I didn’t want the responsibility of the role, or the bump in salary, or the juicy title that came with it. I didn’t want the A-level parking spot or the secret double-bonus opportunities that opened up once you entered this rarified layer of upper management. I wanted it because I wanted to shove it down Pat Faber’s throat.
“Make sure you touch ‘em all,” I advised Paul and stormed off.
***
Despite any misgivings I had of ever using Badger for any work assignments, I needed him for some personal use because, even though Valenti fired me from the job, I was nowhere near ready to quit. For some reason I simply felt like I owed it to Jeanette to find her and make sure she was safe.
I had placed a call to him the night I was dismissed by Valenti with a request to track down the real name and address of the gossip blogger who wrote the story about Jeanette. These sorts of mentions were universally placed by sources with motives — mostly public relations hacks but also people with personal grudges to grind. Perhaps there was value in knowing what motivation drove the person who placed this particular story. Badger told me he would have the information to me in a few hours. But then I never heard back.
After several attempts to reach him and having his phone go straight to voicemail, I decided to make the short drive over to his office/home in Echo Park.
I found parking in front of the building. A few spots down I spied Badger’s car and I got a dry tickle in my throat. In my previous dealings with him, the one constant was his reliability. Like many of his self-proclaimed merits, his “Johnny on the Spot” moniker was consistently accurate. My mind raced at the possibilities and the growing fear that I, and my amateurish sleuthing, had set him on a course that brought him into harm.
I looked apprehensively at the large bay windows but couldn’t see past my own noon-day reflection in the glass. I crossed the ten feet of sidewalk to the front door and entered the office.
It was ten degrees hotter inside than out. The air was still and rank. I didn’t see Badger but the half-opened curtain leading to the back room sang out that if I wanted my answer, I needed to cross through it. My feet sank in the gold-plush carpet as I moved towards the back of the room. Passing the desk, I lifted up the yellowed newspaper. The gun was not there.
The curtain dividing the office space from the living quarters hung heavy on a metal rod. As I pushed it aside I took a step forward and leaned back at the same time; the bottom-half of my body entered the room while my head remained in the doorway. I knew what was back there but wasn’t quite ready to confront it.
I saw the awkward figure sitting on the floor with its back to the wall. He was shirtless and had his hands bound behind him. His head, covered in a pillow case, slung down onto his shoulder in an unnatural position.
I suddenly felt nauseous and fought off a bout of the dry heaves. Then I heard rustling and realized that Badger was moving.
“Jesus!” I shouted and ran over to him. I ripped the pillowcase from his head and his hair piece came with it. Even with the labored breaths reverberating throughout the room, it still felt like I was looking at a dead man. His skin was a sickly white, his eyes bloodshot.
“There he is,” his voice scratched, lacking its normal enthusiasm. “Give me a little water, would you?”
I found a never-washed glass on the sink in the bathroom and filled it up. I held it to his lips and he greedily drank from it. Most of the water just rolled down his chest, but those few swallows put some of the life back into him.
“What happened?” I asked.
He muscled himself upright. I heard the grinding of metal on metal as the handcuffs that bound his wrists rubbed against the drain pipe they were looped around. The areas under the cuffs were raw and even bloody and spots on the pipe shiny among the rust where he had struggled mightily to break free.
“Get the key,” he instructed. “It’s in the top right drawer of the desk.”
I scrambled back to the front room and found the key among a pile of metal paperclips and discontinued thumb tacks. I thought of the humiliation he must be feeling, the equivalent of a cop having his squad car stolen. Badger had been overcome and bound with his own handcuffs.
It took me a few tries but I was finally able to release his wrists. “You’re a prince,” he whispered and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.
“Tell me what happened,” I said as he returned to the room, recovered his hair piece, and put it back in its rightful spot.
“It’s nothing,” he said.
I detected a tinge of embarrassment.
“What do you mean it’s nothing? Who did this? Did you get a look at them?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m very worried.”
“It’s not that,” he dismissed. “It’s just something we do.”
“Wait…what? Something who does?”
“Yeah, a little role-play me and my lady friend like to do.” He might well have said something about taking out the trash. It was a non-event in his eyes. “I must have said something that upset her. I never thought she’d take this long to get back.” He turned to face me. “Guy, I let you down.”
The man responsible for unearthing the seamy side of potential candidates, the one whom I was about to rely on to help me track down Jeanette, was too busy getting himself hog-tied to radiators to complete his duties and was asking for forgiveness. And for some reason I wasn’t even angry.
“I found your gossip blogger,” he said. “Sorry I couldn’t get this to you earlier but I was preoccupied.”
He handed me a slip of paper with a name and address. Putting aside whatever misgivings I had about his personal life and overall demeanor, I decided to engage him on a long-term assignment to help me track down Jeanette. He could do things I couldn’t and he had already proven to be very handy in unearthing information.
“I have another job for you,” I told him. “A big job.”
I explained everything to him, including details I withheld from Detective Riocohr. Badger nodded solemnly but the obligatory declaration of this job being the top priority never came. Instead, he sort of stalled like there was something more to be said.
“Does that all make sense?”
“Perfect sense,” he replied. “Full commitment required.”
“I would imagine.”
“Job could go in many directions.”
“Most definitely,” I said.
“And for an indeterminate length.”
“I guess so.”
He nodded his head but not in agreement.
“And this one isn’t for the company?” he asked.
That’s when I finally understood his apprehension. The job was sizable, and I hadn’t delivered on my half of the deal.
“What kind of retainer do you usually work on?” I asked. I had seen enough of the old movies to know how this worked.
“Let’s not make this about money, guy,” Badger scolded. “I’m helping you because you’re a stand-up guy who has always done right with me. I don’t work with just anyone, you know. This can be an ugly business and I am careful with whom I associate.”
It was all an act — the man clearly needed cash. I could see the army cot and hotplate and empty cans of refried beans and the squeaky fan doing nothing against the heat. But there was the man’s pride to deal with. He needed to be begged.
“I insist. This is a big job.”
“I know what I am getting into.”
“And I can’t allow you to put forth such a big effort without an equal commitment on my end.”
“I know you’re good for it,” he waved me off but quickly added, “but if you insist, my standard fee is four hundred a day plus expenses.” I was a little taken aback by how quickly he gave in. Times must have been worse off than I first thought. I went out to my car and got my checkbook. As I wrote out a check, Badger wet his lips in apparent anticipation of an expensed meal on my dime.