The Single Twin

by Sean Little

  “Did you find him?” asked Duff.

  “I found a few guys who might be him. Never confirmed any of them.”

  Duff nodded. “This is the part where the shoe drops, isn’t it?”

  “Yes and no.” Mindy took a deep breath and continued. “While I was doing all this research, I stumbled onto something else. I can’t tell you much about it, because I’m not entirely sure what it is. I haven’t had the time to figure out what I was seeing. I know I rattled a hornet’s nest, though. One of my informants from my C.I.A. days sought me out two days ago and told me I was annoying someone important with all my searches, and I should watch my back.”

  Duff gave a low whistle. “This must be a good informant to seek you out. Most of our informants wouldn’t piss on us if we were on fire unless we had cash in hand.”

  “Eddy might,” said Abe.

  “Eddy is a pervert with a urine fetish—oh, yeah, I guess Eddy might.”

  Mindy ignored them. “I chose to take my guy’s advice with a grain of salt. Then, this morning, I was tracking down a lead and a black van with no side or rear windows pulled up alongside me in broad daylight only a couple of blocks from my house. A big dude in a ski-mask and black jacket tried to grab me. I was able to fend him off and run. He didn’t chase me, thankfully. I got away. That’s when I decided I needed back-up. I think you and I have some mutual acquaintances because a number of my contacts suggested you guys when I asked who the best detectives in Chicago were.”

  “If our networks coincide, I don’t know if I should take it as a compliment or not. A lot of our guys are pretty sketchy,” said Abe.

  “I did my research on you this afternoon, and now here I am.”

  “What is the bottom line with this? What are you worried about?” said Abe. “What do you want us to do?”

  Mindy hesitated. She got out of the chair and walked over to the window beside Duff’s desk. She opened the glass to let some of the night air into the room. “I have a feeling I’m going to disappear within the next few days. Nothing I can do will prevent it because I’m not sure where the conspiracy starts. I’m not even a hundred percent sure I know what I stumbled into at this point. Everything feels hinky, you know? I feel like people are watching me at all times. I feel like it’s only a matter of time until something happens to me. When I go missing, I want you guys to find me. And if you can’t find me, I want you to finish finding my brother. I have a feeling you’ll find the same guys who want me gone, then.”

  “Sounds dangerous,” said Duff. “I’m not likely to stick my neck out for a stranger for nothing. I’m not likely to stick my neck out for friends for nothing, either. I’m not a big fan of sticking my neck out, period.”

  Mindy’s lip curled into a half-smile. She reached into her jacket. Duff and Abe flinched, raising their hands. “Don’t shoot,” said Abe. “I have a daughter.”

  “I haven’t finished Red Dead Redemption 2 yet,” said Duff. “I need to find out what happens to Arthur Dent.”

  “Relax, cowards.” Mindy withdrew her hand and held a healthy stack of bills. “This is fifty grand.” She threw the stack at Abe.

  Abe moved to catch it, but in a display of pure lack of athletic skills, he fumbled the catch in a small comedy of errors, the bills landing on the floor. Red-faced, he picked them up and fanned the edge. “Looks like fifty K to me.”

  “If you find me, I’ll make sure you get another fifty K.”

  “What if you’re dead when we find you?” asked Duff.

  “I instructed my attorney to pay you off in the event of my death, but only if my body is found. Is a cool hundred grand in cash enough to buy your attention for a few days, maybe a few weeks?”

  Abe tossed Duff the stack. Duff sniffed it and fanned the edge. “I’m listening.”

  “How will we know if you’ve been taken or killed?” Abe was always practical. “If you have no family and no coworkers, how will anyone know you’re gone?”

  Mindy slipped her phone from her jacket. “I have an app on this thing. It gives me a notification every eight hours. As long as I open the app and renew the timer, nothing happens. If the notification hits and I don’t renew it within an hour, it will release an email to you. You’ll find out that way. Check your email often.”

  Abe pulled out his own phone and checked his email. “All good so far. No notifications.”

  “That’s because she’s right here, man.”

  “Oh, I know,” said Abe. “I was just...like, synchronizing watches or something.”

  “You don’t even wear a watch.”

  Abe pointed at the clock face on the front of his phone screen. “This is sort of a watch.”

  Mindy rolled her eyes. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Duff?”

  Duff sniffed the wad of cash again. “I’m in.”

  Abe stuck out a hand. “We have a deal.”

  “If someone takes me, you guys are my only hope.” Mindy shook Abe’s hand.

  “Why don’t you go into hiding? We have places we could arrange for you to stay for a while.”

  Mindy shook her head. “If I deviate from my routine, they’ll know something’s up. I need you guys to do what you do, figure out what I stumbled into, and come save my ass if, or when, necessary.”

  Abe’s fingers twitched nervously. “Don’t say that. I don’t do well with pressure.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Mindy checked the time on her cellphone. “I should get home. I have meetings in the morning, and anything might happen. Keep an eye on your email.”

  Abe stood up from his desk. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Mindy’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, a gentleman. In this modern era, you know you don’t need to offer to walk people to their cars, right? Especially since I’m carrying a gun?”

  “I do. It’s just the right thing to do.”

  Mindy walked to the door of the office and opened it. “After you, Mr. Chivalry.”

  THE PUNGENT SMELL of the little taqueria was thick in the staircase and the sidewalk outside. The place was open all the time, serving walk-up customers all day long. When there was no wind the smell seemed to swell and coat every surface. It was not unpleasant provided you liked tacos al pastor.

  When they got to the sidewalk, Mindy pointed down the street. “I’m down here, the gray Charger. Don’t follow me. I want it to look like I was just visiting friends.”

  “Oh. Sure.” Abe smiled. “Oh, I guess, then do we...hug?” Abe started to reach out awkwardly.

  “Let’s just stand here and talk a moment.”

  “I can do that. I’m a good talker.” Abe pulled his hands back folding them defensively across his chest. “No, that’s not really true.”

  “Can you tell me about your friend’s missing decade? I mean, I had some high-level security access to records, and he sort of disappeared for almost ten years. In this information age to have a black hole like he does is rare. It’s suspicious.”

  “It’s not really my story to tell.” Abe looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Duff doesn’t really like to talk about it.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “No. More sad than bad.” Abe chewed his lower lip for a moment. “Okay, fine. I’ll give you the Cliff’s Notes version.”

  “That’s all I need.”

  “So, Duff has O.C.D. It’s not a constant thing anymore. It fluctuates. Some days are better than others. In certain instances, it can become very severe, but it only manifests in extremely specific ways.”

  “Like how?”

  “Like he only wears one style and one color of underwear. And if he finds something he can’t figure out, he obsesses on it as long as it’s not about romance. His O.C.D. does not apply to trying to figure out relationships.”

  “Good to know.”

  Abe leaned against the wall of the taqueria. He kicked at some dirt on the sidewalk with the toe of his shoe. “Near the end of his sophomore year of high school, his best friend�
�well, his only friend, if you really know the story. Anyhow, his best friend was murdered. Horrible crime. Horrible situation. To this day, it’s still unsolved. From everything I’ve read, the most likely scenario was some drifter showed up, slaughtered his friend and her parents with an axe, and then moved on. Completely random. No evidence. No nothing.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “Yeah. Duff was the one who stumbled on the bodies and called the police. He was initially a suspect but after he was cleared of the crime, he went off the rails. Duff’s O.C.D. derailed his future. He started obsessing on the details of the case. He obsessed on the fact the police had no suspects. It seemed to be as random an act of murder as there is, and without D.N.A. or a lead or something of that nature it’s just going to be one of those many unfortunate cases that never gets solved. Duff’s brain could not accept it. He lost it. Big time. He stopped sleeping. He stopped studying anything but the case. He became even more antisocial. His parents couldn’t deal with him, so they had him committed to a special home in Canada for a while because he sort of detached from reality.”

  “Did he ever reattach?”

  “He has his moments,” said Abe. “During his commitment, he basically studied everything he could about mysteries, murder, and criminal theory. He’s probably got the equivalent of a Ph.D. in problem-solving. He could stand toe-to-toe with any F.B.I. profiler, I think. But he doesn’t have any papers to show for it, so he’s sort of an anomaly. He might be one of the best anti-criminal minds in the country, if not the best, but he’s damaged.”

  “But, he’s okay, though. Right? He gets through his days. He’s not dangerous.”

  “Years of therapy have made him as close to normal as he’s going to get, I think. He missed a lot of time as a teenager which most people use to learn the social mores of society. He does not interact well with others and he can be a bit selfish at times, but I don’t mind.” Abe was quiet for a moment. Duff was a project, but he liked him. Duff accepted Abe for who he was and never asked him to change. “He’s a good friend to me, though. Damaged, but a good friend.”

  “And you?”

  “Oh, I’m damaged, too. We’re both pretty much unfit for civilized society.”

  “But, you were married. You have a daughter.”

  Abe shrugged, his shoulders almost hitting his ears. “The sun shines on a dog’s behind once in a while, I guess. I married a woman as damaged as I was. Got lucky. We were happy, sort of, for a while.”

  Mindy narrowed her eyes. “Stop. If it gets any more pathetic around here, I may pull out my piece and save these kidnappers the trouble of killing me.”

  Abe blushed. “Yeah, I guess Duff and I are sort of an acquired taste.”

  Mindy pulled out her phone, opened her app, and thumbed the reset. “Wait for my email. I hope you’ll never get it, but I just have a feeling something bad is coming.”

  “I’ll check often.” Abe watched Mindy walk away. She strode confidently, directly. There was no fear or hesitation in her walk. Abe admired her bravery. If he knew someone was threatening to kidnap him he would not be quite so bold.

  Mindy climbed into her Dodge Charger. The taillights flared to life. The big engine roared as she pulled into the street and gave it gas. In seconds, she had blended into the sea of lights down the road, gone from Abe’s view.

  Abe waited for another minute as if he was waiting for something to occur. He did not know what, but he felt something coming on the wind. It was there, palpable and fragrant, mixed with the heady aroma of al pastor, onions, and limes from the taqueria.

  Abe bought four tacos and two glass bottles of pineapple Jarritos from the walk-up window. He took them up to the office. Duff was already in his room playing video games in the dark. Only the dancing light from his flat-screen TV illuminated the office. Abe handed him the square cardboard bowl with two tacos in it and a bottle of soda.

  “Hey, you really know how to spoil a guy,” said Duff. He paused his game and snapped down the leg-rest on the recliner so he could better get an angle on the tacos.

  “Kind of a strange night, wouldn’t you say?”

  Duff nodded with a mouthful of food. “Not an average day at all. Even for us.”

  “What do you think?”

  “She had an amazing ass.”

  “I meant about the case.” Abe walked over to his desk and sat down. He took a big bite of taco and, true to his very nature, about half of the fillings spilled out the other end and splattered on his desk.

  “I’m not sure what to think.” Duff swallowed before he had chewed enough and had to wash down the bulk with a hit of soda. “My first thought was she was a looney. You know what I mean? Who comes in and hires detectives because she thinks she’s going to go missing? That ain’t healthy behavior.”

  “What if she’s not a looney?”

  Duff considered this for a minute. “Then she opened a door that was supposed to stay shut. For someone with military and C.I.A. connections, it would have to be a pretty heavy door, indeed.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Abe scooped up his taco innards with his fingers and tried to rearrange his meal as best he could. “If what she said is true, then we’re already in over our heads.”

  “We have fifty grand in cash. We could duck and run.”

  “Could you sleep if you knew a lady was out there who needed help and we were the only guys who could help her?”

  Duff considered it. “Not at first.”

  “Be honest with yourself.”

  Duff’s mouth turned into a scowl. “No, I wouldn’t sleep.”

  “Then I guess we’re already in over our heads.” Abe pulled out his phone and checked his email app. No messages came through. “I really hope we don’t get the email.”

  -4-

  DETECTIVE MALCOLM BETTS rang the boys’ office at 8:00 A.M. on the dot and told them to get down to the station immediately.

  “Are you taking us to breakfast?”

  “No. I think there’s day-old doughnuts in the break room if you’re desperate.”

  “Duff might be. What’s this about?”

  “It’s about the body from yesterday. Bring your damned consultant invoice.” Betts ended the call without another word. The phone went dead in Abe’s hand.

  Duff stuff his head out of the bathroom, his face still half-covered with shaving cream. “What’d Betts want?”

  Abe smiled sheepishly. “He says we were right about the body, yesterday.”

  WHEN ABE FIRST bought his Volvo station wagon, it had been the nicest car had ever owned. It had leather seats, a sunroof, and all the newest features for the time. Abe had been so proud of the car when he’d bought it. It was a family car, and with Katherine being pregnant at the time, he was becoming a family man. He had felt a real sense of pride driving it. One of the best days of his life had been bringing Matilda home from the hospital in that car. He’d spent hours making certain the car seat was anchored properly, and he’d driven like a half-blind ninety-year-old just to make sure she made it home safe. Now, the car was almost twenty years old, well past its prime, and Duff had given it the ignominious nickname, The Fucking Embarrassment. Abe could not bear to part with it, though. It still represented the life he thought he would be leading, even though it now looked much more like the life he was ending up with.

  Still, The Fucking Embarrassment got Abe and Duff around Chicago like a trooper. Volvo made good engines with this particular car sitting at a little over 400,000 miles and still going strong, despite the occasional hiccup. The engine sounded terrible when it started, but it quieted down when it warmed up. The heater was lethargic in the winter and the A/C had stopped working years ago, which in Chicago was really only a problem for a handful of days. Otherwise, the 2/55 air conditioning was all they really needed.

  Abe always drove. Duff always rode shotgun. Because Duff’s O.C.D. was triggered by carbage, The Fucking Embarrassment was always clean. It was not always vacuumed, but there
was never a free-roaming scrap of a straw wrapper blowing around the cabin, nor were there empty cans in the drink holders. At any stop, Duff would always collect whatever needed to be thrown out, and he would pitch it into the nearest garbage. Once or twice a month, Duff vacuumed it. They never spoke about it, but despite Duff’s harsh moniker for the vehicle, Abe liked to think Duff liked the car as much as he did. Duff never told Abe to buy something new.

  Abe pulled into the visitor parking at the 26th District cop-shop and let The Fucking Embarrassment rumble to a stop. They got out of the car. Abe wore ill-fitting khakis and glossy brown shoes with a blue, short-sleeved shirt and a blue tie. Duff wore jeans, black Doc Marten oxfords, and an old, black Brewers jersey to compliment his Brewers cap. Duff liked to represent the Crew in Cub-town. He liked the dirty stares and nasty comments it brought him on occasion.

  As he had almost every thirty minutes since Mindy left the night before, save for the four hours he’d spent sleeping in the bathtub of the office draped in an old blanket and using a thick book as a pillow, Abe checked his email on his phone. Satisfied with the lack of messages, he pocketed the device and nodded to Duff.

  They walked into the main lobby together, filtering into the mix of cops and civilians coming and going from the building. The station looked like 1983 if the year could be represented by post-modern architecture. It was plain and gray, a large, imposing square block of a building with dated windows and doors. The pale yellowish-taupe of the floors screamed early ‘80s, as did so many of the paneled wood accents around the building. The interior of the place always reminded Abe of his grade school, a strange mix of age, time, stale coffee, and industrial cleanser with a faint hint of mildew which managed to hit the back of the throat in just the right way that made him want to cough.

  The entry to the Two-Six was a large foyer with benches along one wall and a long counter with bullet-proof glass in front of it where a couple of uniforms and a civilian secretary directed visitors. Leona Murphy, a uniform who knew Duff and Abe well, lit up when they walked in. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Sherlock Twins.”