Get Dry

Tony had an inquisitive mind. He wanted to know things, namely what was at the center of a rubber band ball, and there was only one way to tunnel in as far he was concerned: by taking the bands off one at a time and wrapping them around big wads of cash. He then stored these somewhere nobody knew. After all, he couldn’t take it to a bank. Tony ran a good business, but his choice of wares made it hard for him to get an LLC, unless that stood for lorazepam, LSD, and cocaine.

Then again, these would constitute his higher-end offerings, the kind of stuff he could sell to rich college kids and uptown yuppies on the weekend. Weekday mornings, he hawked goods of a less opulent nature in the scuzzy alleys on the east side of the city, which is where I found him.

Tony prided himself on being of sound mind, unlike the junkies who made up the bulk of his clientele, but he had his own addictions. Namely, he needed a steady drip of being an absolute asshole or I swear he’d go into convulsions. So I wasn’t surprised when he eschewed all pleasantries. First thing he said when he saw me: “Last time I checked, Cosmo, we aren’t in-laws anymore, and also you’d quit this game, so why don’t you walk on by or I’ll get my guy Knucks here to make your eyes turn funny colors.”

Tony’s goon stepped forward but I held up my hand in peace.

“First off, you know there’s only one retirement home for types like us and it’s the graveyard,” I said. “Those walking around with a pulse are only taking a break before they fall face-first back into the shit.”

Tony bit his lip, but Knucks couldn’t help but nod.

“Second, I mighta been married to your sister, but we were never in-laws, Tony,” I said.

Tony scoffed, crossed his arms. “Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“Because there’s never been a set of laws you don’t manage to find yourself on the outside of,” I said. “But it’s funny you mention Janine because that’s why I need to talk to you.”

“If you want me to set up something between you two, it ain’t happening,” Tony said.

“No, Tony, it certainly ain’t,” I said. “Because she’s missing.”

Now, Tony lowered his arms. “What you talking about?”

I explained it all: the strange call I’d gotten from her, muffled like the phone was in her pocket, sounds of trouble; the trip over to her house, which I found ransacked and with no Janine inside; the note taped to the inside of the desk that used to be mine, in the exact same place as the envelope I’d kept a secret from her (part of the reason we ended up calling it quits, matrimonially speaking), a place she knew I, and only I, would check.

I held this note out to Tony now. He examined it. “That’s her handwriting, alright. The way she does the curly thing crossing her t’s. I always told her it looked like a child wrote it.”

“Well, thank you, detective,” I said. “But maybe you should read the words on the page.”

“‘Trent’s back,’” Tony read, and then went pale. “No, that’s impossible.”

Tony had a point. Last time anyone had seen Trent, he was tied to a chair in the basement of a building set for demolition. And yet, with a psychopath like Trent, it would be weirder if everything had gone according to plan.

I stepped forward, past Knucks who seemed equally disconcerted by the news of Trent’s resurfacing, and put my hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You’re not gonna like this,” I said. “But if we’re gonna find Janine, you and me? We’re gonna have to work together.”

[Editor’s note: earlier, several hours before this scene transpired, all of the characters took showers at their homes, and each one dried off with a Royal Comfort Egyptian Cotton Towel.]