Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries) (10 page)

Since his arrival, Da-Marr seemed to have grown in stature. He was not only taller, but beefier, and an angry sneer perpetually covered his brooding, thug-like countenance.

The three of us stood at the stern of Richard’s boat, which seemed to have grown as well. The open deck was nearly the size of a tennis court.

“You still haven’t recognized me,” I accused. It had taken every ounce of courage I possessed to challenge him.

Da-Marr’s gaze shifted from my face to the deck, his shoulders hunching like a prize bull getting ready to charge.

I forced myself to continue. “I used to have a brown leather bomber jacket. Man, I loved that coat. I had it almost twenty years. They cut it off me in the Emergency Room.”

Da-Marr’s eyes remained locked on the deck.

“Did Lester’s balls ever recover?” I asked.

No reaction. I’d kicked his cohort hard where it counted, but that had only increased Da-Marr’s killing rage.

“Are you still friends with Reggie?”

That got Da-Marr’s attention, and he looked up sharply. He’d wielded that vintage baseball bat, using it to smash my skull. The bat had come down, over and over again.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Richard asked, sounding both confused and concerned.

“Da-Marr’s got himself a collector’s item. A Reggie Jackson special — one quality baseball bat. It had to be at least thirty years old, too. I saw the signature burned into it just before it plowed into my skull.”

Richard’s mouth dropped open in horror.

Da-Marr still said nothing.

“I figure you owe me a computer, a camera, binoculars, a stereo, TV, microwave, and a gun. Want me to continue with the list of what you cleaned out of my apartment?”

Da-Marr still said nothing.

“But most of all, you took my fucking life!”

“What are you saying, Jeff?” Richard demanded.

“Big Brother, meet the man who caved in my skull.”

Richard shook his head in denial. “You don’t remember what happened. How could you — ?”

“You’re right. At first, I didn’t remember. It started coming back to me in dreams. Little snippets at a time. How many nights did I wake up in a cold sweat seeing one face. One black face, starkly lit by a sodium vapor light. Oh yeah, brother, I remember the face. I remember the hands that wielded the bat that hit me. I remember every fucking detail.”

Richard looked from me to Da-Marr, his face a study in growing terror.

“Say something,” he told Da-Marr. The kid kept looking at the deck.

“A man’s gotta survive,” Da-Marr said at last. “You don’t know what it’s like out on the streets.”

“Are you the one who mugged Jeff and left him for dead?” Richard demanded.

“There were a lot of guys in bomber jackets. A lot of apartments I emptied.”

“What happened to Lester?” I asked again.

“Knifed in an alley — tried to rip off his crack supplier.”

“At least one of you got what you deserved.”

“And now you’re going to get what you deserve.” He reached into the pocket of his long black duster and pulled out a semi-automatic. I recognized the gun. It had once belonged to me.

“Da-Marr! You can’t!” Richard pleaded, but his words held no sway.

Da-Marr aimed the gun at my chest, and pulled the trigger.

A loud bang on the glass next to my left ear woke me with a start. It was still dark out, but the porch lamp lit the upper half of the driveway. I turned, feeling half-frozen and terminally stiff.

Maggie’s face peered at me, her expression a mix of annoyance and worry. I rolled down the window.

“What in God’s name are you doing here at six-twelve in the morning?”

“Waiting for you to get up.”

It looked like she was barely awake. Her hair was tangled. She wore her blue quilted robe and a pair of moccasin slippers, and held the newspaper in her hand. She looked through the back passenger window. “Is Herschel in there?”

“Yeah. I need a favor.”

“You know he doesn’t get along with Holly.”

“Yeah, but I thought since your mother-in-law is in rehab he might be able to stay in her apartment for a few days.”

“Lily doesn’t have a litter box.”

“I bought one on the way over. The poor cat’s been stuffed in that carrier for five hours. By now he might need to use it.”

“Five hours?” she cried in disbelief. “Let’s get him out of there.” She went inside ahead of me. I hauled Herschel and his supplies out of the car and we waited for Maggie to get the key to the apartment. She unlocked the door, then grabbed the bulky bag filled with a ten pound sack of litter, food, and cat treats in one hand, hauling in the new litter box with the other.

Maggie flipped the light switch and crossed the threshold ahead me. Her apartment above was decorated in what she liked to call eclectic contemporary — with refurbished yard sale finds mixed with contemporary furniture and a smattering of antiques. In contrast, entering Lily’s home was like to stepping back into the 1970s. The shabby green furniture was badly faded, and the air hung stale, no doubt from the place having been unoccupied for nearly two weeks.

“You’d better put the litter box in the bathroom,” Maggie advised.

I shucked my jacket, tossed it on the couch, and grabbed the bag of supplies and the box. Two minutes later, I let Herschel out of the carrier. He made a beeline for the box and we turned away to give him his privacy.

Maggie flipped on the kitchen light switch, found a couple of bowls, and filled one with water, setting it down on the floor. “When was the last time he ate?”

“Before I went to work last night.”

She took one of the cans of cat food and dumped half into the other bowl, setting it down next to the water.

“So, do you want to come upstairs for a cup of coffee and tell me what the hell is going on?”

“It’s a long story, and you’re going to have to get ready for work.”

“Give me the abridged edition,” she said, and started back for the front door. I left the lights on for the cat and followed.

Holly met us at the door to Maggie’s apartment. She seemed to know something was wrong about the timing of my visit, and whined quietly as she followed us into the kitchen. The coffee was indeed ready, and Maggie poured me a cup, dumping just the right amount of milk into it and handing me a spoon before we sat down at the table.

“Okay, I’m listening,” she said, and took a big gulp of coffee, as though to fortify herself.

I did give her the short version.

She listened, without interruption. “What are you going to do now?” she asked, and I could tell from her tone that although I was welcomed back into her life, she didn’t expect me to move in with her. Fair enough. I didn’t want that either. Crummy as it often was, I wanted my old life back. The life before Evelyn and Da-Marr entered it, that is.

“I’m not letting that punk drive me from my home, but I can’t risk Herschel getting hurt and being terrorized. Can he stay at Lily’s — just until Da-Marr is out of our lives?”

“And when do you think that will be?”

“It had better be damn soon, but even Brenda doesn’t have a clue when Evelyn intends to leave.”

“So she said.”

“I’m sure Richard will be on the phone calling an exterminator and his cleaning service the minute either of them opens this morning. He’ll make it right, at least in that respect.”

“He really doesn’t have proof Da-Marr did it, and what’s he supposed to do, kick out Brenda’s houseguests a day or so before the baby arrives? You know that isn’t going to happen.”

I looked away.

“Oh, come on, Jeff. You’ve been married. You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” I grudgingly admitted, “I do.”

She reached over and touched my hand, gave me a wan smile, and then got up to scrounge for something to eat. With her harried life these past couple of weeks, I knew her cupboards had even less in them than mine. In desperation, she zapped a couple of slices of the pizza from two nights before.

I sipped coffee and attempted to read the paper while Maggie got ready for work. What I really wanted to do was try to catch another hour or two of sleep.

Maggie donned her coat and grabbed the canvas bag she hauled around with her current novel and work shoes. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” She handed me a key on a ring. “It’s the extra one for Lily’s apartment. I’m going to stop and visit her on the way home from work. She likes me to stick around and watch TV with her for a while every night, so I probably won’t be home until at least seven.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be here or not. I don’t have to work, but I’m expecting a call from Sam.”

“Whatever you guys are up to, I don’t want to know about it — at least not now. Tell me all about it when it’s over.”

“You got it.”

She bent down to give me a kiss. It was perfunctory, nothing more, and yet as she pulled back we shared what I would call a loving smile. Then, she was all business again. “Come on, Holly. Time for doggy day care.” She grabbed the leash and hooked it to the dog’s collar.

The apartment seemed unnaturally quiet after she’d gone.

For once, I was glad Maggie drank decaf coffee, and I decided to sack out on her couch. I must have conked out right away, because when I came to and looked at her living room clock it was nine-thirty. I checked my cell phone and was surprised to find that Sam hadn’t called. That was okay. I had another call to make.

I reached for my wallet and pulled out the card I’d been given the evening before. I studied it long and hard before I worked up the courage to punch in the number and expected voice mail to kick in. “Hello.”

“Father Mike? It’s Jeff Resnick. We spoke at The Whole Nine Yards bar last night.”

“Of course. So, you decided to talk about your experience after all.”

“Yeah — if only to get it behind me.”

“Great.”

“Are you free today?”

“Yeah. Would you like to come over to the rectory?”

“Uh,” I hesitated. It was less than a mile down the road, but ….

He laughed. “I don’t blame you. Are you doing anything for lunch today?”

“Not a thing.”

“I’m loving those beef on weck sandwiches here in Buffalo. I’ll sure miss them when I’m reassigned. I have to be up at Sisters Hospital this afternoon. There’s a tavern near there that’s got some wicked-fresh horseradish. It’s call Ivy’s.”

“I know the place.”

“See you at noon?”

“I’ll be there.”

I hung up, wondering if I’d made a mistake. Why was I willing to talk to a stranger about what was bothering me and not to Maggie or Sam? Okay, Maggie wasn’t available to me for that kind of shit just yet, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to bare my soul to Sam. We were fine talking about his investigations, but we didn’t talk about personal stuff — ever. And Richard was on my shit list. No doubt, I was on his list, too.

I wouldn’t need to talk to Mike Ryan if Brenda didn’t have houseguests. Before Evelyn and Da-Marr arrived, I could talk to her about anything. I’d really disappointed her by not warming to her houseguests. Disappointed? The word wasn’t strong enough to describe what she felt about that. Words weren’t necessary, either — I could experience it firsthand, and it wasn’t pleasant. She had no clue how much that hurt — that she’d chosen Da-Marr — someone she’d never met before — over me. I thought after what the three of us had been through during the previous eighteen months that we’d forged a bond that nothing could shatter. That I could be so wrong shook me.

I replaced my phone and got up from the couch. I’d check on Herschel, and then it would be time to go home.

I still wasn’t sure I wanted to face Richard.

“I don’t care what it costs, I need this done today,” Richard said for the third time in less than an hour. He closed his eyes and let out an exasperated breath.

“Our mobile unit can be there by three this afternoon.”

“I’d be willing to pay more if it was by noon.”

“I’ll have to look at the schedule and see what I can do,” said the manager at Erie County Glass.

“I’d appreciate that.”

“I’ll call you back within ten minutes.”

“Thank you.” Richard hung up the phone and looked up to see Da-Marr standing in the doorway of his study. “What’s up?” he asked, and it took all his self-control not to sound angry.

“Aunt Evelyn says I can’t drive Brenda’s car anymore. Tell her I can.”

No hello, no please. No nothing.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why?” Da-Marr asked, the anger in his voice was positively menacing.

Richard shrugged. “She feels a certain responsibility toward you. As your guardian, I have to bow to her judgment.”

“She ain’t my guardian. I’m over eighteen. And she’s wrong.”

“About what?”

Da-Marr stepped up to the desk. “I should be able to do what I want when I want.” He sounded ten instead of twenty years old.

Richard leaned back in his chair, taking another tack. “We had some trouble overnight.”

“Oh, yeah?” Da-Marr’s tone had softened; he sounded wary.

“Last night my brother’s apartment was broken into.”

Da-Marr said nothing.

“Some vandal broke the bathroom window and got in. All the light bulbs were unscrewed and smashed. Not only that, but whoever did it also left three wasp nests in the living room.”

“That’s weird,” Da-Marr said with little inflection.

“Yes, it is,” Richard said, staring into the young man’s deep brown eyes.

“Why didn’t you call the po-lice? Isn’t that what white people do?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. You see, my brother is deathly allergic to bee and wasp venom. If he’d been stung, it could have been murder.”

Again Da-Marr said nothing.

“It’s going to take a lot of money to remedy the situation.”

Da-Marr shrugged. “Hey, you got it.”

“That’s not the point. My brother could have
died
,” Richard reiterated. “Whoever attacks him — attacks me.”