by Dale Mayer
“Storage lockers,” Rodney suggested. “Usually in the basement.”
She looked at him, frowned. Then, as she walked out, she said, “I’ll go talk to the manager.” She roused the manager from his apartment and had a quick conversation. “How long has he been here?”
“Since he got out of prison.”
“So you know about his prison record?”
He nodded. “It was part of the reason I gave it to him.”
She stared at him in surprise. “He came with good references?”
“Ready to turn over a new leaf.”
“And yet children are in this building, and, as a registered pedophile, he has to stay a certain distance away from children.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” he said, backing up. “Besides, I don’t think we have any kids right now.”
“It’s an apartment building, and you don’t have any children living here?”
He frowned, studied the hallway, as if mentally clicking through his renters, and said, “I’m not so sure there is right now. In the past we certainly have, but it’s an older building, and there aren’t any amenities for kids.”
“That just means the lower-income families could live here,” she said.
“He came with references, and I was asked to take him in, so I did,” he said. “This isn’t on me.”
“Who asked you to take him in?”
He hesitated.
“A preeminent psychologist, by any chance?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, answering with relief. “I figured, if he came with that kind of reference, he was good to go.”
“Except in this case, it was a family member,” she said.
He looked at her in shock. “What?”
“His twin sister,” she said. “Have you ever seen him around any children?”
“No, I haven’t. Look. To be honest, he’s been quiet, stays out of trouble, and hasn’t been an issue.”
“Does he have a storage locker?”
“Everybody does. Downstairs,” he said. “They’re allowed to do pretty much whatever they want with that space.”
“What number is his?”
“Just a minute.” When he came back, he said, “Eighty-four.”
“How do I get into it?”
“I can lead you there,” he said. Then he took her down a set of stairs, followed along the main hallway here, a series of plywood-looking cages on each side. “His is at the far end,” he said.
She followed him to the locker in question to see it was mostly sealed up. She noted the lock on it, looked at him, and asked, “Do you have a key?”
“No,” he said. “This is their private property.”
She nodded, pulled the pick from her back pocket, and popped it open in seconds.
“You do have a warrant, right?” he asked nervously. “I can’t let you do this if you don’t.”
“Yes, of course I do,” she said. She jerked up on one of the metal gates and pulled open the door. Then she stopped. Turning, she faced him and said, “Please go back to your apartment, and stay there for further questioning.”
He looked at her, then tried to peek into the storage locker, but she stepped into his view.
“Now!” she snapped.
He looked at her resentfully, shrugged, and said, “Fine. But I’ve done everything you’ve asked. None of this is on me.”
She watched him leave, then turned to look at the storage locker. They might not have anything on the apartment manager, but this sure as hell put some things on the pedophile’s shoulders. The space contained children’s toys, clothes, beds, and all kinds of paraphernalia that went along with having children. Only this guy had no children. So what in the hell had he used all this stuff for? And where?
*
Thursday, Almost Noon
As days went, Simon felt pretty damn good about this one. He didn’t dare contact her, but he felt too good about the night they’d spent together to not be thinking about her. He went about his business from jobsite to jobsite, happy that, for once, things were moving along and functioning well. For a little while he could put all the nastiness behind him. When his phone rang, he looked at it, realized it was almost noon. “Yale, what’s up?”
“Private game Friday, if you’re up for it,” he said.
“I might be,” he replied, “but I might have plans too.”
“You?” he said, with a sneer.
Something about Yale had been pissing him off a little more every time. “I do have relationships,” he said. “Don’t you?”
“Not in a while,” Yale said grudgingly. “But I might need a place to crash for a couple nights.”
“Why is that?”
“Some odd smell in my bloody apartment building,” he said. “Management is asking us to vacate for a few days.”
“What will they do, fumigate?” And what happened to the mansion? But Simon didn’t want to ask. Yale had poor money management skills. Always had. And he should never gamble. That combination was deadly.
“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know.”
“Time to go on a cruise then,” Simon said, not interested in offering his friend a room. Not when it was possible that Kate would be back.
“Fine,” he said. “I wasn’t asking for a place to stay, you know.”
“I hear you, and that’s a good thing because I’m full up at the moment.”
“I doubt it,” he said. “You’ve got all that money.”
“What does money have to do with it?” Simon asked curiously.
“Just that you can go anywhere you want to,” Yale said.
“I could,” he said. “The bottom line is that I don’t need to.”
“But you made enough money on the last weekend cruise to take you to a hotel for quite a while too.”
“Maybe so,” he said. “I don’t think I made as much as you seem to think.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll work it out, whatever.”
“Where’s the game at?”
“Same as last time,” he said abruptly.
“Ah,” he said mentally, certain it was one he wouldn’t attend.
“What? You not giving anybody a chance to earn their money back again?” he asked. “I’m sorry I missed that game, although I’ve lost plenty over the last year.”
“I hardly got anything off you,” Simon said in a mild tone.
“Sure didn’t feel that way at the time.”
Simon noted an edge to Yale’s voice. “Look. If you’ve got a problem, just come on out and say it.”
“You cheated.”
“You cheated,” Simon snapped, biting back his true response.
There was a sigh on the other end. “How did you know?”
“The signs and tells were all there,” he said. “Besides, you’ve always been cheating. Whether it’s at the casino, on the cruises, or in a club,” he said. “But you’re losing your grip on it.”
“Hardly,” he said. “I just haven’t made enough money to handle what I needed to handle.”
“Why is that?”
“I have to go away for a bit,” he said.
“So, go away,” he said. “Casinos are everywhere. Maybe nobody will figure out what you’re doing in a new one.”
“I had hoped, on Friday, I’d make a big score and then maybe move on from Vancouver. Find a place where I can start fresh.”
“Well,” he said, “whatever you need to do, I’ve got to get back to business.” And he hung up. He was more than a little disturbed about Yale’s phone call. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Simon finished his work and slowly headed toward his apartment. He wondered how Kate’s day was going. He’d heard on the news that a man had been found dead at the Starbucks on the way out of town.
Simon figured it was the one she had tracked down, but it also could be the one in the blue truck that Simon had seen. On the way home he stopped, picked up fish and chips. Just as he walked inside and h
eaded to his elevator, a series of numbers flashed before his eyes. He frowned, grabbed his notepad, and wrote them down. He often had no clue what the numbers were until later.
These were right in his face, as if to say something was deadly important about them. He looked down at his notes, but it made no sense. It was just 4441 4441 4441. He didn’t know, but, with her on his mind, he quickly texted her, sending 4441 4441 4441. Hoped that maybe it made sense to her. When she phoned him almost immediately, just as he was walking into the kitchen, he answered the call.
“What’s that number for?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t know.”
“Well, that’s no help,” she snapped.
“No, it isn’t,” he said, “and I’ve just gotten home with dinner, so I’ll talk to you later.”
And, with that, he put down his cell. He smiled because it’s not what she would have expected, but, hell, it wasn’t what he expected either. But it’s what he needed to do. He took off his jacket, hung it up, and then turned his attention to his fish. He sat down and ate it, having missed lunch. He still didn’t understand why his friend Yale suddenly needed to leave.
Then he remembered the in-town poker game with the cheater and how some strange looks had been directed at Simon. Maybe they suspected Simon of cheating. Knowing Simon and Yale were friends, maybe the other poker players were looking at Yale as well. If that were the case, they would be coming after him sooner or later. He phoned his friend back. “You should probably leave sooner,” he said. “I’m remembering the looks on their faces at that last game. I think they’re going to be hard-asses from here on in.”
“Of course they will, but I had nothing to do with it. You on the other hand …”
“I only cheated the one guy,” Simon said, “and that’s because he was cheating everyone else.”
There was silence, and Yale said, “Seriously?”
“Yes. You should know that about me by now,” he said. “I don’t cheat friends, and I don’t cheat at all, unless I need to deal with somebody like that.”
“How the hell can you always win at cards then, if you don’t cheat all the time?”
“I happen to be good with numbers,” he said. “But it’s another thing to have somebody take everybody for a ride, even ones who couldn’t afford it.”
Yale sucked in his breath. “Are you saying they might know I cheated?”
“Oh, I know it’s you, so, yeah, maybe so.”
“Great, so I guess no game on Friday.”
“Probably not,” Simon agreed. “Me neither.”
“Don’t suppose you have any spare cash you can lend me, do you?” Yale said humorously.
“No, can’t say I keep any at home.”
“You could always go to the bank,” Yale said, this time with a bit more of an edge to his voice.
“Stop off and get into a local game at the casino,” Simon said. “Pick yourself up a grand and don’t do anything to attract any attention.”
“Too risky,” he said. “I just want enough money to fill up a gas tank and get going.”
“You should have that,” he said.
“It’s been a tough few months,” he said. “More than a tough few months, I guess.”
“You walked away with a couple grand on that last game.”
He said, “Yeah, but I had bills to pay. So not a whole lot of that left.”
Not knowing why he was even doing it, except they’d been friends for so long, … Simon said, “Fine. I can spot you a grand, but that’s it.”
“I’ll take it,” Yale said immediately.
“What the hell happened to your trust fund?”
“It dried up,” Yale said in a dry tone. “I haven’t managed to find another way to replenish it, besides games.”
“Games are dangerous,” Simon said. “And, when you cheat, you get noticed.”
“So I don’t understand how the hell you get off scot-free.”
“Because I’m not cheating when I gamble,” he said. “Again, I did cheat that one asshole, but that’s because of what he did to the other guy, Baine.”
“He really lost his wife, didn’t he?”
“Lost his wife and his home and everything important to him. Hopefully he’ll wake up and find something else to do with his life.”
“I don’t know,” Yale said. “We get stuck on a pathway, and it’s hard to deviate.”
“It’s not that hard to deviate,” Simon said. “The trouble is, nobody wants to. You’re on that pathway yourself because it gives you something,” he said. “So stop fooling anybody else and make the hard choices.” And, with that, he hung up. Just as he put down his phone, he realized he hadn’t told Yale where to meet up for the money. He thought about it and texted him to meet at a coffee shop downtown in twenty minutes.
He got a thumbs-up in return.
Simon hoped he could make it in twenty minutes. He checked his wallet and, of course, he didn’t have that kind of cash. Going to his safe, he opened it and pulled out $1,000. One of the few things he did keep at home was cash. If anybody ever got into his safe, he’d also know about it. He’d spent a lifetime building up what he had, so no way in hell he would let anybody take it without a fight.
He had a lot of security, and most of it he’d designed himself. He picked up the rest of his fish and chips, tossed it in the garbage, and figured he’d grab a coffee at the shop. Then he headed out. As he exited the front door, he stopped, noting the rain had started again. But still, the coffee shop was only about five blocks away. He took a shortcut through the alleyways and arrived within a short time. He ordered a coffee and sat down outside at one of the little patio tables under the awning. Yale should be here soon. Sure enough, Simon turned around, and there he was, walking toward him, a grim look on his face. His truck was parked around the corner.
Simon looked at the blue truck and frowned. “Is that your truck?”
Yale looked back at it, shrugged, and said, “Belongs to a friend of mine. We exchanged wheels for me to leave.”
“Interesting,” Simon said, studying Yale’s features, wondering what the hell was going on. “A good friend?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Why?”
“Because that truck has been in some trouble.”
“He said it was stolen a little bit ago, but he got it back.”
“Right.” Simon didn’t say anything more, but his friend went inside, grabbed himself a coffee, came back, sat down, and he asked Yale, “You’re sure about this?”
“I’m sure.”
Simon handed him the envelope and said, “Good luck with that, but seriously you may want to ditch that vehicle.”
He looked at the truck and said, “I need it.”
“Not that bad. How good of a friend?”
“Really good,” he said. “Why?”
Simon shrugged and didn’t say anything.
They finished their coffee, and Yale stood and shook Simon’s hand. “Thanks, I appreciate this.” He pocketed the money and headed off to the truck. As soon as he got inside, he left.
Simon called Kate and explained what had just happened.
“Which direction?” she asked.
He told her, along with the little bit he knew.
“I’ll put out notice to pick him up.”
He put away his phone and sat here, wondering just what his friend was doing mixed up with that blue truck. Then he considered how long he’d actually known Yale. As he tossed his mind back, it was hard to actually pinpoint the time they had first met. They’d both been in a private college for a short time, what with Simon’s gifted mind, skipping several grades, graduating from high school much earlier than most. A scholarship had gotten Simon there. He’d filled out the forms and had gotten the funding and the acceptance on his own.
But, after a year, he realized just how useless a stuck-up education was, and he’d walked away. But a lot of kids attended there, and Yale had been one of them. Because Simon
had been there, everybody assumed he had a trust fund. That’s because they all did. He knew for sure that Yale did. He quickly typed Yale’s name into Google and did a search on him, found an address for him, but it was years old. It didn’t tell Simon anything new or current. He picked up his phone and texted Yale. Where are you heading, by the way?
Not sure. I haven’t decided if I’m going south or north.
Simon left it at that, frowning. As he got up and headed toward home, he started across the street. Too late, he heard a vehicle racing toward him. He bolted out of the way, but it caught the corner of his hip and flung him onto the sidewalk. He rolled and jumped to his feet, furious, turning to face whoever it was.
It was a damn blue truck, and Yale stood there, gun in his hand.
He pointed it at Simon. “Why the fuck do you want to know where I’m going?”
Simon stared at him in surprise. “I thought we were friends,” he said. “Are you saying you don’t want to keep in touch?”
Suspicion battled on Yale’s face.
Simon stared at him. “It’s your truck, isn’t it?”
“This?” he said, with a disgusted look at the ugly truck.
“Yeah, that,” he said.
Yale shook his head. “No, it’s not mine.”
“Really?” Simon said, walking slowly toward him. “I saw it the other night, going through town.”
“Well, it wasn’t me driving,” Yale said.
“No, you are right about that,” he said. “It was some other geezer. I didn’t know who it was at the time, but he shot me a look, but the area was too shadowed to see him clearly.”
“It’s got nothing to do with me though.”
“Maybe it does,” Simon said slowly.
Yale glared at him.
“Does your family know?” Simon asked.
“Know what?” he said, with exasperation.
“That you’re hanging around with pedophiles?”
Yale froze. “Fuck off,” he said. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know that you were abused as a young boy,” he said. “I remember that from school.”
“That was just a rumor,” he said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“And I know that you are part of a family who all have trust funds,” Simon said slowly, trying to read his way through his memories and to sort through the little bit of information popping up.
