The Shut Mouth Society

by James D. Best

  “Maybe my parents can help.”

  “I hope so, but we’re still a hard three-day drive away from New York.”

  She threw her paper on the floor as well. “Then I guess we better get at it.”

  “Agreed.” Evarts threw back the blanket and then paused. “Were you referring to a shower, sex, or breakfast?”

  “All the above, in that order, if you please.”

  Chapter 17

  Evarts reached into his pocket to pay the toll at the George Washington Bridge. They had made it from Denver to New York City in three days by driving fourteen to sixteen hours a day. When they stopped, Evarts had insisted that they stay at independently owned campgrounds. They used the showers, sat outside and talked while Evarts cooked on a hibachi, and slept together in the back of the SUV.

  They had discussed the danger of meeting her parents. Evarts assumed their New York apartment would be watched, especially if they had some knowledge of the Shut Mouth Society. The Mexico gambit might have worked, but they couldn’t count on it. The people chasing them would assume that contacting her parents might be the first thing she would do.

  As they turned onto the Hudson Parkway, Evarts said, “Remember everything?”

  “Yes, but I’m nervous again.”

  “It’ll be okay if we follow our plan.”

  They had tried to think of a place they could meet undetected away from her parents’ apartment, but decided that if someone followed her parents, the two of them could be spotted leaving the rendezvous. Baldwin said her parents’ apartment had excellent security, but it was a large building, and hundreds of people wandered in and out all day long. All they had to do was figure out a way to enter the building without being recognized. He suggested some disguises, but she came up with a better idea. They stopped in a mall in New Jersey and went into a maternity shop. Just as she predicted, each dressing room had a pregnancy apparatus that fit around a woman’s middle so shoppers could see how things would fit after they became larger. Baldwin wore one out of the store under her clothes, but it wasn’t for her. He tried it on and discovered how a beer belly altered his appearance and even the way he walked. His disguise included calf-length shorts and an NYU tee shirt, finished with a bright red baseball cap. When he tried on the whole outfit, he laughed at his appearance. No one trying to remain incognito would dress in that garb.

  He had suggested that she pull her hair straight back and wear no makeup, but her idea was to wear an exorbitant amount of makeup and bright red lipstick. At Target, they found a tawdry outfit and accented her new clothes with a pair of dark framed glasses from one of those one-hour optical shops. She also accepted his suggestion to buy a cheap purse to replace her Prada bag. Her only condition was that the new purse should be big and sturdy enough to carry the Glock. She had become attached to her security blanket.

  They exited the Hudson Parkway at Seventy-ninth Street and meandered along the streets until they found a legal parking place. No small feat, even in the middle of the day. Baldwin had explained that her parents habitually went out to breakfast to leisurely read three newspapers. After breakfast, her father returned to the apartment and religiously wrote on his blog until midafternoon. Believing the entire world awaited his daily musings, he never changed his routine or skipped a day. Her mother often left him to his toils, but they decided to chance catching her at home.

  They walked six blocks to Central Park and then waited on a bench along the perimeter of the Circle Walk. In a few minutes, a young man and a girl approached leading six dogs.

  “Hi, Sandy,” Baldwin said.

  “This is strange as hell,” she responded.

  “I know, but you owe me a favor.”

  Baldwin had explained to Evarts that she had written Sandy a letter of recommendation to Columbia. She and her boyfriend made ends meet as dog-walkers, the most ubiquitous nonresidents on the West Side.

  “You look terrible,” Sandy said. “Why the masquerade?”

  “Too complicated to explain. I got into some trouble.”

  Sandy and her boyfriend gave Evarts a nasty look. They obviously thought him a scoundrel who had taken a fine lady and turned her into a painted hussy and gotten her into some predicament. He merely reached out his arm, and they handed over the leashes.

  “Where do they go?”

  “Number 11, next door to your parents. We do their building next.” She handed Baldwin a three-by-five card. “Those are the apartment numbers by breed. On the back are the dogs we pick up in your building. If anyone asks, tell them I have finals.”

  “Okay, we’ll meet you back here in one hour.”

  “We’ll be here. Don’t screw up. This is our livelihood.”

  Evarts and Baldwin each took three dogs and walked to West Eighty-first Street. He pointed at an incongruous building across the street. “What’s that?”

  “Natural History Museum. I grew up in there, but now I’m more likely to visit the New York Historical Society on the other side.”

  “I meant that glass monstrosity,” he said. A huge white globe enclosed in glass had been grafted to the side of the nineteenth-century Natural History Museum building.

  “That’s the planetarium. Built in 2000. I think it’s kind of ugly, except at night.”

  “Ross Geller worked at that museum.”

  “Ross Geller is fictional. Are you trying to distract me?”

  “I’m trying to look like we’re talking and having a grand old time with these pups. Are you sure Friends wasn’t a documentary?”

  “Pretty sure, but I‘ve had students who thought it was a reality show. They kept waiting for one of the six to get voted off Manhattan Island.”

  Evarts spotted a limo double-parked where the driver had a clear view of the entrance to number 15. “What are kids coming to nowadays? We were raised on a program where real friends stick together, while they prefer reality shows where everyone backstabs their fake friends.”

  She gave him a tolerant smile and directed him into number 11.

  In the elevator, Evarts said, “That limo driver was a lookout.”

  “How could you tell?”

  “The eyes. He wasn’t waiting for a passenger; he was watching the entrance to your building.”

  “Did he see us?”

  “Yeah … but that’s good. Now he has us catalogued as part of the terrain.”

  After they dropped off the dogs, they walked out of the building laughing. As they passed in front of the limo driver, Evarts patted Baldwin on the butt, and she slapped his shoulder. When they entered the outer lobby of her building and out of sight from the street, she reassumed her identity as Patricia Baldwin. They found the doorman stooped over to give a doggie biscuit to a resident’s wheaten terrier.

  Evarts examined the massive lobby and almost whistled. The public area appeared to encompass the entire first floor, but it was the décor that grabbed his attention. The lobby had been decorated in an odd mixture of art deco and medieval. The lighting fixtures, floor, and doors all had classic art deco flourishes, but the walls had been hung with Old World tapestries, the furniture looked like it came from a Spanish castle, and light streamed through stained-glass windows that illuminated knights in shining armor. Somehow it all worked together to give an impression of wealth and permanence.

  When the doorman stood up, Baldwin said, “Hi Frank. Still giving treats to the dogs.”

  He looked surprised at her appearance but didn’t mention it. “Yeah. And the toddlers, when the parents allow.” He looked embarrassed and then added, “I’m terribly sorry about your parents.”

  “Sorry? About what?”

  He looked nonplussed. “Aren’t you here for the funeral?”

  “What funeral?”

  “My god, you don’t know?” He glanced around as if looking for someone else to tell her. “Where have you been?”

  “Traveling. What’s going on, Frank?”

  “Your parents were both killed in a car accident in Connect
icut. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have to be the one to tell you.”

  Chapter 18

  Evarts had a hard time calming her down enough to collect the building’s dogs, but her parents’ death made it even more imperative that they leave the building undetected. She had wanted to stop to calm herself in their apartment, but Evarts’s instincts told him to get out.

  He stared at Baldwin’s mascara-smeared face. “If that limo guy sees you, it’ll call attention to us. As we leave the lobby, stay on the far side of me and turn right.”

  She took off her glasses and wiped her cheeks with the back of her fingers. It smeared the mascara worse. “Dog walkers go to Central Park.”

  “Not these and not today. Trish, we’ve got to get out of this building without being noticed.”

  “Then let’s go out the back onto Eighty-second Street. It’s an exit only.”

  “No. I know the position of the guy in front. We didn’t case the back. You have to pull yourself together.” He tried to make his voice sympathetic. “Trish, I’m sorry. Just until we get out of here.”

  She nodded. Just as they were about to leave the building, Baldwin told Evarts to stop, and she fumbled around in her purse and finally extracted two twenty-dollar bills.

  “Frank?”

  He had been pretending to be busy at his little stand-up desk, but Evarts saw him peek at the dogs. “Yes, Ms. Baldwin?”

  “How long have you worked here?”

  “Over thirty years. I gave you treats when you were a toddler.”

  “Thank you, if I forgot to say it then.”

  “Your parents always made you say thank you.”

  “The apartment is mine now, and I’ve noticed how you protect the privacy of the residents.” She reached over and pressed the twenties into his fingers. “You never saw me. I wasn’t here.” She paused as she held his eyes. “Do you understand?”

  He seemed confused by the dogs but just said. “Yes, Ms. Bald­win.”

  “I’m sure the co-op board appreciates your discretion.”

  He looked taken aback but added only, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” Baldwin squeezed his arm to reassure him, and without waiting for a response, she and Evarts left the building and turned right toward Columbus Avenue, in the opposite direction of Central Park and the phony limo driver.

  Evarts admired the deft way she had handled Frank. Her tone of voice would scare the creased pants off any doorman at a ritzy co-op building. Out of uniform, bereaved, and mascara smeared, she kept her head and covered their tracks.

  As they walked the half block to Columbus, Evarts resisted a temptation to glance back at the limo driver. Instead, he focused ahead, sweeping his eyes over both sides of the street to make sure they hadn’t stationed a second watcher. At the corner, he got himself purposely tangled up in the dog leashes so he could get a good look behind them. The limo and its driver hadn’t moved. Good. With any luck, the Shut Mouth Society wouldn’t discover they had made it to the East Coast.

  It took about fifteen minutes to make the circuitous route back to the real dog walkers. Evarts got some more nasty stares from Sandy and her boyfriend due to Baldwin’s obviously distressed state, but they completed the transfer of the dogs with a minimum of conversation and made their way back to where they had parked the car.

  When they had both slammed their respective car doors, Evarts said, “Trish, I’m sorry.” He checked the street one more time. No visible threat. “We’re safe. Would you like a few moments before we get under way?”

  She pulled the Glock from her purse. “What I’d like to do is to go back and kill that son of a bitch limo driver.”

  Evarts put his hand on her shoulder. “That wouldn’t accomplish anything but let them know we’re here. He wasn’t the one that killed your parents.”

  She looked so sad that Evarts felt her anguish. What if it had been his parents? Oh my god. “I’ve got to call my parents.” Evarts threw himself out of the truck and ran to the Barnes and Noble on Broadway. Running up the escalator, he found a pay phone next to the restrooms. Damn. He needed a calling card. After he bought one at the register back downstairs, he returned to the phone and punched the numbers as fast as his fingers could move. After one ring, he heard his mother’s voice say hello. He hung up immediately.

  What did this mean? Her parents were involved but not his? Did they want him to call so they could pick up his location? Did they have the same murderous intent for his parents but hadn’t carried it out yet? Think. As soon as he remembered that the calling card disguised his area code, he dialed again.

  “Lieutenant Clark,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

  “Bob, this is Greg.”

  “Where the hell are you? Everybody’s looking for you. The goddamn FBI, the LAPD, the chief. What the hell’s going on?”

  “Bad stuff but not by me. Do you believe that?”

  “Of course.” Evarts felt relieved not to hear any hesitation before Clark answered.

  “Listen, I can’t explain now, but my parents might be in danger. Could you keep them under surveillance? For a cover, convince Damon that it’s the surest way to find me.”

  “They’re already under surveillance. Did you call a minute ago?”

  “Yes. Thank god. Bob, please, keep an eye on them.”

  “Greg, we have them under surveillance to get a handle on your whereabouts.”

  “I don’t give a shit why, just do it.” Evarts hung up.

  When he jumped back in the Explorer, Baldwin looked impassive. “Were they all right?”

  “Yes, they’re under police surveillance in case I tried to contact them.”

  They sat there for several minutes. Not sure what to do, Evarts touched her forearm and then gently tugged her toward him. She startled him by leaning across the center console and throwing her arms around his neck. The sobbing quickly escalated into a crying fit that shook her so hard, Evarts found it difficult to hold her. He had no idea how long they stayed in that position, but when she finished, she went so limp and quiet against his wet shoulder that he thought she had gone to sleep.

  In a few moments, she said, “We better get out of here.”

  “Yeah.” He stroked her hair. “Boston?”

  “New Canaan … Connecticut.” She sat upright and wiped her eyes. “Thanks for giving me a few minutes. I just—” She started to sob again but got herself under control. “I went out of my way to hurt them, but I never lifted a handset to tell them I loved them.” She pulled a fresh tissue from a box under the dashboard. “I quit being angry years ago, but I never told them.”

  “They knew.”

  “How?”

  “The hurting stopped.”

  She sat still a long moment and then said, “Thank you.” Her smile hadn’t disappeared as deep as Evarts had feared. “I never told them in words, but you’re right, I told them in actions.” She lifted her chin. “Did you know that they stage the balloons for Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on their street?”

  “Did you come every year?”

  “Every year, since graduate school.” She straightened up in her own seat. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  “What’s in New Canaan?”

  “My grandmother’s house.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise.”

  “Don’t worry, I haven’t been there in fifteen years, and I don’t want to go to the house anyway. She died many years ago. My parents used it as a weekend retreat away from the city. I want to go to the public library. My parents were considered locals, so the town newspaper will have articles about the accident.”

  Evarts started the car. “Good idea. Sure no one will recognize you?”

  “My parents’ friends don’t patronize public libraries.”

  “Okay, tell me how to get the hell out of this city.”

  Baldwin directed him back the way they had come to the Hudson Parkway and then through the transitions to the Merritt Parkway. Thic
k trees shielded both sides of the divided roadway, and stone overpasses gave the parkway a genteel, picturesque appearance.

  “No wonder they call this a parkway,” Evarts said. “Nothing like this in L.A.”

  She seemed distracted but said, “We have an ugly Los Angeles-style freeway just a few miles east of us. Anyone with sixteen wheels or in a sixteen percent tax bracket has to stay on I95.”

  “You kidding?”

  “Not about the sixteen wheels. The poor can sneak onto the Merritt, but we gouge them at the gas pump.”

  They passed a scenic gas station nestled among thick trees in a wide grass median. The posted price was twenty cents higher than they had last paid in New Jersey. “Now, you’re serious.”

  “Now, I’m serious.”

  They exited at the New Canaan off-ramp. After a few miles of country road, a quaint town came into view, looking exactly the way Evarts imagined a New England village should look.

  After they pulled into the library parking lot, Baldwin grabbed her overnight bag, which contained her regular clothes, and asked Evarts to start scanning local papers for articles about her parents’ accident while she cleaned up in the ladies room. He found six articles spread over three days.

  When Baldwin returned, she had changed into her own clothes, but her freshly scrubbed face still showed raw eyes behind her regular glasses. “What did you find?”