Stuart Kaminsky - Retribution

“Mickey Merrymen,” I said.

“Yes,” he confirmed, his eyes shifting toward the door.

“Adele told me to come to you,” he said. “She dropped me off. I taught her to drive.”

“That was nice of you,” I said, knowing I had no candy or gum to offer him, not even a cup of coffee unless I ran down to Dave’s DQ, but Mickey might be gone by the time I got back.

“The police are looking for me,” he said nervously. “They think I shot my grandfather.”

“Where’s Adele?” I asked.

“She’ll call soon,” he said. “Mr. Fonesca, I wouldn’t kill my grandfather. He was good to me.”

“How do you know the police are looking for you?” I asked.

“I called my father,” the young man said. “He told the cops I was probably the killer. My father and I don’t get along. He’s a crazy man. Once he had me…”

The phone rang and I picked it up quickly.

“Well?” Adele asked.

“Not very,” I said.

“Can you help Mickey?” she said. “Taking the manuscripts was my idea. Mickey really didn’t know what was going on. He just carried. And he’s been good to me. He isn’t a genius, but…”

“No more destroying manuscripts,” I said. “I help Mickey if you promise not to destroy any more of Conrad Lonsberg’s work.”

“A deal till Mickey’s safe,” she said. “But if the police get him or you don’t get him off, I go back to destroying Lonsberg’s work.”

“And if I do save him?”

“Lonsberg’s not getting his manuscripts back,” she said firmly.

“Adele, what’s the story here?”

“No story. Not yet. What I’m doing is better punishment.”

“For what?” I asked. “For who?”

“Save Mickey,” she said and hung up. So did I.

“You know why Adele took the manuscripts?” I asked Mickey who jiggled in the folding chair and held the seat tightly as if he were about to be thrust into outer space.

“No,” he said. “She asked me to help her. I did.”

“Why?”

“You know Adele?” he asked.

“I know Adele,” I said.

“I love her,” Mickey said, looking me in the eyes for the first time.

“I can understand that,” I said. “Adele’s a great, beautiful, and talented girl. But why is she doing this and where is she?”

“I don’t know where she is,” he said. “Driving around. We hide the van at night and sleep in it. Blankets on top of all those pages. It’s kind of creepy, but Adele likes it. She looks through everything and picks out the one she’s going to get rid of next. That’s all she told me. That’s all I know.”

“You went with Adele to your grandfather’s house and found him dead. You cleared out your things and left him there,” I said.

“We had to,” Mickey cried. “I didn’t want to leave him there like that but Adele said we had to get out of there, that whoever was after her had figured out where we were and had come to get us. I loved my grandfather. I wouldn’t hurt him.”

“And your father?”

“He’s crazy,” Mickey said. “Sometimes I think I’m going to be crazy like him.”

“Could he have killed your grandfather?”

“Why would he do that? He never even talked to my grandfather. They hated each other.”

“That sounds like a motive,” I said.

“My father talks like a lunatic. He is a lunatic but he wouldn’t kill anyone.”

“There’s always a first time,” I said.

“Am I going to jail?” he asked.

“We’re going to talk to a policeman named Viviase. You’re going to tell him everything, running away with Adele, finding your dead grandfather, grabbing a few of your things, and running away. You will not mention the manuscripts. You just ran away with Adele. You understand?”

“Then I lie?”

“About Adele, yes.”

“Go over it again,” he said. “My mind… I’m having trouble keeping things straight.”

I repeated to Mickey what he should and shouldn’t say. He was a slow learner but when he had it right he sounded convincing to me.

“Don’t I need a lawyer? On television they always say they want a lawyer.”

“If you get in trouble, just say, ‘I don’t want to talk anymore without a lawyer.’”

“How will I know if I’m in trouble? I don’t even know any lawyers.”

“I do. If you get confused, stop talking except to say you want a lawyer. I’ll get one for you. You understand?”

“Yes,” he said.

“With some luck, I’ll be in the room when the police talk to you. If I think it’s time for you to ask for a lawyer, I’ll just shake my head.”

“Which way?”

“Which way what?”

“Which way will you shake your head. Up or down?”

“Like this,” I said.

“I’m not usually this dumb,” Mickey said, rubbing his hair. “I haven’t had much sleep and my grandfather…”

I held up a hand to quiet him and picked up the phone. The answering machine was blinking. One call. The call Flo had mentioned. I ignored it, called Viviase, and told him I had someone he was looking for.

“Come with him,” Viviase said.

“I was planning to.”

Then I told him we’d be right over.

“Be here in ten minutes,” he said. “Then we come looking.

’Ten minutes,” I agreed.

We hung up. I wondered why he wanted me to come, probably more about finding the body of Mickey’s grandfather.

We could get to his office in five minutes if we hurried. I closed the office and led Mickey down the stairs. We stopped at the DQ. I got a double chocolate Blizzard, large. Mickey said he would have the same. We drank as we walked and said nothing.

Mickey might not be the brightest kid with a high school diploma but he was a good witness. He looked and sounded frightened and honest. I was counting on it.

A black car with tinted windows slowed down. I thought of the shot through my window an hour before and stepped back pulling Mickey with me. The car moved on. So did we. I drank the rest of my Blizzard slowly. I wished I were lying in my bed in my underwear watching Humoresque.

Ed Viviase’s door was open. He stood in front of his desk, sitting back against it, a coffee cup in his hand. His glasses were off and lying on the desk next to a brown paper bag with grease spots showing through. Next to the bag was a manila folder. I don’t like manila folders. They contain too many surprises.

Viviase looked like a tired bulldog.

“This is Mickey Merrymen,” I said.

Viviase nodded and drank some coffee. He looked at both of us for a second and then motioned for us to take a seat in front of him. We did. He looked tired. I told him he did.

“Earache,” he said.

“Sony,” I answered.

“Not mine, Ernie’s. My wife just had some minor surgery, female stuff. I was up with Ernie all night. Medicine, tea, toast, antibiotics. That was after a trip to Emergency. Kid’s tough. He insists on going to school tomorrow. I haven’t had any sleep. Zero. Zilch. Nothing. So make this easy on me. I am in a very bad mood.”

“How old is Ernie?” I asked.

“Sixteen. Goes to Cardinal Mooney. I think he didn’t want to miss football practice. What the hell? Donut?”

He picked up the brown paper bag and held it toward us.

Mickey picked out a plain one with chocolate icing. I turned down the offer.

“You sure?” asked Viviase, reaching in for a puffy yellow one with red icing. “If you don’t want a donut, I’ve got a few other things in the bag that might interest you.”

“No, thanks,” I said, feeling something was coming. He was ignoring Mickey.

He settled the redicinged donut between his teeth and reached into the bag to pull out the turquoise seashell Jefferson and Conrad Lonsberg had given me the day before. He handed me the shell and then fished a spent bullet out of the bag. He handed me the bullet too.