Gray Night (3 page)

 I ran mental calculations as fast as I could, reconstructing the hallway from memory. About how far down did the sound originate; which doors were open and which were locked? There was no reason to delay unless someone had set a trap, but the only other option was turning around, and I really didn’t like the idea of someone on the stairs above and behind me.

 I knelt down and braced my shoulder against the thick wooden pillar where the stairs met the hallway. I moved fast, rolling my shoulder around the corner, and taking aim down the hallway. In my line of fire were the widest eyes I’d ever seen. They belonged to a boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen, dressed in athletic shorts, a wife-beater and jacket, sitting with his back against the wall outside Nick’s office. For seconds neither of us moved. Maybe he was scared, maybe shocked, maybe he was playing it safe and waiting on me. I don’t know what his particular reasons were for inaction, but I knew mine. Am I a horrible person for keeping a teen boy’s head in my sights? Maybe. But I’d seen kids half his age used for purposes that never need be spoken aloud.

 “Uuuhhhh,” the boy mouthed words without saying anything. I raised my eyebrows and lowered my pistol encouraging him to spit it out.

 “Ar-are you Mr. Roarke?” he asked.

 “No,” I said standing. “I guess you could say I’m something of a business partner. Why are you looking for Roarke?”

 The boy stood and took turns shaking his legs out, I assume from sitting so long. “I—I was told if there was ever trouble, if something needed doing, I should come here and find Mr. Roarke. Jess was real sure whatever it was he could take care of it. Said—”

 “Hold on,” I interrupted him. “Who’s Jess?”

 “Jessica Hayes. A friend of my sister’s. Her only friend. Says she knows this guy Roarke real well.”

 That tracked. I’d heard Nick mention the name once or twice. Something about some stalker creep. Yeah that was it. Jessica was a prostitute. What was it he’d said? A couple of years back some guy, a drifter working freelance, came around offering money to do a photo shoot. Although, after the first day or two, he’d wanted more than that, having developed a distinct attachment to Jessica. Nick had talked him out of it.

 I relaxed and holstered my gun.

 “Here,” I said, motioning towards the mail I’d set on the floor. “Grab this will you? I’ll open the office and we can talk.”

 He got the mail without a word as I opened the door and flipped on the lights to the old office. And old it was, with just a few simple filing cabinets, a bookshelf, a few papers pinned to the wall, and a desk with mismatched chairs around it. It smelled of old wood and coffee grounds, must and a hint of cigar. I liked it.

 “Just toss it on the desk,” I said as he followed me in. The dust made a star pattern from the impact. One of the telltale signs Nick was out working; lots of dust and, sure enough, a couple of full cans of ground coffee on the shelf by the coffee maker. It was my fault because I’d asked for his help tracking down a guy along the coast for the museum. He wanted to help, of course, and then there was the bail money, but not enough to make up for weeks off the job. Hopefully the business out West would be more lucrative. Regardless, I promised to keep business hours. Besides, I was curious about the kid and whatever business he thought was in Nick’s—what the hell was that word? Bailiwick?

 “About time I had some decent coffee. You drink, kid?” I asked, walking over to get the coffee maker ready.

 “I guess. You gonna listen to me or what?” he said, still standing in the middle of the room.

 Once I had it running I turned around and leaned against the desk to face the boy.

 “All right, son, now what’s your name? I can’t go on thinking of you as boy.”

 “Tommy. My name’s Tommy. And don’t call me son, neither.”

 “I think a man should be called whatever he wants. I know better than most. But, if you dress like a boy, people will think of you as a boy. Now, I’m going to call you Thomas. Because that’s your name, and because it would make me feel better if I thought I was discussing why you might need someone like Nick Roarke, with an adult.”

 “Something wrong with my clothes? You saying you ain’t gonna help me ‘cause how I look? What’s that got to do with anything?” Thomas asked.

 “Honestly, not a thing. But most people see what they expect to see. You want someone to take you seriously, then you should think about raising those expectations. You handled yourself well enough in the hallway and seem to have some manners. Well, until you’re provoked, anyway. If memory serves, that business with Jessica Hayes was in the Bronx. I’m betting you walked down here. Had to have left before sunrise to make it,” I said.

 Thomas nodded as I went on.

 “My point is I’m beginning to think you’ve got something to say. Something that matters.” The coffee maker finished. I poured us each a cup.

 “Have a seat, Thomas,” I said, taking my own advice behind the desk. He did.

 “Hey, umm, where exactly is Mr. Roarke?” he asked.

 “He got a case that took him out West for a while. Business in Seattle connected to a gentleman he brought in day before last. Forgery and illegal imports, among other things. You really want to hear about it?”

 “No sir. Not really.”

 “All right then, let’s hear it.”

 Thomas swallowed a big drink and took a deep breath. “My sister is missing.”

 The heat sweltered as the office faded from my vision. In its place wound a rancid creek through a small village. My senses were overwhelmed with the tainted water, the salt residue from a week’s worth of sweat staining my clothes, flies covering the heaps of filth everywhere that used to be men, and through it all, I saw that sparkle down by the water’s edge. Bloody diamonds everywhere, and in the middle, long beautiful brunette hair, shining as the sun reflected off the thick strands of gold remaining from her youth.

 “Hey mister, you okay?” Thomas asked.

 “Yes. Sorry. Please continue,” I said as the office snapped back into view. A full-blown hallucination hadn’t happened in a long while, but a few deep breaths of musty old wood and coffee brought me back. I had to admire the kid. Here he was in a top floor office, in a nearly abandoned building, three feet away from a man who introduced himself by pointing a gun at his head and was looking unstable before he even fully explained his situation. Kid had stones. Or no other choice. My money was on both.

 Thomas continued. “She’s missing and no one’s seen her. Not M&M and not Mr. Sawyer neither. And they’d know. Brandon, that’s her boyfriend, blew up all furious when I asked about her. He didn’t know she was gone.”

 “How come you haven’t gone to the police about this? Missing persons is a police matter and despite some of their reputation, they’re pretty good at what they do.”

 “Cops won’t do nothing, anything, until someone’s been missing for a day or two. Wouldn’t even listen to me if I told them she didn’t come home last night. Wouldn’t matter if it’d been a week,” he said, getting glassy eyed.

 “What makes you say that?” I asked.

 “Cause she’s a… She works…,” he tried.

 “She’s in Jessica’s line of work?” I finished.

 “Yeah,” he nodded.

 “And you think no one cares if a prostitute goes missing for the night?” I asked.

 “No. I know no one cares. Except me. I’m her brother,” he said. The way he looked at me when he said, “I’m her brother,” required me to suppress more memories threatening to take control again. I’d seen the same look a hundred times in the mirror; the look my own brother, Michael, had worn perpetually those last couple of years.

 “I understand, Thomas, but I do have to ask. How do you know she’s missing?”

 He closed his eyes and sighed. “Because she always comes home. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I’m telling you. She always comes home and last night she didn’t. She met Brandon for dinner but something must have happened because M&M said she ran off all upset after talking with Brandon. That’s the last time anyone saw her. Before dark, over around the diner.”

 “And you are certain she wasn’t working? Or maybe went somewhere to blow off some steam? Maybe went to Jessica’s? Did you check there?”

 “No. I mean Jess’s place is in our building but she’s not home. She does that sometimes. Gone for days. Ruby’s never missed a night.”

 “Never?” I asked.

 “Not once,” he said.

 I opened the top drawer and grabbed a big notepad and pen, and slid the mail off the desktop into it before shutting it. “Okay Thomas, let’s go over this again and make sure I have it all.”

 He nodded and gave me rough directions to their place from some diner called The Box.

 “And yesterday evening she was planning on going to dinner with her boyfriend, Brandon. What’s his last name?”

 “I don’t know. Everyone knows Brandon. I never thought to ask before.”

 “It’s okay. So, they’re supposed to go out but something happens. They have an argument, and she runs off upset and this guy, M&M, sees the whole thing.”

 “Yes sir. At least that’s what M&M says happened.”

 “But you believe him?”

 “Yes sir.”

 “Who is this M&M?”

 “He’s a pimp. Name’s Morris or something.”

 “Ruby work for him?”

 Thomas nodded.

 “This guy Brandon, he ever hurt her? Ever get violent? Maybe involved with some people he shouldn’t be?”

 “Nah, not Brandon. He’s rough, I guess, but it isn’t like that. He treats us real good. I can’t even imagine them fighting over anything. He was real mad though when I tried to talk to him. Especially when I said she hadn’t come home last night. I’ve never seen him so worked up. Seemed like a great time to head down here and look for Mr. Roarke.”

 “But it seemed to you like he didn’t know she was missing?”

 “Yes sir.”

 “And the two of them, M&M and Brandon, are the last two that saw her that you’re aware of?”

 “Yes sir.”

 “What about this Mr. Sawyer fellow you mentioned earlier?”

 “Talked to him early this morning. Ruby volunteers sometimes down at the shelter. Mr. Sawyer runs the place, said he expected her today but she didn’t show. He looked upset about it too. Asked for a picture or something he could use to make some fliers and put around, see if anyone had seen anything.”

 “That’s a good idea. You go help him with that when we’re done here. The first twenty-four to forty-eight hours are critical in something like this and any information helps,” I said. “Say, where would I find M&M and Brandon?”

 “I don’t know where he lives. Either of them. I found Brandon this morning at the diner. He won’t eat any place else. Works at a garage two blocks south of there. M&M… I don’t know, man. He’s, you know, around. Whole neighborhood is his,” he said.

 “You mean that’s the area he works?” I asked.

 “Yeah, but no. I mean it’s
his
. No one works the streets unless they work for him.”

 “Keeps a tight rein on all his girls?”

 “Yes sir.”

 I nodded.

 “So you’ll do it? You’ll help me?”

 The kid was right. No one was going to take him seriously the moment they discovered his sister was a prostitute only missing for one night. Of course I was going to help him. Man’s trying to save his sister and knows he can’t do it alone. I wouldn’t let him. But…

 I felt like an asshole asking. I mean, there’s a reason I kept business hours for Nick. “You understand about the fees. Roarke charges seventy-five an hour plus expenses. A retainer is usually required, but don’t worry about that right now.”

 “Yes sir. I understand. Jess, she was real specific about all that,” he said opening his backpack and digging around. He pulled out an envelope and tossed it on the desk. “I put her picture in there too. It’s a year or two old. Her last school photo. But it’s all I have.”

 I looked inside and guessed around two thousand dollars. Damn, kid. I took out the picture and put it in my inside jacket pocket then stood and came around the desk where he got up and met me. I shook his hand. “Let’s go find your sister, Thomas.” That was the first time I’d seen him smile.

 “I’m going to have to get things ready. Then I will head out to the neighborhood and talk to these guys,” I said, lifting my notes, “and go from there. It would be best if you head out to the shelter and get those fliers made.”

 “Yes sir. Thank you,” he said, turning to go. “Ah, hey,” he said. “What do I call you? What’s your name?”

 “Adrian Knight,” I handed him one of my business cards. It was blank except for my cell number and a small, gray chess piece embossed above it. A knight.

 Thomas nodded and rushed out the door looking determined.

 I stuffed the envelope of cash into another inner pocket. Two grand. I admit I worried where the money came from, but it didn’t matter. He needed to find his sister. I understood. Moreover, it felt good being able to surprise Nick with his bills paid on time. It didn’t always happen.

 I was going for the phone book to start my calls when my cell phone rang.

 “Hello,” I answered, not checking the number first.

 “Is this Adrian Knight?”

 “It is.”

 “Adrian, this is Eric Walker from the museum. Something has happened and we would like you to come down so we can discuss it in person.”

 Interesting. Normally I would be intrigued, but I was serious with Thomas about how short time was. And, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the idea of telling Walker
no
just to piss him off after what he did to Mr. Wagner at the gala.

 “I’m sorry, I have prior engagements today. Maybe we can do lunch later in the week?” Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy. The four men I most often ran into taking jobs for the Museum of Natural History were always looking for ways to get me more involved. Henry Wagner was the old assistant curator responsible for hiring me in the first place. He was the tinker. The tailor was Richard Allison because he runs the place and the soldier was George Wilkins, head of security. Eric Walker was the museum board’s treasurer, but tinker, tailor, soldier, accountant just wasn’t the same. All of them conspired against me a while back, convincing me to speak at the next exhibition opening because of my contributions. That had been last night. The exhibit opened today and would be insanely busy.