by Jason Starr
“No phone?” Cassie was shocked. “That’s insane. I can’t survive without my phone.”
“For thousands of years, humans figured out how to survive without iPhones. I think you can too.”
As Scott helped Cassie take off the rest of the suit, he could tell she was upset. That meant he’d gotten through to her. He was getting good at this whole single-dad thing; maybe the self-help books were starting to pay off. Cassie needed a little good old-fashioned tough love, and Scott was giving it to her.
Scott away put the suit in the safe and said to Cassie, “I’m changing the combination, so don’t even think about getting in there again.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Cassie said.
“I believe you,” Scott said. “Now we have to give Roger and everyone who’s looking for you an explanation for what happened this morning. The whole NYPD is looking for you.”
“Oh my god,” Cassie said.
“I have an idea,” Scott said. “Let’s go.”
Scott and Cassie went outside, in front of the building, where Roger, Carlos, and George were conferring. Roger and Carlos were obviously relieved to see Cassie.
“Where was she?” Roger asked.
“On the roof,” Scott said.
“I checked the roof,” George said. “Nobody was there.”
“She was hiding,” Scott said.
“She couldn’t have been on the roof,” George said. “The door was bolted from the inside.”
“You must’ve made a mistake, ’cause that’s where I just found her,” Scott said.
George said, “I didn’t make a—”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Roger said. “She’s safe, that’s the important thing.” He said to Carlos, “Call off the search.”
Carlos went to make the call.
Roger said to Cassie, “Why did you do it? You want to scare everybody?”
Before Cassie could answer, Scott said, “She was upset about the protection situation.”
“I understand that,” Roger said, “but we’re here to help her and help you. You’re putting all of us in danger if you don’t let us do our job. We want to give you your privacy, but if we have to stay in the apartment from now on, we will.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Scott said. “Cassie and I just had a long talk about it, and I got her assurance that it won’t happen again. Isn’t that right, Cassie?”
“Yep, that’s right,” Cassie said. “I promise.”
Roger stared at Scott, then at Cassie, for a couple of beats. Then he said, “Right then. Well, I guess we should be getting to school now, shouldn’t we? Better late than never.”
“I’ll go get my backpack,” Cassie said, and raced back into the building.
Carlos returned and said to Roger, “Taken care of.” Then he asked Scott, “So you want to head back to your office?”
“Let’s do it,” Scott said.
He was eager to get back into a routine and forget about this crazy, frantic morning. He noticed that the ants he’d seen earlier were gone. They’d obviously been intrigued by the presence of a new person, a girl, in the Ant-Man suit. But now the hoopla was over, and they could get back to their busy work routines as well.
Carlos had parked across the street. As Scott was getting into the car, he saw a very attractive, Mediterranean-looking woman—long, dark hair, tight business suit—walking toward him along the sidewalk. They noticed each other at the same time and smiled. Mutual attraction? Well, at least Scott thought so. Too bad he had an FBI escort, or he would’ve said hi to her, tried to strike up a conversation.
As Carlos drove away, his cell chimed. He took the call on Blue-tooth, saying, “Yeah.”
Scott could tell by Carlos’s ultra-serious expression that he was receiving some sort of important information.
Scott was looking back at the woman, wishing he’d said something to her.
To whomever was on the line, Carlos said, “Yeah…okay…right… okay…thanks.”
Then he ended the call and said, “That was about Willie Dugan.”
“You got him?” Scott asked.
“Better than that,” Carlos said. “He’s dead.”
CARLOS explained that Willie Dugan’s body had been found in an abandoned warehouse in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana.
“Good news for you,” Carlos said. “Looks like your life’s about to go back to normal, man.”
“Louisiana?” Scott was surprised. “What was Dugan doing down there?”
“Who knows and who cares?” Carlos said. “I’m just happy he’s off the board, aren’t you?”
“How did he die?”
“I didn’t get any details yet,” Carlos said. “This news is probably ten minutes old, but I’m sure we’ll all hear more soon. With any luck, by the end of the day the protection order will be lifted and you and your family can go on with your lives.”
The end of the protection order would certainly be great news, but something about this gave Scott an uneasy feeling. On his phone, he searched for information about Dugan. There was nothing online about his death, though this made sense since the story was just breaking. It would be all over the news soon. Scott was eager to hear about the details.
“What’s up?” Carlos asked. “I thought you’d be excited about this.”
“Defense mechanism,” Scott said. “I don’t like to get too excited or upset about anything until I have all the facts. Saves me from feeling the letdown when things don’t work out the way I want them to.”
“Ah, I get it,” Carlos said. “But sometimes you gotta let loose, be optimistic. Dugan’s dead, man. Hallelujah.”
Carlos drove Scott directly to the job site on Park Avenue South. A tech startup from San Francisco was opening its New York offices, and Scott and his crew from NetWorld were installing all of the networking and cabling for the full-floor office. It was such a complicated job, coordinating the install for the 150-user network, that he practically forgot a federal marshal was shadowing him. Like, well, an ant, Scott got absorbed in his work and in his daily routine.
At the end of the workday, Carlos came over to Scott and said, “Ready to roll?”
“What’s up with Dugan?” Scott asked.
“There’s been a complication,” Carlos said. “Well, hiccup’s a better word. Dugan’s body hasn’t been ID’d yet. But don’t worry, it’s him.”
They walked through the office, along an aisle between the empty cubicles.
“I don’t get it,” Scott said. “How is this possible?”
A few workers were nearby. Scott could tell that Carlos didn’t want to talk about it right now.
But when they were back in the car, heading to the Upper East Side, Carlos said, “Some of this hasn’t been made public yet, so this is between me and you right now, okay?”
“Understood,” Scott said. “What’s going on?”
“It’s definitely a murder case,” Carlos said. “Maybe somebody in Dugan’s own crew got to him, but he made an enemy somewhere. His body was found in a container with some kind of acid. So the ID’ing might take a while.”
“And why are they so confident it’s him?” Scott asked
“Cops found his clothes and ID at the scene,” Carlos said. “Also a car nearby, stolen, had his prints all over it.”
“Still, how do they know it’s him?”
“Look, I’m not directly involved in the investigation, so I can’t give you all the answers,” Carlos said. “All I know is what I’ve been told—Dugan was in that container.”
Scott wasn’t convinced. There were too many loose ends.
“I can tell you still have that defense-mechanism thing going on,” Carlos said. “Don’t worry, you’ll have closure soon. It’s all good, man.”
WHEN they arrived at Scott’s building, agents Warren and James were in front, conferring with Roger, the other marshal. When the men saw Scott and Carlos pull up, their conversation ended.
“What’re they doing here
again?” Scott asked.
“Not my department,” Carlos said. “My job’s to protect you. I wouldn’t sweat it, though. It’s probably just a routine follow-up.”
Scott approached the men with a fake smile. “Welcome back, guys. Long time, no see.”
“We need to talk,” Warren said.
He sounded all business, not like he was here for a “routine follow-up.”
In his apartment, Scott saw that the door to Cassie’s room was shut. He heard the soft beat of music leaking out.
“Have you heard the news?” Warren said.
“Some of it,” Scott said. “Maybe you can fill in the blanks.”
“What do you know?”
Scott didn’t want to mention anything that Carlos had told him in confidence, so he said, “Why don’t you start?”
“Willie Dugan was found dead today in Louisiana,” Agent James said.
“And you’re positive it’s Dugan?” Scott said.
“Why don’t you tell us?” James asked.
“Tell you what?” Scott said. “You’re the ones filling me in.”
James and Warren exchanged looks.
Then Warren asked Scott, “Have you had any recent contact with Willie Dugan?”
“Are you seriously hitting me with this again?” Scott asked.
Deadpan looks said they were.
“No,” Scott said. “I have not had any contact with him in years, I told you that. I have no idea what he was doing in Louisiana, or who killed him, if that’s your next question.”
“Who said he was killed?” Warren asked. “I just said he was dead.”
“Your marshal told me, okay?” Scott said. “He didn’t give me any details, but it’s probably in the news, too, and I don’t appreciate you showing up here, accusing me, when I obviously, absolutely have nothing to do with any of this.”
Unfazed, Warren asked, “Did you have contact with any of Dugan’s associates?”
“What?” Scott asked.
“Have you?” Warren asked.
“Of course not,” Scott said.
“I hope you’re telling the truth,” Warren said. “You have a daughter who depends on you.”
Scott got the implication, but he asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means it would be a shame if you had to go back to jail for a long stretch,” Warren said.
Scott, raging inside, managed to keep his cool exterior.
“Why would I be in touch with anybody?” Scott asked.
“Seems obvious to me,” Warren said. “Dugan has a grudge against you, you think he’s coming after you, so maybe you decided to beat him to the punch. You’re an ex-con, after all, long rap sheet, and you probably have connections. Maybe you hired somebody to track him down and take him out. The way it went down, it certainly looks like a revenge killing.”
“I want a lawyer,” Scott said.
“Only guilty people need lawyers,” Warren said.
“No, innocent people who are being harassed need lawyers,” Scott said.
Warren fake-smiled, then nodded to James. They headed toward the door.
When Warren was near Scott, though, he stopped. Looking right into Scott’s eyes, he said, “I know when somebody’s hiding something, when somebody has a secret—and you’re one of those guys. I don’t know what you’re hiding, but, trust me, I’ll find out.” He paused, then added, “We’ll be in touch,” and left the apartment.
Eager to find out the latest, Scott turned on the TV news. Sure enough, the discovery of the body in Louisiana was the lead story on CNN, but there were no new developments as far as Scott could tell. The police believed that Willie Dugan had been killed, perhaps by a member of his own crew. The lead detective on the case gave a brief press conference, stating that the investigation was “ongoing,” but he didn’t offer any new information.
Scott was concerned; he didn’t like when he had more questions than answers. If Dugan had been rubbed out by a crew member, why go to such lengths to dispose of the body—making it difficult or even impossible to ID—but leave behind articles of clothing and a car with fingerprints? If the objective was to cover up the murder, why not get rid of everything?
It was possible that whoever had committed the murder simply wasn’t very bright. After all, most of the criminals Scott had encountered weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed, which was why they usually wound up in jail. Scott hoped that was the case this time and that Dugan was dead, but he wasn’t getting his hopes up just yet.
Cassie came out of her room and asked, “What’s going on? What were you talking about with those FBI guys?”
Scott shut off the TV. He hoped she hadn’t overheard the conversation, specifically the part when Agent Warren had threatened to send him back to jail. He didn’t want to frighten or upset her.
“Oh, actually it’s good news,” Scott said. “They think the protection order is going to be lifted soon.”
“Wow, really?” Cassie said. “That’s so awesome. Is that all you were talking about?”
Cassie probably hadn’t overheard the conversation, but she was a bright kid with good intuition.
“Yeah,” Scott said.
Scott was a terrible liar. He had a feeling Cassie knew he was holding something back.
But if she did, she didn’t push it. “That’s really cool,” she said. “That Roger guy isn’t so bad, but it will be a relief to be on my own again.”
Scott managed to forget about Dugan for a little while and he enjoyed a relaxing evening at home with Cassie. He was thrilled that she was showing no adverse effects from her experience in the Ant-Man suit. She seemed totally normal—healthy, happy, and full of energy.
Throughout the day, Scott had gotten a couple of texts from his ex, Peggy. She was still, understandably, upset about the protection situation. He’d written her that he expected the protection order to be lifted, but hadn’t given her any details.
At around midnight, she called and said, “Why is the marshal still outside my house?”
Bracing himself, Scott and said, “I’m sorry, I was hoping it would be over by now.”
“I can’t take it anymore,” she said. “They follow me everywhere.”
“I know,” Scott said. “But it won’t be for much longer.”
“Why is it still going on? I saw on the news—Dugan’s dead, right?”
“Presumed dead,” Scott said. “But the FBI seems confident that it’s him.”
“What if it’s not him? What if this goes on forever?”
“It won’t,” Scott said.
Peggy breathed deeply.
“Can I speak to Cassie please?” she asked. “I called her, but her phone’s off.”
“She went to sleep early,” Scott said.
“I miss her so much,” Peggy said. “How has she been?”
There was no way Scott was going to tell her that Cassie had put on the Ant-Man suit and shrunk herself. Scott knew Peggy would use it as proof that he wasn’t doing a good enough job with his parenting.
“We had a little issue here, discipline-type thing, but it’s all cool now.”
“Is she okay?” Peggy sounded panicked.
“Fine,” Scott said. “Better than ever. I think she has a boyfriend.”
“Tucker McKenzie,” Peggy said matter-of-factly.
“You know about him?” Scott asked.
“Of course I know about him,” Peggy said. “There are things a girl will share with her mother that she won’t share with her father, you know.”
Scott didn’t like the sound of this at all.
“What exactly are these things you’re referring to?” he asked.
“They haven’t even kissed yet, if that’s where your mind’s going,” Peggy said. “But your daughter’s getting older now, Scott. You’re going to have to accept that.”
“You mean my daughter, Rapunzel?” Scott asked.
Peggy didn’t laugh. It had been a long time since she’d laughe
d at one of his jokes.
“I feel like I’m missing out on these moments,” Peggy said. “I mean, by not being there.”
“You’ll see Cassie this summer,” Scott said. “It’s only a couple of months away. Meanwhile, you’re where you need to be, with your mom. How’s she doing, by the way?”
“Not good, I’m afraid,” Peggy said. “Some days she doesn’t recognize me. Well, most days.”
“So sorry to hear that,” Scott said. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that,” Peggy said. “And I’m sorry I got so upset with you before. I had a bad day with my mother and everything, and it was wrong to take it out on you. I want to thank you…for taking such good care of Cassie while I’m gone. I know you only want the best for her. We’re both lucky to have you in our lives. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
Scott didn’t know where this sudden tenderness was coming from, but he liked that she wasn’t blasting him for the protection order anymore.
“That’s nice of you to say,” he said.
“I mean it,” she said. “I know I haven’t been there for her lately, but she’s lucky to have a father like you. You’ve really stepped up to the plate, Scott, and you never have to worry. I’ll never tell anyone about you-know-what. That’s in the vault forever.”
Scott knew that “you-know-what” meant his identity as Ant-Man.
“Thank you,” Scott said. “That means a lot to me.”
This was refreshing—having a normal, amicable conversation with his ex-wife. Wouldn’t it be great if it were always like this? If they didn’t have bitterness, hidden agendas, and underlying aggression built in to every interaction? Maybe they’d still be married.
“You’re a good man,” she said. “That’s one thing about you I’ve never doubted.”
IN THE morning, Scott made Cassie her favorite breakfast: French toast. Then, after making sure that Roger knew Cassie was actually in the apartment this morning, Scott and Carlos left for another day of work.
Scott was getting used to having Carlos around. For years, Scott’s life had centered around Cassie and his work—as Ant-Man and at his nine-to-five job—so he hadn’t had much time to develop new friendships. Carlos was a good guy from the Bronx, and had been with the FBI for twenty years. He was happily married and had two kids—a boy who’d just graduated from Fordham, and a girl a couple of years older than Cassie.
