Cockeyed, стр. 31
Shoemaker was especially interested in hearing about the Brienings. After I described them, he said, “Oh, yes, those two are agents of Satan, for sure.” But he didn’t seem worried about dealing with them, just amused and confident.
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Art had some mini-pizzas in the freezer that he microwaved for lunch. Nelson and Lawn dropped by briefly, but they didn’t stick around and eat with us. Lawn plainly did not like the looks of Shoemaker, and it didn’t help when Shoemaker asked Nelson if he was “one of the het Van Horns or one of the cocksucking Van Horns.” Nelson replied that, yes, he and Lawn were
“partners.” Shoemaker waited until Nelson and Lawn had left the house before referring to them good-naturedly as “your average assimilationists.”
“Their butt holes do make squeaking noises when they walk,”
Hunny said. “But Nelson is a good human, and there is even hope for Lawn if the SEC ever gets its act together.”
“Is he a Wall Street crook?” Shoemaker asked.
“A total swindler.”
“Another example of carrying cultural adaptation way too far.”
Nelson had reported that Mrs. Van Horn was still missing from the nursing home, and Shoemaker said one of the Rdq people was a psychic and he would likely be willing to drive down and help find the old lady.
Hunny went pale again. “Isn’t that just for finding bodies? We are pretty sure Mom is alive. At least that is our fervent hope.”
“No, it wouldn’t matter which world the lady is inhabiting.
Ethan would probably be able to locate her spirit wherever it is.”
“Would your psychic need one of her possessions or something?” Art asked. “That couch in the living room was Mother Van Horn’s. Though we’ve had it for four or five years, and I suppose our scent is on it now. Antoine likes to stretch out on it. He’s a friend of ours.”
“No, it’s not like a bloodhound,” Shoemaker said. “But Ethan would need a photograph of the missing lady.”
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“There is one on top of the TV,” Hunny said. “It’s Mom in happier days. She’s fluffy and sassy and she’s got all her marbles.
It was taken while Dad was still alive and the cancer hadn’t been found.”
Art said, “Hunny’s father passed on at a relatively young age, sixty-four.”
There was a knock at the front screen door, and a voice I recognized as Card Sanders’ called, “Hello?”
Hunny whispered to Shoemaker, “It’s the police. They don’t know about the Brienings. Don’t say anything. We don’t want Mom to get arrested for embezzlement.”
Shoemaker said, “Gotcha.”
Art went out and led Sanders into the kitchen, and Hunny offered him some pizza. He said he’d had lunch, thanks, and he said he was sorry that there was still no word on Mrs. Van Horn’s whereabouts. Sanders and Shoemaker were introduced, and Shoemaker said, “Sagittarius.”
Sanders ignored this and said, “Right now, I’d like to speak with you, Mr. Van Horn, and Mr. Strachey privately, if there’s someplace we can go.”
“About Mom?” Hunny got shaky again and reached for a glass which wasn’t there.
“Yes, about your mother.”
“Anything you have to say about Mom you can say in front of Arthur, of course, and Mr. Shoemaker is my confidante.”
“Are you his attorney?” Sanders asked Shoemaker.
“No, his good fairy.”
Sanders said to Hunny, “I need to know about the Brienings.”
Silence. Nobody moved.
“Just let’s have it. What’s the story with the Brienings?”
Hunny said, “Huh? The O’Briens?”
“No, Clyde and Arletta Briening. Mrs. Van Horn’s former CoCkeyed 141
employers at Crafts-a-Palooza in Cobleskill. I looked at your mother’s work history, which is on file at Golden Gardens. For six years she was employed as a bookkeeper for the Brienings.
Recently, Mr. Van Horn, you’ve been talking about giving the Brienings half your billion-dollar lottery payout. And on Bill O’Malley last night you told your mother that if she was watching, and if the Brienings had anything to do with her disappearance, she shouldn’t worry, that you would deal with them. So, the question is, what’s the story here? What am I not being told?”
Sanders leaned against the door frame and waited.
Hunny said, “This is very painful to talk about.”
“Yes, but it could be helpful. All any of us in law enforcement want is to get your mom back in one piece. Just like you do, Mr.
Van Horn.”
“Believe me,” Hunny said, “the Brienings have nothing to do with Mom being missing.”
“That may well be. But in a missing persons case it is important for investigators to have a total profile of the subject. You never know when a piece of that profile that appears innocuous or irrelevant at first glance could turn out to be significant. Please just trust me on this, and if there’s nothing useful here, so be it. I’m just intrigued as to why you’re considering giving these Briening folks half a billion dollars. It’s a fortune. They must be pretty important to you and your mother.”
Hunny looked for his glass again and said, “They are.”
We all watched Hunny.
“Do you promise that what I tell you will never be repeated?
Not to anybody?”
“I can’t really promise that, Mr. Van Horn. I’m not in a position to make such a guarantee. But I can say that confidentiality is an important part of any police investigation, both for ethical and practical reasons. I’ll do everything within my power to guard whatever you tell me and make sure it will help, not hurt, you and your mother and this investigation.”
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Hunny looked down and mumbled something none of us could understand.
Sanders said, “Sorry?”
Hunny raised his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and said plainly, “Clyde Briening is my real father.”
“Oh. Really?”
Art, standing by the sink, began studying the refrigerator magnets. One had a Tom of Finland drawing of a man with a penis the size of Quentin Shoemaker’s left leg on it, and another had a picture of George W. Bush and the letters w-t-f.
Hunny said, “When my father was away at National Guard summer camp, my mother had one too many after dinner one night. She was a little too well lubricated for her own good.
Lonely for some company, she committed adultery with Clyde, a neighbor at the time. Being a good Epworth League lady, Mom was not in the habit of doing this, and she never did it again, as far as any of us knows. I was born nine months later, and Dad was never good at math, so it never became an issue. Until, that is, I won the lottery. Then Clyde and Arletta got in touch and said they would spill the beans on Mom and on me unless I paid them half a billion dollars. Clyde says he has proof that I’m his son.
He got a sample of my sperm — through a young visitor he sent here, but you don’t want to hear about that — and he is having a dnA test done that will prove what he claims. He says it’s only fair that his own flesh and blood spread the wealth around. He and Arletta are horrible people, but rather than risk embarrassing Mom, I may just pay them what they want. I’d still have half a billion left, a nice piece of change, and then Clyde and Arletta could just go…they could just go take a flying fuck at a donut!”
Sanders studied Hunny for a long moment. He said, “Jesus.”
“Now you know. And now you know why I beg of you, Lieutenant, that none of this leaks out.”
“Well, it does sound as if it is in the Brienings’ interest that your mother returns safe and sound to the nursing home.”
“Yes.”
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“But this is a form of extortion. Do you understand that?”
“I know, I know, and I don’t care.”
“Jesus.”
“Sometimes families’ dark secrets that have been buried should not be dug up. Like in Suddenly Last Summer. Liz Taylor went poking around in Montgomery Clift’s past and was oh so sorry she ever took the trouble to be so curious.”