The Big Splash (14 page)

“However many he paid for.”

“Thanks for being specific. How'd the forger get into his locker?”

“No idea.”

“Your friend didn't think to stake it out?”

“Of course he did. A week later, he received another note, same instructions. He went through the same routine, but this time, one of his associates watched the locker the entire morning. She stayed out of sight, never taking her
eyes off it. There was no way the forger would have time to complete the transaction without being seen, even in the hustle and bustle of the normal, everyday hallway.

“Two periods passed with no action. After the third-period bell, the hallway filled up with kids, as per usual. When the hallway cleared out, there was a bright orange sticky note on the outside of the locker door. My friend's associate knew she had been spotted. She came out of her hiding spot and grabbed the note. It said ‘If you continue to watch, there'll be nothing to see … ever again.' The knowledge of who was writing the passes was much less valuable than the actual passes, so my friend decided: no more stakeouts.”

“You didn't try to ask around? Try to get some info on the forger?”

“As I just said,
my friend
saw the value in the passes themselves, not in the kid who wrote them. When faced with the choice, he chose to keep the business relationship intact, and keep the forger's identity secret.”

“That seems a little out of character for your
friend.
”

“You have no idea about the character of my friend,” Vinny said. I wasn't sure I believed him. Vinny wasn't the
kind of kid who would have a sizable part of his business reliant on a mystery person. “Now then, Matthew, anything else?” he asked. It was his way of closing the subject. I could press on, but at my own risk. I decided to switch gears.

“Yeah, couple of things. First, Kevin—”

“Has been talked to. He was understandably concerned about your investigation. He has been assured that his place in the organization is secure.”

“Awfully sporting of you.”

Vinny shrugged. “What's done is done. Joey may not have deserved it for Nicole—”

“But he deserved it for others. So that's the company line, huh?”

“It's even simpler than that. Joey is gone. Kevin still has value to the organization. He isn't going anywhere. He just needed a little assurance.”

“Nice boss.”

“Don't sound so surprised. Anything else?”

I pulled out the half photo of Joey and handed it to Vinny. “Recognize this?”

Vinny studied it without giving an indication either way. “Should I?”

“It's half of a newspaper photo. It was taken at Spring Fling back in fifth. I need the other half.”

“Check with—”

“Jimmy Mac? Already did. He's looking through his archives, but his filing system leaves a lot to be desired. Here.” I handed him the note signed “B.” “Do you know if Joey was seeing a girl whose name had a ‘B' in it?”

Vinny laughed. “You're kidding, right? Without even trying, I can think of two dozen ‘B' girls that Joey dated. If I try, I can think of four dozen.”

“Yeah, I heard Joey had a following.”

The bell rang.

“Sorry,” Vinny said, handing me back the papers, “you're on your own. I'll check in with you later, to make sure I'm getting my money's worth. Andrew.”

Andrew gave me a casual pat on the arm that almost dislocated my shoulder. I watched them walk away. Katie Kondo sidled up, trying to sneak up on me, but she made more noise than an elephant in tap shoes.

“Have a nice chat with Vinny?” she asked.

“Yes, in fact. He's a great conversationalist.”

“Got something you want to confess?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. I love you, Katie. I always have, and I
always will. You …,” I sighed for dramatic effect, “…complete me.”

Katie scowled at me. “What did you talk about?”

“Nothing much. You know, sports, the weather, the fall TV schedule …”

“I thought you were going to help me, Matt.”

“And I thought you were going to stay out of my business, Katie.”

“Not when your business and mine are the same thing.”

“You know, that's why I could never work for you. You're too hands-on. People see you coming and they just clam up. How do you get any info that way?”

“By shaking down the likes of you. One word from me, Stevens, and you're out of business. Don't forget that.”

“Listen, just because you're upset with your sister, don't take it out on me.”

“What?” She went from annoyed to furious in a split second.

“Nothing, never mind … Forget I said—” Katie cut me off with a punch to the stomach. The only reason I didn't fall to my knees was because I had the wall to lean back on. She stood over me, fists poised to hit me again.

“Don't
ever
talk about my sister,” she hissed. “Don't even think her name. She's got a bright future ahead of her, and you and your type are not going to ruin it. Got it?” She didn't wait for an answer. She stormed through the hallway, kids scattering out of her path. I leaned there for a minute, trying to catch my breath. Punches like that made you wonder if the guy who thought up the expression “hits like a girl” had ever met one.

I was still rubbing my stomach a couple of hours later when I stopped at my locker. Katie's punch was the gift that kept on giving. I grabbed my books, anxious to scram and put this school day behind me, when I saw a note on the top shelf, next to the surfer girl, whose smile was now openly mocking me.

It was from Liz. “We need to talk. I'll call you later.” The thought of Liz calling me for any reason was enough to make the pain in my stomach subside a little. It came back when I remembered our previous conversation. Liz had something to tell me, and it hadn't sounded like a good thing. Our talk tonight would most likely be the cherry on top of my crap sundae of a day.

When I got home, my mom's car was in the driveway.
It was the kind of car that made you wonder how quickly they fired the team that designed it. She was supposed to be at the restaurant, which meant that the car had broken down again, stranding my mom and putting even more stress on our already thin finances. I walked into the kitchen expecting the worst, but I was in for a pleasant surprise: My mom was sitting at the table with a big smile on her face.

“What's wrong with the car?” I asked, even though I knew by my mom's expression that the car was fine.

“Nothing. Things were slow at the restaurant so Mr. Carling gave me the night off,” she said excitedly.

“What's in it for him?” I asked.

“You know what? Tonight, I couldn't care less. What say you and me go grab a sandwich downtown?”

I furrowed my brow at her, silently asking her whether we should spend the money. It was a knee-jerk reaction. My mom looked sad that her son was being raised to worry like that, but her enthusiasm was not going to be squashed.

“I found a little extra money …,” she said.

I smiled broadly, knowing where that money actually came from. Whatever animosity I felt toward Vinny
evaporated. I was sure I'd find some more soon, but at that moment, I wished him good tidings and an endless supply of snack cakes.

“Let me just change my shoes,” Mom said, and ran into her room. I heard my phone ringing downstairs. Liz. I started for the cellar door, my heart beating like a jackrabbit's. As my hand hit the doorknob, my mom came out of her room.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Nowhere. The phone downstairs was ringing. I was just going to go pick it up. Let the person know they had the wrong number.”

My mom gave me a kiss on the forehead. “You're so considerate, but let it ring. Just for tonight, let's be a little selfish.”

I buried my disappointment in the biggest smile I could muster. “Sounds good, Mom.” We walked out the door. The phone kept ringing, the answers to some of my questions waiting for me on the other end. They would have to keep ‘til tomorrow.

downtown area had a boardwalk along the river lined with stores and restaurants. My mom and dad and I had spent hours walking there when he was still in the picture. My parents loved to window-shop, looking at all the things they'd buy if they just had a little extra money.

When my father disappeared, my mother and I didn't come down here as much. It was just too painful, like going back to the scene of a crime. As the years passed and some of the pain subsided, our viewpoint began to change. It began to feel like a scrapbook you could walk through.

My mom and I stopped at Lucy's, our favorite sandwich place. It was an old hole-in-the-wall—a relic of the town's rougher past. They had the biggest and best sandwiches around. Paulie, a tough, old ex-Navy man, was behind the counter, putting sandwiches together. He was grumpy to everyone, except my mom. He had an obvious soft spot for her. She had that effect on people.

“Hey, Kathy. What can I get you?” he asked.

“Hmm …” My mom always took her time, even though she always ended up ordering the same thing. “I think I'll have a cheesesteak with onions and mushrooms.”

“You got it. What do you want, kid? C'mon. I ain't got all night.”

“Can I get the chicken Parm?”

He huffed and rolled his eyes as if I'd ordered lobster thermidor. He turned around and started cooking. My mom and I sat down in the molded plastic seats that were as uncomfortable as they looked. She absentmindedly picked up a brochure of houses for sale, none of which we could afford. “So, how's school?” she asked. It was her go-to question.

“Okay,” I said, and shrugged. My mom looked at me
with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. “What?” I asked.

Before she could answer, Paulie yelled, “Order up!” and put our bag of sandwiches on the counter. “I threw in some French fries, on the house,” he said. “You need to put some meat on those bones.”

My mother smiled a shy little smile. “Thanks, Paulie. What would I do without you?”

“You'd starve.”

We paid and left. We sat down outside on one of the park benches overlooking the river. It was a little cooler sitting by the water. We sat there for a while, quietly eating our sandwiches. My mom finally broke the silence. “You think about him a lot in the fall.”

I nodded and bit into my chicken Parm. It had been my dad's favorite.

It'd been more than six years since he disappeared. He went to work one Thursday morning and never came home. My mom did all the things you're supposed to do. She went to the police. When forty-eight hours had passed and we hadn't heard from him, she'd filed a missing persons report. She cried, a lot. Nothing worked. He stayed gone.

Five days later, the police found our car in a parking
garage four states away. They also found the note in the glove compartment: TMS136P15, neatly typed in the left corner of an otherwise blank sheet of paper. Nobody had any idea what it meant, or if it was even a clue. When the police told my mom, she said she had no idea what it was. Even at six years old, I noticed there was something different about her from that point on. She stopped crying. She took down a lot of the photos of my dad. We moved out of the place they had shared since before I was born, and into the apartment that we live in now. I've asked my mom more than a few times what that series of letters and numbers meant, but she's always denied knowing. Finally, I stopped asking. My mom may know what it means, but she's made it perfectly clear that she's not going to tell me. The only thing I was doing by continuing to bring it up was making her feel bad. I decided to try to figure it out for myself.

I've looked at all the police reports, the ones that I've had access to. I've pored over the photographs. I even got a chance to question the investigating officer. Nothing. I wish I could pursue some other leads, but it's tough. They found the car four states away, and my only means of transportation is a bike. When I turn sixteen, I know
the first place I'm driving to, but by then the case will be ten years old, and colder than an Alaskan winter. My dad could have been kidnapped. He could be living in California under an assumed name. He could be touring around the universe in a spaceship, or living with Amelia Earhart on a desert island. Any of these seem possible.