Forever Haunt

by Adam Carpenter

  He would concentrate his attention on the Forever Haunt. The answer was so near, he felt. Like he’d accumulated all he needed, it was just a matter of putting things in the right order, both chronologically and cause and effect. The simple truth was a secret organization named Blue Death had been created, and Jimmy believed his father had uncovered damaging evidence about them. He had needed to be silenced. Since then, anyone who defied them was similarly wiped off the map with a single gunshot to the forehead. And there had been too many of them of late. Which only reinforced Jimmy’s theory that someone was closing shop. Destroying evidence and in the process destroying lives. Jimmy vowed only one more life would find destruction. The leader behind it all. Whoever it may turn out to be. Wherever it might lead.

  He finally hit the New York City border, crumbs of his dinner and a couple wilted fries all that remained in the metal tin. Cruising through the Bronx as darkness settled over him and cars raced by him, the hurried pace of the city made Jimmy push down on the accelerator to keep up. He’d heard nothing from his family since his mother’s call, hours ago. No doubt they were focused on Meaghan. She could be pushing right now, or be in recovery. Her baby boy in her arms already, Jimmy missing every first, precious moment.

  The law said no hand-held devices while driving. Jimmy felt this moment warranted a pass. He dialed Mallory, who picked up on the first ring.

  “We were just getting ready to call. Are you close?”

  “Half hour out.”

  “We’re headed home.”

  “Already?”

  ‘It was false labor. Meaghan had a little panic attack today, instead. She’s okay. The doctor advised bed rest for Meaghan for the duration of the pregnancy. Which shouldn’t be long, she said. But still, to be safe. I’m gonna stay at the apartment till then.”

  “Okay, I, uh, I guess I’ll see you home. I’m glad I didn’t miss it.”

  There was a studied silence before Mallory said, “Me, too.”

  “You talk to Ma?”

  “About what I told you? Not yet. Wasn’t the time.”

  “I’ll be there soon.”

  “Jimmy to the rescue,” she said.

  “Not this time.”

  He was beating up on himself, but even he knew he deserved it. If Mallory could put her life on hold for the sake of family, why couldn’t Jimmy? Why did he always push the envelope to the point where he caused pain?

  He traveled down the West Side Highway and got off at 57th Street, eventually finding his way to the parking lot where he stashed his Stratus. From the west side, he could see the glittering skyline of Manhattan, buildings scraping the sky, some offices lit, some dark, offering up a checker board of brightness and darkness, as though his own mood was being mirrored back amidst the steel and glass that shot upwards. Leaving the lot, he walked along with his shadow under street lamps, wishing for once it would leave him alone. Except he suddenly noticed his shadow wasn’t the only one looming on the sidewalk.

  Jimmy spun around, his shoulders suddenly tense. Nerves on alert.

  But he saw only a woman, and she quickly walked past him, her New York pace in full tilt.

  Why was he anxious? No one knew he’d been away, no one should be aware of where he parked his car. Still, he remained aware of the people around him. More of them as he came to 10th Avenue; he was just a few blocks from home between 49th and 48th streets. As he approached the building, he stole one more look around and this time he thought he detected someone watching from across the street. A short man, standing beside a fire hydrant. The two were not dissimilar in shape.

  Jimmy stole one last look back before he entered the building. He considered knocking on the door of the Ramirez apartment, wondering if he would get an answer from Ranuel, or perhaps Lourdes. But his family came first, and he took the steps two and a time, feeling a jolting ache in his knees as his feet pounded against the hard cement staircase. It was tough being thirty when you carried the weight of the world on your shoulders. At last, he got to the top floor, a quick memory stoking his mind. After his day with Tolliver, he remembered when he’d hid here, the door open, listening to the detective tell his mother there was nothing more they could do on the case. Jimmy had run away. This time, though, he ran inside. Toward something.

  “About time.”

  It was Maggie who said that, from the kitchen. She was pouring a cup of tea.

  “I got here as soon as I could. Lucky I didn’t get a speeding ticket.”

  “I’m sure you could have talked the police out of it.”

  If that was a dig, Jimmy wasn’t biting. “How’s Meaghan?”

  “See for yourself.”

  He did, not even taking off his jacket while he walked down the hallway to her bedroom.

  “Hey there,” he said. “You up for company?”

  “You’re hardly company,” Meaghan said. “You’re just the brother who abandoned me.”

  Mallory was sitting beside their sister. She said, “Easy. Jimmy’s got a life.”

  “Seems everyone does, but me.”

  Jimmy eased into the room, stood over the bed and kissed her forehead. “I’ve got cases. So does Mal. You have the best. Or you will. A child.”

  “A child that doesn’t want to see the world.”

  “He or she will have plenty of time for that. Let it enjoy its last days in its cocoon.”

  “Doctors said it could still be another two weeks. Me, stuck in bed, doing nothing.”

  “Isn’t that what you like to do, anyway?” Jimmy said with a smirk.

  “You’re not helping,” Mallory said. “Let her rest. I’ll stay with her.”

  “I gotta talk to Ma. But I’m never far, if you need me.”

  Jimmy exited the bedroom and returned to the kitchen, where he found his mother sitting in her chair, quietly sipping at her tea. She gazed up at him, her eyes hard to read. He had to remind himself she was a good poker player.

  “Want some tea? Water’s still hot.”

  Jimmy opted for the fridge. He grabbed a beer and twisted off the cap. He sat opposite her, in his father’s chair. He felt suddenly emboldened.

  “I’m sorry,” Jimmy started with. What else could he say?

  She nodded, sipped. “What was so important?”

  “I went to see Detective Jonathan Tolliver.”

  Maggie closed her eyes. Her contemplation was quiet, unnerving for Jimmy. Like he had gone and picked at a wound that wouldn’t heal. His mother didn’t like to talk about the past, about her husband. Yes, even though she’d lost him to violence she somehow managed over the years to seek comfort in the memories that occurred before that day. Unlike Jimmy.

  “So I suppose this conversation is inevitable,” she finally said.

  “I first spoke to Ralphie. I know the full story, about Cassie Dean.”

  “He swore he’d take it to his grave,” Maggie said.

  “Ralphie has cancer. He’s refusing treatment.” Jimmy paused. “He doesn’t have long.”

  “I’m sorry. He was your father’s best friend.”

  “Sometimes, mine too,” Jimmy said, taking a pull on his Bass Ale. “Ma, the story Mickey Dean told me back in December, about Dad being the person who abused Cassie Dean. It was not true. It was Mickey himself. And it altered Cassie. She acted out, was promiscuous in an effort to get back at her family. She came on to Ralphie, and of course he rejected her advances. But no one believed him, most among them Lawrence Dean. I know Dad took the fall for it. Cleared Ralphie by admitting he had given in to a weakness. Better him than a black man abusing a teenage white girl.” Jimmy paused. “Which just reinforces the truth: my father was a hero.”

  “It cost him his life,” Maggie said. “Being so honorable.”

  “What wouldn’t you tell me the other night? Both Ralphie and Tolliver said to ask you.”

  Maggie leaned over, her hands reaching for Jimmy’s. He took then, felt her fingers twine in his. Warmth spread between them as only a mother and son c
ould have. “Jimmy, you have been searching for the truth ever since you graduated from the academy and then became a private detective. You your own client. I never opposed it, but I fear I never supported it either. My son, the past, it’s a difficult thing. Because you can’t change it.”

  “But the past is supposed to represent truth, too. Which I don’t have.”

  “You want to know why the police dropped the case into solving your father’s murder?”

  “That’s one of the questions. That, and who authorized the hit.”

  “I can only answer one of them, the first one. The police called off the investigation because they said to me, in no uncertain terms, that when you pursue a murder case, it’s not just the perpetrator who ends up under investigation. The victim is looked into, and sometimes things come out that make them not so attractive. I had a choice, Jimmy. Not know who killed your father, or have the story of him abusing Cassie Dean hit the papers. I couldn’t bring Joey back to life. But I could preserve his reputation and his legacy. It’s a decision I will never regret.”

  “Dad deserves justice.”

  “Yes, Jimmy. But he didn’t deserve injustice.”

  “But Tolliver, that day fifteen years ago, he said there was nothing more they could do.”

  “Which you overheard, sitting on the steps outside.”

  “You knew?”

  “Oh, Jimmy. My son. You ran away. We heard you. Which means you didn’t hear the end of the conversation.”

  “Which was.”

  “Jonathan telling me I was making the right decision. He said whoever killed my Joey, he would probably get his comeuppance for another crime. I had to be contented with that. At least it kept Joey’s record clean. He died a hero, and he stayed that way. That can never be changed. I had hoped that would be enough for you. I suppose I underestimated your determination.”

  “My love for my father,” Jimmy said. “What happened was wrong. It’s still wrong.”

  Maggie shed a rare tear. “So you still have the one remaining question. Who.”

  “I’m close, Ma.”

  “I can’t stop you,” she said, a mix of resolve and sadness in her voice. “I never could. But you’re going to have to ask yourself a question too.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Will your efforts be worth it?”

  “Dad deserves justice. He deserved his peace.”

  “But at what cost to you, Jimmy? To others?”

  They were chilling words. Jimmy finished his beer, then got up from his father’s chair. He walked over to his mother, kissed her cheek. “I gotta go. I gotta think.”

  He didn’t wait for her response, mostly because he didn’t think he was going to get one. She’d said all she would. He dashed down the stairs as though the apartment was on fire. Only he was, a flame relit inside of him that not even the tears draining from his eyes could douse. He ran out into the dark night of a city that defined him, full of detours and congestion, of insurmountable odds, the highs of the buildings and the lows of the subway his neighbor. Distraction consuming him, he didn’t see the shadows creeping up behind him. He didn’t see what was coming next.

  He felt it though.

  Only once. All he absorbed was a sharp, awful pain.

  Then darkness.

  § § § §

  Darkness remained, even if he was strangely conscious.

  His vision remained blurred. He could open his eyes but that didn’t mean he could focus on anything in front of him.

  His other senses were heightened. He smelled food, fragrant spices prevalent. He touched something rough. He couldn’t move his arms. Nor his legs. Suddenly his sense of hearing worked. Someone spoke.

  “Ah, looks who’s awake.”

  He moved his mouth, his jaw working. At least that wasn’t impeded.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  All he heard was a chuckle, two men. They were clearly enjoying his misery.

  Jimmy tried to think where he could be. Where he’d last been. His mind was a blur. Nothing was computing. Time meant nothing. It could have been five minutes later. Could have been hours, or days. He felt his eyes closing from the headache he was enduring and he had to assume he was suffering from a slight concussion. He remembered then the blow to the head he’d received. His body jerked suddenly, but it barely moved. It couldn’t. He ascertained that he was tied to a chair, his arms and legs retrained. A thick hood had been placed on his head. But who, and why? He concentrated on the smells around him, and that’s when it hit him where he was. In the hands of Mr. Wu-Tin. He sniffed the odor of Chinese food wafting up from the floorboards. Any respectable New Yorker knew what chicken and broccoli smelled like.

  “Kenji?” Jimmy asked.

  “Oh, we have a smart man in our midst. Except he’s very dumb too, messing with a man of such importance.”

  “You mean a criminal.”

  Jimmy felt a sudden punch to his stomach. He let out of a cry of pain.

  “You will learn respect, Mr. McSwain. See, like us. We call you Mr.”

  “This would be easier if you removed the hood. You speak of respect. Show your faces.”

  “You will listen, not instruct.”

  Again, there came that duality of laughter. Still, his words worked. He felt the hood being lifted off him. He blinked, tried to refocus his eyes without the benefit of being able to rub them. His surroundings formed before him. A standard-type office, a desk and computer, no windows. Two men stood before him, both of whom he recognized. One was Kenji, the manager from the Imperial Dragon restaurant; the other was the fireplug figure whom he and Frank had thwarted last week. Missing was the man with the scar. Kenji wore a gray suit and sat on the edge of the desk, hands clasped. The other man had his meaty arms folded over his thick chest. The interrogator and the muscle, the latter clearly the man who’d just punched him. Jimmy recalled his thoughts from the trip back upstate, where he was going to turn this case over to the police. It did not go unnoticed that he was late in making that decision.

  “Is this really necessary, the ropes?”

  “Till Mr. Wu-Tin gets here, yes.”

  Jimmy didn’t allow his surprise to show. “So, I get an audience with him, at last. When?”

  “Mr. Wu-Tin is a busy man. You think he’d wait here till you regained consciousness?”

  “Is he busy kidnapping other people’s kids as a form of intimidation?”

  “You are not helping yourself, Mr. McSwain,” Kenji said. “I suggest you remain silent.”

  The other man approached Jimmy. He said nothing, just stood over him with intimidation. Like he wanted to strike Jimmy again just for the hell of it.

  “How long have I been here?” he asked.

  “Too long, as far as I’m concerned,” Kenji said. “Please, keep the questions to yourself.”

  Jimmy was undeterred. “What do you want from me?”

  The muscle man lashed out, landing another punch into Jimmy’s solar plexus. He exhaled. Nearly puked. If he’d had any food in his system. A hunger rose inside him, not aided by the smells of the food swirling around him. Even he had to admit the dishes here were good.

  “Fong, enough. We need him conscious. Mr. Wu-Tin is on his way.”

  “You’re lucky he’s here. I’d kill you.”

  “Yeah, well, only cowards beat up the defenseless.”

  Fong went to take another swing, Jimmy bracing for impact. But a bark of an order from Kenji stopped it, and the man stepped way. Jimmy let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure he could have taken a third hit without any lingering damage. He wisely shut up, keeping his thoughts to himself. When could he expect a visit from the enigmatic Mr. Wu-Tin? And what would happen after that? He doubted many men lived to tell the tale of surviving an encounter with the powerful crime boss. Fate was in control here.

  A moment later Jimmy saw the door to the office open, and in stepped a short round man. He was wearing a white suit, just like Jimmy had seen in photog
raphs online. An attempt at a mustache made him think of a Fu-Manchu, but even this one didn’t qualify. But what Mr. Wu-Tin lacked in testosterone, he more than made up for with presence. He ambled forward with confidence, even if it came with a slight wobble. He carried a thick walking stick. Whether for effect or need, Jimmy wasn’t sure. The man was probably in his sixties, his dark hair only slightly tinged with white.

  Jimmy again braced himself as the man approached him. Was he the violent type?

  “So, this is the famed Jimmy McSwain.”

  “Mr. Wu-Tin. Should I say this is a privilege, if not a pleasure.”

  “For you, not a pleasure. You are a pest of a man. Intrusive in my life, my business.”

  “I care only for a boy. An innocent victim.”

  “Hmm. He’s a good boy. Young Sonny. He plays well with others.”

  “So he’s okay?”

  “You think I’m the type of man to harm a child?”

  Jimmy stared up at the man. “I think you’d do anything to ensure your security.”

  “Why is any of this your business?” Mr. Wu-Tin said.

  “Like I said, a boy’s life hangs in the balance. A family’s future. They deserve one.”

  “No one deserves anything. They earn it.”

  “Whatever you believe, this entire situation is between you and Ranuel. Where is he?”

  “The Ramirez family is fine, Mr. McSwain.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Mr. Wu-Tin turned back toward Kenji, nodded gently. Kenji sprang into action, heading over to the computer on the nearby desk. He flicked it on, clicked on the keyboard several times until he was online and a website jumped to life. Jimmy saw a playroom filled with children, juvenile artwork on the walls, a green chalkboard in the background. A school, and the children seemed to be working at some project, paint brushes and small jars on their desks. He recognized Sonny Ramirez as one of them, a smile on his face as he went about his business; most of the other children were Asian and were doing the same.