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“Yes.”
“And you’re with your next-door neighbor, Nutsbe—the one who is all kinds of uncomfortable around a crying woman—that Nutsbe?”
“Yes.”
“Why was he in your backyard? You have that huge fence back there. He’d have to have walked—yeah, I don’t get that.”
“He was making a door in the back for Henrietta so she could go run around his backyard when she wanted to hang out outside. It was really very kind of him.”
“Dog poo and all? He was down with that?”
“I guess.” Olivia laced her fingers and pressed the heels of her hands against her temples, feeling the throb in a steady, insistent beat. “He didn’t talk to me beforehand.”
“Do you feel comfortable with that?” Jaylen asked. “I’m a little ambivalent. It could be nice, but it could be creepy, right?”
“Creepy? No. Having met Nutsbe, that didn’t cross my mind. First, the door saved Henrietta and possibly me—I don’t know what Mickey was up to trying to dognap Hen like that. Second, people have doors in their fences. I don’t have to use it. There was no presumption, just an invitation. And third, he’s just too solid of a guy, you know? There is nothing about him that puts up even the tiniest of red flags. Especially because Henrietta doesn’t like men, and she loves Nutsbe. She looks forward to his jogs and mopes when he doesn’t run by. But I will tell you I’m processing this for the first time. When I found out about the door, I thought it was his coping reflex.”
“Yeah, sure, people reflexively cut doors in their fences all the time.” There was the squeak of hinges from Jaylen’s rocker as she lifted up. “Tilly’s out like a light. I’m going to lay her down in the crib.”
Olivia stretched the seat belt out and adjusted it across her chest. “It was the crying thing when we met this afternoon. He was struggling with the tide of cathartic emotions. I think it really bothered him that he couldn’t do anything about all the pain.”
“It was the witness crying, right?” Jaylen asked. “Not you?”
“Me? Why would I cry? When have I ever cried?”
“I’m just trying to follow why you think that your witness crying made him reflexively cut a hole into the back of his fence so Henrietta could go poop on his lawn.”
“Yeah. That might be a leap.” Olivia looked through the rain toward the restaurant door. She should have just pulled up and parked along the curb. “In my mind, he felt bad and needed to do a good deed to balance his world. And when I say that out loud, that feels right to me.”
“Whew! Done for the day. Heading for a glass of wine and a piece of chocolate.” There was the snick of a door. Okay. “I’m in the kitchen. I have my computer fired up. Send me a picture of this guy.”
“I don't have a picture to send you. It would have been weird for me to take out my phone and take a picture of him. And no, Jaylen, I didn’t get a copy of his mug shot. I think Iniquus will get a judge involved and make that go away. That group is very secretive.”
“Social links?”
“Nope.” Olivia turned her head and scanned the parking lot.
“Nope as in he doesn't have one?” Jaylen asked incredulously. “That's suspicious.”
“Nope, as in I didn't ask, and I didn't look.” With all the carjackings in the paper, Olivia didn’t love sitting out here with her engine running, even if the heat from the vent felt good. She put the car in gear and backed out. “Can you imagine how inappropriate that would have been?”
“Not that inappropriate, you’re neighbors. You have a community group to share neighborhood news, right? I'll look. What's his full name?”
Olivia focused over her shoulder as she wheeled herself around. “Thaddeus Crushed. That's on his court paperwork. He told me I can call him Nutsbe.”
“No Nutsbe anythings. Thaddeus’s diminutive is Tad. Okay, there are five Tad Crusheds. That’s hard to say—Crusheds. Here’s one. He’s in his seventies, it seems. Columbus, Ohio.”
Olivia was silent while she edged up to the curb and then backed to be right in front of the restaurant door so that when Nutsbe came out, he could jump in and not get even more wet. Throwing her car into park, she said, “Not him. I'd guess late thirties or a young-looking early forties.”
“African American?”
“No. From his build, he’s of German descent, maybe? Northern something.” Olivia wasn’t sure if turning her engine off or leaving it on was safer so she could peel out and get gone if someone approached her car. “What kind of last name is Crushed? English?” Olivia asked as she decided to leave the engine on, the car in gear, her foot on the break.
“Don't know. Probably something that got changed on Ellis Island. Okay, the rest are Avatars. But did you say he worked for Iniquus? Well, shit. That’s why I can’t find him. I read somewhere that they act like, I don't know, super spies or Delta Force operators. They don't have a public face. They're all very secretive, cloak and dagger.”
“It’s security protocols. Like me on social media. I lock everything down. I use an avatar and a fake name; very few people know where I live. You and Mickey Shithead.”
“That makes me uncomfortable that he knows where you are,” Jaylen said.
