Chapter 20
Brandon needed to walk it out.
His mom would be proud of that. Like every parent, Brandon’s mom bemoaned the time her child spent in front of screens—computers, televisions, smartphones, video games, whatever. It was a constant battle. His dad had understood better. “Every generation has something like this,” he’d tell Brandon’s mother. Mom would throw her hands up. “So we just surrender? We let him stay in that dark cage all day?” “No,” Dad would counter, “but we put it in perspective.”
Dad was good at that. Putting things in perspective. Offering a calming influence on friends and family. In this case, Dad would explain it to Brandon like this: Way back when, parents would bemoan the lazy child who always had their nose in a book, telling the child they should get out more, that they should experience life instead of reading it.
“Sound familiar?” Dad would say to Brandon.
Brandon would nod his head.
Then, Dad said, when he was growing up, his parents were always yelling at him to turn off the television and either get outside or—and this was kind of funny when you remember the past—read a book instead.
Brandon remembered how his dad had smiled when he told him that.
“But, Brandon, do you know what the key is?”
“No, what?”
“Balance.”
Brandon hadn’t really understood what he meant at the time. He’d been only thirteen. Maybe he would have pressed the point if he knew that his father would be dead three years later. But no matter. He got it now. Doing any one thing—even something fun—for too long isn’t good for you.
So the problem with taking long walks outside or any of that nature stuff was, well, it was boring. The worlds online may be virtual, but they were constant stimuli in constant flux. You saw, you experienced, you reacted. It never bored. It never got old because it was always changing. You were always engrossed.
Conversely, walking like this—in the wooded area of Central Park called the Ramble—was blah. He looked for birds—according to the web, the Ramble “boasted” (that was the word the website used) approximately 230 bird species. Right now, there were zero. There were sycamores and oaks and plenty of flowers and fauna. No birds. So what was the big deal about walking through trees?
He could, he guessed, understand walking through city streets a little better. At least there was stuff to see—stores and people and cars, maybe someone fighting over a taxi or arguing over a parking spot. Action, at least. The woods? Green leaves and some flowers? Nice for a minute or two, but then, well, Dullsville.
So no, Brandon wasn’t walking through this Manhattan woodland because he suddenly had an appreciation for the great outdoors or fresh air or any of that stuff. He did it because walking like this bored him. It bored him silly.
Balance for the constant stimuli.
More than that, boredom was a kind of thinking tank. It fed you. Brandon didn’t take walks in the woods to calm himself or get in tune with nature. He did it because the boredom forced him to look inward, to think hard, to concentrate solely on his own thoughts because nothing around him was worthy of his attention.
Certain problems cannot be solved if you are constantly entertained and distracted.
Still, Brandon couldn’t help it. He had his smartphone with him. He had called Kat, but the call had gone to her voice mail. He never left messages on voice mail—only old people did that—so he sent her a text to call him when she could. No rush. At least, not yet. He wanted to digest what he had just learned.
He stayed on the winding pathways. He was surprised at how few people he saw. Here he was in the heart of Manhattan, ambling between 73rd and 78th Street (again according to the website—he really had no idea where he was), and he felt virtually alone. He was missing school, but that couldn’t be helped. He had let Jayme Ratner, his lab partner, know that he was currently out of commission. She was okay with it. Her last lab partner had something like a nervous breakdown last semester, so she was just happy he wasn’t down at mental health like, it seemed, half their friends were.
His cell phone rang. The caller ID read Bork Investments. He answered.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice asked, “Is this Mr. Brandon Phelps?”
“Yes.”
“Please hold for Martin Bork.”
The hold music was an instrumental version of “Blurred Lines.” Then: “Well, hello, Brandon.”
“Hello, Uncle Marty.”
“Nice to hear from you, son. How’s school?”
“It’s fine.”
“Wonderful. Do you have plans for the summer?”
“Not yet.”
“No rush, am I right? Enjoy it, that’s my advice. You’ll be out in the real world soon enough. You hear what I’m saying?”
Martin Bork was nice enough, but all adults, when they start with the life advice, sound like blowhards. “I do, yes.”
“So I got your message, Brandon.” All business now. “What can I do for you?”
The pathway started down toward the lake. Brandon got off it and moved closer to the water’s edge. “It’s about my mother’s account.”
There was silence at the other end of the line. Brandon pressed on.
“I see she made a pretty big withdrawal.”
“How did you see that?” Bork asked.
Brandon didn’t like the change in tone. “Pardon?”
“While I won’t confirm or deny what you just said, how did you see this supposed withdrawal?”
“Online.”
More silence.
“I have her password, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Brandon, do you have any questions about your own account?”
He moved away from the lake and started over the stream. “No.”
“Then I’m afraid that I’m having to go now.”
“There’s nearly a quarter of a million dollars missing from my mother’s account.”
“I assure you that nothing is missing. If you have any questions about your mother’s account, perhaps it is best if you ask her.”
“You talked to her? She approved this transaction?”
“I can’t say any more, Brandon. I hope you understand. But talk to your mother. Good-bye.”
Martin Bork hung up.
In something of a daze, Brandon stumbled over the old stone arch into a more secluded area. The vegetation was denser up here. He finally spotted a bird—a red cardinal. He remembered reading that the Cherokees believed cardinals were daughters of the sun. If the bird flew up toward the sun, it was good luck. If the bird chose to fly downward, well, obviously the opposite would be true.
Brandon stood transfixed and waited for the cardinal to make his move.
That was why he never heard the man lurking behind him until it was too late.
? ? ?
Chaz, her soon-to-be-ex-partner, called Kat’s cell phone. “I got it.”
“Got what?”
Kat had just gotten out of the Lincoln Center subway station, which smelled decidedly like piss, and onto 66th Street, which smelled almost as decidedly like cherry blossoms. Kat New York. A text from Brandon had been waiting for her. She called, but there was no answer, so she left a brief voice mail.
“You were trying to put in a request for a surveillance video,” Chaz said. “It came in.”
“Hold up, how did that happen?”
“You know how that happened, Kat.”
She did, bizarre as it was. Chaz had put in the request for her. The only consistent thing she understood about people was that they are never consistent. “You could get in trouble,” Kat said.
“Trouble is my middle name,” he said. “Actually, my middle name is Hung Stallion. Did you tell your hot friend I’m rich?”
Yep. Consistent. “Chaz.”
“Right, sorry. Do you want me to e-mail you the video?”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
“Were you trying to see what car that lady got in?”
“You watched the tape?”
“That was okay, right? I’m still your partner.”
Fair point, Kat thought.
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Dana Phelps. That was her son who came to see me the other day. He thinks she’s missing. No one believes him.”
“Including you?”
“I’m somewhat more open-minded.”
“Could you tell me why?”
“It’s a long story,” Kat said. “Can it wait?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“So did Dana Phelps get in a car?”
“She did,” Chaz said. “More specifically, a black Lincoln Town Car stretch limo.”
“Was the driver wearing a black cap and suit?”
“Yes.”
“License plate?”
“Well, here’s the thing. The bank video didn’t pick up his plates. The guy kept the car on the street. Hard enough to figure out the make.”
“Damn.”
“Well, no, not really,” Chaz said.
“How’s that?”