Angry Jonny

by Joaquin Emiliano

  “You could just say –”

  “Truth is, I’m not concerned with what you think I should do. All I care about keeping you in mint condition.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “It’s been a weird, weird summer…” Donahue said. “But all of this is far from over. When Dinah goes to trial, your testimony is key. DA can’t have you taking the stand only to have the defense come forward with evidence that you withheld information that could have helped the police catch a wanted statutory rapist.”

  Jessica tugged at her shirt, letting the air in. “Guess you and I will never be friends, will we?”

  “Please. Just looking at you gives me a headache.”

  “Guess that’s my cue…” She unlocked the door, and slid into the front seat. The aging seat covers were smoldering like diner grills, wheezing with the smell of burnt dust.

  Donahue stuck his foot in the door before she could close it. “One more thing.”

  Jessica grimaced. “I’m getting kicked out of my apartment at midnight tonight, detective –”

  “Yeah, well I ain’t too thrilled about this either.” With a pained expression, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper. “This is for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “A check for ten thousand dollars.”

  Jessica felt no shame in snatching it from his hand. She stared down at all those zeroes, courtesy of the Verona police department. Never thinking the state would have actually come through with it.

  “The press has been driving us ape shit asking about whether you’re going to get the reward for helping us apprehend Angry Jonny…” Donahue put on his best scowl, ever the bad cop. “Don’t think for a moment that I think you deserve any of it.”

  Jessica smiled. “Don’t I have to sign something before I can deposit this?”

  “We’ll be needing you at the station tomorrow anyway,” Donahue said. He closed the front door and leaned in through the open window. “We still got a long way to go.”

  “I know.”

  “Drive up to the front gate, show the guard your receipt.” He knocked on the roof three times. “Now get out of here.”

  Jessica watched him walk away, out of sight.

  She slipped the key into the ignition.

  The engine sputtered to life with the thankful growl of a loyal dog.

  “Let’s see what this baby can do,” Jessica whispered.

  She stuffed the check into her pocket and cautiously pulled out.

  ***

  It was almost five by the time the movers had cleared everything out.

  Jessica wandered from room to room. Marveling at the classic beauty of those old apartments, kissing the walls with misty eyes, nothing left to suggest she had ever lived there. She took a few thoughtful laps around the living room. Hardwood floors wishing her all the best. The sounds of construction work floated through the windows, fell dead before reaching her ears.

  The last call to end all last calls.

  All that was left was the Internet router, green lights flashing in their last throes.

  Jessica reached into her book bag, pulled out her laptop.

  Sat on the windowsill and logged in.

  There was the email, one week deep in her inbox.

  A message from Eli Messner, care of Mr. Disney Owens.

  She breathed in the last day of August and read the letter for the last time.

  Dear Jessica.

  Please don’t hang up.

  Before Chaucer helped get me out of town, he slipped me this email address and his password. I don’t know if he told you I would be writing. I don’t know whether or not he told you about me, or if you went ahead and found out on your own… I just wanted this chance to say goodbye.

  I didn’t want you to spend the rest of your life thinking all the horrible things you must have thought about me. I wanted to tell you the truth.

  My name is Arnold Brennan. I was born and raised in Atlanta, GA. My parents both died, if you can believe it, in a plane crash. A rather famous one. A flight headed for Tel Aviv in 1992. The Internet can tell you the rest. I was delegated to my uncle. Not the world’s best surrogate… But I guess that’s not what you want to know.

  Long story short, I fell in love with a girl named Laura.

  Short story long, she was two years younger than me. I guess you can figure what happened next. She was fifteen. I was seventeen. Funny thing is we never even had sex. Our first time rounding third base, her parents walked in on us.

  I was taken to court on statutory rape. The official charge was “sodomy”. Back in ’94 that was how Georgia law interpreted third base. Jason Castle was looking to make an example of me. I didn’t even get to talk to my lawyer till the day of my trial, and only for five minutes. He told me to plead guilty. I was seventeen, and didn’t have much of a choice. I was put on three years’ probation. I was put on the Georgia sex offenders registry. Anybody who wanted to could have looked me up and found my name, photograph, address. What they wouldn’t have found were the facts surrounding my case. All they would have seen was that I had pleaded guilty to statutory rape and sodomy.

  Less than a month later, they tried to put me away for a technical violation of my probation.

  No chance I was going to jail, so I skipped town. What’s one more offense to a registered sex offender? I went to New York to stay with a friend. As if you didn’t have enough names to keep track of, I spent those years going by Henry Smith; the name of the first fake ID I purchased from some thug at Time Square.

  So there I was. Couldn’t get a job. Couldn’t get an apartment. Once you’re on the registry, you’re on it for life. There’s a good amount of dangerous people on that list, but there’s also people like me. Just a stupid, ignorant seventeen year old messing around with a stupid, ignorant fifteen year old who meant the world to me.

  Poker became the perfect means to an end. I lost ninety pounds, dyed my hair blond. Jumped around from place to place. And all those years I spent gathering the money, I spent them thinking about nothing other than Jason Castle.

  About a year or so ago, I finally had enough money to head on down to Florida. Through a series of shady connections, I had been set up with a man in Key West who specialized in creating new identities for desperate men and women such as myself. Cost me ten grand to bring Eli Messner back from the dead. I definitely got what I paid for. They erased all records of his death, gave me a full dossier on the life of Eli.

  No identity is completely foolproof, though. I was warned that no matter what I chose to do with my new life, I should keep a low profile.

  I guess you know how that worked out for me.

  Maybe if I’d had the courage to tell you all of this when I had the chance… well, it’s a meaningless what if at this point.

  I can’t tell you where I am right now. Can’t tell you where I’m headed.

  All I can tell you is I will always be your friend.

  I’m not angry for what you did.

  And I never will be.

  Don’t try writing back. I’ve sent word to Chaucer, and he’s probably already shut this address down.

  I wish you all the luck in the world.

  I’d ask you to stay out of trouble, but we both know that ain’t going to happen.

  At the very least, try and be good.

  Yours always.

  -Arnold Brennan.

  Without thinking, Jessica hit REPLY.

  Didn’t even get past Dear Eli when she realized it was well and truly over.

  Detective Donahue was right.

  With a silent Godspeed, Jessica closed the window.

  The blank desktop stared back at her. She went to her pictures and brought up the jpeg of baby Jessica in her mother’s lap. Set it as the desk top background. Bathed in the juvenile serenade of the same dogged ice cream truck, she reached out and ran a gentle finger along her mother’s face.

  “I miss
you,” she whispered.

  Her mother continued to smile up at her from the distant past.

  Jessica slid the mouse down to the Windows menu, all set to shut it down, when something caught her eye. She leaned in close, zeroing on an upright lamp next to their chair. From the stained, yellow lampshade, a tiny object hung at the end of a small, pink chain.

  She returned to the jpeg, opened it in Windows’ Photo Gallery.

  Used the zoom function and scrolled over to the lamp.

  Followed the chain down to a small, brass unicorn.

  Its single, tiny glass eye winked at her.

  This was the second time she had come across the curious creature.

  The first had been in Chaucer’s room, while searching through his dresser drawer. Convinced that there was more to this unexpected father figure than he was letting on.

  Jessica closed the laptop and took a good long look out the window.

  Now more certain than ever.

  ***

  Jessica leaned against a telephone pole outside of Pinecrest Cemetery.

  Watched from across the street as the wrecking crew went about their business.

  A rogue soccer ball came rolling to her feet. From a couple of yards away, an enclave of pintsized humans were jumping up and down on the lawn outside their squat tenement building. Brilliant smiles just days away from the rigors of classroom life. Not a care in the world other than retrieving their ball, waving their arms in encouraging semicircles.

  Jessica gave it a solid punt, put the ball back into play.

  She wiped the sweat of another day off her face.

  Still working on her final farewells when the Eldorado pulled up across the street.

  Chaucer got out, cautiously trotting across the street. “Where are the movers?”

  “Long gone,” Jessica said. Regarding him carefully, as though this were their first time meeting. Taking in the dented acne scars, graying hair. Tall, well-maintained body giving away its age beneath a black T-shirt and faded jeans. Calloused hands. Muddied eyes that insisted on uncovering all that lay beneath the surface. “They already moved all my stuff into the new place.”

  Chaucer seemed hurt by the news. “You said they were going to start at four –”

  “So I lied. You’re an old man, old man. These men get paid to do what they do, and I didn’t want you getting in the way.”

  “That’s cold, Jessica.”

  “Just what summer called for.”

  That was worth a laugh in Chaucer’s book. He situated himself on the other side of the telephone pole. Hands tucked into pockets. Lapsing into a respectful silence as he watched one of the window casings come tumbling to the ground.

  The time was drawing close.

  “What are you up to for the rest of the day?” Chaucer asked.

  “Going to settle in with the help wanted section and find myself a job.”

  “You’re hardly going to need the money once Castle’s wife coughs up the bounty she promised. Fifty K, last time I checked.”

  “I don’t think she’s convinced this is the real deal. For all she knows, it could be Scott Stoppard all over again. Another false alarm, another game of collusion.”

  “She’ll pay,” Chaucer assured her. “You’re a hero, Jessica Kincaid. Mrs. Castle knows it, well as everyone else in Verona. This time, they got themselves Angry Jonny.”

  “I almost went to visit her yesterday.”

  “What happened?”

  “Started shaking all over the minute I thought about it,” Jessica said. “Same reason I canceled our little trip to Wilmington to see Malik and his parents. It’s all just...”

  Chaucer didn’t need to hear more. “It’s been less than a month. Take your time.”

  “You’re just full of advice.”

  “Jessica –”

  “Goddamn it, Chaucer,” Jessica burst out, surprised by how childish she sounded. “Are you my dad or not?”

  It took a lot to rattle a pro.

  Either that or Chaucer had been expecting the question for a good long while.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “We’ve been dancing around it ever since …” Jessica trailed off. Got hold of her momentum once again and forged ahead. “We’ve just kept on pretending, playing spy versus spy. You know I searched your files and took Eli’s out of there. I know you know it. So let’s just do this already, I found the brass unicorn in your dresser.”

  “I’m not your daddy, Jessica.”

  “Then who are you?”

  “I’m a guy who used to be a detective,” Chaucer said. “Long time ago. And once, even longer ago, I knew your father. He was an army buddy of mine. I went to visit him in Louisville shortly after you were born, and that’s how I met your mother.”

  Jessica leaned her head against the telephone pole. “You knew my father?”

  “Better than I would have liked…” Chaucer mirrored Jessica, resting his own head against the splintered wood and looking back on it all. “Don’t want to say he was a bad man, but… he was incomplete, is probably the best way to put it.”

  “And my mom?”

  He smiled. “Kendra was a wonderful woman. Bright. Kind. Compassionate. Untamed. We grew very close. After your father cut out, I spent a good year or so traveling back and forth between Wilmington and Louisville. Checking up on her. Checking up on you.”

  “I don’t remember you. She never once mentioned –”

  “Things didn’t end so well between us.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Jessica, I can only…” Chaucer sighed, pulled a pack of Dunhills and lit up. “One thing at a time. And we’ve got lots of time. I’m just not ready to talk about what happened. Not yet.”

  “You have to tell me something,” Jessica said.

  Chaucer took a pull of his cigarette. Followed the trail of smoke. “Your mom’s alive, Jessica.”

  Jessica swallowed. “Alive where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Please don’t fuck with my head, Chaucer.”

  “I swear on my life, Jessica, I’m done with that.”

  Jessica’s lips twisted, folded in between her teeth. “OK.”

  “A couple of months ago, a man came to see me on behalf of your mother. A lawyer. He had a letter. From your mother. Came with that silver unicorn I gave her way back when. I promise you, Jessica, I’ll show you the letter first chance we get. For now, I’ll just say that she was calling in a favor. Kendra wanted me to check up on you. Make sure you were doing all right. A little reconnaissance, followed by a full report.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. When I came down here, I didn’t know what was waiting. But what was I supposed to do? With every week that passed, there was always something new. Something unresolved. I couldn’t just cut out, tell the lawyer to tell your mom that, yeah, Jessica is healthy, beautiful, smart, and stuck in the crosshairs of a psychopath who calls himself Angry Jonny.”

  Jessica forced a laugh, still fighting the facts. “When you put it like that.”

  “You weren’t even supposed to know about this. But you turned out to be far smarter than I could have ever imagined. I used the Disney Owens handle to help you, didn’t want to let you know just how much of a stake I had in making sure you would come out this the other end. I used Anita’s car to keep watch as many nights as I could. I have spent the better years of my life doing this kind of thing, and there’s only been a handful of people who have gotten wise to me.”

  Jessica nodded, her word turning inside out yet again. “So how do I find my mom?”

  “You can’t.”

  “You mean you can’t.”

  “I tried, and couldn’t. This lawyer who came to visit me wasn’t even a lawyer. I tried to get a bead on him, and the firm he claimed to work for had never heard of him. I’ve searched the letter for clues. I’ve called in favors from every last connection I have. All I got is a PO box number in
New Orleans, that finally turned out not to even exist. Whatever her reasons were for contact, she never intended for me to send her any kind of report.”

  Jessica tried to keep herself from crying. “I swore to God I’d never say this again after I sobered up, but this isn’t fair.”

  “I’m sorry, Jessica. The trail is cold, your mother is in the shadows. But I know she is alive.”

  “How?”

  “I just know it…” Chaucer walked up to the gutter, dropped his cigarette into the sewer drain. “And when you read the letter, you’ll understand. She’s alive and if she could see you right now, she would be proud. So unbelievably proud of what a fine young woman you’ve become.”

  Jessica felt as though her lungs were capsizing. “I don’t think I’m doing so fine.”

  “I think you are, Jessica. I think you’re doing far better than you think.”

  “Prove it.”

  Chaucer turned to face her. “Why didn’t you do it?”

  Jessica frowned. “Why didn’t I do what?”

  “Why didn’t you take out Jerome Keanen when you had the chance?” Without pausing so much as to let Jessica flinch, he revealed his source. “I read your notebook.”

  “Yeah. Who hasn’t?”

  “It was there in the dumpster that night. One of the many things Dinah had thrown out while covering her tracks. I flipped to a random page, swore I must have been staring at the diary of a lunatic.”

  Jessica tried to blunt the topic with a shrug. “Not my finest work.”

  “Are you kidding me? It was foolproof. I didn’t even get to the entries where you spelled out your plan until later that evening. Went to the bathroom to check the wastebasket. Sure enough, housekeeping had dumped all the evidence. I almost had to pinch myself. Went and checked the Internet just to make sure I hadn’t somehow missed the news of Jerome Keanen’s brush with Angry Jonny.”

  He took a look around, convinced he could continue with impunity. “I won’t lie, it was almost frightening. That letter was just stunning. Using the initials J.K. was a stroke of genius. Jerome Keanen, registered under the name John Galt. Cops have never seen that coming. And the double meaning of the room numbers? That one line? Past a west Broadway area… You made the cops think it referred to something temporal. Back when 213 was the area code for all of Southern California. When what it really meant was the area code just outside downtown, just past Broadway.”