you. Jesus Christ, Harry, will you please tell me what’s going on here?”
Harry licked his dry lips and then looked square at Jack. “Someone stole my dojo, Jack. The bank foreclosed. They came this morning and kicked me out. Then they stretched the tape, and I’m not allowed to go in. They put new locks on the doors.”
“What?” Jack’s screech could be heard for blocks.
“I went to the bank this morning about the loan to remodel the dojo, and that’s when I found out. The bottom line is that my identity was stolen, and the person who did it ran up all kinds of bills, ruined my credit, took out two equity loans they didn’t pay on. They cleaned out my bank accounts, savings and checking. I have seventeen bucks in my pocket, Jack. I’m homeless. They don’t know about the Ducati. If they did, they’d come and take it. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just left the bank. I’ve been sitting here for hours. I can’t even go inside to get my stuff. That’s why I’m still wearing this stupid suit.”
Jack lowered himself to the curb and put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Listen to me, Harry. We’re going to make this right. We are. I’m going to call the mountain, and the girls will be on this like white on rice. By the way, Charles is back. That’s why I came here. I knew something was wrong when you didn’t call and stood me up for lunch. Why the hell didn’t you call me, Harry? Give me one reason why. Just one, Harry.”
Harry hung his head. “I was ashamed.”
“Bullshit! If that happened to me, you would be the first person I’d call.”
“It’s hard to make phone calls when you’re crying and can’t talk. Yeah, I bawled my eyes out. My whole life is gone, Jack. Gone!”
“Only for the moment. We’ll make it right, Harry. I need you to believe that. Now, let’s go around back and break into the dojo and get your stuff. You’re moving in with me till we can get a handle on all of this.”
“They told me not to go near the building, or they’d lock me up. I wouldn’t do well in jail, Jack.”
“Okay, you sit here, and I’ll do the breaking and entering. No one told me I couldn’t go near the building. My stuff is in there, and I damn well want it. Tell me what you want, what you can’t live without.”
Harry flapped his hands in the air. “My personal stuff. There isn’t that much.”
“We need Lizzie!” Jack said as he scooted under the CAUTION tape and raced around to the back door. He eyed the padlock with disdain before he gave the door a kick that sent it flying off the hinges. He walked in and headed straight for Harry’s apartment on the second floor. He looked around. The word “spartan” came to mind. He got to work quickly, shoving clothes into a bag he found in the closet. He picked up two pictures of Yoko and added them to the pile. He cleaned out the dresser drawers and collected Harry’s bathroom gear. When he was finished he had three bags filled to overflowing. “Not much, my ass,” he muttered.
Jack tossed the soft-sided athletic bags down the rickety steps. He followed, then raced outside with the bags and dumped them in the trunk of his Honda. He ran back in and cut off all the circuit breakers. No reason for Harry to be saddled with an electric bill he couldn’t pay. He was on his way back to the door when he spotted the huge cardboard carton where Harry tossed his mail. His eyes narrowed. He bent down, hefted the box to his shoulders, and carried it outside. He set it down and propped up the back door. It still looked like it had been kicked in. Oh, well.
The box went into the backseat of his car.
“C’mon, Harry, time to head for your new digs. We’re going to hit rush hour, so here’s the house key. You’ll get there before I will. Just go in and make yourself at home. I’ll call Lizzie and Maggie. Harry, look at me, buddy. We’re going to make this right. Trust me. Don’t kill yourself on the way, you hear me?”
This was where Harry should shoot off some smart-ass response, but all he said was, “Thanks, Jack.”
Oh, shit. He liked Harry better when he was snarly and hostile. This new Harry was never going to work. So the girls, and Lizzie, and whoever else, would just have to get done whatever was needed so the old Harry would be back in place in the dojo again. Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when he thought about what was likely to happen to the identity thief.
Chapter 4
It was almost seven o’clock when Harry, with Jack’s help, finished settling into the guest bedroom. It was a pretty room, Jack thought, with the lavender spread that matched the wisteria on the wallpaper in the room. Crispy white curtains fluttered in the early-evening breeze. A woman’s room because this was Nikki’s house, which she’d deeded to Jack when she and the other vigilantes had to run for their lives. Jack’s house now, with the understanding that if things ever worked out for her and the vigilantes, and she was able to return to society, he could deed it back to her.
Harry looked around, his toes wiggling in the pale lavender carpet. His eyes still looked glazed, and his shoulders slumped. The Armani suit had been tossed on the bed, along with the silk shirt and tie. The offending shoes, which he hated, were under the bed. He now wore thong sandals and an outfit that resembled hospital scrubs. “It’s a nice room, Jack. Yoko would love it. Lavender is her favorite color. The bed looks comfortable.”
Jack knew that most nights when he was alone, Harry slept on a mat on the floor. For the life of him he couldn’t remember if he’d brought the mat or not. He asked.
“Yeah, it was in the big duffel. You rolled it up. Thanks.”
“You hungry?”
Harry thought about the question. “Yeah, I guess I am. I had an apple at Quantico, but I was nervous about the meeting at the bank, so I thought it would be better if I didn’t eat. Good thing, or I would have lost it.”
Jack gripped his friend’s arm tightly when it looked like Harry was going to go into a trance. “Listen, we’re going to make this right. Think of this as a blip on the screen, a bump in the road. Let’s go downstairs. I cooked a pot roast the other night, and there’s a lot left over. No sprouts, but I have some of that shitty tea you like, and I know how to cook rice. C’mon, let’s go.”
As an added enticement, he said, “I have a pecan pie one of the girls at the office baked for me yesterday. With ice cream to go on top.” But he wasn’t kidding himself—it was the shitty green tea that made Harry pick up his feet.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Jack popped a beer and brewed tea for Harry. He bustled about the kitchen, slicing the leftover pot roast, adding it to the gravy. He set the oven timer for fifteen minutes. The rice cooker would offer up perfect rice in less than that. He slid the pecan pie into the oven, next to the meat.
“Jack, the perfect host. When did you really learn to cook?” Harry asked. His tone said he didn’t care about the answer one way or the other, he was simply making conversation, doing his best to lift the pall that was settling over the kitchen.
Jack chose to answer anyway. “When I took over this house. I used to spend all day Sunday cooking, then parceling it out for weeks. I made a lot of mistakes, but it was a lot cheaper than eating out every night. The money I saved I put into my 401k. Mine’s a little down right now, how is yours doing?”
“It’s gone, Jack. The son of a bitch who did this to me cleaned that out, too.”
