Hair of the Dog by Gordon Carroll (reading strategies book TXT) 📗

her voice, as she cried for me not to hurt her daddy. Her daddy.

I blew more air past my pursed lips.

I opened my eyes and called Jared on the phone.

“Hey, Gil,” he said.

“I’m not waking you am I?”

“It’s nine-thirty. My babies are barely in bed. You need to get a life, my friend.”

“How’s Keisha?” I asked.

“She’s fine,” he said. “At least she was when I turned her over to your man, Marsh. Oh, and I see what you mean, he does look like Morgan Freeman.”

“You did what?”

“He had all his paper work in order. Closest relatives, Chicago Child Services, everything. Not to mention, he is a United States senator.”

“I thought you said it would take at least a week before she was processed and prepped for transport?”

“I thought it would,” said Jared. “Who knew your guy, God, would step down and speed things up?” There was a slight pause. “You don’t sound happy. Something I should know?”

I scrubbed at my face with one hand. “No… no, just… some stuff I found out about Marsh a little bit ago… I don’t know how it fits into the picture yet. Maybe it doesn’t. How long ago did he leave with her?”

“‘Bout an hour ago,” said Jared. “I heard one of the security guys say they were taking off out of Centennial Airport. You want I should try and stop them?”

“Think you could do that?” I asked.

“No,” said Jared. “Not really. Not without losing my bars and maybe my job, depending on how connected your senator is. But if you’ve got something and you think the little gal is in trouble, I’ll give it a go.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ve just got a hinky feeling, that’s all. Not anything to act on. But thanks, Jared. Sorry, I came off so hard at the beginning.”

“No problem, partner,” he said and I could hear the relief in his voice. “You get some sleep. I’m not promising I won’t spill the beans about you sacking out before ten, but you go ahead anyway.”

I put the phone down and lay back on my bed, closing my eyes. I saw Keisha, then my daughter Marla, then Keisha, then Marsh, his big white teeth flashing that politician’s smile.

I sat up, punched in the phone number Marsh had given me; but in FaceTime.

He answered on the first ring.

“Mr. Mason,” he said, and I’d swear I was talking to Red from Shawshank again. And not the broken Red at the end of the movie, after he’d had it out with the Parole Board. But the in charge Red, who ran the inside of the prison when Tim Robbins’ character, Andy, first met him. “What can I do for you?”

Behind him I could see dimmed lights, the image shaking a little, expensive curtains covering a round window, part of the jet’s ceiling.

“You have the girl,” I said. It wasn’t a question. “Have you left yet?”

“We are flying at about twelve hundred feet as we speak, on our way back to home.”

“Keisha, is she okay?”

There was the briefest of pauses.

“She’s sleeping peacefully, a few seats behind me in Miss Wells’ lap. You remember Miss Wells?”

“Yes,” I said. “Could I see her?”

“Miss Wells?”

I didn’t say anything.

Senator Marsh smiled.

“What exactly is this about, Mr. Mason?”

“A friend of mine gave me some information about your charity for wayward children.”

The smile stayed in place, but something in his eyes shifted. Very subtle, but there.

“Have you been checking me out, Mr. Mason?”

“I’m a private investigator,” I said, “I check out everyone. It’s what I do.”

“And what exactly is it about my charitable organization that you find it necessary to call me face to face after our business has been completed and you have been paid?”

“May I see Keisha?”

There was that pause again. He nodded and pulled his lips over those flashing teeth, still smiling, but just.

“Of course.” He stood up, rocking a bit as he did, and took a few unsteady steps toward the back of the plane. He turned the phone and there lay Keisha, sound asleep in Miss Wells’ lap, just as he said. I could even make out the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The phone turned back to his face. “Satisfied?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I guess so.”

“I don’t know what you were expecting, Mr. Mason, but I assure you my only concern for the girl is her wellbeing and safe reintegration with her family.”

“Are you really thinking of making a bid for President in the next election?”

The smile left abruptly and he was suddenly hard, his eyes cold chips of obsidian. “I don’t suppose you would be willing to give up the source of your information?”

I shook my head to the negative. “Confidential.”

“That particular piece of data is not yet ready to be shared with the general public and most certainly not with the media.”

“So, is that what this is all about? Publicity? The great Senator Marsh rescues little girl, kidnapped by the murderer of her mother, when police have been helpless for years?”

“I don’t know what has poisoned you against me in such a way, Mr. Mason. I can only assure you, as I did before, that I have the best of intentions.” He held up a finger. “But… just for argument’s sake, suppose that I was guilty of what you just accused me of. Suppose the only reason I hired you to find little Keisha is so that I can parade her around as a shining example of my fatherly caring and public interest in saving a helpless child from an impossible situation. Suppose all that is true. Would it be so bad? She’s safe, Mr. Mason. Safe and about to be placed back with her family where she belongs. So I ask you; even if I were doing it for purely selfish reasons, does it matter? Isn’t the important thing that she has been rescued?”

It was a good speech, delivered by the best; and worst of all, he was right. I couldn’t help but nod.

“Yeah,” I said, “okay, you’re right.”