A Welcome Haunting - Part Eighteen
TUESDAY MORNING
I let the two cops from the District Attorney’s Squad into my suite, having been roused from in front of my laptop where I was editing a press release a State Senator was sending out later that day on one of my issues. I was in ripped jeans, colorful flip flops and an old Peter Gabriel concert T. It was closing in on eleven o’clock. Ninety minutes earlier my phone rang with the caller ID declaring the name of an old friend who I never knew to be up before noon.
“I’m up baby!” he screamed from Brooklyn. “Got myself out of bed on only three hours of sleep to tell your derelict ass that some guys are coming up to see you in Albany. Keep the evil monkey in the closet and try not to smoke crack in front of them. Back to bed for me motherfucker!”
I didn’t get a single word in.
“You could have told us up front that you have access to guns. Would have made this easier,” said the older of the two, who sounded West-Indian and was with me for the breakfast with the Executive ADA over the past weekend. He heard the shower running and walked over to sit on the couch opposite the closed double doors leading to the bedroom and master bath. He settled in.
“Now you look like you were hiding something,” he continued. “See how bad that is for you?”
The younger and thinner of the two set himself up leaning against the counter that ran along the wall that ended, or maybe started, at the door they had just walked through. He put himself seemingly by instinct between me and any attempt at exit. The counter was covered with bottles of water, newspapers, plugged in chargers, coffee cups and empty mini bar bottles of whisky and vodka.
“So what’s the story with your uncle then?” the younger and fitter one asked.
“I was nine years old the first time he took me to a shooting range in Woodhaven and no older than thirteen or fourteen the last time we went,” I said matter-of-factly. “But for showing off a twenty-two caliber rifle to a friend when I was sixteen and left with keys to the house while my aunt and uncle were on vacation, I haven’t touched a gun except for a trip to an indoor range in Vegas and I’m not ashamed to say that the handguns I tried that day scared the hell out of me.”
The shower had stopped while I was answering.
“But you didn’t tell us about the guns licensed to your uncle,” the probably West-Indian said with a probably West-Indian lilt. “You had to know we’d find out about that.”
“Actually, I didn’t know if you would. That piece of information was out there but not in an easy way. It was a very long time ago that I was a kid popping off rounds and collecting shells off the floor of the range for reload discounts. I never signed in any book or anything. You had to do some pretty extensive asking around if you found out about the guns.”
“So you wanted to see how serious we’re taking this?” the thinner one said.
I nodded my head.
“Clever,” he acknowledged. “So then what are we supposed to do with you just telling us that you had keys to your uncle’s place?”
“I think that decision is beyond your pay grade, though it may wind up not above mine. I’m not sure yet,” I said. “I will tell you that in all likelihood the locks haven’t been changed there since Reagan’s first term and, yes, I am sure I have a set of those keys someplace, though even if you pressed hard I couldn’t begin to say where.”
Silence hung in the air for a good ten seconds before the click of a hair dryer turning on urged me to go further.
“Now that I’ve thought about it some more I have an idea who told you about my uncle.”
“Oh, you think you do?” asked the detective opposite the double doors, his voice raised some to be heard over the hairdryer and likely to suggest that I stop sharing my train of thought in front of his younger colleague.
“Yeah, I do. It had to be someone heavy enough to justify your immediately driving three hours north. You’re also starting to figure out” - I was speaking to both of them now - “that you guys are just messengers this morning. Nothing wrong with that, done that job myself several times. Not like you can touch the source that gave you the piece, pun intended, about my uncle’s guns.”
“Are you able to say anything about or do anything to this person, assuming you actually know who it is?” asked the younger of the two, sincerely I think.
“What’s the point? So he knows I know? He already knows that. You two are me knowing. Do anything? Sure, I could, but why in God’s name would I want to?”
The older one shrugged and stood up as the hairdryer turned off.
As the two were heading out, Albany Scion pulled open the double doors separating our bedroom from the rest of the suite. If she was intrigued or put off by or alarmed by our guests, she didn’t show it.
“Gentlemen, assuming you’re not here to arrest him, do you mind if I finish my makeup out here? The steam from the shower makes it hard to use the mirrors in there,” she said, turning back and lifting her chin towards the bedroom.
Seeing me already standing with the door to the hallway open, she took my seat, moved my computer aside and put a makeup bag and mirror down.
“Grab a cuppa on the way out, fellas,” she said. “It’s a long drive back to Brooklyn.”
The older one turned to squarely face me as I was holding the door open, tapping my chest twice as he spoke.
“You may know who gave us the information that brought us here this morning and, yeah, we get now that he was using us. But the guy we work for isn’t your guy and he says you have until Monday to get this settled or it’s on you and he’ll make it stick.”
I watched them walk down the hall for a few seconds before closing the door on his statement. It wasn’t a threat, I thought. It was encouragement.
“We have a two o’clock with Senate Counsel.You should get into the shower now,” I was instructed.
“I need to talk to Jackie,” I said, walking past her on my way towards the back of the suite and the shower.
The breath rushed out of her body with a “huh” followed by a casual but forced “I had no idea this was so serious. You’re actually in trouble.”
“Yeah, I am. Real trouble. Call our friend in the Speaker’s office and ask her to reach Jackie for me. I’ll meet him tonight at ten at the El Greco. Tell her to make sure he’s there. And tell her someone is leaking to Tabloid Reporter about the morning meetings.”
“No need to talk to her about that last thing,” she said, picking up my phone, smiling, while scrolling through to Top Aide’s number. “I’m the leak and the Speaker asked me to make that call. A tug on Top Aide’s leash will do them both good.”
“You know,” I said, “I could live in the spaces between the letters of your name.”
“That’s sweet. I wish I could live in the moments right after you say things like that, but we know that those spots combined don’t add up to a real life. Go wash.”
I heard her talking into my phone as I started the shower.