The Other Side of Goodbye

by Ben Follows

  “What do you want?” Norman whispered, his voice shaking.

  “We want to ask you a few questions,” said the man behind him. “A van is going to pull up in a few seconds, and you’re going to get in. We’re going to talk in private. Understand?”

  “Yes,” whispered Norman just as an unmarked black van pulled up a few feet away.

  The man who had gone after Teddy walked up to them. He reached into Norman’s pockets and pulled out his wallet, phone, and keys. He tossed them into a nearby garbage can.

  They slid open the side door of the van and shoved Norman inside.

  Norman threw his hands out in front of him and landed on the cold, hard metal floor of the van. He turned back just as the door slammed shut. He heard the front doors open and his two abductors climb into the front seat, along with the driver.

  As the car started moving, Norman crawled to the door, feeling for a handle. There was nothing there, although that didn’t surprise him.

  The truck accelerated, sending him sliding into the back doors. Norman tried slamming his shoulder against the door. No luck.

  His mind kept going back to Teddy and the image of the dog running away into the trees. There was very little that the former foster dog was scared of, but being abandoned was definitely one of them. If Teddy felt as though he had been abandoned again, they might never find him.

  The thought of never finding Teddy made Norman feel like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. More than being kidnapped and abducted, he was angry with his kidnappers for risking Teddy’s safety. That dog deserved better.

  The van began to slow, and Norman made one final effort to shove the door open.

  He slammed into the door with his shoulder just as the van came to a stop. The door budged a bit but didn’t open. He could see the rusted lock straining under the pressure.

  “Okay,” said a voice just outside the door. It was the man who had shoved a gun into his back. “We’ll leave you in there if you try anything else.”

  “Alright,” said Norman.

  “Great,” said the voice. “Sit with your back to the door and your hands behind your head. If you are in any other position when we open the door, I will put a bullet in your skull. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “You have ten seconds.”

  Norman cursed silently and obeyed their instructions.

  The doors opened, and he was pulled backward by his arms. Handcuffs were slammed onto his wrists so hard they bit into the skin, making him wince. He stumbled back as his captor dragged him.

  He blinked as his eyes adjusted. They were inside a warehouse of some kind. Around the perimeter of the warehouse were makeshift rooms with white walls and medical machines inside them.

  Norman was dropped into a metal chair. His cuffs were attached to the backside of the chair. An immense spotlight above him suddenly turned on, blinding him.

  “What do you want?” he said, clenching his eyes shut against the light.

  The silhouette of a man stepped into his peripheral vision.

  “Why are you looking for Joel Sweetwater?” said the gunman.

  “What are you talking about?” he said, clenching his eyes shut. “Joel Sweetwater is dead.”

  The man grabbed his face. “What do you know?”

  “Nothing,” said Norman. “I was just hired to look into his death.”

  “By who?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” he said. “It’s confidential.”

  “Well,” said the man. “I think we can make a deal. Don’t you, Mr. Green?”

  Norman swallowed. “Who are you?”

  The man laughed. “Maybe someday I’ll tell you.”

  The man crouched down in front of Norman, letting the spotlight shine over his head and directly into Norman’s eyes.

  “Although I’m sure that it would get me a result,” said the man, “I’m not a fan of torture. I’ve done it before, but it turns my stomach. Not that I give a shit about the pain I’m causing anyone. Blood really bothers me. Some people get off on that, but not me.”

  “What’s your point?” said Norman. “You abducted me. You already ended any chance of me feeling anything but hatred toward you. You made my dog run away. I might never find him again. Do you have any idea how hard it will be to get him back? Do you know what that dog has been through?”

  “I don’t give a shit about your dog.”

  “What do you want?” said Norman.

  “I want to talk,” said the man, “but I also want to protect myself.”

  “What does it matter?” said Norman.

  “When this is over, I’m going to let you go free, Norman. I can’t have you knowing who I am.”

  “Why all this?” said Norman, laughing and squinting into the light. “All you’ve done is reveal there’s something worth investigating. I was willing to believe Joel had killed himself. If you had just let me investigate, I probably would have concluded the same thing the police did.”

  The man crouched in front of him. “I have more respect for you than that, Mr. Green.”

  Norman laughed harder. “That’s your first mistake.”

  The man raised a hand. He smacked Norman across the face. Norman blinked a few times as the pain reverberated through his head.

  “Holy,” he said, stretching his jaw. “Why don’t you give me your full force next time?”

  “Listen to my offer,” said the man, “and then we will talk about what happens next.”

  Norman rubbed his cheek on his shoulder. “You hit like a girl.”

  The man put his hands into his pockets. “I want to give you back your dream.”

  Norman frowned. “What?”

  “Let’s be honest, Mr. Green,” said the man, “this isn’t the life you want. This is a second-place prize. What do you really want?”

  Norman looked up at him and breathed through his nose.

  “What you really wanted,” continued the man, “was to become a star hockey player. The kind of player whose name kids have on the back of their jerseys.”

  “You can’t do that,” said Norman. “No one can.”

  “When you were given a chance, you were good.”

  “No one will allow me back into the league.”

  “I have connections,” said the man. “I can give you back your dream. You will be given another chance to play in the NHL and be given the kind of contract that will pressure the coach into playing you way more minutes than you were getting before.”

  Norman swallowed. “And in return?”

  “Tell whoever hired you that Joel Sweetwater killed himself. Then forget all this. Within two years, you will be back in the NHL. You have my word.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  The man laughed. “I would think you were an idiot if you did. I’m going to let you go free. You are going to continue the investigation for a week, but don’t commit to anything. Interview anyone you want, find anything you want. Within the next week, you will receive a package in the mail that will prove what I’m saying. Is that understood?”

  Norman nodded.

  The man turned and walked away from Norman. In the far distance, just at the edge of the spotlight’s reach, stood another figure Norman couldn’t quite make out beyond a vague outline.

  “Wait!” shouted Norman. “You have to take these handcuffs off.”

  Laughter came from the darkness. “The key is in the cuffs!” shouted the man.

  Norman frowned and reached up until his fingers grazed a key sticking out of the cuffs. “God fucking damn it,” he whispered, shaking his head.

  The key was just within the reach of his fingers. Within a few minutes, he managed to turn it enough to make the handcuffs click open and release his hand. Once one hand was free, he was able to undo the other cuff. He rubbed his wrists and stood, then he walked away from the spotlight.

  He couldn’t help but think about the offer he had been given. It was a chance at get
ting back everything he had ever wanted.

  But at that moment, he was most worried about Teddy.

  Norman stumbled though the exit and was hit by a cold breeze. He pulled his jacket tight around him and patted his pockets, looking for his phone and wallet before remembering neither was there. They were sitting in the garbage can outside his condo building.

  He walked between the immense warehouses, trying to figure out where he was. He couldn’t see a single soul anywhere nearby.

  He turned onto another deserted street and saw a payphone on the side of the road. He looked around, wondering whether it still worked. He walked up to it and held it to his ear.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the dial tone. He raised his hand to dial a number but then realized that he didn’t have a single phone number memorized. He hadn’t needed to ever since he got a smartphone.

  “Shit,” he muttered. He tried looking through his pockets again for anything that could help him.

  He found a piece of paper in his back pocket and pulled it out. It was a small piece of paper ripped from a notebook page. He recognized it and groaned. It was the piece of paper Julia had given him a few days earlier with Robin’s phone number on it.

  He stared at the number then sighed.

  He called the operator and asked for a collect call. He gave his name and the number and held the phone to his ear.

  “Hello?” said Robin, sounding weary.

  “Thank God,” said Norman. “It’s me, Norman Green.”

  “Yeah, I know,” said Robin, sounding irritable. “Can you explain to me why you’re calling me collect in the middle of the night? I have work in five hours.”

  Norman cringed. “I need you to pick me up.”

  There was a pause. When Robin spoke, she sounded angry. “You need me to what?”

  Chapter 7

  Robin pulled up beside Norman and rolled down the window. It was three in the morning. The snow had temporarily stopped, but the air was brisk and cold.

  Robin frowned. “You look terrible. What the hell happened?”

  “I’m fine,” said Norman, climbing into the passenger seat. He pulled down the mirror, revealing a face covered in cuts and bruises.

  “Do you need to go to a hospital?” said Robin.

  “I’m fine,” said Norman. “Take me home, please.”

  Robin put the truck into gear and pulled onto the road. “I think you owe me an explanation at the very least,” she said. “Possibly also a discounted rate for the rest of the investigation.”

  “Sure,” said Norman absentmindedly.

  “So,” said Robin as she turned onto a well-lit street, “was this related to the investigation into Joel?”

  “No,” said Norman, “it was another case. There was an exchange of money that went south. I was on the wrong side of it.”

  Robin nodded but didn’t seem convinced. “They took your phone?”

  “My wallet as well.”

  “Do you know who did it?”

  Norman shook his head. “One guy claimed to have connections to someone in the NHL, but that was all I got.” He turned to Robin. “Do you know anyone like that?”

  “I know a lot of people like that,” said Robin. “I worked as an assistant to the sports editor at the Post for about a year. You’ll have to narrow it down.”

  “Twenties, around six-foot, I think blond hair.”

  “What do you mean you think blond hair?”

  “I don’t know. He was wearing a mask. I think he had blond arm hair.”

  “Weird detail to notice.”

  “I’m a detective. Do you know who I’m talking about or not?”

  “I have an idea,” said Robin after a few minutes of silence. “There was a guy I knew who fit that description. His dad owns a major bank that invests owns a good amount of minor league teams around the Toronto area. I wasn’t allowed to report on it, but his youngest son got into some criminal activity and was sentenced to a year in prison for selling drugs, primarily cocaine. It was never reported because his dad pulled some strings and got him sent to a cushy prison in Florida. The son’s been back in Toronto for about six months, and I haven’t been able to find anything about his prison time in the public record. It’s like it never happened.”

  “The power of the rich and the famous on display.”

  “Exactly.” Robin tapped on the steering wheel. “Are you sure this has nothing to do with my brother?”

  “It’s a different case,” said Norman, doubling down on his lie.

  “This can’t get traced back to me?” said Robin. “If this is related to my brother and it comes back to me, I could lose my job.”

  “I promise.” Norman felt a lump forming in his stomach as he said it.

  “His name is Thomas Ruutu. He’s working as a lacrosse coach.”

  Norman raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been keeping tabs on him?”

  Robin pulled to a stop at a red light and turned to look at him. “Wouldn’t you?”

  Norman shrugged. “Thanks for the drive.”

  “No problem. Are you going to go to the police?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s no reason to involve the cops.”

  “Your client wouldn’t want you to?”

  “No.”

  “Someday,” said Robin, “you’ll have to let me write a book about you.”

  “Someday,” murmured Norman with a small smile. He looked out the window as they drove past the park where he had walked Teddy a hundred times. “My dog is out there somewhere, scared. When they attacked me, he ran off.”

  “Why did they attack you?”

  Norman swallowed. “It’s complicated.”

  Robin glanced at him. Norman could see the journalistic instincts running away from her, telling her he was hiding something. She didn’t say anything as they pulled up to the condo building.

  “Thanks,” said Norman.

  “Sorry if this sounds harsh,” said Robin, “but don’t you have someone better to call for a drive?”

  Norman smirked. “Sorry if this sounds harsh,” he replied, “but you happened to be the only person whose number I had on me. I don’t memorize numbers. Thanks for the drive. Have a nice sleep, Robin.”

  “You too.”

  Norman climbed out and closed the door. He looked back as Robin drove away and disappeared into the night. He turned and walked a block north, until he found the garbage can where his attackers had thrown his things. He looked inside and sighed. He reached through the trash and garbage until he found them. He wiped them off and walked into the building.

  Norman stepped into the condo and immediately ran into Julia.

  “Did you try to kiss a lawnmower?” she said, her eyes opening in surprise when she saw his wounds.

  “Hilarious,” said Norman, shoving past her and walking into the bathroom.

  “So I guess this means you didn’t buy any snacks?”

  “Just go back to bed,” said Norman, splashing his face in the sink.

  “Wait,” said Julia, looking into the living room filled with dogs then leaning against the doorway to the bathroom. “Where’s Teddy?”

  Norman splashed his face and looked into the mirror. He rinsed his wallet, keys, and phone from the trash bin. After a moment, he turned and walked past Julia and into the bedroom.

  “Norman,” said Julia again. “Where is Teddy? Tell me where Teddy is.”

  Chapter 8

  The next morning, Norman and Julia went to the animal shelter to see if anyone had dropped off Teddy overnight.

  No luck.

  To calm down, they stopped for ice cream on the way back to their condo. They went to the park where Teddy had run off. They walked around the park as the ice cream melted and coated their hands, but they weren’t able find any trace of him.

  They sat down on a bench.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” said Norman, putting an arm around Julia.

 
“Yeah,” said Julia, although she didn’t seem convinced. “I suppose no news is good news.”

  Norman checked his watch. It was almost ten. “I have work to so,” he said, standing. “Let me know if you find anything.”

  Julia nodded and licked at what remained of her ice cream.

  “I’m sorry,” said Norman.

  Julia shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “He’ll come back.”

  Julia nodded and stared into the forest. Norman turned and left, glancing back as he did. He didn’t know what to say.

  He drove to the lacrosse facility where Robin had said Thomas Ruutu was working as a counselor. It was just off the highway. There was an indoor field being used for drills.

  Norman asked for Thomas Ruutu and was directed to a tall, blond young man taking shots at a young goaltender.

  “Thomas Ruutu?” said Norman, approaching him. The young man didn’t seem familiar, and Norman didn’t think this was his captor. The description fit, but his mannerisms and attitude didn’t mesh with the person Norman was looking for.

  Thomas turned toward him then turned away. “What do you want?”

  “My name is Norman Green. I’m a detective.”

  Thomas laughed. “You’re Norman Green? The steroid guy?”

  “I’m a detective now.”

  “I heard you.” Thomas took another shot and gestured to the goalie he was shooting on to go join in with the drills the rest of the kids were doing. “You didn’t answer me. What do you want?”

  “I want to talk to you about the death of Joel Sweetwater.”

  Thomas shrugged. “Who the fuck is that?”

  “Hockey player who committed suicide a few months back. Ring any bells?”

  Thomas turned and leaned on his lacrosse stick. “Yeah, I remember hearing something about it. Tragic, but nothing to do with me.”

  Thomas seemed too casual for Norman’s comfort. He was clearly someone who had spent time being interrogated and interviewed.

  Norman put his hands in his pockets. “Where were you last night?”

  “Why does that matter?”