by A W Hartoin
“No, but if they wanted to nab me, they wouldn’t send a flipping teacher.”
Novak nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that. The combination of sophistication and amateurism is interesting.”
“If you track the hack on Anton’s computer to Berlin, I’ll believe The Klinefeld Group is involved. Until then I’m sticking close to home. Somebody knew him well enough to get the family secret and this is a guy that was very good at keeping secrets.”
Grandma came in with a tray of coffees in elegant glass mugs and scowled at us. “You didn’t wait. I can tell.”
Novak apologized and was even contrite. I didn’t think he did contrite. As a human he was the least interested in other human’s impressions of him than anyone I knew. Other than Aaron, but that was only because Aaron was completely unaware that anyone could see him and judge. Novak knew and didn’t give a crap.
“You’re forgiven, but I want a complete rundown,” said Grandma.
“I will give it to you, but Novak has to get on Anton’s electronics with a quickness,” I said.
Grandma smiled. “You sound just like Ace.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I know.” She picked up a latte and asked, “So what’s next for us?”
Like I have a plan. Puhlease.
“I’ll think of something.”
Novak looked at Grandma. “She wings it.”
“I don’t believe that we came all the way to Germany without some semblance of a plan.”
“Believe it,” I said.
“I thought Ace was making that up.”
“He was not.”
She rolled her eyes and gave me a latte. “Well, I want a plan or we’re going to the Christmas markets right now.”
Novak picked up the stack of electronics and hoofed it out. “Enjoy the Christmas markets.”
“Thanks for the confidence,” I yelled as the door closed.
“Well?” Grandma asked.
“Er…”
“We can walk right over to the Schlossplatz. It’s not far.”
The caffeine hit me and I said, “I’ll call Natalie.”
“Who’s Natalie?”
“Chuck’s friend from when he was active duty. He called her for me. She’s going to get me on the military post so I can talk to people,” I said.
“What people?” Grandma asked.
“People people.”
There was another knock and she answered the door. I was hoping for Novak as a distraction, but it was Moe and Aaron, raring to go.
“What’s the plan?” Moe asked. “We’re ready.”
“My granddaughter doesn’t do plans apparently.” Grandma crossed her arms and tapped her foot. I didn’t know she was a planner. She always just seemed to go with the flow. Grandad wasn’t someone who stuck to a plan, not hers anyway.
“Fats told me, but she said Mercy usually has a direction.”
They all looked at me, except Aaron. He was looking at the wall.
“There are chimney cakes on the Schillerplatz,” said Aaron.
“Oh, I’d like to try that,” said Grandma.
“We can split it,” I said sarcastically.
She rubbed her hands together. “Perfect. That’s the plan.”
“That is not the plan for me,” I said. “I’ll contact Natalie and meet her. You three Christmas nuts can go to the market.”
“I’m not leaving you,” said Moe. “Fats would have a fit.”
“Like you’re scared of Fats.”
“Everyone with a brain is scared of my niece. I’m not saying I couldn’t bring her down, but it would be tight. She can take a bullet and keep coming.”
“I don’t know what to do with that,” I said. “I’m going to see Natalie, if she’s not busy. That’s all I know.”
Grandma put on a brave face and said, “Then that’s what we’re doing. Christmas market tomorrow. You should have plenty of clues by then and we can take a break.”
“Er…”
“That’s the plan,” she declared.
New plan. Haha. Good luck fighting this one, Janine.
“Well, if I’m going on post, Natalie will have to sign me in,” I said apologetically. “Signing in three people is a hassle. You and Aaron can go to the market. We can meet up later.”
“She doesn’t have to sign me in,” said Grandma, digging in her purse and coming up with an ID. “I brought my retiree ID card.”
Crap on a cracker.
“Well, that’s still three.”
Moe held up an ID card. “Two. I’ve got mine.”
“What the…?” I asked. “You brought a fake military ID. Are you crazy?”
“It’s not fake.”
He showed it to Grandma, and she said, “Nice photo. I always look drunk.”
He took a look at hers and said, “You do. Very drunk.”
“Who gave you an ID?” I asked.
“The army,” said Moe. “I’m a retiree.”
“Since when?” I asked.
“1975.”
“How in the world did that happen?”
Moe sat down on the edge of my bed and cracked his knuckles. “Eight years of service. Medically retired. Honorably discharged, before you ask.”
Grandma pulled up a chair. “That’s how you know Ace. I knew it wasn’t just the arrest.”
“We go way back, right to Vietnam.”
Holy crap!
“You were in Vietnam with Grandad?” I asked.
“Not with him exactly, but we knew each other. He Medevaced me once,” said Moe. “Guess what my job was?”
Don’t say torture. Don’t say torture.
“Do I have to?” I asked.
“EOD?” guessed Grandma.
“Good one, but no bombs for me.”
Aaron turned from the wall and looked past Moe’s noggin and said, “Sniper.”
“Give that man a cigar,” said Moe.
“That’s better,” I said.
“Than what?”
“Stuff.” I took a sip of my latte and asked, “How did you end up in the military?”
“My mother had the idea,” he said. “She wanted to get me away from bad influences.”
The Fibonaccis. Smart lady.
“I guess it didn’t work,” I said.
“Sure, it did. I was hanging with the O’Reillys. We were friends in high school and they were on the path to no good.”
“Oh,” said Grandma. “The O’Reillys. A nasty bunch. They were big in drug smuggling and prostitution back in the day.”
“Exactly. They were particularly violent and it seemed like someone got knifed every other day. My mother wanted me away from that.”
“So she sent you to Vietnam,” I said.
“Well, I wasn’t going to college and my options were limited. Besides, the army could use a guy like me. I had skills, even at seventeen.”
Yikes.
“On that note, I’ll call Natalie,” I said, hoping to change the conversation. Fat chance.
“And you stayed eight years?” asked Grandma.
“Until an ambush in Cambodia did this,” he gestured to his hump, “to my back. I spent a year in hospital and then they retired me because they couldn’t fix it.”
I got out my phone and looked in my purse for Natalie’s number. I had it somewhere. Why wasn’t I organized like normal people?
“Do you miss it?” Grandma asked. “I think Ace does, but he won’t talk about it.”
I found the number and got ready to dial, but Moe said something that stopped me. “I do miss it. The army was my family and I didn’t want to leave. It was the first time I was myself. Just Moe Licata, not Nuncio Licata’s kid or Mateo Licata’s grandson. If people were scared of me, it was because of me and my skill, not a reputation that someone else earned.” He looked at me and said, “You understand.”
I did. I really did. Being Tommy Watts’ kid and to a lesser extent Ace Watts’ granddaughter was a calling card I didn�
�t want to have. Some cops, criminals, and media had a thing about me. Always comparing my performance and finding it less than satisfactory.
“Yeah, I do,” I said.
Grandma frowned and started to ask something, but I quickly dialed.
“This is Natalie,” said a woman who picked up immediately.
“Hi. This is Mercy, Chuck’s girlfriend,” I said, walking out of the hotel room and the chatter about snipers and targeting. Don’t want to know about that.
“Oh, my God. I was hoping you’d call,” said Natalie.
“Were you?”
“Of course. I haven’t seen Chuck in forever. Are you here in Stuttgart? You have to come for dinner. Tonight. Are you busy tonight?”
I glanced back at the door to my room. “Tonight’s good. Can I take you out to dinner?”
“I wish, but I’ve got three boys and it’s too late for a sitter. They can’t be trusted not to burn down the place. I’ll make something. It’ll be edible,” said Natalie.
“Well, I don’t want to insult you, but I’ve got a chef with me. He will insist on cooking.”
“Is it Aaron? Tell me it’s Aaron.” She was breathless with excitement.
“It’s Aaron. How do you—”
“I follow him on Instagram. He’s amazing. I can’t wait.”
“Aaron’s on Instagram? Aaron of Kronos?”
“Yes, he’s got like six million followers,” said Natalie.
Maybe I’m still asleep.
“Aaron cannot have six million followers on Instagram,” I said. “He’s…Aaron.”
Natalie laughed. “I know. Isn’t he great?”
“Um…”
“So six. We’re on Patch Barracks. Call me when you get to the gate and I’ll get your passes. I’m so excited.”
She hung up before I could respond and I just stood there in the hall dazed and confused. I avoided Instagram like genital herpes. Everyone on there wanted to sniff my feet or say horrible things about me. I had an account at one point, but it was such a dumpster fire that I had to shut it down and Uncle Morty had to get all the fake accounts in variations of my name taken down. It was a nightmare.
I leaned against the wall and googled Aaron and Instagram. There the little weirdo was stuffing a sausage, making arancini, and stewing intestines for andouillette. He did have six million followers. What in the world?
My phone buzzed, but I couldn’t stop staring at an Aaron video. He was making a lasagna, pork fried rice, five Worf burgers, and a layer cake at the same time. It looked superhuman and delicious.
“Hey, Mercy.”
I looked up and Moe stood in the doorway. “Your phone is buzzing.”
“Did you know Aaron is on Instagram?” I asked.
“Of course. I follow him.”
I just stared. Aunt Miriam couldn’t figure out how to answer her phone or even turn it on, but Moe Licata was a Vietnam vet and on Instagram. The world made no sense.
Moe came over and took my phone. “Maybe you do need to sleep.” He took a look at my messages. “Your father. Your father. Your grandfather. Your father again. Oh, and one we want Mr. McWilliams. Sherri La Roche will talk to you. She lives on Patch Barracks and he sent her number.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Are you okay?”
I shook my head. “Just surprised. It’s been a weird day.”
“Aren’t all your days weird?”
“Yeah, but it still surprises me,” I said.
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Go for it.”
“Let’s hit a Christmas market after Natalie’s,” he said, blinking his bulging eyes at me. “Janine won’t rest until she gets to one.”
I gave him a thumbs-up before going back to my bed and sniffing my pillow.
Chapter Eight
We parked in front of Natalie’s building on Patch Barracks and it wasn’t at all what I expected. Natalie was a captain, so I thought rank had some privileges, but apparently not. The stairwell housing was basic and charmless with uncovered parking and clusters of barbecues between buildings. Grandma said base housing was the pits and while it wasn’t a pit I doubted people were clamoring to live there.
“This looks familiar,” said Moe.
Grandma laughed. “The military never changes.”
Natalie came over from her car and we got out. She wasn’t what I expected either. Chuck described her as tough, so I pictured tough. To me, Fats Licata was tough. Natalie Ratliff was not. The Air Force officer was five feet tall and a hundred pounds soaking wet. She had dark auburn hair, green eyes and a face full of freckles. Natalie was somewhere between an imp and an elf and totally adorable. The tough was hard to get. Maybe she was a sniper, too. Apparently, size wasn’t a requirement for that.
“Did I tell you how glad I am to meet you?” she asked.
“Yes, you did.”
“Well, I am.” Natalie took my arm. “Will you introduce me? I’m so nervous.”
“About what?”
“Aaron. I hope he likes my kitchen. I cleaned it. Twice. It’s not big. Better than off post, but basic. An electric stove. He probably hates electric. I have an Instant Pot. Does he use those? Am I talking too fast? I do that.”
“Breathe,” I said. “It’s Aaron.”
“What if he doesn’t like me?” She was serious. Dead serious.
I turned around to look at the man who was causing all the fuss, just to make sure she wasn’t thinking of someone else. She wasn’t. She was looking right at Aaron with his favorite stonewashed jeans, six inches too long, half his hair sticking up and the other slicked down, possibly with butter, and a Star Trek jacket complete with emblem.
“If he doesn’t, you’ll never be able to tell,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Aaron likes food. Do you have food?”
“I have food, but what if it’s not the right food? He’s gourmet,” said Natalie.
“He loves hot dogs and those horrible snowball snack cakes. You’re good.”
She took a breath and I introduced her to what I could only assume was her cooking idol.
“Aaron, this is Natalie. Natalie, this is Aaron.”
“Hi,” she said.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Where’s the kitchen?”
That was it. She told him which apartment and he trotted inside without waiting. Natalie dashed after him and I dashed after her.
“Don’t panic,” I said. “He’ll make something great.”
“I should show him the lay of the land.”
“Don’t worry about it. He’s a kitchen savant.”
When we got up to the second floor, Aaron was already in the kitchen. He had eighteen ingredients on the counter and a kettle on.
“What’s he going to make?” Natalie whispered.
“It’s a mystery,” I said, holding out a bottle. “Let’s have wine.”
Moe pulled the cork and Natalie told us her husband Luke was deployed at the moment and introduced us to her boys. The older two were stepsons and full of acne and angst. The youngest was the spitting image of Natalie, freckles and all.
“Whoa,” said the oldest, Daniel. “You really do look like Marilyn Monroe.”
“And you look like a freshman,” I said.
Daniel was taken aback. “Why?”
“Can I interview you?”
He looked at his stepmother and she grinned. “I guess you’re part of the investigation.”
The poor kid started fidgeting with his tee shirt and said, “You mean the stuff with Mr. Thooft? I don’t know anything about that. I wasn’t in his class or anything.”
Natalie sent the other two off to play video games. That got a cheer. Video games before dinner was a serious treat. Moe asked what they had and they named some first-person shooter game, so Moe volunteered to supervise, i.e. kick some video villain butt. Grandma decided to help Aaron and we went into the living room wit
h Daniel who would rather have shot aliens any day of the week.
I told Natalie and Daniel what I was doing and why. The more I talked the more nervous Daniel got. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Kids get nervous. Getting in trouble is so easy and can come out of nowhere.
“Have you heard the rumors?”
“Everybody has, but I don’t know if it’s true,” said Daniel.
“Did you ever hear anything bad about Mr. Thooft before he died?” I asked.
“No, not at all. He was great. Everybody wanted to be in his classes.”
“Was he especially close to anyone?”
Daniel pulled back and frowned. “No. I don’t know. He was a teacher.”
Too pointed.
“I meant, did you see him with anyone in particular, a teacher or a student?”
The boy shrugged.
Natalie put her arm around her son. “Come on. He was a student council sponsor. You saw him every week.”
“He was like really tight with the seniors and some juniors. I’m just a freshman. I barely knew him.”
“Who’s on student council?”
Daniel named some names and Natalie asked, “You don’t think some kids are mixed up with this, do you?”
I smiled and said, “I’m following a lead.”
“What’s the lead?”
“The comment about Mr. Thooft being seen with kids outside school in a café next to hotels.”
“Oh, I heard that,” said Daniel.
I crossed my fingers and asked, “Who was seen with him?”
“I don’t know. People were just saying it.”
Dammit.
“Who did you hear saying it, Daniel?” Natalie asked. “Who was spreading the rumor?”
“Everyone was talking about it. They said Mr. Thooft was a freak and on those Incel sites. He was a stalker or something.”
I leaned forward and looked into Daniel’s eyes. “He wasn’t any of those things. He was being blackmailed and I think it might have something to do with those rumors.”
“Really? That’s weird.”
“There’s a chance that someone saw someone with Mr. Thooft and I want to know who that was.”
“But he was a teacher,” said Natalie. “He saw kids all the time.”