3 a.m. (Henry Bins 1) (8 page)

Jessica had been living in the house for
going on three months, yet there was no sign of her.

The closet was full of the Clemens’
clothes. The dresser as well. Well, at least most of the
dresser. Unless, Mrs. Clemens was wearing thongs and a size two,
which I highly doubted, the bottom three drawers belonged to
Jessica. I rifle through her bra and panties, then her shirts and
tops, then her jeans. I stick my hand into the pocket of each pair
of jeans. On the fifth pair, I find a small slip of paper. A
receipt.

I unfold it.

Best Cash Pawn Shop.

She sold something to them for twelve
hundred dollars.

Meow.

I look down at Lassie.

“
Too late buddy. I already
found it.”

Meow.

“
Okay, okay.”

I give him two more treats.

Meow.

“
You’re
welcome.”

Five minutes later we are home.

…

“
It’s up here on the
left.”

“
That neon sign?” asks my
dad.

Best Cash Pawn Shop is in one of the
sketchier parts of town, just on the outskirts of D.C. The drive
had taken nearly 35 minutes and I’d eaten my breakfast in the
car.

I turn around and look at Murdock and Lassie
in the backseat. They hadn’t gotten off to a great start. According
to my father — who had driven to my house around midnight — when he
and Murdock had entered my apartment, Lassie had come out from the
bedroom to investigate. Murdock — big, sweet, dumb, Murdock — had
never seen a cat before and went berserk, barking his head off and
chasing the cat all over the condo to the point where the couch was
overturned and the downstairs neighbors were banging on the walls.
My dad was trying to harangue the giant pooch, when Murdock
suddenly stopped barking. My dad looked down and couldn’t believe
his eyes. Lassie had somehow found the bag of treats I’d brought
home the night before, opened it, and had dropped a treat at the
feet of the enraged canine. Murdock ate the treat and Lassie set
another peace offering at his feet.

When I woke up a couple hours later and
walked into the living room, the two were asleep next to one
another, Murdock’s huge paw cradled around the small cat.

“
Don’t forget who feeds
you,” I tell Lassie, who is lying on Murdock’s back, gently rocking
with each of the mastiff’s breaths.

Meow.

“
You can’t have two
BFFs.”

“
Are you okay?” my dad
asks.

I ignore him and point to a place across the
street and tell him to park.

“
You sure this place is
open?” he asks. 

“
It said it was open
twenty-four hours.”

There is a group of unsavory characters
standing just outside the entrance and my dad says, “You want me to
come with you?”

“
No, better you stay with
the car.”

I hop out and walk past three leering
gangsters, trying not to look like I’m carrying five thousand in
cash in my right front pocket. I push through the barred door and
the chiming of bells alerts someone to my presence.

The man behind the counter is a white guy
with a ponytail. He is wearing a jean jacket and fingerless gloves.
He looks like what a guy who is working at a pawnshop at three in
the morning is supposed to look like.

“
What can I do
for ya?” he inquires as I approach.

I pull the receipt from my pocket and hand
it to him. “My girlfriend sold this and I’d like to buy it
back.”

He scrunches his face at
me, then pulls up glasses attached to a chain around his
neck and peers down at the receipt. There is a code on the receipt
that reads 2F49.

It could be anything, a TV, a coat,
art, jewelry. I’m hoping whatever it is will somehow connect
Jessica to whoever killed her. Killed her and took two hundred
thousand dollars. 

“
Let’s see here,” he says.
He walks down the counter, bends down, and says, “You’re in
luck, number forty-nine is still hanging
around.”

He pulls out a watch and lays it on the
counter.

It is silver, with a black leather band. The
second hand sweeps effortlessly across the numerals. It is a
beautiful piece of craftsmanship.

“
Nice watch,” he
says.

I nod.

“
This what you’re looking
for?”

“
That’s it,” I say, hoping
it is. “You remember the girl who sold you this?”

“
I wasn’t here, but Chip,
one of the other guys was, and he told me about some hot little
number who come in wanting ten thousand for some watch.”  He
pauses, “That sound like your lady?”

I nod, but I’m thinking about Jessica. She
wanted ten grand, but took twelve hundred. She must have been
desperate.

“
How much for it back?” I
ask. 

“
How much you willing to
pay?”

“
Three grand.”

He laughs and says that it is worth three
times that.

“
Thirty-five hundred,” I
counter.

Laughs again.

“
Four.”

Less laughing.

“
Forty-five.”

Almost a nod.

“
Five.”

“
Deal.”

I fork over all five grand.  He
polishes the watch for me, then hands it over and I
realize I have just spent five grand on a watch that most likely
belongs to Mr. Clemens.  I put it in my pocket and walk
quickly across the street and get back into the car.

“
You get it?” my dad
asks.

“
Yeah.” I turn and look at
Lassie and say, “I really could have used you
in there buddy. Guy cleaned me out.”

Meow.

“
You would not have gotten
it for fifty dollars.”

He laughs.

“
Let’s see it,” my dad
says.

The clock on the dash reads 3:53 a.m.

The gangsters are staring at us from across
the way and I say, “Let’s get out of this neighborhood
first.”  

We drive for five
minutes, then pull into a neighborhood with fences.

“
Now, that is a nice
watch,” my dad says, though I hardly hear him. I am too busy trying
to make out the inscription on the back. I read it out loud, “To
Risky, may all your dreams come true. Mom and Dad.”

My dad’s eyebrows jump.

“
What?” I ask.

“
I think I know whose
watch that is.”

I stare at him.

He explains how he is openly referred to
as Risky.

My dad says the name. “Ricky Sullivan.”

The President’s son.

Years ago, my dad tried to drag my lifeless
body from his car up to my condo, but it hadn't ended well. It'd
taken him over twenty minutes, he'd slipped two discs in the
process, and my neighbor down the hall, thinking my dad was
disposing of my body, had called the cops. Since then, anytime I
fell asleep in the car, he'd recline the seat, put a pillow under
my head, lay a blanket over me, and crack a couple windows. And
although he wouldn't admit it, I know he checked on me every couple
hours throughout the day.

At 3:00 a.m., I wake up, crawl from the car,
and make my way up to the apartment where my dad, Murdock, and
Lassie are all spooning on the bed. Lassie and Murdock both jump
off, run forward, and lick me clean.

“
Hey guys, did you have
fun playing?”

“
They sure did,” my dad
says, pushing himself up. “Long lost brothers, you'd
think those two are.”

I laugh.

The four of us move to the living room.

“
You gonna stick
around?” I ask my dad.

“
No, I think
we're gonna head out. Got some things to do
tomorrow.”

“
Cards on
Wednesday?”

“
Always.”

“
What are
you gonna do about the watch?” he asks.

“
I'm not sure. I have to
do some research. But if the President's son is involved, I'm going
to find out.”

In the couple of minutes before I'd fallen
asleep last night, my dad had told me everything he knew about
Ricky Sullivan. The President's only child made the Bush twins seem
tame by comparison. He'd gotten into his fair share of trouble when
Sullivan was governor — though he was never officially arrested for
anything — and his father's rise to the presidency did little to
quell 'Risky's' insatiable appetite for fast cars and fast women.
He had been likened to Prince Harry on several occasions and the
two were actually close friends. In the past year, he'd kept a low
profile and was said to be buckling down for his second year at
Georgetown Law.

“
I thought of something
else,” my dad says. “About the President's son.”

I nod.

“
I guess he has a bit of a
gambling problem. His bookie was busted a couple years back for
cocaine possession. He thought rolling over on the President's
son's gambling habits would lighten his sentence. It didn't. But
the story did leak to the press; Risky was into him for about
eighty grand at the time.”

As if I hadn't put it together, my dad adds,
“The two hundred grand that was stolen.”

“
You might be on to
something,” I tell him.

He shrugs and says that he'd better get
going. He starts towards to door. Murdock appears to have no
intention of leaving his sidekick and lowers to the ground next to
Lassie.

“
Say goodbye to your
friend,” I tell Lassie, picking him up and making my way towards
the open door. 

Meow.

“
No, he can't stay
over.”

Meow.

“
Because you guys
are gonna stay up all night drinking soda and playing
video games, that's why.”

Meow.

“
He's coming back over in
a couple days and you guys can stay up as long as you
want.”

Meow.

“
Grand Theft Auto 5? Is
that even out yet?”

Meow.

“
I'll see what I can
do.”

Murdock jumps up on my chest and gives
Lassie a big kiss goodbye, then my dad yanks him by the
collar and shuts the door. I can hear him whining in the hallway as
my dad wrestles the beast away from the door.

…

Lassie and I are just sitting down to eat,
when there is a knock at the door.

It is 3:11 a.m.

I look through the peephole, expecting to
see my father, thinking he'd left something at my condo. It's
not.

I pull the door open.

“
What the fuck
Bins?”

“
And a hello to you,
Detective Ray.”

She storms in. She is wearing a black top
and tight jeans. Her hair is up. Her arms are also up. As is her
apparent temper. “You didn't have to go to the FBI!”

“
FBI?”

She cuts her eyes at me.

“
What are you talking
about?”

Her eyebrows rise, then slide
together. “You don't know?”

I shake my
head. 



“
Tomorrow morning.” She
pauses. “They’re going to arrest the President for
murder.”

…

“
What?”

“
Callie Freig isn't really
Callie Freig.”

I put on my best surprise face. Big eyes.
Open mouth. A loss for words. It works.

“
The FBI got an anonymous
tip; before she changed her identity, Callie Freig was
actually a young girl named Jessica Renoix. She worked for
Sullivan's governor campaign in Virginia. The tip also said that
they saw the President leave the woman's house the night of the
murder.”

She looks at me skeptically.

“
It wasn't me,” I assure
her. Then add, “Still that's not a lot to go on. The Secret Service
came and got the phone, so they couldn't use that. You would think
the FBI would have more.”

“
They do.”

She takes a deep breath.

“
President Sullivan
underwent a battery of tests when he became President, one of which
was a DNA workup. His DNA wouldn't show up in a routine search of
the national DNA database, but the FBI has it on file somewhere.
They ran his DNA against a couple of hairs found in her bed and it
was a match.”

I didn't have to fake my surprise face this
time.

“
They made a courtesy call
to my Captain, because the homicide is technically our
jurisdiction, but yeah, they are arresting him at the White House
tomorrow morning.”

“
What did your Captain
say?”

“
What could he say, he let
the biggest arrest in the history of the United States slip through
his fingers. He smelled like he'd drank a fifth of scotch by the
time he called me and Cal into his office and told us what was
going on.”

I thought of Cal, who had been so adamant
that I'd killed her. “It would have been nice to see Cal's
face.”

“
He still
thinks it's bullshit,” she scoffs. “Thinks it's some big
left wing conspiracy to get the President out of office and get a
democrat back in.”

“
Asshole.”

She nods and both of us go quiet. I wonder
if she is playing the same simulation in her head, the one of the
President being arrested, and the media atomic bomb that is going
to explode tomorrow. This will, without a doubt, be the biggest
story since 9/11.