The Hard Bounce

Chapter Six

In the dream, I was eating a huge Italian grinder. Really big. The size of a coffee table. Then the red peppers started to beep and I woke up. Even my subconscious was busting my balls.

Hardy-har. Biting off more than I could chew. Very subtle.

Goddamn brain.

I swept my hand across the nightstand, looking for my beeper, grumbling curses to the air. I knocked over a glass of water, my Harry Crews Reader, and an ashtray before my fingers found the beeper and turned it off. I squinted at the number. Didn’t recognize it. I shuffled over to my phone and dialed.

The line picked up after one ring. “Call back later, dude. I’m waiting for a call.” It was Paul.

“It’s me, jackass. What’s up?” I was already dripping sweat. Another boiler of a day.

“Oh. Hey, Boo. I didn’t think you’d call back so fast.”

I yawned so hard my jaw cracked. “Yeah, well, I did. What do you want?”

“Did I wake you up?”

“Paul…”

“It’s eleven, dude. You’re missing the day.”

“Paul!”

“Okay, okay. You know The Pour House?”

“On Boylston?” Where the hell were my smokes?

“Yeah. I’m here now. I got some stuff to tell you.”

“What?” I picked my pants off the floor and rifled the pockets. Success! Lighter?

“I’ll tell you when you get here. Bring money. You’re buying me lunch. Ha-hah!” With that, he hung up on me. Little prick.

I lit my smoke and stumbled to the shower.

And yes, I can smoke in the shower. I have a technique.

I got to the restaurant a little after noon. When I walked in, the mingling smells of beer, hot sauce, and frying hamburger made my stomach croak frog-noises. The stupid dream had made me hungry, so I wasn’t all that upset at meeting at The Pour House. They made the best burger in town. Cheap too, thank God. When I found Paul in a table toward the back, he was finishing a plate of buffalo wings and a basket of mozzarella sticks.

“About time, man. My burger’s almost here.”

Before I could say anything, the young waitress came over for my order. For breakfast, I went with a double bacon cheeseburger and a Sam Adams. Paul watched her exit as she walked off with my order.

“I think she wants me. What do you think?” His lips were red with wing sauce. He popped another in his mouth. The kid ate like he hadn’t been within three feet of a meal in days. For all I knew, he hadn’t. I remembered that kind of hunger. The ghost of it echoed in my gut as I watched him tear into his food like he was worried somebody would take it from him.

I stifled a yawn. Probably should have ordered coffee instead of a beer. “What have you got?”

He held up his finger and pulled the bone from his mouth, meat sucked clean off. Jesus. Maybe the answer to Cassandra’s disappearance was because Paul ate her.

“Nothing,” he said through a mouth full of half-chewed chicken.

I stared at him. “You beeped me, called me here, to tell me you found nothing?”

He gave me look filled with indignant hurt that nobody over the age of sixteen can quite pull off. “Nothing is something.”

I continued to stare. “What the…” The waitress brought over my beer. I practiced Zen breathing. Slow and even. It wasn’t working. I tried rubbing the remaining sleep from my eyes. “What are you talking about, Paul?”

“It’s weird. I been asking everybody, real casual like, you know? Just like, ‘Hey, seen Cassie around?’ Nobody has.”

“It’s only been two days since you saw her at The Cellar.”

He looked at me like I was missing an obvious point. “Dude. It’s summer. We’re off from school. Only got a couple weeks left before school starts again. Somebody should have seen her somewhere. It’s not like she’s some computer nerd or one of those inside-kid weirdos reading Twilight and shit. She’s normally out and about. Hanging, you know?”

“I know.” He was starting to make sense.

“I mean, she’s not at home, right?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Shit, man, I’m not eating a retard sandwich, here. If she was home, nobody would be looking for her, right?”

Super. Outwitted by a kid with less hair on his lip than Jennifer Lopez.

“Am I right?” He asked again, pleased by his rightness.

“Right.”

“So, if she’s not home, she’s got to be somewhere, right?”

“Right again, Watson.”

“Who’s Watson?”

“Never mind. Go on.” Goddamn public education system costing me a punch line.

“Anyway, if she was anywhere, somebody would have seen her there.”

Despite his roundabout reasoning, the logic was solid.

“I mean, there’s only a few places where we hang out. You know, where we can hang out. She hasn’t been at any of them. She’s not anywhere. She’s gone, man.”

After lunch, I went back to the office and gave Ms. Reese a call rather than head home and take the nap my body craved.

“Kelly Reese,” she answered.

“Hey. It’s me.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Malone?” Frost began forming on the earpiece.

“First of all, I’d like to apologize for last night. I was out of line.” Two apologies in a week. A personal best.

I knew it wasn’t her fault she was being used. I also had the impression she legitimately didn’t know the depth of what was going on. Either way, I needed an ally. Barnes sure as hell wasn’t going to be sending me a cookie basket anytime soon.

Silence.

“I laid some shit on you that I had no right to.”

More silence.

“Listen, this is going to be a lot easier if we can at least be civil to each other. I may be a fucking goon, but I’m owning up. At least give me that much credit.”

A sigh. “You’re right.”

“So you accept my apology?”

“No, I agree you’re a fucking goon, but I accept the apology. Now what can I do for you?”

“You my buddy?”

“Please.”

“Say it.”

“I’m your buddy.” Score one for my minimal charm. I thought I could hear a smile behind the words. “Now, if you’re through interrupting my work, what can I do for you?” Maybe it was clenched teeth.

“I need you to call Mr. Donnelly and tell him I’d like to take a peek around his daughter’s room.” Crap, that sounded creepy in my ears. “See if there’s anything there. Sooner is better than later.”

“I’ll call you back as soon as I speak to him.”

“Great. Smell you later.”

“In your dreams.” Click.

Great. Now they knew my dreams, too.

Kelly called me back and gave me an address and time. Me and Junior headed over to 3 Harrold Towers, Suite 1605. It was the nicest building I’ve ever been in, glowering doorman and all.

Junior farted in the elevator.

I knocked on 1605. The door pulled in, but wasn’t opened. Barnes was stepping away when I pushed the door wide enough to enter.

The massive apartment was furnished in deep browns and burgundies. A lot of expensive wood and glass. Very tasteful. Ethan Allen or Mary Potterybarn would have approved. I hoped I didn’t smell of Junior’s fart.

There was even a fireplace. I never knew apartments could have fireplaces. On the mantle sat the family picture that had been cropped. Cassandra had her mother’s hair and eyes, her father’s strong facial structure. My mind briefly flicked back to all the guys at The Home who never got to see who they inherited their features from.

“Cassandra’s room is upstairs. Hers is the door on the left.”

Donnelly walked in from another room, adjusting his cuffs. “Gentlemen.” The district attorney was dressed in full black and whites. In a large mirror, he made the final adjustments on his tuxedo.

“Mr. Donnelly.” I almost called him sir. Junior would have righteously kicked my ass later, so I was glad I caught myself. I didn’t like the unease that crept over my skin while I was around these guys. It felt like I was on permanent detention in the principal’s office.

“I have a benefit dinner in a few minutes,” Donnelly said. “Danny will help you with anything you need. If you must take something, let Mr. Barnes know.”

Junior frowned. Under his breath, he said, “Is he going to count the silverware after we go, too?”

I shot him a look. He shrugged. Then he elbowed me a reminder in the ribs. “That’s fine,” I said. “We’ll be careful with your daughter’s possessions.”

Donnelly turned to go.

“Mr. Donnelly?”

He stopped and turned, glancing at his shiny, shiny watch. “What is it?”

“Before you go… We haven’t discussed money yet.”

“Oh, of course. Any expenses you incur, itemize them and give them to Ms. Reese. Five hundred a day, plus said expenses, for two weeks. If you don’t have any luck in those two weeks or if Cassandra seems to be in any danger, I’m afraid that, election or no election, I’ll have to go the police.”

“I understand.” I just hoped Junior hadn’t lost control of his salivary glands and drooled all over the pretty Oriental rug.

Donnelly glanced at his watch again. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I really must be going.” He stopped short of closing the door and turned back. “Oh, and one more thing. Should you find her and return her to me quietly and safely, there is an additional twenty-five thousand.”

I managed not to piss myself, so I guess it wasn’t all bad.

“Twenty-five fucking grand!” Junior was fit to bust as he rifled through Cassandra’s bureaus looking for anything other than clothes.

I was in the desk, pulling out drawers and looking along the bottoms. No luck. I made a mental leap and looked inside the drawers as well. Zip. “Anything?”

“Just the creeps,” Junior said. I knew what he meant. Cassandra’s room was a masterpiece of pink. Pink walls. Pink bedspread. A generous number of stuffed animals. Even the desk was a light shade of pink. I think it’s called Conch Shell or something ridiculous by people who give a shit. The air was scented subtly with flowers and vanilla.

We were spies in the House of Girl and uncomfortable with it.

“Feels like if we hang out in this room long enough, we might go gay or something,” he muttered.

Same planet, different worlds. “You might.”

“And you’d love me.” Junior licked his thumb and ran it between his man-cleavage.

I almost threw up in my mouth.

4DC Security. Professional investigating at its best.

We divided up the room lengthwise. I took the left side, Junior took the right. Fifteen minutes later, my head was stuck under the bed when I heard something hit the carpet, followed by the sound of something delicate breaking.

“Shit,” said Junior.

“What? What did you do?” Knowing Junior, he’d managed to find a Faberge egg and tried to eat it.

“Goddamn unicorn,” he said, pointing at the floor. “Bounced right off the carpet.” A small glass unicorn lay on the hardwood seam between the carpet and the wall, its dainty head off from the delicate neck.

“It shouldn’t have hit the carpet at all, ass.”

“Maybe…” Junior attempted to fix the unicorn by clinking the two pieces together. Lo and behold, the glass didn’t fuse itself back together with force. Instead, a leg broke off with a snap. “Dammit.”

“Just leave it alone.”

Junior looked out the door and slipped the pieces into his pocket.

“All right,” I said, sitting on the soft, light pink bedspread. “Think back. When you wanted to hide something at The Home, where would you hide it?”

He wrinkled his brow in thought. “Shoes.”

“Checked them when I did the closet. Books?”

“Did ’em. Checked for pages glued together, too.”

I’d forgotten about that one. “Where else? Think.”

“My ass.”

“What?”

“Sometimes I hid a couple of things in my ass when I had to.” He caught my horrified expression. “Small things.”

I cradled my face in my hands. “Well, why don’t you check and see if Cassandra hid her diary or an address book in your ass?”

“I’m just going train of thought here.”

“Is that train up your ass, or is the room already getting to you?”

“Up your ass. There’s nothing here.”

“I know.” I lay my head back on the bed and felt something crinkle in a stuffed animal. It had been a while since I’d owned one, but I didn’t remember stuffed animals crinkling.

“So, you geniuses find anything I didn’t?” Barnes leaned in the doorway with a smug expression smeared across his face. I didn’t want to manhandle the stuffed animals with him watching. He looked to me. “If you’re going to take a nap, take it at home.”

Junior sneezed hard into his hand. It sounded quite a lot like “dickmuncher,” but I could have been wrong.

“Excuse me?” Barnes said. His tone indicated he didn’t really want us to excuse him.

Junior sniffled and smiled wide. “Allergies.”

“We’ll be done in about ten minutes,” I interjected. “Say, you didn’t happen to find anything worthwhile when you gave the room a once-over, did you? Diary? Address book of any kind?”

“Nope. Not a damned thing.”

“Because it would really make you a jerkoff if you knew something that might help us and you were just being a bitch about us sniffing around.”

Junior sneezed again. This time, it sounded like “asswipe.” That Junior and his allergies.

That big vein bulged out on Barnes’s head. “You two swinging dicks just have no idea what’s going on here, do you? I’ve got just as much as you do-more-riding on finding her. I’m in charge of Donnelly’s security, and my own stock goes up when he gets elected mayor. I want the kid found before she blows the whole thing to hell for her father and me.” He turned to walk back out.

“Your concern for Cassandra is really touching. Truly, it is.” I didn’t bother masking my sarcasm.

“You know what?” He came back halfway into the room. “She’s a spoiled little rich bitch who has no idea how much she’s fucking things up for a lot of people here.”

I had to admit, the kid’s room did smack of more than a little privilege.

“Be out in five minutes.” He slammed the door behind him.

“He’s just a big old shmoogie-bear, isn’t he?” I said.

“I’m gonna look under the carpets.”

I turned my attention back to the stuffed animals. One of them had that mystery crinkle going on. Pink elephant. I squeezed it. Nope. I checked the seams. Nope. Raggedy-Ann. No sound, but a shoulder seam was split a half-inch. I stuck my pinkie finger in and rooted around. Nothing. Then I saw the kangaroo. Built-in pouch. Nature’s hidey-hole. I poked the belly.

Crinkle.

The pouch was held together by Velcro. I opened it and felt inside the stuffed velveteen. My fingers closed around something, and I pulled out a single Polaroid. The photo was of a man’s torso. Long and stringy black hair covered his face. He was looking down in the picture. What he was looking at made me freeze-and made me blink a couple times to make sure I was seeing it right.

“Yo, Boo! You done with your tea party over there?” Junior tossed the edge of the carpet back onto the floor with a thump. “Shit. There’s not even dust under here.”

“Junior? I need you to see this.”

“Whatcha got there?”

He walked over to the bed, and I handed him the photograph. He did the same double blink. “Whoathefucka?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, good God, man… Whoa!”

“I know.”

Junior looked again and pointed at the suspect region. “Is that fake?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s gotta be fake.” He shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

“Jesus H. Christ, that guy must have a helluva slouch.”

A snake tattoo coiled around the man’s forearm. The diamond-shaped head lay across the top of his hand. We had our man. Or at the very least, we had a picture of Paul’s “creepy dude.”

Kinda.

“Let’s get out of here. Now,” I said, my creeps turned up to eleven. I stuck the picture in my back pocket and speed-walked out the door, Junior right behind.

“See ya,” I said to Barnes, who seemed a bit startled by our hasty exit.

“Hey!” We were gone before he got out of his chair.

The elevator still smelled like Junior’s fart.