Finding David Chandler

by Charles Ayer

  I once again thought of Henry Hudson, and imagined the cheers he must have heard when the Halfmoon set sail from the Netherlands on its voyage of destiny to discover the Northwest Passage, only to be followed by his silent, cheerless death in the Canadian wilderness after his mutinous crew had cast him adrift in punishment for his failure.

  At least I had a chance, one final chance, at redemption, and I was determined not to waste it.

  I glanced at my watch. Kenny Junior ran a six-minute mile as a cool-down, and he wasn’t breathing hard when he jogged back over to where I sat. There wasn’t a bead of sweat on him.

  “Hey, listen,” I said. “I’m going over to McDonald’s to grab a burger. Wanna come along?”

  “Cool,” he said.

  It was only a five-minute ride to McDonald’s, and we rode in silence.

  I ordered a Quarter Pounder with Cheese, a Diet Coke, and a small fries. Kenny ordered two Big Mac meals, biggie-sized, with a large Coke. We sat in comfortable silence while we ate our meals. I stared out the window at the beautiful day.

  “You gonna eat those fries?”

  I looked over at Kenny and realized that he’d eaten his two entire meals in the time it had taken me to eat half of my Quarter Pounder.

  “Go ahead,” I said, pushing the fries over to him.

  “Thanks, man,” he said as he shoved his hand into the bag and pulled out almost the entire bagful.

  “So, Kenny,” I said, ignoring the rest of my burger, “that’s one hell of an arm you have.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I mean it, Kenny. People always said your Uncle David had the best arm ever to come out of Orange County, but let me tell you, yours is better.”

  “It is?” he said.

  “A lot better,” I said. “Kenny, there are NFL quarterbacks who can’t throw a post pattern like that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. It’s a shame you’re not playing anymore.”

  “Donnie’s the quarterback, Mr. Hunter. You know that.”

  “You didn’t want to be a running back like your old man, huh?”

  “To tell you the truth, Mr. Hunter, I just wasn’t that excited about playing football. I guess if I’d been able to play quarterback I would’ve stuck with it, but otherwise, I have better things to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “I want to be a doctor, Mr. Hunter, and I love music. I play clarinet in the high school band and orchestra, and I play bass for a local rock band. We play the oldies, you know? And I spend a lot of time studying.”

  “So you’re telling me that football’s okay, but there are other things you like more, even if you’re really good at football.”

  “I’m good at other things besides football, Mr. Hunter.”

  “You’re a lucky guy, Kenny. Not many people have choices like that.”

  “Tell my Dad that.”

  “You can’t blame him for being disappointed, Kenny.”

  “I know,” said Kenny, “but sometimes it’s tough, you know? Feeling like I’m letting him down.”

  “He’ll understand. Don’t worry.”

  “I hope so.”

  “What about your Mom?”

  “She’s really good about it,” said Kenny, his eyes lighting up a little. “She wants me to get away from Devon and make my own life. She says she doesn’t want me just being a big picture on the wall of the high school.” He looked at me and said, “Sorry.”

  “That’s perfectly all right,” I said. “Is that why your Mom doesn’t want you dating Laura Chandler?”

  He gave me a sharp look, and I thought I might have gone too far.

  But then he said, “Maybe.”

  “She thinks that Laura would hold you back if you got serious?”

  “Something like that.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  He gave me another long look, like he was trying to decide just how much he was going to share with the relative stranger sitting across from him.

  “Look, Mr. Hunter, my mom cares about me. She cares about me a lot. I feel like I ought to respect her wishes. Laura and I talked about it. We’re really good friends, and we decided that’s how it’s gonna be, at least for a while. She’s really unhappy about it, but I convinced her that it was for the best. She understands. Laura’s something else, you know?”

  “And how does your Dad feel about all this?”

  “I don’t know. Dad’s, you know, Dad.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Dad’s a great guy, you know?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “But, I don’t know, he just is who he is. He’s always out being, you know, Kenny Cooper. He’s a great guy, but he hasn’t been around for me like Mom has.”

  Considering my own track record as a father, I didn’t have much to say about that.

  “So, now can I ask a question?” said Kenny.

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  “What do you think happened to Uncle David? Laura’s really worried, and so is Donnie.”

  “I wish I knew, Kenny.”

  “Is that why you’re being so, like, nosey? So you can find him?”

  “I’m sorry, Kenny. I hope I didn’t bug you with all the questions.”

  “It’s okay, Mr. Hunter. If I didn’t feel like talking, I wouldn’t have. But have you learned anything?”

  “Oh, Kenny, I’ve learned a lot.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’ve learned that the people here aren’t the same people I grew up with. They’ve changed, just like I have. And I’m going to have to work real hard to find your Uncle David.”

  “I hope you do,” said perhaps the most mature person I’d spoken to since I’d returned to Devon-on-Hudson. “He’s a cool guy, you know?”

  ******

  When I got back to the apartment there was a cashier’s check sitting on the table for the hundred fifty-thousand that David had borrowed, plus the full amount of interest, even though the loan was being repaid early. Doreen clearly wanted the issue closed for good.

  It wasn’t mid-afternoon yet, and I was feeling antsy after the events of the morning, so I called Lieutenant Hudson at the Midtown South precinct. He told me he’d be there for a few more hours and that I was welcome to come down and drop off the check. He sounded like he was as anxious to get the whole business done with as I was.

  The trip down was a snap, and I was walking into the precinct house in a little over an hour. The same young cop was sitting at the front desk, but this time all she did was look up at me and point with her thumb toward the door.

  “You know where to find him,” was all she said.

  When I got to Hudson’s office there was a young detective sitting there, and between the two of them, that didn’t leave much room for anyone else. The young cop stood up when he saw me coming, perhaps to offer me the chair, but I motioned to him to sit back down. I couldn’t help noticing that he was a little shorter than Hudson, perhaps my height, but just as massively built. Where does the NYPD find these guys, I found myself thinking.

  “Hi, Matt,” said Hudson, reaching out a hand and shaking mine. “I’d like to introduce you to Detective Eduardo Sanchez.”

  “How do you do, sir?” said Sanchez, shaking my hand. He had a warm smile and a mild manner, but I knew in an instant that he was a man no one should mess with.

  “Actually, we were just talking about you,” said Hudson. “Look, let’s go into the conference room, it’ll be more comfortable in there.” He pointed to a room catty-cornered to his office. We all went in there and sat down.

  “Eduardo,” said Hudson, “why don’t you tell Matt about your conversation.”

  “Sure,” he said, turning to me. “I was having lunch downtown with one of my old patrol buddies who works out of the 5th Precinct now. Seems that word got around pretty quick about your meeting with Daria Evanishyn and you and Lieutenant Hudson’s subsequent, ah, run-in with her enforcer. You
met her, so you can imagine she’s a pretty well-known to the cops down there, never mind the FBI.”

  “Yeah, she’s pretty tough to miss,” I said with a small laugh that I hoped didn’t sound nervous.

  “Anyway, it seems this guy, his name in Boiko, by the way, is getting a lot of ribbing from his fellow leg-breakers about the beating he took. And you know, it’s not the good-natured kind.”

  “I didn’t think it would be,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, Matt,” said Hudson, “I should have thought before I put the guy down.”

  “Eh,” I said, “it was one of those heat-of-the-moment things. Anyway, he had it coming.”

  “Yeah, he did,” said Hudson, still smiling at the memory. I smiled too.

  “Anyway,” said Sanchez, “the guy has been talking trash to anyone who’ll listen about how he’s gonna track you down and spread parts of you all over lower Manhattan. That kind of thing. Word is that Daria warned him off, told him it was just business and all that, but the guy’s not hearing it.”

  “Can’t blame the guy,” I said. “If he doesn’t dish out some kind of payback, he’s going to have to find a different line of work.”

  “More like he’s gonna have to find a different hemisphere to live in,” said Sanchez.

  “And I’m sure he’s got it figured that it’s a better bet to go after me than after an NYPD detective. He know where I live?”

  “My buddy doesn’t think so,” said Sanchez, “mostly because Daria is the only one who knows, and she’s not talking. Her and her Ukrainian buddies don’t mind going up against the NYPD, but they only do it when they have to, and this lug Boiko’s delicate ego is not exactly high on their list of priorities.”

  “But the point is,” said Hudson, “where there’s a will, there’s a way. He’ll find you if he really wants to.”

  “Gotcha,” I said.

  “My guess is,” said Hudson, “that he’ll try to come after you as far away from the city as possible to avoid too much blowback from Daria. So if you’re planning any road trips in the near future, you should watch your back. You still have a carry permit?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good,” said Hudson.

  I gave Hudson the check. He let out a low whistle when he glanced at the amount, then folded it and put it in his jacket pocket. He looked at his watch and said that he’d get it over to Peter Kwan by the end of the day. He said he’d bring it to Daria Evanishyn personally just for the fun of it, but he didn’t want to inflame the situation with Boiko any more than necessary.

  I thanked both of them again and left.

  There’s an awfully good little deli around the corner from the precinct house, and I thought about stopping in and getting a sandwich. It would be a nice break from my steady diet of pizza and Mickey D’s. But then I thought that if I wanted a sandwich that bad I could always pick one up at a little place in Devon that I’d recently found called Sally’s when I got home.

  Home. The word sounded nice to me. I enjoyed the familiar sights and sounds of midtown as I made the short walk up Ninth Avenue to where I’d parked my car, but I really didn’t miss the city anymore. I knew where my home was.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I’D CALLED DOREEN EARLY the next morning, hoping that I could see her before whatever had gone on the day before with Marianne’s visit started to fester. I was relieved when she’d sounded friendly, even happy to hear from me on the phone, and she said she’d have breakfast waiting when I got there.

  I almost felt guilty driving past McDonald’s. I’d picked up a ham salad and provolone sandwich and some coleslaw from Sally’s when I’d gotten back into town the night before, and now I was spurning Mickey for breakfast as well. I found myself secretly hoping that none of the employees would see me when I drove past.

  It was the first of July, and even though it was only 7:30 it was already warm outside. But the house had central air, and the kitchen was cool and pleasant as I sat at the table that occupied the center of the room, watching Doreen cook. I’d never seen her cook before. I don’t know why, but I was surprised at her quick, practiced movements as she went about her work. She may have had a big house and a lot of money, but she apparently prepared the family meals herself. She was wearing a loose pair of linen slacks and a sleeveless cotton summer blouse. She hadn’t put any makeup on yet, and she looked just like she did when we were teenagers. She looked good.

  She’d had a pot of coffee on when I got there, and I was on my second cup. The coffee at Doreen’s house always tasted better. I told her that I’d delivered the check to Lieutenant Hudson the day before, and she sounded relieved. I didn’t bother to tell her about my new friend Boiko. She had enough to worry about, and Boiko wouldn’t come after her in any event. Taking out his revenge against a woman would just make things worse for him.

  “Whatever you’re cooking, it smells good,” I said, hoping that my appetite for breakfast might overcome my appetite for her. It didn’t, but I savored the aromas anyway.

  “I’m making Eggs Benedict,” she said. She turned and looked at me with one of those smiles. “You didn’t think I knew how to cook, did you?”

  “I guess I never thought about it.”

  “You thought I went straight from being a Prom Queen to being a Suburban Goddess, complete with a cook and a maid, right?”

  “I don’t know what I thought.”

  “I guess you didn’t.”

  “Look, Doreen, I’m really sorry. I guess I’m pretty dense when it comes to understanding women. I certainly didn’t understand my own wife.” I’d given her an opening to talk about yesterday if she wanted, but she didn’t take it.

  “You’re not supposed to understand, Matt. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m beginning to think it’s best that way,” I said.

  She just smiled at me as she brought two plates over to the table and set them down.

  The Eggs Benedict were outstanding. The eggs were perfectly poached: the whites firm, and the yolks creamy and rich. The Hollandaise sauce, buttery with that perfect hint of lemon, mixed with the yolks and mated perfectly with the salty Canadian bacon. Whoever Benedict was, he was either a terrific chef or one lucky guy.

  “I guess you liked it,” said Doreen, as she watched me polish off the eggs. “Do you want me to make you some more?”

  “I’d better not,” I said. “I’m ten pounds overweight as it is. I can’t have you making me fat, now, can I?”

  “We’ll just have to make sure you get enough exercise,” she said as she got up and started clearing the dishes, giving me a look that made me forget about breakfast.

  “Can I help with the dishes?” I said.

  Doreen laughed out loud.

  “Oh, Matt, that’s sweet,” she said when she stopped laughing, “but this’ll only take me a few minutes, and you don’t know where anything goes anyway. Just keep me company, okay?”

  That was fine with me. There hadn’t been much domesticity between Marianne and me for years, and I loved the comfort I felt sitting there in Doreen’s kitchen. I also loved watching her body move in all the right ways while she washed and dried.

  “Where are the kids?” I said.

  “Oh, Donnie’s at a summer football practice, and Laura is having a coaching session with her tennis instructor. They’ll be out for hours.” She turned and looked at me. She couldn’t help noticing where my eyes were roaming, and she gave me a quick smile. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “Oh,” she said, turning back to the sink, her smile turning inward.

  “How are they doing, anyway?” I said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I saw Kenny Junior yesterday and he said they were both pretty upset.”

  “Kenny Junior spoke to Laura?”

  “I don’t know. He just said they were upset. He didn’t say if he’d been talking to Laura or Donnie.”

  “Oh.”

  “Would it bother you if he had
been talking to Laura?”

  “It would only bother me because I know it bothers Allie, that’s all,” said Doreen, still facing away from me.

  “So, anyway, how are they doing?”

  She turned to me but didn’t really look at me. “They’re a wreck, Matt. They’re scared to death. And now it’s getting around.”

  “Are their friends bugging them about it?”

  “Nobody’s saying anything, but you know how that is.”

  “Yeah, I do,” I said. “And how about you? Are people starting to ask you questions?”

  “Not really. I’ve had a couple of the usual, “Just called to see how things were going” calls, but it’s mostly the silent treatment. Frankly, I’d prefer it if they just came out and asked me.”

  “You holding up okay?”

  “I’m getting pretty frantic, too,” she said. “I’m not going to lie to you.”

  She shifted her gaze to me and looked at me for a long time.

  “I’m sorry, Matt,” she finally said. She put the towel down, returned to the table, and sat down.

  “What are you apologizing for? None of this is your fault.”

  There was another long pause before she finally said, “I’m not just talking about finding David, Matt. I’m not just talking about your investigation. Or maybe I am, I don’t know. But I’m talking about you and me, too. I’ve been sending you all kinds of confusing signals, and it hasn’t been fair. Just so you know, they’ve been just as confusing to me as they must be to you. Sometimes I feel like I’m standing outside myself and watching what I’m doing and just not believing it. So I think it’s time to clear the air, not just for the sake of finding David, but for the sake of us, too.”