SIX MINUTES AFTER trashing the Connor residence, Harvey and Stemms tossed the jewelry box into a Dumpster behind a taqueria, and picked up drive-thru from Tommy’s World Famous Hamburgers. They’d found a laptop computer and forty-six thousand dollars in the boy’s room. The laptop would be delivered to their client for analysis. The cash, they would keep. Tommy’s was a reward.
Stemms ordered two hamburgers, pickles and onions only, with extra pickles. Harvey bitched about his intestines, but wolfed down a chili tamale topped by an egg and a hot dog with extra mustard and onions. Dude was a beast. They parked behind Tommy’s and ate in the car while they worked.
A grocery bag with the papers, files, and materials they’d taken sat on the console between them. They went through the bag, searching for clues to the kid.
Forty minutes earlier, when they returned and found the garage closed, Stemms felt hopeful they’d find the Volvo behind the door and the kid in the house, passed out on filthy pillows in last night’s clothes, hoses from one of those ornate, monster-tall hookahs tangled around him, old pizza boxes everywhere, maybe the girl tangled up with him, your typical low-life, a-hole, criminal teenagers, but no one was home and the house was surprisingly normal.
With their limited DMV information, they had known almost nothing about James Tyson Connor. Now, they knew he lived at home with his mother, and the two of them lived alone. They knew which school he attended, and the name of his doctor. A federal tax return filed by Devon Connor gave them her place of employment. Stemms circled the address and noted she filed as the head of household and claimed one dependent. This meant dad was out of the picture and the boy was an only. A tax return was a gold mine.
Harvey dug in the bag and came out with a brown prescription bottle. He studied the label, and rattled the pills. Stemms took a bite of his burger, and noticed the bottle.
“What’s that?”
“Had the kid’s name on it so I took it.”
“Medicine?”
Harvey read from the label.
“You heard of sertraline?”
Stemms took another bite, and spoke with his mouth full.
“Generic. A reuptake inhibitor.”
Stemms knew things.
“What’s it do?”
“They use it to treat panic attacks, social anxiety, things like that.”
“Mm.”
Harvey fished out a second bottle, and flashed an evil grin.
“Ritalin! Yes, thank you, don’t mind if I do!”
Harvey made a show of pocketing the pills.
Stemms said, “I can’t believe you took someone’s medicine.”
“It’s Ritalin, and he ain’t gonna need it much longer. Relax, Stemms. You scared I won’t share?”
Harvey raised another bottle.
“Lorazepam?”
“A benzo. Anti-anxiety stuff.”
Harvey grunted, and turned to his phone. Stemms put the tax return aside, and chomped a bite of his burger.
Harvey said, “You think this kid’s retarded?”
Stemms stopped chewing. He stopped breathing, and felt a stillness settle within him. A Tommy burger, pickles and onions only, extra pickles, was one of his most treasured pleasures, but now his mouth seemed to be filled with cold grease and paper.
Stemms forced himself to swallow and looked at Harvey.
“What did you say?”
Harvey glanced up from his phone.
“This high school. It’s one of those special schools. You know. For kids who can’t hack it in real schools.”
“I meant the word.”
Harvey shook his head. Confused.
“What?”
“That word. What did you say?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t call someone retarded. What’s wrong with you?”
Harvey showed his phone.
“I’m reading about the school.”
“That word. Don’t use it.”
Harvey raised his hands.
“I apologize.”
“It’s hurtful.”
“I said I was sorry.”
Stemms stared at his hamburger. His appetite was gone, but he tried another bite. Ruined. He bagged the remains, and checked the time. It was close to the end of the school day, but they might be able to make it.
“The school’s not a bad idea. Let’s check it out.”
He started the Chrysler.
Harvey looked surprised.
“Are you serious? He isn’t at school.”
“It’s a weekday. It isn’t a holiday. Why wouldn’t he be at school?”
“Because he’s a degenerate criminal with the cops on his case? Because his friend Alec told him we chased his ass all over town, and Alec was shot?”
Stemms felt tired.
“They have no idea what happened, Harvey.”
“They were yakking when we ran him off the road.”
Stemms made his voice patient.
“Alec didn’t know what was happening. So, okay, they all got on the phone, and Alec told them a big black car was chasing him. So what?”
Stemms spread his hands, like, wasn’t it obvious?
“No black-and-whites. No flashing lights. He didn’t know why we were on his butt. Dude could’ve cut us off and we were pissed. A road rage thing. You see what I’m saying?”
Harvey shrugged. Glum.
“I guess.”
“Then the moron hit the rail, and the play-by-play stopped. What can they know? They might not even know the poor fucker’s dead, but if they do, even better. You know why?”
Harvey rolled his eyes.
“Please tell me.”
“The news won’t say Alec was a burglary suspect. It won’t say he died running from the police. Am I right?”
“If Alec wasn’t a suspect, they aren’t suspects.”
Harvey made a big sigh. He always got mopey when Stemms showed him up.
“Correct. And you don’t have to be such a drama queen.”
“You made your point. I agree. They cut a hellacious relief fart, and life goes on. School.”
“Worth checking. This kid could be sitting in class right now, pretending he gives a shit.”
“You think?”
Stemms guided the Chrysler out of the parking lot without answering. Checking the school was a waste of their time, but it was a box they had to check. He was thinking about the boy’s mother, and what they had learned in her home, when Harvey spoke.
“I meant it.”
Stemms didn’t know what he was talking about.
“What?”
“What I said. That word.”
The stillness returned. Small, but growing. Harvey never knew when to quit.
“Forget it.”
“I can be thoughtless, and you’re sensitive about certain things. I get it.”
“Shut up.”
“I meant it, is all, my apology. I feel like a bad friend.”
“Stop. Talking.”
Harvey. Finally. Stopped.
They drove in silence. The quiet was good. Necessary.
Stemms concentrated on the boy and his mother.
The boy was emotionally young and uncomfortable with others. Pictures of the boy and his mother covered their fridge and dotted her dresser. Stemms sensed the mother was key. The boy might run, but he would not leave. He might hide, but he would always go home.
Home was his mom.
Stemms knew things.
If they couldn’t find Tyson Connor, they knew where to find his mother. Mom would give them the boy.