Faces of the Gone

by Brad Parks

  “It had been confiscated,” I said.

  “Oh. Well, then I called Tina,” Tommy said. “I told her ‘the Director’ from the memo was the field director of the National Drug Bureau’s Newark Office and she was like, ‘Oh, my God, Carter is there right now.’ ”

  “Actually, I think I said something slightly stronger than that,” Tina interjected, snaking her arm around my waist and holding it there.

  “That’s when Irving called his people and made things happen,” Tommy finished.

  “Yeah, who are those people, anyway?” I asked.

  “No comment,” Wallace said, smiling. “I just hope the U.S. Attorney is going to be able to put a case together.”

  “I don’t know if it would be considered admissible, but you think a taped confession would help?” I said, drawing the recorder out of my pocket.

  Wallace grinned and clapped me on the shoulder. Tina released her grip on me, giving me another kiss on the cheek. “Not to be the bossy editor,” she said sweetly, “but you’ve got a story to write. So stop gabbing with us girls and get your ass in gear.”

  “There’s more of that enlightened management,” I said. “Let me collect my things and I’ll be out of here.”

  I grabbed my ficus, aware that I had a houseplant but no house. It was a situation I would have to rectify, if only because I didn’t want to go around being so obviously ironic. I had just retrieved my phone from one of the square-jaw boys when it started ringing.

  “Carter Ross,” I answered.

  “Hi, Carter, it’s Mrs. Scalabrine from next door,” she said.

  “Oh, hi.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but you said to call if anyone saw your cat.”

  “You found Deadline?” I said, feeling my heart lift.

  “He’s out on the sidewalk right now, pacing back and forth,” she said. “I think he’s hungry. Want me to feed him?”

  “I’m sure he’d like that,” I said. “Tell him I’ll be home soon.”