Ties That Blind. Zachary Klein

      “Why didn’t you wait from where you called?” Lou asked, still trying to shake excess water.

      “I couldn’t let the car sit there all by itself.” She smiled wryly, “Sounds nuts, doesn’t it?”

      “Of course not,” Lou reassured.

      “Well, it wasn’t on order, I said. “Nobody wanted it for parts.”

      “Just what I said on the way over,” Lou scowled. “Maybe now you’ll take Lauren seriously about being followed.”

      “I said it wasn’t done for a chop-shop, Lou. It looks like the start of an old fashioned torching. Or the work of bashers who thought the owner was gay.” But underneath my blasé` I was bothered by the viciousness of the beating.

      “Matty, the radio is still there,” Lou said, “and I saw you empty the glove compartment.”

      Lauren watched me carefully as I stubbornly shook my head. “Someone might have interrupted the party.”

      “Take it easy, honey,” Lauren said, turning to Lou. “This is Matt’s line of work. If he thinks it was gay bashers, it probably was. Anyway, since we talked about feeling followed, the feeling hasn’t returned. It was like going to the dentist.” Lauren’s laugh sounded natural, but her eyes were opaque.

      Which goosed my professional conscience. “Maybe Lou’s right, Lauren. It doesn’t make sense to take chances. When we call the cops about the car we might as well tell them about what’s been going on.”

      “No!” Lauren shook her head vehemently. “We’re not talking to the police about any of this.”

      I leaned against the door and lit another cigarette. “Why not? You’ll need them for whatever couple of dollars you have coming.”

      “To hell with the insurance. The car was dying on its own, and I need a new one anyway,” she sidetracked.

      “Shainele, this may not be the best time for you to buy a new car,” Lou said surprised by her outburst.

      “I’ll find the money, Lou.”

      “Whatever you do about the car, Lauren,” I said, “why not tell the cops what you’ve been feeling?”

      “Because it’s gone away,” Lauren retorted sharply. “There’s no reason to embarrass myself in front of people who will just think I’m crazy.”

      There was something more to her refusal to speak with the police, but I nodded my willingness to leave.

      Only Lou wouldn’t let me. “Hold the phone,” he ordered. “If we’re not reporting this, what are you going to do about it?”

      The question hung in the air until Lauren snatched it. “Don’t put Matthew on the spot, Lou. He’s done enough.”

      Lou’s large wet body turned in the tiny back seat. “If you don’t want the police then Matty has to track this down.”

      “Listen to me Lou, I don’t want Matthew to track anything.”

      Before their argument continued I jumped in. “I can check if anyone reported the incident.”

      “You mean check with the police and I don’t want them involved,” Lauren said adamantly. “I want to forget the whole damn thing, okay?”

      I turned around, stared out the window, jumped out of my car, rushed to the back, and took out a wrench. Ran back to her Toyota, removed the plates, returned to the bimmer and turned the key. “The police will get in touch with you anyway if they bother to trace the VIN number.”

      “I’ll deal with it then,” she said. “Let’s just leave.”

      Lou began to argue but Lauren shook her head and he pressed his lips together.

      I took a deep breath and pulled away from the curb. “Where are we going?” I asked.

      “To my house,” Lauren directed. “I don’t want to leave Ian alone. But first let’s stop so Lou can change his clothes. You too,” she added.

      “Matty...” Lou growled, unable to leave the argument behind.

      “Lou, listen,” I said, feeling my stomach knot. “If Lauren feels like she’s being followed again I’ll be on it. I promise.”

      

      Promises, promises. If the first don’t get you, the second one will.

      “They didn’t bother to catch their breath before Lou called,” I grumbled into the telephone. “I don’t understand it. They have no car, they’re home tending for a recovering suicide, the weather’s lousy, but Lauren’s being watched. Again. Where the hell could anyone follow her?”

      Boots tried to humor me out of my grouch. “Maybe there’s enough room in the house for someone to sneak around inside. That part of the North Shore is rich as hell.”

      “The house is big but no mansion.” I paused then added sarcastically, “They call it the Hacienda. Wrong part of the fucking country for a name like that.”

      “What did it look like?”

      “I only saw the outside,” I replied. “It was a dark and stormy night…“Auditioning to host a P.B.S program? ?”

      “Better that than this.”

      “Right, Matt Jacob in a tuxedo on G.T.N., Gonzo Television Network.”

      I smiled through gritted teeth. “Anything but this.”

      “Why? You’ll find out soon enough if Lauren’s fears are real. Do it and be done.”

      “You never say that about sex.”

      Boots laughed, “Maybe I don’t have to.”

      “Wise guy.” It was good to hear her voice. The storm had screwed with the airline schedule, and Boots had piggybacked a few more work days onto the delay.

      “I’m serious, Matt, what’s the big deal? It’s just a job.”

      The busman’s holiday wasn’t a big deal. Lauren was. She cast a powerful undertow, a pull I found disturbing—though unsure of exactly why. “They keep coming after me, and I don’t want to be drawn into their orbit. Let her go to the cops.”

      “You said she won’t.”

      “Yeah, but why not? Though she’s probably right about their usefulness,” I conceded, my own distrust of Blues bouncing to attention. “But this is different than just anyone asking me to take a case.”

      “It’s different, all right,” Boots said sharply. “This is your father-in-law and the woman he’s involved with. Lauren is bright enough to see the way Lou loves you. Hell, you’ve even begun to make me nervous about using the “L” word.”

      “I make you nervous about saying “love?”

      Boots caught her breath and my mind’s eye watched her bite her tongue. “Let’s save this particular conversation until we’re together,” she finally said. “Right now I’m having trouble with your attitude. You’re chewing glass about Lou and Lauren. You’re always Mr. Tolerant, but when it comes to Lauren there’s no saving grace. You attack her clothes, her kids, her age for crying out loud. The truth is, you sound like a jealous little boy.”

      “It’s not jealousy,” I replied with more certainty than I felt. “Something else is going on, but I don’t know what it is.”

      “Then find out. Find out, because what you’re doing now isn’t working.”

      Boots was absolutely right; something wasn’t working and part of it was me. “Okay, lady, you got it.