by A W Hartoin
“You really need a beer, don’t you?” Moe asked.
“You have no idea.”
Chapter Seven
I got my beer and then some. Aaron had directed Moe to some place in the middle of a town. He didn’t use Google maps. He just went from memory like some kind of disheveled homing pigeon and before I knew it, I had a ginormous beer in my hand, looking at the modern mixed with old in a brewery restaurant. Grandma was thrilled. Lots of rafters and happy people hoisting beers, eating brown bread and a lot of weird stringy salad. The menu was typical and the place smelled fantastic. I was ready to order anything and everything.
“Mercy, dear,” said Grandma. “Do you want to split the Bavarian sausage?”
“For the appetizer? Sure.”
“For the lunch,” she said.
“Grandma, that’s an appetizer. It’s like one sausage and a pretzel.”
She folded up her menu. “Perfect.”
“You want half a sausage for lunch.”
“Anything more would be too much, Mercy.” She patted her stomach. “I’d get so bloated.”
“I have to have more than that,” I said.
“Who am I going to split my sausage with then?”
“Don’t look at me,” said Moe from behind his menu. His admiration of my grandmother only went so far. I didn’t bother to look at Aaron. He’d never split anything in his life.
“I’ll split it,” I said.
“Oh, good. Now we’ll be light on our feet.” Grandma went back to admiring the brewery and I leaned over to Aaron. “Help me. So hungry.”
Aaron nodded and I took Grandma off to the bathroom when the waitress headed our way.
“But we need to order,” she complained.
“Aaron is an excellent orderer. He’ll handle it.”
And he did. He handled the hell out of that order. Our trestle table was covered with Rostbraten, Goulash, various pork dishes, salads, and, let’s not forget, Grandma’s one white sausage and pretzel.
“Oh, what happened?” exclaimed Grandma. “Didn’t you use your German, Aaron?”
“I did,” he said, digging in.
“But this is too much food.”
“Look, there’s your sausage, Grandma.” Small, sad, and lonely with only a pretzel for company.
“It’s huge. I had no idea it would be so large,” she said. “Mercy, you have to take half that sausage.”
I speared the offending porker and cut it in half. “Consider it done.”
Moe and Aaron plowed through the piles of food with a take no prisoners attitude while I tried to be a lady and not look like I was ready to chew the leg off the table. Grandma delicately sliced her half sausage and somehow managed to spend the same amount of time eating almost nothing and proclaiming herself stuffed. But she was having a grand old time. She really could speak German and conversed with the neighboring tables, complimented the waitress, and squirreled away all kinds of useful advice on Christmas markets and castles.
Once the dishes were cleared, she picked up her menu again and said, “Mercy, do you want to split an apple strudel? Claudia says they are freshly made right here by the owner’s mother.”
Why do we have to split everything?
“Sure,” I said.
“Should we ask them to leave off the vanilla ice cream? That will be so rich.”
Aaron plucked the menu out of her hands and said, “Apple strudel is eaten with vanilla ice cream.”
“It’s tradition, Grandma.” Fight that, Janine!
“Well, if it’s tradition,” she said. “You boys will have to help us with that strudel.”
“Janine, I think you’re swell, but I’m ordering chocolate cake,” said Moe.
Aaron ignored Grandma’s pleas and ordered off-menu. He got Rote Grütze, a kind of warm berry pudding. It came with vanilla ice cream, too. Grandma was so intrigued she tried it and then proclaimed that she’d eaten so much she wouldn’t need dinner. Nightmare.
“You should have some of my cake, Janine,” said Moe.
No. She’ll say she doesn’t need breakfast tomorrow.
“I shouldn’t,” she said.
“Oh, live a little. We’re on vacation.”
“We’re on an investigation,” I said.
“Tomato. Tomahto,” he said.
“Potato. Patahto,” she said.
What’s happening?
Then Grandma and Moe sang together, “Let’s call the whole thing off.”
My phone buzzed and Grandma said, “Moe, you are just so much fun. I will try that cake.”
Moe slid the dish over to Grandma and asked, “Who is it?” as I glanced at my screen.
“Novak.” I called him back, but then Moe broke into song again, joined by Grandma.
“I’m going to take this outside where I can hear.”
Anything to get away from Gershwin. I thought the Germans would frown upon Moe belting it out, but a fab voice came out of that unusual man and before I got outside half the place was singing. I guess everyone knows Gershwin.
I stepped out under the overhang by the door to avoid the continuing drizzle. “Hey, Novak.”
“Was that Gershwin?” he asked.
“It was.”
“Where are you?”
“Stuttgart,” I said.
“I know that. Are you at a musical?”
“I am now.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I need some help. Have you got a minute?”
“If you’re asking about the plants on Thooft’s computer, I put that on the back burner when you said you weren’t going until after Christmas,” said Novak in his faint Serbian accent.
“Can you get it off the back burner?”
“Sure, but why did you suddenly get on a plane?”
“My dad tried to box me in, but it turns out I’m not square,” I said.
“Screw your dad.”
“Exactly.”
“What do you need?” Novak asked.
I told him about Anton’s three old laptops, the two phones, the rumors, and new old receipts.
“Are you cutting Spidermonkey out of this one?”
“Not at all.” I loved my hacker, the one that didn’t yell and bought me lattes. “He’s asleep and you never are.”
“True, but he’s better at the financial stuff. I can do the computers and phones and get back on those plants.”
“What do I do?” I asked. “Just turn ’em on?”
“How old are they?”
“Beats me, but they are heavy and thick.”
“You can try to power them up, but they might not boot.”
“So…”
“I’ll come over.”
“Over where?” I asked.
“There. Stuttgart.”
“Do you leave Paris?”
“Not often…or ever, but I will in this case,” said Novak. “I’m packing.”
“What’s going on?”
“So suspicious.”
“Tommy Watts’ daughter, so hell yeah I am. Why are you leaving Paris for me at Christmastime? I’m not even paying you that much.”
“My mother’s threatening to come see me,” he said.
“And that’s bad?” I asked.
“I’m not square, either.”
“Alrighty then. I’ll see you in…”
“Approximately four hours. Hotel?”
I gave him our particulars, which pleased him to no end. Close to the train station.
“What are you going to tell your mother?” I asked.
“That I had a friend in dire need. A female friend.”
“That’ll do it?”
“She’ll be thrilled. I might have to take pictures of us together,” said Novak. “For proof.”
“She’s gonna know it’s not true, you and me,” I said.
“How?”
“The internet. Me. Everywhere.”
“My mother hates technology. She won’t go near a computer. Why do you t
hink I love them so very much?”
“You have issues, my friend,” I said.
“I’m not the only one.”
“Is your mother also stylish?” I asked, thinking of his garish biking attire.
“Hanging up now,” said Novak. “Call Spidermonkey.”
We hung up and I looked in the brewery window. Still singing. What in the holy hell? I went out to the Mercedes and found the receipts. Then I texted pictures of them to Spidermonkey. By the time, I’d done that, my phone was ringing.
“That was quick,” I said.
“Or you were slow,” said Spidermonkey.
“I thought you were sleeping.”
“It’s eight-thirty.”
“Is it? I’m so tired. Wicked jet lag,” I said. “So you got the receipts?”
I heard him rustle around and a chair creak. “I did. Where’d you find them?”
I told him about Anton’s apartment and he started typing like mad. “I’ve got the ATM. Business area of the town, but there are apartments over the shops. He might’ve met the blackmailer in a café. I don’t see any other charges on his accounts in Weil der Stadt on those days, but I’ll go back and see if I can find something before.”
“That’s interesting,” I said. “Ella McWilliams said Anton was seen meeting kids in cafés next to hotels.”
“Mercy, there are hotels everywhere.”
“I know, but it was oddly specific. Like someone really saw something and put two and two together but didn’t want to name names.”
“I’ve seen zero evidence that Thooft had any interest in kids other than academically. I mean nothing. Not a hint and I looked through everything in Liberty High and in Stuttgart. No one made any allegations of any kind.”
“Until he was dead,” I said. “Then it got weird.”
Spidermonkey sighed. “It’s kids. They love drama.”
“I’ve got a feeling. There’s something to it.”
“Alright. I will dig back into the high school there and see what the chatter is. Do you have a name or names?”
“Ella didn’t want to say,” I said.
“I’ll check out Ella,” said Spidermonkey.
The thought made me feel bad. That girl was sad and harassed and we were going to go through her private phone? I didn’t like it and said so.
“We do this all the time, Mercy.”
“But I know her. She’s hurting.”
“She’ll hurt less when you solve it.”
“That’s what I thought about Kimberly.”
“I see what you mean,” said Spidermonkey. “How about I check her Instagram and get her contacts and messages? I’ll see who’s saying this crap to or about her.”
“Alright.”
“I won’t dig into a fourteen-year-old girl’s private thoughts. I could, but I won’t.”
“That is way less comforting than you think,” I said.
“I know, but we’re the good guys.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”
Spidermonkey laughed. “Especially when you’ve got Moe Licata with you.”
“I don’t know why that happened,” I said.
“Calpurnia put him on you.”
“Why? It looks like a stiff wind could blow him over.”
“Here’s a free heads up. Moe is more than he appears to be.”
“I bet. Want to elaborate?”
“I want to work so you solve this, come home, and your father stops calling me,” said Spidermonkey.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“He tried to get me to shut down your phone, cancel your flight from Amsterdam to Stuttgart, and more. He’s off his nut about a mile and a half.”
“White Christmas!” I said happily.
“Now that’s my favorite detective,” he said. “Go out and do what you do. For the record, I’m glad Moe’s with you.”
“Weird.”
“That’s your life.”
We hung up and I opened the door to the brewery and strains of “White Christmas” burst out. Un-freaking-believable.
“Mercy, wake up.”
“I’m awake,” I muttered into my pillow.
Grandma shook me. “You’re facedown.”
“I’m sniffing my pillow.”
“With your eyes closed?”
“It helps with the smelling,” I said.
“You’re sleeping. We’re not supposed to be sleeping,” she said. “It was your rule.”
“Rules are flexible. Go away.”
“Rules are not flexible. That’s why they are called rules,” she said. “Get up and go to the door.”
“Why on Earth would I do that?”
“I told you there’s someone at the door.”
“When?”
“Just now.”
“Tell them to go away,” I said, burying my face deeper into the high class down of the best pillow ever. Jetlag was a thing and I was no longer fighting it.
“I tried that and he wouldn’t go. Mercy, he is the oddest man I’ve ever seen,” said Grandma.
“Is it Moe?”
“Moe’s not odd.”
“You need glasses.”
She shook me hard and gave my butt a smack. “Get up. This man is insisting on seeing you and he might be crazy.”
I rolled over, eyes still closed. “What are the indications of insanity?”
“He’s wearing some kind of athletic outfit. Is there skiing near here?”
“Skiing?”
“I think he’s going skiing. I’ve seen those kinds of suits in the Olympics.”
“Weird.”
“Very and he says he knows you, but he wouldn’t tell me his name. He could be a stalker. Maybe you shouldn’t go to the door. I’ll call security or Moe.”
“Don’t call Moe. He might shoot him.”
“If he’s a stalker, I don’t care.”
I sat up and yawned. “He’s not a stalker. He’s our hacker out of Paris.”
A loud knock resounded through our hotel room and Grandma jumped.
“He sounds angry. I’m calling Moe.” She pulled out her phone and I rolled out of bed.
“He probably is angry. How long has he been out there?”
“Ten minutes.”
“For crying out loud!”
“You wouldn’t wake up,” she said. “Don’t blame me.”
I dashed to the door and looked out the peephole. It was Novak and I can’t say I blamed Grandma for not trusting him. He wore a skintight racing suit, a pile of gold chains, and had his usual man bun up on the top of his head. I should’ve expected it. The only time I’d ever seen Novak, it was in Paris during summer and he’d always been dressed in the most garish biking outfits possible.
He knocked again and I opened the door. “What are you wearing?”
“Clothes,” said Novak with a smile. “What took so long?”
“I was sleeping and that is not clothes. My grandma thinks you’re insane.”
“Don’t tell him that!” she yelled behind me.
“Too late!” I waved him in and Novak stalked past me six two, rail-thin, and nothing left to the imagination. He walked directly over to my grandmother and offered a hand. “Novak and you are the grandmother?”
Grandma swallowed and took his hand reluctantly. “Janine Watts. What is your last name?”
“I don’t have one.” Novak did a spin. “So you think I’m insane?”
“It crossed my mind,” she said.
“Good. That’s the point. People don’t bother you if they think you’re crazy.”
“Mission accomplished,” I said, flopping down on the bed.
“Don’t go back to sleep,” said Grandma.
“She won’t get on the right schedule,” said Novak.
“I know. She made me stay awake.
“You slept in the car. Twice,” I said.
“That doesn’t count.”
“It does,” I said. “I wish we had a coffee maker.”
>
Grandma spun around. “We must have a coffee maker. Where is it?”
“They don’t do that here.”
She put her hands on her hips. “That is pure insanity. Worse than that getup you’re wearing, Novak. Where can I get coffee?”
“Try the café downstairs,” I said.
“Will they give me to-go cups?”
“I doubt it, but real cups are fine.”
Grandma reapplied her lipstick and ran a comb through her hair. “Don’t say anything important until I get back.”
Novak waited until she was gone before he said, “Are we waiting?”
“Not hardly,” I said.
“Where are the computers?”
I pointed at a chair with our coats piled up on them and he tossed the coats aside to check out Anton’s ancient electronics. He placed each laptop at the foot of the bed in a row and then picked up the phones. “Cords?”
“Try that bag. We didn’t know what went to what, so we took the whole mess.”
Novak dumped the bag and shook his head. “Why do people keep all their cords?”
“Because we don’t know what goes to what and we might need them.”
“Ridiculous.”
“I don’t deny it,” I said.
After some searching, he did find all the right ones but then picked up each computer, weighing them in his expert hands, like he was assessing something through osmosis.
“This one might have been cannibalized,” he said.
“How can you tell?”
“It’s a bit light. I’ll have to crack it open if it doesn’t power up.”
“Did you bring tools for that?”
He raised an eyebrow at me and that was the end of that.
“What would be missing?”
“Power supply is my guess, but I’ve got spares,” he said. “I should be able to get these old guys up and running in an hour or so, barring anything too catastrophic. What else have you got for me?”
“Nothing. Have you got anything on the Incel sites or 4chan?”
Novak stacked up the laptops and phones. “Zeroing in on the location of the hack. It didn’t originate in Stuttgart. I can tell you that.”
“Really?” I asked.
“You’re surprised? I thought we were looking at The Klinefeld Group for this.”
“Chuck is. I’m not.”
“And why is that?”
“Just a feeling. It’s not their style,” I said.
Novak undid his bun and shook out an amazing head of hair, nearly waist length and wavy. Women would kill for that hair. “They don’t have a problem with murder, but kidnapping’s off the table?”
