The Night Monster_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [39]
Making promises to clients was a curse in my line of work, but I was going to make an exception for Long. Maybe it was the blunt honesty in his words. That counted for something in my book.
“I’ll do everything I can,” I said.
“Thank you.”
I watched Long peel across the lot in his fancy sports car, ignoring the lane markings and stop signs. I took the check out of my pocket, and stared at the sum, just to be sure it was real. Whoever had said that money didn’t buy happiness had never been broke. Buster poked his head between the seats, his cold nose pressed against my arm.
“We’re eating steak tonight,” I told him.
CHAPTER 20
bought two filet mignon dinners from the takeout at Outback, and I ate in my car with Buster. Then I drove to a nearby Holiday Inn, and rented a room with a king-size bed, an in-room coffeemaker, and seventy-two channels of cable TV. Buster seemed to know that there had been a seismic shift in my world, and would not stop wagging his tail.
I awoke with the first rays of sunlight and took my dog for a walk. The sky was an aching blue without a single cloud, the air warm and moist. Back at the motel, I peeled off my clothes, and took a swim in the motel pool in my underwear, the chilly, overchlorinated water snapping me awake and clearing my head.
The motel offered a free continental breakfast, and I grabbed a couple of warm rolls and a newspaper before hopping on 595 and heading east along with a few thousand other commuters. My destination was the First Atlantic Bank on Sheridan Street, where I’d done my banking for most of my adult life. It was just past eight when I pulled into their parking lot, found a shaded spot, and spread the paper across my lap.
At 8:30 the first employees began to trickle in. At 8:45 it was upper management’s turn. At 8:58 the bank manager arrived, a short, thick, disagreeable guy with an architecturally complex comb over. His name was Ed Nagle.
“Stay,” I told Buster.
I followed Nagle into the icy building. I’d heard it said that Florida could solve half its problems by outlawing air-conditioning. The idea certainly appealed to me.
Nagle’s office was a corner space with plenty of light. I found him at his desk, erasing voice mails. I rapped on his door, and he looked up with a start.
“Top of the morning,” I said.
Nagle scrunched his face, trying to place me.
“I’m sorry, but do I know you?” he asked.
“Jack Carpenter,” I said.
“I remember you. You’re the detective who got thrown off the force. What can I do for you this morning?”
Nagle’s words stung like a hornet. I entered without being invited and plopped down in the chair directly across from his desk. The expression on Nagle’s face told me I wasn’t a pretty sight. Unshaven, wearing two-day clothes, hair uncombed. The beach bum look.
“I have a business proposition for you,” I said.
Nagle drummed his fingers on his desk. I removed Karl Long’s check from my shirt and laid it on his blotter, smoothing the crease as I did. Nagle stared down at the piece of paper like I’d dropped a turd.
“Is this a joke?” he asked.
“Not at all,” I replied.
“Karl Long is a client of this bank. I know his signature.”
“Then you should be able to identify the one on this check as being his.”
Nagle picked up the check with both hands and studied the signature. The expression on his face changed from hostile to pleasant in a snap of the fingers.
“Well, this is definitely Mr. Long’s signature,” he said, passing the check back to me. “May I ask why Mr. Long gave you this?”
“He hired me to find his missing daughter.”
“I heard about his daughter’s disappearance on the news. Such a tragedy.”
“Yes, it is.”
“So, what can I do for you?”
I looked Nagle squarely in the eye, and watched him squirm uncomfortably. Twelve months ago, I’d sat in this same room with Nagle, and begged him not to foreclose on my house. Nagle’s response had been to cut me off at the knees.
“I want to buy my house back,” I said.
Nagle’s face became a frown. It was not the reaction I was expecting, considering the dismal state of the housing