Page 116 of Two Marlboros

Maybe I hadn’t stumbled upon it by accident, but it really was the chance to start over that life was holding for me. I found myself again imagining myself on the West Coast, with a bit of a tan and that extra bit of maturity that would be enough for me to cut all ties.

I was going to drop everything - and everyone.

But then I thought back to Ryan, what had happened to him and what we had said to each other; I couldn’t walk away leaving that unresolved, I had to at least try. Who knows, maybe he would have forgiven me, if I had shown him that I was willing to do something to help him, because I wasn’t going to let a few hours of getting high take him and Harvey away, two people who had been a part of my life anyway.

After a nice hot shower, I went to bed, charged and determined.

I was going to go through with it. I owed it to him.

22

Chrysanthemum Wings

(?Macy Gray - I try)

As soon as the coffee was ready, I placed it on the tray. With that came six: one for Church, one for Edmond, and I ignored whose the other four were; Church had asked me to bring them.

I knocked on Edmond’s door - which no longer seemed so terrible, after meeting my supervisor - and as I waited for an answer, I caught a glimpse of Ashton hurriedly passing the metal-detectors.

When he was inside, he greeted me with a nod.

“You’ve been promoted to waiter, I see!”

My glare was sufficient as a reply. From Ed’s room, meanwhile, came no voice.

I grabbed what must have been his coffee and handed it to Ash.

“Here, for you.”

He looked at me for a moment before taking it. “Are you sure it’s no problem?”

“I’m a cop, I don’t wait tables. Drink it.”

He didn’t let me repeat it twice and swallowed the drink in a couple of sips.

“I’ll throw the glass myself, don’t worry. Ah, remember there’s the meeting with Church today.”

“Yes, take it easy. See you later.”

I waved him off and finished the coffee round.

Some, unfortunately, never reached their intended recipient.

Church scattered a dozen papers on the table.

“These,” he pointed to a series of printed tables, “are the printouts of Michael Cossner and William Clide. I have highlighted the numbers that appear most often and traced them back, each to its owner. It may not shock you to know that, until two weeks ago, relations between Cossner and Clide were very close. Since Cossner disappeared, however, they no longer keep in touch.”

Doors and windows were closed, the air conditioner turned off. I felt a drop of sweat sliding down my back. I kept in mind not to lean against the backrest, or I would have peppered my shirt.

“There is another interesting aspect, however. Before his disappearance, Cossner was regularly receiving calls from a private number. The phone company gave me the number in plain text and, surprise, they are all different numbers.”

“So, these are different people?” asked Ash.

Church glowered at him, perhaps because my colleague had dared to interrupt him. I wondered how long he would last in there. Being small fish was very dangerous in that shark environment, and Ash was the last one there, after me.

“Yes and no. The number is always in the same person’s name.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

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