John Keats 02 Paper Moon

by Dennis Liggio

  "How?"

  "If I may move around freely...?" I said, and got a nod from the cop. "So, if you look around, there are many signs that nobody is living here full time. First off, nobody's been using this fine living room. There's dust on the couch leather, though I think now it's disturbed. But there's some on the coffee table," I said, taking my finger and making a streak in the dust. "And of course on the television." I drew a smiley face on the TV. Then I picked up the TV remote and gestured to the dustless spot on the side table where it had been.

  "Maybe Nick doesn't use the living room," suggested the cop. "Maybe he doesn't like TV. He's got a laptop. My niece keeps telling me that millennials are not a TV generation."

  "Maybe he doesn't, but it's not just the living room! Follow me," I said tentatively as I made a few steps out of the living room. I relaxed when I saw the cop follow. Just getting him to listen to all this was a huge win. The fact that my claims were starting to make some sense also put him at ease.

  Once in the bedroom, I continued my talking tour. "This bed has been made for a long time." I smacked my flat hand against the pillow, causing the cop to tense for a moment, but he relaxed as he saw dust erupt from the bed. Like in the living room, I ran my finger through the dust on the night table. I showed him the empty dresser.

  When we got to the bathroom, I started explaining some of my own concerns. The story that didn't add up. "So here's where it gets weird. Nobody using the living room, Goldilocks hasn't been sleeping in the bed. But look at this." I picked up the blue toothbrush with white markings that stood up in a cup on the sink. "This toothbrush is damp. Not wet, but damp like it's been used in the past day. Someone is brushing their teeth here. They're just not sleeping in the bed."

  "So Nick was here," said the cop.

  "But where's he sleeping?" I countered. When the cop couldn't answer, I said, "Let me show you the kitchen."

  "I've seen it, my kitchen is the same," said the cop, but he followed me into the small kitchen.

  "How much do you keep in your fridge?" I said.

  "I'm a bachelor and I don't cook as much as I should," said the cop. "So a few takeout containers, some beers. Condiments, a jar of pickles. The usual stuff. But not as much as I should."

  "Well, you might not think it's enough, but I'm sure it's more than nothing," I said as I dramatically opened the refrigerator to show that it was completely empty. "Of course, if you like canned goods, we have those." I opened the small pantry to show it was full of soup and chili cans. I opened the drawers, finding them all empty. All the silverware was missing. "No can opener. All these cans, nothing to open them with."

  "Maybe he uses a pocket knife with a can opening attachment."

  "And then, what, eats it with the same knife?" I said. "I'm not sure your own conclusions, but I'm going to go ahead and say Nick hasn't been living here. Not what we call living. He hasn't been eating or sleeping here. Maybe he's storing food here, but he is not living here. Something doesn't add up. I just don't know what." I sat down, slumping in one of the bar chairs by the small table. I was done with my presentation. Time to see if it worked. I didn't look directly at him, instead trying to play up my tired disappointedness at the signs in the apartment, but I watched him from the corner of my eye.

  The cop's body language was first tense and confused as he looked around the kitchen, probably trying to go over it in his mind. Then he finally relaxed his tension. He put his cuffs into his pocket.

  "So say I'm convinced you're not here to hurt Nick or steal something," he said, "although I did catch a glimpse of you breaking in, so I had to get my badge and gun. I'm not happy about that still. So tell me who you are and why you're here. Why do you know all this?"

  At this point, dishonesty would have broken whatever minor rapport I had gained. This cop seemed like a bullshit detector. So I gave him full honesty. "I'm a private detective. John Keats. One of Nick's friends hired me to find him. Though he may have only ever had one friend. He at least has a bunch of people who could give a damn about him."

  "Find him? Why?"

  "About two weeks ago Nick just disappeared. Nobody knows why, not even the best friend who hired me. He hasn't been back to his job or apartment. Just up and vanished. I had been trying the angle that he took off, but had found so little I was beginning to worry he was kidnapped or murdered. Then I learned of this condo. I'll say that you're the only person who can even claim to have seen him in two weeks. You have no idea how huge that is. So, if you're not going to arrest me and drag me downtown, I would love to pick your brain and find out where the kid is."

  The cop sighed and sat down in the other kitchen chair. "Nick, just what have you got yourself involved in?" he mused.

  "I wish I knew," I said, letting out the breath I was holding. "I was actually really beginning to think he was kidnapped."

  "Not unless it happened today," he said. He held out his hand. "Charlie Ramirez."

  I shook his hand. Strong grip. "Please to meet you. I'm assuming this means you're not going to arrest me." I really wanted to get that confirmed, so in fifteen minutes he didn't say, "Surprise! You're coming to the station!"

  Charlie smiled and shook his head. "Too much paperwork since I'm off duty. And you've got a whale of a story and I want to know the answer to it all, so I'll overlook the break in. Nick's gotta be around here. Once we find him, he'll answer some questions and I'll know if you're telling the truth or if I need to tell you to get the hell out of here."

  "I'll take those odds," I said. "So when was the last time you saw him?"

  "Yesterday," he said. "In the hall. I don't see him quite every day, but like I said, he passes by the hall with his laptop nearly that often. If I'm bringing in groceries or something, he nods, occasionally we exchange a few words. Next door neighbor stuff."

  "He look scared or anything to you?"

  Charlie grinned. "With that kid, who knows? He's very tense, very shy. He looks scared all the time. I would never be able to tell the difference if something was wrong. Doesn't look like he sleeps well. It's not drugs, though - he lacks the look. He's just always tired looking."

  "We know he's not using the bed," I pointed out.

  "But where is he sleeping?"

  "That's a good question," I said. "Wherever he's hiding out, it's probably not that far if you see him once a day. He's using this place for brushing his teeth, maybe canned goods, probably also to pee. So maybe wherever he's sleeping doesn't have running water. Maybe?"

  "But why not stay here?" asked Charlie.

  "That's a good question," I said. "This place isn't in his name. It wasn't easy finding out he was here. I'd think that would make him safe from whatever he's avoiding. But if he's not here, it's not safe enough. Yet, no running water means he's living in a park, an alley, maybe an abandoned space. I can't see any of those being safer. And it's raining tonight. I'd take shelter in a condo if I had that option."

  "Is someone after him?" said Charlie. "That seems to be the way you're talking."

  "Honestly, I really don't have any idea yet. If he wasn't kidnapped, he ran and then hid out. That feels like someone in danger. But I don't have any evidence of anyone who wants to do him harm. Oh, there are people who didn't like him, and something weird is going on with his work, but I don't have any reason to think of anything illegal. I have no knowledge yet of anyone who wants to hurt Nick. It's more that most people just don't care what happens to him. Hostility by apathy. No one seems to be actively trying to hurt him."

  "But that doesn't mean he doesn't think that, right? You don't have to actually have a solid reason to go off in paranoia."

  "Yeah," I said. "That's also a danger. Imaginary monsters can be scarier than real ones. But then if he just ran and I'm the only one following, where is he?"

  Charlie simply looked at me and shook his head. "You're asking me? I never made detective." There was a bit of hurt in his voice, but otherwise it seemed he had made his peace with that issue long ago.
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  There was a long minute where we didn't say anything. Both of us were just trying to think about where Nick could be.

  I stretched out my arms. "This has been a helluva a day. A full day of work, then a puppet telling me about this place, an attempt on my life, and now this. It's almost - " I paused when my arm hit something on the windowsill, knocking it down to the tile floor with a loud thunk. I turned to look at what I had knocked over, since whatever it was had some weight to it.

  "An attempt on your life?" said Charlie, confusion and shock in his voice.

  I didn't answer him, more concerned with what my arm had hit. It was a big, solid, and heavy battery pack. I had seen these before. You charge it in a wall outlet, then you can take them anywhere and plug your laptop into them like a wall socket. They were popular for people on planes or travelers in general. They could get 5-10 hours of battery life, which tended to beat or at least double what your laptop or phone might otherwise have. If Nick was somewhere without power, he'd want one of these for his laptop. I followed its cord to the wall then looked at the blinking light. This one was charging.

  "What's up?" said Charlie, but I kept ignoring him.

  I looked at the windowsill I had knocked it from and noticed it had not been alone there. Next to it was the wifi router for the apartment. I had noticed it when I had done my walkthrough earlier, but hadn't thought much of it. Everybody had a wifi router these days. But looking at now, I wondered why it was on the kitchen windowsill. It's more the sort of thing you put in a central area to get maximum coverage. Or you put it in the room you most likely use the internet, like in your bedroom, office, or living room. Attached by a wire out of the router, I noticed a directional antenna. Though not as common, I had seen them before. If you needed to boost signal to a particular room, you used that. They were great for my job, because they tended to also get the signal outside the home and I could hack into it to discover incriminating evidence (and by hack I mean joining the disappointingly unsecure network). As I glanced at this one, I realized that the antenna didn't seem to be setup in any useful way. Instead of facing somewhere in the apartment, it was instead pointing straight up. Something bothered me about this, and I followed the direction, my head turning up toward the ceiling, Charlie followed my glance.

  Then it all clicked. I knew the story here.

  I turned to Charlie, my eyes wide. "I think I know where Nick is!"

  Nine

  Some people don't want to be found, something which is often at odds with my business of being a detective. The cases are rare, but sometimes I'm hired to find them. Usually most missing people are glad to be found, as it was not their choice to disappear. But in rare cases, it would have been better if they had stayed lost. I should have never tried to find Nick.

  Charlie and I climbed the stairs to the roof. We were ready for surprises. Who knew what we would find upstairs? I was just disappointed that Charlie didn't trust me completely. He made me leave my pistol downstairs.

  "We're going to the roof in a rainstorm," said Charlie. "Why would you think he's there?"

  "Wifi never lies," I said. It sounded like a cooler statement than it was. In today's internet obsessed culture, everyone tries to have a lifeline of internet access; it is as important as electricity or water. Especially in my business, cheaters want internet; that's where they setup their illicit connections, sometimes even finding the person to cheat with on the web. Wifi isn't the only solution of course. There's satellite and mobile data, but this was Downtown and the local whatever-G networks were already choked by thousands of hipsters rating gluten free restaurants on their smart phones. Wifi would be the better choice in this building. "It was pointed upward and we were already on the 19th floor."

  "Yeah, so Nick could be on the twentieth floor," said Charlie.

  "Except then why use Lindsey's condo? Why store stuff, why brush his teeth there? Why even go to the 19th floor? And where did he get the condo on the twentieth floor? A second condo just opens up more questions."

  "And the roof doesn't bring questions?" said Charlie.

  I didn't answer as I pushed open the door to the roof. I was immediately met with the roar of the rain and a cloud of water. I wiped my eyes and looked out on the roof. Of course there were no lamps on the roof, but even in the rain, the lights of the city and neighboring buildings gave us enough illumination to see the whole roof. We even saw a damped light source, weak enough to not be seen from afar, but easy for us to see because we were searching the darkness. I hadn't been sure what we would find when we got up to the roof, but I smiled when I saw it. A blue camping tent, the stakes seemingly poked down into the gravel and cement of the roof.

  "That's something," I said, keeping my voice low so that the rain would mask it.

  "But what?" said Charlie.

  I shrugged and then put a finger in front of my mouth to signal quiet. We walked across the roof, trying to be silent. Neither of us had thought to bring an umbrella up here, so we were rapidly getting wet as we made our way over to the tent. Luckily, the rain was lighter than earlier, so we weren't soaking wet. When we stood in front of the tent, we could see clearly that someone had a lamp inside. There was a zippered entrance and I could vaguely see the silhouette that could be someone laying down reading a book or using a laptop. There was no movement, so I don't think we had been noticed.

  I looked to Charlie and he shrugged. I noticed that he had pulled his gun, but I had no idea who he planned to shoot. I decided that we didn't want to scare Nick. I waved my hand at Charlie's gun, and he looked at me incredulously. But a second later he got the message and put it back in the band of his pants.

  I cleared my throat. "Uh, hello? Is that Nick in there?" If it wasn't Nick, I was making myself a real obvious target for someone to shoot through the tent western-style.

  Whoever was laying down suddenly sat straight up. Their form was tense, obvious even as a silhouette. I waited a long moment, but there was no other action, no more response.

  "Nick?" I asked again.

  Now there was a flurry of activity, the tent shaking, and the shadows inside moving. I think I heard a laptop close and then a click as the light went out. Then the tent was still.

  I looked over to Charlie, who shook his head. Neither of us could believe how stupid this behavior was.

  "We know you're still in there," I said to the now dark tent. "We saw you turn out the light. But you're safe. We don't mean you any harm."

  Still no answer, just the patter of the rain and the wind on the rooftop. I looked over to Charlie.

  "Nick, it's Charlie. Your next door neighbor," said Charlie. "Yeah, we know you're in there and we're wondering what's up."

  There was no response for a few moments, but then the light clicked on. The tent door unzipped, but only enough for a face to push out to look at us in the rain. "Charlie?" said the face with surprise.

  Charlie nodded, as if this was as stupid a question as it sounded. Charlie twirled his hand in the rain. "Do you mind if we come in out of the rain?"

  Nick looked at Charlie, then gave me a long look before turning back to Charlie. Nick slowly nodded, his head disappearing back into the tent and the door zipping open completely. Charlie slid in first, sitting down, then I followed. I zipped the door behind me and wiped my face. This tent might have slept only one or two, but since we sat cross legged, it had no problem fitting three of us. This still allowed some space for Nick's gear, including a camping lantern in the center of us. As we made ourselves comfortable, Nick stared with paranoia at me, then even glanced at Charlie with the same suspicion. He slid his laptop into his backpack protectively.

  Since he was giving me a good looking over, I did the same. Nick wasn't looking well. I remembered the picture Meredith had shown me and compared it to the man in front of me. Nick was a haggard version of the man in that picture. He hadn't shaved in days, his stubble growing reluctantly but seeming afraid to make the leap into a real beard. His hair was a mess, and not
in the hip hours-in-the-bathroom-devil-may-care style. His eyes were dark and hollow, which gave me the impression he hadn't slept in many hours, perhaps in days. Nick fidgeted almost constantly, his hands finding a zipper, button, or object to run his fingertips over, his gaze darting over the room like the sweep of a spotlight, never resting. It was entirely possible that this was all just because we made him nervous. But my intuition told me that it was instead because he was on the verge of or currently in the middle of a nervous breakdown.

  A full minute passed and no one had said anything. The rain got a little stronger for a moment, creating a loud tattoo on the top of the tent above us. We all involuntarily looked up. It was Charlie who finally broke the silence.

  "So, Nick... why are you living up here? Instead of, y'know, downstairs in the dry condo?"

  Nick grimaced, as if the effort to explain would be too much, his head unconsciously shifting into a single headshake. Then he stopped himself. "It's safer here." His voice was almost sheepish, effort put into it to climb above a whisper.

  Charlie and I shared a look, then turned back to Nick. "If you don't mind me asking..." I said, pausing, "from what?"

  Nick peered at me with his dark eyes for a moment, as if searching me for danger or the brand of his enemy. Finally his eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

  "I'm not an enemy," I said, putting placation at the beginning of my words. "I'm John. I'm a private detective. I was hired to find you."

  Nick's breath caught in his throat. "By who?"

  "By Meredith," I said.

  Nick relaxed an almost infinitesimal amount. "Meredith," he said, the name hanging on his lips like an unwanted stray cat that always came back. Then he frowned, his own thoughts overtaking him.

  "She's really worried about you," I said.

  "I know, I know," he said, rubbing his temples and blinking his eyes as he looked at the floor of the tent. "I miss her too. I do, I know. And I didn't tell her anything. But I can't risk contamination. He moves through images. I can't risk it. I can't risk anyone. She would understand if she knew, but she can't." This all came out as a ramble, a rant, the words half pronounced, seemingly said for his own benefit but not ours.