Dear
Brian
Chapter Nine
The forensic team basically found nothing.
Whoever had destroyed Brian’s loft had left no fingerprints, hadn’t been seen by any neighbors, had likely used a key to get in. There was no evidence that the locks had, in any way been forced.
When questioned, the people downstairs admitted that they had heard sounds coming from Mr. Kinney’s place, but he was known to entertain and they had just assumed that he had friends over.
Brian moved into the Pittsburgh Hilton, as the loft was uninhabitable. The insurance adjusters came by, said that they would have a check cut and that he should have it within two or three days. He was heavily insured.
He didn’t tell any of the ‘family’. Justin didn’t know.
They were in contact, of course, he just didn’t mention anything about the stalker that he thought would upset either Justin or his family. Jennifer had been on the phone three times since he had gotten back, asking him when this man would be caught and they could all get back to normal.
He told her—‘soon’.
She had also let slip that there had been a message on her machine last week saying that Brian would be heading to New York, so to call him at her parents if she needed him for something.
Whoever had called—and she now assumed that it had been the stalker—had sounded exactly like Brian and had spoken in the first person. Brian now realized that he must have found out before the wiretaps were removed.
The front desk screened his calls. He had simply been using his cel more than usual, knowing that only a handful of people had that number.
He stopped going to the gym, using the one in the hotel instead. He had his laundry done by room service. He ate a number of meals in his room. When his friends called, he said that he had work and would meet them another time.
He went from the hotel to his office and very few other places. He found that he was looking over his shoulder, that he listened for footsteps, that he wouldn’t pick up the phone unless he knew who was on the other end. When he was in his suite, he made sure that the door was bolted and that the safety chain was always on.
He had trouble sleeping. His normally small appetite decreased to almost nothing.
Cynthia had fielded most of his calls after he refused to speak to people he didn’t know, even though she assured him they were either new clients or people wanting Vanguard to pitch ideas to them. When he made a presentation, he made a point of standing where he could see the door, that he knew who was walking in. He, politely, insisted on being introduced to everyone at meetings so that there were no strangers.
When he was asked to take clients to dinner, he would do as asked, but would politely make excuses or tactfully steer them to an early evening.
Horvath claimed that they would tip his hand soon.
He sometimes felt like he wanted to scream.
He tried not to open the e-mails that came in, but he found he couldn’t stop himself. They were becoming increasingly insane.
“Dear Brian,
So you went to see Cuntboy and left me here to clean up your mess.
You think I don’t now that you’ve told people about me?
Do you really think I’m so stupid that I’d not know that people
are looking at me, that they watch me when I go out?
Of course I fucking know that.
I’m getting pissed off that you won’t answer my messages
to you and if I wanted to send flowers to some motherfucking hospital, I’d
give them some frigging endowment, asshole.
What is it that you don’t understand about
this?
Will you please just tell me that?
I mean what’s so Goddamned difficult about
this?
I love you, you love me. We belong together and when you get this
stick out of your ass about us being together we can start being
happy.
You’re starting to piss me off.
Cuntboy has you frigging brainwashed into thinking that he’s
God’s fucking gift to you, but he’s just some blond boy ass
you’re hung up on and it’s time you fucking got over
him.
I’m really starting to run out of
patience,
Yourfan
Like the phone call from Mommy Dearest, did
you?
I just thought that I’d stop by, drop in on the old bat, let
her know what her little boy has been up to.
You would have fucking loved the look on her face when I told her
about what a typical weekend for her dear son would consist
of.
We touched on Woody’s, Babylon (oh, yes, we talked all about
the back room), we spoke about the baths. Did you know that she didn’t
even know what they are?
With appropriate hesitation, I filled her in. You may thank me at
your leisure.
I was positively shocked that you hadn’t told her about your
hobbies.
Not to worry. I told her all about it.
I even made a point of telling her of your generosity in paying the
twat’s tuition in exchange for services rendered.
You should have seen the sparkle in her dear old eyes when I brought
that up.
And Gus—did you know that she was unaware of the
tyke?
I’m shocked, Brian. Really, I am. His own grandmother. Really.
Brian—you’ve been remiss.
I think my favorite part, though, was when she asked me—honest
to God, she did! She asked if I had any idea how many men you had been involved
with.
I couldn’t help myself—it was too delicious, Brian, you
must see that—I made mention, with properly lowered eyes, of a number
in the low four figures. Sound about right, does it? I suspect I erred on
the conservative side.
Last seen, she was headed to Mass.
I would count on a few novenas said for your soul in the near
future.
Yourfan
“You have the fucking police after me, you
cunt.
Who the fuck do you think you are?”
He was still sitting at his desk at Vanguard, the desk in his new big partner’s office, suit jacket over the back of the chair, when Vance walked in, knocking lightly on the door frame as he passed through it.
“Brian? A word?”
“Yes, Gardner, what do you want?” His voice was quiet, almost mild, completely out of character.
“Forgive my asking,” he closed the door so that they could have privacy. “You’ve seemed distracted the last few weeks. I was wondering if there was a problem.”
Brian hesitated. He would really rather avoid getting into the entire thing with Vance. He actually wasn’t that bad a guy; he just didn’t like discussing his problems with anyone if he could avoid it. They weren’t anyone’s fucking business.
“Brian, I know that you’re a private person and I’m not trying to intrude. I’ve developed a respect for you and, in all honesty, I like you both as a business partner and as a man. If you’re having problems, though, it could affect our business and I can’t allow that. And as a friend, I’d like to help, if I can.”
With a mental shrug, he thought to himself, oh what the fuck. He might as well know.
“I’m being stalked. It’s become serious.”
“How serious?”
Hitting a few keys on his computer, Brian pulled up the saved e-mail file of the stalker’s letters to him.
Turning the monitor around one hundred and eighty degrees he said, “Read a few of these.”
Brian sat quietly looking out the window for twenty minutes as Vance scrolled through a good part of the file.
“Jesus, I had no idea. No wonder you’re a bit off your stride. Has he done anything? Caused any actual physical damage, attacked anyone?”
Brian told him about the destruction of the loft, of his forced move, of Justin’s relocation for his own protection, of the implied threats against his son and the women who raised him.
“How the fuck could he plant taps on your office phone?”
“The police said that he made the connection in the relay station in the basement.”
“Well, what are you doing? I mean, do you want time off until he gives up?”
“No, thanks. I think it’s better if I just stay here to deal…”
His office door banged open, Cynthia looking at him in horror. “Get out of here.”
“Cyn, what are you…?”
“Lauren just called me” She was the receptionist, three floors below. “She said that a man just got off the elevator, walked over to her and asked what floor you’re on. He had a gun, a rifle, and pointed it at her until she told him. He’s headed up here.”
“Jesus—did you…?”
“YES! I called 911 and security, just get the hell out of here!”
Brian and Vance both reacted at the same instant almost colliding on their way out the door.
“Cyn, get the fuck out. Tell everyone to get the fuck out.”
The three of them started to move through the Vanguard warren of offices and cubbies as quickly as they could as they made their way to the north stairwell, the one furthest away from the reception area. They yelled warnings as they went, opening office doors and shouting at employees frozen by what was happening.
“Come on, move. Now. Move. Drop what you’re doing. Now. Fucking run!”
The staff went as fast as they could, at least the ones who heard the frantic shouts and warnings, faster than Brian would have thought it was possible to evacuate.
He heard a couple of shots coming from the elevator area.
Jesus. Damnit.
He was just about to push through the emergency exit himself when he remembered.
“Fuck! The art department. The accounting department.”
Three more shots.
They were both in a semi-detached area of the floor, separate, but still in danger if the stalker went looking.
“Fuck me.” He turned back to warn them.
He was running down a suddenly deserted hallway when he caught the hazy image of a man through the frosted glass of his own office.
The stalker heard the running footsteps, even with the carpeting, and stood framed in the doorway.
“Getting some air, Brian?”
He stopped in mid stride, not wanting the man to go farther, to find anyone else. He was panting slightly.
The man was dressed in black jeans and a long sleeved black turtleneck. He was carrying a powerful hunting rifle, extra bullets probably in the bag slung around his shoulder.
He looked too hot; sweat standing out on his face.
“Dennis?”
He broke into a full, seemingly genuine smile. “Why, yes. See? I knew you couldn’t forget me.” He was relaxed, in a good mood. His hand gestured toward the office behind him. “Come in, we have quite a bit to talk about.”
With no choice, he went in. Dennis pointed to his desk chair.
“Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable.” He was positively genial, if you could ignore the madness. “Would you mind removing your tie?”
“Excuse me?”
He pointed at it with the rifle. “If you don’t mind.” Brian handed it to him. “Hands behind your back, please. Wouldn’t want any unpleasantness.”
Three minutes later Brian’s hands were securely tied behind him.
“Did you really want me to get you a job?”
Dennis laughed. “Wasn’t that great? I thought you were just so fucking tactful with that answer you sent me. You couldn’t bring yourself to say that I was complete crap at advertising so you just fobbed me off with some bullshit about how great it was to hear from me and you’d keep your ears open. I loved that.”
“How long have you been—interested in me?”
“Oh, shit. Since college but I knew you wouldn’t look at me twice back then. Anyway, a couple of years ago—remember when we ran into each other at that conference in Phoenix? Of course you do. Remember that night? Jesus, Brian, that was when I realized that I loved you.”
“Well, yeah, that was great, Den. You know, we could do that again, if you want. We could do that right here, in fact.”
“Here? Brian—I told you how it would be. You know, flowers, wine, candles, soft music. I told you that, remember?”
“Of course you did. We could go back to the Hilton. It’s only a couple of blocks from here.”
“Well, God Brian. I’m not a fucking idiot, you know.” He was still jovial. “I’d like to make love with you again, but I can’t let you out of here. You know that.”
“Sure you can, Den—we’ll go there right now, order up some champagne—anything you want.”
“Sorry, Brian. No can do. After what you did? Calling the cops and all, siccing that dumbass detective on me? I know that Cynthia called 911 a few minutes ago, you know. Did I tell you I had to shoot that stupid receptionist? She would have called them herself. You know how it is. I knew Cyn would, too and I was going to punish her, but I guess she’s left, hasn’t she?”
Brian nodded. “She ran out of here pretty fast.”
“But she made the call, didn’t she? I scanned the police band. I know she did, Bri. I never knew why you put up with that cunt. I would have fired her ass, but there you go. You always were nicer than me”