“Still not sure I’ve gotten it.”
“Then listen close; The detectives will be knocking on your door again. Maybe not tomorrow, and probably not the day after that. But don’t relax just yet, because there’s just one thing that’s gonna put you in the clear.”
“What’s that?”
“If Angry Jonny strikes again.”
Jessica stammered silently. “Hold up –”
“Conformation bias. The pitfalls of searching for an obvious motive is that you miss the more disturbing possibilities. Chief Garcia, Detectives Donahue and Randal… they may not be saying it, but they’re thinking it. Hoping they’re wrong. But there is always the possibility, considering the calling card spray painted on the wall… Well, if Angry Jonny’s pissed about anything other than Jason Castle, there’s no telling whether Angry Jonny is done pleading his case.”
“You mean like a serial killer?”
“I mean exactly like that.”
“And if Angry Jonny puts on another show, then it puts me in the clear.”
“Given the astronomical odds that you would be implicated in the second time around.”
“You really think there might be another? Just like this one?”
“I don’t know,” Chaucer unsheathed another Dunhill, lit up. “If there isn’t, God help you… If there is, then God help us all.”
The jukebox went dark.
Jessica tucked Cali’s essay beneath her arm. “Best of luck on your business, Mr. Braswell.”
“Chaucer.”
“Sure.”
She strode across the pool hall. Found Dinah positioning herself behind the cue ball, eyes crossed in a drunken attempt at concentration. Body swaying, ass mesmerizing a couple of onlookers. She took her shot, missed the object ball by a good mile. Table scratch wasn’t exactly the most graceful of exits, but Jessica didn’t have time to watch her aunt lose another game.
“Hey, Dinah, we got to take off.”
“Why’s that?” Dinah slurred, reaching for her beer. “Not like we’ve got work tomorrow.”
“Actually, we’ve got a bit of an interview over at the Prescott-Pantheon.”
“Huzzah. Another dead end job in a dead end world.”
“I’ll explain in the car.” Jessica took hold of Dinah’s elbow. “Casper’s got us squared, let’s just go.”
Dinah shrugged, chugged the remainder of her beer.
The two of them made their way out.
Jessica caught sight of Chaucer, still seated at the bar. Hands right back around his beer, surreptitiously signaling for another. Unaffected by Jessica’s fast getaway. Revealing nothing through the thick curtain of smoke.
“Looks like I’ve got a little research to do on you, Mr. Braswell,” she muttered.
“What?” Dinah asked, absently putting her weight against the door. It swung outwards, and she went stumbling into the night.
Chaucer’s eyes shot across the bar.
Jessica darted through the doorway and into the humid streets of Verona, where, amid the shadows and willowy streetlights, Angry Jonny remained at large.
PART THREE
June 26 – June 28
Chapter 9: Eli’s Coming.
Same shift, different day.
Jessica tapped a few buttons on the touch screen, punctuated with the order to PRINT.
Had she closed her eyes, all remaining senses might have just assumed she’d never left Spiro’s; the printer’s obnoxious whine as the check for table twelve spewed out like a thin paper tongue; the polite mumble of high society; silverware scraping against plates, occasional laughter at a poorly timed joke; the mingled smells of mismatched dishes; her fingertips sticky from cleaning up after others.
Jessica tore the check from the printer’s teeth and escorted it across the main floor of the Prescott. Empty tables flanked her, full spreads laid out in preparation for second shift. Large white doors lined the west side of the dining room, embedded with thick glass panes. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked onto the concrete patio, where a lengthy blue awning sheltered the outdoor seating. Beyond that, an overcast sky had given in to afternoon showers. Golfers were already making their way back to the hotel, pastel Polo shirts clashing with the disappointing weather.
Then again, nobody’s life was completely immune from the occasional unpleasant surprise.
Malik and his parents glanced up from their coffee as Jessica arrived with their bill.
A trifecta of uncomfortable faces.
To be fair, Jessica’s ex had put the charm into overdrive. All smiles and obliging remarks in hopes of smoothing over the rough terrain. It hadn’t made the day go by any faster, but the finish line was finally in sight.
She laid the check on the table. “And I’ll pick that up whenever you’re ready.”
“Hang on…” Malik’s father got the check, scrutinized every last line.
Jessica glanced over at Malik.
He rolled his eyes.
Jessica couldn’t afford to be caught with anything resembling a reply.
“All right, Jessica…” Malik’s father laid down four twenties. Snapped the book shut and handed it back. “Keep it.”
“Thank you, and I hope you had a pleasant lunch.”
Malik adjusted his glasses, smiling. “We did. Thanks, Jessica.”
Jessica didn’t expect any echoes.
“And I am gone,” she whispered, soft steps on the emerald-green carpet taking her to the hutch.
Jessica got her change from the bartender, amazed to find the tip coming in at twenty percent. She printed out her totals. Midway through sorting out her receipts, she heard a familiar voice floating just a few feet away.
“Good to see you again.”
Eli Messner was seated midway down the bar. Arms crossed, scotch-rocks nesting on a white cocktail napkin. He raised his hand with a little wave. “Surprised?”
“Um…” Jessica glanced down at her paperwork, trying not to lose track. “Yeah, a little surprised.”
“Sorry about that.”
“I didn’t say you scared me half to death,” Jessica snapped. “Just an unexpected turn.”
“Same here. Your old boss told me this was where you were working now, but I didn’t think I’d find you on the first try.”
“Say that again?”
“I can see the unease in your eyes, there...” Eli took a sip of scotch. “Just wanted to see how you were doing, is all.”
“Same shift, different day,” Jessica replied, scooping up a calculator and gathering her receipts. “Look, I’m going to the back so I can take care of all this nonsense. Pick this up in a bit?”
“Go ahead.”
Jessica circled the bar, and plunged through the kitchen’s double doors.
She bypassed the cooks and dishwashers, down a cinderblock hallway and settled in a cheap plastic chair near the lockers. Pulled up another seat, spread out her paperwork out and began to total up. All the while keeping a third eye on Eli Messner.
It had been a little over two weeks since Angry Jonny had elbowed his way into her life. In that time, just enough had taken place to leave Jessica certain that, for the rest of the summer, little else would.
Jessica had been unsuccessful in reclaiming her internship at the Observer. Al Holder hadn’t been asleep at the wheel, either. His repeated attempts to contact Cali Jenkins and her family had come up short. Phone calls unanswered, emails bounced back with cheery, automated promises to get back to everyone upon their return. Even Vice-Principal Davenport had fallen off the map. Damage done, he had succumbed to a complete and infuriating radio silence. Running out the clock. The injustice of it all made Jessica livid. Sang out to her darkest angels. Late nights spent crammed into the folds of her budget futon, fighting the urge to scream into her pillow.
To soften the sting, Al Holder had remained in casual contact with Jessica. Every other morning brought a fresh email; updates on local stories, as well as national events tha
t had come to roost in their very own backyards.
And of course, Angry Jonny.
On the twenty-third, the Verona Police Department revealed documented evidence that Jason Castle had been receiving unreported funds from various local insurance and pharmaceutical giants. No details had been released as to what specific charges would be leveled. Either way, it was enough to send the story spinning. What had begun as an investigation of an attempted murder probe had now morphed into a speculative free-for-all. In a sense, the polar opposite of a breakthrough. Countless Government agencies forced themselves into the fold. The national media, whose interest had waned since the initial reports, began to swarm all over the story, taking it upon themselves to rewrite the Angry Jonny narrative as one of shady political intrigue, complete with Castle’s wife offering a twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward for the capture of the man who had assaulted her husband.
Two days later, Michael Jackson had been found dead in his mansion at 100 North Carolwood Drive.
And suddenly, the media had something other than Angry Jonny to dedicate their time to.
Jessica had succumbed to her own partial amnesia. Over the past two weeks, the image of Jason Castle’s tattered face had faded from her mind. Once again she was little more than a working girl, living in her lonely world.
The sudden appearance of Eli Messner’s had come as a wakeup call. Of what, she wasn’t sure. No explanation for the fresh crown of sweat on her forehead, the faintest tremble in her hands. It took three rounds with the calculator to get her numbers straight. She stuffed the flurry of paperwork into her book and returned to the dining room.
She handed the bartender her book, waiting for him to cash out her credit card tips.
Glanced over and saw Malik propped at the bar, two seats down from Eli.
She blinked. “Hey.”
“Hey, Jessica,” they chimed in unison.
Eli and Malik turned to face each other for one hushed, territorial moment.
“Don’t let me stop you, son,” Eli relented, raising his glass in an unsolicited toast. “You go right ahead.”
Malik’s eyes flashed, ready to call home court advantage.
She decided to step in: “How can I help you, Malik?”
Malik frowned. “Hey. I ain’t at the table, right? Don’t have to act like you’re still waiting on me.”
“I am waiting, actually, for you to tell me how I can help you.”
“I came to see how you were doing.”
Eli laughed from two seats down. “Popular girl, Jessica.”
Malik turned to face him. “You got a problem?”
“No problem, son.”
“Then step off,” Malik shot back, voice low. “Son.”
Eli didn’t look the least bit impressed. Backing down more out of respect for Jessica than the hollow threats of her eighteen-year-old suitor.
The bartender handed Jessica her book, “Everything all right?”
“Fine,” Jessica replied, extracting a stack of bills.
“Going to the back for a minute.”
Jessica nodded, began totaling her tips. “So what do you want, Malik?”
“I heard about what happened with the Observer.”
Her eyes narrowed, kept counting out her tips.
“Jessica?”
“Two, three, four, five and ninety-six…” Jessica tapped her stack of greenbacks against the counter and reached for the tip-out clipboard. “Yeah, I heard you. Heard that you heard about what happened. Let me ask you something, Malik, who else has heard about this?”
“Jessica…” Malik was whispering now. “I need to talk to you about this.”
“Who else knows?”
“Well… my parents know.”
“Some surprise…” Jessica began plugging numbers into the calculator. “They must be tighter with Davenport than I thought. Did you know I haven’t heard a word from him since he cost me my internship? Makes perfect sense now. Busy sharing few laughs with your parents, justice served and all that.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what’s it like? You want to tell me you called bullshit? Told your parents to tell Davenport that yeah, they may hate me, but right is right, and he can go fuck himself ‘less he gets me back in?”
“I am trying to set things right.”
“I suppose it’s my fault for implying you could…” Jessica scribbled her signature, and tossed the pen aside.
Malik threw his hands up. “Fine.”
“Yeah, just fine.”
“Whatever, Jessica….” He thrust himself violently from his seat, knocking over a bowl of mixed nuts, sent them scattering. He stared her down, over steel-rimmed glasses. “I don’t care what you think. I’m going to fix this.”
“Goddammit.” Jessica moved in, began scooping salty treats off the bar. “Just go home, all right? Go home, fix whatever you want. Just get out of here before I get fired again, OK?”
Malik stormed off. Large strides taking him through the entrance to the dining room, and out across the lobby of the Prescott-Pantheon.
She sighed, shook her head.
“What are you going to do with those nuts?” Eli asked.
Jessica glanced down at the handful of cashews and almonds in her hands. “Anybody looking?”
“Nope.”
Jessica dumped the nuts back into the bowl. Wiped her hands on her apron and closed her eyes, leaning against the bar.
Outside, the rain had picked up, joined by a distant thunderclap.
When Jessica opened her eyes, she found Eli looking at her with a pair of curious, green eyes.
Jessica waved. “Hey, you.”
Eli smiled. “Hope you don’t mind me coming to see you.”
“If by mind, do you mean, what the hell?”
“Yup. That’s what I mean.”
“Well, then…” Jessica stretched her back, groaning. “You just hang on. Got to change into my streets.”
“I’ll be here.”
That might not be so bad, Jessica thought, heading back to the kitchen for the last time.
***
Jessica changed into a pair of Jeans, kept her white dress shirt on.
She took a seat right next to Eli, aching feet grateful for the rest.
The bartender had just finished pouring Eli another drink.
“Need anything, Jessica?”
“Tonic water, please.”
Eli pointed to the bartender. “It’s on me.”
“I actually get a free drink at the end of my shift.”
“And you waste it on tonic water?”
“I’m seventeen.”
Eli dipped a finger in his drink, tasted it. “You mean, in case I was getting any ideas?”
“Don’t flatter myself.” Jessica gave him the once over, a dramatic reenactment of their previous encounter. Without the fury of a miserable night out on the floor, she found plenty more to take in. Noticed the early onset of crow’s feet decorating his eyes. A mild scar hovering just above his left eyebrow. Calm eyes shifting sporadically, left to right, as though trying to catch all available angles.
The bartender served up her drink.
Eli raised his glass. “Here’s to Michael Jackson.”
“Whatever’s next for him has got to be better.”
“Amen.”
Their drinks collided softly.
Jessica noticed fleshy scars covering Eli’s knuckles, most likely from some fight in the distant past. Pretty features and milquetoast physique aside, there was a definite possibility that she had a bad boy on her hands.
“So you came to see how I was doing?”
“Figured I owed you as much…” Eli explained. “A week or so after they found Mr. Table Thirteen... I went to the cops. Thought I’d go ahead and let them know I’d seen the man before he got attacked.”
“Yeah, I got the same line from them… Two days later. They were asking about you.”
“Li
kewise.” Eli sniffed, drink resting against his forehead. “Put in as many good words for you as I could.”
“Thanks for helping.”
“Remains to be seen. And to bring it back, that’s why I stopped by here.”
“That right?”
“Wanted to make sure I hadn’t gotten you into any trouble…”
“You’re fine…” Jessica cracked her neck. “Cops got a whole other set of problems now. No matter what you or I might have said about Mr. Table Thirteen, at the end of the day… it’s not about you or me, is it?”
Eli took a hit of scotch. “Can I admit a little something to you? A little nothing, maybe, on the evil side?”
“Sure.”
“When I heard about it, what happened to Mr. Table Thirteen… I can’t say I was entirely upset.”
Outside, the storm had ushered in a premature dusk. The dining room had grown dark, house lights on low. A group of golfers wandered in for cocktail hour.
Jessica shifted in her seat. “I’m still not sure how I feel.”
“That’s a positive spin … But not knowing how I feel seems just as bad. Especially after it turns out he was way worse than any of us could have imagined.”
Jessica found this grim tangent amusing. “Ended up worse than any of us could have imagined.”
“Interesting.”
“Certainly is different.”
“Hm.”
Jessica checked the time on her cell. “I’d better get moving. My Aunt’s picking me up out front.”
“Dinah, right? The blonde?”
“That’s right.” Jessica got up from her chair, already knew where this was going. “The blond, white chick.”
“You don’t exactly act –”
“If you say black, so help me God, I will smack you.”
“ – Seventeen,” Eli finished, laying down a pair of twenties. “People down here are real friendly, you know that?”
“People are friendly everywhere. So you can guess why I don’t trust any of them.”
“Can I walk you out?”
“I won’t stop you.”
Eli threw back the last of his scotch, and the pair of them made their way across the lobby’s gray, slate tiles. A round, eighteenth-century walnut table stood centered atop a large, Persian rug. The crystal chandeliers glowed softly. Antique cabinets lined the walls, sparsely stocked with collectibles the world round, generous donations from Pantheon Alumni.
“So who was that character back there?” Eli asked.
“Who?”