Honest to Dog

by Neil Plakcy

  “You remember Larry Fuentes? From high school?”

  It took me a moment. “Skinny with a little mustache that never grew?”

  “That’s him. We used to work out at the same gym, right after I joined the police department. One Saturday night he took me to this Latin dance club in North Philly. Tiffany was staying with a cousin nearby. We started dancing and then making out.”

  I heard a woman’s high-pitched voice call, “Ricky!”

  Tiffany was ahead of us. She was shorter than I imagined, and more buxom – but maybe it was just the low cut dress, a silky red number that was way too tight for a woman of her age and her endowments. She clattered up to us on three-inch heels and wrapped her arms around Rick.

  She wasn’t as pretty as she’d been in the older photos I’d found online. She had a couple of lines across her forehead, and her skin was sallow.

  “I’m so glad you came!” she said. “You’re the only one I could ever count on.” Her voice had an odd accent, a combination of Spanish and the Bronx.

  She kissed his cheek, leaving a smear of red lipstick. She wet her finger and wiped it off, and Rick blushed. “This is my friend Steve,” he said.

  She turned to me. “You’re the one with the dog, right?”

  I nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

  She took Rick’s hand. “Come on, I’m starving. This place makes the best food in town.”

  I followed them to a Colombian café. The smell was heady, a mix of cheese and fried foods, and my stomach grumbled.

  Rick made a point of sitting across from Tiffany, with me beside him. Even so, she reached across the Formica-topped table to take his hand. “Oh, Ricky. What am I going to do?”

  A plump young waitress with dark hair in a net and a big mole on her cheek came over with a coffee pot in her hand and spoke to Tiffany in Spanish. “You don’t mind if I order for you, do you?” Tiffany said to me. “I know what Ricky likes.”

  “Sure, I eat anything,” I said.

  Tiffany rattled off an order to the waitress, who poured coffee for all three of us. “Colombian coffee, it’s the best,” Tiffany said.

  “So what’s up, Tiff?” Rick asked, when the waitress was gone. “You said the police don’t think you knew what was going on. So what do you need from me?”

  “You need a reason to see me?” she said, pouting.

  Rick crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. I’d seen that stare before, when he wanted information from someone, and Tiffany wasn’t immune to it.

  “You’ve got to help me, Ricky. I can’t go to prison.”

  “Then tell me exactly what you know,” he said. “I can’t do anything until I hear the whole story.”

  She took a deep breath. “It wasn’t for a couple of weeks after I started that I figured out that something was wrong. People were calling to complain that their insurance was billed for appointments they didn’t make and services they didn’t get. My boss, Maria Jose, she told me just to apologize and say that it was the fault of the girl before me, Yoani, and that I would fix it for them.”

  I remembered her Facebook posts, and then what Yesenia Cruz had told me about those names that began with Y. It wasn’t surprising that a Cuban would be working at an office in Union City.

  “And did you?”

  “Sometimes I could withdraw the claim, but other times the insurance had already rejected it. Usually they just paid.”

  “How often did you get these complaints?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Only once or twice a week. Most of the patients, they’re too old, or they didn’t speak enough English to realize what was wrong. But it was strange, I was processing tons of claims but there were almost never any patients in the building.”

  Suddenly she looked down and whispered “Holy shit.”

  “What’s the matter? Rick asked.

  Without raising her head, Tiffany said, “My boss just walked in.”

  I shifted around so I could see the front door of the restaurant, expecting to see an elderly man. But the Latin guy speaking with the hostess was in his forties, wearing a white soccer shirt advertising Emirates Air.

  “Is that Eduardo de la Fe?” I asked Tiffany, when I turned back to her.

  “Yeah. I really don’t want him to see me.”

  No luck there. A moment later the guy was standing beside our table. “Hola, Tiffany,” he said, pronouncing her name Tee-fah-nee.

  She looked up. “Hi, Eddie,” she said. She introduced us, and we all shook hands.

  “I am sorry we had to close the office so quickly,” he said. “I hope you will be able to find a new job soon. If you need a reference, please let me know.”

  She thanked him, and then the hostess led a boy and a girl up. “I have your table now,” she said to de la Fe, and he followed her and the kids to the back of the restaurant.

  “He seems like a nice guy,” I said.

  “Not really,” she said. “He can be a jerk sometimes. I kind of, you know.” Her voice trailed off.

  Rick and I shared a glance, and I knew exactly what he was going to ask.

  “Were you dating him?” Rick asked. “I thought you had a boyfriend. This Alex guy.”

  “It wasn’t really dating,” Tiffany said, still not making eye contact. “We just, you know, fooled around. He has a lot of money. He took me to way nicer places than Alex.”

  “Did you ever talk to him about the strange stuff you saw at the clinic?” I asked.

  “I asked him about it one day. That’s when he offered to take me out to dinner and explain.”

  Rick looked at me, and Tiffany must have noticed, and kicked him, because he said, “Ouch!”

  “I know what you’re thinking, Rick Stemper. You think he had sex with me to shut me up.”

  “And?” Rick asked.

  “It wasn’t like that. He was nice to me. He used to give me little things.”

  Rick didn’t say anything, so I jumped back in. “Did he ever tell you that the clinic was filing false claims?”

  She shook her head. “Never.”

  I pressed on. “Did he ever say anything specific that would lead you to believe he was breaking the law?”

  She looked from me to Rick. “Is he a cop now too?”

  “Answer him, Tiffany,” Rick said.

  “No. The first time I knew that something was seriously wrong was when those FBI agents came to the clinic last week.” She looked closely at me. “You were in prison, weren’t you? You don’t look like the type.”

  “Everybody makes mistakes,” I said. “Some of us get caught, some don’t.”

  20 – Easy Lies

  The waitress arrived a few minutes later with our platters spread out along her arm. “This is bandeja paisa,” Tiffany said, as the waitress laid the plates in front of us. She pointed to each of the dishes. “Red beans with pork, fried egg, fried sweet plantains, and chorizo sausage.” There was also a big lump of white rice and some ground beef in a red sauce. It was an awful lot of food for a Sunday brunch, but I dug in.

  We ate in silence for a while, but Rick didn’t seem to have much appetite. Finally he pushed the plate away and said, “You shouldn’t be in trouble. If the FBI ask you more questions, just tell them what you told us. You didn’t know anything was wrong.”

  “But what if they find out about Eddy and me?”

  “It’s not illegal to date somebody,” Rick said.

  She looked down at the table again. “Eddy and Alex are friends. If Alex finds out he’ll be really mad.”

  “Again, not illegal. Sleazy, maybe, but nothing the FBI will care about.”

  “When did you get so mean?” she asked.

  “Maybe when you walked out on me?” Rick asked.

  The waitress came over and asked if we wanted anything else. I was almost afraid of what Rick might say next, but he said, “Just the check, please.”

  “Let’s keep focused on the problem,” I said. “Tiffany, you said you asked Eddy what was g
oing on, and he took you out to dinner. What was his explanation?”

  “He said that the whole insurance and Medicare system was screwed up, and I shouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Then that’s what you tell the FBI.”

  “But what if Alex finds out about me and Eddy?”

  “That’s easy,” I said.

  Rick’s head swiveled toward me. “Easy?” he asked.

  “If Alex finds out, you say that Eddy forced you. That he threatened to fire you if you didn’t go out with him. But you drew the line at having sex, because you wouldn’t do that to Alex. Fortunately, the FBI came in before Eddy could force you.”

  “But we...” She stopped. “Oh, I get it. Yeah. I can say that.”

  “You know how to lie way too easily,” Rick said to me.

  “It’s just a little white lie,” Tiffany said. “Because I wouldn’t want to hurt Alex. Or get him mad at me.”

  My hands were sticky and I wanted to wash them before we left, so I sidled out of the booth. “Be right back,” I said.

  I was washing my hands at the sink in the men’s room when Eduardo de la Fe walked in. He stepped up to the urinal, unzipped and began to pee. Then he turned to me. “So Tiffany is seeing her ex-husband now?”

  “He’s a police detective,” I said, as I turned off the faucet. “She’s worried about this FBI business.”

  I turned to face him as he finished at the urinal. “Any reason why she should be?”

  “Just a misunderstanding,” he said. “This insurance billing is very complicated. And it’s hard to get good people to do the work. Mistakes get made.”

  Yeah, right, I thought. Blame it on the staff, you sleazy bastard.

  I stepped away from the sink and dried my hands. “I hope it all works out,” I said.

  Then I walked out.

  When I got back to the table, it looked like Tiffany had emptied her purse in search of the bright red lipstick she was applying to her lips. The debris in front of her reminded me of all the crap Mary had carried with her – tissues, a compact, a couple of hair scrunchies in bright colors, a key chain with a little llama on the end of it.

  A llama. I looked closer and saw the same logo on it as the one that Rochester had found by the canal. “Cute jump drive,” I said to her.

  “What?”

  “The little llama on your key chain. It’s a jump drive. You didn’t know?”

  She shook her head.

  I leaned over and pressed the llama’s back legs, and the UDB port popped out of its butt.

  “How cute!” she said. “I never knew that was in there. And I can use one of these. I have a ton of pictures on my phone I want to copy off.”

  “You got that from the phone store?” I asked.

  “No, I found it at work, behind my desk. I was changing my shoes and I accidentally kicked my sneaker back there, so I had to crawl down and get it. The llama was back there, and I just thought it was a cute little thing, so I took it and put it on my keychain.”

  She put all her stuff back in her purse and looked out the window. “Oh, there’s Alex. He’s early.” She squeezed out of the booth. “I’ve gotta go, Ricky. Thanks for coming to see me.”

  She was heading toward the door before Rick or I could react. We watched her go out to the sidewalk and jump into the arms of a tall, muscular Latin guy in his late thirties, wearing a tight black T-shirt stretched across his chest, showing off impressive biceps.

  She kissed him, and then put her hand in his and steered him back the way he’d come.

  “Some things never change,” Rick said.

  I couldn’t tell how Rick felt at that moment. Was he glad Tiffany was gone? Sorry that she had another white knight to protect her?

  “I didn’t expect her to pay the bill, but I did think she’d stick around for dessert,” he said. “What was up with that jump drive?”

  “I found one just like it when Rochester and I were walking out along the canal about where Doug went into the water. I checked what was on it, and it definitely wasn’t Doug’s – just a bunch of photos of somebody’s kids.”

  “Speaking of kids, I promised Justin I’d get him a jump drive for his computer. He needs to be able to carry his work back and forth to school. You think he’d like one shaped like a llama?”

  “Why not? I think he’d get a kick out of the way the USB comes out of the llama’s butt. I saw the store where I think they come from as we were driving in.”

  “Then we’re off to see the llama,” Rick said.

  21 – Phone Llama

  The Phone Llama store was only a few blocks beyond where Rick had parked his truck. It was bright and sunny and the temperature was just in the low seventies. We strolled past trees and fire hydrants and trash cans, and I wished I had Rochester with me so he could enjoy all the different smells.

  “I was young and stupid,” Rick said after a while.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I met Tiffany. She was really hot and very into me. I knew from the start she was kind of screwy but I thought I could fix her.”

  “We all make mistakes,” I said. Neither of us said anything more until we reached the cross street and turned right. Up ahead was the Phone Llama store, a single bay in the middle of a block. A big banner over the door announced unlocked GSM phones, and signs in English and Spanish promised you could call Cuba and Latin America.

  We walked inside, and while Rick went up to the counter I browsed around the store. It was so easy to be connected with anyone in the world, I thought. When I was a teenager, my parents had sent me on a study abroad program to France, and I’d only been able to call them once the whole time, because it was so expensive. Now as long as you had a computer and internet access you could call anywhere in the world.

  “No luck,” Rick said, when he returned. “The only way to get one of those drives is to buy a phone, and it’s not worth that much to me.”

  “I can give you the one I found,” I said. “If Justin doesn’t mind a couple of teeth marks on the llama.”

  “There are plenty of different kinds of drives,” he said. “I’ll find him one.” He looked around. “But you know what? I should have hit the can when you did. Something in that food didn’t agree with me.”

  “There’s a bar next door,” I said. “We can stop over there.”

  We walked back outside, up to the bar’s front door. The logo was an iguana with its tail curled around a map of Cuba, and from inside we heard laughter and cheering in Spanish.

  Inside the cool, dim bar a mostly-male crowd clustered around a TV showing a soccer match. Rick headed for the door marked “caballeros,” and I wandered around the bar. I stopped at a wall of candid photos of bar patrons. I wasn’t all that surprised to spot Doug Guilfoyle in one of the photos.

  When he came out of the men’s room I called him over, and pointed to the picture. “That’s Doug.”

  He nodded. “So he came here. Didn’t he live around here for a while?”

  “I think so. Hoboken.”

  I peered at the photo. One of the men with Doug looked familiar but I couldn’t place him. Was he another classmate? I pulled out my cell phone and took a picture of the photo. Fortunately there was a light right above the photo so the image came through clearly. I didn’t know why, but I had a hunch there was a clue in that picture.

  We drove back to Stewart’s Crossing, neither of us saying much. I kept thinking about Doug Guilfoyle. Who had dropped that jump drive? Maybe someone had given it to Doug, and he hadn’t cleaned it out. Or maybe someone dropped it while pushing Doug into the canal. But who?

  I had a couple of suspects in mind, even if Rick believed Doug’s death was an accident. Suppose while they were at the Drunken Hessian, Doug had confronted Shawn about the financial irregularities at Beauceron? What if Shawn had accompanied Doug down to the canal? What kind of cell phone did he have? If he traveled a lot, he might have needed one of those GSM phones.

  I’d already cons
idered the possibility that Catherine might have met Doug outside the bar. And all the murder statistics pointed to someone close to the victim, a friend or family member. I couldn’t see how she connected to the jump drive, though.

  Which reminded me that I’d seen barbells on Ethan Guilfoyle’s bedroom floor. He was working out—which meant he was strong enough to give his father a push into the water. He was angry with his father, and he could have easily met Doug by the canal and argued with him. Catherine had said that Ethan had his driver’s license, so he could have gotten down to the center of town on his own.

  When I’d seen him the day before, he was troubled. Just by the fact of his father’s death? Or because he had caused it?

  But again, if the jump drive was a clue, how could it implicate Ethan? There was no reason for him to have it, or to have photos of someone else’s kids on it.

  By the time we pulled up at my house, I was frustrated, and I was glad to see Rochester and be able to romp around the living room with him after Rick took Rascal home.

  Later that evening, after dinner and a long walk around the lake with Rochester, I remembered the picture I’d taken of the photo on the wall at Las Iguanas. I emailed it to myself from the phone and then opened it up in Photoshop. I was curious to see if I could figure out who was with Doug Guilfoyle.

  I reduced the size of the photo so I could see the whole thing on one screen, and leaned forward to stare at the two men with Doug. One was swarthy, with dark hair in tight curls and a heavy five o’clock shadow. He didn’t look familiar to me at all.

  I recognized the third man, though. Tiffany’s boyfriend, Alex Vargas.

  Doug had told me he’d lived in Hoboken for a while after leaving the house in Westchester, while he was still working in the city. There was a direct train on the PATH line from there to Wall Street. I did some quick searching and found an old address for him, on North Street, a short walk from the Union Square PATH station.

  Las Iguanas was only a few blocks from there. So it made sense that Doug might hang out there, a newly minted divorcé looking to drown his sorrows in the company of like-minded men.