“Lots,” she answered. “He’s got something of mine. If you can get it from him, I can get you some cash.”
Ivan chuckled. “How are you going to do that?”
“Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I don’t know where my money is stashed away.”
Ivan finished his beer, crushed the can, belched, and dropped the empty can into a black trash bag by his bunk. “Where is it?”
“Nope,” she shook her head. “Not until my sunglasses are where they should be.”
Ivan cracked the knuckles on his left hand and then on his right. “How much are we talking about?”
“Two thousand.”
Ivan grinned. “For a pair of sunglasses?”
“They’re mine.”
Ivan considered the offer. He’d seen men killed for an extra serving of dessert in prison. By the look on her face, I’d say she means business, Ivan mused. “What do I have to do?”
“Get my sunglasses, bring them to where I tell you, and then, I’ll show you where the cash is.”
“That’s it?”
She laughed and shook her head. “It’s not that easy.”
“Sure it is,” Ivan replied, getting to his feet. “Watch me.”
***
Someone pounded on the door, shaking it in its frame.
The noise caused Walt to sit bolt-upright on his bunk, his heart hammering against his chest. For a split-second, he believed he had imagined the noise.
But then the person in the hall struck the door again.
It was the only way Walt could think to describe it. “Who’s there?” he demanded, hating the fear in his voice.
“Open the damned door, punk,” the man on the opposite side ordered.
“Get out of here,” Walt returned. “I’ll call the cops if you don’t go.”
“You ain’t got a phone,” the man laughed. “You sold the damn thing for a dime bag last week. I saw you in the park.”
Walt shivered. “I’ll scream!”
The door flew inward, broken off its hinges. The man who stood in the doorway was the tenant from below. His shirt was damp with sweat, and his veins pulsed as he stepped forward.
“Go ahead and scream,” the man said, shrugging. “I’m only here for one thing.”
Walt watched as the man passed him, walking to the bureau. As the stranger reached for Miriam’s sunglasses, Walt howled and sprang off the bed.
The man turned and looked at Walt with surprise, and as he smiled, Walt crashed into him.
***
Ivan almost laughed as the junkie slammed into him.
But the laugh was swallowed up by the realization that his feet weren’t planted. Ivan was off-balance, and even the slight weight of the addict was enough to send Ivan stumbling back. Grabbing the man by the back of his shirt, Ivan started to pick him up. As he did so, Ivan tripped over his own feet and struck the window.
The old glass shattered on impact, and for the briefest moment in time, Ivan and the junkie were suspended in space.
And then, they were plummeting toward the parking lot.
Chapter 13: A Friend Calls
Tuesday, 12:35 PM
Shane opened his phone and saw he had a new message from James. He clicked on the image that was attached to the message and enlarged it. He passed his phone to Jack, who took it, squinted a little.
“Okay,” Jack said after a moment. “I see a pair of old sunglasses. What about them?”
“I’m not sure,” Shane answered. “I don’t have all the information.”
As he spoke, Shane’s phone rang, and he saw it was James. “Cool. Hold on, okay?”
***
He’s a strange guy, Jack thought, but he’s bright as hell. And he’s focused. Determined.
Jack listened to Shane speak with James Moran on the phone. Bet Shane was hell on wheels in the Marines. There’s more than just focus and determination, though. He wants justice. The crimes he investigates concerning the dead, well, there’s nothing we can do about them.
But he can.
Jack found himself comforted by the thought and waited for Shane to finish the call.
***
“Got it,” Shane nodded, writing the information down. “Awesome. Thanks, James. You’re the best.”
“No, I am a Moran,” James chuckled. “Let me know if you find her again.”
“Will do.” Shane ended the call and looked to Captain Thompson. The older man was pale, an understandable result of the information Shane had been feeding him since the captain had arrived. “That was James Moran with info about those sunglasses. How are you holding up?”
Jack smiled and shook his head. “I’m not sure, to be brutally honest. This is a lot more than I thought I was going to find out today.”
“You’re all right, though?” Shane asked.
“What did Mr. Moran have to say?” Jack prompted.
“Some interesting stuff,” Shane replied.
“The glasses belonged to a Miriam Shaw,” Shane explained. “She died in a murder-suicide back in 1957.”
“Seems pretty standard,” Jack replied.
Shane nodded. “Definitely is.” He accessed his emails and found the one sent by Jack from a little past midnight. As the captain sat, patiently waiting, Shane retrieved the image he wanted and handed the phone back to Jack.
Shane watched as the man looked at the photo. Jack frowned, looked up, and stated, “Those are the same glasses.”
“Damned right, they are,” Shane agreed.
Thompson shook his head. Once more, he passed the phone back and asked, “How bad is this woman?”
“Bad enough, I suppose,” Shane answered. “She seemed upset when I spoke with her.”
The look of mildly annoyed surprise on the captain’s face made Shane laugh.
“It wasn’t intentional,” he explained. “I was out for a walk, saw the flashing lights of some sort of emergency, and decided to investigate. Had a little chat with her. Pinpointed her as trouble and tried to get her to tell me where the sunglasses were and to let me go in after them.”
“Didn’t work?”
Shane shook his head. “Nope. Not at all.”
“You want to go up to the crime scene and retrieve the sunglasses from it?” Jack asked.
“I do.”
Jack was silent for a moment. “You need me because I’m a cop.”
“I need you,” Shane said, “because you are a cop, and because I don’t think you’re going to break if she pulls some madness and goes all crazy in there.”
“Think she will?” Jack asked.
Shane shrugged. “Let’s say I hope she won’t, but she won’t take kindly to me being there.”
“Why not?”
“Because she doesn’t like strong men,” Shane answered.
Jack smiled. “How do you know that?”
“She told me,” Shane shrugged. “Might as well go and see if there’s anything else she wants to tell me.”
He picked up his pack of Lucky Strikes and realized it was empty. Standing up, he threw the pack away, went to the pantry, and took a carton out.