Brain Trust

by A W Hartoin

  I stopped writing. “What did you say?”

  “Mickey offered me a security job.”

  “Grandma J will kill you and me. Are you crazy? You’re supposed to be retired…again.”

  “If the last week and a half has taught me anything, it’s taught me that I like excitement. How many chances does a man have to go on the road with a world-famous band?’

  “How many chances does a man have to get divorced?” I asked. “You promised to retire. Grandma wants to travel and be together.”

  “We can be together on the road,” he said.

  “No, you can’t. Grandma meant go to Paris, take the Orient Express, stuff like that.”

  Grandad gazed at me under pale lashes. “Or I can start hanging out with my favorite granddaughter. You’re plenty exciting.”

  Why does this feel like a threat?

  “What do you want, Grandad?” I asked.

  “Back me up when I put it to Grandma. Tell her that the guys are swell and that she’ll have fun.”

  “I can’t and besides, she’d know I was lying. I’m a terrible liar.”

  “You’re a great liar,” he said.

  Pop Pop looked at me with puppy dog eyes. “You are?”

  “But I only lie to the bad people,” I said.

  He didn’t seem comforted.

  Grandad was eyeing me. “Besides, I said we need to talk.”

  “About what? Mom?” I asked.

  “Not about Carolina.”

  Oh, crap.

  “What then?”

  “Cats and things that go bump in the night,” he said.

  “Okay.” I avoided his eyes and looked back at my paper and marked, for no real reason, that Dad got the department to stop ordering those particular gloves in 2003. “Anyone know who Josef Mayer is?”

  Pop Pop and Uncle Morty were blank, but Grandad said, “Sounds familiar. Why?”

  “He brought Shill into the Unsubs and he didn’t mind telling me who it was.”

  Grandad pulled out his phone and started searching. “I can see why. Josef Mayer died in prison of a heart attack in 2012, if that’s the right guy.”

  “There has to be a ton of Josef Mayers. What did that one do?”

  “Well…”

  “Come on, Grandad. How bad can it be? They’re digging up shallow graves in Kansas and I just interviewed a guy who put a girl in a wood chipper. Lay it on me.”

  Never ask anyone, “How bad can it be?” Because it’s guaranteed to be worse than you imagine. And Josef Mayer was a case in point. He imprisoned his two daughters for a decade and fathered five children with them. There was more, but I made Grandad stop talking. I’d heard enough depravity for one day.

  “Sounds like Shill’s kind of guy,” I said. “This wasn’t here, was it?”

  “Montreal, Canada.”

  “Blankenship said the group was international, but how would those two meet?”

  Grandad nodded and looked at Uncle Morty. “Good question.”

  “I’m gonna have to subcontract some of this shit out.” Uncle Morty glared at me. “Anything else you want me to do?”

  “Hey, usually, you’re complaining that I don’t have enough. You should be happy,” I said.

  “I’m freaking thrilled.”

  “Good.”

  “Great.”

  There was a knock on the door and it opened, revealing an older woman carrying a clipboard. “Is Mercy Watts in here?”

  I raised my hand. “Occupational therapy?” I asked.

  “No. I’m Diane Przybocki from psychological services and I need to speak to you outside,” she said.

  I said sure, but I wasn’t enthusiastic. It was probably about Mom’s attempted rape and I so didn’t want to think about that. I gave the timeline to Pop Pop, who looked at it with distaste. “What should I do with this?”

  “I don’t know. Give it a think. Maybe something will come to you,” I said, heading out the door.

  I got outside and instead of finding Diane Przybocki on her own, Mr. Snyder, the head of security, was there, and Aunt Miriam, for crying out loud.

  “This can’t be good news,” I said.

  “I’d like you to come with me so we can discuss the situation,” said Mrs. Przybocki.

  “There’s a situation? And it’s not about my mother?”

  “No. This has nothing to do with Mrs. Watts.”

  I glanced at Mr. Snyder and Aunt Miriam. He was pulling on his collar and avoiding my gaze. Aunt Miriam’s thin lower lip was poking out, but her chin was up.

  “Just tell me,” I said. “What happened?”

  “It’s better if we go to my office.”

  “Look. I’m exhausted.” I pointed down the hall. “My mother’s waiting for me and her next appointment. I’ve got to get her into rehab. Figure out how to get my father unarrested in Chicago. Interview a psycho at Hunt. Oh, and there’s a guy out there who’s totally into killing my family. I’d say it can’t get any worse, but it totally can. Just tell me.”

  “It seems that you may have threatened to” —she looked at her clipboard— “eat the feet of a couple of doctors and you sprayed them with a fire extinguisher in the ICU.”

  “What of it?”

  That was not the answer she was expecting. “Miss Watts, I…that is not—”

  “Acceptable behavior? Got it. Next.”

  “We have to decide whether to…”

  Mr. Snyder stepped up. “They’re talking about barring you from the hospital, Mercy. I’m sorry. I’ve tried to tell them who you are.”

  “Mr. Snyder, it hardly matters who she is. She may be an unstable person and she’s walking around our hospital.”

  “Those doctors are unstable,” I said. “Talk to them about keying cars and fish in trunks.”

  “That’s immaterial to your behavior.”

  “What do you want me to say?” I asked. “I did it. I’m sorry those jerks were fighting outside my mother’s ICU room and acting like nuts. I’m not sorry I sprayed them.”

  “I may have to recommend that you and your aunt are banned.”

  I was on the edge of yelling, but that stopped me. “My aunt? She wasn’t even there.”

  Mr. Snyder swallowed hard and said, “There was another situation.”

  “With?”

  “A couple of candy stripers in an elevator.”

  I turned on Aunt Miriam. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing that wasn’t warranted,” she said with her trademark stink eye.

  “Did you whack them? Did you?” My voice went up three octaves.

  “There aren’t any witnesses,” said Mr. Snyder.

  Mrs. Przybocki looked like she wanted to whack him with Aunt Miriam’s new cane or her clipboard. Whatever would hurt more. “The girls said she hit them and they have welts.”

  “Aunt Miriam, hitting me is one thing. I’m family. I have to put up with you,” I said, getting more tired by the second.

  “What do you mean, ‘put up with’?” asked Aunt Miriam with so much stink eye I’m surprised her eyes weren’t burning.

  “I mean, I put up with you and the rest of this gaggle of nuts we call a family because you’re my family. Nobody else has to do it. Especially a couple of spoiled brats that torture disabled people and post it on the internet. Don’t make me break your cane again.”

  “They were saying things about you,” said Aunt Miriam with her blue eyes going watery. “I couldn’t stand those girls judging you. They’re trash and you’re…you.”

  “That’s nice, but now we’re dealing with all this.” I turned back to Mrs. Przybocki. “What do you need from me? I’m not staying out of this hospital. That’s not happening.”

  “They tortured a disabled person?” she asked.

  “Why do you think a couple of douches like them are doing community service?”

  “I have no idea, but I can’t just let this go. The doctors are making a fuss and you know how they are.”

  “I
do and I’ll tell you what, I won’t tell my godmothers about this.” I’d never, ever used the Bled name to get out of trouble before and I wasn’t proud of it, but this conversation needed to be over.

  “Your godmothers?”

  “Millicent and Myrtle Bled. They’re generous donors, I believe.”

  “Yes, they are. What are you saying?” asked Mrs. Przybocki.

  “Just that I won’t do anything like that again and I have no interest in eating any kind of feet.”

  She tapped her pen on her clipboard. “Perhaps if I could assure the doctors that you won’t be dealing with them anymore and that you’ll go to therapy…”

  “I’m already in therapy, so you won’t even be lying. My grandparents will deal with the doctors.” Until I decide to deal with the doctors.

  “Alright, but what about her?” She indicated Aunt Miriam. “She did assault those girls.”

  “I have an idea.” I whipped open the waiting room door. “Grandad, can you watch Aunt Miriam?”

  “I will not be watched like a child,” protested Aunt Miriam.

  “Then stop hitting people like a four-year-old.”

  Grandad came out. “What did you say?”

  “Mr. Snyder, can you take it from here?” I asked.

  “I guess I will.”

  Mr. Snyder started to explain the elevator incident as I trucked down the hall to Mom’s room. All I heard from Grandad was, “Dammit, Miriam!”

  I waved to the cop at the door and went in, ramming straight into Tiny’s chest.

  “Thank God, Mercy,” he said. “Where you been? We got a situation.”

  Fan-freaking-tastic.

  Chapter Seventeen

  NANA, DIXIE, AND Aunt Tenne stood around Mom’s bed, staring down at Wallace. She was making a low growling noise, but other than that, everything seemed fine. I mean, as fine as a stroke room got. Mom had a tissue to the corner of her mouth for the drooling, but she wasn’t crying anymore, so that was a plus.

  “What’s up with Wallace?” I asked when no one said anything.

  Nana put her hands on her generous hips and said, “What have you been doing?” She said it like I might’ve been getting a pedicure or something equally as frivolous.

  “Working with Uncle Morty on the crime timeline.” And getting me and Aunt Miriam out of hot water. “What’s the problem?”

  Aunt Tenne gripped Mom’s side rail like she might rip it off and Dixie still wouldn’t look at me. She fussed with Mom’s blankets, her delicate hands shaking. Nana clenched her jaw and looked over my head.

  On cue, Tiny said, “He called.”

  “Dad?” I gasped. “Thank god. Wait. What’s wrong?”

  Mom’s shook her head no and her eyes filled again.

  “I give up. Who called?”

  “Him,” spat Nana. “The guy.”

  I turned to Tiny. He had spots of dusky pink on his cheeks. “The one who attacked Carolina.”

  People talk about throwing up in their mouths, but I really did. And it was that quick. I heaved and burning liquid almost made it past my lips. I forced it back down and gasped, leaning on Tiny. “How? When?”

  “Just now,” said Nana. “He hung up a second before you came.”

  “How do you know it was him and not some crank?” I asked.

  Mom began shivering and I automatically pulled the blankets up, giving me a moment to think.

  It was simple to get connected to a patient room in a hospital. I should’ve thought of it, but it never occurred to me that the bastard would reach out. That was a special kind of arrogance. Dr. Grace was right about the personality we were dealing with. I should’ve paid more attention to what he said. But it was so rare that killers did that, would I have even considered it? No, probably not.

  “He knew about our house,” said Mom.

  I came to her bedside and took her hand. “Lots of people know our house.”

  “He described her underwear, Mercy,” said Aunt Tenne. “The ones she was wearing when it happened.”

  I didn’t throw up again, but my stomach wanted to. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  There wasn’t much to tell. The phone rang and Dixie answered. The caller said he was a friend of my dad’s from the force and he asked how Mom was doing. Dixie gave a cheerful report and asked if he wanted to talk to Mom. He did. Mom was hesitant to talk on the phone with her slur, but the speech therapist said the more she talked the better, so she took the phone.

  The conversation started out fine. He asked how she was and she gave the same answer as Dixie. Then Mom asked who he was. His voice was vaguely familiar. He didn’t give a name. He described Mom lying on the bricks, so beautiful, so damaged. He said he kissed her. He wanted to know if she remembered his touch, if she was looking forward to the next time he would touch her. He said he’d always wanted to touch her and he knew that she wanted it, too.

  Mom was so stunned she didn’t say anything. She just listened. The way she described it, her silence got him going. He switched from her to me, saying that he’d touched me in Sturgis and I didn’t even know it. He said he would touch me again and asked what Tommy would think.

  Mom came alive at that and said, “You stay away from my daughter.” She slurred badly and he laughed about it. Aunt Tenne snatched the phone away from Mom and yelled, “Who is this?”

  He said, “Tell Mercy hello for me. I’ll be seeing her soon.”

  He hung up and everyone stared at the phone on the bed like it carried the Ebola virus.

  “I’m sorry, Mercy,” said Tiny. “I’m so sorry.”

  I patted his enormous bicep. “You didn’t know that would happen. Neither did I.”

  “Why didn’t you know?” asked Nana, tearfully sinking into a chair beside Mom’s bed.

  “It’s not her fault, Mom. Mercy can’t know everything,” said Mom.

  “You always say she’s just like Tommy.”

  “She’s doing the best she can.” Mom looked at me with such generosity, I nearly broke down right there. Instead, I grabbed the phone and ripped it out of the wall. “I’ll be right back.”

  I left the room and leaned on the hall wall, shaking. The young cop watched me with apprehension before saying, “Are you alright?”

  “The man who tried to kill my mother just called and threatened her,” I said.

  “Oh, shit.” He fumbled with the radio at his waist. “I’ll call it in.”

  I nodded and went to the desk, plunking the phone down hard on the counter. The nurse looked up in surprise. “Can I help you?”

  “No phones in my mother’s room,” I managed to get out.

  “Phones are standard. Is there a problem?”

  “Yes.” I tried to say it again, but the words wouldn’t come out. It was nasty, so hideously cruel, that I started shaking. I wanted to yell, to curse, but Mom would hear and she didn’t need that. What she needed was my father. And I needed him, too. That was a new concept. I spent most of my time trying to avoid my dad and his demands. Lucky for me, he worked incessantly and my childhood was mainly just me and Mom. We were a duo. Dad had said many times that he felt like an intruder when he came home because we had such a routine. But when he was home, I felt like the intruder. The two of them were so connected, so into each other that they needed no one else. It’d never really been the three of us, just pairs switching out members.

  A hand touched my back and I screeched, knocking the phone to the floor. Pete bent down to pick it up. “Are you okay?” he asked. “What’s with this phone?”

  I threw myself into his arms and sobbed, blubbering about the call and not getting Dad back. I snotted all over his lab coat, but he just asked the nurse for some tissues and let me go on snotting.

  “He’s evil,” I said once I calmed down a bit.

  “You’ve dealt with evil before,” said Pete, smoothing my hair. His hand hesitated on the shorn parts, but he didn’t say anything. That was so like him.

  “Not like this. He taunte
d Mom. He wants to go on hurting her after what he’s already done to her.”

  “Evil sounds accurate.” He held me back by the shoulders. “You’re going to figure this out and you’ll get your father back, too.”

  I blew my nose and said, “How?”

  He chuckled and pushed his glasses up. “I have no idea, but you have a talent for figuring things out. You would’ve been great in forensics.”

  “I don’t know if I can do anything. The FBI already screwed me over once.”

  “I heard about that. Are you going back to Hunt for more information?”

  I nodded and blew my nose again. “I have to. I’m going to eat seafood stew.”

  Pete shuddered. He wasn’t a big fan of seafood either. “That’s commitment.”

  “It’s disgusting, but I can’t think of anything else to do. I have to have something else to trade for Dad and Blankenship likes to torture me for it.”

  “You’ll do great,” he said.

  “You’re so nice,” I said. “Why are you so nice to me?”

  “I’m that kind of guy.”

  “You’re a great guy.”

  “I’m seeing someone,” Pete blurted out.

  It startled me, but I smiled. “Not really a concern for me right now.”

  “I just thought I should tell you.”

  “I’m glad. I hope she’s nice to you and normal. You should get some normal.”

  The cop walked up and said, “The detective wants to talk to you.”

  I looked past Pete’s shoulder and saw Chuck hovering by Mom’s door, looking like my cat, Skanky, after I was forced to give him a bath. Angry and miserable at the same time.

  “I’ve got to go deal with him,” I said.

  “By the way, I came up to tell you that I’ll be the liaison for your mom’s case. It seems Millikan and Nishi don’t really want to talk to you.”

  “I heard. Thanks.

  “My pleasure.” Pete took off and I faced Chuck. He wouldn’t look at me, but Sydney had no problems marching up and demanding to know what happened. I gave him the gist of the call.

  Chuck came up reluctantly, still wet cat angry.

  “Don’t even start with me,” I said. “I’m Alexander and this is the terrible, no good, very bad day.”