Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Present Day
Mission Day Three
“Lindsey got through to Andre Lennox, her LAPD friend,” Jules told Sam as they drove eastward into the heavily trafficked night, waiting for Rod or Hobbit to call back so that Jules could continue down his list of questions for their less-than-forthright client.
Like, how well did Mick know Clayton Spencer?
That was a biggie. “She and her team are meeting him over at the estate. Gonna do a little midnight gardening.”
Sam glanced over at him, his expression a mix of amusement and dubiousness. “Sure hope we’re right about that bodies-in-the-backyard theory.”
He was being generous with that we since they both damn well knew that the theory was all Jules’s.
“Yeah,” Jules agreed. “Way to win friends and influence... I forget who I’m supposed to influence.
I want to say enemies, but that feels a tad too hostile.
” He looked back down at his phone, using his memo app to make a note.
After this was over, he wanted to sit down with both Lennox and Lindsey, too, before she went back south.
If the police detective was as friendly as Lindsey claimed, establishing a relationship would be an asset.
Assuming this goatfuck of an ‘easy’ case ever ended.
“Since we’re heading to the desert, I’ve got Decker and Dave—team two—heading out to Harper’s weekend residence up in Big Bear, do a little sneak and peek to see if he’s up there.
If he’s not, they’ll join us in Palm Springs.
But if he is, they’ll gently lock him down for Lennox, who I hope will have a boatload of questions for him after digging up a femur or six . ”
“Skull would be nice,” Sam said. “Appropriately Shakespearian.”
Jules laughed despite himself. That was a little too Hamlet and tragedy. He was still hoping to avoid the everyone-dies ending.
His phone rang—finally. “Ack, it’s only Robin,” Jules said.
Sam shot him a seriously look, and Jules laughed as he answered the call. “Not what I meant, and you know it. Hey, sweetie. You got an update?”
“Oh, I absolutely do,” Robin said. “Am I on speaker?”
“You are,” Jules said.
“So I found an item of interest in Milton Devonshire’s tax records,” Robin reported.
“I searched for Santana, and found a substantial bank check—a gift, with taxes paid by Devonshire—for two million dollars made out to, drumroll please, Francis Santana. It was written right around the time that Milt the Junior got out of prison.”
“Two million,” Jules said.
“Yup. On the same day, Daddy Devonshire also gifted Milt the Junior a sweet, sweet three million dollars, again, gift taxes paid. All nicely legal and right there in the records.”
“So Wig-Milt squeezed five million out of his father, and gave nearly half of it away,” Sam mused.
“We’re calling him Mick now,” Jules reminded them both.
“He was Milt at the time,” Robin said. “But wait there’s more!”
“Damn, he’s good,” Sam said.
“I heard that, and I appreciate it,” Robin said. “So yeah, I’m digging into the info about these two ginormous bank checks, and what do I find? Images of the cancelled checks. And guess what it says on the memo line for Francis Santana’s two million dollars?”
“Emily Johnson?” Jules said.
“Okay, so maybe you weren’t surprised by that, but I was,” Robin said.
“Because Emily’s name doesn’t come up in a global search of the records, I mean, otherwise you’d’ve found her on day one.
But then I figured out that the text that appears in images like that isn’t searchable, which would’ve made life so much easier.
But, better late than never, it said it right there in the memo line: Custodian for Emily Johnson. ”
“Thank you,” Jules said. “This really helps.”
“Wow,” Sam was genuinely surprised by this. “Maybe Wig-Milt—Mick—isn’t as much of a shithead as I’d thought. I’m gonna have to sit with this for a minute.”
“Whoops,” Robin said, “I gotta run. I’m reading Billy his bedtime story tonight and it sounds like he’s finally on the other side of the great toothbrush war. He’s letting me pick the book, which is not his usual MO. I’m going with Go Dog Go.”
“Can’t go wrong with Go Dog Go,” Jules agreed.
“Drive safe,” Robin said. “Keep me posted. And let me know if there’s anything else you need me to do.”
“I will,” Jules said and he cut the connection.
“Ash loves it when Robin reads him Go Dog Go,” Sam said. “He does all the voices.” He laughed a little. “Ash just plain loves Robin.”
“Yeah,” Jules said. “I know.”
Sam was looking at him.
Shit. Jules shook his head. “Still don’t want to talk about that, SpongeBob.”
Sam nodded and they fell into a silence that dragged on and on, as Sam navigated the stop and go traffic, as their phones continued to not ring.
“Maybe I should call Hobbit,” Jules muttered.
“Give ’em time. Rod’ll call when they’re ready.”
“Yeah.” Jules sighed. “I wish the traffic didn’t suck.”
“Yup.” Sam glanced at him again. “So. Hobbit. Nice nickname.”
“Oh, you are not going to mock me for having one friend—one—from high school with a quirky nickname, Roger.”
“I’m not mocking. Glass houses and all,” Sam said, laughter in his voice, because yes, his given name was Roger.
He’d had a slew of nicknames of his own, starting with Ringo back when he was just a kid, then Bob when he joined the Navy because of that famous fictional character named Bob Starrett—Shane!
Shane! Then it was Houston when he went into BUD/S because he was from Texas—and also because of NASA’s Roger, Houston catch-phrase—which had then begot Sam.
Which stuck. Because face it, Sam looked more like a Sam than a Roger.
But the SEAL teams were notorious for assigning odd monikers and frankly he’d been lucky that Sam was the name that stuck.
Jules knew SEALs who were known as Grunge and WildCard.
Blue and Cowboy. Seagull and Timebomb. Q and Doe.
And probably his all-time favorite, HoboMofo, who had a nickname for his nickname. His good friends called him Fo.
A kid being called Hobbit starting back when he was fifteen didn’t raise an eyebrow in comparison.
Still Jules said, “The name was bestowed before I moved to town, FYI. In fact, it took me a little too long to learn that Hobbit’s given name was Kevin.”
“Was he at your wedding?” Sam asked. “Or did he skip? Or maybe not get an invite?”
“Jeez, no, what...? He was there,” Jules said.
“Honestly, I cannot for the life of me remember meeting him. And I know I would’ve. Remembered him. He’s...”
Jules laughed at Sam’s loss of words. “He certainly is. Is, was, and will always be. But there were so many people at the wedding, there was no way you could’ve met all of them and.
.. He was also in a new relationship,” he told Sam.
“Marty or... hmm, Matt? Madison! Maybe...? It didn’t last long, which was too bad because whatever-his-name-is seemed nice.
Hob was in that deeply smitten place, so they spent most of the night on the dance floor.
That pretty much kept him out of trouble. ”
“Can’t have been easy for him,” Sam said, looking up from the road and over at Jules. “Watching you marry the movie star.”
Jules glanced back at him. It was funny, he was still always surprised when Sam was so perceptive.
He would’ve thought he’d be used to it by now.
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” he admitted.
“We were never more than friends, but... I know he would’ve gone there.
Back in high school for sure, but...” He shook his head. “I really love him, just not that way.”
“Harder when it’s unrequited.”
Jules nodded. “Yeah.” Although even when attraction and feelings were wholeheartedly requited—was that even the word for it?
—that didn’t mean an automatic piece of cake, to use one of Sam’s favorite expressions.
He’d spent years hopelessly in love with Robin, yet he’d carefully kept his distance, despite knowing that Robin’s feelings were mutual.
But as hard as that had been, it would’ve been unbearable to climb into Robin’s closet with him. So he’d stayed away because he loved himself too much to trade one pain for another.
Thankfully, just as Jules had been about to cave, Robin had made the choice to emerge into the sunlight. God, Jules was so grateful for that. He tried to imagine surviving these past few months without Robin’s love and...
He simply couldn’t.
“Hobbit never pushed, though,” Jules told Sam.
“I friended him, pretty much nonstop from the moment we met, and he was always respectful of that boundary. Some guys aren’t very good at that, or they try wiggling past it with the friends-with-benefits angle, which, nine times out of ten—at least in my experience—is a bad mistake.
Someone usually ends up hurt, and friendships get blown up.
Don’t get me wrong, Hobbit was and still is plenty cute, but, no. ”
He laughed a little, thinking back to high school, back to David, who’d finally broken his months of silence the November of his freshman year at UCLA.
He called Jules to see if he wanted to meet up while he was home from California for Thanksgiving, and Jules had naively misunderstood.
He’d eagerly leapt back into David’s arms—only to get his heart broken all over again.
Hobbit could’ve written that script with dead accuracy.
“Hob’s really great,” Jules told Sam. “I always thought the world would open up for him when he went to college. He was supposed to go to this funky little school in Florida—the Ringling School of Design—but his plans got... derailed. He was—he still is, I’m sure—an amazing artist. He was an actor, too.
At least back in high school. I’m glad he finally left Connecticut, although, God, helping Rod with Connie’s hospice care had to have been unbelievably hard. ”
“I can’t imagine,” Sam said as Jules phone swooshed.