Trust Your Eyes

SIXTY-TWO

Shortly after putting his phone away, Morris Sawchuck said to his driver, Heather, “I’m not waiting any longer. I’m gonna find out what the son of a bitch is up to.”

“I’ll be here,” she said.

Morris got out of the town car, stormed across the street, and banged on the door of the toy shop. “Howard! Howard, I know you’re in there!”

Morris put his eyes up to the glass and cupped his hands around his head. There was a light on in the back of the shop. Then a curtain was pulled back and Howard strode toward the door. He turned back the dead bolt and opened the door six inches.

“You’re up and around,” Sawchuck said.

“Morris, Jesus, what are you doing here?”

“Open the door,” Morris said.

“Morris, you can’t-”

Morris threw his shoulder into the door and knocked it wide open, tossing Howard back and causing him to trip on a child’s pedal car from the 1950s. Sprawled out on the floor, he found himself looking up at Morris.

“What’s going on here?” Morris demanded.

“You have to leave. You don’t want to be here. You have to-”

“I’m not going anywhere! You lied to me, Howard. You lied to me about being sick, about what you’ve been doing tonight. And I’ve got a feeling you’ve been lying to me for a long time. I swear to God, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll-”

He looked to the back of the store, and the light coming through the curtain. He could see shadows moving behind it.

“What’s going on in there?”

Howard, pleading, said, “You have to leave. This is what I do for you, Morris. I keep things from you. I get things done. I make the sausages. Nobody likes to know how they’re made, but I do it for you, to protect-”

“Oh, fuck off,” he said. “This is different.”

Morris took a step toward the curtain and Howard clutched his leg. “No!” he said.

Morris stumbled and kicked, catching Howard under the chin with the toe of his Florsheims.

“Shit!” he shouted, releasing his grasp. Morris made it to the curtain in under two seconds, threw it back, and stared.

A man he recognized-Lewis, who had done work for Howard for years-and a woman, standing at the back of the room, he did not.

And two men bound into chairs.

“Hello, Morris,” Lewis said as the attorney general stared, openmouthed, at the scene before him.

Howard, out of breath, his chin bloodied, stepped through the curtain.

“Morris, I told you-”

“Who are these men?” Morris asked.

“I’m Ray Kilbride,” said one. “And this is my brother, Thomas.”

“Who are you?” Morris asked the woman.

“The fuckup,” she said.

“Untie these men,” Morris ordered. He wasn’t giving the order to anyone in particular, but it was clear he expected Lewis or Howard to respond.

Howard said, “It’s not that simple.”

“Oh, I think it is,” Morris spluttered. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but this is kidnapping. You can’t hold these men here against their will.”

“There are things you don’t know,” Howard said.

“Then tell me,” he said.

“It’s…complicated.”

Morris’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Howard. “Maybe if you talk really slow I’ll be able to understand.”

“It’s about the murder,” the one named Thomas said. “On Orchard Street.”

“What murder? What are you talking about?”

“Shut up!” Howard said. “Morris, we’re leaving right-”

From behind, Howard grabbed him by the arms and tried to steer him out of the room, but Morris shook free.

“What murder?” he asked again.

The one named Ray said, “We don’t know, but it might be someone named Bridget.”