The Complete Matt Jacob Series

by Klein, Zachary;

“I suppose, though the analogy makes me think you have more than one ulterior motive. You do want the name and the address?”

  “Right. And you wanted to be out of the building when you told me.

  “Right, we work well together, don’t we?”

  “You just stepped on my line.”

  “Fuck you,” she said with a slight giggle. “Here it is.” Name and address. “Actually not much information. Must be a newcomer to our wonderful state. I could play computer games and trace interstate, but since the breakup there is much less professional courtesy. It would probably take a couple of days and I thought you wanted this sooner.”

  “Boots, this is mindblowing. Are you sure it’s the right car?”

  “Only Lincoln in town with the number and letter you gave me.”

  “Christ, you’re not even Government.”

  “It would have taken the government six weeks to get this,” she said sarcastically. “Do you want me to work on their schedule?”

  “Of course not. I don’t know if I’ll need more, can I let you know?”

  “Of course.”

  I wrote the name and address she gave me on the back of an envelope. “You don’t mind doing this?”

  “I’m not the one fretting about Big Brother, am I?”

  “Thanks, Boots. When do you want to go out?”

  “I don’t know my time yet. Call me in a couple of days.”

  I resisted an urge to ask who made her schedule. It would be mean and she’d just finished doing me a favor. Also, I didn’t want to confirm what I suspected.

  I put the phone down and looked at the envelope. Joe Starring, 27 Gardner, 555-3449. I pulled a map out of my junk drawer and looked up Gardner. It was in Brighton, right behind Brighton Avenue. I wouldn’t have any difficulty finding it.

  If I wanted to. Faced with actually finding this kid, the uselessness of my interest struck me. There was no reason to track him down. I stuffed the envelope in my pocket and trudged around the house gathering my stuff. I felt especially foolish when I strapped on the gun and slipped into a loose-fitting sports jacket. If it hadn’t been for the image of his car driving in the same direction as Fran’s, I probably would have dropped the whole thing there and then. But he did and I couldn’t, so I stopped thinking and called the number on the envelope. No answer. I had stepped out the door into the alley when I remembered the lock pick. When I went back inside I put my dope away. If I ended up busted, I might as well make it as easy for Simon as I could.

  Despite the angry gray clouds that served as the city’s late afternoon ceiling, there was still light when I got to Gardner Street. I drove around the block to let my nerves settle. I was planning to break into a stranger’s apartment for no reason other than my own curiosity. I couldn’t stop smiling. It seemed like the best idea I’d had in years. I kept driving; if I did run into trouble I didn’t want to be caught laughing.

  I found a deserted parking lot tucked across the street and down the block from the apartment building that housed my mysterious Mr. Starring. The lot could be used as a cut-through to Brighton Avenue. I was having fantasies about quick getaways.

  The building itself was plug-ugly. Patched onto a block of treeshaded converted three-flats, it was an imitation red brick lowrider, containing maybe twenty or twenty-five units. Not garish or terribly overbearing, just ugly. The bleached red clashed with the three double-sized orange dumpsters hulking at the building’s side. I drove past one last time and parked in the lot. I lit another cigarette and stayed in the car until I finished. I didn’t intend to leave a butt in the kid’s ashtray.

  When I left the car I debated locking it. If I needed to leave rapidly, it would help to have the door unlocked. On the other hand, it would be nice to have the car there, period. Since it was a “Live free or die,” day, I left the door unlocked and walked expeditiously toward the building. I didn’t want to change my mind; it would spoil the mood.

  I marched through the entrance but had the composure to ring the apartment number that Boots gave me. The little slot for a name under the bell was empty, so I rang twice. Risk was different from stupidity. There was no answer, so I flattened my palm against a row of buttons and hoped. Along with the squawk of a few voiceboxes came a buzz. I opened the door and called in a muffled voice, “Okay, sorry,” hoping my response would discourage people from thinking thief.

  I took the stairs two at a time. I didn’t want to attract attention, but wanted to get in and get out. That was the way I used to feel as a kid when my cousin and I stole from local stores. I was always impatient to get out; he always insisted on staying longer. I felt he was just flirting with danger; he thought I tended toward panic. I tried compromise as I took the stairs.

  There was no one in the hall and the lock was a snap. Know one building, know them all. I thought of the computerized contraption on Boots’ door but pushed the image from my head. I needed to pay attention to what I was doing. I looked at the leather driving gloves on my hands and wondered whether I should be holding my gun. I decided I’d be too dangerous. I peered around the apartment and tried to see through the gloominess of the approaching evening.

  There wasn’t much to see. I stood in the living room and, from there, the only furniture I saw was a cot over in the bedroom. I looked in another direction and saw a refrigerator in the walk-through kitchen. I didn’t see a table or chair. As far as I could tell the boy ate off the floor. And the floor wasn’t too clean. Some kind of vomitgreen astroturf. It wasn’t a place you’d invite parents. It also didn’t look like the apartment of a Lincoln owner.

  I started to tour but heard footsteps in the hall so I stopped and tried to think of a reason for being there. I couldn’t, my heart pounded and I broke out with the sweats, but the feet kept going until I was left, again, with the silent gloom. I headed straight for the bedroom.

  There was nothing in the room except the cot and an oversized suitcase with a pile of clothes strewn haphazardly around it. I pawed through and looked, without luck, for an identification tag. The clothes were mostly underwear with a couple of pairs of jeans and tee shirts. Here was someone really ready for a quick getaway.

  I retraced my steps back into the living room and considered turning on the light but couldn’t see the percentage in illuminating dirt. I walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The interior light didn’t work, and the contents resembled Lenny Bruce’s description of a whore’s fridge: a couple of onions and a carton of milk. There might have been more but I wasn’t going to stick my hand inside. I closed the door, looked into some empty cabinets, and stood there stumped. If this was Joe Starring’s apartment he didn’t seem to have much to hide. He didn’t seem to have much of anything. Except a Lincoln.

  I felt along the top of the refrigerator and was rewarded with a torn piece of a receipt from Towne Lincoln and Mercury. I searched for other information but all I got for my trouble was carbon smudges on my gloves. I couldn’t even find a date. I replaced the scrap and did another futile round of the apartment.

  My internal clock was sounding. I placed my ear against the door and listened for noise. It was quiet, so I let myself out and walked into an empty hall. I gave my eyes a moment to adjust to the fluorescence, then walked slowly down the stairs with the look of someone deep in thought. At least I hoped that’s what I looked like. I was really just listening to my cousin’s voice.

  When I hit the street the sky had grown even nastier but I felt like a summer day. My nerves were firing and my adrenaline was in overdrive. It was all I could do to keep from dancing. That I hadn’t discovered anything seemed unimportant. I almost didn’t care.

  By the time I returned to the car I was quiet enough to light a cigarette. Without thinking I started driving to the address on the receipt. At the third light and second cigarette I wondered why. How far was I going to carry this? So what if the kid didn’t fall into traditional Lincoln demographics? There could be a hundred reasons why someone without furniture, food
, or clothing could buy a luxury car. And none of the hundred had to do with me.

  I pulled into a vacant parking spot and felt myself come down the rest of the way. I thought about driving home and crashing on the couch, but it seemed like only a few minutes since I’d left. I wanted dope, remembered I hadn’t brought any, and thought about a bar instead. My stomach rebelled. Last night’s binge was still too close. I lit another cigarette and admonished myself for smoking. I pointed out to my conscience my ability to refrain from even thinking of a cigarette while I was in Starring’s apartment, but my conscience just laughed. There was another long night coming.

  Some of my delight was refreshed by the thought of my escapade, so I decided to delay the night by stopping at the car dealer. I didn’t have the slightest rationalization other than, perhaps, the best one. Fun. Which turned real sour, real fast.

  A pinstripe suit about thirty watched me from the other side of the door as I walked through. While he eyed me carefully I tried to reassure him by pulling off my gloves. He didn’t seem relieved. Even without the gloves I didn’t look like easy money.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I’m about to lock up.” He looked pointedly at the clock on the wall behind a blue convertible. “We’ve been closed for a while.”

  “I’d like to talk to you for a moment.”

  “If you come back tomorrow one of our salesmen will be available to help.” Almost as an afterthought he added, “I’m the manager here.”

  I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. I wanted something to think about tonight.

  “This will just take a minute.”

  “Which I don’t have. Now if you will just come this way.” He leaned lightly against me, but drew back when he felt the bulge under my jacket.

  “Sir, I must ask you to leave.” His impatience had taken on a tinge of nervousness. It was one thing to match a three-game-a-week racquetball body against mine, another to match it against metal.

  “Look, I’m not here to buy a car. I’m a detective and I need some information.” It sounded strange to me also.

  “You’re with the police?”

  “No, private.”

  “Then please return during business hours. I’m in a rush and don’t want to waste time with you.”

  His tone exceeded his authority and I was sorry that I hadn’t in troduced myself as Perry Smith. I let myself be pushed out the door but waited as he locked up. When he turned around he acted surprised to see me.

  “I want your name for when I return.” I heard what he said and immediately forgot everything but the George.

  “Well, George, I just want to thank you for the time and effort.” I tried to sound sincere and stuck out my hand.

  He looked as though it were a dead fish but reluctantly clasped it. I squeezed down hard; then squeezed harder. I saw his eyes widen, then fill. Finally I let go and turned away just as he was about to speak. He wasn’t going to need my name to remember me.

  I went to sleep as depressed as I had been the night before. I managed to avoid wholesale annihilation of my physiology, but I wasn’t sure if that was maturation or the weakness of age. When I awoke the next morning my body felt better but my spirits weren’t any brighter. It was time to punch the clock for Simon and put the meter on hold with Dr. James. Starring and Clifford were dead ends. I even had to wait for Boots’ call to find out when I could see her. This wasn’t how I’d hoped things would turn out.

  When the phone rang I gratefully answered.

  “Matty, how are you?”

  “Lou. Good to hear your voice. How’s Martha?”

  His voice lowered. “The same.” Then louder. “She is great. She can’t come to the phone right now, but she told me to send you her love.”

  The words were familiar but, where they once conjured up the image of a beaming Lou and Martha, today the image was different. “And how are you, Lou, really?”

  His tone took on an amused note. “You know what they say. Good things come to those who wait.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?”

  He laughed, “No, not at all. I’m not talking about your kind of waiting, Matty. I have to unload money, actually as much as possible, into the building.”

  “As much as possible?” I was baffled.

  “I’m not talking Rockefeller. But a substantial amount. No jokes, please. A few things came home, and tax laws being what they are, it makes sense to spruce up and expand.”

  “Expand?”

  “I thought it might be nice to add the twin next door.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Not at all. Attaching and renovating would be the right scale of expenditure.” His voice grew a little more somber. “Of course you might have to schmere the local people. We can talk about alternatives if you’re reluctant.”

  I coughed my way through a hesitation. “Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t be reluctant to bribe an official. It would give me pleasure.”

  “Don’t be smart. Sometimes you do what you have to do. You don’t have to enjoy it.”

  “So I’ll hate it.”

  “Always a wiseguy. What’s the matter, boychik? You don’t like my idea?”

  “I don’t know. Are you sure it’s good business?”

  “Look who’s talking about business! What do you care about business? Now what’s bothering you?” He sounded kindly.

  “Remember I told you about this detective work?”

  “Do I remember? You almost gave me a coronary when you crashed through the door playing cops and robbers. How is it coming?”

  “There were two cases. One solved itself and the other’s going nowhere. But the specific cases aren’t the problem.”

  “What is?” He sounded interested.

  “Well, I think I like the work.”

  “Mazel tov.”

  I chuckled. “Now who’s the wiseguy?” I lit a cigarette and stopped. I didn’t know what else to say. We were both quiet and I could hear him wheezing across the connection. After a time he said, “I think I understand.”

  “I’m glad someone does.”

  “You are worried about doing the detective work and also coordinating the project.”

  “I guess. But it seems silly. I really don’t have much to do. Especially with the cases I’m working on.”

  “You’ve managed to work and cover the building up to now?”

  “Not really. This detective stuff pays well so I’ve arranged for Charles to cover.”

  “Charles?”

  “You know, Charles from Charles and Richard.”

  Lou chuckled and said, “Who would have thought you could live without Mrs. Sullivan’s light? How is she? I didn’t stop upstairs when I was in town. I hope she wasn’t offended.”

  “I don’t think she knew you were in. Hell, it was so brief I barely knew it. Lou, I feel bad about my lack of enthusiasm. I’m sure I’ll perk up once the project gets started.”

  “And your detective work?”

  “I’m trying to tell you, I don’t have any work to do.”

  “Don’t be a shmuck. It’s not what you have that’s important. It’s what you want. If I saddle you with this project you won’t be able to develop the business.”

  “Lou, I’m not going to screw you up because I have fantasies.”

  “Fantasies shmantasies. Who’s talking screwed? We’ll use both of them.”

  “Both of who?”

  “We can use your friend Richard. From Charles and Richard.” His needle made me smile. “We’ll use both,” he continued.

  “What are you talking about? Are you on pot?”

  “Mr. Joker. Please, don’t be so loose-mouthed over the phone. It’s simple. Richard’s an architect, so we’ll hire him to develop the project. Charles, if you think he can do the job, will do the day-to-day. It’s not that big a deal and you, as part owner, will oversee.”

  “You are on drugs.”

  “Enough with the drugs already. Richard and Charles won’t do?”

&nbs
p; “It’s not that. They’d do fine if they decided to take the job.”

  “You don’t think they will?”

  “They might.”

  “So what’s so crazy?”

  “This part owner talk—all this talk. Do you know if the building is available?”

  “It’s already ours.”

  “Ours? What the hell . .

  “I didn’t want to tell you when I was there because I didn’t have time for your arguments.” He paused, then continued, “Also you were focused on your cases and I didn’t want to disturb you. While I was in town I closed on the six-flat and rearranged the present building.”

  “Rearranged?”

  “Put the buildings in both our names. Those papers I sent you a couple of months ago that you signed and sent back. I didn’t think you would read them.”

  He was right. I thought they were insurance forms.

  “Look, boychik, before you say anything, use your head. I’m no spring chicken. This way no matter what happens, everything is covered.”

  “Is that what this is all about? Age anxieties?”

  He laughed. “Maybe a little.” He lowered his voice. “In my situation it would be unwise not to take care of things.” His voice returned to conversation level. “But much to my delight, the windfall is real.”

  “Lou, is there something I should know about Martha?” I felt a sudden rush of panic. “Or you?”

  “No, no, I’m fine. I swear it. Just came back from a physical. I’m a horse. Martha’s Martha.”

  “Lou, why don’t I come out there? The rest of this can wait.”

  “I want you to stay put. It’s better that way.”

  “It sounds terrible. Why won’t you let me help?”

  “I do want you to help. I want you to stay home and get the project off the ground. With the purchase of the second building there is enough money coming in to pay you out of profit. If Richard and Charles aren’t good, pick someone else. From where I sit, you should be able to do the project and your detective work. Though from the sound of it you’ll do more project than detecting.” He sounded disgruntled.