The Fives Run North-South (21 page)

23

D
ented
. Chapter 13, by Rob and Ben
Keaton
—
the
first written by Ben Keaton.

There was really only one happy ending I could see. Somehow, some way, Randall Grosse melts away. Whether
he
—
as
he put
it
—
gets
bored, or whether he trips up and gets caught by the law, he has to be out of my life. For good, and with no essence of him to ever possibly return. My life and success have been about
laser
-
sharp
focus. Distractions like Grosse simply clog up the engine. Secondly, I need the company to be mine again. No threats like Kyle Thomas and his ilk. These two switches needed to be thrown, and quickly.

Of course, having Peter and Suze safe and happy went without saying. If Suze decided she could avoid divorce and stay with me (and be happy), that’d be good. That’s up to her, really.

So as I sat down heavily in my desk chair, I made up my mind that somehow I would map out a clear path to get to that happy ending. I was too overwhelmed and still a bit more shaken than comfortable to clearly see even the first step in that direction, but I grasped at a straw of confidence that there was an answer just about to click into place. In all my years, I’d never failed to lock in on the combination necessary to beat any problem. No difference here.

Without thinking, I turned and looked out into the parking lot again. No sign of my new friend or his SUV.

“Adam?”

I turned. Suze was standing there, a fresh cup of coffee sending steam toward her face.

“Hey,” I said as calmly as I could.

“You look a little disturbed,” she said.

I shrugged. “Typical Monday.”

“Yeah, right,” she smiled. “Listen, Adam, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Well, first off, I don’t think you’ve told me everything. That’s okay. I think I can handle more than you probably do, but you do like your burdens.”

“Suze…”

“I didn’t mean that as a shot. It’s actually one of your better qualities. I forget that sometimes. I think maybe you will get all this sorted out more quickly without me hovering around. I’m thinking your idea about going to Vermont after we call the police might be a good one.”

She sipped her coffee, making a face. Her taste in coffee was a bit more demanding than our break room was able to provide. She toughed it out and took another sip.

“Why don’t you just go? I’ll handle the police.”

“There are two problems with that. First, I need to pack, and there’s no way I’m going back home alone today. Second, I love you and I trust you, but I also know you. If I leave, you’ll not call the police. I’m staying until you do call them, so that I can leave knowing that this is going to be taken care of.”

“Well, first things first,” I said. I buzzed my assistant. “Can you send me Rich Burns?” I knew he’d come running. Rich was my company Chihuahua, who had become my pet project to toughen up. Despite having a backbone made of
jelly
—
especially
around
me
—
he
had muscles like guns, likely to give Suze a sense of security (though I had my doubts how he’d handle himself in an actual confrontation). I looked back at her. “I’m going to have Rich Burns drive you home. I’ll ask him to stay with you until I get back. I think I can wrap up by early afternoon. Pack your bags, wash me some socks, and let’s tackle this later. That work?”

She nodded, though it looked like she really wanted to say something. Even more, she wanted me to ask her what was on her mind. I was rescued by Rich, who, according to pattern, had likely sprinted to my office.

“Yessir?” he asked. “Did you need me?”

“Hi, Rich.”

He blinked.

“Rich, this is my wife. Suzanne Mann. We call her Suze.”

He blinked.

“Suze, this is Rich. Shake hands, Rich. Okay, good. Rich, listen, I need you to do me a favor. On the clock, of course, though a bit unorthodox. You up for it?”

“Yes?”

“Of course you are. I need you to drive Suze back to my house and wait with her there until I get back this afternoon. Simple, really.”

“In my car?”

I nodded. He exhaled. “So what do you say?” I asked.

“Sure. I should clean out…might not have much gas…my laptop?”

“Rich.”

“Yes?”

“I appreciate it. This is a huge favor for me. Thanks.”

I nodded toward the door. He looked at me, and there seemed to be a noticeable lag before he moved out of the office. “He’s tough,” I said to Suze. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure,” she said.

“Kind of a weird day, hey?”

She smiled and shrugged. “See you in a bit?”

“Quick as I can.”

I tried to place a call to Chester, but he didn’t answer. Strangely, his voice mail was full, so I couldn’t even leave him a message. I asked my assistant to try his number hourly until she reached him, and then forward the call to my cell phone. Then I huddled with my CFO, Mike Borges. Without getting into the entire Kyle Thomas saga, I gave him an outline for a presentation I wanted him to prepare; one I would deliver to the board at the meeting. Then I cleaned out my
e
-
mail
inbox, feeling more relaxed as I did. Like a runner’s high, the turbulence of the last
twenty
-
four
hours grew duller as I cast structure over my work environment. By about two, I was caught up, the desk neat and set up for what I expected to be a productive day tomorrow. I got up, stretched, and packed my case to go home and get Suze on her way to Vermont.

I walked out to the car (no flats, dents, or scratches) and worked my way into traffic toward home. As I passed it, I found myself checking the side street from where the red SUV had cut me off to start this whole drama. I shook my head at the needlessness of the whole Randall Grosse thing. If only I could make it go away…

I smacked my head. Money. Solves everything. I had his number on my phone. Why not just call him back and offer him a bit of cash to fade off into the sunset? Probably his end game all along, and really, despite how little he deserves, I would be willing to swallow my pride, pay him off and reset my focus and attention entirely where it was needed: holding together my company and my place at the head of the table. I reached down for my phone, ready to call before I talked myself out of it.

But as I reached for it, the phone started ringing. I looked at the readout. Peter. My first reaction was one of mild panic, so I answered quickly.

“Peter,” I said. “What’s up?”

There was a second of hesitation, and as I replayed my salutation in my mind, I realized that I answered with a bit too much urgency in my voice.

“Uh…hey, Dad. You okay?”

I tried to measure the pace of my reply. “Sure, buddy. I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“The hand either throbs or itches, and I can’t decide which I hate the most. I almost wish they’d amputated the damn thing.”

Whew. He was okay.

“I’m sorry I called you during business hours,” Peter continued. “I wasn’t thinking. Must be the meds. Should I call back later?”

“No,” I said. “I’m in the car. Got nothing but time. What’s new?”

“Well, learning to type with one hand and use the mouse with my left hand. I keep
wrong
-
clicking
. I thought it would have been easier. There’s other challenges, too.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, learning to wipe with the other hand after a crap. Also more difficult than you’d expect.”

I laughed. It felt strange, foreign. Felt good.

“Look,” he said. “I know you’re wondering why I called.”

“I was going to ask how much you needed.”

“Nope. Not that. Mom deposited some money in my account yesterday.”

“So what is it?”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Have to. I’m driving, remember?”

“Right. I just called to say thanks.”

“Well, I nearly ran off the road there,” I said. “What do you really want?”

“Again, it’s probably the meds. But I just was studying, going
cross
-
eyed
on the text, and had the urge to call you and say thanks. I’ve simply fallen into that stereotype they talk about where a former teenager doesn’t appreciate the parent until after he’s left the house. Or after he’s had an accident that nearly severs a limb.”

“Thanks then, Peter. Glad to hear it, but it wasn’t necessary. Just doing my job, as they say.”

“Cool.”

“Hey, we were thinking of having your mom come up for a few more days.”

“Why?” he asked.

“More for her sake than yours. Can you deal with that?”

“I guess so.” He was obviously lacking in enthusiasm.

“Let her come in, move stuff around for you, and dust the place for an hour or so every day. It will do you both good. I’m sure your roommates won’t mind.”

“Zed will. He likes to hang out in his underwear.”

“Zed’s not got the body type,” I said. “I just pulled a visual, and I’m thinking you’d want your mother around for that reason alone.”

“Whatever, Dad. Send her up,” Peter said.

“Thanks, bud. And thanks for calling.”

“Love you, Dad,” he said, hanging up.

He’s right. It must be the meds. But it was nice even though.

After finishing strongly at work and talking with Peter on the drive home, I was feeling better than I had in days.

Then I rounded the curve near our home and saw the police car in my driveway.
Shit
.

It was blocking my way to the garage, so I parked in the street. I tried to collect my thoughts and walk calmly to the front door, which was ajar. I walked in and heard voices coming from the breakfast nook beside the kitchen.

“Hello,” I called out.

Suze came walking out to meet me. “Hi, Adam, I…” she put her hand on my shoulder. I didn’t say anything, but just glared at her and yanked my shoulder out of her grasp. We had talked about this, and she had ignored me. Of course she had no way of knowing the consequences, but the last thing I needed now was this.

Shit
.

She froze behind me, but I left her and walked into the kitchen. Two policemen were sitting at our small table, and they rose up when they saw me. As I saw them, I thought:
oh, this just keeps getting better.
I recognized them as Officer Eyebrow/Johnson and his partner from the broken window incident.

“Can I help you?” I asked, using just enough politeness of tone to qualify as civil.

“Sorry to bother you,” said Eyebrow/Johnson. “Your wife said you’d be home shortly.”

Suze walked in, arms crossed tightly in front of her. They looked at her, the other officer motioning toward two empty glasses. “Thanks for the lemonade,” he said. “Ma’am.” He did that thing with his eyes where they narrowed suspiciously.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“We were just sent here to ask you a couple quick questions having to do with a murder investigation.”

I didn’t have to fake surprise, though it was more in the realization that Suze hadn’t called the police. I turned to her and my eyes caught hers. Our eyes had a brief, but robust conversation.

“A murder investigation?” I asked.

“A gentleman named Curtis Viniteri. We’re following up with some of his current clients, hoping to get an idea or two of what might have happened. From his ledger, we saw that you’d made a payment to him. Looks as if he’d coded it as an advance. Is this correct?”

“Viniteri?” I asked. Using pretend shock to align my thoughts. “What happened?”

“As I said, he’s dead, and as of right now it’s an apparent homicide. So you were one of his clients?”

I nodded. “For my company. We use him to investigate worker’s compensation cases. He helps us catch frauds.”

They nodded, the quiet one taking notes in his pad.

“So this is the situation with the recent payment?”

I nodded.