Diners, Dives & Dead Ends (21 page)

I reached out and hugged
him.  “Thank you so much.

He planted a big smacker on
my cheek.  “You’re welcome.”  He gestured to the stacks of papers.  “Can you
take this to the police?”

My happy fled the scene. 
“All I have are theories.  And NorthStar is a shell company.  Dane says it
could take years to unravel, and I can’t prove Sullivan is in charge of anything. 
And besides, the Chief of Police, Martin Mathers, was on the decrypted list.”

He scratched his stubble. 
“You can’t really prove anything.”

I flopped down in the
chair.  I went from elated to deflated in under thirty seconds.  “I guess
not.”  

A growl sounded from the
living room.  I glanced over at Ma.  She sat on the edge of the sofa, her
wrinkled face scrunched up, her teeth bared. “Die, zombie bastard.” 

Roxy moved her whole body as
she punched the buttons on the controller, leaning left then lurching to the
right.  “Take that, you undead asshole.”

I looked back up at Eric, my
lips a thin line.  “What did you do?”

Eric tipped his head back to
finish off the last of his beer.  “It’s fun.”  He gestured toward the TV with
the empty bottle.  “You should try it.”

Nibbling on my thumb, I
glanced back over the list of properties and compared it once again with the
NorthStar businesses.  I finally had a few pieces of the puzzle, but I didn’t
know what to do with them.   

Feeling more frustrated than
ever, I finally went to the living room and sank to the floor to watch Ma and
Roxy try to defeat brain-eating zombies.  It was after midnight and they showed
no signs of stopping the carnage. 

“Hey, ladies, we need to
go.” 

They completely ignored me.

“Get the rock, pick up the
rock,” Roxy said.

“I’m trying, but that damn
zombie keeps blocking me.”  Ma had a fierce look of concentration on her face.

“Hey, zombie slayers, we
need to leave.” 

Still no response. 

Eric wrestled the controller
from Roxy and paused the game.  They grumbled at him.

“Just a few minutes longer,”
Ma said.  She sounded just like Scotty when he was in the middle of a game. 

Roxy frowned and tried to
get the controller back from Eric.  “We were just getting some decent weapons,
Rose.”

Eric looked at me and
grinned.  “I could take them home.”

“See,” Ma said.  “You go on,
hon.  We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,”
Roxy said, grabbing the controller from Eric’s hand.

I shrugged.  “Okay.”

Eric showed Roxy how to
resume the game.  I grabbed my bag and the information Eric had found on
Sullivan.  Thomas Malcolm Sullivan.   

“Sorry about them.”  I
flicked my finger toward Ma and Roxy.

“They’re fine.  Let me walk
you to your car.”

Eric waved as I started the
engine and drove off.

I actually accomplished
something tonight.  I’d been so sick of hitting dead end after dead end.  But
now I had something tangible to link Sullivan and NorthStar and Packard
Graystone.  Officially I couldn’t prove anything, and I didn’t know what my
next move should be, but I was determined to figure it out.  One way or
another, I was getting Axton back. 

I parked in my lot and
scoured the area before I got out of the car, then hustled inside.  As I
entered the building, my neighbor opened her door and poked her head out.  A
slim woman in her fifties, Wanda’s fried, bleached hair had a Bride of
Frankenstein thing going on.  She held a glass of red wine in one hand.  “Hey,
blondie, want to keep it down up there?  I got work in the morning.”  She
worked at The Gutter Ball, and by the way she slurred her words, I could tell that
wasn’t her first glass of red this evening.

“Hey, Wanda, I just got
home.  I’ve been out for hours.”

“Well it sounded like balls
being thrown down the alley.”  She slammed the door in my face. 

My heart began beating like
a bad techno song.  I knocked on Wanda’s door.  She answered it with a scowl. 
“What now?”

“When did you hear the
noise?”

“’Bout an hour ago.”  She
slammed the door again.

Could be nothing, I told
myself.  But myself knew I was lying.  Bowling alley sounds coming from my apartment—not
a good thing.  I pulled out my cell phone and punched in 911, my finger hovering
over the send key.

I slowly climbed the stairs
to my apartment and tiptoed to the door.  It stood half open, the new lock
busted.  The overhead light was on.  I knew that whoever had been here was probably
long gone, but I didn’t want to take any chances.  I pushed the door open farther
with my toe.   

My apartment looked like it
had been swept up in a tornado.  The futon was hacked up and chunks of blue
foam dotted the room like enormous confetti.  My laptop had been thrown to the
floor, the hinge broken.  The small TV overturned, the screen shattered, but
the cord was still plugged into the outlet.  The framed pictures from my
dresser lay scattered on the floor along with textbooks, their pages ripped out
and crumpled into balls.

Trembling, I couldn’t
breathe, couldn’t think.  In silence, I scanned the room, threw my hand over my
mouth and sobbed. 

  Clothes were pulled from
the closet, slashed to ribbons.  Including the new dress from Pour Femme.  And
every single item from my dresser drawers.  Underwear and bras were ripped and
torn.  I glanced down and saw a decapitated flamingo.

The small amount of food from
my fridge was splattered all over my kitchenette.  Milk and orange juice mixed
together in a puddle and spilled onto the cracked linoleum.

The bathroom hadn’t faired
any better.  My makeup and toiletries smashed and dumped in the toilet.

Even my little bistro table
and chairs were demolished.

Shit.  Who would do
something like this?  Sullivan?  Why now?  Revenge for crashing his gambling
club?  He must know about my fight with Manny on the main staircase.  But even
for him, this was some kind of fucked up. 

I pressed the send button on
my phone and went back downstairs to wait for the police.

It took them forty-five
minutes to arrive.  The longest forty-five minutes of my life.  They dusted for
prints, talked to the neighbors—who by then had stumbled out into the hall to
see what all the commotion was about—and took my statement.  One of the
officers told me to come down to the station the next day and get a copy of the
report.

After the police left, I
just stood in the doorway of my apartment staring at the damage.  Everything I
owned had been destroyed.

It was just after three a.m.
when I called Roxy and explained what happened.  Fifteen minutes later she
walked through my door carrying a broom, cleaning supplies, and a box of garbage
bags.  She laid everything on the ground, then enfolded me in her arms. 

Roxy’s not big on displays
of affection, I think because she had so little of it growing up.  But she
hugged me like she wouldn’t let go.  I clung to her and cried.

When I finally pulled away,
my gaze swept over the room.  “Who would do this?”

“Sullivan, of course.  We
can’t rule out Dane, either.”

“Dane?”  I frowned at her. 
“What are you talking about?”

“Did it ever occur to you
that Dane might not be helping you out of the goodness of his heart?”

I gave a little humorless
laugh.  “Yeah, I think he’s doing it to get into my pants.”

“Maybe.”  She shrugged.  “Or
he could be working with Sullivan.  Dane popped up out of nowhere at the exact
same time your bud, Ax, disappeared.  That’s quite a coinkadink.”

“That’s crazy talk.  He went
to Penn’s Cigar Bar with me.  Why would he do that?  And why would he give me a
list of NorthStar businesses in the first place?  That doesn’t make sense.”

“He never thought you’d find
any real evidence?  Maybe Sullivan wants Dane to keep tabs on you.”

My gut clenched in a knot. 
“No, I can’t believe Dane would do that.” 

“He didn’t seem real excited
after you showed him the list from the hard drive.”

True.  He’d pooh-poohed. 
Was that because he just didn’t want to mess with the bigwigs of Huntingford or
because he was trying to throw me off track?  Maybe Dane was setting me up.

Roxy snapped open a trash
bag.  “All I’m saying is, be careful what info you share with him.  He may be
working for the enemy.”

She was absolutely right and
it had never occurred to me.  It should have.  What did I even know about
Dane?  He was cute and dimply?  And very eager to help me.  Because he sat
behind me in sixth grade?  I automatically assumed he was attracted to me.  He
kissed like he was attracted. 

“You know, even Kevin could
have done this,” Roxy added.

“I hadn’t even thought about
Kevin.”

“Jealous ex.”  Roxy picked
up a broom and began sweeping.  “He was all shades of pissed when I saw him the
other night.  Kept going on about how you two were meant for each other and
wanted to know who you were dating.”  She stopped mid-sweep.  “He’s cute and
all, but he’s not that smart.”

“He wouldn’t think about
consequences, that’s for sure.  He did change his name to Spaz.”

“What about Packard?”

I ripped a wad of paper
towels off the roll and started mopping up the milk/juice combo.  “I told him I
didn’t have the hard drive, but maybe he didn’t believe me.”

“Anybody else not in your
fan club?”

“Officer Hardass wasn’t too
fond of me.”  I threw the sopping towels into a trash bag.  “But he wasn’t on
the spreadsheet.”

“Chief of Police was
though,” Roxy said.  “Or maybe Manny figured out who you were and decided on a
little payback.” 

“Well crap.  I shouldn’t
have such a long list of enemies.  I’m a likeable person, right?”

She glanced up at me.  “I
like you.  But I have low standards.”

I actually laughed. 
“Thanks, Rox.”  I grabbed a trash bag and began stuffing it with the remnants
of my clothes.

It took over two hours, but
eventually we put everything into bags.  We dragged them, along with the
remains of my futon mattress and the busted bistro table and chairs, out to the
dumpster—it took several trips.

“I still can’t believe no
one called the cops,” I said as we walked back inside.  “This is such a small
building and no one heard or saw anything?”  

“People pay attention to
their own shit,” she said.  Putting her hands on her hips, she leaned back,
stretching her muscles.

“No kidding.  See if I give
wino Wanda a bottle of red this Christmas.”

I tried to boot up my
computer, but wasn’t having much success.  “I’ll take this to Eric today. 
Maybe he can fix it.”

“What are you going to do,
Rose?”  She sat on the floor with one knee pulled up to her chest.

“I’ll replace what I can. 
Mainly a few clothes and food right now.”

“I mean about this Sullivan
guy.  He’s the most likely person to have done this, right?”

I put the laptop on the
kitchen counter and sat down next to her.  “I thought we decided Sullivan was
just one of many.”

She shrugged.  “I don’t
think you can rule the rest of them out, but Sullivan’s my number one suspect.”

“There’s something I didn’t
tell you.”  I slid her a sideways glance.  “Henry tossed me in the back of a
car the other night.  He took me to see Sullivan.”

I’ve seen Roxy in a pissy
mood.  Plenty of times.  And pissy was her only mood since she quit smoking. 
But I’d never seen her truly angry before.  She jumped up, her fists clenched,
the muscles in her jaw working.  “What?  He kidnapped you?  Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head.

“Answer me, Rose.  Did he
hurt you?  Because if he did…”  She pounded her fist into the wall.

I got to my feet, trying to
ignore the ache in my knee.  “Roxy, stop.  He didn’t hurt me.”

“They why did he take you? 
And why didn’t you tell me?”  I heard the pain in her voice.

“He told me to quit asking
questions.  Quit looking for Axton.  Then showed me pictures of all my friends
and family.  Like surveillance pictures.”  I bit my lip and stared at my empty
futon frame.  “There was one of you.  You were standing outside of The Carp. 
There was one of Scotty, Jacqueline, my parents, Ma, and one of Axton, bound
and gagged.”  I glanced at her.  The look of betrayal on her face was almost
more than I could stand.

“What the hell?  Why did you
keep this from me?  Don’t you trust me?”

  “Of course I do.  I didn’t
want to tell you because I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Bullshit, Rose.”  She poked
a finger in my sternum.  It hurt.  “You didn’t want to stop looking for Axton. 
You were afraid I’d tell you to quit.”