The Fives Run North-South (7 page)

“It’ll be more tolerable for him if that redhead nurse comes back on shift.”

“No chance of that,” she said. “We’re out of here tomorrow; she’s off until Wednesday. We’re stuck with
ogre
-
lady
and the
bat
-
faced
one.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“Get him back to his apartment, run around and get his meds. Dote.”

“All skills you excel at,” I smiled. I’ve not had many health challenges but had to admit she had a talent for making it easier.

“So you’ll be home by midweek?” I asked.

“Like you miss me,” she said.

“Just need my sense of order and normalcy.”

“I don’t know. I’ll let you know so you have a chance to pick up your socks before I get there.”

“Appreciate it. I’m going to bed.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Sometimes it’s easy. I turned off my phone and rolled over, hoping I’d sleep through the night.

Ka-thump
.

Darkness.

I was sweating. Not unusual; I sleep hot.

First question: Where am I? Back home.

Second question: Still night? What time? Clock’s in its usual place. It’s 1:32 a.m.

Third question: What woke me? A
Ka-thump
.

Fourth question: Was there really a
Ka-thump
or did I dream it? Hard to tell. I think there really was a
Ka-thump
.

Last question: What was the
Ka-thump
?

I tried to clear the fog of sleep and tapped my
short
-
term
memory to see if I could recreate the
Ka-thump
and match it with typical noises implanted in my memory. (Another batch of ice dropping in the kitchen? Nope). I went back to the theory that it’d been a dream but could gain no foothold with it.

Other than the light from my clock, it was pitch black. The way I liked to sleep. And I really wanted to drift back to sleep. I was
heavy
-
headed
,
stomach
-
crushing
tired. Surely it was a nonevent
Ka-thump
. Air conditioning unit ending its cycle. House settling. A car outside running up the curb (no…it was an inside
Ka-thump
)
. Still couldn’t discount the ice.

Or someone walking.

My head cleared, and as I saw the image of my front door ajar, I felt the strange sensation of a small adrenaline surge, and felt my heartbeat punching my chest from inside. If I was able to see it, I could probably see my chest lifting the blankets in time with my heart. Slowly, I turned my head, freeing both ears from the pillow so that I could…

Listen.

All I could hear was the blood rushing through my ears (damn you, adrenaline…I really could do without you at the moment). I thought I heard the dull roar of an airplane overhead. Maybe.

Pop.

A small pop. Definitely something that could qualify as
house
-
creak
.

I rolled over, my body calming and the desire to fall back to sleep running like a wave through my body. My rational side surfaced, demanding I stop being silly, shut my eyes, and get back to sleep. Nothing to worry about once asleep.

Sounds good.

I shut my eyes and rolled over. I didn’t hear any more noises. Neither did I fall back to sleep. Not for a long time.

Actually, I finally did fall back into a heavy sleep. I think it was about ten minutes before my alarm sounded.

Clumsily, I reached for the alarm. I missed and hit my
side
-
table
lamp, knocking it against the wall. Cursing, I sat up and set it right before it tilted all the way to the floor. I was aching with tired and knew that many people would call in sick if they felt this bad. I started to think about the day ahead, hoping that it would clear my head as it usually did.

Not today. Maybe an early coffee.

I swung my legs off the bed and stood. My knee was stiff. That plus my heavy head almost knocked me back on the bed. I recovered my balance (with a slight moan) and slowly straightened my back. I moved toward the door, losing my balance slightly and bumping my shoulder against the jamb.

Another curse. Great way to start the day.

Slowly I gained balance as I shuffled into the kitchen. Turning on the lights, I moved toward the coffee station. As I reached to open the coffee cabinet, I paused. The feeling like I just forgot something important. No. Same feeling, but because…

Something’s out of place.

Slowly I turned around and returned my eyes to what had caught them a second ago. On the raised bar that divided the kitchen from the great room. A single, silver can. I walked over and touched it. An empty beer can. Coors. I never drink Coors. Below it a ring of water, condensation. Mostly dry, but not completely.

7

I
didn’t call the police. Here’s why:

1. They tend to take the path of least resistance. Their initial inclination would be that it was my beer can. I put it there, and no matter how much I insisted I didn’t, it’s easier to believe that I’ve been forgetful than to accept that I had an intruder who did nothing but leave a beer can behind.
   
2. But say they believed my story and bought into the theory that some random road rage incident was resulting in both the smashed window and now this: they would question why I didn’t mention the red SUV guy when the police were out here for the window. I’d be subjected to a series of questions intended to demonize me rather than find the bad guy.
   
3. A bad guy who had as the single identifying attribute is that he drives a red SUV. Not the narrowest search parameters.
   
4. Which is really the bottom line: best they can do is take notes and fill out forms. Forms that would land in a file never to see the light of day. Despite what all the
   one
   -
   hour
   TV mysteries portray, there is no attractive detective waiting around for these types of situations, following their gut and obsessing over solving the case and saving the day.
   
5. Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe Suze put the can there and I didn’t see it. Maybe it’s all nothing. That would be embarrassing.
   
6. But the real reason, if I’m to turn my honest switch on, is that I just wanted to get to work that Monday. And while all the reasons above were true, my plan for the day was simply more important to me than all this other stuff.
   

So I put the whole incident in a box at the corner of my mind. After locking up the
house
—
and
double
-
checking
the
locks
—
I
left for work.

Oh, and the final reason for not calling the police: I didn’t have the benefit of hindsight that I have now.

I recovered a bit of bounce in my step as I walked into the lobby of my office. I was mildly surprised to see a new receptionist. She was about as attractive as the last one, and her smile told me she’d been shown my picture and told who I was. It was confirmed when she said: “Good morning, Mr. Mann.”

“Hi,” I said. “New here?”

Her smile dimmed. “Uh…not really. I’m from AR. Just filling in for Krista. Her mom passed away.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Have a great day, Mr. Mann,” she said with a subtle but noticeably diminished enthusiasm from her initial greeting.

I rode the elevator alone, arranging the day’s schedule in my head. I had a series of objectives, mostly targeting Kyle Thomas and his attempts to poison the board of directors’ well. I had called Suze on the drive in, not mentioning the creepy
beer
-
on
-
the
-
counter
thing. She’d been up for a while and was entering the hospital to see Peter. Today was a big day for them. He might get released, and most of the recovery and physical therapy plan would be mapped out.

I liked it when Monday’s structure overtook the weekend’s (and in this case, long weekend’s) random series of unproductive events. Perhaps I could learn to relax, but I never seemed to find a way to enjoy weekends as much as most people seemed to.

Taking a right off the elevator, I was glad to see the light on in Perry Edwards’s office. It didn’t surprise me. Perry was a good man, and like many good men had discovered early on that it’s more productive to come in early. Before the chatty people who, for some reason, not only thought one should start every day in mindless small talk, but compounded it by assuming everyone else feels the same way.

“Hey, Perry,” I said, after lightly knocking on his open door.

He looked up, pulled his middle finger out of his mouth, and smiled. “Hey, boss.”

Perry was my Human Resources VP. He had all the required skills:
Humorless
—
check
.
Detail
-
obsessed
—
check
. Takes twenty minutes to tell a five minute
story
—
check
. Overly cautious, almost to the point of
paranoia
—
check
. But he made the company as bulletproof as possible in the tricky realm of dealing with people. I was glad to have him and excused his flaws, the biggest of which was his constant attack on his cuticles. Not a nail biter, but always chewing the edge of his cuticles, gnawing at the dead skin. A small
pitoo
as he spit the offending chunk of skin out of his mouth randomly into the air in front of him, no matter who was standing there. After which he’d attack the next finger.

I considered opening with a bit of small talk. How’s the wife and kids. That sort of thing. Then I remembered who I was dealing with and jumped right into it.

“Say, Perry. Remember when we had to hire that private security investigator for that last worker’s comp case?”

Perry smiled. Of course he remembered. And it turned out to be one of his greatest victories. Chase Bradley from the mail room claimed he tore up his back and did his best to milk it for every penny his lawyer could count on his
fast
-
moving
,
ring
-
covered
fingers. Perry had hired a man to follow Chase, photographing him bowling, riding his Harley, and screwing his best buddy’s wife in the back seat of his
extended
-
cab
pickup. It had saved us a bunch of money and had provided us with great stories to tell at company functions.

“His name was Curtis Viniteri,” Perry said. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” I said. “Guy in my club thinks his wife’s messing around. Asked me if I knew a good guy to help him dig into it. Hoping to save himself some alimony. I told him about my crack HR guy and his connections.”

Perry’s chest puffed out. Predictable (another attribute you want in a guy in his position). As he basked in his pride, his thumb cuticle made it into his mouth and his jaw started working it…

“Can you dig up his contact info and
e
-
mail
it over to me some time this morning?” I asked.

“Sure thing.”

Pitoo.

As I turned back to my office, I checked one item off my mental list. I wasn’t just stroking Perry’s ego; this guy, Viniteri, was good. I was anxious to set up a meeting with him. Set him up on a date with a red SUV.