Staunch pro-lifer, unfortunate victim of autoimmune hepatitis.
And certainly not the man who would be waiting for her when she arrived home.
The jukebox kept right on playing, everyone in the joint jamming to their own personal boogie man.
Chapter 60: That Kind of Poker.
While Dinah lay unconscious on the couch, snoring through that evening’s binge, Jessica thought she would ask for a little lesson on the great American game.
Eli sat across from her, his half of the table stacked high with plastic poker chips.
Accompanied by a bottle of scotch and a habit that wouldn’t quit.
Jessica’s stack was all tied up in the middle. Carefully matching her pair of cards with the five turned face-up along the middle. Waiting for Eli to make his move.
Marlboro clamped between his teeth, Eli weighed his options.
Possibly trying to make Jessica sweat a little more.
He was wasting his time.
A dark serenity had come over Jessica since returning from the pool hall. The murky peace that came with knowing the end was near. In a summer of schizophrenic emotions, she knew this strange enlightenment would soon abandon her as well. In the meantime, there was an undeniable power that came with it.
Eli played his cards close, wrapped in his own illusions. And all the while, Jessica sat with a pleased smile. Listening to Etta James on the radio, coasting on a cloud of absolute clarity. Maybe not absolute. There was still no telling who the man across from her really was. But he had no idea she was even wondering. Every hit of scotch another nail in his coffin.
It was as close to real power as Jessica had ever felt.
“Yeah, sorry…” Eli snubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. He counted a stack and placed them in the pot. “Going to have to call that.”
Jessica sighed. “Pair of tens.”
“Fours over,” Eli declared, flipping his own hole cards.
He began to reach for his winnings, ready to declare game over.
Jessica reached down, and took hold of her shirt. Pulled it up, right over her head, revealing the black lace of her best bra. A push-up she seldom wore, whose time had come to shine.
Stopped Eli cold.
Jessica reached over and scooped the chips back to her own side.
“OK…” Eli poured himself another drink. Another nail. Popped another cigarette in his mouth. “Didn’t know it was going to be that kind of poker.”
Before Eli could cast a guilty glance over his shoulder, Jessica reassured him, “Don’t worry. She’s out like a light. And after all, it is just a game.”
Eli was suddenly very concerned with shuffling the deck.
They had come this way once before. Had they made it just a little further, shed a little more clothes, Jessica wouldn’t be playing this little game. Wouldn’t be looking for one last scrap of evidence to bury the once and never Eli Messner.
A fresh hand was dealt.
Jessica checked her cards, hardly caring what they were.
Eli nodded towards her. “Bet’s to Venus De Milo over there.”
Jessica picked up a random assortment of chips. Counted them out to keep up appearances. “Bet fifty-two.”
“Fifty-two,” Eli mused. “That’s an odd number.”
“Even number, actually…” Jessica glanced out the window. No sign of Anita Montero’s Pontiac. Strange, vengeful hopes that Chaucer was out there in the dark. Watching her. Having to just deal with it. “Eli, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done in your life?”
Eli called the bet and laid down three cards, face up. “If you’re something along the lines of, I gouged out a man’s eyes and cut his tongue –”
“I once beat the shit out of some chick just for paying me a compliment,” Jessica said.
Eli glanced up from the game.
“True story…” Jessica had a sip of tea. Warm, therapeutic taste clashing with her casual confession. “Shortly after my mom disappeared. So shortly, I hadn’t even noticed she was missing yet. I used to get that fucked up. I was out on the street, hanging with some guys I knew. Sitting on the stoop. Some white girl just walked on by, and you know what she had the balls to say to me?”
Eli’s only reply was a drag of his cigarette.
“”Looked me in the eye and straight told me… nice hair.” Jessica smiled, almost drunk off the memories. “And the real tragedy is, this girl meant it. But that’s not what I heard. I was too caught up in my own intoxicated identity crisis. I wanted kink, I wanted what I was supposed to have. Either that or straight and blond. Something categorical. Not the weird-ass hybrid I got stuck with, y’know?”
“Yeah.”
“So I jumped her. Went to town on her. Could have gone way worse if my boys hadn’t pulled me off. All the chick did was pay me a compliment. And I sent her to the hospital. All because I didn’t know who I was.”
Eli called the bet, flipped over another card. “Do you know who you are now?”
“Do you, Mr. Eli Messner?”
Jessica threw in another fifty-two, doubled the pot.
Eli sipped his scotch. “I used to have a friend named Seymour. This was back in grade school.”
“We talking Tampa?”
“Yeah…” Eli exhaled a cloud of exhaust gray. “So there was something wrong with Seymour. Kind of slow, sounded like every asshole’s impression of a retarded kid. Whatever, guess I’ll never know what was up with him. Anyway, one morning, I woke up and I just came to the realization. Clear as crystal: hanging with Seymour was just plain not cool. So I ditched the chump.”
He called Jessica’s bet and laid down the final card.
“That’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” she asked.
“A few days later, I was sitting with a bunch of kids in the cafeteria. Poor Seymour was so dumb, he didn’t even realize I’d given him the brush off. Sat down next to me with his orange tray. And as though we’d all planned it, every one of us got up at once. In unison, I mean it was amazing. And we settled at another table…” Eli pounded his drink, poured himself another. “I remember looking back and seeing Seymour’s dumb, inarticulate little face. Too stupid to figure out what had just happened, but… still too smart to follow me and my new group of friends…”
“That’s a bad one, Eli.”
“Don’t need to tell me twice.”
Jessica shoved all her chips in the middle. “All in.”
“I call.”
“Pair of twos.”
“Pair of kings.”
“Long as we’re being honest…” Jessica reached back and unhooked her bra. Casually hung it over her chair and leaned back, everything laid bare. Daring Eli not to notice. “I believe this earns me back those chips.”
“Yeah…” Eli had another hit of scotch. “I guess it does.”
Jessica corralled the chips back into her corner. “You feel like offering up some collateral?”
“Huh?”
Jessica gave him a lazy smile. “Take your shirt off, and we’ll keep playing.”
Eli looked stricken.
Not conflicted enough, though.
He peeled off his shirt. Bundled it in his lap, sunken chest like a sand trap.
Jessica gave him the once over.
No sign of any scars on his flat, pale belly.
Nothing to suggest the transplant so desperately needed to allow for allow for his habit.
“You’re right.” Jessica reached to the floor and picked up her shirt. “We should probably call it a night.”
Eli agreed, hastily clothing himself. “There’s not a whole lot I’ve got left to teach, anyway.”
“No kidding.” Jessica covered up. Stood up and collected her bra. “I’m going to bed.”
“I’m going to finish up this bottle. Curl up with Dinah, maybe watch a movie… See you tomorrow?”
“Maybe… got an early shift.”
Jessica wasn’t due at the Prescott till five in the afterno
on.
Didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be an early day.
She wandered into the kitchen. Opened up a drawer and extracted a brown, paper lunch bag. She tiptoed into the hallway, listened for the television.
There it was.
Jessica stole into Dinah’s room.
Found Eli’s jacket draped over the chair. Picked it up and shook it over the bed.
A pair of light-blue poker chips fell onto the bedspread.
Clutching the paper bag, she scooped them up. Turned the whole thing inside out, effectively trapping her clay prisoners and any fingerprints that came with them.
She gently closed the door to her room.
Slid the paper bag under the futon.
Reached under the pillow for her red notebook.
Wrote in its pages until her eyes could no longer stand her own thoughts.
Fell asleep, never doubting she would wake up long before Eli Messner.
Mr. Question Mark.
Chapter 61: All the News That’s Fit For Prints.
Jessica was done fucking around.
Seven-thirty in the morning, and she did not wake up so much as succumb to a bout of consciousness. Forgoing coffee and a shower, she hastily dressed for success. No jeans or tank tops for this girl, not today. She scooped up the lunch bag containing Eli’s poker chips and shouldered Dinah’s loaner. Slipped out the door, still stuck for a plan to get her own bag back.
She walked to Tenth Street. Cool breeze helping her on her way to The Coffee Mill. Bought a cup of Ethiopian and sat down at a round, pedestal table. With an hour or so to kill, Jessica tended to her red notebook. Hunched close, hair continuously winding its way around her pen.
At eight-thirty, she cruised to the bathroom. Washed her face and applied some makeup. Took one last look in the mirror to straighten her clothes. She threw her shoulders back with professional flare.
“Let’s do this.”
It was twenty minutes to the station.
She expertly wove her way through security without so much as a peep from the guards or metal detectors.
What I did on my summer vacation.
Jessica didn’t recognize the woman at the front desk, though she seemed to know who Jessica was. Her thin, plucked eyebrows furrowed. Cautious tone in an otherwise casual conversation. “What can I do for you, miss?”
“I need to speak with either Captain Donahue or Sargent Detective Randal. It’s important.”
The officer nodded and quickly dialed the extension.
Jessica had been prepared for the usual firewall that came with an unannounced visit. Evidently, clothes made the woman as well as the man.
The officer hung up and rounded the desk, leaving her partner in charge. “I’m officer O’Brien. Please follow me, miss.”
They took the elevator three flights up and stepped out to a hive of desks and cubicles.
Jessica was reminded of her first day at the Observer. The rushed, roaring chaos that television had conditioned her to expect was replaced by a bustling, yet mostly underwhelming office environment. She was also unprepared for the amount of attention she received. Casual glances of a dozen cops adding up to a collective stare.
O’Brien led them to Donahue’s slice of the pie, a cubical twice the size as any of the others.Donahue looked up from his work.
Jessica took a few bold steps forward. “Detective Donahue –”
“Before you say anything…” He held his hands up in a peaceful gesture, eyes so penitent, they bordered on a plea for mercy... “I want to make something clear. Neither Detective Randal nor myself had anything to do with this. All pertinent information came from your newspaper. I know we’ve had our differences, but you have to believe me when I say that your safety has always been our top priority –”
“Detective?”
“Yes, Jessica?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
The question knocked Donahue off his stride. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You haven’t read the paper today, have you?”
“No… Why, what’s in the paper?”
Donahue motioned for her to sit, all set with exhibit A.
Jessica took the front page from his hands and let the bold print slug her in the stomach.
Newly Revealed Letter Links Observer Intern to Angry Jonny.
Beneath the banner, smaller captions spelled out the head: Managing Editor, Al Holder, Colluded With Investigators.
Printed in the middle of the page, as though lifted straight from Malik’s hard drive, was the original letter… This story belongs to Jessica. Let her back in, Mr. Holder. Or innocent people will die.
Signed by that summer’s local hero, Angry Jonny.
The article itself was proudly penned by none other than Ethan Prince, acting editor-in-chief.
“I don’t know how Prince got a hold of it…” Donahue dragged a second chair over and sat alongside Jessica. “Maybe he knew all along. He called last night, looking for a quote. I tried your cell, but got nothing.”
“My phone was off.”
“I know. Half that article is about you and Dinah. All the connections…”
“A waitress at the luxurious Prescott Dining Room,” Jessica read, trying to maintain. “He wrote where I work?”
“Yeah, Al Holder doesn’t come off much better. Second half is all about him, Davenport’s charges of plagiarism, journalistic integrity…”
“Journalistic integrity. Really.”
“I’m sorry about this, Jessica.”
“Yeah…” she continued to gaze at the article, words jumbled in a dyslexic mess. “Where’s Angry Jonny when you need him?”
“Hey…” Donahue leaned over, staring hard. “Don’t say that kind of shit around me, all right? I’m still a cop, none of that’s changed.”
“A few things have, Detective.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“I’m going to need my personal space back for a second.”
Without further prompting, Donahue returned to his desk. “This better?”
Jessica nodded. “I’ve come with a peace offering, Detective.”
“Go on.”
“Well, not so fast…” Jessica centered herself, looking to reclaim the confidence she had walked in with. “I’m going to need a few things in return.”
“You’re not really giving me a lot to work with.”
“I know the department’s been in a turf war with FBI all summer. I imagine anything linking Jason Castle to the other attacks would only make things worse for you.”
“Do you have evidence connecting the first three attacks?”
“Won’t know until someone takes a look at what I got. Question is whether that someone is going to be your men or the G-men.”
“Go on.”
“I’m willing to accept your obsession with my aunt, and help you in any capacity I can… If you’re willing to do the same. That is, if you are willing to accept that there might be more to this whole nightmare than Dinah and Davenport.”
“I’m not dropping the investigation.”
“Then don’t. All I’m asking is for you to stop with this tunnel vision nonsense. Take what I have to offer and consider other avenues of thought.”
Donahue didn’t look to be leaning one way or the other. “I imagine you also want more access.”
“Not like I’m gonna go to the press.”
“Bear in mind… there are things we simply will not tell you. Nature of the beast, Jessica.”
“And I don’t plan on giving it all away on the first date. Those are the rules of my own little beast.”
“Seems like we’ve got the rough outline of an understanding.”
“Good…” Jessica unzipped Dinah’s book bag and placed the brown sack on Donahue’s desk. “Open up. Look, but don’t touch.”
“If this is a human finger…” Donahue unrolled the top, peered in. “Looks like a pair of poker chips.”
“Corr
ect.”
“Where’d you get them?”
“Boosted them from a young man named Eli Messner,” Jessica informed him, now well past the point of no return. “You won’t need to cross for my prints.”
“Who cares about Eli Messner?”
“You do. And if you can lift any DNA, the world’s going to look a whole lot different afterwards.”
Donahue was either unimpressed, or feigning disappointment. “That’s it? Pair of poker chips?”
“There’s more…” Jessica stood up. She shouldered the book bag. Felt Eli’s file shifting around inside. “And you’ll get it once I’m convinced you’re taking this seriously.”
“Fingerprints and DNA?”
“Building blocks of life.”
“We’re going to need a signed affidavit that you have given us this evidence of your own free will.”
“Lovely.”
“Also get a visual recording of you saying as much.”
“Lead the way.”
Donahue pointed past Jessica.
She turned, jumped a little when she found Detective Randal posted at the entrance. Arm propped on the divider. “Well… I’m guessing you’ve been there long enough to save us from having a conversation.”
“Let’s go get you on camera,” he said, motioning for Jessica to follow.
The curious eyes of the department escorted them back to the elevators.
Celebrity status achieved.
Oscar speech on hold till she could find a more appropriate way of thanking Ethan Prince.
Chapter 62: Contract with the Devil.
It had been a while since the press had settled outside Camelot Apartments. Not so long that Jessica didn’t recognize their vans from a block away. Cameras at the ready, hopes of a personal ambush.
Jessica cut across the backyard of a two-story tenement, angling for one of the back streets. Darting across the broken pavement, she hopped over the cement wall and crossed the dusty parking lot. A miniature bulldozer, no less noisy than its larger cousins, roared across the courtyard. Most of the grass had been torn away. An enormous rectangle of overturned dirt outlined the future swimming pool.
Rounding the dumpsters, she noticed Eli’s car was gone.
Jessica slipped into the back stairway. The blast of the stereo tumbled down all three flights. She entered the kitchen to stovetop burners pulsing like charred, spiral speakers.
Dinah was in the living room, sashaying around with a bottle of beer, muddling her way through rap lyrics. She spun in the air, pointed happily at her niece: “Hey, girl!”
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