“Impossible,” Thorn said. “The moment you try to trace them, they’ll know about it and close shop only to start up somewhere else. Trust me, they are heavily invested in not getting caught. They’re better than anyone you can find to go after them.”
“Well, shit, that’s not positive thinking, is it? So we just let them run wild?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just saying, don’t go after them that way. It won’t work. It never works. That’s why the deep web exists! Because they can’t be stopped.”
Tennyson was boiling the whole time Thorn talked. “Shut up! Shut up!”
“Why you?” Marquette was looking at me. “Why did they send the link to you?”
I shrugged. I wasn’t ready to give up my suspicions on Phil Konzbruck yet. Wanted to make sure first. “I don’t know. Maybe because I work with him? Maybe they’ve seen us together on the trail? Maybe because they know I went snooping?”
“How do we know you’re not in on it, too? Where did you go yesterday? Tennyson couldn’t find you. Said you were home sick.”
“What?”
“You didn’t answer when he came to the townhouse.”
I turned to Tennyson. He left that part out in his messages. Bastard. I glared at him. “I’ve told you already.”
A subtle shake of the head. “Car was gone, too.”
With that, even Thorn turned my way, his forehead as furrowed as a field in February.
I took a step back. “Get Colin back in here to look at the email path. That’s not my doing. How could you even—”
“Steady, steady.” Tennyson, hands up, half surrender, half apprehension. Another step back for me. Trembling.
“How dare you!” I turned to the Senator. “Yeah, I was sick, and later I drove out to see my dad. And it’s none of your business. You don’t need to know.”
Marquette nodded slowly. “Weird time to go see your dad.”
They wanted to question me on this? They thought I would betray them after everything that had happened? Hannah? My job? My entire sense of self, cracked open for all to see? My transition during all of … all of … this?
What, they wanted me to plead my innocence? To prove my loyalty?
I hadn’t realized how long I’d been standing there, silently staring at the floor, when Tennyson reached out for my shoulder.
I jerked away. “I quit.”
Turned on my heel and walked out. Then remembered something. Turned around again.
“And I’m telling the cops about this link.”
With that, I was out.
In my office, I hurriedly threw what few things were mine into a plastic grocery bag. A lone pencil poked a hole through it, and the whole thing threatened to split, but I kept shoving in papers, magazines, thumb drives, until the plastic gave up and everything fell to the floor. Including me.
Joel stood in the doorway. “I’ll get a box.”
“Fuck the box.” I balled my fists. “Fuck it. I don’t need any of this.”
“Let me ask you.”
Oh, he’d better not. I braced myself for another accusation of betrayal.
“What happens to the townhouse and the cabin if you quit? Wasn’t that part of the deal?”
I craned my neck to look at him. It wasn’t a joke. He was being serious.
“I don’t know. I … well, I guess I’ll live there until someone tells me to get out.”
A nod. “Good plan. I would do the same.”
“You don’t think I—”
“Fuck no. They were being assholes.”
“After I walked out?”
“Marquette said you were on your period. Said you’d be back.”
I rubbed the heels of my hands under my eyes. Stained black. Jesus. “Not today.”
“How’d your dad take it?”
“Fine. As fine as anyone could. I mean, he thinks he’s lost his son.”
“Has he?”
Had to think about it for a moment. “He never had a son.”
“Bullshit.”
I was too tired to argue. “Yeah, probably. Help me up.”
Joel followed me back to the townhouse in his truck, even followed me inside. I handed over a beer, but all I felt like drinking was a Fiji water.
In the living room, I kicked off my boots and folded my feet underneath me. He sat dead center on the couch, legs wide. After a long drag on the bottle, he set his beer on the coffee table without a coaster. I almost got mad, but it wasn’t my table. Not really. I hadn’t picked it out, I hadn’t paid money for it. So fuck it.
“Tell me, Joel. Who’s going to win the argument? Tennyson or Thorn?”
“It doesn’t matter. Marquette has already leaked something to a reporter. Or Tennyson has. People are going to find out about this no matter what.”
I covered my face with both hands, mumbled through my fingers. “Why, oh, why couldn’t the man just keep his mouth shut? We don’t need this.”
“I thought you quit.”
“It’s a fair question, though, right? Why me? Why send that link to me?”
“Like you said, you work with Dylan. Easy.”
“Not so easy.” Joel was the only one I could tell, and I had to tell somebody before it ate away at me anymore. “Remember when we first got in touch with Konzbruck? When I had to tweet him?”
“Yeah?”
“I used the name ‘Guardian Angel’. This email I got, this link, the name on the account was ‘Dylan’s Guardian Angel’. Someone is sending a message.”
Joel went Hm. Picked up his beer. Drank most of it in one long gulp.
Another silence. Those bastards were becoming as oppressive as my parents’ pending divorce. Shit, my whole life seemed to be falling apart around me, everything save for Joel. Go figure. We hadn’t been talking until Dylan disappeared, and then it was as if we’d picked up from before, Joel not at all bothered by my newfound femininity. You’ve got to understand, Joel is a pretty conservative guy, almost a stereotype of the quiet ex-soldier who grows a goatee and idolizes Clint Eastwood. He’s rarely vocal about his politics, but goad him enough and his views will spill out, dirtying the air with ‘Libertarian’ this and ‘Small government’ that and brain farts like, “Political correctness is a cancer.”
Yet here he was, sitting with me after my boss had accused me of being in league with whoever was torturing and raping Dylan. What a kick in the teeth! But Joel? Joel’s support never wavered for a second. The guy was a rock. Even though I’m sure Robin wouldn’t have been pleased to know he was here. That woman was a mystery to me, an angry feminist who was somehow coming around to Joel’s Republicanism. It was a caustic mix. These days, just looking at her was enough to burn my eyes.
Together, they were even worse. He was the quiet muscle you didn’t want to cross, and she could’ve hosted a Fox News program.
In my living room, though, he was just … there for me. Right then, that was enough to spark a firework of righteous indignation. Fuck those naysayers! I was ready to get back into our investigation, Joel and I against … well, who exactly were we up against?
“If it was Konzbruck, he’s not really comfortable being involved.”
Joel shrugged. “He didn’t send an address where we could pick up Dylan. No other clues.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know.”
Maybe Joel was right. Maybe, but I thought there was another reason to send that link, a reason that had little to do with the intimidation tactic of showing us our friend’s apparent suffering.
“Seems to me the key is figuring out those log-in handles of the people in the comments section. Someone out there knows who they are, even on the deep web, right? Someone is getting paid for this.”
“Yeah, but how do we get to them?”
“Good question. I don’t think we’re done talking to Pete Konzbruck.”
And just like that, we were back in the game, or back on the hunt, if things went their usual way with my dear friend Joel. We headed down to the p
arking garage. I wondered aloud if maybe this wasn’t Konzbruck, but someone who worked with him. All they’d need to have is access to his credit card, so maybe it was someone from his office. If we cast our net a little further there, we might at least be able to get a fix on the guys we saw soaking the car in pig’s blood, or the Guardian Angel sending me a deep web link.
Got a call from Tennyson as soon as we got into Joel’s SUV.
“You over your hissy fit yet?”
I wanted to throttle him. “Don’t ever accuse me of anything like that again.”
“Are you taking back your resignation?”
“Only if I get an apology.”
A sigh. “I’m so sorry—”
“No, not from you. From him. And it had better be written down and signed.”
“Not happening.”
“A call, then.”
Another sigh. “Fine. Give me an hour. He’s in with a detective right now. We called the police about the link. Are you happy now?”
“Immensely.” But I wasn’t.
“They’re going to want to talk to you, too, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
A third sigh. Seemed like this was becoming tedious for both of us. “When can we expect you?”
I told him I’d figure it out later. Then I hung up.
My turn to sigh. Then I sniffed the air. New car smell? Turned to Joel. “Is this the same Tahoe we left at that shop?”
He shook his head. “They’re holding that one another few days. This one’s just been leased. What did I tell you? I love this job.”
As we pulled up the ramp into the light of day, a woman was waving us down. Her friendly smile and unseasonable sweater made me think: librarian. Cute, but tossing out a vibe older than she probably was. Dark hair, bright red lipstick. Pale skin that might go lobster red after only a few minutes in the kind of sun we’ve had this spring, every day hotter than the last.
Joel turned to me. “Well?”
His question, innocent though it was, felt like a gun pressing into my temple. I couldn’t take much more of this pressure. “Wild guess …”
“You want to talk to her?”
I didn’t, but I probably couldn’t avoid it for too much longer. I let my window down as Joel pulled around to the curb, facing the wrong way and confusing drivers. Lots of honks.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you.” She folded her fingers over the door. Kind of short, almost having to look up at me. “You’re … Manny? Is that right?”
I smiled back. It was hard to be unfriendly to her. “No comment.”
“Aw, not even your name? Manny? Do we have to start out on the wrong foot?”
Dylan had told me about her. Sneaky little minx. Her name was Kristi Ferrari. Not joking. Somewhere along the line, she was actually related to the Ferrari family. And yet I’d managed to stall her latest attempt to chase down a campaign scandal.
“How are you doing, Kristi?”
A little wide-eyed. “Oh, my reputation precedes me. I’m doing great, just great. Now, back to you. It’s Manny, right?”
A quick look at Joel, who was staring out his window. Don’t get me involved.
Back to our friendly interrogator. “Yes, Kristi, my name is Manny.”
“Weird name for a woman, isn’t it?”
Let’s get this over with. “I’m a transwoman. I’m transitioning. But my name is my name. But if you want to be literal, do you drive a Ferrari? Does everyone in the family get one?”
She rolled her eyes. The sarcasm washed clean over her. I could see why she was good at what she did. “I wish. But can you imagine one of those in the winter? No, a big waste of money. But, hey, girl! Good for you! I am so in awe of what you’re doing, and in the public eye.”
Yeah. Whatever. ‘Public eye’ my ass. Gossip queens like her didn’t exactly make that any easier.
She peeked past me at the driver. “And you are …?”
He revved the gas.
“Okay, okay, sorry. I know you’re in a hurry, but I just … I haven’t heard from Dylan, although I’ve been calling him like every other minute, and then I hear people saying he’s been kidnapped, or that he’s pulling some prank. What’s going on? Manny, please! What’s happening up there?”
Was she the one Marquette had leaked the story to? Was she just testing me?
“I wish I knew. I can’t tell you where Dylan is.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“I can’t, but not because I’ve signed some nondisclosure agreement, if that’s what you’re implying. I simply have no idea.”
She pulled her bottom lip between her lips, nibbled on it thoughtfully. “That’s too bad. I hope he’s okay. He’s such a nice man. So nice. I’ve always been happy to help him out.”
“Help him out … how?”
She covered her mouth with her hand, giggling like an anime character. “Oh no, that sounded bad, didn’t it? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound so ambiguous. I’m a married woman! I’m a mom! Oh, gosh.”
“Kristi—”
“I meant to say that he would ask me about some of the unmentionables out there, the off-the-record comments. I’d help him out with those, and in turn he’d point me towards stories a little earlier than he would the rest of the pool. Every now and then. See what I mean?”
I nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”
“I do hope he’ll be back soon.”
“Me too.”
Her fingers gripped the door a little harder, and she leaned inside. Whispered, “But, you know, if there was a problem in the campaign, some reason Dylan isn’t working today, I could help with that. I know a lot of people. A lot. If you could just point me …”
I can’t say I wasn’t tempted. When the leader of the campaign you worked for had just shit all over you — although that was the primary function of a campaign guy like me, taking shit from others and turning it into votes — it felt good to be courted by a reporter as if I was some sort of power player.
But then the window began to slide up. It wasn’t my doing. Kristi tried to hold it down. “Wait, wait, wait!” Pulled her fingertips away only a split-second before the glass would’ve broken her bones. And then we sped off.
“What did you do that for? I could’ve used her!”
Joel grunted. “Other way around, buddy. I was kind of surprised it worked on you.”
I blinked. He was right. God only knew what I might’ve said if she’d lathered on some more butter.
“Shit.”
“Yep.”
We stood at Konzbruck’s door and knocked. Waited a few minutes. Knocked again. Tried the doorbell.
Joel walked around the perimeter of the house and backyard, looking for signs of life. When he came back around the other way, he was shaking his head.
I tried the doorknob. It twisted, but the deadbolt above it was engaged. No dice.
Next move: back door. The Konzbrucks had a small pool, flat and green today. Needed some chlorine. A back deck with a large barbecue grill, real fancy set up. Enough seating for a good twenty people, if you counted all the benches and chairs and cushiony spaces in among the fake stone and flora, not quite sure whether it was a blind millionaire’s idea of Shangri-La or a waiting room for garden gnomes. Impatiently, we walked the length of the house, one long sliding door that would have opened the entire ground floor up to us, if it hadn’t been as firmly locked as the front door.
I called his office, thinking we could make an appointment with him via some secretary, but no one picked up the phone. Maybe his staff was off on Sundays. I told Joel, but he said, “Political sorts don’t really take days off.”
True. We were living proof that Joel was right, so I kept trying. Called Konzbruck’s personal cell. Not even a ring. It went straight to voicemail.
I pocketed my phone and glanced around the deserted garden, its empty chairs and untended plants making me feel as though we’d wandered into a disaster zone. “Are we just unlucky? Is that
it?”
I could tell Joel was getting antsy. Without a word of reply, he walked over to a door that seemed to lead into the garage. When the knob refused to turn, he pounded everything he had into the wood. Once, twice, three times, four, five — I was starting to worry the neighbors might hear him. Then he stopped. Caught his breath. Looked up at me, and just as I was about to tell him to forget it, he pounded into it again.
Six. Seven. Eight. NINE. The door frame pretty much exploded, Joel following the collapsing door inside the garage. I rushed after him, jumped through the blasted frame to find-
no cars.
The garage was empty, its door to the kitchen open wide. Joel two-handed his pistol, charged in, cleared the room. Rushed ahead into the next while I stood in the kitchen, waiting. All the lights were off, but otherwise the place looked as though it had been abandoned midway through cooking a meal — veggies partially cut on the counter next to a knife, a bunch of stiff noodles in a pot full of water, some stew meat still in its plastic and Styrofoam packaging.
And beside me on the wall was a digital panel, beeping, counting down the seconds before it called the security company if someone didn’t enter the code.
“Joel! We’ve tripped the alarm!”
He came back, shaking his head. “Nobody.”
Konzbruck was gone.
And we were sitting ducks, waiting around in a room wired to surveillance systems God knows where. Konzbruck’s private security firm? The police? The very people who snatched and tortured Dylan? I turned and looked at the panel, counting down. Five. Four. Three. Two.
“Run!”
PART TWO
1
What a sight to behold. Joel and myself walked up the steps of the State Office Building, brazen as you like, right into the ‘mouth of the beast’. Didn’t so much as pause before we talked our way past the beast’s blunt teeth — guards who recognized that we worked for the Senator, but not our true intentions. In silence we rode the elevator with some officials who loathed the Senator and everything he stood for … except for the part where he liked trans people like me, and also other officials in the Senator’s own party who loved his chances … except for the part where he liked trans people like me.
Castle Danger--The Mental States Page 10
