BREAKDOWN

—Chapter XIV—

Monday finally came. It was time to visit my elusive friend.

"What are you doing here, Gio? I told you I could handle him by myself" a very upset Betty complained as soon as I was she saw me. "How did you come inside, anyway? Matt sent your picture to all security entrances."

Beth already knew that. So we used one of the special cleared entrances from the garage basement that her cousin and aunt had for themselves.

"I told you she was going to start whining, like always."

My sensible Queens Girl was taken aback at Beth's comment. She instinctively leaned to my side, looking for some sort protection and asked "is she coming with us?"

"Well, 'she' is very busy today" Beth said with her peculiar glacial voice and picked up the phone. "Should I call Mrs. Meade for you?"

"No. It's better if she isn't here" I said and knocked on Daniel's door.

It didn't feel comfortable doing what we were doing, meddling into my friend's personal affairs but we needed to find the core of this situation, for everyone's sake.

It was natural for Betty, though. She'd been involved with the Meade family for more than four years. She was almost part of the family.

I never thought I would befriend a guy like Daniel Meade, the youngest of the Meade brothers. I always found him a bit too careless and needy for a man, and he used to exhaust Betty when she worked as his assistant. But his vulnerability was mostly the result of a broken home. I grew to appreciate him when he showed me he could be a great father, husband and friend. It was a shame he never had decent company to keep him on the right track. He must be thankful that he had friends like Betty and me.

We had a brief conversation catching up with our lives since the last time we hanged out together. He spoke with short sentences and seemed bothered by my presence. He had seen Betty come after me, so he was probably pretty much aware this wasn't a social call.

"Okay, now this is the part where you both tell me the reason you're here today."

I placed the copy of the email sent to Human Resources in front of him, on top of the desk he was sitting.

"What does this mean?"

"Why you wanted to get rid of him, Daniel?" I asked back.

"What are you talking about? I didn't fire this guy. I don't even know who he is."

"For many years he was the one in charge of the maintenance of the lifts, specially the one that Mrs. Hartley personally used, the one that almost crashes and sends us to hell."

"Is this some sort of a sick joke?" he said looking at Betty and me alternatively. "I have no time for games. Is this because of that day I fired you, Gio? You're still holding a grudge about that?"

"Come on Daniel!" said Betty. "This is your email! You sent it."

But Daniel Meade insisted that he didn't have any idea who could have wrote that or why. If anything, he suspected someone could have sent it from his computer station.

"But that's very unlikely. Nobody knows my password" he said and raised his blue eyes towards Betty, "only you".

"You never changed the password after I left?" she said, scolding him.

"No, and I never gave it to anyone else."

"How about your new assistant?" Betty said looking through the glass divide in the direction of her old desk. As if on cue, Beth looked up to us and frowned. "Beth surely knows it."

"Never gave it to her" He scratched his head. "I've told you I never could find an assistant that I feel confident or trusting enough. Never like you, Betty."

Betty blushed and then paused for a moment to think.

"God! You don't think it was me!" she looked at Daniel and me in turns. "Because, I didn't. I didn't!"

"Of course I know it wasn't you" he said with a smile, "your upper lip shakes when you're not being honest."

Daniel was right. Betty could never tell a good lie.

"You must have given the password to somebody, Daniel. Try to remember."

"I really can't. Sorry, I can't help. This could have been a mistake. I don't know. I have so many things to worry about."

He stood up and went to the nearest window. My friend was visibly disturbed.

"Daniel, what's going on with you?"

"I've been having a lot in my mind, problems of my own, Betty. You wouldn't have a clue, would you? Because you're up there with your new life and all; and I'm here, alone."

If Daniel was trying to arouse pity from her, he didn't got any.

Instead, Betty frowned and confronted him.

"You're never here, Daniel! Who takes care of MODE? Leaving everything to Wilhelmina, Matt and the Hartleys" Betty raised her arms to the skies. "The magazine should have been your biggest worry!"

"You have no idea Betty no idea. You wouldn't understand."

"Try me" she said and sat on a chair.

"Women, money, the usual. You know that since Molly died it's been terrible to live day by day, looking for entertainment" he smiled sadly "getting into troubles sometimes, nothing serious—"

"What kind of troubles?"

"Um… a few bets here and there—"

"Gambling?! Daniel!" Betty yelled disappointed.

Now I understood Beth when she said he was a mess.

"I said nothing serious, really. Well, maybe a little bit. But I've been sorting it out."

"Sure you did, man" I said shaking my head, "taking money from Calvin Hartley."

Daniel looked seriously confused and offended.

"No! No, of course not. My mother! My mother has been funding me."

Betty stood up and went to his side. He really was a clueless man.

"Daniel. The money came from Mr. Hartley's account. He was the one giving you money, Daniel. Not Claire."

"Why would he do that? That's impossible. I would never ask for a favor like that. Knowing he wanted to take over MODE."

Someone coughed and it was Beth at the door.

"I couldn't stop her" she said, let Mrs. Meade in and returned back to her desk.

"Mother, what is the meaning of this?" Daniel said. "Betty insists you have been transferring me money from Mr. Hartley. Is that true?"

Claire had no chance to answer her son. The door opened again, interrupting her.

"A family meeting" Wilhelmina came in "and I wasn't invited?"

Across the room, at the door, Marc, Amanda and Beth stood side by side. I frowned at Marc but he just raised his shoulders and made a face.

Stupid Marc.

"I've been having such a morning trying to deal with the news and media. All this mayhem has turned all the attention to MODE and not in a good way. Meanwhile you're all here having a picnic. Oh, wait, unless, Claire" and then I heard that tone of voice that made me shiver down my spine. "were you going to tell everything to your son? Okay, go on. I'm not missing this for the world."

"Wilhelmina. Don't you dare!" Claire stood like a feline.

"Claire, Claire, what do you think of me? That I'm heartless enough to say in front of all this 'people' that Daniel was never Bradford's kid but the product of your secret affair with his best friend, Calvin Hartley? Oh, wait. I just did" she bit one of her fingers playfully, "and so does every newspaper in Manhattan."

She threw some copies to her lap. It was all over the news.

So that was the special task that Averaimo and Pietro have been secretly working for Wilhelmina Slater.

I couldn't describe the look on Mrs. Meade's face when she managed to read the headlines. Betty hurried to her side and touched her shoulders. It was probably all the strength she needed. To our amazement, she jumped out of her seat and ran towards Wilhelmina with her arm raised, ready to hit her square on the face, but Miss Slater caught her hand midair.

"You're getting rusty from your jail days." Wilhelmina said. "Is this the way you thank me, Claire, after all I've done to save this magazine? Who do you think had been working with Calvin to prevent this place from falling apart?"

"Oh, Wilhelmina," said Mrs. Meade, "we know pretty damn well how you 'work with men'."

"Come on, now, don't be jealous, Claire. I never intended to steal all the men in your life. They just prefer quality over— well, you." She released her. Mrs. Meade had to find balance in the nearest seat. "Now, rest your old bones and leave everything to me. I'll bring MODE back how it was before and, for free, I'll even speak a word or two on your behalf with the young Hartley. To see how glad he takes the news about your happy dealings with his father. He might be quite thrilled to know he now has a big brother to play with."

"You won't get away with this!"

"I'll take care of MODE; you, take care of your own mess, Claire."

She threw a meaningful glance to where Daniel was standing with his face disfigured by the shock, still and silent, he appeared to be lost in his own thoughts.

"Marc!" she called and left, followed closely by her faithful assistant.

Claire threw herself towards her son.

"We didn't want you to find out this way. I didn't—"

Daniel said nothing, turned his back at her and started walking away from his office.

"Where are you going? You—you're still my son. I'm your mother."

He stopped for an instant and said.

"I don't know who you are anymore."

With that said, he opened the door and found Beth and Amanda standing like guardians, obviously engaged in shameful eavesdropping practices. He partially covered his face with his hand and walked through them.

"Elizabeth, arrange a press conference in an hour. We have work to do before this news causes any more damage to the magazine."

"Yes, Daniel" she answered and I saw her look at him with empathy for the first time since I've met her.

I released the air from my lungs in relief, like a heavy weight finally falling from my shoulders.

We saw Claire cry alone inside Daniel's office while we joined the rest of the Detective Squad at Beth's desk.

"What's going to happen now?" I asked Betty.

"I don't know. Wilhelmina got what she wanted. Probably Daniel is going to step down and let the business run by Wilhelmina until they control the scandal."

"Do you think Claire would have killed Mr. Hartley to prevent him from telling Daniel he was his father?" asked Amanda.

"I don't know" Beth said looking at her through the transparent wall. "My uncle always spoke of her dearly. I choose to believe they were really fond of each other."

—0—

I turned off the radio as I approached my old neighborhood in Queens. I knew it wasn't proper to arrive with loud music at her home, given the circumstances. After many days trying to fit in her busy work agenda, I had finally arranged to meet with Zoraida Torres that night.

Beth agreed to stay home. This was something I wanted to do on my own, to find out how to fit the Manolo piece in the whole crazy puzzle.

Zoraida herself opened the door of the little home for me. The same place I remembered as kids, her mother's house. She kissed me on the cheek and invited me in. She still had that beauty that made her so popular with the boys back at school, but her face was visibly worn out with grief and her eyes were filled with sadness.

She showed me an old picture from his school days. I recognized myself in it, fourteen years ago, covered with dirt, my eyes shining with youth. Pietro was there, too. We were all smiling at the camera, completely unaware of what the future had in store for us.

She placed the picture back to where it belonged and invited me to sit for coffee.

Zoraida said that Manolo had been acting strange the few weeks before his death. She believed he was dating someone but she couldn't be sure of it.

"I used to think she was an old crush from school. But I was probably wrong. He never really talked to me about her. I never knew her. But I wasn't an idiot: he talked long hours by the phone, went out and came late some nights. He wasn't the party boy, you know. And I was happy for him. I thought he was happy too. I guess he was for a while. But then he changed, started acting weird. Sleeping late at night, working something in his room. Something was on his mind" she said. "Sometimes he said he was doing things he didn't want to do. I asked him to talk to me it but he never did."

She lit a small cigarette and let out a puff of smoke.

"Then, that night he said he was going out for a while. He was all well dressed, like going on a date. He said he wasn't going to come for dinner. That was all. How silly…. I wish—I didn't know that was the last time I was going to see him."

She started sobbing.

"My baby brother, my Manny."

I held her hand and let her cry for a while longer.

It was already dark by the time I left her house. I didn't have it in me to refuse her offer to dine with her family. I owed it to Manolo.

I gave a quick glance to the notebooks I had on the passenger seat. I had asked Manolo's family for permission to check his room. They were kind enough to let me in without asking too many questions. The room had been left intact and I gave a quick look at the notebooks and paper he had right on top of his study desk. The drawing of one of the devices he was working was exactly the same as the one used in the elevator.

"Manolo, Manolo, what were you up to?" I wondered while I drove back home.

It must have tormented him greatly, enough to make him jump that bridge.

Unless… someone had pushed him.

I shook my head and focused on the road. I've been too involved with this crazy detective game. And we were hitting nothing but walls and driving madly straight into dead ends. It was affecting me greatly, emotionally and financially. There were no more murders. Everyone was safe. I thought about quitting the whole thing.

I thought I should be worrying about myself and my life, of how much I've been neglecting my own business.

Oh, Crap! I cursed and dialed Maurizo's number.

"Hello? Hey, did you close the shop?"

"Hi, Joe" was the answer I got through the line. There was a lively noise in the background.

"Amanda, could you put my cousin, please?"

She did as I told her.

"Guarda che ha deciso di farsi vedere!"

"Yeah, yea, I've been busy too. Anything important today?"

"Oh, well… We'll need to get some supplies for the evening deliveries, so try not to monopolize the van tomorrow morning, okay? Oh! And the insurance company guy came this evening. You weren't there so he left his number."

I was still dealing with the van repair and the Deli window restoration.

The traffic light turned red.

"Give me the guy's number. I'll call him to arrange a meeting tomorrow. Did you really lock the business, carefully?"

"Ma Certo, cugi. Come on! I'm the one who've been telling you to stop sleeping like a homeless. I won't forgive you if you're not going to come tomorrow morning… I'm at a party tonight and I can already predict I'm going to wake up with a heavy hangover."

"Enough with the complaints, basta! Just give me the stupid number, okay?"

I opened the glove compartment, looking for something to write with. Among the bills, menus, and Kleenex boxes, I finally fished a ball pen but it slipped through my fingers.

I seriously considered giving an interior cleaning to the van. It was a total mess.

"Give me a second, wait" I said, all bothered, trying to slip my hands under the passenger seat. "The stupid pen fell down—"

I stopped talking. I think I heard Maurizo's voice through the line, calling my name.

"Gio! Gio! Are you still there?"

I wasn't listening to him or the honk of the cars standing in line behind me.

In my right hand I held a little pistol.

The design of the handle looked frightening familiar: silver-plated and carefully polished, it had a complex monogram that beautifully formed the letters M. H.

Will be continued very soon

Notes:

"Guarda che ha deciso di farsi vedere!" = Look who has decided to show up!

Ma Certo, cugi. = But of course, cousin

Basta! = enough!