The Complete Matt Jacob Series

by Klein, Zachary;

  “Which was?” “No surprises.”

  Before I could react, Barrie looked at his watch and caught me off-guard. “Why don’t you buy me a drink?”

  I owed him. “Sure, where?”

  Sully’s had a different vibe than the Wagon Wheel. Butcherblock tables, hanging plants, and the reproduction old-fashioned mahogany bar gave the impression that we’d stepped out of The End. Despite place warp, I knew the stack of expensive bottles contained as much cheap as fancy. A bar is a bar is a bar.

  We tucked into a corner booth and gave our order to a thin, blond, bowtied waiter. I looked around the room at the other customers, felt my homophobia stir, and thought of Shakespeare’s catcall. Then I felt disgusted by my three-legged connection to the family of man.

  The waiter’s return took me out of my silent self-reproach, and I celebrated with a long pull of my German dark. Jonathan toyed with his Poland Spring and, for another moment, we sat staring at each other.

  “Everyone heard the same thing,” he said. “Stranger hostility. Nobody likes it, but it won’t go away. Some of those kids have probably never been out of The End. They’re too afraid. Mugging strangers supports their denial.” He raised his eyebrows. “Sorry if that wasn’t what you were looking for.”

  “It’s what I expected.”

  “What were you looking for?”

  “Does it matter?” I lit a cigarette and swallowed more beer. I liked Barrie, but he had something personal working.

  He reached into a pocket, brought out a pack of Gaulois, and lit one. “I thought you smoked Kools?”

  He smiled. “Nah, I buy them for the kids. They hate these.” “Don’t you think calling that gang ‘kids’ is a reach?”

  He settled back in his seat behind a smelly cloud of smoke. “At my age they all seem like kids. Look, I don’t want to appear pushy, but I’m concerned about your interest in Peter. Frankly, I’m protective of Melanie.”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  “I know the two of you go back before my time. I also know you haven’t been to The End in a very long while. Suddenly you turn up, a detective, asking about Peter. If you hadn’t returned to Hope House, I would have rung you up.”

  Jonathan took another long sip of his spring water, then went back to his smoke. “I might have called even if you hadn’t mentioned Peter. I don’t want anything to blindside her.”

  He punched out his cigarette, then immediately lit another. “No one has spoken about Peter in years. What is it you’re after, Matthew?”

  “His accident came up in one of my cases. I’m not working on it anymore.”

  His eyes weren’t friendly as they searched my face. “Yesterday the case was active, and today it’s not?”

  His suspicion stubborned me up. “I can’t get into the details. That falls under the…” “Rubric of client confidentiality?”

  “Rubric?” I asked. “Isn’t that some sort of game?” “Isn’t this?”

  His tone was sharp; I decided to see his raise, and call. “All I originally wanted was some details about a twenty-year-old death. Instead, I get a dose of suspicion. You tell me what the game is.”

  He stubbed out his cigarette and compulsively lit another. He offered, but I stayed with the one I had. Barrie considered my words. When he spoke, most of the hostility was gone from his voice. “I’m not playing at anything. I told you, I’m protective of Melanie.”

  I shook my head impatiently. “You keep telling me that, but you don’t say why.”

  He sipped his water, then shrugged. “Mel has come a tremendous distance since you last knew her. She went from a life straight out of hell and turned it into something pretty good. When you worked in The End she was a depressed dropout. Well, she didn’t get that way accidentally. Her mother was a prostitute, her father a convict. When Peter died, what little support she had was shattered. It’s been a long road back.”

  “Where do you fit in?”

  He puffed on his cigarette, and exhaled with a sigh. “I moved into the neighborhood shortly after Peter’s death. I’d taken the job at Hope House where I had gotten to know Melanie. Even then you could see her potential. Giving her an opportunity to reach that potential became important to me.”

  He paused, grimaced, and added, “Some of it started as a test of my social service commitment. Only it didn’t stop there.”

  I was disarmed by his story, his loyalty, his twenty years in The End. “How old were you?” “About 35.”

  I was surprised. “Jesus, you don’t look your age.” He chuckled. “Thanks. I work at it.”

  “How did you start to help her?”

  “At first in just little ways. Money, time, shoulder to lean on. Eventually, the state initiated foster care proceedings, and then I intervened. A somewhat unofficial adoption.”

  “Isn’t that a little unusual? A single man with a teenage girl?”

  “Isn’t everything here a little unusual? Let’s face it, when it comes to The End, out of sight is out of mind. The less outsiders have to do with this community, the better they feel. I had a couple of contacts downtown who worked it out. It helped eliminate a statistic.”

  Jonathan’s voice had dropped while he spoke about the past. He looked as if he didn’t see me but some distant figure or memory. I decided to keep him there.

  “So you never knew Peter?”

  Barrie stared over my shoulder. “I knew him. I’d done volunteer work before I decided to make a career of it.”

  “You were around, then, when he died.” “I was around, but hadn’t moved in.”

  I detected an odd catch in his voice and asked, “What really happened?” His earlier suspicion flared up. “I thought you weren’t interested in this?” “For myself, that’s all.”

  He hesitated, then continued, “Peter’s group of friends were at a party. Apparently, Peter wanted to go swimming and left ahead of everyone else. Early the next morning, someone found his body in Quarry’s End. He’d banged his head diving and drowned. A bright, wonderful kid had his life snuffed out by a freak accident. That’s what happened.”

  He sounded like a wire service sob story. “Where was the party?”

  He shrugged, “I haven’t a clue. Peter’s death left a gaping hole in Melanie’s life. He had been her rock throughout their childhood. Suddenly he was gone.” He fixed his look directly on me. “From what Melanie says, you had been one of her few close friends.”

  I was surprised by the characterization. “Not really. I knew her, but not that well.” He looked at me carefully. “Mel doesn’t usually exaggerate.”

  I didn’t remember any friendship between Melanie and me. I flashed on the electricity between us now, my dream fragment, and wondered what I might be repressing. I shook my head. “It’s been a long time.”

  Jonathan didn’t seem to hear. “She fell apart when Peter died, and I helped her pull it together.” A note of pride entered his voice. “She’s more intact now than she’s ever been. That’s why I’m concerned about your reappearance. I don’t want anything to hurt her.”

  “I have no intention of hurting Melanie.”

  He shook his head. “You can’t snoop into Peter’s death without hurting her.” “I have no intention of snooping into anything.”

  He sighed, shaking his head again. “I want to believe you’re not on an active case. Let me be simple and direct; do anything you want in The End, but leave Peter’s death alone. You may not have felt particularly close to Melanie, but I’m sure you know how difficult it is to escape quicksand. Reopening old wounds never keeps you afloat.”

  Before I could react—much less sort through his veiled warning—we were interrupted by a broad-shouldered, shaggy-haired young man lugging a guitar case on his back. Jonathan looked startled. “Darryl, what are you doing home? I didn’t expect you for another week.”

  “Couldn’t stay away,” Darryl drawled, winking at Jonathan conspiratorially.

  His surprise appearance obviously left Barrie at a
loss for words. He peered around the room, then sneaked a sideways glance toward me before he spoke. “Why did you come here for me?” He stared at the table, and added, “Why didn’t you call to let me know you were coming home?” Jonathan’s voice carried a truculent accusation.

  Darryl rolled his eyes. “You’re wanted back at the ranch. Something to do with Dennis and the police.” He looked at me but directed his words toward Barrie. “It’s lucky I know where to find you.”

  Jonathan jumped to his feet, stuffing his cigarettes into his pocket. “Matt, please take care of the bill and meet me at the Center. I’ll repay you there.”

  Before I could respond, Barrie rushed out the door. Darryl stood over me as I got ready to leave. “I don’t know if you caught my name.” His tone was less polite than the words. “I’m Darryl Hart.”

  I stood, stuck out my arm, and grasped a dry, firm hand. “I caught it.” “You gonna return the favor?”

  “I’m Matt Jacob.”

  He nodded but remained silent until we were walking toward Hope House.

  “You always carry a gun?” he asked, his lips twitching with a small smile. “Only when I feel sorry for myself. Don’t fret, I’m a legal PI.”

  He glanced at me, the smile twisting into a frown. “Private cop, huh? What are you doing in The End?”

  “Nothing important.”

  “Jonathan wouldn’t leave the Center for something that wasn’t important.” “His idea of important might be different from mine. You’ll have to ask him.”

  This time Darryl showed a row of gleaming white teeth. “I plan to, PI. And when I do he’ll tell.”

  I was relieved to be near the agency. Darryl’s smug grin made me uncomfortable. Darryl made me uncomfortable.

  I quickened my pace as I made out the scene at the top of the steps. I wanted to see how Jonathan handled the two Blues standing just inside the door.

  I squeezed past Jonathan and the police with Darryl trailing behind. I walked a couple of steps more and stopped, but Darryl kept going until he was behind the painted plywood. I looked out the front window, noticed Dennis in the rear of the patrol car, then turned back to the conference. One of the uniforms had a puzzled look on his face. “I don’t get it. The snot blames you for his break-in, and you want to help his ass out. Christ, what are you, one of those liberals who need to be punished?”

  Barrie didn’t blink. “Look, Officer, I understand he was caught inside a building, but the building was abandoned.”

  The other cop, gray-haired with a florid face, interjected, “Private property is private property.”

  Jonathan looked at him. “Cold is cold, and it’s freezing outside.” His voice grew harsh. “Now look, you didn’t bring the kid here to gloat. Either you fucked up the bust, or you don’t want to do the paperwork. Leave the kid with me and let me deal with him, or haul his ass to the station.” The older cop stepped forward, jaw thrust out, but the younger guy restrained him. “Let it be, Ralph.” He turned to Jonathan. “How you gonna keep him out of the empties? He says he got nowhere to go.”

  Jonathan grimaced. “I’ll let him stay here.”

  The young cop smiled. “That’s what we wanted to hear, isn’t it?” Ralph didn’t say anything, and the younger cop glared. “Isn’t it?”

  “I guess.”

  The young one turned back to Jonathan. “We’ll send him right up.”

  As they left Jonathan looked at me and shrugged. “Dennis will tell us what happened.” Dennis limped up the steps as the squad car squealed away. Jonathan shook his head. “I don’t think he fell and hurt himself, do you?”

  No, I didn’t. Barrie opened the glass door to Sally’s office and shoo’d her out. As Dennis entered, Jonathan pointed, then followed him into the reception area. I followed the two of them, and surprisingly, Jonathan didn’t seem to mind.

  “A tough way to get back inside the building,” he joked to Dennis. “What happened?” “Nothing.”

  Barrie groaned. “Don’t be an asshole, Dennis. Why’d they let you off with a beating?” “I don’t know what you’re asking.” He sounded petulant and surly.

  “Cut the crap, kid. If you want me to help you, you will, will, tell me the truth. Otherwise get the fuck out of here and go play with the bulls.”

  “I don’t want to talk with anyone else here.” Dennis jerked his head in my direction.

  Jonathan looked at me for a long moment as I prepared to leave, then raised his hand. “Stay put, Matthew.” He turned his eyes on Dennis. “I told you he was a friend of mine. Now talk or fuck off! I have enough to do without nursing you.”

  “They took my dope.” Dennis? voice was a whisper. “They told me if I said anything to anybody they’d take care of me. They know how to use those sticks, man.”

  “What kind of dope?” Jonathan sounded disgusted. “Grass.”

  “How much?”

  “A few lids, maybe a quarter.”

  “Where did you get the money for a quarter-pound?”

  “I thought you wanted to know about the cops, Jonathan.” “I’ll tell you what I want to know. Who fronted you?” Dennis’ voice was almost inaudible. “Emil.”

  I felt my stomach lurch, but Jonathan seemed unruffled. “And the cops just took the stuff?” “Yeah, I made the pickup and went to the building to break it down when they busted in.” Jonathan started to say something, then thought better of it. Finally he asked, “Where’d they hit you?”

  “My legs mostly.”

  “Okay, go up to the fourth floor and stay there. Use the bed.” “Jonathan.”

  “What?”

  “What about Emil? I’m in deep shit for losing the dope. He’ll kill me if he finds out I talked to you.”

  “He won’t find out. Now get upstairs.”

  Dennis walked gingerly out the door while Barrie took a seat behind Sally’s desk. I leaned against the far wall and asked, “Would this Emil really hurt him?”

  “Emil? At worst he would cut him off for a while.” He rubbed his eyes and said, “This shit tires me out.”

  “You don’t seem surprised by any of it.” He raised his shoulders. “This is The End.” “What are you going to do?”

  “Probably tell Emil to organize his dope before he pushes it. Gives the cops less opportunity to steal.”

  “You don’t have much of a ‘Just Say No’ attitude.”

  A spark of anger ran through his eyes though his voice remained placid. “You’re not a total stranger to The End, Matt. There aren’t many ways people earn a buck in this neighborhood; most of them, except day labor, are illegal. And day labor should be. When the city provides real opportunities, I’ll change my attitude about selling marijuana.” He looked wearily in my direction. “Given your reputation, I’m surprised by the question.”

  “Reputation?”

  “You weren’t considered a button-down. People felt they could relate to you. Believe it or not, your name still comes up.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Well you should. Melanie wasn’t the only reason I came out of my office. I wanted to meet you. Twenty years ago there weren’t many people organizing in this neighborhood. Everybody thought the only way to do things was one case at a time. Damn, there was one story about you working the street during a gang war, forcing a truce.”

  I felt embarrassed. “Don’t make too much of it. I was young and a lot of stupid behavior seemed exciting.”

  “That’s bullshit. You see, I got to The End right after you left. Although there were more social workers than Carter has liver pills, no one had the reputation you had. You were a part of this community.” He smiled. “That much was clear by the anger people felt when you left. Folks around here are usually happy to see outsiders go.”

  “I don’t recall having a fan club.”

  “Then your memory is faulty.” He met my eyes. “Look, that was then, this is now. Twenty years gives someone plenty of time to change. Now I can’t assume you’re back riding a w
hite horse, especially when you could hurt Melanie.”

  “You seem awfully damn protective of her. She looks grown to me.”

  “She’s grown all right, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t need a little protection.” “You don’t make it sound like just a little. Anyway, how’d we get back to Melanie?”

  He put his hands on the desk and pushed himself toward the door. “The stuff with Dennis, Matt, that’s routine. You’re not.”

  Outside, the weather had grown worse. Colder, windier, grayer. So had I. Jonathan’s decision to keep me in the room during his conversation with Dennis disturbed me enough not to press him about Emil.

  It was time to press Emil myself.

  I drove to the address Blackhead had scrawled at the Wagon Wheel, and lock picked through the heavy front door of his building. I wasn’t surprised when the numbers led me down, not up; his cellar living seemed as fitting as my residence in the alley. By the time I got to his apartment, the parallel disturbed me.

  I rapped loudly, waiting in the gloomy basement hall until he finished his “eye over chain” routine. The apartment was cleaner than I’d expected. I carefully removed a pile of clothes from a faded purple mohair chair, placed them on the floor, and sat down. Blackhead slouched on a dull yellow corduroy-covered couch and peered at me with reddened eyes. “They weren’t going to bite, you know.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “What is it you want now, shamus? I thought I told you to stay away from me.” “Shamus?”

  He looked at me distrustfully. “Why are you being polite?” “Emil, you don’t seem happy to see me.”

  “I’m not,” he replied warily. “How’d you get through the fucking front door?” “Somebody left it open,” I lied. No need giving away building managers’ secrets. “So you’re here. Now what?”

  “Did you chase me out of The End because I might not like you selling drugs to kids?”

  “I didn’t chase you anywhere. I asked you to leave, that’s all.” He waved his hand dismissively. “What’s with this kid shit? There ain’t no kids in The End.”