by Matt Coleman
He checked himself in the rearview mirror, smoothing his hair and taking deep, thought-collecting breaths. He marched up to the door and rang the bell. Ms. Langley answered within seconds. She pulled the door open with both an impressive and dangerous level of trust and goodwill.
Sameer smiled, keeping his hands clasped in front of him and practically bowing. “Ms. Langley? My name is Sameer Zardari. I hate to impose on you, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”
Ms. Langley frowned at him, but nodded. “What about, dear?”
Sameer nodded along with her. “Yes, thank you. I’m looking for my husband. His name is Seamus Fitzgerald. I believe you know a friend of his.”
The old woman glanced up, like she was trying to look at her own forehead. “Fitzgerald. Yes. Yes. Writes for The Pitch?”
Sameer grew wide-eyed. “Yes. Yes, he does. You’ve met him?”
Ms. Langley tilted her head. “Oh, well, no. Sweetie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” She shook her head. “No, I’ve read his work. I like his articles. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up. Come in. Please. I’ll fix you a coffee or some tea.”
Sameer followed her in and agreed to a cup of whatever she was having. He waited on her tiny floral love seat as she made a pot of tea. When she returned, she had the tea on a wooden tray with some cookies and a bowl of sugar. She looked like such a typical grandmother Sameer’s smile almost grew into a warm-hearted laugh. Ms. Langley sat next to him on the sofa and placed the tea on a table at their knees. She patted Sameer’s back and gestured for him to take his tea, which he did. “Now, your husband, you can’t find him?”
Sameer nodded. “Yes. He has been missing for several days now.”
Ms. Langley closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”
Sameer took a sip of tea. “Thank you. I was hoping you might could help me, actually.”
Ms. Langley frowned. “How, dear?”
Sameer turned toward her. “A man visited your house recently. He goes by the nickname of Do Right. I believe he dates your granddaughter.”
Ms. Langley frowned and nodded. “Yes. Dante. Dante Holliverse. He stopped by two,” she thought back, “maybe three days ago. Maybe more. My days are all mixed up.”
Sameer wrote the name down on a notecard. “Not a problem. I was hoping I could speak with your granddaughter to find out what Dante wanted.”
Ms. Langley’s eyes welled with tears. She struggled to speak. “I’m afraid my Johnna passed.”
Sameer’s lips parted, but he couldn’t speak. He shook his head and looked down, managing, “I’m so, so sorry.”
The old woman hung her head and let herself cry softly into her chest. “It’s okay, dear. You didn’t know. I only just found out myself. Can’t even bury her until the police sort it all out.”
Sameer shook his head and placed a hand at her back. “What happened?”
“She was killed. No idea why. She was a sweet girl.” Ms. Langley smiled. “Let me show you something. Do you mind?”
Sameer returned the smile. “Of course I don’t mind.”
Ms. Langley left for a moment and returned with a pair of photo albums. She proceeded to flip through them with Sameer, showing him photos of Johnna at every stage of life. For every photo, there was a story: Johnna getting harassed by a goat at the petting zoo. The time Johnna had three birthday cakes. Johnna refusing to stay home from the homecoming dance when she was sick as a dog. Sameer drank three cups of tea and laughed along with each story. He added the requisite comments about how beautiful Johnna had been and how energetic her eyes were. He tapped on one photo. “She had a wonderful sense of humor. I can tell.”
Ms. Langley laughed and nodded. “Too wonderful, some would say. She was a bit of a smart ass.” She ran her fingers across the picture.
Sameer laughed. “Oh, I know about smart asses.”
Ms. Langley’s face drooped. “Oh, sweetie. Look at me. Your husband. Of course. Do you have a photo of him? I don’t think I ever saw what he looks like.”
Sameer took out the wedding photo and handed it to her.
Ms. Langley smiled at the picture. “Such handsome boys. You look so happy.”
Sameer smiled. “Was”—he swallowed—“was Johnna here when Dante came by?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not sure where she was at the time.”
“What did he need with her? Did he say?”
She nodded. “Yes. He sat and spoke with me for a moment. We always got along so well, even after they split. And then he asked if he could go in her room. He had loaned her a movie and he needed it back for a class he was taking. He said he hated asking, but it was a bit of an emergency. I was so proud he was taking some classes again. I told him to go ahead. I trusted him, and I’m sure Johnna would, too. They were still on pretty good terms.”
Sameer frowned. “A movie? What movie?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. He kept it in his jacket pocket, I guess. He said he found it, though. He left soon after.”
Sameer started to ask another question, but he was interrupted by the doorbell. Ms. Langley excused herself to go to the door. When she returned, a woman was with her. The woman was about Sameer’s age, somewhere on either side of thirty. She was pale-skinned and dark-haired, attractive, but the slouchy police department sweatsuit she was wearing did little to flatter her figure. And her hair and makeup were both frazzled. She looked to be a little bit of a mess, in all honesty. Sameer stood to greet them as they entered the room and had to put in some effort to avoid staring.
Ms. Langley held a hand out between them. “Cary, this is Sameer Zardari. He’s asking about Dante.” She turned to Sameer. “Cary knows Dante. She was friends with Johnna.”
Sameer noticed Cary’s eyes bug out when Dante was mentioned. He and Ms. Langley returned to their seats, but Cary remained standing, frowning down at Sameer. “Why are you asking about Dante?”
Sameer held his hands out in a non-threatening gesture. “I’m only looking for my husband.” He handed her the photo. “Seamus Fitzgerald. He was working with Dante on a film when they both went missing.”
Cary shook her head at the picture, dismissing it, and handed it back. “Well, he wouldn’t come here.”
Sameer looked at Ms. Langley, who fluttered. “Oh, he did, dear. A few days ago.”
Cary shot a look at Ms. Langley. “What? Dante came here? Why?”
Ms. Langley shared the same story with Cary about the movie. Cary nodded. “Must have been why the police searched Johnna’s room.”
Ms. Langley frowned. “The police never searched Johnna’s room. What’s going on, sweetie?”
Cary looked up and squinted at Ms. Langley. “Wait, what? The police didn’t search her room?”
Ms. Langley shook her head. “No.”
Cary ran her hands through her hair. “Then who was the last person in Johnna’s room? Before me?”
Ms. Langley thought. “Well, it would’ve been Dante, I guess.”
Cary took off for the stairs, ignoring Ms. Langley’s questions. Sameer stood and put a hand on Ms. Langley’s shoulder, pointing toward Cary and upstairs. “Ms. Langley, do you mind?”
Ms. Langley waved him to follow her. “No, no. Go.”
Sameer caught up with Cary in Johnna’s room. She was beginning to rummage through drawers and a closet. Sameer stepped into the room. “May I ask what it is you’re looking for?”
Cary whipped around and looked at him. She shook her head. “I’m not sure.”
Sameer nodded. “I don’t mind helping you. If it’s connected to Dante, then it’s connected to Seamus. But I need to know what I am helping to looking for.”
Cary nodded. “Yeah. Well, Dante’s—” she paused and hung her head. She looked back up at him and softened her eyes. “Dante is dead. I don’t know your husband. I have no idea about him. He could be fine. But Dante—he’s—he’s not.”
Sameer forced a lump down his t
hroat and stared at the ceiling. He nodded and looked back at her. “Okay. Go on.”
Cary continued, “Before he died, he sent me a text. A blank text. And then my life exploded. I have people after me, trying to kill me. The thing is, Dante and I hadn’t been friends for a while. It didn’t make any sense. But there has to be a reason. There has to be something. You said…what?” She frowned. “A movie? Your husband and Dante were doing a movie together?”
Sameer nodded. “Yes. A documentary. Seamus is a journalist. He and Dante were working on a film. About police corruption.”
Cary raised her eyebrows. “Makes sense. Was it called Everybody Kill Cary?”
Sameer chuckled. “No.” He thought back. “It was called Chicken Little, I believe.”
Cary’s eyes widened. She ran over to a bookshelf and got down on her hands and knees. She started rifling through a huge stack of DVDs on the bottom shelf.
Sameer stepped over and stood behind her. “What is it?”
Cary kept flipping through DVDs. “I can never remember seeing Dante quite as mad as he was one year when he took me and Johnna to a film festival. We gave him the slip and skipped out on some artsy film he had been talking about. We went to see a James Bond movie instead. He was so pissed at us. None of us ever forgot it.”
Sameer frowned. “Which James Bond movie?”
Cary spun around, holding up a DVD. She smiled. “Skyfall.”
Sameer nodded and smiled back. “Chicken Little.”
Cary opened the case and popped out the disc. A homemade, unlabeled disc was sitting on top of the copy of Skyfall. Cary showed Sameer. “Do we watch it?”
Sameer shook his head. “I think we need to contact the authorities. Do you have anyone we can trust?”
Cary cocked her head. “Well, funny you should ask…” She stood and started for the door.
Sameer held a hand out. “Would you like me to keep it in a pocket? You don’t appear to have any in your”—he eyed her up and down—“tracksuit.”
Cary stared at the disc and looked up at Sameer with a wince. “I think I’ll hold onto it. No offense.”
Sameer shrugged. “None taken. You seem to be working through a rough time. Full of experiences which might challenge your trust.”
Cary laughed. “You could say so, yeah.”
Sameer followed Cary down the stairs. “So who is this person you do trust?” He pointed toward the front of the house. “Who’s out there?”
Cary shook her head. “A cop. And I don’t trust him. Not completely. But I’m out of options.”
Ms. Langley stood as they came into the living room. “Is everything okay, Cary? What is that?” She grew visibly upset. “What’s going on?”
Cary walked over to Ms. Langley and took her by the shoulders. “Ms. Langley, I promise you I will tell you everything. Please, trust that I am doing everything in my power to make sure the people who hurt Johnna get what they deserve.”
Ms. Langley pursed her lips and nodded. “I know you are, dear. I”—she rolled her head around—“I wish I knew how to help.”
Cary smiled. “You are, Ms. Langley.” She held up the disc. “I’m going to take this outside and give it to a police officer. And then you’re going to give me a safe place to stay while this all gets sorted out. At least, I hope you will.”
Ms. Langley sighed and returned the smile. “Of course I will, dear.” She turned away and busied herself with the tray of tea. She held the tray of kettle and cups up and motioned toward it with her head. “I may not be much use, but I can at least offer hospitality.” She laughed on her way to the kitchen. “In fact, tell those police officers to come in and drink a cup of coffee if they want.”
Cary laughed along and offered, “Thank you, Ms. Langley. It means a lot to me.” She started for the door, with Sameer in tow, but stopped short. She half turned and frowned, calling toward the kitchen. “Ms. Langley? Why did you say police officers?”
Ms. Langley stuck her head around the corner and raised her eyebrows. “I said for you to offer them a cup of coffee.”
Cary shook her head and took a step toward her. “No. Why plural?”
Ms. Langley frowned. “Because there are two of them.”
“Two of them? What do you mean ‘two of them?’”
Ms. Langley pointed toward a window at the front of the house. “I looked out to see how you had gotten here while you were upstairs.”
Cary turned in horror. Sameer ran to the window and peeked out. He turned back to Cary. “I only see one.”
Ms. Langley shook her head. “No, no. There were two. A detective in a suit and a policeman in a uniform. They were talking.”
Sameer glanced back and shook his head. “No. Only the uniformed officer.”
Cary ran a hand across her eyes and into her hair. She stepped over to the window, easing toward it in slow shuffling steps. She leaned over to look, swallowing hard before prying the blinds apart. The blinds snapped shut and Cary collapsed against a wall in a cursing mumble.
Sameer closed his eyes and sighed. “Not the officer you hoped, I take it.”
Cary shook her head. “No. Not at all.” She looked at Sameer and held out the disc.
Sameer glanced down at it and back up at Cary. He tilted his head. “Out of options again?”
Cary nodded. “Yeah. I need this to find its way to someone who can do something with it. Tell me, Sameer, in your search for your husband, has the name Bright Hudson come up?”
Sameer nodded. “Yes. It has.”
Cary squinted. “Can she be trusted?”
Sameer shrugged. “Maybe. I found no reason not to trust her. In fact, I suspect she may be Seamus’ contact inside the police.”
Cary nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Good enough. Take this to her. Put it in her hands yourself.”
Sameer took the disc and put it in an inside jacket pocket. “And you?”
Cary jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll handle him. He’s here for me. I doubt he knows anything about you. I can keep him distracted while you go out the back. Work your way through the backyard. It connects to a neighbor’s yard and you can work your way to the street and keep going.”
Sameer looked from Cary to the back of the house. “What about my car?”
Cary shook her head. “In the driveway?” She laughed. “No. You can come back for it. For now, make do. Find a way. Trust me. You’d be surprised how many ways you can find to move around the city if you try hard enough.”
Sameer nodded and patted at the disc in his pocket. “I will make sure it reaches the proper hands.”
Cary smiled. “I hope you find your husband.”
Sameer glanced at the front window. “I hope you do not die.”
They shared a laugh and went their separate ways. Cary walked straight for the front door, took one big breath, and opened it. Reynard vaulted out of the driver’s side of his car and started strolling casually toward the house. He smiled broadly at Cary. “Hey there, Cary Trubody. Long time, no see.”
Cary smacked her lips like she was trying to remove a bad taste from her mouth. “Officer Reynard. How’s life treating you?”
Reynard shrugged. “Can’t complain. You?”
Cary chuckled. “Kinda shitty, to be honest.” She looked around. “You haven’t seen Officer Moya around, have you?”
Reynard followed her gaze, swiveling his head with a comical frown. “Moya? I don’t think so. Was he here?” He clapped his hands. “Tell you what, Cary.” He pointed back to his police cruiser. “Why don’t you hop in the car?” He swirled a finger around. “You and me—we’ll do a little ride around and look for him.”
Cary nodded. “Okay. Do I get to ride up front? Or do I need to stuff myself in the trunk?”
Reynard laughed. “Well, the trunk, see, it’s a little full right now. So you can ride in the front seat.” He licked his lips. “With me.”
Cary shook her head. “I’ll save you the trouble of telling me how I don’t have too muc
h of a choice.”
Reynard sighed and grinned in appreciation. “Thank you, Cary.”
They both walked toward the car. Reynard watched to make sure Cary got in on the passenger side before starting around to his own side. Cary looked over in disgust at his huge smile as he flipped open his car door.
The noise seemed to explode in her ears before her brain could register what she was seeing. A crashing of metal and breaking glass. A heavy grunt and a thud. Reynard was gone. He was standing there smiling one second and gone the next. The figure of Reynard had been replaced by the front end of a very familiar red Ford Fusion.
Haley was freaking out, waving her hands in front of her face and starting to cry. Grayson had her window down waving Cary to come on. Haley cried out, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Is he dead? Did I kill him?”
Grayson leaned back over her own shoulder. “Shut up. Probably not. Which means he is about to come up shooting.” She looked back at Cary. “Which means, get in the car!”
Cary scrambled to get out and ran around to the driver’s side of the Fusion, since the passenger side was pinned up against a cop car. She jumped in the back to find Sameer curled up into the seat and shaking. He looked up and forced a grin. “These young ladies claim to be your best friends.”
Cary nodded. “Oh yeah. We go way back.”
Sameer cut his eyes toward Haley. “For the record, I did offer to drive.”
Haley backed up and took off out of the neighborhood, slowing to a normal speed on the first major road she came to. She was still shaking and crying. Grayson, on the other hand, was leaning over into the backseat and smacking her gum. “We were just getting home when we saw that cop Haley ran over shoot this other cop and shove him in his trunk. I said to Haley, ‘Betcha twenty bucks this has something to do with Cary.’ And what do you know?” She eyed Haley, who was still borderline hyperventilating. “You owe me twenty bucks, by the way.” Grayson turned back to Cary and slapped her leg. “But enough about us. What’ve’ya been up to, Cary? Where you need us to take you this time?”