by Rob Cornell
What it really sounded like was a good way to launder money under the guise of “helping business owners take charge of their financial future.” Another gem from their website.
Their offices were located, unsurprisingly, in Bloomfield Hills, a posh city north of Detroit that served as home to places like the Bloomfield Hills Country Club and the Bloomfield Open Hunt, exclusive clubs for people with too much money and time on their hands.
Bloomfield Hills’ business district was tucked into a wedge of the city between Woodward Avenue and Long Lake Road. The Talon Group occupied a suite on the second floor of an office building right in the heart of the district.
The reception area had a surprisingly cozy feel. Wood paneled walls adorned with a few of those paintings you could buy at the mall featuring secret little cottages in the woods, a warm, welcoming glow in their windows. The thick burgundy carpet would have looked at home in a living room, with the right amount of cushion to make watching TV while laying on the floor comfortable. The receptionist’s desk was stained a color to match the carpeting and had ample surface real estate to hold a computer, a phone, a potted cactus, a couple of framed photos, and a wicker office caddy for pens, memo pad, and Post-It Notes.
“She’s going to want to see me,” Harrison told the receptionist, a kid in his early twenties who looked like he had stepped out of a GQ ad—tailored suit, hundred-dollar haircut, and a perfect set of white teeth. Quite a look for someone manning the front desk and phones.
The kid gave Harrison a shiny smile. “Like I said, Ms. Seelenberger only sees those with an appointment. I can schedule one for you if you’d like?”
“Sure.” Harrison pulled out his phone to check the time. “Put me down for two forty-three this afternoon.”
“Sir, that’s what time it is right now.”
“Convenient, no?”
The kid pivoted in his chair to face his computer screen and scrolled with his mouse. “The soonest I have is a week from tomorrow.”
Now would have been a good time to try bribing the kid, but judging from his attire and dental health, he probably made more in an hour than what Harrison could afford to offer. Which meant he’d have to try threats instead. A shame. The kid had been super polite so far.
Harrison planted his hands on the edge of the desk and leaned forward. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Gregory.”
“Listen, Gregory. My name is Harrison Hart. An employee of your boss has been harassing me. He even broke into my home and trashed the place. I’m trying to settle things without having to bring in the authorities. I’d hate to have to tell Ms. Seelenberger it was your fault the police showed up asking uncomfortable questions.”
He was banking on the kid having at least a vague notion that not everything his boss did was legal, and that she would not appreciate unwanted attention from law enforcement.
Gregory shot Harrison another of his gleaming smiles. “I’m sure Ms. Seelenberger’s powerful and proficient lawyers would be happy to talk to the authorities.”
Well, la-tee-freaking-da. Harrison stopped leaning on the desk and stood his full six feet two inches. There were only two doorways exited the small reception area, one to the right and one to the left. Neither had any kind of brass plate or other form of labeling. One could have been a broom closet for all he knew.
“I could just barge in.”
Still smiling. “You could try.”
Harrison had one last card to play, but it was weak. He’d have to do some judicious embellishment to make it work. “This involves her daughter-in-law,” he said. “In other words, it’s a private matter. So why don’t you hit whatever button on your phone connects you to her and let her know she has a family crisis on her hands?”
Gregory’s smile faltered. “You’re lying.”
“I’ve been sent by the bull woman herself. Forget about the cops. Do you want her coming in here demanding to know why Ona Seelenberger’s receptionist got in the way of protecting the family name?”
“Why…” Gregory cleared his throat. His worried frown hid those beautiful teeth of his. “Why didn’t you say so to begin with?”
Referring to the daughter-in-law as the bull woman seemed to add credibility to his story.
“Because it’s none of your damn business, Gregory. That’s why.”
The kid made a face like someone with a bad gas bubble after too much rich food. “Of course. Apologies.” He picked up his phone, punched a single button, then turned his chair to the side so that the receiver blocked his mouth.
Harrison took a couple steps back and pretended to admire one of the quaint paintings to give Gregory a little privacy. The kid mumbled something into the phone, waited a beat, mumbled something else, then finished with a clear, “Yes, ma’am,” and hung up.
“It just so happens Ms. Seelenberger is free for a moment and will see you.”
“Fancy that.”
Fourteen
Harrison had instant office envy. It really didn’t look like an office at all. More like a grown-up’s playroom, what some dudes would call a man cave. Harrison didn’t know if there was a female or gender neutral term that meant the same thing. In this case, it didn’t matter. Anybody, man or woman, would love to report to “work” in such a place.
The walls had the same wood paneling as the reception area. But instead of the cheesy cabin paintings, Ona had hung vintage movie posters advertising movies like Casablanca, Treasure of the Sierra Madre, and The Big Sleep. And if the posters weren’t homage enough to Humphrey Bogart, an autographed 8x10 of the man himself held a prominent space among them.
A wet bar with a pair of stools took up most of the wall to the left and had a large flatscreen TV mounted to the wall above it. A window stretched most the length of the far wall, adorned with vertical blinds opened enough to let in some natural light, but not much of the view of the parking lot below.
Ona didn’t have a desk. Instead, tucked back in one corner and facing the TV, she sat in a leather recliner with a side table that held a laptop, phone, and a bottle of red wine with a half-full glass to go with it. She had her feet up on the recliner’s extended footrest, showing off the rubber soles of her fuzzy pink slippers. She filled the chair like a massive lump of dough dressed in a flower-print muumuu. Someone had carved a face in the dough, tucked a pair of shiny black marbles in for eyes, and applied a thick coat of makeup. Her mouth looked like a red-painted scar curled down in a permanent scowl. Her gray hair was tucked into a crude bun that sat lopsided on the top of her head and was riddled with flyaways.
A cold chill washed through Harrison at the sight of her. Some animal part of his psyche recognized her as a dangerous predator despite her slovenly appearance. Best not to underestimate her.
Gregory closed the door, leaving Harrison alone with her.
Her black marble eyes shifted from the TV—Maury was doing paternity tests again—to Harrison. She picked up her wine glass and took a sip while silently studying him.
“I don’t know you,” she said in a clear, melodic voice that did not match the woman one bit. She sounded both surprised and amused.
Harrison decided to get right to the point. “Then why do you have your guy, Arlie Eckman, following me around? Or had him break into my house?”
Her eyes narrowed and, with the puffy skin around them, looked almost closed. “You must be mistaken.”
He started to reply, but the sound of Maury’s studio audience booing one of his guests swelled from the TV, cutting him off. He gave the TV an annoyed glare.
“Sorry,” Ona said. She leaned to one side and dug under her with one flabby hand. It looked like she was scratching her ass until she fished a remote out and used it to mute the TV. “You were saying?”
Before coming over, Harrison had put Eckman’s driver’s license into his shirt pocket. He pulled it out. “This is his driver’s license. I took it from him while he was tailing me.”
Her mouth wormed into something
like a smile, but it didn’t touch those dark eyes. “Now I know you’re mistaken. Arlie would eat you for breakfast.”
Harrison started to cross the room, holding the license out to her. Halfway to her recliner, he stopped, noticing the gun in her hand, a simple, short-barreled revolver. He hadn’t seen her pull it out, but was damn certain she hadn’t had it when he first came into the office. A good example of why he shouldn’t let her looks fool him.
“Nope,” she said. “I prefer people keep their distance. I’m a bit of a germaphobe.”
Harrison lifted his gaze from her gun to her eyes. A cold knot twisted in his belly. “I’m not here to give you a hard time. I don’t care what it is you’re involved with. I just want you to leave me the hell out of it.”
“What’s this have to do with Jen?”
“Jen?”
“You told my boy out front this had something to do with my daughter-in-law.”
“You tell me.”
Her large chest heaved as she took a deep breath. “I’m not a patient woman, Mister…?”
“Hart. Harrison Hart.”
“Okay, Harry. I’m—”
“Harrison. Not Harry.”
Her mouth did that wriggly, almost-smile thing again. “Whatever you say, Harrison. I’d like you to stop wasting my time. I don’t know you. I’m certain I’d rather not. Make your pitch already. What do you want?”
“I told you what I want.” He held out the license to her again as if she’d carded him. “This belongs to Arlie Eckman. A man I know works for you. He’s been tailing me. He broke into my house, tossed the place, but only took a handful of thumb drives that don’t have anything you’d be interested in on them. So whatever you’re looking for? I don’t have it.”
For a while, she didn’t say a word. Didn’t move. Didn’t seem to even breathe. Whatever magic had animated this mound of dough had stopped working.
Then she pulled the hammer back on her revolver.
“Thumb drives?” she asked.
The muscles in Harrison’s neck and shoulders tensed. An electric chill buzzed through him. “So you do know what I’m talking about.”
“Toss me that license.”
Harrison flung it like a playing card at a hat. It landed neatly on Ona’s lap.
She picked it up and stared at it for a good ten seconds. “Was the business about Jen a bluff or something?”
“Not exactly. I had a run in with her the other day. Someone tried to steal her purse. I stopped him and returned it.”
“Is that so?” She was still studying Eckman’s license as if trying to memorize it.
“She seemed to think I’d taken something from it before returning it. I assumed that’s why you had Eckman after me. But, like I said, I don’t have it. Whatever it is.”
Finally, she set the license aside on her table. She eased the hammer on her gun forward and placed the gun beside the license. “Okay, Mr. Hart. I’ll look into it. I apologize for any trouble.”
“That’s it?”
“Was there something else you needed?”
“I guess not.”
She punched a button on her phone. “Gregory, give our new friend, Mr. Harrison Hart, the standard thank you gift on his way out.”
“Of course,” Gregory’s voice said from the speaker.
Standard thank you gift?
“Take care, Harrison,” Ona said, then pointed her remote at the TV and unmuted it. The old jingle of a commercial for a car dealership on Telegraph Road that had been playing in the Detroit area since Harrison was a kid filled the office. Ona’s full attention returned to the TV as if Harrison had already left.
All righty then. Guess it’s time to collect my gift.
Back in the reception area, Gregory handed Harrison an envelope. “Have a splendid day, Mr. Hart.”
Well, Greg’s tune had certainly changed.
Harrison figured it would be rude to open the envelope right there, much as he was dying to know what the standard thank you gift entailed. He ripped it open the second he got in his car.
A check.
For a thousand dollars.
Fifteen
“What happened to your eye?”
Mother scrutinized Jake from her recliner. Arlie stood at her side, expression flat, almost bored. He stared at Jake, too. Between the two of them, Jake felt like a specimen in a petrie dish.
His face flushed. “I fell.”
It sounded as ridiculous out loud as it had in his head, but he wasn’t about to tell her the truth. Especially not with Arlie standing right there.
Jake sat on one of the stools at the bar. He kept eyeing the Beefeater, but one did not drink from the bar in Mother’s office without an explicit invitation. From the annoyed look in Mother’s eyes, he doubted he would get one tonight. Above him, the TV was on. The TV was always on. The sound was muted. Some old black and white picture played silently on screen. These old films all looked the same to Jake. He never understood Mother’s obsession.
“Oh, Jacob, you shouldn’t treat your ma like an idiot. You know I hate being treated like an idiot.”
The heat in Jake’s face spread downward. He could feel the sweat under his arms. Smell it a little, too. When Mother had summoned him to her office, he could tell from the tone of her voice he was in some trouble. He should have changed his undershirt before coming. He should have known she’d make him sweat.
“Mother, I’m not—”
“Don’t lie to me again.” She pressed a hand flat on her chest. “I don’t think my heart can take it.”
Oh, yes. Mother’s famous weak heart. She’d never been hospitalized or so much as prescribed medication for anything to do with her heart. But oh how she worried it would quit whenever she disapproved of Jake’s actions. For as much as she complained about him, she should have been dead five times over by now.
“Sorry, Mother.”
She made a disgusted grunt and shook her head. “Stop sniveling. You know how I hate that. Stand up for yourself.”
“Yes, Mother.”
She craned her neck to look up at Arlie. “He’s hopeless.”
Arlie nodded. “He sure is, ma’am.”
A childish urge to stick his tongue out at Arlie struck Jake. For the love of God, he was regressing. He had to stop this. Mother was right. He needed to stand up for himself. Of course, she didn’t really want him to do any such thing. Not to her, at least. Yet that was exactly what this situation called for.
He slid off the stool and stood straight. “I got into a fight,” he said, his gaze aimed directly at Arlie.
Mother chortled. She lowered the footrest on her chair and groaned her way onto her feet. The effort turned her face red. A vein along her chubby neck bulged. She hobbled across the office to Jake and patted his cheek, the one on the side of his face where Arlie had punched him. She didn’t pat hard, but it still hurt.
Despite himself, Jake winced.
“I don’t think I’d call that much of a fight.”
Jake glanced over Mother’s shoulder at Arlie.
“That’s right, Jacob. I know what happened. Arlie fessed up like a good boy.”
“Arlie doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Mother, he’s keeping secrets. He—”
“Has a daughter.” She shook her head like…well…like a disappointed mother. He’d seen that same head shake a million times during his thirty-two years. He was certain to see it a million times more before he was finally free of her.
How long will that be, Jacob? Jen had a plan to make that happen, but you were too chicken to go through with it. Now you’ve made things even worse. You fool. You coward.
You failure.
“Did you think I didn’t know that already?” Mother asked. “Do you think I don’t know everything about everyone in my life? I always find out, Jacob. You should know that by now. Always.”
Her breath smelled of wine and onions. It turned Jake’s stomach.
“I wish your brother were
still alive,” she said. “After your father died, Joshua did such a fine job stepping up as the male role model you so desperately needed. A mother can only do so much on her own. I feel like I’m failing you.”
Jake looked down, noticed his hands were balled into fists. He couldn’t get them to unclench, so he hid them behind his back. “I’m not a boy anymore, Mother. I don’t need a father figure.”
“You need something.” She took his chin in one of her hands and tilted his head up to look into his eyes. Her skin was warm and soft. “I had a visitor today. A private detective. Harrison Hart. You know him.”
She didn’t say it like a question, but Jake answered anyway. “Yes.”
“It was quite a conversation. Left me with a lot of questions. Especially when he mentioned that dog of a wife of yours.”
“Mother, let me explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain. Like I said, Arlie told me what you had him doing. And why. I know that your wife stole from me. I know you were too much a coward to stop her yourself, so you hired some flunky to do it for you. How did that work out for you?”
She still held him by the chin. He twisted away from her touch and looked down at the floor.
The slap against his ear made his whole head ring and woke up the pain around his bruised eye.
“I asked you a question,” Mother snapped.
“It didn’t,” he muttered.
She slapped him again. “What?”
“It didn’t work out,” he shouted, then pressed a hand against his stinging ear. “I screwed up. Okay? Are you done punishing me?”
Her laugh sounded like poison. “No, Jacob. I don’t have time to punish you properly. You have a job to do. You need to get out there and recover what your bitch took from me.”
“I’m trying.”
“You need to try harder. And I have just the thing to motivate you.”
Jake’s damned nervous stomach bubbled like a caldron of bile over a fire. A green flavor filled his mouth. He didn’t ask what she had to “motivate” him, because he was certain he didn’t want to know.
