When One Man Dies

by Dave White

  I didn’t want to touch that. Sometimes I hated asking questions; you got answers you didn’t want. I wanted to know about Gerry’s background in drugs. I wanted her to say she left Gerry because he was making crystal meth to support their family.

  I should have asked outright. Instead, I said, “Is that why you said you were a bad mother? Because you abandoned your child?”

  Anne slammed her hand down on the tabletop, palm flat. “I did not abandon my children.”

  “Children?”

  She paled. “Child. I did not abandon Steve.”

  Her hands shook, and I took it as a sign of nervousness and not age. Now was the time to ask, throw the change-up. Catch her off guard.

  “How did you and Gerry do on money?”

  “We were fine.” Her voice was cold and stiff. “Acting paid well?”

  “Why?”

  “Because when I knew him, Gerry didn’t have too much money. He kept his head above water, but he didn’t have to support anyone then. At least until Steve got cancer.”

  “We were fine.”

  “Did Gerry have to work two jobs?”

  She eyed me again. “What are you getting at?”

  Time to lay it out on the table. “You said he was an addict. I want to know if that involved drugs.”

  “He smoked weed.”

  “That’s it?”

  She looked at me and didn’t say anything. Her eyes were a pale blue, like a clear sea. Besides the nail polish, she wasn’t wearing any makeup.

  “I feel like you’re trying to lead me somewhere,” she said, “but I have no idea where. Why don’t you just come out and say it?”

  “How deep into drugs was he?”

  “He wasn’t a person likely to end up in rehab, if that’s what you’re saying. We smoked weed on the weekends, that’s all.”

  “Did Gerry sell drugs?”

  “What?”

  “When you knew Gerry, did he know how to make drugs? Did he sell drugs to help your family make money?”

  Anne didn’t look surprised, and she didn’t look away either. Her gaze held mine, didn’t even flinch.

  “No.”

  But she did answer too quickly. And she didn’t ask what I was talking about. There was no surprise in her answer.

  “Did Gerry know how to make drugs?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t believe you, Ms. Backes.”

  “I don’t care.”

  I wasn’t going to get any farther with her. Taking one last glance around the room, looking for any sort of visual clue, I stood and shook her hand.

  “Thank you for your time, Ms. Backes.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  We walked to the door together. She smiled. “I hope I never have to see you again.” At least she said it as sweetly as possible.

  I stepped out into the spring air. She started to close the door. Quickly I turned back.

  “One more thing, Ms.”

  “I don’t watch Columbo.” She held the door, and I noticed dark scars on her forearms.

  I smiled. “Neither do I. But I do watch the news. And read magazines. I remember seeing a story on the History Channel. Something about soldiers in Vietnam learning how to make drugs and smuggling them in canteens.”

  Anne squinted. “Your point?”

  “Ah,” I said. “I think you know. I’m just curious if the same thing could have happened in Korea.”

  “I have no idea,” she said. Closed the door.

  I had other questions. Like why—after leaving him and going through a ton of trouble to hide from Gerry—was she protecting him now?

  I unlocked my car, figuring those questions would have to be answered later.

  Chapter 47

  Bill Martin sat in his office. Burgess had come up with the perfect plan. Martin didn’t care whom it involved.

  All that mattered was that Donne would soon be dead.

  Chapter 48

  I was driving south on 287, about ten miles from New Brunswick, when my cell phone rang. “Oh, thank God you picked up,” Tracy said. “What’s the matter?”

  “Can you get to Asbury?”

  “When did you go back? I’m like an hour out.”

  Brake lights were flashing, the first signs of Sunday night traffic clogging up the highway. If that kept up, I’d be more than an hour out. Anyway, I didn’t even know what she wanted. No need to say anything more about New Jersey traffic.

  “Pablo was here.”

  “Rex?” Somehow I still couldn’t bring myself to call him Pablo. “What happened?”

  “I—well, I came home to see my boyfriend.” The words stung more than I expected.

  “And well, Pablo came by, just to see if anyone had been asking about him. My boyfriend said to tell Pablo about you. Pablo flipped, he hit me. He took Jesus.”

  “Took him?”

  Her voice cracked, broke, and she spoke through sobs. “He punched me. He took Jesus. He said—oh my God. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  But it was starting to click for me. “Your boyfriend’s name is Jesus?”

  There was a pause on the other end. Then, “Yeah. Why?”

  “Jesus what?”

  “Sanchez.” She was still sobbing, but the breaths were coming farther apart. More like she was scared and confused. I thought about her saying she needed to get away from drugs.

  Fuck. Why did Rex take Jesus? Still, I wanted to be sure. New Jersey has a high Hispanic population, and there were probably several Jesus Sanchezes around.

  “What does Jesus do for a living?” I asked. “I don’t need to answer that.”

  “He’s a drug dealer, isn’t he?”

  Traffic slowed to a crawl. I wanted to lean on my horn. I wanted to drive in the shoulder. I wanted to scream. Natural feelings for most drivers in traffic now pushed to a fever pitch.

  “Can’t you help me?”

  “Call the police.”

  “You know what he does. You just said it. The cops aren’t going to help.”

  I thought about facing Rex again. I thought about facing Burgess again, the beating I took the last time. The fact that I had no idea where they were. I wasn’t a PI anymore. I was only helping out a friend. But I couldn’t resist Tracy.

  “I’m on my way,” I said. “But traffic’s bad. I’ll get there when I can.”

  There were pieces of the events of the past few days lying strewn around my brain, and they were starting to find their connectors. From what Martin said, from what Jesus had said, from what Blanchett and Daniels had shown me, it was all there. And now it was starting to come together.

  ***

  Most of the homes in Asbury Park were falling apart. Paint chipping, long grass, broken fences. Like a line of Anne Backes’s house. I pulled in front of a burnt orange home, Tracy Boland sitting on her stoop watching cars pass. She didn’t wave when she saw me. She hardly flinched.

  Rounding my car, I could see that her front door was knocked off its hinges, leaning against the wall haphazardly. I couldn’t see through the frame, couldn’t see how much of the house was destroyed, but Tracy had lied to me. Rex Hanover didn’t come here nicely, make idle chatter, and flip out at the mention of my name. Things went bad from the start.

  Tracy walked toward me, keeping me away from the house. Her eyes were red and puffy, her face flushed.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She nodded. Her eyes were red and her nose ran a bit. Her face looked a bit sallow. The changes were subtle, but I noticed them. Years of experience.

  “You still do a little coke?” I asked. “Please,” she said. “This is hard. It’s scary.” Now wasn’t the time for a lecture.

  I took her by the shoulders and looked her dead in the eye. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I told you—”

  “No,” I said. “Not that bullshit. What really happened.” She brushed at her hair.

  “Pablo. He wanted to talk to me, b
ut he was scary. Banging on the door. Asking if Jesus was there. I told Jesus to stay quiet. I said why do you want to talk to him? No answer, just wanting to come in. I was scared. Jesus said to go away. Pablo, he knocked the door down.”

  She was crying again and fell into my arms. I held her for a while. “Please,” she whispered between sobs. “Please help me.”

  “What would you like me to do?”

  “You’re looking for Pablo, find Jesus. Save him. Help me by saving him.”

  I held her still, tighter. I thought about the consequences of getting further involved. In too far, if I ran into Martin I was screwed. That was a risk already. “Let’s go inside. Get you a glass of water. So you can calm down.”

  I found the kitchen and poured a glass of water. The room hadn’t been disturbed by Pablo or Jesus or Tracy.

  Back in the living room, Tracy sipped at the water, clutching the glass with two hands. Unlike earlier in the afternoon at Anne Backes’s, there were pictures all over Tracy’s room. Tracy playing saxophone at a jazz club. Tracy with some other sax player. Tracy and Jesus at Liberty State Park. Funny, I never placed Jesus as a date kind of guy.

  “How long ago were they here?” I asked.

  Hands shaking, she checked her watch. “Two hours? I don’t know exactly.” She wiped her face. Took another sip of water. “Shit. I’m not helping. I’m not.”

  “Okay. Relax,” I said. “Let’s take this slow. I need you to think.”

  “I can’t right now. Oh my God. They took him.”

  She was shaking harder now, and I could tell the enormity of the situation was beginning to sink in. It was beginning to sink in with me as well. Why would Burgess kill Diane and only kidnap Jesus? Something didn’t jibe.

  Tracy’s cell phone rang. She picked it up and looked at the caller ID display. “Pablo,” she said.

  “He’s calling you from his own number?”

  “Yeah.”

  I closed my eyes, thought for a moment. “Answer it. Don’t let him know I’m here.”

  Her eyes filled but she didn’t cry. The phone kept ringing. If she didn’t pick it up soon, the voice mail would. Tracy took a deep breath. Hit a button.

  “Pablo?” she said. Pause.

  “No, no, I—” She stopped. “I’m listening.”

  I couldn’t hear Pablo, if that’s who it was. Tracy hadn’t taken her eyes off me.

  “Okay,” she said. “Okay.”

  She put her hand on her head.

  “What do you expect me to do?” she said. Still she stared at me. Her eyes grew wider.

  “I’ll try,” she said. “There’s nothing I can do but try.”

  I thought she was going to break down again. But she kept it together. Listened again briefly, and hung up.

  “What did he say?”

  “He said Jesus is alive only because of me. Because I helped him—Pablo—out when he came here. Because we used to date. Because he respects me.”

  Apparently Pablo Najera had more sway with Michael Burgess than I thought. “Did he say anything about Burgess?”

  “No.”

  Okay, Jackson, don’t get ahead of yourself. “What did he say about Jesus?”

  “He said, he said—” She buried her face in her hands. “He said I could keep him alive.”

  “How?”

  “They want to meet me.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. Pablo and someone, he didn’t say. They want me to talk Jesus into giving it all up.”

  “Giving what up?” But I already knew. “The drug business.”

  “Where do they want to meet?”

  “Jockey Hollow, tonight at midnight. Wick’s farm.”

  “In Bernardsville?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jockey Hollow was huge, an old Revolutionary War encampment. There were old houses, a museum, and lots of dark grassy walkways. It was the perfect place to hide for a hit. I had no doubt that they were only keeping Jesus alive to draw out Tracy on Burgess’s orders. No way either Pablo or Burgess wanted to risk a witness coming back to haunt them.

  “Okay,” I said. “I will be back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  I looked at my watch. We had plenty of time to get there, which was good. I had to clean up some loose ends.

  “New Brunswick. I’ll pick up you tonight. Don’t do anything without me.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me,” I said. I wish I felt as confident as I sounded.

  Chapter 49

  My office was cluttered with paperwork. I was going through files, anything I had on Gerry, on Jesus, any drug cases I’d worked as a private investigator. There wasn’t much. New Brunswick cops didn’t have a tight grip on the drug business because—at least while I was there—they were all junkies themselves. But the cops knew what was going on so no one came to me privately. The one case I worked for Gerry was a favor, and I didn’t keep too many notes. I’d never worked for Jesus. There was nothing to back up my theory. But my gut was telling me my worst fears were true.

  The phone sat on the desk, taunting me. I knew what I had to do, but I didn’t want to pick it up. Taking on Pablo Najera and Michael Burgess on my own, trying to save Jesus and Tracy on my own, was not a good idea. Using Tracy as bait was the only play I had, but I needed backup. Blanchett and Daniels wanted Najera alive.

  I picked up the phone, dialed.

  “New Brunswick Police Department,” a voice said.

  I took in air through my nose, then said, “Bill Martin, please.” I rubbed my face. “Tell him it’s Jackson Donne.”

  The operator put me on hold. Martin considered Jesus a friend. Jesus was his snitch. Still, he wouldn’t hesitate if he needed to shoot someone. The problem was, what would calling Martin cost me. How much more could I lose?

  “What the hell do you want?” he grumbled. “No small talk?”

  “Somehow I doubt you’re calling me to catch up.”

  “Have you solved Gerry Figuroa’s case yet?”

  “What do you care? Believe me, you’ll know when it’s solved.”

  “What if I could help you out?”

  “I’d say either you lied to me the last few times I talked to you, or you’re working the case again. Either one is a no-no.”

  Christ, this was the point I’d worried about. Whether or not to take the leap. Outside my window two women eyed shoes at the Payless. Kids played Hacky Sack on the corner.

  “You were right,” I said. “Sort of.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think Gerry was selling drugs to try and make his rent. I talked to his ex-wife. She hinted Gerry had done this before. Sold drugs out of his apartment.”

  “You talked to his ex-wife?” I couldn’t tell if he was pissed with me or impressed.

  One of the kids playing Hacky Sack kicked the ball into the middle of George Street. He didn’t look before running after it. A campus bus almost flattened him. He jumped out of the way just in time. His buddies laughed.

  “I talked to her. Here’s what I think is happening. Gerry was killed as a warning. He was small-time. But Burgess—”

  “Michael Burgess?”

  “Yeah. He wasn’t big in New Brunswick when I was on the force. Is he now?”

  “I don’t have my ear to the ground as much as I once did. Rumor has it since Burgess moved into central Jersey, he’s become a force.”

  “I think he’s trying to make a move.”

  “A move to what?”

  “Become the most powerful drug dealer in central Jersey.”

  “And how is he going to do that?”

  “Gerry was a warning. Diane, too. I think she tried to leave Burgess, sell drugs on her own. And now, well, who’s one of the big fish in the New Brunswick area?”

  Martin paused. “Our old friend?”

  “Right. Jesus Sanchez.”

  “He’s dead?” Martin swallowed. “No, I would have heard.”

  “He’s not
dead yet.” I told him what had happened.

  “I don’t have jurisdiction in that area,” he said. “Since when has that stopped you?”

  “You son of a bitch. Are you trying to play me? You get me up there. There’s a shoot-out or something, someone dies, I get in a shitload of trouble.”

  “I just want to help Jesus.”

  I pictured him twirling a pencil while trying to decide. “You will not be anywhere near there.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “If I catch you anywhere in Jockey Hollow tonight, you are up shit creek. You broke my rule. You investigated this case. I could put you away for attempted murder. I still might. And if I see you there tonight, I’ll have no choice.”

  “I told Tracy I would drive her.”

  The Hacky Sack players were walking back toward Rutgers now. The women looking at shoes were long gone.

  “I don’t give a fuck. Not that it matters. You never listened. Not to me. Not to Jeanne when she needed help. You were the one who pushed her toward me.”

  What Jeanne’s father said was right.

  “And I got her back. Even if it was only for two weeks. She came back to me.”

  He slammed down the phone.

  I waited for a dial tone, then rang Tracy. When she picked up, I said, “Stay by the phone. I’m close.”

  She started to respond, but I said, “I gotta go,” and hung up.

  In my cabinet I kept a hunting rifle and my second pistol. I took them both and headed to my car.

  Chapter 50

  Son of a bitch. That son of a bitch. He wasn’t supposed to talk like that. He wasn’t even supposed to call.

  Bill Martin took a deep breath. This wasn’t a big deal. Donne would still be there tonight.

  He’d still die.

  But for Donne to remind Martin that Jeanne went back to him. That son of a bitch.

  Martin couldn’t wait to see the look on Donne’s face as he died.

  Chapter 51

  We were on 287. It was nearly ten. Traffic was light, but I still had to dance in and out between some trucks that were cruising without deadlines.

  “Why did we leave so early?” Tracy asked.

  Her hands shook. Her eyes darted around the car without a break. She was still high, most likely did some more after I’d left her. “We have to get there before anyone else.” I hadn’t mentioned to her that Martin would be there. I hadn’t decided how I was going to be involved and still hide from him.