"Well, if that isn't fine as frog fur." A dazzling smile spread across Cori's face. She considered the picture and then gave it back to Finn.
"One thing's for sure," Cori said.
"What's that?"
"The nanny didn't take them."
Finn laughed, "I cannot argue with that, but wouldn't it be lovely to have just an idea of who has them."
"I might just be able to help out there, my friend." Cori rested her chin in the palm of her hand and gave him a grin. "After the housekeeper and the nannies, I had the pleasure of meeting with some of the fine ladies of Fremont Place."
"And?"
"And," Cori dropped her hand, crossed her arms and leaned over the table to drop her bombshell. "Mrs. Mulroon who lives way, way over on the edge of the development is remodeling. That means she has to sleep downstairs and right around two in the morning she was awakened by the sound of a car–"
"Please tell me she ran out and got a plate?"
"Nope. But she did see a dark colored, four-door sedan heading out the back way," Cori said. "Yes, my friend, there is a back way into Fremont Place where the wall was never finished after construction of the newer area. And what's behind the wall that was never finished?"
"I'll bite," Finn said.
"A dirt field. And what happens at Mrs. Mulroon's house around 1:30 in the morning? Her sprinklers go off and they make a muddy mess in the field where there is no wall."
"Tell me you have tire tracks."
"Indeed, I do. And only one set, my friend. Nobody has gone that way except the bad guys."
Cori sat back as Finn raised his water glass to her.
"By the work, we'll know the workmen, Cori."
Cori raised her water glass back.
"Whatever, O'Brien."
CHAPTER 21
Medium Man took the boy home, and for the first day they were both quite pleased with the arrangement. The boy had a roof over his head and food to eat. He told Medium Man that he thought he loved him. That was bull, but the boy didn't want to go back to the streets where there were crazies or to Fairy Tails where there were some rough customers.
The second day they were together, the boy told Medium Man all about how he grew up. The guy actually cried hearing that the boy couldn't remember his mother's face but remembered all too well the back of his father's hand. Medium Man told the boy that he never had a mother to remember and that made him cry all the more. The boy thought that was creepy. Still, he didn't get that hinky-dinky feeling in his privates that told him he had a real weirdo on his hands, so he decided he would stick around until he could trade up. There were some very specific things the boy wanted to trade up to.
First, he wanted a real home with a matching sofa and love seat instead of Medium Man's very old couch, the La-Z-Boy with the ripped upholstery, and the skanky mattress. The boy wanted a lot of windows for light to come through, not just one dirty one like Medium Man had in this place. The boy would like to be with someone he wouldn't forget the minute he went to sleep and would actually remember when he woke up. But the boy wasn't really a self-starter. While his plans to trade up were real, acting on them was something that would happen in a vague future.
Medium Man on the other hand was delighted by the turn of events. No one had ever stayed with him. A few had pretended they wanted to, but they disappeared in the middle of the night having used his body and taken his money and his drugs. They had left Medium Man to wake up afraid, alone, and ticked. He spent countless hours searching the streets of Hollywood looking for the traitors, primed and ready to take back what was his plus a little more. The boy, though, not only woke up with him two days in a row, he made no move to leave, so Medium Man started making some plans of his own.
He would get a picture of the boy and put it in a frame like the picture he had seen in that woman's house. That was a beautiful frame. He also thought she was a beautiful woman, the first woman Medium Man thought he might want. Maybe Medium Man would get two frames and put a picture of himself in one, but that plan was discarded. He didn't like to look at himself in the same way other people didn't like to look at him. The boy looked at him, though. Medium Man felt him looking when he thought Medium Man was asleep. When they made love the boy kept his eyes closed. Medium Man wished it were the other way around.
Medium Man didn't just make plans; overcome with happiness he made changes. He carefully cleaned his knife and put it high on a shelf so that he would not use it against his new lover. Though the boy wasn't beautiful, he was genuine and loyal. Loyalty was important. Mort was loyal and Medium Man was loyal back, and now there was the loyal boy. It was almost like having a family, and a family was what Medium Man wanted more than anything in the world.
"Today is going to be a good day. I think it's going to be a great day. I need you to go to the store and get a newspaper," Medium Man said to the boy when he was done thinking about all the good things that were happening to him.
"I don't want to go."
The boy was sitting in the corner on the mattress that Medium Man called a bed. He was squeezing one of the sores on his face even though Medium Man had told him not to. The boy didn't see Medium Man's brow furrow when he said he didn't want to go. The boy didn't know that Medium Man expected a different answer out of a loving companion. What good was it having a special friend if he didn't want to do anything? He gave the boy another chance.
"Don't you think you should go to the store and get the paper if I ask you? I would like you to go."
The boy looked up. He had very long lashes, just like a girl's. Beneath those lashes his eyes were a watery gray color that Medium Man found sexy.
"That's stupid. What are you going to read? All about the stock market?" The boy guffawed and rubbed his face. "Or the comics. That's what you read, ain't it? Comics."
Because the boy had only been with Medium Man for a few days, he missed the subtleties of his changing mood that signaled the coming of his fury: the twitch of the older man's wrist, and the tick at the corner of his left eye, and the way his back rounded and his chest caved. The change came on him in a snap when he was surprised or disappointed. Medium Man didn't like that, but he had long ago given up trying to control it.
"Don't call me stupid. Or dumb. I don't like those words," Medium Man warned in a very quiet voice. "I don't like the word crazy, neither."
The boy wasn't listening. He was distracted now that he felt the core of the cyst on his cheek and he was hard at work trying to get rid of it.
"I just don't want to go. I'm tired. You had me up half the night," he whined.
"You loved it," Medium Man said, but there was no affection in his voice. This was the boy's last chance to do right. "I like to read the paper. You should get it because I like the paper."
"If it's so important, you go get it."
The boy heard a pop and when he looked at his dirty fingers he saw that a hard thing had come out of his miserable, sore face. He was about to say something else, something flip, something to let Medium Man know who was going to be calling the shots, when his head was slammed against the wall so hard that he saw stars. His hands clawed at the fingers wound into his long hair, pulling on it as if to rip that hair right out of his head. Medium Man's other hand was around the boy's throat, his thumb on the boy's windpipe. The boy's eyes rolled back in his head, his arms flailed, and the flaming red infections on his face drained to near white. With each desperate move the boy made, Medium Man's grip tightened. He pressed at the boy's throat, pulled and smacked the boy's head against that wall over and over again. But it wasn't just the attack or the gleam in the man's eyes that frightened the boy, it wasn't the way the man's lips had pulled back revealing empty spaces where teeth should have been, it was Medium Man's strength that scared the willies out of him. The sound of Medium Man's whispers into the hollow of his ear made him want to pee.
"I'd like you to go and get the newspaper. I'd like you do that now. Do you understand?"
The boy
nodded with his eyelids since he couldn't move his head. Medium Man kept his lips against the boy's ear. The boy hoped he wasn't going to bite it off. Medium Man didn't. Instead he released his hold and snaked his arm around the boy's neck, relaxing until he gently embraced his new friend and slid next to him on the mattress.
"That's good. We have to have rules here if we're going to be happy. You want to be happy together. You want that, right?" Medium Man cooed and nuzzled the side of the boy's head. The boy nodded, and all the while his brain was spinning. "Good. Now, go get me a newspaper."
The boy started to get up but before he could, Medium Man pulled him back.
"Did you forget something?"
The boy feigned a smile and forced himself to kiss Medium Man who, in turn, grinned mightily. The boy slid off the mattress. He would go but he wouldn't get no newspaper; he wouldn't be coming back neither.
"Here, take this. It's enough to get yourself some candy, too."
Medium Man dug in the pocket of his shapeless chinos for the money. He held it out to the boy. The boy took the dollars and the coins. He picked up his pack and opened the door to leave, but Medium Man was on him before he could.
"You won't need that." The man took the backpack that held all the boy's worldly possessions and money. The boy's heart sank. "Remember, a newspaper and some candy. If you don't come back pretty fast, I'll have to come looking for you. I don't want to do that. You understand, don't you?"
Up and down the boy's head went. His Adam's apple bobbed too. He was old enough to understand that he was in bigger trouble than he had ever been in. He was too young to understand that if he really wanted to leave he could because Medium Man wasn't very good at finding people. The only thing Medium Man was good at was following directions, and even then he screwed up sometimes. Like what he did to those kids. That was wrong. He thought about this failing the whole time he was alone, but when the boy came back in record time Medium Man was happy again. The boy sat in the tattered chair and Medium Man sat on the couch reading the paper. He and Mort were still front-page news and he was so proud that he got up, caught the boy in a headlock, and made light with him.
"Yep. That's what I wanted to see," he said, without telling the boy what that was.
He let go of the boy when he saw that the paper had fallen open. On the inside page, there was a picture of the dark haired woman, her face resting against the chest of a man who looked like he didn't deserve her. Medium Man picked up the paper again to take a closer look and that's when he saw something important: he saw a chance to make up to the dark haired lady.
"Come on you two! Right now! Get your butts over here."
The young department store photographer watched the trio approach her desk and thanked heaven that she had six months on the job. She would need to be a real professional to deal with the woman with the platinum bouffant walking toward her, giving her two darling little girls what for at the same time. The photographer popped her gum and straightened up; the blonde paused briefly, grabbed the littlest girl by the arm, and gave it a twist.
"I said, get a move on!" she barked.
The little one whimpered and the older girl hovered in the background, smirking at her sister's agony, sticking her tongue out when the little girl looked to her for help. When they were close enough, the photographer put on her sweet face and parked her gum.
"May I be of assistance?"
"I want a picture of these two. Carolyn and Bobbi. That's short for Roberta." The bouffant babe leaned close like they were sharing a secret, but she was really checking to see if the girl was taking all the information down right.
"Those are pretty names." The photographer smiled at the girls and hoped their look of terror would pass so she could get a good shot. "I'll just need your full name and address."
"Stand up straight, Bobbi!" The blonde yanked at her kid again and then gave the girl behind the counter all the information she wanted. The girl wrote furiously while she tried to figure out what the woman smelled like. She decided it was a mixture of White Shoulders and sausage.
"Will you be in the picture, too?" the girl asked.
"Me? Oh, gawd, no." The woman patted her hair. "I look a mess."
"You look wonderful." The minimum-wage-girl-photographer took great pride in being able to give a compliment like that and not choke on it.
"Thanks, honey, but you should see me when I'm really done up."
Suddenly, the littlest girl yelped and the mom turned on her children like a bulldog.
"What are you doing?"
Another yank, and a slap, and all was well again. The photographer blanched and got on with things. The sooner these people were gone the better. She led them into the room where there were boxes covered with velvet that could be configured for any number of people to sit down. There was also a movie screen thingie.
"I don't want to hear about no packages. I've got this coupon that says four shots for nineteen ninety-five. That includes the twenty-five free wallet size. That's what I want, so don't waste your breath trying to sell me more stuff," the blonde warned.
"Of course." The girl smiled at her and the woman smiled back. Her front tooth was smeared with the same waxy orange color that outlined her lips. The girl wiggled her fingers at the littlest girl. "Come on over here, and we'll get going."
She lifted the little girl and plopped her on the lower black velvet covered block, but the older girl deliberately made herself heavy and it was impossible to lift her onto the higher block. Mom finally helped with a well-placed hand on the girl's rear and a threat the photographer had no doubt was the real deal. When they were ready, the girl asked:
"Which background did you have in mind?"
"Whatcha got?"
The minimum-wage-girl-photographer pulled on the metal ring attached to the screen and down came a piece of beige seamless.
"Too boring." The blonde dismissed it.
The girl snapped it up and pulled again. A nursery scene.
"No. No."
Snap! Pull! A picture of a den, a fireplace, and one-dimensional snow covered mountains framed by a one-dimensional window. The photographer thought whoever came up with that one should be shot.
"Oooooh." The woman squealed and clapped her hands. "That one."
"An excellent choice." The photographer set it, walked behind the camera, picked up the squeeze bulb and stood in front of the little girls. "Smile real big. You look so grown up. Smile girls!"
The flash went off four times. The photographer was sure the pictures would be great. They were lovely little girls despite their mother and their kinky red hair.
CHAPTER 22
DAY 4 – EARLY AFTERNOON
Finn stood well back from the graveside, sunglasses on despite being shaded by the narrow limb of a newly planted tree. His expression was solemn, his hands were crossed low, and the only prayer on his lips was to have this thing done so he could be out of the suit Bev had picked out for him to wear to court. The wool was too warm despite its fine hand, the high collar of the shirt chaffed against the scars on his neck and the knot of his tie, he was sure, would render him speechless for the next century if not loosened soon. And then there were the shoes, Italian loafers made of such fine leather that his feet felt naked.
Cori seemed to have no such problems. She was dressed in a suit, too. It was blue, the skirt was short, and the jacket strained over her chest. Now and again her eyes slid his way, silently asking the same question she had asked on the long ride from the church to the cemetery. She wanted to know why they were at the service for the Barnett girls. Finn had no good answer for that other than his gut said he needed to be there. Cori thought it wasn't his gut talking but some lower part of his anatomy. He chided her for that. If any part of his anatomy was in play, it was higher up, around heart level. Finn O'Brien wanted to be there to see that Elizabeth Barnett was still standing at the end of this awful day.
His gaze wandered over the people clustered around the tiny wh
ite caskets. The coffins had been placed next to two deep holes in the ground that were ridiculously camouflaged by blankets of Astroturf. Sam Barnett's arm was tight on his wife's shoulders. He stared off into the distance, Elizabeth kept her eyes on the coffins, and Elizabeth's mother held onto her daughter's hand and wept with her eyes closed.
Elizabeth was pale and dry eyed, and it seemed as if her husband's touch was only just bearable. Her shoulders trembled now and again. Her hair was wrapped in a topknot. She looked like a black-clad Geisha come to entertain the Grim Reaper with her elegant sorrow. The minister spoke of heaven and God's love and things that really did nothing to make anyone feel better. To a person, the funeral party was well dressed and solemn except for one. While that woman was impeccably turned out, her attention was split between the ceremony and her little girl. Tiring of the incomprehensible activity, the child pulled at her mother's hand, trying to make the woman play with her. Finally, the girl gave up and began to skate over a grave marker. Finn thought bringing a little girl to this funeral was unthinkably cruel.
Just as the little girl yanked on her mother's hand again, Cori leaned into him. He started to smile, thinking she had been watching the spectacle, too, but she was looking toward a mausoleum at the edge of the cemetery lawn. Finn squinted into the sunshine, trying to see what had caught her interest. It took a minute, but then he saw a man's head bob out from behind the left wall of the stone building. A second later the man pulled back.
Without a word between them Finn and Cori fell back two steps, pivoted, and walked away from the gravesite. When they were well clear of the ceremony, they picked up the pace, hoping the man hadn't made them. Elizabeth Barnett had though. She let go of her mother's hand and started to move away. When Sam saw what she was doing, he tightened his grip. The last person he wanted her following was Finn O'Brien.
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