by Mike Nappa
Trudi nodded to no one. Yes, now that Eula mentioned it, she did remember them talking about it some weeks ago. But sometimes little details like that didn’t stick around in her brain, and she’d forgotten it almost immediately. Before she could respond, though, Samuel was standing in the doorway to her office, holding a manila envelope in one hand.
“Come on,” he said. “I’m hungry and I’ve got a craving for CozyFloyd’s. It’ll do us all good to get out of our offices on this partly-cloudy-with-forty-percent-chance-of-rain day.”
He looked clean and rested, nothing like she felt after they’d both stayed up past two in the morning discussing the events at Mama Bliss’s warehouse. She could almost feel the bags under her eyes etching their way into permanence, and here he stood as if he’d never age past twenty-nine.
“You go,” she said. Then, just because it seemed the polite thing to say, not because she wanted to say it, she added, “Take Eulalie with you. She’ll enjoy it. But leave me that envelope. Is it what I think it is?”
Samuel hesitated, tapped the manila file on his left hand, then said, “Hang on.” He went back into the reception area briefly, then returned to Trudi’s office. “I told her we’d do CozyFloyd’s another day,” he said.
I’ll bet you did, she thought grimly.
“When all three of us can go together.”
Oh.
Samuel spotted the Atlanta Journal-Constitution on the corner of Trudi’s desk. “May I?” he said. She handed him the appropriate section. He flipped through the personal ads quickly, then nodded and dropped the paper back in the stack. Curiosity satisfied, he held up the manila envelope for Trudi. “I got results on those fingerprints you gave me, the ones from the street magician.” Trudi held out her hand, but he didn’t pass it to her. “I’ve looked at these,” he said, “and I’m going to tell you there’s nothing really unusual in here. Nothing suspicious.”
“So hand it over,” she said.
“I’m telling you this because there’s a point at which you taking this information could be viewed as stalking, and you’ve made it clear you’re not a stalker.”
Trudi considered her ex-husband’s words. Was she stalking a kid who had a crush on her? If Samuel had dismissed him as a suspect in the Nevermore case, then did she really need to know his true identity and criminal background? Of course she did, she reasoned. She needed to know simply because she needed to know, and that was good enough for her even if it wasn’t good enough for Samuel.
“I’m just double-checking leads for your case,” she covered. “Two minds are better than one, all that stuff. It’s not stalking.”
“Except I’m telling you I’m almost certain this guy has nothing to do with Nevermore.”
“Sounds more like you’re trying to hide something from me.” She leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing.
“Suit yourself.” He tossed the file onto her desk. “He’s from Oklahoma City. His real name is Tyson Elvis Miller.”
“Elvis?”
“I know. Pretty great, huh? Wish my mom had given me Elvis for a middle name. Or Danger. That would have been fun too.”
“To go around saying, ‘Danger is my middle name’?”
“Yeah.” He looked almost dreamy. “Ooh, Ready as a middle name would be great too. Then when people asked if I was ready to go, I could say, ‘I’m always Ready.’” She could almost see a lightbulb flash above his head. “You know, it’s not too late. Think I should file the paperwork to add another middle name?”
Trudi resisted the urge to say something sarcastic. “You’ve already got two middle names. That’s plenty.” She reached for the envelope.
“Well, anyway,” he continued, “young Mr. Miller got arrested and had his license revoked about four years ago for drunk driving, reckless endangerment, and underage alcohol possession. Apparently there was an accident that caused injury. He skipped the trial, so there’s a bench warrant in force if he ever goes back to Oklahoma. Beyond that, he’s stayed fairly clean. There was one complaint about panhandling in Baltimore, but no formal charges filed. That’s about it.”
She opened the envelope and skimmed the contents. It was pretty much the same as Samuel’s summary, except that the mug shot from the drunk driving arrest showed him with two black eyes and a bruised cheek. Does this guy ever not get beat up? she wondered.
“Anything else?” she said. “Did you do a full background check or just the arrest history?”
“Fingerprint identification, arrest history, and sex offender registry. No hits as a sex offender, so that’s good for you. For the rest, I figured you could do a full background check from here since you know who he is now. But honestly, I can’t see any compelling investigative reason for a full background. Unless you just want to vet a potential boyfriend.”
“Oh, please.” She held up the pages. “Thanks for this, Samuel. I’m still not convinced that Tyson Elvis Miller isn’t connected to Nevermore, but at least now we know who we’re dealing with.”
“Okay.” He stood up. “Let me know if you uncover something. I’m going to get something to eat over at Arby’s. Want me to bring a sandwich back for you?”
He was asking to spend a little more time with her, she knew. Looking for an excuse to stay around. He was sweet that way. Unless he just wanted to spend time hanging around Eulalie. In that case he was still a pig.
“No,” she said. “Let me work. I’ll text you if something looks interesting.”
He hesitated. A few years ago, this was the moment when they’d share a little goodbye kiss. She felt like he was considering it now, so she said pointedly, “Goodbye, Samuel. Enjoy your lunch.”
“Okay, I’ll see you,” he said sheepishly, and he headed out.
After he was gone, Trudi logged into her account on the BKGUSA website. There were a number of commercial background check companies out there for licensed private investigators, but she liked BKG best because they did a bit more robust search through a number of records, combing the less-frequented databases and social networks that sometimes yielded out-of-the-ordinary results. For a modest extra fee, they also cross-referenced relevant county court records with items in the national criminal record database, and even included brief family histories from the county records too. She entered the name Tyson Elvis Miller, along with his social security number and date of birth. Then she waited.
The initial summary report appeared after about two minutes, but it didn’t give much more than the information Samuel had already provided. The report she wanted was the “Detailed Digest” that would itemize by date and event. That could take up to two hours to compile, she knew.
She wandered away from her desk and out into the reception area. “Eula,” she said, “have you eaten lunch yet?”
“Not yet,” the receptionist said.
“Come on,” Trudi said. “I’m buying today.”
Eulalie dimpled and reached for her purse. “Awesome. Where are we going?”
“Well, now that Samuel’s got me thinking about it, I’ve got a real craving for CozyFloyd’s BBQ.”
When they got back from lunch, Trudi found two things waiting for her.
“Looks like we had a delivery,” Eulalie said. A cardboard FedEx Letter envelope was leaning against the office door. Trudi picked it up and took it inside. She was surprised to find there was no packing slip or air bill with the envelope, something she thought was required on all FedEx deliveries. Maybe it fell out somewhere along the way, she told herself. Or got lost when the courier dropped it off at our door.
Inside, on her computer, she found the completed background check for Tyson Elvis Miller waiting in her email inbox. She was definitely curious to see that. But first things first.
She tore open the FedEx envelope and found what looked like a packet from a travel agent. There was no cover letter, no explanation at all really. But the packet included two airplane tickets to Kahului Airport on the Hawaiian Island of Maui, hotel reservations for something c
alled the “Ocean View Prime Executive Suite” at the Four Seasons Maui at Wailea Resort, and a reservation with Hertz Rent-a-Car. The names on the airplane tickets and all the reservations were the same: Trudi Coffey and Samuel Hill.
“What in the world?”
Trudi couldn’t make sense of this. Was Samuel planning some kind of surprise trip for them? Was he hoping a grand romantic gesture would make amends for his past sins?
She spread the travel papers on her desk and gave them a closer look. Everything looked legitimate and had been prepaid. Just to double-check, she logged onto aa.com, the homepage for American Airlines, and entered the reservation number on her plane ticket. It popped up as an active reservation for April, waiting for her to fly from Atlanta to Los Angeles, and then from L.A. to Maui.
Maybe his travel agent accidentally sent the paperwork to me instead of to him? She scanned over everything and suddenly thought, Hawaii sounds really good. Why have I never been to Hawaii before? Then she frowned. Nothing was as good as it seemed, not when it came unexpectedly like this.
“Eulalie.” Trudi spoke into the intercom. “Would you please get Samuel on the phone for me?”
“Right away” came the reply. A minute later, her desk phone buzzed to tell her a call was waiting. She picked up the receiver and heard Samuel on the other end.
“Hey, Tru-Bear,” he said. “You find something?”
“No,” she said. “I just wanted to check with you. Are you planning a trip?”
“Not that I know of,” he said, chuckling. “Unless you want to take me to Hawaii for the weekend.”
She checked the dates on the plane tickets. “Well, your reservations say we’re going for two weeks. Want to explain that?”
“Wait, what? What are you talking about? I was just joking.”
“Seriously, Samuel, is this all a joke to you, or what? Because it’s not funny.”
“Okay, I’m really confused now. Are we talking about the same thing?”
“I’m talking about Hawaii.”
“Why are you talking about Hawaii? Are you taking a vacation? Because if you could wait until we crack this Nevermore case before you go, that’d be really helpful for me.”
“What?”
“I mean, of course you deserve a vacation, and if you want to go, then that’s great. But is that why you called, to tell me you’re leaving town for a while?”
“Samuel, what are you talking about? Did you do this or not?”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line before he finally said, “Um, Trudi. Why don’t we start this conversation over? You start, and I’ll just listen this time. Tell me why you called.”
Trudi rubbed her temples. He actually sounded like he had no idea what was going on. She picked up the airplane tickets.
“Right now,” she said slowly, “I’m holding in my hand two round-trip tickets to Maui, Hawaii. They came by FedEx this afternoon.”
A stunned silence, then, “Any clues who sent the tickets?”
“No,” Trudi said. She reached over to reinspect the cardboard envelope. “No air bill was included.”
“It’s possible FedEx had nothing to do with it, then,” Samuel said. “It’s pretty easy to pick up one of their envelopes from a drop box, then just deliver it yourself if you want anonymity.”
“I suppose so. There are also hotel and car reservations in here, all pre-paid. The names on everything are yours and mine. Coffey and Hill. So, what I’m asking is, did you do this or not? Are you planning for us to take a trip to Hawaii?”
He didn’t respond at first.
“Samuel?” she said.
“Hold on, I’m thinking,” he said.
She tapped a fingernail on the desk. “Look,” she said, “why don’t you call me back when you figure out a good story to—”
“Hang on, Tru-Bear. No, I didn’t buy that stuff. No, I’m not planning a surprise trip to Hawaii, even though that sounds like a great idea. So I’m trying to figure out who would do this. What are the dates for the trip?”
Trudi checked the plane tickets again to be sure she got them right. “Flight leaves Atlanta on Saturday, April 8, returning two weeks later on April 22.”
“Hmm. Now could you check your tickets to that fundraiser dinner for Max Roman? What day is that?”
Trudi opened a desk drawer and pulled out the tickets that Viktor Kostiuk had given her. Her lips went thin when she saw the date. “April 14,” she said. “Smack-dab in the middle of our free Hawaiian vacation.”
“So . . .” Samuel said, and Trudi finished his thought for him.
“Somebody wants us out of the way when Max Roman holds his gala event.”
31
Raven
Atlanta, GA
Old Fourth Ward
Friday, March 31, 1:01 p.m.
14 days to Nevermore
“What’s his problem?”
Viktor Kostiuk enters my apartment like it’s his own property. He doesn’t knock, doesn’t even expect it to be locked. Just walks in, surveys the room, and immediately takes command.
“He’s got an upset stomach,” Scholarship answers him.
“Yeah,” Pavlo echoes from the couch next to me. “Sick.”
Viktor pauses to look at the football player, who shrugs and stands up from the lawn chair in my living room.
“All right, then,” Viktor says. “If you’re going to throw up, get to the bathroom. No Ukrainian mamas here to clean up after you, cousin.”
Pavlo almost smiles. Apparently they have some kind of shared history from the old country, something that Pavlo counts as an asset.
I feel fidgety and clumsy, but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do right now. Scholarship is standing, but Pavlo is still planted firmly on the couch. Do I stand? Or wait to be told to stand? Do I speak, or wait to be spoken to? I decide that silence is golden and keep my mouth shut. I also try to stop my right knee from bobbing up and down nervously.
Viktor gives me an appraising glance, then turns back to the football player standing beside him. “You want to catch me up? Where’s the logbook?”
“No logbook.” Scholarship shakes his head. Viktor’s eyes snap back to me, and I see his nostrils flare out wide. “He brought us this instead.”
The big man pulls my folded cash out of his pocket but doesn’t open it up for counting.
Viktor nods slowly. “How much?”
“Nine thousand.”
Now the boss man rubs the bottom of his chin with manicured fingers, and I see his eyes widen slightly. “Mm,” he says. He steps toward me and puts a foot up on my coffee table. “Well, that’s what we asked him for, isn’t it?” No one says anything, so he continues. “Good for you, boy. You’re more resourceful than I thought.”
Scholarship looks pleased at that. “I told you he was unique,” he says.
“Yes,” Viktor says, still looking at me. “You’re an excellent judge of talent.”
“There’s more, Vicky,” Pavlo pipes up. He doesn’t want to be left out of Viktor’s approval, I guess.
“I can see that, cousin.” Viktor taps his foot on top of my coffee table, gently disturbing the envelope next to his high-gloss, imported leather shoe. “What’s this, Raven?”
“A, uh, it’s a letter. For you.”
“Who’s it from?”
I have to clear my throat, it feels so dry right now. “It’s from the woman who caught me trying to steal her logbook.”
Viktor smiles like a wolf and takes his foot off the table. He turns and walks to the window overlooking my balcony. “What’s it say?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t read it.” Once again I’m very happy I didn’t give in to the temptation to steam open that letter. I glance over at Pavlo suffering in silence next to me. “Nobody did.”
Viktor nods at the gray skies outside. I think he’s trying to make it rain, just because he can. But the clouds hold back on him, at least for now. He holds out a hand, still staring a
t the sky. The football player leans over and scoops up the letter, depositing it into Viktor’s open palm. The boss man tears off one end of the envelope and then reads the words meant for him. No one moves while he reads. After a moment, he shoves the paper toward Scholarship, who also reads it.
Pavlo stands up, eager to see what the other two have now seen, but Viktor folds the letter into thirds and taps it on his left palm, thinking.
“All right, then,” he says suddenly. “Nice doing business with you, Raven.”
He drops the folded letter on my coffee table and motions for everyone to leave. I can see it’s killing Pavlo, not knowing what’s going on, and to be honest, I’m pretty confused by it too. But I see three dangerous men leaving my life, so I’ve got that going for me.
“Come on, Pav,” Scholarship says. “Time to go.” He leads the dumpy Ukrainian toward the door. After they’re gone, Viktor and I are alone for a moment in my apartment. He nods approvingly toward me, a motion that seems like grudging respect.
“See you on April 14,” he says. Then, like the others, he disappears through my front door.
“April 14?” I say to the empty living room. “What’s that about?”
I reach down and unfold the letter Mama Bliss sent to Viktor Kostiuk. The handwriting is deliberate, maybe a little shaky, but the words speak with authority and confidence.
Viktor,
This magician boy is working for me now. That means he’s under my protection. This is non-negotiable. If your boss has a problem with that, tell him to come talk to me about it and I will explain it to him so he understands.
As a gesture of goodwill, though, I will make my magician available, free of charge, to perform as table entertainment at your boss’s upcoming fundraising dinner and charity auction. Consider it a charitable donation from the Secret Stash.
Bliss J. Monroe
I know what table entertainment is. It’s the guy or girl—or mariachi band—at a restaurant that travels from table to table doing two-minute routines to entertain the guests having dinner. If I’m TE, I’m doing little card tricks and simple mind-reading games for customers.
