Random Road

by Thomas Kies

  “Oh no.” I feigned surprise. “Did he threaten anyone?”

  Sue held up a hand and, for the first time, looked at me with the hint of suspicion. “It wasn’t a problem. We always have a couple of security guys here on party nights.”

  I thought I should lighten the mood. “Your security guys, are they good looking?”

  Sue glanced over at her husband and whispered in my ear, “Darlin’, they are smokin’ hot. Every once in a while, we let em join in on the fun. You would have a ball.”

  As I was saying my good-byes, I visualized what Walt and Sue looked like naked. Maybe being in a house that specializes in group sex was leaving a lusty impression on me.

  ***

  I still had more than an hour before I officially started my shift, so I parked my car on the street in front of my apartment and walked to Bricks. The last time I’d been there, it had been late at night, it was raining, and I was sharing bar space with a man named Ted, who may have been one of the last swingers on Earth to see six people alive before they were brutally butchered.

  Now it was warm and sunny outside, but I had a dark, disquieting, overriding anxiety that I couldn’t shake. Sitting at the bar, the first thing I did was order a spinach salad and an Absolut over ice with a twist.

  Thankfully, the drink came first. As I took my first cool sip, my cell phone twittered. I looked at the caller’s number on the tiny screen with disbelief.

  It was Frank Mancini.

  “What the hell do you want?” My voice was as nasty as I could make it without bothering the other diners.

  “I want to apologize. I was completely out of line.”

  “You’re an asshole.” I wanted to take my conversation outside. I discounted that idea because it would take me too damned far away my drink.

  “Look.” His tone as low and as genuine as only years of practice in law can offer. “I need to explain my behavior, but I need to do it in person.”

  “What are you, stupid?”

  “I understand your anger. If I were you I’d be furious. What I did was childish and, you’re right, it was stupid.”

  I took a deep hit of my vodka while I watched the bartender drop off my salad. I took a fork and speared a tomato, wishing it was one of Frank’s testicles. “Well, we’re both in agreement. You have my attention.”

  “I need to see you in person.”

  I sighed. “This is totally tiresome. Now, right now is your only chance, Frank.”

  There was a moment of silence as Frank seemed to gather his thoughts. Finally he said, “I did it because I was jealous. I didn’t like seeing you there with that guy. I don’t want to lose you.”

  It took me by surprise. His words sounded heartfelt. I always thought that I could tell when Frank was lying and when he was telling the truth.

  But I also know that Frank is a first-class bastard, capable of weaving together a colorful but believable tapestry of lies that you hoped like hell was the truth. The man sways juries. When Frank is talking to me, I want to believe him.

  “Genie?”

  “Yes?”

  He was silent again, as if agonizing about what he was going to say.

  Then Frank said, “I love you.”

  For a brief moment, I remembered the good times I’d had with Frank. Excellent lunches and dinners in some of the best restaurants in Connecticut and Manhattan, spirited conversations ranging from the historic implications of religious violence to the political implications of horror movies. Weekend trips all up and down the East Coast, including Cape Cod, the Outer Banks, and Key West and the hot, sweaty afternoons and evenings in anonymous hotels, backseats, and even the occasional elevator.

  I don’t regret my time spent with Frank.

  But I remembered the man who was in the hospital. Kevin Bell was honest, hard-working and when he said something he meant it. You didn’t have to think about his words and try to wade through the rising tide of implications and half-truths.

  Kevin Bell was a decent man, a man who should be treated with the respect that he effortlessly offers.

  I was in love with Kevin Bell, not Frank Mancini.

  “Frank?”

  “Yes?”

  “Good-bye.” I pressed the End Call button.

  Just as I finished my conversation, I noticed that the bartender was watching me. He smiled. “Sounded serious.”

  “It was. Once.”

  ***

  I ate my salad, finished my drink and then went back to my apartment. I intended to walk Tucker and then drive to the newspaper office.

  Tucker got a quick turn around the backyard. But seeing there was time left before I needed to leave for work, I poured myself another cocktail, a very generous cocktail.

  I don’t even recall going into my bedroom to lie down. Nearly two hours later, I was awakened by the phone.

  “Yes?” I said sleepily into the receiver.

  “Geneva? It’s Casper.”

  Recognizing the voice on the telephone jolted me back to complete, heart-pounding awareness. I looked at the digital clock on my headboard. I was way late for work!

  “Casper.”

  “Are you okay?”

  I hesitated, then I said, “Yes, why?”

  “You missed the assignment meeting.”

  Taking a breath I tried to think of an excuse. “I got a tip for a story from Mike Dillon.”

  “Oh?”

  “Man broke into a woman’s apartment last night and she chased him out with a chisel.”

  “Oh?” He was clearly unimpressed.

  “Woman’s blind, Casper.”

  “Oh!”

  “The only time I could interview her was this afternoon,” I was stretching the truth.

  “Uh huh,” he mumbled. “Well, next time, call and tell us what you’re doing. We were worried about you. For all we knew, you were in a car accident or something.”

  Or drunk and in a ditch. That’s what he really wanted to say.

  “I’m on my way in now to write it up. Sorry if I worried you.”

  I could hear him clearing his throat. “I tried calling your cell and didn’t get an answer, so I called your home phone number. If you were interviewing this blind woman, what are you doing back at your apartment?”

  Good question. Casper had been a really sharp reporter in his day.

  “Had to walk my dog, Chief.” Not a lie. I just neglected to include salient bits of the truth.

  “Right. So you’re on your way in?”

  I sighed and rubbed my forehead. It was only slightly after four in the afternoon and I had a skull-splitting headache. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  A midday hangover is the worst. The best part of the day is already behind you.

  Unless you go back to the trough.

  Which I wouldn’t do. I needed to get to the office and write stories.

  After I got to the Post building and settled into my chair, I noticed that Laura, the day editor, was still in her office. She was standing in the doorway glaring at me.

  While I hammered out the Isadora Orleans story, Casper stepped into Laura’s doorway and I watched as they quietly conferred about something. By the way they surreptitiously stole glances in my direction I surmised that they were talking about me.

  Shrugging it off, I called Mike Dillon’s office to see what the latest was on the Connor’s Landing homicides. To my surprise, he was in.

  “Hello?”

  “Mike. It’s Genie.”

  “Are you calling to ask me out for that drink?”

  I felt my temple throb and contemplated how nice a little hair of the dog might be. “Sorry, pal. I’m on the clock.”

  “Too bad, I’m off my shift in another hour. What’s up?”

  “That’s my question. What’s the la
test on Connor’s Landing?”

  There was a poignant moment of silence and I could feel the tension coming through the phone line. “What are you, psychic?”

  I wasn’t sure what my next line should be. “Mike, this is just a routine follow-up call. What’s going on?”

  “We arrested Jim and Aaron Brenner a few minutes ago.”

  I shook my head, not quite believing what I was hearing. “What?”

  “We just took them into custody.”

  “Who else knows this?”

  He chuckled. “You’re the only one, darling. We were going to issue a release to the press in the morning, but if you get down here in the next few minutes, you’ve got yourself an exclusive.”

  “I’m on my way.” As I hung up, I grabbed my oversized bag and started for the door.

  But before I got three steps, Casper called out to me. “Genie!”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. Looking over at him, I saw that he was standing next to Laura and neither of them looked happy. “What?”

  “We need to talk to you.”

  There were half a dozen other reporters in the newsroom and every one of them stopped typing for a split second. Then, being the news people that they are, they pretended to start working again but listened to what was surely going to be something interesting.

  “Look.” I walked toward them. “I just heard from Mike Dillon….”

  “We need to talk to you!” Laura interrupted.

  Looking around the newsroom, everyone’s heads were down but I could feel them all scoping me out from the corners of their eyes. “I really have to…”

  “Now!” Laura shut me off a second time. “In my office.”

  Weird. As I walked quickly over to where they were both standing, I suddenly realized that someone had fixed the air conditioning. I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed it before, but it felt cold enough to hang meat in there. It reminded me of the last time I interviewed the coroner while in the morgue. It had that same feeling of cold and dread.

  They closed the door behind me as I sat down. “I really have to get going.” I tried to explain.

  Laura wasn’t having any of it. “Genie, you have a drinking problem.”

  I was so shocked at her bluntness that I sat straight back in my chair.

  “I don’t know how many times you’ve come in here with alcohol on your breath. Once you were so drunk, I actually had to send you home and take your shift.”

  The night I thought she had been doing me a favor. Now I know that she hadn’t been covering for me at all. She was keeping me from doing something stupid in the office.

  “According to company policy, we should have fired you after you were arrested for public intoxication and assaulting a police officer.”

  Casper jumped in, “But you’re a good writer, Geneva. When the court dictated that you had to stop drinking, we thought we’d give you one more chance.”

  Even though the AC was cranked up, Casper was wiping away sweat from his bushy eyebrows.

  Were they going to fire me?

  “Look.” I kept my voice level, taking what might be my last shot at keeping this job, careful that I wasn’t slurring my words. “I interviewed Mike Dillon this morning. I just called him to follow up and he told me they’ve arrested two men on the Connor’s Landing homicides. We’re getting an exclusive on this and the only reason we are is that I’m on the story. But…” I paused for effect and then continued, “I’ve got to get over there in the next few minutes.”

  They both stared at me in silence. Then Laura asked, “Were you drinking before you came into the office? Is that why you’re late?”

  Jesus, she wasn’t going to let up.

  “No.” I looked her straight in the eye.

  She stared at me expectantly, waiting for me to confess.

  “No,” I repeated emphatically.

  “You’re very good at what you do,” she finally said. “As a matter of fact, you’re overqualified for this job and for this newspaper. But when it comes right down to it, I think we both know that nobody else out there will hire you.”

  Ouch.

  “You’ve got a reputation as a juicer and, frankly, I haven’t seen anything to show me differently. I truly think that you’re going to drink yourself right out of a career. Maybe drink yourself to death.”

  I wanted to argue the point. Debate her. Show her how wrong she was.

  I couldn’t. She was dead right.

  “Casper and I have talked to Ben and we all agree we’re going to give you one last chance. One…last…chance.”

  Ben was Ben Sumner, the owner, publisher, and managing editor. I liked Ben because I’d partied with him at social functions disguised as business events and he can put it away like a thirsty sailor. The fact that he was giving me one last chance trended past the hypocritical.

  Or maybe he understood the situation better than I was giving him credit.

  “If you show up drunk,” Laura said, “or if we even think that we smell booze on your breath, we’ll terminate you.” She held up a single sheet of paper. “This is your final written warning. We need you to sign it.”

  I felt a thick knot of humiliation in my throat as I took the warning and pretended to look at it. Honestly, my eyes were so hazy with tears that I couldn’t read it at all. I took a pen off Laura’s desk and scribbled my name.

  I took a deep breath and gathered up what dignity I still had. “I need to go see Mike Dillon. Are we done?”

  Casper and Laura nodded in unison.

  I walked out, hoping that the rest of the newsroom couldn’t see the tears in my eyes.

  Laura was right. I was overqualified for the Post but she was also dead on when she said that I couldn’t find a job with anyone else. If I lost my position here, it would be the final humiliation. I was already at the end of the road. There was nowhere else to go.

  And the funny thing? I wanted another drink.

  I fought off the urge to go back to my apartment and pour myself a tall, cold one. Instead, I drove to the police department and did my job.

  But before I got out of my car, I took my cell phone out of my bag and dialed the hospital. I immediately got the receptionist who after a few of my questions sent me to information who after a few more questions sent me to the floor nurse in Kevin’s wing. After an interminable period on hold, I talked to the nurse who summarily told me that Kevin had been discharged.

  I tried Kevin’s home number.

  No answer. But I left a message on his voicemail. “Hey, Kevin, I got a phone call from the hospital. They said you left without settling up your bill. I told them I’d sell my car. That ought to be enough for a deposit. Hey, give me a call when you get a chance, okay? I want to know how you’re doing.”

  After a lengthy pause I did something I hadn’t expected.

  I said, “I love you.”

  Oh, my God! What if Caroline listens in while Kevin checks his phone calls? Or what if Ruth hears it? Well, that’s okay, for sure.

  I shook my head and put the cell phone back into my bag. Then, even though I was parked in the police station parking lot, I locked the doors.

  Mike met me at the front desk with a kiss on the cheek and escorted me down the dingy hallway to his office. The harsh, fluorescent lights were much too bright.

  Hangovers will do that to ya’.

  “So after you and I talked, I found the sex club online. You know, they’ve got their own website and everything,” Mike said as we walked. “I’m sure you know that it’s a house over on Matthews Hill.”

  I smiled. “Did you go over and interview Walt and Sue?”

  “Walt and Sue, so you met them?” He wasn’t smiling at me when he said it.

  “Part of my job.”

  “You could have damaged this investigation.”

&n
bsp; “But I didn’t.”

  He opened the door to his office and ushered me in. It’s not much bigger than a closet and has no windows. I’m mildly claustrophobic so I’ve never liked spending time in Mike’s office.

  I settled into a scuffed-up plastic chair while he sat down at his desk. Photos of his kids hung on the walls next to framed commendations and awards. There were places on the wall where photos had once hung. Now were only vacant spaces marked by empty nail holes. I stored the information away in my head in a file marked ‘useless.’

  Mike opened. “The owner of the club, Walter Holland, told me the same story you did. Last Wednesday night, around eleven or so, a white male made a scene and threatened to assault a few of the guests. Two paid staff working as security escorted the guy out. We showed Mr. and Mrs. Holland some old arrest photos and they identified that guy as Jim Brenner.”

  “And?” I was scribbling notes like crazy.

  “We immediately got a warrant to search Brenner’s house,” he explained. “We found enough evidence to lead to the arrests of Jim and Aaron Brenner.”

  “What evidence?”

  “Evidence of blood on their clothing and in their boat and on knives we found on their boat.”

  Their boat. I knew it.

  “Have you gotten a DNA match on the blood found on Jim Brenner’s property with any of the victims?”

  Mike frowned. “What do you think? I can put samples into a magic DNA machine and out pops the answer? It’s going to take a couple of days.”

  I glared at him. “Don’t get surly. I’m just doing my job here.”

  “We arrested the Brenners, read them their rights, and brought them in for questioning. They want to lawyer up so we have to wait until their attorney gets here.”

  “Can I talk to them?” I already knew the answer.

  “Before we talk to them?” Mike shot back, laughing. “Go write your story, Genie. Be comforted in the knowledge that you helped us get two vicious killers off the street.”