Body Broker

by Daniel M Ford

  I had a sudden paranoid impulse to fire up the engines and take the Belle out of the marina, into a channel, find a secluded cove to drop anchor and sleep. They had my name and employer, but it’s not as though they had a fixed address.

  I shoved that thought down while I chewed some more.

  What exactly hadn’t I liked about Dr. Thalheim?

  “He treated me like an imposition,” I said aloud. “Which I was.”

  But Gabriel’s well-being shouldn’t have been.

  Dr. Thalheim was paid to care about the well-being of the children at Farrington. By the looks of it, well paid. The watch, the suit, even his smile. They all glowed with wealth. I didn’t like it, but then, I had the prole’s instinctive distrust of the slickly moneyed.

  One day into my first investigation in weeks, and what did I have?

  “Busted ribs, back spasms, a couple of burned contacts, and not a goddamned clue.”

  I stood and paced the deck for a few minutes. Then I turned on my radio and tuned in the Orioles, who were losing to Toronto again. But the comforting drone of it mixed with the lapping of the water against the hull settled me.

  I finished my apple, took one more tablespoon of peanut butter than I typically ate. The Orioles threatened in the seventh, loading the bases. An infield pop fly and a groundball back to the pitcher settled that.

  I finished the rye. It wasn’t late, but I was done with the day. I turned everything off, set the alarm on my phone, and climbed into bed.

  Chapter 17

  I hadn’t had a chance to change the song on the alarm. So Guy Clark was well onto the last verse of L.A. Freeway by the time it finally dragged me awake.

  I was made of pain. Aspirin was not going to get the job done.

  “Whiskey might,” I said aloud, to the calls of the herons and ducks.

  I don’t drink in the mornings while on a job. Or, usually, at all. Was this a special day?

  “No,” I said. I gathered my will and forced myself to sit upright. I unplugged my tablet and typed up a quick email to Jason.

  No good developments. Got my ass kicked a little. Not sure why. Will be in late.

  He’d stew over that, but I needed to seek some treatment to get into working shape. So I texted Dani.

  Gonna be at the club today?

  It took a minute for that to switch from “Delivered” to “Read.” Then she typed an answer.

  Already here. You have twenty minutes before I leave.

  I sighed, dressed in some of the loosest clothes I had — green sweatpants, an XXL t-shirt that read “HUZZAH” on the front and had been a gift from someone who wasn’t real clear on sizing. Tying my Chucks had me swearing up a streak I hadn’t unleashed since the last time some dumb kitchen trainee had ruined an entire oven’s worth of chicken paillards.

  And then, rather than walk, I swallowed my pride and drove over to Waterfront Fitness.

  For just that moment I could see the appeal. I was in pain. It was hot. The car offered climate control, ease of use, rapid movement. All of these things came with a cost, though, and it was still one I wasn’t all that ready to pay.

  I pulled in just a few minutes later. It was a seductive machine, for all that it was a boxy piece of crap.

  I stumbled in the door without even my usual gym bag, just my phone and my water bottle, and ran straight into Nick. He wore the same tight orange Under Armour staff shirt, and the same bright, helpful smile.

  Until he got a look at my face.

  “Jesus, Mr. Dixon. What happened?”

  I shrugged. “Occupational hazard. You should see the other guy?”

  “Why? What happened to him?”

  “Might be blind,” I said as I shrugged past him and made a sharp right, away from the weights and resistance machines and treadmills, down a corridor with separate classrooms. One held a pair of heavy bags on stands and the floor was heavily matted.

  In it, a woman in tight athletic gear gave a mixture of commands and encouragement to two out of shape guys practicing basic takedowns on the mat. They sweated with the exertion of simply lunging forward to grab at the other’s wobbly leg. Good for them. Bad for me.

  The woman instructing them was about my height, and sculpted out of wood. She was the kind of person sweat-wicking athletic wear had been designed to fit. She had dark hair but kept it cut very short. There were tattoos along the sides of her skull: names. I couldn’t quite read them.

  She shouted a few words of encouragement, telling Josh to squat, not to bend, and Mike to stop dropping his head and closing his eyes. Then she looked up and saw me.

  She didn’t quite wince. In all the time I’d known her, Danielle Hernandez had never winced. But there was a flash of disgust. Perhaps even concern.

  “Alright, you two, class is over. Showers or crawl away or whatever it is you do.”

  One of them, a tawny mustache over a thin, mean sliver of a mouth, pointed at the clock. “We’ve got five minutes left.”

  Dani turned a glare on him that had made many a better man quail. “You work for five more minutes, and we’re gonna have to find out if the defibrillator they’ve got in the office works or not.”

  They both beat a hasty retreat.

  “Jesus, Jack. What the hell happened to you?”

  “Occupational hazard.”

  “What, somebody smash a camera into your face while you were getting pictures of them cheating?”

  “Nope. He only used his fists. And his head. Maybe a couple elbows.”

  “You need to get back on the mat, work on your game.”

  “Well, there were two of them. I gave as good as I got, I promise.”

  “Lift up your shirt.”

  “In my vulnerable and compromised state, you’d seek to…”

  I caught just the minor of the glare I knew Dani to be capable of. I tugged off the t-shirt. My ribs were a yellow and blue patchwork of bruise, just like my cheeks. My back twisted horribly.

  “Goddammit. I’ve got my kit in my car. Go sit on a bench in an open bathroom and wait.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  In the bathroom/shower room I pulled a bench that was up against the wall into the middle of the room and sat. Dani came along soon, closing the door behind her. I caught a glance of Nick looking worriedly from down the hallway.

  “Uh, Mr. Dixon, I…”

  I gave him a smile and a thumbs-up as Dani shut the door.

  “This is gonna cost you, Dixon.”

  “How much?”

  She thought a moment. “Beef Wellington.”

  “Your place or mine?”

  “As if you and me and Emily can all dine in your galley.”

  “Conditions?”

  “Grass-fed tenderloin. You make the puff pastry. Don’t try and pass off any of that freezer case stuff. Ditto the crepes.”

  I was inclined to fight on the puff pastry, as making that from scratch was a right pain in the ass.

  But not as much as the pain in my ribcage and my back. “Done.”

  She sighed and began unzipping pockets on the duffel bag she’d hauled in from her car.

  The resulting examination revealed nothing broken, but plenty bruised. I also passed the concussion protocol. After a few minutes of therapeutic massage during which I proposed marriage only once, she bandaged me up very loosely, really just to hold the ice-packs in place. She handed over a page of instructions — when to change the bandages, some stretches and therapies I could do at home, and finally, a prescription.

  “Thanks, doc,” I said, as she handed over the scrap of paper.

  “Emergencies only, Jack. Muscle relaxers can be habit-forming, just like painkillers. But I don’t like the look of those ribs. Exertion could lead to spasms. I don’t suppose you’ll take it easy for a couple of days.”


  “No can do. Working.”

  “What is it?”

  “Runaway kid.”

  “He the one that kicked your ass?”

  “No, those were employees of his father. I think.”

  She frowned. “Aren’t missing kids cop stuff?”

  “Not if the kid’s eighteen and officially dropped out.”

  “You check the recruitment centers?”

  “Called ‘em on downtime. So did the principal of the kid’s school. No soap.”

  She sighed. “Okay. When do we get our Wellington?”

  “When I’m done, okay? It takes more than two weeks, I’ll spring for the wine.”

  “Better not be Arbor Mist.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, Dani.”

  I slid off the bench and stood, pulled my shirt back on. We shared one of those half-handshakes, half-hugging things. She went easy on me on account of the ribs.

  Outside, Nick was hand-wringing. I didn’t have time for it, so I just brushed past him while he sputtered at me. Apparently he knew better than to bother Dani, so out we both went. She to her jeep, me to the company car.

  “You got a car?”

  “Company,” I said. “And if I don’t go check in with the owner of said company, I’m going to be in some deep shit.”

  “Seems like you’re already in deep shit. Try and keep your head above it.”

  “I always do.”

  Dani climbed into her jeep, slinging her medical bag into the back of the cab. When she pulled away I got a glimpse of a couple of veteran’s organization bumper stickers, and the Combat Action Ribbon version of the Maryland license plate.

  Chapter 18

  I swung by the Belle and cleaned myself up before heading into work. In fresh jeans, boots, and a light Henley — it looked like rain and the wind was offering the first taste of fall — I almost felt human again.

  I avoided the various temptations offered by Wawa just past the breakfast rush and pulled into an empty spot at the office. When I walked in, Brock was posted up by the door, obviously keeping a look-out for me.

  “Boss wants to see you right away,” he began. “He’s kinda pissed you took so long.”

  I turned to face him so he could get the full effect of the bruises on my face.

  “Crap,” he sputtered. “What happened?”

  “Disagreement over the limits of corporate hegemony.”

  I could see the gears whirring behind his eyes as Brock tried to process that number of syllables.

  “Couple of toughs working for my missing kid’s father tried to work me over.”

  “You need backup.”

  “I’m still walking,” I said, and I shrugged past him on my way to Jason’s office.

  I knew my boss was pissed because he didn’t offer me any coffee, despite there being a steaming French press full of the good stuff on a sideboard.

  He was focused on something on his monitor, didn’t even glance at me. “Sit down, Jack,” he began in his stern voice.

  “Gimme a minute,” I said, putting just a touch of a whimper into my voice. “Not moving so well.”

  “If you’re late because you’re hungover, that might be a bridge too goddamned far. I put up with your shit because you’re a good investigator, but there are limits to how far I’ll tolerate somebody building his mystique at my expense.”

  I sighed as I sat down. Nothing for it but to wait for him to turn and face me. Finally, he did, ostentatiously slipping his glasses back down onto his nose.

  When he did he blinked a few times as he got a look at my shiner, the bruise on my jaw.

  “What the blue hells?”

  “Two security guards from the father’s office. ADI holdings? They caught up with me in a park in Glasgow.”

  Jason paused, biting his lips a moment. “Had they, perhaps, some reason to feel offended on their employer’s behalf?”

  “Hand to God, Jason. I went in, I tried to charm the receptionist. I think she would’ve listened, too, had she not already pressed the panic button. Their response time was professional.”

  “So they braced you and beat the shit out of you right there in the office? That’s rougher than I expect for Wilmington. Office wasn’t on 4th Street, was it?”

  “Nah, they didn’t come right at me there. I dropped a card on the office floor as they walked me out. Kinda thought the receptionist might pick it up, give me a call.”

  I could see the grin start to spread on his face.

  “Don’t you dare,” I said. “Don’t you dare laugh at this.”

  “She called you, didn’t she.”

  I said nothing. I stared stoically straight ahead.

  “She called you. And she brought you to the park with a tremble in her voice and the threat of a tear in her eye.”

  I kept on staring.

  “And you rode in like the dumbest knight that ever strapped on armor, straight into an ass-kicking.”

  “I kicked a little myself.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” my boss said. “But I also know you probably held back.”

  “Don’t start this.”

  “One day, Jack, you’re gonna have to stop doing that. I know you don’t like to think you’re hurting someone.”

  “That’s hardly a bad thing.”

  “But it’s gonna cost you.”

  Not as much as not holding back already had, I thought, but did not say.

  “Look. I don’t know why they came after me. I don’t think Gen, the receptionist, I don’t think she wanted to do it. She was nervous as hell. I’d even say scared. Maybe they’ve got some kind of blanket policy about snoops.”

  “Can’t be some kind of custody or visitation thing, right?”

  “At this point, the kid is an adult, so none of that’s in play. He can go see the dad whenever he wants.”

  “Dad snatch him up for some reason?”

  “I don’t get the sense that dad is super aware of the kid’s existence.”

  “Guilty conscience.”

  “He works for a capital investment firm. He’s got every reason to have one.”

  “Find anything useful at the school?”

  “Maybe. Kid who knows him real well. I think she’s very likely the kind who’ll hear from him eventually. Or think of something.”

  I could see him tap a few keys, likely bringing up the case file. “Liza?”

  “Elizabeth Mortimer-Hanes will be her name in the file. But yeah, Liza.”

  “Got her phone number?”

  “She’s a minor, Jason. I can’t go question her. But I can wait for her to come to me.”

  “Fair. What about this Gen? Got her info.”

  “I’ve got her phone number on a card.”

  “Think she’ll pick up?”

  “I have my doubts but I’ll give it a shot.”

  I fished the card from my wallet, took out my phone, and dialed it. No answer. The voicemail message I’d heard yesterday played again. I hung up before the beep.

  While I was dialing, Jason had been tapping away. One of the screens on the wall behind him lit up with a LinkedIn profile. The other, a Facebook page.

  He pointed. From the Facebook page, Gen — with more makeup than she’d worn in the office, but extremely well done around her eyes — stared back from a selfie, with some blurry forms behind her.

  According to the LinkedIn page, her name was Geneva Lawton and she was an administrative professional with eighteen months’ experience. She was a student at University of Delaware, enrolled in a BA-to-MBA program.

  “Let me see the card,” Jason said. I handed it over. He held it up to his monitor and looked. “Different number on her resume.”

  “Probably a work phone, then.”

  “Worth a shot,” I said.
“Give me the other number.”

  He wrote it down. I dialed it.

  Second ring picked up. A hushed, “Hello?”

  “Geneva.”

  “Who is this?”

  I cleared my throat. “Jack Dixon.”

  Dead silence. “Who?”

  “The guy whose bone structure your pals tried to rearrange yesterday afternoon.”

  “Can’t talk about this now. Call me after five,” she said all in a rush, and then hung up.

  I looked up to Jason. “Progress. Instruction to call her after five.”

  He jerked his head toward the coffee. “Pour yourself some, then go build out the case file as much as you can. See what ADI holdings does. Show Brock how to do research.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “You don’t have to pour yourself any coffee.”

  Chapter 19

  Case files don’t build themselves, but having to teach a guy like Brock Diamante to make one, how to fill it out, how to make sure all the tags were correct, that the people who were connected to each other were connected in our files, that took some doing.

  I had organized two major headings: family and school. In school I labeled Liza and Dr. Thalheim as people of interest. On the latter, I wasn’t entirely sure why. I didn’t like him, and I was listening to my gut. I glanced over at Brock, who wore something he probably called a “chronometer” at least the size of a salad plate on his wrist. His was some kind of black anodized material and didn’t look to be in the same class as Dr. Thalheim’s.

  “Hey, Brock. Are you a watch guy?”

  “Huh?”

  “Watches. You collect them, find them interesting?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say I collect ‘em, but yeah, I like to have a nice timepiece. This one is a Divemaster, rated…”

  I held up a hand. Blessed silence fell. The boy wanted to learn, I’d give him that.

  “I don’t care. What I do care to know is, if you saw a watch, an expensive one, could you identify it?”

  “I’m not a watch encyclopedia.”

  “I mean if you saw it, and you had some time to research it, could you narrow it down?”