For a blistering moment, Max thought she might faint or simply go catatonic. Instead, she walked deeper in her house, pushing the door slightly open as she left. Max took this as an invitation.
As he entered, he heard Annabelle call from the kitchen in a soft, dead voice, “Sit down, please. You know where.”
He went to the small living room and settled on the overstuffed couch he had occupied in the past. Annabelle had the heat on, blowing hard from dusty vents. The hot air, thick with perfume, pressed on him. He wished he could open a window, get some of the cool, Fall air blowing inside, but he did not plan to be there too long—he could endure. When Annabelle arrived, she carried a tray with two glasses of scotch. She drained one glass in three gulps, set it down, and nursed the second glass.
“What do you want to know about my grandson?” she asked.
“How long were you having an affair with Hull?”
She choked a little on a sip of scotch. “Affair? I wasn’t having an affair. And certainly not with that bastard. I hate Hull and all of his people.”
“But Stephen’s father was born several months after Stan’s disappearance, Stan was convinced you were having an affair, and you received a hefty payoff in stock from Hull.”
“Stephen’s father is Cal, and Cal is Stan’s son.”
“But why did—”
“Young man, shut up, please, and let me talk. You’ll get more of what you want that way. Close the mouth and open the ears—my mother often said that and if nothing else, she was right about that one.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Max said, shrinking a bit in his seat.
After another sip of her drink, Annabelle said, “When Stan came back from the war, he never was the same. Whatever happened over there haunted him every single day. He never talked about it. Not once. But this tension always simmered right beneath the surface.
“And then came that day at work with Hull. The change in him was instant. He obsessed over those POWs and Hull and though he tried to keep it all away from me, I had figured out he planned to blackmail Hull. Well, things didn’t go quite as he expected but I guess you know a lot about that by now. And if you don’t, well, it doesn’t really matter.
“I had become pregnant with Stan’s child. Stan, sadly, had lost all sense of reality. The pressure of what he was doing to those POWs and Hull and memories of the war, I suppose they would call it Post Traumatic Stress nowadays. Back then, shellshock, if they bothered to diagnose it at all. For me, he was paranoid. And I knew he thought I was cheating on him, so I didn’t dare tell him about being pregnant. He probably would have killed me. But I swear I was never unfaithful. I loved that man, and that boy is his.”
“So when he went missing, he didn’t know?”
“Never. He died not knowing about his son.”
“Isn’t it possible he’s still alive? The police never found him.”
Annabelle shot back the rest of her drink, then shook her head. “I watched him die—completely mad. I knew where he was hiding, and I tried to bring him back to me, tried to talk him into reality again, but it was too late. He took a shotgun and killed himself right before my eyes. Another week and I would have been showing enough for him to see. Maybe that would’ve changed his mind. Who knows? Maybe that would have made him turn that gun on me.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “I cleaned it all up and buried him, and nobody will find him because nobody’s really looking anymore.”
“You had Stan’s journal,” Max said, the realization hitting him with surprising force. “That’s why Hull bought you off.”
“With all the police and media attention, he didn’t dare harm me. So, he bought my silence, and I hid the journal. That should have been the end of it all. But my son, Cal, grew up to be a defiant child. Even from an early age he fought every rule I tried to lay down. When he hit his rebellious teen years, he went for the jugular—he started working for Hull.”
“Shit.”
“Don’t swear in my house.”
“Sorry. What happened?”
The skin below her right eye quivered as she looked into her past. “I tried to stop him, but he was a teenager and very much like his father. When Stan set his mind to something, no matter how insane, he could not be stopped. Cal had more than a touch of that in his blood.
“At the time I was furious, and though I couldn’t stop him, I demanded he do one thing for me. I can still hear his impatient ‘What?’ but I held firm. He was to change his name, make sure Hull could not find out who he really was. I told him frankly that if Hull knew he was Cal Bowman, he would end up dead. That much got through. He changed his name. Later, he married and had Stephen. That’s the name I’ve always known my grandson by. Stephen Bowman.”
“And Stephen works for Hull, too?”
“Like many surrounding Hull, Cal died under questionable circumstances. But nobody bothered to look into it. So, Stephen picked up where his father left off.”
Half to himself, Max asked, “Why would Hull put his own men in prison? Surely not for me. That makes worse sense than anything I’ve heard yet.”
“Hull put Stephen in prison to keep an eye on him and to punish him for acting on his own accord.”
This perked Max’s attention. “He wasn’t supposed to attack me, was he?”
“No. He did that to protect me and his secret. And it was a stupid thing to do. I can take care of myself. Besides, it sparked Hull’s interest. He still doesn’t know for sure who my grandson is, but I think he’s starting to become concerned.”
“So he puts him in jail.”
Putting her glass on the table with a loud clack, she said, “You are a noisy fool. Now, for the last time shut up. Okay, then. See, my son, my darling little Cal, he didn’t want to worry me with what his real motives were. All this time, I had felt betrayed, and it hurt him so bad but he knew he had to do it that way. If Hull ever found out who he was, Hull would come to me and he would see how angry I was and he would think Cal was truly on his side. But he wasn’t. Cal wanted to find Hull’s journal. That’s what he was after the whole time. He wanted to find out what really happened between Hull and Stan.”
Max’s muscles tensed as he held his breath. “He found it,” he whispered.
“No. That’s why his son, my grandson, Stephen took over. And bless his heart, he succeeded.”
“They really were looking for that journal.”
“Yes. Your finding Stan’s journal was a mistake. How did you find it anyway?”
A cold, painful thrust of memory spiked the back of Max’s head. “I had some unusual help.”
“That’s all there is. Now, you know my dirty secret. Please, don’t tell Hull. For my grandson.”
“I won’t, but I need you to do something for me.”
Annabelle’s face turned cold. “What is it?”
“I need you to call Stephen, arrange for him to meet me. I need to talk with him.”
“You don’t need me to visit the prison.”
“I doubt he would talk with me. He tried to kill me.”
“He wouldn’t have really killed you. He just tried to scare you away from me.”
“Look, I’ve listened to or read so many sides to this story, and I want the last one. Please.”
Annabelle frowned as she looked out the window. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it. But go now.”
Max checked the window—a green Ford and a grey Honda had pulled up; the Honda in the driveway and the Ford in front of the house.
“I’m sorry,” Annabelle said. “I called Hull before I opened the door. I didn’t know you were on my side.”
“Is there a back door?”
With a nod, she pointed the way. “I’ll call Stephen. He’ll be waiting.”
As he hurried down the hall, Max wondered how much more abuse his body could take. His hand throbbed non-stop, his muscles complained from the previous night, and his head ached with the feeling of ten hangovers. He moved like
an elderly man as he negotiated the stairs to the backyard.
When he slid to the side of the house, he could hear Annabelle at the front door. “It’s all okay, gentleman. He’s gone now. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’m just a foolish old lady.”
The men said something too soft for Max to hear. Then Annabelle continued, “Come in, please. Have a drink. Oh, well, then have a seat. Let me see, he barged in here, very rude, and forced me to sit over there …”
While she proceeded to fabricate a tale, Max crouched and duckwalked toward the front. He peeked onto the porch. Nobody. Both men were inside. He looked at both cars. No drivers waiting. Finally, he checked out his car. No Sandra.
Looking up and down the street, he sought her with fear rising in his throat. As his gaze passed over the car again, he saw movement—her hair. She was scrunched down in the driver’s seat.
Relief swept Max as he rushed down the sidewalk several houses before crossing the street and then working his way back to the car. When he opened the passenger side door, Sandra jolted and stifled a yelp. She motioned him to stay down but get in, and before he could close the door, she hugged him. Wiping at her eyes, she pulled the car out and drove off in a casual manner though Max could see her pulse pounding on her neck. Pride took over and he kissed her cheek.
“Where to?” she asked.
“The prison. It’s just a few blocks north.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Max sat in the functional waiting room, his elbows on his knees, trying to ignore the sideways glances he received from the other visitors. Fluorescent lights turned everything pale. He knew he looked awful—dirty, smelly, bruised, and broken. At least he had Sandra sitting next to him—that made him look less crazy. Just a little longer, he promised himself.
“Samuels,” a guard called out, and a young, overweight lady went to see her boyfriend.
Each minute that passed by left more questions for Max to plague his weary brain. What if Annabelle was still with Hull’s men? What if she couldn’t get Stephen to agree to see him? What if she had lied and was informing Hull of everything right this moment? What if … But Max knew that worrisome thoughts would not help him now. The time for over-cautious analysis had ended long ago. He had tested Drummond’s way more than once, but now he had entered Drummond’s world in full—a gut-reaction and from-the-hip world.
“Spanitti,” the guard called out and waited as a woman assisted an old man into the visitor’s room.
“I’m sorry, you know,” Sandra said.
“For what?”
“The only reason we came down was because of me.”
Despite the pain, Max shook his head. “No, no. Don’t start that. We came down here together. I screwed things up back in Michigan, I’m the one who couldn’t bend a little for my boss to make it work, I’m the one who stole, and—”
“And I’m the one who found this job.”
“What?” A chill covered Max, reaching all the way into his wrapped hand.
With her hands clutching her purse, Sandra said, “I wanted us out of Michigan, out of that mess, and I wanted you to feel better, confident—maybe even a bit arrogant like you were when we first met. So I started checking around on the Internet. I found out about this opportunity with Hull, but they didn’t actually take job applications. You simply recommended somebody and they said they would look into it if they had an opening, and so, I recommended you.”
Max brushed away the tears dribbling down her face. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know whether to be mad or flattered or what.”
“You can be all of those. Obviously, the plan didn’t work out quite the way I had intended.”
“Obviously.” Max tried to put this new information in place, but it wouldn’t fit. “Why even tell me this? What good is it?”
“I’m trying to be truthful. All the little secrets we keep hidden to protect each other, it only ever hurts us. You said we can’t lie anymore, and you’re right. I know you’re mad. I can see it building up, but just know, I did it all out of love. And I’m sorry.”
Sniffling, Sandra lowered her head. Max put his arm around her, and the warmth of her body against him was the first good sensation in quite some time. He squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.
“Porter,” the guard called, but Max didn’t want to let go of the moment.
As if reading his thoughts, Sandra said, “Go ahead. It’s okay. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”
Max followed the guard to a desk where he filled out some papers. Then he was taken to a large room teeming with inmates in orange jumpers, all seated with their loved ones, all talking in hushed, urgent tones. Near one of the wide, frosted windows, Max saw a man seated alone. The guard pointed and nodded.
Stephen Bowman shared a few of his grandmother’s attributes—a similar nose and jaw. The eyes were Annabelle’s as well. The rest of him came from Cal and Stan and whoever was his mother—harsh and angular. He had shaved his head, and Max noted the knife tattooed on the back of his hand.
“I’m letting you know right now,” he said with a force that spoke of more time in prison than just this most recent stay, “I’m only seeing you because my Grandma asked me to. I got no care what happens to you, so long as it don’t come down on me or her.”
“Fair enough,” Max said, sitting in a plastic, blue chair on the opposite side of a small table.
“So what do you want?”
“Your side of this twisted story, and, depending on what you say, maybe we can help each other out.”
“Yeah, sure. My side. Listen, man, there are no sides, just the one truth.”
“And what’s that?”
“The fact is that Hull screwed over my whole family. He took a good, honorable man, a soldier who fought bravely for this country, and he fucked with his head until the guy couldn’t think straight anymore and he did it to protect his own ass. Then when it all went to shit, he bought off my Grandma and walked away as if nothing happened.”
“That’s not quite the story I’ve heard.”
“Well, you don’t have what I have, do you?”
Max tried to stay calm. “You have Hull’s journal?”
“You know I do. Why else would you be here talking with me? I’m guessing you figured it out the minute you knew who I was. Well, maybe not that fast. You had to check with my Grandma first. Then, you knew.”
“I had a hunch you had something on Hull, but I never thought you had his journal.”
“Well, you ain’t getting it.”
“I didn’t think I would. But I do need to know what’s in it. It’s important to both of us. I mean, if I could find out who you are, then Hull will have no trouble finding it out, too. He just has to decide to look.”
“That’s the thing, though, he doesn’t want to look. He’s got no reason to doubt me and start looking.”
Max gestured around them. “He put you in prison for attacking me. You don’t think that’ll get him curious about you? Make him wonder why you’d want to hurt me? Besides which, doesn’t he know his journal is missing?”
“Of course, he does. He hired you, didn’t he?”
“I don’t know which journal he wanted me to find.”
“Fact is, I joined up with Hull so I could get his journal. That’s it. I mean, I didn’t know it at the time. Back then, I just knew I wanted to hurt the bastard who hurt my family, took my father and Grandpa Stan from me. Understand? I figured I’d get in and just keep my eyes and ears open and one day, I’d find my opportunity. That’s what I was waiting for. A gold opportunity.
“And it happened. Sitting in a bar, listening to college kids playing trivia games, just minding my business. And then I hear this guy boasting loud right next to me about how he knew the Hull family. Good friends, he says. Made a couple of rude comments about the lady Hulls, got himself some laughs. Right then, I decided I’d beat the guy to a pulp. Get myself some points with Hull. I sat there for two hours lis
tening to this jerk go on and on. I swear he just wouldn’t shut up.
“Around one in the morning, he finally leaves and I follow him to his car. Then I start bashing him and kicking him and he starts pleading with me. He’s crying right there. I say some cool shit about Hull, and he looks at me hard. Like his whole face changed and he became Mister Cool for just a few seconds. And he says to me, ‘You want something to really give you power?’ He tells me about the journal. Turns out this fool was one of Hull’s little gophers awhile back and he saw the journal. Hull found out and fired his ass.
“I thanked him for the info and then beat him some more,” Stephen said with a grin.
Max checked the clock—high on the wall, protected by metal bars. He couldn’t recall how long the guard had said he would have but knew time would run out soon enough. “So, you’ve got the journal now?”
Stephen pushed Max’s chair with his foot. “It wasn’t easy like that. It took planning, cunning, some real smart work. But yeah, I got it.”
“Have you read it?”
“Not much else to do around here.”
“And?”
“And Hull was a dick just like I thought,” Stephen said, his face reddening as he puffed up his chest. A guard at the door looked over, ready to pounce if Stephen grew any more agitated. Stephen waved at the guard and formed a twisted smile. Then he lowered his voice and said, “When Grandpa Stan went to Hull to blackmail him, do you know what really happened? He refused to pay. He said nobody blackmails a Hull. Then he turned the whole thing around. He offered my dad all the blackmail money plus more if my dad would do a small job.”
“The POW,” Max said.
“Damn right. He wanted a specific one, Günther Scholz, and he wanted it covered up well, so he used Grandpa Stan’s nuttiness against him. He paid to have the POWs captured and tortured. Just three of ’em. The one he wanted and two he didn’t even know. But Grandpa Stan still struggled with the war and all, and this whole thing just snapped him. He hurt way more than just three. And, of course, he took his life, too. It’s all laid out in that journal.”
Modern Magic Page 185
