The Hard Bounce - [28]

“What’s going on?”

“Now, Junior.”

“Don’t start barking at me, dickwad. I’m there.” Click.

You cost her, my mind kept repeating. You cost the kid while you were drinking like a fool and crashing on couches. I didn’t know what the price was, but I had the feeling the interest was going to be a bitch.

I forced some of the shitty coffee into both kids while we waited for Junior. Neither one of them seemed to enjoy it any more than I did, but they drank it. Tammy managed to calm herself down a bit, and the caffeine gave Paul some color back.

A screech of tires announced Junior’s arrival. I paid the tab, and the three of us hopped into the brown ’79 Buick that Junior called Miss Kitty.

Yeah, I don’t know why either.

“So, what’s the deal?” he asked, scratching at his morning stubble.

I turned to the back seat. “Where was the party last night, Tammy?”

She looked at Junior and me with the eyes of a caged animal. “I’m not going back there. That guy is a freak.” Her lower lip started to tremble. “He laughed. When he saw me watching, he laughed at how scared I was.”

I reached back and took her hand. “We need to go there, Tammy, and we need you to help us. Cassie might be in trouble, and the faster we get to her, the better her chances are. Please, sweetheart. Help us.” I squeezed her pudgy hand and tried to look concerned through the impatience I was feeling.

She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just gazed into the air. “It was in Brookline. Just off of Boylston. I don’t know what street, but I’ll recognize it when we get there.”

Junior gunned the car, and the powerful engine shot us off like a cannon. I filled him in as delicately as I could without upsetting either of the kids again. The more I talked, the tighter he gripped the steering wheel. He clenched his jaw so tight his temples throbbed.

We drove down Huntington slowly, letting Tammy get her bearings. She jumped up in her seat when she spotted it. “That’s the street, right there. I remember the Kinko’s on the corner.” We’d already passed the street by the time she noticed it. Junior stopped at the light and U-turned back at the intersection. We pulled to a stop on the corner.

“Which one is it?” I asked.

“That one. Right there.” It was a large prewar building. No doorman. That made life easier. “Can I go home now?” She stared at the building, tears welling in her eyes again.

“Not yet. We need you to buzz the apartment and get us in,” I said as gently as I could. “Do you think he’ll remember you?”

“I’m so scared. Seven was laughing at the video. He was getting off on it.”

Seven.

I’d forgotten to ask who threw the party. Junior and I were both well acquainted with the victim-to-be.

Junior and I looked at each other. Seven was the lead singer of The Genitalonious Monks. Goth band. Or, as Junior liked to call that particular scene, “men with eyeliner.” The last time they played The Cellar, I had to put the kibosh on their show just as Seven was about to give a strangely willing audience member an enema right on stage. He called me a Philistine. I made sure Seven and his three-ring circus of a band never got booked at The Cellar again.

Junior bared his teeth in a wolf’s smile. “Honey, you scared of that guy? With me and Boo here?”

“I dunno. He’s weird. Like, crazy weird.” She chewed her lower lip.

“Would it make you feel better if we smacked the shit out of him if he gets out of line?”

She actually giggled into her hand. “Would you?”

“For you, sweetness? Anything.” Junior had turned on the charm, and by God, it seemed to work.

Tammy was blushing all the way down to her collar when we stepped out of the car. She led the way. I whispered in Junior’s ear. “Sweetness?”

He whispered back. “Death wish?”

The four of us stepped into the large tiled foyer. I knew which intercom buzzer was Seven’s without being told. Antichrist was written in fancy calligraphy next to the button for 3B.

I turned to Tammy. “Tell him you were at the party last night and left your purse.”

“I… I can’t,” she said. I could see tremors squirming through her body. “I can’t go up there again.”

Junior stepped in. “He’s not going to fuck with you, sweetie. I promise you.” His face was set hard as he lifted her chin and looked straight into her watery raccoon eyes.

“Me, too,” Paul said, protectively wrapping his arm around Tammy’s shoulder. Junior turned so Paul couldn’t see him smirk. I think he was actually starting to like the kid. Or maybe he was just smiling at the notion of smacking the shit out of Seven if necessary. I really hoped it would be necessary.

With a trembling hand, Tammy pressed the button for 3B. A shrill screech blared from the box, making me wince. A few seconds later, a tinny voice came back through.

“What do you want?” I’d forgotten about the horrible, fey English accent Seven affected.

“Um, hi. This is Tammy? I left my purse up there at the party last night.” She looked at Junior for approval. He nodded at her.

A pause. “I found no purse.” The guy was a real charmer.

“It’s really small, and I was sitting on the couch. It might have fallen between the cushions.” Nice touch. Junior gave her a thumb’s up.