The Quiet Edge

by Rob Cornell

  Mother raised a hand and signaled Arlie to come over. He strode over to them, pulling out a cell phone on the way—a cheap old pink flip phone of all things. It looked like a toy in his big hands.

  He handed the phone to Mother. She flipped it open and thumbed a button, then held it out to Jake.

  Jake stared at the phone as if he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with it. He could hear the open line ringing. The sound mesmerized him. He could listen to that sound go on forever, lose himself in that tiny trill, a monotonous electric tune to sing him asleep.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Mother thrust the phone against Jake’s chest. “Take it.”

  He looked down at it dumbly for another second. The line clicked, and the ringing stopped. A small voice called from the phone.

  “Hello?”

  A woman’s voice. Scared. Which is why Jake didn’t recognize it right away. He’d never heard Jen scared before.

  “Hello? Is someone there?”

  Jake snapped out of it, ripped the phone from his mother’s grip, and pressed it against his ear. “Jen?”

  “Jake?” A sob burst from her. “Oh, thank God.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I…I don’t know. In a room. It’s dark. The door’s locked. The only thing in here is a chair and this phone.”

  Jake lifted his gaze to meet his mother’s eyes. Half her mouth curled up in a smile. Mother was always happiest when causing others misery.

  “Jake? Jacob, are you still there?”

  “I’m here. Are you all right?”

  “I think so. I’m a little sore. These men. They grabbed me right off the street. Put a hood over my head. I tried to fight them off. They hit me. The kept hitting me until…until I stopped struggling.”

  Jake had spent a great deal of his life angry. He knew rage’s every quirk. How it made you say things, made you think things, horrible things. But, as much of a brute as his mother had been, as angry as she had often made him, he never imagined strangling her. Yet, in that moment, he could feel how the flabby flesh around her neck would ooze between his fingers as if he already had his hands around her throat.

  “Everything will be all right,” he said slowly. “I’ll get you out of there.”

  “Do you know what’s going on? Who took me?”

  “Don’t worry. It will be over soon.”

  Mother nodded once, that piece of a smile still on her face. An obvious joy lit her black eyes.

  “I have to go now, sweetheart. Stay strong.”

  Jake closed the phone. He squeezed it in his fist until his hand trembled. He squeezed with all his might, but not even the casing so much as cracked. He thought about throwing it. Maybe take aim at Mother’s coveted autographed photo of Bogart. Break the phone and the picture frame at the same time. That would piss her off.

  And only put Jen into more danger.

  He held the phone out to Mother and opened his hand.

  She took it, handed it back to Arlie.

  “You know I never approved much of Jennifer,” she said. “So you know I won’t have any issues with making you a widower. Get me my files back, Jacob. Do not come back to me until you have them.”

  Sixteen

  Kamille rolled her desk chair back to get closer to the window and held the check up to the light. She eyed it as if she expected it to evaporate in her hand at any second. “Wow, bud. This thing looks legit.” She rolled back to her desk and handed the check across to Harrison. “You gonna cash it?”

  Harrison took the check and gave it another look himself. He’d gaped at the thing at least a hundred times since leaving Ona’s office yesterday afternoon. He’d set it on his dresser before going to bed last night. When he woke up that morning, he had half-convinced himself he’d dreamed the whole thing up. But there the check sat, pinned under his watch on the dresser.

  “I can’t cash this.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a bribe.”

  “I thought you said it was a thank you gift.”

  Harrison laughed, folded the check in half, and tucked it in his shirt pocket. “That’s what she called it. But come on? A thank you for what?”

  She folded her hands on her ink blotter and grinned at him like a little kid waiting to hear a story. The Tigers hat helped with the image. “What difference does it make? You could ask the same question about a bribe. What’s she bribing you to do?”

  “I don’t know. Not turn in her flunky for vandalizing my home?”

  “A thousand bucks for that? What’s she give to keep you from turning state’s evidence against her?”

  “Probably a bullet to the brain.”

  She frowned, her cheery buzz fading. “You are no fun, dude.”

  “Sorry. I’ve got work to do. I don’t want to get in trouble with my boss.”

  “Yeah, she’s a real piece of work.”

  He stood and stretched, looking forward to an easy afternoon catching up on paperwork and some background checks.

  That’s when Dalia, Bahar and Associates’ receptionist, poked her head into Kamille’s office. Dalia had blonde hair with black streaks dyed through it, a piercing on every visible protuberance (and probably some not so visible ones), and liked to wear long dresses with bright red Converse All-Stars.

  “Mr. Hart, there’s a guy here asking for you. No appointment.”

  Unlike in the detective agencies in old books and movies, Bahar and Associates didn’t get many walk-ins. And Harrison hadn’t been working there long enough to get personal requests.

  Harrison wrinkled his brow. “Who?”

  “Jacob Somethingburger. He said it so fast, I didn’t quite catch it. He’s kinda worked up. Weird vibe, ya know?”

  Uh-oh. “Could it have been Seelenberger?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  Harrison exchanged a look with Kamille. “I haven’t met a Jacob yet.”

  Kamille waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe Ona’s sending you another check. Do I need to worry about her poaching one of my employees?”

  “Not hardly.”

  “What should I do with him?” Dalia asked.

  Harrison threw up his hands. So much for the easy afternoon. “I guess send him in.”

  While Dalia went back down the hall to fetch the walk-in, Harrison offered Kamille a good-bye salute and returned to his own office. He got behind his desk and waited. A handful of seconds later, Dalia came in.

  “Right this way,” she said.

  The man who followed her in wore a perfectly tailored tan suit and a tie done up with a Windsor knot. He had dark eyes that looked vaguely familiar. Early thirties. His hair was neatly parted and jelled without a single stray. He was thin and on the short side.

  As he entered, his gaze couldn’t settle, kept skipping around the room, from the Nirvana poster, to the window, to the desk, and finally onto Harrison—only to make the round trip all over again. Meanwhile, he twisted and tugged at a gold wedding band on his finger.

  “Can I get you anything?” Dalia asked.

  Her voice seemed to startle him. He glanced at her as if he thought she’d already left. “Um…no. That’s quite all right.”

  Dalia smiled, nodded, and looked to Harrison.

  “We’re good,” he said.

  She left, closing the door on the way.

  Harrison gestured toward the pair of chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

  The man’s gaze took one more lap around the office. He tried a smile, a twitch of his lips that didn’t last, then sat. He reached a hand across the desk. “Jake Seelenberger. I’m Ona Seelenberger’s son, whom you’ve already met.”

  That’s why his eyes looked familiar. The similarities ended there, though. Jake’s slight frame couldn’t have been more different than his mother’s imposing girth. Not to mention Harrison had sensed nothing but a dark calm from Ona, the complete opposite of the jagged nervousness pouring off of her son.

  Harrison shook his hand, w
hich felt incredibly smooth, as if he’d hardly used it his entire life.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Seelenberger?” He could not wait to find out.

  “First, I’d like to offer an apology. It was I who had you followed and your home searched. Mother seems convinced you do not have what we’re looking for. And after further reflection, I agree.”

  Wasn’t that awfully magnanimous of him? “I’m glad to hear it. Am I right to assume the purse-snatching victim is your wife?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Because I already told her I hadn’t taken anything from her purse.”

  “Yes, I know. Again, please accept my apology for any trouble we might have caused you.”

  “Sure. Forget about it.”

  “If only I could,” Jake replied. “I suppose that brings me to the other reason I’ve come to you.”

  This ought to be good.

  “I’d like to hire you.”

  “Hire me?”

  “Yes. The item that’s gone missing is a flash drive with very sensitive data on it. It is imperative my mother retrieves it.”

  Harrison narrowed his eyes. “You want to hire me to find the thing you thought I stole?”

  Jake’s gaze took flight again, flittering along a new trajectory through the room. Whenever it passed the Nirvana poster, his face crunched up as if suffering a spot of indigestion. Maybe the frame still didn’t make it professional enough. Harrison might have to reconsider his decorative scheme.

  After a few more trips round the room, Jake’s gaze landed back onto Harrison. “It sounds mildly absurd when you put it that way.”

  “Mildly.” Harrison smirked. “Look, Mr. Seelenberger—”

  “Please, call me Jake.”

  “Mr. Seelenberger. I did my research. I know who and what your mother is. I can only imagine what’s on this drive that’s got you folks all worked up. But my sense of self-preservation is stronger than my curiosity. I have no desire to get involved.”

  “That’s perfectly understandable.”

  “Good. Then you’ll understand why I’m asking you to leave.”

  “Could you please just hear me out?”

  “You’re a mobster. I don’t work for criminals.”

  Jake sat up straight. For the first time since he entered the office, he looked steady, certain. “My mother is a mobster, Mr. Hart. My father and brother were both mobsters. The life got my brother killed, in fact. But I did not ask to be born to a family of criminals. I was not given a choice. I assure you, Jacob Seelenberger is no criminal.”

  “So you’re telling me you’re the Michael of the Corleone family?”

  Jake tilted his head to one side. “I don’t know what that means. Is that a movie reference?”

  Never mind the criminal connections, Harrison couldn’t bring himself to work for someone who didn’t get a reference to The Godfather. What was up with this guy?

  “Forget it. Point is, however you see yourself, you can’t deny you’re caught up in something less than legal. You had your mother’s thug break into my house, remember?”

  He raised a finger. “But that was—”

  “Illegal.”

  He lowered his finger and went back to fidgeting with his wedding band.

  “Speaking of Arlie Eckman,” Harrison said. “Why aren’t you using him on this? He’s already on the payroll.”

  Jake hung his head. Round and round went the wedding band, Jake twisting it like he meant to screw it on permanently. “Mother won’t allow Arlie to help.”

  Jake’s sullen tone, especially the way he said Mother, gave Harrison that nails-on-the-chalkboard kind of chill. There was a whole lot of privilege in that tone, a resentment against suffering only a rich boy who’d never worked a real job in his life could carry. The fact that the wealth feeding his privilege came from breaking laws made it that much harder on the ears.

  “That’s a shame,” Harrison said. “But it doesn’t change a thing. I don’t want any part of this. In fact…” He pulled the thousand-dollar check out of his pocket, tore it in half, and dropped onto the far side of his desk. “…you can give that back to Ona for me. Tell her thanks, but no thanks.”

  Jake leaned forward. A mad glaze coated his eyes. He visibly trembled. “You don’t understand. I can’t got back to her until I’ve found her files. My wife… Mother will kill my wife.”

  Oh, shit.

  Harrison slumped in his chair and rubbed his cheek. What the hell had he stumbled into? Why, oh, why had he felt compelled to chase after that damn purse snatcher?

  Because you’re one of the good guys. That’s what good guys do.

  “Mother had Jen abducted,” Jake continued. “And she made it quite clear she meant to murder my wife if I failed to deliver the drive.”

  One of the good guys, huh?

  “Please, you must help me.” Jake reached a hand out and placed it flat on Harrison’s desk. His eyes watered. “I have no one else to turn to.”

  Harrison wanted to suggest he could always turn to a Google search for private detectives, or the Yellow Pages if he wanted to go old school. Jake might find someone else to take his dirty money for the job. But if the man’s wife was really in the kind danger Jake claimed, was passing the buck to someone else what a “Good Guy” would do?

  Do I have to be the good guy?

  Harrison felt a groan coming on, but he managed to keep it to himself. “Fine. Give me the backstory. Tell me every detail. Don’t leave anything out. You want my help, you have to be straight with me from now on.”

  A quivery sigh of relief leaked out of Jake. One of his watery eyes let loose a tear. “Yes, of course.”

  Harrison got out a pad of paper and a pen.

  Jake started talking.

  Seventeen

  The story was pretty simple once Harrison had all the details down. Jake’s wife, Jen, tired of Ona’s constant browbeating, sees an opportunity to change their fortune—steal the electronic files Ona keeps on her blackmail victims and take over the extortion business for themselves. Run off to the Poconos, or something like that. Live in peace, out of the domineering grasp of Jake’s mom.

  Only Jake had second thoughts.

  And it wasn’t only his mother he was afraid to stand up to. So he hires a freelance creep to steal Jen’s purse on the way to their meeting. He’ll secretly return the files to Ona’s safe. All’s well that ends well.

  The poor bastard didn’t see the holes in his plan. Did he think his wife wouldn’t insist they track down the purse snatcher? How would he convince her to give up? How would he later explain why Ona wasn’t livid over her missing files? Wouldn’t Jen begin to wonder? Wouldn’t she eventually learn the flash drive had somehow made its way back to Ona’s safe?

  Harrison didn’t bother bringing any of this up with Jake. No sense kicking the guy while he was already down.

  He set his pen down, leaned back in his chair. “Isn’t it obvious who has the drive?”

  Jake tugged at the knot in his tie. “If you’re referring to Ken Jankowski, I already confronted him.”

  “And he denied having them.”

  Jake nodded.

  “And you believe him?”

  Off his gaze went on another tour of the office. A short trip this time that ended on the pad of paper in front of Harrison. “My mother is a powerful woman. He knows defying her would lead to…dire consequences.”

  “But it wasn’t your mom asking, was it? It was you. No offense, but I have to ask—how intimidated by you did he seem?”

  A pink hue rose in Jake’s cheeks. He wrung his hands together while he glared at the pad of paper as if trying to light it on fire with his mind. No sparks, though.

  He opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head.

  “Sounds like Ken’s a good place to start,” Harrison said. “What more can you tell me about these files? Are they encrypted? Would Ken even be able to see what he’s got?”

  “My mother isn’t a hi
gh tech woman. Doesn’t trust it. If it were practical to have all her files on paper, she would have it that way. It’s the reason why the files only exist on that one drive, no copies. And why she kept it in a safe rather than password protected.”

  “That sure bit her in the ass, didn’t it?”

  A polite smile came and went while Jake’s gaze remained on the pad. “I suppose it did.”

  “I’ll be honest, I didn’t see him grab anything after the purse spilled. But he also threw a knife at me, which kind of distracted me. And I guess he could have taken something out of the purse while I was chasing him. But he didn’t know why he was stealing the purse, right?”

  “Correct. There’s no way he could have known in advance what she had. No one besides Jen and myself knew she had the drive on her.”

  “You said he knows your mom’s a powerful woman, knows the family business. If he spotted something like a flash drive belonging to Ona Seelenberger’s daughter-in-law, he might figure it’s worth taking, even if he didn’t know exactly what he might find on it.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “All right then. It’s the best lead we’ve got.”

  Jake finally looked up from the pad, gave Harrison a hard, wet-eyed stare. “Thank you. Jen is everything to me. If anything were to happen to her…” He pressed a fist against his mouth and looked away.

  A mix of pity and resentment churned in Harrison’s belly. Pity for this man who had put himself in such an impossible predicament. Resentment for his guilting Harrison into joining him there to help him get out.

  Ain’t it great being the good guy?

  Eighteen

  With Ken Jankowski’s home address from Jake, Harrison did a quick background check to get a sense of who he was dealing with. Typical small-time criminal from the looks of things. A smattering of B&Es, petty theft, and minor drug charges filled out his resume, with a two-year stay at Jackson prison as a nice centerpiece.

  Definitely not a criminal mastermind.

  Harrison debated the best way to play this. Probably best to stand back and watch, follow him around, see his regular haunts, get a sense of his habits and schedule. Then, if it came to it, get in to search his place—and do a cleaner, less obvious job of it than Eckman had done on Harrison’s house.