by Jessie Cooke
The men got a few strange looks when they walked in the door, but as soon as they sat down, a friendly, middle-aged waitress in a yellow smock appeared at the edge of the table, coffee pot and menus in hand. “Hello there, gentlemen, out for a nice ride today, enjoying the weather?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Blackheart said.
“You all want some coffee?”
Blackheart had been up for hours and in all honestly he was already ready for a drink, but he smiled at her and turned over his coffee cup nonetheless. “Thank you.”
She poured his first and then the two others before sitting down the menus and saying, “I’d recommend the lobster and eggs special, it’s wonderful.” She left and Lowlife said:
“Ain’t never had lobster with my eggs.”
Le Pirate laughed and said, “Hell, I ain’t never had lobster. Crawfish was always good enough in my house.”
Blackheart listened to the two of them and his mind went back to what he’d learned about the man they had come to see. Before Patrice’s mother Kasey had gone to New Orleans for her father’s funeral, she’d been living with a man. Blackheart only knew this because of those diary pages he’d seen. He was surprised that Patrice hadn’t started there...but she didn’t have the resources he did, so maybe she hadn’t been able to find him.
The man’s name was Paul Grossman and he was a real estate salesman now in Lincolnville and another little town just about five miles away called Camden. Back in the days he was with Kasey he’d worked for a real estate company in Portland. Blackheart had had a background run on Grossman and although it came back pretty tame, a couple of arrests for being drunk in public and one for growing marijuana in his dorm room at his university in Maine, the biker still had a lot of questions. For one, the background said that he was married with two children. The date of his marriage and the birth of his first child would have been prior to his meeting Kasey. Which wouldn’t have meant much except there was no record of his ever having gotten a divorce. The other thing that bothered him was that Grossman and his wife jointly owned a home in Portland, Maine and the apartment that he and Kasey lived in was rented in her name, but from the real estate company he had been working for at the time. When Kasey died and didn’t return from New Orleans, it would seem like her live-in boyfriend would have shown up, wanting to know where she was. Blackheart had spoken to Patrice’s “aunt/mother” on the phone, and although the woman wasn’t happy to hear from him, he thought she’d been as helpful as possible. She told him she’d never heard of Paul Grossman, except for in her sister’s diary, and that no one from Maine had contacted them, at least as far as she knew, after her sister’s death. She didn’t know if he’d spoken to the police, but he’d had Logan do some digging and all Logan had been able to find was a notation about a phone call the NOPD had made to Grossman the day after she died. They’d found his number had been the last one Kasey called from the hotel. After talking to him on the phone, they’d cleared him almost immediately of any involvement, and there didn’t seem to be any follow-up to that. Patrice’s aunt assured him that no one but immediate family had been at the burial. She wouldn’t even call it a funeral, since they’d had no services. Her sister had simply been interred in the plot next to her father’s in the family cemetery, and that was that.
So Blackheart had to question why this guy wasn’t more interested in finding out exactly what happened to Kasey, and her child. They’d lived with him for almost six months at that time, which would indicate that their relationship was more than a fling. Blackheart had tried hard, but to no avail, to get the man’s home address. Finally he’d settled for the office address; it was the one right across the street from the restaurant where they were now sitting. When Patrice first came to him, saying her mother didn’t kill herself, he’d just assumed that was what the girl wanted to believe. But the more he looked into things, the stranger it seemed to him. He didn’t exactly feel guilty for not being in Patrice’s life, since he didn’t think that was his fault...but he did figure he at least owed her an attempt at finding out the truth, so she could rest easy once and for all.
The men all ordered the lobster and eggs and while they ate, they made small talk until Lowlife suddenly said, “Boss, I forgot to tell you last night, Gabe called. He’s out of the hospital and staying with that Patrice girl. Says he has the burner if you need to get him.”
Blackheart put his fork down. Le Singe had texted him the day before, letting him know that Patrice was asking if he’d gone to Maine. He cursed himself for not passing that on to Lowlife but he hadn’t even considered that Gabe would work against him. “You didn’t tell him where we were, did you?”
The color drained from Lowlife’s face and Blackheart had his answer. He cursed under his breath even before his road captain said, “Jesus, boss. Fuck. I’m sorry...” Blackheart put up his hand and Lowlife bit back the rest of his apology. It wasn’t Lowlife’s fault, it was his, and the more stubborn he found out that blue-eyed girl was, the more he was becoming convinced that he had taken part in creating her.
“Gabe can apologize to me,” he said, “if he’s dumb enough to show up.”
The conversation was stilted after that, each man lost in his own thoughts. They sat there drinking their coffee until Blackheart noticed movement across the street. Whoever was in the office must have parked in back and come in the back way, but suddenly the “Open” sign was turned to face the street and the blinds were opened. He couldn’t see who was inside, but he stood up, tossed a few twenties down on the table, and left the restaurant with Lowlife and Le Pirate quietly following him. He was climbing onto his bike when a little blue car pulled in next to him. The look on Gabe’s face through the window told him the kid knew how much shit he was stepping in, without saying a word.
Patrice stepped out of the driver’s side before Gabe even opened his door and Blackheart focused his eyes, and his anger, on her. “What are you doing here?”
“This is about me, right? One might think you would have at least let me know you were coming here.”
Blackheart chuckled and his eyes went to Gabe as he got out of the car. The kid looked like he might have shit out a brick in his drawers. He looked at Patrice again and said, “Young lady, I don’t run my agenda by no one, and if you...and this one,” he said, looking back at Gabe, “intend to carry on while he’s still a part of this club, then he better start telling you how it works.”
Patrice didn’t flinch and Blackheart was oddly proud of her. He knew he was scary and nine out of ten times he used that “intimidation factor” to get people to do what he wanted. The other 1% of the time, he used his charm, but he didn’t have as much faith in that, especially where this little girl was concerned. “I don’t care how you play your games in your little clubhouse,” she said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gabe swallow hard. It was almost funny seeing the kid be so uncomfortable. Blackheart wondered for just about half a second, if he made him choose right then and there, which side Gabe would take. “I won’t get in your way,” she said. “I asked for your help, sort of, by telling you about all of this. But I won’t be left out of the loop either.”
Blackheart sighed as he caught sight of a car driving up in front of the real estate firm. The man who stepped out of the black BMW was tall and had light brown hair with gray at the temples. He was dressed in a nice suit and wearing sunglasses so Blackheart couldn’t see his eyes...but he looked like he could be Paul Grossman from the old DMV picture he’d seen of the man. Focusing on Gabe then he said, “Take your girlfriend in the restaurant there and buy her some breakfast...” She started to speak and that time a look from Blackheart did shut her down. Back to Gabe he said, “I’m going into that building across the street, and I’m saying this in front of your girlfriend so she understands what’s at stake here. If she follows me or in any way interferes with what I need to do in there, you’ll be handing me that kutte.” Gabe swallowed again, hard. But instead of acknowledging what Blackheart h
ad just said, he looked at Patrice. For the first time, Blackheart paid attention to the look that passed between them. Long ago, when his sisters came of age, he’d warned every man in the club off them, and he’d ran off a few others. His youngest sister constantly blamed him for none of them being married or even making a long-term relationship last. He could see that Patrice cared a great deal about Gabe just by that one look, and it suddenly dawned on him that his little cub was having sex with...his daughter, maybe. He felt a roll of his stomach, the same one he got when he thought about any of the guys messing with his sisters, and he had to tell himself he had enough problems without worrying about who a woman he wasn’t even sure was his daughter was sleeping with.
“Fine,” Patrice said, causing the tension to almost dissolve from Gabe’s muscles. “I’ll stay out of it, for now. But you promise you’ll keep me in the loop, right? Tell me what you want in that office, or who?”
He chuckled again, looked at Gabe, and said, “Buy her the lobster and make sure her coffee is decaf.”
Blackheart left Lowlife and Le Pirate outside. He pulled off his skullcap before walking into the small office, but apparently that hadn’t done much to tone down how scary he could look. The young woman behind the desk in the empty front room let her eyes go wide as she looked up at him, swallowed hard, and lost a little bit of the color in her cheeks. “Hi,” she said, in a shaky voice. “How can I help you?” Blackheart smiled at her and that seemed to put her somewhat at ease.
“I was hoping to speak to Mr. Grossman.”
She glanced over at the closed door and then back at Blackheart. “Okay, do you have an appointment?”
“No, ma’am,” he said. “Just in town for one day and really need to speak with him.” She’d cocked her head to one side as he spoke and it dawned on him that she was having a hard time understanding him. Making sure to enunciate each word he repeated himself and she looked relieved and said:
“What’s your name sir?”
“Evan Babineaux.”
“And can I tell Mr. Grossman what this is in reference to?”
“No,” he said, adding, “Thank you,” with a smile.
“Please, have a seat.” Blackheart nodded at her and took a seat in one of the plastic chairs along the wall in front of her desk. She gave him a wide berth moving over to the closed office door and without knocking, she let herself in and closed the door behind her. Blackheart listened closely and could hear hushed voices, but not what they were saying. Finally, after a full five minutes had passed, the woman came out of the office, this time followed by the man he’d seen out front. Without his glasses on, Blackheart could see that it was, without a doubt, the Paul Grossman he’d seen a photo of. He was much older, but other than the gray hair and a few fine lines around his eyes, he looked the same. His smile looked forced as he came toward Blackheart with his hand out. Blackheart stood up and took it.
“Mr. Babineaux?”
“Yes. I assume you’re Paul Grossman?”
A slight tic appeared in the man’s left eye. “Yes, sir. Sounds like you traveled a ways to get here.”
Blackheart grinned. “I don’t sound like an East Coaster to you?”
Paul chuckled nervously. “No, sir, you sure don’t. I’d say maybe Mississippi or Florida?”
“Louisiana,” Blackheart said. “But you’re close. Can we talk privately?”
“Well, sir, I have quite a few appointments out of the office today. Would you mind telling me what this is about?”
“Kasey Cormier,” Blackheart said, watching the man’s face, closely. The man was good, Blackheart had to give him that much. His expression didn’t change and recognition didn’t show in his eyes. But the color was instantly gone from his face. He was as white as a sheet and Blackheart knew there was something the man either did, or didn’t, want to tell him.
“I’m sorry, I don’t...”
“You don’t remember the woman and the baby who lived with you for six months while you were in your twenties?”
With a nervous glance in the secretary’s direction, Paul said, “Maybe we should talk about this in my office.”
Blackheart smiled. “Yes, sir. Maybe we should.”
16
As soon as they were both seated in the surprisingly posh office for such a small town, Grossman said, “I haven’t heard that name in a long time. Are you a relative of hers or...?”
Blackheart thought about that for a few seconds and then said, “Patrice is my daughter.” It was the first time he’d said it aloud without saying “maybe” or “supposedly” and he realized, as he said it, he believed it. The girl wasn’t looking for anything from him. The pages of her mother’s diary he’d read had described him, and the tattoos he’d had at that time, perfectly...and there was the fact that his twin was sitting across the street just then. She didn’t only look exactly like him, he was finding out more and more that she’d inherited a lot more than that.
Grossman’s eyebrows went up. “Oh...Kasey did say he was a biker...how did Patrice find you?”
“That’s not what’s important right now,” he said, still working hard to enunciate as now Grossman was cocking his head to one side like a dog listening for the mailman. He thought his English was fine, but if he ventured too far from Louisiana, he found out differently. “I need to know about Kasey...specifically, her death.”
Grossman picked up a bottle of water off his desk and took a long drink before saying, “I don’t know much about that.”
“Then maybe we should talk about why. I mean, I don’t know you, but I do know that if a woman of mine had died while on a short trip for her father’s funeral, I would have been there, up in everyone’s face, asking questions. Most especially since this woman lived with you, and so did her infant daughter for six months. You want to tell me why you never made that trip, Paul?”
He looked away for several seconds and Blackheart was prepared for a lie when he looked back, but surprisingly what he heard had a ring of truth to it, judging from what he’d already found out about Grossman and Kasey’s family. “Kasey and I were young, and in love. I rented the apartment for us, and technically I did live there part of the time...but I had another family. I was married to a woman who had my child, and I was working for her father at the time in Portland. Kasey knew about her, but she didn’t know about Kasey, and of course neither did her wealthy father.” Blackheart’s face must have given away what he thought about that because Grossman said, “Believe me, nothing you could say would make me feel like a worse person than I already do.”
“Why did Kasey go for it?”
He shrugged, but then said, “At first, we were just friends. She was so young and seemed so alone and out of place here with a baby and no family or friends to speak of. I told her I was married from the beginning, but the more time we spent together, the more the feelings developed between us. Of course, she didn’t like the idea of being ‘the other woman,’ but she chose that over us not being together at all, which at that time felt like my only choice. Maine is a small-town kind of state and my wife’s father is a powerful man. He would have ruined me if I’d left her, or if he’d ever found out about Kasey.”
“What is this ‘powerful’ man’s name?” Blackheart asked. When Grossman hesitated, he said, “I don’t plan on telling him about your history, unless I have to go through the trouble to track him down myself, that is.”
Grossman sighed. “His name is Rick Gordon. He owns Gordon Realty in Portland and they have subsidiaries all over the East Coast.” Blackheart made a mental note of the name and waited. Finally, Grossman went on, “When Kasey died I got a call from the New Orleans police department first. They told me she killed herself...but then they started asking questions about our relationship, and where I was when this happened. It just so happened that I was speaking at a real estate conference in New York that week and I had plenty of proof that I was there and nowhere near New Orleans. I told the officer I was married...and I guess
they didn’t see any reason to rock that boat, since they didn’t seem to think I was a suspect.” Blackheart cocked an eyebrow and the other man said, “I know you probably don’t believe this, but I loved Kasey, and I was devastated that she was gone, but what could I do at that point? I was a stupid kid who had bitten off way more than I could chew and I had to decide if telling my wife, losing her and my child and my job would be worth flying to New Orleans just to watch them put Kasey in the ground. I’ll never know if I made the right decision or not...but I didn’t go, and I put everything of hers in a storage in Camden...and went on with my life.”
His eyes looked sad, and Blackheart knew he of all people had no right to judge...but just thinking about telling Patrice how easily this man had erased her mother, the way her own family had...the way he had...it hurt his heart, and made him angry, right or not. “Did her family contact you at all?”
“No. Like I said, the New Orleans Police were the only ones I ever talked to about Kasey, other than her work. Her boss was a friend of mine, and he knew about me and Kasey.”
“Work? Kasey was working at the time? Where?” That was odd because he’d never found any indication of that. Logan looked up her tax records and she’d never even filed taxes in the state of Maine or New Orleans.
