Michael, Antoinette, and Me

 

 

Part Twenty

 

Tom Thomas hurried to his feet behind the desk, flipping his blue jacket from the back of his chair. “Eh, Toby. Hi.”

“Indians?”

“I don’t know anything about Indians.” He worked into his jacket.

“Wrong question, Mr. Thomas. You should have asked, What Indians?”

“Eh, well –”

“When my title search comes back, am I going to find your name, maybe a relative’s in the paperwork?”

“You’ve got to understand –”

“I understand you tried to dump the property on who you thought was an innocent child.”

His face became flush. “My brother.”

“You didn’t advise him to do a title search?” I rolled my eyes.

“He wanted to be a big shot wheeler dealer. Some quick talking salesman hypnotized him.”

“Motivated seller. You really should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Well, I’m not proud. He dumped his life savings –”

“What did he pay?”

“The exact amount? I’m not sure.”

“Get me a number. What he paid, expenses. Maybe, that is maybe I’ll take it off his hands.”

“I can –”

“In the meantime, I want to buy in the neighborhood. I like the other side of town. I saw a for sale sign on Elm, and a vacant house on Newton, 1500 block.”

“There’s a house on Newton, yard not large, but a detached garage. Not for sale, renters in it now. Owner’s falling behind. The bank’s going to take it. Once that happens, you might be able to snatch it up for outstanding mortgage and back taxes. I’ve had my eye on it as an investment.”

“1317?”

“Oh, you saw it.”

“I have a client on the next block.”

“Client?”

“Lawn care.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll have my lawyer contact the owner.”

“I’ll get you the information.”

“I know the owner. Maybe I’ll contact the bank instead. I read banks don’t like to own houses.”

“Foreclosures are not moneymakers.”

“This fast-talking salesman who fucked your brother. Was his name Gus?”

“Gus Avery. He was involved in settling the estate. You know him, too?”

“Know him? No. Met him briefly once.” I wondered just how Avery fucked my father because that’s how the universe works sometimes.

 

Charlotte pawed at the dress. “Toby. Why? You can’t wear this.”

“I know. It’s needs to be taken in a couple of miles.”

“Not just that.” She pushed the fabric at my face. “Look at this hem! Look at it!”

I crossed my eyes.

“Why did you buy it? Do you have an emergency event tonight or something?”

“I didn’t mean to buy it. I liked the women selling it and had to buy something so’s not to come off creepy.”

She rolled her eyes behind her. “Well, let’s get it on you. I’ll salvage something from it.”

“I really do love you, Charlotte.”

She blushed, looking at the counter. “I know. I love all you guys, which is why I don’t want to dress you in rags like this.”

“Should I just throw it away?”

“Toby. If you like the color and the style, I’ll fix it.”

“Drop the collar?”

“Raise the hem. Yes, we can do all that.”

“Can I get pants to match my tuxedo? You don’t have to make them.”

“For?”

“A wedding.”

“Who’s getting married?”

“I don’t know. I’ll be working it. It seems people think me being a photographer’s assistant a good idea.”

“Marcy Jones?”

“She would be those people.”

“I agree. You’ll be better in pants. Marcy’s a mess of fun, but a taskmaster.”

“She said as cute as I was in the skirt up to my ass, the rule is never to upstage the bride or groom.”

“Professional, not flashy. You want to be invisible.”

I nodded. “My superpower.”

 

“Thanks,” Jessica said, dropping behind the steering wheel of her green MG, the black top down.

“For what, specifically?”

“In this moment, for allowing me to steal you.”

“I can use the break. Michelle and I have been working sunup to sundown trying to catch up. When I decided to open a lawn business, my entire plan was to get a mower, cut grass.”

She engaged the engine, moving away from the curb. “More to it, huh?”

“Much, much more.” Just for an instant, I wished I had my hair back to dance in the wind. “A lifetime ago, when I saw this car in front of my house, well, Bill’s house –”

“Up the street.”

“Well, yeah. Weird. I thought I could just march right up to the car and demand a ride from the driver.”

“Why? I mean, I don’t follow.”

“I thought the car cute.”

“I did give you a ride.”

“Not a joyride like this. I’m assuming this is a joyride.”

“Yes and no. Mostly yes.”

“There’s always business. When I went to ground, the entirety of my business plan was to lounge in my fake La-Z-Boy reading all day, depositing money from my fake business into my bank account.

“I’m only fifteen, Jessica. I should be doing kid stuff, you know.”

“When I was fifteen, I was knocking down eighteen-hour days.”

“Can’t give me an inch of pity party.”

“You don’t wear it well.”

“I know.

 

An hour and change of watching cloud-spattered blue sky, rolling landscapes, and Jessica’s profile, her legs clad in blue jeans working clutch and gas, her hand with the fingers that were almost not inside me working the gear shift, the MG coasted from the almost not-a-road, sinking among mostly maple trees and a few majestic elms.

The reality I had no idea where we were hit me like a bucket of cold water. I relaxed into the rare trust. Besides, the trunk was much too small to hold a shovel. My door opened.

“We’re here.”

I didn’t bother with the obvious Where is here, struggling from the car. “No easy way wearing a dress.”

“There isn’t. This way.”

Jessica, a wicker basket looped on her right arm, a blue plaid wool blanket over her shoulder, led me fifty yards, the landscape breaking into steep decline revealing an incredible vista. Setting the basket to the grass, she waved the blanket, the blanket floating to the ground.

“What do you think?”

“Jessica, I know I said maybe dinner, but I was kidding.”

She laughed, making me wish I wasn’t kidding.

“This is lunch, not dinner.” She presented the landscape. “What do you think of this?”

I clocked 360 degrees, stopping, the sun raking through the trees. “I want to dance. Naked.”

Jessica dropped to her knees on the blanket, fishing in the basket. “A childhood favorite of mine. Simple times of dreams and kittens, fairy tales and princesses. Before all innocence died a brutal death in a fiery crash.”

Fluffing my white A-line dress, I sat on my legs. “God, Jessica, I am so in love with you in this moment. Shall we romantic at each other until we burn the forest down?”

“No. We shan’t. Ham, cheese, crustless white bread, touch of mayonnaise.”

I accepted the sandwich. “Simple times, indeed.”

Nibbling, she sighed. “John Goldman.”

I nodded, recognizing a prelude.

“You broke his heart.”

“I know. Again. Damn Indians. Such fire in his love. I fell in love with his love. I’ve not given up –”

“Ours is a relationship beyond the words, not of this reality.”

“Trust me when I say I understand.”

“I was greedy, all these years. I let him have her, Mary, so that I could have innocent times, moments stolen from life.”

“I’d think the responsibility is his, not just yours.”

“In any event, here we are. Most of his life tied up in something not real.”

“There is absolutely nothing not real about a dream, a wish, a fairy tale. Can you say the linen closet didn’t happen because we can never be those two people in that moment ever again? Sometimes, Jessica, alone in my dark imaginings, I steady myself and watch us there, like in a soap bubble balanced on my fingers.

“You cannot sit there and tell me the dream is not real.”

“The bubble bursts. I then doubt what was real, what was a dream.”

“I’m here to tell you between the two, it doesn’t matter.”

She nodded. “When it’s gone, it hurts just a much, real or not.”

Her eyes dropped from my face. “Are you wearing silk?”

“Stop that. As it is, my ability to say no is dying a tragic death out there well beyond where the words can walk.”

“Good to know.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Since you’re not going to volunteer –”

She twisted her face as if she’d bitten hard into a ripe lemon. “It’s not like he hit me.”

“Of course not. Which one?”

“Oh, Jake. My father never hits me where it will show. Something he learned when I was your age. He wanted sex, I didn’t. He got me by the hair, let go, I bounced off the doorjamb. Did you just growl?”

“Sorry.”

“I should have just let him have it. I know better.”

I rolled my eyes so hard, I thought they’d get stuck. “Because boys will be boys and the best we can do is take it. Quit. Don’t wait. Walk away now. Slip away in the dark of night or make a grand announcement at a family dinner, which would be both cliché and corny.”

“I couldn’t possibly –”

“I’ll kill them, then. You do know John’s considered just that? The only thing making him hesitate is the number of bodies he’d have to drop. I’m not afraid of numbers.”

“I can’t tell you’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t kill anybody on my behalf.”

I shrugged. “Sometimes that’s the way the universe works.

“I’m fantasy fucking girl. How about this, then. Quit. Be my project manager on the restaurant renovation. John won’t mind, more time with you. You can do all the heavy lifting, John can step back, make it more like a hobby. Pay yourself what you need. I’ve got another bag if you’d rather cash.”

She closed her eyes.

“You can come cut grass with me.”

Jessica laughed.

I shrugged. “I have no problem closing any door I feel needs closing.”

“Walking away isn’t that easy.”

“I was reading just the other day. The universe gives us what we hand out. I’m not afraid to be the instrument of the universe where Jake’s concerned.”

“Toby, really.”

“Fantasy girl’s opened the door. All you need do is walk through it.”

“The idea is overwhelming. I have much to consider.”

“So was opening your own restaurant and here we are, just months away.”

“Here we are.”

“I’m wearing silk underwear, my ability to say not is a memory. Tell me the truth: When Jake raped you, did he cum inside you?”

“Toby! He did not rape me.”

“Semantics. Difference of opinion. I say he raped you and you’re wrong.”

Jessica bit her lip, nodding.

“Eww. At least now I can say no.”

“I really don’t like men.”

“I do understand, better not to suffer the slings and arrows of a cruel society.” I symbolically looked around. “Why are we here? I don’t mean that as an existential question to open a discussion.”

“Fifteen years old going on fifty.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m buying this.”

“This? Property?”

“Yes.”

“You’re building John’s house.”

“I am.”

“Widow’s walk?”

“Yeah, we’re keeping that. I love the idea.”

Because, sometimes, that’s the way the universe works.

 

After two weeks of denim coveralls and sweating, I felt on top of current obligations, declining most new work, unable to turn down people who couldn’t do the work themselves. I wanted to meet with Serling and Stenholm. I not only couldn’t find the time, I didn’t want to find the time, enjoying a calm bliss of hard work and long days.

“Lauren,” I greeted the bank teller, passing the stack of money along with a few checks.

“Toby, hi. Another good week, I see.”

“Always.”

Lauren, mid-twenties, was likeable, always happy to see me, which I didn’t discount as Sally-ing. Her straw-blonde hair, not her natural color, was always neat, circling her head into a perfect ponytail. I was sure Mr. Blanc would approve. Her face was Germanic, a pleasing pasty like raw cookie dough, brown eyes sharp, her eyelids with just a hint of tan shadow, her lashes brought out with black mascara.

I liked the way she dressed, angular business dresses in primary colors. I appreciated what Michelle said about a job where she could always wear dresses.

“Will there be anything else,” Lauren asked.

With just a little lip biting, I asked, “Is there a person in charge of houses?”

“In charge of houses?”

“Mortgages. Like that.”

Her small hands on the counter, she leaned back looking down a hallway. “Sure. Looks like he’s not busy. Want me to introduce you?”

I shadowed her, Lauren opening a door, leading.

I thought the Allow me to present Antoinette Blanc a bit much. I’ve never felt like a present kind of person.

Jacob Bancroft hurried to his feet, meeting me in front of his desk, his hand dwarfing mine, his slate gray eyes holding me in place, pleased to meet me, carefully repeating Antoinette Blanc. His dark blue suit was not off-the-rack, sky-blue silk tie. Looking down on me, he asked, “What can I do for you today?”

I freed my hand, stepping back.

A good read of people, he also retreated.

“I hear you’re holding, I mean the bank is holding, the paper on 1317 Newton.”

Stepping around me, he closed the door, turning.

Anxiety ripping across my soul, I pivoted, investing all my force of will on my poker face.

“Idle curiosity?” His right rich brown eyebrow, color of his close-cropped hair, waved like a caterpillar as he leaned toward me slightly.

“Maybe I want to take it off your hands.”

He narrowed his eyes, clearly discounting me. “There are procedures that must be followed.”

“Oh, and all this time I thought it no different from buying a new pair of shoes, in this case, a used pair of shoes at the church thrift store. Maybe I’d do better going home, frying an egg or something in the kitchen, have my lawyer come talk to you about these procedures.”

“I did not mean to –”

“Oh, yes you did.”

He returned to his desk, sitting, watching up on me. “Would you care to take a chair?”

“I would not.”

He took a long moment and a deep breath. “What is your interest in the property?”

“Does that matter?”

“I guess not.”

“Idle curiosity?”

I thought he should have growled.

“We’re running into a briar patch. I’ll need to get you prequalified.”

“Oh, for the love of god. We’re having a conversation not founding a new nation. I could drop $40,000 on this desk within an hour if I wished to.”

“Well, Miss –”

“Call me Toby. Let me back up to the train station and ask it this way: Are you a liar, a thief, and a con man like Gus Avery or otherwise in cahoots with him?”

“I am not!”

“A simple no would do. Shouting makes me think otherwise. I ask because I have no idea what I’m going to find in this briar patch of yours.”

He winced, better than giving me that Well, I never face. “The owner got in trouble,” he said as if thinking aloud. “The realtor did a little dance, generated fees, drained the principal, complicating any possible sale, which has tied up the property.”

“Robbing the indigent has to be some kind of major crime.”

“I only wish there were something illegal –”

“When you say any sale is complicated, you mean the buyer’s going to take it on the chin.”

“That’s a good way to put it.”

I didn't particularly like the house I grew up in. The house had three bedrooms upstairs, a full and a half bath, living room with fireplace, fenced yard going back fifty feet, detached garage, wraparound porch. The thought of buying the house intrigued, even excited me as if I were proving something.

I didn’t know to whom.

“Do you, I mean the bank, hold the paper on the cabstand a few blocks down?”

“Eh, ah, it just so happens –”

“I’m not a spiritualist who does readings but let me take a wild guess Gus Avery was involved in that sale, too.”

“I never mentioned –”

“You didn’t have to. Is that a yes?”

“He did handle the sale, yes.”

“1317 Newton. When do you file?”

“File?”

“Foreclosure.”

“Eh, a month?”

I fished in my light red suede bag, producing my checkbook and a pen, stepping forward. “How much to get a couple of month execution stay?”

Looking up at me, he blinked repeatedly.

“I can make a couple of mortgage payments, can’t I? Would you prefer cash?”

He accepted my check. Like my mother’s rent, the mortgage payment was shockingly low in the light of the money Bill Locke routinely rained down on me. Locke did not live in the same world as regular people.

“So much for closing doors, leaving them shut,” I said aloud, pushing the bank door open, realizing I wanted to buy the house I grew up in simply because I could, with the bonus of fucking with my father and his good friend, Gus Avery.

 

Two blocks from my apartment complex, I brought my bike to a sharp stop. “No flat tire?”

“Spare’s flat,” Inspector Joe Bradley answered, leaning back on his car.

“You’ve not fixed it yet? I can recommend a shop.”

“I just don’t get around to shit.”

“I did expect to see you much sooner.”

“I hid under my desk for a couple of days.”

“I’m in your debt, Joe. I can’t say that about many people. I told you I’d not rat. I figured you’d not drop a dime on me because you signed off on my death. There’s another serious favor.”

“Did you kill her, them?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. Too sloppy.”

“I’ll take that compliment. My turn. Do you work for Bill Locke?”

“No.”

“Do you take his money for services rendered?”

“That’s a different question.”

“No, it’s not.”

“That night, my uncle.”

“Old Detective.”

“Yeah, OK. He worked for Locke. He said we were going to prank you. He drinks, maybe too much. Locke’s had his hooks in him for a long time. Has something on him. He likes to brag, play like he’s important. That's how I knew they were locked and loaded for you.”

“Worked for?”

“He rolled hard on Locke when the sky fell in.”

“Is he dead?”

“Not yet.”

“You OK? I mean, in relation to Locke?”

He shrugged. “They don’t know my name. I tagged alone with my uncle on a couple things when he asked for my help, like with you. My uncle tossed me a few bucks, which I never asked for.”

“They being?”

“Yes. Bill, for all his posturing, is a minor player. They consider him a clown, not a player.”

“Mary Locke.”

“Yeah, she sits at the table.”

“Bearly tolerating her brother’s, eh, shenanigan.”

“Which is why they made him the scapegoat.”

“Who in turn, with his personal lawyer –”

“Mike Borrows.”

“Made you the scapegoat. I thought I could steer the investigation away from you.”

“Surprise.”

“I was surprised you were absolutely nowhere to be found.” He rolled his eyes. “Jesus camp. The FBI came just short of giving Flannagan a colonoscope.”

“I’ve not met the man, though I’d like to.”

“Lucky him. I lost a week of my life in the lazy berg of Steubenville.”

“I didn’t think anyone would fall for that.”

“I didn’t. My boss did.” His face scrunched as if he’d bitten into a rotten apple. “Had the pleasure of interviewing your parents. Twice.”

“Now I feel sorry for you.”

“What pretentious, sanctimonious assholes.”

“That’s a great summation.”

“I still can’t imagine what you could have done to warrant such animus.”

“It’s self-loathing dumped on me. Bill’s not the only one who thought to make me a scapegoat.”

“I was being rhetorical.”

“I know.”

“Your death.”

“I can’t imagine the evidence being all that convincing. I saw my body –”

“How the fuck?”

“Funeral home. I did my arrangements. I know Paul –”

“The second body.”

“Nope.”

“No?”

“Me. Dead. The evidence.”

“You’re right. Obviously stagged. When the FBI drew their conclusions from the materials found, I simply nodded. There was a hard push to put you to rest.”

“With your reputation for being the number one crack investigator in the county –”

“The state. Yeah. No one questioned the FBI finding once I signed off. Everything taken as a whole, you’re better off staying dead.”

I bit my lip. “I really don’t know why I give a fuck. Jennifer Longe.”

“I know that name.”

“Runaway, not long before Christmas. Fifteen. Looked like I used to. We could have been mistaken for sisters.”

“What about her?”

“That’s who’s in my grave.”

“How sure are you?”

“Dead sure. Jody Demarko.”

“I heard the tape of the call to the police before it got erased.”

“Who ordered that?”

“I wasn’t involved.”

“I knew my statement would be ignored. Like I said, Shawn Beedle is a friend of mine.” I held my hand up, fingers spread. “I can count the number of people I call friend on his hand. I wanted to bring Jody home – for Shawn.

“That’s why I give a fuck about Jennifer Longe. The family deserves to know what happened to her. She deserves to come home. I don’t care about people being held accountable.

“Jennifer should come home.”

He bit his lip. “Give me some time on that. You being dead serves you.”

“You said, not that I can be found. You looked right at me and didn’t know me until I started dropping hints.”

“The scar on your cheek.”

“Which you wouldn’t have looked for. My father’s seen me twice, nose to nose, didn’t know me.”

“Still.”

“I agree. Being dead, I don’t have to look over my shoulder.”

“They’re still looking for the money.”

“What money?”

Joe stared at me, nodding.

“Here’s what I think about your missing money, Inspector Joe Bradley. It’s like a pirate’s treasure. No one’s actually seen it, stories abound, people searching. This money is more of myth and madness than of objective reality because if it did exist, the money would be proof of the criminal enterprise.

“Since Bill Locke and his merry band of gangsters were released with an apology, and the FBI is still looking for the magical money, we can assume some people in the FBI and some local law enforcement are on the payroll of said criminal enterprise, erasing tapes of calls to the police and all that.

“Pirate’s treasure, Joe.”

“I like that. I think I’ll circulate the story around the office. In the meantime.”

“I don’t have your money, Joe.”

“God, you’re good. I saw that when we had you in the box.”

I shrugged. “I’m sure you’ve seen my – or rather the dead girl’s tax filing.” I dug in my suede bag. “I happen to have my checking and savings account books with me.”

He gave me the traffic stop hand. “Enough.” He bit his lip. “Here’s the story. Jody Demarko went partying in the Pine Barrens as so many kids do, got separated, died an accidental death of exposure.”

“Did she tie her own ankles and wrists?” I rolled my eyes. “At least you don’t have me killing her.”

“That had been considered in some shadowy back rooms I’m not directly privy to. Not only am I the top investigator in the state, but I have a solid reputation for being an honest cop.”

“Yeah, Joe, I bet it’s easy to be a shining star in a sea of darkness.” I rolled my eyes. “These other children with Jody on the excursion into the Pines –”

“It’ll be in the paper. The story is solid, no holes.”

“Mike Borrows kidnapped her, held her, raped her, killed her, and buried her thoughtless in the Pine Barrens all the while Bill Locke watched, likely pounding his chubby. That should be the story.”

“Talk like that in the wrong place could get you killed.”

“Don’t make the same mistake Bill Locke made as he was raping me. Don’t ever underestimate me.”

He blinked repeatedly.

“Bill Locke and Mike Borrows are rapists – rapists of children, what Mary Locked dismissed as his shenanigans. That’s why when you had your flat tire, I had my bags packed, ready to rabbit.”

He let out a long sigh. “Sorry.”

“For?”

“Not protecting you better.”

“I appreciate that, Joe, but not your job.”

He pushed off the car. “If and when the time comes that bodies drop, give me a heads up. I can run interference.”

I gave him the wide eye. “Why Inspector Joe Bradley, I’m not that kind of girl.”

“I’m sure you’re not. Antoinette Blanc?”

“Yes?”

“I mean –”

“She’s dead, or was.”

“I know she’s dead. I did background.”

I shrugged. “It was convenient. I don’t know if I’d had the idea if her father hadn’t approached me to come live with them and take Antoinette’s place.”

“That’s scary.”

“I imaged being tied to a stanchion in the basement, allowed upstairs for family dinners, holidays, and sing alongs.”

“So you just stole her identity.”

“Well, Joe, I was invited. It’d be impolite not to.”

He pursed his lips. “Mathers.”

“Inspector April Mathers. I like her. She’s got to have some kind of fire in her belly to climb to where she has – being a woman.”

He chuckled. “She wanted to bring you in, her gut telling her you knew something.”

“Sharp, that one.”

“I would have loved to see you two in the room together.”

“I bet she’s like a dog with a bone. I could see it in her eyes. I’m surprised she’s not had a clandestine meeting with me like you are.”

“When that happens, don’t be candid with her like you are with me. She’s by the book.”

“That’s something you’ll never understand. Inspector April Mathers must appear to be one hundred percent by the book because she’s a woman. There’s a line of men around the block hawking on her every move, looking for any mistake, misstep, or even accidentally dropping a tissue on the sidewalk.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Appear to be?”

“If she’s not, you’d never know it. I look forward to our encounter.”

“Be careful what you say.”

“Underestimate me, I have you right where I want you.” With a smirk, I added, “It’s good to know there’s two investigators in County who are strictly by the book.”

 

Shawn bounced from her blue Toyota as I rolled to a stop on the sidewalk in front of my apartment building. “Why haven’t you dropped the bike?”

I dismounted, the bike falling to the concrete, Shawn gathering me up, her left arm around my shoulders, her right hand in the small of my back, pulling me in.

Nuzzling in her hair, ingesting the sweet aroma of walnut bread, I giggled, whispering. “You’re getting good at this.”

“It’s like I want to pull you into my body.”

I sighed, hanging on. “You may stop by for a hug anytime.”

“One of the few. I know what an honor that is.”

“But.”

“Yeah, not a drive by hug. I have the title and tags.”

I wouldn’t let her pull away. “I’m not done.”

She circled her wet tongue inside my ear.

I shivered.

“Pamala said I can do anything I wish to you.”

I untangle, stepping back. “Pamala doesn’t own me. She can’t pass me around the room.”

“Toby. I didn’t mean it that way. Pamala said she doesn’t mind if you and I are – closer.”

“We really need to have a conversation, a better conversation than we had.”

“Sorry. I’d not planned to seduce you, today anyway. Even when I slipped you my phone number, that wasn’t the plan.”

“Maybe just the hope?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been so lonely. Now –”

“Now you have people who understand you, know who you are, accept you. A person can drown in that.”

“I admit, it’s intoxicating.”

“Shawn.”

“Don’t use that tone, like you’re going to kick me to the curb.”

I let out a deep sigh. “I don’t like people, generally speaking. I believe we can be conditioned.”

“Toby.”

“I see what you mean about the tone.”

“Speak English. Don’t wander off into one of your academic dissertations.”

“When I was a child, the people who were charged to love me and protect me did neither. That child still lives within me, casting a judgmental eye on people. I expect people to hurt me or at the very least not protect me from harm.”

“Well, Toby, people aren’t –”

“The objective reality doesn’t matter. What I think the reality is does. That’s what drives me. I don’t like people near me. Touching me – forget it. I avoid a handshake whenever I can. Eye contact is difficult, sometimes impossible.”

Shawn looked down, then back to my eyes. “Yet, here we are, holding hands.”

“That’s the thing.”

“Friends that hug. Oh, Toby, I so get it now. I knew that was a gift, but wow. I should drop to a knee.”

“Please don’t.”

“Let’s go put the new tags on the truck. I’ve thought, being gay, I should own a truck. Who’s Jack Spratt?”

“Just a guy I bought the truck from.” I’d not questioned why Paul had fake identification in that name.

“Did you talk much with him?”

“About his aversion to fat?”

“I do so love you.”

 

“Cassandra really, really wants to talk to you.”

On my knees, struggling with a screw at the back of my truck, I glanced up. Spring’s breeze flirted with Shawn’s abundant hair, the sun teasing from behind, cobalt eyes drinking me.

“Dasey Longardner. I keep telling myself I’m busy with my lawn business. I could possibly owe Cassandea my life. I could have handled her life partner better.”

“Dasey’s weird.”

“I’ve got my own weird going on. I don’t judge.”

“I don’t mean it like that. Well, maybe I do. It’s the whole spiritualist thing. She’ll hung me, then step back, look at me, tell me stuff about myself.”

“She missed her aunt dying. I’d think in the whole soupy mix weaving the universe together, that’d been big.”

“That’s right!”

“It’s an act. A show.”

“No. She’s right about everything.”

“She’s not. She gets to doing that fast talk thing. You only hear the shit she’s right about. You don’t consider the misses. She told me the love of my life is heading my way, if only I am open to him.”

“Oh my God. That’s pretty wrong.”

I shrugged. “I think the thing that makes her so effective is she believes her own schtick, as crazy as she comes off. Plans for the rest of the day?”

“I wanted the hug – and to give you the plates. I have to try to get a paper done for school.”

“Try to?”

“Yeah. It’s hard to concentrate at home. Collectively, my family thinks college is a hobby, not important.”

“I understand more than you can know.”

“You had me to sanctuary.”

“OK, so you can know.” I dug in my pocket producing my keyring, working at the keys. “Here.”

Shawn accepted the key. “Eh?”

“Get your stuff. Come to my apartment anytime to do your homework. I’ll ignore you like I ignored my father growing up.”

She gave me wide eyes. “You have no idea, well, OK, you do. Can I bring my typewriter?”

“Of course. I’ll let Michelle know you’re to be left alone.”

“She’s a good dancer, him, not so much.”

“I saw that coming.”

“How so?”

“How much have you two talked about, well, things.”

“Not much at all. We’re always in our roles.”

“Michael doesn’t like himself. Michelle is just the opposite.”

“Got it. Michael has no confidence. Caustic, combative, defensive.”

“The difference between me in the real world and me when I dance naked in the woods.”

“I disagree with –”

“You’re on the inside. Watch me when there’s other people around. You’ll see it.”

“Like the difference between me with you and me with my family.”

“Just like that.”

“We talked about this.” She narrowed her eyes. “I know what to try. Next lesson, I’ll tell Michelle she needs to dress like Michael, like a dress rehearsal. Then, during the lesson, I’ll draw Michelle out.”

“There’s eighteen people in the world that would understand that.”

“Managing persona. You going to be around to break my concentration? I hope.”

 

“Hey,” I greeted closing the door behind me. “Enjoying the day off?”

“After kicking back for fifteen minutes, I gave the kitchen and bathroom a hard scrubbing,” Michelle answered.

“You are not the person I met all those years ago.”

“I take all the praise I can get.”

“I have something I’d like you to do for me.”

“You wish is my something-or-other.”

“I’m rubbing off on you.”

“More praise!”

I blushed. “Shawn’s coming over. I’d like you to make yourself scarce.”

Her blue eyes went big. “Toby!”

“She has college homework. Home’s disruptive. I said she can do it here.”

“I like Shawn. A lot. I’ll leave her –”

I produced two bus schedules from my red bag. “You can get the bus on Main into the city, connect to a bus to the mall.”

“Huh?”

“Trust the plan. Dress nice, presentable. Do some shopping. Remember when we went back to school?”

She nodded.

“Enjoy your company. Watch yourself in the store windows. It’s crazy intoxicating.”

“I get that, I really do.”

“Drop by the Harvest Chateau.”

Michelle blushed a little. “Thompson’s an asshole.”

“Thompson’s an asshole,” I answered. “Such a pivotal moment in my life.”

“You’re not kidding!”

“See Bob Edwards, Pamala’s father. He wants to talk to you about a job.”

“Huh?”

“You impressed the fuck out of him at Jessica’s dinner.”

“I don’t know what to ask first. Doing?”

“Bussing, dishwashing. You’ll be working with and sometimes for Pamala.”

“There’s the problem with me not being me.”

“Bob said Michael’s social security card is fine.”

“He knows?”

“Since you met at Bill’s house.”

“It was the toilet seat, wasn’t it?” She rolled her eyes. “It’s always the toilet seat.”

“Anyway. It’s a real job. Real experience. Real world.”

“The pay?”

“I have no idea. Likely nowhere near what you’re making with me, which is OK. We’ll work it out.”

She displayed the bus schedules. “No hitchhiking?”

“Pamala’s not to go out of her way, but she can bring you home tonight since she’s coming this way anyway.”

“How about you? I mean, how are you going to get all the work done? You need my help.”

“I’ll manage. Though, I will miss you company.”

“Really?”

“Really.” No, not really.

She pursed her lips, nodding. “I don’t care what Keith blurted out and Pam explained, you are my dee fact toe something guardian.”

“That would be –”

“De facto, Toby.”

“Oh, I’m so rubbing off on you.”

“That’s a good thing. I happen to love who you are.”

“I’m so glad you Thompson’s an assholed me that night at Harvest.”

“I’m glad I suck as math.”

“Algebra. And, you’re far less sucky now.”

“It’s easy the way you explain it.”

 

My second old neighborhood didn’t seem any different. Time expands and contracts, making a mockery of memory. I expected my attacker to still be face down on the asphalt in front of the management office. I thought I may have killed him.

None of the newspaper reported even the assault. I assumed my attacker wasn’t important enough for anyone to care about, just one of the many factors bringing me to my second old neighborhood. The office was closed, the sun dropping below the buildings.

Jim’s Rambler sat by the fire hydron in front of the apartment. I paused for a moment watching up at the window, wondering whether Jim and Mark were blowing each other, maybe just jerking off on my mother’s underwear. Since my mother was a black out drunk, with a shrug, I considered my brother and maybe his friends, fucked her often.

 Again, I reconsidered Mrs. Smith’s offer. Given that the nice apartment Gus found us for my father was the epicenter of drug dealings in the township, I could wait next to the door. When Jim and Mark come out, I could shoot them both in the back of the head, execution style. Like the indigent man who’s face I bounced off the asphalt, no one would care enough to investigate.

I walked my bike along the railroad tracks until the hint of a fire the night before distracted me, pulling me into the trees. Out of sight of the railway, the lean-to was a cliché, a patchwork of discards.

“You’ve ruined my sanctuary, like plopping shit in a swimming pool.” I put a shirt to my face. “Paul. I’d know that stink anywhere.”

I returned to the road, up the street to the 7-11, secured my bike to a no parking sign, walking back to what was briefly my sanctuary, squatting in the brush, a tan oval rock dwarfing my hand. I imagined a lofty soliloquy, preaching down from the mountain. Maybe a worthy narrative.

Paul came through the darkness, paused, dropped his backpack, sitting, his back to me. I held my breath, waiting, a song coming in the distance.

When the overpowering voice of the train rained down on us, I worked from my hiding place, standing behind Paul.

“I didn’t think it’d take you this long to –” he called without turning, his thought severed short by the rock to his head.

Dropping to my knees, I put a hand to the side of his neck. “How did you not see that coming? Did you learn nothing in that time with me? Like a prophet, you even said you were afraid I’d kill you.”

I placed my rock under his head, his eyes watched up at me from the darkness. “It was that you can never go to jail thing. I have no doubt you’d use me as a get-out-of-jail-free card. Of all the people living who know who I am, you’re the only one to likely use that knowledge to hurt me.”

My Zippo brought the prepared fire to life, then applied to the nearby brush. I felt like getting naked, dancing, treating myself to five clothed perfect double pirouettes as the fire demonstrated how fire can so easily take an entire house.

Paul was dead.

My greatest fear dissipated like the smoke into the sky when Paul didn’t become a wraith dancing with me or leering at me as he often did when he thought I wasn’t looking.

I was not pleased I found murder as easy as lying.

 

Pamala met me at the door, hugging me bike and all. “I love you more than I love myself,” she whispered.

“I love you more than dancing at sanctuary.”

“Did you dance in the fire? You stink of smoke.”

“I’d read Native Americans –”

“Who?”

“Indians. Indians though Nature didn’t like the smell of human beings, so they’d smudge – cover themselves with smoke – to mask the human being smell.”

“I like the way you smell, the smoke, not so much.”

I glanced the sofa, dropped behind the typewriter, taking the top paper off a stack.

“I told her to take the bed.”

“That’s why I went with the king size. All tuckered out, huh. I see your plan. The blanket and pillow are going to smell like her.”

“Everyone has their kink. She is sweet, always smelling like a bakery.”

“The sweetest. Did I tell you my father stuck up on me in the mall and smelled me?”

“Not too creepy. I bet that’s got him good for two smacking-the-clown sessions.”

“Eww. To his credit, I never caught him jerking off, my underwear to his face, and he never spunked me.”

“My father never aggravatedly sexually assaulted me isn’t the praise he thinks it is.”

“Seems the I want to fuck my sister gene comes down from my mother’s side.”

I offer a finger to the ceiling, working through two more pages. “This has some errors.”

Pamala rolled her low lip. “She thought it perfect, so proud and relieved, more relieved than proud, I think.”

I eyed the portable typewriter. “I don’t know how to type.”

“I do.”

“You have school in the morning. It’s not your essay.” I put pen to paper.

“I’ll put coffee on, then shower.”

“If you’d wake Shawn up with a wet tongue in her ear, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’m not going to ask why, but gladly.”

“Don’t let one thing lead to another. We have serious work to do here.”

Shawn moaned happily, sitting up. “Huh?”

“Toby started reading. I think you’re in trouble. All she says is this This is shit. This is fucking shit.”

“I did not. This is good. Just needs some tweeting, proofreading.”

Shawn wandered over. “That was ready to turn in.” She held two pages. “Fuck.” She glanced one page, then another. “This is shit. How’d I miss all this?”

“Toby,” Pamala said, setting coffee for each of us.

“Pam,” I answered, making corrections.

“Thanks for being you.”

“Huh, oh, sorry.”

She bent, we kissed into embarrassment.

Shawn managed to sleep three hours next to Pamala. I sobbed in the shower for an hour, crushed by how much I missed school, a normal – not that there’s such a thing – childhood, feeling somehow my parents robbed me of a chance for humanity.

Though good at it, I was not comfortable being able to lie so easily and convincingly. I knew that wasn’t normal for people. Tom Thomas should have had a neon sign I’m lying light up on his forehead. Michael Borrows was no better, begging to confess.

I was apprehensive over meeting Gus Avery, a professional liar, that I’d see myself reflected in him.

To Shawn and Pamala, Sally-ing came naturally, I believe an indication of their love for human beings. “That’s how real human beings act,” I said to the simmering bacon. For me, though good at Sally-ing, Sally-ing was a chore, which beat down on me like Mr. Thompson relentlessly beat down on Michael.

I’d hoped murder would come hard for me, requiring much soul-searching, offering more evidence I didn’t have a soul to search. I dropped Paul like a bad habit, watching him dead on the ground with the same feelingless emotion I experienced watching my father walk away in the mall, wishing, hoping for anything.

“There’s a reason the Little Match Girl must always be looking in, always outside.”

That’s how the universe works.

I accepted hugs, declining assistance.

Michelle, Shawn, and Pamala laughed around my table as I served them breakfast

My family. Not a borrowed family like the Edwards. Not dysfunctional human beings like my mother, father, brother.

My family.

For as long as the universe would allow me to have it. In that moment, scrambled eggs, toast, home fries, bacon, and coffee, my family was there forever trapped in a soap bubble.

“Michelle,” I said.

“Toby?”

“Thanks for being you and being here.

“Shawn?”

She nodded.

“Thanks for being you and being here.

“Pamala.”

“Are you OK?”

“I am, Pamala. In this moment, the Little Match Girl is home. Thanks for being you and being here.”

“I love you, too,” she answered.

“You, Toby, are a goddess,” Shawn said. “The work on my paper, I’m speechless.”

I offered a sad smirk, accepting another testimony to my lack of humanity.

 

I dropped the lawnmower from the back of my truck, watching the black Impala roll to a stop down two blocks. I didn’t particularly feel the car was cute. I did think of approaching the driver, the second day I noticed her. Inspector April Mathers was careful.

Bartholomew Peters was a tall, brick wall of a man, black hair slicked back, sharp brown eyes sunk in a large face, bright white shirt, wide black silk tie, black shark skin suit, jewel appointed black cowboy boots, oversized gold rings on half his fingers.

I rolled my eyes as he climbed from the back of the black Lincoln Towncar limousine, looked around, then at me, approaching as I checked the oil of my lawnmower.

“Miss Blanc, a moment if you will,” he stated, looking down on me. “I am Bartholomew Peters.” He offered a hand.

I stood, dismissing the hand with a glance. “I’d rather not.”

“Suit yourself, Miss Blanc.” A business card appeared between the fingers of his right hand.

Taking the card, glancing – name as mentioned, phone number – I looked up, my expression asking the question.

“We’re going to do business.”

I shrugged with all the dismissiveness I could pack into my shoulders.

“You see, Miss Blanc.” He symbolically clocked the surroundings. “This is my territory.”

“I have no idea what that means, Mr. Peters.” I held his eyes.

He chuckled, almost into a laugh. “That means, child, you’re working in my territory, I’m going to provide you with insurance.”

“My truck’s insured. I have liability insurance. I’m good, but thanks for stopping by. I have work to –”

“I think perhaps you do not understand me.” He took a half step toward me, his large hand came flat to my chest delivering the slightest shove. The push accompanied by my instinct to step back had me falling backwards over my mower.

Moving to the side of my truck, he bent, air escaping from the rear tire. He returned over me, my legs on the mower, me pushed up on my elbows. “Accidents happen, Miss Blanc. Insurance, to avoid future mishaps. A bargan at $50 a week.”

“$50 a week, Mr. Peters. Understood.”

“I, or a representative, will see you each Friday. If you’re not working in the neighbor, we’re catch you at home on Garfield. Trust, we’ll catch you.”

“Understood.”

I stayed draped over the mower because I didn’t want Peters to see me struggling to get up. “That would be embarrassing.”

The black Impala rolled up, Inspector April Mathers looking down on me. “Are you OK, Antoinette?”

Now, I struggled to my feet. “Sure.”

“I’m going to –”

“Don’t bother. Just the usual business dispute. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

She smirked. “You looked like you handled it perfectly.”

I shrugged. “I have him right what I want him. What brings you by?”

“I wanted to talk to you off the record. You know what that means, right?”

“Well, gee, Inspector April Mathers, I’m not sure. Maybe you should explain it to me.”

She pursed her lips. “Get in.”

“I’d rather not. We can sit on my tailgate.”

 

“How did the Styles investigation turn out?” I asked. “I saw nothing in the paper.”

“We determined no foul play.”

“I think she was scared to death.”

“By the children vandalizing the house?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of her husband’s ghost.”

“You can’t believe –”

“Oh, it’s not a matter of what I believe. It’s what Mrs. Styles believed. I bet she murdered him.”

“Why?”

“She so much as said to me she was tired of waiting for him to die so she could hire someone to cut the grass. I guess, with her being dead, too, all that doesn’t matter.”

“Not worth pursuing.”

“Now, there’s a concept I’d like to pursue. Who determines what’s not worth pursuing?” I waved my hand in front of me. “It’s a rhetorical question. What can I do for you? Don’t bother telling me you just happened to be driving by when you saw Mr. Cliché push me over the mower.”

“Do you know what a confidential informant is?”

“Sounds like a quick way to get me murdered.”

“You do know what confidential means?”

“I do know more people are privy to such records than you can ever imagine, which makes confidential a category, not a reality.”

“Well, I can see if you don’t trust the system –”

“I have receipts.”

“OK, Antoinette, let’s just have a conversation. Two people talking.”

I turned, watching her eyes. “Do you know who ordered the erasing of the tape of the call to the police reporting the location of the body of Jody Demarko?”

“I was not aware such a tape ever existed.”

I narrowed my eyes. “A break in a missing person case drops in your lap, and you don’t ask How do we know this?”

“I was stonewalled, kept out of the room. That happens a lot. Because I’m a woman. It’s a boy’s club.”

“That happens a lot because they believe you’re by-the-book, an honest cop, and they’re neither.”

“I’ve often suspected –”

“Shall we now return to the topic of confidential informant?”

“I understand your point.”

“Here’s what I know. A man on the police desk picked up the phone, given information. The information was so explosive, I’ll bet he repeated it to everyone in the room, a car dispatched to check the information. At least one person at County heard the tape. The tape was erased, everyone privy to the information given has conveniently forgotten.”

Again, pursed lips. “That’s a wild tale, which I’d likely dismiss in whole if I’d not seen the original autopsy report.”

“They kept the original? That’s carelessness.”

“Girl in the office. I’m not going to ask you whether you made the phone call.”

“Good.”

“That would mean you knew where the body was and who put it there and circumstances leading to the burial.”

“We’re just two people having a conversation. And, that information would get you killed, erased just as easily as a police dispatch tape.”

“The autopsy. She –”

“Jody Demarko.”

“Jody Demarko was abused over time and then murdered, strangled. You don’t want to see the man who did this brought to justice?”

“Right now, all I want is for Jody to come home. I kind of like the story – lost in the Pines, accident death from exposure. It’ll be a relief to the family, as much as anything can be a relief. The truth would be life altering, and not in a good way.”

“That information has not been released.”

“Be an ally, April, not as asshole. Go do your interviews about the tape. Confirm what I told you. I suspect, like me, your intuition often comes off looking like mindreading.

“Don’t let anyone know what you’re actually pursuing. Don’t trust anyone who’s not sworn a blood oath to you including cutting the palms, grasping hands.

“I know you don’t believe me. I see it in your eyes, you puzzling what my game any be. Do your investigation. When you confirm my story, if they haven’t killed you, we’ll talk again.”  

 

“Mr. Oswald,” I greeted.

He bowed. “Toby.”

“I hope you have a pocket full of favors.”

“For you, my lady, always. First, how is the fair Michelle?”

“Keeping busy.”

“With suiters?”

“Nay. Not a one.”

“Will you ask her if she’s go out with me?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Nay to that! A real date.”

“I shall be your messenger.”

“What favors, then, may I bestow upon you?”

I presented the truck keys and $50 to Keith. I rattled off the truck’s location. “New tire, left rear, inspection.”

“Uh, we just did inspection.”

“New owner.”

“I’ll see if I can fix the tire.”

“Sidewalk puncture.”

“Oh, new tire. Did you mow over someone’s roses?”

“Odd encounter, really. Some flashy asshole running a protection racket.”

“Big guy, fancy suit, lots of rings?”

“Yeah, that’s the asshole.”

“We call him The Bat, never to his face. Stops by to see Sabbie on Friday.”

“The Bat.” I snickered. “Bartholomew.”

“He once took a baseball bat to a car on the lot!”

“Good to know. My truck?”

“I’ll get right on it. We have a tire in stock.”

“Inspection.”

“And inspection! I’ll leave it at your garage, keys on the right front tire. Hug?”

“I think not, but thanks in advance.”

 

“Detective Rich Serling,” I greeted, the door closing behind me. “I took a chance you might be here. Don’t get up.”

“Antoinette. Good to see you.”

“Good to be seen.” I glanced the folders on his desk, “You’ve been busy.”

“I like the coveralls. You have that wholesome farmgirl look.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t know who I am. I was concerned about my secret identity until the mall.”

“Of course. We have a lot to go over.”

“I have an addition.”

“Who would that be?”

“Bartholomew Peters. I hear some people call him The Bat.”

Serling laughed, full, deep, rich.

“Something funny?”

“The Bat. Bat is his name, short for Bartholomew.”

“I figured. Why’s that funny.”

“What’s funny is him muscling you.”

“I’m stupid today, Mr. Serling.”

“Peters runs protection – you do know what protection is?”

“I do.”

“Peters runs protection, mostly in my fair city here.”

“I’ve seen the businesses down here. He’s got to have some dark soul to hustle poor people.”

“I pay him in background checks. He leaves me alone. Tony’s Lawn Service.”

I nodded, almost a bow.

“You do know you can’t withstand any hard scrutiny.”

“I’m a guppy in a very big lake. I’m careful not to attract any scrutiny.”

“I figured. I told Bat you were just a kid mowing a few lawns, not worth his time.”

“Just a kid. I could be insulted.”

“I was trying to get him to ignore you.”

“I realize this.”

“I’d never run him. When he asked about Tony’s, I figured you’d want to know boxers or briefs.”

“Heads up thinking like that is why I hired you.”

“Sarcasm aside, Antoinette, how much do you love me?”

“Oh, Mr. Serling, this better be good.”

He held a sheet of paper forward. “Toward the bottom, who he works for, circled in red.”

I took the paper, squinting. “Mr. Serling, I love you a lot.”

“Right? I’m hitting wall after wall trying to track down Hemingway Associates and they walk right into the office. I can climb through his records.”

“This is a list of his clients?”

“Partial.”

“How good of an enforcer is he? I mean, does he have real fire or does he just push old men and children around.”

“I don’t really know. I’ve heard some stories.”

“I have no interest in stories. I might have use for a good enforcer, though. He does have a presence, but then I am just a kid mowing a few lawns. Maybe I’ll fuck him up when he comes for my money, see if he stands tall in my shitstorm or cries like a baby.”

“I’ll back you up.”

“Do you think I need backing up, Mr. Serling?”

“Eh, no?”

“My pal Paul.”

“Oh, he’s a bad one.” He flipped through the files. “He’s got four federal warrants. He’s definitely a real threat to you, if he wishes to be. I was thinking, he’s regular in the mall. I could point the cops at him. He’s slippery. I wasn’t able to follow him.”

“I was going to say we can cross him off the list.”

“Eh?”

“We’ve come to an irrevocable agreement.”

“You need to see his sheet.”

I shrugged. “I trust our agreement.”

“OK. You’re the boss.”

“I am.” I accepted two files, four steps to the wall, sitting.

“She was in the Army?” I thought I should have known that.

“That’s where they met.”

“Father, Army, husband. She never lived independently.” I looked up at Serling. “Typical, from what I understand.”

“That’s changing.”

“I guess maybe women are getting tired of getting dumped when the man gets a whiff of a child’s underwear.”

“Tammy’s not his first child.”

“This police report is slim.”

“I try to avoid conjecture.”

“So do I. In this case, feel free to conjecture away.”

“He sweet-talked her. He’s a charmer.”

I rolled my eyes. “So sweet, he makes my teeth hurt.”

He nodded. “They ended up rolling in the sack in a cheap motel room. She thought it was love. Her father got involved. There was an altercation.”

I waved the police report. “The rest as they say –”

“Is history.”

“This address?”

“A trailer park, not far from here.”

“Damn. Tammy must give one hell of a blow job for him to give up the house, move into poverty central.”

“Look at the back page.”

I did. “Oh. There’s no way he could have kept up.”

“In business, they call those bridge loans.”

“Borrowing money to pay regular expenses.”

“In the case of a business, until times get better. In his case –”

“Times aren’t ever going to get better. So, Mr. Sterling, allow me to speculate.”

He leaned back in his chair, a hand sweeping the air. “By all means, speculate away.”

“A shiny shoed salesman comes along with a scheme to pull the udders on the house, sucking all the equity out, likely just generating fees for himself.”

“That’s some excellent speculating. I’m trying to get the records now to confirm that.”

I shrugged. “My bank holds the paper on the house. Mr. Bancroft has been very helpful and informative.” Bancroft left out the other personal loans against the house.

“I can close those files, then, too?”

“Looks like I got out just in time,” I said absently.

“I didn’t hear that.”

“Opps.”

“As for her. She’s gone as if she doesn’t exist. She’s not made a long-distance call, she’s not resubscribed to her expensive magazine list, nothing bought in her name, rented in her name. She’s left no footprints at all since the day she left the house she rented from Hemingway Associates under cover of a fake kidnapping by Flannagan’s church.

“She has a bank account I’ve been watching. If I had to speculate, I’d say you’re wrong about who’s in the grave.”

“Dead and gone.”

“Let’s do Flannagan next.”

“You seem excited.”

“He’s a fraud. In everything he does. Nothing about him is real. Let me get Tammy out of the way. She likes to fuck older men, which works out well for her father because as she’s fucking them, she’s milking every penny she can get out of them for the Church.”

“Kind of ironic the man who snares her has less than nothing.”

“She’s had her flings like this. It won’t last.”

“He won’t survive.”

“What goes around, comes around. He’s treated his family like shit.”

I leaned back, hands behind my head, eyes closed. “Tell me about Hugo.”

“It’s a fraud.”

“You said that.”

“File’s here, records, reports. Enough for a book.”

“Anything illegal?”

“Depends.”

“In legal terms, that’s worth pursuing. Oftentimes that not worth pursuing depends on if we’re talking about a rich, popular man, which is why Mike Borrows is walking around free instead of staring wide-eyed into the death penalty.”

I waved Mike Borrows aside. “Hugo Flannigan.”

“I came across an interesting story in an archive. It would seem Hugo, a child at the time, paid other children to bully another child.”

“So Hugo would be the big hero.”

“Wait until you hear the rest of it.”

“I’ll read it later.”

“Borrows and Locke?”

“Was Locke ever in an orphanage? A home for boys?”

“No. Spoiled rich kid, best I can tell.”

“Yeah, Mr. Serling. I’ll read those later, too.”

“Is your car waiting?”

“I rode my bike.”

“Antoinette. This neighbor isn’t safe.”

“I’m not afraid of anyone out there.” I nodded, indicating the door. “We’ve just had a discussion concerning real monsters. How’s the bookkeeping?”

“Eh, oh, we’re good. Plenty of retainer left. I’ve recorded my hours, receipts for your inspection anytime.”

“Flannigan’s goons?”

“In his file. Names, addresses, not full biographies. Summaries. They’re cousins.”

“Flannigan’s?”

“Each other. They don’t actually work for the Church. More like independent contractors.”

“What do they contract?”

“Oh, muscle for hire.”

“Hired my Flannigan?”

“Not the Flannigan you think. Hugo likes to keep his hands clean.”

“Tammy. Why ever does she work in the mall?”

“I know you mean that rhetorically. I’m going to answer anyway.”

“She cultivates the wealthy men with her overpriced watches to pick their pockets.”

“You could do my job.”

“Toby and Rich, Private Detectives.”

We stood facing each other across the desk.

“Toby, huh?”

“Like you didn’t know who I am.”

“Rich and Toby, Private Investigators.”

He offered his hand, which I took.

“I do not play well with others.”

“I know that,” he answered. “That’s what I like most about you.”

“I’m also a minor.”

“I know that, too. I can wait two and a half years. They’ll be dropping the legal age to eighteen by then.

 

Part 21