Repairman Jack [08]-Crisscross (2 page)

Oh, jeez. A missing person job. That wasn't Jack's thing.

"Mrs. Roselli, I—"

"Maria. Please."

"Okay. Maria. Missing people are better found by the police. You need access to computers, databases, networks, all stuff that I don't have, so—"

"I don't want the police involved. At least not yet. I have a good idea where he is, but I can't contact him. If he's fine, and he very well may be, I don't want to cause him any embarrassment."

No cops… a good start. Jack dropped into the chair she had offered. He'd give a little listen.

"Okay, Maria. Where do you think he is?"

"First, can I offer you a drink?"

"That's okay."

"Tea?"

He realized he was not yet properly caffeinated

"Well, I wouldn't mind some coffee if you've got it."

"I've got green tea and that's what you'll have. It's much better for you than coffee. Loaded with antioxidants."

The only times Jack drank green tea was in Chinese restaurants, but what the hell? Be wild.

"Okay. Tea it is."

"Good. You can make me some too while you're at it." She pointed to his left. "The kettle's in the kitchen."

Jack had an urge to tell her what she could do with her kettle, but another look at those gnarled, twisted fingers changed his mind.

"Sure. Why not?"

As he moved toward the kitchen, she struggled to her feet and hobbled after him on her cane. Benno followed her.

"Let me tell you about Johnny first."

"Johnny? How old is Johnny?"

"Thirty-three. He's a good boy. Really, I know all mothers say that, but Johnny really is, despite his privileged life. I made my money the old-fashioned way." She gave him a tight smile. "I inherited it. Before his death, Johnny's father created a generous trust fund for him, contingent on Johnny's graduation from college. When he did graduate—
cum laude
, I'll have you know—he became an instant millionaire."

Swell, Jack thought. Find a thirty-something trust fund brat. Only one way this could go from here: downhill. He felt like heading for the door, but he'd already promised her a cup of tea. So he'd let her ramble.

"But he didn't squander it. He had a flair for business so he joined a brokerage house—Merrill Lynch, Paine Webber, Morgan Stanley, one of those multiname firms. I don't pay much attention to such things. Doesn't matter anyway. What is important is that he was an astounding success. He handled my money along with his and by the end of the nineties he had increased my net worth to an amount that I can only describe as obscene." Another tight little smile. "Well, almost obscene. God only knows what Johnny himself was worth."

Even better, Jack thought sourly. She wants me to find a Gordon Gekko wannabe.

The kitchen was small but equipped with a glass-door Sub Zero refridge and a Dacor range. She pointed to a corner cabinet. "The tea is on the first shelf."

Jack found a box with
Green Tea
in red letters; those were the only English words, the rest was Chinese. As he pulled it out he noticed a dozen or so pill bottles lined against the wall on the counter. Maria must have followed his gaze.

She raised one of her twisted hands. "Rheumatoid arthritis. No fun. The medicines that don't make me sick give me this moon face."

Close up now Jack could see a lacework of red splotches across her nose and cheeks. He felt a twinge of guilt about his annoyance at having to make her tea. Maria's hands didn't look useful for much. Good thing she had money.

"What do you do for food when the maid's not around?"

"What anybody does: I have it delivered."

As he filled the kettle Jack said, "Back to your son: I'd think that if someone that high powered disappeared there'd be a ton of people looking for him. Especially his clients."

"He didn't disappear. He quit. Despite all the money he was making, he became disillusioned. He told me he was sick of being lied to—by the companies, even by the research teams in his own brokerage. He didn't feel he could trust anyone in the business."

So maybe Johnny wasn't a Gekko. Sounded like he had something resembling a conscience.

"This is pre-Enron, I take it."

She nodded. "After hearing about all the double-dealing from Johnny, the Enron scandal came as no surprise to me."

Jack found two gold-rimmed china cups—with the emphasis on
China
—and dropped a tea bag in each.

"So he quit and did what?"

"I think he… I believe 'snapped' is the term. He gave a lot of his money to charities, worked in soup kitchens, became a Buddhist for a while, but he couldn't seem to find whatever it was he was looking for. Then he joined the Dormentalists and everything changed."

The Dormentalists… everyone had heard of them. Couldn't read a paper or ride a subway without seeing their ads. Every so often some movie star or singer or famous scientist would announce his or her membership in the Dormentalist Church. And the exploits and pronouncements of its flamboyant founder Cooper Blascoe had been gossip-column fodder for years. But Jack hadn't heard much from him for a while.

"You think they've done something to your son?"

Every so often the papers would report sinister goings-on in the cult—mind control and extortion seemed to be two favorites—but nothing ever seemed to come of the accusations.

"I don't know. I don't want to believe that anyone has done
anything
to Johnny, especially not the Dormentalists."

"Why? What's so special about them?"

"Because being a Dormentalist transformed him. I'd never seen him so happy, so content with life or himself."

The kettle whistled as the water started to boil. Jack filled the cups.

"I've heard that some cults can do that."

"I quickly learned not to call it a cult in front of Johnny. It made him very upset. He went on and on about it being a
church
, not a cult, saying that even the United States government had recognized it as a church. I still thought it was a cult, but I didn't care. If Johnny was happy, so was I."

"Was? I take that to mean things changed."

"Not things—Johnny changed. He used to stay in touch. He'd call me two or three times a week to see how I was doing and to give me a sales pitch on Dormentalism. He was always trying to get me to join. I must have told him a thousand times that I wasn't the least bit interested, but he kept after me until he…" Her lips tightened as moisture gathered in her eyes. "Until he stopped."

"Just like that? Three calls one week and nothing the next?"

"No. They tapered off as he started to change."

"Change how?"

"Over the past few months he's grown increasingly remote and strange. He started insisting that I call him 'Oroont.' Can you imagine? He's been

Johnny Roselli all his life and now he'll answer only to Oroont. Two weeks ago he didn't call at all, so last Sunday I began calling him. I've left at least a dozen messages but he doesn't call back. I have a key to Johnny's apartment, so on Wednesday I sent Esteban to have a look—you know, in case Johnny was sick or, God forbid, dead. But he found it empty—no furniture, nothing. He'd moved out and hadn't even told me. I know it's got something to do with the Dormentalists."

"How do you know he didn't just quit them and head for California or Mexico or Machu Picchu?"

Maria shook her head. "He was too involved, too much of a true believer." She nodded to the teacups. "They've steeped enough. Bring them into the living room, if you would."

With a cup and saucer in each hand, Jack followed Benno who was following Maria. As she settled into her straight-backed chair, Jack set the cups on the intricately inlaid top of a bow-legged oriental coffee table.

"He's still there," she said.

"Where?"

"At their New York temple—on Lexington Avenue. I know it, I can feel it." One of her gnarled hands wriggled into a pocket and came up with a photo. She handed it to him. "Here. That's him."

Jack saw a slim, very intense-looking dark-haired man. The dark eyes and slightly bulbous nose were identical to Maria's. He looked to be about Jack's age.

"I was only nineteen when I gave birth to him. Perhaps we were too close as he was growing up. Perhaps I coddled him too much. But after George died he was all I had. We were inseparable until he went away to college. That nearly broke my heart. But I knew he'd have to leave the nest and find his own life. I just never thought I'd lose him to some crackpot
cult!"
She all but spat the last word.

"So, no wife and kids, I gather."

She shook her head. "No. He always said he was holding out for the right woman. I guess he never found her."

Or maybe he was just a tad too close to Momma?

Maria stared at him over the rim of her teacup. "But I want
him
found, Mr… I never did get your last name."

"Just Jack'll do fine." He sighed. How to tell her? "I don't know, Maria. It seems like you could get more bang for your buck with someone else."

"Who? Tell me. You can't, can you. All you have to do is work your way into that Dormentalist temple and find Johnny. How hard can it be? It's one building."

"Yeah, but it's a worldwide organization. He might not be there. He could have been assigned to the Zambia chapter or whatever."

"No. He's in New York, I tell you."

Jack sipped his bitter green tea and wondered how she could be so sure.

"Why don't we start with calling the New York temple and asking if he's still there?"

"I've already tried that. They tell me they release no information about church members—wouldn't even confirm or deny that Johnny was a member. I need someone to go inside and find him." She leveled her dark eyes at Jack. "I will pay you twenty-five thousand dollars in advance to do that."

Jack blinked. Twenty-five large…

"That… that's a lot more than I usually charge, Maria. You don't have to—"

"The money means nothing. It's a week's interest from my treasury notes. I'll double it, triple it—"

Jack held up a hand. "No-no. That's okay."

"You'll have expenses, and perhaps you can use whatever is left over to offset the fee for someone who can't afford you. I don't care about the money, just
find… my
…
son!'"'

She underscored the last three words by rapping the tip of her cane against the floor. Benno, who'd been stretched out next to her, jumped up from his nap and looked around, ready to attack.

"Okay." Jack responded to her pained expression, to the need calling through her eyes. "Let's say I do work my way into this temple, and let's just say I find your son. What then?"

"Tell him to call his mother. And then tell me you've found him and how he is."

"And that's it? That's all?"

She nodded. "That is all. I simply want to know if he's alive and well. If he doesn't want to call me, it will break my heart, but at least I will be able to sleep at night."

Jack finished his tea in a gulp. "Well, that's a relief."

"Why? What else did you think I'd want you to do?"

"Abduct him for deprogramming."

She chewed her upper lip. "And what if I did?"

"No deal. If he's not being held against his will, I won't yank him out. I believe in everyone's inalienable right to be stupid."

"What if he is being coerced?"

"Then I'll do what I can to yank him. If I can't, I'll do my damnedest to provide you with enough probable cause to get officialdom involved."

"Fair enough." She extended her right hand. "Then we have a deal?"

Jack gently gripped her twisted fingers. "We do."

"Excellent. Look in the top drawer of that bureau over there. You will find an envelope and a newspaper article. Take both. They're yours."

Jack did as she asked. He opened the white legal-size envelope and thumbed through the bills—all Grover Clevelands.

"What if I can't deliver?"

"Either way, keep the money. I know you'll try your best."

He looked at the sheets of newspaper. A multipage, two-week-old article on Dormentalism from
The Light
by someone named Jamie Grant.

The Light
… of all the papers in New York, why'd it have to be
The Light
? He'd had a bad experience with one of the paper's reporters a few months ago. Memories from June flooded back and swirled around him… his sister, Kate… and that kid reporter… what was his name? Sandy Palmer. Right. The kid had given him a few gut-clenching moments.

"Make sure you read that," Maria said. "It will serve as a good primer on Dormentalism."