by Michael Beck
I stared at the computer screens in frustration. On one the number of fire related deaths in New York over the past year flashed up.
Seventy-three. In one year. Not fourteen. I did the math.
Over nine hundred people.
Nine hundred deaths and not one autopsy picked up a missing heart? I couldn't believe it. There had to have been at least one. What was he doing the last fourteen years?
CHAPTER 10
December 2012
I sat in the kitchen of 22 SunnyCrest Street as I did every year on the sixth of December. Fourteen years ago today. Where had the time gone? Fourteen years and I still hadn't caught my parents' killer.
I didn't know how long I had been sitting in the kitchen. Bloody pictures of Abrahams, my dad and mom flashed continuously through my mind.
Now, I sat contemplating the stain on the kitchen floor. I had found Mom there.
Incidental...unlucky.
I couldn't get Bensen's words out of my head. He was an asshole but he was right. Mom hadn't been the target. Collateral damage. That's what we would have called it in the Army. Wrong place at the wrong time. She needn't have died.
I remembered that day so clearly. Dad had not wanted me to play as it was a Sunday, a day of worship. Our family went to church every Sunday, without fail. I had wanted to get home early to try and smooth things over with Dad. The irony was that, if I had have been more religious, I, too, would have been killed that day. If I had gone to church like Dad wanted, I would have been in the house. We all would have been killed.
My darker side had a poisonous thought. The butterfly effect. If I had been a better son and listened to my father and not played that day, would that have changed the events of that day? My being there might have altered the whole dynamics. Perhaps no one would have been killed? Had my parents been killed because I didn't listen, didn't love them enough? Had they died because I wasn't a good son?
I heard the kitchen door open.
"Hi, Bear," I said without turning around.
Bear sat down opposite me. For a while we just sat.
"Mole told you?" I asked after a while.
Bear nodded. "Cupid has struck again?"
"It appears like it."
"Did you see the body?"
"Yes."
"Was it the same?"
"Identical."
"So he was missing...?"
"His heart? Yes. It was gone. There was also a jerry can of gas next to the body."
"So that's why we haven't found any others?"
"I suppose. But why haven't any of the autopsies picked up bodies without any hearts? He must have struck more than twice."
"The bodies may have been so badly burnt they couldn't tell."
"In all of them? Doubtful."
"You know, this could be only the second time he's killed. Perhaps that's why we haven't come across any similar murders."
"You saw what he did to Mom and Dad. Do you think a person with that much hate could wait fourteen years?"
"You have."
He was right. If you had enough hate you could wait forever.
"Who was this Abrahams?" Bear said.
"A rich, forty-five-year-old stockbroker. Jewish, unmarried, no kids and lived alone."
"Hardly the same MO as your family. Middle class, married, two kids and Catholic."
"I know. But Abrahams must have been chosen for the same reason my family was. We just have to find it."
"If anyone can find any links between the two, it's Mole," said Bear.
We sat in silence, dark thoughts swirling through my mind. "Dad was his target. Mom just got in his way."
"Like a tornado ripping through a town," Bear agreed. "Do you want to drop this Decker job so we can concentrate on Cupid?"
"I can't. I promised Liz."
"Liz will understand."
"No. I'll find time. You might have to step in sometime though."
"Sure. Wouldn't mind having a chance to dump Decker on his butt anyway. Is he as big an ass as I think?"
"You do realize it's our job to protect him, don't you?"
"Any ideas on who might be out to get him?"
"No. And for a guy whose multi-million dollar contract is in the balance, he seems strangely adamant that no one has a vendetta against him. He refuses to concede that any of the incidents that have happened were premeditated. Mole is checking into his background though, so hopefully he'll turn up something."
"So, until then, I'll be on the look-out for any angry looking Loony Tunes' character?"
"Yes. But Bugs Bunny and Donald Duck appear to be the most dangerous."
CHAPTER 11
"Why do they play tennis in autumn if they can't play when it rains?" I said, as I watched Lucy and her opponent take the court after a second rain delay. I didn't know how long they would be out there, as the sky was so dark and forbidding it felt more like 6:00 p.m., rather than midday. "I mean a footballer can dodge and weave past eleven guys trying to knock his head off, through mud, puddles, slush and snow. And keep his balance. You get three sprinkles of rain on a tennis court and everything just stops. I don't get it."
"I really like how you give such thought to the big issues," said Bear.
Jade and I were watching Bear's daughter, Lucy, play in a U12 clay-court tournament in Winchester. Since Lucy got the tennis bug two years ago she had improved an enormous amount. From an ungainly beginner to a gifted junior, she had made startling progress in such a short time. She still wasn't as consistent as most of the girls her age, but she was catching them. Many of the top girls had been training since Dad put a racquet in their hands as soon as the umbilical cord was cut. They were like finely-tuned mechanical machines that never left the baseline and hit the same loopy forehand and backhand all day, never hitting a winner but never making a mistake. Devastatingly effective tennis at junior level but so boring it made me want to throw myself under the nearest bus.
At least Lucy didn't play like that. Lucy played like she was running late for her favorite TV show. Lucy went for lines and impossible winners and tried to serve aces with her second serves. Lucy couldn't rally for more than three balls before trying to hit an unlikely winner. She lost more than she won, but she had a heck of a time doing it and I enjoyed watching her.
In this match, Lucy was doing surprisingly well against a more highly ranked opponent. Impossible shots that would normally go out were hitting lines, net cords were rolling in and second serve bombs going for aces. It was driving Andjela, her opponent, crazy. On the last point before the rain delay, after one of Lucy's mishits had sailed over her head for a winner, Andjela threw her racquet against the fence, held her head in her hands and spoke angrily through the fence in Serbian to two men.
One was tall and burly, dressed in a baggy tank top and equally saggy track suit pants. I remembered seeing him drive up in a black Hummer with the number plates 10ISSTAR. A kid who had been volleying against the wall of the clubhouse had lost control of his ball and it flew behind him and struck the Hummer. Saggy Pants had picked up the ball and thrown it over the fence onto the road, barked something at the boy and stormed off with Andjela. The second man, who wore tennis shorts, was extremely tall and had impossibly long, skinny legs which gave him a certain praying mantis appearance. He wore a blue top with MacKenna's Tennis Squad printed on the back. I presumed Saggy Pants was her dad and Bug Legs was her coach.
When they resumed play after the rain delay, Andjela hit a fantastic shot deep to Lucy's backhand. Lucy lunged at the ball, shanked it, and the ball sailed over Andjela's head for a winner. Andjela screamed in frustration. Saggy Pants rocked back in his chair and held his hands up in disbelief. Both men had been vocal the whole match, either shouting encouragement and admonishments to Andjela, or else voicing total disbelief at Lucy's line calls. Saggy Pants was typical of many of the parents involved in junior tennis. His daughter's calls were always correct and above reproach and her opponent--well, her opponent was just a sly, n
efarious cheat out to rob his golden girl of every point. The longer the match went, the harder it was to contain myself. I grew more and more antsy. I shifted around on the hard wooden seat.
"Tan," said Bear.
"I know. But they're such jerks. I wouldn't hurt them seriously. Just a little poke to wake them up to themselves. Who knows, I might be doing them a favor. I'm sure their wives would thank me. The other parents would applaud me."
"Oh right, just like Lucy's basketball, eh? Remind me. How many matches have you been to since? What? I couldn't hear you?"
"None," I mumbled.
"Right, none. That really ended well, didn't it? Banned from the stadium for the rest of the season. Do you want to add tennis to the list?"
"I only pushed him for chrissakes. You heard what he called Lucy."
"Yeah, I heard."
Andjela moved Lucy from one side of the court to the other with precision forehands and backhands. There was no way I thought Lucy would get to any of them but Lucy ran for every ball as if her life depended on it.
"She has her mother's fire," Bear said.
Her mother's personality perhaps but certainly her dad's body. Lucy, although only eleven, was already five feet nine inches tall, and had lost the puppy fat she had carried last year that made her appear unfit and slow. Lucy continued to go for her shots with success, and Andjela grew increasingly frustrated. On set point there was a long rally, with both girls hitting ferociously, until Andjela hit a ball that just missed the line. Lucy called it out to make it one set apiece.
Saggy Pants immediately yelled, "Out? That was in. Andjela, call for the referee. Don't let her cheat you."
Andjela put her racquet down on the ground as an indication that she needed a referee. I looked at Saggy Pants, who was only sitting ten yards from me, hoping he would glance my way.
"Tan, leave it," Bear said quietly.
"Didn't you hear what he said? He called Lucy a cheat."
"I know. But it doesn't matter. It's just a game."
I knew Bear was right, but I had been in a foul mood since the Abrahams murder and was as touchy as a wet snake. I tried to shake myself out of it for Lucy's sake. The last thing she would want was her godfather in a fight over a tennis match.
"C'mon," said Bear, "Walk me to my car and I will give you the rest of Lucy's stuff."
Bear had a fitness class in the afternoon, so I was taking Lucy home.
"Don't you want to see what's going to happen?" I said, as a referee went onto the court.
"Tan, you're not angry about a point between two eleven-year-olds."
"I'm not?"
"No, you're not. Remember, you hate tennis. Promise me you won't do anything dumb while I'm gone."
I let out a deep breath I didn't know I was holding. Bear was right. I was letting the guilt and anger I felt over my parents' death get to me.
"Dumb? Me? You're kidding, right? When was the last time you saw me do anything dumb?" Bear continued just looking at me. "Okay, forget that. I promise. Let's go and get Lucy's stuff. Jade, I just have to go to the car park. You can see it from here. Okay?"
Jade continued staring straight ahead at Lucy's court. With her long blonde hair and tall, athletic body she could have been mistaken for a tennis player herself. Perhaps watching a younger sister or friend play. But I had watched her closely during Lucy's match and her eyes did not follow the ball at all. She could have been staring at a blank wall for all the attention she showed.
Patience, I told myself. Patience. But fourteen years was a long time to wait. Even for me.
I collected Lucy's bag and dropped it into the trunk of my Beetle. I was only gone five minutes and could see the court the whole time. When I arrived back Lucy was retrieving a ball from next to the fence in front of me. She glanced up at me and then away. She had been crying.
"What's wrong?" I asked. Technically you weren't supposed to talk to players while they were on the court, and referees could give the player a code violation if someone did. This really worried me.
Lucy gathered the ball and stuck it under the blue skirt I had given her for her birthday.
"She said I was cheating. Her dad told the referee I had been doing it the whole match."
"Did you win the set?"
"No, it's still going. The referee gave the point to her because I couldn't find the ball mark. I couldn't find it because the dad kept saying things to me."
"What things?" I asked very quietly. See? I wasn't getting angry at all.
Lucy just shook her head and moved back to the baseline to serve.
I looked at Saggy Pants and nodded. He nodded back. See? We were all friends here.
"You know you're not supposed to talk to the players," Saggy Pants said. He had a long pony tail and looked like he might have done some body building at one time, before giving it away. Like ten years ago. He was still big and brawny but the biggest thing about him now was the paunch pushing out his t-shirt.
"Is that right?" I said companionably.
"Your girl has been very lucky up until now," said Bug Legs. "She is playing low percentage tennis and good players, like Andjela here, will eventually beat her because they know how to craft a point and be patient."
"Do they?"
I'm sure they had more insights but, as Lucy kept on winning points, their desire to chat dried up. Lucy, despite being upset, continued to strike winners. If anything, the controversy had sparked her and she ran and fought like a foot soldier, unwilling to be vanquished. No wonder I loved her.
At five all in the second set, Andjela had game point. Lucy served and volleyed. Andjela went for a winner down the line...and missed it by an inch. Lucy called it out. Lucy went to pick up the ball near Saggy Pants. He muttered something. Her head rocked up then down. She picked up the ball, went back to the baseline and double faulted. And then double faulted the next two points to lose the game. After each double fault Saggy Pants laughed and clapped. Lucy now trailed five games to six. Lucy sat down at the changeover and put her head in her towel. Her shoulders shook. Saggy Pants said something to Bug Legs who laughed. I sighed.
"I'll just be a minute, Jade," I said and walked back to the car park. As I walked past the cars I picked up a metal trash can and stopped when I came to the black Hummer. Next to it, a pretty young mom was lifting a baby out of a dusty station wagon. She glanced over her shoulder at me.
"Sorry, I won't be a second," she said.
"That's all right. Here," I said, and opened up the stroller that stood next to her.
"Thanks."
"You might want to move farther away now," I said.
She gave me a puzzled look, nodded at the strange man carrying a trash can and moved the stroller. I lifted the bin and struck the passenger side window as hard as I could. It shattered and the car alarm commenced to sound.
"Testing my car alarm," I said to the woman. "Not sure if it works. Can you hear that all right over there?" She nodded unsurely and walked quickly away, repeatedly glancing over her shoulder.
I sat down on the running board and waited. I didn't think I'd have to wait long.
I had even less time than I thought.
Saggy Pants and Bug-legs ran around the front of the Hummer.
"What happened? Did you see who did it?" shouted Saggy Pants. His face was twisted in anger.
I stood up. "I did it."
"Where did he go? Did you see him?" Saggy Pants was looking feverishly around the parking lot. He stopped. "What did you say?"
"He said he did it," said Bug Legs.
"You did it? Are you fucking crazy?"
"Not crazy enough. If I was really crazy I would throw this through your windscreen," I said lifting the can over my head. He shouted and I lowered it. "But I'm not crazy. I'm a very reasonable man. All I want is for you to get in your car and go away. Go have a beer. Get something to eat. Buy a taco. Looking at you, I'm sure you've never knocked back a meal. If you're not hungry, go wash your car. I think I saw a fing
erprint under the rear bumper. I don't care what you do. Just get in that black, ball-less car and drive. Oh, and one other thing. Never be at a tournament Lucy Johnston is playing in. Ever."
Saggy Pants laughed. "So that's what this is about. You think this will help your girl beat my daughter? Your girl is a joke. She can't hit five shots in a row. And I'm not going anywhere. You, on the other hand, better beat it before I slap your ass." He pushed me hard in the chest with both hands.
"Slap my ass? I think you mean kick my ass. I would have to get to know you a lot better before I let you slap my ass. And, sorry, but big and fat doesn't do it for me."
Saggy Pants flushed and swung wildly at me. I stepped back and let his haymaker whistle past me. He swung again and almost fell over this time.
"I don't want to fight you. Just hop in your wimp-mobile and go."
Saggy Pants was red and panting like he'd run a mile.
"You've got as much fight as that girl of yours. Did you see her cave in and double fault when I called her a cheating bitch? She's got as much heart as you and has as much chance as beating my daughter as that retard has."
I lowered the bin slowly to the ground.
"Retard?" I said quietly.
"Yes, retard. She's a retard, isn't she? I tried to talk to her when you were gone and she couldn't talk. Pretty though, with all that blonde hair. You don't normally see pretty retards."
"Where's her helper? I bet you have to pay someone to wipe her bottom, don't you?" said Bug-legs.
Saggy Pants gave a derisive laugh. "Pay someone? With that sweet ass? Don't worry about that. I'll do it for nothing."
"Jesus. I'll pay you!" said Bug legs, who laughed uproariously, until he began to choke. A hand strike to the throat will do that to you.
As he fell to his knees, I kicked him in the balls and he toppled over.
Saggy Pants swung at me. I caught his hand, applied a wrist lock and cannoned him head first into the side of the Hummer. I was impressed. It hardly left a dent. Perhaps I had been unfair to the Hummer.
I regarded the two men lying on the ground. I remembered my promise to Bear. Don't do anything dumb had been his words. He'd be happy to know I had kept my promise.
