Jake glanced at Victor. The boy had stared at the floor during his grandmother’s entire account, his expression never changing. Now for the million-dollar question. “Why did you come to me with this problem?”
“What else could I do, call 911? ‘Hello, my grandson is dead and selling drugs down the block. Can you make him stop?’ I came to you because Miss Laurel sent me. She says you can help me.”
“Miss Laurel?” Jake had difficulty maintaining his poker face. Only one person on Earth knew anything about his unusual experiences: Bill Russel, the former CIA spook who had become an operative for Nicholas Tower and Kira Thorn. But Russel had fled the country, choosing to remain in the shadows rather than deal with the fallout of Tower International’s collapse.
“The psychic downstairs.”
Jake’s heart skipped a beat. He supposed there was nothing strange about a fellow tenant in the building referring a client to a private investigator, but for Miss Laurel to claim she had knowledge of his experiences sent chills down his vertebrae. What does she know? He intended to find out. “It was kind of Miss Laurel to refer you to me. I’ll have to thank her in person. Do you have a photograph of Louis?”
“Right here.” Carmen opened her purse and took out a glossy school portrait of Louis. “This was taken at his school six months ago.”
Jake studied the photo. Louis had been a good-looking kid with short hair and an infectious smile. “And the corner where he slings?”
“Montclair and Caton, near Flatbush Avenue.”
The heart of Brooklyn, Jake thought, picturing the 70th Precinct neighborhood. Rough turf. “Do you know what time he works?”
“They only come out at night. What are you going to do?”
Jake shrugged. “I’m going to go there and see what’s what. Then I’ll get back to you.”
Carmen appeared relieved that Jake seemed to believe her, but her voice grew tentative. “If you don’t mind me asking …”
“I don’t know what I can do for you, Mrs. Rodriguez. Maybe nothing. But I will look into this”—he raised Louis’s photo—“and I’ll let you know what I think. If I can help you, we’ll work something out regarding my fee. But it won’t cost you anything for me to see for myself what’s happened to Louis.”
“I understand.” She got to her feet. “God bless you.”
THREE
The door closed behind Jake, jingling bells announcing his arrival, and he stood alone at the top of two steps leading down into the parlor. He didn’t know what to expect but saw no crystal ball, no tarot cards, no hint of the occult, just a round table with a red tablecloth in the room’s center and a sofa on the far wall. Hearing the aggressive voices of political pundits on a cable TV news show in a back room, he suspected that Miss Laurel lived on the premises as well.
Miss Laurel emerged from a side doorway wearing a tight charcoal gray dress. Long sandy brown hair framed her high cheekbones in waves. She stopped for a moment, registering Jake’s presence with her bright blue eyes, then stepped forward.
Not exactly a gypsy, Jake thought, his eyes finding their way to her full breasts.
“Hello, Mr. Helman,” she said, offering her hand.
Jake measured her crystalline eyes and then her hand before he shook it. “Miss Laurel, I presume?”
“Laurel Doniger. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Jackie Krebbs.”
Jackie was Jake’s contact with Eden, Inc. “You don’t look surprised to see me.”
Her smile revealed perfect white teeth. “You’re not here to borrow a cup of sugar. I knew you’d be stopping by after your appointment with Carmen.”
“Thanks for the referral.”
“You’re welcome.”
“How did I earn such a neighborly gesture?”
“Like a lot of people who come to me, Carmen needs help. I offer advice, not physical assistance. She needs action, and she obviously can’t turn to the police. I hear you’re good at what you do.”
“Did Jackie tell you that?”
Nodding, she gestured to the sofa. “Would you like to sit down?”
“No, thanks. I don’t think I’ll be staying long. Carmen said you told her I had experience in matters like hers. Did Jackie tell you that, too?”
This time she shook her head. “No, that’s just my impression of you.”
“And yet we’ve never met until today …”
She smiled, a sparkle in her eyes.
“Oh, that’s right.” Jake snapped his fingers. “You’re psychic, aren’t you?”
Still smiling, Laurel said, “I’m sensitive to other people’s energy. I don’t pretend to know the future. I only read my clients’ energy and help them see things more clearly.”
“And you read my energy, without me ever setting foot in here before?”
“You’ve occupied your office upstairs for almost a year now. I know you live there. I feel your vibrations around the clock.”
Jackie told her I sleep in my office, Jake thought. “What else do you know about me?”
“I know you’re a good man who’s had some very bad experiences. I know you’ve suffered a terrible loss, which you blame on yourself. And I know you genuinely want to help people.”
Jake narrowed his eyes. She’s drawing conclusions from readily available data. The papers called me a hero after my gunfight in that bar, and it was a big deal when the Cipher killed Sheryl. I was big news for about a week. “Someone’s been busy online.”
“You do your background searches on the Internet, not me.”
“That’s part of my job description.”
“And knowing things about people that I couldn’t possibly know is part of mine.”
“You haven’t done a very good job of convincing me so far.”
“I didn’t realize I needed to. But I’ve learned a lot more about you since you walked through that door.” She offered her hand as evidence. “Touch is very important in my profession.”
Jake’s smile tightened. “Can you read my mind right now?”
“No. I don’t read minds. I read energy.”
“Fine. Can you—?”
“You’re wondering if Carmen and I are running some sort of elaborate scam on you. We aren’t. She’s a client of mine, and her distress is real. If any man in this city can help her, it’s you.”
“I’ll give you this much: your instincts are good.”
“Call it whatever you like. Hopefully Carmen will be our mutual client soon.”
Jake’s voice softened. “I’m an ex-cop and a private investigator, not some kind of occult detective. You’ve got me all wrong.”
“My specialty is helping people see the truth about themselves.”
“What’s in this for you?”
“I like to help people, too.”
“For a fee.”
“Not always. Sometime I do pro bono work. Just like you.”
“We’ll see about that. In the meantime, I just might discover a thing or two about you and Carmen as well.”
Laurel bowed her head. “I’m sure you’ll do whatever you think is necessary.”
A woman of mystery. But a con woman all the same, just like all psychics and mediums. Lady, you’ve picked the wrong mark.
He thought her smile returned, wider.
Jake drove to Sylvia’s on Lenox Avenue in Harlem. The restaurant took up nearly the entire block. He gave Edgar’s name to the hostess, who escorted him between the crowded tables to one against the far wall. He zeroed in on the most beautiful woman in the restaurant, and when her eyes made contact with his, he knew she was Edgar’s date. Then Edgar, sitting with his back to him, turned in his seat. He and the woman rose at the same time, and Jake saw that Dawn stood almost six feet in heels. She wore her long straightened hair parted on one side, and her flame red, strapless dress resembled lipstick on her creamy coffee-colored skin.
“Here he is,” Edgar said. “The man of the hour.”
“I’m
flattered,” Jake said. “But only for an hour? Fame is fleeting.”
“Jake Helman, Dawn Du Pre.”
“Hi,” Dawn said, extending one hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Jake shook her hand. “Same here. Edgar won’t shut up about you.”
“As a publicist, I appreciate that.”
Jake waited for Dawn to sit, then did likewise. Scanning the tabletop, he saw a fourth place setting. “My spider sense is tingling. Is someone joining us?”
The look in Dawn’s eyes confirmed he had been set up.
Edgar’s voice took on the sound of manufactured innocence. “Well, Vasquez wasn’t doing anything tonight, so I asked her to sit in. You don’t want to be a third wheel, do you?”
Jake focused his attention on Dawn. “It’s a good thing he’s a cop, because he’d make a lousy criminal.”
Dawn clasped Edgar’s hand. “That’s what I love about him.”
Uh-oh, Jake thought. This is for real.
“Girls like bad boys, but a smart woman needs a good man.”
“I hear that,” said another woman, in a higher pitched voice than Dawn’s.
Looking up, Jake saw Detective Maria Vasquez, his replacement as Edgar’s partner in Special Homicide. Since Sheryl’s funeral, Jake had seen her a few times in Edgar’s company when they were working. She always managed to appear fashionable, even when standing knee deep in a case, but nothing could have prepared Jake for the image she presented now. Her tight green dress, which accentuated her compact figure, matched her eyes, and her curly brown hair spilled over her shoulders. Rising once more, Jake tried to wipe the surprise from his face.
“Hi,” Maria said, looking into his eyes. “Good to see you again.”
“Same here, Vas—Maria.” He held out the unoccupied chair beside him.
“Thank you. It’s nice to be around a man with manners for a change.” Winking at Dawn, she said, “I’m stuck driving around with this one all day.”
“You’re tougher than me,” Edgar said.
“You got that right.” Maria turned to Jake. “So what do you think?”
Jake looked around the table. “I just met her, and I already think she’s too good for him.”
“I can see this is going to be a long night,” Edgar said, and laughter circled the table.
A waiter with gray hair came over to the table and smiled at Maria, then Jake. “May I get you something to drink?”
“What are you all having?” Maria said.
“A Manhattan,” Dawn said, gesturing to her half-full glass.
“Martini,” Edgar said.
Maria turned to her right. “Jake?”
“Uh, I’ll just have a lemon-lime soda.”
“I’ll have the same.” Maria smiled at the waiter.
“No, don’t hold back on my account,” Jake said.
“It’s okay—”
“No, I insist. I want you to enjoy yourself.”
“Okay, in that case I’ll have a Scotch on the rocks.”
“Very good,” the waiter said and left the table.
“I’ve never met a private eye before,” Dawn said to Jake. “It sounds awfully exciting and romantic.”
“It’s neither. No femme fatale has ever walked into my office, and I have yet to stumble over a murder or a conspiracy while shadowing an unfaithful spouse. My job involves a lot of boring surveillance, nothing like what you see on TV or in the movies.”
“He’s just being honest,” Edgar said in a deadpan voice.
“Do you have a card?” Dawn said.
Jake fished for his wallet and took out a business card, which he handed to Dawn.
“’Helman Investigations and Security,’“ she read. “May I?”
“By all means. Would anyone else like a card? I need all the business I can get.”
“Sure,” Maria said, and Jake handed one to her.
“I’ll pass,” Edgar said with a dismissive smile.
The waiter returned with their drinks.
“To Edgar and Dawn,” Jake said, raising his glass.
“To two beautiful women,” Edgar said.
The four of them touched their glasses.
“Mm, I love soul food,” Maria said to Jake. “Don’t you?” “Absolutely.”
“This is delicious,” Dawn said. “But I grew up in Louisiana. I love Creole cooking.”
“There’s a great Cajun place next to my office on Twenty-third Street,” Jake said. “You should try it sometime.”
“How about next week?” Edgar said. “We could make it a foursome again.”
An embarrassed silence hung in the air.
“Subtle,” Maria said, staring at her plate.
Beneath the table, Edgar swung his knee against Jake’s.
“Why not?” Jake said. “The three of you coordinate your schedules and let me know what night works best. If we can’t manage it, we’ll do it for sure the following week.”
“Then it’s settled,” Edgar said before turning to Jake. “Hey, Maria and I are working with a couple of your other ex-partners.”
Jake cocked his right eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Here we go,” Dawn said to Maria.
Edgar swallowed his food. “Yeah, Brown and Beck from Narcotics. The bosses think our Machete Massacres are related to Black Magic, so they’ve combined our investigations, sort of an unofficial task force because they don’t have the manpower to spread around. I’m in charge.”
Jake felt his gut tighten. He had worked with Gary Brown and Frank Beck for three years in SNAP—the Street Narcotics Apprehension Program—based in Alphabet City. Because of his time in the HERCULES Counterterrorism Unit after 9/11, he had found a path into Homicide, whereas Brown and Beck never made it out of Narcotics. The two men had become detectives just like Jake, but after so many years in Narcotics, they would never escape that unit.
“Congratulations,” Jake said. “But I’d watch your step around Gary and Frank.”
“You saying they’re bad apples?” Maria said.
“No, I’m not saying that,” Jake said. “I never had any problems with them. Just watch your backs is all.”
“Narcotics is a bad place to be,” Edgar said, as if explaining anything Brown and Beck might have done in the past.
“True that,” Jake said.
Dawn set down her fork. “I’m done. I want to save room for dessert.”
“I hear you,” Maria said. “Something with chocolate and nuts.”
A cell phone chimed at the table, and Edgar took out his phone. Frowning, he answered the call. “Hopkins.” As he listened, his expression turned grim. “Okay, we’ll be there as soon as we can.” Hanging up, he turned to Maria. “No dessert for us. We got a bad one across 110th Street.” He lowered his voice. “Another Machete Massacre.”
Maria smacked her lips. “I’m on a diet anyway.”
Edgar turned to Jake. “Hey, do you mind driving Dawn home?”
Dawn said, “Oh, that isn’t necessary …”
“I don’t mind,” Jake said. “Order your dessert.”
“I’m driving,” Edgar said to Maria.
“Good,” she said, gulping her drink before rising.
“You want to stop at your place first, so you can change?”
Maria looked at her dress. “After I went through all the trouble of fixing myself up? Not on your life.” She and Jake traded smiles. “See you around, right?”
Jake stood. “Count on it.”
“Good night, Dawn.”
“See you, Maria.”
Leaning across the table, Edgar kissed Dawn on the lips. “See you later?” “I’ll wait up,” she said.
Edgar squeezed Jake’s shoulders. “Dinner’s on me next time.”
“Suuuuuuuure …”
Edgar and Maria headed out of the restaurant together.
“There go two of the best dressed cops in Homicide,” Jake said, and Dawn laughed.
“Nice car,” Dawn said as Jak
e drove his Chevy Malibu down Second Avenue. The sun had set, and young people loitered outside the bars.
“I think you’re being sarcastic,” Jake said. “I wanted a hybrid, but I couldn’t afford it.”
“It gets you where you need to go, right?”
“It does more than that. I spend a lot of time in this car on stakeout. It’s like a second office.”
“And your office is your home,” Dawn said, running the middle finger of her right hand over the Malibu’s armrest.
“Edgar told you about that, huh?”
Dawn nodded. “Don’t be mad at him. I think it’s sweet that you didn’t want to live in your old apartment without your wife.”
Jake did not feel like discussing Sheryl with Dawn. “I’ll get a new apartment eventually, but the rent on that office is high, even with deductions. For now, while I get my life back together, the office suits my needs fine. When you own your own business and have to put in long hours, it makes sense.”
“I know,” Dawn said in an agreeable voice.
“What sort of publicity do you do?”
She shrugged. “Where’s Old Nick?”
Jake’s blood chilled. Even after almost a year, the phrase elicited fear in him.
Dawn grinned, oblivious to his sudden discomfort. “You name it: authors, athletes, musicians. Anyone who can afford to hire someone to help make them famous. I divide my time between here and L.A., but I have a few clients in Chicago as well.”
“Edgar told me you got box seats for the Knicks at the Garden.”
“Say the word and I can get them for you, too.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that. I’ll let you know. You said you were raised in Louisiana. What led you into publicity?”
“Getting out of Louisiana,” she said, laughing. “I was born here in the city, so I guess I’ve always been a city girl at heart. I’m damned good at what I do.”
“Edgar thinks you can do no wrong.”
“That’s my man.”
Jake slowed down as they passed 105th Street.
Desperate Souls Page 3