Castle Danger--The Mental States

by Anthony Neil Smith

  Tonight, we were led around the house through the back gate by a man I didn’t know, this time past the large open windows of his beautifully adorned ‘great room’, or parlor, or rich person’s holding pen, I didn’t know, but it was full of those aforementioned rich people in party mode — standing or sitting with drinks in hand, talking quietly, all of them in suits-and-ties or evening dresses. Seemed like they couldn’t even see us, looked right through us and our fast food party robes. In fairness though, I did look like a Dairy Queen.

  It took some convincing to have Konzbruck come along with us. The man was not a fan of the Senator, nor was he a favorite of most of the people in Marquette’s sitting room that night. He kept his head down, turned away just in case someone was to spot him. I could tell it was as uncomfortable as getting rabies shots.

  Why did he agree to come with us? I tried to put myself in his shoes. Cops on the way? He wasn’t used to that sort of thing. And here we were, offering a way out, at least for a while, and an audience with the most popular politician in the state — even if he happened to be the opposition. Still better than facing cops.

  Then again, being paraded before the Senator’s inner circle was probably making him reconsider his recent life choices.

  In the kitchen we were met by an impressive reception committee: Thorn, Tennyson, still wearing the same suit from our ‘date’ earlier that evening, a security guy I didn’t know, and the Senator, who was the only one not suited up besides Joel and me. Instead, he was dressed in a soft and expensive-looking golf polo shirt, khakis, and some moccasin-style suede loafers. No cereal this time, just a plate of little barbecued wienies, some fancy shrimp, a little remoulade dip, and slices of brie. He was biting a shrimp off its tail when he noticed us, and if he was surprised to see me in makeup and jewelry, he didn’t show it. Maybe he was preoccupied.

  “Phil! Hey, man.” Wiped his hands on a white cloth napkin bunched beside the plate, then held it out for Konzbruck to shake. As soon as the man took it, Marquette dropped the friendly act. “The fuck did you do with my guy?”

  “I told them! I’m telling you! I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

  “It’s your fucking name. It’s your fucking credit card.”

  Konzbruck looked from face to face, definitely rethinking his decision to come with us. “What’s going on? What am I even being accused of? How dare you, Andrew! You should know better. I’m sure if we just sit down and talk about it like grown men I can explain—”

  “It’s your credit card. How could you possibly explain that?”

  Tennyson stepped over and took me by the arm, walked me out to the back deck. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to see what Konzbruck had to say for himself, but it was probably time to take my spanking like a good little campaign worker.

  Outside, a cacophony of crickets and clouds of gnats, Tennyson got in my face. “Told you already.”

  “This was bigger than that.”

  “Nothing is bigger. You go around me one more time … in fact, give me your phone.”

  I wasn’t ready to hand it over. I pushed my lips a little closer to his. Wet them slowly with the tip of my tongue.

  “Your phone. You can be replaced, you know.”

  I shook my head. “I thought I needed to be front and center to win you the election.”

  He stood there, hand held out. A statue. I wondered what he would do if I turned around and went back inside. Yeah, I wondered, but I ended up digging the phone from my pocket and handing it over. Tennyson punched the buttons like an expert, had the pattern down pat. Took him only a minute or so, then he held it out for me. “I’m now the first ten numbers in your phone book. The Senator’s number is gone. Don’t even think of adding it back.”

  I pulled the phone from his fingers — he clamped down, made me tug — and shoved it right back into my pocket. Of course I was going to add Marquette’s number back.

  The scolding done, his shoulders eased up. “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t know what you two thought you were doing, but yeah, we were given a heads-up about this guy right before the cops found your Tahoe.”

  “It was stolen. Joyriders.”

  “Shut up. Just … is there any particular reason you’re stepping into this shit?”

  I shrugged. “He’s my friend.” I didn’t know if I meant Dylan or Joel.

  “The police will handle this.”

  I wondered how hard it was for him to say that. I knew his story, and I knew he’d had to walk a fine line, depending on his candidate. A rich black man in a fine car, how many times had he been stopped for no reason? How many times had he been made to feel like a second class citizen by our friends and helpers? And here he was, extolling their virtues.

  “I already told you, you are no longer police, you’re not even security, so you shouldn’t be riding shotgun with the Marine anyway. Hear me?”

  I shifted my eyes to look over his shoulder. He weaved his head to make sure I couldn’t get away from his face. Away from his question. I crossed my arms. Nodded.

  He smiled. “Alright.”

  Joel opened the back door. “I’m going to take Mr. Konzbruck back home. We’ve arranged things with the police.”

  Tennyson nodded. “Understood.”

  “Wanna go, Manny?”

  I nodded again. “Be right there.”

  Joel closed the door. I started to turn, when Tennyson reached out. Fingertips. “I’ll take you home.”

  “I’m not ready to go home.”

  “I think you are. Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

  Wondered if he meant it the way it sounded to me. Of course not. Focus.

  “I’m good.” I slipped from his touch. Hand on the door handle when he said, “You sure as fuck aren’t going with Skovgaard. Not anymore.”

  “Why don’t you try to stop me?”

  “I’ll fire you.”

  I froze. What would I do if I wasn’t working for the Senator? At least here, most people knew who I was, what I was going through. Was I really prepared to throw that away over a temper tantrum? How would I transition while trying to find a real job, a real apartment, real friends?

  I dropped my head. “Fine. But I’ll get a cab.”

  Back inside, I gave Joel a little headshake. He looked at Tennyson, then back to me. I gave him a firmer headshake with a nasty lip curl. Then he left with Thorn and Konzbruck.

  I was on my way out too, when the Senator said, “Hold up, Manny.” Once he’d dismissed the other security guy, we waited for Tennyson to come back inside. “Manny … you and me had a deal.”

  In front of Tennyson? Really? I didn’t like it, but I wasn’t going to roll over without a word of explanation.

  “I didn’t have time to change. This was kinda spur of the moment.”

  He scrunched his eyebrows. “No, no, not …” He waved his hand at me, head to toe. “Not this. We’ll talk more about that tomorrow. I mean, about going rogue, remember?”

  Sigh of relief that I wasn’t made up the way his brother used to dress when he was ‘Hannah’.

  “Anything I can do to help find Dylan, I’m going to do.”

  “But not as one of the fucking Hardy Boys … or girls.”

  Oh well, another lecture. Marquette’s were not like Tennyson’s. The Senator showed you how disappointed he was. Tennyson showed you that you’d fucked up. I preferred Tennyson’s scolding, to tell you the truth. At least I knew for certain he wasn’t manipulating me. Or was he?

  To cut the mind games, I changed course: “What did Konzbruck have to say? We couldn’t get him to budge.”

  Marquette shrugged. “Same here. I offered to call the cops for him if he’d just tell us anything. Shit, in the end, I called them as a good faith gesture. I don’t know what to say, guys.”

  I took a slice of cheese from his plate. Good stuff, double-cream. I took another one. Remembered I hadn’t actually eaten dinner. I should have saved those leftovers. Goddamn it.


  The Senator smiled at my sudden ravenousness. “So … how about we leak it?”

  I almost choked on brie. “Sir?”

  “We leak that we caught a Buchanan insider fucking around with our guy. We don’t say it was one of us, but that someone on our team figured it out. Just, you know, get it out there for the morning news.”

  “What do you mean fucking around with our guy? We don’t know that.”

  “Like when the frat kidnaps the opposing team’s mascot. I bet it’s like that. Dylan is fine. This is all a set-up to embarrass us. To embarrass me.”

  I looked from him to Tennyson, both of them sharing an expression, maybe their own version of the telepathy Joel and I had. Maybe theirs worked better.

  “As long as it doesn’t look like it came from us.” Tennyson. Nodding. Raising his eyebrows. Already putting the plan in motion.

  “Hold on, wait, wait.” I slammed my palms flat on the bar and leaned between them. “We don’t know that they had anything to do with it. What could they gain from it? Konzbruck could be telling the truth. He sure didn’t seem like a hard ass. None of this makes any sense at all. At all.”

  “That’s why it can’t look like it came from us.”

  “It shouldn’t look like it came from anybody until we find out what happened to Dylan. If he’s okay out there … don’t you see? If this ricochets—”

  Marquette gave me a hard stare. “It will put pressure where pressure is needed.”

  “To what end, exactly?”

  “To make them give up the joke. To make them give him back. To embarrass that bitch so bad, she’ll have to drop out.”

  “I can’t believe I have to say this out loud, but are you accusing your opponent of kidnapping your closest advisor? Because that’s a whole new sort of Looney Tunes.”

  Andrew, hands on his hips, nostrils flared. “Goddamn it, Sherlock, give me something better. His name was on the receipt!”

  “Why would anyone put their real name on something like this?”

  “Incompetence? No eye for details? They had an intern do it? I can go on.”

  “Get real, Senator. Not with stakes like this. Kidnapping is a crime. It’s no joke. Someone wants us to think it’s political. But it stinks bad. The Democrats had nothing to do with this-”

  Tennyson held out his hands, making me stop mid-sentence. “Hold on. No one is accusing anyone of anything. We just want certain people to know that we have an unusual situation developing, and some of the details of that situation need further investigation.”

  “By reporters?”

  “Cops, reporters, whoever.”

  Just not me and Joel, I thought.

  “Let Buchanan’s people talk their way out of it.” Marquette wiped his mouth on the napkin, indicating he was ready to return to his guests. “Whatever ‘it’ is. As far as we’re concerned, no comment until we get Dylan back.”

  Tennyson nodded along, then froze. “Has anyone considered that Dylan might be in on this? I mean, maybe they paid him off?”

  The wheels turned in Marquette’s brain. I could almost hear them. But eventually he brushed the thought away. “I’ve known Dylan a long time. A. Long. time. There’s no way. No way at all …”

  Trailed off as if, suddenly and secretly, he had realized there was a way. There was always a way. But then the philanthropist in him — or was it the narcissist — sighed and once again shook his head at the thought of a long-term acquaintance betraying him. With that, he walked out.

  I was left with the echo of Tennyson’s words in my ear. I was no cop anymore. But I was pretty sure I knew something shady when I heard it. I couldn’t quite figure it out. What was the Senator doing, asking for a leak? This case should be airtight. Submarine deep dive tight. Was I not versed enough in political trickery to see what good this would do?

  Just Tennyson and me in the kitchen now. Quiet while he finished a text. Then: “Let’s go, you’re coming with me.”

  “I’m taking a cab, remember?”

  “Not any more. I’ve got stuff for you to do. And we still need to talk.”

  “Am I on the clock? Can’t you just text me instructions?”

  Finally crinkled his face up, showing teeth, and raised his voice. “Girl, get in my Mercedes already before I get angry.”

  That sent a flush up and down me. I couldn’t tell if I was excited or pissed the fuck off. “Excuse me, boy.”

  He took a step back. “Oh, I see. It’s like that.”

  “Let’s start over. Nice to meet you. My name’s Manny.”

  “Is it?”

  I shrugged and went out the back door first. “It is now.”

  6

  I know what you want.

  You want the juicy details of the ride home … and after. Isn’t that right?

  Well … I was a spoil sport. The idea of a bathroom blowjob had been way too much, too soon, and look how I handled that. Now, after an evening of proving that Joel and I were at least twenty minutes smarter than Minneapolis cops, I was feeling strong-willed. Nothing Tennyson could say would make me buckle.

  Or unbuckle. His belt, I mean.

  Nonetheless, it was unnerving to me how easily I could switch between Manny and Hannah. Despite my outer appearance, made up and definitely feminine, I’d slipped right back into Manny while roving with Joel. Except when he hugged me in the crowded burger joint. That was weird, although he was right to do it.

  Throughout the talk with Konzbruck, with the Senator, all of that, I was Manny.

  Until Tennyson treated me like I had a leash on, gave it a yank.

  Nuh-uh. That snapped me right good.

  I wasn’t two people. I’d been acting like I was, but I had to tell myself: Manny was never a man, idiot. In other words, Manny being Manny was still me being a woman.

  Shit, I needed to make that appointment with the shrink.

  But that’s not what you want to hear about, is it? You want the dirty details. Fine, we got in Tennyson’s car and he started on how he’d discussed with the Senator just how beneficial it would be for me to ‘come out’ for the campaign, and that we’d have a meeting about it tomorrow, the three of us. But not if I kept up this misguided insubordination.

  “See, I’m not going to put up with bullshit,” Tennyson said, staring straight ahead. “I told you I had a reason to leave at dinner. I told you to call me first if something came up.”

  “The Senator and I had a deal.”

  “I don’t care. He and I have got a contract, and that outranks your deal.”

  I was pretty sure he didn’t know the real deal. We’d ended up telling the media that Hans’ body had been found in the woods north of Tofte, mangled by months of pressure from ice, snow, and the tree he’d skied into. So he was quickly cremated. Unless Hannah happened to turn up again from the bottom of Lake Superior, that case was firmly closed. But we weren’t worried about that yet.

  “Believe what you want. We should add that to tomorrow’s agenda.”

  A chuckle. “That’s not how it works, baby.”

  I turned to him, a Mona Lisa grin. “Am I going to be some sixties housewife to you? Only good for one talking point? Am I not allowed to have my own opinions, except what you approve?”

  “Stop, now.”

  “You’re so important. You might even help the Senator run for President one day.”

  “Jesus.” He smiled anyway. Reached over and patted my knee, left his hand there. “Feisty.”

  Was he kidding? Was he just being sarcastic? I needed him to understand my predicament.

  “I can’t split myself in two anymore. You said it yourself, it might be a good idea for Hannah to be part of the campaign.”

  “So, you’re not Hannah right now? Talking about her in third person and all?”

  “That’s not what I mean. Just … it’s complicated.”

  “You’d better figure it out. I tell you, honestly, I don’t care who walks in the door tomorrow, as long as that person knows that goin
g over my head — or trying to win some points from the Senator on his or her own, or hanging around with the Marine, who has better things to do — is not going to endear me to him … or her.”

  He pulled up in front of my townhouse. I didn’t get out right away. His hand was still on my leg, and I didn’t want to push it away. He leaned in close.

  “You understand, right?”

  I leaned my head back and sighed. His hand slid away. This was the part of my fantasy where I was supposed to ask him in.

  Fuck no. I grabbed the door handle, yanked it hard, and swung the door open, tumbled out of the car. Great. Dignity restored. I stood up tall, eased the door shut behind me, then looked back in at him. He lowered the window.

  I leaned in, forearms crossed on the door. “You know I’m going to put Andrew’s number back in my phone first thing.”

  What a nasty grin. He liked this game. Probably because he’d never lost. “Go ahead. Give him a call tomorrow. See if it still works.”

  The window started to slide up while I was still peeking in. I got myself out of the way and watched him back up, then roll away.

  My dick was rock hard.

  Fuck.

  I went inside and washed my face, staring into my tired eyes. Got as close to the mirror as I could, until I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness.

  Sleep, what little of it there was, was frightening, exhausting. I was running after someone. No, it was Joel and I. Joel and I and my dad, running after … someone, I couldn’t tell who. Couldn’t make sense of the dream. Never can. Oh, and Paula was there, too. And Hannah. The original Hannah — Hans Marquette — alive, side-by-side with us, chasing … someone.