William Brown - The Undertaker

“Out by Park Forest.”

I pulled out the wad of newspaper clippings and laid the one for Edward J. Kasmarek on the desk in front of her. “Here, read this,” I told her, laying the clipping on her desk. She snatched it up and read it, then read it again. “That was in February. They used Eddie's name, but that wasn't Eddie and I know where the grave is. That's why I came here and tracked you down, because we're not the only ones.”

“This is nuts.”

I pulled out the ones for the Brownsteins, the Skeppingtons, and the Priors, and the ones for Terri and me, and I laid them on the desk. After she read them, I pulled out the three flash drives. “These belonged to a mob accountant named Louie Panozzo; I found them hidden in his car. They're the financial records of the New Jersey mob. He took them with him and I think it's what got him killed.” I pulled out the George Deevers driver's license and showed her that too. “This is a phony ID he had, but that's his picture.”

She looked at the ID and the three flash drives. She still wasn't sure, but she was listening. There was a thin-screen computer monitor sitting on her receptionist desk. “You've got a PC? Let me use it, I'll show you.”

“You aren't going anywhere near it… or near me.”

“Fine, fine,” I put the first flash drive on her desk and plopped on the floor with my back to the door. “Is this safe enough for you? Go ahead and boot it up yourself. You do know how to use a computer don't you?”

“Yeah, I know how to use one, smart ass! I got my Associates in Photography, but I'm not stupid. I know some bookkeeping, too.”

“Great. Put the drive in and bring up the directory.”

She picked up the flash drive. “Remember, I still have this,” she said as she showed me the letter opener again and slipped behind the desk. “If you're messing with me, you're gonna hurt in places you didn't know could hurt.” It took a few minutes, but before long, she was staring at the monitor, not at me, and I saw her fingers moving across the keyboard. “Okay, they're spreadsheets, general ledger accounts.”

“Nice to see the Associate's wasn't wasted.”

“Don't start with me,” her eyes narrowed. It isn't good salesmanship, especially when you're the one with your ass against the door and I'm the one with something sharp.”

“I think those are mob-owned businesses in New Jersey. They probably launder their money there and skim it back off the top.”

“Jeez! There's even a spreadsheet here for “Payoffs.” And what's this? Foreign bank accounts? Guess he wasn't worried about getting caught, was he?”

“He's dead. He's the guy they buried under my name.”

“Did you get a look at the names on that Payoff list? I'm not a political junkie, but even I recognize some of them.”

“Still think I'm crazy? There's a lawyer back in Columbus who's running the whole thing. The guys you met today work for him. And they have a doctor, a clinic, a funeral home, and their own cemetery. If I'm right, I know the names of nine people they buried back there, and there's probably more.”

“Nine people? How could they get away with something like that? Think of all the paperwork: the death certificates, insurance, taxes, driver's licenses, Social Security. Nobody can do that.”

“Sandy, they're the government. Waco? Ruby Ridge? Guantanamo? The CIA? The FBI? NSA? The Patriot Act? They can do anything they want.”

“But nine people?”

“Four couples, husbands and wives, and single guy. He's the one they used Eddie's name for. See, they didn't know about you. They thought he was single.”

“And what? You think they're after me now?”

“Well, I dropped some names on them — the New Jersey Capo and some of his hoods who are missing, a guy in Atlanta and his wife, a couple from Portland, a couple from Phoenix… and Eddie. Those are the names they buried the hoods under. I was trying to shake them up, that's why I mentioned their names… and Eddie's. Anyway, when I got away and headed for Chicago, they must have put two and two together and found out about you the same way I did. That's why they put a tap on your phone.”

“You dumb bastard!” She jumped to her feet and pointed at the door. “I was doing just fine until you came along.”

“No, no. They'd have figured it out sooner or later. Then you'd have quietly disappeared some night and never known what hit you.”

She continued to stare at me, still angry. “Wait a minute, are you some kind of cop or spy or something?”

“No. All I did was go to the public library and looked back through the obituaries. It's all there in the newspapers, if you know what you're looking for. That's how I found the one for Eddie and decided to come to Chicago. I need to find some hard evidence that shows Eddie died here, not in Columbus. When I got in town a couple of hours ago, I started calling Kasmareks. That's how I tracked you down.”

“Yeah? Well nobody was bothering me until you showed up.”

“No, you were in danger long before that. But we're safe for the moment. They think I never showed up. And they don't think you know anything.”

She looked across at me and shook her head, still trying to take it all in. “Okay, let's say all this stuff you're telling me is true. Why Eddie? Why would anybody pick a weasel like him?”

“He was the right age. No close relatives. And the timing and distance worked for their computer. Who knows? All they wanted was a general match.”

“With what? Another shit head?”

“No,” I laughed. “He was a nobody, that was the whole point, someone with no ties and no family who wouldn't be remembered. Look, if you want me out of here, I need a copy of Eddie's death certificate from Cook County, maybe his obituary from the Chicago papers or a copy of the insurance payoff. Do you have any of that stuff?”

“I wasn't keeping souvenirs.”

“But you do have them?”

“Yeah, I have them.” She relented. “They're in a shoe box on the top shelf of my closet. Nobody else would do it, so I got stuck closing out his “affairs.” The bastard had “affairs” all right, with anything warm that would spread their legs for him.”

“Sandy, I really am sorry to stir this all up for you. I know that under all that raw anger, you still hurt. I know.”

“Yeah, well, the dumb jerk couldn't even die right.” She looked at me and frowned. “And don't try to play me, Talbott. Been there, done that.”

“Okay. But, the papers. Can we go over and get them? I can get some copies made and get out of town, and then you can pretend I was never here.”

She stared at me for a moment, not comprehending. “What? You want me to go back to my apartment? Now? With you? Au contraire.” She shook her head.

“I'm at the end of my rope, Sandy.”

“That's a good place for you to stay. I live up in Winnetka, there's no way…”

“Winnetka? You live at 1414 Clark.”

She glared at me again, but all I could do was shrug, trying to look my most helpless. “I followed you this morning. I had to know which side you were on.”

“What makes you think I'm on yours?”

“Look, pretty soon the guy in the sunglasses and his three pals will come walking through that door looking for you, so help me, please.” It must have been my look of complete hopelessness, but something worked.

“Oh, man,” she moaned. “I'm supposed to open up the shop in ten minutes. I'm up to twelve dollars an hour now and if Old Man Fantozzi docks me a day's pay, I'm really going to be pissed.”

I pulled out Dannmeyer's coffee money, peeled off a one-hundred dollar bill, and laid it on the table. “That should buy me hour or two.”

The expression on her face turned cold and angry as she shoved the money back across the table. “I don't know what you think I am, but I'm not for sale.”