by Alan Lee
“Who else. Think they gonna go away quietly? Cause they ain’t. Just letting you know. You got this weird status among people who matter. Half of them love you, cause of the tournament. Other half? Well…let’s just say, I still got an ear to the ground. Cause the issue is ongoing.”
“Understood. And I appreciate it.”
“No thanks needed. Couple of us made a small fortune betting on you.”
“How nice,” I said.
“We got wealth, you got a free tattoo.”
“Wasn’t exactly free. But Ronnie likes the design.”
“All that matters.”
I was in my car, within sight of Ulysses’s house. And Rose’s house.
I said, “Yeah. You’re right.”
Chapter 30
Ronnie and Kix came home at six as I was feeding Georgina Princess. Ronnie had taken the afternoon off, collected Kix, and spent several hours in a whirlwind downtown—Kids Square, boutique shopping, transportation museum, food and treats, more boutiques, more food and treats. Kix toddled my way, unsteady steps, huge smile, not far from an insulin coma.
I collected him and wiped his face.
Ronnie kissed me and went for white wine. We weren’t on bad terms. We were on weird terms. Two oxen, yoked together and realizing the other traveled at a differing speed.
Miles Davis played on the speakers and the heat was set at seventy-one to keep out the January chill.
I said, “Good afternoon?”
“The best, Mackenzie. The best. Kix and I are Bonnie and Clyde, and I love him to death. He had a milkshake and a hotdog and cookies and ice cream, and I got some pashmina.”
“You’re spoiling him. Professional boxers are never spoiled as children.”
“Boxer? Ick. One day he’ll take over my practice, the handsomest attorney in Virginia.”
“And the fattest?” I said.
“It’ll add to his boyish charm.”
Kix ignored us, eyes on Georgina Princess. I set him in his playpen where he wobbled sleepily.
Ronnie said, “Don’t feed me. I’m stuffed. On the way here, guess who called?”
“Ruth Bader Ginsburg. She needs you to take her seat on the bench.”
“No, but I debate getting a RBG tattoo. Lynsey called.”
“Who?”
“Lynsey. No D. The prostitute.”
“Elton the felon’s girl.”
Ronnie lowered onto the kitchen stool and sipped wine. “She said Elton hasn’t hit her the last few days. And even told her to take a day off.”
“Well, well.” I got my bottle of beer off the counter and toasted her. “Look at us, forming a more perfect union and establishing justice and ensuring domestic tranquility.”
She clinked my glass. “Are you quoting the Constitution?”
“Botching it.”
“But really, Mackenzie. This burns inside me. The need to protect these girls. And I think we can do it. Men like Elton need rules and direction and consequences. So do the girls. Plus safety and counseling, and…that’s what I’m using the money for.”
“You haven’t spent it all?”
She poked me. I liked it. “I gave the money to my finance guy. First I opened up retirement accounts for each of us. Hefty ones. And I kept some more cash. But still, there’s over a million and a half being put into a fund I’ll use to build the shelter.”
“When you say shelter, do you mean brothel?”
“Of course not,” said Ronnie. “Maybe. I should ask my counselor about the idea.”
“That poor woman, you’re going to kill her.”
“You don’t like the idea of a brothel, I can tell.”
I drank some beer and codified my thoughts. “You recognize the reality that prostitution is here to stay. It’s better to deal with reality than fantasy. And I like your instincts to protect the girls. But you becoming a madam? I don’t like the idea.”
“I’d be the madam with the best legs.”
“You’d be great. You’re a wounded healer. But I’d rather not visit your legs behind bars.”
“You break the law all the time, Mackenzie. For the greater good, I realize. Why can’t I?”
“My crimes are minor. And though I know you have the best intentions at heart, the prosecutors will book you for sex trafficking. Not minor.”
“Maybe I should stick with being a defense attorney?” she said. She finished the glass of wine and crossed her legs. “Let’s change the subject. I’ve been waiting all day to hear about yours. Last I heard, you suspected Alex might have been driving her father’s car when it crashed.”
“She was in fact.”
“I knew it.”
“You’re good at this.”
She said, “The saga continues. Did you make her cry?”
“Not intentionally.”
“Mackenzie.”
I never loved my name so much as when uttered between those lips. I said, “It was a bad night. All I did was jog her memory.”
“Poor kid, she was in a rough spot.”
“Some fathers ask too much of their daughters,” I said.
“Don’t I know. What else?”
“The mysterious woman at the crash? His caretaker. Rose. No big surprise there, probably should’ve guessed. But the current circumstances will make your hat fly off. Ulysses proposed to her before the accident. Probably within a few days of it.”
Ronnie gasped. Her hand went to her mouth like a pinup girl, eyes round. “He can’t remember, can he?”
“He cannot.”
“Ho. Ly. Shit. How does that work? It’s not like they can get married. Right? He’d forget it every morning. He’d forget the wedding a few hours before it began.”
“It’d be close to impossible.”
“That’s horrible. So…she just…what? She stays and works? And hopes?”
I said, “I haven’t spoken with her about it yet. I think they daily exist in a state of romantic nascence. Not a bad place to be, but there’s no deepening resonance.”
“Because daily he has to remember he’s not still married to What’s-her-face.”
“In his mind, he’s still married to Colleen. He constantly expects the divorce to be finalized soon. Even though it was several years ago.”
“And Rose, how does she manage?”
“I don’t know.”
“She just…loves him,” said Ronnie. “That’s, I—I don’t have words. Loves, like the verb. She just does it?”
“Without ever getting back enough affection or appreciation in return.”
Ronnie stood. Took her wine glass to the sink and walked to the door. Slipped out of her shoes. Her eyes were far away.
Georgina Princess watched her from her spot on the rug. Watched her without moving her head.
Ronnie said, “Is it romantic or is it hell? I can’t decide. But I’d watch a cheesy movie about it.”
“I’d read a Grisham book and hold your hand while you did.”
“So is the case closed?”
“Almost. A final detail to confirm and then I present Ulysses with my results.”
Ronnie bent at the waist to get her hands on Kix. She lofted him from the pen and onto her shoulder. He’d fallen asleep. Probably wake up in the middle of the night with a stomach ache.
“I’ll put him to bed.”
I said, “Thanks.”
“Not needed. I claim partial ownership.” She paused on the second step. “They never exchanged wedding vows. Ulysses and Rose.”
“In sickness and in health?”
“But she stays. And cares for him.”
“So far.”
“You’re right,” she said and resumed her ascension. “That’s enough to make my hat fly off. Whatever the hell that means.”
I finished my beer. Tossed it into recycling. Put away her wine glass. Sat on the rug next to Georgina Princess and scratched her near the ears.
My phone rang and I checked it.
Made a hmmmm sound.
How about that. Coincidence?
I let it ring, considering the caller ID and formulating a plan. The best place. A plan worthy of Sherlock Holmes himself.
I answered. “Mackenzie.”
“Mr. August? I hope you don’t mind the phone call. This is Colleen Gibbs? Do you remember? I was married to Ulysses.”
“Of course. Currently you’re married to my pal Gordon.”
“I am.”
“You made me coffee in your kitchen”
She laughed. Maybe a little too hard. “I did. And we talked in your car afterward.”
“How can I be of service?”
“Do you have time to meet with me? Tonight? If it’s too late for you, tomorrow in your office. I need advice. My daughter called and asked if we could talk; she never does this, and I’m curious if it’s related to your investigation.”
Wheels turning. Plans altering. Winds shifting.
“Um,” I said.
“Please.”
“I can’t tomorrow.”
“Oh. I’d like to see you soon.”
“Let me update you now on the phone about the investigation.” I closed my eyes. Winced, brainstorming. Smoke about to come out ears. Might work. I kept talking but I removed the phone from my ear and opened up a map on screen. “So Gordon was right. The dog, Georgina Princess, is worth a lot of money. A fortune.”
Colleen caught her breath. “You’re kidding. A fortune? How so?”
“Hard to explain. There’s…” I zoomed in on the map and waited for it to refresh. “…there’s a house. Near the crash sight. I’m going there tomorrow. Afterwards I’ll have more specifics.”
“Did you say fortune? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t fully either.” If this plan didn’t work, I’d hate myself. The image on screen snapped into focus. “But tomorrow morning I should have the money.”
“The money? You’ll have it? I’m so confused, Mr. August.”
“I’m getting it tomorrow. Morning.”
“At the house? Where is it? And who owns it?”
“Near Ulysses’s crash site. Bottom of Bent Mountain. On…” I squinted at my phone. “On Whistler Drive, off 696.”
She said, “Wow. Whistler? Never heard of… Where did the money come from? How does the dog…I’m lost.”
“Me too,” I said honestly.
“But—”
“One last thing, Colleen?”
“Yes?”
“Remember, Alex is a kid whose entire world crumbled in a matter of months. It’s important not to blame her for the mistakes of her parents.”
“I’m sorry? Are you—”
I hung up.
Chapter 31
Georgina Princess and I rented a truck from Enterprise and headed toward Bent Mountain. She rode in the passenger seat, watching me. Her ears were short but not clipped and they flopped forward; reminded me of a girl’s pigtails. A thin sliver of white hair started at her nose and ran up between her large brown eyes. Though happy, her forehead wrinkled with concern.
Once this is over, what will happen to me?
I scratched her under the chin. “Once this is over, what would you like to happen?”
I will be happy anywhere.
“Are you happy with us?”
Yes, oh yes.
“Were you happy with Ramona and Ronald Cohen?”
Yes I was.
“Do you think you might be the best dog in the world?”
Yes, oh yes, I am, you’ll see.
“You don’t really shed. I mean, you do some. But the hairs are so short, and Timothy hasn’t complained once.”
I am low maintenance and loving and obedient, and I love heating vents and also Kix and also Timothy.
“The problem, Georgina Princess, is that the house is empty most of the day. You’d be bored.”
Oh I will protect the house. You will see.
We went south and west. Into the country and I watched my rearview.
No yellow Hummer.
If this didn’t work, I was a huge ass.
The day looked colder than it was. The farther into the county we drove, the more fog we encountered and I kept the wipers on low and the defroster pumping. We reached the base of the mountain and turned off on 696—a small road twisting through fields and trees under the watch of looming peaks. The trees were bare and the grass dormant and yellow.
A quarter mile up the road, I passed a private trail. After I passed, a bronze Ford Ranger rumbled out from the private trail and tailed me at an innocuous distance.
“Ah hah!” I told Georgina Princess. “I knew it. This is going to work. See those dummies behind us? They are dummies. My instincts were right. Tell your friends.”
Yes, oh yes I will.
We kept going.
An abandoned farmhouse sat lonely and pitiful off Whistler, near the foothills. Once grand, now forgotten and leaning inward. The surrounding fields were wild from neglect—the grass long and brown and choked with dead wildflowers. I rumbled up the pocked gravel drive. A herd of deer, shaggy with winter coats, inspected my ruckus with irritation. I braked near the porch and climbed out, GPS on leash.
The trailing Ford Ranger gave up its innocent pretense and gunned the engine. The deer bolted, tails raised and flashing white—they executed a series of graceful jumps and vanished into the bracken. The Ranger mashed brakes and slid to a stop, shoveling gravel piles under each tire.
Gordon Gibbs unloaded himself from the passenger seat. He held a pistol—looked like maybe a SIG Sauer 9, a cooler gun than he had any right to. He gripped it awkwardly, like a sword, the dangerous end pointed at me; he was wary of firing it, unsure what would happen.
“What’s up, asshole,” he said. He wore white Nikes, black track pants, and a long sleeve shirt that said Flag Nor Fail. Blue veins bulged in his neck.
The driver came around the truck. Another beefcake. His head was shaved, but other than that he and Gordon looked eerily similar. Even blue veins in the same spots. Instead of a gun he carried a bat.
Yikes.
Georgina Princess growled.
I said, “Hey look, Gordo. She’s a good judge of character. You can’t teach that. That’s superior breeding, is all.”
“You found money, huh? Nice work, gumshoe. Guess what happens now? You’ll give it to me.”
“I will?”
“Hell yeah you will.”
“Why?” I said.
“First, because I’m stronger than you and I can take it by force. How’s that for why? Second, it belongs to me legally.”
“In fact it does not.”
Gordon’s friend—upon closer inspection he was more tan, an orange color from a bottle I thought—smacked the barrel of his bat against his palm.
Gordon said, “I married Colleen, asshole. By law it’s mine.”
“Honestly, Gordon. Find a new insult. Surely you can’t be both exceptionally ugly and dull? That’s a rough go.”
“The money’s in the house?”
“Not telling.”
His buddy, Mr. Tan, chuckled—supposed to be sinister, maybe, or he thought I was hilarious.
Probably the latter.
Gordon grinned. “Yeah. You are telling.”
“Nuh uh,” I said.
“You’re gonna tell me or I shoot the dog. Then we pulp you with the bat.”
“Shoot the dog? I’d prefer you didn’t. As it happens, I’ve grown fond of her. Can you believe it?”
“I don’t give a shit, August. Take us there.”
“Colleen told you about the money,” I said.
Georgina Princess had placed herself between me and them. She strained against the leash, nose to the ground. She was growling, but I felt it through the leash more than I heard it.
“Don’t matter how I know about the money.”
“Colleen’s the only person other than me who knew,” I said. “So…Colleen told you. Not a lot of options.”
“Don’t
matter.”
“It does to me. I’m disappointed in Colleen. I liked her. She touched my arm several times.”
“She what?”
“I liked it, up until this minute. Does she still touch your arm?”
“Screw you, August. The money belongs to her, so shove your disappointment where the sun don’t shine. Now where is it?”
“The disappointment? Or the place where the sun doesn’t shine? Because—”
“Shut up! Jee-zus, what a pain you are,” he shouted.
“Oh. You mean the money?”
“Where is it?”
Mr. Tan said, “Gibbs, I’ll hit him with the bat. Couple times, and we’ll see if he’s still so funny.”
“I will be. It’s instinctual.”
“August. I’m about to kill your dog.”
“You can’t hit her,” I said.
“Think you can stop me?”
“I didn’t mean, I won’t let you. I mean, you can’t. You’ll miss.”
“The hell I will.”
“I’m not convinced you know where the trigger is,” I said.
Mr. Tan took a step closer. He waggled the bat near GPS, a casual and mean motion. “Think I’ll miss with this? I’ll beat the teeth out of your dog. And then you. Get me?”
“You guys work out together? What do you bench?” I said.
“I bench—”
“Just kidding, I don’t care. C’mon, the money’s around back.” Without waiting, I turned and circled the house. GPS took some convincing because she hated Gordon as much as me. I tugged her a few feet before she relented. Around back there was a rotting porch and the start of the forest. The windows still had glass but the rear door was missing. I tied GPS to a tree.
“Okay, Gordon,” I said.
“Okay what?”
“We need to fight it out."
“Fight?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged out of my coat and hung it on a broken branch near GPS. “I got some adrenaline going. Be fun.”
“You serious?”
“I had a glove, I’d slap you with it.”
Mr. Tan chuckled. “He’s serious, Gibbs.”
“It’s the proletarian inside me. Nothing to be done.”
“I’m not fighting you, asshole.” He stood at the porch, gun still thrust my direction. “Tell me where the money is.”