The Quick Fix

by Jack D. Ferraiolo

  “We’re trying to scan all these into the computer so we can get rid of the hard copies, but it’s slow work,” he said. We walked over to a table against the wall. There was a computer there that looked almost as old as me. He sat down in front of it. “Let me see that thing again.”

  I showed it to him.

  “So, where do you think we should start?” he asked.

  I looked at the clue, and at Jimmy Mac’s version below it. “I think we should look for something small and local,” I said, not sure where my theory was coming from but feeling it was true somehow. “I feel like something big like The New York Times or The Boston Globe wouldn’t be classified by issue number; it would be referred to by date.”

  The librarian nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “The newspaper in town is called The Daily Review,” I said, thinking out loud.

  “And of the other ones nearby, none of them have the initials TMS in the title.”

  “That means it could be a local newspaper from anywhere,” I said. My hopes of this being easy were quickly evaporating. “Was The Daily Review ever called anything else? Was there another newspaper that used to—”

  The expression on the librarian’s face made me stop. He looked as if a bolt of lightning had struck him in the head. “There was a small local paper that my mom used to pick up at the grocery store,” he said. “It’s not like she’d make a special trip to get it or anything. It was just, if we were out and she saw it and remembered to pick it up, she would. It had a lot of ads from local businesses in it.”

  “What was it called?”

  “The Merchant Saler, spelled s-a-l-e-r. Not a bad pun, actually.”

  My hands started shaking. “Did you scan those into the computer?”

  “No. But I do think we have a couple of boxes of them around here somewhere.” He stood up and started walking through the aisles. He pulled a box out but, after a quick look, put it back. He did that a couple more times before he hit pay dirt. “Here they are.”

  My heart was pounding as he handed me the box.

  “I think there’s another box around here, too,” he said, then started walking through the aisles again.

  I sat on the floor and carefully pulled all the newspapers out of the box. They smelled old and musty, like my basement office; it gave me a strange feeling, almost like déjà vu. I flipped through them. They weren’t in any kind of order. Issue 213 was on top of issue 34, which was on top of issue 114. The chances of finding issue 136 in this box were slim.

  “I’ve found some more,” the librarian called out from across the room.

  I smiled, then picked up the last five in my box. Issue 136 was two up from the bottom.

  I looked at the issue number again, sure that I had seen it wrong, that maybe it said 36. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and stared at it again. It still said issue 136.

  The librarian came walking over with the other box. “You found it,” he said.

  “I did.”

  • • •

  Back out in the main room, I sat and stared at the newspaper lying on the table in front of me. I couldn’t bring myself to open it yet. I was almost afraid to touch it.

  I glanced up at the front desk. The librarian was back at work, but he was keeping an eye on me. He seemed genuinely concerned; I gave him a little smile to try to let him know I was okay. I guess it wasn’t my best smile, because it made him look even more concerned.

  I looked down at the newspaper. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath … and placed my left hand flat on the newspaper. My thumb felt for the lower-right corner. I took another deep breath and opened my eyes. I turned the page, and didn’t stop until I had hit page 15.

  The two photocopies were folded up and tucked into the back pocket of my jeans.

  The sooner I could get them into the filing cabinet in the basement, the better I’d feel. So, I walked faster.

  When I got home, my mom’s car wasn’t in the driveway. I knew she wasn’t working at the restaurant, because we were going to have our talk later that night.

  Our talk. The photocopies. In my back pocket.

  I ran around back, to the door to my basement office. Jimmy Mac was leaning against the door, his head moving around erratically, as if he was expecting an ambush.

  “Mac. You all right?”

  “What happened to you today?” he asked. “You disappeared.”

  “I had something I needed to do. Are you okay?”

  “I’ve got something to show you.” He held up the manila envelope and gave it a little shake. “Inside.”

  “Of course.”

  I opened the door. He followed me in, closing the door behind him.

  I sat down at my desk; he sat in the chair across from me. Before I could say anything, he threw the envelope on the table. It slid over to me. I stopped it with my hand.

  “An eight-by-ten glossy, lightened up to show some faces,” he said. “They’re some interesting faces.”

  I opened the envelope and pulled the picture out. The faces were interesting, all right. My mind was racing, making all the connections that were obvious now that the circuit had been closed. “Did anyone see you with this?”

  “My mom, but I’m pretty sure she’s on my side.”

  I looked at the photo again, then quickly put it back in the envelope. “With something like this, I’m not sure I’d even trust her.”

  I heard the latch to the door click softly. I jumped up. Jimmy didn’t move.

  “What are you guys talking about?” Cynthia asked as she walked in.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, taken completely off-guard.

  “The door was unlocked.”

  I shot a look at Jimmy, but his eyes were directed at the floor. I smelled a setup.

  “What are you guys talking about?” she asked again.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Sure looked like something.”

  “Well, that just means your imagination is better than your eyesight,” I said.

  “What’s in the envelope?” she asked.

  “None of your business,” I answered.

  “I hired you. Consequently, it is my business.”

  “Cute little logic problem you’ve got figured out, there,” I said. “Unfortunately, I didn’t take my smart pills this morning, so I’m just going to go with ‘Nuh-uh.’”

  “Just show her the photo, Matt,” Jimmy said.

  I shot him an angry look.

  “You guys are really cute, you know that?” I said. “Why go through all this, though? You charmed Mac to get in here … why didn’t you just charm him into showing you the photo?”

  “He wouldn’t.”

  “Not mine to show,” Jimmy said.

  “So just show me, Matt. Or Jimmy’s going to tell me. I know a picture is worth a thousand words, but I’m pretty sure that he can boil it down to a sentence or two.”

  “He wasn’t going to show you, but now he’ll tell you?”

  “I didn’t think you’d be so stubborn about it,” Mac said.

  “He actually respects me,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think Jimmy’s thinking straight,” I said. “I think that if he was, he’d realize that telling you what’s in the photo would be putting you in the line of fire.”

  “Or maybe Jimmy’s not a male chauvinist and respects me enough to realize that I can take care of myself.”

  “You know how I can tell that someone can’t take care of themselves?” I said. “They usually say something brilliant like ‘I can take care of myself,’ and actually believe it.”

  “How condescending of you,” she said, then turned to Jimmy. “Tell me what’s in the photo.”

  “Don’t tell her,” I said.

  “Tell me!”

  “Shut up! Both of you!” Jimmy shouted, loud enough to make me hope my mom wasn’t upstairs. “I’m sick of both of you. I just want to go home. You work this out. You don’t need me.” He got up to leave. I
got up with him, but Cynthia stepped right in my path. Jimmy saw this. His frown sunk even deeper as he walked out the door.

  “He likes you. A lot. And he thinks that you like me instead.”

  “He’s right. Now show me the picture.”

  I choked, then coughed, even though there was nothing in my mouth but saliva.

  “You think it’s an accident that he’s a damn good reporter?” she asked. “He’s got instincts, and eyes … something that you don’t seem to have, which makes me wonder what kind of detective you are.”

  “You’re going to have to do a lot more than tell me you like me to get me to show you—”

  She cut me off with a kiss. It was long and slow. I tasted peppermint, like she had just licked a candy cane. My head was buzzing when she pulled away.

  “Does that qualify as ‘a lot more’?” she asked.

  “Maybe,” I said, trying to sound jaded and unaffected, but that’s hard to do when you’re floating six inches off the ground.

  “Silly, Matthew,” she said, then came in close again. “Keep the photo to yourself … just kiss me again.”

  “No. Maybe I’m a hopeless romantic, but I like to kiss girls who aren’t trying to seduce something out of me.”

  She pulled back from me. She didn’t pout. It wasn’t in her nature. “I’m impressed and amazed by how stupid you are,” she said with a smile.

  “Most people are.”

  “All right … hold on to your photo. Just tell me what’s happening so I can help you.”

  “If you want to help me, go home.”

  “Listen, Matt, you can’t stop me from helping you. We’re locked in the same building for seven hours a day.”

  “Yeah, I know. Just give me a day to see this through, my way … on my own.”

  “What is it with you? I’d chalk it up to male macho crap, but you don’t seem the type.”

  “I’m not. You know how many girls have knocked me around? The only way I could still be a male chauvinist is if I had frequent memory loss.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I took a couple of steps away from her and thought of the photocopies that were still in my back pocket. “There’s an aspect of this case that no one else knows about. It’s personal.”

  She stared at me. “Oh,” she said. Her face fell. “It’s something to do with Liz, isn’t it?”

  I didn’t contradict her.

  “Okay,” she said quietly. She turned away from me. “I guess that makes me an idiot.”

  “No. I’m pretty sure that makes me an idiot. And I can think of a hundred boys who would back me up on that.”

  She didn’t say anything. She just stood there with her back to me. It took all of my willpower to not put my hand on her shoulder … turn her around … and kiss her.

  “I just want to get through this case first,” I continued. “Get my head straight. And I can’t do that when you’re around me.”

  “Don’t do that,” she said.

  “Do what?”

  “Give me hope.”

  “I’m not trying to,” I said. “I’m just trying to be honest.”

  “Finish the case,” she said. “Your own way. And hurry up about it. I want you thinking straight when I kiss you again.”

  “All right,” I said. “The drop is at seven tomorrow morning. After that, one way or another, I should be finished. You might want to wait until then before you commit to kissing me.”

  She touched my cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I didn’t exhale until she was gone.

  I went back to my desk and pulled the photocopies I got from the library out of my back pocket but didn’t look at them. I needed to stay logical … unemotional … and looking at those photocopies didn’t allow for that.

  I took the newest blackmail note that I’d gotten from Vinny out of my front pocket. I studied it again, looking for anything that might narrow down the field a bit. There was nothing in the content, but on the bottom there were a few markings that I hadn’t noticed before. They looked like pen taps, indentations that wouldn’t necessarily show up on the original but showed up on the photocopy. I went into my desk drawer and took out the first blackmail note. The marks were at the bottom of that one, too. I read both notes again, and other things popped out at me, clues that seemed obvious now.

  I had a phone book on my desk. I flipped through it until I found the number I was looking for. I picked up the phone and dialed.

  The kid picked up on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “I have something you’re going to want to see,” I said. I slid one of the photos out of the manila envelope, looked at it, then slid it back in.

  “Matt?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Tomorrow morning. Seven A.M. Locker 416. And bring some money. You lied to me, and now you’re going to pay for it.”

  I hung up. I sat and looked at the outside of the envelope. I didn’t want to look at the pictures again. I wanted to take my mind off what tomorrow was going to be like, but the only thing I had to distract me was thinking about my talk with my mom.

  I rested my head on my desk and drifted into a troubled sleep. I dreamt I was on the basketball team and I was trying to dribble the ball, but it wouldn’t bounce back up to me. It just sat deflated on the floor. Everyone I knew was in the stands; they were all booing me. Someone walked out of the gym in disgust. I didn’t see who it was, but I knew it was my dad.

  woke up a short time later. I wiped my face with my hands a couple of times and checked the clock: 5:07 P.M.

  I opened my desk drawer. I picked up all the notes and photocopies—anything having to do with the case—and placed them on the desktop. I put them in order, chronologically—not when they happened but the timing with which I thought they pertained to the case. I told myself the story of how I thought it had all gone down.

  I checked the clock again: 5:30.

  I picked up one of the photocopies I got from the library and walked upstairs. It was time to find out what it meant to my mom.

  She was in the kitchen drying the dishes. There was a mug of coffee on the counter that she was taking occasional sips from. She was working but obviously distracted, as she didn’t hear me come in until the door closed behind me.

  She jumped a little, almost dropping her mug. A little bit of coffee slopped onto her hand. “Jeez! Matt!” She was smiling, but she was nervous … jumpy. “Sneaking up on me?”

  “In a way,” I said.

  She gave me a funny look.

  “There’s a kid in my school named Vincent Biggio, but everyone calls him Vinny Biggs,” I said. “He used to be the target of bullies, but now he runs a whole criminal organization.”

  “Matt, what are you—”

  “Vinny controls just about everything that happens in school, illegal or otherwise,” I continued. “None of it is too bad … well, except for the test-stealing and the gambling ring.”

  “Gambling?”

  “But worse than that, he humiliates kids and ruins their lives. He started doing it last year as a way to get back at some of the bullies who had wronged him. And since he was focusing on jerks and bullies, giving them a taste of their own medicine, everyone went along with it. Then things started getting out of control. Vinny began using it as a punishment for anyone who crossed him, even in little ways. Kids who hadn’t done anything to anyone suddenly found themselves in the Outs.”

  “The Outs?” she asked.

  “That’s the club you end up in if you get marked,” I answered.

  “Marked?”

  “Vinny has his assassins mark the victims by squirting them with liquid in the front of their pants. The victim is then called ‘Pee-Pee Pants’ and—hey!—welcome to the Outs! That kid’s social status is ruined for as long as he stays in this town … and in more than a few cases, even if he manages to leave.”

  She looked confused, as if she wasn’t sure whether she should be concerned or amused. “Pee-Pee Pant
s? Seriously?” she asked. “Don’t you think it’s a little—”

  “Childish? Yup, which is exactly why he chose that method. Vinny knew what he was doing. He knew that he couldn’t keep his operation a secret from adults forever. So he picked a method of humiliation that most grown-ups would look at and say, ‘Well, that’s childish. They’ll grow out of that soon. And no one’s really getting hurt.’”

  “So kids just laugh and yell ‘pee-pee’ at each other?” she asked.

  “Well, that’s one way to look at it. Another way to look at it is that kids single out other kids to completely humiliate and destroy. Whether they yell ‘pee-pee pants’ or ‘bologna breath’ or ‘big nose’ or ‘lard butt’ doesn’t matter, the end result is the same.”

  “So, what’s your role in all this?”

  “Kids hire me to help them through their problems,” I said.

  She nodded. “Like a private detective.”

  I nodded.

  “And you’re in trouble?”

  “Always. Not with my teachers or the principal or anything,” I said. “More like with the kids who do stuff and don’t want to get caught.”

  “So, I should stop this, right? I mean, I can’t let this continue.”

  “Yeah, well, you kind of have to. Vinny’s already prepared for that scenario. You’ll stop the whole squirt-gun thing, but then he’ll just pick some other form of humiliation. It won’t stop. And for me, things will get a whole lot worse.”

  “What should I do, then?”

  “No idea,” I said. “Vinny is smart, and he understands the system. He doesn’t leave any evidence that could be connected back to him, so even if you’d convince the school administration that this is all going on under their noses, you might be able to take out a few of Vinny’s foot soldiers, but there’s no way you can stick him with the blame.”

  She scrunched up her face. “Well, this is frustrating.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I guarantee you, if you try to blow the whistle on him, I’ll be beaten … relentlessly … for as long as we live here.”