunk of drywall was caved in. Onanother wall were a few small, round holes, buckshot pellets lodgedin them. The blood streak on the mat grew chunky with solid matter asit neared and stopped at the body.

Itcame together in an instinctive rush in his mind: Aurelio had beenshotgunned under the palate. It had been an interrogation finished byan execution, but not before a struggle. No two men hed evermet couldve held Aurelio down. A gun changed any equation, tobe sure, but Behrs gut reaction was that there had to havebeen three, at least. The body had been dragged a distance, but thenabandoned.

Ah,goddammit, he breathed. It just slipped out. Behr cursedhimself for the words. He could have used an extra few seconds totake in the details.

Butnow one of the cops turned to him, Regan printed on hisnameplate. This is a crime scene. You cant be here. Whoare you? The kid in uniform was blond, maybe twenty-five, buthis blue eyes were already going flat and probably only lit when hisson or daughter was around. It was what happened.

FrankBehr. I train here.

Behr.You used to be over on the Near Northside? the other cop, adark-haired, dark-eyed thirty-year-old said. His tag read Dominic.My uncle Mikes said your name.

Thatsright. A while back, Behr said, and tried to think. Howdthe call come in? They gave him the courtesy.

Breadtruck delivery driver went by on Cumberland. He saw a flash in thewindow. Didnt think much of it at first, but it stayed withhim enough to call nine-one-one farther on along his route,Regan said.

Dontsuppose he saw anybody or any cars in front? Behr wondered.

Nah.Course not. Detectives are on the way to question him anyway.

Youknow this? the second cop asked, gesturing to the body.

Behrbristled, but nodded. Aurelio Santos.