Cracked Page 19

  I loved it. I was not cut out for unrelenting sunshine. In this weather, I thought, I could make my brain work better. I could find the boys. I would find the boys.

  And I would stay away from D-Man and Gene until they were safe. After that, all bets were off.

  Dave and I had agreed that he would come to my apartment with me and check if it was safe. If it was bugged. If there were sufficient deadbolts. That Jeanette wasn’t hiding in a closet with a Glock. Then he would repair back down the road to Yorkville and check into one of the pricey hotels on Fred’s dime, give the concierge a credit card and his sizes to get him some clothes, and we’d start fresh in the morning.

  All the way up Avenue Road I was thinking about Gene. I hadn’t had a chance to warn him we were coming. I didn’t know if he was at my place, but I kind of doubted it. He usually didn’t stay there more than a day or two, so he’d probably gone back to his place by now to sleep it off. I hoped. I hoped he wasn’t still sitting on my couch watching the game show channel, taking hits from the pipe. For one thing, I didn’t want him to be surprised in the middle of a perfectly good high by me walking in with a stranger in summer clothes.

  I was feeling strong and the goal of getting my nephews back was keeping me that way. But the fact of a rock of crack sitting directly in front of me with a pipe and lighter at the ready would be a test I knew I would fail.

  I had the cab drop us off at the side door, jabbering away about how my place might be a mess, that’s the way I’d left it, and warning him that my friend might be there. I didn’t give a shit if Dave was appalled by my living conditions or not, but apologizing for a messy place is hardwired in.

  We exited the elevator at the fifth floor, and Dave walked ahead of me. His hand was behind him, resting lightly on the grip of the gun in the back of his jeans. Somehow I hadn’t noticed it. A t-shirt and jeans, and I hadn’t noticed a gun, and obviously no one else had either, or there would have been cops everywhere in the cab line-up at the ferry terminal. Either way, I was glad to see it. The hallway was hushed and empty, and I fumbled with my keys and opened the door.

  The living room was neat, tidy, and empty. I exhaled. Gene had cleaned up, a rare feat for him. Bathroom, the same. The bedroom door was closed. Dave opened it with one motion, his gun drawn.

  Gene was tied to the bed. Something was stuffed into his mouth, and his face didn’t look much like a face anymore.

  I pushed past Dave, who tried to restrain me. He settled for checking the closet and under the bed.

  Gene had been beaten past all recognition. I took the gag out of his mouth, and his mouth just stayed open, limply. His eyes were closed, and I checked for a pulse. I was pretty sure I could feel one.

  “He’s alive,” I said. “Call an ambulance.” Dave grabbed the phone beside the bed and dialed 911, while I held Gene’s hand. Dave pushed me away and took over, clearing Gene’s airway and talking loudly to him. He pulled his shirt up and examined him for other injuries. His chest was dark red and purple, and his skinny torso looked slightly misshapen on one side.

  “Broken ribs,” Dave said. “I don’t know what kind of internal injuries he might have.” He felt again for Gene’s pulse. Then felt again, more intently.

  “It’s gone,” he said. He leaned over Gene, tilted his head back, and gave him CPR. I could hear the ambulances speeding up Avenue, their sirens wailing. I counted every time Dave pushed with his interlaced palms over Gene’s sternum, then breathed into his mouth. I prayed he knew what he was doing.

  I buzzed the paramedics in and ran down the hall to the elevator to wait for them. Within minutes, they had Gene on a stretcher. He was breathing on his own, but wasn’t conscious.

  Dave flashed some kind of badge at one of the EMTs as we were rushing back towards the elevators, and I heard them say that they were taking him to Toronto General. Dave said he’d meet me there, and I just nodded.

  My brain registered the badge and filed it away for use later.

  The paramedics hooked Gene up to an IV drip in the ambulance, and I held his hand as we sped back down Avenue Road to one of the hospitals on University. We pulled into Toronto General. One of the paramedics gently turned Gene and found his wallet in his jeans pocket and tossed it to me. “Hang on to that for him,” he said. “We’ll need his information.” I ran behind the stretcher as they took him down the hall for examination and testing, but they wouldn’t let me go into the room. Dave found me, and led me to chairs in the hallway outside where they were working on Gene.

  “Jack?” he said to me.

  I shook my head. “He could do the beating. But he wouldn’t tie anybody up first.”

  Dave actually took my hand, gently. “Danny. If Jack is as sick as we think he is, we don’t know what he would do anymore.” I nodded. Dave went and got me a coffee. I was so, so tired all of a sudden.

  “Thanks for helping Gene,” I said, staring into my paper cup. Dave shrugged. I waited for someone to come and tell me something.

  Gene was the most gentle person I had ever met. Kind, funny, and fucked-up, he had never intentionally hurt a soul in his life. But he didn’t really have the skills to live in a harsh world.

  “I don’t trust you,” I said. I thought about the badge, and for some reason kept it to myself for now.

  “I know.”

  “But you saved his life, maybe.”

  “You’re welcome,” Dave said. We sat in silence. Finally, a doctor came out of the room.

  “You here for this man?” he said, indicating behind him.

  “Eugene Gold,” I said. “Yes.”

  “Your husband?”

  “No,” I answered. “My friend.”

  “He’s lucky to be alive,” the doctor said, sitting me down on the bench and ignoring Dave. “He has three broken ribs, and most of the bones in his face are broken.”

  Oh God. I wanted to be sick.

  “But the most dangerous thing is the damage to his liver and spleen. He is having a hard time breathing on his own, so we had to put him on a respirator. We’re taking him for x-rays now, and CT scans,” the doc continued.

  The doctor patted my hand. “We have a plastic surgeon on staff. If there are no internal injuries that we have to see to first, he’ll take a look at your friend and see what we can do about putting him back together.” He paused. “Do you know who did this?”

  “No,” I said. “I just found him like this. I just got back from California tonight.” The doc shook his head and started moving away from us.

  “Oh! Doctor,” I said, rushing towards him. “You should know. He’s an addict. Crack cocaine. In case you need to know.”

  He nodded. “Stick around. The police will want to talk to you.”

  * * *

  Dave and I took turns sleeping on uncomfortable banks of chairs in a patients’ lounge. I paced and searched through Gene’s wallet, trying to find his mother’s phone number. I had never met her, but I knew she lived in the wilds of Northern Ontario someplace. His father was dead, and he had no brothers and sisters.

  “I can’t find anything,” I said to Dave. “Other than me, his mother is all he has. And I don’t know how to find her. I don’t know her last name; she’s remarried.” I put my head in my hands. I felt the bump on the back of my skull. It was still tender. I winced.

  “Sorry about that,” Dave said. I looked at him.

  “You did this?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “I came in through a window. We needed to find out more about Ginger, about where she’d been, and with whom.”

  “And I walked into the bathroom, and you had to jump into the shower,” I said.

  “I heard you coming down the hall, but it was my only choice. Actually,” he said, “I thought you might be Jeanette Vasquez for a minute. That’s her last name, by the way. Jeanette Vasquez. From the back, you look remarkably alike.” Great, I thought. I look like a sociopath. “But either way, I had to get out of there without anyone seeing me. I didn’t do too muc
h damage, did I?”

  “No,” I said. “You’re a wily little fucker, you know that?”

  “Yeah,” he answered. “I know.”

  When the police found us in the waiting room, I told them that I was being escorted home from my sister’s funeral, and came home to find Gene on the bed. No, he didn’t have any enemies that I knew of. No, I didn’t either.

  I crossed my fingers for that one.

  Knowing they would hear it from the medical team, I told them that Gene was an addict, and that I had been one too. I said I was clean, but that Gene probably wasn’t. I intimated that it might have had something to do with a drug deal gone wrong.

  “I don’t know who he buys from,” I said. I crossed my toes this time. “He doesn’t sell it, it’s just for his own use. If somebody beat him up over it, it’s because he owed them money or something. But I don’t know who.” I still felt like I should protect D-Man, because I knew he was in no way capable of this.

  Dave was silent during all of this. One of the cops asked him who he was.

  “Can I talk to you over here?” he said to the older cop. They moved across the room, and I saw Dave flash his badge at the guy. I heard him say something about being a friend of the family, and that I’d been cleaning up my act. I didn’t deal with the dealers anymore. He gave his word that we would cooperate with any investigation, and assured the cop that I had been in his presence for the last three days. No phone calls had been made to Toronto, to any dealers or otherwise, he said.

  The older cop nodded. They probably didn’t care much anyway. Another junkie beaten up over drugs. A day in the life.

  The police left, and Dave returned and sat back down.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Don’t worry, Danny,” Dave said, looking straight ahead. “We’ll find them.”

  “I might have to kill her,” I said. “Jeanette. You going to give me a problem with that?”

  “I’m not so quick sometimes,” Dave said. “I miss a lot.” Not so quick, my ass. I hoped that if push came to shove, Dave would be in my corner.

  I nodded and closed my eyes again. “You going to show me your badge?” I said.

  “Which one would you like to see?” Dave said. “I’ve got about eight I think. No, nine.” He sounded sort of amused. I snorted. It really didn’t matter who he was, as long as he was going to help me get the boys back. If he was, in fact, law enforcement of some kind – which I thought unlikely; he was way too good – and he wanted to arrest me when this was all over, he could give it his best shot.

  * * *

  I think I slept for a while. I had a hospital blanket over me when somebody shook my knee. Dave nodded at the door.

  The same doctor we’d talked to earlier came into the lounge. He sat down as though his knees were bothering him. There was blood on his scrubs that hadn’t been there before.

  “We have to remove his spleen,” the doctor said. “It’s ruptured. There’s a great deal of internal bleeding. Your friend is in surgery now. Dealing with his face will have to wait, I’m afraid.”

  “Is he going to live?” I asked.

  “We hope so,” the doctor said. “He’s got good people in there. But you should go home and rest. Come back tomorrow. He’ll be out for a long while.” And with that he patted my hand again, and left the room.

  I put my head between my knees. I was pretty sure I was going to have one of my fits. I could feel Dave’s presence beside me, and I was glad he was there. But I wanted Darren. Or Ginger. I gulped in air, and tried not to cry, because breathing unsteadily like that would surely make me faint.

  “Danny. Breathe.” I could hear Dave’s voice like it was a long way away. I breathed.

  When my head cleared, I sat up slowly. “I need sleep,” I said.

  “Yes,” Dave agreed.

  “Then tomorrow morning we’re coming back here.”

  “Okay,” Dave said.

  “After that, you’re going to give me a refresher lesson in shooting.”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re going to get the boys back. And then I’m going to kill her.”

  “And if Jack is somehow involved?” Dave said quietly.

  “He’s not,” I said, but my heart skipped a beat.

  19

  When we got back to my apartment, I didn’t want to look in the bedroom again. I knew my sheets had blood on them. Gene’s blood.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Dave. “I’m taking the couch. I need sleep. I can’t…” I waved my hand at the bedroom. “Clean sheets are in that closet,” I said, pointing at the hallway. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet, and…”

  “Danny. Go to sleep,” Dave said. “I’ll stay awake for a while and make sure you’re okay, then I’ll catch a few hours.” He double-checked the door and locked the windows, even though I was on the fifth floor. He closed the blinds, and put my desk chair up against the door, in case anyone managed to break in while we were sleeping.

  “At least we’ll wake up,” he said. He smiled.

  “Isn’t it preferable to die in your sleep?” I said, making myself comfortable on the couch. I didn’t even remove my clothes.

  “It’s preferable not to die,” Dave corrected me.

  “Good point,” I said. I spent half a minute thinking about Miller. I wished he was here with us. And that’s the last I knew until morning.

  * * *

  I woke to the smell of coffee brewing. And eggs frying, with onions. I sat up.

  “Hi,” I said. Dave was wearing one of my aprons. Well, my only apron. Jack had bought it for me during our first year of marriage, when I decided to teach myself how to cook. It didn’t go quite as well as the fighting had, but I could put together a mean protein shake.

  I sat on the couch, waking up. Dave brought me coffee and eggs, all of which I consumed without a word.

  “Gene made it through surgery,” Dave said, shovelling eggs into his face. For such a skinny little guy, he sure enjoyed his food.

  “Really? You called?”

  He nodded. “An hour ago. He’s in recovery. We can see him later today.”

  “Oh thank God,” I said. “Thank you,” I said to Dave. He nodded and returned to his eggs. I finished eating, and put my feet on the coffee table and lit a cigarette. Dave looked disapproving.

  “Hey, it’s my apartment,” I said.

  “I know. But you’re supposed to be in training,” he said.

  “I’ve always smoked,” I said. “Even when I was fighting.” I took a defiant drag, which of course had to be one that made me cough. Dave grinned.

  “Fuck off,” I said. But in a friendly way.

  Dave looked at his watch. “I’m going to have a shower,” he said.

  “Clean towels in the cupboard in the bathroom,” I said, not moving. I was glad to be home. Dave nodded, and a minute later, I heard the shower. I luxuriated on my couch for a minute. My books were here. My clothes. My things. And Gene was going to be all right. Well, maybe not all right, but he would live. I felt it. And the twins were in Toronto, and I would find them.

  But Ginger was still dead.

  I got up and went to my computer to see if Darren had sent an update. I clicked my mouse to remove my screensaver, and what was waiting for me on the screen made me stop breathing.

  A photo of Matty and Luke sitting on a gray cement floor. No restraints that I could see. A large window in the background, but I couldn’t see anything behind it, no buildings. The boys looked like they were trying to smile. Luke looked like he’d been crying. There was no message, no words. I didn’t want to click on the image anywhere, in case it disappeared.

  I stared at the picture, touching the screen. Ginger’s boys.

  When I heard the shower stop, I yelled for Dave. He came out with a towel around his waist, his gun in his hand.

  We looked at the screen. The boys looked so grown up now. The last time I’d seen them was three years ago.

  I tried to foc
us, take my eyes off the boys and look for anything around them that might hint at where they might be. I was pretty sure the photo had been taken in Toronto – the phone call hinted that the boys were here, and the sky outside the window was gray. Southern California hadn’t seen a sky like that since they went missing. The window behind them was large, square at the bottom and oval at the top. It looked like it reached from almost the floor, to well above where the picture ended. It must be a warehouse, or a loft. Some kind of downtown studio space, maybe?

  “Danny,” Dave said slowly. “It’s time to call Jack.”

  I nodded. It was.

  I made Dave stay in the living room while I made the call from my bedroom. I told him not to bother picking up the phone to listen in – Jack’s instincts were infallible, and he would know if someone was listening. Besides, Fred trusted that I wanted the kids to be safe, almost as much as he did.

  Dave said Jack was staying at the Four Seasons, but I decided to try his house in Bermuda first. I didn’t need to look at my address book. Somehow, even though I never called Jack, I had his numbers firmly lodged in my brain. I called his home first, hoping against hope that he was there and not mixed up in any of this. A woman answered on the first ring. By the sound of her accent, a Bermudian woman.

  “Can I speak to Jack, please,” I said.

  “Not here,” she said, as though she had better things to do.

  “Can you tell me if he is at his office?” I asked politely.

  There was a pause. “Who is this, please,” the woman said.

  “It’s his ex-wife,” I answered. No point in beating around the bush.