The Complete Matt Jacob Series

by Klein, Zachary;

  Coke or not, I was suddenly less sure of myself. “I don’t get it then. Why the stiffing?”

  “I didn’t want to be friends with you.” Her voice had lost a little of her anger.

  “You’re not making sense. Okay, we weren’t going to stroll off into the sunset hand in hand. So? We hung out okay together.” For a moment the memory of that period of my life flooded back. “There wasn’t much else in those days that was fun. Why shouldn’t I figure slumming when you cut me cold?”

  “You thought I was slumming long before I refused to see you.” The anger in her voice was replaced by tears in her eyes. “I was falling for you.”

  I felt like I was on a foundering raft in a schizophrenic ocean. “I was a wreck. You knew that.”

  “Logic wasn’t running the show. If I had continued to spend time with you I’d have landed in an all too familiar swamp.” She looked at me directly, her eyes clear as she unconsciously pulled at her dress. “I landed there anyway.”

  I sat back from the edge of the chair and lit a cigarette. I needed time to regroup. I felt embarrassed, foolish, guilty, and relieved. All at once.

  “And what makes you think I’m interested in you now? I knew he had cocaine, bigshot.” Her voice was easy and light. I was back on land. I pulled the little glass bottle out of my pocket, poured some on the back of my hand, and snorted. Poured some more and offered it to her. She leaned forward and got every granule. I stood, then pulled her onto her feet. “I don’t care whether you’re interested or not. It’s just good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you, even if you are a broken-down fool.”

  “Does that mean we can go back to being friends?”

  “I don’t know, but I can’t believe Simon never told you why I wouldn’t see you.”

  “He might have tried. But I wasn’t too willing to talk or listen.”

  “And you are now?”

  I smiled and pulled her toward the door. “Nah, not really. That’s why it’s time to get out of this dump.”

  We left without saying goodbye. I wasn’t prepared to socialize in enemy territory with my synapses on fire. Boots wasn’t surprised when I led us past another tuxedoed usher and out the side door. She just looked at me with a faint smile and shook her head.

  “Who are the bulls in black?” I wondered out loud.

  Boots tugged at my arm. “Shhh! He’ll hear you. Alex is a stickler about security for his guests, so he gets off-duty policemen to chaperone. I think he’s afraid of terrorists. It helps with his delusions of grandeur.”

  We walked around the corner of the brightly lit plantation porch and down the front steps without anyone biting at our heels. We turned and moved slowly toward the general direction of the parked cars. Boots kept her hand on my arm and I was aware of each of her fingers.

  “I didn’t think a town like this had cops like that. I always thought they’d be slender blond guys with designer uniforms. Not prime beef.”

  “You are a bitch, aren’t you?” she laughed. “They’re not from town. The city’s chief is friends with Alex. You could say he caters all Alex’s large affairs.” She glanced at me sideways as the word “affair” hung between us. Boots pushed it away. “I can’t believe Alex hasn’t bombarded you with his important connections.”

  “He may have. I probably didn’t pay any attention.”

  We were in the makeshift parking lot and I felt myself slow down and stop. She looked at me, smiled, and dropped her hand. My arm, where her fingers had been resting, suddenly felt cold.

  “You don’t talk, you don’t listen. What kind of a detective are you?”

  “A reluctant one. But I’ll listen to you; where do you want to go?” The night had grown overcast and the surrounding grounds had taken on a moorlike quality. Boots stood in the midst of a swirling mist with her back to the mansion’s reflected light. She looked lovely and cold.

  “We forgot your coat.”

  She shook her head and grabbed my hand. “I don’t need it; I’m going back inside.”

  “What are you talking about? Let’s go to Chinatown and eat. I haven’t felt human in a while.”

  “Can’t do, Matthew.” She looked up into my eyes. “If I go to Chinatown we’ll end up in bed. Don’t shake your head, you can tolerate a bit of truth.” She dared me with her eyes.

  I looked down toward the ground. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’ve been enjoying this.”

  She stood on her toes and kissed me on the cheek. “So have I. I’m glad we ran into each other and talked. I want to spend some time with you but I have to make sure I’m on solid ground before I luxuriate in a night of cocaine and sex.”

  She was right about bed. Just listening to her excited me. As we walked to my car I told myself she was being smart, since I wasn’t any more eligible now than I was in the old days. Unfortunately the thought lacked conviction. We were silent when I got into the car but she tapped on the window, and after I opened it, leaned in and kissed me on the mouth. Before she pulled away she asked me to save some of the coke. I watched as she skipped up the stairs and turned to wave. I waved back. Though disappointed about driving home alone, I found myself listening to music rather than my typical all news and sports.

  When the telephone sounded I slapped at the alarm in a desperate attempt to shut it up before I realized what was happening. I lurched out of bed and grabbed the receiver.

  “Mr. Jacob, Matthew? Is that you?”

  I recognized the voice and reacted automatically. “Dr. James, I’m sorry if I’m late. I must have overslept. What time is it? I know it’s Thursday. I get the same stomach ache every Thursday morning.”

  “What are you talking about? We weren’t going to meet today. Are you drunk? Damn it, I hired someone who is drunk or high at seventhirty in the morning?”

  Maybe it was hearing that it was seven-thirty, or maybe it was hearing that I wasn’t expected to be shrunk, or maybe it was the disappearance of the naked Boots I’d been caressing throughout the night, but suddenly I was wide awake.

  She sounded an awful lot like Simon. “Slow down, slow down. I’m not drunk and I’m not high. I woke up confused.” And defensive. “What can I do for you?”

  “How much drugs and alcohol did you take last night?”

  “What the hell is this? You have nothing better to do than to call ex-clients and question their drug usage? Next you’re going to want me to do urine tests. Let’s go back to the old way. At least I got to sleep later, even on Thursdays.”

  Her voice was apologetic. “I didn’t call to check up on you. Last night more offices in the building were broken into, and one of them was mine. I hoped you might come over. The police were already here. They say it’s more proof that a drug addict is working the area.” Her voice went up an octave. “They stole my files. What would a drug addict want with my files?”

  “Was anything else taken?”

  “The other offices may have had files stolen as well.”

  “Listen, don’t touch anything and I’ll be right over. I have to get dressed and stop for some coffee …”

  “Don’t stop. I’ll have coffee here.” Some of the earlier shrillness had returned to her voice.

  “Hang tough, I’ll see you soon.”

  By the time I hung up the phone the shock of being awake was settling into a drugover. Or maybe the fatigue came from listening to someone—into whom I had poured years of fears and desperations—call back in a similar plight. I thought about having a hair of the dog but was sure Dr. James would notice, and I wanted to save the coke for Boots. I settled on a pipeful of grass.

  It struck me on the drive to her office that I didn’t know what I was doing. I thought about returning the deuce, but the memory of the beating was still too fresh. Also, quitting now would be quitting forever and that felt worse than my ignorance.

  I parked around the block from the office and tried to spot stakeouts. I thought I saw one, possibly two. Neither car contained the othe
r night’s entertainment, but I didn’t doubt they would hear about my visit.

  I could smell the coffee as I walked down the corridor to Gloria’s office. Her door was ajar and there were no busted doorjambs or visible scratches on the lock. She stood as I entered, looked at me, and without a word walked over to the coffee machine and poured me a cup. I was relieved that she had used a real mug, I wouldn’t have to suck Styrofoam.

  “Just black, please.”

  She nodded and handed me the cup. She seemed to have regained her usual composure.

  “I’m sorry about the call. I seem all too willing to take my anxieties out on you.”

  I shrugged and felt the caffeine diffuse through my body. “That’s okay, I can handle it. It comes with the work.” I tried to smile.

  “You seem to handle it too well, I’m afraid,” she said dourly.

  “Can’t stop shrinking, can you?”

  “I guess not.” She sat down in her chair. “It’s not easy to turn off.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I walked over to the couch, thought about looking out the window, but just sat down. “Now what happened?”

  “I came in this morning and found the door to my office unlocked. The room looked okay, so at first I thought I might have forgotten to lock up when I left.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  “Never.” She shrugged. “But you know these haven’t been typical days for me and, when the office seemed undisturbed, I thought it possible. Why do you ask?”

  “If you didn’t leave the door unlocked it was very cleanly picked. Does anyone clean your office at night? Could they have left it unlocked?”

  “No, only the common areas are maintained. Each of us is responsible for our own office. That’s why I was here so early. I needed to put my garbage out. In the confusion of last week I forgot, and it was beginning to overflow.

  “So at first I just thought the unlocked door was my fault. After I took care of the garbage I decided to catch up on my paperwork. That’s when I realized something was wrong. Very wrong.”

  “Your files were gone.”

  “Not all of them. Maybe a dozen.”

  “Where?” She pointed to a four-drawer file cabinet in the far corner of the room. It amazed me that I’d never noticed it before. I stood and walked over. “Is this the only one you have?”

  “No, I have a file drawer in my desk.”

  I was looking at the lock. You didn’t need to be a master thief to get in, but whoever had been here was carrying tools.

  “Was your desk broken into as well?”

  “No.”

  I pulled on the cabinet drawer but it wouldn’t open. It had been a nice, neat job. Reminded me of Julius. I turned toward Dr. James and stretched out my hand.

  “Flip me the keys, please.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to look inside.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “These are private records. I wouldn’t let the police look at them, and I’m certainly not going to let you.” Her jaw was set as she shook her head from side to side. “I would think you would understand that.”

  I ground my teeth deep into my annoyance, turned, and walked behind the couch. I looked out the window and was perversely satisfied to see one of the cars I had made still sitting there. I half-looked for the Lincoln but it wasn’t there. I turned and glanced at the clock. I wanted to stay within a fifty-minute time frame.

  “What about the other offices? Same procedure?”

  She seemed relieved by the topic change. Sometimes a straight line is not the fastest way to get somewhere.

  Her mouth lost some of its stiffness. “It was the same for the other office on this floor, but the two offices on the first floor were pigstys.

  That’s why they don’t know if anything was taken. Also, both doors were kicked in. Do you want to go look?”

  It wouldn’t have mattered if I had all day. There was no need to look. “No.”

  She looked puzzled.

  I walked to the front of the couch and sat back down heavily. It was the first time today that I had noticed my body. The thought fortified me. “I have a strong idea that the downstairs offices were an afterthought. Why kick in a door and make all that racket when he could pick the lock with no trouble? I’ll check later if there were special locks, but I doubt it.”

  She sat down behind her desk, frowned and leaned forward on her arms. “The implication of what you’re suggesting …”

  “No implications. I think he finally found what he was looking for and he found it on this floor.”

  “You have no proof of that.”

  “That’s right.” I nodded agreeably. “But look, since neither of us believes the junkie bullshit, think of it this way. Someone comes looking for something, doesn’t find it, then returns. The first time he hit he was neat—I know because I looked at the doors—and this time he starts off being neat and ends by trashing the remaining two offices. Let me guess, the two downstairs were next to each other, weren’t they?”

  Dr. James nodded. I was beginning to enjoy myself. “He found what he wanted and finished by adding confusion.” A troubled thought crossed my mind and I got distracted.

  “What’s the matter, Matthew?”

  I pulled my head back into the room. “Why doesn’t our termite know that the police are covering for him? Unless of course they’re not. But then, it all makes even less sense.”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “Like you figured before you came to visit, the most apparent reason to steal files is blackmail. It’s not farfetched to imagine a cop or two in on the play. But the ferret wouldn’t bother with an extensive cover.” I didn’t add that police involvement explained my beating, but then, the beating was going away.

  She looked annoyed. “So you do or don’t think it’s possible that one of my patients might be blackmailed? Which is it?”

  I grinned bleakly. “I don’t know.” I looked directly at her. “I need access to your files.”

  “Don’t be absurd. I already said no.”

  “This is nuts. One or more of your patients might be in some deep shit. How am I supposed to help? Run a background check on each of your clients until I find something blackmailable? Why don’t you ask them whether you ought to show me the records? I’m not talking Peeping Tom, Dr. James.” I’d had too little sleep to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  “And I’m not accusing you of voyeurism, Mr. Jacob. But perhaps even you might object if I handed your file over to the police, or even to a private investigator.” She seemed ready to get angry again but added in a quiet voice, “We might disagree about this, Matthew, without me becoming a target of your hostility. Neither of us is forced to accept our therapeutic roles right now.”

  She was polite enough for me not to feel the knife until it was all the way in. I began to feel guilty but she interrupted the descent.

  “Don’t look so hurt. Just because I’m not going to let you read my files or kick me in my teeth doesn’t mean you’re fired. But I’m not going to give you names of people I work with.” She suddenly smiled. “You’re really invested in this, aren’t you?”

  “I suppose.”

  “It’s not just the beating, is it?”

  I was reminded to look at the clock. I had a couple minutes left. “Not entirely.” I thought I saw her nod. “I’m not sure where to go from here. Reading the files would have given me a starting point.” I shrugged.

  Dr. James sat back in her chair. “You’ll figure out something. At least there is a real reason for you to keep on with it.” She paused, “For real money. Not television money.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you that one of your clients might be in trouble? Or that you might be?”

  “Of course it does. It scares the hell out of me. But if it’s one of my patients I hope they’ll bring it to me. Then I can talk to them about you. But I can’t alarm a dozen pe
ople with no hard facts. That’s why you have to stay on it. I want those files back.”

  I stood up. My therapeutic hour was about up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I want the cops to think I was here for therapy.”

  “There are police outside?”

  “Plainclothes.”

  “Will you keep after this?”

  I smiled. “Have I solved the beating yet?”

  “We need to establish a rate of pay.”

  “Pay me what you get.”

  “That’s too much.”

  “Per day. Your hourly, my daily.”

  “That’s too little.”

  I was already out the door. What a trashing will do for punctuality.

  The stakeout was gone when I left the building. I was trying to light a cigarette when, out the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of cream. Without thinking I raced toward Boylston hoping the car would catch a red. I got within hailing distance and watched it run a yellow. Standing there breathing like a bull in heavy heat, I wondered what the hell I was doing. I had hoofed a block and a half and couldn’t be certain it was the same car or driver. I manufacture a suspicion, then act as if it were true. Despite feeling idiotic, I tried to see the plate number but just caught a piece of it; at least I’d have something to tell Simon.

  The slow walk back to my car was spent trying to breathe. Sitting in the seat, I was too busy catching my breath to react to the opening of the passenger door. By the time I turned, the black body-by-Gold was sitting next to me, pushing me against the back of the seat, his elbow rudely probing my chest, his tricep pinning my arm to my side. Though I couldn’t have gotten to my gun, I cursed myself for having left it home. If I was going to be a fucking detective I ought to remember the uniform. Of course wearing it increased the probability of being shot with it.

  “Are you here to talk or to hurt me?”

  His grin wasn’t reassuring. He dug his elbow in a little deeper by way of emphasis. “At least one of us is going to talk.”

  And one of us was going to hurt.

  “Why the fuck do you keep bothering me?”