by A W Hartoin
He looked up and his expression changed to the sweet one I’d come to expect over the last few months. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing’s going on with Pete. He’s seeing someone and he showed up right after the call,” I said.
“I know. Are you okay?”
“Not so much, but that doesn’t matter, does it?”
“It does to me,” said Chuck, extending a long arm and pulling me into his chest.
Sydney slapped his notebook down on the counter. “For Christ’s sake, this isn’t your honeymoon. We’ve got shit to do.”
I wiped my eyes. “I know. It was just a shock that he called.”
“I didn’t see that coming,” said Sydney.
“Nobody did,” said Chuck. “Anything stand out to you? We’ll have to talk to Carolina, but your instincts are good.”
“What have you decided?” I asked.
The detectives went stock still.
“Hello? The Feds have shut you out, despite my best efforts. Are you with them or me?”
“I thought you wanted us to work with them,” said Sydney.
“I did until they screwed me over.”
Chuck stepped back and said, “Blankenship gave you something else.”
“Ya think?”
“Mercy, please.”
“Got anything to trade?” I asked.
“Like what?’
“Like what did you get from Palfry?”
They went blank for a second and then Sydney said, “Oh, that snotty son of a bitch.”
“Huh?” asked Chuck.
“You know, that asshat butler from Hawthorne.”
I laughed. “That is such a good description of Palfry. What did he say?”
“Wait a minute,” said Sydney. “You going to give us something?”
“Are you going to give it to the Feds?” I asked.
They exchanged a look and then shrugged.
“Screw ‘em,” said Chuck. “Palfry didn’t give us anything. Just a bunch of crap about how your family is a stain on the street.”
“He’s lying,” I said.
“Hell, yeah, he’s lying.”
Sydney raised his arms and interlocked his fingers over his head, revealing the pit stains that went all the way through his jacket. Even my day wasn’t that stressful. Ew. “We don’t have anything to hold him on and Hawthorne Avenue doesn’t exactly buzz with activity. I don’t know how Palfry would’ve seen or heard anything anyway. He works six mansions down.”
That was an obvious problem. I rarely saw Palfry, which was no great loss. He wasn’t social. At least, not with us.
Aunt Tenne came out of Mom’s room with Wallace, holding her at arm’s length. “She needs to go out and you got the short straw.”
The story of my life.
“Come on, Wallace. Want to go on a road trip?”
Aunt Tenne put her down and she scampered over to me.
“Where were we?” I asked Chuck.
“Palfry not being outside.”
Bark.
“I know. I know,” I said.
Bark. Bark.
“Hold on. I’m thinking.”
Bark. Bark. Bark.
“You’d better go,” said Sydney. “The pug has got to pee.”
“That’s it,” I said, picking up Wallace in triumph. “He does go outside. Palfry walks the dogs.”
“He didn’t mention any dogs,” said Sydney, grabbing his notebook off the counter.
“The McCallisters have two Afghan hounds. Palfry walks them.” I kissed Wallace on the top of her head. “You are getting to be so useful. Don’t pee.”
Bark.
All Chuck’s muscles went tense. “When does he walk them?”
“Whenever,” I said. “I don’t think there’s a schedule.”
“Does anyone walk with him?”
“Not that I’ve seen, but I think he does the circuit.”
Sydney looked up from writing. “The circuit?”
I described what Mom called the circuit. It was the best way through the Central West End’s streets, the walk with the most shade and the prettiest houses. At the far end was Ode de Caffeine, a coffee bar specializing in single estate beans and high prices. When Mom did her ill-advised jogging, she stopped there for an espresso shot and to flirt with Johnny and Jim, the owners.
“They have great coffee,” said Chuck. “But it costs six bucks for a cup of the house blend.”
“That’s insane,” said Sydney. “Give me some Folger’s. I can get a whole can for that.”
“Ode de Caffeine is always packed,” I said. “You should see if Palfry was there on Saturday.”
“The butler pays six bucks for coffee?”
I shrugged. “You met him. What do you think?”
“I think we’re going to try out how the other half drinks coffee,” said Sydney. “Anything else about Palfry?”
“I’d recanvass Hawthorne. Palfry’s a gossip. He stops on his walks to get the dirt from the maids.”
“They like that snotty bastard?”
“I guess. I’ve heard from Joy that he’s always in the know.”
Sydney wrote furiously on his pad. “Who’s that?”
“The Bleds’ housekeeper,” said Chuck. “Now what have you got for us?”
I gave them everything I’d found out so far, including the years that seemed significant but remained mysterious.
“Parks, eh?” Sydney scratched his chin with his pen, leaving a blue line in the stubble. “I know him.”
According to Sydney, Waylon was a mediocre DA and was now representing gangbangers and random thugs. He loved to deal and spent little time in court, which was good for his clients since he had a terrible record in trials.
“Is he sleazy?” I asked.
Sydney shrugged. “He’s a lawyer.”
“I mean, sleazy sleazy as in Shill sleazy.”
Chuck’s eyebrows shot up. “You think he’s in the Unsubs?”
“I think he might be our guy. Sounds like he went toe-to-toe with my dad. Maybe Dad did something to him that made him leave the DA’s office.”
Sydney nodded. “I wouldn’t put it past Tommy. He’s been known to grind the mediocre into the dirt.”
“You know, Parks could be in the Unsubs,” said Chuck. “If that porn ring taught me anything, it’s that guys like that look like everyone else. We got doctors, lawyers, all types. Are you staying here?” he asked me.
“I’m going back out to Hunt,” I said without thinking. I should’ve lied. Chuck hated my going to Hunt, worse than I did, actually.
“What the hell for?”
“I need something to get my dad out of custody unless you’ve got a better idea,” I said. “No? I didn’t think so. Hold on. I have an idea.” I went to Mom’s room and called in, “Hey, Aunt Tenne, can you come out here?”
“I’m not taking that dog!” she called back.
“I know. Come on.”
Aunt Tenne came out, eyeing Wallace. “What is it?”
“What did he sound like, the guy on the phone?” I asked.
“Just a man.”
“Young? Old?”
She crossed her arms over her bosom. “How would I know?”
“Come on,” I said. “Just think about it.”
Aunt Tenne leaned against the wall’s hand rail and closed her eyes. “Not young, I don’t think. Mature. Middle-aged. A little bit grouchy but not like Morty.”
“Was the voice gravelly?”
“Not at all.” She opened her eyes. “What are you looking for?”
Chuck grinned at us. “Did he sound like a smoker?”
“No. Average white guy.”
I hugged Aunt Tenne. “Thanks. That’s a big help.”
“I don’t see how, but okay. You staying?” she asked me.
“I’ve got to find a way to get Dad out of jail.”
“While you’re at it, get your hair cut. I don’t know what you did to it this time, but your mother
’s having a fit.”
“Good. It’ll give her something else to think about,” I said and she went back inside.
Sydney continued to write while Chuck mused, “So he knows Tommy personally and hates him.”
“And he’s not the guy who visited Blankenship.”
“Or showed up at the ICU. The volunteer said the voice was distinctive,” said Sydney. “I’m thinking Parks is important. He’s got to have some guys who’d be willing to do him a little favor.”
Chuck kissed me on the forehead. “We’ll work him hard. Good luck at Hunt. How’s that bodyguard Ace got you?”
“She kinda rocks in a scary way,” I said.
“Scary is good as long as she can back it up.”
“Don’t worry about that. She’s good.”
They walked away and I took a moment to watch Chuck’s rear view. He was a pleasure to view, when I didn’t want to wring his neck, that is.
I went in the opposite direction and called Fats. With the press on my tail, it was time to get creative.
And get creative, I did. Sometimes, it’s helpful when you know people and even more helpful when people know who you are. I had that kind of face. Unforgettable. Usually, I found it annoying, at best, but that day, when the EMTs all knew exactly who I was and why I had to get out of the hospital unseen, it was a huge help.
I hitched a ride on an ambulance that was supposedly going to get washed, but I think Jason and Ally were just doing me a favor without saying so. Ally let me borrow one of her uniforms. I barely squeezed into it, but where there’s a will, there’s a safety pin.
A respiratory therapist slapped a Cardinals cap on me and I walked past the reporters clustered around the ER with no problems. Security was threatening to call the cops on them, but like all press, they were willing to take the chance.
I walked past them and got in the back of the ambulance. Jason put a large box labeled “Blue Disposable Underpads” in with me and closed the door. We drove away from the hospital and the press was none the wiser.
Bark.
I opened the box and Wallace looked up at me, smiling her pug smile. “You were very good. Maybe Aaron will have a sausage for you.”
Bark.
“I think I’ll call him.”
She spun in a circle and I texted, requesting a sausage for Wallace and a palate cleanser for me. I got no answer. Typical. Fats, on the other hand, loved my great escape and met us at The Shaved Duck. She’d already gone in the restaurant and bought my co-conspirators an obscene amount of barbecue, so we were on our way to pick up Aaron and then on to Hunt in a mere ten minutes.
Fats used her snazzy radar detector and I found myself standing outside the Fishbowl, holding an adorable mussels pot like the ones they used in Paris, before I could get nervous about it. I’d never actually eaten mussels out of one of those pots, but Millicent and Myrtle did. I stuck to the fries and cheese board. You can live off cheese in Paris. I proved it on a couple of trips when Myrtle and Millicent were in a fishy frame of mind.
“That smells fantastic,” said Shelley. “I’m so jealous.”
“I sincerely wish you could eat it,” I said, taking the smallest breaths possible.
“What did he put in there? Smells like mussels, maybe some kind of fish, and…shrimp. I’m drooling,” she said. “Can you see me drooling?”
“Squid,” said a voice behind me.
I jumped and spun around, nearly spilling my stew, but I saved it. Dammit. “Don’t do that, Aaron.”
He held up a glass container with a blue rubbery top.
“If that’s crab, you can forget it.” I held up the pot. “I’m good.”
Shelley leaned over and peered at the container. “Looks like toast.”
Toast could be good. Mom gave me toast when I’d been throwing up. But I doubted it was dry toast. I couldn’t get that lucky. It was Aaron, after all.
“What’s on the toast?” I asked.
Please don’t say octopus pâté or anything gross.
“Gremolata butter,” he said.
“Really? No squid ink or caviar?”
He peeled off the top and I took a sniff. There wasn’t any seafood horror, but it wasn’t regular gremolata either. “What’d you put in there?”
He shrugged.
“Am I going to like it?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Alright then. I’m trusting you. Where’s Wallace?”
“Truck.” With that, Aaron trotted away.
“Is he usually like that?” asked Shelley.
I stretched out my aching arms. “No. Usually, he’s not so chatty.”
She was going to inquire further, but her radio squawked, saying that Blankenship was in place.
“I warn you. He’s been in a real mood since you were last here,” said Shelley.
“Define real mood.”
“Demanding a phone to call you. He bit a guard, Herb, and he likes him. I mean, as well as he likes anyone besides you. Doctor had to give him a shot of thorazine to calm him down. He’s been in a strait jacket almost the whole time.”
“Weren’t the chains and waist belt enough?”
“No,” she said stone-faced. “You ready for this?”
“I’ve got to admit I’m a little freaked.”
“Good. I want you on your toes.”
A couple of other guards joined us and they unlocked the many locks before escorting me inside. The room was as usual, but Blankenship wasn’t.
“What the hell happened to you?” I burst out without thinking.
Blankenship stared at me from his normal spot in a straitjacket and chained to the chair. One eye was swollen shut and a livid purple. He had scratches all over his face, a split lip that hurt to look at, and his right earlobe was torn. His brown hair was greasy and looked like someone had rubbed his head with a balloon.
I put the pot and the toast container on the table and sat down, pulling out the over-sized spoon Aaron insisted I use. “Seriously. What the hell?”
“They wouldn’t let me call you.” Blankenship’s eyes were dead and I mean dead, like in that weird type of animation where the characters can almost fool you, but the dead eyes give it away. Snakes had more warmth than those eyes.
“And you thought beating the crap out of yourself would help?”
“What else have I got?”
“Good point,” I said. “Well, I’m here. What’s up?”
He opened his mouth slowly, like a crocodile. Inside was what looked like a plastic packet about an inch square.
“What’s he doing, Mercy?’ Shelley’s voice came over the speaker behind me.
“Er…nothing, just being him.”
Blankenship closed his mouth and shifted the packet to his cheek. “I missed you.”
“Do you miss people? Really?”
A smile flickered on his swollen lips and it was almost as creepy as the crocodile thing. “You do know me.”
“Yeah, it’s been swell,” I said. “Look, I’ve got a situation.”
“Why are you wearing that?” he asked. “I don’t like it.”
“What?” I looked down. “Oh, the uniform. It was necessary.”
“Take it off.”
Shelley’s voice came out in a panic, “Don’t take it off.”
“I’m not going to take it off,” I said with an eye roll.
“I don’t like it,” said Blankenship.
“I got that and believe me, it’s not my first choice.”
He shifted in his straitjacket and eyed me calmly. “Tell me.”
So I told him about the press, the FBI, and Shill. He especially liked the part where Fats came close to smothering him.
“You need more information to bribe the Feds to let your father out. Is that it?”
I paused and said, “Yes.”
He tilted his head, interest lighting up his eyes for the first time. “What else?”
How do I play this? How do I make him want it?
&nb
sp; I looked away. “Nothing. I brought this disgusting stew. It has squid in it. You want me to eat it?”
“What else?”
I ignored that and forced myself to lift the lid. It was as bad as I imagined. God help me. There were tentacles floating around in there in a thin, reddish broth. Tentacles. Why? Weren’t mussels and fish bad enough?
I dipped in my spoon. “I’ve got tentacles. You want me to eat a tentacle?”
“I want you to touch me,” he said.
“Don’t touch him,” said Shelley.
“If you think that’s worse than tentacle, you’re wrong,” I said.
“I want to feel your skin on my skin,” he said.
I mouthed, “Why?”
He did the crocodile thing again, showing me the packet. Crap. I was going to have to touch him. Shelley would freak. Everybody would freak. Wilson Cleves didn’t look that healthy. He might have a coronary.
I made the smallest air kiss I could and he got the message.
“Tell me what else happened,” said Blankenship. “I’ve got all day.”
“I don’t.”
“I know.”
I put the lid on the pot and said, “Your friend showed up at the hospital.”
“I don’t have friends.”
“That’s what Shill said. Let’s go with accomplice,” I said.
“Who came to the hospital?” he asked.
“Your visitor. He was trying to get in the ICU where my mother was.”
Blankenship looked over my head and said, “I don’t like that.”
“Who the hell are you talking to?” I asked.
“He knows.”
Okay. This is getting worse and worse.
“And my mother’s attacker called her.”
Blankenship grimaced, opening the split in his lip. Blood pooled and then ran down his chin to plop on the strait jacket, obscenely red against the pure white. “What did he say?”
“What do you think? He threatened her and me, of course.”
“He threatened you? You belong to me.”
“I don’t think he’s heard,” I said. “Apparently, he touched me in Sturgis, but I’m trying not to think about that.”
“He can’t have you.”
“I quite agree. Do you have something for me or what?”
Blankenship sat there, blankly watching me. For a minute, I thought he would say no. I didn’t know what I’d do if he did. He was my only source.
