by Ruskin, JD
Michael pulled out his wallet and smacked a few bills on the counter. “I was your best friend, Logan, not some battered boyfriend.” He stood up from the stool. “And you hit like a girl when you’re drunk.”
Logan followed him out of the café. Michael leaned against the brick building, fishing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Logan kept the I thought you quit to himself as Michael leaned forward to light the smoke.
Michael blew out a puff of smoke. “I made it worse.” When Logan opened his mouth to object, Michael slashed a hand through the air. “I can see it now, but back then I was in such denial. I thought there’s no way you’d follow in your old man’s footsteps. You just needed to get your shit together and everything would be okay.”
Logan gave a choked, desperate laugh. He’d managed to top his old man. In spite of the drug addiction, his dad never served time. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with my shit in the first place.”
“You want to spend the rest of your life hiding from people you might hurt, I can’t stop you.” Michael said the words as if the truth of them burned hotter than the smoke. With eyes too bright, he asked, “Would you just tell me if you’re doing okay?”
Logan wondered why he was bothering as he told Michael about his job and the conditions of the parole. People in AA talked about relapse like it was inevitable, and Logan couldn’t argue with them. He hadn’t had a drink in over a year and he still craved it every damn day. Even without taking a single drink, Caleb understood that loss of control in a way Michael never would. He knew what it felt like to become a passenger in his body when fear got behind the wheel. If Logan let Michael back into his life, his friend would eventually end up a busted speed bump.
Michael’s forehead wrinkled. “The shipping warehouse by the docks?”
“That’s the one.”
Michael’s jaw dropped, nearly causing the cigarette to fall to the ground. He swore under his breath as the ash struck his blue silk tie.
A thought occurring, Logan asked, “Do you have a professional interest in the company?” Michael was a forensic accountant at a security company. He referred to it as the cool branch of accounting because they specialized in fraud investigations. He had always been a jock with geeky tendencies. It was one of the things Logan liked best about him. He had been just as comfortable wearing a pocket protector as he was a football uniform.
Michael rolled the cigarette between his fingers and his thumb. “A couple of months ago, the Loss Prevention division within your company identified the Night Sort as the source for an increase of lost packages. They were unable to determine the person or persons behind the employee thefts. They hired my firm to evaluate their prevention plan and offer recommendations. We were also going to conduct our own investigation, but the manager, Harrison Klass, decided not to go forward with the investigation.”
Logan’s mind whirled, replaying what he’d learned in the past few weeks. The sudden shift change for Foster made sense if Klass suspected her of stealing. It would force her to adapt, making her more vulnerable to exposure. Was she trying to recruit? Was that the reason she was so eager to jump into his bed? If Klass was anything like Caleb, he’d wait to be sure she was guilty rather than risk firing her unjustly. Unless Klass is in on it and wants to cover it up. Logan’s gut rolled at the idea. What if Caleb wasn’t making enough at his business and Klass needed money to support him? He couldn’t see Caleb allowing his uncle to help pay his expenses, but fear was a hell of a motivator.
Reluctantly, Logan asked, “Why do you think Klass called off the investigation?”
Michael shrugged. “He might not have wanted to incur the expense, hoping to handle it internally.” His eyes widened. “You think he might be dirty?”
Logan decided to ignore the question for the moment. “How do the employees pull it off? Every inch of the warehouse is videotaped and you can’t bring nothing on the floor.”
“There are a number of methods. Someone swaps the label on a package, getting it sent to another address. Or a more elaborate method is to create a dummy company. The dummy company sends empty packages that look like they’ve been tampered with and then claims insurance on them after they’re delivered. Sometimes the packages are just sliced open and resealed. There’s no way to know without a full investigation.”
He couldn’t see Klass stealing from the company, but he could imagine his boss looking the other way to protect Caleb. It put their encounter with Foster outside of Meng’s in an all-new light. “Klass’s nephew, Caleb, is a friend of mine. A couple of months ago, someone set off a smoke bomb on his apartment floor.”
Proving just how smart he was, Michael said, “You think it was a message to Klass to back off?”
Logan nodded. “Caleb’s an agoraphobic and was housebound at the time. He didn’t know there wasn’t a fire when he barricaded himself in his apartment and refused to leave.”
Michael’s lips parted; a look of complete and utter shock evident as he stared at Logan.
“I think my supervisor, Karen Foster, might be behind the smoke bomb and she used to work the Night Sort before Klass moved her to another shift. Could you… look into her background… uh… unofficially?”
Michael’s expression changed, and he gave Logan a long, assessing look. “Is this Caleb a friend… or a friend-friend?”
Logan felt his cheeks heat. “We’re not dating.” Which was the truth. Phone sex hardly counted as a date.
“Did you fall in love with another gorgeous straight guy?” Michael asked, exhaling a stream of smoke.
“Fuck you,” Logan said, without heat.
Michael wagged his finger at Logan. “There are limits to my friendship and seeing your hairy ass is one of them. But looking up info on your supervisor won’t be a problem.”
I’ve missed you, Logan thought, feeling his chest tighten. “You won’t get in trouble or nothing if you investigate Foster?”
Michael bumped their shoulders together. “I’ll be fine.” He pulled out his wallet and fished out a business card. Handing it to Logan, he said, “Give me a call in a few days and I’ll have the information for you.” He took a last drag of his cigarette, then dropped it, and ground it under the heel of his shiny dress shoe. “Take care of yourself, Logan.”
“Thanks, man,” Logan said, watching Michael walk away.
Chapter 6
FOSTER had been prattling at him for close to ten minutes. Logan only needed to work three hours today before he could head over to Caleb’s, but the shift seemed endless. The redhead’s attempt at flirting wasn’t making it go by any faster. He couldn’t help wondering what game she was playing. On the surface, a guy with a record seemed like the right person to approach if she really did need new recruits. If Logan thought about ratting her out, she could get him fired or make a complaint to Dabb. The best thing to do was to avoid pissing her off, but he lacked patience today.
He’d tried calling Caleb several times over the weekend, getting a busy signal every time. He remembered their first meeting when Caleb said he sometimes had trouble with the phone when upset. Considering their last phone call, it wasn’t surprising he’d disabled the phone. That didn’t mean Logan wasn’t going to give him shit about it. What if there was an emergency? Caleb could screen his calls instead of taking the phone off the hook.
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said,” Foster said, dragging Logan back to the conversation.
Hoping to avoid antagonizing her, Logan said, “Sorry, I’ve got a lot on my mind and I’ve got work to do before I head out.”
“Right,” she said, her face twisted in an ugly smirk. “Today’s the day you play nursemaid to the boss’s nephew. Do you get a thrill out of sponge-bathing the little freak?”
Logan gritted his teeth. “He ain’t no freak.”
“Temper, temper,” she said, running a finger down his chest. “You’ll be nice to me, if you know what’s good for you.”
“Fuck off, sweetheart,” Logan said
, moving past her and pulling out his cell phone. His gut churned when once again he got a busy signal. Why the fuck isn’t he answering? He hit the End button on the phone and headed for the exit.
Two steps out of the warehouse, the phone rang and Logan nearly dropped it. He looked at the display before answering. “Michael,” he said, his voice sounding frazzled to his own ears.
“Are you okay?”
Hell, no. “I need to check on Caleb. He’s not answering the phone.”
“Sorry to call like this. I found out some info on your supervisor I thought you should know. Do you want to call me back later?”
Whatever Michael had discovered, it had to be big. He’d found the info fast. “Go ahead and tell me what you found out.” It’ll keep me from going crazy on the ride over.
“The file wasn’t officially closed. I’m guessing the investigators hoped Klass would change his mind about going forward with an investigation.”
A cab pulled to the curb in front of Logan and stopped. He climbed in the backseat and barked the address to the cabbie. Leaning back against the squeaky vinyl upholstery, he asked, “What were you able to find out?”
“In forensic accounting, there are red flags that we look for when trying to ferret out employee theft and fraud. Karen Foster hits every one. Company dissatisfaction, which you mentioned when they changed her shift. I also learned her live-in boyfriend was fired at the same time when he refused a transfer to another facility. One of the security improvements my firm suggested was a policy forbidding dating or relationships between supervisors and hourly employees.”
She has plenty of other boyfriends to fill the gap.
“A credit check showed she is in deep financial trouble.”
“Then why’s she paying to have her kitchen redone if she’s so tight on cash?” In a flash, the answer came to Logan. “She keeps making the contractor redo shit because she can’t pay for it when the job’s done.”
“I’m guessing she’s short on cash because of a misdemeanor charge she got six months ago. She was arrested for public drunkenness at the riverboat casino. Booze and bets are two big red flags.”
Logan had been around her enough to see signs of his former self in her, as much as he hated to admit it. Craving tequila at nine in the morning was a hell of a tip off. Adding gambling to the mix would only make her sink that much faster. “So what do I do next?”
“Stay the hell away from her or better yet, start looking for a new job. Eventually, greed will get the better of her and you don’t want to be anywhere near her when it does.”
“Why not go to Klass and get him to call the police?”
“Most of our investigations into employee theft don’t end in criminal charges even when we’ve got solid evidence.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it’s about business and not justice. Companies believe it is better to keep it quiet—avoiding media attention—than to prosecute.”
“Let me get this straight. They catch the employee stealing and all they do is fire the guy? That’s just asking for someone else to try it.”
“I tend to agree, but the alternative isn’t much better. It’s harder to convict than fire, and civil suits are expensive and the company rarely ends up recouping losses.”
Finally understanding, Logan said, “And even if you caught the guy with a box of iPods, you couldn’t prove all the other shit he likely stole before then.”
“Exactly, and that’s when there’s proof. Everything I’ve found out about Foster is circumstantial. It shows she has the profile of a typical employee that steals, but it doesn’t prove anything.”
Logan rubbed his aching forehead. “I can’t just quit, Michael. A steady job is a condition of my parole and my PO was the one who got me this job. There aren’t many options with a felony conviction for assault on my record.”
“If you need—”
“Don’t. Just don’t, man. I don’t want your money.”
There was a long pause and then Michael said, “How about my friendship, Logan? Do you want that?”
Logan knew the answer he should say, but he couldn’t get the word “no” past his lips. Instead, he found himself saying, “They have Al-Anon meetings at the center where I go. Would you be willing to try going to one?”
“Isn’t that for family members of alcoholics?”
“Friends, too. But you’re more family to me than my old man ever was.”
His voice sounding a bit strangled, Michael said, “Just let me know where and when.”
Grateful, Logan ended the call with a promise to call back with the information. When he reached Caleb’s building, he found himself heading up the stairs, three at a time. Once at the door, he knocked, louder than usual. When he tried again and got no response, he pulled out Klass’s spare key. He hesitated a moment before putting the key in the slot and unlocking it. He tried to open the door, but the security chain was actually in place this time.
“Hey, Caleb. It’s Logan. Get off your ass and unchain the door.” He listened, trying to hear any sign of movement from within the apartment, but heard nothing. “Open the door or you’ll be paying a locksmith to fix it.” When he got no response, he turned to the side, butting his shoulder against the door. He grabbed the doorknob and shoved against it with all his weight. The metal snapped under the strain, sending wooden splinters flying. He quickly scanned the main room and kitchen. Finding no sign of Caleb, he headed for the bedroom.
He’d never been in Caleb’s bedroom before. To the right, he spotted a doorway that presumably led to the master bathroom. A treadmill sat on the left side of the room and a king-sized bed in the middle. Logan spotted a motionless lump buried under a mound of dark blankets. His heart made an appearance in his throat, and he forgot how to breathe. He rushed over to the side of the bed, but hesitated for a moment before touching what he thought was Caleb’s shoulder. After an incredibly long three seconds, Logan heard Caleb groan in his sleep, his body rocking back and forth slightly. Logan dropped to his knees and rested his forehead against the comforter, trying to calm his racing heart. Looking down, he realized the damp towel he knelt on was clicking. He pushed back the towel, revealing the phone off the hook. “Caleb,” he said, peeling back the blanket from Caleb’s head.
Caleb was lying on his side with his arms crossed like a mummy, looking every bit as pale as the walking undead. Logan noticed how pronounced the bags were under Caleb’s eyes and how sallow his skin appeared. Logan blinked and then squinted in the dim light, pulling the blanket back further to get a better look. Duct tape? Why would he have tape wrapped around his wrist and hand? “Aw, hell.” Caleb’s fingers had swollen to twice their normal size and the skin looked red and angry.
Logan flinched when Caleb’s eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide. For the span of two ragged breaths, no one moved. Then adrenaline kicked in. One minute Caleb was buried under the covers and in the next, he was across the room, scrambling on his hands and knees with no regard to his likely broken wrist. Logan imagined he could hear the bones grinding as Caleb moved toward the other side of the room. Jesus. He needed to stop him before he caused permanent damage.
“Let me help you,” Logan said, kind of loud, and Caleb jerked back, scrunching himself into the corner, his head bowed on his knees, cradling his injured arm to his chest at an awkward angle.
When he got no response, Logan tried again, willing his voice to sound calm. “Everything’s going to be okay.” He held out his arms the way one would when pacifying a frightened horse. He moved sideways, not approaching Caleb yet, to position himself in front of the bedroom door. Caleb might be frantic enough to make a break for it. “You need to go to the doctor and get that wrist fixed,” Logan said, moving closer and ignoring Caleb’s flinch from either his words or his sudden nearness.
“Please don’t make me,” Caleb whispered, lifting his head to look at Logan.
Logan swallowed hard. The pain and misery in Caleb’s eyes was d
ifficult to witness. “You gotta let me help you.”
Caleb’s whole body seemed to wither as his shoulders slumped even further and his chin dropped to his chest. His voice sounded like a ragged plea. “Let me stay here. My wrist is fine.” Logan could hear the tears in Caleb’s voice even though his cheeks were dry. Caleb kept repeating the word fine over and over again as if he could wish it so.
Logan wanted a drink so badly, but the booze would never make it past the lump in his throat. Part of him wanted to agree, to let Caleb stay home just to stop his voice from sounding so goddamn broken. But Caleb needed help and hiding under the covers wouldn’t magically reset bone. Logan pulled out his cell phone and texted a message to Klass: Need help. C hurt. He hoped the old man was wearing his cell phone. He didn’t want to risk talking to Klass on the phone in front of Caleb, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave the room. Caleb had spent far too much time alone and in pain. My fault. Guilt threatened to rise up and take hold of Logan, but he pushed it down. Caleb needed him now.
His cell phone beeped, and Logan fumbled to turn off the sound as Caleb started hyperventilating. Logan read the one word message: ambulance? He looked at Caleb trembling against the wall as he gulped in huge breaths. He texted Y and hit the Send button. He was so focused on the button, he nearly missed Caleb’s escape attempt. Caleb darted to the side pushing off the wall in an effort to get around Logan. Logan grabbed him around the middle, and lifted him in the air before settling the frightened man in his lap. He made shushing noises against the back of Caleb’s neck as Caleb whimpered and struggled against the hold, trying to pry Logan’s hands from his waist. The pungent smell of sweat and the faint odor of vomit made Logan’s nose itch, but he didn’t dare loosen his grip. “I’m so sorry, Caleb. I shouldn’t have waited. I shoulda made Klass hand over the key on Friday.”