Kate reached for the phone and called the parole officer and identified herself when he answered. “I’m looking into case file 127264D.”
“Hang on,” he muttered, as he brought it up on his computer. “Oh, right. Lord.”
“Yeah, was the first name, Richard?”
“Yes, but he goes by Rick,” he confirmed.
“Did he complete everything required?”
“He did actually. When he got out of prison, he came every week, and he never did anything wrong,” he stated. “Why?”
“Just checking to make sure he’s not a suspect in a current case.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have thought it of him,” the parole officer replied. “He was a model inmate. He got his education and even earned a degree.”
“In what?” she interrupted.
He checked through his notes. “English Literature.”
She snorted at that.
“Hey, I think he intends to become a teacher, you know?”
“Is that even possible?”
“It is if he can get some job experience. They might hire him, if they don’t do a record check.”
“Doesn’t he have to state that he has a criminal record?”
“He was charged as a juvenile, so that would have been expunged from his record.”
“How is that even a thing?” she asked hotly.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. He’s no danger to society.”
“I understand that he also maintained he had nothing to do with it.”
“Even on his last visit, he turned to me, and he repeated, ‘You know that I didn’t do this. I’m as much of a victim as my sister.’”
“And you believed him?” It was hard to not question the parole officer because, when somebody was let out of jail, that parole officer was the one person who consistently saw the newly released prisoner over the following six months or one year.
“You know what? I do actually,” he noted. “I think he got a bad rap. He was in trouble at the time, heading down a bad pathway. He made a good suspect, and they ran with it.”
“There still should have been forensic evidence.”
“The problem was, he and the sister lived together,” he explained, “so hairs and fibers were all over the place.”
“Of course. Did they ever find the location where she was held?”
“You tell me,” he snapped, his tone turning hard. “As far as I’m concerned, the system railroaded this kid into confessing, and that ended his life.”
“Or made it,” she added quietly.
After a moment’s hesitation, the parole officer grudgingly acceded. “Or made it. You’re right. He was into drugs and gangs prior to this.”
“Interesting. I wonder if it wasn’t him. I wonder if it could have been somebody affiliated with the gang.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what. If you can solve it, then that kid has got some relief coming for all the years he sat in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Other than that, I’ve got nothing to offer.”
When she hung up, she looked down at her notes, wrote them up on her file and sat back.
“What was that all about?” Rodney asked, as he walked toward her with two cups of coffee.
She looked at him in surprise. “What’s this? I get served now?”
“Why not?” He shrugged. “You’ve bought me a couple.”
“That’s true.” At that, she picked up the hot brew gently and replied, “I just talked to the parole officer. The kid was apparently a model prisoner. While he was inside, he got his degree in English Lit and is looking to become a teacher.”
At that, Rodney’s eyebrows shot up. “With a criminal record?”
“Well, he was a minor when he was charged and convicted.”
“Right,” he agreed, with an eye roll, “so everything gets expunged.”
“Sealed, at least.”
“Same diff,” he muttered. “I wonder where the morality is on those, you know? When you apply for a job and when they ask all those questions, like if you can be bonded or if you have a criminal record? What do you actually say if it’s been expunged?”
“I guess he could say no. How crazy is that?” she added, shaking her head.
“But then if he were to say yes, and then if they ask more about it, then go do a criminal record check, nothing will show up, so he just looks like a liar.”
“Right,” she noted. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. The parole officer also said that he’d never done anything wrong. He followed all the rules and regulations, and, on his very last day, he walked out the door, saying he was innocent of all charges.”
“Great, so we’re nowhere.”
“Not necessarily. I do have his last known residence.”
“Where’s that?”
“Well, that’s the part I don’t understand. It appears he has moved back in with his parents.”
“Interesting.”
“Well, the kid served ten years, has been out for five more, so has got to be in his early thirties by now—yet somehow he’s still the kid to me, the kid who got caught killing his sister when he was only sixteen. And he’s stayed clean, as far as we know,” she muttered.
“Interesting.”
“Only the two siblings in the family,” she stated, “so, if the parents believe the son had nothing to do with her death, they must have welcomed him back with open arms.”
“Of course. That’s what would give them a sense of family again.”
“I did ask the parole officer about this because no way her torture and subsequent murder could have happened to her without some place where she could have been held for a period of time, right?” Rodney nodded. She continued. “According to the file, the police believed the original crime was actually committed in the family home.”
“I’m not sure how that works.” Rodney frowned, looking through his copy of the file. “Looks like they sold that place and moved to a different one.”
“Well, I sure as hell wouldn’t stay in the same place where I found my daughter murdered,” she muttered. Kate brought up the address where they used to live. “Look at that. It’s empty—currently slated for demolition.”
Rodney nodded. “Looks like it’s part of a rezoning area for a commercial development. That house is going down, and some mall or something is going up in its place.”
“Hmm.” She looked at her computer screen a moment longer. “I’ll call and see if we can get in there.” With that, she quickly dialed the number for the current property owner and explained who she was.
The woman on the other end replied, “Well, the building is slated for demolition, but we probably won’t get to it for about three weeks.”
“I’m looking for permission to go in and to take a look at the old crime scene.”
“You really think anything will still be there?” she asked in avid fascination.
“No, I don’t think so, but I do want to go take a look, just so I can see it myself.”
“Why would you want to do that?” the woman asked in disgust.
“You’d be surprised what we can think of when on the scene,” Kate replied.
After a moment of hesitation, the other woman stated, “I have to clear it with my boss.”
“Yeah, you do that. And who is your boss, by the way?”
“I’m not allowed to say,” she answered, her voice turning cagey.
Kate rolled her eyes at that. “Fine. Get back to me, please. I’d like to get out there today.”
“If not today, then tomorrow.”
“It has to be at least tomorrow.” With that, Kate hung up, turned, then looked at Rodney. “It is slated for demolition. This woman is looking to get permission from her boss.”
He snorted. “I just printed out the family history, work, employment, everything else we had on the daughter.”
“Good.” Kate nodded. “It’s always interesting when we have a case that connects to the current one because, right now, we only have the victim to go by. We’re still waiting for an ID on her.” Just then her phone rang. She picked it up, checked her Caller ID, and smiled. “Hello, Dr. Smidge. Do you have any news?”
“Cherry Blackwell. At least according to the ID on the breast implant.”
“Cherry Blackwell. Thank you.”
“I’m sending through her file too,” he added. “She was given knockout drugs. The pain would have kept kicking her awake, depending on the dose he gave her, it’s cumulative, and it looks like she had quite a bit. But some of it’s already out of her system. I would suspect repeated doses,” he noted.
“Good enough. I’m just waiting on your report, and thanks.” She hung up, turned, and looked at Rodney. “Cherry Blackwell. That’s our victim. The report is coming through now.”
His computer dinged at the same time hers did, as the reports landed in their in-boxes. She looked it up.
Rodney ran the information on her implant through the database. “We have the name of her doctor.”
“With a doctor, we should get our victim’s address. No address on Smidge’s report.” She picked up the phone and called the office of the doctor listed.
As soon as she explained who she was, the receptionist replied, “I’m sorry, but all the patient files are confidential.”
“This patient is deceased,” Kate noted. “So we’re looking for an address.”
The other woman gasped.
“We have the breast implant number, but we don’t have anything else.” Frowning at the silence on the other end of the phone, Kate tapped on her desk. “So, if you have any contact information, we need it.”
“Oh my.” The flustered woman rambled off an address and a phone number.
Making her repeat it, Kate wrote it down. “Good enough. When was she last in your office?”
“Two years ago,” she stated, “so I don’t know if the address and phone number are current.”
“Her last visit was two years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Good enough,” she replied, before disconnecting the call.
Part of the information provided was also the insurance number for the medical plan she had used for some coverage of the original visits. With that, Kate tracked down some additional medical data. “She’s twenty-eight years old, and the DMV still shows the same address,” Kate told Rodney.
“Parents and two brothers, both back East. Address on Aspen?”
She quickly checked through what she had. “It doesn’t look like it.”
“You want to go to your address first or phone the family?”
“We should phone the family,” she muttered, but she hated to. Those calls were always the worst.
“I can make that call, if you want,” Rodney offered.
She looked over at him and nodded. “Do you mind? That would be great. Find out if there’s anything or anyone in her life.”
“I know the drill,” he added, with an eye roll.
She smiled. “I know you do. It’s just habit.” She got up and refilled her coffee cup, while he made the next-of-kin notification call. When she returned to the bullpen, he was still talking in a low voice, trying to calm down the family.
“I’m so sorry to bring you this news,” he repeated, “and any help you can give us would be appreciated.”
Once the call was done, and he’d scratched down all his notes, he turned to share what they had told him. “One of the two brothers is deceased, leaving just the one sibling behind. All the family lives in Toronto.”
“Interesting,” she noted, “so our latest victim had two brothers.”
“The other brother had been deceased for ten years, from a motorcycle accident.”
She winced. “Pretty hard to survive that kind of an accident.”
“It happens,” Rodney said. “But, more often than not, they don’t.”
She nodded. “Did they know anything about her current life?”
“She was working as a model sometimes. Other than that, she had a reception job at one of the offices downtown.”
“Which office?”
He gave her the name, and she immediately typed it in.
“Look at that,” she replied, with some glee. “The home address I have for her puts her just a couple blocks from this work address.”
“A couple blocks?” Rodney asked.
“Right.” Kate nodded. “So what are the chances that she was actually picked up at that location?”
“Pretty damn good, I would say. But she’s wouldn’t have been held at the same spot,” Rodney noted. “All high-end businesses in that area.”
She frowned, nodded, and added, “We need to talk to her boss.”
“We do, indeed.” Rodney hopped up, looked at her, and grinned. “You and your coffee.”
“I know,” Kate admitted, as she held her coffee cup. “Let’s give it ten, and then we’ll go.”
He nodded approvingly, sat down again, while picking up his own coffee and taking a sip. “According to the parents, there was no sign of a current relationship.”
“Hmm, she was pretty, a model. Surely a beautiful woman like that had dates,” Kate added quietly.
Rodney tilted his head. “The parents did say she had a bad breakup about a year or so ago. They gave me the name—a Tyler Bjornsson—but, as far as they knew, the two had no contact ever since. So, a bad breakup, but not necessarily a bad aftermath.”
“Possibly, yes.” She typed in the name. “Did they give you any contact information?” she asked.
“Nope.” Rodney shook his head.
She looked at her screen and frowned. “Looks like he’s a day trader in Vancouver. … And look at that. His office is in the same building where she worked.”
“Not the same company though, right?”
She shook her head. “No, not the same company.” Needing his contact information, she wrote down what floor he was on and added, “Maybe we can talk to him at the same time.”
“Sounds good.”
She tossed back the rest of her coffee and mulled over the emails that continued to pour into her inbox. “I don’t know why people send emails all the time,” she muttered. “Didn’t they get the message?”
“What message was that?” he asked in surprise.
“I’m on a case,” she snapped, her eyes glaring, as she turned to look at him. “I don’t have time for the rest of this shit.”
“What shit is that?”
“Plenty of review stuff coming up.” She groaned. “And paperwork to fill out now that I am well past the three-month probationary period.”
“You didn’t do that yet?”
“Have I had time yet?” she countered.
He grinned. “Well, you might try telling them that but don’t expect them to listen.”
She groaned again, louder this time. “Okay, fine. I’ll take it with me and work on it at home.”
“How many times have you put it off?”
She grimaced at him, shaking her head.
He held up his hands. “Fine, fine, don’t talk to me,” he surrendered, “but you really need to deal with this review shit when it comes in. That way it’s done, and you don’t have to worry about it again.”
“Yeah, until next year. Well, shit is exactly like that, isn’t it? You get rid of it once, but you turn around the next day, and you have to handle it again.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then he burst out laughing.
“It’s not that funny,” she muttered. But inside she was pleased. She rarely came up with witty jokes, and this one was not only witty but shitty as well. She even groaned at her own rhyme. But she hopped to her feet, grabbed her jacket, opened her desk drawer, and gathered her things. Picking up her keys, she said, “Let’s go.”
Still chuckling, Rodney finished his coffee. “You know what? You are starting to fit in around here.”
“Why? Because I can add shitty jokes to the conversation?” she asked.
That set him off again, and she rolled her eyes and headed for the door. As they almost left the bullpen area, their sergeant walked in, looked at them in surprise, and asked, “Where are you two heading?”
“You know our victim found in the dumpster? We’re headed to her place of work, as well as that of her ex-boyfriend, who works in the same building,” Kate informed him, “to have a face-to-face talk.”
“Good enough.” Colby nodded. “I understand Dr. Smidge had something extra to add to this one.” His gaze went from one detective to the other.
Kate turned and looked at Rodney. “Did you really say something to the sergeant?”
He shrugged. “Hey, all is fair in love and war, and we live in the war zone more often than not.”
She turned back to the sergeant. “Dr. Smidge noted that he remembered a case—from about fifteen years ago—where the victim also died in a similar manner. The woman’s brother was convicted as a juvenile, held in juvie from before and after trial, and he was released about five years ago now, after serving ten years.” She shook her head as she tried to do the math. “He successfully completed all requirements of his probation and is currently on target with no problems. The parole officer believes his assertion that he was innocent.”
“Interesting, but it’s not like we haven’t heard that one million times before.”
“I know, and I do have the address for the family. I wanted to take a walk through the old house, which was the crime scene.”
“He killed her in the family home?”
“Well, that’s another part that doesn’t quite fit. Anyway, the building is currently slated for demolition, and I’ve got a call into the development board, asking for permission to do a walk-through.”
“That would be good,” Colby agreed, “although I don’t know what a crime scene from fifteen years ago would tell you.”
“What it might tell me is whether it was even doable. Both these women were tortured, sir. Wrists broken, ankles broken, one breast removed, vocal cords slashed to keep them quiet, and finally a knitting needle through the ribs into the heart after the breast was removed.”
He stared at her, shook his head, and frowned. “What a world full of sick people we live in.”
“Well, there are sick people in this world,” she agreed, “but I don’t know that the world is full of them though.”
“That’s hardly making me feel any better.” Colby waved them toward the elevator. “Go. Go get this one solved and out of my head. The last thing I want is to have a serial killer who’s done two of these murders on the loose.”
“Dr. Smidge did acknowledge that it’s possible there could have been others in the meantime.”
“In which case, the boy wouldn’t have committed the crimes, right?” He turned and looked at her.
“Possibly a copycat killing in another area to keep it low-key, so the kid didn’t get released.”
“That would be lovely,” he moaned. “What if the woman was killed to make it look like the kid did it?”
“That would be sick, sir.”
“Well, I’m going right back around to what I said to begin with. It is a sick world.” And, with that, he stormed down the hallway to his office.
Kate punched the button to the elevator, shoved her hands into her pockets, and rocked back on her heels.
“He’s got a point,” Rodney said.
“He might have a point,” she muttered, “but we need more than points. We need forensic evidence. We also need a motive. That was the one thing Dr. Smidge said was missing before.” She sighed. “That is a lot for a brother to do to a sister,” Kate noted. “I don’t care how much you think you hate her. When you think about it, you’ve spent a lot of time with her, shared meals, playtime, TV, holidays, vacations. You hear one getting berated by a parent. You hear the other getting smacked around. You hear about troubles at school. They’re all connections. So, even though you may hate somebody, it takes a deeper level of absolute madness to turn that hate into something so dark that you’re actually willing to torture somebody for hours and days before you finally kill them.”
She continued. “And that’s the problem with this case. I get that cutting the vocal cords provides a means to do this in any space. I mean, an apartment, a tiny room, or even a closet would probably be enough if you made it into a murder room. And that makes the location of the murder all that much more interesting.”
“Interesting?” Rodney asked, his voice rising.
She shrugged. “The kid’s bedroom? The kid sister’s bedroom? Like the victim’s room was maybe in the basement? Maybe the parents were in Europe for six weeks. I don’t know what to say, but that’s why I want to go see the house.”
“No, I hear you,” Rodney agreed. “I don’t have a basement.”
“I’ve seen enough houses with basements,” she added, “to know that, in some cases, they’re really nasty-ass locations and would probably be good murder rooms.”
“Especially if it was a cold-cellar-type basement,” he mentioned. “The colder temps would keep her from bleeding too badly. And then … wait. Was there a sexual connotation to this current victim?”
Kate frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t think Smidge answered that.” She considered that, picked up her phone as they took the elevator down to the main floor, then sent him a message. Was she sexually assaulted?
Did you not read the report?
She winced at that. “Well, now you don’t have to worry,” she shared with Rodney. “I’m on his bad side too.”
“Why is that?”
“I just asked if the victim was sexually assaulted.”
He looked at her in surprise. “That’s a fair question.”
“Yeah, his response was fair too. He asked if I’d read the report.”
“Ouch,” he replied. “Yeah, nobody likes to have their time wasted.”
Her phone buzzed again. She looked at the text and winced. “Jesus.”
“What?” Rodney asked curiously.
“Well, she was assaulted with an object.”
“Oh, great.”
“Strong enough, hard enough, that it pierced the uterus.” She groaned and immediately put away her phone and stormed out the front door of the station.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Rodney called out after her.
She stopped and took a deep breath of fresh air, as if it would brush away all the nastiness clogging up her throat. “Why do people do that?” she asked, rounding on him. “No need to take it to that level.”
He reached out, grabbed her by the shoulders, and stated, “There is a need. There has to be, and that’s what we must figure out. What was the need inside him that drove him to this level?”
“It couldn’t have been the brother in that earlier case,” she argued, shaking her head. “I can’t believe one family member would do that to another.”
He stared at her and asked, “Really? After your years with the police force?”
She nodded slowly. “You’re gonna tell me about way-worse cases, aren’t you?”
“There are way-worse cases of horrible things family members do to each other,” he stated, “so don’t even begin to think that. You need look no farther than Simon.”
She shook her head, grimacing at the reminder.
“In this case, we don’t know because we don’t know anything about the family. Right now you don’t want to believe the brother could have done something like this. But something pinned him in that suspect chair. And there had to be something to convict him.”
She nodded and tried to calm down and to get more oxygen into her lungs.
“Come on,” Rodney said. “Let’s go to our current victim’s workplace and then meet the ex-boyfriend and see what we can dredge up.”
“Right.” She gave herself a mental shake. “And we also need to check the autopsy report from the old case and see if that sexual detail was duplicated as well.”
“What’s your guess on it?”
She shuddered. “Unfortunately I’ll say it probably was.”
“These details matter,” he confirmed, “because, if this guy didn’t do it to his sister, how does this guy who is doing it now know what happened?”
“You mean, if the brother didn’t do it, the same killer is back in play. Yet, if the brother did do it, we have to know why. Plus, if the brother did one but not the other, it means he told somebody.”
“Well, that would be a good way to analyze it.” Rodney nodded. “Whichever way, we don’t have enough to decide anything yet, so let’s go get more data.”
*
Simon waited in line for a hot coffee. A couple years ago it was hard to find good coffee from a street vendor, and the ones that you did find served horrid coffee, compared to what he was used to. But this guy had fast become a favorite for Simon and the others standing in line. As Simon stepped up, the guy with the weathered face looked up, saw who it was, and gave him a big grin.
“Coffeetime?”
“Yes, please.” Simon put several coins on the window ledge.
“What size?”
“Make it a large,” he replied. “It’s a hot day out, but I’ve got a ton of work and could use the energy.”
“You got to have more than just caffeine to live off of,” the older man stated, with a shake of his head. “I have all kinds of food here too.”
“It’s just the wrong time to eat for me,” he stated. “I had a late breakfast, so I’m not quite ready for more.”
“Well, you know where to find me when you are,” he muttered.
Simon realized he had yet to try any of this guy’s food. He looked around to see several sweet items but also a chicken kabob that made his stomach growl. He frowned as he looked at the pictures. “So how close to the pictures are these kabobs?” he asked.
“I’ve got a dozen just coming off the oil,” he said. “Hang on a moment.” He disappeared around the side of his small outdoor street cart, where it had a cooking area in the back. He came back with a paper envelope, and he handed it over.
The kabob was hot enough that Simon’s fingers were already complaining.
“This one is on me,” the older guy stated.
Simon put the kabob on the counter, immediately shaking his head, as he dug into his pocket, pulled out a bunch more coins, and, without even looking at them, added them to his other coins. “Not needed,” he said. It smelled delicious. “Cumin in this?”
The other man barked. “That’s just one of a dozen spices in it.”
“Good enough,” Simon replied. “Let me give this a try with my coffee, and we’ll see.”
“Most people order a sweet.”
“Not me,” he noted. “I’m all about protein.”
The older man gave Simon a wicked grin, scooped up the coins, then put them into a container on the other side. “Let me know how you like it.”
And, with that, Simon grabbed the wrapped kebob, some paper napkins, and his coffee, then headed off to a small bench nearby. He could keep walking, but he had something in each hand. He reached the bench, where he sat down. He took the lid off the coffee to let it cool ever-so-slightly and blew on the edge of the meat treat in front of him.
He thought about what the old guy had said and looked up to see several people walking away with some version of a cinnamon bun, coated in white icing. He looked down at his choice. Never having had much of a sweet tooth, he was always much more about protein. With that thought in mind, he took a tentative bite. The flavors immediately crashed through his mouth, making his senses sit up straight in shock. He smiled.
It was good. Not only was it good, it was really good. It always amazed him when he came across something so very different in taste. He had another bite and then another, thoroughly enjoying the completely different and almost foreign taste to the meat. It was crusty on the outside and moist and flavorful inside. Simon caught the vendor’s eye and raised his treat with a smile and a nod. The coffee was cool enough now to at least have a couple sips, and, polishing off the treat in his hand, he stood, put the lid back on his coffee, and carried on to his next job.
When he arrived twenty minutes later, the foreman came out of the building and lifted a hand in greeting.
“Don’t you ever get tired of walking?”
“Most of my projects are downtown at the moment,” Simon explained. “If I lived anywhere else, then I probably would drive. However, down here, it’s more of a pain to park anyway, so I might as well just keep walking.”
“I get it, but you must put on a lot of miles.”
“I’m used to it.” Simon shrugged. “No different than a mailman who walks all day.”
At that, the foreman nodded. “I hadn’t considered that,” he admitted. “It just seems to me that a man in your position could drive.”
“A man in my position could drive,” he agreed gently, “or even be driven, but this one chooses to walk.”
With that out of the way, the foreman got down to business. “We’ve got a couple problems.”
“Is there ever a time when we don’t have a couple problems?” Simon asked, with a groan.
“Well, when it comes to these old buildings, you know that they tend to spring leaks and to open up all kinds of grizzly problems.”
Simon frowned, turned, and looked at him. “What do you mean by grizzly?”
“Well, this one is not too bad,” the foreman confirmed. “I’ve had a couple that were pretty rough but none of your jobs.”
“Well, let’s keep it that way.” Simon shook his head. “How long have you worked for me now?”
“Two years, I think, or close to that anyway.”
“Well, no shortage of work up ahead either,” he added.
“Did you ever get that building? Are you still after that one you’ve had your eye on for quite a while?”
“No, the realtor still wants too much for it.”
“You know the market has been going up steadily, right?”
“Sure, it has,” Simon noted. “But it needs to rebalance itself when what they’re asking for one is what I’d be willing to pay for two.”
“The trouble is, they’re all about location, location, location,” he quoted.
“Yeah, but somebody will still have the money to turn that location into a moneymaker,” he muttered. “And too often these are just crap.”
The foreman laughed. “You’ve made money,” he stated. “That’s what the realtor thinks. How many have you bought from her now?”
“Probably too many,” Simon admitted. “I might have to set up a new real estate deal with somebody else and make it look like there’s competition sniffing around.”
“Then she’ll just come back at you and tell you there’s even more interest.”
“Maybe,” he noted, “but that building is falling down, so we’d have to drop it and start fresh.”
“You’ve only done that about twice that I can recall,” the foreman noted, considering the clipboard in his hand. “But if you want to build a third one from the beginning, you need to pick that location pretty carefully.”
“I know. That’s why I was thinking about buying all four buildings, then at least, if we support and rebuild one of the middle ones, we might as well be fixing up the ones on the other side at the same time.”
“That’d be a big job.” The foreman pushed back his hard hat, as he studied Simon with interest.
“We’re talking a couple years anyway.”
“Even the best of jobs end up being a couple years.”
“I’m not sure that it isn’t bigger than I want to take on right now.” Simon reached up and gently massaged his temple.
“Still not sleeping well?”
“It seems like I haven’t slept well in six months,” he said, with a laugh.
“You could go to a doctor and get something.”
He immediately shook his head. “I’d rather do anything but that.”
“Work out in the evenings instead of the morning?”
“I do that sometimes, maybe with a swim.” He turned almost unconsciously toward his place. “One of these days I might buy a single-family home and have a pool, where I could go out in the evening and rest and relax in the privacy of my own place.”
“You don’t have a pool where you are?” the foreman asked.
“One’s in the building. That’s not the same as having one to yourself.”
The foreman immediately nodded. “I agree with you there. My brother-in-law has this place with a gorgeous pool and a hot tub, but they never go in either. Half the time they’re not even in the country.”
“That’s where most of those people are,” Simon agreed, with a laugh. “That never really appealed to me. If I would leave the country, I would go do something fun and exciting, then come back and relax. It’s still home for me here.”
“I hear you there.” The foreman tapped his clipboard. “But we do have a few hours of shit you need to go over. We should get started.” And, on that note, he led the way back into the building they were rehabbing. “Let’s start here.” And he pointed out some of the structural problems they had discovered. “This is too far off square. We’ll either need to refloor it, or we’ll have to build up some of this support structure on the side,” he noted. “The plumbing won’t be sound enough to rest on here.”
“We were worried about that in the beginning,” Simon muttered to his foreman.
“Yes, and honestly the best answer at this point in time would be to start fresh and to get these supports in.”
“We’ll have to get the flooring and all of this reengineered. Better to do it now than later. You know how I feel about cutting corners.”
“I know that,” the foreman confirmed. “But I also know how you feel about projects taking way too long and losing money.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Simon agreed. “So, talk to the architect and see if we can get some of these flooring joists added in. Get that fixed, and we’ll move on from there.” He groaned as he looked around. “I wasn’t really expecting this project to be done fast by any means, but it’s had more headaches than any others on my plate right now.”
“I’m only dealing with three of yours at the moment,” he added. “And this is my priority right now, mostly because we haven’t been able to get a clear shot at seeing real progress on it.”
“No, and now the engineers need to come back in and take another look,” Simon noted. “That’ll just hold us up even more. But it’s got to be done, and we don’t want to end up with a bigger headache down the road.”
With that settled, and a few other smaller issues dealt with, Simon headed off to his next project. He was still pissed off about the project he had just left, but only so much he could do. He knew it had been a gamble to take on that project, but it had been a building that Simon just couldn’t walk away from.
So, as the rehab price went up, the headaches went up with it. Yet Simon was in, and it was one of those times where he basically had to spend his way back out again.
It would remain to be seen whether he made any profit on that job or not. If it would be an obvious hell no result, then maybe he would just turn it over to something that warmed his heart instead. Canada didn’t really have orphanages or children’s homes, but there were certainly needs for women’s centers, so maybe he could do something for single mothers, like put in some low-income housing to cater to that select market.
They wouldn’t pay off the building by any means, at least not within fifty years at the rates that those single mothers could pay, but it would be one of projects he did on a regular basis just to give back to the world that had saved his life so long ago. He didn’t want anybody else to end up in the same boat that he knew so many women did, so maybe that’s what this one would have to be. He thought about all the apartments that could be created in a building that size, realizing it wasn’t a bad idea at all. Which made it even more important that the building be structurally sound, so it would go the distance.
The last thing he’d want to do would be to endanger anybody, but to endanger children would be even worse. Simon wasn’t the asshole kind who could turn around and take from the world. For him it was all about giving back and using his resources for good. But he also had to make money in order to keep those projects flowing, which meant it all had to be in balance. And keeping things in balance when it came to construction, well, that was a whole different story.
Heading to his next project, he already wished he’d picked up another coffee. It would be a hell of a long day at this point. His lack of sleep was definitely an issue as well, but it wasn’t something that he would allow to slow him down. As he kept on walking, he heard almost like a knocking on the back of his soul. Maybe like the back door to his mind, although that thought made him feel like an idiot. No way he could have all this energy crap going on and keep it hidden, but he was doing his best to make it look that way.
Again he felt something in the back of his mind. He tried to ignore it but wasn’t very successful. By the time he arrived at the next job, he had stomped on whatever it was pushing at his consciousness, which allowed him to focus on what he needed to do at the jobsite. He found a whole lot less headaches here, and things were actually functioning at a much better rate thankfully, so he headed on to his third one.
He was only a few steps away, heading around the corner to an alleyway, when he heard screams start in the back of his mind. He froze and took a quick glance around. It was early afternoon, probably about two o’clock, but he didn’t have his phone in his hand. People rushed from place to place, and traffic was heavy, even in the alleyway. People were loading, unloading, and shouting up and down. He leaned up against one of the walls and took several slow deep breaths, trying to push back and get out of this psychic vision, so he could function normally.
With the sun beating down on his face, he turned ever-so-slightly, so that he was hidden in the shadows a bit more and took several deeper breaths. When somebody punched him in the shoulder, hard, he almost crumbled to his feet. He’d been stunned, caught by surprise, but he braced himself against the wall and turned to face his attacker. Two homeless guys looked a bit more ready for a fight than Simon would have expected.
“What are you doing in here?” one asked. “This is our place.”
“Just took a moment to stop and rest,” Simon replied in a mild tone. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, and it was obvious that he wasn’t trying to take over the alleyway for himself. These two were just looking for trouble, more trouble than Simon would have been worth.
The one gave him a hard look. “You’re just lying.”
“About what?” Simon muttered in surprise. “I don’t have anything to lie about.”
“You all lie. You’re part of the establishment, and every one of you are liars.”
Simon rolled his eyes at that because there was really no arguing with crazy people. He looked over at the other guy. “Is that what you think?”
“Of course that’s what I think,” he agreed. “If my buddy says so, I believe him.”
“Right, blind devotion,” Simon muttered, “the blind leading the blind.”
“I’m not blind,” the first man snapped, getting even more belligerent.
“No, of course not.” Simon looked at him and stated, “I was just leaving, and I really don’t feel like getting into an argument with you.”
“Too bad, you’re in my space, so that means an argument’s about to happen.”
“Well, we could just avoid it,” Simon replied quietly. “I really don’t want to hurt you.”
At that, the homeless guy’s jaw dropped. “You think a little namby-pamby like you is gonna hurt me?” He snorted and nudged his buddy right beside him. “Did you hear that? He seems to think that he’s a threat.”
The other guy snickered. “Maybe he’s got some money on him.”
“Oh, so it’s not just about the alleyway?” Simon muttered, straightening up. “It’s all about stealing. So is this a mugging? Is that what you think this is all about?”
“Hey, we have to live too.”
“Sure, you do. You could try a job. You could even try a homeless center and lay off the drugs and the booze and get your shit together.”
At that, the first man glared at him. “Nothing’s wrong with us,” he sneered. “We’re doing just fine.”
“Right, as long as you can accost a few people, and you get to eat for the rest of the day, is that it?”
He shrugged. “We all do what we have to do,” he stated, stepping closer. “Now just hand over whatever money you’ve got on you.”
“Nope, ain’t happening,” Simon stated, “so don’t even bother asking.”
“You think I’m kidding?” And, just like that, he pulled out a switchblade.
“Ah, so it is a mugging and soon to be a stabbing. But you don’t really care about any of that, do you?”
“I really don’t,” he said. “Assholes like you made my life hellish.”
“Nope,” Simon argued. “You were on your own journey down this pathway without me.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man yelled.
“Maybe just get him to not talk so much,” the other guy suggested nervously.
“Why? In case I say something that might make sense to you?” Simon asked, looking at him with interest. “I mean, you’re with this loser, so obviously you’re okay with his methodology.”
“Well, we want the alleyway,” he repeated. “We need it. With everybody here, it’s all about turf.”
“Maybe, but that knife is not about turf. That knife is about power, about hating the world around you. That knife is about, ‘Hey, you got something that I want, and I don’t want to go work for it, so I’ll just take it off you instead,’” Simon explained, focusing on the less aggressive male.
At that, the guy glanced around nervously.
Simon went on. “Don’t you realize, in this place, it’s pretty easy for you to be seen in the act of committing a crime? Cameras are all over.”
The second man stepped back nervously. “Maybe we should just leave him alone.”
“That ain’t happening,” the first man snapped.
“But he’s not like our normal guys.”
“No, he isn’t. That’s why it’s important that we teach him a lesson, so all the other guys like this realize they can’t just talk to us any old way they want and expect us to back down and do their bidding.”
“Yeah? Exactly what bidding did I ask you to do?” Simon asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He rested nonchalantly against the wall, waiting for them to make a move. The knife wasn’t an issue, but the weird look in the knife-bearer’s gaze definitely was. This guy was high on drugs of some kind; Simon wasn’t so sure the second guy was though. He looked over at him. “Are you as drugged out as your buddy here?”
He shook his head slowly. “No, he’s having a bad time today.”
“Right, so, if this is a bad time,” Simon noted, shaking his head, “I can’t imagine what a good time is.”
“Well, it’s been a bad week, let me say that,” he muttered.
“What are you doing hanging around with him? You know this guy will just get your ass thrown in jail.”
He nervously moistened his lips. “Nah, he’s my friend.”
“Meaning, he gets you food and drugs, right?”
The guy looked at him, somewhat haunted.
“Stop talking,” the other guy said in a hard voice to Simon. “You ain’t got no truck trying to cause trouble between us.”
“I’m not trying to cause trouble,” Simon stated, looking at him. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Yes, you are,” argued the homeless guy with the knife. “You’re making it sound like this is a bad deal.”
“Well, it is a bad deal. I don’t have to do anything to make it sound like that. Any idiot can see that it’s a bad deal.”
“I’m the one with the knife,” he jeered. “So what will you do about it?” he asked, brandishing it in front of Simon’s face.
Unwilling to waste any more time, Simon elbowed away the knife, clanging down to the alleyway, and flipped the guy around, until he was pinned against the building. “I’ll do whatever the hell I want to do.” Hearing protests from the second guy, Simon snatched him by the throat and slammed him up beside his buddy and squeezed. When the second guy started choking, the first man tried to move, but no way he could break Simon’s grip.
“See? This is what happens when you attack somebody who is minding his own business and not causing you any trouble, and here you go pulling a knife and making all kinds of threats.”
The second guy was still choking loudly.
“You’ll kill him,” the first guy cried out. “Leave him alone. Leave him alone!”
“Yeah, why is that? Is he your special buddy or something? You’re the one who put him in this position. So this is all on you, man.”
The guy looked at him and then back at his friend. “Please don’t kill him.”
“I don’t plan on killing him, unless he has a heart attack or something right now. I mean, it’s not my fault if he doesn’t have any oxygen to breathe.”
The first guy looked at Simon and then his shoulders sagged. “Please, just let him go.”
With that, Simon slowly released his grip around the second guy’s throat, who immediately bent over, gasping and choking for air. “That is your one and only warning,” Simon said to the first guy. “If you ever come close to me again,” he stated, “I’ll take you down the minute I see you. Got it? I’m walking this area all the time, every day of the week out here. This is my turf. It’s not your turf. So cross me one more time, and you’ll pay for it.”
And, with that, he shoved the man away from him.
The two men helped each other, and together they scrambled away. “Come on. Let’s go.” Shooting a glance of hatred toward Simon, they took off.
Simon looked down at the knife, knowing that, if he touched it, he would probably get completely engulfed in visions that he didn’t want to see. But he also didn’t want to leave it here. Pulling his handkerchief from his suit pocket, he picked up the knife and, with nobody else around to see anything at the moment, walked over to a dumpster close by and buried it in a corner. The last thing he wanted was to leave a weapon for someone else to pick up out here. The world was a dangerous-enough place to be without adding to it.
With one final look around, he turned and walked away.