The Hard Bounce - [20]

Super. Outwitted by a kid with less hair on his lip than Jennifer Lopez.

“Am I right?” He asked again, pleased by his rightness.

“Right.”

“So, if she’s not home, she’s got to be somewhere, right?”

“Right again, Watson.”

“Who’s Watson?”

“Never mind. Go on.” Goddamn public education system costing me a punch line.

“Anyway, if she was anywhere, somebody would have seen her there.”

Despite his roundabout reasoning, the logic was solid.

“I mean, there’s only a few places where we hang out. You know, where we can hang out. She hasn’t been at any of them. She’s not anywhere. She’s gone, man.”

After lunch, I went back to the office and gave Ms. Reese a call rather than head home and take the nap my body craved.

“Kelly Reese,” she answered.

“Hey. It’s me.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Malone?” Frost began forming on the earpiece.

“First of all, I’d like to apologize for last night. I was out of line.” Two apologies in a week. A personal best.

I knew it wasn’t her fault she was being used. I also had the impression she legitimately didn’t know the depth of what was going on. Either way, I needed an ally. Barnes sure as hell wasn’t going to be sending me a cookie basket anytime soon.

Silence.

“I laid some shit on you that I had no right to.”

More silence.

“Listen, this is going to be a lot easier if we can at least be civil to each other. I may be a fucking goon, but I’m owning up. At least give me that much credit.”

A sigh. “You’re right.”

“So you accept my apology?”

“No, I agree you’re a fucking goon, but I accept the apology. Now what can I do for you?”

“You my buddy?”

“Please.”

“Say it.”

“I’m your buddy.” Score one for my minimal charm. I thought I could hear a smile behind the words. “Now, if you’re through interrupting my work, what can I do for you?” Maybe it was clenched teeth.

“I need you to call Mr. Donnelly and tell him I’d like to take a peek around his daughter’s room.” Crap, that sounded creepy in my ears. “See if there’s anything there. Sooner is better than later.”

“I’ll call you back as soon as I speak to him.”

“Great. Smell you later.”

“In your dreams.” Click.

Great. Now they knew my dreams, too.

Kelly called me back and gave me an address and time. Me and Junior headed over to 3 Harrold Towers, Suite 1605. It was the nicest building I’ve ever been in, glowering doorman and all.

Junior farted in the elevator.

I knocked on 1605. The door pulled in, but wasn’t opened. Barnes was stepping away when I pushed the door wide enough to enter.

The massive apartment was furnished in deep browns and burgundies. A lot of expensive wood and glass. Very tasteful. Ethan Allen or Mary Potterybarn would have approved. I hoped I didn’t smell of Junior’s fart.

There was even a fireplace. I never knew apartments could have fireplaces. On the mantle sat the family picture that had been cropped. Cassandra had her mother’s hair and eyes, her father’s strong facial structure. My mind briefly flicked back to all the guys at The Home who never got to see who they inherited their features from.

“Cassandra’s room is upstairs. Hers is the door on the left.”

Donnelly walked in from another room, adjusting his cuffs. “Gentlemen.” The district attorney was dressed in full black and whites. In a large mirror, he made the final adjustments on his tuxedo.

“Mr. Donnelly.” I almost called him sir. Junior would have righteously kicked my ass later, so I was glad I caught myself. I didn’t like the unease that crept over my skin while I was around these guys. It felt like I was on permanent detention in the principal’s office.

“I have a benefit dinner in a few minutes,” Donnelly said. “Danny will help you with anything you need. If you must take something, let Mr. Barnes know.”

Junior frowned. Under his breath, he said, “Is he going to count the silverware after we go, too?”

I shot him a look. He shrugged. Then he elbowed me a reminder in the ribs. “That’s fine,” I said. “We’ll be careful with your daughter’s possessions.”

Donnelly turned to go.

“Mr. Donnelly?”

He stopped and turned, glancing at his shiny, shiny watch. “What is it?”

“Before you go… We haven’t discussed money yet.”

“Oh, of course. Any expenses you incur, itemize them and give them to Ms. Reese. Five hundred a day, plus said expenses, for two weeks. If you don’t have any luck in those two weeks or if Cassandra seems to be in any danger, I’m afraid that, election or no election, I’ll have to go the police.”

“I understand.” I just hoped Junior hadn’t lost control of his salivary glands and drooled all over the pretty Oriental rug.

Donnelly glanced at his watch again. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I really must be going.” He stopped short of closing the door and turned back. “Oh, and one more thing. Should you find her and return her to me quietly and safely, there is an additional twenty-five thousand.”

I managed not to piss myself, so I guess it wasn’t all bad.

“Twenty-five fucking grand!” Junior was fit to bust as he rifled through Cassandra’s bureaus looking for anything other than clothes.

I was in the desk, pulling out drawers and looking along the bottoms. No luck. I made a mental leap and looked inside the drawers as well. Zip. “Anything?”