He and Jeannie walked up to the dimly lit first floor open-air entrance as she tipsily searched for a key on her keychain.
“Need any help?” Anderson asked her.
“No, I’m fine.” She answered, finally finding the right key which she inserted in the heavy steel mesh metal security gate that leads to the interior of the “garden” complex.
She swung the gate back, carefully walked through the entrance and held the gate open for Anderson.
“This is it, my little world.” She said dreamily as she watched Anderson step through the opening. “Wait, you didn’t go through the doorway with your left foot leading.” She scolded him with some anxiety.
“Don’t worry about it.” He nonchalantly assured her.
Jeannie let the entrance gate clang shut and stumbled as she turned, still unbalanced from the effects of having to quickly finish her margarita (which the bartender had refilled) before they left the restaurant.
Anderson reached out and steadied her. She nodded thanks and tottered up the exterior stairs leading to her second-story apartment, stepping on the various tiles in a bizarre hopscotch pattern known only to her.
Sensing she needed help again, he grasped her arm.
“Don’t do that!” Jeannie protested, restarting her ritual. “Now I have to go back to the beginning! I touch the third tile from the right railing on the second step two times. Then I touch the fourth tile from the left-”
Anderson put his feet in her way.
“Come on, I have to do this before I can go up the stairs.” Jeannie whined.
“Or else what?” Anderson asked.
“I don’t know.” Jeannie whined. “Something bad will happen. God will get me.”
Anderson swept her up in his arms and carried her up the staircase, two steps at a time.
“God can get me.” Anderson proclaimed upon reaching the top landing.
“But now I have to get in my apartment.” Jeannie mentioned almost threateningly as she dangled out her keys.
“Is it going to take long?” Anderson asked with playful annoyance.
“Maybe not.” Jeannie coyly answered then boldly asked, “Are you going to carry me over the threshold?”
“If that’s what it takes.” Anderson guaranteed her.
Anderson leaned in and Jeannie met him halfway. Their lips converged. It was a kiss in the moonlight. A nice first kiss but it didn’t last long. Anderson looked out of the corner of his eye into the dark corridor just beyond where they were standing.
“I think we’re being watched.” Anderson announced without breaking from the kiss.
“Jack?” A young girl’s voice called out from the shadows.
The young girl got up from where she was sitting on the corridor floor. She stepped out of the dank walkway and it was soon clear in the dim light that she was probably not past twenty-years-old yet. She likely would pass her twenties looks-wise in one leap at the rate she was going. A modern day waif. Scorched brain. Too much meth. Too many amphetamines, period.
Anderson set Jeannie down.
“You’re not Jack.” The young girl grumbled after giving Anderson the once-over.
“Who’re you?” Jeannie asked scornfully.
“A friend of Jack’s. Are you Jeannie? Jack said I could sleep here tonight.” The young girl declared with complete authority.
“Did he?” Jeannie responded derisively. “Far fucking out! Well, Jack doesn’t live here anymore!”
“No shit?” The young girl sagged. She checked the address on a scrap of paper in her hand.
Jeannie opened her apartment door, marched inside and quickly began throwing heaps of clothing out into the corridor, specifically Jack Trax’s clothing.
“But he did leave a few of his things. And…” Jeannie fumed to the young girl as she flung his clothes. “…if you’d be so kind…” She tossed more clothes. “…to let him know…” She heaved ever more clothing and it was really piling up. “…where he can find them!”
Jeannie tossed the last articles of Trax’s clothing against the opposite wall of the corridor where they cascaded down on to the pile. Jeannie found a bottle of tequila among Trax’s remaining belongings but decided to keep it. She did, though, pitch Trax’s guitar, small amp and guitar picks on to the clothes pile.
“Oh, and one other thing…” Jeannie pointedly addressed the young girl in closing. “…when you fucking see him, tell him his fucking lease ran out!”
With that, Jeannie pulled Anderson into the apartment and slammed the door shut.
Anderson was impressed. Not with the apartment. It was a real dump. No, he was impressed with how fast Jeannie got rid of the young girl and Trax’s possessions.
Jeannie quickly bolted and chained the door.
“What do you call a musician who breaks up with his girlfriend?” Jeannie asked, and then answered the joke’s set-up line herself. “Homeless.”
“So he was your boyfriend?” Anderson asked her.
“He fucking wishes!” Jeannie sniffed, holding out the tequila bottle. “Drink?”
“Why not.” Anderson sanctioned the suggestion.
Jeannie looked at the label on the bottle, turned up her nose but grabbed two shot glasses off a table. She filled both glasses and handed one to Anderson.
They toasted, clinked glasses, drank and kissed.
This time he pulled her tight, kissing her intensely and she devoured him in return. She tore at his shirt. He yanked down her top. She jumped into his arms, straddling him and he ran his hand along her thigh, gripping it forcefully.
They were on her bed making love within minutes.
“That’s right, that’s right, a little to the left…” Jeannie instructed Anderson as he pumped away atop her. “No, no, you’re hitting the wall…” She complained, regarding his penis angling uncomfortably on the pelvic floor of her vagina.
Anderson shifted, altered the slant of his thrust.
“Oh yeah, feels great right there! Just steady!” Jeannie moaned, then directed him again. “Okay, now straight in…”
Anderson complied, centered his body, and continued to ardently make love to her.
“Yeah, yeah…” Jeannie cooed, but then promptly protested again. “Oh, too fast. That’s too fast.”
Anderson slowed the pace of his pelvic thrusting.
“Massage my breasts.” Jeannie suddenly ordered him.
Anderson rubbed her full, heaving tattooed bosoms, but at the same time he was growing more and more aggravated at her continual instructions.
“Ooooh, feels great!” Jeannie pleasurably groaned as she reached down between her legs. “Lean back a little bit. I have to get my hand in…”
Anderson arched away while still kissing her.
“No, don’t kiss me because then I can’t do my thing.” Jeannie complained.
“’Thing’?” Anderson asked.
“Manipulate my clitoris. I want to go, too.” Jeannie groaned.
Anderson slanted to the side, annoyed but compliant.
“Little slower.” She coached, then muttered, “Oh perfect… Oooooh, yeah! And it would feeeeel so-o-o good if you ate my pussy right now.”
“You want me to check the oil and washer fluid, too?” Anderson asked facetiously
“No, just keep doing what you’re doing…” Jeannie sighed with delight, in a world of her own.
CHAPTER 23
The light of day exposed the yellowed, decrepit interior of Jeannie’s one-bedroom apartment. The only reason you’re here, in a place like this, is you’re making your way or you lost your way. You’re trying to crawl up out of the muck or you’re fucked. Even brand new no one could kid themselves this was nice. The sun didn’t even want to come in the bedroom where Anderson awakened next to Jeannie who was still deep in sleep.
He smiled. She was really snoring. She looked so vulnerable. He noticed, for the first time, one of her wrists had the faint remains of a vertical scar.
He sat up, brushe
d the edge of the thin covers back and saw her other wrist showed indications of a scar, also.
Jeanie sleepily shifted position revealing her lower back tattoo where Anderson could see several whip-like disfigurements on her hip area, the result of self-mutilation or the residue of some S&M relationship.
He affectionately ran his fingers over the scars, first her hip, then one of her wrists, and poked her gently.
“Hey.” Anderson whispered. Nothing. He nudged her again. But she was out like a light.
Anderson sat up as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed. He yawned, stretched and got up, moved off in search of a cup of coffee.
When Jeannie finally awakened it was to the sound of a power drill.
She curiously emerged from the bedroom dressed in a nightshirt to find Anderson squatting at the front door of her apartment installing new deadbolt locks.
“What are you doing?” She asked.
Anderson opened the door for her to see the word “CUNT!” written in heavy marker on the exterior of the door. Trax’s belongings were gone.
“I got you a new phone.” Anderson said, indicating a brand-new cellular phone that was sitting on a coffee table getting charged. The box it had come from was sitting on the coffee table as well next to some donuts. “I noticed you don’t have a landline. This phone has unlimited minutes and this way if I’m calling you or you’re calling me you won’t have to use any of the minutes on whatever plan you have now. You should probably just get rid of the phone you have anyway. I’ll pay whatever termination fee you get charged. And don’t give this new number to that asshole or anybody he knows. I insured it so you don’t have to worry about losing it but try not to. I’d get you one of those phones that has the internet but there’s too many creeps around here and I don’t want somebody sticking a gun in your face for a phone, it’s not worth it. Anyway, this phone is probably a generation or two better than what you’re using.”
Jeannie just stared at Anderson as he changed drill bits to a hole saw and made an opening for a second deadbolt lock in the door.
“So what do you use now?” Anderson inquired since she was mainly silent.
“Huh?”
“Who’s your carrier?”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“You have a pre-paid phone.” Anderson surmised, sure that her answer would be “yes.”
“No. I did, but I used up the minutes too fast.“
“How do you call 9-1-1?” Anderson asked with disbelief.
“Scream.” Jeannie stately simply and shrugged.
“You can get a free phone just to call 9-1-1.”
“Really?”
“Keep this phone with you all the time.” Anderson instructed her and sighed wearily.
“I can’t afford a phone. I hardly have-”
“I’ll take care of it.” Anderson told her as he finished installing the lockset. He had already set the strike plate and with a few more minor adjustments had completed the entire job.
“But how do you expect me to pay you back for this?” Jeannie asked flirtatiously.
Anderson sighed again, handed her the new keys for the deadbolts.
“And be careful who you give these to, also.” He not so gently warned her.
Jeannie shut the door, bolted it and took one of the keys off the cheap temporary wire ring that came with the lockset. She pressed the key into his palm as she walked him the short distance across the room, pushed him back on a sofa and sat down in his lap, straddling him.
She kissed him unlike she had ever kissed any other man before.
“Happy Birthday!” Jeannie shouted, remembering Anderson had told her about his birthday falling on the 25th of December. “You and the Baby Jesus!”
Anderson and Jeannie spent the holiday together. She didn’t seem to have any family commitments. He asked if she had plans for the holidays. She said no, just being with him, if that was all right. He didn’t want to ask where she came from. He hated it when people asked him that question. So he let it be.
She’d never really used her apartment stove much before. “It smoked a lot, setting off the fire alarm a couple of times” she told him, so they decided to go downtown, look in some of the display windows decorated for Christmas and eat in one of the hotel restaurants that had to stay open for their foreign and out-of-town visitors.
The weeks that followed were filled with long nights out and early breakfasts. Jeannie anticipated the days, didn’t dread them. Anderson seemed somewhat contented, too. The light was returning, possibly in more ways than one.
CHAPTER 24
It was a cold January day when Crotty strolled into the Eisenhower Public Library. Chicago was the last place on earth you wanted to be the first month of the year. Crotty stomped off the salt and slush from his shoes, padded up to the information counter.
He waited for the librarian to take care of several people in front of him and then flashed his detective’s badge. The librarian, a grey-haired middle-aged woman, straightened and was a little frightened. Crotty was used to this reaction and applied it to his advantage.
“How are you? I was wondering if you could answer a question for me…” Crotty addressed her, casually unaffected as he held up the photograph of Anderson that he had taken from Anderson’s motel room. “…have you ever seen this man here?”
The librarian pushed her glasses back on her nose, leaned forward slightly and carefully eyed the photograph. It didn’t take her long to answer.
“Yes, I’ve seen him.” The librarian firmly declared.
Crotty nodded and tucked away the photo, asking her, “Do you know what kind of books he’s checked out?”
“I can’t tell you that, it’s illegal.” The librarian stammered, wondering if this was a trick or random spot inspection to see if she was performing her job correctly according to privacy guidelines.
Crotty squinted cryptically.
If the librarian knew better she would be able to tell he didn’t like her answer but not for the reasons she believed.
“I mean, I think I could tell you if there’s a valid court order or subpoena or if you were from Homeland Security or something like that.” The librarian continued as if she were guessing the answer to a question on a quiz. “I think there would have to be a search warrant.”
“Well, can you tell me…” Crotty asked as he fixed his gaze on her but carefully maintained his patience. He was here on his own time and there was no reason to become incensed. Anderson’s case (as well as any seemingly associated events in its aftermath) and Anderson’s subsequent actions were just something that gnawed at Crotty. “…because I’m doing sort of a pre-pre-investigation of something, and I don’t believe this is ‘illegal,’ can you tell me where he spends most of his time when he comes here?”
The librarian hesitated only slightly, moved around the counter and led Crotty methodically past a central reading area to a row of bookshelves on the far side of the ground floor.
“I haven’t seen him in awhile but he usually spends a lot of time in this area.” The librarian disclosed, pointing to one of the aisles. “Particularly these stacks.”
“Did he use the computers here?” Crotty asked.
“No, I don’t think so.” She answered thoughtfully. “You can ask some of my co-workers.”
“Thanks for your help.” Crotty nodded.
The librarian smiled tightly and returned to her duties.
Crotty walked into the aisle and started scanning the titles of the books in the section which the librarian indicated that Anderson occupied. There were mainly military history books on one side, but it was the books on the shelves on other side of the aisle that caught Crotty’s curiosity.
The titles there that Crotty scanned included: “Homicide Investigation” and “Anatomy of a Murder” and “Cop Tales” and “The Idiot’s Guide to Criminal Investigation”…
Crotty scrutinized some more of the titles but they were of a similar ilk. They all see
med to deal with crime, punishment, law enforcement or murder scene investigation. What was Anderson up to, he wondered?
Crotty slid one of the books out of its spot on a shelf. He opened it, flipped through several pages and stared off, deep in thought.
It was just before her break when Crotty asked the librarian if she had a minute again to answer a couple more questions. He held the photograph of Anderson up in front of her.
“You said this man…” Crotty inquired, thumbing the edge of the photo. “…spent a lot of time when he was here over in that one particular spot.” He gestured to the section of the library she had taken him to earlier. “And this was when?”
“Oh, last month, a lot.” The librarian thought back. “The month before that… and I think the month before that.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes. I think.”
“What about six months ago?”
“No, it wasn’t that long ago.”
“A year ago? A year-and-a-half?”
“Definitely no.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Fifteen years.” The librarian answered proudly.
“Any work interruptions, leaves of absences in the last year or two?”
“No.”
“Long vacations?”
“No. A week, here and there.”
“Thank you, I appreciate your help.”
The librarian moved away and Crotty turned the photograph around and stared at Anderson’s image. It was a picture of Anderson standing in front of his office building on a sunny day. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t unhappy. It was just a quick snapshot someone asked him to take. Probably Karen.
It was around this same time in January that Anderson walked up to the door of his room at the Heart O’Mine motel, opened it and found a manila envelope had been stuffed under the door. He picked the envelope up, stepped into his room and shut the door behind him.
Anderson used his room key to cut open the sealed end of the envelope and slide out the 3-page stapled document that was inside. The document heading read, “RISK ASSESSMENT – SUBJECT: Gabriel Lysander…”
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