Head Games

by Thomas B Cavanagh

  “Club hopper?” said Cam.

  “No,” said Jenn. “I didn’t even sign out last night. I just left her there by herself when the ambulance came. After a while, the system automatically times you out. She probably wonders what happened to me.”

  I took another sip. “Why don’t you log in? See if you can find Klubhopper again.”

  “Really? Okay. That was weird last night, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Let me know what you find.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cam asked. I explained the strange question about me during the chat session last night and that I believed it was related to a case I was working on. “A case?” said Cam. “You’re working on a case? I thought you quit.” I gave Cam the Reader’s Digest version of my current employment, skipping the car chase and the pointed pistol on I-Drive yesterday. She shook her head. “You really never cease to amaze. I don’t know if taking on a case like that is a good idea for you, what with everything going on, but I guess it’s better than sitting alone in your apartment, eating Twinkies.”

  I nodded. As usual, Cam was right. I finished the bourbon and put the glass down, feeling the warm liquor seep into my arms, relaxing me. Relaxing Bob.

  “I’ll go see if Jennifer’s having any luck,” Cam said, and left the room, clicking off the TV on her way.

  I laid my hand absently on the side table, and it rested on the piece of paper with my phone messages. I picked it up. A moment later I was punching TJ’s cell number into my phone. I heard the warbling digital ringing.

  “Hey, Dad,” Jennifer called from the other room. “Come here.”

  TJ’s phone rang again and I knew he wasn’t answering. I stood and started toward Jennifer’s room. There was another ring and I was about to press the phone off when I suddenly heard TJ’s voice answer. I froze in Jennifer’s doorway.

  “Hey, yo, this is TJ,” the voice said, and I realized that it was a recording. “I can’t answer my phone right now. I’m either rehearsin’ or sleepin’ or out clubbin’ or just plain chillin’. Leave your piece after the beep. God bless.”

  The message was followed by a tone.

  “Dad?” Jennifer said. “You coming?”

  “Hi,” I said into the phone, looking at Jennifer. “This is Mike Garrity. I would really like to talk to you. Just talk. That’s all. Your mom gave me your number. She’s worried about you. Listen … I know what Eli did to you. But it’ll be okay. Just call me.” I left my number and then hung up.

  “Who was that?” Jennifer said.

  “Nobody.” I nodded at the laptop computer. “Any luck?”

  “Yes and no. I poked into a couple of chat rooms, but she wasn’t logged in. So I searched the user profiles and found her. See? Klubhopper1. No real information except that she’s a fan of Boyz Klub. But it does list her IM address.”

  “Instant messenger,” I said.

  “Yeah. I can check if she’s online. If so, I can pop her to see if she wants to talk. Should I?”

  “Go for it.”

  “What are you going to say?” Cam asked.

  Up until about thirty seconds ago, I had no idea. But now I had the beginnings of a plan.

  CHAPTER 18

  - Jenn405: wanna talk?

  - Klubhopper1: HEY! where did you go last night? you bailed

  - Jenn405: Yeh. kinda had an emergency. Sorreee …

  - Klubhopper1: So. whatsup?

  - Jenn405: we never finished chatting. I never answered your question.

  - Klubhopper1: question?

  - Jenn405: U know

  - Klubhopper1: Right. your dad

  - Jenn405: right

  - Klubhopper1: so?

  - Jenn405: So …

  - Klubhopper1: IS your dad Mike Garrity?

  - Jenn405: who wants to know?

  - Klubhopper1: I do! LOL.

  - Jenn405: who’s Mike Garrity?

  - Klubhopper1: seriously?

  - Jenn405: seriously. who?

  - Klubhopper1: nevermind.

  - Jenn405: no, really. who is he?

  - Klubhopper1: just a guy. sorry I asked.

  - Jenn405: someone you know?

  - Klubhopper1: nah.

  - Jenn405: why do you wanna know?

  - Klubhopper1: no reason. just curious.

  - Jenn405: you can tell me

  - Klubhopper1: forget it.

  - Jenn405: R U sure?

  - Klubhopper1: YES! Let’s talk about Boyz Klub.

  - Jenn405: OK

  - Klubhopper1: did you *really* meet them yesterday?

  - Jenn405: TOTALLY. it was awesome.

  - Klubhopper1: but not TJ?

  - Jenn405: no. wish he was there. he’s the cutest.

  - Klubhopper1: where do U think he was?

  - Jenn405: don’t know. sick?

  - Klubhopper1: maybe he quit the band

  - Jenn405: SHUT UP!

  - Klubhopper1: could happen. bands don’t last forever. look at the Beatles.

  - Jenn405: look at the Stones

  - Klubhopper1: boy bands don’t last. sad but true.

  - Jenn405: Boyz Klub will. They’re diff’rent. Deeper.

  - Klubhopper1: U really think so?

  - Jenn405: most def. besides, I’d be depressed for a YEAR if TJ quit. I’d NEVER come out of my room.

  - Klubhopper1: don’t say that.

  - Jenn405: it’s true. *BIG SIGH* so what do you like to do for fun?

  - Klubhopper1: usual stuff. y’know.

  - Jenn405: Stuff like rehearsing or sleeping or clubbing or just plain chilling?

  –

  - Jenn405: Hello?

  –

  - Jenn405: RU still there?

  - Klubhopper1: who is this really?

  - Jenn405: what if I told you that Mike Garrity IS my dad?

  - Klubhopper1: what if you did

  - Jenn405: what would you do?

  - Klubhopper1: Is he?

  - Jenn405: Yeh.

  - Klubhopper1: why should I believe you?

  - Jenn405: Decide for yourself. What if I told you that he just took over typing and is talking to you right now?

  - Klubhopper1: Is he?

  - Jenn405: Could be. How do you know my name?

  - Klubhopper1: A friend.

  - Jenn405: A friend … Can you be more specific?

  - Klubhopper1: nope

  - Jenn405: Let me guess.

  - Klubhopper1: whatever

  - Jenn405: You got my name from your mom.

  –

  - Jenn405: Still there, Klubhopper?

  - Klubhopper1: not for long

  - Jenn405: Can we talk person to person?

  - Klubhopper1: what for

  - Jenn405: I want to make sure you’re okay.

  - Klubhopper1: I’m fine. for the first time in a long time I’m finally fine.

  - Jenn405: Your mom’s worried about you.

  - Klubhopper1: leave my mom out of this

  - Jenn405: She wants me to find you. She wants me to talk to you.

  - Klubhopper1: you lie you lie you lie you lie

  - Jenn405: It’s true. I promise. Call her yourself.

  - Klubhopper1: keep talking about my mom and I’m outta here

  - Jenn405: Just call her. Tell her you’re okay.

  - Klubhopper1: whatever

  - Jenn405: Why did you ask about me by name?

  - Klubhopper1: just curious. You’re poking your nose into a lot of places. My home, my work …

  - Jenn405: Just looking for you. Let’s meet for lunch. I’ll buy you a sandwich and stop poking my nose around.

  - Klubhopper1: ha ha. how do you feel?

  - Jenn405: What do you mean?

  - Klubhopper1: how do you FEEL?

  - Jenn405: I feel OK.

  - Klubhopper1: any more seizures?

  - Jenn405: Yes. Unfortunately. One. Last night. That’s why you never got an answer to your question about me. Thanks, by the way, for whatever help you m
ight have been during the last seizure.

  - Klubhopper1: yeh

  - Jenn405: I know you have some experience with the whole situation. I know about your dad.

  - Klubhopper1: lets not talk about that. 2 sad

  - Jenn405: I also know about Miguel. And Eli. Everything will be okay. I think I can help you.

  –

  Jenn405: Hello? You there Klubhopper?

  –

  –

  - Jenn405: TJ?

  “What the heck is going on?” Jennifer said, reading over my shoulder. “Was that TJ? TJ Sommerset?”

  I leaned back in the chair and looked at the ceiling. I blew out a long breath. I don’t think I had exhaled since I’d taken over typing from Jennifer.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I think so.”

  I was worried that I had overplayed my hand. Mentioning Miguel and Eli both in the chat and on the cellular voice mail was a calculated gamble. It was meant to keep TJ a little off-balance, but also to reassure him that I knew what he was going through. I understood the situation and everything would be okay. But, if TJ wasn’t ready to hear it, it could spook him and drive him directly to whatever action he may only have been contemplating until now. His sudden exit from our conversation didn’t reassure me. I prayed I hadn’t just made a tragic tactical blunder.

  “How did you know it was him?” Cam asked, clearly stunned.

  “I didn’t know for sure. But, I just tried calling him on his cell phone and got his message. There was something on there about being out clubbin’. I heard it just as Jennifer was looking for this Klubhopper person. Something clicked. I thought there might be a connection. Plus, somehow, he knew my name. It was a guess, but seemed worth a shot.”

  “Damn,” Cam said, shaking her head.

  “You have TJ’s phone number?” Jennifer asked as if I’d just told her I had a direct line to the president. “You can just … call him?”

  “Yeah.” I looked back at the ceiling.

  “His mom gave you his number?” Jennifer said, the volume of her voice rising with each new question. “And what was that about Miguel? And Eli? And his dad? And your first seizure? What the hell is going on?!”

  I picked up my cell phone and redialed TJ’s number.

  “Are you calling him right now?” shrieked Jennifer. “Can I talk to him?”

  As I expected, TJ wasn’t picking up. I decided against leaving a second message. I’d done enough damage. I hung up and felt the air go out of Jennifer.

  “Can I hear his message?” she asked. “Please?”

  “Jennifer. Relax.”

  “You have to tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything. Besides that, I’m not allowed. And besides that, it’s none of your business.”

  “None of my business? You were talking on my account with my user name. That makes it my business.”

  “No,” I said. “That makes it a favor. And I appreciate it. But we’re done now. It’s over.” I stood.

  “Where are you going?” Jennifer said.

  “To bed. You wouldn’t believe the day I had yesterday, and I didn’t get any sleep last night in that hospital. Between IVs and machines beeping and middle-of-the-night CAT scans, I didn’t catch a wink. I’m beat and I’m going to bed.”

  “I’m gonna try to find him again,” Jennifer said, sitting down at her computer.

  “Don’t. I think I pissed him off. You’ll just make it worse. He’s long gone by now, anyway.”

  Jennifer ignored me and kept typing. Her sour face told me I was right. Klubhopper1 had logged off completely.

  Cam left the room with me and we lay down, fully clothed on top of my bed. She brushed an askew strand of my hair over my ear.

  “I don’t even know where to start with you,” she said.

  My eyes were closed. “Let’s start with ‘good night’ and end with ‘good morning,’” I said.

  She stroked my hair and I felt my body relax, sinking deeper into the cocoon of my bedspread. Even with my eyes closed, I knew she was watching me. The thought of it comforted me as I drifted off into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

  Bob woke me the next morning just after 5 a.m. with an ice pick to the temple. I don’t know if it was the intense headache or the new seizure meds, but I had a bad case of the queasies. I staggered out of bed and puked into the toilet, trying feebly not to wake Cam. You can cover a cough or stifle a sneeze, but it’s pretty hopeless to barf quietly.

  I washed my face and brushed my teeth, rinsing twice with blue mouthwash. While on my last rinse, I heard the phone ring in the bedroom. After a career as a detective, I had received my share of 5:30 a.m. phone calls. None were ever good news. Cam grabbed it on the second ring as I emerged from the bathroom.

  “Hullo,” she said, her voice thick with sleep. “Just a sec.” She held out the phone to me, not moving her body or head, her eyes still closed. I took the receiver.

  “Yeah?”

  “Detective Garrity?” came the male voice.

  “Not anymore.”

  “Right. Sorry. I knew that.”

  I recognized the voice. Nasal, breathy. “Igor? Is that you?”

  “Uh, yeah. This is Ignacio.”

  Ignacio Colon was a technician at the Orange County Medical Examiner’s Office. He was the body guy. He put them in the freezer. Took them out for autopsies or next-of-kin identification. Wheeled them to and from the autopsy room. It was morbid work, but he handled it professionally. So professionally, in fact, that he had acquired the unwelcome nickname of Igor, as an homage to Dr. Frankenstein’s assistant. Everyone called him Igor. Even me. It was a reflex.

  “So what’s up?” I said. “It’s kinda early for a social call.”

  “Oh—jeez. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

  “It’s okay. Just remember that normal people aren’t ready for phone calls at five thirty in the morning.”

  “Right. Right. I’ll remember.” I could picture him nodding, making a mental note for future reference.

  “So, what is it, Ignacio?”

  “Oh, well, Detective Dupree, he asked me to keep a lookout for any new arrivals. John Does. Young white guys. If any came in, he wanted me to call you.”

  Uh-oh … I tried to swallow, but my throat was tight.

  “I take it someone just came in.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you give me a description?” I dreaded the answer. The timing was right for TJ if I did indeed drive him to suicide last night. I was afraid that I had made a tragic screwup.

  “Uh, y’know,” Igor said, “maybe five-nine, five-ten. White guy, like I said. Young. Probably in his twenties, although it’s hard to tell. No ID. Blue jeans. White T-shirt. Sneakers.”

  “What about his face? What color is his hair?”

  “Yeah. That’s the tough part.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “Well, on account of he’s got no head.”

  * * *

  Igor wasn’t kidding. There was a clean—intentional—slice through the vic’s neck. Nasty business. I walked slowly around the slab, a grimace on my face, studying the body.

  He was a young male, about TJ’s age. However, Igor was right. It was hard to tell. Complexion looked Caucasian. Maybe a light Hispanic, but probably Caucasian. I didn’t see any identifying marks. No tattoos or piercings. The clothing was nondescript—jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers.

  There was no way for me to tell if it was TJ. Same age, similar build, similar height. All maybes. All questions. Not ever having met the kid, I couldn’t know. Arlene would know, but there was no way I was calling her down here for an eyeful of this grisly scene unless I was more sure than not. Right now, it was just a wild guess.

  Still, the timing of the body’s arrival placed a heavy weight around my neck. It was uncomfortably coincidental. But what about the decapitation? That didn’t look like a suicide.

  “Where’d they find him?” I asked Igor.r />
  Igor stood across the slab, his arms folded over his chest. He was tall and unnaturally thin, with a hawkish nose and thick glasses. His dark hair was thinning on top and I could see a shine from his scalp reflecting the morgue’s overhead lights.

  “Hotel parking lot over by Universal,” Igor said, using his thumb to push his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “Tourist family found him when they parked their car.”

  “Very nice.”

  “Yeah. Not exactly in the brochure.”

  I leaned down and examined the hands. No visible defensive wounds or wrist markings to indicate ligature.

  “So, what else can you tell me?” I asked, still scrutinizing the hands.

  “Nothing official.” I looked up and raised my eyebrows at him. I got the hint. He could let a few unofficial scraps drop. “Well, the ME still has to do the autopsy, but he took a quick look before you got here. Definitely homicide.”

  I stood. “I think I can guess the official rationale.”

  “Neck cut is too clean. It was no accident. And there’s very little blood on the shirt collar or on the ground where they found him. Obviously, he was moved, but the ME thinks he was dead long before they started chopping.”

  “And they didn’t find the head?”

  “Nada. No esta cabeza.” Igor occasionally slipped into Spanish. Without the head, a positive ID would be difficult. Not impossible, just difficult.

  “Any reported missings?” I asked.

  “None that match. That I know of. You looking for somebody special?”

  “Sort of.”

  “You think Marie Antoinette here is him?”

  “Dunno. Hope not.” I sighed. “Probably some runaway, lookin’ for dope money, picked up the wrong john down on the Trail.”

  There was a brief pause as we both looked at the poor kid on the table in front of us.

  “I always liked you, Garrity,” Igor said, breaking the silence. “You were never a jerk like a lot of them.”

  “Thanks.… Who’s the primary?”

  “Joe Vincent.” I knew Joe. He was a good detective. Could be a hard-ass sometimes, but he knew what he was doing. He definitely fell into Igor’s “jerk” category.

  “So, Garrity. Is it true? You got the cancer?”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  He shook his head. “Too bad. I always liked you, man.”

  Well, that made one of us.