Angry Jonny

  Chapter 51: The More Things Change.

  One day later, the honeymoon was already turning sour.

  Another lunch shift rife with miserable patrons was made worse by the management’s continued refusal to rehire Dinah. This second meeting with Nora and Evan had stung worse than the first. Without realizing it, Jessica had let herself believe that Dinah’s release was a sign of turning tides. The crack in the wall that would send all her troubles crashing down to the ground.

  Instead, Jessica found that twenty-four little hours didn’t make the slightest difference.

  She ground her teeth, maintained. Laying the groundwork for future meetings that she sensed would result in the same old story. Push to shove, she simply had no other choice.

  Jessica drove Eli’s car over to Tenth Street, careening through dubiously yellow stoplights.

  Daedalus had finally restored running water to their apartment. Always sticking to the letter of the law, they had failed to mention the mineral deposits in the muddy liquid belching from the sinks and showerhead, or the sulfuric stench of rotten eggs.

  Another proud day for Camelot apartments.

  So it went; first to the gas station to stock up on bottled water. Then to the bank to get a summary of her checking account.

  Numbers didn’t lie; her savings would be receiving a visit from her real soon.

  Jessica made a final pit stop at The Coffee Mill.

  She stood in line amongst the hipsters and Pantheon undergrads. Beneath the counter, a tapestry of multicolored flyers advertised rock shows and personal services. Learn Spanish, learn classical guitar. Learn to tango in twelve easy lessons. Everyone out to make that extra buck.

  Jessica ordered three large coffees. She carried the cardboard holder over to the nearby cream and sugar station. Fixing each cup to Dinah and Eli’s liking. Casually stuffing her pockets with packets of raw sugar and artificial sweeteners.

  “You shoplifting now?” Donahue asked, materializing beside her with his own twenty-ounce Joe.

  Jessica gave him the once over. “You must be hot in that suit, Detective.”

  “It’s not the suit, it’s the humidity.” He nestled in beside Jessica and began to prep his coffee. “You like that present we sent you yesterday? Blond curls and all?”

  “I hear you’ve got yourself a new toy down at the station.”

  “Scott Stoppard. Yeah, there’s a wild card for you.”

  “And a godsend for you.”

  “I’d be just as comfortable keeping God out of this.”

  “Amen to that.” Jessica carefully picked up her order and made for the exit.

  Donahue quickly stepped in to help with the door. “You seem pretty confident he’s the guy.”

  “I imagine he’s got a pretty accurate story to tell, otherwise the DA wouldn’t have released Dinah.”

  “The DA’s got his fingers crossed same as you.” Donahue stood with her at the curb, waiting for a break in traffic. “The only ones looking for accuracy right now are myself and Randal.”

  “How’s that working out?”

  “Not bad… doesn’t mean Scott Stoppard is Angry Jonny.”

  “Why wouldn’t it?”

  “Because, thanks to the suspiciously precise reporting of the Verona Observer, there isn’t much left for him to know about. The hobo signs, the use of whatever’s available at the scene to perpetrate the crimes. Wine key as the weapon of choice. The removal of the thermostat from Davenport’s Mr. Coffee…” He laughed, shook his head. “We were really hoping to keep that one under our hats.”

  “The people have a right to know.”

  “You don’t work for the Gray Lady, Jessica. You’re an intern. An intern at the reanimated corpse of a rag that was bought out by Century Media years ago. It’s a piece of garbage. In all my time at the department, they’ve never been so much as a child tugging at my tailcoats. How is it the Observer suddenly stepped up with such fine investigative reporting?”

  The bottom of the carry carton was beginning to burn her hands. “You got something to say?”

  “Late last night, someone tossed a brick through the window of the Islamic Learning Center downtown. Two Mexican-American construction workers were found beaten within an inch of their lives outside their home. We found the Angry Jonny tag at both scenes. As of this afternoon, the VPD is going to officially declare this situation a crime wave.”

  “So?”

  “So it’s bad enough we’ve got everyone looking to outdo our vigilante. But now, thanks to you, just about anyone in all of Verona could be Angry Jonny.”

  With the next lull, she hastened across the street. Coffee burped up through the plastic lids, dripping down her hands.

  “Don’t feel too bad.” Donahue trotted briskly alongside her as they entered the parking lot. “We’re already reopening the original crime scenes, looking for anything that might support Mr. Stoppard’s story. When we don’t find it, we’re going to skip square one and come right back to your aunt.”

  Jessica reached Eli’s car, slammed the coffee carrier on the trunk. “Well, that’s just ducky, Donahue… I guess you and your undercover boys will be staying right outside my window in your little Pontiac G6.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  “As long as we’re clearing the air, yes. We got two cruisers stationed up and down the block, keeping an eye out for you and your aunt. But as far as any undercover vehicles…” Donahue brandished his keys and mashed the black, plastic remote. The blue Chevy next to Eli’s car flashed its lights, beeping twice. “Me and my boys roll in Impalas. If you’ve got a Pontiac hanging around your building, maybe it’s not us you should be worried about.”

  The smirk on his face suggested that Jessica hadn’t done a very good job of hiding the dumb surprise on hers.

  “I don’t get you,” she said. “We’re supposed to be on the same side.”

  “Not as long as Angry Jonny is on yours.” Donahue opened his door, stepped in. “Never forget, he is watching you. Maybe it’s time to point that paranoia somewhere else.”

  The Chevy’s engine started up, smooth as silk. As it backed out, Jessica got a good look at herself in the tinted windows. Greeted by the frightened eyes of a cornered lunatic. Stray curls wildly jutting out from her head like the springs of a broken timepiece.

  Just a single day since Dinah had gotten out of jail free.

  With the honeymoon over, Jessica had no choice but to reset the clock.

  PART SIX

  August 2 – August 7

  Chapter 52: Plates.

  The kitchen faucet coughed up a stream of brown liquid, sputtered and died.

  “Shit, again?” Jessica ran into the hallway, pounded on the bathroom door. “Don’t get your hands too dirty in there, Eli! Water’s out again!”

  “Shit!” came the muffled cry. “Again?”

  “No, for the first time,” Jessica mumbled, heading for the living room. “What the hell kind of question?”

  Dinah was lying on the couch. Beige sports bra peeking out from beneath an unbuttoned, flannel shirt. Boxers askew, left foot missing a sock. She stared listlessly at the television. Cable replaced with rabbit ears. Fuzzy images from local sources. Bureau of Labor Statistics reporting 247,000 jobs lost in July.

  “Man, oh man…” Dinah took a sip of her breakfast beer. “The media just can’t stop talking about me.”

  “Chin up, Blondie.”

  “Good idea.” She did just that, draining the rest of her Bud Light.

  Jessica couldn’t say she blamed her. In the week since her release, Dinah had been unable to find a job bartending anywhere. The upscales had no place for a suspected murderer. The university bars didn’t want her to become a sideshow attraction. And the shadier dives had enough problems with police surveillance as it was.

  Outside of food service, the employment line dead-ended with two different stories.
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  Not hiring, or not enough experience.

  And Dinah, always the grasshopper, had saved nothing for the long dark winter.

  She dropped her bottle onto the floor and picked up an envelope. Waved it in the air. “Someone slid a letter for you under the door… unless there’s another Jessica living here with only one S in her name.”

  “Give it.” Jessica took the envelope, ripped it open. Removed a small piece of scrap paper. Stunted block letters spelling out DSF-7531. She grinned viciously. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

  “What’s what you’re talking about?” Eli asked, popping his head in.

  “None of your business.”

  “You ready to go?”

  Jessica nodded, shouldering her book bag.

  “Where you going?” Dinah asked.

  “I’ve got the afternoon at the Observer…” Jessica bent down and kissed Dinah’s forehead. “I’ll be back sometime early evening.”

  “You know what they said on TV?” Dinah asked. Her eyes followed the rotating ceiling blades in a monotonous game of tag. “They said, the police said… The police said they’re done reexamining the crime scenes. At least Castle and Davenport… You think they found anything?”

  “I’ll see what I get for you, Blondie.”

  Eli tapped her on the shoulder, and pointed at his wrist.

  Jessica nodded, and folded the letter into her book bag.

  ***

  Al Holder logged onto PlateFinder. He snapped his fingers three times. Jessica handed him the scrap of paper and stood behind him as he did his search.

  His back rose and fell with labored breathing, keystrokes slow. “Make and model?”

  “Pontiac G6… don’t have the year. No VIN.”

  “Survey says…” Al clicked on the search button and reached for his coffee. “How’d you get your hands on this without the driver seeing you?”

  “Guy who lives across from me. Seen him walking his dog late at night, paid him twenty bucks to get me the tags. Slid the info under my door this morning.”

  “The old dog-walking routine. Genius.”

  “Yeah, Genius. Couldn’t pay the guy enough to take a good look at the driver.”

  “Nobody likes to be shot,” Al reasoned. He leaned in close to the monitor. “This can’t be right.”

  “What can’t be right?” Jessica leaned in as well, read the name out loud. “Anita Montero…”

  “You sure this is the car that’s been parked outside your place?”

  “Why?”

  “She used to work for us…” Al swiveled in his chair, too pale for such a simple comedy of errors. “Started in personals, worked her way up to metro. When Century Media bought the Observer back in twenty-aught-two, she was one of the billion or so who got laid off…” he shook his head, lips motor-boarding. “I fought hard for her, I really did.”

  “Sounds like you’re vouching, sir.”

  “There is no way this woman is stalking you.”

  “I could really use a reverse look-up.”

  “Jessica –”

  “I believe you,” Jessica insisted, tongue bitter with the taste of her own bullshit. “But if it ain’t her, it’s someone she knows. Someone who knows me, and that’s something she needs to know.”

  Al sighed, wheezing like an old accordion. Fingers doing a little jig along the keyboard. Scribbled the address on a Post-it and handed it to her. “You treat that with respect, missy.”

  “Thank you.” Jessica pocketed the address and smiled. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  Al reached for a folder and held it up next to his face. “You can tell me exactly from whom you plagiarized this magnificent piece of writing.”

  “Sir?”

  “Seriously, I am impressed. This is going to be our featured editorial, young lady.”

  “For real?”

  “I love it.” Al chuckled, coughing a little. He opened the file and began to peruse. “Love the interviews. Love the pictures. Especially the writing outside the building, the chalk. Going to print that sucker in full color.”

  “Sir, it’s been a shit summer. Please don’t be pulling a bait and switch.”

  “You just get your sources clear on the meeting between Daedalus and these Pantheon officials –”

  “It’s my next stop right after this.”

  “What do you mean after this?” Al continued to cough through his laughter. “You’re my gal Friday till three this afternoon.”

  Jessica felt the sunlight drain from the room. “Sir?”

  “His Girl Friday. It’s a movie,” he wheezed, clutching at his chest. “Cary Grant and Rosalind Rus – Rosalind Rus… Russell. Shit, Jessica, I’m having a heart attack...”

  Al convulsed. His entire body rose, lifted from the seat, back arched as though an invisible fist had taken hold of his lungs and yanked. His eyes bulged with a hideous awareness Jessica had seen only in her nightmares.

  Unlike the misshapen world of her unconscious, when Jessica drew in her breath to scream, she made damn sure to follow through. Felt the very walls shake. Swore the windows were contemplating suicide as she cried out for someone to call for an ambulance.

  Al collapsed over his desk, massive body covering half the mesa before sliding to the floor. Loose-leaf sheets and office supplies rained down on him. Eyes closed, lids dark-red like cockroach wings. Gray lips stretched out across an unhinged mouth.

  Jessica threw his chair aside, fell to her knees.

  Bowed down in a Salah prayer. She pinched his nose, fingers too damp with sweat, unable to get a real hold. She blindly reached for a scrap of paper and used it to fasten her grip. Hardly time to think of how absurd it must have looked. Grabbing Al by the neck, she tilted his head back, opening the airways. Took a deep breath. Locked her lips around his, catching the taste of plaque and old coffee grounds.

  She breathed into his mouth.

  Brought her ear to his lips, listening, then breathed in again.

  Brought her hands together and pressed against a ribcage buried beneath a thick layer of fat. She pressed down, grunting out the count to an even thirty. Trapped in a vacuum, hardly aware of the crowd that had gathered around her, cries and panicked babble one thousand miles away as she brought her ear to his chest. Searching for a heartbeat that never came.

  She breathed into his mouth once more, then twice.

  Pressed down against his chest, horrified to find she was losing count.

  Losing her hold on Al for good because in Verona, there was always more than one way to die.

  ***

  The EMT wheeled him into the ambulance and shut the doors.

  Makings of a faint heartbeat, that was all the staff had to hang onto as the siren wailed its way out of the parking lot, gunning for the highway. As though waking from a dream, Jessica found herself cradling Celia in her arms. Oversized head leaking tears, unseasonable wool sweater creating pure static.

  “All right, everyone, listen up!”

  Jessica and Celia split. Ethan Prince had taken his place atop the smoker’s bench. Arms waving invisible semaphore flags. Face serious, if the saying was to be believed, as a heart attack.

  “Let’s get it together!” He called out once more, bald head shimmering in the afternoon sun. “We’ve still got a paper to run! I’m going to get on the phone with the board, get our marching orders. Fifteen minutes, I want all senior staff in the conference room. We’re going to need an editorial for tomorrow’s edition, so Paul, Derrick; go on to the hospital and keep an eye on our boss.”

  The chosen pair rushed into the parking lot, leaving the rest of them staring blankly into space.

  “Senior staff, fifteen minutes… Let’s go everyone!”

  He clapped three times, watching from his perch as everyone began to file back into the building.

  Jessica remained where she was, waiting for the crowd to disperse.

  Ethan leaped down from the bench. “That me
ans you too, Jessica.”

  “I’d like to go along with Paul and Frank.”

  “We’re about to have a hell of a day,” Ethan told her, one hundred and ten percent on the level. “I need you here. I know it sucks, but this is what it’s all about.”

  Jessica sensed a certain glee crawling behind those eyes. “So you’re the new boss, then?”

  “I will be in the next fifteen minutes.”

  “Right.”

  “Take a break if you like. Pull yourself together. Meanwhile, the rest of us will be doing our jobs.”

  Like a child who had never once encountered sarcasm, irony, or insolence, Jessica followed his advice. She took a seat on the bench and gave herself five minutes. Sweating it out by herself. Taking as long as she needed before she felt the building begin to lean on her.

  No chance in hell anything good could come of this.

  Chapter 53: Password Protected.

  Eli picked her up at three on the dot.

  She secured his car for the rest of the afternoon, promising to be back by sundown.

  Gunning the accelerator all the way to Malik’s house.

  Al Holder’s horrified eyes chasing her in the rearview.

  Malik’s car wasn’t in the driveway. As Jessica pulled up, she caught two cruisers parked across the street. Saw the front door of the Castle residence open. A uniformed officer stepped out. Squatted alongside the doorframe, inspecting the lock.

  Jessica jogged up the steps to Malik’s house and rang the doorbell.

  Malik’s father answered the door, modest paunch filling out a pair of khaki shorts and a Pantheon basketball jersey. Grass clippings and shiny beads of water decorated his sandals. “Hey, Jessica. Glad you could make it.”

  “Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Council.”

  “Got nothing better to do with Patty and Malik gone…” He walked her into the kitchen, where he helped himself to a beer. “You need anything?”

  “I’m good, thank you. Any word on Malik?”

  “The time away seems to be doing him some good. Nobody was renting our beach house this summer anyhow. Economy being how it is.” He laughed nervously, eyes distant as he drank his beer. “Want to grab a seat in the living room?”