Black Iris: Chapter Fifteen
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The offices of McCarthystein & Partners are not as nice as his television commercials would have you believe. The carpet in the lobby is a low pill and worn, the art on the walls is mounted in cheesy poster frames, the plants are plastic, and the most recent magazine on the coffee table is a Golf Digest from 2011.
The receptionist is a woman with blond curls in a bright brown (probably red) dress with matching lipstick and nail polish. She’s filing her nails while chewing bubble gum that smells like a dying suburban mall and repeating “Uh huh… uh huh… uh huh” into the receiver of a beige telephone that is nestled between her neck and shoulder.
“Hey, Donna, I gotta go,” she says to her shoulder as I approach her desk. “Someone’s here. Yeah, I’ll call ya right back.” She hangs up and sighs. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I need to speak with Steve McCarthystein.”
“He’s in court at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?”
My ears pivot towards a closed door down the hall. McCarthystein is in there with two other people, laughing and possibly drinking a late breakfast. The smell of alcohol seems to be emanating from every room in this office, so it’s hard to place.
“Are you sure he’s not here? I think I heard him back there.”
“Well, you must be hearing things, because he’s not here.”
“Any idea when he’ll be back?”
“Sometime in the afternoon.”
“Can you be more specific?”
She looks up from her nails for the first time since I walked in. “Court takes as long as it takes. Now, if you have something important to tell him, I suggest you leave a message.”
“Ok, just tell him — ”
She cuts me off by handing me a pen and paper on a clipboard. “Just write it there.”
She’s back on the phone before I even sit down.
MCCARTHYSTEIN, WE NEED TO TALK — SNOWBALL
The message is short but it’s all I need to say.
When I hand the clipboard back to the receptionist, she tosses the note on top of a pile of similarly hand-written memos without even reading it. If McCarthystein doesn’t get back to me soon, the next message will be more explicit.
***
The Alsephina Realty website looks like it was made in 1997, with missing images, no links, and no address listed for their offices. I try calling all three contact phone numbers provided, plus the one printed on the sign in the Swardson building, and they all go directly to voicemail with generic messages. Davin Sharkey never gave me his business card, and a Google search for him comes up empty, listing a Devon Sharkey — a creative writing professor at NYU — as the closest match. Since the internet failed me, it’s time to check Public Records.
All Kibble government offices are located at City Hall Plaza, a well-maintained public square in the center of town. As a kitten, I used to climb on the abstract sculptures that line the brick walkways and jump into the koi pond to chase the fish, which is why I got banned from class field trips.
The Office of Public Records is in the basement of City Hall. They had a flood a few months ago, and I can smell the moldy carpet all the way on the first floor as I’m waiting in line to get through security. It’ll give me a headache if I’m down there for more than an hour.
Sue, the assistant to the City Clerk, is a cat person. Not in the literal way like me, but in the lonely spinster way. She has a gold cat pin on the collar of her blouse, a cat wristwatch, and a cat handbag. Also, she smells like cats. As you can imagine, I do quite well with women like this, and with a little bit of flirting, I get her to assist me with my research.
“The apartment complexes at 211 and 213 Swardson were built by Harvey Real Estate Company in 2002,” Sue says, “and Harvey owned and maintained both properties up until July 26th of this year.”
“Huh.” That was just one week before the air conditioner fell on me.
“What’s interesting is that Alsephina only bought 213 and not 211. The two buildings share a parking lot and laundry access, so you’d expect them to be sold together.”
“Maybe they could only afford one of them.”
“That would be my guess, though it seems like the seller would’ve held out for someone who could buy both.”
“Right. Thanks, Sue, you’ve been extremely helpful.”
“No problem. If you need anything else, just pop on in. I’m always here.”
“Will do.”
From here I head over to the Kibble County Courthouse on the other side of City Hall Plaza. There, I’m assisted by another friendly cat person by the name of Nick.
“Unfortunately, there are no court records for anyone named ‘Ed Smith’ living in Kibble and nothing for Alsephina Realty.”
“But that’s impossible. I just sued Alsephina Realty.”
He raises an eyebrow.
I realize I probably shouldn’t say anymore. If the mayor is somehow tied up in this mess, then it could involve other city offices, too.
“I mean I was thinking about suing them. I stepped in a hole on their lawn and sprained my ankle. Anyway, thanks for your help. Have a good one.”
“You, too.”
It’s only been a couple of days since my case was thrown out, but there should at least be copies of my complaint and summons. That means either McCarthystein never actually filed, or they were filed and have since been removed from public record. I’m not sure which is more alarming. If they were never filed and Judge Keel still met with us, that means he would have been in on it, too. On the other hand, it says a lot about Alsephina’s reach if they are able to destroy government records. Given how diabolical they’ve already demonstrated themselves to be, I’m inclined to believe the latter. Surely, other people must have tried to sue them over the years, otherwise, why would they need such a formidable in-house legal team?
***
As I cross the plaza, I pass Mayor Bottom and his entourage heading up the steps of City Hall. Seeing him in person, I appreciate just how short he is, and his equally pint-sized bodyguards look like children dressed up for church. The woman leading the group is his wife Annette, who also happens to be his Director of Zoning and Planning. Towering over the others by at least a foot, she looks like a mother duck leading a brood of ducklings. Hot on Annette’s heels is a younger woman carrying a precarious stack of folders in one hand while she tries to read her phone in the other hand.
“Uh, Director,” she says. “Your 2:00 p.m. meeting just says ‘meeting.’ It doesn’t say where it is or who it’s with.”
“Don’t worry, I know who it is. By the way, it’s across town, and it’s probably going to run long, which means you’re going to have to reschedule my 3:00.”
“But… that’s with the Governor.”
“He’ll understand.”
“Um — ” The folder falls from the assistant’s arm, spilling papers all over the steps. She chases after them, but the wind floats them just out of reach. The mayor and his security team continue into the building without notice.
Annette pauses at the top of the steps and rolls her eyes. “My god, Tammy… Ok, I don’t have time for this. I’ll see you back at the office later this afternoon.”
“Ok. Sorry.”
Annette disappears into City Hall, and Tammy resumes her scrambling for papers. One of the pages blows onto my foot, and I grab it.
“Oh, thank you so much,” she pants. Her frustrated expression fades to a smile when she looks up from the ground and sees my face. “Oh, shit, it’s the cat guy. Hi, cat guy.” She pushes her large glasses back against her face with her finger. She’s got lipstick on her teeth and a few of her dark, bouncy curls have escaped her ponytail.
“Hello.” I help her pick up the rest of the papers. “The name’s Snowball, by the way.”
“Tammy.” She contemplates shaking my paw but decides against it when she nearly loses the pile of papers again. “Anyway, I better get going.”
She starts scurrying up the stairs, and I follow her.
“Say, you wouldn’t happen to be an intern, would you?” I ask.
“Yep. In the Office of Zoning and Planning.”
“Mind if I walk with you? I just have a few questions about the program.”
She exaggerates a frown. “That depends. Are any of these questions going to get me in trouble?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a P.I., right?”
“Yeah, so?” I hold the door open for her, then hurry in front of her to open the next one. The post-lunch crowd has overwhelmed security, and there’s a line for the metal detector.
“Oh, nothing. It just seems like the kind of questions a P.I. would ask are the kind I shouldn’t be answering.”
“No, these are perfectly innocent, I swear. I just happen to have a niece who’s interested in interning here.”
She shifts her weight. “You have a niece?”
“Thousands, actually. Full disclosure, I’ve never met any of them. They live in Aaru, with my siblings, most of which I haven’t met either. But with that many nieces and nephews, it’s only a matter of time before one of them wants to intern for the Kibble mayor.”
“Ha, ok. Well, what do you want to know?”
“First of all, is the mayor a robot?”
She snorts a laugh, dropping a piece of gum onto her shoe. She just leaves it there. “What do you mean ‘Is he a robot?’”
There was a time when young college kids were the Phantom’s largest demographic. The fact that Tammy isn’t aware of the “robot mayor” concept speaks to the hit his readership has taken.
“I’m kidding. It’s just this funny article I read.”
She shrugs. “Hey, for all I know, he could be a robot. I barely see the man these days.”
“Oh yeah?”
“When I first joined the program, I worked with him directly. It was ok for a while, but then he got a little, shall we say… flirtatious. He kept having me grab things off of high shelves, especially when I wore sleeveless shirts. It was starting to make me uncomfortable. Then one day I came in, and Annette told me I’d be working with her from then on.”
“She thought something was up?”
I can’t help but notice Tammy sporting quite the forest under her arms, and Slick Dick is known to have quite a fetish.
“Oh, I don’t think so. I mean, she probably didn’t like the way he looked at me, but I don’t think she blamed me for that.”
“Really? Because she seemed a little prickly towards you just now.”
“That’s just how she is. I don’t mind, actually. She may not be warm and fuzzy, but she’s a good mentor. The annoying thing is I’m doing the work of an assistant but still being paid as an intern.”
“Why’s that?”
“Budget cuts. Assistants and receptionists city-wide had to take pay cuts and losses in benefits, including pensions. Since that happened, Annette’s current assistant Agnes has been phoning it in big time. She’s retiring at the end of the year, so she doesn’t give a shit. And with city bureaucracy being what it is, it’s easier to just wait her out than it is to fire her.
“Ha. Good for her.”
“Yeah, for her. For me, it’s a pain in the ass. They said that once she’s gone, the job is mine if I want it, and I’ll probably take it since it still pays better than anything else I’ll be able to get. In the meantime, though, I’m stuck doing both my job and Agnes’s for less than minimum wage.”
“Sorry. That sucks.”
“It does, and it doesn’t. At least I’ll know what I’m doing when I finally get the salary and job title. And I’m getting a lot of experience. Annette’s involved with pretty much everything that happens in this city, and I’ve gotten to see firsthand how it all works.”
“Do you think she wants her husband’s job?”
“Someday, yeah.”
“What does Dick think about that?”
“Well, they don’t talk about it in front of me, obviously, but I think he’s supportive. In fact, he’s seemed pretty tired of the game lately, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he decides — ”
The person in front of us glances over his shoulder. Tammy lowers her voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he decides not to run again next fall.”
“Really?”
She holds her hand up next to her mouth. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
I make the universally recognized “zip the mouth, turn the key” gesture.
When Tammy reaches the front of the line, she starts putting stuff down on the table and prepares for the metal detector.
“Ok, I guess I better let you get back to work. It was nice meeting you, Tammy. Thanks for talking to me.”
“No prob.”
“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a business card on you by any chance? In case I think of some more questions.”
She smiles. “No, I don’t. Sorry. But if you really need me, you know where to find me.”
“Sounds good.”
As she’s walking through, the metal detector goes off, sending a shiver of panic through my bones. My sudden movement grabs the attention of one of the security guards, and he eyes me suspiciously until I leave the building.
***
As I descend the steps from City Hall Plaza onto Government Street, I spot a black 1987 Ford LTD Crown Victoria hovering at a cab stand. I pretend not to notice and head casually down the sidewalk. The car creeps along after me.
At the end of the block, I come to a row of vendor carts and pause in a cluster of people, watching to see if the car passes on the other side. It doesn’t, which means it’s waiting for me.
“How much for the sombrero and poncho?” I ask one of the vendors.
“Nine dollars, if you buy them together.”
Damn, that’s a good deal. I throw him a Jackson. “Keep the change.”
“Aw, thanks, man!”
Luckily, it’s the kind of sombrero that has a chin strap because it wouldn’t stay on my head otherwise.
I start heading in the opposite direction. There are two lanes of traffic going each way so, in order for the car to stay on me, it would have to make a crazy illegal U-turn, then follow me from the other side of the street. The vehicle is nowhere to be seen, but halfway down the block, I spot the black-suit-and-sunglass-wearing duo from the Eight Deadly Sins scanning the crowd and peeking into shop windows. I pick up the pace.
Around the corner, I come upon a mariachi band playing in front of a guitar case full of cash. I huddle close and do my best to mouth the words they’re singing. They give me a look that tells me they’re not amused, so I move on.
I should never have stopped because the men in black have now caught up. They talk to the band, and one of the players points in my direction. They probably talked to the vendor who sold me my disguise, too.
At the next block, I duck into a second-hand store.
“Hey, can I trade this sombrero for one of your hats?” I ask the woman behind the counter.”
“Uh, that’s not really how this — ”
On the shelf behind her, I spot a 50-gallon foam cowboy hat. “What if I take that monstrosity off your hands? Nobody’s ever going to buy it.”
The woman sighs. “Fine.”
I trade the poncho for a beat-up leather vest that’s been stained with salad dressing.
When I come out of the store, I can’t spot the men in the crowd, but I feel them watching me. I continue briskly down the bustling sidewalk. Not having a visual on them causes me to panic, and before I know it, my walk becomes a jog, then a full-on sprint. I weave between the pedestrians like a wide receiver through a defensive line, all the while holding onto my hat to keep it from falling off. While dodging a baby carriage, I collide with a parking meter, breaking it open and spilling coins like a slot machine that just hit the jackpot. Passersby leap onto the ground to gather up the spoils, distracting the beat cop who might have otherwise been inclined to chase after me.
When I run out of gas, I stagger into a Toby’s Big n’ Tall. Towards the back of the store, I find a round clothing rack with slacks that reach the floor and dive into it. Several minutes pass, and while I occasionally hear the front door opening and closing, nobody comes near my hiding spot. Still, they could be waiting for me outside, which means I should probably hole up here for a while. Using my foam hat as a pillow, I curl up and let myself drift off to sleep.
I wake up three hours later just as the manager is closing the store. When I get outside, there’s no sign of the suspicious men or their car.
