Blackout

by David Rosenfelt

  The entire depressing day brings me back to Tony Gibbons and the used car lot. They are pathetic as leads, but they’re all I’ve got.

  The best thing about them is they give me an excuse to call Jessie.

  “Dinner?” Jessie repeats, with something less than eagerness and delight.

  Actually, she sounds like she’s talking to her dentist’s office, scheduling a root canal. When I called her I shouldn’t have mentioned the dinner thing first. But I think I can recover.

  “You said you wanted to help me on the case, and there are things I want to talk to you about.”

  “We’re talking now,” she says.

  “These are not things we should discuss on the telephone; too much chance somebody is listening. Aren’t you familiar with modern technology?”

  She laughs, a definite good sign. Then, “This better be real, Doug. It better be about the investigation.”

  “I swear it is. I’ll pick you up in forty-five minutes; make a reservation at my favorite restaurant.”

  “Which one might that be?”

  “How am I supposed to know? By the way, where do you live?”

  “I shouldn’t tell you,” she says.

  “I’m a detective; I’d track you down. Besides, I have it on the GPS records.”

  She gives me the address, which turns out to be a town house in Englewood. I’m there in exactly twenty minutes, and she comes out when she sees me pull up. She looks absolutely amazing; the entire neighborhood seems to light up. I fight off the urge to turn and yell, “Eat your heart out!” to my protectors in the car behind me.

  There are many things that have been hard to believe since I lost my memory, but at the absolute top of the list is the fact that I once pushed this woman away. I should have had my head examined well before I fell on it.

  She gets in the car and directs me to a restaurant in Ridgewood. It’s Italian, a neighborhood kind of place, and she tells me I love it. The owner gives us a big welcome by first name when we get there, so I’m pretty sure she’s telling the truth.

  The waiter comes over, and I say to Jessie, “Why don’t you order for both of us, honey?”

  She stares daggers at me, but does so. She orders pasta amatriciana for me; I’m not sure if I really like it or she’s doing it to get back at me. I guess I’ll find out.

  After a little small talk, she says, “About the case.”

  “Yes, the case,” I say, and tell her about Tony Gibbons at the pier. I say that the information came from an informant, but I don’t mention Bert Manning. I completely trust Jessie, but confidential is confidential.

  “I’m not sure if I did the right thing by turning it over to Congers and Homeland Security.”

  “You had to, Doug. This is not something you can deal with on your own.”

  “But now I’m in a tough spot. Anything I do constitutes interfering with their investigation.”

  “Let me take a wild guess,” she says. “You’re going to interfere anyway.”

  “Well, I was hoping you would.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I think we should focus on Tony Gibbons. If he’s Bennett’s key to bringing things into the country illegally, then it should show up somewhere. If he’s on the take, then he’s making a lot of money. That money has to go somewhere. We need a financial snapshot of Tony Gibbons.”

  “I’m not sure I like where this is going,” she says. “Unless it’s going to court to get a search warrant.”

  “We don’t have nearly enough,” I say. “A judge would laugh at us.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Jess, you’re a genius with this computer stuff; you could get to this information, couldn’t you?”

  “I could, if I were inclined to break the law.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, but this is important.”

  “Convince me.”

  “Okay, here’s how I look at it. Two things could happen. One is we find out that he’s not dirty, and we drop it. We don’t use the information in any way; we forget about it, nobody is the wiser, and nobody gets hurt.”

  I continue. “The other possibility is we find out he’s dirty, and it gives us a roadmap to bringing him down, and maybe Bennett along with him.”

  “None of what we’d learn would be admissible.”

  I nod. “I understand that, and maybe at some point we’d get a warrant to get the same information, or maybe we just keep it to ourselves. Look, if Bennett and Gharsi were involved in bringing things into this country, there could be countless lives at stake. Gharsi is a terrorist; he’s not bringing in marijuana.”

  “You’re making huge assumptions here,” she says.

  “I know that, and maybe I’m wrong about all of it. I hope I am. But if I’m not, and we didn’t do all we could do stop it…”

  “Let me think about it,” she says as the waiter brings our food.

  I don’t know how long it usually takes her to think about stuff, but I’m not about to push it. Instead I concentrate on Jessie and the pasta, both of which would be hard to improve upon. The only “business” that comes up during the rest of the meal is a mention by me of that used car lot in Garfield, and how I can’t stop thinking that it has some significance.

  It’s a great evening, and I can say that I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much, because I literally can’t remember the last time I laughed so much. I drive her home, and when we pull up in front of her place, I can feel the awkwardness returning. So I decide to take over both sides of the conversation.

  “Doug, would you like to come in?” I ask myself. “I really shouldn’t; early day tomorrow,” I answer. “Not even for some coffee?” I ask on her behalf. “Well, I do love coffee.” It’s not an inspiring conversation, but I’m carrying the whole load.

  “You’re pathetic,” she says in an amused voice that makes the words not feel like an insult.

  “I am very much aware of that.”

  “Did you ever see a movie called Peggy Sue Got Married?” she asks. “I think it came out in the eighties.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “It’s about a woman whose marriage breaks up, and then something happens to her and she goes back in time, to high school. The guy she wound up marrying, who she still loves, is back there, and he wants to go steady, and someday to get married.”

  “You don’t mind if I cringe during the rest of this story, do you?” I ask.

  No smile from her; instead she continues with her movie review. “Anyway, all the old feelings for him return, but she won’t let him get close, because she knows how it ends. So the question she has to answer is, knowing what you know now, would you do it all over again the same way?”

  “Does she do it all over again?”

  She nods. “It takes a couple of hours of movie time, but eventually she does. She follows her heart.”

  “And is there a happy ending?”

  “I don’t know; they never made a sequel.”

  Then something really terrific happens; she leans over and kisses me. And then, just to show that any moment, now matter how great, can be improved upon, she says, “You want to come in for some coffee?”

  I wake up at six in the morning, and Jessie is not in bed.

  That is my second choice; my first choice is to have her actually in the bed. Last night was amazing; I hope Jessie felt the same way. I’m sure we experienced it differently; for me it was the first time that we made love. For her it must have seemed like “been there, done that.”

  Actually, if I had lost eighteen years of memory instead of ten, the old Woody Allen line would have applied to me, and I would have been “reclassified a virgin.”

  I get up to look for Jessie; maybe I can coax her to come back to bed. I find her in the den, at her desk, typing away at her computer. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” she says without looking up.

  “You writing in your journal about your conquest last night?”


  “Not exactly,” she says.

  “Then what are you doing at this hour?”

  “Committing a felony.”

  “You’re hacking into Tony Gibbons?” I ask.

  She still doesn’t look up. “Hacking is a very ugly word. But yes, that’s what I’m doing.”

  “I must have been great last night,” I say.

  “The two events are unrelated.”

  “You find anything yet?”

  “Just started. Give me some time.”

  I look outside the window, and realize that my “protectors” are out there. “Uh-oh,” I say. “Those two colleagues of ours are going to know you slept with me.”

  “No problem. I’ve slept with pretty much everybody in the department. Now leave me alone; I have to concentrate.”

  There’s a bagel store downstairs, so I get dressed and head down there. I bring back bagels and coffee; I’m feeling so good I even get some for my protectors. Jessie has her breakfast while she’s working. She’s very focused on this, and the last thing I want to do is change that.

  “I guess I’ll go down to the barracks,” I say.

  “Good idea. I should have this by early afternoon.”

  I walk over to her and rub her shoulders and kiss her on the head. “I had a nice time, Jess.”

  She doesn’t say anything, just reaches and squeezes my left hand, which is still on her shoulder.

  I continue. “Nate said if I ever hurt you again, he’ll torture and kill me.”

  “He’ll have to get in line.”

  On the way to the barracks, I pass a park where a team in uniform is practicing, apparently preparing for a game. The kids look to be in their early teens; I wonder if that is the team I used to coach, the team that had Johnny Arroyo on it. Like everything else except Jessie, it seems completely unfamiliar to me.

  Captain Bradley is not in when I get there, so I head for Jerry Bettis’s office. When he sees me, he says, “Ah, there you are.”

  “You’ve been looking for me?”

  “Yeah, I tried you at home, but you were apparently still on your honeymoon.”

  Clearly the word about Jessie and me has gotten around quickly, but I’m really not in the mood for banter about it. “What’s going on?”

  “We got the verbal report back from Homeland Security on your boy Gibbons down at the pier.”

  “Already?”

  “Yeah. You need to get yourself a new set of informants. Gibbons is clean.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure that’s what the report said, if that’s what you’re asking. The specific date you were tipped off on, Gibbons wasn’t even there. His supervisor made the change in cargo inspection because the one that was checked was deemed suspicious. It turned out to be clear.”

  “Shit,” I say, which sums up how I feel about it.

  Since I basically have no idea what the hell to do now, I go down to the hospital to see Nate. I’ve been updating him on everything all along, and I find it helpful to bounce ideas off of him.

  As soon as I enter his room, he says, “You gotta get me out of here.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m fine, but they tell me I’m not. They say it’ll be at least another week until I completely shake the infection. Just bring me a cake with a saw in it, and I’ll handle the rest.”

  “Sorry, pal. Can’t help you.”

  “Sure, you’re out there shacking up, and I’m stuck in here watching soap operas.”

  “Who told you? Bettis? Why does my social life have to be the main topic of conversation among horny cops?”

  “Jessie told me. She called about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Shit, I should have called her. I’ve got her checking out that guy Gibbons, and Bettis already got the report that he’s clean.”

  “Bettis told you that?” Nate asks, apparently surprised.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Because Jessie said she found something you’d be very interested in. I didn’t get the idea that she meant he was clean.”

  I stand up. “Well, it’s always a treat talking with you, but I gotta go.”

  As I head for the door, I hear Nate’s voice behind me. “Take me with you. Please.”

  “The guy has two bank accounts,” Jessie says as soon as I walk in the door.

  “One is a local bank in Elizabeth, and the other is one of those online banks. He doesn’t use the online bank at all, except to put money in. He opened that account eighteen months ago.”

  “How much is in there?”

  “Three hundred and forty-one thousand. And it’s all been wired in there, from an account that can’t be traced.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “He’s got two cars—a Ford, which I’m betting he drives to work, and a Mercedes. He’s also got a thirty-five-foot power boat. And if he paid for them himself, I can’t find how he did it.”

  “Bettis told me that Homeland Security reported he was clean.”

  “Well, if he’s getting all this cash from working at the docks, they must be swamped with applications.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. Why would they whitewash him? This kind of stuff should set off alarm bells.”

  “They were probably just checking the activity at the pier. No need to look at his finances if he’s not doing anything wrong.”

  “But the point is he was doing something wrong,” I say.

  She nods. “Right, but we only know that because your informant implicated him. Maybe Gibbons is able to cover his tracks at the pier. He must have access to the computer, so he changes these shipments, and then he is able to erase the fact that he’s done so.”

  “So whatever is in the computer is reality.”

  “Welcome to the modern world,” she says.

  I nod. “And in order to have checked his finances, they would have needed a court order.”

  “Unlike us.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “They’re law-abiding, and you’re not.”

  My cell phone rings, and caller ID shows a number I don’t recognize. I answer it, and the voice on the other end says, “Doug?” The person sounds as if he is outdoors; I can hear the wind hitting the phone. It’s hard to hear him.

  “That’s me.”

  “Doug, it’s me, Bert Manning” is what I think he said, but he’s either talking softly or we have a bad connection, in addition to the wind.

  “Bert? Can you talk louder?”

  “Hold on,” he says, just as softly, and I wait for about thirty seconds. “Is that better? I need to be careful; I can’t have anyone hear me.”

  “What’s going on, Bert?”

  “You said to call you if anything was happening.”

  “Right.”

  “Well, it looks like something is happening. There’s a shipment coming in today that’s going to be loaded and moved out tonight at ten o’clock. Gibbons moved things around on the computer; it was supposed to be screened tomorrow, but that’s not going to happen.”

  “Isn’t it unusual for it to be happening at night?”

  “It sure is; this is exactly the kind of thing I was telling you about.”

  I ask him for the information, and he gives it to me, but says I won’t need it, since it’s the only truck that will be leaving the pier around that time.

  “Are you working tonight?” I ask.

  “No. I’m at work now.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Bert, I’ll take care of this.”

  “You’re going to be there?”

  “Someone will,” I say, not needing to share my plans with him.

  “Okay, but whoever is there, the truck will be coming out of the north gate.”

  “Got it.”

  “And you’ll leave me out of it, right?”

  “You can count on it. You did the right thing, Bert.”

  I hang up and relate the conversation to Jessie. When I finish I say, “We did this by the book the first time, and we got nowhere. Now it’s on us.” />
  “So you’re going down there tonight?” she asks.

  “I think Manning is telling the truth. If he’s not, then all I’ll have wasted is one night. But maybe we’ll finally find out what the hell is going on.”

  “I’m going with you,” she says.

  “You don’t need to do that. I’m not going to be going in shooting. I’ll strictly be an observer.”

  “Which part of ‘I’m going with you’ didn’t you understand?”

  This is one tough lady. Not only can’t I fathom why I broke off with her, I don’t have any idea where I would have gotten the courage to do so. “Let me ask you a question,” I say. “In past situations like this, when we disagreed on something, who would usually come out ahead?”

  “I’m undefeated,” she says.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Jessie and I go to dinner before heading to the pier.

  We don’t want to get there before dark, so as to make sure we’re not seen. Since the truck isn’t scheduled to depart until ten o’clock, we’ll have plenty of time to get in place.

  Before I leave I give my protectors the slip again. It’s not exactly a difficult thing to do; I simply go to my apartment and go out the back entrance, the same way I did before. They are probably relying on my promise not to repeat that particular escape; they clearly know me even less well than I know myself.

  Just as our “first date” wasn’t necessarily a typical one, neither is this “second date.” I brought with me a map of the pier area, just to be sure we’ll know where to station ourselves. We discuss the plan, which isn’t all that complicated. When the truck leaves, we’re going to follow it, and then play it by ear, depending on where it goes.

  We get there at nine fifteen, and fortunately the map has accurately portrayed the area. It’s easy for us to park more than a block away from the north gate, in a very dark area. The sightline to the gate is perfect; if a truck comes out of there, we will know it.

  By ten thirty, I’m feeling a little less optimistic about the plan. Maybe Bert was completely wrong, or maybe he was wrong on the timing, and the truck left before we got there. From where we are, it is impossible to tell if there’s any activity on the pier at all; there’s a decent chance that we are the only dopes in the area.