“Whatever you say. Let me get you something to drink. You want a beer?”
“Got a Coke?”
He went to the kitchen and came back with a cold can of no name soda. “Will this do?”
“Yep.” I popped the top and took a sip. “So, let me catch you up on the latest.” I gave him the lowdown on Sullivan from last night — minus the handholding — and filled in the blanks where Packard was concerned.
Eric whistled. “You cram more into one day than I do in a week. What’s your next move?”
I’d been thinking about that on the way over. “Can I use your phone?”
“Sure. In the kitchen.” He pointed down the hall. It was a small space with the original nineteen sixties tile covering the wall, counter, and floor in a weird maroon-slash-dusty pink combo.
Scrolling through my phone, I paused for a second to wonder if I was doing the right thing. I didn’t have much choice really. I was out of ideas. Before I could talk myself out of it, I dialed the number on Eric’s phone.
Sullivan answered after two rings. “Who is this?”
“It’s Rose.”
Silence. The kind where you heard crickets chirp. Finally he asked, “Why are you calling from Eric Smith’s house?”
“For shits and giggles, of course.”
More silence.
I sighed. “Jeez, he was fixing my busted computer, all right?”
“And you’re calling me, why?”
I shifted from foot to foot, looked out the kitchen window into Eric’s back yard. “I thought we could talk about the weather or football. Halloween’s coming up, we could talk about that.”
“Rose.” It sounded like a warning.
I began opening Eric’s cabinets — which were mostly bare — and his fridge — which was mostly filled with beer. Calling Sullivan made me antsy. But at least this time I was speaking to him on my own terms. This felt better, safer, than seeing him face to face.
“I know Packard owes you money.”
“I thought we decided you were going to mind your own business.”
“Axton is my business.”
“I’m not going to discuss this with you.”
“What do you want in exchange for Ax?”
“You finally asked the right question,” he said softly.
“So what’s the right answer?”
“You can’t give me what I need.”
“Who can?”
“Packard Graystone.”
“He doesn’t have the money, Sullivan. You can’t get blood from a stone, not even a Graystone.”
“Ah,” he said, “but Packard isn’t a stone, is he? He just needs the proper motivation.” I heard a click. He’d hung up on me.
“Well,” I said to the receiver, “that was helpful.” I didn’t even have the chance to bargain for Axton with the hard drive.
I told Eric about the call and Sullivan’s response.
Eric had a look on his face that was part concern, part exasperation. “Rose, this guy is a dangerous criminal and yet you keep making contact with him. Why is that?”
“I want to get Axton back safe and sound.”
“And?” he asked, rubbing his head.
“And what? And nothing. I just want Axton back, that’s all.”
He tilted his head and raised his brows. “You’re into him, aren’t you?”
I choked out a laugh. “Into him, as in attracted to him? He kidnapped my best friend,” I said, gawking at him as if he had lost his marbles.
“Uh huh.” He shook his head. “Why do chicks always go for the bad boys?” he muttered to himself.
“Calm down, Dr. Phil. I do not want to date him or see him or anything else with him.”
After a full minute of staring, me looking at him defiantly, Eric looking unconvinced, I was the first to blink.
“Are you sure I can’t pay you for the computer?”
“Forget it, kid. Just enjoy all fifty-four of those gigabytes.”
I took my new laptop and went home.
My super had put the new mattress inside my apartment, but hadn’t moved it to the frame or taken off the heavy plastic encasing it.
It was thicker than my last one and black instead of bright orange. I ripped off the plastic and wrangled it over to the frame. I sat down to give it a test drive. Very comfortable. So comfortable, I decided to kick off my shoes and take a nice long nap.
But fifteen minutes later, my phone rang. It was Sheila and she was incoherent.
“Rose, coming out…grocery…man…Packard…,” she sputtered.
“Sheila, calm down. Where are you?”
“Homph,” she said. She’d begun to do that thing when you’re crying so hard you can’t breathe, so you gasp for breath every few seconds.
“It’s okay. I’ll be right over.”
I drove to Sheila’s house, and when she opened the front door, she threw herself into my arms, sobbing.
“Come on, let’s go inside.” I all but held her up as I guided her into the house. I led her to the sofa and tried to pull away, but she clung to me. I gently disentangled myself from her grasp.
“Where’s Jordan?”
“He’s…at….soc…”
“Soccer?”
She nodded.
“Do you have to pick him up?”
She shook her head and dabbed at her eyes with a soggy tissue.
“Where do you keep the booze?”
She tried to catch her breath, but still couldn’t manage a sentence, so she just pointed to the kitchen.
I searched the cupboards until I finally found the alcohol cabinet above the oven. I pulled down a bottle of whiskey, found a glass, pouring two fingers worth.
I walked back to the living room and handed it to her as I dropped down on the sofa. “Here, drink this.” I flashed back to Sullivan doing the same for me.
With trembling hands, she took it and sipped as she stared at the large family portrait above the mantle. After she drank half of it, she seemed calmer. “Thanks for coming.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
She took a deep breath. “I stopped by the grocery store. Not that we have much money to buy groceries. Anyway, I put the sacks in the trunk, and as I was getting back into the car, a tall man in a dark suit was suddenly standing next to me. He was this close.” She held her hand about an inch from her chest. “I tried to get into the car, but he held the door and leaned in so that I couldn’t move.” She covered her mouth with one hand, tears running down her cheeks.
After a couple of minutes she was able to go on. “I was so scared, Rose. I’ve never been that scared. I didn’t know what he would do.”
“Did he have a scar right here?” I pointed to the corner of my left eye.
She nodded, her eyes wide. “Yeah, he did. Do you know him?”
Henry The Henchman. “We’ve met,” I said. “So what happened after that?”
“He told me he knew about Packard’s life insurance policy. He said his employer would get his money, one way or another.”
I guessed this was the motivation Sullivan was talking about. I didn’t think he would hurt Packard. Probably just trying to scare the crap out of him. But terrorizing Sheila was just plain cowardly. After all, she wasn’t the one
