Authors: Daniel Syverson
"Hey, no, it wasn't us. I mean, we were
here, but this guy came in and paid us to look it up for him. He said he didn't
know how to look stuff up on the internet. We didn't know anything was wrong. We
were just-"
"Who was he? Where is he now?"
"We don't know, he left. He didn't say who
he was or anything. He just gave us some cash to look it up for-"
"Give me
some
thing. You must know
some
thing
about him. Think
hard. Now
!"
"Honest mister, uh, sir, he didn't say
anything, he just left a little while ago, he just-" Tony paused, thinking
a moment. "Wait a minute - ,"
Tony reached over to the trashcan, pulled it
over to him and looked down inside. Reaching in, he grabbed several crumpled
pages, finally selecting one. "He tossed uh," as he was quickly
uncrumpling sheets, "he tossed - here it is! He left this behind."
The men turned so they could both see it. That
was it. The information. But no name, no number, no idea who. They were as bad
off as before, except, maybe - "Give me that," demanded Manny
He held it up, looking at several angles. There
it was. Somewhat smeared, but still enough they could probably use. The paper
was waxy enough that he might have been able to get a print, if he was lucky,
but Frankie had helped them out. When sketching the box in the bar, Frankie had
left several large, greasy prints. He might just as well have signed it.
Manny grabbed another, blank, sheet of paper
from a printer on the table. He lay the crumpled sheet on top, then folded the
other sheet around it, as protection. Grabbing another sheet, he jotted down a
number and handed it to one of the boys.
"This is my number. If you see this guy,
call me right away, and see where he goes. There's a big reward," then
added, "but don't say anything about this to anybody, and I mean
anybody
.
Not even another, uh, cop. That number goes to no one but you. Understand?"
The two men glared at the boys, and Manny paused
for effect before continuing.
"We can find you. We found you this time.
We can find you next time. Don't give me a reason to do that."
Both boys were nodding like bobble head toys in
the back window of car.
"Remember," Manny repeated. "A
big reward if you have information. Big problems if you talk."
The men left. Outside, the larger one turned to
the other. "Shouldn't we have gotten their names and stuff?"
"We can always find them. They got records
and stuff of who uses the computers here." The big guy nodded in
understanding.
"What ya gonna do with the paper?"
"Me, nothing. But Mr. Depardieu's got
connections. I think they can probably get a print from it. Any better ideas?"
"No, no - just askin'. That's a good idea."
Manny had lots of good ideas. That's why he was in charge.
"Yea, I know. Here's another idea. How
about you just shut up for a while and let me think."
Manny made a quick phone call. He turned away as
he talked, and his voice was muffled, but it didn't matter. All the big guy
could hear was a sequence of "yes sirs", "no sirs" and a
final "I'm headed there now."
* * *
They drove in silence during the quick trip. The
car finally stopped directly in front of a police station. Not exactly a police
station, but some kind of law enforcement administrative building that included
a forensics lab. Not that either of them had any idea what that even was, but
that didn't matter.
Mr. Depardieu knew. He always knew.
"Wait here with the car. This shouldn't
take too long. And turn it off. What do ya think I'm gonna do in there?" It
wasn't unusual for him to keep the car running while Manny would run inside for
a minute to discuss something with a 'client'. The engine went silent.
Manny walked into the building, approaching the
reception desk.
"Can I help you?" A shapely girl in
her twenties smiled at him. Her dark hair curled down both sides of her face,
resting on a sweater designed to attract the attention of the men around her.
It worked.
Her name tag read
Andrea.
Manny smiled
back, with his oiliest, slickest smile, intended to disarm people. He had no
idea how much it worked in reverse.
"Why, yes you can, miss." He smiled at
her again.
That sweater is way too small for her
, he thought,
fits
her just right. And,
his line of though continued,
I can see she wants
me. Anyone could see by the way she smiled at me.
"Actually, I'm here
to see a Detective Tomosa. Is he available?" He put his smile back on.
"Just one moment, please. I'll check for
you." She stood up and ducked around a divider, and Manny saw her head
down a short hall before knocking and entering one of the doors. He lost sight
of her.
"Detective? There's some guy out front
asking for you. Real creepy guy. You want me to send him back or what?"
"No, no way. I know who it is, and I don't
want him anywhere near my stuff. I'll come up there." He rose and followed
her back down the hall. Passing through the security door, he greeted Manny.
"You got it? Let me have it."
"Detective. Now is that any way to be
sociable? In front of my new friend Andrea here?" Manny handed the folded
sheets to the Detective. "Shall I wait here for you?"
Detective Tomosa looked at Andrea, who, out of
sight of Manny, was shaking her head no.
"No. No, you wait outside. I'll bring it
out when I get done."
Manny nodded, turned to where he could see the
receptionist again, and gave a little tip of an imaginary hat, along with just
the slightest bow at the waist, winking at her, before heading outside to the
entryway.
Andrea shuddered. "What a creep."
Tomosa gave a little laugh. "You have no
idea. Stay away from him. You see him on the street, cross over and walk the
other way." Punching the code to the security door, he went back inside.
Manny left the building, walking slowly back to
the car. His buddy, seeing him approach, hopped out to hold the door. "Got
it?"
"Not yet. Get back in the car. It'll be a
few minutes." He glanced back at the building, and saw Andrea looking out
the window at him
. She really does have the hots for me. If that asshole
Tomosa hadn't kicked me out of there, I'd have had her number by now
. Putting
on his most debonair look, he leaned against the car and pulled out a
cigarette. He slowly lit it, taking a deep drag, and casually looked back over
to where she was watching. He smiled at her again.
She quickly pulled the shades. He laughed, and
took another drag. Snuffing it out on the light pole next to the car, he
flicked the butt towards the building. It reached the top step, falling just
shy of the doorway. It paused a moment before the breeze swirled around the
doorway, sending the butt back to the sidewalk not so far from where it
started..
Not bad
, he thought, judging the toss,
both distance
and
accuracy, maybe even points for style
. He leaned back against the car
and waited.
* * *
It was less than five minutes before the
detective came outside. He looked down at the cigarette butt, still smoldering,
then up at Manny, then back down at the butt. He kicked it toward the street, where
it landed a few feet from Manny's foot. He handed Manny a folded piece of
paper.
"Here it is. Two people. One, no record on
file. Nothing. Probably somebody at that café. The other one, this one, showed
up. But he's a nobody too. Picked up a couple of times drunk and disorderly. Nothing
big. Few fines. At the time of his arrest, it says he was working maintenance
at the Vatican. What you want with him?"
"Me? I don't want nuthin' with him. But Mr.
Depardieu, he has some questions. I don't speak for Mr. Depardieu. I just do
what he says." Taking a drag on his new cigarette, he added "Like
you."
Detective Tomoso's face suddenly turned scarlet,
and he grabbed the front of Manny's collar, almost lifting him off his feet. When
his buddy started to get out of the car, Tomoso pointed at him.
"Stay right there. Don't you move." He
looked like he meant it, and could back it up.
The man didn't move.
Turning back to Manny, he brought his face
nearly up to him, close enough for Manny to tell exactly what he'd had on his
sandwich. Tomoso's face, already scarlet, turned darker still, a single vein
across his forehead popping out.
"You listen to me, asshole, and listen
closely. I'm saying this once. You tell that prick that we are even. I'm done. I
don't owe him nothin', and he ain't getting nothin' else from me. And if you,
or him," pointing inside the cab, "or even Depardieu, so much as
spits on the sidewalk, I will be all over you."
He let his collar loose, and Manny reached up to
smooth his shirt. Tomoso was still just inches away. "You got it?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure. I got it. You sure you
want me to pass that on to Mr. Depardieu? He might find it a little, shall we
say,
disrespectful?
"
"Damn right I want you to pass it on. I don't
care what happens. We are done. You've got your fucking name, and that's the
last little chore he gets out of me. Period. If he needs anything else, well,
you can tell him I'm not doing anything for him. I wouldn't piss on him if he
was on fire."
He paused, thinking about it. "Well, maybe.
After he burned for a while. I might piss on him. But not enough to put it out.
Tell him that.
Capiche?
"
"Okay, okay. I'm out of here." Manny
handed the detective a card. "Could you give that to Andrea for me?"
The detective stared at him, and the card, and
back at him again, before tearing the card in half, then into quarters, and
finally into tiny little pieces. Holding his hand out at arm's length, he let
the pieces slow filter from his hand into the gutter. Then he picked up the
cigarette butt and flicked it inside Manny's car. "Saving you a ticket for
littering." Then he turned and went back inside the station.
Manny stole a quick glance at the window. He saw
Andrea peeking through a corner, then quickly again closing the curtains. He
smiled at her again.
He climbed into the car, unfolding the paper. He
studied it for a moment, picturing the address in his head before speaking.
"Okay. Here it is. Let's go see this Mr.
Uh, Mr. Frank Notini."
* * *
Frank arrived home about two hours after leaving
the boys. He'd stopped for a quick one, a well-deserved one, in his mind, and
then another. All things considered, he wasn't there all that long before
deciding to head home.
Emotionally, he'd been on a rollercoaster. At
first, when he thought he had an honest-to-God treasure, he'd been ecstatic. Then,
realizing he had nothing but the proverbial 'box of rocks', he sank just about
as low as he'd ever been. He'd felt the frustration and anger flowing through
him as he reached for another drink. His guardian angel, he'd long decided, was
sitting in a bar, just like him, but across town, with no interest in helping
him out. It seemed his angel must have gotten bored, slipped out of whatever
bar he had been hiding in, and just for pure entertainment, had picked Frankie
up and body slammed him to the ground.
How else to explain what had happened to him?
The bartender had been a little leery – for good
reason. Frankie had been in such good spirits a short while before, and here he
was, back, in a far less desirable, but far more common, mood.
Regardless, he was almost home now, and at a
reasonable hour, and in a reasonable condition.
It wasn't because he was drunk, far from it. It
wasn't because he ran out of money, though he'd used most of the bills he'd
stashed in the back of his wallet. It wasn't even because he had pissed off the
bartender, one of the few who had tolerated his moods for far too long,
(business was business, and he was a paying customer, though the bartender
never put it quite that way). It was because he was so frustrated he found that
even drinking didn't touch it. Not like drinking had helped in the past. Now, though,
the alcohol seemed to just mock him.
He had been
so sure
that the lock box was
his big chance,
sure
it was some kind of treasure. But nothing.
Nothing
.
He'd been so pissed off about it he'd nearly hit one of the customers sitting
next to him, after first cussing him out. He couldn't even remember why.
He'd blown up at the waitress filling drinks at
the station to his right. And then, when he told the bartender himself off, his
support group dropped down to two, Captain Morgan and himself, and even the
Captain was getting shaky. In a mood foul even by
his
standards, he
left no tip, just got up and walked out.
No one seemed to mind.
Frankie turned up his street, stopping at the
steps to his front door. He didn't notice the guy leaning against a car at the
building after his, but then, there was no reason to. He also didn't notice
that his front door lock had been picked. And again, there was no way he should
have noticed. The tiny scratches left behind were on the inside of the lock,
the talented gentleman who picked it leaving no marks. He didn't even notice
the man sitting in the dark in his living room.
Until he turned on the light.