“Do you know where this hard drive is now?” Pat asked me.
“Last I heard, Pete Naginis had it. We could ask him. Except he’s dead.”
Another halfhearted chuckle from Adam as Pat looked on confused, and Turley weighed the gravitas of the comment. Bowman looked like all he wanted was five minutes alone with me in a locked room.
“Either way,” I said. “I don’t have it. So don’t send your motorcycle gang thugs into my apartment in the middle of the night to look for it again, okay?”
“Motorcycle gang?” Adam sneered. “You sound as delusional as your brother, Jay. You should catch some sleep.” He cast a sidelong glance at Bowman. “Erik, was there a box you forgot to check on your application? Are you in a motorcycle gang?”
“Not that I know of. I have a Fat Boy. Some of my friends do too. Sometimes we take them out for rides together.” Bowman faked being perplexed. “Is that what you think, Jay? That everyone who rides a motorcycle is in a gang? You might want to stop watching so much TV.”
Pat laughed, but not because he got the joke. He didn’t know what else to do. Turley kept shifting his gaze between us. My temple veins throbbed, the way they did whenever my blood boiled.
“You really look stressed,” said Adam. “If you don’t want to eat, how about you let me buy you a drink? Follow us down to that bar you and Charlie Finn like so much, the Dubliner. We’ll get us a basket of chicken wings, have a beer.”
“No thanks.”
Adam and I remained fixed on one another. I was so pissed for getting jacked around that I hadn’t noticed Bowman straying over to my truck, where he reached through the open driver’s side window.
“This is your brother’s, right?” Bowman asked, lifting up the battered backpack.
“Don’t touch that!” I shouted. “It’s not yours.”
“I’m sure with the rash of break-ins and thefts,” Adam said, “the police have already examined its contents.” He addressed Pat. “Right?”
Sheepishly, Pat nudged Turley to retrieve the bag.
“What the hell are you doing, Pat?” I asked. “There’s nothing in there but a bunch of my brother’s junk. Old cassette tapes he can’t even play, a toothbrush he doesn’t use.”
“Don’t worry, Jay,” said Pat. “It’ll be down the station with your brother.”
Turley relieved Bowman of the backpack, passing it to Pat.
“Look at the size of the thing,” I said. “Does it really look like a hard drive could fit in there? You can feel it. Does it feel like a computer is inside?”
“Actually,” said Adam, as Bowman rejoined him like a faithful guard dog, “I’m wondering if Chris might’ve made a copy of the drive.”
I remembered the beat-up junkies at the computer shop. Or maybe Chris was right, and Pete had given him up before they killed him. Either way, Adam knew exactly what he was looking for.
“It would be a CD,” Adam continued. “White sleeve. We could avoid wasting any more time if we took a look now.”
“Don’t you need a search warrant to do that?” I said.
“Not when a suspect is in custody,” Adam responded politely. “Then again, I’m not a lawyer. Of course, the backpack was in your truck, Jay. I’m not sure if there’s a legal loophole there. You could give us permission to look, save me the hassle of having to go all the way down to the precinct. What do you say? Be a pal?”
Pat and Turley turned to me, awaiting my answer.
“Do whatever the hell you want,” I said. “But hurry up so I can go.”
Pat crouched and unzipped the backpack, poking around, casting aside a rubber-banded Tupperware container and toothbrush that looked like it had been used to clean grout; pulling out an old pair of stained underwear, which he held at arm’s length with forefinger and thumb, before quickly dropping them back in the bag.
“Check the front pouch,” said Adam.
Pat gazed over at me. I shrugged, disgusted.
Opening the pouch, Pat rooted through tangled earbuds and AV cords, scraps of paper and cards, then pulled out the shiny disc in a white sleeve.
“I’ll be damned,” said Pat.
“I believe that’s mine,” said Adam, triumphantly, glancing at me as he reached out to pluck the CD from Pat’s hand. He stopped. “If it’s okay with you, Jay. I mean, it was in your truck.”
“Take whatever you want,” I said. “Am I free to go?”
“Of course,” Pat said, creaking to his feet and passing me the backpack full of worthless junk as a consolation prize.
I’d only taken a few steps when Adam called out.
“Thanks for all your help, Jay.”
I phoned Jenny. She was at the hospital with Brody. I wanted to clue her in on what had happened, but she said she couldn’t really talk. It sounded as if there were a bunch of people around. I apologized and thanked her. She hung up. I couldn’t expect much more. This wasn’t the time.
Whatever had happened between us, I should’ve been flying high. Only I didn’t have a moment to enjoy it. Too much stood in the way. The scene in the kitchen, Chris and the fight, my brother’s revelation on Lamentation, and that last look he gave me. The showdown with Adam and Bowman. And, of course, the biggest deal of all, the disc.
I needed to find Charlie. I knew where he would be.
Anchored in his usual spot, he sat along the counter at the Dubliner, nursing a beer, basket of bones picked clean and spread before him like a secret burial ground.
I pulled up a stool.
He peered over, nodded.
“Sorry about earlier,” I said.
“Don’t sweat it. I probably got carried away. I hate working for the phone company. It’s killing my soul. Got swept up in a mystery because it made my life feel important for a minute.”
Rita looked down my way, and I held up two fingers.
“You weren’t entirely wrong,” I said. “I found Chris.”
“Where?”
“Rather, he found me. Jenny’s.”
“Shit. How is he?”
“He broke Brody’s arm.”
Charlie pulled back.
“Brody pushed his buttons, and then it was like my brother was back in high school on the wrestling team. Bruce Lee shit.” I shook my head, holding back a grin. “It was nuts. I mean, he fucked him up, Charlie. I never would’ve thought he still had it in him. Brody’s in the ER.”
“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
Rita set down our beers.
Charlie hefted his. “I know you try to cut Brody slack, but he’s a class-A dick, bro, and Jenny is only with him because you won’t let her be with you.”
“We had sex.”
“Who?”
“Jenny and me.”
“When?”
“This afternoon. After Aiden went down for a nap. Before Brody got home. It just sorta happened.”
“You old dog,” Charlie said, beaming. He furrowed his large forehead. “How was it?”
“Amazing. It felt… like home. When Chris showed up, he told Jenny I was still in love with her. Then he called Brody a piece of shit. Which is when Brody went after him.”
“And Chris fucked him up.”
“And Chris fucked him up.”
Charlie took a swig. “So where is Muhammad Ali now?”
“Down at the station. I was worried about him and wanted him somewhere safe, so as we were leaving Jenny’s place, I whispered for her to call Turley and Pat and tell them where we’d be.” I let go a deep sigh.
“And now you’re feeling like shit,” said Charlie. “I could tell something was wrong by that hangdog expression when you strolled in.” He elbowed me. “You did the right thing. If Chris had nothing to do with Pete Naginis’ death, it’s best to clear up this shit right now. He’s left running around Ashton, who knows what could happen. Cops find him in the dark, he reaches for a comb in his waist-band-”