Pieces of the Puzzle

by Robert Stanek

  He winced, tried to hold his brains in as his head started throbbing, but nothing worked.

  “Take the Midol,” Helen recommended.

  He tried to open the bottle, but his hands just wouldn’t work. Helen opened the bottle and gave him two pills. He wanted three or four, but she said two would work just fine. Afterward, she fed him while he lay on his back.

  He asked her later, “What happened yesterday? I don’t even remember this room.”

  Helen said, quiet and firm, “If you ever hurt me again, I’ll find a way to kill you. I will.”

  She had a fork in one hand, a knife in the other. He edged away from her. “That wasn’t me yesterday, Helen.”

  “I think it was, especially when we got around to it.” His eyes showed disbelief.

  She used his confusion and kissed him on the mouth. She crawled up on top of him, peeled off her bra, placed his hands on her breasts. “You like the feel of them, don’t you? Want to try to get it right this time? I can tell you’re a real ladies’ man.” He put his hands to his head. The room was spinning. She kissed her way down to his belly. He tried to push her away. She held on and went at it with even more vigor. He grabbed the mattress with both hands as she moved faster and faster. For a few moments, the pounding in his head went away.

  When it was over, she giggled and worked her way back to his mouth. She said, “Now it’s the truth and not a lie, and no one will hurt Jessica.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to, to—” he stopped tried to think of what he was going to say, “to mean?”

  “I did, you didn’t. You did, I didn’t.” She wiped her lips, put her bra back on and left the room.

  He wanted to chase after her, but found his shoulders were too heavy to lift off the bed and his eyes, he just couldn’t keep them open. He used one hand to hold the other while he forced his droopy eyelids open. “Did you put something in that?”

  “Night night,” Helen shouted back at him. “Sleep tight. You were marvelous, baby, marvelous.”

  Chapter 9

  Tampa, Florida Sunday, 9 January

  “A truce,” Scott told her as he sat up. Helen sat down on the bed. He took in the deep purple bruises on her neck and the thick makeup on her cheeks and eyes. “My head is killing me, and no, I don’t want anything for it.”

  She whispered, “You hurt me.”

  “A truce,” he repeated. “I’m not a good drunk, usually not a bad drunk, but never a good drunk.”

  “Never touch me. Never touch me.” She buried her face in her hands. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt me. You promised you wouldn’t let anyone hurt me.”

  Scott sucked at the air. He wasn’t sure if he should put his arms around her to stop her shivering, but did anyway. “If I could take back what I did, I would, but I can’t. We need each other, Helen. You want to find your sister. I want to find what was in the attaché case. We need each other.”

  “May’s dead. Jessica’s next. It’s my fault.”

  He put her at arm’s length. “Because of the money? How much does it take to sell out someone you love these days?”

  “Enough to keep the Symphonic from bankruptcy for a long, long time.”

  “Who paid you?”

  “‘It’s all very simple,’ he told me. I give him the box. He gives me the money. I never see him again. Nothing ever happens.”

  “Tell me how I can find him?”

  She heaved a gym bag onto the bed. “I want you to give it back to him. Tell him all I want is Jessica.”

  He looked her straight in the eye. “It’s not that simple anymore. You want to see Jessica alive, right?”

  She nodded soberly.

  “You have to tell me everything. Everything. I want to know when the first time he approached you was. I want to know what he was wearing, what he looked like, what he smelled like, what he told you his name was. I want to know about every time you saw him after that first time. I want to know every word he told you. Whether it was raining or the sun was shining when you met.

  Everything.”

  Helen brought him back to last summer. The orchestra was having serious financial troubles. Their audience was shrinking. There wasn’t enough money to pay the musicians for a third year in a row. A fifty percent pay cut was rejected by the musicians.

  They tried to raise funds, couldn’t raise enough. And then he came with a suitcase full of hundred-dollar bills.

  She unzipped the gym bag and handed him a stack of hundreds. “I just want Jessica back. That’s all. Is that so terrible?”

  He threw the wad of bills at her. “You don’t know me well enough to buy me.”

  She appealed to him with her eyes. “Ten million. Ten million dollars.”

  “Go on,” he told her.

  The man didn’t give her the money then, at least not all of it.

  He asked her how much she needed to keep the Symphonic running till December. She told him. He gave her the money, told her she owed him. She didn’t see him again until January, when things were again desperate. A handful of musicians walked out, more were threatening to leave. They needed money. He took her out, wined and dined her and then attacked her. The next morning he was gone, but there was ten thousand dollars in the bed beside her.

  In two weeks he came back, persuaded her that she was mistaken about the attack, told her that she was drunk at the time and didn’t know what she was saying, told her she owed him and that she had to go with him right then. He took her to dinner at a fancy restaurant, got her drunk and then attacked her. It happened over and over and over, and always he left money. One day in early April, he came back with a suitcase full of money and told her how she could make him disappear forever.

  She was trembling so violently that she couldn’t go on. Scott held her, reassured her. This was the part he needed to hear. He pressed her to go on, to tell him everything. She did. Afterward, they sat on the bed for what seemed hours. His stomach was in knots. His hands were in fists. His fingernails were biting into his palms. Her tears were dripping down his back, but he hardly noticed as he gently rocked her back and forth, back and forth.

  As evening set in, she sat in a chair and solemnly conducted Pachelbel’s Canon in D. She said it was soothing. He said after four hours of listening to the music and watching her, it had surpassed annoying. In one end of the living room, there was a computer occupying a corner of a desk. He eyed it with a sense of longing. He asked her again, “No Newsnet access?”

  She looked at him, didn’t stop conducting. “No connection, no connection, no connection.”

  “Why would anyone have a computer and not have a connection?”

  “Not my computer.”

  He tugged at his hair. “I have to get some fresh air.” She dropped her arms and ran to the stereo. “It’s off. It’s off.

  Don’t leave.”

  “I’m just going to get some fresh air. Maybe I’ll buy a newspaper. Is there a newsstand around here?”

  “Mini-mart two blocks up, but it’s late. They’re out of papers by now.”

  Scott opened the door. Sunset was sprawled across the heavens; smog and ever-present humidity did nothing to dampen its beauty. It was a sunset Cynthia would’ve delighted in. He went to the railing and stared out over the glut of buildings to the distant horizon. Helen came up behind him. “Beautiful,” she said.

  He walked away from her touch.

  The mini-mart was three blocks up the street, not two, or maybe Scott went in the wrong direction but at the moment it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t daunted by the thickness of the Sunday Tampa Tribune. He bought the last one, a several-day-old Wall Street Journal, and a news rag that caught his eye. When he asked the man behind the counter if he still had yesterday’s newspaper lying around somewhere, the man’s face lit up with a smile. He produced a Friday and a Saturday edition. Scott bought both and a twenty-dollar phone card.

  A few moments later, he was dialing Glen’s number. Glen answered on the third
ring. “How’s Cynthia? Has she come around yet? What are the doctors saying?”

  “Scott, you worry about the weather in Tampa. I’ll worry about Cynthia for the both of us.”

  “And her condition?”

  “She’s getting stronger every day.”

  Scott closed his eyes, sighed.

  Glen repeated, “Worry about the weather in Tampa.”

  “Is it going to rain?”

  “I think there’s a storm coming your way. Can you handle it?”

  “A hurricane?”

  “Could blow over in a day or two. Still, maybe you should stay indoors.”

  “I will.” Scott hung up the phone, reached for his holster to reassure himself, found he wasn’t wearing it. He looked around, picked up the newspapers and started back to Helen’s apartment. He walked as briskly as he could without running. He set the papers down at the base of the stairs, looked at them for a moment like he was parting with an old friend, then crept quietly up, one stair at a time. He stopped a few steps below the second floor landing. The door to the apartment was wide open. He could hear music coming from the stereo, but it wasn’t Pachelbel. He snaked up the last few stairs and into the apartment. The living room was empty. He smelled something faintly. Cigarette smoke. Helen didn’t smoke, did she?

  His gun was in the bedroom, somewhere. The question was how to get to it if someone was waiting for him within the shadowed apartment. He pulled at his lips as he considered his options, not surprised that the possibility of danger excited him. Glen told him once that the thrill of the game was in his blood and for a long time he didn’t know what Glen meant. One day, in a single instant, that changed. U.S. warplanes raced overhead. The city trembled as B-52s delivered their payloads. He hunkered down beside a wall that seemed to run forever along the banks of the Tigris and waited, waited just like he had outside the walls of Enieshkey and Serseng palaces in Amadiya, only things were different now. The push was on, the hunt was on, and he the hunter sought a more elusive quarry.

  There was smoke then too, not faint but puissant and stinging as it rolled along the wall. He slipped into the bedroom, using the shadows as he moved. He groped along the floor beside the bed. He grinned as he touched soft leather and cold steel. He slipped the gun from the holster and was rising from his knees when he heard something not far off.

  Abruptly, the bedroom light turned on. He squinted as he spun around, slipped his finger over the trigger and started to squeeze even before he saw what he was aiming it.

  “No, Scott, no!” Helen screamed. She jumped in front of the woman who had turned on the light. “This is May. Scott, May. May, Scott. It’s her apartment! Don’t shoot! Please God don’t shoot!”

  He lowered the gun. Helen ran up to him and kissed him full on the mouth. Scott didn’t shy away but it was only because of May. He whispered as she wrapped her arms around him and led him into the kitchen, “Knock it off.”

  Helen made coffee and put biscuits out. May watched, eyeing Scott without saying a word.

  “Can I ask you a few questions, May? I need to know about Pattie.”

  May puffed on her cigarette, finished it, lit another. Scott swore a cloud was forming around her.

  “Have you ever met Pattie?”

  May didn’t say anything.

  Scott nodded to Helen. Helen said, “He’s a friend, May. I vouch for him.” Helen kissed him again, then sat down on his lap. “He’s here to help. I asked him to.”

  “I really only met Pattie that once, at the airport.”

  “Go on.” Scott sipped his coffee, wished it was something else and not only because the thin ceramic mug felt like it was burning his hand every time he touched it. May lit another cigarette, her fifth. Helen nibbled her thumbnail more intently.

  May finally said, “It’s mine and it isn’t, really my ex-husband’s. We’re sort of trial and erroring it. Well, mostly erroring it right now if you know what I mean.”

  Scott said, “That’s not what I asked. I asked you about Pattie.

  You said you met her at the airport once. Where did she fly in from?”

  “Well, I’m trying to think. Sometimes it helps just to blab and then it just sort of comes in from the blue… See, now.” May smiled. “One of those East Coast cities. You know, the big ones that start with a B that most of us folk down here don’t rightly care about.”

  “Like Baltimore?”

  “Baltimore, Boston, Boise. One of those.”

  Helen took May’s hand. “Boise is in Idaho, dear.”

  May wrinkled her nose.

  Scott reached for a biscuit and spilled his coffee in the process. Helen jumped off his lap, grabbed a handful of paper towel from a double-roll dispenser and was about to mop up the mess when May said, “No, that’s the good stuff,” as if she were talking about her best china.

  Helen’s face flushed red. Scott knew she was embarrassed for May but shouldn’t have been. He also knew Helen thought he was angry, but he wasn’t. He was starting to like May. Someone else might have thought her simple, but sometimes simple was refreshing. Helen put the paper towel back and slowly unrolled a few sheets from the other roller while May nodded her head.

  Scott took the paper towels from Helen and started cleaning up the mess.

  Scott sat back down. “Tell me about Pattie.”

  “Pretty thing. Pretty eyes. Long black hair—well, used to be. She didn’t like it that way, so one day Pattie up and chops it all off. Pattie was good for her though, real smart. Meant for each other but I guess that’s in the past now.”

  “Did she ever talk about friends and family back home?”

  “She’s real quiet, you know. Most times.”

  “Her job. Did she ever talk about her job?”

  “She flew first-class. Did I tell you that? Like a regular V.I.P. The type that brought my daddy to Boca Raton. It’s not like it used to be. Nope, not no more. Getting sucked right into that giant cesspool in Miami.”

  Scott tensed again. Helen grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear, “She’s having a rough time right now. Just leave her alone for a while.”

  “You two look good together,” May said.

  “I’m married.”

  May’s eyes darted toward the bedroom. “How married?”

  “I love my wife.”

  May sipped her coffee. “Too bad. You’d be good for each other.”

  Helen frowned and turned away.

  “Back to Pattie,” Scott said. “Was she going to fly in the weekend before last?”

  “It was the first of January, right?”

  “And?”

  “It’s a special day, you know. One year, one year. They met at some big conference in Miami last December. Some big to-do at one of those fancy hotels. Loves those fancy hotels. She’d find an excuse to spend the night in one just because she had a doctor’s appointment and there was one a mile away. Surprised you don’t know that by now.”

  “You’re talking about Jessica, right?”

  May rolled her eyes.

  “This fancy hotel. Was it in Miami Beach, the Ritz-Carlton?”

  “Like the cracker. That’s the one. How’d you know?”

  Scott eyed Helen who still wouldn’t look at him. “Lucky guess. Does she always carry a lot of cash with her?”

  May laughed like she was remembering a private joke that she kept hearing over and over. Helen got up and walked away. She went into the other room and turned on Pachelbel’s Canon in D. Scott said, “She paid for the room in cash, for a week in advance.”

  “I was her father’s secretary for a while before he passed on, you know,” May said, whispering now. “She came straight from the big college with that bee degree. You know B-E-E like in bumblebee. Anyway that’s how I remember when I have to tell someone over the phone. ‘Yes, she’s certified,’ I say. ‘She’s very good. The best, even better than her father.’ That’s a compliment.”

  Scott nodded. “And?”

  “Well, just so
you know. I’ve known her for a long, long time, you know. I was there all those years when no one else was. Anyway, she’s the Queen of Credit. That’s what I call her when she floats the bills from card to card to card. Last year she didn’t come back for a week after that big to-do. Oh we had the police out looking last year. This year, I asked her, ‘So you’ll be back on Monday?’ She laughs and says, ‘Fred’s in the Keys, right?’ I nod.

  She says, ‘Go visit him. Stay a few weeks.’ So I go, only he’s not there, he’s here and now I’m here and he’s not. We miss each other like that a lot sometimes.”

  “So Pattie paid for the room?”

  “Well, probably. Always has money, that Pattie. That’s partly why they would have been good for each other. Last year, she racked up ten thousand dollars during just that one week.”

  “Pattie?”

  “No, silly. She was trying to impress Pattie, always. She likes to pretend like she has all the money in the world, but me and Pattie, we know it’s an act. No, I didn’t tell her and don’t you tell that I told you either.”

  Scott’s eyes glazed over for a moment, then he promised he wouldn’t. He started thinking about credit cards, Jessica’s credit cards and a paper trail all across Miami. “Thank you, May,” he said, “You’ve been very helpful.”

  “Well, ain’t you a dear,” May said. She finished off her cigarette, went to get another one and found the pack was empty. As she started digging through her purse looking for a new pack, he went off in search of Helen.

  Chapter 10

  Miami, Florida Monday, 10 January

  It was a three-hour drive from Tampa to Alligator Alley along I75. Helen asked why he wanted to take the tollway when I-41 would get them to Miami just fine and not that much later. It was the wee hours of a Monday morning and not a Monday afternoon. He agreed with her on that point, only that point. So the tollway was twelve bucks, big deal.

  Helen said she remembered when it was only a buck fifty. Big deal. The point was that he could, and did, go from Naples to Andytown in an hour and not three.

  He said smugly, “Miami Beach, two-fifteen in the a.m.”