Читать книгу The Evil That Men Do - Dave White - Страница 12
ОглавлениеJackson Donne hadn’t talked to his sister in years. So when Susan buzzed his apartment, he wasn’t really expecting it.
“You closed your office,” she said as she entered. “Court ordered.”
She didn’t respond, save for brushing a strand of her short auburn hair over her ear. Susan had cut her hair since the last time he’d seen her and it was boyish in style, though thick and brushed back. It didn’t fit her.
“How are you, Jackson?” she asked. “Why are you here?”
She stalked past Donne and sat on the couch. Dropping her purse on his coffee table, she said, “No small talk?”
He didn’t respond.
“It’s Mom,” Susan continued. “She’s sick, real sick. She doesn’t have much time left.”
He couldn’t help asking, “What’s wrong?”
“Alzheimer’s, dementia. We put her in a nursing home last year, now she’s in a hospice.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Would you have come help?”
It was a good point. He had separated himself from his family, just as his father had. Unlike his father, however, Donne had good reasons. At least he thought so.
“There’s a reason I’m coming to see you now. Mom, she’s been talking about stuff I never knew about. I’m not sure if it’s rambling truths or she’s making things up, but I need your help. You’re a detective.”
“Not anymore,” he said.
“Whatever,” she said. “I want your help.”
“To do what? You want me to sit by her, read her stories, talk to her?” He shook his head. “I’m busy, Susan. Not going to do it.”
“Come on, Jackson. You know how much we mean to her. She had us so late in her life. Please, she should have been in menopause and she was having kids. We should both be there for her.”
Donne shook his head.
“Damn it, Jackson. It’s time to grow up. Be a son. Be a brother. What else are you doing with your life?”
“I’m starting school at Rutgers in the fall. I’m working.”
“I want you to find out about Mom’s dad. She’s been talking about him.”
“What does it matter?”
She grabbed her purse and moved toward the door. Finally. “Peace of mind,” she said as she turned the knob. “Doesn’t that matter?”
“What kind of purse is that?” he asked. “Coach, one of those expensive kinds?”
She looked at the purse, then at Donne, confused.
“Franklin buy that for you? Drop a couple hundred on you to keep you happy?”
Her face turned red, and she took a deep breath before speaking. “Think about it, Jackson. You need to see her again before she dies. Peace of mind. I don’t think you’ve ever had it. Not with Jeanne, not with me, not with Mom. Hell, not even with Dad, and you were, what, eight when he left? Maybe you could use a little closure. Help us out.”
“No.”
“Please, Jackson. She said that our grandfather murdered someone. It’s all she’s been talking about. I need to know if it’s true.”
She pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway. He never should have allowed her up.
***
Donne worked nighttime security at a storage facility in Piscataway. It was a great job. He got in about eleven and off at seven. No one bothered him, and he could come in a little buzzed after a few drinks at the Olde Towne Tavern. He could even catch a little West Coast baseball on satellite radio or take a nap.
Which was what he was doing when Franklin Carter approached him.
“Wake up, asshole,” he said, banging a fist on the desk. Jackson sat forward, his eyes shot open, and he stifled a yawn.
Carter looked like he’d just come from work, dressed in a pinstriped suit, pale blue shirt, and striped tie. Even his loafers were polished. His dark hair was combed back, his mustache neatly trimmed. “What do you want, Franklin?” Donne asked. His tongue tasted like leather.
“Your sister came to you for help and you turned her down.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
The silence hung in the room. Behind Carter, through the swinging glass door, headlights passed. It had to be earlier than Donne thought for there to be that much traffic.
“I want you to help her,” Carter said. “She came home the other day in tears. She had just been with your mother, watching her fade away. She said she went to see you and you two argued. You’re hurting her. I won’t have that.”
Donne shrugged. “It’s not my problem.”
Franklin Carter slammed his fists on the desk again and leaned in so close Donne smelled his breath. “It is your problem! This is about your mother and your sister. Don’t you have any sense of family?”
Donne thought about Jeanne. About what he knew about her now. “No,” he said.
Carter stood back up and reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pen and checkbook.
“What’s it going to take?” he asked.
“I don’t do investigative work anymore.”
He took a deep breath, then said, “Everyone has a price.”
Donne sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He didn’t have any college scholarships coming in. He hadn’t been paid a salary in a long while. The storage facility was an hourly wage and it wasn’t much more than rent and drinking money.
“You always were a rich prick,” Donne said. “Even in high school. I couldn’t stand you. I never understood why our parents were friends.”
“What’s the price?” Carter said, his voice unbearably confident.
Donne gave his brother-in-law a price. Carter scribbled out a check.
***
When Carter came through the door, his tie was loosened and his hair was out of place. Susan got off the couch and wrapped her arms around him.
“How was work?”
He pressed his hand against the small of her back and pulled her close. Susan smelled the faint remains of his sweet cologne.
Carter didn’t answer her question, so she moved her head away from his neck and looked at him.
“Work?” she asked, nudging his shoulder with her chin. “You know, meals, plates, table settings, schmoozing with customers on the Upper East Side? Or at the very least in Montclair? I asked you a question.”
Carter leaned in and kissed her. “Jackson’s going to help.”
“You’re kidding. He told me he didn’t want to see Mom. He seemed pretty adamant.”
Carter shrugged. “He’s going to help.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled and kissed her again. “Anything for you, babe.”
