Chapter Sixteen
The drive back to my apartment was consumed with a flurry of thoughts and memories none of which would hold still long enough for me to concentrate on any of them. The revelation from my visit with Katie in the hospital mixed with my anger from the warning left scorched into the steering wheel now gripped in my white-knuckled hands became a volatile mixture of fragmentary and shoddy thinking. Some balance was brought to this roiling mental mess by the recurrence of my thoughts returning again and again to Katie, now awake. Not only was she awake but she also ushered fresh possibilities into my dead end scene.
It wasn’t the kind of relationship I hoped for, not yet at least. However, something strong was cemented between us that had not been there before. She had understood me in a way no one else would be able to, not even the open minded Trent Blacker. I made a mental note to send him an e-mail to give an update on some of the recent events. I decided to leave out the bit about chasing down Katie and the dark man in the hospital. I wanted to tell him that in person if I could. Something in me wanted him to be able to look me in the eye when I told him that story. He would have enough to chew on when I told him about my adventures in the basement and the elevator of Spectra.
When I walked into my apartment the answering machine light blinked, indicating another message. My heart had fallen into the practice of skipping a beat when I saw that. Disregarding inhibition I pressed the button and for once I was greeted with a completely normal message from a fully living human being.
“Hello, Mr. Nicholas,” began the officious voice, “my name is Stuart Vox, and I’m one of the lawyers your father retains. I’d like to talk with you about your recent vehicular accident and taking legal action against James Price.” I grabbed a piece of scratch paper as he rattled off a few other personal details and bits of bravado. He left his phone number and a good time to contact him. I wrote down the pertinent information and erased the message.
Though the accident itself was never far from my mind on account of Katie and the occasional ache in my left ankle I had almost completely put James Price out of my mind. With the fresh reminder I began to think on the man more and more. It struck me then as it must have before on some level as an awfully large coincidence that my life had almost been snuffed out twice on account of his driving habits. In fact the more I thought on it, the less it felt like a coincidence and the more it felt like a plan, though not of Price’s making.
“What further role do you have to play in this, Jimbo?” Little did I know the answer to that question would soon present itself. I looked out the window of my apartment onto the parking lot. Finding no inspiration there I moved into the living room, grabbed my laptop case on the way and landed on the futon.
Having powered up the computer and opened up the e-mail I browsed the inbox and was delighted to find a new e-mail from Trent. The subject line simply read, “Visit.” I quickly opened it and read,
Steve,
I’ve got some time coming up and I’d like to come visit you and talk with you some more about your experiences. Anything new happen since we last communicated? I can’t imagine things have been all silent, not the way you’ve described what has happened to you so far.
Also, with your permission I’d like to include select portions of your case in the curriculum for one of the classes I teach at the school. Give it some thought and get back to me. We can talk about it when we get together.
Trent.
“Good,” I said, “I was hoping for a chance to talk with you face to face anyway.” I hit the reply button and a fresh e-mail appeared. Into the blank space I typed,
Trent,
It would be great if you came! The sooner the better, in fact. I’ve got several things I’d like to talk about and, yes, a lot of new things have happened since we last talked. Many of the new things have happened to me at my new job which, you may remember, is where I first saw the little girl. But this time there was an African-American boy (pre-adolescent, I think) and a few scary moments in an elevator. I haven’t seen the girl for a while, which worries me but there’s a lot more than that, too.
I’d like to wait and tell you most of this when you can be here. I’ll think about my case being used in your class and we can talk about what that will look like whenever it is you come. When can you be here? I’d offer for you to stay in my apartment but it’s really small and occasionally haunted. Some people find those things a turn-off.
Hope to hear from you soon,
Steve.
I sent the e-mail and began surfing the internet, keeping it fairly random. Mostly I was just trying to kill time. I had no solid plans for the day other than getting some sleep later and returning to work for another shift. But that was hours away. Noon had almost crept upon me but I didn’t feel the desire to eat anything just yet. My schedule was giving me some difficulty in adjusting to it.
I began to search historical sites, particularly ones which focused on the city around me. I thought about the dream I had and the burning orphanage. I searched my memory of the dream but I found that I could not recall the name of the orphanage. I knew I had seen the sign, but when I tried the recall the image from the dream the name on the sign was blurred. I tried even harder to remember but it seemed the harder I tried the more the answer eluded me.
I remembered then that I had handwritten an account of the dream and then typed it up for later reference if needed. I went into the documents on the computer and found the file. I opened it and began searching through the lines of text, sure that the name of the orphanage would be there. I skimmed the entire thing and was unable to find it. I went back to the beginning and began to read more slowly, thoroughly. I came to the end of the document empty handed.
I then searched the rest of the apartment and found the handwritten version, but there was not much different and it certainly didn’t contain the name of the orphanage. I threw the handwritten papers into the air and stalked back over to where I’d left the computer. I dropped back into the seat and pulled the computer toward me. I did a search on orphanage fires and came up with way too many hits and not enough patience to wade through them all. I refined the search by adding the name of my State.
There were less results but I didn’t feel drawn to any of them. I randomly clicked through a few of them but came up with nothing. As far as I gathered there had been ten orphanage fires in the State. That struck me as an inordinately large number, but other than that none of the names of the orphanages resonated within my memory of the dream.
I gave up on that puzzle and closed the computer down. I stood up and looked for something else to distract me. I didn’t feel like reading, which usually would have been my drug of choice in a moment like that one. Instead I chose to medicate my afflicted soul with some TV. I turned it on and was treated to an annoying commercial for breakfast cereal. I groaned but didn’t feel like fighting my tolerance for such things and dropped onto the futon.
After another few commercials, thankfully not as inane as the first one, I was greeted with an unprecedented surprise. The local news broke into regular programming. This is what snapped my attention to focus.
The female anchor, somber faced, peered out of my television with those eyes that tell you bad news is about to be delivered…but she could contain her excitement because her job required it. She said, matter-of-factly, “Stunning news this afternoon, as James Price the CEO of Right Price Investments has gone missing.” A picture of Price appeared in the upper right corner of the screen. It was a head shot, studio quality but it only began to capture the man in all his sleaze.
The anchor continued, “There is some speculation that Price’s disappearance may be related to some undisclosed legal issues.” I barked a short laugh.
“Legal issues. That’s one way to put it.” I had half a mind to find the number for the news station, call them and tell them exactly what had happened. Giving it a second thought, however, I decided it would be better to hold off until I could ta
lk to my lawyer. It gave me pause when I realized I had already begun to think of Vox as ‘my lawyer’ when I hadn’t even met him yet. I knew my father had to employ such people from time to time in his business but I never thought I would have to use one myself. I promised myself I would call Vox after the news story concluded. I sighed in frustration. It felt like everything solid in my life was changing.
After a few more pointless details the anchor concluded her story. “A spokesman for Price was tightlipped when contacted and questioned earlier. We’ll have more with this story as it develops.” The station returned to another set of commercials but I had no patience for them, so I switched the set off. Pondering the ramifications of this new development I felt drawn toward the phone. I needed to call the lawyer and see what was up. As I reached for the receiver it began to ring. I didn’t skip a beat this time and snatched it up.
“This is Steve,” I said calmly and waited in expectation for the unquiet whispers of the dead in reply. Instead a decidedly alive voice returned through the earpiece.
“Steve, this is Stuart Vox. So, there’s been an interesting development in your case.” There was a distinct self-satisfaction in his voice. It was a world different from the flat and monotone message he’d left on the machine. I regarded the comment and undergirding sentiment with an odd mixture of engaged repulsion and detached curiosity. Whether it was a psychic impression or not, I can’t say, but I also saw in my mind’s eye an image of the lawyer, dressed as a Sheriff in the old west sitting atop a horse with a rifle trained on a retreating outlaw. The fleeing figure was certainly Price and if the image had a title it would have been, “I’ve got you on the run, partner.” I smiled a little at the mental picture. I didn’t occur to me later that while I had not yet met the man I had already formed a mental picture of his every facial feature. It was a mental picture which would prove accurate down to the minutest detail.
“Let me guess,” I started, “Price has disappeared. Presumably he has fled to avoid the impending legal action which was about to seriously cramp his style.” There was a heartbeat or two of silence from the other end of the line and I could almost see the man’s brow furrow as he sat forward in his expensive chair. This time the satisfaction was mine.
Vox laughed when he realized I must have seen the news story. “Hey, you’re pretty good,” he kidded. “Do you do carnivals and parties too, oh great all-seeing one?” It was my turn to pause. The man couldn’t have known how deep the comment cut near to the bone but that wouldn’t stop the bleeding. I noted how sensitive I had become to innocent allusions to extra sensory abilities and promptly stuffed the observation back into its box to be reviewed at a more appropriate time. “I take it they’ve already run the story on the news? I thought they were supposed to wait until the evening edition. Oh well, I guess self-control isn’t exactly in their bag of tricks, is it?” I regained myself enough to respond.
“Yeah, they even broke into regular programming a minute ago. I knew the guy was rich or something but I had no idea he was such a big deal. After the story ended I thought about calling the station and filling them in on the rest of the story just to spite Price but then I figured I’d better wait until I got a chance to talk to you about it.” I heard the noise of Vox pondering the idea on the other end of the line as if it hadn’t already occurred to him. I couldn’t imagine that to be the case. My father would never have retained a shark unimaginative enough to see at least thirty different ways to rip a legal opponent to shreds in a stunningly short amount of time.
“I like the way you think, Steve. But you’re probably right to hold off for now. Let me worry about that. If Price shows his stupid face any time soon I’ll find a way to have the rumor mill turning so fast it will make him cry like a teenage girl at a Jonas Brothers concert.” I found the analogy a curious but appropriate one. I discovered the corner of my lip had even turned up in a smirk ever so slightly at the thought.
“So,” I changed the subject, “is this just a courtesy call or is there something else I can do for you, Mr. Vox?” I figured he would want to talk all about the accident and a course of action. While I wasn’t hot on the idea of dwelling on the subject at that time due to other obvious concerns I also was aware I would have to tangle with it at some point. Vox surprised me, however, by deflecting us down a different path.
“Well, Steve, I don’t like to do my business over the phone. I’d much rather we met face to face. Let’s schedule a time when I can come and spend a few hours interviewing you.” It seemed more and more people wanted to meet face to face with me recently. I was perfectly fine with that. It was how I preferred things. Digital media and social networks had killed off too much of the art of human interaction as it was. I felt it best to preserve the craft wherever possible.
I reviewed my work schedule for him and we hammered out a solid quarter of a day later in the week to put our heads together. There were a few more exchanged thoughts and I believed the conversation was about to end when Vox became serious and issued the warning he himself would later come to regret when he didn’t heed it.
“Steve, before I go I have to tell you something important in advance.” He waited until he was sure I was listening.
“Go ahead,” I said uncertainly. Something told me I wasn’t going to be thrilled with what Vox was about to say. But that same something told me that it was vital that I hear the man out.
“Don’t turn your back on this guy,” he continued. “I mean that.” The flat and business tone from his answering machine message was back. It was a further signal to me that I had better not dismiss what he was about to tell me.
A chill ran down my spine. Some foreboding sense jumped onto my back and refused to be dislodged like an angry monkey looking for a banana it was convinced I had hidden on my person. “How do you mean, Mr. Vox?”
“I mean it in every way imaginable, Steve, and with ever fiber of my being. Men like James Price don’t really run away because they’re afraid they’ll get what’s coming to them. They run because they see a tactical advantage in it. Wherever James Price is he isn’t hiding. He’s scheming and when he shows up again it will be because he believes his scheme is strong enough to make it through and out the other side of whatever we might construct against him. And don’t expect him to play nice and fair when he does come out to play and trust me, he will come out to play probably sooner rather than later. He and whoever he assembles for his team will make up the most outrageous and baseless bald-faced lies simply to make you look bad and throw attention off him. And, forgive me for bringing this up, Steve, but that doesn’t even include the obvious angle of the manner in which you left your previous career. This is going to get very ugly for you very fast.”
“That’s an interesting pep talk, Mr. Vox, but it doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. How am I supposed to fight that kind of war?” With a picture like that painted for me I wasn’t any longer sure my future was as bright as I had been imagining it to be. It began to feel like much of the ground I had gained was under threat from multiple fronts, none of which I understood particularly well.
“That’s the good news, Steve,” and thankfully I heard the mirth creep back into his voice because if it hadn’t what he said next would have made me very uneasy. It was disturbing enough to hear it in a pleasant tone of voice. I can’t imagine hearing it in that cold, heartless one. “You don’t have to fight that kind of war. That’s where I come in. Price may be a wily little rodent but I’m a world class exterminator. I rub shoulders with people like him and worse every day and they don’t scare me one bit. It is my job to root out every last sleazy detail of the lives of men and women like Price and use those things to put my boot on their necks. I am well educated, well experienced and well paid and that makes me dangerous. Do you know why your father likes to keep me around?”
I was thrown off by the question. His speech had me hooked and now with a simple turn he had me feeling like I was put on the witness stand naked and without an
y answers. He was flexing the muscles of his courtroom prowess for me, but only ever so slightly so I would just begin to understand what he intended to do with Price and anyone else who tried to put me in the hurt locker.
I stammered, “Uh…no, why?”
He paused and I heard the man smile, I swear I actually heard it over the line. “He keeps me around because I have a habit of making people cry when I examine them on the stand. I don’t care who it is. It has been powerful CEOs and poor little old ladies. I make a game out of it. For a while I even told some of my clients that if I did not make at least one of the opposition’s witnesses cry then I would knock off ten percent of my fees. And do you know what? I have never had to give anyone that discount.”
I was thunderstruck. All I could think to ask was, “Are you serious?”
“I am as serious as cancer when it comes to this business, Steve. And here’s the thing; I’m not asking you to like me. In fact, I doubt you will. All I’m asking is that you allow me to do what I do best: I want to set James Price up in front of a judge and jury and knock him down so hard he won’t want to get back up again. When I’m through with him he’ll wish he’d been flipping burgers somewhere for the last ten years instead of trading shares and crashing high end cars. When I’m through with him not only will he wish he never survived the accident but he’ll wish he’d never been born.”
He chose every word with deadly precision but more importantly he meant them. I saw then that my earlier impression of Vox as being like a vicious shark was likely a fair characterization. But that led me down an entirely unexpected line of thought.
My picture of what my father did with his business had been somewhat two-dimensional up until my phone conversation with Stuart Vox. I always thought of my dad sitting behind his desk, making phone calls, writing e-mails, attending boring meetings and doing a thousand other things which held no significance or interest for me. But then, after seeing the type of person my father employed and held close at hand my view changed dramatically. What kinds of things had he been involved in which had led him to hire the services of the likes of Vox? And if there was one like Vox there were likely to be more. Did I really want to know who my father was behind the closed doors of industry? At that moment I didn’t. That was one more thing for which I didn’t have the energy. Welcoming Vox into my foreseeable future was going to make life difficult enough. Welcoming my domineering father into my current situation was out of the question.
“Alright, Mr. Vox, I think I see your point. I’ll do whatever I can to help you and then I’ll try to stay out of your way.” I hoped that would be enough to satisfy the lawyer and get him off my phone quickly.
“That sounds like a plan, Steve.” The cheerfulness was now fully restored to his voice like he had never said anything which could be construed as a personal threat to anyone. “I’ll see you in a few days and we can start figuring out the best way to skin this rat.”
We wrapped it all up and shortly after that he was off the phone. But somehow he was still there. As I pondered over the conversation I felt two images surrounding the man competing for supremacy. One image was of vivid colors, almost like living fireworks painted on canvas. It felt like victory. But the other image was dim and gray. It was almost like a hastily sketched impression of a funeral parlor at night with the lights turned off. Both felt simultaneously true and false. It was yet another puzzle which would have to wait.