A Tooth for a Tooth

by Ben Rehder

  “You were, Roy. You made one mistake that could happen to any parent.”

  “But it happened to me, and it was my fault.”

  Mia didn’t argue further. That wasn’t her style. She simply repeated her question. “So you don’t want any more kids?”

  We were approaching our exit.

  “I’m closing in on forty years old, Mia,” I said.

  “You’re only thirty-eight, but that doesn’t really answer the question. A vasectomy can be reversed.”

  “I know,” I said. “I talked to my doctor about it last week, and I’m going to see a urologist tomorrow. The problem is, the more years that have passed since the original surgery, the lower the chances I’d be able to get you pregnant. It might not happen, even if we both want it to.”

  My procedure had been more than ten years earlier. From what I’d read, Mia and I had roughly a one-in-four chance of having a child together, but there were many variables that could affect the outcome—including the skill of the surgeon. The chances could be higher, or almost nil.

  “I can’t believe you’ve been looking into all this and haven’t even talked to me about it,” she said. “You haven’t said a word. That’s not how couples work.”

  “I wanted to know what I was dealing with,” I said. “I wanted to see what our options were.”

  “Yes, our options,” she said. “You should’ve included me.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  She pulled into the parking lot at Best Buy and found an isolated spot.

  Then she began to cry, and it just about tore my heart in two.

  I reached over and grasped her hand. “Let’s not worry too much until my appointment, okay?”

  She nodded but didn’t look at me.

  I said, “I know there have been some advancements. We just need all the facts.”

  She didn’t say anything. Just stared down at her lap.

  Did I want more kids? That was hard to answer.

  There was another question I couldn’t bring myself to ponder: If Mia and I couldn’t have kids together, would she stay with me? Who could blame her if the answer was no?

  “Mia?” I said.

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore right now,” she said. “Let’s just go inside.”

  23

  I tried not to obsess about it, but our conversation had been a train wreck.

  I lay awake that night convinced Mia and I were done. She was asleep beside me, but it felt like she was on another continent. We hadn’t actually fought, but it felt like we had. She wasn’t mad at me, exactly, but all was not right in our world, plainly. She hadn’t raised the issue for the remainder of the evening, and she’d gone to bed at 8:45. The goodnight kiss she’d given me was perfunctory, at best.

  Thirty minutes later, I was tempted to go into the bedroom and check on her, but I was afraid I would find her crying, and I just couldn’t handle it. Probably better to let her process what I’d told her and then let me know when she was ready to talk.

  Fortunately, my mind would wander on occasion and I would stop dwelling on the way I had mishandled this situation.

  I had seen a report on the ten o’clock news that the police were taking a fresh look at the disappearance of Brent Donovan, thanks to “some new information that had been received by investigators this week.” That would be my conversation with Randy Wolfe. Nice to see he was taking me seriously. According to the reporter, the police were asking anyone with information about the disappearance of Brent Donovan to call the Austin Police Department.

  Then they launched right into a report about Brandi Sloan, “who worked for the same company that had employed Brent Donovan.” Police were saying there was no indication of foul play, but they couldn’t rule it out, either. She had simply disappeared. Family members and friends were concerned.

  My mind kept going to Armbruster’s visit to Brandi Sloan’s house on E.M. Franklin Avenue. What did it mean? What was the purpose? What was the connection between those two? What had happened to Brandi?

  And what kind of damaging information did Armbruster have on Jankowski? I couldn’t think of a way to figure that out. In fact, there was no indication whatsoever that the men had had any kind of interaction prior to the night of the “accident” on Exposition Boulevard—but they must’ve, obviously.

  How did they know each other?

  How did Armbruster get dirty laundry on Jankowski?

  I was stumped. My normally vivid imagination was not playing along. I was too stressed by my conversation with Mia. Had I blown the best thing that had ever happened to me?

  Then, at 4:42, I heard a noise.

  Damn it.

  Just a nondescript sound. Muffled. A thump, sort of. Car door closing? Something bumping against a wall? A compressor inside an appliance shutting off? It was hard to tell where it had come from—distance or direction. Was it from inside or outside the house?

  Now, of course, my imagination was running wild.

  I forced myself to lie quietly and wait.

  Three or four minutes passed and I heard nothing more.

  We had new cameras on the sides of the house now, plus alarms on the doors. I’d installed all of it when we’d gotten home from Best Buy. Didn’t take long. Plug and play.

  The good news was, this old pier-and-beam house made all kinds of noises when someone walked from one room to another. Not very noticeable during the day, with a TV or stereo playing, but in the dead of the night, when everything was still and quiet, the creaks and groans seemed ridiculously loud. If anyone managed to get inside, which was virtually impossible, I would hear him coming.

  I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and opened the app to check the cameras. Nothing out there that I could see. No indications of any recent activity.

  “What’s going on?” Mia said.

  She was lying on her side, facing me.

  “Sorry, but I heard a noise,” I said. “Just checking the cameras. Don’t see anything.”

  “What kind of noise?”

  “Just sort of a thump or a bump.”

  “Where?”

  “I couldn’t tell. It’s probably nothing. Possums having a party.”

  She yawned, then rolled onto her back.

  Fifteen minutes passed and I thought she was asleep again, when she said, “You awake?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It occurs to me that maybe we’re overlooking a simple solution.”

  I didn’t know which topic she was talking about—us or the case.

  “Let’s hear it,” I said.

  She said, “If Lennox Armbruster is blackmailing Joe Jankowski, couldn’t we use that against him?”

  I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.

  “Use it against who?”

  “Armbruster.”

  “And use it how?”

  “Tell him we figured out what’s going on, and force him to tell us more or we’ll take it to the cops.”

  “So we’d blackmail the blackmailer?” I said.

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “I like it, but won’t he just deny that he’s doing it?”

  “Well, sure.”

  “And without Jankowski willing to confirm what’s been going on, why would Armbruster tell us anything?”

  “Roy, you’re forgetting one of the key points you made sure I understood when you first trained me for this job.”

  “Which was?”

  “That most criminals aren’t all that smart.”

  “That’s true,” I said. “It’s a very keen and astute observation. I should listen to myself more often.”

  24

  On one hand, I always marvel that the security in m
ost hospitals is fairly lax. On the other hand, despite what you might see in the movies, how often are patients in hospitals really threatened or assaulted? I’d say you’re in much greater danger in a church, school, or theater.

  We were able to obtain Lennox Armbruster’s room number at the information desk and then walk right in without clearing it with anyone.

  He was awake, watching an episode of Veronica Mars on the wall-mounted TV.

  “Some witty writers on that show,” I said.

  Armbruster moved his eyes in our direction, but not his head, because he was wearing a neck brace that prevented movement.

  “Who is it?” he said.

  We walked to the foot of the bed so he could see us.

  “Hi there,” I said.

  “Oh, great. I told that retard nurse I didn’t want to deal with this today.”

  “Deal with what?” Mia said.

  “The paperwork and all the crap,” he said. “You’re with the billing department?”

  “I’m thrilled to tell you we are not,” I said.

  “Well, that’s good,” he said, “because that’s not gonna be a pleasant conversation. Is it my fault I don’t got health insurance? They want me to fill out some kind of form promising I’ll pay for all this shit.”

  “The nerve,” Mia said.

  “I know, right? I’m guessing aspirin is ten dollars a pop. Meanwhile, you wouldn’t believe how quickly they’re trying to get me out the front door now that they can’t milk some insurance company for all kinds of bullshit.”

  He had a sallow complexion and a week’s worth of razor stubble, but he was in better shape than I had anticipated. Then again, he’d had four days to recover from the wreck. He had an IV in his arm and one of those oxygen-level gizmos clipped to the end of one finger. A big machine next to the bed monitored his vital stats.

  “How bad were your injuries?” Mia asked.

  Armbruster opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated, then said, “Who are you?”

  Mia said, “My name is Mia and he’s Roy.”

  As if that explained it all.

  “Okay,” Armbruster said. “And?”

  Mia looked at me.

  I said, “Joe Jankowski’s goons have tried to kill me twice. Well, okay, just once for sure, and probably twice. That puts you and me on even ground, doesn’t it?”

  He appeared somewhat amused and intrigued.

  “I’m gonna need to know more than that,” he said. “Who are you, and I don’t mean just your name. Why are you here?”

  I said, “When you got hit by Jankowski’s SUV, his insurance company hired us to determine whether or not you were committing fraud. It occurred to them that perhaps you had jumped in front of that vehicle on purpose, especially given your colorful past.”

  “What the hell do you retards know about my past?” Armbruster asked.

  Mia pointed a finger and glared at him. “Don’t use that word. It’s ugly.”

  “Whatever,” he said.

  “Everything is online nowadays, Lennox,” I said. “Criminal records, lawsuits, bankruptcies, and just about everything else. It’s easy to find, especially if you know where to look.”

  “And we know where to look,” Mia said.

  “We came to the conclusion that you weren’t faking your injuries,” I said. “Which made us think it really was an accident, or maybe you did jump in front of the SUV on purpose, but you weren’t as graceful as you’d hoped to be.”

  “That’s stupid. You people are stupid.”

  “And you’re a ray of sunshine,” Mia said.

  “We didn’t consider the idea that maybe Jankowski hit you on purpose,” I said.

  “Where do y’all get your dumb ideas?” Armbruster asked.

  I said, “And then we discovered that you owned a brand-new Alfa Romeo, and that seems kind of weird for a guy who doesn’t work all that much. How can you afford that?”

  “How is that your business?”

  We remained standing at the foot of the bed, because if we sat down in the chairs to the side of the bed, he wouldn’t be able to see us, and I wanted to maintain eye contact.

  I said, “Even if you financed the car, you probably had to pony up a big down payment, and then the monthly payment on a high-dollar vehicle like that has to be five or six hundred, at a minimum. It’s curious, you know?”

  “But it finally made sense when we figured out what was really happening between you and Jankowski,” Mia said.

  “Y’all should leave before I ask a nurse to get security,” he said.

  “See, we started wondering where you were going that night,” I said. “Why were you crossing Exposition? There’s nothing over there except the golf course. Then my partner here came up with a brilliant theory, and all the pieces fit. Mia, would you like to do the honors?”

  Armbruster said, “Yeah, please, tell me all about this crazy theory, and then maybe you can give me a sponge bath.”

  It takes restraint not to react to a jerk like him, but we both ignored his remark. However, I could tell Mia was losing her patience, because she cut right to the heart of the matter.

  “You’re blackmailing him,” she said.

  We both stared at him, and he made a “pfftt” sound.

  Mia said, “The golf course was the drop spot for the payment that night. You might be too slow to figure this out, but Jankowski had identified you by then, so he guessed where you would park—the Randall’s, obviously—and waited for you to show. Then I’m guessing the two of you had an argument, and then he decided to hit you with his car. He has a temper.”

  Armbruster was making an expression meant to say, What a bunch of nonsense.

  I said, “I’m guessing you don’t want to admit to committing a felony—not just because you might get prosecuted, but you don’t want to give up your cash cow, even after they’ve tried to kill you twice. You’ve had a lot of time to think about it, lying there in that bed, and I’m guessing you’ve decided you simply need to tighten up your scheme to stop him from making more attempts on your life. Am I right? Maybe arrange it so that the information is shared with the police if anything happens to you. That’s how they do it in the movies.”

  Armbruster was about to respond, but a nurse entered the room right then. She was all bubbly and friendly and asked how Lennox was doing. He said he was doing okay—and made no mention of calling security. She checked his IV and his vitals, nodded at us, then left.

  “You people are morons,” Armbruster said. “Think you’re smart, but you ain’t got shit.”

  “Exactly how dense are you?” Mia asked. “Can’t you see what’s about to happen?”

  “Why don’t you tell me, smart lady?”

  “We’ll tell the cops everything we just told you.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “And the thing about the cops is, they can dig much deeper than public records. For instance, they can get a warrant for Jankowski’s phone records, and that’ll be a problem for you, won’t it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you use a burner phone to contact him? Even if you paid cash, there was probably a security camera wherever you bought it.”

  “Didn’t buy one.”

  “Plus, the cops can get location data for that phone that will lead right to your apartment, because you’re dumb enough to make those calls from home. So, no matter what you do from here on out, your blackmail scheme is over and done with. You might as well come to grips with that.”

  “You’re friggin’ delusional, you know that?”

  “Then why were you crossing Exposition that night?” Mia said. “Where were you going?”

  He was stumped. I could see it on his face. He’d had plenty of time to prepare for t
hat question, yet he’d never thought about it or devised a reasonable answer. Finally he said, “I like to go there and look for golf balls. Then I sell them online.”

  “Oh, Lennox,” Mia said. “You don’t think the cops will check to see if that’s true?”

  Finally, Armbruster sputtered, “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  Mia let out a sigh. I drummed my fingers on my thigh. Was the blackmailing theory off target? Maybe there was an equally plausible explanation. But what about the money in the sand trap? Maybe our theory was close, but far off enough that Armbruster didn’t feel compelled to cooperate.

  Time for one last attempt to shock him into talking.

  “What were you doing over at Brandi Sloan’s place five nights ago? I asked.

  “What the fuck?” he said. “The hell’ve you been doing?”

  “Part of our job is to follow fraud suspects around and see what they do. I followed you over to her house. Ever since, I’ve been wondering what the two of you were talking about.”

  He had nothing to say.

  “Were you and Brandi working together to scam Jankowski?” Mia asked.

  “No, of course not,” he said. “And who says I was scamming the guy?”

  Then Mia got smart and realized there was an obvious pressure point we’d overlooked.

  “Did you know Brandi has gone missing?” she asked. “That’s something else the cops will be interested in figuring out—whether you had anything to do with her disappearance.”

  Suddenly he looked less cocky.

  “Were you carrying your cell phone when you went over there?” Mia asked. “Because if you were, that’ll be a big red flag to the cops. You won’t be able to deny meeting with her.”

  “And I’ll be sure to tell them I saw you over there,” I said. “Here’s what you need to do. Tell us what you’ve got on Jankowski. Then we’ll go away and keep it to ourselves. You’ve got my word. I just want to stop Jankowski from coming after me.”

  I was lying, of course. If we needed to tell the police what we learned, we would. Eventually.