“I’m talking about one specific human being,” I said.
“Your brother fucked up, big-time. And he knows that. Believe me. He paid his debt to society. Now he’s out here trying to make it right and improve the world and all you can think is oh, he’s getting high or oh, he’s involved with ‘bad people.’”
My temper was starting to slip. “‘Improve the world.’”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Enlighten me.”
“You saw the posters. Did you read them?”
“I did.”
“Then you should know. This isn’t about getting idiots high. It’s about helping individuals who are sick. Who are in pain. It’s about using a natural product, a beautiful gift from Mother Nature, to help wean people off truly toxic shit pushed by Big Pharma. It’s about supporting independent farmers, and independent business, and starting to undo some of the damage done to communities of color who’ve been fucking decimated by the War on Drugs and the prison industrial complex. That’s what I believe in: restorative justice. It’s what your brother believes in. So you ask me if he’s improving the world? I say yes. At least, he’s trying, which is more than most people can say. Shit,” he said, clawing at his stubble, “I don’t know what I’m expecting you to say. You’re part of the system that created this whole fucked-up situation in the first place.”
“None of that has anything to do with Luke.”
“Of course it does. It informs your entire mindset. You’re going on about the ‘old Luke’ cause that’s all you can see. You don’t get an answer to a text and instead of taking a good hard look in the mirror you start jumping to all these batshit conclusions. I mean, listen to yourself.”
His phone twitched on the floor. He stuck in his earbuds. “Yeah what’s up. Okay... He last scanned in on Friday afternoon.”
“What time?”
“Evvie, did you... Three twenty-five. Shit. I know. I know. Tell them two minutes. And can you come up, please? My friend needs to be shown out. Thanks.”
He disconnected and took several cleansing breaths. “All right. I don’t want to cut this short, because I hear you, and I totally empathize with how you’re feeling. I have to jump on a call now. Let’s not leave our shit in a state of tension. That’s not good for anyone. As soon I hear from him, I’ll ask him to reach out to you. Okay?” He stood and put out a hand. “Can we... ?”
“I need to see his accounts.”
“Dude. Come on. We just did this.”
“Maybe you’re right. I’m overreacting. But ask yourself what happens if I’m right, and he needs our help and I came to you and you screwed around. What’s that going to feel like for you?”
Evelyn came up the steps. Scott gestured for her to wait. The vitality had gone out of him. I noticed now the furrows in his forehead, the slack beneath his chin.
“Who’s asking?” he said. “Clay his brother or Clay the cop?”
“Who’s asking me? Scott the CEO or Scott his friend?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Man, fuck you.”
I said nothing.
He beckoned Evelyn in. “Evvie, please ask the powers-that-be to grant my friend here temporary permissions for Luke’s data.”
She blinked. “Which permiss—”
“His calendar.”
“Email, too,” I said.
Scott pursed his lips and nodded.
I stood up. “Thank you. One more thing. Did he ever talk to you about his car?”
“His — which car.”
“The Camaro. Did he ever talk about selling it?”
“Not that I can recall. Now, if you don’t mind... ” He started working in his earbuds.
Evelyn said, “Um, Scott. Should I—”
“Just — handle it, please,” he said. He turned away and activated his call.
“Lo siento, peeps,” he said. “You have my undivided attention.”
Chapter 8
Down on the office floor, the tide had begun to ebb as employees departed for the night. A substantial number stayed put, eating delivery at their desks. Start late; end late. Or they had power here but not at home. So many young faces. How many of them had families or partners waiting for them? Why sit alone in a stuffy apartment without Netflix, watching your phone run down?
Better to expense your açaí bowl and establish bona fides as a hard worker.
Evelyn said, “We’ll need a few minutes to get you set up.” As if she were prepping for a colonoscopy.
“Thanks. While you do that I’d like to have a look at Luke’s desk, please.”
She stopped walking. She glanced up at Scott’s pod, back to me. “What for?”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
“It depends. What’s going on here?”
“I’m concerned about him,” I said.
“Why?”
“Nobody knows where he is.”
Another quick peek at the god in the sky. “This way.”
The flat hierarchy applied to everyone but Scott Silber. Luke’s workstation was identical to every other workstation: a black mesh ergonomic chair and a narrow allotment of gray desktop. Writing implements filled a mug tiled with images of him and Andrea. There was a monitor with a dangling cable hookup for a laptop and a printer-paper photo of Charlotte taped to one corner.
The laptop itself was absent.
The workstation to the left was unoccupied. The twenty-something white guy to the right swiveled to greet me: “Yo, what’s — whoops.” He laughed and returned to his screen. “Sorry.”
“Back in a bit,” Evelyn said.
She went.
“Excuse me,” I said to the guy.
“... yyyyessir.” He swiveled.
“Sorry to interrupt. I’m Luke’s brother. You thought I was him.”
“Yeah, I thought he shaved and I was like Noooo... Sorry, you guys must get that a lot.”
“Can I ask your name?”
“Matt.”
“Are you friendly with him, Matt?”
“Me and Luke? Yeah, of course.”
An Asian American woman across the desk spoke up: “Everybody likes Luke. He’s Mr. Positive.”
A few people seated within earshot smiled to themselves.
I asked the woman her name.
“Annie.”
“He was here on Friday afternoon,” I said. “Did either of you see him?”
“Friday I was out,” Matt said.
“I was here,” Annie said.
“Did you talk to him?”
“I think a little?” she said.
“Did everything seem normal?”
“Normal?”
“Did he seem preoccupied or upset?”
She and Matt exchanged a look.
“Is everything okay?” Annie asked.
“I’m wondering if you noticed anything out of the ordinary.”
“Not really.”
“Did he mention any weekend plans?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, he’s Luke, he’s the best. But he doesn’t socialize, per se.”
I looked around at young, guileless faces.
Why would they hang out with a guy in his forties?
Evelyn turned up the aisle.
I took a pen from the mug, unstuck the printout of Charlotte, and wrote my contact information on the back. “If you do think of anything, this is me. Any of you. If you remember something, please get in touch.”
I placed the paper in the middle of the desktop. Nobody moved to take it. They all looked obscurely traumatized.