by Sean Little
MINDY JEFFERSON’S APARTMENT was located in a fifteen-story building in the River West neighborhood of Chicago proper. The building she lived in was modern yet practical, one of the best-looking buildings on her street, but it was located on not a particularly nice street in a not particularly nice section of the community. The building across the street from her place was a long-shuttered industrial building which probably should just have been bulldozed a decade ago but now was a haven for pigeons and graffiti artists, two things for which Duff had little patience.
A homeless woman wearing too many clothes for the heat and wearing a ratty sleeping bag like a cape was pushing a pilfered Home Depot shopping cart down the sidewalk. In the cart were several plastic bags filled with all her worldly possessions, whatever odds and ends she was able to pluck from garbage cans and dumpsters. She wore a sweatshirt hood low over her face and her hair was ratty and spiking out the sides of the cowl. Duff slipped the woman a twenty-dollar bill as he and Abe passed. “Go get yourself something to eat, Grandmother.”
“Bless you, suh.” The woman’s voice was cracked and harsh. She reached out and snatched the bill. She did not look up at Duff, just continued to push her cart down the road.
The building was a standard large tower block with fancier stone and ornamentation than many of its ilk. Lots of glass on the outside. Each apartment had its own little balcony and a sliding glass door leading out to it. Given the heat, most of the glass doors were shut and little window-box air conditioners that dotted the building were chugging along as hard as they could. The building did not have live door security, but it did have a numerical keypad.
Abe tried the five-digit code listed first in the body of the email. Sure enough, the door buzzed and unlocked. They were inside.
A large bank of pigeon-hole mailboxes was along the far wall. Abe and Duff scanned the boxes until they found one with a nameplate with MD Jefferson listed on the box for Apartment 2022.
“Not as cool as apartment 2112,” groused Duff. “I would have been totally down to go search apartment 2112.”
Abe hit the call button for the elevator. “I feel like an overt Rush reference like that might be wasted on a woman.”
“True enough. Not a lot of dames at the Rush concerts.”
They rode the elevator in silence, stepped off on the twelfth floor, and located the apartment by a simple brass number plate on the front door. Some of the apartment doors were decorated. Some had little pictures or decorative wreaths with summer themes on them. Mindy’s door was bare and plain much as Abe expected it to be. She did not seem like a woman who would go in for door-decorating.
They stopped in front of the door. Duff cracked his neck to the side and flexed his fingers in front of him. He held out an arm to hold Abe back. He looked to his partner and waggled his eyebrows. “It’s show time. I got this.” Duff bent over to inspect the lock. He pulled out his lock pick kit and started to select which picks and hooks would be most likely to beat the tumblers in the door lock.
While Duff overthought the lock, Abe reached over and tried the knob. It was unlocked and the door swung open.
Duff stood stooped over and looking sheepish for a moment. “Or, we could just try the knob, I guess. That’ll work, too.”
Abe walked into Mindy Jefferson’s apartment. It was as Spartan and utilitarian as one would expect a former military officer and ex-C.I.A. asset’s apartment to be. The main area of the apartment was a large, open rectangular space with dark hardwood flooring. An open kitchen was along the left side, a small window over the sink looking out to the neighborhood twelve stories down. She had no table or chairs for dining, but two barstools sidled up to a breakfast nook section of countertop jutting into the otherwise empty dining space. The rest of the open area was filled with a single gray couch, a forty-inch wall-mounted flat-screen T.V., and a coffee table with a few books, files, and stacks of paper on it, all squared neatly to the edges. The balcony was directly across from the entry door. The sliding glass door to the small balcony was closed.
“Not really an HGTV centerfold, is it?” Duff peered around over Abe’s shoulder.
“If there had been a struggle, who could tell?”
“If there had been a struggle, I think the coffee table would have been tipped over.” Duff shouldered past Abe, sat on the couch, and inspected a sheet of paper on the coffee table. Deeming it unimportant to the case at hand, Duff started folding it into a dart-shaped paper airplane.
Abe watched, eyes squinting in confusion. “What are you doing?”
“Dude, I live on the second floor. You live on the second floor. We never get a chance to throw paper airplanes off a twelfth-story balcony.”
Part of Abe wanted to do the mature adult thing, but it was a very small part. The rest of him wanted to watch a paper airplane fly. “Fine. But be fast.”
Duff finished his folding and creasing. The balcony door was locked, so Abe unlocked it and slid it open. “Look at this view!” From twelve stories up, even the abandoned industrial factory looked beautiful. A reedy sapling had managed to start growing in the detritus in one corner of the roof. Leaves and dirt covered the rest of the roof. There was actual grass growing over a large swath of it.
“How much would it cost for us to move into a place like this? New office digs would be nice. No more smelling like al pastor all day. I’d miss the tacos, but this pad is swanky.”
Abe did the math in his head. “We could afford an office like this with this sort of view, but we’d only last two months before we went bankrupt.”
“Then, I guess smelling like al pastor ain’t so bad.” Duff cocked his arm back and let fly with the paper dart. It jetted out into the afternoon winds and caught a bit of a lift but quickly began to lose altitude. It flew almost a hundred yards before circling down and crash-landing on the roof of the empty warehouse across the street. Duff and Abe watched it the entire time with childlike smiles plastered to their mugs.
“That was awesome!”
“Want to do it again?” Duff gestured at the rest of the stack of papers.
Abe did want to do it again, but he managed to rein himself in. “Let’s do what we’re paid to do, first. If we can find Mindy alive, maybe she’ll be grateful enough to let us come over and fly planes anytime we want.”
“Solid logic.” Duff held up a hand for a high-five. Abe slapped it lightly with a weak wrist. Abe was not good at high-fives.
They looked around the apartment, appraising every surface with a critical eye, inspecting the floor, and looking for any hint of a scuffle or abduction. There was nothing which stood out to either of them, nothing out of the ordinary save for the lack of furnishings.
Abe opened the closet by the entry. It was almost bare. An umbrella leaned against one corner of the closet. A long, black raincoat hung on one hanger next to a woman’s parka from L.L. Bean. It was a thick, expensive jacket rated to forty below. “Our girl hates the cold, I guess. Can’t blame her.”
They searched through the kitchen. The fridge was almost empty save for a half-dozen cans of Bud Light still in a torn-open case, a few vacuum-sealed packs of cheese, and an open carton of Arm & Hammer baking soda. The freezer was totally empty, not even a tray of ice cubes. The entire kitchen was bare other than two cupboards. One held a couple of plates and glasses, and the other held a couple of pots and pans and a few canned goods. Duff shut the cupboard as quickly as he’d opened it. “She ain’t Julia Child.”
They searched the little bathroom just outside of the door to the bedroom. A few bottles of over-the-counter painkillers in the medicine cabinet. A razor, soap, and shampoo on the edge of the tub. Toothpaste, brush, dental floss in one drawer. A few pieces of make-up in the other, mainly a foundation crème, neutral lipstick, and mascara brush. A four-pack of toilet paper under the sink. A towel hung over the towel rack. It had been used in the past, but it was dry now.
“She lives even more simplistically than I do,” said Duff. “I’m impressed.�
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“Henry David Thoreau would be impressed.” Abe had never seen anyone with such a nice apartment in such a nice location who had almost nothing in it. “You could move out of this place in three trips. Maybe less.”
“These aren’t furnished apartments. The couch, the coffee table, and the barstools are hers. I assume there’s a bed, as well.” Duff moved into the bedroom. There was a queen-sized mattress mounted upon what looked like a trio of cheap wooden pallets. The bed was made, a simple black fabric comforter over the top. A U.S. Navy fleece throw blanket draped over the foot of it. A dresser sat in the corner. A modest jewelry box sat open on top of it. It held only two plain rings, a few post earrings, and a silver charm bracelet with only three charms: an anchor and a boat to represent the Navy, and a curved fish—probably a Pisces symbol. A small necklace tree next to it held two simple pendant necklaces on plain silver chains and Mindy’s old military dog tags. The door to the small closet was open, the closet nearly empty: a few pairs of shoes sat neatly arranged on the floor in front of the closet; a few business outfits and military uniforms hung from the bar.
Duff took it upon himself to scan through her bureau. Top drawer: socks, bras, and underwear. A couple of pairs of pantyhose. All the undergarments were utilitarian, simple, and comfortable. No thongs. Nothing lacy. Nothing suggested she ever entertained any gentlemen callers recreationally. The drawer was only half-full, as well. The second drawer was nothing but t-shirts, most bearing U.S. Navy logos or slogans. The third drawer was an arrangement of folded skirts, shorts, and jeans. The final drawer held a nine-by-twelve fireproof personal safe not even six-inches high and a locked handgun case.
In a small closet in the hallway, Abe found the essentials for cleaning and laundry. Abe flipped back the sheets on the bed. Together, he and Duff lifted the mattress to see if there was anything underneath. Nothing. They dropped the mattress and replaced the sheets. Duff fell back on the mattress and propped his head up with the two pillows. “Well, I’m at a loss.”
Abe pulled out the gun case and safe from the bottom of the dresser. “Case is light. Wherever Mindy is, she has—or had—her piece.” He replaced the case. The personal safe was simplistic in design. It needed a key. “Where would a C.I.A. operative hide a key in an apartment where there wasn’t anything to look through?”
Duff thought for a minute. “Normally, I’d say it was taped to the underside of one of the drawers. She doesn’t seem like the type to take time emptying drawers. Let’s assume whatever is in the safe is important to her, so the key would be with something she deemed equally as important to her.” He scanned the room for a moment and his eyes lit on her Navy uniforms hanging in the closet. He pointed.
Abe followed Duff’s finger and went to the uniforms. The epaulets on the dress uniform designated Mindy as a lieutenant commander. He searched the pockets and found nothing. He felt the hems for hidden pockets. “I’m not finding anything.”
“Check the hat.” Duff’s eyes floated up to the small shelf at the top of the closet. A white officer’s cap sat above the hanging uniforms.
Abe pulled it down and ran his fingers around the edge. Nothing. Then, he checked the eagle-and-anchor device on the front. Shoved behind the metal sigil so cleverly it could not be seen from the front was a thin key the size of Abe’s thumbnail. Abe slipped the key out of the cap and used it to open the safe. Inside the safe was about an inch of standard paper and a thumb drive. “These will come home with us, obviously.” Abe pocketed the drive and stuff the sheaf of papers under his arm.
“Abe, what are we missing?”
Abe looked around the room. “A helluva lot, I bet.”
Duff gestured at the walls. “Who lives like this?”
“You do.”
“Touché. What normal, well-adjusted person lives like this?”
Abe shrugged. “I highly doubt anyone in the C.I.A. could be considered normal or well-adjusted. I think anyone at that level of government is harboring some serious damage gained through the trauma of experience.”
“Still. Look around us. Who lives like this?”
“Where are you going with this, Duff?”
Duff sighed. “There was nothing obvious about this apartment when we walked in, right? Even after a search, other than little safe, there’s nothing obvious. So, what are we missing?”
“Who says we have to be missing something?”
“We’re obviously missing something, otherwise I wouldn’t feel so hinky about being here.” Duff sat up on the bed. “There are no photos. No personal mementos. It’s like this is her second home or a residence she rents for business purposes.”
“Maybe she’s just not sentimental.”
“C’mon, buddy. No one is this level of not sentimental, not even me.”
“Good point.” Abe walked through their arrival at the apartment in his mind. “Why did she leave the door unlocked?”
“How do we know she did that?”
“Because there is no wallet and no keys. There is absolutely no sign of a struggle, so she must have taken them with her when she left.”
“So, she left the door unlocked on purpose. The building is safe, but it’s not that safe.” Duff’s eyes narrowed. He took on a mad-scientist-at-work gleam in his eye which only appeared when he knew something did not add up. “What else are we missing?”
Duff ripped open the door to the closet the rest of the way. He flipped through the outfits hanging in there. He looked at the shoes. “Abe, where’s the luggage?”
“What luggage?”
“That’s my point. There is no luggage here. No suitcase, no garment bags, no military-issue duffel bags, nothing! Who moves into an apartment without a backpack at the very least?”
“You did,” said Abe. “You used Hefty bags to haul around your clothes.”
“I know, but I’m an exception, not a rule.” Duff ran out to the main room. “There’s no computer here, either. Who doesn’t have a personal computer nowadays?”
“No computer, no luggage, and a bunch of her clothes are missing. She left her door unlocked knowing we would probably come here first to start tracking her down.” Abe connected the dots. “She was not abducted.”
“She’s in hiding.” A slow smile crossed Duff’s face. “Oh, she’s good. I like her.”
“She knew someone was after her for some reason, so she went into hiding before they could get her, and she hired us to finish what she started.” Abe slapped the sheaf of files in his hand with the back of his free hand. “I guess we need to get started on this.”
Duff nodded. He surveyed the practically empty apartment again. “Time for one more airplane toss?”
Abe wavered. “Okay, but I get to make it and throw it this time.”
Duff gave a counteroffer. “We can both do one and we’ll see whose is better.”
The two grown-ass men ran back to the coffee table like gleeful children to fold a sheet of paper into a plane shape so they could sling them from the twelfth-story balcony one more time.
-6-
ABE LOADED THE flash drive into his computer at the office. It lit up with a pale green glow and the computer opened the file folder on the screen. It was locked. A second window popped up in front of the other and demanded a password.
“Must be the eight-digit code from her app message.” Abe pulled out his phone to double-check the message and entered the code. The computer whirred for a second and then spit up a long list of documents and other files in the directory window.
“She had this planned before she ever showed up here to hire us.” Duff leaned over his shoulder. He scanned the list. “Lots of files.”
“Searching for a long-adopted sibling must have been a chore.” Abe scanned all the document names. It looked like a lot of legalese, something he spoke fluently when necessary, but he tried to avoid. “Some of this stuff looks deep-state, like she abused her C.I.A. position to dig up dirt.” He pointed at some of the tags on the files. Definitely gover
nment. Not security-clearance stuff, but definitely of sketchy origins.
“Might be why she had to disappear,” said Duff. “We know nothing about this woman. We took her at her word. She might have been lying to us.”
“Did it seem like she was lying to us?”
“She’s C.I.A. They’re the best liars.”
“I thought politicians were the best liars.”
“Who do you think trains the politicians to lie?” Duff waggled his eyebrows.
Abe pointed at a line in the folder. “There’s a movie file. Looks like a cellphone video.”
“So, click the link, genius.”
The movie file opened the player window and a static image of Mindy Jefferson filled the box. Abe pressed the play button. Her voice came out of the speakers. “Hey, fellas. If you’re playing this file, then you’re halfway intelligent detectives. I have gone underground. I knew an attempt on my life was coming and one happened. I managed to avoid it, but I also know it won’t be the last. So, I’ve gone into hiding. Hopefully you can figure out who is trying to kill me and why, and then maybe I can come out of seclusion. I’m counting on you two to get me my life back.”
In the video, she held up a sheaf of papers. “In the same safe where you found the thumb drive is the collection of physical papers I was using to find my brother. On the drive itself are all the digital files. I turn them over to you. I realize you’re coming in on this blind, but I think you’ll do alright. I had the numbers narrowed down to five or six boys who fit the right profile and might have a shot.. If you're really good, maybe you’ll find other things. I was tracking down a few other leads. I hope you figure out what the hell is going on.”
The video-Mindy took a long breath and exhaled it through clenched teeth. “I hate running. I hate hiding. But, I feel like I don’t have much of a choice. I’m going dark. I’ll be checking the news when I can, though. I’ll look for your names.” She smiled reassuringly. “Help me, Obi-Wan. You’re my only hope.” The screen went black.
