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CHAPTER ELEVEN

September 15, 1996

Sunday morning

I did finally sleep, though fitfully. I woke up around nine. It was fully light out. A peek out the window told me it was cloudy and gray. That matched my mood.

Having to empty my bladder, I stepped out into the hall. Cass’s breathing was no longer a snore, but was still loud enough to hear in the hallway. I opened the door to the bathroom and stopped in my tracks.

The room was covered in vomit. It seemed to be everywhere but in the toilet. The smell was disgusting and I nearly gagged. I closed the door, went back to the junk room and got my things together, then took a shower in Joanne’s bathroom. I used an old towel I found in the linen closet, one that didn’t match the fluffy pink towels she had. When I was done, I took it and tossed it into the main bathroom. Cass could figure out what to do with it. Then I went downstairs and tried to find something that resembled coffee.

There was no coffeemaker, which did not come as a surprise. In a cupboard, I found a can of instant flavored coffee, sugar-free Swiss Mocha. It probably had the same amount of chemicals as a nuclear waste dump, but it also had caffeine. When I couldn’t find a teapot, I boiled some water in a pan. There were plenty of cups to choose from, mostly from casinos. There was one from Lucky Days where I’d gone once. I didn’t have fond memories of the place so I went with Four Queens. I followed the directions on the can and it was terrible. I added another tablespoon and it improved to simply not very good. That’s when Cass walked into the room.

He looked about how you’d expect a teenager experiencing his presumably first hangover to look: pale, rumpled, a bit stunned.

“I saw what happened in the bathroom. You’d better clean that up before your mother gets home tonight.”

“Why didn’t you clean it up?”

“It’s not my mess.”

“I could make you clean it up.”

“No. You couldn’t.”

“You need to clean the bathroom for me.”

“You’re forgetting I’ve killed three men.”

“In self-defense. That’s what you said.”

“And what happens when you threaten me enough that it becomes self-defense?”

I couldn’t believe I was threatening to kill a teenager. A child. This was not who I was, not who I wanted to be. But then again… that bathroom.

“If I wanted to kill you I could have walked into your room last night and held a pillow over your face. I didn’t do that. In fact, the thought didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Fine. I’ll clean the fucking bathroom.”

As he left the room, I said, “And then we’re going out for breakfast.”

“Fine!”

I threw away the horrible coffee I’d made. I could wait until we got to a restaurant. There was no guarantee the coffee would be better, but I’d take my chances.

Forty-five minutes later, Cass drove me to a place called The Clock Diner that wasn’t too far from his house. The booths and the chairs were covered in a mustard-colored vinyl so repulsive I couldn’t believe it was ever in style. It had to have been severely discounted the last time they redecorated. Hopefully, they’d be redecorating soon.

After we were seated, I glanced at the menu. I decided on the lumberjack breakfast. I didn’t even check to see what it included. I typically liked any breakfast with lumberjack in its name. Mercifully, the glum, flat-footed waitress brought coffee. And it was either very good or benefited by comparison to the swill I’d had earlier.

I ordered the lumberjack eggs over easy and Cass asked for the same. Once the waitress was gone, I said, “I want to go to your mother’s office.”

“Why?”

“I’d like to go through her desk.”

“Do you think there will be a note in there that says ‘I killed my husband’?”

“No. But there might be something that makes things clearer. I’d also like to talk to your cousins Carla and Rose.”

“Why do you want to talk to them?”

“They were around when your parents got married.”

“How do you know that?”

“I found your baby book. It looks like Heather gave it to your mother at her baby shower. She included a list of the people who were there.”

“What else does it say?”

That was awkward. “Nothing. Your mom didn’t fill out any of the pages.”

Cass was quiet a moment, and then softly he said, “She was probably busy.” Then he raised his voice, “What about other people?”

“What do you mean?”’

“I’ve been thinking. What if my mother had nothing to do with it?”

“Then explain what she was doing in Reno selling your dad’s identity?”

“We don’t know for sure that was her. A woman in a purple coat was there. That’s all the girl said.”

“A woman in a purple coat with long black hair and a five-year-old.”

“No. I said long black hair. You said five-year-old. She just didn’t say we were wrong. So we still could be.”

Great. He was paying attention. Not necessarily a good thing with a teenager. I said, “Fine. Your mother had nothing to do with it. So what do you think happened?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I want you to find out.”

My jaw tensed and nearly bit the inside of my cheek. After exhaling slowly, I said, “Gavin said your dad got in trouble with the mob, The Partnership. That’s how he ended up dead.”

“He wasn’t in the mob.”

“He might have borrowed money from them and might not have been able to pay it back. Your parents were having money problems. Your Aunt Suzie told us that.”

“Maybe,” he said reluctantly.

“Was your dad active in the union? That could have gotten him into trouble.”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” he said, brightening a bit. If organized crime killed him for resisting corruption, that would make him a hero. I could see how that might appeal to a kid

Our breakfasts arrived and were dropped in front of us. The only sounds we made for about five minutes were chewing and grunts of pleasure. When we were done, Cass burped. He tried to be subtle about it but didn’t manager it. “Excuse me.”

“It happens.”

“So how do we prove it?”

“Prove what?”

“That my dad was killed because he was in the union.”

“He wasn’t killed just because he was in the union. He’d have had to be important enough to get his hands on the dues money. The Partnership would have wanted him to embezzle and give the cash to them. Something like that.”

“Okay. Prove that.”

My gut said this was a wild goose chase. At the far end of the building there was a pay phone on the wall.

“Do you have a quarter?”

“No.”

The waitress came back and reached for our plates. Before she got her hands on them, I said, “I’ll add an extra dollar to your tip if you loan us a quarter for the payphone.”

She reached into the hip pocket of her uniform and pulled out a change purse. She picked out a quarter and put in on the table in front of me. Then she snatched up the plates, saying, “I’ll bring your check.”

I slid the quarter over to Cass. “Call your Aunt Suzie. Ask her if your father ever held any offices in the union.”

“Why don’t you do it?”

“For one thing, I don’t think she trusts me. And for another you need to hear this yourself.”

Cass got out of the booth and slunk back to the pay phone. I sat there wishing for a refill on my coffee. The waitress brought the check, I asked for a refill on the coffee, then took my credit card out to pay the bill.

I was about half way through my refilled cup of coffee when Cass came back to the booth.

“How’d it go?”

“She asked a lot of questions about you. She called Big Brothers and found out they don’t help kids find their parents.”

“Yeah. I didn’t think she bought it. What did you tell her?”

“I said I was using the money I made on weekends to pay you.”

“Did she buy that?”

“No. I had to tell her I borrowed some money from my mom’s gambling stash.”

I didn’t have to ask if she bought that. I was sure she would. I wondered how many people knew about the money Joanne kept in her closet. I also wondered if that really was a gambling stash. Was she that good at it? Of course, if she was pretty enough and clever enough she might not ever have to stake herself in a casino, which would make walking out with cash a lot more likely.

And then I realized there were no photos in their house. None of Cass and none of Joanne. The only thing on their walls were a couple of paintings. The kind you bought in a furniture store when you picked out your sofa.

“What did she say about the union?” I asked.

“She said my dad paid his dues. And that was it.”

The waitress came back with my credit card and the slip to sign. I made good on my promise to tip her extra for the quarter. She looked like she might smile but then seemed to decide it was too much effort.

I looked at Cass and said, “Shall we?”

In the car it seemed like he might resist going to Top Dawg, but he gave up before he started and we silently drove there. It was located in what was probably called an office park. A wide, two-story brick building with mirrored windows that reflected the large parking lot. There were several like that, all in a row.

Before we got out of the car, Cass put the anti-theft bar onto his steering wheel. Something that seemed pointless since there were only a few other cars in the lot. We walked over to the glass and steel entrance. The doors were open and we walked past a security desk. There was a clipboard sitting on the counter where we were probably supposed to sign in, but there was no security guard at that moment so we didn’t bother.

We took the elevator to the second floor, where we walked down a winding hallway until we got to office number 225. There was a plaque next to the door that said: TOP DOG COLLECTIONS.

Right away that was a problem. The stationery Joanne used at home said Top Dawg. D-A-W-G. What was going on? Was she syphoning off accounts to her similar sounding company? Top Dog would buy the debt and then Top Dawg would collect it? Is that how it worked? Did she mark them down as uncollectible and then bring them home? She had to have a way to get them off the Top Dog books…

Cass got out his keys and opened the door. Immediately, we were in a small outer office with a desk and a row of filing cabinets. Behind that were two doors to separate offices: One said ANTON CRAY, ESQ, the other JOANNE DI STEFANO, CP.

At the desk sat a young Black woman with carefully braided hair, a significant amount of colorful jewelry and expertly manicured nails. She was on the phone with a stack of files spread out in front of her.

“I’m gonna have to call you back. No, I will call you back. Yes, I will. Yes—” Apparently, she was hung up on. With a frown she set down the phone. “Well, hello Mr. Cass. What are you doing here on a Sunday?”

The boy was obviously tongue-tied, so I said, “His mother forgot something in her desk.”

“Did she now. And you are?”

“A friend of the family,” I said, hoping she didn’t know the family too well.

She didn’t pursue that but instead said, “Sometimes I come in on Sundays and do calls. Deadbeats think we take weekends off so they answer their phones.”

I had the feeling there was more to it than that. Probably something dodgy. Probably not as dodgy as what Joanne had going, but who knew. I was getting the impression that squeezing pennies out of broke people was so profitable that Anton Cray didn’t have to worry much about his employees opening their own revenue streams.

“We’ll leave you to it, then,” I said. I nodded at Cass to get him to lead me to his mother’s office. He popped to life and led me into the office.

The office had a window that looked out onto a wooded area. There was the desk with a computer sitting on it, a credenza behind it, a guest chair, a bookcase filled with three-inch binders, and a corn plant that was thriving. On the wall was an idyllic scene of a cabin in the woods.

“Who is that?” I whispered.

“Claudia. She’s the secretary.”

“Does she normally make collection calls?”

He shrugged.

“Find something we can say we came to get. Something personal,” I said, then I went and sat behind the desk. I started opening the drawers.

Obviously, I didn’t expect to find anything to do with Joanne’s embezzling from Top Dog. She kept all evidence of that at home. What I was looking for was more personal. Something she might want to hide from Cass.

The desk top was neat. There was a spotless blotter, a computer that looked recent—but then what did I know—a telephone that matched the one Claudia was using, with lights on the side that showed which lines were in use, a cup from Caesar’s Palace filled with pens, in and out trays with neat stacks of paper, and a box of tissues.

One of the lights on the phone came on. Claudia was on the phone again. I listened a moment. While I couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying, I heard the words lawsuit, garnish and judgement. Another collection call.

I glanced at Cass. He was completely still, yet tense. Like he was waiting for a bomb to go off. I didn’t have time to deal with him. The top drawer held paperclips, a stapler, a couple of rubber stamps, a roll of US stamps—thirty-two cents, yellow roses, Post-its, some spare change, a bottle of clear nail polish and a random pink lipstick.

The drawer on the left held business envelopes and small lined pads. The drawer on my right held a deposit bag for Chase Manhattan. I took it out and flipped through. There were about twenty checks equaling close to thirty thousand dollars. They were all made out to TOP DOG COLLECTIONS and dated in the last week. If that was an average weekly haul, then I could see why it was so simple for Cray’s employees to help themselves to a bit off the top.

When I put the bag back into the drawer my hand brushed against something in the back. I pulled it out. A photograph. Polaroid. There was a pretty teenage girl with a big smile and black hair done up in high pigtails like the girl in Three’s Company . Next to her was a muscular guy around the same age with curly black hair, a crisp jawline and a permanent five o’clock shadow. He had an arm slung over the girl in a possessive way. His dark eyes seemed to challenge all comers.

I’d already noticed there were no photos at the house, and no photo albums that I’d been able to find. So why did Joanne have this photo? Why was it here? In her desk?

I showed it to Cass, asking, “Do you know who these people are?”

“Yeah. That’s my mom.”

“And the guy?”

“My second cousin, Luca.”