Brain Trust

by A W Hartoin

  “Tommy has been admitted,” she said, her face growing tender and full of sympathy.

  “For what?”

  “Severe dehydration and exhaustion. Poor man. Ace says he’s quite distraught.”

  I sat up. “He’s not the only one. Why couldn’t he hold it together for Mom?”

  Millicent bent over and kissed my forehead, so I guess she didn’t hate me. That was good.

  “Because he couldn’t,” she said. “There is no why.”

  “That is so not comforting.” I lowered the ice pack. “I did this to get him here.”

  Instead of answering, she gave me a hot croissant. Aaron poured me hot chocolate that smelled like it was made with half and half and possibly heavy cream. It was heavenly and just one sip made me feel sort of fluffy and light-headed. “Where did you make this?”

  Chuck strode in. “The hospital kitchens. I hear he’s reorganized their system and they’re not happy about it.”

  “I imagine not.” I looked at Aaron and he stared at the wall over my head. Hopeless. “Any new information?”

  “Tommy’s one floor up.”

  “I mean, on the case.”

  “There might be, but it’s not your problem,” he said.

  I gobbled down half the croissant and stood up. “How do you figure that? Somebody tried to kill me yesterday.”

  “What?” exclaimed Mom.

  My mouth fell open and a bit of flaky crust fell out. “Metaphorically. I meant metaphorically.”

  Mom held a tissue to the corner of her mouth and said, “I don’t believe that for a moment.” She looked around the room. “Where’s your father?”

  Yeah. A distraction.

  “He came last night while you were asleep,” I said. “He didn’t want to wake you.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Mom appealed to Chuck. “Where’s Tommy? Didn’t they release him? Is he on a plane?”

  “He’s back,” said Chuck gently. “And he did come in, but he’s sick. They admitted him.”

  Millicent explained the situation. Myrtle was up with Dad right then, checking on his condition. Mom tried to climb out of bed to go to Dad and it made me so mad, I literally bit my tongue to stop from screaming.

  “Carolina, darling,” said Millicent. “Tommy’s fine. Sister Miriam, Ace, and Myrtle are with him.”

  “I should be with him,” said Mom and it hurt my heart. I gave her a croissant. “Maybe you can go up later, but you need to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry. Why didn’t he wake me up?”

  Cause he’s a self-involved nut.

  “I told him you needed to rest,” I said. “Want me to get an update?”

  Mom nodded and accepted a cup of hot chocolate from Aaron.

  I left the room with Chuck and Fats in tow, quietly closing the door behind me. “Did they find Scott Frame?”

  “Aren’t you going to see Tommy?” asked Chuck.

  “Not just no, but hell no. Did you find Scott or not?”

  Chuck pulled me down the hall away from the cops, who were intently listening. “You don’t need to worry about it. Tommy’s back.”

  I crossed my arms. “Oh, you mean the guy I found hysterically crying in the bathroom four hours ago? Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to be doing crap.”

  Chuck stared at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, he freaked out. Tommy Watts freaked out.”

  “Ace said he’s dehydrated.”

  “From the crying.”

  My handsome boyfriend went stiff. “Why are you mad? His wife had a massive stroke. He gets to be upset.”

  “I know. I found her. The worst part’s over. I did all the hard stuff. All he has to do is hold her hand and he couldn’t even do that,” I said. “Did you find Frame or not?”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “You’re off the case and frankly” —I pointed to my face— “I think I’ve earned it.”

  He sighed. “We found his truck. There was blood, a good amount, but not nearly enough to kill him. But this guy doesn’t kill the detectives. He goes after the loved ones.”

  As far as you know.

  “No body?” I asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Prints?”

  “Still processing,” said Chuck, giving me the once-over. “What?”

  “I don’t know. The blood in the truck thing is weird,” I said. “Did you find a bullet or a casing?”

  “No. They’re thinking it was a stabbing, but I know what you mean. Who stabs a fully-grown man in his car? It might’ve started outside the car and Scott tried to get away.”

  “Blood trail?”

  “A bit.”

  “He’s getting messy, leaving the truck and the trail.”

  Chuck crossed his arms and I tried not to get distracted by the pecs. It wasn’t easy, I can tell you.

  “I think our guy is feeling the pressure,” said Chuck. “He didn’t expect Denny at the house, Blankenship’s talking, and you got away.”

  I put my ice pack on the handrail and ran my hands through my hair. The good news about Fats’ haircut was that I didn’t have as many tangles as usual. Of course, I didn’t have as much hair either. “So…any suspects at all?”

  Chuck said nothing. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was embarrassed, but Chuck Watts didn’t do embarrassed.

  “What about that dry cleaner, Alfonso Cruz?”

  “Nothing new, but his son, Rafael, is in the wind,” he said.

  Fats put my ice pack back on my face. “You think he was the one who grabbed Mercy?”

  “Possibly. We’re running the blood on the scrap of material that Wallace got when she bit him.”

  “Do they have any connection to my dad or me?”

  “Not that we can see,” he said. “Morty took a look and found nothing. They must’ve been hired to do it.”

  I snorted. “Unless Cruz has a drug or gambling problem, I don’t see it.”

  “He doesn’t,” said Chuck.

  “Then it’s something else,” said Fats.

  “It is, but we don’t know what.”

  “Does the son have an arrest record?” I asked.

  Chuck nodded. “Some small-time stuff. Drug possession. The gang unit thinks he’s in the DTOs, but they can’t prove it.”

  “Swell. Anybody we know arrest the son?” I hoped for a connection to The Brain Trust.

  “No. All routine busts after your dad retired. The same with the other Brain Trust members. If we could find Keely, maybe we could get some answers,” said Chuck.

  Fats and I exchanged a look.

  “What?” he asked.

  I told him that Keely and her husband were dead. He wasn’t happy with me. I should’ve told him. Some crap like that. I didn’t really care. He wasn’t all that forthcoming and I paid for my info.

  “So all we’ve got from the Trust is Avery and his wife torched his files. We should try Gavin’s files.”

  “If our guy thought there was something in Gavin’s files, he would’ve taken it already. He didn’t bother, so I’m guessing that only Dad had whatever it is.”

  “That’s just great.”

  “Ask my dad. He’ll remember,” I said.

  “Minute details about cases that happened over a decade ago? I don’t think so.”

  “Ask him and find out.”

  Chuck gritted his teeth. “I tried. They gave him something. He’ll be sleeping most of the day. We’ve got nothing. No motive and no suspects.”

  “Was the dry cleaner’s son prosecuted?” asked Fats.

  “Plea bargain.”

  I gave my bodyguard a little smile. “Who defended him?”

  Chuck’s blue eyes lit up. “I didn’t think to ask. They handed the case to Nazir. He’ll tell me.”

  “If it’s Parks, we’ve got something.”

  “If not, nothing.”

  “Check the juvenile record,” said Fats. “He might’ve been arrested when The Brain Trust was opera
ting.”

  “Nazir has probably tried. It’ll be sealed.”

  “Not to Morty,” I said.

  “That’s not how we operate,” said Chuck.

  Fats and I smiled at each other. Thank goodness we had no such issues. “We’ll take care of that,” I said.

  “You’re off this.”

  “Somebody tried to kill me and my mother. What do you suggest? I sit around and wait?”

  “Exactly. Nazir’s good. He’ll get it.”

  “Detectives are dropping left and right. Speaking of detectives, have you looked at Avery?” I asked.

  “Avery Sampson? Are you crazy?” asked Chuck. “His wife was murdered.”

  “And he looks broken up about it. Are we sure he is?”

  “Yes. And Avery doesn’t have any connection to the Cruzes or Nicaragua. Are you suggesting that he flew down to Central America to kill his former co-worker and her husband?”

  “Somebody did,” said Fats. “Why not him?”

  “Because he’s a good guy, one of the best.” Chuck pointed at me. “He’s your father’s friend.”

  “We think. Maybe Lainie was divorcing him.”

  “She wasn’t.”

  “Because he said so?”

  “Because she wasn’t,” said Chuck. “That kinda thing gets around.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Why don’t you go check that out?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Take a shower. Slurp down coffee before Mom’s therapy appointments.”

  He stared at me. “Go on then.”

  “I will.”

  “You’re up to something. I can tell.”

  “Nope.”

  “You know I can do whatever you’re planning,” said Chuck.

  I smiled and winced, touching my lip. The swelling was down, but I wouldn’t be looking in a mirror soon. “You can’t interview people for a case you’re not on.”

  “Who are you going to interview?”

  “Don’t you worry about it. Fats and I know what we’re doing.”

  He turned me around. “At least go say goodbye to your mom.”

  I sighed and agreed, but Chuck wasn’t taking my word for it. He walked me down to the room and appeared to stand guard. Fan-freaking-tastic.

  Mom was sitting up, using a straw to drink coffee to prevent spillage and letting Millicent brush her hair.

  “Only Carolina could look this beautiful in the hospital,” said Millicent.

  Tears filled Mom’s eyes.

  “What, darling, what?” asked my godmother.

  “I’ll never look the same,” slurred Mom.

  I came to her side with a box of tissues, my chest constricted and burning. I didn’t care what Chuck said. I was getting out of that hospital and getting it done. Grandma Fontaine was right. I couldn’t lay down the load and I didn’t want to. Let Dad have his breakdown. Let Chuck get kicked off the case. I was still there. Mom could count on me, whether she knew it or not.

  “In a few months, nobody will be able to tell,” I said.

  She blew her nose. “You really think so?”

  “Without a doubt. I’m going to call the rehab places and see where we can get you in.”

  Mom made a face. “Rehab.”

  “Rehab is an excellent idea. Myrtle and I will bring it up with the director today. I’m sure he will be able to pull some strings and get you in wherever Mercy thinks is best,” said Millicent.

  “The director of what?” I asked.

  “The hospital, my dear.”

  “Is that why you’re dressed to the nines?”

  Millicent took a sip of her coffee. “One must dress if one wishes to impress.”

  “Why do you have to impress?” asked Mom.

  My godmother flicked a glance at me and then said, “There seems to have been an incident with Sister Miriam and she does make enemies, you know. There are some who would like to make it an issue. Myrtle and I will take care of it.”

  Mom looked at me. “Did you know about this?”

  “Actually, I thought I already took care of it.” I was so relieved Millicent hadn’t mentioned me and my fire extinguisher that I got a little weak in the knees. Or maybe it was just exhaustion. I needed a coffee IV.

  “I’m sure you tried. Miriam is…difficult,” said Mom.

  “Speaking of difficult, I’m going to go visit Dad and see what’s going on there,” I said.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. My mother knew I was lying and I held my breath, waiting to see what she would do.

  “Very good,” she said, her eyes locking onto mine. “Tell him I expect this case to be solved within twelve hours. With the best mind on it, there should be nothing to stop progress.”

  I just stood there for a second. She knew Dad was admitted, so was I the best mind? That couldn’t be. I was me, the daughter dufus. “I’ll tell him.”

  “Excellent.”

  Chuck stepped up. “You know what? I just thought of something.”

  “What?” I asked.

  Before I could blink, he snapped a handcuff on me and attached it to Mom’s bed rail.

  “Are you out of your damn mind?” I yelled, yanking on the cuff.

  He pointed at me. “You aren’t going anywhere. I’ll get myself back on the case.”

  “And I’ll take this bed apart if I have to.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  I rattled my chain, literally. “Mom, can’t you do something?”

  Mom shook her head. “You are a target, Mercy. Perhaps you should let Chuck deal with it. He is a professional.”

  What the… You just said.

  I suppressed a scream and started looking at the railing. The screws were in all the wrong places. I needed a hacksaw. I glanced at Fats and she gave me a pirate smile. She probably had a hacksaw in the truck. She was that kinda girl.

  Mom held out her good hand to Chuck. “I know you’re doing your best to protect Mercy and I appreciate that.”

  “I’m glad you understand, even if she doesn’t.”

  “The women of our family are stubborn and independent. We don’t like to be told what to do by anyone.”

  “I know that,” said Chuck with a pointed glance at me. I wanted to toss Mom’s coffee at him, but it would hit her.

  “Soon, you’ll understand how deep the independent streak runs,” she said. “Give me a hug and get out of here.”

  Chuck gave her a good hug and said, “I hope therapy goes well today.”

  “I’m sure everything will go well today. Now go on.”

  He left, tossing over his broad shoulder to me, “Someday, you’ll thank me.”

  Why do people say that? It’s so snotty. He might as well say I’m smarter than you, ya nitwit.

  “Remind me to smack the crap out of him,” I said to Fats. “He’ll thank me later.”

  Fats chuckled. “I’ll get you out of that in no time. A trip to the hardware store and we’re good.”

  Mom sat up in her bed and said, “No need.”

  I looked at her, so disappointed I could’ve cried. “I have to do this, Mom. I want to.”

  “I know.” She held up a small key ring with two little silver keys dangling from it. “You’re not the only one who got lessons from Tommy Watts.”

  My mouth fell open and Fats laughed. “You picked his pocket. Nice one, Mrs. Watts.”

  “Call me Carolina,” she said, tossing me the keys. “Honestly, that was too easy. Mercy, your man is a sucker.”

  “You can’t have everything. Thank goodness.” I unlocked the cuffs and tossed them aside. “Now I just have to get past the cops.”

  Mom smiled at me, lopsided but with plenty of warmth. “Leave that to me.”

  “You can’t get out of bed. Seriously.”

  “No problem.” She picked up Wallace and jiggled the pug awake. “I have a job for you, my little pee pot.”

  Bark.

  “Can you do it?”

  Bark. Bark. Bark.<
br />
  “Mom,” I said. “Come on. She pees on me. That’s not so useful.”

  Aaron came over, took Wallace from Mom, and silently walked out.

  “Holy shit!” yelled one of the cops.

  “She’s peeing all over!”

  “What is wrong with that dog?”

  Fats grabbed me and we went to the door behind Millicent, who had a large handkerchief out and ready. She went to the right and said, “I have this. Let me help you.”

  My bodyguard peeked out the door and, a second later, we were sprinting down the hall. I looked back as we turned the corner and saw that Millicent had them facing the other way. Remarkably, Wallace was still peeing. She was running around their feet and spraying away. She was three-fourths bladder, maybe more. Aaron looked at us and did a thumbs-up. No expression, of course. My partner—always odd, always useful.

  We bypassed the elevator and ran down the stairs. Fats was on the phone, asking someone to bring a car around to the ER ASAP.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “My brother. We’ll take The Girls’ car. They won’t mind.” Fats already knew my godmothers quite well.

  “Can he stick to my mom while we’re gone?” I barely got that out I was so breathless.

  “We already discussed it. He’ll go up after we’re away.”

  Fats and I dashed through the ER and burst out the double doors into the lobby that happily held no reporters. We ran through the exit just as a vintage powder blue car rolled up.

  “You have got to be kidding,” said Fats as she skidded to a halt.

  Rocco got out and leaned over the convertible top with a grin very reminiscent of his sister. “Hey, Fatasaurus Rex. Problem?”

  “You little douchebag, what the hell is this?” she said.

  He caressed the mint condition top. “This is a 1954 Borgwald Isabella.”

  “It belongs in a museum. What are you doing driving it?”

  “The Bled Mansion is like a museum and The Girls let me pick the car I want to drive. I drove a ’45 Jag yesterday. It was like heaven with wheels.”

  “I can’t drive that,” said Fats.

  “I didn’t know you would be driving it,” Rocco pointed out. “It’s not my fault you ate your Wheaties…and everything else.”

  “I hate you sometimes.”

  He grinned. “Right back at you, but today, being your brother is suddenly worth it. Let’s see you cram yourself behind the wheel, Princess Porks-a-lot.”