C Box - Three Weeks to Say Goodbye

I asked, “What’s in it for the gangsters?”

“Connections,” Cody said. “Access to schools and neighborhoods where there are plenty of kids with disposable income. Plus, Luis is probably smart. He knows Garrett’s dad is a federal judge. That connection could help him and his buddies somewhere down the road.”

“Something else,” I said. “The remote control for the television is missing. They must have taken it when I got them the drinks.”

“That was nice of you,” Cody said sarcastically.

“We were nice to them because we didn’t want to start out as adversaries,” Melissa said. “We hoped they’d see reason once they met us and saw the home we’ve established for Angelina…”

Brian and Cody nodded sympathetically.

Cody glanced down at his notes, said, “So did Garrett say anything you could consider threatening?”

“No.”

“But he indicated you better be nice to him or he wouldn’t sign the papers?”

“Yes.”

“Melissa, did you hear that exchange?” Cody asked.

“No.”

He turned back to me. “So it’s your word against his.”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t just what they said, it was how they acted. Like they were sharing a big joke being here. They kept looking at each other like they’d burst out laughing anytime.”

“It was really uncomfortable,” Melissa said. “Garrett stares at me like I’m a piece of meat.”

That agitated Brian, who leaned forward and gripped his knees with his hands. He was protective of Melissa and had been since our marriage. We were, he said, his surrogate family since he’d never have one of his own. He and Melissa talked on the telephone every few days. Long, aimless conversations punctuated by her laughter and her mock-outraged cries of “Brian!” when he said something catty or off-color. He had been there for her after the miscarriages, and he had a rapport with her I sometimes envied. She was still amazed that in all of those years growing up I hadn’t realized he was gay, since she’d known the first time she met him. He was, Melissa said, her best friend. Brian’s partner was an architect named Barry. They’d been together for several years and lived in a hip loft apartment in the heart of the city. Barry was hard to get to know, I thought. I found him stiff and standoffish, but he hit it off with Melissa right away. I didn’t see Barry much.

Melissa once told me she always suspected Cody was conflicted in his feelings toward his old friend since Brian had become so successful-and more flamboyant in his personal life. I shrugged it off and attributed Cody’s attitude to the cynicism so many cops held toward businessmen. Cody had grown up reciting the Honoré de Balzac line (even though he didn’t know it was Honoré de Balzac), “Behind every great fortune there is a crime.” I think he believed it. And he probably attributed it to both John Moreland and Brian.

Brian looked at me with anger. “Why did you just let them in?”

“I thought maybe Garrett wanted to talk,” I said. “I hoped he’d offer to sign away custody. But he never even mentioned it until I brought it up.”

“You can’t prove they took the remote, though,” Cody said.

“I know I had it when the game started,” I said. “I went to the kitchen while they were here, and that’s when I assume they took it.”

“Why would they want a remote control they can’t use?” Cody asked.

“A trophy,” Brian said. “It’s symbolic. It’s like they are taking control away from you. Is anything else missing?”

Melissa and I looked around the living room. It was possible something else was gone, but I couldn’t be sure. I still had the lingering feeling from our meeting earlier in the day that our house was unfamiliar to me.

Melissa’s eyes paused on the mantel, and I saw the blood drain from her face. She quickly got up and went to the fireplace.

“The photo of Angelina and me in the hospital,” she said.

“Garrett was looking at that earlier today,” I said. “I saw him.”

“Maybe he wanted a photo of his daughter,” Brian said.

“His birth daughter,” I corrected. Melissa was sensitive to terms.

“Or maybe,” Cody said, “he wanted a photo of Melissa.”

The thought made me clench my fists.

Larry the plumber cleared his throat while he came down the stairs. He was shaking his head and smiling. “All fixed,” he said. “Happens all the time when you’ve got toddlers.”

Melissa and I exchanged puzzled looks.

“I should start a museum collection of the things I’ve found in toilets,” Larry said, standing on the landing and finishing up his invoice on a clipboard. “Barbie dolls, socks, shoes. One kid tried to flush a whole apple because he didn’t want his mom to know he didn’t eat it. Problem is, the only people interested in what we find in toilets is other plumbers.”

“We don’t have a toddler,” Melissa said.

“You don’t?” Larry said, looking up. “That’s strange.”

Then he saw Harry and he laughed. “Next to toddlers, it’s the Labradors who drop things in toilets.”

“What was it?” I asked.

“Your remote control,” Larry said. “It was wedged down in there and it’s ruined, I’m afraid. Unless you want me to clean it off and try to get it working again.”

“That’s okay,” I said.

“It’s still a mess up there,” Larry said, handing me the bill. I tried not to gasp when I saw the amount-nearly $400.

“You pay dearly for twenty-four/seven emergency calls,” Larry said, trying to sound breezy, “especially on game night after I’ve had a few cold Coors and gone to bed early.”

As Larry left the house and climbed into his panel van in the driveway, Brian said, “The symbolism continues. He took your control and he and his buddy flushed it down the toilet and crapped on it. Exactly what kind of kid are you dealing with?”

CODY SAID, “LET’S COME up with a plan.”

We were up until two in the morning. It took an hour for the four of us to strip the rugs and hose them down outside and to clean the bathroom floor. Brian wore a bandana over his nose and mouth, but we could hear him saying, over and over, “Animals.” Before we started cleaning, Brian took photos of the mess with his digital camera and put the camera in his pocket.

Brian thought we needed a new attorney since I’d fired Dearborn. We needed a bulldog, Brian said, someone who would “go after the Morelands and drop a nuclear bomb on them.”

“We can’t afford someone like that,” I said. “We’re strapped as it is with the house, the adoption. We don’t have Melissa’s income anymore.”

“I was wondering if that would come up,” she said more heatedly than I could have anticipated.

Before I could explain myself, she said, “We can sell the house. I can go back to work. I’ve gotten calls from Marriott and Radisson…”

“I’ll help you out,” offered Brian. “Don’t worry about money. In fact, let me be your advocate in this whole mess.”

He leaned forward, his voice dropped an octave. His business voice. “Since I’ve been in Denver I’ve met a hell of a lot of people, and a bunch of them owe me favors. It’s a big city, yes, and it’s growing like crazy, but that’s at the margins. At its core it’s still a small town run by a cabal of old-timers, developers, and politicians. There are levers of power, and I know how to work them. I’ve been doing it for years. I know city councilmen and media people, and you know I’m familiar with the mayor’s inner circle. If word gets out I’m fronting for you, this changes your problem into an issue . That’s the last thing the powers that be want.”