The Complete Matt Jacob Series

by Klein, Zachary;

  “I’m Matt Jacob, and I’m looking for Stephen Rowe,” I shouted into the small speaker.

  “No reason to yell, Mr. Jacob,” the voice whispered. “My hearing is fine. What’s your business?”

  I thought for a moment. “We met at his mother’s party and I wanted to speak with him.”

  “About what?” If possible, his voice was weaker. “We don’t receive many people here.”

  “I’m doing work for his mom, looking into the drive-by shooting that took place the night of the party. Is this Stephen?”

  “No, it isn’t.

  I’d been so intent on getting out of my house I hadn’t thought about getting into his.

  “Stephen returned home long before the shooting,” said the tired voice, “but he’s not here now. If you leave your telephone number, I’ll tell him you dropped by.”

  “Thanks, but there’s no need.” I’d wait in the car. I wanted to stay on the job,

  and the B.M.W. was too small to use as a couch and it didn’t have a built-in TV.

  I didn’t end up waiting anywhere because Stephen and I almost rammed into each other on my way out of the building.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “Looking for you.” I followed his back to the freight elevator.

  “Well, I guess you found me.”

  He turned toward me with a pointed look. “Have you been harassing JB?”

  “I asked someone upstairs if you were home.”

  Stephen looked so annoyed I expected him to order me out. But all he did was shake his head and grumble, “Stay here. If Jayson can handle it, I’ll bring you up.”

  Stephen stuck a key into the elevator lock and the door immediately opened. “Wait here,” he repeated disappearing behind the sliding gun metal gray.

  The elevator sscreaked up the old building while I weathered a bad premonition.

  Sadly, my hunch wasn’t wrong. Stephen brought me up, the old elevator opening right inside their loft. The huge L-shaped room was sectioned through careful placement of sculpture and hanging canvases. Though the walls and tables exhibited enough beautiful art to be a gallery, there was nothing stifling or formal. With comfortable furniture casually arranged on the gleaming white oak, uniquely shaped skylights, the converted space felt warm, light, and lived in.

  A lot had to do with the paintings. Their styles ranged from Pollack-like dots and splashes to super-realism, but running through all was a powerful exaltation of life. Even the darker, more somber imagery contained deep brooding energy.

  But what finally drew my eyes was an emaciated man wearing a heavy cotton robe. He sat connected to an oxygen producing machine with a long plastic tube that fed into two inhalers held in his nostrils by an elastic band around his head. I’d initially missed him because the pale green of his robe and machine melted into the color on the walls. But as soon as he caught my attention, everything else disappeared.

  Stephen dragged me over by my elbow while I tried to hide my shallow breath. I’d been up close and personal with different kinds of death, but never what I believed to be emphysema. And it threw me. Threw me enough that I had to force my hand to lightly clasp his fleshless fingers.

  “Matt Jacobs, isn’t it? This is Jayson Brook,” Stephen announced proudly.

  “Without the s,” I stalled, trying regain my equilibrium. I glanced toward one of the paintings and the name registered. A few years earlier Jayson Brook had been white hot in big time art circles that Boots knew about before he vanished. I guess I just discovered why.

  “You recognize my name, Mr. Jacob?”

  I nodded, still unwilling to trust my voice. The contradiction between the canvases and the barely breathing cadaver brought on a rush of run and irrational rage.

  “You see, JB? People still know you and they always will,” Stephen said fiercely.

  “He has a good memory,” Jayson whispered.

  Stephen pointed to a couple of nearby upholstered chairs. “Why don’t we sit down and talk about what you’re doing here. You understand you can’t stay long.”

  My anxious anger was replaced with relief at moving away from Brook, then embarrassment at my relief.

  “First time near stage four emphysema?” Stephen asked, not unkindly.

  “Yeah, look, I’m sorry for barging in.” I was sorry I was there at all. But when I glanced at the sickly figure, he smiled and I began to steady. Compared to Jayson I was lucky to be anywhere.

  Stephen scratched his flop of sandy brown hair. “If you had called I’d never have allowed you to visit,” he said. “But you’re here so what do you want?”

  A fucking cigarette, I thought. But instead, “I’d like to talk to you about the shooting at the Hacienda.”

  “Worried about your uncle?”

  “Father-in-law.”

  Stephen’s natural snide was already slipping through. “What’s to worry?”

  “Aren’t you concerned about your mother?” I asked. Something got twisted for Stephen and Alexis whenever Lauren was mentioned. “A drive-by shooting isn’t chopped liver.”

  “Why should I be worried when she’s not. You’d better get used to the idea that my mother takes care of herself. No openings for Good Samaritans. Certainly not since Lou. Anyway, I’ve been told that it was a gang thing,” he dismissed.

  Stephen’s disposition reduced my desire to flee.

  “The Police Chief’s been telling that to everyone. I have no reason to doubt him, but theory doesn’t necessarily mean true. Also, I don’t really know Ted Biancho.”

  “I lived in the same town with Ted for most of my life and I don’t know him,” Stephen said. “He was a townie but not a jock so he wasn’t popular. With anyone. The other townies thought he looked down on them. Tough titty for Teddy. No one liked me either.”

  Stephen turned his lanky body toward Brook. Jayson glanced toward me, grimaced, and looked at his feet.

  Stephen appeared pleased to have someone new to tell. “In the movies that would have thrown us together and we would have become good friends, but of course nothing like that happened. I’ve always been surprised he became a cop. I would have guessed lawyer or something more ambitious.”

  He frowned, “I don’t really think he likes any of our family except Alexis.”

  The air went out of his tire and he scowled before adding, “Actually, if you want to find out about Biancho, she’s the person to talk to.”

  I should have registered the change in his attitude and shifted gears. Should have but didn’t. “Why her?” I prodded.

  “They were tight.” Stephen shook his head. “I think they still see each other, but don’t know for certain. Biancho’s married, and it’s been a long time since high school.”

  Jayson turned his head and coughed. “Not long enough,” he whispered, and he and Stephen laughed sardonically.

  I found it tough to enjoy Jayson’s joke. “You don’t particularly like Biancho, but you aren’t the least bit worried about your mother’s safety?” I asked sharply. Too sharply.

  Stephen stared at me and Jayson fiddled with a setting on the machine. I was taking oxygen out of the room.

  “You ought to listen more carefully. I didn’t say I distrusted him,” Stephen corrected nastily. “Teddy Biancho can’t stand the thought of fucking up. Never could. Lauren says he’s completely embarrassed about the drive-by so I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. Anyway, the whole incident sounds like kid stuff, the stupid shit Ian might pull.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked, immediately recalling the Karate Kid’s absence at the party.

  Stephen looked disdainful. “Don’t be an idiot. Ian’s an asshole, but he wouldn’t shoot the Hacienda.” Stephen shook his head. “He’s already pulled his stunt of the month.”

  I was beginning to blow the interview but stubbornly plowed on. “You don’t sound crazy about Ian either.”

  Stephen didn’t give me a chance to kill the question. “What does t
hat have to do with anything? But if you want to know, Ian’s constant bitching bores me. Growing up when he did was a cupcake compared to what Alexis and I went through.”

  I couldn’t stop pushing. “He was old enough to be affected by your parents breakup.”

  “Ian had it easy.” Stephen raised his hands in mock surrender, “Maybe somewhere in my father’s genes there’s something useful but I wouldn’t swear on it.”

  He shrugged, ignoring his own connection to the pool. “I suppose it takes a certain amount of strength to be so fucking self-destructive.”

  Jayson and I kept our eyes fixed on Stephen as he stood up and began to pace. “When I grew the only thing that provided any stability was the Hacienda.”

  He stopped and stared at a deep green and blue Rothko like canvas. “The house was my anchor and the ocean kept me sane. Even when Lauren disappeared to search for her so-called lost identity and left us with the royal asshole, the Hacienda gave me something to count on.”

  “You just called your father an asshole, Stephen,” I said.

  “I don’t want to talk about him,” he snapped through taut lips. “If you’re interested in Paul, speak to Alexis or my mother.”

  I wandered toward the windows behind the seating arrangement. “The downstairs galleries looked closed,” I said, buying time.

  “We only open them occasionally,” Jayson said. “I own the building outright, so we’re free to use it as we want.”

  “Are all the paintings here yours?” I asked fighting another round of sudden discomfort.

  “Almost,” Stephen answered for Jayson. “Heather’s are mixed in.”

  Alexis said Heather had talent and Alexis was right. There wasn’t a clunker in the bunch. I walked behind the sofa and looked down onto the roof of my car.

  I stared out the window and casually asked, “You know what throws me? I just don’t see how your mother’s auto could have been destroyed without anyone up here knowing it.”

  The moment Stephen tensed up behind me I knew I’d set the table badly and burned the meal. Didn’t even have to turn around. I felt angry and incompetent, thrown by how much Jayson Brook’s ravaged body knocked me off-stride.

  “I thought you came here about the damn drive-by?” Stephen asked, his voice strained and defensive.

  “I did. But when you look down at the street it’s hard not to wonder about the car.”

  “Jayson can’t tolerate heat so we use air conditioning and keep the windows closed. No one heard a thing,” he said.

  I turned away from the window. Stephen stood alongside Brook, holding his hand, glaring in my direction. Jayson’s eyes were closed, his chest barely moving.

  “I still don’t understand how you missed it. I mean we’re talking demolition derby.” I didn’t have the chops to get in his face even though I knew he was lying.

  “It doesn’t much matter what you understand, does it?” Stephen released Jayson’s hand and walked briskly to the elevator door. “I’m tired of your questions. Uncle Lou and my mother are completely safe so you can stop acting like a detective. Frankly, I have more important things on my mind.”

  Stephen twisted the key and the elevator door slid open with a growl. I nodded to Jayson, stepped forward to enter the lift, then gave a final shot. “The car looked like it had been battered with a lead pipe. Hard not to hear—even with an air conditioner.”

  Stephen shook his head impatiently, “There was a storm that night.”

  My voice was loud enough to reach Jayson. “I know—so why did your mother wait outside?”

  Stephen pushed my fingers off the sliding door and turned the key. “You’ll have to ask her.”

  I sat in the car smoking, sorting through Stephen’s lies and my mishandling of the conversation. Maybe I did belong working malls. The only thing I kept discovering was more about the sad sludge of the Rowe/Brown family. Better to cut and run than sink any deeper into their lives. But then I reconsidered. If I quit now, I’d be burdened about Lou and buried by Boots.

  I glanced toward the loft and spotted Stephen staring down toward the street. The macabre image of him throwing dirt on Jayson’s coffin flashed through my mind and mingled with my own memories. In my haste to depart, I flooded the engine.

  It was shit-list time at the not-so-okay-corral.

  “You were supposed to leave things be,” Lauren churned. We were standing in the kitchen but no one offered me a seat. Her eyes glittered, the clipped pronunciation a match for her rigid demeanor.

  Lou sat stubbornly silent on one of the tall stools. He was uncomfortable with this scene, but was going to let it play. Maybe he hadn’t been given a choice.

  “We don’t know each other very well, Lauren, but Lou and I are family. You’re important to him and that makes yours and his safety critical,” I tried, trotting out Boots’ line.

  Her fist clenched, “I understand all about your relationship with Lou. What I don’t understand is why you bullied my son. I gave you explicit instructions to leave my family and friends alone but you turned right around and ignored me.”

  Something Lauren apparently wasn’t used to. “I’m trying to make absolutely certain that no one connected to your life is behind any of this. I thought asking Stephen for help was a good idea. It wasn’t.” If I thought my admission would reduce her rage, I thought wrong. Though Lauren’s body didn’t move, her intensity threatened to blow the roof.

  “I told you the reason I didn’t want you to interfere. Instead, you snuck behind my back. Did you think I wouldn’t learn about it?”

  “Not much of a sneak,” I countered. “As soon as I realized how angry Stephen had become, I drove here to tell you myself. It wasn’t my intention to bother anyone.”

  “Barging unannounced into their home isn’t bothering anyone? As if they don’t have enough to worry about!” she hissed. “The man is dying.”

  “I didn’t realize...”

  “That’s just my point! You intrude in people’s lives without knowing the first damn thing about them. And why did you start with Stephen? You seem to be great friends with my daughter, why didn’t you go to her?”

  I felt my insides squirm, but forced myself to remain calm. “Stephen lives in town.”

  “Bullshit, Matthew! You accused him of lying about my car; something else I asked you not to pursue. Don’t you have your own life?”

  I tried holding my ground. “Once I saw his building I was surprised no one heard your car being destroyed.”

  “Their windows were closed and it was thundering. You know what the weather was like. I don’t see what’s so fucking hard to believe.”

  My life and body might be breaking down, but my shit detector still functioned. Lauren was lying. Something had happened in Stephen’s loft that she wanted kept secret. But I wasn’t going to get it by bulldozing. Certainly not with Lou sitting there.

  “Stephen told me you even hounded him about my waiting in the rain.”

  “Hounded is much too strong.” I felt like a matador dodging a bull; so much for holding my ground.

  “Calling someone a liar sounds like hounding to me.”

  “I’m sorry he felt that way,” I apologized. “I certainly didn’t want him to. He has enough to worry about.” I felt oily using Jayson, but I wanted to survive her charge and get in a shot or two of my own. “But why did you wait outside?”

  “You won’t quit until you rip me apart, will you?” Lauren pulled at her hair, her anger mercurially transforming into sadness. “I didn’t go back upstairs because it kills me to see what’s become of Jayson, and what I expect will happen to my son when he dies. Once I left their apartment, I wasn’t going back. It wouldn’t have mattered if it had been a hurricane,” she asserted, tears in her eyes.

  Lauren was good, real good, and now both of us had used Jayson Brook. Unfortunately, it didn’t feel any better to have company. And didn’t change the fact that she was still lying.

  Lou cleared his throat and finally
intervened. “Matty, It’s a difficult circumstance, the emphysema and everything. Lauren told me all about it.

  Lauren jumped onto his words. “I would have told you too, only Stephen and Jayson keep their relationship private. It’s complicated enough without everybody knowing where they live. Jayson still attracts attention.”

  I wasn’t an art groupie or a recruiter for hospice. “Look, maybe I went about it the wrong way, but it’s impossible to close my eyes given your situation. It’s damn near impossible to accept the car, the stalking, and the drive-by as simple coincidence.”

  “Then offer your services to Ted Biancho. Find the gang that did the shooting.” Lauren’s tears were gone.

  “The police don’t let civilians help, Lauren.”

  “You’re a detective.”

  “Matt works on his own,” Lou explained, “not for the police.”

  “Then let him work on his own to find the goddamn gang. He doesn’t have to browbeat my family!”

  “I’m not trying to beat on anyone, Lauren. Lou’s my family.”

  “Then try to understand why I’m so angry. I’m working to calm things down, but I can’t if you rile everyone up. This has become a terrible time for my kids. They’re having trouble adjusting to the idea that I want to be with your father-in-law.”

  “They’re just not used to Lauren having a partner, Matty,” Lou chimed in. “It’s been difficult.”

  “I’ve hit them with another big change,” Lauren said. “I’m sure that’s why Ian did what he did.”

  “There’s no reason to feel guilty, Lauren,” Lou insisted. “The kids are old enough to deal with our relationship.”

  Lauren shrugged. “I don’t know what anyone can deal with, anymore. But I know this. I want you to return to your own life,” Lauren warned, looking me in the eye. “Lou says you have a fiancée, spend some time with her.”

  It was the gut shot and I felt a clammy sweat cover my body. Lauren was holding Alexis in her hand, and I couldn’t let her flip the card.