Chapter Sixteen:
It was early Friday evening when I contacted my hacker acquaintance. It had been more than a week since I hired him to find information on Sonny Winters and Gina Wilson. I was concerned that he hadn’t done what I asked him to. So, we had our second online chat.
“This is Caterski.”
“I just got home a few minutes ago. I suppose you want a status report.”
“I was just wondering -----.”
“I do have other things to do, you know. I have more important priorities than you.”
“Like cracking secure security systems.”
“That isn’t all I do. I do have a job. I do have outside interests”
“I just thought maybe you forgot about me, that’s all.”
“You are easy to forget, I’ll give you that.”
“Well, are you finished?”
“I finished your little project two days ago.”
“Two days! This case hasn’t been out of the shit hole since it started and you’ve been sitting on this for two days.“
“Relax, will you. You’ll get it today.”
“Today?
“I’m going to deliver it in person.”
“You’re coming here?”
“Yeah, I have some business up near there. As soon as I shower, I’m heading out. Where do you want to meet?”
.Hmmm. Where did I want to meet? Where? That was a good question. I’m hungry, so I’ll make it someplace to eat. Someplace I liked, but hadn’t been to in a long while. Someplace Gusano, my hacker acquaintance would loathe. I knew just the place.
“Do you know the Greek place?,“ I asked.
“Which one?”
“The one between 9th and 10th with a church across the street.”
“Yeah, I remember the place. You want to eat there?”
“Yeah.”
“Why, for god’s sake?”
“I like the food and I like the atmosphere.”
“You like the food and the atmosphere? The food is a gas producing, artery clogging, heart attack inducing nightmare. The atmosphere is
“Quit bitching, will you? It’s been around a long time. The place is a local landmark.”
“So are potholes, a lack of nudity, crazy fucking drivers. I’d like to argue with you some more, but I don’t have time. I’ll be there around 8:30, if nothing comes up.”
“It better not.”
“This case has really gotten to you, huh Caterski?”
“Shut up and sign off.”
He did as he was told. He shut up and signed off. If only it could be that easy every time.
Restless and more than a little hungry, I went to the Greek place early. Void of sophistication and high brow airs, the diner was a long time local institution. It’s location, like much of this city’s east side, was in a poor to low middle class neighborhood. A small, square Catholic church sat across the street and a couple of non-descript, not going to last very long businesses, sat directly on its left and right. Inside the place was plain. Plain counters, plain stools, and plain booths. The food was a different story. The food anything but plain. The enticing aromas alone are worth paying for. If you have a fully functioning nose of course. Which I don’t.
But I did have the memories of these aromas locked securely away in a protected corner of my brain. At certain times, at a specific moment in time, I could unlock the moment and set it free. Just as I did here, sitting in a walled booth in this small, unpretentious diner.
The hot dog, the fresh warm bun, the special sauce that covers the dog. Them comes the chili and all of its spices and herbs. And, of course, there’s the fries. Those Greek sauced, cheese covered fries. The memories of how they smelled came flooding back to me cracked open dam. Pure, powerful waves of aroma, soon followed by the strong clean waters of taste. I relived and savored those memories with mouth open and eyes closed. I hadn’t noticed time pass by so quickly. Nor had I noticed the man I call Gusano standing next to me.
“Earth to Caterski.. Earth to Caterski. Houston we have a problem. A moron who’s lost in space.”
“Sorry, I was ------.”
“Off in another place and another time..”
“Something like that.”
In his possession was a bowl of chili, a slew of crackers, bottled water, and three thick manila envelopes. The displeasure of being here was marked clearly on his face. I savored that too. He sat down and moved slowly in on the chili.
“Did you have a decent trip?,” I asked.
“Do you care?”
“Not really, no. But you didn’t have to ask, did you? You could’ve just gone along with it. Now you’ve ruined any chance we had for a decent, cordial conversation.”
“You did that by picking this place to eat in.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not. You picked this place on purpose. Me ruining my clothes with food stains would make your day.”
When the man was right, he was right. Seeing spill food on himself would make my day. But not quite as much as something golden in those three manila envelopes.
“The b&e’s,” I said. “Did you get anything that can put Winters away. Some inarguable, irrefutable evidence that even he can’t wiggle out of.”
“That’s your job to figure out. You’re the detective. I’m just a lowly gatherer of data.”
Gusano finally got around to eating his chili. Up to now, he’d been playing with it like a child with a plate full of spinach. He put two spoonfuls in his mouth, then spent the next two minutes chewing it and washing it down. He kept crumbling crackers into the chili until it reached the point where it appeared he had put chili into a bowl of crackers instead of the other way around.
“Do you always do that?,” I asked.
“Do what?”
“Chew your food excessively.”
“Yeah. I’m a little paranoid of choking to death, okay?”
“You had a bad episode choking on some food?”
“Yeah.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“I’ll talk about it if you want to. I don’t mind.”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Whatever you say.”
“You know Caterski, we’ve only met face to face four times. Four too many times.”
“Give me the envelopes.”
He ignored me and spooned two more helpings of chili in his mouth. More excessive chewing followed. Even more than before.
“I want to see the money first,” he said.
“What did you say?”
“I want to see the money.”
“Look, I know we‘re not friends and we‘re never going to be friends.”
“That‘s an understatement and a half.”
“But you know me damn well enough to know that I wouldn’t cheat you. You’re sitting here in your expensive, hand stitched, vested suit and you’re acting like a two dollar street punk.”
Gusano was smiling. I hated it when he was smiling. Why? Because the only he’d ever smiled in my presence is when he’d gotten skin. Just like now. I took the money envelope out of the inside pocket of my jacket and put it on the table. He picked it up, looked inside, and immediately began shaking his head.
“This isn’t enough money,” he said/ “Do you know how much money I make in a week? Huh? Do you? I should keep the manila envelopes and walk right out of here.”
“Listen, Gusano -------.”
“Don’t call me that, I don’t like it.”
“I don’t care what you like. I don’t care what you earn. I also don’t care about your illegal little hacker misadventures. I paying what I can afford, goddamn it.”
“Caterski, ----.”
“You’re not leaving here with those envelopes/ We made a deal. I’ve lived up to my part of it. Now it’s your turn.”
“Poor Caterski. Poor, poor Caterski. A working class slob with no money to burn.”
I pictured him then with a foot long hot dog stuck up each nostril while I held my hand over his computer obsessed mouth. It was a picture I wished I could’ve transferred to canvas and hung in an art gallery to be enjoyed by all.
“You do want to make it back home, right?,” I said.
“Threatening me?”
“No, I just want you to shut the fuck up about money.”
“A low class slob with a low class vocabulary.”
“Care to compare I.Q’s computer boy? The results might put a wrinkle in that neatly pressed face of yours.”
“I never said you were stupid.”
He scooped another helping of chili into his fat mouth. I pictured giving him a fat lip to go with it. Even though it would result in a drastic improvement in his looks, I refrained from acing out my fantasy. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to keep myself under control. Barely.
“This current climate must really be hell fo a guy like you,” he said.
“Spring is always hell around here.”
“That’s not the climate I was talking about.”
“You mean the case I’m on?”
“No, not that either.”
“Spill it out, will you? I’m not in a guessing mood.”
“I’m talking about the political climate.”
“I’m not in the mooed for that either. You know me and you know my views. Stop trying to goad me. Put the envelopes on the table, take your money, and go.“
“The world isn’t as glum as you make it out to be.”
“Certainly not your world.”
He slid out of the booth and stood up. He pulled off the napkin that ahd been tucked inside his shirt collar. He was ready to go. Hell, he’d been ready to go three seconds after he’d arrived here.
“One thing before you go,” I said.
“What?”
“I might have another job for you.”
“What? Another job? You’ve got cajones bigger than the head on Mount Rushmore.”
“There’s more money in it for you. A lot more money. More money than even you has ever dreamed about.”
“That’s not possible. I’ve dreamed about owning the world.”
“That figures. You know what I meant.”
“Where is this dream money coming from? Certainly not you.”
“The money will come from the job iteslf.”
“What’s the job?”
“Financial Armageddon.”
“You want me to poor boy somebody, is that it?”
“Give that man a Cuban cigar.”
“Who?”
“If you need more than one guess, you’re twice as dumb as you look.”
“Sonny Winters.”
He started smiling like a CEO with a government bailout check in his hand. It’s a greedy world my friends. A shameless, goddamn greedy world.
“Are you going to take it on,” I asked.
“Do you even need to ask?”
“This is what I want. I my partner to get a piece. I want the daughter’s to get a piece. I want a few, to be named later, organizations to get a piece.”
“And you?”
“I want a piece too. I’m retiring.”
“And how much do I get?”
“I’ll decide everyone’s piece later. If it comes to that.”
“Sure, if it comes to that.”
Gusano was trying to mask what he was thinking. But the green in his eyes and the green in his smile gave him away. He was planning to carry out my plan of Financial Armageddon as soon as he got home. He wasn’t going to allow for the possibility of my not giving him the go ahead.
“You‘re not going to wait, are you?,“ I asked.
“Well, as long as you -----.”
“All right, go ahead if you want to. But you better play it the way I want it played. If you go against me, you will end up in a small cell for a very long time. Remember that.”
“How could I forget? You remind me ever time we communicate.”
“Well, the next time we communicate will be the last. I’m out of the business for good.”
“You’re quitting?“
“Isn’t that what I said? Twice.”
“Yes, but what are-----.”
“Nothing. I’m going to take my share of the money and----.“
“Live off of it for the-----.“
“What is all this? You’re not actually concerned about me, are you? Haven’t I made myself plain enough for you? I’m quitting my job. I’m leaving the city. And I probably won’t stop leaving until I’m out of the country.”
“Caterski, -----.”
“Go away.”
“But, I -----.”
“I said go away. So, go. You didn’t even want to be here in the first place. Now go, will you? You don’t want me to get up and help you out. Not in the mood I’m in.”
He left, giving the bell on the door a mighty clang. I didn’t know where he was parked. I didn’t want to know. Five minutes after he left, I left too. I couldn’t have been watching where I was going because I stepped out of the diner and right into the path of a young girl. We collided, with her getting the worst of it. She staggered back and to the right, but she didn’t fall down.
“Sorry,” I said, “I didn’t see you.”
“No one ever sees me. I have a see through body.”
“Shouldn’t you home kid?”
“Yeah, I should.”
“Why aren’t you then?”
“What are you, my mother or something?”
“Sorry.”
“You’re good at being sorry, aren’t you?”
“Damn good at it.”
“Did you have to swear.”
“Sorry.”
“Ha! Got you to say it again, didn’t I?”
“Yeah kid, you did.”
The girl was fourteen, no more than fifteen. He eyes slid over to diner, stayed there for a second or two, then came back to me. I don’t know what it was about her exactly that made me think of Shelley. Was it a spark of the same color hair and eyes?
Was it her expression that Shelley had even as a small child, deep set and sullen. Or maybe, just maybe, it was nothing more than her age.
“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
“You figured that out, huh? You should’ve been a detective.”
“I am.”
“What?”
“I’m a detective.”
“Sure and I’m Cinderella looking for a new pair of glass slippers.”
This girl had a natural distrust of adults, I could see that. But who knew how much of it was justified and how much of it was just a byproduct of a kid’s warped imagination. I pulled out my private investigator’s license and pushed right up in front of her nose.
‘You really are a detective,” she said.
“I said I was.”
“People say a lot of things. You going to turn me in Sherlock?”
“For what?”
“Breaking curfew.”
“You doing anything wrong?”
“No.”
“No pillaging, plundering, or war mongering.”
“No.”
“Then I’m not going to turn you in.”
“You’re a strange man, do you know that?”
“You’re not the first to tell me that. You won’t be the last.”
“You know something?”
“What?”
“I like you.”
“Why?”
“I can’t say really.”
“It’s a short list kid.”
She stood there quietly for a few seconds, deep in thought about something that was weighing heavily on her mind. But, in short time, she pushed it aside and brought her full attention back to me.
“Why are being so nice to me? Standing here and talking to me.”
“It’s a cruel world, kid. A world of suspicion and paranoia. You’re guilty even if you’re innocent. It’s hard being decent to anyone. If you do, you’re up to something.”
“What?”
“The truth is----.”
“You feel sorry for me? Is that it? Well, to hell with you. I don’t need your pity. I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity, kid. The truth is I have a daughter and I haven’t seen her for a long time. Centuries.”
“And we’re about the same age?”
“Yeah.”
“You one of them deadbeat dads, mister? My dad is a deadbeat. I hate him. I hat his fucking guts.”
“Watch that hate thing, kid. It can get away from you and you could end up-----.”
“Do you have to keep calling me kid. I’m not a goat, you know.”
“Sorry.”
“Let’s not start that routine again.”
“To answer what you asked before. I’m not a deadbeat dad.”
“Then what are you exactly.”
“My wife ran off.”
“And took the kid.”
“Yeah.’
“Why?”
“It involved another woman.”
“Sex.”
It was more complicated than sex. Much more complicated. Too complicated to sum up in a few words in passing. Besides, I wasn’t in the mood to go through all that anyway. Not for a kid, not for anyone.
“Bye, kid”, I said, “I’ve got to go“ I started for the curb.
“Wait.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“I can’t hang around anymore, kid. I’m working a case and you’re holding me up.”
“Really? You’re on a case. Anything good?”
“Donna Winters, the woman they found dead in the parking lot not too far from here.”
“But they ruled that a suicide. The case is closed.”
“Officially. But I’m not a cop. I’m working unofficially.”
“You think her old man did her in?”
“Maybe.”
I checked for traffic across the four lane road. There wasn’t any. I crossed. When I opened the door to get in my car, I realized I wasn’t alone. The girl had followed me across the street.
“I have something to tell you,” she said.
“I’m not listening.”
“I know something that may help you. Are you interested?”
“No.”
I got into the car, threw the envelopes into the front seat, and started up the engine. The girl had yet to give up or go away. When she spoke this time, she got my full, instant attention.
“I know someone who was in the parking lot the night Donna Winters died.”
I shut off the engine and asked her to repeat her last statement. I wanted to verify what she said. I wanted to make sure my ears weren’t playing tricks on me. She repeated it. Then she repeated it a third time. Each time the words were exactly the same.
“Do you believe me?,” she asked.
“Should I?”
“What is there to lose?”
“Nothing more than I’ve already lost. Go ahead, kid. Tell the story. But make it the short version, okay.”
“The guy’s a street hustler. He’s into fifty different things. And forty nine of them are illegal.. He was in the parking lot working a deal. At least, that’s what they say.”
“Who is this jack of all trades?“
“Covington. Ty Covington.”
“Would he talk to me?”
“For money, he’d sell out his momma on Mother’s Day.”’ I eyed the Greek diner across the street, let them linger there for a moment or two, then brought them back to the girl.
“Here’s thirty bucks,” I said. “Eat yourself silly. “Keep whatever’s left.”
“You’re giving me money, no strings?”
“No strings. But don’t tell anyone I gave it to you. Keep it to yourself. Now give me Covington’s address so I can get out of here.”
She gave me Covington’s address and I wrote it down on one of the envelopes. His place wasn’t far from the diner. Not far at all.
“What’s your name, kid?” I asked.
“Rose. Few petals, but many thorns.”
“Well, Rose, I know you’re probably immune to advice from adults, but I’m going to give it to you anyway. Get off the street. You’re young. Too young to give up yet. I don’t the deal of what’s going on at home. Whatever it is, the street isn’t the answer. Get off this road you’re on now. If you stay on it too long, you won’t be able to back off.”
“Can you guarantee me something better?”
“Guarantee? Put that idea out of your head right now. There is no guarantee. Life is not a washing machine.”
I started up the car, eased it into gear, and started off on my way home. The entire way there, I just couldn’t help thinking about Shelley. Where she doing was, how she was doing. Was she doing okay? Or was she hurting deep down inside like Rose? Did she, did she even remember me even a little bit? Or had I been permanently erased from her young fragile mind.
Or did she now, did she now hate me with a pure, unfiltered ferocity that would last the rest of her life. Maybe Sarah had completely programmed the child’s mind against me. The more I thought about these things, the more I wanted to cry. All the home, that’s exactly what I did. I cried. And I felt no shame in doing so. The shame came solely from the knowledge that I had no one to blame but myself.