by Brian Meeks
The doctors determined it was a very mild concussion and, after a dozen stitches and some taped ribs, he was given some pain medication and allowed to sleep. The wife and kids were being brought to the hospital, and two uniformed officers stood guard outside his room.
“This ain't right.”
“I know; I'm coming off a double shift, and I get stuck on door duty.”
“No, I mean the DA getting mugged.”
“Oh. That. I suppose. What was he doing wondering around alone like that anyway? Doesn’t he have a driver?”
“He does. Maybe he gave him the night off. I hear he is a really easygoing guy.”
“I don't know him.”
“I've talked to him a few times. After that big B & E case, we had a cup of coffee. He said I was well on my way to making detective one day.”
“It's good to have friends in high places.”
“He seems like a regular guy,” He then whispered, “Of course, you never can tell with lawyers.”
They both laughed and started to talk about their families, nurses, and baseball.
CHAPTER 35
Sal handed the journal to Tommy. He flipped it over, looked at the back, then sat down. He turned each page carefully and studied the entries. Once he was done, he leaned back in his chair.
The room was quiet for several minutes. “That's all, fellas.” He gave a look to Sal, and Sal knew he would be staying behind. The other three filed out. Sal said, “Tell ‘em I got the first round.” The three guys nodded before heading down to the bar.
Sal waited for Tommy to share what was on his mind. There was always something. Usually it was off the mark, and sometimes it was just paranoid and crazy. He would let him talk, though, and nod. Sal closed the door.
Tommy, “You take a look at this?”
“No.”
Tommy stood up and handed it to Sal. He got a drink while Sal sat down and read through the first few pages. Tommy poured himself a bourbon, “You want one?”
“Sure,” though he didn't.
Tommy poured another and handed it to Sal, “What do you think?”
Sal didn't know why, but it seemed off somehow. He wasn't ready to tell Tommy that, though. “I think the accountant was stupid for crossing you.”
“Any problems with the DA tonight?”
“He was a few minutes late, but it was fine. Nobody was around. He gave it to me, then we roughed him up, just like you said.”
“How'd he take it?”
“Didn't say a word.”
“So McKinley can take a punch, eh?” Tommy laughed a little.
“He took ‘em pretty good, but he knew they were coming. I don't think he could throw a punch, though. He’d probably be crap at collections.”
This made Tommy roar. “I could just see that little mic bastard trying to make the rounds. They'd chew him up and spit him out.”
Tommy continued, “Why you think the accountant wrote the whole damn thing in code. You think he knew we would eventually find out?”
Sal just shrugged as he handed it back to Tommy. “You want me to put the word out that we got it back?”
“Yeah, let ‘em know. We can get back to business.” He started to flip through it again, sipping his bourbon as he turned the pages. “You think this is the original?”
“What do you mean?” Sal asked, mostly because he knew Tommy liked to talk. Sal had been thinking the same thing - something seemed off - but he didn't want to put that idea in Tommy's head. If it got there on its own, fine, but he wasn't going to add to his paranoia.
“It is too clean,” Tommy said. He turned on his desk lamp to take a closer look. “You think the DA might be holding out on us?”
“How so?” Sal liked to let Tommy fill in the blanks. It avoided confusion.
“Maybe he's thinking he might like to be mayor or renegotiate terms.”
“I don't think he has the balls to cross you, boss. You scare the shit out of him.”
Tommy smiled, not looking up from the journal.
”But maybe he kept the original it for insurance?” Sal suggested.
“You think we should have a little chat with Mr. McKinley?” Tommy asked. They both knew it wasn’t a question.
“Sure, I can go talk to him. He ain't gonna try anything right away, though. If he was, he wouldn't have taken the beating. If you want to know what I think…” Sal paused for Tommy's reaction.
Tommy just looked up, listening. He respected Sal. He didn't talk much, but, when he did, it was usually worth hearing him out. Tommy didn't listen to anyone else.
“I say we give it a few days. Let the word get out that this mess is behind us, then arrange one of your dinners.”
Tommy closed the journal and stood up to lock it in the safe. He wasn't going to destroy it yet. “I like that. He'll be expecting something anyway. We feed him, give him some booze, and, when his guard is down, start asking questions.”
Sal knew the meeting was over and went down to the bar. He gave the order to a couple of guys to spread the word, then he got a Coke from the bartender and read the rest of the day's paper. It was back to business as usual just the way Sal liked it.
CHAPTER 36
Not everyone was able to tell when they were in a dream; some people only part of the time; and, for Henry, it was almost never. Tonight, he had started out playing for his beloved Dodgers. He was on the bench sitting next to Karl Spooner. The Dodgers were up to bat in the bottom of the fifth, and Roy Campanella had just hit a one out home run and was returning to the bench. He sat a few feet away and was putting his gear back on. Henry knew it was a dream but didn't care. Karl was talking to him just like he was one of the guys; he was complaining how sore his right arm was because of his start the day before. Henry said to Karl, "Yeah, my neck is bothering me. Must have wrenched it when I slid into second." Karl said he thought it was great the way Henry had broken up that double play and kept the inning alive. Just then the crack of the bat caused Henry to look out into the field and see...
The window had made a cracking sound as it was buffeted by the fierce snowstorm outside. Henry glanced at his watch. It was 2:47 am. He had been asleep for only a half hour or so. He shifted around in the chair, pulled his overcoat back over him, and drifted off again. The next few hours were filled with moments: some happy, some terrifying, some just plain bizarre. The last dream was in a huge library. The stacks were, at first, like the ones he had seen when he went to Sylvia's and had found the book in her father's collection. Then he was among the books where he had hidden the journal, and he finally had been standing in a strange place filled with towers of books and magazines. They weren't on shelves but stacked and piled all about a massive room. Henry could see rows and paths that had been created among the mountains of books, and he found himself wandering through them with a feeling of helplessness. He saw a book that he suspected might contain a clue, but the hundreds of books on top of it made it too heavy for him to pull it out. Each time he tried, the stack would start to sway. He was sure that if it fell on him he would be crushed. He gave it a final pull and...
He woke up feeling like he had been crushed by a stack of books. His head was pounding, and every muscle ached from sleeping in a ball on the chair. He looked over at Luna; she was lying on her side, hugging a pillow, a little smile running across her face. Her look of calm was unsettling to Henry. She trusted him. Luna truly believed everything was going to be alright, and she was counting on him to make it happen. Henry felt a chill run through his body. Doubt started screaming in his head. Or was that the hangover? He couldn't be sure.
He got up quietly and went into the bathroom. The haggard looking man in the mirror didn't look like he played for Brooklyn. Of all the dreams the night before, that was the one that remained with him, that and something about books. He turned the faucet on, just barely, so as not to make too much noise. He splashed a bit of ice-cold water on his face. Wiping it off, he looked in the mirror again. A determined man looke
d back.
Luna didn't hear him leave. He went down to the desk and used the phone to order her some room service. The note she would find when they knocked would explain that he had gone back to the office. The doorman happily accepted the fin and said he would make sure she got in a cab safely.
The snow was still coming down, and the wind was fierce. The gentle, almost pretty flakes that coated the grime of the city had been replaced with icy, biting snow. It whipped down the street and stung the faces of any who ventured out. It was only a block to the front of the familiar triangular Flatiron building, but Henry was glad when he got inside. It was still pretty early, just past six, and he didn't hear anyone else milling about. Henry took the stairs.
He noticed the sound of his feet on the floor. It reminded him of the previous night, but then he heard another sound. It was a sort of rustling. A light was on in Bobby's office. Though he wasn't in the mood for the strange little man, he was curious about what he was up to at such an early hour. Henry opened the door and walked into the outer office. He was astonished.
Bobby heard the door and quickly scurried up to meet Henry. "Hey there, old buddy, how's it going today? Did you see the paper?"
"Uhm," Henry stammered as he looked around the room, "No."
"Well, it sounds like your old pal, the DA, had a little run in down the street. I wonder what he was doing in this part of town at that hour. It was right outside; he was mugged. The paper says it was some street kids. What do you think of that?"
"I don't know, Bobby," Henry said, having regained his composure. He didn't like being caught off guard, and the office had nearly knocked him to the floor. Everywhere he looked there were stacks and stacks of books, magazines, and newspapers. He looked down at Bobby with his eager, helpful face and asked, "Do you have today's paper? I haven't seen it yet."
"Oh, ya, sure, boss. I got it right here. Just a second." He scurried around a stack of books and past a table with books above and below it and stopped by a stack of newspapers that was about seven feet tall. He reached his hand into the stack and, with the deftness of a magician, swiftly pulled the paper out from near the bottom. Bobby was deceptively quick. Within what seemed like an unreasonable amount of time, he stood back in front of Henry, the newspaper in his hand. "Here you go; it is on the front page."
Henry took the paper and, sure enough, it was today's. He considered asking why it was so far down in the stack, but, though his head was pounding, he was starting to think more clearly. He realized if he asked Bobby about it, Bobby would likely answer...at length. He read the front page, and it was just as Bobby had described. The DA had been mugged but wasn't severely injured. Henry handed the paper back to Bobby who ran back and somehow replaced it in the stack.
"Well, I just stopped in to say hi. I have a lot to do, so take care," Henry said as he quickly left. The stale smell of Bobby's office was more than he could stomach at the moment, and he really just wanted to be alone and to think about his next move. The office was as he had left it. Henry hung his coat on the hook and sat down behind his desk. He leaned back, tipped his hat over his eyes, and put his feet up. He felt rough and worn out. A few minutes later he realized that he wasn't actually doing much thinking. Henry gave in to his own exhaustion, but, just before he fell into a deep sleep, the memory of his dream from earlier danced across his brain. He thought to himself how similar it had been to Bobby's office. He slept.
CHAPTER 37
The pounding on the door startled Henry, but, when he realized there was someone outside the office, he yelled, "Hey, stop your pounding, I'm coming."
He swung his feet off the desk, stretching as he got up. His head was pounding now, even more so with the fellow at the door. He walked into the outer office, wiped a hand over his face, and reached for the knob. He turned it and opened the door to find a very large man and a very short man.
"Hey there, Henry," greeted Bobby in a voice that could be described as two parts friendly, one part excited, and three parts pest. Henry considered the possibility that he was having a nightmare, but Bobby continued, "This is Vlad. He is from the old country. I am not sure which one, but his English isn't so good. He does a bang up job at fixing things. I brought him up to connect your phone into the switchboard system. It is included in the rent."
"Oh, yes, well, nice to meet you," Henry said, opening the door for them to enter. He extended his hand. Vlad shook his hand firmly and gave Henry a nod. He said, "Make phone work...das?"
"Yes, thanks." Henry walked over to the desk in the outer office and said, "There are two. The secretary's phone and mine in the back." Henry pointed to his desk.
"Das," said Vlad as he set his toolbox down by the first desk.
Bobby jumped into the conversation, which had been overtaken by an uncomfortable pause. "I figured you have been pretty busy. I know Vlad well. He keeps this place running, so I took it upon myself to ask him to take care of it for you. I figured it was the least I could do. I like to keep the tenants happy."
Henry was just starting to wake up. He looked at Bobby, wishing the man had called Vlad a little later in the day, but managed a feeble smile and a nod. Bobby interpreted this as a sign to keep talking.
"Yes, everyone here loves Vlad; he makes sure that the heat is always perfect. If a door swells in the summer, he will get if fixed right up, lickity split. He has been here as long as I can remember, and I have been here a long time. A good man, that Vlad,” Bobby said, slapping Vlad on the back.
Vlad looked up and said, "Bobby a good man, too!" He smiled and returned to his task at hand.
There was another bit of uncomfortable silence. It was uncomfortable for Bobby because he had run out of things to say, which almost never happened. For Henry, it was just a matter of having a splitting headache. Bobby started up again.
"Hey, you don't look so great, boss. You need something? Wait a minute. I'll be right back." Bobby flew out into the hallway and disappeared into his office.
Vlad stood up, grabbed his toolbox, and, just as he was about to go into Henry's office, turned around and said in remarkably good English, "Bobby is a good man. He means well. Nicest guy I have ever met. He will grow on you."
"I thought you didn't speak English?" Henry said with a sly smile.
"I didn't twenty years ago but now, not so bad. Don't tell Bobby, or I will never get any work done. Boy, can he talk." Vlad gave Henry a wink and went in to work on the other phone.
Henry smiled. He liked Vlad.
The door from Bobby's office flew back open, and Bobby scurried down the hall. He handed Henry a glass of water and two odd-looking, red-and-white plastic capsules.
"What are these?" Henry looked at the odd little things in his hand.
"They will help, trust me." Bobby smiled and was silent.
Henry had learned the only thing worse than Bobby's constant chatter was his deafening stone-faced silence. He was quite sure that whatever they were, he could trust Bobby, and they wouldn't do him any harm. So he threw them in his mouth and drank the water. If nothing else, Henry was thirsty, so the water was appreciated. "Thanks, Bobby."
Just then Vlad came out of the office and said, "Finished, boss." No sooner had he said it than the phone rang. It startled Henry but not Vlad or Bobby for that matter.
"We will let you get that," Bobby said as he closed the door behind him.
Henry walked over to the secretary's desk, picked up the receiver, and cautiously said, "Henry Wood Detective Agency."
A female voice came over the line, "Yes, this is Betty with the DA's office. There was an incident last night; the DA would like you to come down to see him as soon as possible."
Henry had expected this, so he simply said, "I will be there this afternoon." He hung up the phone.
He picked it back up, got the switchboard, and told them his home number. He figured Luna would be home and, though she probably needed a couple of little red capsules, too, he needed her to do him a favor. It was time to get back t
o solving her father's puzzles.
The operator came back on and said there hadn't been an answer. Would he like her to try again? Henry said, “No, I will try again later,” and hung up the receiver. He looked at his watch, expecting it to be well past noon. It wasn't. He had been asleep for 15 minutes when Bobby came knocking. He just shook his head and went back to his desk to think. The wheels were in motion. The plan had worked. Now he needed to figure out the next clue.
CHAPTER 38
The DA's office only confirmed what Henry had suspected. As soon as he walked in, he smelled the foul stench of corruption: the song and dance, the tough talking, the promises, all of it. Though he couldn't prove it, Henry knew that Tommy 'The Knife's' friend in the department, or one of them at least, was McKinley.
Henry hadn't been sure how the DA had planned to make the journal 'disappear,' but he had known that once it was in his hands, it wouldn't stay there for long. Henry couldn't take any satisfaction in knowing he had been right, but at least the heat would die down, and Luna could get back to a normal life. Without the threat of the journal, which was likely nothing but a pile of ashes now, Tommy would get back to his normal business of crime and mayhem.
The cold wind nipped at Henry's ears as he fumbled with his keys. He walked through the door and saw Luna sitting at the table with the tools from the closet, the ones which Henry believed held another clue. She had a pad of paper and a serious look on her face. Luna looked up only briefly when Henry walked in the door and nearly tripped over her suitcase.
"Sorry about that. I was getting ready to head home when I started to think about what all of this could mean."
"Any ideas?" Henry said as he hung his coat on the hook and tossed his hat onto the credenza.
"When you told us about the closet, I believed you, but it didn't sink in until today. After I got to your home, I didn't feel great, but I have imposed upon your kind hospitality enough already, so I got ready to leave. I packed, but I just couldn't get the thought of the closet out of my mind."