Ma yawned and stretched in her seat. “Tell me again who this Eric person is. You’re not dating him, too, are you?”
“He works with Axton. He’s helping me find information on Sullivan and NorthStar,” I said as I pulled back on the road.
When we got to Eric’s, I introduced him to Ma. “Nice to meet you,” he said.
“I need to use the little girls’ room. Would you like some Chex Mix?” She held up the plastic container.
“Yeah, I love this stuff.” After setting down the beer he’d been holding, he lifted the lid, grabbed a handful of cereal, and popped it in his mouth.
Ma walked down the hall and Roxy flopped onto the loveseat in front of the TV and began flipping through the channels. While Eric munched, I felt amped up and antsy.
When Ma stepped back in the room he asked, “You guys want a beer or something?”
“I’ll take one,” Ma said, settling down next to Roxy.
Eric scooted off to the kitchen and came back with a long neck, handing it to her.
“Thanks. What are all those for?” She pointed to a pile of controllers on the floor in front of the TV.
“This is a wireless control. I play these,” he pointed to a shelf full of video games, “on this.” He pointed to a console.
“Can I try one?” she asked.
Eric looked a little pleased. “Sure. First-person shooters are good. Let’s start with…” He studied the games and plucked one from the shelf. “This one. Do you guys want to play, too?”
“I will,” Roxy said.
I shook my head. “No thanks.” I’d been playing enough games lately.
Eric showed the controller to Ma and Roxy. “This one is to shoot. You move like this. If you need help, let me know.”
He picked up his bottle and pulled me aside. His dining room — more of a dining area really — was separated from the living room by an arched wall. Desks and card tables were cluttered with computers, laptops, and motherboards. “Are you ready to see what I found out about your Sullivan?”
“He’s not my Sullivan, and yes, more than ready.” I sank down on a desk chair, sore and weary.
“I dug through the county records for personal property taxes. I figured that would be the best place to start.”
I held up a hand. “Wait, can you do that?”
“Of course.”
“No, I mean, isn’t that illegal?”
“Nope, it’s a matter of public record. I found tax records for one Thomas Malcolm Sullivan, thirty-four years of age. He was the most likely candidate, and after doing a deed and title search, I found out he owns a ton of property. Mostly office buildings and strip malls.” He handed me a stack of papers. “Here you go.”
I scanned the pages. “He owns the old school.” I slapped the paper with one hand. “We followed Packard tonight and he went to this old school building out in the country. It’s on the list.”
“What was in an old school?”
“A gambling club. Pack was losing and they wouldn’t extend him credit.”
“How did you find this out?”
I wagged my thumb over my shoulder. “Rox and I went undercover.”
I continued to read the long list of properties. Sullivan owned the strip mall that housed Sun Kissed Tanning and the Pour Femme boutique building. Like Ma said — bingo. “Oh my God, this is amazing. Evidence, Eric. Real evidence.”
My enthusiasm was intoxicating. “Okay, let’s walk through this,” I said. “Axton gives me his backpack. I see Sullivan in the park and he’s looking for Axton. He finds Axton—”
“Kidnaps him,” Eric said.
“Yep, Sullivan kidnaps Axton to get his hands on the hard drive. But I have the hard drive. On that hard drive is a list of people with a number next to their name. I think we can safely assume it’s money—”
“Money they lost gambling,” he said.
“We know Sullivan has Axton, we know Packard has a gambling problem. I saw a poker game in the back room at the cigar bar and Manny’s running something in the back of that tanning salon. And I saw Manny tonight. He and I had a little smackdown.”
“Are you all right?” Eric sat on his haunches and touched my knee.
I winced and jerked my leg to the side. “I fell. I’m okay. Anyway, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Sullivan leases his property to NorthStar businesses.”
Rubbing his head, Eric narrowed his eyes. “And Axton went to a club the night before he was taken. It was a NorthStar club, wasn’t it? And Axton took the hard drive?”
“Probably stole it from Sullivan. We know there’s gambling in some of these places, and Sullivan must be in charge, right?” Oh God. It finally dawned on me, if that was the case, I’d put Eric in a very dangerous situation. I clutched his arm with my free hand. “What if they figure out you have the hard drive? What if they come for you next?”
“Hey, Rose.” He took the papers from me and laid them down on a keyboard. Then he took both my hands in his. “You have enough on your plate, kid. The last thing you need to worry about is me, okay? I can take care of myself. Let’s concentrate on rescuing Axton.”
“Okay.” I nodded and took a deep breath. “Sullivan told me he would do anything to protect his interests. The gambling, the people on this list, the properties — he’s in charge of it all.” Sullivan was the big cheese, the head honcho, the Kaiser Soze. I didn’t call him the Bossy Jackass for nothing.
I dug the list of NorthStar businesses out of my purse and compared it to the sheaf of papers Eric gave me. “Not all the businesses Sullivan leases to are NorthStar businesses. There’s a barbershop in the same strip mall as the tanning salon. It’s not owned by NorthStar.”
“Maybe he rents to other businesses to make it seem legit.”
“Packard got a call from the tanning salon and he was gambling in one of Sullivan’s properties tonight. We have a real connection. Yes!” I threw my fist in the air, jumped out of my seat, and did my little happy dance. Eric laughed, but I was too excited to care. We finally had a real trail to follow.
Eric smiled and high-fived me.
I reached out and hugged him. “Thank you so much.
He planted a big smacker on my cheek. “You’re welcome.” He gestured to the stacks of papers. “Can you take this to the police?”
My happy fled the scene. “All I have are theories. And NorthStar is a shell company. Dane says it could take years to unravel, and I can’t prove Sullivan is in charge of anything. And besides, the Chief of Police, Martin Mathers, was on the decrypted list.”
He scratched his stubble. “You can’t really prove anything.”
I flopped down in the chair. I went from elated to deflated in under thirty seconds. “I guess not.”
A growl sounded from the living room. I glanced over at Ma. She sat on the edge of the sofa, her wrinkled face scrunched up, her teeth bared. “Die, zombie bastard.”
Roxy moved her whole body as she punched the buttons on the controller, leaning left then lurching to the right. “Take that, you undead asshole.”
I looked back up at Eric, my lips a thin line. “What did you do?”
Eric tipped his head back to finish off the last of his beer. “It’s fun.” He gestured toward the TV with the empty bottle. “You should try it.”
Nibbling on my thumb, I glanced back over the list of properties and compared it once again with the NorthStar businesses. I finally had a few pieces of the puzzle, but I didn’t know what to do with them.
Feeling more frustrated than ever, I finally went to the living room and sank to the floor to watch Ma and Roxy try to defeat brain-eating zombies. It was after midnight and they showed no signs of stopping the carnage.
“Hey, ladies, we need to go.”
They completely ignored me.
“Get the rock, pick up the rock,” Roxy said.
“I’m trying, but that damn zombie keeps blocking me.” Ma had a fierce look of concentration on her face.
“Hey, zombie slayers, we need to leave.”
Still no response.
Eric wrestled the controller from Roxy and paused the game. They grumbled at him.
“Just a few minutes longer,” Ma said. She sounded just like Scotty when he was in the middle of a game.
Roxy frowned and tried to get the controller back from Eric. “We were just getting some decent weapons, Rose.”
Eric looked at me and grinned. “I could take them home.”
“See,” Ma said. “You go on, hon. We’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Roxy said, grabbing the controller from Eric’s hand.
I shrugged. “Okay.”
Eric showed Roxy how to resume the game. I grabbed my bag and the information Eric had found on Sullivan. Thomas Malcolm Sullivan.
“Sorry about them.” I flicked my finger toward Ma and Roxy.
“They’re fine. Let me walk you to your car.”
Eric waved as I started the engine and drove off.
I actually accomplished something tonight. I’d been so sick of hitting dead end after dead end. But now I had something tangible to link Sullivan and NorthStar and Packard Graystone. Officially I couldn’t prove anything, and I didn’t know what my next move should be, but I was determined to figure it out. One way or another, I was getting Axton back.
I parked in my lot and scoured the area before I got out of the car, then hustled inside. As I entered the building, my neighbor opened her door and poked her head out. A slim woman in her fifties, Wanda’s fried, bleached hair had a Bride of Frankenstein thing going on. She held a glass of red wine in one hand. “Hey, blondie, want to keep it down up there? I got work in the morning.” She worked at The Gutter Ball, and by the way she slurred her words, I could tell that wasn’t her first glass of red this evening.
“Hey, Wanda, I just got home. I’ve been out for hours.”
“Well it sounded like balls being thrown down the alley.” She slammed the door in my face.
My heart began beating like a bad techno song. I knocked on Wanda’s door. She answered it with a scowl. “What now?”
“When did you hear the noise?”
“’Bout an hour ago.” She slammed the door again.
Could be nothing, I told myself. But myself knew I was lying. Bowling alley sounds coming from my apartment — not a good thing. I pulled out my cell phone and punched in 911, my finger hovering over the send key.
I slowly climbed the stairs to my apartment and tiptoed to the door. It stood half open, the new lock busted. The overhead light was on. I knew that whoever had been here was probably long gone, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I pushed the door open farther with my toe.
My apartment looked like it had been swept up in a tornado. The futon was hacked up and chunks of blue foam dotted the room like enormous confetti. My laptop had been thrown to the floor, the hinge broken. The small TV overturned, the screen shattered, but the cord was still plugged into the outlet. The framed pictures from my dresser lay scattered on the floor along with textbooks, their pages ripped out and crumpled into balls.
Trembling, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. In silence, I scanned the room, threw my hand over my mouth and sobbed.
Clothes were pulled from the closet, slashed to ribbons. Including the new dress from Pour Femme. And every single item from my dresser drawers. Underwear and bras were ripped and torn. I glanced down and saw a decapitated flamingo.
The small amount of food from my fridge was splattered all over my kitchenette. Milk and orange juice mixed together in a puddle and spilled onto the cracked linoleum.
The bathroom hadn’t faired any better. My makeup and toiletries smashed and dumped in the toilet.
Even my little bistro table and chairs were demolished.
Shit. Who would do something like this? Sullivan? Why now? Revenge for crashing his gambling club? He must know about my fight with Manny on the main staircase. But even for him, this was some kind of fucked up.
I pressed the send button on my phone and went back downstairs to wait for the police.
It took them forty-five minutes to arrive. The longest forty-five minutes of my life. They dusted for prints, talked to the neighbors — who by then had stumbled out into the hall to see what all the commotion was about — and took my statement. One of the officers told me to come down to the station the next day and get a copy of the report.
After the police left, I just stood in the doorway of my apartment staring at the damage. Everything I owned had been destroyed.