by Jack Lively
“I actually believe you, but I bet you know who did do it.”
“Nope. Fact is, I don’t.” He leaned forward and the chair came with him, delivering both thick forearms to the wood desk. “Really, I don’t.”
“Your client changed his mind and took it up a notch. Leaves you in a tricky situation.”
He blew air through his mouth, as if I had asked an impertinent question. “Nothing to do with me or my partner. We do freelance work, like anyone, but nobody gets killed. Nobody even gets very hurt. Nobody needs to go stay too long in the hospital, if you know what I mean. People scare easier than you might think.”
“You need to go to the police and tell them about your involvement.”
Deckart laughed nervously. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re an outsider. This is my town. The police here aren’t like the cops in Beverly Hills or Chicago. That’s the first thing. Second is client confidentiality. It’s the backbone of the security industry. I go volunteering information to the police, even the Port Morris police, how do you think that’s going to look to my clients? And the third thing is, why do you care anyway?”
I said, “Why I care doesn’t enter into it. I care, simple as that.”
He shook his head, as if something I had said was strange, or funny even.
Deckart said, “You’re wasting your time, and mine. Go crawl back into whatever hole you came out of. I don’t even know your name. Tell you something for free. If I have to learn your name, it isn’t going to go good for you up here.”
I smiled broadly, truly happy. “I think you’ve just threatened me. That right, Deckart?”
He laughed and opened his arms wide, hands up. “It is what it is.”
I came out of the chair in a single smooth movement. Fast, maybe a quarter of a second from first muscle twitch. My hands pushed off the cushioned leather arms, and my legs used the floor to catapult me into the air, and right up on top of the wide mahogany desk, both feet landing balanced, like a world class acrobat. Deckart jerked back in his executive chair, but not fast enough. I only needed a short wind-up to kick him square in the face. The kick landed at the bridge of his nose. The steel toe crushed the cartilage inward, squeezing. Compressing the veins and channels. Nose blood sprayed down through Deckart’s nostrils, staining his mustache and painting two expanding cones of deep red on the front of his immaculate white uniform. Deckart’s overly groomed head whiplashed back, rebounding off the cushion.
I had a moment to examine his reaction. Condition black, wild panic. No control. Totally clueless.
By the time Deckart realized what was going on, I was on the other side of the desk, controlling his left wrist. I clicked one set of cuffs on. Pulled the right wrist around and clicked the other cuff. Now he was controlled, stretched across the wide back of his fancy office chair. The position looked like some kind of very advanced yoga move, in other words, torture.
I came around front and sat on his desk. He was sort of getting it back together. Breathing heavily through his mouth. Licking the blood dripping into it. I unclipped my folding knife.
“Listen, Deckart. You’re out of your league. See what just happened? It’s going to be like that for us. You’ll never be able to protect yourself from me, and I won’t stop coming at you. If I ask you a question, just answer it simply. There isn’t any reason to make it complicated. I’m not in a patient mood. Plus, I’ve got to get back to something else.”
Deckart was trying to control his breathing. It took him a minute, but he managed to speak finally.
“What’s the question?”
I spoke patiently. “Mister Lawrence. Tell me what I need to know about him.”
He shook his head. I pressed my thumb into his broken nose. He pushed back into the seat, but I didn’t let him get away from the pain.
He said, “There is no Mister Lawrence. There is no ‘him’.”
“People talk about a Mister Lawrence. I spoke to someone who has seen him. You thought I was working for him. What is it I’m not understanding here, Deckart?”
Deckart was eyeing my knife, which I was twirling in my hand. It was a great knife. I’d had it all season. Bought it for around fifteen bucks soon as I got up to Alaska. The handle was an aluminum skeleton. Blade was half serrated and half not. Perfect for rope work, or fish work, or anything really. There had been plenty of time on the boat to keep that blade razor-sharp. I moved the tool slowly. Closing in on Deckart’s shirt. “Let me help you out here.” I sliced off a button with just the smallest amount of pressure. The little plastic disk flipped off onto the carpet.
He said, “You’re on video, you know that.”
I said, “I know. I’m pretty sure you’ll erase it when we’re done. If you still have fingers left to push the buttons. If not, you can dial with your nose. Call the hospitality princess, I’m sure she can help you out.”
I sliced off another button.
Deckart spoke quickly, all of it coming out in a single breath. “Mister Lawrence isn’t a person. It’s a company name. It’s a brand. They make desserts. Like cakes and shit. You ain’t heard of them cause the company sells in Asian supermarkets. There’s a picture of a bald white guy on the boxes. But his name ain’t Mister Lawrence.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know what his name is. He’s an actor.”
“So a company named Mister Lawrence bought the place out of town here. Why would they do that?”
“I guess they’re making cakes out there. How would I know different?”
I said, “Same company owns this boat?”
Deckart said, “Different company but, yeah, same in the end maybe.”
“Help me understand that.”
“Mister Lawrence is a shareholder in the company that owns this boat. But the boat company is different, technically speaking. From what I understand.” He looked up at me. One of his eyes was already bloodshot, the other welling at the corner. “Like a shell company or something. Owns a bunch of shit but hides it.”
I said, “And you know this how?”
He rotated his head against the high-backed leather chair. “When you’re running security on a boat, you know what goes on. This is like a floating luxury hotel, okay? There are entertainment suites and facilities that those people use when the boat’s docked here in Port Morris. The actor’s probably at the casino right now. Spends half his life gambling, the other half doing even dumber shit.”
I said, “Usually an actor gets hired for stuff and then goes back to wherever he’s living. What is this guy, like a resident clown for the company?”
Deckart laughed bitterly. He had no way to wipe the blood from his lip, so he was forced to lick at it. His tongue returned into his mouth. “I don’t really know, man, but yeah they keep him around. Like he’s the face of the company or something. I guess it’s why everyone around here thinks Mister Lawrence is a person. Maybe that’s why they do it. I never had the opportunity to ask.”
“And this Mister Lawrence company hired you to intimidate Jane Abrams and her friends. How did they even know about her?”
“The lady in the black Suburban, she started blabbing around, soon as she got up here from the outside. Like she was suicidal or something. The job was to encourage them to leave. That’s it.”
I said, “You aren’t giving me enough detail, Deckart. I want you to concentrate deeply on organizing the information in your head, getting it to your mouth, and then into my head.”
He said something unrepeatable, followed by, “I’ve already told you enough.”
I grinned and pulled Deckart’s shirt apart, like the pages of a book. I placed the tip of my knife to the left of his solar plexus, and about three inches below. He was gazing down past his nose, stunned and horrified. I said, “What you have there is your kidney, lying just in front of the small intestine.” I shifted the knife blade up slightly. “There, now it’s only the small intestine.” I placed my palm over the knife handl
e butt and tapped on it lightly. He flinched. I said, “I’m going to put this between your ribs here and puncture your small intestine. It won’t kill you. You’ll leak your own shit into your own body for a while before you start to feel bad. I were you, I’d go get medical advice as soon as you can, after I leave. But don’t forget to erase that video, wouldn’t be very good for your security business if folks saw you in such an insecure position.”
I pressed the knife to Deckart’s skin. Deckart was looking down. Sweat was beading up on his brow. I tapped the knife handle. Blood began to well up beneath the blade.
He said, “You’re fucking crazy. I’ll tell you anything you want. I’m not hiding anything from you.”
“Start with how they approached you.”
He licked his lip. “Everything’s through the internet.”
“Like what, you got an email?”
“Yeah, email. They knew about me working security on the boat. Knew about my freelance work.”
“You keep all the emails?”
“There was only one, only the first step. After that, I had to sign up to a dating site for married people who want to have affairs. Smart shit. Now I’ve got a profile up there and everything is through the encrypted chat. That’s part of the deal with that site, guaranteed chat encryption. Like the people that run the website can’t even read the chats.”
“How did they tell you about Jane Abrams?”
He licked more blood, tongue reaching up to his thin mustache. “Okay, so it isn’t like I’m just doing the Abrams job. I’ve been working for these people on and off for a couple of years. With Abrams, they posted a photo of her on the site with a different name. That’s how they do it, if I’m supposed to follow someone or something. They make a fake dating profile for the target so I get the picture and the details that way. Then the chat tells me where to meet them.”
I said, “As if you’re arranging a date.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Like I said, smart.”
“How do you know that you’re working for Mister Lawrence?”
Deckart coughed. “I mean, I just know.”
“Tell me how.”
“The way I get paid. They pay me with gift cards.” I pressed the knife in harder. Deckart grunted. “Cruise ships have gift cards, all of them do it. Customers can use them to buy stuff on the boat, like spa treatments, excursions, the casino, restaurant stuff, whatever.”
“And you can cash them out. How do you do that?”
“Casino’s the best place to cash out.”
“The same casino where the bald guy actor likes to hang out.”
Deckart said, “Exactly. And guess how that guy pays his bills.”
“Gift cards. No credit card, no bank trace.”
“You’re a genius.”
I switched it up. “What did they ask for specifically with Abrams?”
“They told me about her, where she was staying. Told me to make life hard for her and her friends. They wrote it in the message, like it was coming from her. Like she was a perv interested in getting hurt but within limits, like not hurt too bad. Know what I mean?”
I pictured Deckart getting orders through an extra-marital dating site. Cruising through the images of desperate housewives and robot scammers. I said, “You enjoyed the work.”
He shook his head, trying to sound sincere. “No. We strong-armed the guy she was with, but only when he stepped to us first.”
“Only the guy she was with. What about the girl, the blonde?”
He shook his head. “No. Nothing. I didn’t do anything to her.”
“Not you maybe, but your guys.”
Deckart was adamant. “No. Not true. You can’t pin that on me.”
I said, “Tell me about George Abrams.”
Deckart said, “Who’s that?”
I pushed the knife in. It penetrated a millimeter and Deckart grunted. Blood ran freely. He was already sweating, but his face was now pale and his body rigid with fear. I said, “George Abrams. Blond kid in his twenties.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Never got an invitation to date him, Deckart?”
Deckart grimaced. “You’d be surprised, man. Ain’t only women on that site. But no, nothing about a George, only a Jane.”
I pulled the knife away and wiped it on Deckart’s shirt. I admired the object and clipped it shut. Deckart’s head fell onto his chest and he began to pant. It was as if he’d given up on dignity. I removed the handcuffs and left him limp in his executive chair.
I said, “I hope you have a change of clothes, Deckart. Starting to smell bad in here.”
He looked up at me. There was real hate in his bloodshot eyes. He said, “You’re a dead man walking.”
I said, “Ain’t that the truth.”
Twenty-Four
The elevator carried me back to the first deck. The reception desk had cleared up somewhat. The guy saw me coming and looked up. Then he shifted his eyes back to the computer. I figured I didn’t look like a client. I rapped Ellie’s badge on the desk in front of him. His gaze settled briefly on the bronze badge, then crawled up to find me looking right at him.
I said, “I was speaking to a woman in the pool, wonder if you know where I can find her again. Tall, blonde, in her twenties. She was with a bunch of others about the same age.”
He didn’t need to think too hard. “I know the group you’re talking about. They’re staff. You could go down to the staff quarters, minus three, but it isn’t accessible to the public. Would you like me to call security?”
I shook my head. “Don’t bother.”
I turned and walked back in the direction of the elevator. Behind the elevator pod was a door to the stairs. I pushed through it and went down. Three flights to minus three. Out the door was another waiting area with an empty reception desk. Corridors led in all directions, but there was a map. Which manifested as a plaque mounted on the wall. A red dot marked my position. The staff quarters were located on the other side of the boat, past the medical zone and the laundry rooms.
The medical area was accessed through a door behind another reception desk. A man sat there and watched me approach. Which I did from far off, because the corridor was empty and very long. When I arrived, the guy was looking at me with frank curiosity.
“Help you, sir?”
“Staff quarters.”
He pointed down the corridor. “Just keep going, sir. Past the laundry room.”
It was another couple of minutes hike past the laundry room. No reception desk this time. Just a secure door with a fingerprint sensor and a square of toughened glass set into the middle of it. I peered through the glass. Corridors and rooms, like a high-class prison, or a hotel with no stars. I tried to imagine getting out of there in the event of an emergency. Like a ruptured hull and freezing arctic sea water pumping in under extreme pressure. I figured most people would probably drown. The ones that didn’t would have to be fast and ruthless.
Staff quarters wasn’t looking like any kind of good bet. If Chapman was on the boat, it was unlikely that I was going to run into her. The boat was just too big for that, and I wanted to get back to Ellie’s office. There were things to discuss. On the way out I passed the guy at the medical desk again. I said, “Got a lot of customers in there?”
He didn’t smile. “Never empty.”
“How many beds you got in there.”
The guy looked at me with lazy eyes. “Enough so you don’t need to worry about it.” He kept the eye contact for a little too long. The guy was a mind reader. He grinned. “Nah, I’m only messing with you. We have fifty beds. There’s an old guy in there right now with a broken toe, but that’s all.”
I said, “Is fifty beds a lot?”
He shrugged. “I think fifty’s enough.”
It felt good to get off the ship. The Emerald Allure was like an enclosed world of its own, but not a world that I would choose, that’s for damn sure. I came off the boat onto the dockside and took a
deep breath of fresh air. I don’t know how they circulate the air on those cruise ships, but it wasn’t a satisfying simulation of real life, more like huffing a bag of someone else’s used breath. The Green Gremlin mini-bus was gone.
I came up Bryant Street from the waterside. Exactly where I had first seen the blond guy with the well-trimmed beard. Yesterday. Today he was dead. I wondered if the floor beneath the pool table at the Beaver Falls Lodge was stained, or if the Lodge had already sent the cleaning crew in to set up for the next batch of rich tourists.
I took a right turn after the ice cream place. The town hall and green opened up in front of me like a small gift. The espresso guy was still working the machine, with the same hissing and huffing pipes and gauges. But this time he wasn’t alone. Ellie and Smithson were waiting by the side of his cart, deep into some kind of a discussion. When I pulled up in front of them, both gave me the wary cop’s eye. I figured it was more out of habit than malice, and I’m not one to hold grudges. Ellie raised her eyebrows to me. Smithson looked away, to the coffee dripping out into yet another fresh paper cup.
I said, “So, what’s going on?”
Ellie shrugged. “Coffee time.” She looked at me blankly and raised her eyebrows again. This was some kind of cop-to-cop protocol thing, like you don’t discuss business in front of civilians. As a retired top-tier military operator, I’m not any kind of average civilian. When I saw Smithson and Ellie standing there looking back at me with attitude, I didn’t see anything except glorified civilians. Smithson was going for some kind of look he must have learned as a State Trooper.
I was about a half-second away from ripping his nose off his face when he was saved by the coffee guy. Smithson lurched to the cart, and the guy handed two cups over the counter. Alongside the coffees were two apple crullers.
