Body Broker

by Daniel M Ford

  She answered on the first ring. “Mr. Dixon. Once again, thank you.”

  “No need, Ms. Kennelly. I need to find out if there’s anything else you need from me or the firm. And if you want to schedule an exit interview before we close out the case and move on to the minor details.”

  “Like billing?”

  “Yes, like billing, but that’s not really what I’m calling about. Is there any kind of help Gabriel needs that I can point him to? Anything else I can do?”

  “Well, that depends on if you know anything about…” She paused and I knew what she wanted to say and what she meant, and also why she did not want to say it.

  “I have a friend getting me a list of doctors. Board-certified in addiction medicine. I’ll pass it on to you as soon as I have it.”

  “I don’t suppose you had any luck getting in touch with his father.”

  “I haven’t, no.”

  She sighed. “Perhaps I can call him. He may want to speak with you. Perhaps offer some kind of reward.”

  “The fee you pay the firm will be plenty. I’m not looking for a reward.”

  “Do you know…I mean have you reconstructed what happened?”

  “I don’t have all the facts, but I can speculate. As long as you understand that what I say is speculation and not necessarily correct.”

  “That’s fine.”

  I took a deep breath. “Gabriel got into some drugs. I don’t know what kind, but probably opiates of some kind. Not sure what else, or from who, to start. Dr. Thalheim had ties to criminals and he apparently helped identify kids for them to sell drugs to. Recently, they began moving from simple drug sales to insurance fraud. Dr. Thalheim was their point man on that, as well.” I decided not to mention the MC, since I didn’t want to do a bunch of explaining, or put rumors out there that might help scuttle the investigation that had no doubt started.

  “What…what is the point of whisking a child away into rehab?”

  I decided not to argue over the legal definition of child in this case. “It can be quite lucrative if the individual has good insurance. And, frankly, it was an employee of your husband’s company that sent me working this angle. The rehab had started billing that insurance about a week before Gabriel’s disappearance. From what I saw, the charges could have easily totaled tens of thousands of dollars in fairly short order.”

  “And what kind of services were they providing?”

  “Very poor, ma’am,” I said, trying not to think too hard about the metal racks bolted into the wall in the first house I’d busted into, or the zip ties lying around.

  “Well,” Ms. Kennelly said, “thank whoever that employee was. Take them to dinner. I’ll throw in a tip so you can do just that.”

  I felt a little guilty smiling given my surroundings, and the reason I was there. But I did. “I think that’s advice I will definitely take, ma’am.” I paused. “Do you have any idea what Gabriel would like to do next?”

  “He’s going back to school. If Farrington will take him.”

  “I’m going to be visiting the school tomorrow, if you’d like me to make any inquiries in that regard.”

  “What time can I meet you there?”

  “How does ten a.m. sound?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dixon.”

  “You can call me Jack, ma’am.”

  “Susan, then.”

  “Tomorrow at ten, then, Susan.”

  Chapter 42

  I waited out the closed hours scrolling the news and checking email. When visiting time resumed, I entered the intensive care unit, looking for the room number I’d gotten at administration.

  The TV was on, flicking channels. That was a good sign. Brock was sitting more or less upright in his bed, TV remote in hand. He had a couple of lines in, and he had a bit of a glassy-eyed look.

  “Hey, kid,” I said, leaning against the doorway.

  Brock’s eyes drifted slowly over at me. “Jack,” he drawled. “How are you?” I laughed a little.

  “Question is how are you, Brock.”

  “I got shot,” he said, with the bleary-eyed enthusiasm of the heavily medicated.

  “Yeah, so I heard. You remember what happened?”

  “Motorcycle pulled in front of me, cut me off,” he said, swallowing hard. “Another one pulled up alongside and started firing into the car.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I popped out the driver side door and returned fire. I don’t know if I clipped any of them. Definitely hit a bike, ‘cause I saw sparks. Maybe got one with a ricochet. But they got me in the shoulder. The shooter dove into the car, rummaged around, then they drove off.”

  “That was my fault, Brock. They were after their notebooks, their paperwork. I shoulda given that to the cops. Never should’ve been your responsibility.”

  He waved his left hand — the one with the remote — dismissively. His right arm was immobilized in heavy bandages and a sling. “Eh. I got shot. Will have scars. Chicks dig scars.”

  If he hadn’t been doped up with a bullet in him, I might have taken the moment to deliver some talk about demeaning and infantilizing terms for women, but he didn’t seem likely to absorb anything just now.

  “You gonna be alright? Back in fighting trim soon?”

  “Month or two, I guess?”

  “How’s your insurance situation?”

  “I…don’t really know.”

  I nodded. “I’ll talk to the firm about it, help you get it straightened out if need be.” I looked around. “You need anything? Food, some reading material? Anything from home?”

  “Man, if I could get some music somehow? They won’t let me turn my phone on in here.”

  “I’ll hit Wal-Mart and grab you something portable, with headphones. If you give me your passwords I can probably load your music library onto one.”

  I stood around awkwardly for a minute while he flicked the TV. “Orioles play at four,” I said. “Getaway game before their last road trip. Might be worth turning on.”

  “Eh, I don’t really watch baseball, man.” He let out a jaw-cracking yawn and awkwardness resumed.

  “Brock. I’m sorry,” I said, looking down at my feet. “I shouldn’t have put you in this position. I should’ve stayed with you, and I never should’ve left that evidence with you. This is on me, so anything I can do to make it right, you just tell me what it is.”

  I heard a faint wheeze, looked up. Brock’s head had fallen back on his pillow, his eyes had closed, and he was drooling freely onto his chin. No machines were making any unusual pinging noises or alarms, so I assumed that was just restful sleep.

  A nurse tapped me on the shoulder and pointed toward the exit. I knew better than to argue, so off I went.

  Chapter 43

  At long last I got my groceries home, thankful that the milk had at least been refrigerated while in the office. I peeled a carrot with a paring knife and let the peels drop off the stern. I didn’t quite have a carrot down like I did a potato; I couldn’t get the entire peel off in one go. But I was getting closer. I’d only needed to reset the knife once.

  Man’s got to have goals.

  I chewed on the carrot meditatively. It wasn’t good. They never were, without butter or salt or at least a little balsamic glaze. But the Navy had taught me to strictly avoid scurvy, and I usually only had citrus in cocktails. I didn’t much feel like drinking.

  Which wasn’t entirely true. I definitely felt like I wanted a drink, but I didn’t exactly feel as though I had earned one. So I kept the bar closed.

  I did get a card out of my wallet and dial a number.

  On the third ring, a warm, slightly throaty voice answered. “Hello?”

  “Gen. It’s Jack Dixon. From last week.”

  “Oh, I remember you. Have you made an
y progress?”

  “In point of fact, that’s why I’m calling. I located Gabriel yesterday, and he is…recovering at home.”

  “Well, that’s good news. I’m glad to hear it.”

  “And, to give credit where credit is due, your tip about Ladders proved fruitful. Helped break the case.”

  “That’s good. Is Gabriel okay?”

  “I believe that he will be, though I can’t say too much about it. I am, however, under strict orders from Ms. Kennelly to thank the person who provided the fruitful tip. And so, I was wondering if you might be willing to accept a dinner invitation. As a thank you.”

  “I think I might. Where at?”

  “Hrm. You know Skipjack, in Newark?”

  “Heard of it, haven’t been.”

  “They do great seafood, some of the only acceptable crab cakes over the Maryland state line, if you ask me.”

  “When?”

  “Saturday? Sevenish?”

  “Sounds like a date. I’ll meet you there?”

  “Perfect,” I said.

  “Then I’ll see you Saturday.”

  “Great.”

  “Yep.”

  Another awkward silence. She laughed into the phone. Not quite a giggle, not a chortle, I wasn’t sure what to call it. But I liked the sound of it.

  “Goodbye then.”

  “Bye!” She hung up. I sat with the phone in my lap. The day was looking up, a little. I reminded myself that a young guy I was supposed to be watching out for had been shot by an outlaw MC obsessed with Vikings that was still roaming around. I’d had a plan percolating in my mind for that, if it became necessary.

  I decided it probably was.

  Chapter 44

  So the next thing I did was call my drug dealer.

  Really, Eddie is just your typical salt-of-the-earth weed farmer. He has the greenest thumb in the county. I have no doubt that if he wanted to grow heritage strains of corn or award-winning roses, he’d do that. Instead, he grows the finest all natural, organic, medicinal, and recreational herbs known to man. Or at least to me.

  He is, as any man in his position would be, a tad paranoid. While Maryland was moving in the right direction medically, he wasn’t too interested in joining a closely regulated — or at all regulated — marketplace. And it wasn’t just about legal repercussions. Eddie was genuinely worried that someone would steal his secrets or force him to cut back on the purity of his experiments.

  So when calling him, one had to be circumspect.

  Eddie only took new customers by referral, and you’d get a certain set of hours and days when you could call him. Luckily, mine were on.

  As always, he answered in dead silence. I couldn’t even hear him breathe.

  “Eddie. My favorite man of the soil.”

  “Jack.”

  “Hoping to talk to you.”

  He paused. Probably checking the handwritten schedule he kept and then destroyed every week. “Tonight. Or Thursday.”

  “Tonight, I guess.”

  “Eight p.m. The trailer. Do not bring your phone.”

  “How am I supposed to find it, then?” Eddie moved his camper here and there, hauling it on the back of a farm use truck.

  “Write down the directions. Like an adult.”

  Eddie was, it needed to be said, a tad fussy, and a bit old-fashioned.

  “Fine. Give them to me.”

  Eddie proceeded to dictate a set of directions that included at least two unpaved roads and a left turn into a field, followed by another left turn at a lightning-struck tree. I dutifully copied them all down. I still had a few hours before his proposed meeting time, so I did the only sensible thing, and went to the gym.

  * * *

  Early tests indicated that my ribs and back were going to be an impediment to most of the basic parts of my workout routine. Squatting was out. Deadlifting was out. Cleans and jerks and the bench press and all its variations were out. I was pretty good at disregarding pain, if I say so myself. But I had proven to myself so many times that I’d disregard it until I hurt myself really badly that I’d finally learned to listen.

  So I puttered around the dumbbells for a while, doing a quick complex of as many different curls as I could think of. Front, back, switch, extensions, careful lunges, overhead presses that didn’t hurt too badly so long as I kept my trunk incredibly calm. Still, it took far too long to work up anything resembling the good sweat a more robust lifting program would’ve generated.

  And when that was done, I slunk off in defeat to the cardio area, and stared at an exercise bike for a solid two minutes before shame won out, and I climbed on.

  At least I had a tablet, so I could get some reading done.

  A little over an hour later, I stumbled out shamed and defeated, but at least I’d been at the gym, and no one had tried to talk to me. Traffic zipped by along 40. I was getting far too used to a car and I sat in the driver’s seat resentfully for a full five minutes before I could bring myself to start it. I eased into the light afternoon traffic. Trucks and SUVs and old beater cars whipped around me. Life in Cecil County went on like it usually did.

  I kept two ears open for the rumble of bikes. I didn’t hear any, but that didn’t make me feel a whole lot better.

  * * *

  The drive to Eddie’s trailer was uneventful, but I was there a couple of minutes early. Rather than sit in the car and drive him crazy, I got out and walked up to the door. It was a retro-looking Airstream but, I suspected, was of more modern construction. The gleaming aluminum sides looked pristine and it seemed destined for beautiful western skyline camping. Frankly, it seemed more than a little out of place parked just outside the woods here in Maryland, with a smell of brackish water in the air. It was a wonder he kept that thing looking as good as he did.

  Eddie’s truck, a nondescript red Dodge pickup, the kind you might see thirty of in a day driving around here, was parked nearby.

  I knocked on the door, only just resisting the urge to make it “Shave and a haircut.”

  “You’re early,” came a voice from within the shell.

  “I like to give myself a lot of lead time, just in case.”

  “You’re early,” he said. “You can wait until the time of our appointment.”

  “Eddie,” I said, “are you really going to make me stand out here for two minutes?

  There was no answer. An amount of time that I guessed was probably exactly two minutes passed, and the trailer door slid open.

  I walked in. The trailer was sweltering. Eddie didn’t seem to mind. He was the kind of skinny guy who was so intensely focused on whatever he was doing that he probably never noticed the heat, the cold, that he was hungry, or tired. I’m not sure he would’ve noticed if he caught on fire. He wore a black t-shirt, jeans, standard work boots, and an Orioles cap featuring the ornithologically correct bird that was so old and stained it had all but turned blue, and black-frame glasses. He was older than me, but how old I wasn’t sure.

  “What are you looking for?” Eddie had two slide-open coolers at his feet. He slid down the lid of one. “I have some amazing butter if you’re looking for something edible. Made with Blue Lightning. I know you look to relax, maybe take the edge off all the punishment you give yourself.”

  “Whoa, whoa. Let’s pause the too-close-to-home psychoanalysis for a minute, and also ignore the implication that I’d ever cook with your product.”

  “You don’t cook with it, you infuse things with it,” Eddie protested.

  “Well, what am I gonna do, inject all the candy I don’t eat with it? You know I’m a traditionalist. But…I’m actually not here to buy. Not yet. Still haven’t gotten paid from my latest case.”

  “If you aren’t here to buy, then what are you possibly doing?” Eddie slid his cooler closed and stared at me, hard. Not in a threa
tening way, just in the way he looked at whatever single thing he happened to be paying attention to at the moment. Eddie did one thing at a time, just one, and he did it intently. His glasses were fogging up from the heat inside the trailer and I don’t think he noticed.

  I noticed. Sweat was breaking out between my shoulder blades, on the small of my back. I told myself it was the heat in the trailer.

  “I have some compelling reasons to seek out contacts with someone who moves harder stuff. And more of it. Not,” I quickly added, “to get into the business. To maybe deliver them a friendly warning.”

  “I don’t get involved in the politics, the factions, the turf,” Eddie said sharply. “I just want to tend my plants. I barely even make a profit. I pour everything back into the soil and the processes.”

  “Yeah, Eddie, I know. I get it. All I’m asking, as a loyal customer who’ll be coming back to see you as soon as he’s got the money to make a purchase, is for a number to call. A way to reach out.”

  “And why would I know that?”

  “Because you operate with impunity, so someone is leaving you alone. And you have access to distribution networks. You can’t be all on your own.”

  “You’d be surprised. I don’t like to let my crops out of my hands, because you never know what someone else will do with it.”

  “I notice you didn’t address my first point.”

  He looked away. “I do know a number. I can give it to you. But you have got to leave me out of it.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Why do you want this, all of a sudden?”

  I shook my head. “Better you don’t know.”

  Eddie sat down heavily. The trailer was sparsely furnished. A small deal table, with some bags and gloves and tools on it. Two chairs. I didn’t try to take the other one.

  “This cannot come back on me, Jack,” he said, eyes fixed on the toes of his boots.

  My gym shower was now a total loss, sweat starting to soak my shirt. I wanted to get this over with and get back out into the cool night air, get back to the Belle and drop anchor somewhere offshore. But Eddie needed convincing. “It won’t. Nobody will hear your name from me. They wouldn’t think it, either. They’d just assume I got it from law enforcement sources, or a client.”