Authors: marshall thornton
Brian shrugged his way into the white shirt. “I told you. This isn’t a big deal.”
“If it’s not a big deal, why use a fake name?”
“That’s just the way he is. He’s the sort of person who tells a lie even when there’s nothing wrong with the truth. It’s his thing.”
I waited. He wanted to get rid of me; that was easy to figure. But I wasn’t going anywhere until I knew what was what. It took a minute for him to figure that out.
“My mother had breast cancer a few years ago. I was a junior in high school. She had surgery.
Radiation. Some chemo that made her pretty sick. She started going to this church. I went a couple of times. It was... intense. Real bible-thumpers. She met Donnie there. She thought he was a wonderful guy because he didn’t care about her not having breasts anymore. When they told her she was okay again, she married him.”
He attached a black cummerbund around his waist, then slipped a matching clip-on bow tie in his shirt pocket.
“I went away to college. Everything was okay until I got my first boyfriend. I thought I was in love, thought it was going to last forever, so I wrote my mother a letter telling her all about my boyfriend. I didn’t think... I’m an only child. It had been just my mom and me for a really long time. I never thought she wouldn’t want to see me anymore. But that’s Donnie. And the church they go to.”
“You said he’s a liar.”
“He’s a sales rep. Liquor, I think. He told my mother he made a lot more money than he actually did. He played it like he had money to spare, but after they got married she found out he didn’t have much. She also found out he had an ex-wife and a kid he was paying child support on.” He grabbed the big, blue coat. “I’m going to be late for work if I don’t leave now.”
“Let’s go then.” He frowned at me, then led me out of the apartment. When we got to the street, I asked, “Where do you work?”
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“Down in the Loop. You’re not going to follow me to work, are you?”
“It’s a free country.” I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I’d feel better if I knew Brian was okay. “You think your stepfather would hurt anyone?”
“Only my mother.”
“He beats her?”
“No, emotionally. He hurts her emotionally.” We’d gotten to the El station. Brian stopped in front of the turnstile. “Look I appreciate your trying to warn me, or whatever, but you can’t follow me around all day. Okay?”
We rode the El down to the Loop and got off at Madison. Brian worked at a restaurant near there called the French Bakery. It was a two-story storefront at the bottom of a fifteen-story granite building from the thirties. There was a Florsheim on one side and a brand-new copy shop on the other. Before we went in, he threatened to call the police if I set foot in the restaurant, so I let him go in alone. I looked at the shoes in the Florsheim window for five minutes. Then I went in.
On the first floor there was a bakery selling all the traditional French goodies: elephant ears, napoleons, éclairs. Upstairs at the front there was a bar on a kind of mezzanine that looked out onto Madison and down on the bakery. In the back was a restaurant and kitchen. To one side, as you came up the stairs, was a picture window where you could watch actual French bakers making croissants by buttering dough and pushing it through a roller over and over again.
I went into the bar and ordered a coffee. The barmaid looked at me suspiciously for a moment, so I asked her to throw in a shot of Kahlua. At eleven-thirty I asked for a menu and ordered some lunch. The bar was beginning to fill up, and I thought I’d get my order in before it got too crowded. The barmaid took my order. Her name was Sheila, and she seemed unnecessarily friendly. I wanted a grilled ham and cheese on rye, but the only thing close was a brie omelet with a baguette.
After all the coffee I’d had in the last twenty-four hours, my bladder was sending some painful signals. I wandered around until I found the men’s room. Next to it was a payphone, and it got me thinking. When I was done, I came out and dug around in my pocket for some change. I called information in Springfield and got the number for Donnie Carr. I dialed, then dumped in the eight-five cents the operator wanted for three minutes.
A woman answered. I didn’t really know what I was going to say, so I just jumped in. “Mrs.
Carr?”
She left a pause. “No, this isn’t Mrs. Carr. Who’s this?”
“Can I speak to Mrs. Carr?”
“Who’s calling please?”
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“I’m a friend of her son Brian.”
There was a gasp at the other end of the line. “Do you know where he is?”
“Yes, yes, I do.”
“She wants to see him again. She wants to see him so much.”
“I’ll let him know.” And I would, too.
“No. He needs to come right away. If you could give--”
“Has something happened?”
“Please, could you give me Brian’s phone number? Mr. Carr said he’s done everything to find him. I don’t think that’s true.”
“Where is Mr. Carr?”
“He’s not here. Please, the number. The news should come from me. I’ve been cleaning for them for almost twenty years. I used to babysit Brian. He was such a sweet--”
“What’s happened to Mrs. Carr?”
She hesitated a moment, then, “The cancer came back. So fast. Her lungs. Her liver. There isn’t much time -- ” The woman’s voice broke. It took her a moment to get hold of herself. “I’m only here because Mr. Carr asked me to pack up her things. He wants to give her things to charity.
She isn’t even dead yet.”
“Where did you say Mr. Carr was?”
“I didn’t.” I’d pushed too hard, and she’d become cautious.
She needed a nudge, so I gave it to her. “Seems awful cold, him rushing things like that.
Disrespectful.”
“He’s in Indianapolis. On a sales trip.” The way she spat the words out gave a good indication what she thought of him. “She’s been in the hospital for weeks. He’s barely taken a day off.
Please, please give me Brian’s phone number.”
I made up a number and gave it to her. Partly because I didn’t know Brian’s phone number, and partly because I wanted to be the one to decide when he found out his mother was dying.
Back in the bar, my omelet was waiting for me. It was cold. As I began eating, Brian came into the bar and put in an order at the service bar. When he saw me, he gave me a look that was
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colder than my omelet. If he didn’t like me now, how much was he going to hate me when I told him his mother was dying?
The place did a good business. By one o’clock it was full, and people were starting to line up, waiting to get in. A blackboard over the host’s station told you why. They had a soup and salad special for under three bucks. The place was a secretary’s delight.
The omelet had made me a little sick to my stomach, which was a good enough reason to order another Kahlua and coffee. I looked out the window and saw that it had started to snow again, pretty heavily. I thought about Donnie Carr. I took all the pieces of the puzzle apart again and put them back together. They came out the same. He wasn’t in Indianapolis. Sure, he might have gone over this morning, checked into a hotel, made a few sales calls, called around and made some appointments for tomorrow. Sometime this evening he’d be in Chicago.
I could see what he was doing. Constructing an alibi. If something happened to Brian, no one could prove Donnie knew where he was. And no one could prove he wasn’t in Indianapolis. He was coming to kill his stepson. That was the only thing that made sense. I tried to see it another way. He just wanted to talk? He wanted Brian to come home to see his mother? But none of that made sense with all the deception. Only murder made sense.
The thing I didn’t know was why Donnie wanted to kill Brian. Typically, these things were about sex or money. Even though I’d never met Donnie Carr, everything I’d heard about him made me think he was the kind of guy who liked money more than sex.
Brian’s shift ended at three. I’d had four Kahlua and coffees, and I was a little loose on my feet following him down the stairs and out of the restaurant. When we got out to Madison, he turned on me. “How do I get rid of you?”
“Let’s take a cab home. I don’t think I can deal with the train.”
“I want you to go away. Why are you not getting that?”
“I think you’re in danger.”
“Yeah, I know. My stepfather has my address. I’m shaking in my boots.” He looked at the snow falling. I could see in his face he wasn’t much interested in waiting on a cold and snowy platform for a train that might not even have heat. I saw a Checker cab coming and raised my hand to flag it.
After I gave the cabbie Brian’s address, I asked Brian, “What’s the deal with your real father?”
“I told you, he’s dead.”
“Did he leave a lot of money?”
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“I suppose. My mom never had to work, and then she paid for my college. Until I told her I was gay.”
“She cut you off?”
“Not exactly.” He looked out the window and watched the traffic crawl by, but he kept talking.
“She wanted me to go to this psychiatrist who promised to fix me. She’d only pay my tuition if I went. I think it was Donnie’s idea, or maybe the shrink’s, I don’t know. She’d never been like that about anything.”
“Do you know what happens to the money?”
“What do you mean what happens to it?”
“If something happens to your mother. Who gets the money?”
“Why is that your business?”
“I didn’t say it was my business. I’m trying to figure something out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out. My stepfather wanted my address so he and my mother can send me religious pamphlets telling me I’m going to hell. Big fucking deal.”
“Brian, your mother is dying.”
He snapped his head to look at me and then narrowed his eyes. “How would you know that?”
“I called your house. I spoke to the maid. The cancer returned. It’s in your mother’s liver, her lungs.”
“You’re lying.”
“We can call. I don’t know if the maid will still be there. She said she was just packing up your mother’s things.”
“What’s the maid’s name?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t say.”
“You’re lying,” he said again. But the tears forming in his eyes suggested that he believed me.
“So that’s why Donnie’s looking for me. He wants to tell me she’s sick.”
“What happens to the money, Brian?”
He shrugged and then rubbed his hands across his eyes. “It’s mine, I guess.”
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“And if something happens to you? Before your mother passes?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like we sat around the house reading wills all the time.” His chin was wobbling, and he’d start sobbing soon. I could tell he didn’t want to do it in front of me.
“If something happens to you, Donnie gets the money. Isn’t that right?” It was the final piece of the puzzle. It had to be the reason.
“Probably. I don’t know.”
“Donnie knows. He’s going to try and kill you. Tonight.”
* * *
The cab pulled up in front of his apartment building, and Brian turned to me. “If you get out of the cab, I’m gonna call the police.” He glared at me a second, then added, “I mean it.”
I figured this time he did. I would have preferred to stick close, but I’d said what I needed to say, and if he didn’t want me around, then he didn’t want me around. He got out, and I told the cabbie to drive around the block. When we came around again, Brian had gone into his building. I had the driver let me out in front of my Plymouth.
I tried to calculate when Donnie might arrive. He’d want to be seen around Indianapolis as late as possible. It was getting close to four o’clock. Donnie was already on his way, I bet. Given traffic and the snow that was continuing to fall. I guessed he’d be at Brian’s door sometime between eight and nine o’clock. I had a nice long wait in front of me.
I ran the engine for a while to get the heat going. It steamed up the windows, but I didn’t care.
Brian wouldn’t be coming out of his apartment anytime soon. The poor kid was probably crying his eyes out over his dying mother. He might even be calling around Springfield trying to find out what hospital she was in, hoping all the while I’d been telling him an elaborate lie.
I turned on the radio and checked the weather. The storm was going to be big. The lake effect was kicking in. It was going to be bad. What I really needed was some sleep. I wrapped the blanket around me and turned off the engine. I told myself it was safe to take a nap for an hour or so. But whenever I closed my eyes, they’d pop back open and I’d find myself staring at Brian’s front door.
I second-guessed myself for the next couple hours. There was something bothering me, and it took me awhile to put my finger on it. Donnie had gone to a lot of trouble to find me, to find a
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gay PI. But had he needed to? Really? Couldn’t anyone have gotten him the address? Suddenly, I was back at the beginning; back to my very first question -- why me?
Around seven, I walked down to Helios’ Gyros and got a large coffee and a gyros. Helios wasn’t there. Someone else was cooking, but he was just as hairy and greasy as Helios, so I figured the gyros would be pretty good. I paid for my order and took the Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand and the foil-wrapped gyros in the other. I slipped a couple napkins into my pockets and was back on the street.
I was part way down Kenmore and thinking I really needed to get some variety in my diet, when I saw them come out of Brian’s building: Brian and a man who fit the description I had of Donnie. They turned and headed south. I kicked myself, and had a couple of good reasons to do it. One, Donnie had been there waiting for Brian to come home from work. I’d completely blown it on the ETA front. Two, I’d been off getting a sandwich. If they’d come out a couple minutes earlier, I would have missed them completely. It was just dumb luck I hadn’t.