by Tom Fowler
“Of course,” I said. “It’s been quiet so far, and quiet is good.”
“It is. I need that after what happened at the funeral home. Thanks for dealing with that guy, by the way. I think I thanked you already, but it’s been sort of a whirlwind these last few days.”
“I understand. You’re welcome.” I paused. This felt like an awkward subject to broach. “Alice, there’s something I need to know.”
“What is it?” she said.
“Did Paul have life insurance?”
She frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“Vinnie Serrano thinks he can get paid off quickly if Paul had a policy, even through his company. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think Vinnie is going to get more impatient.” I wondered if she knew Paul had been working overtime to pay down her gambling debts. Regardless, I didn’t think it my place to tell her. Not yet, at least.
“He did at one point,” she said, shaking her head. “It used to be free at his company, and then they started charging for it a few years ago. He blamed Obamacare. Tough times and all that. Paul’s premiums were expensive because he was a cancer survivor. He’d been healthy for years, and we needed the money to pay for other things.” I didn’t ask what those other things were. Alice took a deep breath. “We figured we were young. Who needs life insurance when you’re still in your thirties?” Tears rimmed her eyes, and she gave a sad smile. “The company had some kind of policy where they’ll cover funeral expenses, but that’s it. At least I got spared the cost of a funeral.”
“I know this is a bad time to talk about all of this, but Vinnie is going to want his money. We need to decide on a way to deal with him.”
“Can’t you just have him arrested?”
“He implied something would happen to you if the police were involved. Something about not being around to control his people and their zeal for collecting money.”
Alice frowned and shook her head. She put her face into her hands. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Her voice sounded muffled, but I could still understand her. “Can we deal with this tomorrow?”
“Sure. You want me to hang out a while in case Vinnie or his people make an appearance?”
“That would be great, thanks.” She gave me a small grin.
“No problem.”
Vinnie and his people never made an appearance. I stayed for a few more hours despite being so bored I had started counting pockmarks on the ceiling. Then I devised a robust game of deciding if something was a pockmark or a spot of water damage. The rest of the mourners, including family, left. Alice reheated some food for us, and we watched the local news. Once it and the national news aired, I decided to leave.
“You have my number,” I said. “Call me if you have a problem.”
“I will,” she said.
My ringing cell phone woke me from a sound sleep. I looked at the alarm clock; it was almost four-thirty. I fumbled for the phone, grabbed it on the third try, and answered it in a voice I hoped sounded coherent. "Hello?"
"C.T., it's Alice." Her voice quivered.
"What's wrong?"
"Can you come over? Something has happened. I . . . I don't know who else to call?"
"How about the police?"
"No. I don't want to involve them, not after what you said about Vinnie. Please, can you come over?"
I rolled my eyes and looked at my pillow. Hanging up on Alice and getting more sleep was tempting. But I chose this life—at least for now—and I said I would support Alice. "Sure. Let me freshen up a bit. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Thank you." I heard a wave of relief in her voice and in the deep breath she released. I hung up the phone, splashed some cold water on my face, brushed my teeth, and ran a comb through my hair. Last night's clothes were already in the hamper, so I put on a jogging suit, got my wallet, keys, and a gun, and left the apartment at four-forty. Thanks to my lead foot and light traffic on the roads, I made it to Alice's house in 15 minutes.
When I got there, Alice had the door open by the time I hit the steps. She looked composed as she offered me a wan smile, but the red and puffy eyes gave away the fact she had been crying. I walked inside, Alice followed me, and she locked the door and the deadbolt. In the living room, I sank into a recliner while Alice remained standing. She looked around even more nervously than normal. Something had her spooked.
"Tell me what happened," I said.
"I was asleep," Alice said. "I haven't slept very well since . . . since Paul . . . anyway. I was sound asleep and something crashed through the bedroom window." Her eyes were open wide as she talked. Alice wasn't getting back to dreamland any time soon.
"Why don't you show me?"
Alice led me to the second floor. The stairs opened into a hallway, which ended with a bathroom on the left. The master bedroom was at the other end of the hall, past two other bedrooms and a laundry room. The first thing I noticed when I entered the bedroom was the walk-in closet. Alice left it open, and I saw a lot of Paul's clothes still hanging, a hard reminder. I wondered when she would get rid of them. On the other side of the bedroom, broken glass covered the carpet, and a brick sat amidst the shards.
"Have you picked it up or done anything with it?" I said.
"No," Alice said, "I was too scared."
I nodded and took a glove out of my coat pocket. After I put it on, I picked up the brick. It looked like any other brick—maroon in color, rough exterior. On the bottom, someone had written "PAY UP" in large letters. The letters looked painted on. I set the brick back down, leaving the printed side up for Alice to see. "Looks like we're seeing the first signs of Vinnie's impatience," I said.
She stared at the brick and began to cry again.
Once the morning hit a more respectable hour (and after I consumed one mug of tea and one mug of Alice’s thoroughly mediocre coffee), I called Rich. He grumbled about getting up for an unofficial investigation, offered an uncharitable opinion or two of my methods, then agreed to come by anyway. About a half-hour later, he arrived. I offered him a cup of coffee in the interests of getting rid of it quicker. Rich accepted the mug, added nothing to it, and didn’t react when he drank. I decided not to pay Alice the backhanded compliment of saying she made coffee as well as the police did.
We took Rich upstairs and showed him the scene. He put on a latex glove, picked up the brick, turned it over a few times, and put it back down. “When did this happen?” he said.
“I looked at the clock right after I heard the glass break,” Alice said. “It was four twenty-three.”
“It’s obviously a gift from Vinnie,” I said.
“We don’t know for sure,” Rich said.
“Of course. I’m sure the paper carrier is so eager to get paid he would toss a brick through the window right after tossing The Sun onto the porch.”
“I admit it’s likely Vinnie or one of his cronies did this. Without forensics, though, we won’t know for sure.”
“I don’t want to involve the police,” Alice said.
“I’m already here,” Rich said.
“On your day off,” I said, “and in an unofficial capacity. If this turns into an official case, your brethren will want to move on Vinnie and his organization. Right now, I think it’s a bad idea.”
“Because of his threat.”
“Yes. It might be hot air, but we can’t take the chance, nor can we guard Alice twenty-four-seven.”
“Very responsible of you,” Rich said with an approving nod.
“See? I’m not all bad,” I said. I used a glove when I picked up the brick, and I petted a stray puppy on the way here.”
“We’ll hold off on the beatification until this case is over,” said Rich.
“What do we do now?” Alice said. “I don’t feel safe here anymore.” Her voice quivered again, and I saw her eyes well up.
“It’s probably best if you stay somewhere else for a while,” I said. “I would suggest family, but Vinnie might still find you there.”
“What about Paul’s family?”
“He could probably find you there, too. Besides, then you’d need a story about why you need to stay there.”
Alice frowned. “Where am I going to go, then? I can’t afford to pack up and go to a hotel.”
“Does the BPD have any safehouses?” I said to Rich.
“Sure, for official business,” he said. “This is still off the record.”
“Do you know where they are?”
Rich looked at me. “You’re going to break into a safehouse? No. Absolutely not.”
“Doesn’t mean you don’t know where they are.”
“I don’t. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“You know I can—”
“Don’t. It goes beyond the pale. Breaking into a safehouse will get you arrested. In this country.”
I winced at Rich’s barb, though I deserved it. Alice looked confused, like we exchanged a bunch of inside jokes. “All right. A hotel it is. I’ll pay for it, Alice. Don’t worry.”
“I couldn’t impose like that,” she said.
“I didn’t say I’d put you up in four-star digs. But I can get you away from here for a few days, at least. How quickly can you pack a bag?”
“I want to shower, too. Give me an hour?”
“We’ll be downstairs.”
“How many more days off do you have?” I asked Rich.
“Two more after today,” he said. “I put it some overtime, so the brass told me to take a couple extra.”
“While they ponder your rise to detective?”
“It’s more of a lateral move, but yes.”
I was curious about the BPD’s org chart but tabled the subject for now. “I think one of us will need to check on Alice periodically,” I said.
“This is your only case, right?” Rich said. “Can’t you look in on her?”
“I can, but I have an investigation to continue. It might be unofficial for you, but it’s official for me.”
Rich nodded. “All right. We’ll come up with some times.”
“Good,” I said.
“You know, I’m impressed you’re staying away from her.”
I frowned. I had a feeling I knew what Rich meant, but I wanted to see. “What do you mean?”
“You know . . . widow, vulnerable, pretty good-looking. It’s not like you haven’t gone there before.”
“I was in college then. People change, Rich. Even me.”
“All right,” he said.
“All right, what?”
“Just wanted to see if you’d done any growing up at all.”
“Satisfied?” I said.
“For now.”
“Good to know.” We waited a while for Alice, talking occasionally about random things. I couldn’t get a read on Rich. He would ride me for my shady methods and put down my investigative skills, then help me with the case and test me to see how much growing up I had done. Were these the kinds of things an older brother would do? Neither of us possessed any experience with something like this.
About a half-hour later, Alice came downstairs with a suitcase on wheels and a smaller bag over her shoulder. “I’m ready when you are,” she said. “Where are we going?”
“We’ll drive a ways and find something,” I said. We did. I found the La Quinta Inn on Route 7, at least a half-hour from Alice’s house. We got there hours before the normal check-in time. The desk clerk tried to charge me for an extra day, but I showed him my ID and managed to talk him out of it. He ended up being eager to help an official investigation and promised not to tell anyone Alice was staying there. If I had a tinfoil hat, he would have put it on and given me a conspiratorial nod. We registered her under a fake name, and I paid with my debit card. I had to hope the case ended soon. My expenses mounted, and I hadn’t gotten paid yet.
Alice settled into the room. We got extra keycards made for me and Rich. “We’ll check on you periodically,” I said. “You have my cell phone number already, and I’ll leave Rich’s before I go.”
“Will he mind?”
“Of course not.” I knew he would, which gave me all the more reason to do it.
“Thanks for all your help.” Alice managed a smile. “I don’t know what I would have done these last few days without you.”
“I’m nothing if not full service,” I said.
I lingered in the area until lunchtime when I took Alice to the Bill Bateman’s Bistro nearby. She ordered soup and a salad while I opted for the crab cake sandwich. I ordered it without bread, which seemed to confuse the waiter. When it came, it sat on a Kaiser roll. I eschewed the roll and only ate the crab cake and fries. Anyone who ruins a crab cake by diluting it with a bunch of bread deserves what they get.
After lunch, I dropped Alice off at the hotel and drove home. I still hadn’t found a dojo to spar and train in, so I checked out a couple more on the list and found both promising. One of them let me take a class for free to see how they ran things. I liked the strikes and holds, which I studied in Hong Kong, but didn’t like the number of children in the class. The dojo probably offered private or semi-private lessons. I would have to check on those.
Once I showered and changed back into my civilian clothes, I drove to my place again. I walked toward my building, gym bag over my right shoulder as I fished my keys out of my left front jeans pocket. I heard a footstep from my rear. I got halfway turned around when something hard hit me in the back of the head. My vision swam, and the last thing I saw before the sidewalk rushed up to meet me was a short person standing behind me.
Chapter 16
I fluttered in and out, eventually becoming aware of lying on a cold, hard surface. I felt like I had been shaken from a dream but still existed halfway inside its alternate reality. Sound came back next in the form of two voices speaking Cantonese. I lay there and tried to discern as much as possible without opening my eyes. No point in revealing my consciousness to my captors.
The solid, chilling ground felt like the concrete I lay on during my days in the Chinese prison. The memory got my heart racing. My hands were bound behind my back with what felt like a plastic zip tie, also something the Chinese had done. This was hitting too close to home. I took deep breaths as quietly as I could. I noticed the absence of the .45’s heft at my side. I never thought I would miss the feeling of a gun holstered on my belt until I needed one to be there. The feeling of my arms against my back told me my coat had been taken from me as well.
I listened to the conversation in Chinese. One of the voices definitely belonged to the short man Vinnie called Sam; I hadn’t heard the other one before. They discussed what they were supposed to do with me. Sam said they were waiting on his boss to deal with something else first. The other fellow seemed eager to be rid of me. I wondered if he were related to any of the bastards who served as my jailers and tormentors in Hong Kong. They had been eager to have a rich American in their prison. Images of the prison guards played on my closed eyelids. My heart raced anew, and I struggled to remain calm. After a minute, Sam said he was going outside to smoke.
His footsteps echoed leaving the room. Wherever they held me had to be large. Sam took fifty steps, each resounding gradually less than the previous before he pushed a heavy door open. It groaned like a loud wind in winter and slammed shut like a giant pushed it from the other side. Where the hell was I? The other fellow milled about. I wanted to see where he was but didn’t risk opening my eyes. For now, he and Sam thinking me unconscious sounded better than the alternative. They would probably leave me alone if they thought I was still out.
A few minutes later, the door opened with another groan and a squeak. Sam walked in, and the door slammed shut behind him. His footsteps echoed again as they came back toward me. He shouted to his friend about me still being unconscious. The other guy suggested a rather rude way of waking me, but Sam vetoed it. He said they were waiting for his boss, and since he was paying the other fellow, he was the boss in this room. A brief argument ensued
, but Sam’s logic overcame his friend’s desire to do me harm.
I didn’t know how long my respite would last; I needed to get out of here. Working free from a zip tie under observation would be impossible without some way to cut it. I carried a knife in my pocket, if my captors hadn’t taken it. Could I grab it without them noticing? Sam suggested turning the TV on. The other fellow agreed but lamented the fact the show would be in English. While they fussed with the channels, I decided to try and make my escape. I felt my pocket. The knife was still there. It was small, which made it hard to find and also difficult to reach in my current circumstances.
It felt like the right time to risk opening my eyes. I squinted from one at first. Both Sam and his friend were turned the other way and messed with the small TV. I opened my other eye and looked around. They stood on a raised platform. I lay on a concrete floor. A vaulted ceiling yawned overhead. Scraps of dark wood were strewn about on the floor. Large windows on the side of the building had been covered in plastic and boarded up. I didn’t risk rolling over to look behind me, but based on what I had seen so far, I had to be in an abandoned church. There were enough of those in the area.
I closed my eyes when Sam and his bloodthirsty friend got the TV figured out. They had dropped me on my right side, which enabled me to try and reach into my left front pocket for my knife. I shifted to lie a little more on my back to hide the fact I was awake and digging for a weapon. The zip tie bit into my wrists as I reached into my pocket. I got one finger in there on the first try, but couldn’t reach the knife. The second try got a second finger into the pocket. I felt something warm and wet run over my right wrist. The zip tie bit into my skin again as I got the tips of my index and middle fingers around the knife. I couldn’t let it go because I didn’t know if I could reach it again. I pinched the handle and pulled it out of my pocket. Now I had to transfer it to my other hand without dropping it.
