Symphony of Blood, A Hank Mondale Supernatural Case (28 page)

I dropped the covers, spun my legs and put my feet on the ground. “Yeah, but not this dirty and smelly.”

“It’s not that bad. You smell fine.”

“You’re too kind.”

“You want some coffee?”

“I’d love some.”

“Great. It will be ready in just a minute.”

“Perfect.”

“The bathroom is just to the left.” She pointed left as she walked into the doorway. Then, she spun to the right and her jersey flipped up for just a second; she wasn’t wearing anything beneath it.

“Wow,” I said to myself as I shook my head.

I got up and cracked my neck. That cot really was awful. A pile of bricks would have been better; certainly the floor couldn’t have been worse. I walked out into the hall and turned left. There was a closed door and I stopped in front of it. I heard noises coming from inside. Above the dripping of a lightly running sink were loud nasal snorts.

I knocked on the door, three quick raps.

The water shut off and the snorting lowered to sniffles. Then the toilet flushed and the door opened shortly after. Mackenzie walked out, hair wet, body covered by a towel with another towel wrapped around her head, swami-style.

Holding my ground, I blocked her from leaving the bathroom, trying to make eye contact. “Good morning,” I said.

She tried to scoot past me, looking down. When I didn’t move, she folded her arms and looked sideways at me. “Good morning, Hank.” She sighed like a drama queen.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine, Hank. Would you please get out of my way.”

“Sure.” I stepped to the side, and she walked out.

After cleaning myself up, I put on the same dirty underwear and wrinkled suit, not bothering with the tie, and walked into the living room. Mackenzie was sitting on the couch in a clean, purple sweat suit. In the adjoining breakfast nook,
Pito
sat at a small table, wearing the same sleeveless white t-shirt, loudly gobbling on a bowl of Corn Pops.

Angie walked out of the kitchen, carrying a pot of coffee in one hand and three mugs in the other. She put the mugs down on the table and began filling them.

“That smells great,” I said as I walked over.

“Milk?” she asked.

“No, thank you.”

She handed me the mug and I gulped the hot coffee. The fresh taste was a pleasure.

“Thank you. This is great,” I said.

Angie smiled. “Sure, baby. Do you want some clean clothes?
Pito
might have something to fit you.”

I looked him over. He was a string bean. There was no way I was fitting my beer belly into one of those skimpy wife beaters.

“I’m not
givin
’ him
nuthin
’,”
Pito
said between slurps.

“It’s fine. I’ll be okay in this.”

My cell phone rang. I looked at the number, it was Victor. I put my coffee mug down on the table and walked towards the hallway. As I turned the corner, I picked up the phone.

“Hi, Vic. What’s up?”

“What’s up, Hank?” I could tell he was mad. In all the years I knew Victor, he’d raised his voice maybe a dozen times. Well, this made it a baker’s dozen. “What’s up? You tell me what’s up.”

“You sound pissed, Vic.”

“Pissed! Not half as pissed as Tate is.” He paused, and I could hear Tate bitching in the background. “We’re on our way upstate, Hank. And you know what a cranky bastard Tate turns into when he has to leave the city. He hates leaving the city.”

“I know.” I was trying to be contrite, but it wasn’t helping.

“You
wanna
guess why we’re leaving the city and on our way upstate?”

“No. Why don’t you tell me.”

“Okay. Fine. We’re headed up to the Blake residence. But I’m sure you figured that out by now.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“You
wanna
know why?”

“Please, Vic. Just get to the point.”

“Get to the point! I’ll get to the point when I’m good and fucking ready.”

“Fine. Take your time.”

“I got woken up this morning by the Westchester County cops. They’re already at Blake’s place. They have a fucking bloodbath on their hands.”

“I know. It’s bad.”

“Bad! It’s a
fuckin
’ disaster. They say they’ve got five dead bodies up there. Or the remnants of five bodies. And none of them are Mackenzie or Thomas Blake. What do you say to that?”

“I’m sorry, Vic. I was in a jam. I would have called you and filled you in eventually.”

“Eventually! Well start right now. What do you know?”

“I know that some people were killed at the Blake residence yesterday.”

“No shit, Hank! Who?”

“A butler. Two bodyguards and Blake’s right hand man,
Greenwal
.”

“That’s four.”

“I think there was a maid there. I never met her.”

“And what about Thomas Blake?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Hank, don’t bullshit me. I’m going to try and help you out, if I can, because we’re friends…”

“Fuck him!” I heard Tate yell.

“…as it stands, you have a lot of answering to do.”

“I know, Vic. I don’t know where Thomas Blake is. I swear.”

“And Mackenzie Blake?”

I peered around the corner. All three of them—
Mackenze
on the couch,
Pito
seated at the table, and Angie standing behind him—were looking over in my direction.

“She’s with me,” I finally answered.

“And where’s that?”

“Vic. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you right now.”

“Hank. Do you understand? You are both wanted for questioning.”

“Yes. I understand.”

“At the very least, you are looking at aiding and abetting charges, maybe a whole lot worse.”

“I know, Vic. I understand.”

Even though Tate could obviously hear, Vic whispered, “Did Blake do this?”

“No. It wasn’t Blake.”

Then, at a normal volume he said, “It was the vagrant then? The same guy who me and Tate want for our case.”

I paused, not sure what to say, and knowing that any answer I gave was going to be difficult to explain away later. “Yes, Vic. It was the vagrant.”

“I knew it. Who is he?”

“I don’t know. Listen, Vic. I’ll be in touch. But right now I have to go.”

“Hank. Do not hang up this phone. I need more answers. How is this connected to the Olsen murder? What’s the connection between the vagrant and the attractive businesswoman? Are they working together?”

“Sorry, Vic. That’s all I can say right now. But be careful at the Blake residence. I don’t think the….I don’t think the killer is still there, but just in case, be careful. And don’t underestimate him. He’s dangerous.”

“No shit, Hank.”

“He may not look like a vagrant. He may…”

“He may what, Hank?”

“He may…I don’t know. He may have changed his appearance.”

“What?”

“He may be in disguise. Just be careful. Don’t trust anyone. Watch your back and don’t trust anyone.”

“I need more. Tell me everything. Now!”

“Sorry, Vic.
Gotta
go.”

“Damn you, Hank!”

I hung up, then walked back into the room.

“Damn,”
Pito
said, suddenly returning to his cereal. Talking with his mouth full and a hint of milk dribbling out the side of his mouth, he continued, “You two are in big trouble!”

“No need to rub it in,” Angie said. “They need some help.”

“What are we
gonna
do, Hank,” Mackenzie whined.

“You’re going to call your father. That’s what you’re going to do.”

“Oh my God! He’s alive?”

“He’s alive.”

She looked up at the sky. “Thank you, God!”

“You are going to keep calling him every twenty minutes until he answers.”

“What if he doesn’t answer? Maybe…well, you know.”

“Vic says they didn’t find him. He got away.”

“Maybe from the house, but what if Symphony tracked him down.”

I put up my hand for her to stop talking, then said, “Enough. Just keep calling him.”

“Fine.” She began looking through her bag and then she pulled out her phone and tried him.

I walked over to the table and picked up my coffee mug.

“He’s not answering.”

“Just keep trying.” I took a slug of lukewarm coffee.

“You know they can track you by your cellphone, right?”
Pito
said.

“Here.” Angie took her phone off the table and handed it to Mackenzie. “Use mine.”

I nodded my head, shut off my phone, then turned to
Pito
and asked, “Do you have a car?”

“Yeah,” he said. “So?”

“What kind?”

“‘91 Corolla. Why?”

“It’s a piece of shit, Hank,” Mackenzie said.

“Perfect. We’ll trade you Mackenzie’s Jeep.”

“Are you out of your
fuckin
’ mind,” Mackenzie said.

“Deal.”
Pito
smiled.

I turned to Mackenzie and said, “How far do you think we’re going to get in a pink Jeep?”

“Fine! Whatever. Take my car.”

“I’ll run to the store and get you some food and stuff,” Angie said.

“Great,” I said. “Get us some food and drinks. We may be on the road for a while.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Angie grabbed her pocketbook and was quickly out the door.

I turned to
Pito
. “Is that car in working order?”

“I told you, Hank. It’s a piece of shit.”

I waved rapidly for Mackenzie to quiet down.

“It runs,” he said. “You won’t look as cool as in a shiny new Jeep. But five-oh won’t pay you much mind in it. Tints are legal. Headlights work. I’m no dummy. I don’t need to be hassled, man. It’s legal. And you won’t get stuck or nothing.” Then he turned to Mackenzie and said sarcastically, “As long as you remember to put gas in it.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay. Great,” I said.

“
Yo
, you want a clean shirt or not? I got some of my big brother’s old clothes
lyin
’ around here somewhere.”

“Okay. Sure.”

* *

With two bags full of groceries and some fresh clothing, we headed off in
Pito’s
old Corolla. It was a rusty shade of brown with plenty of rust in the body to match. The exhaust spewed out a filthy cloud of black smoke every time I gassed the engine, and the muffler sounded like it had a hole in it. But it was a low-key ride, at least compared to Mackenzie’s pink Jeep.

“You look funny in that shirt,” Mackenzie said, remarking on the black t-shirt with a decal that read
Puya
on it. I think it was the name of some heavy metal rock band, but I wasn’t sure and didn’t ask
Pito
because I didn’t want to give him any more reason to ridicule me.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You look like my dad when he’s trying to be cool. It doesn’t work for him either.”

“Whatever. It smells better than the other shirt. Would you rather I put that back on?”

She leaned over and smelled my shoulder. “No. This will do.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“You’re driving. How should I know?”

I turned and looked at her. She looked straight ahead while I kept my eyes on her. “You tell me,” I finally said. “Where should we go?”

She shrugged.

“Did you call your father again?”

“Yes. I just tried him.”

“From Angie’s phone?”

“Yes! I’m not stupid, Hank.”

“Well, try again.”

“Fine.” She tried again, and hung up again without speaking. “He isn’t answering.”

“Where could he be? If he got away, where would he go?”

“I don’t know. What does it matter where he is?”

“Are you trying to hide from him?”

“What? No!”

“Are you trying to hide him from me?”

“No!”

“Where would he go? I know you have other homes. Which one would he go to first at a time like this?”

“If he’s hiding, then he wouldn’t go anywhere obvious.”

“I agree. Where would he go?”

“Okay. Fine. We do have a house in the Hamptons. The mortgage isn’t exactly in my father’s name.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Tell me more.”

“What more do you want to know? It’s a tax thing.”