Zack started talking.
“A little over two years ago I received a document in the mail from Roy Battiston. It was an old drawing of a series of storage cellars located on the site of a factory sitting at the center of this planned development. With it was a note from Battiston saying the cellars were full of toxic waste, heretofore undetected. With the drawing was a note from Battiston telling me to keep this information confidential until notified.”
Jackie held up her hand to stop him while she caught up. Then she nodded.
“One might ask,” Zack went on, “why the Assistant Regional Director of the New York State DEC would meekly comply with such an outrageous demand. One that would put him in direct violation of the duties of his office. As I said in the beginning, Mr. Milhouser was engaged in a campaign of extortion, and I was one of those on the receiving end.”
“Jesus, mercy in heaven, what a load of bull,” said Milhouser.
“So you sat on this thing like you were told,” I said.
“Yes. Until this gentleman paid me a visit,” he said, pointing down at Patrick.
“The gentleman Sam Acquillo is currently standing over with a two-by-four,” said Jackie. “Got it.”
“He said he was there to deliver a message from Roy Battiston. That I was to give the drawing of the cellars to Robbie and Jeff Milhouser. That the Milhousers would know what to do with it. He was clear that my personal safety, as well as my professional career, relied on following these directions to the letter.”
Patrick chimed in from the floor.
“More bullshit,” he said.
“After taking a day to recover from fear and self-loathing, I tried to reach Roy at the state penitentiary. I called several times, working my way through their system, and finally got him on the phone. The first thing he did was warn me that the line wasn’t secure. But by this time I was so emotionally overwrought, I spoke freely. He said, ‘Just do what I asked you to do, then get out of the way. Or go eat a gun or something. I could care less.’ And then he hung up on me.”
Jackie was writing furiously in her steno book.
“So you did what he asked you to do?” she asked.
“Almost. I called Robbie, the thought of speaking to his father being unbearable. As I talked, it became clear the whole thing was news to him. So I explained, again quite freely, the situation. He cursed a little, and told me to come see him right away and bring the drawing.” Zack looked around the room. “He said to come here, so that’s what I did.”
“I’m not listening to any more of this garbage,” said Jeff Milhouser, unzipping then re-zipping his jacket to emphasize the point.
Jackie walked over to him.
“He wants you to stay put, Mr. Milhouser,” she said, jerking her head in my direction. “I would. Go ahead, Mr. Horowitz.”
Zack moved to the center of the room, closer to where Jackie now stood.
“I guess I was encouraged by Robbie’s confusion. I realized the drawing was the only leverage I had, so I didn’t dare bring it. I left it where it was, locked in a drawer in my office. When I got here it was well after dark. Robbie was here, and so was he.”
He pointed at Patrick again.
“They didn’t look happy with each other,” said Zack. “Robbie was very agitated. I think he’d been drinking. You could smell it. Robbie asked me what would happen if there really was toxic waste on the site. I said it could be anything from a simple disposal, to a massive cleanup, to a permanent condemnation of the property. While we were talking Getty was on a cell phone in the corner. I didn’t think much about it until this one shows up.”
He pointed at Milhouser.
“I think it dawned on me and Robbie at the same time that Getty had called him. Robbie started yelling at both of them, saying things like, ‘What the fuck is going on here?’ and ‘Who’re you working for?’ directed at Getty, who didn’t say much. But Jeff Milhouser was talking plenty. He spoke with this belittling, condescending tone, telling Robbie to grow up and stop being a big dope. That they had a golden opportunity to take Battiston’s old project away from his wife, and if she resisted, they just had to wave the drawing at her. One whiff of ‘toxic waste’ and the whole deal would go down the tubes, he told his son. That just made Robbie angrier. He said they didn’t need to do anything that mean, that he was going to win her over honestly, that they were old friends. Jeff just sneered at him. He was pretty angry now himself. I admit, I was terrified. For some reason I picked that moment to blurt out that I hadn’t brought the drawing.”
Jeff Milhouser sat down on a pair of stacked sawhorses, his hands resting on his knees. His face was intent, calculations running freely behind his eyes.
“Robbie starting yelling at me, ‘You destroy that thing,’” said Zack. “And Getty walked over and grabbed me by the throat.” Zack’s hand involuntarily mimicked the attack. “He said we were going back to Stony Brook to get it. Jeff Milhouser stood next to him and called me a variety of names, though none as cruel and demeaning as what he called his son. That’s when Robbie grabbed Getty by the hair and pulled him off of me. I’d never seen two grown men, big men, actually fight before. I never imagined.”
“You better think about what you’re doing, Horowitz,” said Milhouser.
“It’s all I
“Then you’re stupid.”
Zack ignored him.
“They were punching at each other and trying to grab each other’s clothing. Getty was also kicking at Robbie’s legs. Robbie was trying to wrestle him. He was bigger, but Getty was hitting him very hard. I’m making it sound like a long drawn-out thing, but I think it only lasted a few seconds. Almost before I knew it, Robbie was on the floor. Dead.”
Patrick picked his head off the floor and tried to twist around to look at Zack.
“Wait a minute. Uh-uh,” he said.
Milhouser stood up again.
“Shut up,” he said to Patrick.
“No, you shut the fuck up,” he said back.
Patrick looked like he was trying to stand. I put my foot on his back and shoved him back down, but kept my eyes glued on Zack, trying to keep him and the universe motionless for just another moment.
“Tell him,” Patrick yelled at Zack.
Zack looked at me. I shook my head.
“Tell him,” Patrick yelled at Milhouser. Milhouser also shook his head and looked down at the floor.
“You fuck,” Patrick said into the floor. “I had the situation under control. But this fuck,” he strained to look at Milhouser, “has to get in the act. With a fucking hammer stapler. Hits the guy right on the head. I can still hear it.”
I nodded to Zack.
“That’s correct,” he said to Jackie. “I witnessed it. Jeff Milhouser came up behind Robbie and struck hard once. Robbie leaned down and tried to cover his head, and Jeff hit him again. And again, and even after he’d fallen to the floor, he hit him again. His own son. His own flesh and blood.”
Milhouser still stared at the floor.
“No flesh and blood of mine,” he said. “Just a big, stupid greaseball. I should have known he’d get stuck on another greaseball. Must be the inferior genes.”
Then as if suddenly alert to the situation, he looked at Jackie.
“I’m not admitting a thing.”
He pointed at me.
“It was his stapler,” he yelled.
“But you didn’t know that at the time,” I said to him. “It was in a box Getty took from the insulation subs. Amanda used the same guys. She borrowed my stapler and they walked off with it. Just happened to be the first thing that came to hand. Jeff here had the sense to wipe down the handle. Dumb luck for both of us, my prints were on the rest of it.
“By the way,” I added, “the box is now in the trunk of my car. I’m guessing Jeff had to paw through it to get at that stapler.”
