Desperate Souls (4 page)

Carmen Rodriguez surveyed the office. “Yes, please.”

“What about you, Victor?”

Keeping his eyes on Jake, Victor shook his head.

“How about a Cherry Coke?”

The boy shrugged. “’Kay.”

Jake led them into his office, where they sat on the leather sofa, and served them refreshments. He wheeled his chair around his desk and sat facing them with his legs crossed. “Why don’t you tell me how I can help you?”

Carmen sat with her hands folded on her lap. “Do you have children, Mr. Helman?”

“I’m afraid not.”

She scrutinized him as if trying to determine his character. “I have two daughters. One lives in Puerto Rico, the other in North Carolina. I used to have three daughters, but Rosario died when she was twenty-eight. Rosario was Victor’s mother. She died of a heroin overdose.”

Jake glanced at Victor. The boy sipped his Cherry Coke.

“I hide nothing from the boy. He needs to know the truth. I raised him and his brother like they were my own. Now Victor’s brother, Louis, is dead, too.”

The black dress,
Jake thought.
She’s in mourning.
“I’m sorry.”

“Louis was six years older than Victor. Fifteen. Very independent that one, always getting into trouble.”

“May I ask how he died?”

Carmen’s face seemed to change shape. “I don’t know.”

“But you know that he’s dead?”

“Si.
I’ve seen him with my own eyes.”

Jake suppressed a frown. “I don’t understand.”

“Louis used drugs. This Black Magic. When I found out, I gave him an ultimatum: give up the drug or give up your family. That same day, he moved out. That was three weeks ago. Three days ago, Victor came to me and said, ‘Grandma, I saw Louis. He’s selling drugs on the corner.’ These days in this economy, it’s hard for a young man to find honest work. Boys are likely to do stupid things for money.

“I went to this corner, and sure enough, there was Louis, with two other boys. Victor was right; they were selling drugs. I’ve lived in Brooklyn all my life. I’m no fool. A young man starts slinging, there’s little chance of saving him. He’s headed for prison or the morgue or both. I went up to my grandson and called his name. When he turned to me, I wanted to scream.
Estaba muerto.
He was dead.”

Jake felt an odd sensation in his body, as if the temperature of his blood had just cooled. “You mean he looked like death?”

“No, I mean he
was
dead. He stood there like a functioning human being, doing the devil’s work. But he didn’t blink. He didn’t speak. He was dead. So were the other boys.”

Jake tried not to exhibit any reaction. After all, he had seen things he never would have imagined possible, things that had sent him spiraling toward the brink of insanity. Phantoms searching for their souls. Angels and demons. Monsters. He knew that impossible beings walked the earth in different forms. “Mrs. Rodriguez, I’ve seen Black Magic junkies. We all have. They look very unhealthy.”

Carmen fixed him with an appraising stare. “You have to be alive or only half dead to be a junkie. These boys were as dead as dead gets. A junkie is standing at death’s door, only he doesn’t know it. These boys crossed over and don’t care.”

“What did they do next?”

“They just stared at me with their awful eyes. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t do anything. Louis’s expression was no different than the others’. There was no spark of life or recognition in it.”

“What did you do?”

“I did what anyone would do. I got the hell away from that corner. I went there intending to drag Louis home, but I ran away to save my own life. I still have one living grandson, and I aim to keep it that way. We avoid that corner. Louis is still out there, selling that drug.”

Jake glanced at Victor. The boy had stared at the floor during his grandmother’s entire account, his expression never changing.
Now for the million-dollar question.
“Why did you come to me with this problem?”

“What else could I do, call 911? ‘Hello, my grandson is dead and selling drugs down the block. Can you make him stop?’ I came to you because Miss Laurel sent me. She says you can help me.”

“Miss Laurel?” Jake had difficulty maintaining his poker face. Only one person on Earth knew anything about his unusual experiences: Bill Russel, the former CIA spook who had become an operative for Nicholas Tower and Kira Thorn. But Russel had fled the country, choosing to remain in the shadows rather than deal with the fallout of Tower International’s collapse.

“The psychic downstairs.”

Jake’s heart skipped a beat. He supposed there was nothing strange about a fellow tenant in the building referring a client to a private investigator, but for Miss Laurel to claim she had knowledge of his experiences sent chills down his vertebrae.
What does she know?
He intended to find out. “It was kind of Miss Laurel to refer you to me. I’ll have to thank her in person. Do you have a photograph of Louis?”

“Right here.” Carmen opened her purse and took out a glossy school portrait of Louis. “This was taken at his school six months ago.”

Jake studied the photo. Louis had been a good-looking kid with short hair and an infectious smile. “And the corner where he slings?”

“Montclair and Caton, near Flatbush Avenue.”

The heart of Brooklyn,
Jake thought, picturing the 70th Precinct neighborhood.
Rough turf.
“Do you know what time he works?”

“They only come out at night. What are you going to do?”

Jake shrugged. “I’m going to go there and see what’s what. Then I’ll get back to you.”

Carmen appeared relieved that Jake seemed to believe her, but her voice grew tentative. “If you don’t mind me asking …”

“I don’t know what I can do for you, Mrs. Rodriguez. Maybe nothing. But I will look into this”—he raised Louis’s photo—“and I’ll let you know what I think. If I can help you, we’ll work something out regarding my fee. But it won’t cost you anything for me to see for myself what’s happened to Louis.”

“I understand.” She got to her feet. “God bless you.”

The door closed behind Jake, jingling bells announcing his arrival, and he stood alone at the top of two steps leading down into the parlor. He didn’t know what to expect but saw no crystal ball, no tarot cards, no hint of the occult, just a round table with a red tablecloth in the room’s center and a sofa on the far wall. Hearing the aggressive voices of political pundits on a cable TV news show in a back room, he suspected that Miss Laurel lived on the premises as well.

Miss Laurel emerged from a side doorway wearing a tight charcoal gray dress. Long sandy brown hair framed her high cheekbones in waves. She stopped for a moment, registering Jake’s presence with her bright blue eyes, then stepped forward.

Not exactly a gypsy,
Jake thought, his eyes finding their way to her full breasts.

“Hello, Mr. Helman,” she said, offering her hand.

Jake measured her crystalline eyes and then her hand before he shook it. “Miss Laurel, I presume?”

“Laurel Doniger. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Jackie Krebbs.”

Jackie was Jake’s contact with Eden, Inc. “You don’t look surprised to see me.”

Her smile revealed perfect white teeth. “You’re not here to borrow a cup of sugar. I knew you’d be stopping by after your appointment with Carmen.”

“Thanks for the referral.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How did I earn such a neighborly gesture?”

“Like a lot of people who come to me, Carmen needs help. I offer advice, not physical assistance. She needs action, and she obviously can’t turn to the police. I hear you’re good at what you do.”

“Did Jackie tell you that?”

Nodding, she gestured to the sofa. “Would you like to sit down?”

“No, thanks. I don’t think I’ll be staying long. Carmen said you told her I had experience in matters like hers. Did Jackie tell you that, too?”

This time she shook her head. “No, that’s just my impression of you.”

“And yet we’ve never met until today …”

She smiled, a sparkle in her eyes.

“Oh, that’s right.” Jake snapped his fingers. “You’re psychic, aren’t you?”

Still smiling, Laurel said, “I’m sensitive to other people’s energy. I don’t pretend to know the future. I only read my clients’ energy and help them see things more clearly.”

“And you read my energy, without me ever setting foot in here before?”

“You’ve occupied your office upstairs for almost a year now. I know you live there. I feel your vibrations around the clock.”

Jackie told her I sleep in my office,
Jake thought. “What else do you know about me?”

“I know you’re a good man who’s had some very bad experiences. I know you’ve suffered a terrible loss, which you blame on yourself. And I know you genuinely want to help people.”

Jake narrowed his eyes.
She’s drawing conclusions from readily available data. The papers called me a hero after my gunfight in that bar, and it was a big deal when the Cipher killed Sheryl. I was big news for about a week.
“Someone’s been busy online.”

“You do your background searches on the Internet, not me.”

“That’s part of my job description.”

“And knowing things about people that I couldn’t possibly know is part of mine.”

“You haven’t done a very good job of convincing me so far.”

“I didn’t realize I needed to. But I’ve learned a lot more about you since you walked through that door.” She offered her hand as evidence. “Touch is very important in my profession.”

Jake’s smile tightened. “Can you read my mind right now?”

“No. I don’t read minds. I read energy.”

“Fine. Can you—?”

“You’re wondering if Carmen and I are running some sort of elaborate scam on you. We aren’t. She’s a client of mine, and her distress is real. If any man in this city can help her, it’s you.”

“I’ll give you this much: your instincts are good.”

“Call it whatever you like. Hopefully Carmen will be our mutual client soon.”

Jake’s voice softened. “I’m an ex-cop and a private investigator, not some kind of occult detective. You’ve got me all wrong.”

“My specialty is helping people see the truth about themselves.”

“What’s in this for you?”

“I like to help people, too.”

“For a fee.”

“Not always. Sometime I do pro bono work. Just like you.”

“We’ll see about that. In the meantime, I just might discover a thing or two about you and Carmen as well.”

Laurel bowed her head. “I’m sure you’ll do whatever you think is necessary.”

A woman of mystery. But a con woman all the same, just like all psychics and mediums. Lady, you’ve picked the wrong mark.

He thought her smile returned, wider.

Jake drove to Sylvia’s on Lenox Avenue in Harlem. The restaurant took up nearly the entire block. He gave Edgar’s name to the hostess, who escorted him between the crowded tables to one against the far wall. He zeroed in on the most beautiful woman in the restaurant, and when her eyes made contact with his, he knew she was Edgar’s date. Then Edgar, sitting with his back to him, turned in his seat. He and the woman rose at the same time, and Jake saw that Dawn stood almost six feet in heels. She wore her long straightened hair parted on one side, and her flame red, strapless dress resembled lipstick on her creamy coffee-colored skin.

“Here he is,” Edgar said. “The man of the hour.”

“I’m flattered,” Jake said. “But only for an hour? Fame is fleeting.”

“Jake Helman, Dawn Du Pre.”

“Hi,” Dawn said, extending one hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Jake shook her hand. “Same here. Edgar won’t shut up about you.”

“As a publicist, I appreciate that.”

Jake waited for Dawn to sit, then did likewise. Scanning the tabletop, he saw a fourth place setting. “My spider sense is tingling. Is someone joining us?”

The look in Dawn’s eyes confirmed he had been set up.

Edgar’s voice took on the sound of manufactured innocence. “Well, Vasquez wasn’t doing anything tonight, so I asked her to sit in. You don’t want to be a third wheel, do you?”