Secret Society

by Stuart R. West

  Maybe he should just get the hell out of Kansas before it was too late.

  He never felt so alone in his life. The irony didn’t escape him, either. He spent most of his life alone. The way he liked it. When LMI entered his life, though, they supplied him with a social lifeline to human contact of sorts. He felt comfortable knowing he had a support group and there were others out there like him. Now everything he valued was gone. Or nearly so.

  A shadow stretched across the sidewalk. A figure—a large man—stood underneath the cement stairwell in front of his apartment. Leon instinctively crouched into a defensive position, his hands knotted up into fists.

  “Hello, Mr. Gribble.” Detective Sidarski stepped into the moonlight, his bald pate as white as the moon itself. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Leon straightened, forcing his frayed nerves to calm. “Hello… Detective Sidarski, isn’t it?”

  “Good memory. A few minutes of your time?” Sidarski stepped in front of the apartment door, barring Leon’s passage. An intimidation ploy.

  “Um, sure.” Leon dug the keys out of his pocket. “I, ah, hope you didn’t get another prank phone call.”

  “Tape.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Sidarski jerked his chin toward the top of Leon’s door. “There’s a piece of tape on your door. Why?”

  “Oh. Well…some neighbors suspect the apartment maintenance people have been going into their homes during the day. Taking naps, I suppose.”

  “Uh-huh. You got something to fear, Mr. Gribble?”

  “No, just being careful.” Leon unlatched the lock. The tape snapped as the door swung open.

  “I see.” Sidarski followed Leon in, appraising the apartment. “Look, Mr. Gribble, I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up with the news, but a man went missing. Man by the name of John Smeltzer.”

  “Yeah, I read about it. They find him yet?”

  “Not yet. Smeltzer’s wife received a phone call. The caller claimed you were the last person seen with him. Said you were drinking together at…” Sidarski flipped open his notepad, “at Vraney’s.”

  “That’s not true, Detective.”

  “You weren’t at Vraney’s last night?”

  “No. I don’t even drink. If you don’t believe me, go ask the bartender at Vraney’s. I’ve never set foot in the place.”

  “Already been done. I showed your DMV photo to the bartender.” Sidarski sighed as if disappointed. “He says you weren’t there. Smeltzer was drinking with his usual two buddies.”

  “So why are you here?” Leon splayed his hands, showing he had nothing to hide. “I wasn’t there. I don’t even know this…Sheltzer.”

  “Smeltzer,” corrected Sidarski. “Mr. Gribble, I find it highly unusual there’ve been two phone calls—in two days—implicating you in…well, I’m not sure what, exactly…but someone’s awfully anxious to cast suspicion on you.”

  “I, ah, I don’t know what to say. Search my apartment again, if you think it’s necessary. I’m not guilty of anything.”

  “I have reason to believe this caller is the same person who delivered the prior phone call about you. Again, do you know who this caller is?”

  “I don’t know anything about it.” Leon’s voice cracked, full of hoarse desperation. “If you’re receiving crank calls and someone’s randomly picked me—”

  “Do you have any enemies?”

  “I’m an accountant. I don’t have enemies…except for maybe a few disgruntled businessmen around tax time.”

  Sidarski remained stolidly grim at Leon’s attempted levity. “I’m sure you’re aware it’s a crime to interfere with police investigations. You playing games with me, Mr. Gribble?”

  “I’m not playing games. I don’t know anything about these phone calls, nor do I know anything about this missing man. I know nothing.”

  “Where were you tonight?”

  “I, uh, took in a movie.”

  “What’d you see?”

  “What?”

  “What did you see?”

  “Oh…the new Tom Cruise film. The spy thing.”

  “Good film. Although I’m not sure I liked the ending. What’d you think of the ending?”

  “You’re right. It was kind of preposterous. One sudden crazy revelation after the other.” Leon hadn’t seen the film, although he’d seen several others in the series. Hollywood being the mass-production line it is, he took a chance assuming the film followed the same formula.

  Sidarski stared stone-faced at Leon before favoring him with a dour grin. “Yeah, sort of what I thought. Where’d you see it?”

  “The, uh, Pointmark in Overland Park.”

  “Uh-huh. Did anyone go with you?”

  “No. Went by myself.”

  “Mr. Gribble…you’re a good-looking man. You appear to be fit. You have a decent job. Yet you don’t have a girlfriend…or any real friends, for that matter. I’ve inquired about you.”

  “Detective, I’ve been in Kansas for less than a year, and I’m married to my work. I have friends at work. And you’re right, I’m pretty much a lone wolf. What’s the point of this?”

  “No point. I just find it…interesting. Interesting people intrigue me, Mr. Gribble.”

  “Well, I suppose I’m thrilled someone finds me interesting. But what you see is what you get. I have no dark secrets or skeletons in the closet. Ask my coworkers. The only crime they might accuse me of is being boring.”

  “I just might take you up on the offer.” He crooked a finger in Leon’s face. “Mr. Gribble, I have two missing people. I don’t need games. Don’t screw around with me!”

  “Detective, it seems to me the person you should be talking to is the caller. Not me.”

  Sidarski dropped his finger and holstered his hands into his pockets. “I’d better not get any more phone calls about you, Mr. Gribble.”

  “I hope you don’t.”

  “And I know it sounds like a cliché—I hate it when they say it in movies—don’t leave town.” Taking his sweet time, Sidarski sauntered out the door, ensuring his presence would linger long after he’d left like a bad odor. It worked.

  Cliché or not, leaving town sounded like a great idea.

  * * *

  With great anticipation, Cody turned on his bedroom television. He kicked back on the bed, got comfy, and switched between the different newscasts. No mention of an arrest—not even a “person of interest”—in the missing Smeltzer case. Not a damn word. Unbelievable. Barton must have some pretty dumbass cops.

  Time for a new plan.

  Unlike the previous night, Cody found the waterfront in no time flat. A group of men huddled together on the rock bed, their hands thrust toward a garbage can fire in a ritualistic manner. Cody cranked his window down. Several grizzled faces glanced at him indifferently.

  “Hey,” Cody said, “I’m lookin’ for someone.” They either didn’t hear him or were too hammered to oblige. But nobody ignored Cody. “I’m talkin’ to you, yo!” He jumped out of the van, waving a printout of the photo he snapped the other night. “Hey! Goddamn it!” Cody pulled out a twenty from his pocket. Money talks. “I got cash for anyone can help me.”

  A fully bearded man left the fire and staggered toward Cody. “Whaddaya’ want?” The man stared at the twenty-dollar bill, hunger burning in his eyes.

  “You know this guy?”

  With shaking fingertips, the man snatched the photo. “It’s Robert, the ‘King of the Missouri River.’ Everyone knows Robert.”

  When the man made a play for the bill, Cody yanked the money out of reach. “Not so fast, old man. Where can I find him?”

  The man drew a hand over his face, his whiskers scratching like a struck match. “Well, let me see. Robert usually nests down by the Heart of America Bridge. ‘Bout a mile or so down.”

  Cody thought about stiffing him, relented, and stuffed the bill into the man’s hand. He’d earned it. “Use the cash for a shower. You
need it.”

  At the Heart of America Bridge, Cody flipped on his bright lights. He spotted a man hunched over a large iron grate. Steam curled up from it, smoke dredged up from the fires of Hell. Cody walked toward the bridge’s embankment. “Yo, you Robert?”

  “Who wants to know?” The man made a half-hearted effort to stand then gave up, perfectly content to remain on his iron throne.

  “Don’t matter.” Cody scaled the embankment and showed the man the photograph. “That you in the picture?”

  “Yep, sure is. And that’s Owen Gribble.” He displayed a toothless grin. “Never forget a name. Still sharp.”

  Pay dirt. “So he told you his name?”

  “He tried to tell me his name was somethin’ else, but ol’ Robert…ol’ Robert found out his name was Owen Gribble.”

  “What was he doing with you?”

  “Funny story. I caught him dumpin’ somethin’ into the river. Became right friendly to me, too. Damndest thing.”

  “How would you like to make some cash, old man?”

  Robert grinned, his muddy eyes clearing. “Cash? I like cash.”

  * * *

  Rachel’s scarf stood out like a cat in a dog kennel, very hard to miss. Sapphire green to match her eyes and twice as distracting, the scarf covered her neck and knotted below her chin. Leon immediately recognized subterfuge, a major component of his world.

  “Good morning, Rachel.” He stole glances at her neck, but the scarf wrapped around her tighter than a boa constrictor.

  “Morning.” Her fingers froze over her keyboard, her tension palpable.

  Leon dropped his voice. No sense including the rest of the cubicle dwellers in Rachel’s trauma. “How did it go with Travis last night?”

  “I talked to him.” Her eyes remained steadfast on her keyboard. “I told him it was over.” She flashed a quick smile, unable to maintain it.

  “Good for you. How’d he take it?”

  “About as well as could be expected, I guess.”

  “You okay?”

  She looked up at Leon, connecting for the first time. “I don’t want to talk about it now.”

  “Did he hurt you again?”

  “I don’t want… I can’t talk about it now, Owen.”

  “I understand. Let me know if—when—you’d like to talk, okay?”

  She said nothing and resumed her work.

  That could’ve gone better, Leon thought.

  And, honestly, what was he even doing there?

  Earlier he had his suitcase open on the bed, ready to pack and flee. Several suits were folded, his secret stash bag taped up and lying next to the suitcase. He weighed his options, both of them carrying risks. If he left Kansas, suspicion—possibly an investigation—would fall on him, making it harder to establish an identity elsewhere. And Rachel, of course, his sole impetus for coming into work.

  Except for one other valuable untapped resource, one he should have considered before.

  The IT guys usually made their late morning arrival by nine-thirty, constant champions of rule-breaking. Leon waited an extra fifteen minutes, grabbed the sack of bagels, and headed for the back offices where management kept the IT team hidden far away from clients.

  Leon rapped on the doorjamb and peered in. Bernie sat hunkered down in a corner, parts of a PC strewn about his feet. “Oh, hey, Owen. What’s up?” He scratched his mountain man beard, a mouth-obscuring thick carpet of wonders. Bernie’s associate in the adjoining office glanced over, clearly eavesdropping. Leon pulled the glass window between the offices shut. He only needed Bernie.

  “Hey, Bernie. Think fast.” Leon tossed the bag toward him. Bernie pinned the bag against his chest then fumbled it, sports not his thing. “Got your favorites—honey-wheat from DelGaddio’s.”

  “Thanks, man.” Bernie sat down in his well-worn chair. He cleared off a small spot on his desk and swept his lanky legs on top. As he wolfed into the bagel, crumbs salted his beard. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Can’t a guy just give a valued coworker some appreciation?” Leon sat across from Bernie.

  “What do you want?”

  “Bernie, you’re just too damn smart for your own good.”

  Bernie nodded, nothing new under the sun.

  “I wanted to ask you a favor—”

  “And here we go. What do you need?”

  “It’s a personal favor. I’d appreciate it if we kept it that way.”

  “Not the first time someone’s asked me for a personal favor. And my middle name’s ‘hush-hush.’”

  “Okay…do you know any good hackers? I’m talking the best of the best.”

  Bernie’s feet fell off his desk, clumping to the floor. “Wow, man. If I do, what would you expect him to do?”

  “There’s a website…www.lmiinc.com…” Leon gestured toward one of Bernie’s numerous computers. “Go on, pull it up.”

  Bernie’s fingers zipped across the keyboard. “Okay.” Bernie shrugged. “Big deal. Looks like some kind of high dollar placement agency. You lookin’ for work, Owen? You don’t need a hacker to get a job.”

  “No, nothing like that. This company ran a scam on my cousin. Collected an upfront fee for services they never supplied. I’ve tried other avenues to help my cousin. These guys are untouchable. I can’t find them. They’re hidden away. I thought a good hacker might be able to ferret them out. Give me a physical address so I can contact the police.”

  “Your ‘cousin’, huh?” Bernie winked conspiratorially.

  “Okay. I feel really stupid, Bernie, but it was me they took for a ride. I thought their promises of a fabulous future were too good to be true. You can see why I’d prefer to keep this quiet. You know how Capshaw can be.”

  “Yeah, what a dipshit.” The key to gaining IT employees trust was always establish a mutual enemy. Capshaw made it easy. “Okay, cool. Tell you what; let me see what I can do first. If I find nothing, I’ll bring in someone I know. The Silver Fox. He’s world class. But it’ll cost you.”

  “‘The Silver Fox’?”

  “Um, yeah, the name he goes by. He likes his anonymity.” Don’t we all, thought Leon. “As I said, it’ll cost you. Big.”

  “I’d expect it to. And I appreciate it. Word to the wise, though, you might not want to do your searching at work.”

  Bernie tossed his hands up, laughed. “Really? Really, Owen? You think someone’s gonna find out what I’m up to?” He shot Leon a cocky grin. “Who you think’s gonna’ find out? Capshaw?”

  “Yeah, okay, okay.” It wasn’t Capshaw Leon worried about, though.

  * * *

  Leon parked one building down from Cody’s apartment, his car backed into a spot. Using binoculars, Leon had a clear view into Cody’s apartment. All lights were on, the curtains drawn back for “showtime.” Cody danced in front of his bedroom mirror, trying on several shirts, practically a striptease show. After settling on his attire, Cody vanished into the bathroom.

  Honestly, Leon had no idea what to expect, no clear plan in mind. But he knew he needed to be proactive, start chipping away at his problems one at a time. By remaining inert, he may as well have a target on his back.

  The lights in Cody’s apartment blinked out. Moments later, Cody bounded down the steps. Leon slipped down in his seat, his eyes just above dash level. To Leon’s amusement, Cody checked his taillights before getting into the van. When Cody pulled out of the lot, Leon waited a moment before following.

  Cody turned onto 75th Street, headed east. Automobiles crowded the roads, bustling with the last stragglers of rush hour—the way Leon liked it. It’s easy to vanish in a crowd.

  Twenty minutes later, Cody crossed the state line into Missouri and turned into the Ward Parkway Mall. Predictable behavior, thought Leon.

  After slowly circling through the lot, Cody honed in on a spot. Leon parked at the far end, Cody in his sights. Cody sat in his van for nearly an hour, apparently watching mall customers come and go. Finally, he swaggered inside, arro
gantly swaying his shoulders back and forth like a man twice his size.

  Leon tipped his fedora low—a casual businessman clothing choice—drew his overcoat tight, and entered the mall.

  At first it didn’t seem like Cody’s typical hunting grounds. Elderly people in jogging suits and tennis shoes power-walked the aisles. Very few younger females—the Denver Decapitator’s favored prey—filled the stores.

  Leon spotted Cody milling about, peering into store windows. His pocketed hands weighed his hoodie down, shadowing his face, a grim reaper. Every time Cody turned, Leon ducked into the nearest store’s alcove. Cody eventually gravitated toward an infant apparel store, ABC Clothes. Like a vulture, he’d look inside, circle around, and then return. He settled onto a bench caddy-corner from the store’s entrance.

  Leon walked up a nearby circular staircase to the second floor. Leaning against the railing, he kept his vigil. A slow brewing plan seemed half-baked, at best. If Cody was stupid enough to attempt a project here, Leon would call 911, maybe grab a security guard. Definitely not an ideal solution; it could easily expose Leon. But unless inspiration smacked him upside the head, it was all he had.

  Every time a customer left the clothing store, Cody grew more agitated and tense. He sat on the edge of the bench, his clasped hands between his legs, one knee bounding up and down. Ready to attack.

  A handsome woman left the store carrying several bags. An overkill fur coat swathed her slender figure, a business suit underneath. She walked at a brisk clip, long blond hair bobbing on her shoulders.

  Cody watched as she strutted past him. The smallest of sneers tipped his boyish looks into ugliness, a cathedral gargoyle. He left the bench with a yawn and tagged along behind her. Kicking his feet to the sides, he looked like any slacker kid just killing time, but Leon knew Cody wanted to kill more than time.

  Leon raced down the stairs. By the time he reached the first floor, he lost sight of Cody and the woman. Desperate, Leon rounded the corner to the mall entrance, and then froze. Cody stood in front of him vacantly gazing at a mall map sign. Leon dove into the nearest store, a woman’s lingerie shop. Peeking out the window, Leon saw the woman by the exit doors. Cody stood less than ten feet from her.