Chapter Twelve

Gerry tossed his empty Bohemia bottle in the air and caught it. "I'm going to go get me another one. Anyone else thirsty?"

Both men shook their heads. As soon as Gerry was out of earshot, Brent asked, "What do you want to do now?"

Joe toyed with his empty beer bottle, picking at the damp label. "Track down this Perry guy. If he gave her a new name, we won't be able to find her any other way. Maybe he'll know something about her plans, too."

Brent nodded. "If we can do that and lean on Sylvia to tell us what she knows, we ought to be able to find her without too much trouble."

Joe set the bottle on the table and leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. "Maybe I ought to be the one to talk to her this time."

"Go for it," Brent said. "I'm willing to try anything at this point."

Joe spotted Sylvia near the kitchen door, talking on her phone while she counted a wad of bills. He wandered over and leaned against the wall, watching as she smoothed each bill and turned them all to face the same direction. "Well," she said into the phone, "I can hold them for you another day, but if we run out and you haven't shown up for yours, you know Gerry'll sell them." She listened a moment, nodding. "I'd bring them to you if I could, but my car is in the shop right now, and Gerry's truck is acting funny. Last thing I need is to break down on the side of the road with your rocks in the glovebox." Sylvia noticed Joe watching her. "You need something?"

"Whenever you're through."

Sylvia frowned and returned to her call. "Listen, I've got to go. Just do what you can, okay? I'll hold onto it as long as Gerry lets me. Bye." She stuffed her bills in her jeans pocket. "What's up?"

Joe folded his arms across his chest. "I want to start by thanking you for your hospitality. You and Gerry have been pretty generous, considering how we barged in, but let's you and me cut the bullshit. Elise was here today. You set her up with someone who could help her sell her car, change her name, and who knows what all kinds of other stuff. Now she's gone. You know where she went, though, and I think it's about time you told me."

Sylvia scowled. "Elise is a very old friend, okay? She told me if anyone came around looking for her, not to say anything. I don't snitch on my friends." She caught sight of Gerry coming out of the kitchen with a fresh Bohemia. "Unlike some people, who seem to think everything that happens around this place is worth blabbing on the streets to everyone."

Gerry heard her taunting words, as Sylvia intended him to. "What are you complaining about now?"

"You and your big fucking mouth that I wish you'd learn to keep shut."

"Hey, I didn't say a word about where she went. I told them she had been here, but that was all."

Sylvia rolled her eyes. "I thought I told you not to say anything to anyone."

"You did, but come on, Sylvia-- these guys care about her. They deserve to at least know she's been here."

"This isn't about deserving, it's about keeping your word."

"I didn't promise anything."

"You did, too. You are such a fucking liar, Gerry."

"Who are you calling a liar? At least I didn't tell these guys Elise hadn't been here and I didn't know what they were talking about."

"So what did you tell them?"

"Just that she'd been here, that was all."

"Bullshit. You told them she sold the car. You told them about Perry, too."

Gerry shook his head. "I can't believe you think I'd tell them that."

"Then how'd they know about the phony papers?"

"Okay, so what if I did tell them? Is it the end of the world or something? They're still not going to find her."

"They better not."

Joe butted in. "What is so god-awful about me wanting to know where my wife is?" He looked around the room, taking in the silent stares of Sylvia's guests. "Will somebody please just tell me where Elise went?"

The room was silent for a moment. The redheaded girl had been staring at Joe, but now dropped her gaze to her mirror and smiled at her reflection. "She went to the hospital."

Sylvia jumped in front of her, hampering Joe's efforts to get close. "Can't you see she's fucked up? That girl doesn't even know what day it is, let alone where your wife--"

Joe shoved Sylvia out of the way and knelt beside the redhead. "What do you mean she went to the hospital?" Joe asked. "You mean Elise, right? Pretty girl, black hair?"

The girl was staring into her mirror again. "She's not as pretty as me." She pointed to her reflection. "I should be a movie star."

"Yes, you should," Joe agreed. "So which hospital did Elise go to?"

The girl was lost again in her dreams though, gazing into her own eyes. "I'm so pretty I could be a model. Someone should take a picture of me."

Joe grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her, but Brent pulled him away. "Forget it. She's so high her brain is completely pulverized." He turned on Sylvia, who had been watching the whole scene, biting her lip. "Come on, which hospital did Elise go to? See if you can tell us the truth."

Sylvia tossed her head. "Ask somebody else. Seems like just about everybody in here is willing to spill their guts to you, anyway." She turned sharply, brushed past Gerry and stomped off down the hall.

Gerry took a step toward the two men, then stopped and looked at his feet. "We had somebody take her to the emergency room at St. Jude Thaddeus," he confessed.

"The emergency room?" Joe grabbed Gerry by the arm. "What for? Is she sick? Is she hurt?"

Gerry shrugged. "She'll be all right, I think. She didn't really want to go, but I insisted."

"What happened?"

The girl sitting on the sofa, who had been asleep earlier but was now watching the developments with interest, spoke up. "She wasn't feeling too good. She wouldn't really say what was wrong, but she seemed to be in a lot of pain."

Gerry nodded. "Yeah, it was pretty freaky. Since she was on her own and all, I told her not to take any chances and get checked out. It's not like she couldn't afford it, since she made a bundle selling that car of hers." He shrugged. "We had a friend just fixing to leave, and he said he'd drop her off at St. Jude's since he was going that way."

Brent and Joe looked at each other solemnly. "Let's get out of here," Brent said.

"I'll get our coats." Joe hurried over to the table and returned a minute later wearing his plaid jacket and carrying Brent's coat in his arms. "We can be at St. Jude's in fifteen minutes if we hurry and the traffic is in our favor."

Gerry followed them to the door. "Good luck!"

Chapter Eleven

Brent stood up, a little foggy-headed from the scotch, and wandered into the living room. He spotted Joe sitting opposite Gerry, who was still breaking up rocks of cocaine at the dining table.

"There you are," Joe said, waving Brent toward a chair. "We were just talking about you."

Brent frowned as Joe accepted a joint from Gerry and took a drag, then passed the stub back to Gerry, who quit working for a minute. He took a long hit then picked up what was left of his rock and began rubbing it back and forth across the screen. With his other hand he motioned toward some pre-cut lines on the mirror. "Help yourself, fratboy. This is good stuff. Gets you wired without feeling real jittery, you know? And hardly any taste at all."

Brent shook his head. "You know I was never into that stuff."

Gerry shrugged. "You're missing out, but suit yourself."

"Gerry was just telling me how they've had a lot of people through this apartment in the last twenty-four hours," Joe said. He frowned at what was left of the joint, then looked up at Gerry. "Got a roach clip?"

"Somewhere."

Joe moved a few things around but didn't find what he was looking for. "Doesn't matter, I guess." He stubbed out the remains of the cigarette into a nearby ashtray.

Gerry's rock was now a crumb. He picked up an old toothbrush and used it to force the remainder through the mesh. Satisfied, he licked the shiny white residue off his fingers. "I'm thirsty now," he informed Joe with a grin. "Want a beer?"

"Sure."

"You need anything?" Gerry looked at Brent, who shook his head. "Be right back, then."

As soon as Gerry disappeared into the kitchen, Brent leaned toward Joe. "What do you think you're doing smoking?" he whispered. "And with these, of all people!"

Joe backed away. "I smoke at home in my studio. What are you, my mother?"

Brent settled back in his chair. "We came here to find your wife," he muttered. "Not to go getting fucked up and forgetting why we're here."

"It's just a little weed. I guess these folks are right-- you really were a poseur, but I don't exactly see you refusing good scotch. Besides, there may be some benefit in making friends with this guy. I think he knows something and might be willing to tell me if I approach him right."

"Well, you can't do much worse than I did with Sylvia. I know she knows what's up, but she's playing dumb with me."

Gerry appeared out of the kitchen with a Bohemia in each hand and handed one to Joe. Before he could take a sip, though, Sylvia appeared at Gerry's side with a cell phone. "It's Lonnie. Wants to know what the ecstasy is going for, and how many hits can he get."

Gerry took the phone. "Lonnie, buddy! How's it going? No, man, that was last week. They're twenty now." He threw his head back and took a swig of his beer. "Think about it and come over if you're interested. I can let you have ten. Yeah, okay. See you." Gerry dropped the phone in his pocket and went back to the table where he picked up a spoon and a tiny ziplock and began spooning the freshly powdered cocaine into the bag.

"How much does that go for these days?" Joe asked.

"This batch is a hundred a gram. You want some? It's cheaper than dirt at this price."

"No, thanks. Just wondering." Joe took a sip of his beer and looked away as if only marginally interested what was going on. "Did Elise buy any?"

Brent darted a surprised look at him, then blanked his features and took a sip of scotch. Gerry looked at both men, scanning their faces for cues how to proceed.

"Come on, man," Joe said, setting down his beer. "You might as well tell me. What if she was still your girlfriend? Or what if it was Sylvia gone, and you were trying to find her?"

Gerry hesitated a moment, then checked over his shoulder to see who might be paying attention. The man on the sofa was fumbling with a purple bong and the girl beside him had fallen asleep, her head tipped back against the sofa, snoring softly as a trickle of drool coursed down her chin. The girl on the floor was still staring enraptured into her mirror. Another man had shown up since Brent and Joe arrived and was sitting on the edge of an armchair watching Sylvia count out yellow pills from a baggie. Gerry turned back to Joe, and dropped his voice. "She didn't buy anything from me," he said. "But she was here earlier and she was working on some things with Sylvia. She's gone now," he added needlessly.

"What kinds of things did she work on with Sylvia?" Joe asked. "Drugs?"

Gerry shook his head. "That's pretty much my domain. Sylvia has some other things going on. Mostly procurement and people-smuggling. You know, illegals."

"So does she fix them up with ID and all that?" Brent asked.

Gerry nodded. "She has connections for everything-- birth certificates, social security cards, you name it."

"So where do you think Elise went after Sylvia fixed her up?" Joe asked.

Gerry's eyes darted in Sylvia's direction. "I promised I wouldn't tell."

Joe threw himself back in his chair in exasperation, but Brent pressed on. "When exactly was she here? What time?"

"Oh, she got in last night, late. She was here all day, in and out, taking care of some things. She left a few hours before you got here."

"Great," Joe muttered. "I knew the rain was going to screw us up."

"So what things did she get taken care of today?" Brent asked, ignoring Joe's outburst.

Gerry picked up a small scale. "Would you help me with this? You're supposed to hang it onto something, but the hook is broke. Just hold it while I weigh these bags."

Brent came around to Gerry's side of the table and held the scale by its small chain while Gerry clipped bags to it one by one, noting their weight and occasionally adding more powder or taking a little out. "So what kinds of things was Elise doing today?" he asked again.

Gerry's voice dropped to almost a whisper. "She was trying to ditch her car, for one thing."

Brent frowned. "Why?"

Gerry unclipped a bag from the scale and held it up to the light. "So she could get the money but not have anyone know what she did or when she did it. She'll probably get another car under her new ID. Most of them do." He kneaded the powder in the little bag and dropped it on the table with the others.

"So she's covering her tracks."

"You've got it." Gerry clipped another bag onto the scale, then unclipped it and spooned a little powder out. He looked around on the table, found a snipped-off drinking straw and snorted up the powder, then rubbed his nose thoughtfully before sealing the bag and clipping it back to the scale.

"So is that all she did today?" Brent asked. "Sold the car? She didn't get around to the ID?"

Gerry shook his head. "She was working with one of Sylvia's contacts, Perry Clyman, to try and get some phony papers and put her money into an account under an assumed name. Sylvia has a real job, you know, so she doesn't always have time to handle these things directly. Often it's better just to be the middleman. Less chance of ending up in jail." He was finished weighing his bags and took the scale out of Brent's hand. "So why is Elise going to all this trouble?" he asked. "I mean, she made it pretty clear that it was none of my business, but Sylvia won't tell me what's up, either. She must be in some kind of trouble."

Joe, who had been leaning forward in his chair listening, shook his head. "Not as far as we know, although now I'm not so sure."

"Seems like a lot of hassle," Brent agreed. "She obviously didn't plan this on the spur of the moment, if she got everything taken care of so fast."

"I guess we were right about why she came here," Joe said.

Gerry grinned. "She knew what she was doing, calling Sylvia. That girl has always known how to keep things off the record. A college education was a waste of her time, and this Perry friend of hers is amazing. For the right price, he'll make you a Sultan of Egypt. Change your name, change your social security number, get you some fake job references... you can be a new man, no more struggles. Start your life all over again from scratch."

"Think that's what she was after?" Brent asked, turning to Joe. "Maybe she just wanted a fresh start?"

Joe sighed deeply. "I don't know why she'd want to do it like this. I'd have given her anything she wanted, gone anywhere, let her be whoever she wanted to be. She didn't need to run away."

Gerry shrugged and drank the last of his beer. "Tabula rasa, man. Sometimes a person wants to really start over-- clean the slate completely."

"So where is she now?" Brent asked.

Gerry shook his head. "I've told you way too much already. You'd best try and weasel that one out of Sylvia, because she won't go lenient on me if I tell you."

Chapter Ten

Sylvia motioned Brent toward the kitchen. "What do you want to drink?"

Brent followed her through the swinging doors into the starkly clean room, bright and buzzing with fluorescent lights. He took a perfunctory look around, noting with a grim smile of bemusement the D.A.R.E. poster on the refrigerator advertising it as a drug-free zone. A selection of bottles was displayed on the counter by the sink, and after perusing them for a minute, he reached for a bottle of Glenmorangie. "This is high quality stuff. Business must be good."

"Beats the hell out of that rot-gut we used to drink. I feel almost establishment some days." Sylvia took a glass out of the cabinet, put a few ice cubes in it and handed it to Brent. "So what made you think Elise would be here, of all places?"

"She's disappeared. We did a little research and your place seemed like a likely place to find her."

"What on earth would make you think that?"

Brent poured himself a drink and took a solid hit off it before answering. "We read some emails that suggested you were offering her a place to stay, and we found your address and phone number at her office."

"Pretty scanty evidence," Sylvia observed as she poured a glass of merlot.

"It's all we had."

"What do you mean, it's all you had?"

Brent scanned her face. "You know, in spite of the fact Elise obviously isn't here, I think you do know where she is. I wish you'd quit playing games with me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sylvia said placidly. "But I'm curious why you and her husband are going to so much trouble, running around in the storm, climbing fences and ripping up your clothes just to find her since you seem to think she left of her own free will."

"Because she's gone. Isn't that enough?" Brent found a metal stool and pulled it up to the counter.

"What's it to you? I know you were sort of taken with her back in the day, but we're grownups now. We're supposed to be over all that."

Brent examined his drink and jiggled the ice cubes. "I guess only some of us are."

"Don't tell me you're still clinging to some adolescent fantasy that you love her. You haven't been sleeping with her, have you?" Sylvia's eyes lit up with amusement. "After all these years, did she finally give in? And here I thought you couldn't fuck a woman you actually respected."

Brent set down his half-empty glass. "I can sleep with a woman and respect her, too. Geez, was I really that bad?"

"Yes."

"Well, things change. Maybe I love her. I know I'd do anything in the world for her."

"Sounds like it." Sylvia topped off Brent's drink, then took a quick taste of it before returning to her wine. "You must really be whipped if you're helping her husband. What's all that about? If you love her so much, what are you doing hanging around him?"

Brent looked at his glass. "I feel guilty," he murmured. "I don't know what I did, but I'm pretty sure I have something to do with why she's gone. Finding her is the only way I can make up for that."

"You always were an egotistical little fuck. Everything has something to do with you, doesn't it?" Sylvia considered. "So you're willing to give her back to her husband for the sake of her own happiness, just like in 'Casablanca.'" She reached for the merlot bottle. "Since when were you a romantic? Didn't you use to brag that one woman was as good as another?"

"Please don't remind me. I was young and stupid then."

"And stupid, still, from the sound of it."

"You'll never understand, Sylvia."

"You're probably right. You never made the least bit of sense to me. If Elise hadn't been so fond of you, I'd have kicked your ass, rather than let you hang around me and my friends. At least you were always good for a buck or two."

"Nice to know you thought I was good for something."

She shook out her hair. "What makes you think Elise wants to be found by either one of you?"

"Nothing."

"I see." She squinted hard at her glass, dipped a finger into her wine and picked out a bit of cork. Satisfied, she wiped her hand on her jeans. "The fact that she took off ought to make it pretty clear she doesn't want anything to do with either one of you guys. Why don't you just let her be?"

"Because what Elise pretends to want and what she really wants are often two different things. I think deep down she might be hoping we find her. As long as there's that chance, I'm going to keep looking."

Sylvia gave him an indulgent pat on the knee. "You've obviously seen too many movies. Since when did you cast yourself in the role of the self-sacrificing hero? It isn't like you, and it sure isn't becoming."

She set her empty glass on the counter and took a few steps toward the kitchen door. "I need to get back to my guests. I've got a business to run, you know. Don't stay all night in here." She put a hand, heavy with silver rings, on the door frame. "Come out into the living room and be sociable, okay?" She pushed through the swinging door, leaving Brent alone in the kitchen.

Chapter Nine

Brent pounded on the heavy gray door, a duplicate of every other gray door in the dimly lit corridor. A shadow moved behind the peephole but no one answered. He put his ear against the door. "There's people in there. I can hear them talking." He pounded again. "Sylvia! I know you're in there."

There was a scrabble against the inside of the door and then it opened a crack, held by the security chain. A pasty dark-haired woman, her eyes ringed in black eyeliner, pressed her face to the opening. "Go away. I told you I didn't want you coming over here. And quiet down-- the neighbors will hear you."

"I don't care who hears me," Brent said. "If you want me to quiet down, you'll have to let me in."

"I'll call security."

"And I'll tell them you're running a distribution business in there."

Sylvia's eyes narrowed. "I haven't done that in years."

"Really?" He tried to peer past her into the room. "You've sure got a lot of company in there tonight, for someone who doesn't do that anymore."

"Can't a person have a party?"

"Oh sure," Brent said. "People have late-night parties on weeknights all the time. What kind of party favors you got? Think the security guard would like some? That is, if you feel like you really need to have him come over."

Sylvia clenched her jaw and stared defiantly into Brent's eyes. Then she shut the door. There was a sound of further scratching as the chain was released, and then the door swung open. "Welcome to my humble abode," she said coldly.

Brent and Joe stepped inside. The room was furnished in bulky utilitarian style, bare of rugs and ornaments, and gave the impression of being more of an institution than a home. A black-clad couple lounged on the sofa in front of a wide-screen TV, entranced by a commercial for Ajax. A pale redhead sat at their feet, placidly staring into a mirror in misty-eyed wonder at her reflection. Over in the dining nook, just visible from the front door, a tall man with a goatee looked up from scraping a white rock across a little mesh screen. "Hello," he called out amiably, setting the rock on a piece of broken mirror and licking his fingers. "What can we get you gentlemen?"

Sylvia stepped to Brent's side. "Gerry, you remember Brent, don't you? Everyone called him Richie because he lived in Oak Crest and always had money."

The man nodded in recognition. "Yeah, I remember. The one that used to drink Heineken in the Zarathustra parking lot when we'd go slumming." He snorted. "No wonder the real punks always picked you out for a poseur."

Brent cast his eyes down and examined the toes of his shoes. "Thanks for reminding me."

"You helped Elise study for her calculus final, though," he went on. "I know I didn't say it at the time, but that was really nice of you. That class was a bitch."

"You didn't seem to think it was so nice of me at the time. You thought I was trying to steal her from you."

"That's because you were." He waved a hand. "But hey, that's all ancient history."

"Besides, he was a possessive little twit back then," Sylvia butted in. She turned to Gerry. "I'm surprised you didn't bind all your girlfriends' feet and make them walk three paces behind you."

"Well, I'm a changed man, thanks to you, sweetie," Gerry countered. He threw Brent a knowing wink. "But hey, I'm forgetting my manners. The liquor is in the kitchen." He made a vague gesture that could indicate almost any direction. "And the stronger stuff is over here." He motioned toward a rock resting on the mirror beside several little white mounds. Tiny bags of white powder were lined up at one end of the table where a nervous young woman examined them, sniffling, while her leather-clad boyfriend fingered a stack of bills.

Sylvia' pale lips stretched into a tight hostess smile. "You and your friend are our guests now, so please help yourselves." She looked at Joe and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said, extending her hand, "I didn't catch your name. I'm Sylvia."

Joe looked into Sylvia's round face and kohl-rimmed eyes. He shook her hand. "Joseph Urgulano, Elise's husband. Call me Joe."

Sylvia smiled primly. "Nice to meet you." She turned back to Brent. "So what brings you two here tonight?"

"I think you know why we're here," Brent said.

Sylvia's eyes flashed from one face to the other, her expression all innocence. "I really have no idea. I take it this isn't a social call, though, judging from your urgency and the state of your pants. What happened? Did a dog get you?"

"Your security fence got me," Brent said ruefully.

Sylvia nodded. "I wondered how you got in. Let's go in the kitchen and get you guys a drink, and you can tell me what this is all about."

She began to lead the way toward the kitchen, Brent following, but Joe refused. "I don't want a drink. I just want to know where Elise is."

Everyone in the room looked up at the mention of Elise's name. "She's not here," Sylvia said. "Now come into the kitchen. Would you like a beer? Scotch? Margarita?"

"I told you, I don't want a drink," Joe repeated. "I'm just here to find my wife."

Sylvia darted a nervous glance at Gerry, who had gone back to breaking up his rock. He shrugged, then looked Joe in the eye. "She isn't here, man, but if you don't believe us, look around." He jerked his head in the direction of the hallway. "Check the closets, look under the bed, do whatever you think you got to do."

Joe headed down the hall, ignoring Brent's gesture that he should follow him to the kitchen instead. Brent turned to Sylvia with a small sigh of resignation. "He'll be right back. We really did think she'd be here."