Orphans of Wonderland (9 page)

The Devil closed his bloody eyes, returned to sleep amid the flames.

There had been a time when he would've needed pills to rescue him, but he'd learned breathing techniques and ways of distracting his thoughts and focusing them elsewhere when this sort of thing happened. He stayed with them, going through them again and again until he felt his heart rate return to normal and the laughter of demons in the back of his mind go quiet.

In that moment, Joel wanted nothing more than to go home and feel Taylor's arms around him, the warmth of her body against his, those eyes searching his with love and understanding, patience and kindness unlike any he'd ever known.

Instead, he moved quickly across the room to the bookcase and began scanning the book spines, going from title to title in search of…what? What was he looking for? He wasn't sure, but he'd been drawn to the books. Perhaps Lonnie had answered him after all. He pulled several, flipping through them, but came up empty until he selected an old, dog-eared copy of the Philip K. Dick novel
The Man in the High Castle
. As he flipped through it, he noticed that a little over halfway through the book, a business card was nestled between the pages. He plucked it free, then tossed the novel back on the shelf.

The card read:
Jerry Simpson, Director of Human Resources,
TUSER INDUSTRIES. It listed a phone number and address in New Bedford.

Joel turned the card over. Hastily written in pen was the word
Tuser
, followed by the word
Resut
. He studied them a moment. It was the same word. Lonnie had written it normally, then backward.

Grabbing his phone, he opened his Internet browser and did a search for
Tuser Industries
. It returned a website verifying it was a real place and evidently still in business. A search for the word
Tuser
only offered a listing in an urban dictionary that read:
A user of a product who commonly raises ridiculous or otherwise hilariously daft questions relating to usability.
That certainly didn't seem to fit or relate to anything, so Joel wondered if
Tuser
was simply a person's name or perhaps a combination of names.

Next he did a search for
Resut
.

RESUT is an ancient Egyptian word for dream. The literal translation is “to come awake” or “awakening”, and it is depicted in hieroglyphs as an open eye, symbolizing that when one dreams, one's eyes are open to the truth.

A search for Jerry Simpson turned up nothing related to the company.

Joel put the card in his pocket and left the apartment. Once in the hallway, he locked the door, then looked up at the stairs. Somewhere in the building a game show was blaring from someone's television.

He texted Katelyn and asked if Lonnie had ever mentioned Tuser Industries or anyone named Jerry Simpson. A moment later she texted back, explaining she had not. It didn't sound familiar to her at all. Joel let her know he'd be in touch soon, then put his phone away and slowly climbed the stairs toward Bea's apartment.

Following her directions, he followed a dim, dusty, windowless hallway to apartment 3.

Bea answered the door almost immediately. “Hey,” she said with a smile.

“Hey. Quick question. Ever heard of Tuser Industries?”

“Yeah, it's in New Bedford,” she told him. “Lonnie worked there.”

Chapter Ten

A black cat jumped up on the kitchen table and began slinking toward him like a little panther. On the floor, three others—two calicos and one with white and black coloring like a cow—gathered around Joel's feet, rubbing their bodies against his legs and his chair and purring nosily.

“You like cats?” Bea asked from her position at the counter.

“Yeah,” he said, petting the black one. “I love animals.”

Bea's apartment had essentially the same layout as Lonnie's, although the living room was smaller and hers featured a full kitchen. Predictably, the décor was haphazard and inexpensive, and while the apartment was clean, it was cluttered and messy. Obviously she didn't spend a great deal of time tidying up, but she'd managed to turn an otherwise dull space into something attractive and homey.

“Good thing, 'cause they love you, huh?” She pulled two mugs from a cupboard and placed them on the counter next to a coffeemaker. “I never trust nobody my babies don't like, you know what I mean? They're always right when it comes to that kind of thing. You got any?”

“Used to have a dog and a cat,” he said. “Not in a while, though.”

“Yeah? How come?”

“It's so hard when you lose them.”

“Everythin' dies.” She poured the coffee, then added sugar and milk to hers. “No reason not to love. If you think about it, maybe it's more reason to.”

Joel smiled. He hadn't expected Bea to wax poetic about much of anything. “You're right,” he said as she set a steaming mug down in front of him. “Thanks.”

“The landlord says I'm only allowed to have one, but fuck him, right? What he don't know, he don't know, you know?” She scooped up the black cat, kissed him on the head. then dropped him to the floor with the others. “So I called Katelyn, wanted to make sure you checked out.”

“Did I pass?”

“Flyin' colors. I don't know Katelyn that good, to be honest. Between you and me she's kind of a snoot, you know? But she loved her father, and he loved her somethin' fierce. She said you and Lonnie were buds back in the day.”

“We hadn't talked in a long while, but yeah, like I said, since high school.”

“Just wanted to make sure I could trust you, that's all. Nothin' personal.”

“Totally understandable. I'm not here to hurt you or Lonnie's memory in any way. I'm here to help if I can. Know that anything you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence. Everything will stay between us, okay?”

Bea nodded. “Okay.”

Joel sipped his coffee as Bea retrieved her mug and joined him at the table, which was littered with celebrity and fashion magazines, and an ashtray brimming with spent cigarette butts. “What can you tell me about Tuser Industries?”

“I don't know what they do or nothin', but Lonnie worked there part-time for like seven or eight months. Couple nights a week kinda thing at first, then he did mostly weekends there. He even stayed overnight when he did weekend shifts. He spent his last vacation from his regular job working there too, a whole week, stayed there the whole time. Guess they had a place for employees to sleep or whatever. It's why he was always so frickin' tired. Lonnie worked a lot. He didn't make a lot at his regular job, though. Tuser was a way to make extra bucks. Coffee good, hon?”

“It's great.” He held his mug up as if in evidence. “Thanks.”

“Ain't Dunkin but it's not bad, right?” She had some of hers, then grabbed a pack of Camels from the table and stabbed a cigarette into the corner of her mouth.

“What did Lonnie do at Tuser, do you know?”

“Night security or some shit.” She lit the cigarette, drew on it, then threw her head back and exhaled at the ceiling.

“When I asked Katelyn about it, she'd never heard of the company.”

“He didn't want nobody to know. He said they had all these rules and he wasn't supposed to tell nobody he worked there. He told me, but he told me lots of stuff. Like how he was still dealin' with Katelyn gettin' married and all that. They were super close. He raised her by himself in an apartment not far from the bridge. When Katelyn got married, she moved out, of course, and since he was by himself, he didn't see no reason to keep a place that size, so he moved in here. That's when I met him. He was kinda lost, you know? He had some friends but he didn't hang out with them a lot. I felt bad for him. Maybe 'cause I get it, you know? I'm alone and I got a son I raised on my own too. His dad—my ex—died when he was a kid.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, got up one mornin', said he wasn't feelin' good. Walked across the room, coughed and fell over dead. Hand to God, just like that. Heart attack. Thirty frickin' years old, Joel.” Bea looked away, took another hard pull on her cigarette, then forced a smile. “Now I'm a grandmother, if you can believe
that
shit. Two grandkids. Twin girls. I don't see them much as I want 'cause my son and his wife live in Connecticut, so… Anyways, my point is, when it's just the two of youse, it's such a close relationship that it's really hard when they leave, you know?”

“Makes sense,” Joel said. “Do the police know he worked at Tuser?”

“I told them.”

“Was he still working there at the time of his death?”

“He quit a couple months before he died.”

“Do you know why?

“He was havin' problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

She hesitated, drank some coffee.

“It's okay to tell me, Bea. I know Lonnie was struggling with some issues.”

“Me and Lonnie,” she said, her eyes filling with tears, “we tried the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing for like two weeks, okay? It wasn't bad. Sometimes it was even good. But we were better at bein' friends, you know? He was a sweet guy, always lookin' out for me, makin' sure I was all right and askin' if I had a good day. Nobody ever gives two shits what kinda day I had. Hardly anybody outside work even fuckin' talks to me. I live in this buildin' where nobody but me is under a hundred years old, not one of them can fuckin' hear anythin'—they're all deaf as shit—and then this guy my age moves in, you know?” She wiped her eyes, pawing away the tears with the back of her free hand. “He was by himself, didn't have a girlfriend or nothin', and far as I could tell he wasn't a fag. No disrespect, I love queers. My brother's a queer. I'm totally for gay rights and all that shit. I even tried it a couple times. I'm fifty years old, dude. I was a party girl in the eighties and nineties. Gimme a break, right? I know how to have a good time, and lemme tellya, I can still get it wet, okay? No bullshit! But end of the day, I love guys, what can I do?” She barked out a burst of baritone laughter, but it quickly turned into a hacking cough.

There seemed nothing else to do but laugh along with her, so that's exactly what Joel did, until her cough subsided. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I'm good. Don't mean to be a pig, but it feels frickin' good to laugh sometimes, you know? Especially lately.” She plucked a paper napkin from a ceramic holder on the table and wiped her mouth. “Anyways, we just hit it off, me and Lonnie, you know? When he first moved in, he was different. Kinda sad, but wicked nice. Everythin' was good for months. Then things started changin'.”

“Do you remember what was going on in his life when the changes began?”

“It wasn't too long after he started workin' that night gig.”

“Do you think that had anything to do with it?”

Bea shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Did he ever mention anything more about the job or the company?”

“I don't think so. He didn't really talk about work a lot.” She smoked a while without offering more. “He just started gettin' weird one day. Paranoid, you know? He thought people were after him and that somebody was messin' with his head. Like fuckin' his mind over or whatever.”

“Did he say who these people were?”

“He wouldn't tell me.”

“Lonnie had a gun.”

“Yeah, I know, a 9mm.”

“It's missing from the case downstairs. Do you know what happened to it?”

She shook her head no. “Cops asked about it too.”

“Okay, so they didn't confiscate it then.”

“Fuckin' cops, please.” Bea rolled her eyes. “Like they give a shit. They were all gung ho about catchin' Lonnie's killer at first 'cause the press was all over it like flies on a bag a shit. Good news story, right? Guy shot down in the street and all that. Sells papers, gets ratings. But then after a couple days nobody gives a fuck. Just some mall cop, who cares? Ain't like some senator got whacked or nothin'. Anyways, the cops took all kinds of shit out of his apartment. Actin' all high and mighty, like big shots. Oooo, they're gonna solve a murder! Look out! Yeah. Sure. Then everythin' just stopped. Douches couldn't catch a hand job in a whorehouse.”

Biting his lip, Joel asked, “Do you have any idea where Lonnie was going the morning he was killed?”

“No.” She crushed her cigarette in the ashtray. “But…”

“But what?”

Bea was suddenly having a difficult time making eye contact. “Did you really see somebody in there before, in his apartment?”

“I'm not sure. Why?”

“I never told nobody else this,” she said, squirming a bit in her chair, “but ever since Lonnie died, sometimes I hear noises comin' from his apartment.”

“Like what?”

“Sounds like somebody walkin' around in there. But it's not like a regular walk. Sounds like it's a cripple walkin', you know?”

Joel felt a twinge of fear brush his spine as he remembered the figure he'd seen in the window, and how it had appeared disfigured.

“It's like somebody that's…what's the word…”

“Hobbled?”

“Yeah,
hobbled
,” she said, pointing at him. “That's a good one!”

“Go on.”

“I've heard it a few times since Lonnie died. One time I was leavin' for work and it sounded like somebody was in his place, so I knocked and asked if someone was there, right? The sound stopped but nobody ever answered.” Bea sipped her coffee. “It happens mostly at night. I don't know, I—I started thinkin' maybe it's Lonnie. Maybe it's like his ghost or somethin', and maybe he's walkin' funny ‘cause he got shot in the head, right, and like maybe it fucked up his walkin' in the afterlife or whatever.” She looked at him, her eyes still wet. “Is that retarded? It is. It's totally frickin' retarded. Almost as bad as that dwarf shit you were talkin' about. That was fuckin' mental, dude. I'm all like, why the fuck would he be a midget?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Joel said through a sigh. “Bea, do you know anything about any notebooks Lonnie kept?”

She lit another cigarette and took several drags before answering. “You mean the one with the numbers and the scary pictures in it?”

His heart dropping into his lap, Joel sat forward. “Yes.”

“I wasn't supposed to tell nobody about it.” Bea stood up, walked her mug over to the sink, took one more sip, then dumped the rest. “Figured the cops took it.”

“No, I have it. But I don't know what it means. Do you?”

She turned and faced him, but stayed near the sink. “He only showed it to me one time, couple weeks before he died. He was wicked drunk, said the numbers had somethin' to do with that shortwave shit.”

“Shortwave? Like shortwave radios?”

“Yeah, some guy he knew was into that stuff. Talkin' on it or whatever. They talk to people all over the world, I guess.”

“What guy, Bea? Do you have a name?”

“Jerry somethin'.”

“Simpson?”

“Maybe, I don't remember. I'm not even sure he ever told me the guy's last name, to be honest. Anyways, he lives somewhere down near the cape. I forget the town, but Lonnie worked with him at Tuser. He told me he went to his house a couple times 'cause the guy has one of them radios.”

“Did you tell the police any of this?”

“I didn't tell nobody, except for you, just now.”

“Why were the same series of numbers written over and over again, page after page?”

“I don't know nothin' about it, but that night Lonnie kept talkin' about some signal that was dangerous 'cause it was fuckin' with his head and other people's heads and all this kinda shit. He was scared, Joel. He said they were gonna kill him. They were comin', and they were gonna kill him. He was drunk off his ass, and he sounded fuckin' insane, but that's what he said. I couldn't figure out what the hell he was talkin' about, but Lonnie was scared, I can tell you that. Real scared. So I'm like,
Who, Lonnie?
Who's gonna kill you?
But he wouldn't tell me. He just kept sayin' they were gonna kill him.” Bea puffed her cigarette. “And then they did.”

Joel stood up and carried his mug over to the counter. “Thank you, Bea, you've been a big help.”

She took the mug from him and placed it in the sink. “Are you gonna find out who did this?”

“I'm going to try.” He offered his hand. “If I have any more questions, is it all right if I call on you again?”

“Any time,” she said, taking his hand. “Like I got anythin' to do.”

“Anyone else comes around asking questions—including the police—don't tell them anything about any of this, all right?”

“About any of what?” She smiled. “I don't know what you're talkin' about.”

They shook.

“That a weddin' ring?” Bea asked.

“Yes.”

“Married man, huh?”

“For a long time now.”

“Happily?”

“Afraid so.”

“Figures.” She sighed. “Fuck me sideways. Or not, apparently.”