Body Broker

by Daniel M Ford

  “Better than going into debt.”

  “You’re not kidding,” she said.

  I was starting to feel too relaxed with her. Thankfully, we reached the bar. I let her up the stairs first. Ever the gentleman, I kept my eyes dutifully on the steps at my feet and did not inspect the fit of her slacks.

  “Let’s sit outside,” I said. I gestured to a table and she cocked an eyebrow at me.

  “Shouldn’t you ask the hostess?”

  “Sure. What would you like to drink?”

  “Smithwick’s,” she said. She quickly dug in her purse and came out with a twenty. “And it’s on me, since I asked for the meeting.”

  I took the bill and gave her a salute, and more of a charming smile — maybe as high as number five — than I thought she deserved. I reminded myself that this was the woman who tried to set me up earlier.

  Once inside, I turned the smile on full, the whole number twelve, and handed the folded twenty over to the hostess. “Took a table outside. Hope that’s all right.” I brushed right past her before she could say if it was or wasn’t and went to the bar.

  Yes, I was circumventing the service industry, but there was a chance I’d know the bartender. There was usually a chance I’d know the bartender.

  I didn’t; it was all new-looking college kids. Thankfully they weren’t crowded yet. Ordering caused me to pause a moment. I generally avoided beer on weeknights, but I couldn’t start putting whiskey away, and to be perfectly honest, I’ve never liked the Irish whiskey all that much and that was most of what they had. So in a few moments I was back outside, having carried a pint each of Guinness and Smithwick’s past the speechless hostess.

  I set Gen’s beer down in front of her and hooked the spare seat with my foot, dragging it to a spot where I could see the crowd.

  “So,” I said, setting her change carefully down on the wrought-iron table. “Why are we here?”

  “To enjoy the evening air with a fine beverage?” Her voice was a little taunting, a little throaty. I felt something in my chest flutter. Couldn’t be the heart.

  “I think we’ve got some business to do before there’s any enjoying to be done.” I watched the Guinness settle along the side of the glass, one of the small miracles of the world that managed to never get old.

  “Fair. I am sorry for calling you in. I thought they would…warn you off or something.” I looked at her, trying to judge her sincerity. Either she was a theater minor or she meant it. Part of it, at least.

  With one of her fingers she gestured at the bruise under my eye. “Is that…is it bad? It hurt?” Her fingertip brushed it.

  “Not as bad as the probably broken ribs or the back spasms,” I said. “Why did those two jackals even want to threaten me, much less beat me? All I did was walk in to the office.”

  “And show them up, and drop a PI’s card with a number written on it, and evade their attempt to trespass you.”

  “Details.”

  “Look, Mr. Kennelly has been the target of some media inquiries lately, and some people are threatening legal action. Maybe they thought you’d been hired by them.”

  “Well, I think I’d have a case. What does Mr. Kennelly do, anyway?”

  “He manages ADI holdings, which manages several companies.”

  “What does that actually mean?”

  Gen dropped her eyes and drank her beer. It was no tiny, old fashioned ladylike sip, either. I appreciated that. “It means he comes from old money, and he moves it around into different companies, then cashes out once it looks like work.”

  Interesting. I could definitely get somewhere with this. “I don’t care what companies he’s run into the ground or who is threatening to sue him. I just want to find his son. Be nice if he did, too.”

  “He probably does, but he…he lives a very insulated life. I work for him, and I don’t think I know him.”

  “What do you do for him?”

  “Manage the phones, his calendar and appointments, pay his personal and company bills — just the ADI bills, not all the companies it holds. Which is part of why I called.”

  She dug into her purse again. “I can’t show you the entire records, but Mr. Kennelly’s insurance plan started getting odd claims about a week before Gabriel’s disappearance. Maybe it’s nothing. But I’ve never heard of the company that’s billing it.”

  She held out a billing statement. Much of it had been blacked out, professionally, it looked like.

  The unredacted portions listed a company called “Ladders” and billing amounts for “services” and “therapies.”

  “Ladders?”

  “No idea what they do, but it’s expensive.”

  “Contact info?”

  “I found a phone number, but I don’t think it’s manned. Goes straight to a mailbox. Doesn’t identify itself.”

  She was about halfway through her beer, beating me considerably. But I had two speeds when it came to beer: slow and gulp. I was keeping it in first gear.

  “Area code?”

  “Maryland, 443.”

  I took a slightly larger swallow of my beer. A feeling was growing in the pit of my stomach. A feeling I didn’t like. It must’ve showed on my face, because Gen’s hand landed on my arm.

  “You okay, Mr. Dixon?”

  “Jack,” I said, shaking myself out of it. “And…yeah. Just trying to make an intuitive leap I don’t have enough information for yet. Can I keep this?” I gestured with the insurance billing statement.

  “Sure.”

  “Why wouldn’t his insurer try and contest payments from a sketchy provider?”

  She laughed lightly, revealing even, bright teeth. “He pays his insurance company more a month than he pays me, even counting my tuition disbursement. They cover everything.”

  “Must be nice,” I murmured, thinking of Dani. Who was, for all intents and purposes, my insurance plan and my primary care doc and my specialist referral.

  “We can’t all be born rich,” Gen said.

  “Look,” I said, setting the paper down and fixing her with a concerned and serious expression. It certainly grabbed all of her attention. She ran a hand against the side of her hair, smoothing it down. Not that it needed it. “If you hear anything more from this company, or anything connects it to Gabriel, call me.”

  “I will.”

  I threw back the rest of my Guinness. “I’ve got to go. Before I do, why’d you even call them, the other morning.”

  “A big man bursts into my office with his arms and shoulders barely fitting in his off the rack jacket, wanting to ask me questions about my boss, and you wonder why I was afraid?”

  “That’s fair,” I said. “I could’ve finessed that approach a little more.”

  “It’s all right,” she said, meeting my eyes evenly, smiling just a tiny bit. “I shouldn’t have been scared. I’m not scared now.”

  “Good,” I said. “Call me if you hear anything?”

  “Vice versa,” she said, standing as I did, lifting her glass and finishing the dark red ale in one motion.

  “Will do,” I agreed.

  We walked down the stairs.

  “Walk me back to my car?”

  I am nothing if not a gentleman.

  * * *

  I found Brock with the litter of a burrito, three tacos, and a bag of chips with guac from the local mission burrito place around him.

  “Looks like an eventful contact,” he said.

  “Yep.”

  “Get anything actionable?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Got her number?”

  “Already had it.”

  “Can I have it?”

  “You want to walk back to the office?”

  Chapter 21

  “Ladders,” Jason said, with just a hint of a question.
>
  “Ladders,” I confirmed. “Some kind of healthcare provider. Without a website, monitored email, or address that we know about.”

  “We can check the databases, find out who registered the company.” He tapped the paper. “What does ‘therapy’ and ‘services’ being broken down into separate charges make you think?”

  “That it’s some kind of residential deal. Charge for both ends of it.”

  “Well, there’s no hospital or retreat around here called Ladders.”

  “That we know of. Could be a practice located inside one of the hospitals. But…”

  “I doubt it,” we both said, echoing one another. He gestured for me to continue. “More likely than that, it’s some kind of exclusive place. It’s more expensive than the average. I checked that already.”

  “Hm. Alright, well, let’s see if we can find the filings, figure out who’s behind this.”

  I sat back in the chair, winced as my ribs reminded me they were damaged. “Could be that Mr. Kennelly’s been shipped off to get the Blue Demons chased away.”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  I shook my head. “I really don’t.”

  He tapped away at his keyboard. “Ladders. Entity created in Maryland, just under a year ago. Registered by some law firm down in Harford County. Fitzgerald and Urden.”

  “I go down there, they’re just gonna say ‘privilege.’”

  “There are more old-fashioned ways.”

  “I’m not B&Eing a law firm, even a sketchy one that just sets up corporations on behalf of even more suspect clients.”

  “You are overburdened by conscience, Jack.”

  “Well,” I said, casting about for ideas. “I’m working the door for a party up in the woods tomorrow night. I could ask around there. Can’t stay hidden forever.”

  “Yeah, definitely ask a bunch of kids if they’ve heard of some fly by night healthcare service provider.”

  “Look, if we even find an address, I’ll go knock on the door. Happily. But until then, it’s just a name. Might be some registries we can search to attach the phone number to a physical address.”

  “Yeah, we’re on those databases. Get on it, then.” I made my way to the door and he stopped me with a drawn out, “You know…”

  I waited, hand on the handle.

  “You’re supposed to get permission to do those kind of security jobs while you’re on the clock for me.”

  “I’m supposed to do a lot of things. Go to church. Call my folks. Cardio. Avoid the demon drink.”

  “Just go do some research.”

  Chapter 22

  I once again slipped into my neighbor’s wifi in order to research into the early evening. At least now I had a cocktail to while away the time. Of course, that cocktail was nothing more than a generous pour from a new bottle of rye over a couple dense cubes of ice. I had idly thought about filling the prescription Dani’d written me while I walked home — Brock had taken me halfway, and then I’d just wanted to breathe the night air. But I couldn’t afford to be taking muscle relaxers unless the pain got so bad that I couldn’t walk. And even then I’d think twice about it.

  I did manage, through diligent battering of ancient and creaky state databases and info-lookup subscriptions the firm maintained, to find an address for Ladders.

  “A goddamn PO Box.” I had a momentary urge to hurl my laptop into the water. Like most of my impulses, it would’ve felt good, but hindered investigative progress.

  I decided to try and investigate ADI holdings. Not much turned up on Mr. Kennelly, as I already knew. His company, on the other hand, had made some waves. Seems they’d tried buying some local restaurants and ridden them straight into the ground. Done it through other companies, of course, but some local journalists had managed to trail it back to him.

  “Pretty small-time shit to roust people over. Maybe I’d just scared Gen.”

  My thoughts had included a lot of her on my walk home. She was at least half the reason for the extra fingers of rye in my glass. I took a sip, seeking its counsel.

  “I’m getting played, right?” I said aloud. One of the night birds around the marina yelled at me. “I’m getting played,” I answered myself.

  “But then again.” I paused. Some cats yowled. I wanted to yell back at them, but I figured I was just jealous that somebody, somewhere, was enjoying themselves. “I’m probably getting played, but just in case I better make sure to keep in touch with her.” I settled on that and knocked back the rest of my drink. I looked at the bottle, fresh and new promising joy.

  “It’s medicinal,” I said as I poured a second. To my nightly peanut butter and apple I’d added a carrot, for ballast. Me and the rye went back and forth and came up with a plan of action for the next day.

  Chapter 23

  The next morning, I found myself outside a post office just over the Susquehanna in Harford County, having navigated via bus, a bit of walking, and a Lyft. I’d have to expense the last part, and I was a little leery of burdening Ms. Kennelly with that.

  But I found myself inside and waiting in line in the unnecessary AC. Once I got to the window, a woman with a nametag reading Marianne greeted me with that efficient, slightly bored manner I’ve always felt the best government employees affected.

  “Hi. Who would I talk to about a PO box?”

  She gestured to the window next to her, which was vacant, and picked up a phone. “George, someone for a PO Box.”

  It took a few minutes for George to wander up. He’d seen better days. His USPS polo strained against a pot belly. His nametag and the ID badge on the lanyard around his neck were so yellowed by cigarette smoke that I don’t think I could’ve read them. His nails were similarly yellowed. The wisps of hair that clung to his shiny, sweaty skull were off-white.

  “Cost is $40 a year, renewable automatically but nonrefundable,” George wheezed. He stopped in the middle of reaching for the paperwork to surrender to smoker’s cough.

  “George,” I said, leaning conspiratorially over, “you want to head outside, get some fresh air, discuss it there? Maybe catch a smoke?”

  He nodded yes through his coughing, snatching papers and a clipboard. He pointed to the front door, then to the left, indicating I should meet him there. I gave Marianne, who looked a little disgusted, a little wave and went back out into the just-warm day.

  George was already lighting up when I got out there.

  “Can you believe how expensive those things are getting these days,” I began, gesturing to the pack of Camels he was slipping back into his pocket.

  He plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and ashed away the tip. “Fuckin’ state wanted to get in on it, right? Tax revenue, man. All they want.”

  I didn’t particularly want to get into a debate about the pros and cons of consumption taxes with George, but I thought I could string him along a bit.

  “Hell, probably part of their plan all along. So many guys I knew in the Navy learned to smoke and dip there. Now they’re being hounded to quit and paying extra for the habit Uncle Sam taught ‘em.”

  “Navy, huh? I was Air Force. When I started,” he rasped, “you could either spend breaks reading the fuckin’ handbook, or you could smoke. Who’d choose the book?”

  Me, I thought. I had my vices, but tobacco had never been one of them.

  “Gets you comin’ and goin’, huh?” George nodded and laughed. I reached into my pocket and came out with some green showing between thumb and forefinger. “Look George, let me level with you. I don’t want a PO box.”

  “I ain’t committing no mail fraud, and I ain’t giving you a look at anyone’s mail,” he sputtered, suddenly going pale. He flicked away his cigarette and started to walk away. I shuffled a couple steps to stay in front of him. On footspeed alone, I was pretty sure I could play man defense on George all day if I had to. />
  “Whoa, buddy. Whoa. Nothing like that. I don’t want you to break any laws.” At least I didn’t think so. I wasn’t entirely sure. “There’s a PO box in there. I want you to let me know how often it gets emptied, and if you can, by who. That’s all.”

  “Whaddya mean, by who?”

  I shrugged. “Describe the person for me. Get a license plate if you happen to catch a smoke out here. That’s all.”

  “And for what?”

  “Camel money?” I let more of the edge of the twenty slip out between my fingers. “All you have to do is text me.”

  He looked at the money and was reaching for it. Suddenly a head peaked around the corner. Marianne, scowling.

  George turned and scurried around the back. I smiled at Marianne and walked away.

  I cursed all the way back over the Tydings Bridge.

  Chapter 24

  I was on the bus when my phone started buzzing.

  “Hello, Ms. Kennelly,” I said.

  “Mr. Dixon.” A deep breath. “Are you getting anywhere?”

  “I’m developing leads, ma’am.”

  “Anything promising?”

  I sighed. “I don’t want to get your hopes up by sharing something that turns out to be fruitless.”

  The bus made a loud wheezing sound as it took a turn, the tires and brakes screeching.

  “What’s that noise? Are you driving?”

  “No, ma’am. On a bus.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. I seized on it. “Ms. Kennelly, is there any chance of getting Gabriel’s father to speak with me? I can’t seem to get ahold of him.” Telling her that his building’s security goons seemed determined to beat my head in just for coming to his office didn’t seem like a winning play.

  “That man lives in a state of perpetual paranoia. Everyone is out to get him, or his money, which in his mind are one and the same.”

  “I see. Do you think that could be related to Gabriel’s disappearance?”