Not Even Past. Dave White
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rattled on the desk, and the last sip of coffee dripped out on to the carpeted floor. The liquid seeped in, joining a multitude of other coffee stains.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Martin asked.
“We need to talk.”
Martin blew air out of his mouth. Then said, “Like hell.”
“It’s important.”
“Like hell it is.” Martin turned toward his computer.
“I think Jeanne is still alive,” Donne said. The words seemed to float from his mouth. He wanted to reach out and grab them. Stuff them into his pocket. Forget this ever happened.
Martin paused, hands above his keyboard. The blue screen reflected on his cheeks, making them look pale. Donne waited. Martin put his hand on his lap and swiveled his chair back in the direction of Donne.
“Who do you think you are?” he said. “Get the hell out of my office. Now!”
DONNE DIDN’T leave, though every nerve ending in him fired and tried to force him to run.
“I think Jeanne’s alive,” he said again.
Martin’s hand shook as it hovered over the desk.
Years ago, his old partner dropped a bomb on Donne, one that shook him to the core. Donne would have been lying to himself if he didn’t hope this news did the same to Martin.
“What are you talking about?” Martin said. He put his trembling hand flat on the desk to stop it and pushed himself up into a standing position. He looked like Perry White in just about every comic book drawing ever. Two hands on the desk, leaning over it, about to scream.
Donne quickly ran through the email and text message story. Martin’s mouth was parted, but he didn’t speak.
When Donne was finished, Martin said, “Gotta be a fake.”
“But I—“
Martin shook his head. “Let me see the email.”
Donne started to take out his phone.
“No, idiot. Come around to my computer and login. I can’t see anything on those screens.”
Donne did as he was told. He stepped around the desk, leaned over the keyboard, and got to his email. He opened it, then opened the email. He was about to click on the link when Martin nudged him aside. They stared at Donne in dress blues.
“I remember that picture,” he said. “That was when you were smart, kid.”
The last word came out sharp, like Martin bit the end of it off.
He grabbed the mouse away from Donne and clicked on the link. The blank website opened up with the video box in the middle. They waited. Nothing happened.
“It must have been a one-time-only deal,” Donne said.
“Are you just here to ruin my day?” Martin clicked the mouse a few times.
“You think I want to be here?”
“Then go home.”
Donne didn’t move.
Martin stood up turned away from him. He opened a file cabinet and started to flip through files.
“Think about it, Bill. I had to walk through a gauntlet to get here. Would I really come here just to pull a dumb joke?”
Martin didn’t speak, but stopped looking through his papers.
“Jesus already told me to stay away from this. I have no idea what he knows, but this is real, Bill. And I have nowhere else to turn.”
“Jesus is doing pretty well for himself these days,” Martin said. “Thought you were out of the PI business. I believe I took your license.”
Donne clenched his fists. “I keep in touch with old friends.”
“You don’t keep in touch with me.” Martin’s shrugged his shoulders.
“Enough.” Donne looked out the window and watched a car pull out of its parking spot in the deck across the way.
“Let’s say I do believe you,” Martin said. “What’s the next step for you and me?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’re not working together. What do they call it in the comic books? A team-up.”
Donne smiled despite himself. Martin loved to read comics. He also liked the Hollies.
“No,” Donne said. “We’re not working together.”
“Then, I ask again, why come here?”
Because I didn’t know what else to do. Donne wanted to shout it at him.
“I’m out of the game, you said it yourself. Investigating is not something I do any more. I don’t have any contacts—”
“You just said you keep in touch with old friends.” It sounded like Martin was speaking through clenched teeth. He turned back around to face Donne.
Getting somewhere.
Donne plowed on. “I don’t have any contacts. I can’t make any headway on this. But you—you slept with Jeanne.” He had to spit the words out. “You loved her. If Jeanne’s alive—”
“‘If’? You came all the way down here for ‘if’?” Martin shook his head. He picked the mug off the floor and kicked at the liquid, rubbing it deeper into the rug.
Donne exhaled. “Find her. Please find her.”
“The text message and that email said you were the only one who could help.”
“We’re going in circles here, Bill.”
Martin took a step toward him, and Donne tensed. Martin leaned in closer, until they were nearly nose-to-nose. Donne could smell old coffee on his breath.
“I want to punch you in the face.” The words oozed from Martin. “I want to see nothing more than you lying on my carpet creating another stain. You know how many men out there lost their jobs, are in jail, because of you?”
Without flinching, Donne said, “Do what you have to do, Bill.”
Martin pursed his lips and rolled his right shoulder. For an instant, Donne actually expected a right cross to connect with his jaw.
“I want to hear you beg.”
Donne’s shoulders slumped.
“Beg me to find her, Jackson. Do it.”
Donne took a deep breath. He hoped his smelled as bad as Martin’s. “Help me, Bill. Help me find her. I need you to find her. Make her safe.”
Martin held his position as another long puff of coffee breath exploded in Donne’s nostrils.
“Forward me the email.” He rattled off his email address. “And then go the hell home.”
“Thanks, Bill.”
“I never want to see you again.”
Martin turned and slammed the filing cabinet shut.
“When you find her, call me.”
Martin laughed. “Who are we kidding, Jackson? You’re not going to leave this alone.”
Donne didn’t say anything.
“You’re going to be out there looking too.” Martin paused. “You are the only one who actually believes what you’re saying.”
“I’m not—”
Martin