Heartbalm

by Malachi Stone

  I flipped on the light switch, pulled a generous wad of Kleenex from the box in the bathroom and wiped down the light switch, knob and plunger. My prints could be explained, but a criminal would have been expected to wipe everything he touched for fingerprints. I even wiped down the brick before flinging it with studied carelessness into the mess of shattered glass on the carpet and then flushing the wad of kleenex down the dumper.

  I played the answering machine messages. Five from Diane in stairstep degrees of wrath. I erased each one. Message number six was the kicker. A steroid-deep male voice, a fee fi fo fum kind of voice that could belong to none other than Harold “Snug” Robbins. The message was simple, direct, and laced with menace: “I’m comin’ to git yew, maggot.”

  It was then that I conceived my master plan. A logician might have said that in that moment I achieved synthesis: why not kill two birds with one stone? I could get Snug out of my hair in a pre-emptive strike while simultaneously explaining the disappearance of the camcorder, not to mention buying thirty to sixty days’ delay on every file in the office by using the break-in excuse.

  Wincing over the mess I was about to make, I mummy-wrapped both hands in toilet paper, went into my office, began pulling out drawers and dumping their contents all over the carpet. I had read somewhere that professional burglars opened drawers starting with the bottom and worked their way upward, leaving all the drawers open when they had finished. Amateurs and vandals, on the other hand, left exactly the kind of mess I was intent on creating. As the coup de grace, I took a black magic marker and wrote with my left hand in big grade-school letters across my desk blotter, Hades Assassins. Having apprehensively driven past their clubhouse, a former neighborhood bar on the east end of Belleville, I knew their insignia and recreated it as best I could on my blotter: a death’s-head with eyeballs in its sockets and a knife in its teeth.

  Moving to the reception area I couldn’t resist searching Heart’s new desk for anything personal. A freak like Snug would naturally focus on his former wife’s work station. I confess I lowered myself, in more ways than one, beside her chair and sniffed at the chair pad. Oh bouquet of woman! I mussed up everything on her desktop and broke the glass in a framed picture of a red-headed little boy squinting into the sun, his freckles like paint spatter. It looked like the kind of printed picture that comes with the frame. Then I slid open her lap drawer. She had organized everything from paper clips to post-it notes in neat array. I destroyed it all.

  There was something in back of the red-haired kid picture, another photo. I pulled it out, and discovered it was a picture of Heart seated behind a monster who had to be Snug—a fairy tale giant with a bald cranium pointed like a nuclear warhead—straddling his Harley. She clung to his ogre’s torso, a broad smile playing across her face as she rode topless down a street lined with bikers in what I assumed was the big Sturgis pow wow, her nipples perky-stiff with naughty excitement.

  No time to study it now. I still had a scanner somewhere. Finally I located it in the back of a storage cabinet in back. I booted up my computer in my private office and re-installed the scanner, which I had earlier taken off because it slowed the computer down. Carefully positioning the photo in the scanner, I copied it to my hard drive with the title Heart Topless in Public. Then I copied it again, this time boldly entitling it Heart’s Big Tits on Public Display. If I cropped Snug out of the pic and enlarged the rest, it would make a dynamite screen saver. Back at Heart’s desk I reluctantly tore the original photo in two and carefully placed both halves onto the floor face-up in plain sight, as though they had been tossed there. When I had finished I returned to the bathroom and flushed my makeshift kleenex gloves. I went back to Heart’s desk and deliberately hyperventilated. Only then did I call nine one one.

  “There’s been a break-in! Hurry! They may still be inside!” I whispered, panting with what I hoped would sound like fear, the terror of a small businessman facing financial ruin, not to mention great bodily harm.

  “What’s the address, sir?”

  I gave it to her.

  “Are you injured or in need of an ambulance?”

  “I don’t think so, no.” I repeated with all the voice-quavering agony I could muster, “Hurry!”

  “The police have already been alerted, Sir.”

  “What? You mean somebody else already called it in?” Had some nimmy-nose seen what I was up to and ratted me out?

  “By me, Sir. I summoned the police as we were speaking. What I want you to do for me now is to remain outside in a place of safety and wait for them to arrive. Stand on the sidewalk where you can be observed by the patrol car.”

  I always do as I am told. It took at least twenty minutes for the cops to show up. Three minutes into the wait, my Blackberry rang. It was Diane, ready to chew.

  “You aren’t going to believe what just happened, Hon.”

  “Try me.”

  “Well, first of all I know how much you hate me keeping things from you, and I was certainly going to tell you as soon as I thought the timing was right—”

  “Spit it out, Richard.”

  “Well, the thing is, it turns out Heart has this crazy fool ex-husband, see? Well, anyway, when I got back to the office I discovered there’d been a break-in. I think, and it’s only a mere supposition at this point, that maybe he might be responsible. I’m standing out here waiting for the police as we speak.”

  “Oh, God, Ricky, be careful!”

  Success! “Don’t worry; the cops are on their way.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Other than the fact that the office is trashed, I’m fine.”

  A signal from the Blackberry. I had a new email.

  “Gotta go now, Diane; I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Don’t go in there, Ricky, whatever you do. He may have a knife or even a gun.”

  “Don’t worry; I know how to keep myself out of harm’s way. Call you later, okay?”

  “Okay,” she whimpered. “Hey, I love you.”

  “Love you, too.” As soon as she hung up I checked my email. It was flagged as spam, the sender’s ID blocked. The subject line gave me a distinct shiver: Investment opportunity. Used camcorder for sale. I fumbled to open it.

  “Dear Lawyer Ricky Galeer,” it read, “Here’s how it is: you want it and we got it. Gonna cost you tho. Otherwise you know what they mean by revenge postings? LOL. How would Diane like that, not to mention your legal career? LMAO. Fifty thou, cash, TONITE, nothing bigger than a Benjamin. Watch your email for further instructions. A friend.

  None of my friends sent me anonymous emails. What if that crazy bastard Tyranno emailed the sex videos to Diane and to all the judges in the third and twentieth circuits? And what if the videos did wind up posted all over the Internet? Such a thing would be impossible to stop, or to repair once it had gone down. It wouldn’t be worth tracing; by then the damning videos would be in the public domain forever. And I had no money. Yet as a lawyer, I knew nobody in Tyranno’s position would ever believe how broke I actually was.

  Finally an unmarked bubble car rolled up, double-parked behind mine and shined a spotlight in my face. The lone occupant rolled down the driver’s window and beckoned to me.

  It was Detective Forrest.

  “You’re working late,” I said.

  “I was about to say the same thing about you. Had a break-in?”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  “Been inside?”

  “Just long enough to see what happened. Then I called you guys.”

  He stepped out of the car and looked me carefully in the eyes. “Have you been drinking, sir?”

  “Just one or two, after I saw this. You can understand.”

  “Not really. I don’t drink or smoke,” he said.

  “Oh. Well, trust me, after something like this happens, you need a drink.”

  After a beat he asked, “They leave all the lights on like that?” Staring at me, not at the building.

  �
��Must have. I left the front door unlocked after calling you guys. It was locked when I left.”

  “When was that?” He pulled out a notebook.

  “When was what?”

  “What time did you secure the building?”

  “I don’t know; now that I think about it, not too long ago, actually.”

  “What’s ‘not too long ago, actually?’”

  “Say maybe around, I don’t know, five forty-five, give or take.”

  “You mean to tell me you locked up at quarter to six PM and they broke in no more that a few minutes later?”

  “Maybe they were watching me the whole time, you know, on the lookout until the coast was clear or something? Or waiting for it to get dark or whatever. Who knows?”

  “Not something we see very often. Never, in fact.”

  “Is that right? First time for everything, I guess. Exception that proves the rule.”

  “What rule?”

  “Just an expression.”

  I never heard it.” For the first time he shifted his gaze from me and into the office. “How far did you make it into the building once you discovered the break-in?”

  “I stopped at the front desk. That’s as far as I went, believe me.”

  “Why shouldn’t I believe you?” he said without smiling.

  “No reason. It’s just an expression.”

  “Lot of expressions tonight. What made you return to the building so soon after it had been secured?”

  “Wife sent me back to get something. You know how it is.”

  “No, I don’t know how it is. I’m single myself.”

  “Well, take it from me, that’s how it is all right.”

  “Anything missing?”

  “I have absolutely no idea.”

  “You insured for this kind of thing?”

  As a matter of fact, I wasn’t. “Detective, I don’t mean to tell you your business, but do you suppose they may still be inside?”

  “Only one way to find out.” He said something to dispatch and exited the car. “Stay right here,” he said, unbuckling the holster strap over his sidearm. He opened the front door and strolled in with his arms swinging at his sides like he was walking a beat. No ducking around corners or SWAT moves for this guy. He was in there for five minutes before I joined him. I found him in back taking pictures of the broken glass on the floor.

  “Thought I told you to stay put,” he said.

  “Sorry, I—”

  “Let me see the soles of your shoes.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The soles of your shoes. Show ‘em to me,” he said, holding the camera in one hand and pointing to them with the other.

  I took a chance. Saying, “Have you checked the alley?” I blundered through the broken glass toward the back door.

  “Hey, goddamnit!”

  “What’s wrong, Detective?”

  “This is a crime scene. I’ll have to ask you to remain outside until I’ve completed my initial investigation.”

  “Kinda cold out there.”

  “That your vehicle out front?”

  “Which one?”

  “Which one you think I mean? That piece of shit Astro van,” he said. “Yours?”

  “I’m afraid so. It still runs good.”

  “Times been kinda tough for you in the law racket lately, counselor?”

  “I don’t like what you’re suggesting, Detective.”

  “I’m suggesting that you get in that minivan, start it up and sit in it, run the heater if you feel cold, but don’t even think about coming back in here, or about going anywhere else until I’m finished inside.”

  “You have me blocked anyway.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “That’s a fact.”

  “No harm no foul. Stay put a few more minutes, counselor. Let me wrap things up in here, then you and me’re gonna have us a little chat down at the station while I prepare my report. Verstehen?”

  “I can’t go down to any station. My wife is beside herself with worry.”

  “Got a cell phone?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then call her. Tell her you need to secure the building, and that the next couple days you’ll be busy inventorying whatever’s missing. And while you’re at it, tell her the last guy that tried faking a break-in and making the Belleville Police Department his unwitting butt buddies trying to defraud an insurance company drew himself a five-year stretch up in Pontiac.”

  I resisted an overwhelming impulse to tell him about Snug, but I knew Forrest would smell a rat as soon as I mentioned him. Better let Forrest happen upon the telephone message for himself, study the defaced desk blotter, learn all about Heart and her newly-filed petition for order of protection. I figured he’d slip the torn picture into an evidence baggie and show it around to the guys in the squad room.

  I started the car and called Diane, giving her a brief update, and telling her I’d be late. While we were speaking another unmarked sedan pulled up. Two men got out and hurried into my office. Forrest must have called for backup.

  Cold as it was, I was low on gas so I shut off the engine and sat shivering in the dark, watching my breath fog up the inside of the windshield. The only illumination was from the lobby through the plate-glass window. I saw one cop wearing plastic gloves glom onto the two halves of Heart Topless in Public and call Forrest over. It was impossible from my vantage point to observe what was going on in my private office, but they spent more than enough time in there to check the answering machine. When Forrest came out to my car he was singing a different tune.

  “Sir, did you happen to check your answering machine messages before leaving the building this evening?”

  “Can’t say as I did, no. More often than not, I call from home to retrieve them.”

  “What about after you discovered the break-in?”

  “I didn’t dare go in that far for fear the perpetrators might still be lurking inside.”

  “You did the right thing there,” he said, sounding like someone who has just stood for an ass-chewing and is trying to be affable. “Smartest thing is always to call the police and stay out of the building until it’s been secured. Don’t need any dead heroes now, do we?”

  “No, sir.”

  “The building’s clear,” he assured me. “What we’d like to do, we’re gonna have you come on back inside and listen to a couple of telephone messages, see if you can tell us anything, okay?”

  “A couple of messages?”

  “Why should that surprise you?”

  “I’m not surprised. It’s just that, the Friday after Thanksgiving we don’t usually get that many calls.”

  “You don’t even get two calls?”

  “Not always.”

  “I can see why you’re driving that Astro.” He broke into a smile, more of a shit-eating grin actually, then slapped me on the shoulder to prove he was only joshing. He led me back into the office and introduced me around. “Mr. Galeer, this here is Detective Savage and this well-dressed gentleman you see before you is Lieutenant Grimm.”

  “Hell of a mess, huh?” Grimm said while I tried to act suitably horrified by it all. “Don’t worry,” he added. “Things can be replaced. Long as nobody’s hurt; that’s the main concern.”

  “We want you to hear two messages that were left on your machine, Mr. Galeer, see what you think,” Savage said.

  “All right.” We gathered around my desk; wearing surgical gloves, Savage pressed the button. Snug’s ominous message played first. All three men looked at me expectantly. Savage pressed pause.

  “Wanna hear it again?”

  “No, if you don’t mind. Once is scary enough. You think that guy did this?”

  “Do you recognize the voice?”

  “God, no. I think I’d remember, you know?”

  “Do you have any enemies, Mr. Galeer?” Grimm asked. “Anyone who would have had any reason, real or imagined, to vandalize your establishment? Revenge, jealousy, wha
tever?”

  I paused, trying to act like someone reluctant to speak. Finally I said, “As a matter of fact, there might be an individual who fits that description.”

  “Really?” Grimm said. “Tell us about him.”

  “I don’t know if I should say anything. All I have are suspicions and hearsay.”

  “That’s what we have to work with every day, Mr. Galeer,” Savage said. “All due respect, this ain’t a court of law, it’s the streets of Belleville.”

  “I don’t know. The person I have in mind, he’s my new secretary’s ex-husband. She says he’s been calling here. She was scared enough to go to court and take out an order of protection this afternoon. Doubt he’s been served with it yet.”

  Grimm asked, “Is this him?” and showed me the two halves of the photo.

  “Omigod,” I gasped. “Where did you get this?”

  “Ever seen it before?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Recognize anybody in the photograph?”

  “Yes, that’s my secretary Heart Robbins.”

  “Lucky guy. I shoulda gone to law school, you get to have secretaries working for you that look that good. Recognize the troglodyte on the bike with her?”

  “Never saw him before.”

  “Wish we could say the same,” Savage said. “That’s Harold “Snug” Robbins, a real asshole. We figure that’s his voice on your answering machine. Why’s he pissed at you, though? Trying to get his ex-wife fired off her new job, you think?”

  “I don’t know. Heart said he called here around noon threatening to come after me. She says he’s insanely jealous.”

  “Does he have reason to be?” Grimm asked me quietly.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean, she’s obviously an extremely attractive woman,” Grimm said. “Anything going on between you two we might need to know about? Something must have set Snug off.”

  I stared at him with open-mouthed outrage.

  “Whatever you say won’t leave this room, Mr. Galeer.”