The Girl in White Pajamas (3 page)

As they exited the plane and walked through the jet way, Amanda spoke on her iPhone thanking Randy’s Aunt, Dolores Peabody, for calling saying “yes..yes..I know” as the other woman spoke. When they walked through the gray and white terminal with the usual compliment of fast food offerings plus Starbucks, Bogie realized that Logan Airport looked and felt more functional than friendly and hadn’t changed that much since he’d flown in from Texas with Amanda when she was two and a half years old. Bogie had just left the Army and was still wearing camo pants, army boots and an over-washed green, army tee shirt. Rose and Darryl Jones were there to greet him and fuss over Amanda as they welcomed the baby to her new home.

Amanda motioned for Bogie to take the phone. He shook his head and kept on walking. Ending the call, she caught up to him and said, “You’re really rude!”

He only nodded.

“You know, you could have just taken the phone and thanked her for calling.”

“I didn’t feel like it. I’m not too happy with her brother right now.”

“It’s not her fault John acted like an asshole. I thought you liked her.”

“I do, but she’s not interested in
like
. She wants a lifetime commitment based on like. Besides, she already told me to piss off on Valentine’s Day. Why’s she calling now?”

“She wanted to say sorry for Uncle Bud.”

“And she forgot my number?” Bogie hugged his daughter and smiled as he thought of Dolores. She barely reached his shoulders in high heels. Dolores was attractive with short, light brown hair and a slim body. Dolores Peabody was personable, available but not the woman he loved. Bogie hated ‘fix-ups’ but that hadn’t stopped Amanda or John Carpenter from shamelessly pushing to make them a couple. Bogie resented the obvious manipulation and believed it was insulting to him and Dolores. “And please don’t help me with my love life anymore,” Bogie said. “Your help is too hard to overcome!”

“You’re just plain nasty! I really like Dolores.”

“Whatever.”

“You were so right together. Remember when you won first prize in that dance contest at the country club?”

“Since that was only six months ago, I still have a vague recollection of the event. I expected to win after she badgered me into taking those silly dance classes with her for eight weeks.” Bogie didn’t mention that attending the lessons with Dolores Peabody insured he got laid once a week and even that had its downside. Dolores made him feel like a sexual novice, giving him instructions on what to do and where to put it until she was satisfied. His needs were secondary. Luckily, he did get off.

“You went together almost a year. You were good together.”

Bogie stopped, put down his messenger bag and turned to his daughter. “And that was long enough. Besides, we weren’t
together
. I was her escort and...”

Amanda laughed at his embarrassment. “Just friends with benefits?”

“You’re wise beyond your years, Grasshopper!”

“Thank you, Master! I’ve learned from the best.”

As they walked and talked, Bogie noticed that the men in the baggage area all seemed to gravitate toward a corner, craning their necks for a better look. His first thought –Rose must be here!

The compact woman dressed in black exuded sex from her large black curls, to her short, leather jacket decorated with silver studs. Rose Jones made her own statement. She was trim and toned and let everyone know it with her form-fitting jacket and black pants. Even her silver-studded motorcycle boots had the Rose Jones touch. To complete the package, Rose’s large brown eyes were accentuated with liner and shadow and her full pouty lips showed some color and gloss. When Bogie got close to her, he grabbed her and hugged her. Her face was buried in his neck, and her large, black curls bobbed. Suddenly, she pushed him away and stretched her arms out to Amanda. “Sweet Pea!”

Amanda wrapped her arms around the smaller woman. “Oh, Aunt Rose, it’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you so much. I still can’t believe you didn’t come for Christmas.”

Before Rose could reply, Bogie said, “Okay, ladies, let’s grab the bags and get out of here. Where’s the ride? I thought you were going to—“

“I know, I just couldn’t wait. Angel’s parked in a lot near the terminal. I’ll just call him.”

“You haven’t clipped his wings yet?” Bogie asked.

“I’m giving him one more chance. I’m going to have him work with me for a few days.” When Rose watched Bogie’s eyes roll, she said, “He’s good, just a little over zealous.”

“Is that a new name for an investigator who sleeps with a witness?” Bogie asked. Before Rose could respond, he added “And at your rates, why are
you
training him? Can’t somebody else do it?”

“Like who? Jesus?” Rose asked defensively.

“Maybe if we didn’t hire family members we wouldn’t have that problem, would we?” Bogie asked.

“Are you two going to start arguing again?” Amanda asked.

The women strolled to the curb with their arms interlocked, Bogie walked behind them carrying two suitcases. “What the hell do you have in here, rocks?”

“My books and stuff.”

Bogie wondered why a girl who aspired to maintain academic mediocrity throughout each school year decided to study when they came to Boston for a funeral.

While Bogie and Amanda, wearing shorts, tee shirts and sneakers shivered in the cold, a black Escalade pulled up to the curb. The driver jumped out and helped Bogie toss the bags in while the women went into the SUV. “I’m Angel, I’m the FNG! You know, the Fuck’n New Guy!”

Bogie nodded at the dark haired man as Angel stretched out his hand and grinned, showing off his perfect, white teeth. He had the same olive skin as Rose and, like her, was dressed in black with black army boots which still left him a head shorter than Bogie. The butt of a gun showed from the black shoulder holster under his opened black jacket. “Dude! Where’s your coat?”

As Bogie took his seat riding shotgun, he nodded toward the back where Amanda and Rose were huddled together chattering. “We forgot the garment bag. They were in it.”

“You could have remembered! I’m emotionally fragile right now!” Amanda chimed in defensively.

Rose tapped Angel’s shoulder. “Swing by the shop, and we’ll grab a couple of jackets for them.”

“I’m not wearing one of those!” Amanda complained pointing to Angel’s black nylon jacket with “R&B Investigations” emblazoned on the front in gold.

“I’d give you one of my jackets; but, Sweet Pea, mine are tailored for me, and you’re bigger than I am. Our baby’s all grown up! You don’t want to freeze or catch a cold, do you?” Rose asked softly.

Amanda shook her head then looked down as a tear spilled down her face. Rose held Amanada’s hand and let her cry softly.

Bogie studied Angel then asked, “You sure you and Jesus are cousins? You could pass for brothers, even twins.”

Angel pointed to his check. “That’s the only way some people can tell us apart. The bullet hole.”

Hearing Angel’s Boston accent where R’s were dropped then reinserted in strange places, Bogie had to readjust his listening. Angel also had the Dorchester overlay where folks from that part of the city corrupted the language even further. The side of Bogie’s mouth half flickered in his version of a smile. “And he still has all his teeth?” he asked.

Angel grinned. “Let me ax you someth’n. What do you think it is?”

“Either a birthmark or something that got badly infected and left a scar.”

“See, Rose said you were wicked smart! Actually, it was a cockroach bite that got infected.”

Piercing a wall of gray drizzle, the Escalade inched its way through heavy traffic as eight lanes squeezed down to two in a haphazard game of chicken with the survivors entering the Callahan Tunnel. Driving past the North End filled with Italian eateries and open produce markets, they headed south, slowly moving through bumper to bumper traffic on the interwoven thread of roads and bridges known as the Surface Artery. As they approached Lincoln Street, Bogie looked around at the old buildings and empty storefronts on this cold, gray April day wondering why he felt it necessary to fly to Boston to eulogize a brother he couldn’t stand and listen to a half-crazy old lady. But the answer was always the same–Annie. His little sister was always there for him and was the only true McGruder who ever cared about him.

Lincoln Street had not improved in four years. The small three, four and five story buildings were old and many had chain-link gates across the front indicating they were closed. Even the dilapidated parking garage down the street looked seedier than it had before. The Escalade pulled up in front of a three story brick building with a blackened front window on the first floor. R&B Security and Investigations was stenciled on it in gold letters along with a phone number. No sign welcomed walk-ins.

As they entered the front door Bogie looked around in amazement. Four years earlier they had dark, wooden chairs with worn, padded seats that they’d purchased from the Goodwill Store. The reception desk came from a government auction. It wasn’t pretty, but functional.

The new reception area was unrecognizable to Bogie. He felt like he was entering a command center for a futuristic army. Thirty-six inch, black, acrylic cubes that could function as either seats or tables and were almost invisible on the black wall-to-wall carpeting served as the furniture. The reception desk was made from three of the cubes. Recessed lighting lit up the stark, white walls decorated with posters of over-muscled men and women, most of them toting AK-47s and UZIs. Stenciled in black around the right wall close to the ceiling was the message: ‘We offer the finest Security and Protection’. The opposite wall had ‘Discrete Investigations’ stenciled on it.

These days Rose handled the staff and office while Bogie pulled together the investigators’ notes to produce final reports for the clients. At times, when the investigators were unable to obtain information through conventional methods, Bogie hacked into more systems and found it. He also did the accounting and payroll. Rose printed out or deposited checks in Boston, but it was Bogie who produced the checks in Florida. Although they argued over personnel, the final decision was Rose’s since she was the one who would flourish or suffer the consequences with her people instincts.

“Wow! Are we at war?” Bogie asked staring at Rose.

“Yes,” she answered with no small measure of defiance. She walked to a back room and came out with two black fleece-lined jackets, handing one to Bogie and the other to Amanda. “We’ll get you another coat later on,” Rose said before Amanda could protest again.

Amanda nodded and almost smiled.

“Did you get us rooms?” Bogie asked.

“Mother McGruder.”

“No! I’m not staying there!”

“But, Dad, Auntie Annie.”

“You stay there if you want to. I’m not staying in that house!” he said angrily.

Rose finished, “I got you a room at the Omni Parker. That way you can walk over there in ten minutes. Amanda can stay at the house.”

Amanda nodded as she pushed her arms through the sleeves of the detested R& B jacket.

“Are you dropping us off?” Bogie asked.

Rose shook her head. “We’re coming in with you. Annie asked me to come over. She wants some guns removed from the house.”

“Why?” Bogie asked.

“Mother McGruder’s taken to shooting up the neighborhood.”

Bogie studied her. “Are you shitting me?”

“I shit you not!”

Bogie glanced at Amanda as she scrolled through her text messages while Angel watched her. He pointed to the doorway leading to the offices and conference room. “We’ll be back in a minute,” he said to no one in particular as he and Rose walked down the hall. As they approached her office at the end of the hall, he made a face and crinkled his nose. He pointed to a door straight ahead. “Have those guys air out that room every once in a while. It smells ripe.”

“They just practice there. It’s not for socializing. They’re not complaining.”

“You should be. How can you work smelling rancid sweat and God knows what else all day?”

“Not everyone’s as neurotic as you. Some of us don’t give a shit.” Memories of Bogie in the office flooded over her: Bogie and his immaculate little space, Bogie bleaching the bathroom every day, Bogie having the guys carry pizza boxes and soda cans out to the dumpster rather than clutter up the office. “What’s up?” Rose asked as Bogie closed her office door when they entered her cluttered office.

“Angel. What’s the story with him?”

“I don’t get your meaning?”

“Is he a boy toy or are you expanding your mothering instincts to look after someone other than Tiny Tommie?”

Rose stared at Bogie then burst into laughter. “
Boy toy
!” she repeated. “No thanks! I like my men all grown up. And as far as Tommie’s concerned, he’s a good kid.”

“We’ve had this discussion before, Rose. He’s not a kid, he’s a twenty-four-year old MIT graduate. He shouldn’t be doing IT work in a small business like this. What if he wakes up some morning and decides he doesn’t like us anymore or even worse, gets religion and believes he should tell the world what we’re doing?”

Rose shook her head. “He’s a sweet guy. He doesn’t have anybody else. We’re his family. And besides, he’s in the doctorate program now so he’ll only be working part time.”

“And you’re going to continue mothering this three hundred and fifty pound baby?”

“Yeah,” Rose said as her final word.

“Matt MacDonald!”

“Don’t! Don’t even go there! I don’t fuck the employees. Anybody else is my business.”

“He’s an—”

“Stop!” Rose warned as she held up her hand.

Bogie was silent knowing he had pushed her to the limit. He’d have to let it go…for now.

When Rose and Bogie returned to the reception area, Amanda sat sullenly, phone in hand while Angel perched on the corner of the reception desk stealing glances at her.

After Rose locked up the office and set the alarms, the small group returned to the Escalade and rode in silence as shades of gray and black took over the city. Bogie studied the city as Angel drove to Bedford Street then took a quick turn onto Kingston Street, then zigged onto Avenue De Lafayette, and zagged onto Washington Street as they followed a circuitous route which ultimately brought them onto Beacon Street going in the proper direction. Bogie was sure he could have run the distance from the office faster than they drove because in running he wouldn’t have to deal with a never-ending maze of narrow one way streets.