Gifts and Consequences (19 page)

“Everything’s working just fine," she told him.  "I don’t need to change it at all.”  The thin sleeves were quickly saturated and only spread the tears on her face without blotting them.  Charlie went to grab the towel that hung from the discolored oven.

“You’re eighteen years old, Lisa.  You’re an adult.  You don’t have to depend on anyone.”

Lisa knew his words were meant to comfort and encourage her, but even his soothing hand on her shoulder didn’t help calm her.  He had pointed out that the future lay wide open in front of her, ready to suck her in and grind her up.  The security of solitude and hiding was gone.  She stood and moved away before Charlie could try to soothe her again.

Standing was better than sitting, but she still couldn’t relax.  She paced the linoleum but it did little to fight off the sense of impending doom.

“I think you should leave,” she said.

Charlie stood, helpless to comfort her.  “Lisa, I’m sorry.  I…”

She turned from her pacing track and walked to the door.  She opened it and repeated, “I think you should go.”  It was everything she could do to stand still, holding the door open.

“I’m sorry I pried,” he pleaded, but Lisa didn’t reply.  She didn’t even look up at him.  Her tears splatting on the floor broke the silence with an irregular cadence.

Charlie sighed loudly and walked to the door.  He stopped in front of her before leaving the apartment.  “I’m here for you.  For whatever you need.”

He tenderly placed his hands on either side of her down-turned face, smearing tears across her cheeks, and kissed her on the forehead.  Lisa didn’t move. 

Charlie walked out and Lisa closed the door quickly, but gently.  She turned the dead bolt, careful not to make any noise.

I just wish I could be invisible again.

She turned the lights off in the kitchen area and walked down the hall without making a sound.  Leaving the light on in the hallway, she went into her room, climbed into bed and curled up in a ball under her blanket.  Tremors raged across her body.  She focused on taking up as little space as possible on the bed and suppressed her deep breathing.

It was too warm in her room for a blanket, but she left it on.  Her shoes were still on her feet, but she lay still, afraid that any movement would upset the tenuous balance of security in her life.

Eventually the tremors ceased.  She felt like she could let her breathing go and it wouldn’t race out of control.  Her world returned to normal.  But Lisa still didn’t move. 

She never asked to be an adult, and had fully planned on not being around when it was time to go out into the world.  Date or no date, friend or no friend she didn’t want to do this any more.

How can opportunity and freedom be so terrifying
? she wondered.  It made no sense, but it didn’t change how she felt. 

As she had so many other nights, she lay still in her bed.  Afraid to move, afraid to live.

With what felt like daring she shook her head imperceptibly. 
I can’t do it
, she thought. 
I can’t do it
.

When Oscar disembarked at the Des Moines International Airport, Jameson Hanborough was waiting for him.  The portly private investigator had been working nonstop for two and a half days.  Though he was reluctant at first, Mr. Hanborough agreed to collaborate with three other PIs in Des Moines.  He claimed it was the first time in his career, and made Jonathan pay dearly for it.  The case seemed straightforward, but the four still had very little to show.

Oscar climbed into the pale blue Ford Taurus. 
This is definitely more incognito than the Batmobile,
he thought
.  I don’t think there is a less noticeable car on the planet
.

“Mr. Mackintosh,” Hanborough said as they exited the airport onto McKinley Avenue, "we still haven’t found her.  Why are we suddenly changing direction?”

“The why is not important.  Just tell me what you’ve found out.”

Hanborough paused, most likely trying to make sense of Oscar’s accent.  After a moment he replied, “I was only notified of the change in focus a couple hours ago.  I have people interviewing neighbors again, and looking into school and work history, including interviewing coworkers and fellow students.  Do you have reason to believe Warr had something to do with his daughter’s disappearance?”

“Mr. Hanborough, we have reason to believe that we want dirt on Mr. Warr.”

“It’s just that anything you can tell us would help point us in the right direction.”

Ignoring the request, Oscar forced himself to maintain a professional tone.  “Have you checked with the county regarding liens and criminal records?”

“Yes, nothing significant.”

“Phone records?”

“Yes.”

“Credit card statements?”

“Yes.”

“Did you attempt to recover his trash.”

“Mr. Mackintosh, we are very thorough.  Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

“Aye,” said Oscar.  “I might have mentioned this already but we’re after dirt.”

“Fine,” said Hanborough.  The car accelerated and he gripped the steering tighter.  “Here’s what we have so far.  Tony Warr was suspended in seventh grade for having fireworks at school.  Since he got his driver’s license eighteen years ago he’s had four moving violations, one for reckless driving and the rest for speeding.  His credit score is 618, he has a small medical bill that is in collections, and prefers Corona when he drinks.”

They turned onto 5th Street and Hanborough continued.  “That’s everything I can confirm, but I have some other suspicions.  We made contact with all of his witnesses at the divorce trial.  None of them admitted it, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure every one of them perjured themselves.”

Oscar sat up in his seat.  “What makes you think that?”

“I’ve been doing this long enough to recognize when a group of people that are tied together all start acting strangely.  Every one of Mr. Warr’s witnesses became extremely defensive the minute we started talking to them.”

“That’s where Warr’s savings went,” Oscar said to himself.

“Huh?” asked Hanborough.

“Nothing.  Turn here,” said Oscar, signaling to the right, as they approached Diehl Street.

“My office is straight ahead on this road,” argued Jameson

“I’m not going to your office.  I’m sure you can figure out your job without me babysittin’ ya.  Take me to Mr. Warr’s house.”

Jameson didn’t reply.  Oscar figured the top PI in the state was finally tired of being ordered around. 

Tony Warr lived in an aging middle-class neighborhood.  The houses were half a century old, but all had well-kept yards.  There were no broken down cars parked on the street, and the houses varied in style, color, and size, unlike the new tract neighborhoods that attracted the young middle class.

At Oscar’s direction, Jameson stopped two houses from Mr. Warr’s.  Oscar got out of the car and waited until the PI had driven away before reaching into his utility pack.  The first item he removed was an earpiece.  He placed it in his ear and reached into his pack to activate it.  After a moment of squelches and squeaks he heard the familiar sound of Mr. Warr’s breathing.  Just to double check the mark he texted Cheryl:
Is TW still sleeping at home
? 

Within seconds she answered in the affirmative.  A second text followed a few seconds later:
U gonna wait for Boy Wonder, or go solo on this one?
 

Emboldened by the task at hand he answered:
was hoping batgirl wld back me up but i don’t see her
. 

Almost instantaneously an answer came:
I’ll be ur Batgirl anytime
.  With a grin he silenced his phone and put it back in his pocket.

The only other item he removed from the pack was his improvised utility belt.  It lacked grappling hooks and choking gas capsules, but had enough tools to get him out of some tight spots.  Within seconds it was secured around his waist.

Tony Warr’s house was red brick with white casement windows.  A concrete driveway ran along the west side of the house to an open carport toward the back of the lot.  Elm and Juniper trees lined the east side.  Oscar slipped into the foliage and made his way to the back door.  The bedroom was in the front corner of the house.  As he passed he saw that the blinds were drawn.

He was disappointed to find the back door unlocked.  Drama and intrigue were the highlights of his assignments and he didn’t appreciate mundane advantages like a lock he didn’t have to pick.  He dropped his hand from the pouch on his belt that held his lockpick set.

The back door led to a mud room and into the kitchen.  McDonald’s and KFC bags littered the counter and dirty dishes filled the sink.  The odor of an over-full garbage can filled the kitchen. 

Oscar moved silently down the hallway toward the bedroom.  Warr didn’t know, but it was not Oscar’s first time in the house.  Thirty-six hours earlier, right after Jonathan made the deal with Warr, Oscar sneaked into the house and placed two bugs and a hidden camera.

The lights in the hallway were off, but Oscar knew it was much brighter than the bedroom would be.  There was no flair or style in barging in and waking Mr. Warr with the bright light.  That’s not how Batman would do it. 

Oscar found some thick sheets in a hallway closet and borrowed some duct tape from a drawer in the kitchen.  He carried a small roll in his utility pack, but he liked the idea of using items from Mr. Warr’s house.

It only took a moment to hang the makeshift curtain that would allow him to open Warr’s door without flooding the room with light.  The tape wouldn’t hold long, but he only needed a couple minutes.  Standing in the airlock between curtain and door, he let his eyes adjust.  When he saw faint light coming from under Mr. Warr’s door but none leaking around the curtain, he knew it was safe to go in.

He turned the knob and opened the door so slowly he felt like an Edgar Allen Poe character.  Without a sound he slipped into the room and closed the door behind him.  The outlines of furniture were easy to see with his eyes already adjusted to the dim light.  Warr lay on his side with his feet to the door, breathing loudly.

There was a chair next to the dresser.  Oscar moved to it and sat. 

And waited. 

He didn’t mind sitting or waiting.  Getting the right effect was worth it.  He was used to waiting when he made his midnight forays.  Even in high-crime areas he had to be patient, waiting and watching for the right moment to administer vengeance.

There had been precious few moments when he was able to intervene to prevent a crime. One was just a kid trying to break into a smoke shop after hours. 

The other was a pair of thugs who had cornered a woman who was walking alone.  They took her purse and coat, and Oscar was convinced they had worse intentions, but he didn’t let it get that far.  By the time he left them groaning on the pavement, they thought Batman truly had descended on them from the shadows.  He escorted the terrified woman, along with her purse and coat, to a well-lit, populated area and disappeared back into the shadows.

Oscar had never felt more like a superhero.  Or more like he could make a difference.  There had been many satisfying moments working for Jonathan, but none like that night on a cold Flint street.

He had earned as many scars over the years as he had fond memories.  As a black belt in karate and armed with an increasing number of gadgets, he could handle almost anything he stepped into.  But every once in a while he ran into a group with superior numbers or better weaponry.

While patrolling Warren, a suburb of Detroit, a year previous he had attempted to break up a gang fight.  It had been two months since he had seen action and he was desperate enough to step in where he had no business.  A member of the Vice Lords gang shot him in the side.  The Pierson Hood members fled as soon as shots were fired.

While Oscar lay on the ground the rest of the Vice Lords gathered around and kicked him in the ribs and head.  They left him bleeding in street, and he had to stumble to a payphone and call 911.  He was lucky to be alive.

That was the night Oscar Mackintosh realized he was not invincible.  Since then gangs had gone up on his list of priorities, but he’d never interfere when they tried to hurt each other.  Let the lowlifes exterminate themselves.  Even though it would mean less action for him, the world would be a better place.

In the bed Mr. Warr snorted and shifted but continued sleeping. 

Oscar sat as still as a statue in the dim light.  Waiting.

Jonathan paused before entering his wife’s room.  He no longer hesitated to gather courage.  Now he did it for privacy’s sake.  Two days previously he walked in as the nurse was helping Susan into her pajamas.  She didn’t care that he’d seen her in bra and underwear a thousand times over their twenty year marriage.  His presence upset her so much that he was forced to leave and come back the next day, starting a new habit of sending the nurse in first to make sure Susan was decent.