When One Door Opens (15 page)

“Michael,” Logan said, shaking the other man’s hand. “Good to see ya.” He was surprised to find that it was true. Michael was a part of the past Logan didn’t like remembering. They’d been the closest of friends since junior high and stayed close after graduation. Cutting all ties with Michael had felt like severing a limb.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee or lunch if you have the time?” Michael asked, oblivious to the annoyed pedestrians moving around him.

Logan thought about saying no, but the hopeful look in Michael’s bright blue eyes stopped him. It wasn’t Michael’s fault Logan had let himself be sucked down so deep he couldn’t climb out. Michael had done more than he should have to try to drag Logan out and gotten a fractured wrist for his efforts. “Sure.”

They headed down Milwaukee Avenue to the Pancake House. Logan had spent many a Sunday morning nursing a hangover in the diner. He wondered if Michael was thinking the same thing as he frowned at the small, red-brick building. Stepping around him, Logan opened the door.

The place smelled like it always did, of hot coffee and sizzling bacon. It wasn’t as packed on a weekday, but they still opted to sit at the counter. Their waitress greeted them brightly. Logan wouldn’t be surprised to learn she’d been working there since the forties. She gave them menus and went to fetch them coffee. After a few minutes of staring at a menu they’d both memorized years ago, the waitress returned.

“What can I get for you boys?” she asked, setting down their coffees.

Impulsively Logan said, “Belgium waffles.”

“Do you want strawberries and whip cream on them, hon?”

“Uh… yeah.”

Michael raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. He ordered the meal they’d usually gotten when they came here, the fiesta skillet. It had enough chorizo and jalapeños to burn any remaining alcohol from your body. It was also tasty as hell, but Logan couldn’t stomach anything that brought back so many memories, good and bad.

The waitress drawled out their order in diner-slang to the fry cooks, leaving them to sit in silence once again. Logan wished he had a list of instructions to navigate this conversation. Michael stared at his coffee cup like he expected the dark brew to surge up and swallow him.

“Your family doing okay?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, my folks retired to Florida and Lisa’s living with me.”

Logan wasn’t surprised. Michael had acted more like a parent to his baby sister than their parents.
God, she must be in high school.
No wonder her older brother looked so ragged even in his designer suit. She’d be a heartbreaker for sure. “Her living with you working out?”

Michael grinned, bright and eager like the boy he’d been a lifetime ago. “She’s decided she’s a lesbian.”

Logan barked a laugh. “Meaning no teenage boys will be groping her.”

Michael’s smile faded, and he sighed as if the weight of their combined baggage had reappeared. They didn’t speak again until the waitress delivered their orders. Logan looked at the mass of waffles smeared with strawberries and cream, wondering why he’d ordered it. He picked up his fork and started eating.

Michael swallowed a mouthful of the hash and then asked, “Do you remember all those times we took my sister ice-skating?”

Logan smiled, remembering the perky blonde who was ten years younger than they were. At the first snowflake, she’d start begging to go to the ice rink. She’d been so cute in her poufy pigtails and bright pink skates. “She always insisted on going around by herself.”

While Logan darted around on the ice, Michael hovered close but not too close behind his sister, waiting for the eventual moment when she fell. She was as awkward as a seal on land, spending more time on her ass than not, but it didn’t stop her from trying.

Eyes on his skillet, Michael said, “When you were arrested, a part of me was relieved.”

No more waiting for the inevitable fall
, Logan thought. He understood the feeling. He had gotten his first taste of it not long after he’d graduated high school. When he walked into his father’s bedroom and found he had OD’d during the night, he’d felt relief rather than grief. You could only go so long expecting someone to die before it numbed you. His mom had been smart enough to take off when Logan was in junior high. Occasionally, he wondered how his life would have turned out if he’d agreed to go with her.

Michael cleared his throat. “That day I went to see you in prison. Was I one of your AA steps?”

Logan nodded, forcing himself to take another bite of the too sweet waffles. He chewed and then said, “Step nine, make amends to people I’ve harmed.” The bottle in his pocket felt like it had doubled in size, pressing into his thigh.
It’s preventative
, he reminded himself. Pushing his plate away, he leaned his elbows on the counter and rubbed his face with his hands.

“Is the food all right, sweetie?” the waitress asked.

“Yeah,” Logan said. When she stared at the plate disapprovingly, he resumed eating.

Michael wasn’t doing any better with his own meal, moving the hash and eggs around the skillet without eating much of it. After a swallow that looked painful he said, “I convinced myself the reason you wouldn’t let me sit in the courtroom or visit you in prison was because you were angry with me. I didn’t know what to think after I got an apology and a get lost permanently.”

“You tried to help me, but I wouldn’t let you. I don’t have nobody but myself to blame.”

“Then why cut me out of your life?”

Logan couldn’t bring himself to say the words they both knew. Michael was better off without him. Logan was sober now, but there were no guarantees he’d stay that way. Michael didn’t know how to walk away from someone he loved, even when he should. Logan pushed his plate away again. No wonder Caleb was hiding in his apartment. He was smart enough to back off before he got sucked into Logan’s world.

“I know how that thick skull of yours works,” Michael said, pointing a finger at him. “You’re listing off all the bad things in our friendship and totally ignoring the good. If you don’t want me in your life, I won’t try to force you, but don’t you for one second think I’m better off without you.”

Logan shook his head. “How can you say that? You know damn well your wife divorced you because you were spending too much time dealing with my shit.” He lowered his voice when he spotted their waitress looking like she was contemplating an intervention. “And that night in the bar wasn’t the first time I’d hurt you when I was too shitfaced to care.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Her tennis coach had more to do with it than you.”

Logan hadn’t heard about the tennis coach, but he wasn’t surprised. Melissa had been a slut in high school. No reason to think marriage would reform her. But he’d bet
she
had been the one to initiate the divorce and not Michael.

Michael pulled out his wallet and smacked a few bills on the counter. “I was your best friend, Logan, not some battered boyfriend.” He stood up from the stool. “And you hit like a girl when you’re drunk.”

Logan followed him out of the café. Michael leaned against the brick building, fishing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Logan kept the
I thought you quit
to himself as Michael leaned forward to light the smoke.

Michael blew out a puff of smoke. “I made it worse.” When Logan opened his mouth to object, Michael slashed a hand through the air. “I can see it now, but back then I was in such denial. I thought there’s no way you’d follow in your old man’s footsteps. You just needed to get your shit together and everything would be okay.”

Logan gave a choked, desperate laugh. He’d managed to top his old man. In spite of the drug addiction, his dad never served time. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with my shit in the first place.”

“You want to spend the rest of your life hiding from people you
might
hurt, I can’t stop you.” Michael said the words as if the truth of them burned hotter than the smoke. With eyes too bright, he asked, “Would you just tell me if you’re doing okay?”

Logan wondered why he was bothering as he told Michael about his job and the conditions of the parole. People in AA talked about relapse like it was inevitable, and Logan couldn’t argue with them. He hadn’t had a drink in over a year and he still craved it every damn day. Even without taking a single drink, Caleb understood that loss of control in a way Michael never would. He knew what it felt like to become a passenger in his body when fear got behind the wheel. If Logan let Michael back into his life, his friend would eventually end up a busted speed bump.

Michael’s forehead wrinkled. “The shipping warehouse by the docks?”

“That’s the one.”

Michael’s jaw dropped, nearly causing the cigarette to fall to the ground. He swore under his breath as the ash struck his blue silk tie.

A thought occurring, Logan asked, “Do you have a professional interest in the company?” Michael was a forensic accountant at a security company. He referred to it as the cool branch of accounting because they specialized in fraud investigations. He had always been a jock with geeky tendencies. It was one of the things Logan liked best about him. He had been just as comfortable wearing a pocket protector as he was a football uniform.

Michael rolled the cigarette between his fingers and his thumb. “A couple of months ago, the Loss Prevention division within your company identified the Night Sort as the source for an increase of lost packages. They were unable to determine the person or persons behind the employee thefts. They hired my firm to evaluate their prevention plan and offer recommendations. We were also going to conduct our own investigation, but the manager, Harrison Klass, decided not to go forward with the investigation.”

Logan’s mind whirled, replaying what he’d learned in the past few weeks. The sudden shift change for Foster made sense if Klass suspected her of stealing. It would force her to adapt, making her more vulnerable to exposure. Was she trying to recruit? Was that the reason she was so eager to jump into his bed? If Klass was anything like Caleb, he’d wait to be sure she was guilty rather than risk firing her unjustly.
Unless Klass is in on it and wants to cover it up
. Logan’s gut rolled at the idea. What if Caleb wasn’t making enough at his business and Klass needed money to support him? He couldn’t see Caleb allowing his uncle to help pay his expenses, but fear was a hell of a motivator.

Reluctantly, Logan asked, “Why do you think Klass called off the investigation?”

Michael shrugged. “He might not have wanted to incur the expense, hoping to handle it internally.” His eyes widened. “You think he might be dirty?”

Logan decided to ignore the question for the moment. “How do the employees pull it off? Every inch of the warehouse is videotaped and you can’t bring nothing on the floor.”

“There are a number of methods. Someone swaps the label on a package, getting it sent to another address. Or a more elaborate method is to create a dummy company. The dummy company sends empty packages that look like they’ve been tampered with and then claims insurance on them after they’re delivered. Sometimes the packages are just sliced open and resealed. There’s no way to know without a full investigation.”

He couldn’t see Klass stealing from the company, but he could imagine his boss looking the other way to protect Caleb. It put their encounter with Foster outside of Meng’s in an all-new light. “Klass’s nephew, Caleb, is a friend of mine. A couple of months ago, someone set off a smoke bomb on his apartment floor.”

Proving just how smart he was, Michael said, “You think it was a message to Klass to back off?”

Logan nodded. “Caleb’s an agoraphobic and was housebound at the time. He didn’t know there wasn’t a fire when he barricaded himself in his apartment and refused to leave.”

Michael’s lips parted; a look of complete and utter shock evident as he stared at Logan.

“I think my supervisor, Karen Foster, might be behind the smoke bomb and she used to work the Night Sort before Klass moved her to another shift. Could you… look into her background… uh… unofficially?”

Michael’s expression changed, and he gave Logan a long, assessing look. “Is this Caleb a friend… or a friend-friend?”

Logan felt his cheeks heat. “We’re not dating.” Which was the truth. Phone sex hardly counted as a date.

“Did you fall in love with another gorgeous straight guy?” Michael asked, exhaling a stream of smoke.

“Fuck you,” Logan said, without heat.

Michael wagged his finger at Logan. “There are limits to my friendship and seeing your hairy ass is one of them. But looking up info on your supervisor won’t be a problem.”

I’ve missed you
, Logan thought, feeling his chest tighten. “You won’t get in trouble or nothing if you investigate Foster?”

Michael bumped their shoulders together. “I’ll be fine.” He pulled out his wallet and fished out a business card. Handing it to Logan, he said, “Give me a call in a few days and I’ll have the information for you.” He took a last drag of his cigarette, then dropped it, and ground it under the heel of his shiny dress shoe. “Take care of yourself, Logan.”

“Thanks, man,” Logan said, watching Michael walk away.

Chapter 6