by Brian Drake
Wolf didn’t buy the flash. Fulton’s thick black hair looked dyed and sat on his head like a wet towel. The mustache and goatee combo around his mouth and chin, both oily black like his hair, made his face seem small. His eyebrows were black, too. All that black made his eyes stand out. Those eyes bored into Wolf, but Wolf didn’t blink. Instead, he took a long drink of water. It was nice and chilled and bubbly with a hint of lime, and Wolf liked it.
Fulton said, “You’re not an easy man to reach.”
Wolf wasn’t exactly in the yellow pages, either. The trail began at a bar called Lucky Tom’s Orbit Room where any individual asking for him is told that he wasn’t there and to leave a name and number. When they leave, a fellow to whom Wolf paid a monthly retainer follows the person to make sure they aren’t a former enemy setting a trap--Wolf had plenty of former enemies. Whether or not they’re a citizen honestly looking for help is pretty obvious after the first day or so, and that’s when Wolf himself stepped in for a look. If the prospect looks good, he returns their call. Fulton was a good prospect.
When Wolf didn’t respond, Fulton watched the bubbles in his glass a moment. “Somebody is stalking my daughter,” he finally said, “and I want you to make it stop.”
“You’ve managed to keep her out of the public eye so far,” Wolf said. “What went wrong?”
For all his phony flash, Fulton never let any paparazzi near his 16-year-old daughter Suzi, which included punching a photographer who tried to crash her 15th birthday party. The photographer sued instead of pressing charges and Fulton paid him off. But the paparazzi heard the message and stayed away.
Fulton said, “All I know is that somebody is following her and scaring her, and I want him stopped. I was told you’re good at making problems go away with no fuss. It’s very important that I avoid any fuss in this matter.”
“Would it mess with the CompuSoft takeover?”
“Yes.” He paused a moment. “You do your homework.”
Fulton’s latest business acquisition concerned CompuSoft, the second biggest software developer in the country. Fulton planned to buy the company and close it down. His own software companies didn’t want the competition any longer.
Wolf said, “Your own security people can’t handle this?”
“I don’t trust them to keep their mouths shut. I’m told that’s the other service you provide--silence.”
Wolf swallowed the rest of his water. It tingled down his throat. “I’ll need to speak with Suzi,” he said.
Fulton tried to frown but his face didn’t move. “You know her name already?”
“I do my homework.” Wolf smiled. “You’re not hiring an amateur.”
“She’s upstairs,” Fulton said, adding, “I’ll get her,” as he rose from the chair. He entered the house.
Wolf turned his seat to take in the view, the massive city about as quiet as it would ever be, the bay a shimmering oasis. The fly continued buzzing around like a memory that demanded attention, so he tried not to think. When that didn’t work, he poured some more water and counted the bubbles.
Fulton returned within a few minutes and saw Wolf sitting at the table, watching the bubbles in his refilled glass. Fulton examined the man again. He didn’t say much but stood tall with his shoulders back, a confident stance; trim but muscular; hair shaved close to his skull; dark clothes; brown leather jacket. He approached Wolf with his lips pressed into a flat line. His eyes showed his anger, but his face couldn’t communicate the emotion.
“She’ll see you upstairs, Wolf,” he said. “She can be impossible sometimes.”
Fulton led Wolf up a flight of stairs, down a hallway. The walls of both levels were covered in light wood, with matching carpet; the quietness of the place seemed disturbing, like a museum at night. There were paintings and expensive furniture and expensive items on display, but everything was so clean and tidy it didn’t look like anybody lived there. The hall narrowed, and Fulton finally stopped at a plain white door. He pulled it open, and another set of steps greeted them. There was only room for one of them to go up at a time. Fulton went first, stopping before he reached the top. The roof above him slanted downward, preventing him from rising to full height.
Fulton said, “Wolf is here, Suzi,” and came back down. He let Wolf go up.
Suzi Fulton lay on her bed, running the tip of an index finger over the display of her iPhone. Shelves up and down the walls contained stuffed animals of all types and sizes. Plastic eyes stared at everyone and no one. Wolf rested on the top step, back against the wall.
She said, “Hello.”
“Hi, Suzi.”
She had long, frizzy blonde hair. Loose T-shirt with the logo of the local football team in the center, baggy jeans, no shoes.
“Did my Dad tell you about the scary black man following me?” she said. She didn’t put down the phone.
“Is that what the person looks like?”
“That’s what Mom said when I told her about it.” She increased the pitch of her voice, said, “‘Was it a scary black man,’” and then shook her head back and forth. Her long hair moved with the shakes. “My mother is so retarded.”
Wolf said, “So who is following you?”
“I don’t know. But he isn’t black.” She put the phone down, sat up, and looked at Wolf with bright blue eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Your father wants the problem solved.”
“How do I know you won’t sell this to the tabloids?”
She reminded Wolf a little of his sister, had she lived as long. He said, “I don’t like publicity any more than you. People like your father hire me because of that.”
“Are you one of those private detectives, like on TV?”
“No.”
She blinked a few times. “Lawyer?”
Wolf shook his head.
“So, what are you?”
“A problem solver.”
Suzi Fulton’s eyes dropped to Wolf’s open jacket. He followed her gaze to the exposed grip of his .45-caliber Colt automatic.
She said, “Ever kill anybody?”
Wolf covered the gun. “I don’t want to talk about me anymore, Suzi.”
She stretched out again and picked up her phone.
“When did you realize somebody was following you?”
“I don’t want to talk to the hired help anymore,” she said.
Wolf remained for another two minutes but the girl cycled through iPhone apps and acted as if he wasn’t there. Should he have given her a body count? How many would it have been okay to kill before she called him names?
And then he realized he didn’t know how many people he’d sent into the dark; or any idea how many had gone because he’d failed to save them.
Wolf scooted back down the steps, out the door. Suzi’s father stood in the hallway. He turned. Wolf shook his head, walked past the black-haired man, who followed.
Kids either learned from their parents, Wolf thought, or they did not.
“So?” Fulton said. They’d moved to his study where he broke out the good scotch. Ice crackled as he filled the glasses. Wolf ignored the paintings and looked out a window that showed the rolling hillside behind the house. Tan grass swayed; trees remained unmoved. Fulton handed Wolf a glass; they sat across from each other on a soft leather sofa. The cushions sighed under their weight.
Wolf explained Suzi’s behavior, added, “I don’t know if she’s scared, lying, or frustrated that you and your wife aren’t taking it seriously.”
“If I wasn’t serious, you wouldn’t be here. As for my wife”--and he let out a breath--“she has a questionable sense of humor.”
“Where is your wife?” Wolf said.
“Out.”
Wolf looked over at a painting that showed the front of a large white building surrounded by palm trees. Fulton sat still long enough for Wolf to count the palm trees and make up his mind. He downed the scotch and said, “What’s on your agenda the next few days?”
“I have
a meeting tomorrow with the CompuSoft people. We’re making the final arrangements for the buy-out. If it goes well my lawyers will put the papers together.”
“What about Suzi?”
“She has school, but we’ve been keeping her home.”
“Tomorrow I want you to let her follow her normal routine. I’ll keep an eye on her for three days. You will pay me ten thousand dollars now with more expected if this turns into something and I need more than three days.”
Fulton put his glass on the center table, went to a large desk in a corner. He lifted a black metal box from a drawer, unlocked it with a key, and began counting out American greenbacks.
“Here’s twelve thousand,” he said, holding out the thick stack for Wolf. “Whatever it takes, Wolf. Suzi is the only thing I have that’s worth a damn.”
Wolf began the next day. He followed Suzi as her mother drove the girl to school but spotted no suspicious vehicles or other individuals watching the girl. After school Suzi’s mother picked up the girl and a few of her friends and dropped them off at the mall. Wolf stayed with the girls as they shopped, hanging back. Nobody but him, as far as he could tell, was watching her.
Suzi and the girls prowled around, shopped, ate some food, shopped, and shopped some more. Only an expert could vanish into the crowd, and Wolf knew all the tricks from too many years living in the shadows. Nobody had melted into the waves of people. Suzi bought another stuffed animal that her friends appeared to approve of. When Suzi’s mother picked them up, Wolf continued following, and still saw no sign of any extra attention being paid to the girl.
Wolf parked a ways away from the Fulton home when Mrs. Fulton turned up the drive. Another vehicle, a black Lincoln, departed at the same time. Wolf counted four people inside the Lincoln. Fulton’s negotiations were over for the day. Wolf remained in his car and watched the house. It looked as if Suzi’s story wasn’t holding together.
Wolf bought a Coke from a sidewalk hot dog vendor, entered the park, and found a bench, the wood of which was partially wet from a recent sprinkler blast. Wolf sat anyway. He popped open the Coke and tore open a fresh bag of broken bread pieces. He tossed a few pieces on the ground. Within seconds, pigeons emerged from hiding, swarming the bread. Wolf tossed more. While the pigeons bopped and cooed and gobbled the bread, Wolf replayed the events of the day.
Feeding pigeons was good, cheap therapy. He told them about Murray Fulton, both verbally (but quiet) and in his head, bouncing around ideas. The birds could be trusted not to repeat anything; their cooing sometimes punctuated a thought in just the right way. But Wolf knew that as soon as the bread ran out, even if he hadn’t finished talking, the pigeons would find another benefactor. Fickle beasts. But they served his purpose.
By the time he’d gone through half the bag, he knew he needed more input. Two heads were always better than one.
Wolf tossed the remaining bread pieces at the sea of pigeons, grabbed his Coke and left the bench.
Suzi’s after-school mall routine duplicated itself the next day.
Wolf sat at a small table in the crowded food court. He ate a slice of pepperoni pizza that had been glazed with grease. He didn’t really swallow the bites as let them slide down his throat. Suzi Fulton sat laughing with her trio of girlfriends. They’d stored the day’s packages underneath the table.
Nobody, as in the day before, appeared to have any interest in Suzi Fulton.
Later, a pair of teenage boys joined the girls. Wolf used the crowd for cover when Suzi gathered up her packages and departed with one of the boys, a stocky, shaggy-haired kid in a long black coat, blue jeans.
Wolf tailed the pair to the parking lot where the shaggy-haired boy held open the passenger door of an old Chevy Nova. Suzi stowed her packages in the back and jumped in. The car’s body sported several dents and chipped paint. Wolf wanted to lecture the boy on the proper care of fine automobiles but ran for his Camaro instead.
Wolf almost lost the Nova on the busy expressway. The old car looked like a wreck, but the young man could make it move. Wolf kept up once the traffic cleared. The Nova led to a quiet suburban neighborhood where the young man stopped in the driveway of a two-story home with an immaculate lawn, blooming rosebushes.
Suzi left her packages in the Nova, followed her companion inside.
Wolf remained parked a few houses away. He didn’t shut off the engine. It made sense for Suzi to make up her story. Her parents were so caught up with being rich celebs that she needed this sort of thing to get their attention. She didn’t behave like somebody who was frightened by a stalker.
Wolf showed up at Fulton’s home a few hours later. Fulton ran out the door, holding a cell phone above his head, shouting Wolf’s name. Wolf shut the Camaro’s door and Fulton shoved the phone at Wolf. A red flush covered his face. “They called! They have Suzi!”
Wolf stared at the man, his heart dropping into his stomach. He’d followed the Nova from the suburban home after Suzi and her boyfriend departed, but lost the car on the freeway, and headed for the Fulton residence to intercept. Wolf grabbed the black-haired man’s arm and led him back into the house. They entered the study. Fulton’s wife, Kimberly, sat on the sofa in a trim white pantsuit, black hair down to her shoulders. Her smooth, pretty face showed that she required no Botox. She looked Wolf up and down as her husband made introductions and did not say hello, but instead turned her eyes to the floor.
Fulton dialed his cell phone’s voice mail and handed Wolf the device.
Suzi’s voice was obvious enough. “Daddy!” she screamed. Another voice, male, “Fulton. No cops. We’ll call again. You mess around and the kid dies.” Click.
Suzi’s mother turned to Wolf; Fulton, mouth open, took back the phone.
Wolf wandered over to the window and looked out at the pink evening sky. He couldn’t see the rolling hills or the trees. He wished the peace outside was something he could have inside.
Fulton started talking. The cops had already visited and said Suzi’s boyfriend had been run off the road. The boyfriend, Daniel Stark, suffered a concussion and several broken bones and now lay in a hospital room. Stark, at the scene, told the cops that two men grabbed Suzi before he lost consciousness. Fulton added, “I’ve called in a few favors to keep this quiet, but it won’t stay that way for long.”
Wolf wanted to speak but could not. He clenched his right fist as tight as he could until his fingers hurt. His pulse pounded in his head.
Wolf parked in the back of the Lexington Club. He spotted Gulino’s black Lincoln SUV right away and parked next to it. Gulino’s driver noticed him as he exited the Cadillac. Wolf ignored the man. He entered through the rear door and walked through the kitchen. The head chef, wearing a stained white apron, told him he couldn’t be in there; Wolf ignored the man and passed through another door to the quiet dining room.
Carlo Gulino, one of the two mob capos in the city, sat at his usual booth slurping spaghetti. He sat alone, but he had guards at nearby tables who spotted Wolf and were poised to pounce. Wolf slid into the booth.
Gulino looked up with a full mouth but showed no surprise on his face. He swallowed and wiped his mouth, set his fork down and said, “You should have called first.”
“No time for that.” Wolf explained the situation, adding, “We may be dealing with amateurs but the whole thing seems very organized and that means either the outfit is involved, or you know who is.”
“Would I kidnap a child?”
“Your people might.”
“Why I tolerate your smart mouth I don’t know. Kidnappings bring Feds. I got enough attention from the Feds without giving them something like this to try and pin on me.”
“I’m blitzing,” Wolf said. “I’m going to tear this town apart until I find that girl.”
“Do what you gotta do. If you find out some of my people are involved, take care of them however you see fit.”
“You don’t know of any new players in town?”
“Not a thing.”
“Somebody does.”
“Go find that somebody. It’s what you do best. I’m going to finish my lunch now. This chat is over.”
Wolf slid out of the booth without a good-bye. The guards watched him. He ignored the guards. The maître d’ stood by the kitchen door with a grim look on his face so Wolf left by the front door.
Wolf drove from the Lexington Club to an apartment building across town. He drove with his hands tight on the wheel and his jaw clenched so tight that his teeth hurt.
He knocked on the apartment door and the raven-haired woman who answered smiled and leaned against the door. She wore a black spaghetti-strap dress that muted her curves, but she was still stunning.
“I’d say I’m surprised,” said Petra Sanchez, the daughter of the city’s other mob capo, “but you never come by unless there’s a problem.”
“I’ll only take a few minutes.”
“I’ve heard that before.” She grinned and let him in. They sat out on the deck. Wolf refused a drink. Petra sipped iced tea. On any other visit Wolf would have taken in the city view; today it did not interest him. A pigeon landed on the deck rail, but Wolf paid no attention.
He told her the problem same as he told Gulino; when he was finished, Petra said, “Why not go see my father directly?”
“I don’t have time for a four-hour round trip,” Wolf said. “If not Gulino and not your pop, who is behind this?”
“My best guess would be one of the independents.”
“That’s a long list.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure out how to narrow it down.”
Wolf stared off into space a moment. The pigeon flapped his wings and flew away.