Like Part of the Family

“I’m a nurse supervisor at Sunset Grove, the assisted living facility in Jenkintown. Right now I’m on the four to midnight shift. I’ve spotted David’s car a lot, sometimes every night for weeks on end. I’ve seem him drive by when I’m going into the staff entrance, and his car is there sometimes when I get back home, cruising down the street or parked a block up.”

“What makes you think he’s planning to do more than just harass you?”

“He’s said so.”

“But—”

“He didn’t say or do anything at first…but over the last couple of weeks it’s gotten worse. About three weeks ago I came out of work and stopped at a 7-11 for some gum, and when I came out he was leaning against my car. I told him to get away, but he pushed himself off the car and came up to me, smiling his charming smile. He told me that he knew who I was and what I was and that he was going to end me. His words. ‘I’m going to end you’. Then he left, still smiling.”

“Did anyone see this?”

“At one in the morning? No.”

Convenience stores have security cameras, I thought. If this thing got messy I could have her lawyer subpoena those tapes. I had her write down the address of the 7-11.

“That’s how it went for a couple of weeks,” she said. “But last night he really scared me.”

“What happened?”

“He was in my bedroom.”

“How?”

“That’s it…I don’t know. The alarms didn’t go off and none of the windows were broken. I heard a sound and I woke up and there he was, standing by the side of my bed. He’s really thin now and as pale as those Goth kids at his club. He stood there, smiling. I started to scream and he put a finger to his lips and made a weird shushing sound. It was so strange that I actually did shut up. Don’t ask me why. The whole thing was like a nightmare.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t?”

She hesitated, but she said, “I’m positive. He pointed at me and said that he knew everything about me. Then he started praying.”

“Praying?”

“At least I think that’s what he was doing. It was Latin, I think. He was saying a long string of things in Latin and then he left.”

“How’d he get out?”

“The same way he got in, I guess…but I don’t know how. I was so scared that I almost peed myself and I just lay there in bed for a long time. I don’t know how long. When I finally worked up the nerve, I ran downstairs and got a knife from the kitchen and went through the whole house.”

“You didn’t call the cops?”

“I was going to…but the alarm never went off. I checked the system…it was still set. I began wondering if I was dreaming.”

“But you don’t think so?”

“No.”

“Why are you so sure?”

She fished in her purse and produced a pink cell phone. She flipped it open and pressed a few buttons to call up her text messages. She pointed to the number and then handed me the phone.

“That’s David’s cell number.”

The text read: Tonight.

“Okay,” I said. “Let me see what I can do.”

“What can you do?” she asked.

“Well, the best first thing to do is go have a talk with him. See if I can convince him to back off.”

“And if he won’t?”

“I can be pretty convincing.”

“But what if he won’t? What if he’s…I don’t know…too crazy to listen to reason?”

I smiled. “Then we’ll explore other options.”

* * *

The Crypt is a big ugly building on the corner of South and Fourth in Philadelphia. Once upon a time it was a coffin factory — which I think would have been a cooler name. Less trendy and obvious. The light snow did nothing to make it look less ugly. When we pulled to the corner, Mrs. Skye pointed to a sleek silver Lexus parked on the side street.

“That’s his.”

I jotted down the license plate and used my digital camera to take photos of it and the exterior of the building. You never know.

“Okay,” I said, “I want you to wait here. I’ll go have a talk with David and see if we can sort this out.”

“What if something happens? What if you don’t come out?”

“Just sit tight. You have a cell phone and I’ll give you the keys. If I’m not out of there in fifteen minutes, drive somewhere safe and call the name on the back of my card.” I gave her my business card. She turned it over and saw a name and number. Before she could ask, I said, “Ray’s a friend. One of my pack.”

“Another private investigator?”

“A bodyguard. I use him for certain jobs, but I don’t think we’ll need to bring him in on this. From what you’ve told me I have a pretty good sense of what to expect in there.”

As I got out my jacket flap opened and she spotted the handle of my Glock.

“You’re not…going to hurt him,” she asked, wide eyed.

I shook my head. “I’ve been doing this for a lot of years, Mrs. Skye. I haven’t had to pull my gun once. I don’t expect I’ll break that streak tonight.”

* * *

The breeze was coming from the west and the snow was just about done. I squinted up past the streetlights. The cloud cover was thin and I could already see the white outline of the moon. Nope, no accumulation. Typical Philly winter.

I crossed the street and tried the front door. Place didn’t do much business before late evening, but the doors were unlocked. The doors opened with an exhalation of cigarette smoke and alcohol fumes. There was probably an anti-smoking violation in that. Something else to use later if I needed to go the route of making life difficult for him.

It was too early for a doorman, and I walked a short hallway that was empty and painted black. Heavy black velvet curtains at the end. Cute. I pushed them aside and entered the club. Place was huge. David Skye must have taken out the second floor and knocked out everything but the retaining walls of the adjoining properties. The red and white maximum occupancy sign said that it shouldn’t exceed four hundred, but the place looked capable of taking twice that number. Bandstand was empty, so someone had put quarters in to play the tuneless junk that was beating the shit out of the woofers and tweeters. Whoever the group was on the record they subscribed to the philosophy that if you can’t play well you should play real god damn loud.

There were maybe twenty people in the place, scattered around at tables. A few at the bar. Everyone looked like extras from a direct-to-video vampire flick. The motif was black on black with occasional splashes of blood red. White skin that probably never saw the sun. Eyeliner and black lipstick, even on the guys. I was in jeans and a Vikings warm-up jacket. At least my sneakers and my leather porkpie hat were black. Handle of my gun was black, too, but they couldn’t see that. Better for everyone if nobody did.

The bartender was giving me the look, so I strolled over to him. He knew I wasn’t there for a beer and didn’t waste either of our time by asking.

“David Skye,” I said, having to bend forward and shout over the music.

“Badge me,” he said.

I flipped open my PI license. “Private.”

“Fuck off,” he suggested.

“Not a chance.”

“I can call the cops.”