by Dale Mayer
She nodded. “By then Minx will have it taken care of.” And with that entirely mystic and confusing statement, she turned and walked away as she tossed over her shoulder, “Lunch is on us.”
Realizing they’d been dismissed, and in a way taken advantage of, the two got up, called back, “Thanks. It was excellent.” Then they both left the building. Outside, they stood for a long moment, neither saying anything. Laszlo pulled on his glove, thinking about what just happened.
Geir said finally, “Is this not one of the most bizarre situations we’ve ever ended up in?”
“Now that we apparently have some PI work to do for the next day and a half, we need to figure out what we’ll do.”
“Except she didn’t give us any information on Mouse.”
Just then Bart walked around from the back of the building and called out, “Laszlo.”
Laszlo walked toward him. “You’re the one with the information?”
Bart nodded. “Mouse’s mother was my sister. Piece of shit that she was. And I had almost nothing to do with her. But her kid was okay.”
“Your sister?” Laszlo couldn’t believe anybody would let his nephew go through the kind of life Mouse had had without stepping in. Especially given the size of Bart.
He shook his head. “Make that stepsister. I never had nothing to do with her from the time she was ten until about thirty. I didn’t even know Mouse was family until we got to talking one time. The kid was already a teen. He was getting big enough to handle himself then, but I went and had a talk with my stepsister, scared the bejesus out of her into leaving the kid alone. Had to do it a couple times. She’d be decent for a little while, and then she wouldn’t be. By then Mouse was ready to leave.”
“He came here a lot?”
Bart nodded. “He sat at the table in the back room often. Then so did Minx, especially if Mouse was working.”
“You fed them and listened to them.”
“As much as we could. Once in a while I’d call the cops to talk to the bitch. Only Mouse would tell the cops how everything was okay. When I asked him what the hell he was doing, he said he didn’t want to get his mama in trouble. So, what are you supposed to do with that? He was almost grown. I didn’t even know how bad things were until he broke down one day and told me. But even then when I called the cops, he wouldn’t back up what he’d said. Some people are like that.”
“So, what else can you tell us that’ll help us get into his background more? Do you know anything about his father?”
“He is a mystery, but there was a stepfather for a few years. He took his own son and left. Mouse wasn’t his supposedly. At least that was the garbled version I got from Mouse.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Yarmouth,” Bart said. “George Yarmouth.”
“Any idea where he lives?”
He shook his head. “No. But if you’re the PI types, you can roust that information out.”
“Did the kids ever have anything to do with each other?”
“I don’t think so. But who the hell knows? Mouse did have a boyfriend. He didn’t want Minx to know too early on because he didn’t want her to feel bad or ashamed or look at him any different. Agnes and me, we didn’t care none. As long as he was happy, healthy, and enjoying safe sex, then he could have it any which way he found it.”
Laszlo nodded. “It still couldn’t have been easy on Mouse though.”
“No. Some asshole, an older guy, took advantage of him.”
“Which would have been rape if anybody had spoken up about it.”
“Exactly. You got to think, in the neighborhood they were raised, rape happened at every street corner. There was no end and no stopping most of it. Mouse’s mom, I hate to say it, but she was one of the worst. If Mouse had been a girl, she probably would have run her into prostitution as her pimp. And a hell of a lot earlier than Mouse’s first experience. The whole family is bad news.”
“So, she’s your stepsister? Are there more siblings? Did Mouse have other uncles, cousins?”
“Stepsister. My father married her mother. Didn’t last very long. I’m sure you can see why. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. And no siblings for either of us. Both mothers were addicts and living a never-ending cycle of abuse.”
“It’s a hard life for anybody.”
“It is. But at some point the abuse cycle has to stop.”
“Any idea who the boyfriend is?”
“Lance. But I don’t know his last name.”
“It was a long time ago, it’s no wonder.”
“I should though. His daddy was a rich man in town.”
“Any idea what business he was in?”
Bart stared off in the distance. Suddenly the door banged behind him, and Agnes stepped out. Bart growled, “Who the hell was Lance’s father?”
“Smithson,” she said. “They owned the string of jewelry stores in town here.”
Laszlo glanced over at Geir who was busy writing notes. “Okay, we might be back asking more questions. This will give us a place to start.” He stopped, reached into his pocket, pulled out a notepad, wrote down his phone number, also Geir’s, and handed it over. “If you come up with anything else, let us know.”
“Mouse was a good kid,” Bart said.
Laszlo nodded. “We agree. He was one of us.” He spoke quietly, almost in reverence. “That he died is something we’re all suffering over. But he became a good man.”
They both beamed as if they were proud of their own son. On that note, Laszlo and Geir headed to their vehicle.
Geir stopped and looked back, asking, “Was there only one boyfriend?”
Agnes and Bart looked at each other, and Bart shrugged, then added, “He stayed in touch with his first sexual encounter.”
Laszlo froze. “With the man who abused him?”
“Mouse would never have said it was abuse. Seduction, yes. The man was a father figure to him.”
“I don’t suppose you know who that was, do you?”
Agnes nodded. “Hell yeah, I do. He’s bad news. He’s been in and out of jail constantly.”
Laszlo waited.
She took a deep breath and said, “JoJo. JoJo Henderson.” And she reeled off an address. “That’s the last place I heard he was living. It’s a halfway house for cons. He’s more popularly known as Poppy.”
“You think they might have still stayed in touch over the years?”
“In a very twisted way, Mouse was grateful to him. So I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”
On that note the two café owners turned around and moved inside, the door closing behind them with a soft clank.
Laszlo stared at Geir. “Did you ever hear the like?”
Geir shook his head. “I’m beginning to wonder if we knew Mouse at all.”
Chapter 7
As Minx drove home, her mind was consumed with the warnings from Laszlo and Geir. She wasn’t sure what to think of the two men. They’d seemed sincere—dedicated and hard-working military types. But there was more to it than that. A lot of men would never have come looking for Mouse two years after his death. She understood they hadn’t been capable of coming to see about him before. But it was still an odd thing.
She didn’t want to think about the explosion not being an accident. But Mouse had lived a hard life. And she probably didn’t want to know how hard. She was surprised Agnes had talked to them, though she hadn’t said much. It was a sign Agnes trusted them, which Minx had to admit, she didn’t have any reason not to. But they were still strangers. And stranger-danger was something she’d learned as a toddler. But the men made good suggestions, and it had definitely scared the crap out of her to not take any of this too lightly. As she had that thought, she pulled into the corner store to pick up a few things.
On her way back out she noticed a beat-up old Ford truck off to the side. She was pretty damn sure she’d seen that vehicle at Agnes’s restaurant. She got in her car and drove back out. In the main stream of
traffic, she looked behind her several times, but there was no sign of it. She smiled and settled back. Laszlo had instilled just enough fear in her.
Just as she was about to make the next turn, taking the upcoming exit off the freeway into her neighborhood, she saw the pickup behind her. She frowned, but it was already too late to change her course. She took the turnoff and watched as the truck came in behind her. Shit.
Only one person was in the cab. Tall, very tall, she could barely see his head through the darkened windshield. So not Laszlo and/or Geir. Both were big men, but she could already see it wasn’t them.
Refusing to go to her apartment, she drove around the block several times, then started to weave, looking to shake the tail. But, instead of being shaken off, he stayed right on her. Scared, she wasn’t sure what the hell to do. She pulled out her phone, ready to call 9-1-1. She took a left and then another left and then realized she was just circling the block.
She headed back out on the freeway and managed to catch a yellow light, slipping in just under the red. But, as she thought she’d made it without any chance of him following, he’d run the red light among all the roaring horns. And once again, he was right on her ass.
Her fingers shaking, she looked at her phone, trying to drive and dial Laszlo’s number.
“Hello?”
“Somebody’s tailing me,” she said, half shrieking. “I’ve tried several times to shake him off, but he won’t disappear. And he’s not making any attempt to hide.”
“Where are you?”
“On the freeway heading toward Northrop.”
“I’m putting that into the GPS, as this isn’t my town. Are you almost at home?”
“I was. I drove around the block several times, so he wouldn’t see exactly where I live, but he followed me every time. So I headed back into the heavy traffic. I tried to get in under a yellow light, thinking he wouldn’t follow, but he ran the red light.”
“Do you see a coffee shop, a public place, a police station, anything up ahead?”
Taking the closest exit off the freeway, she hunted through the dim lights. It was dusky right now. Streetlights had come on, but she hated this time for trying to see anything. “A coffee shop might be up ahead, if it’s still there. I’m going by memory here.”
“Drive toward it and let us know.”
She peered through the windshield to see if it was there. “It’s still here,” she cried out.
“Okay, what’s the street?”
“Stanton. I’m pulling in.”
“Park between two vehicles if you can, so he can’t park beside you.”
“I’m parking right in front of the street-facing window. At least if anybody sees him trying anything, they’ll see me screaming.”
“I don’t want you going in. I want you to remain in your car,” he snapped.
“How far away are you?”
“Possibly ten minutes. But Geir is driving, so it could be half that.”
“Don’t hang up on me,” she pleaded.
“I won’t,” he said, his manner calm, reassuring. “Where’s the truck now?”
“It just came off the highway behind me. He’s circling the coffee shop’s parking lot, looking for a place to pull in.”
“Keep an eye on it without getting out of the vehicle. Make sure your doors are locked, and, if you’re feeling very uncomfortable, you can slump down and hide on the seat.”
“I think that would be worse. I’d be waiting to see if his face appeared in my windshield.”
“At least we’d find out what he looked like.”
“I know. I know. Oh, he’s coming around again,” she cried out. She half slid down on the seat as he drove behind her. “He’s gone to the other side of the parking lot. He just passed behind me.”
“Any idea if he was looking your way?”
“No, he didn’t appear to be. He just seems to be looking for a parking spot.” She took a deep breath. “Am I making too much out of this?”
“No way to know,” he said in a very soothing and calm voice. “And this is not the time to question yourself.”
“He’s parked at the far end.”
“Okay. Just sit there and watch him.”
“He’s not getting out.”
“Can you read the license plate?”
“No, not at all.”
“We’re taking the turnoff coming into the coffee shop area from a different angle. I want you to direct me to where he is parked so I can park somewhere close by, and we can grab the license plate.”
It took her a minute to realize what he was asking, then she said, “There’s an entrance and exit to the parking lot from the main road and the side street.” She quickly gave them directions. “What are you driving?”
“My truck. It’s a Dodge Ram, half-ton, silver.”
“Okay, I remember it.”
“We’re driving into the parking lot now,” he said.
“So pick any of the spots on the right.” She spotted the truck as it came in. “He’s right behind you.”
“Got him. You stay where you are. I’ll come and get you.”
She hung up her phone, her heart pounding. She wrung her hands together as she stared through the windshield. What if the asshole bolted?
She watched as the Dodge pickup parked. And, sure enough, Laszlo and Geir hopped out. They walked around the back of the building.
When they were out of sight from the truck’s view, she hopped out and moved around to the far edge of the coffee shop. She ran toward them and reached out. Laszlo gripped her hands and tugged her in for a quick hug. She clung to him for a long moment, overwhelmingly relieved to have him here. He just held her. Then he whispered, “The truck is still parked there. We’ve got the license plate.”
“But he might take off now,” she cried out, stepping back to look at him, then at Geir.
“Nobody was in it,” Geir said. “Did you see anybody get out?”
She shook her head. “No. But I don’t know. He might have opened the door, and I wouldn’t have been able to see.”
“It would have been easy enough for him to have crouched down and used the other vehicles to hide behind. Another vehicle coming in could have hidden his passage across, and he could have come around the coffee shop to go inside.”
He motioned to the coffee shop and said, “Let’s get a cup of coffee, and we’ll talk.” But he kept his arm tight around her shoulders. It was both comforting and irritating. But the comfort part won out.
She looked at him. “I can walk on my own, you know?”
He nodded. “But it’s much better if this guy doesn’t think you’re alone.”
Instantly she realized he was trying to offer her protection. She sighed. “I can’t tell if I’m supposed to be spitting mad because of what he did or look at myself as a screaming, lily-white, hand-wringing, useless female and get angry at myself for being reduced to this.”
“And what will you do about it?” Geir asked with interest. “Have you had much experience with being followed?”
“Too much,” she said in a dark tone. “But not when driving.”
Both men looked at her.
She shrugged. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I had to hide from predators. You learn those lessons very young.”
“Sounds like a lovely childhood.”
“It wasn’t. But I left. It’s one of the reasons I was so happy Mouse got out. Don’t misunderstand. … Initially I felt betrayed and abandoned, but, over time, I was glad he made it out of here.”
“I’m surprised you stayed as long as you did.”
“It wasn’t even a case of staying. I knew, if I left school and got a job, I’d never go back to school. That’s why I contacted my uncle. As soon as I could get the hell out. And, by then, you have to realize my mother was mostly drugged out anyway.”
“Where would she get the money for drugs?”
Minx shot him a sideways look. “How do most female drug addicts get money fo
r drugs?” She paused. “Hell, the same way male drug addicts do, I suppose.”
Neither man said anything. They nodded quietly.
“I tried hard to help her. But, at some point, you realize there’s nothing you can do.”
They nodded again. She liked that about the men. They got it. First time around. No explanation needed. And no need to make small talk.
Once inside the restaurant, she took a quick survey of the customers but didn’t see any suspicious-looking guy anywhere. “If we sit over there, we can see both sides of the restaurant.”
Laszlo nodded. “Good thinking.”
They sat down. She didn’t want any more coffee.
Laszlo said, “I’m going to the front and getting a coffee. Do you want one?”
She didn’t but she nodded anyway. “Yes, please.”
Geir sat across from her. He had a notepad out and was jotting down more things.
“Considering we haven’t talked much, you’ve taken a lot of notes.”
“Agnes offered us some more information after you left.”
She felt her jaw drop. “Agnes did?”
He nodded. “I gather from your expression that she doesn’t share much?”
“Agnes doesn’t trust anybody. And she shares even less.”
“She wanted something in return for the information though.”
“Yeah, that would be Agnes. Although what she would want, I have no idea.”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t anything. We were happy to help.”
Just then Laszlo returned. He placed two cups of coffee on the table. “I’ll be right back.”
She looked at him and saw that, of course, he hadn’t been able to carry three cups.
“I should have gone with him,” she murmured, watching as he returned to the counter.
“He’s a big boy,” Geir said, still writing. “He can handle the pain of a second trip.”
That surprised a laugh out of her. “Hardly sympathetic,” she said.
He chuckled. “I’ve known him for well over a decade. We know exactly what we can do.”
“And that’s probably a good thing.”
“It is. That goes along with having a support system. It’s like, when you do call for help, people know exactly what help you need. We don’t call without reason, and, when we do, everybody jumps to help.”