“You want more, you fuck—or you want to tell me where the kid is?” There was a metallic scrape, a line of sparks on the bricks, and then something lashed at my calf and left it first numb and then burning. Kyle held what looked in the dark like a stubby golf club—a putter, maybe. He raised it above his head again, and I saw that it was a telescoping metal baton.
“Tell me where he is or I’ll split your fucking head,” Bray said, slashing the air, and then I threw one potted cactus at him, and then another. The first, a quilled softball, caught him in the center of his tee shirt, and stuck there. He yelped and stepped back. The second cactus was like a spiked baguette, and it caught him full in the face. Bray yelled and dropped the baton, and I kicked out and swept his ankles. He fell backward, screaming, into another cactus pot, and then screamed louder.
—
“Stay still or it’s going to hurt worse,” I told Kyle Bray, and I pulled his hand away from his face.
“Get ’em out! Just get them the fuck out of me!”
He was squirming on the tiled floor of Nora Roby’s entrance foyer. His shirt was spattered red, front and back, and still bristling with brown needles, but the real problem—and the real pain—was in his face. The cactus had caught him on the right side, on the eyebrow, eyelid, nose, cheek, and upper lip. The barbs had gone deep, and his clawing had made things worse. The side of his face was like a road stripped for paving.
Nora had an orange backpack with all the essentials in it, and she dropped it, along with a white trash bag, at my feet. Then she walked into the living room, sat on the sofa, and glared. I opened the pack, found forceps, alcohol, sterile gauze, tape, and gloves.
“Keep still,” I told Bray again, and batted his hand away. I took the forceps and pulled a spine from his right nostril and dropped it in the trash.
“Fuck!” he yelled.
“Fuck yourself,” Nora muttered from the sofa.
Bray tried to focus with his one good eye. The smell of liquor mixed with sour milk came off him in waves, and I was pretty sure he didn’t understand much of what anyone was saying. Sweat soaked his tee shirt and beaded on his face. I pulled two spines from his cheek, and he cried out twice more.
“You followed me from the clinic?” I asked.
“The PRP boys did.”
“And they called, and you came over?” I pulled a spine from the bridge of his nose.
“Ow! Yeah, they called.”
Nora snorted. “And you came to do what—kill us?”
Kyle Bray squinted at her and shook his head and winced. “Should I just call 911, and get you to an ER?” I said. “Then you can explain all this to the cops.”
“No,” Bray moaned. I pulled out another spike, sunk deep in his eyebrow. He screamed.
“What did you think you’d do—besides bash my head in?”
Bray sighed a boozy cloud at me. “I wanted to get the kid back. You know where he is, and I couldn’t stand listening to that shit anymore.”
“Listening to what shit?”
“All his shit. About half-measures, and half-right is all wrong. About how I can’t even hang on to my own kid, much less raise him. All his usual shit.”
“Who says all this?” I asked.
Kyle Bray furrowed his brow, which must’ve hurt. Still, it stayed puckered as he spoke. “Cap—who else but Cappy? Who else can go on forever about what a fuckup I am?”
Bray made a swipe at his face again, and I caught his wrist and pushed it down. “Who is Cap?”
“Cappy? That’s Captain Bray.”
“He was in the military?”
Bray snorted. “Connecticut Air National Guard. He spent the end of Vietnam on his ass in fucking Windsor Locks. I’m not sure where that is, but I bet there weren’t a lot of VC around. He likes for everybody to call him Cap, though. Like he’s fucking Captain America.”
“And Captain Bray would be your father?” Nora asked.
“Of course my fucking father. Who else?”
Nora looked at me. “He’s crazy drunk.”
I stood, and my knees creaked. “That’s part of it,” I said softly. I pointed at his neck and face and mouth. “See the acne there, and what’s going on with his teeth and gums? And you catch that smell coming off him?”
She stood, walked over, and squinted. Then she nodded. “You think—what—methamphetamine?” I nodded.
Nora looked at me. “And you bring him into my house. Great. Thanks for that, Adam.” She shook her head and turned on her heel and went into the kitchen.
I sighed and crouched by Bray, who was pawing at his face again. I pushed his hands down. “Open your mouth for me, Kyle. I want to make sure none of these punctures went all the way through.” He nodded vaguely and opened up, and I swabbed the insides of his cheeks.
It took me another twenty minutes to finish cleaning Kyle’s wounds and dress the worst of them with gauze. Bray’s fidgeting lost steam, and his yips of pain were fewer and softer by the time I taped the last dressing to his forehead. I was just standing when Nora’s doorbell rang. Nora came in from the kitchen and looked at me. Kyle made a moaning sound that turned into a snore.
Nora’s voice was a tense whisper. “Who the hell is that?”
I shook my head. “You expecting anyone?”
“I wasn’t expecting you, for chrissakes!”
The bell rang again, and I stepped across Kyle and picked up his metal baton.
“Jesus,” Nora whispered.
There was a speakeasy panel set into the front door, and I opened it and peered through the wrought-iron grill. I saw a blond pixie cut and button-bright eyes, diamond stud earrings, and a very white smile. Amanda Danzig looked up at me and waved.
“Hey, doc! Sorry if I’m interrupting your fun, but I need to collect my cousin. I understand you’ve got him in there.” As she spoke, two large men appeared behind her. Mandy watched me watch them and smiled. “Don’t worry—they’re just here to lift, if Kyle needs lifting. Which I suspect he does.”
“Last we spoke, you said you’d give me some time to think things over. What happened to that?”
Mandy smiled. “You’re right. I made you a promise, and Kyle and his antics tonight were strictly out of bounds.”
“I guess that happens a lot with him.”
Mandy shrugged. “Do we have to talk through this door, or is it okay with your girlfriend if I come in?”
I closed the speakeasy panel, and opened the front door. Mandy stepped in. She barely glanced at Kyle, but scanned Nora’s house—and Nora—with interest. Then she looked at me.
“So this is your thing? The yoga MILF? You don’t think she’s a little old?”
I laughed. “She’s my age, Mandy. And she’s a doctor.”
Nora snorted. “Who is this, Adam?”
“Her name is Amanda,” I said, “and she’s just here for a second, to pick up her…lost property.”
“You know this isn’t the lost property I’m interested in, Dr. Knox,” Mandy said, and kicked Kyle’s leg lightly with the toe of her black pump. “Still, he’s what I’m here for.” She glanced behind her at the two men on the porch, and pointed down at Kyle. They lumbered in and hoisted, supporting him between them, his arms across their shoulders, his head lolling. They paused in the doorway, and Mandy inspected Kyle’s face.
“What’d you do to him?” she asked.
“He fell on a cactus.”
Mandy smirked. “Fell—I bet. Nice patch job, though—makes him look like a Picasso.”
“He could probably use a tetanus booster. He should also think about rehab.”
Mandy nodded, and the big men carried Kyle out. She looked at me and shrugged. “Yeah—rehab—that might be a good idea. But you know how it is. You can lead a horse to water….It’s hard to get Kyle to listen, which is why you shouldn’t let this linger much longer, doc.”
“Is that a threat?” Nora said.
Mandy looked at her and shook her head and laughed. “Nice meeting y
ou, doctor,” she said, and left.
There was long silence when she’d gone. Nora looked at me, and at the trash bag at my feet. Her voice was low and tight with anger. “Take that crap with you when you leave,” she said, and went into her bedroom, and shut the door.
—
My feet were loud on the pavement as I walked back to my car, and the night was darker. The porch lights and televisions were out, and the little wind was gone. I tossed the trash bag into my back seat and shut the car door; it sounded like a thunderclap. I put my hands on the wheel, and the cold went up my arms. I closed my eyes.
“Shit,” I said to no one. Then I took some deep breaths and pulled out my phone. It rang just once before Mandy answered.
CHAPTER 41
Amanda Danzig’s waiting room was nicer than mine, which was very short on polished stone floors, Barcelona chairs, Japanese ink-wash paintings, glossy trade magazines that made oil pipeline valves look glamorous, and a robotically genial young woman named Jenny who produced superb espresso, seemingly from thin air. I was working on my second hour of pacing in Bray Consolidated’s black glass tower in Westwood, and on my fourth coffee, and I had memorized the twentieth-floor views of the UCLA campus, the Federal Building, and a traffic-clogged stretch of the 405. Through the tinted windows, the cloudless sky was mauve.
I sighed and ran my thumb along the Bray coat of arms, emblazoned on my demitasse cup—a black shield with two red maces crossed in the center, and underneath, also in red, Sine missione. I emptied the cup and sat, which was Jenny’s cue.
“Another coffee, sir?” she asked, smiling.
I wondered if she’d been given instructions to induce tachycardia, or maybe kidney failure. I smiled back but declined cup five.
I thought again about calling Nate Rash at Jiffy-Lab for the results of the DNA tests I’d requested, but he hadn’t answered his cell a half-hour before, and the woman I spoke with at the lab wouldn’t say when he’d be in.
I also thought about calling Nora Roby. She hadn’t answered my calls last night, after she’d kicked me out, or this morning, and the messages I’d left had yielded only dead air. What could I say that I hadn’t said already? I’m sorry that a lunatic has been following me around, and that he bled all over your foyer? I’m sorry that his slightly less crazy cousin brought her thugs into your home, and insulted you? I took a deep breath and untied the cord that bound the red file folder in my lap.
The contents hadn’t changed since the last time I’d checked: the printed transcript of Elena’s statement and a disc with the highlights. It would’ve been nice to have the DNA test results too, but I hoped Elena’s statement would be enough, and that its threat to Bray-world would be clear. Still, my stomach turned over. A pair of doors opened, and I looked up to see Amanda Danzig beckoning.
“Dr. Knox!” she said, surprised and delighted, as if we’d bumped into each other at the polo matches. She wore black pumps, a snug gray skirt, a fitted white blouse, and a Bluetooth earpiece in her right ear. Her cropped blond hair was slicked, and her teeth were very white. There was a thick platinum chain around her neck, and an emerald pendant on it the size of a table grape.
“Look at you,” she said, smiling, “All dressed up in khakis and a nice blue blazer—it’s like Parents’ Day at Choate.”
I stood, and looked down into her button-bright eyes. “Even so, the guys in the lobby almost made me use the service entrance.”
“They’re paid to be superficial. But, fortunately for you, I see beyond the cosmetic.” Her eyes went to the file folder under my arm. “I have to tell you, I was surprised to hear from you last night, doctor. I thought after Kyle and I screwed up your date with Dr. MILF—”
“Don’t call her that.”
Mandy chuckled and raised her hands. “Sorry, sorry. Anyway, I’m glad you phoned. Surprised, but glad. Now, have you been thinking about what you want? Is that a Christmas list you have there?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but took my elbow and led me into her office.
It was even nicer than her waiting room—larger, brighter, and with more view. Her desk was a sweep of steel and glass that ran along some of the windows. Along some others was a seating area—more Barcelona chairs and sofas, and a glass coffee table holding a bowl of cut flowers, bottles of water, and yet more coffee. “So tell me what I can do for you, and tell me where I can find my cousin.”
I followed her to the seating area, where she perched on a sofa, kicked off her shoes, hitched up her skirt, and tucked her neat legs beneath her. I took one of the chairs, but before I could speak, Danzig held up one finger and touched another to her earpiece.
“I’m still here,” she said to someone else. Then she frowned, shook her head, and spoke in Russian. She spoke for a while, looking down at her knees as she did. She finished in English. “No. And don’t waste my time with those assholes again. Call me when we actually have something to talk about, or don’t call at all.”
Danzig pulled out the earpiece, tossed it on the table, and smirked. “Moscow office. Bunch of crazy bastards, if you ask me—half drunk all the time. You want coffee? Water?”
I shook my head. “Speaking of crazy, how’s Kyle?”
Danzig laughed. She reached for a bottle of water, twisted the top, and took a sip. “He’s gone—what—eighteen hours without a brawl. That could be a record for him. I’m pretty sure he still hates you, though.”
“You might be feeling the same way soon.”
She put on a theatrical pout. “About you, doctor? I couldn’t. Or are you telling me that’s not a wish list you’ve got there?”
I took a deep breath. “What I have is Elena’s story,” I said. “I found it convincing, and I think anyone else hearing would agree.” Then I handed her the folder.
Amanda Danzig scowled as she opened the folder. She took out the thick sheaf of the transcript, and then the disc. She shook her head. “What am I supposed to do with this, besides marvel at the waste of paper?”
“You should read it, when you’ve got some time. For now, you should put the disc in your Mac and watch.”
“You disappoint me,” she said, shaking her head, but she slipped into her shoes and carried the DVD to her desk.
I watched her as she watched Elena and listened to Elena’s flat, accented words, but Danzig’s face remained perfectly blank. When the highlight reel ended, she picked up a thick silver fountain pen and tapped it lightly on her desk for what seemed a long time. Then she looked at me.
“So—that was it? That was your shot? And—what—am I supposed to curl into a ball now? Am I supposed to weep? Anyone can tell a story, doctor—and with a little imagination, they can make it a real tearjerker too—a lurid, harrowing, heartrending tale of woe. But the fact that you’ve made a nice video of it, dressed up with a lawyer, doesn’t make it true.”
“She’s not his aunt, Mandy, she’s his mother. If you saw them together, you’d—”
“That’s what you’re banking on—how they look to you, side by side? You have any facts behind that?”
“DNA doesn’t lie.”
“DNA may not lie, but sample collection, testing facilities, procedures, all those things do. That’s why they ask about that shit in court. And is that really where you want to go with us, doctor, into a courtroom? ’Cause I guarantee you, we’re going to have a lot of company in there, and you’re going to feel pretty lonely. Maybe more lonely than you feel already. Think hard on this, doc, because if we head down that road we won’t turn back. Not ever.
“You want to have a court swab Elena and Alex, or you want your lawyers to do it—that’s fine. They can swab Kyle too, while they’re at it. I’m confident of the results, so long as everyone involved keeps an eye on the samples.
“And then what—the case becomes a custody battle? Is that really appealing? On one side you’ll have what, with all modesty, is a fairly prominent family: philanthropists, generous donors to noble causes, employers of many thousands of worker bees ar
ound the world. And on the other you’ll have a twenty-something prostitute from East Mudhump, Romania, an illegal alien to boot, with God knows what kinds of vices a motivated investigator might find. And I assure you, doctor, our investigators are highly motivated. Which one do you think would provide a better environment for raising that boy? What do you think a judge would think?
“But when it comes to it, you won’t have time to worry much about it. You’ll be too busy trying to find a new home for your little health-care bodega, and a new place to live besides. And that’s before we get to kidnap charges, attempted extortion, defamation, and those are just the appetizers. But, sure, if that’s the way you want to go…” Mandy twisted a finger in her necklace, and her pendant flashed green as it caught the sun. Her cheeks were pink with excitement.
I shrugged. “You seem to want to go that way—you’ve got it all planned out. In which case, I guess I should stop ducking the reporter who’s been calling me. I don’t know how he got my name, but it sounds like he’s got a corner of something, and a whole bunch of questions, and if we’re headed to court I should probably get my story out there.”
Danzig squinted at me, took a breath, and opened her mouth, but whatever she might’ve said was lost when her office doors swung wide. The lovely Jenny was there, but decidedly less genial. She was trying—without success—to impede the progress of a large man with a white crew cut and Naugahyde skin.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Danzig,” Jenny said, “but he wouldn’t wait. He wouldn’t listen to anything—”
Danzig’s face darkened. “It’s all right, Jen. Tiger, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Conti stepped around the assistant and smoothed the lapels on his black suit. “Sorry, Mandy—”
“You can call me Ms. Danzig.”
“Yeah, sure. Anyway, Cap wants to see him.” Conti flicked a thumb in my direction.
Danzig stood, and her chair rolled away behind her and rebounded off the window glass. Her hands were balled into white fists. “He wants what? I’m in the middle of something, for chrissakes.”
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