“Dinner? My place or Nico?”
After leaving the bodega, I had parked myself at a small table in the first Starbucks I’d come across as I’d driven south on Clark Street toward downtown. I’d pissed off Janek, insulted Michael, and accomplished nothing. Which meant I needed moral support from my best friend, Cai.
“Let’s make it Nico,” Cai said. “I’ve been home with takeout sushi, since you blew me off the other night—home alone, in case you’re wondering—and I need to get out and remind myself there are human beings in the world who aren’t attorneys. I also desperately need a proper drink. I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Well, I can’t,” I laughed. “It’s not even five and you need a drink already?”
“Don’t pretend this would be the first time we’ve started drinking before five.”
“You go over if you need to, but I won’t be there until closer to six.”
“Party pooper. Well, then, drink alone I must. Meet you at the bar.”
I switched off the call, grateful for our long friendship. She was always able to ground me in reality or, at the very least, remind me of the absurdity of situations. There was no one I trusted more.
Looking at my watch, I took a sip of my Earl Grey and was reminded that I’d accomplished nothing on the Flores story today. It was too late in the day to expect the alderman’s office to answer the phone, but check-cashing shops were always open.
I pulled my iPad and a notebook out of my bag and did a search. The guy at the soundproofing company had said Fifty-fifth Street and the name Darius. He shouldn’t be too hard to find. I scanned the locations mapped out on my screen. Two locations hit the mark with a third that was a maybe. I zoomed in, seeing it was a corner location and could be construed as on Fifty-fifth, even if the mailing address was actually Archer. I added it to the list.
My second call hit pay dirt. After a short pause, a male voice mumbled back, “Yeah, this is Darius. Can I help you?”
“My name is Andrea Kellner. I’m with Link-Media. I’m doing a story on Impact Soundproofing and their contracts with the city. Can I ask you a few questions?”
“I don’t know anything about that, and I ain’t never met Mateo Sandoval. Don’t call here anymore.”
With that, he hung up. I stared at my phone and smiled. Interesting. Volunteering the answer to a question I hadn’t asked was a sure way to let a reporter know he did know something.
I’d left my car in the garage at my apartment and walked the four blocks to the restaurant. The fresh air had felt amazing, as did getting out and moving my body. After the darkness of the last few days, the gentle breeze of an early May evening was a much needed respite. Clearly I wasn’t the only one reveling in the weather. Even though it was early, the outdoor patios at the Rush Street restaurants were starting to fill with patrons overly anxious to believe summer was around the corner after the long winter.
Despite concentrated effort, I’d been unable to conjure up much of an explanation for the boxes of brochures for the Renacido Center at the Pierce Street house. The only thing that seemed logical was that someone associated with the property also had an association with the treatment center. But who or why eluded me. It was conceivable that the corporation that owned the property prior to foreclosure had been renting it out to an employee of the treatment center. Which might explain Zoe’s presence, but it was a guess at best.
Cai was waiting at the bar when I arrived at Nico, chatting up one of the cute but way too young bartenders. Boy toys never moved beyond the flirting stage with Cai, but she sure did enjoy the game.
She had a martini in hand when I settled into the stool next to her, and her jacket was draped carefully across the back of the stool.
“Whoa, this looks like it’s going to be a rough night,” I said. “Please tell me that’s your first.”
“Of course it is,” she replied, feigning outrage. “I’ve been holding back until you got here. Do you want one right away, or should we go to our table?”
“Table. And I’m not drinking those.” I laughed. “I also suggest you get some food in you before ordering another.”
“Ugh, there you go again, being a Debbie Downer.” She smiled and gave me a hug. “Boy, do I need girl time.” She grabbed her bag, a Stella McCartney tote I’d lusted after myself, and we walked back to the hostess desk to let them know we were ready for a table. She led us outside to a prime people-watching spot on the sidewalk patio next to a heat lamp. A server appeared immediately inquiring about preference for still or sparkling water.
“I’ll have another of these,” Cai said to the server, ignoring his question and my disapproving gaze.
“Pellegrino with lemon. And I’ll have a glass of the Nebbiolo. Oh, if you could also bring us the Hamachi crudo to start. I need to get some food in my friend before she slips under the table,” I said, smiling at the young man, recognizing him as someone who’d waited on us a number of times in the past. Nico was one of our go-tos. The food was good, the atmosphere lovely, and the location convenient for both of us.
“You really need to lighten up. Have a martini.” She smiled at me over the rim of her glass. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“The list is too long to answer.” I grinned. “Besides,” I continued in a more serious tone, “I need to go to a funeral in the morning and I shouldn’t go stinking of stale booze.”
“Who died?” Cai asked, her expression immediately somber.
“Karl Janek’s niece. It appeared to be an overdose.”
“Oh my God, that’s awful. He must be crushed.”
Although Cai and Janek had met several times, I wouldn’t describe them as having a relationship. However, she did know Michael and understood the deep connection between the two men.
“And if that weren’t enough, she died in the basement of an investment property Lane just purchased. I had the pleasure of finding the body.”
Cai nearly dropped her drink. “What?” she said, dabbing the spilled alcohol off her hand.
“That’s why I had to beg off on Monday night. I was too overwhelmed to go into it then. It was gruesome and sad and flat-out disturbing.” I shuddered again at the image my mind refused to let go of. “It’s been one hell of a week, and tomorrow isn’t going to be any better.”
“My god. How awful. How did Lane react? She came back on the next plane, didn’t she?”
“After all these years, do you really have to ask?” I tipped back my glass, then speared a piece of fish. Wine snobs would be horrified by my pairing of the rich red wine with the delicate fish.
“No, ignore the stupidity of my question.” Cai shook her head in disgust. “Silly me, I applied logic and responsibility to your sister’s behavior. I should have assumed she’s still in Mexico, hanging by the pool, expecting someone else, namely you, to deal with this trivial inconvenience.”
Just as I opened my mouth to respond, my phone rang. Brynn. “I need to get this,” I said, tapping the screen.
“Sorry to bug you after hours,” she said.
“Brynn, you have to stop apologizing. I tell you all the time that the workday doesn’t end at five o’clock. You can call me twenty-four-seven.”
“I know, but it feels wrong. Well, anyway,” she trailed off. “So, I’m digging into the foreclosure, that property your sister owns, and well, I just found out something interesting. I don’t know what to make of it, but it seems odd. Okay, so we know the company is Quantum Holdings, and we know the address. Right?”
“Yes, and it looks to me like that address is a mailbox at a pack-and-ship place,” I added.
“Well, it turns out that the same company purchased one of the properties two doors down the block, and that too has gone into default.”
“Do they still own it, or has the bank taken possession?” I asked.
“It’s bank owned. I checked with the auction house, and they have it scheduled for auction next week.”
“Shoot me the address. I spoke with one of the neighbors earlier today, and he mentioned that developers have been trying to acquire properties. Apparently, he had been approached several times. Sounds like they smell profit. He assumed the developer’s plan was to flip, which is what most of the small guys are doing.”
“If Quantum is having financial trouble, it wouldn’t be surprising that the developer would lose multiple properties,” she said. “I tried to do some digging on the investment company, see if I could go a little deeper. But I’m not finding a lot of information, so this can’t be a very big organization, or I suppose they could also go by another name. You know how sometimes one company is a division of another and you can’t connect them right away.”
“Usually that’s a legal or tax strategy, a way of protecting assets,” I said.
“But I also saw the company had filed a zoning application on your sister’s property. About a year ago. Never got approved, but it looks like these investors had plans to do something unusual with the property.”
“Why do you say unusual?”
“Well, I don’t know the area, but these two properties they owned are both residential, and single-family at that. As you said, a small developer coming in would want to either fix them up and flip, which doesn’t require a zoning change, or renovate and rent, again no zoning change needed. The other option would be to convert it to multi-family, so we’re talking condos or apartments.”
“Yeah, this is a pretty typical residential neighborhood so those are the options. Are you saying that they wanted to do something other than the standard conversion to a three-flat?”
“They submitted an application for a change from residential to business zoning. They were asking for both properties to be converted to B2, which does allow residential usage but only above the first floor. What kind of commercial use would you pop into that location?”
I paused, my mind running through the options. “It could only be something that doesn’t need parking or walk-in traffic.”