by Rob Cornell
Now would have been a good time for a pair of gloves. Alas, he hadn’t planned on violating a crime scene today, and August in Michigan was definitely not glove season.
To hell with it.
He reached under the coffee table and pulled out the laptop.
The fly whirred past his ear on its way back to Jankowski’s corpse. This time it landed on the blood-glazed edge of the open wound across his throat…and crawled inside.
Let’s get this over with.
Harrison set the computer on the end of the coffee table, which meant placing it on a layer of packed down cigarette ash. Judging from the look of the laptop, this was far from the first time it had endured such filth. Harrison imagined the computer’s innards all coated with ashy powder. It would be a wonder if the thing worked. But it did. In fact, when he opened it, the laptop woke right up, the screen blazing to life, showing a desktop littered with icons in a seemingly random swirl, all on top of a background picture of a nude brunette cupping her oversized breasts, her legs spread wide, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Jankowski was a class act in all parts of his life. What a role model.
Harrison had to fight the urge to do an automatic sort of all the icons—Jankowski was one of those freaks who seemed to save everything to the damn desktop, as if he’d never heard of file folders—but he was already meddling too much. The fewer changes he made, the better. This meant spending time squinting at each icon individually while trying to ignore the lurid picture underneath them all.
While he scanned the files, the taste of ash grew stronger on his tongue with each breath, and the back of his throat became raw and itchy. Most of the computer’s desktop was cluttered with image files. Thankfully, the thumbnail size of the icons obscured the details of the pictures, but they were still obviously porn. Other icons belonged to various applications—word processor, games, a couple different web browsers. Only a few were text documents. Harrison clicked through these.
One was a recipe for “Hot Plate Chili.” One had “Dear Mom” typed at the top, but was otherwise blank. The last document contained eleven pages of badly written erotica. Harrison only scanned the first page. Any more would have made his eyeballs bleed.
Further inspection of the computer’s files turned up nothing but more porn.
Feeling brave, Harrison checked Jankowski’s browser history. He found exactly what he’d expected—a massive amount of porn sites. But all that porn made one site stick out like a nun in a brothel. A Wikipedia page on the mayor of Sterling Heights, Ned Brenneke.
Homework on a possible blackmail target?
Sterling Heights was a pretty large suburban city in Detroit’s orbit. Could Ona Seelenberger’s legendary flash drive actually contain dirt on the city’s mayor?
This was all quite a leap to make based on one site in Jankowski’s browser history. Especially since Harrison hadn’t found any sign that Jankowski had the flash drive in the first place. If he did, he hadn’t copied them to this laptop.
Using his shirt tail, Harrison wiped down the laptop to get rid of any of his fingerprints, then returned it to where he’d found it under the coffee table. He stood and began a search of the rest of the apartment, doing his best not to touch too much, wiping surfaces with his shirt when necessary.
He checked the typical hiding places—including the toilet tank, where he found a couple eight balls of coke in a plastic bag—but didn’t find a flash drive in any of them.
Despite coming up empty on the flash drive, Harrison felt it hard to believe Jankowski’s murder didn’t tie into this whole Seelenberger mess. Either way, he still needed to find the drive if he wanted to stop Ona from murdering her daughter-in-law. Even the thinnest thread had to be followed.
Harrison did one last survey of the apartment to make sure everything looked like it had when he’d entered. He slipped out and managed to avoid running into anyone on his way back to his car. It was after dark now, but the humidity kept the air warm and wet.
He had to do a little searching, but Harrison found a payphone (remember those?) outside a nearby 7-Eleven and used it to call in an anonymous tip to police. Otherwise, he doubted anyone would check in on Jankowski until he started to stink up the place.
On his way home, he called Jake.
“Was Ned Brenneke one of your mom’s marks?”
“The mayor of Sterling Heights?” Jake asked with an air of astonishment. “I suppose it’s possible. But there’s a reason Jen and I needed to steal the flash drive, Mr. Hart. Mother has never shared with me any names on her list.” Then, cautiously, “Why do you ask?”
Harrison told him what he’d found at Jankowski’s apartment.
“Murdered?” Jake sounded sick to his stomach. “My god. This whole thing keeps getting worse.”
“Look, I need you to check with Ona about Brenneke. If there is dirt on the mayor on that drive, and Jankowski tried using it…”
“You think the mayor had Ken killed?”
“It sounds far fetched, I know. But it’s all we’ve got.”
Jake sighed. “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“Talk to mother. She told me she didn’t want to see me again until I had her files back. Besides, like I told you, she’ll never confirm or deny who is on her list.”
“We need to know if Brenneke’s a mark. You’re going to have to grow a pair and ask your mom, otherwise we’ve got a dead end, and no chance of getting the files back.”
Jake sighed again. “Can’t you ask her?”
“For the love of god, she’s your mom.”
“She’s a monster, too. If I anger her, who knows what she’ll do to Jen?”
Harrison pulled into his driveway next to Dylan’s junker. The sight of it brought back their last argument in vivid detail. He cut the engine and slumped in his seat. “Listen, Jake, if you can’t put a little effort forth here, I can’t help you. I have problems of my own to deal with, too.”
Harrison got an earful of silence.
“You still there?”
“Fine,” Jake said. “I’ll talk to her in the morning.”
Harrison waited in the quiet car for a few minutes after Jake disconnected their call. He had no idea what he would say if he ran into Dylan in the house. He would have to say something. Only, Dylan wouldn’t want to hear it. Harrison’s stomach clenched at the prospect of another argument.
Quit being such a coward.
Jake Seelenberger must have been rubbing off on him.
Harrison went inside. Dylan was down in his studio from the sounds of it. The signature chug and screech of Korn’s seven string guitars vibrated through the floor. Dylan didn’t always listen to music while painting, but when he did, he liked to crank it.
Harrison cooked a frozen pizza and ate it in the living room, watching the news. Plenty of murder and mayhem plagued the Metro Detroit area. But they squeezed in the requisite feel-good story near the end of the hour, a profile of a woman in East Detroit who made and sold pink sweaters for dogs with all proceeds going to cancer research.
Downstairs, Korn gave way to Metallica, though Dylan had turned down the volume at some point, possibly hearing Harrison moving around upstairs. By eleven o’ clock, after Harrison sat through two reruns of Law & Order, Dylan had switched his music to a mix of mellow folk, and showed no signs of coming up.
Harrison felt a little guilty about the relief this gave him as he went up to his room. He took a shower and climbed into bed. Two floors up, he could barely hear Dylan’s music. Just faint strings of acoustic guitar and breathy vocals.
It took him a while to fall asleep. He couldn’t get the sight of that fly crawling into Jankowski’s open throat out of his head.
Twenty-One
“I’m sorry, Mr. Seelenberger, but her instructions were clear.”
Gregory tried his patented smile on Jake, which only succeeded in turning Jake’s stomach, bringing up the taste of the spinach and feta omelette he had f
or breakfast. If this business with his stomach kept up, he’d have to go back to Dr. Ellsworth for a new prescription of Bentyl. The last thing he needed was a full-blown IBS attack.
Jake offered Gregory his own smile, which he couldn’t stop from curdling into a sneer. “You forget your place, Gregory. My mother will see me. Let her know I’m here.”
Gregory’s smile slipped. His eyes flicked back and forth as if looking for a way out of this conversation. “I mean no offense, sir. But she specifically told me she didn’t want to see…well, you.”
Of course she had. Hadn’t he told that damned PI this would happen? This visit was pointless. But, much as he wanted to, he couldn’t let this over-coiffed imbecile turn him away. He needed to see Mother.
Jake squared his shoulders. “I suppose I’ll just walk on by and let myself in, then.”
Gregory’s eyes widened. “You can’t.”
“Watch me.” Jake smoothed his tie, tugged his lapels to straighten his sport coat, and strode around Gregory’s desk to Mother’s office door. Most likely, he would find her watching a soap opera or vile talk show.
“Mr. Seelenberger,” Gregory said, popping out of his chair to head Jake off. “Please don’t.”
But Jake reached the door before Gregory could get in his way. “Mind your own business,” he shot over his shoulder, then barged into Mother’s office.
Gregory made a worried little whine behind him.
What did he think Mother would do if…?
Jake froze at the sight of Ned Brenneke standing in the center of the office. The mayor turned at the sound of Jake’s entry. He was a tall man, easily over six-foot, with a fake tan a shade of orange that would have made Donald Trump envious. Unlike Trump, Brenneke’s blond hair was full, neatly combed, and genuinely his. The rusty hue of his cheeks reddened at the sight of Jake.
“Who the hell are you?” he snapped.
Mother, as usual, reclined in her Lay-Z-Boy, her hands folded on her wide tummy. Instead of her typical muumuu, she wore a flowered blouse and black slacks, something she did only when she had an important meeting scheduled.
She curled her lip, as excited to see Jake as Brenneke.
Gregory crowded in behind Jake. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Seelenberger. He wouldn’t listen.”
“Mr. Mayor,” Mother said, “I apologize. This is my son, Jacob.”
Recognition of some kind sparked in the mayor’s eyes. The angry flush in his cheeks deepened all the more. “I see.”
Jake looked back and forth between the mayor and his mother, feeling like he had missed something important.
“Rest assured,” Mother said. “He will make things right.”
The mayor glared at Jake. “I certainly hope so.” Then he shoved his way past Jake and Gregory and out the door.
“Leave us, Gregory,” Mother said.
Gregory looked Jake up and down, sniffed, then turned on his heel and left.
“Close the door, Jacob.”
Jacob did as his mother asked. Then he stood approximately where the mayor had and faced his mother. What felt like a rat trying to chew its way out of his intestines made Jake cramp up. He would need a toilet soon and desperately if this kept up. He tried to take a calming breath, but expanding his diaphragm made his stomach feel worse.
“Do you have the files?” Mother asked.
“Not yet.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I needed to…um…” Someone had exchanged his shirt collar for a steel band left out in the sun. At least, that’s what it felt like. He gouged a finger between his neck and collar, trying to loosen it. “I had actually come to ask you about Mayor Brenneke.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Ask what?”
“If…if he was on your list.”
“My list?”
“You know. Of the people who…who owe you loyalty.”
“You mean the rubes I extort.”
“If that’s…sure. Yes.”
Mother reached down and pushed the lever to her footrest, folding the footrest down into the recliner. For a moment, she braced her hands on the arms of her chair as if she meant to push herself up to her feet, then seemed to think better of it and settled back, hands in her lap.
“It’s strange you should ask about him, seeing as he demanded a meeting with me this morning. Forced me to get to the office early and dress up.”
“So he is one of them.”
“How did you know?”
He shook his head quickly, “I didn’t. We just suspected—”
“Who’s we? You sure as hell better not have Arlie going behind my back again. I’ll castrate him and make you eat it.”
“No. Arlie’s got nothing to do with this. I promise.” He thought it best to leave Mr. Hart’s involvement out of this as well. Mother wouldn’t approve of his use of an outsider for help. That’s how he’d gotten into trouble in the first place, wasn’t it? “I misspoke. I meant that I suspected the mayor might be a target because Ken was looking into him.”
Mother’s lipsticked mouth puckered. Her brows drew together. “You mean that idiot you hired to steal Jennifer’s purse?”
“Yes. I thought he might have the files. I searched his apartment. While I didn’t find the flash drive, I found evidence on his computer of his doing research on the mayor.”
“You broke into this guy’s apartment and searched it?” She laughed, her disbelief plain in every shake of her fatty jowls. She dug her television remote out from beside her fat ass, snapped the TV on, and cranked the footrest to her recliner back up. A woman on the TV spun the wheel on The Price is Right.
Jake’s face turned hot. He imagined shoving that remote of hers down her throat, could hear the gak gak guk of her choking on it, could feel how her body would jerk and pitch as she struggled for breath, could vividly see the light go out of her tiny black eyes.
The stark visualization made him shiver, not unpleasantly.
“Do you want to know why the mayor came to see me this morning, Jacob?”
He thought about what Mr. Hart had discovered at Ken’s apartment, the man’s throat slashed open. “Someone tried to blackmail him.”
“Not just someone.” Even under all her pancake makeup, the flush in her cheeks showed through. “Someone who isn’t me.” Her voice skipped up three octaves on the last two words. “But who has the exact same dirt on him as I do. Dirt no one else could possibly have unless they also happened to have my files.” Again, her voice cracked into a shriek at the last couple words.
“What did Brenneke do about it?”
“Came over here to chew me out, that’s what. Why the hell else do you think I’m here all gussied up and madder than a hornet?”
The Price is Right audience broke into cheers as the woman spinning the wheel won what probably felt like a mighty sum to a common person. As a kid watching game shows, Jake remembered feeling sorry for the sad folks who thought a ten-thousand-dollar cash prize would change their lives. Mother could spend that much in a week.
“I understand, but—”
“But what? Quit asking stupid questions and find my flash drive.”
That full sensory image of her choking—gak gak guk—rose back into his mind’s eye. He took a deep breath and pushed it away. For now. “That’s what I’m trying to do, Mother. If it was Ken—”
“I thought you said he didn’t have the drive.”
“If you’d let me finished talking…”
Her little black eyes flashed in their fat craters. “Are you sassing me, Jacob?”
“No, mother. I’m trying to tell you that Ken is dead. He was murdered.”
That stopped her for a second. Her gaze softened. She was no longer looking at Jake, but at her own thoughts. “When’d this happen?” she finally asked.
“We…I found him last night. I’m not sure of the actual time of his death.”
Mother blinked quickly a few times, as if suddenly waking from a disquieting dream. She visibly relaxed, h
er attention drifting back to the television. “Unrelated,” she said. “Brenneke received his call this morning. Whoever has my files is still out there, Jacob.”
Not Ken? But then who had murdered him? And why? Jake stood there, jaw hanging slack like a mouth-breathing neanderthal. He knew how stupid he must look, yet he couldn’t get himself to move.
His mother pulled her gaze off the gameshow long enough to give Jake a derisive glare. “Why the fuck are you still here? Do you want me to cut up your wifey into little pieces?”
Jake jerked to attention like a trained soldier. (More like a trained pet.) “No, ma’am.” His bowls felt like they’d melted into an acidic soup ready to burn its way out his bottom. He clenched his sphincter and rushed out of Mother’s office as his stomach gurgled.
I will not soil myself. I will not soil myself.
There was a restroom off the reception area. He made a beeline for it, feeling Gregory’s eyes on him as he passed, and not giving a damn what the prim little bastard thought.
He made it in time. The cramps and the burning were excruciating. But, thank Jehovah, he made it in time.
When he was done, glazed in cold sweat, he looked in the mirror as he washed his hands. “You’re pathetic,” he whispered to his clammy and pasty-faced reflection.
Twenty-Two
Harrison poked his head into Kamille’s office and rapped on the jamb. “Got a minute?”
Kamille had her Tigers hat off. It rested on her desk next to an open bag of Doritos. She was taking minuscule nibbles off the corner of one Dorito while staring hard at her computer screen, leaned forward, brow furrowed.
“Huh?” she said, absently.
Harrison decided to take that as a yes. He took a seat across from her desk and watched her watching whatever had her attention on the screen. Her tiny bites of the Dorito made Harrison think of someone chewing on their nails during a scary movie. After gnawing off one tip of the triangular chip, she rotated it and started on another corner.
