Page 62 of The Summer Guests

“Just sitting there. You’re good for now.”

Declan’s voice came over her earpiece. “Just make it quick, okay?”

She set down the DoorDash bag containing a sacrificial hamburger, which by now was probably cold and inedible, and quickly scanned the apartment. It was as depressing inside as she’d imagined. The living room was littered with pizza boxes and beer cans, and under the coffee table was a clump of dirty socks. He was a criminally horrible housekeeper, but so far, she didn’t see anything that could be used against him in a court of law. She snatched up a discarded pair of jeans from the sofa and combed through the pockets for contraband, but found only a half-smoked joint. Legal, these days. There had to be more here. A leopard didn’t change its spots, and she doubted Bass had transformed into a law-abiding citizen.

She moved into the grease-splattered kitchen and opened the refrigerator. In the freezer, she found a brick of cash, wrapped in multiple layers of plastic. Now it was getting interesting. Was this the money Luther had paid him? She was tempted to steal it back, but she was not a thief. She placed the cash back in the freezer.

“Maggie?” It was Declan’s voice in her earpiece.

“Nothing yet. What’s our boy up to?”

Ben answered her question: “He’s meeting someone in the park. Male, shaved head, about Bass’s age. They’re making an exchange.”

“Sounds promising.”

“Got it all on camera.”

She moved out of the kitchen and headed into the bedroom. There she found a toxic waste dump of dirty underwear and socks on the floor. The place reeked of cigarette smoke and old shoes. She went to the closet and quickly pawed through the shirts and jackets on the hangers, then reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a box of ammo, nine millimeter. Naughty boy. While gun laws might be lax in Maine,convicted felons like Bass weren’t allowed to own firearms. Still, this wasn’t enough to put him away for very long. They needed something more serious.

She reached farther back on the shelf and pulled down a plastic bag. At first it seemed empty, but then she noticed the residue of blue powder inside. More interesting. Could it be from contraband drugs, or was it just excipient, the inactive binder used to manufacture pills? Either way, it was a clue that she was on the right track. She turned to the bed and sighed. God knew what filthy surprises she’d find under there. She dropped to her knees, peered under the box spring, and gave a laugh of triumph when she saw what was hidden there.

It was a pill press, for making counterfeit tablets.

She pulled on gloves to avoid exposing herself to whatever chemicals might be on the press, and as she took photos, she noticed that the same blue residue was coating the machine. Fentanyl? MDMA? Whatever the drug, there was a good chance it would put Jesse Bass back behind bars for a very long time.

A sound in the next room made her snap to attention. Someone had just entered the apartment. She heard the door swing shut. Heart banging, she sprang to her feet.

“Hey, Jesse?” a man called out. “You back yet?”

Frantically she scanned the bedroom for an escape route. There was no way out, and there was not enough room for her to squeeze under the bed. She had only one option: hide in the closet. She slipped inside and closed the door, huddling beneath the hanging shirts. In the kitchen, the refrigerator door thudded shut, and a beer can popped open.

Footsteps moved toward the bedroom.

Over her earpiece came Declan’s voice: “Mags, time to leave. Bass is on his way back from the park.”

She didn’t dare answer him because the visitor was now in the bedroom, close enough to hear her voice. She shrank smaller and clapped her hand over the earpiece to block any noise that might escape from it.

“Mags, do you copy?” said Declan. “Leave now.”

I can’t. I’m trapped.

The footsteps walked by the closet door, passing only a few feet from where she was crouching, and the man moved into the adjoining bathroom. The walls were so damn thin she could hear him grunt. Urine splashed into the toilet.

“Mags, do you copy?” Declan repeated, urgency now in his voice. “You’ve got about two minutes. Get out of therenow.”

She heard the man’s fly zip shut before he emerged from the bathroom. Of course he didn’t wash his hands; he didn’t even bother to flush the toilet. What delightful friends Jesse Bass had. He walked out of the bedroom and back into the living room. That’s when she remembered the red DoorDash delivery bag she’d left on the floor. If Jesse saw it, he’d realize someone had been in the apartment, someone who hadn’t left.

In the living room, the TV turned on. She heard men shouting, gunfire, the screeching tires of a car chase. Enough noise to mask her voice.

“Declan,” she whispered. “I can’t get out.”

“Situation?” he snapped.

“Someone else just walked into the apartment. I’m in a closet. Need a diversion ...”

In the living room, a key grated in the lock, and the apartment door thudded shut. Jesse Bass was back.

“Got it,” Bass said to his visitor.

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