Heaven, INC: Chapter 63: UNCLE MARTIN

I assess the power of a will by how much
resistance, pain and torture it endures
and knows how to turn to its advantage.
—FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE

COUSIN FRANKIE’S TRAILER,
SLEEPYTIME MANOR PARK ESTATES,
2:51 PM PDT

A HAND STRUCK JIMMY’S CHEEK and a voice said, “Come on. Wake up.”

Opening his eyes, Jimmy squinted at a figure looming over him in the dim light of cousin Frankie’s trailer.

“How’s your head? Hurt?”

Jimmy tried rubbing the back of his head and discovered his hands were tied. “No worse than a tequila-and-champagne hangover. What’d you hit me with?”

The man was dapper in a seersucker suit, and Jimmy thought he looked like Uncle Martin in the old black-and-white My Favorite Martian— Uncle Martin nodded at a large fishing reel on the tiny dinette table. “It was either that or one of your lead casting weights, but I figured a weight would crack your head open like an egg and then what good would you be?”

Jimmy shrugged, wondering if he might throw up. “My ex-wife asked the same thing shortly before running off with a dry-cleaning mogul.”

Uncle Martin smiled. “And your response?”

“Same thing I ask you: what do you want?”

“Well,” the man said, shaking out a cigarette, “I want to find Dominic Ducroix.”

Jimmy tried to be emphatic from a supine, tied-up position. “I’d appreciate you following the rules,” and nodded at a sign over the trailer door: THANKS FOR NOT SMOKING.

Uncle Martin frowned. “I’ve seen pictures of you smoking, my good man.” His nose wrinkled a little. “Place reeks of fish anyway, what’s the difference?”

“The difference is my Frankie is allergic to tobacco, not fish. Little respect, hunh?” Jimmy flexed, testing his bonds and finding them solid.

Uncle Martin, noticing, smiled and said, “Don’t bother,” before flashing a pistol he’d held hidden in his lap. “Besides, I tied you up myself.” Lighting his unfiltered cigarette, he said through smoke, ““Look, I can understand a guy feeling like he wants to get revenge, given the circumstances. In fact, I could see myself doing the same thing, in your shoes. But it’s times like these you need to unburden your soul. Where is Dr. Ducroix?”

“How would I know? I was busy last night.”

“Please, don’t make me go the extra mile. What did you do with him?”

“What makes you think I did something to him in the first place?”

Uncle Martin chuckled a little. “We know you work at a carpet cleaning company and a carpet cleaning van was seen at Norcestor and Imperial at the time of Dr. Ducroix’s disappearance.”

“What time this all go down?”

“About three in the morning.”

“Sorry, wasn’t me, I was busy at the time.”

“Predisposed at three am?” Uncle Martin shook his head. “Really, you’re going to just lay there and deny you had anything to do with Dr. Ducroix’s disappearance?”

First of all, it’s annoying when a complete stranger comes in and starts accusing you of lying. But to have them make little comments after duct-taping you to a bed, that’s just lame.

“I was in a studio cutting vocal tracks til three. Sorry, wrong guy.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Uncle Martin said, “you’re a musician. Now I remember. You play guitar and sing.”

Jimmy frowned. “Do I know you?”

The man smiled sardonically. “We’ve never met.”

Jimmy stared at the guy, so matter-of-fact about everything. “Who do you work for, man?”

The smile broadened amid cigarette smoke. “I work for extremely powerful people involved in a great battle that has played out behind the scenes with other equally powerful people for centuries. Dr. Ducroix’s research is a critical component of that battle. And who possesses this secret has the potential to rule the world for eternity.”
“Don’t tell me: Ducroix’s developing the One Ring.”
“Lord of the Rings reference?” Uncle Martin smiled. “You're smarter than you look. But this is bigger.”
“What is it, a cure to cancer or cold fusion or something?”
Uncle Martin looked pretty smug saying, "Bigger. And you, my friend, are caught in the middle of it.” He seemed to size Jimmy up before taking a peak in the trailer's little mini-fridge, using a hanky to do so, which wasn't exactly genius, since there was a chance a good forensics, like Rudy Juarez, could pull trace DNA out of it. Then shaking his head at the contents, four cans of Bud and some semi-dessicated oranges Jimmy's mother had given him three months ago and he didn't have the heart to throw out. Looking to Jimmy then and saying, “Your Miss Chambers’ murder was covered up to allow Ducroix to continue this work. Essentially, in a form of life calculus, with Ducroix’s work being the more valuable than your girlfriend’s life. All else was judged secondary.”

Jimmy said nothing, all ears to details of the crime that had consumed his past life.

“When it was learned the police had identified Dr. Ducroix as a suspect in your fiancee’s death, a meeting was called by the directors and vote tallied devoting assets to ensuring a case could not be brought against Dr. Ducroix. Notably, the DNA evidence was intercepted and suppressed.”

Jimmy felt something move inside him. Something hot and strong. Something black.“You mean Ducroix’s blood was replaced by Awalt’s.”

“I do.”

“So not only did Evie’s murderer go free, it was pinned on an innocent man.”

“I assure you, this was by no means a unanimous decision, because there are some who abhor such interventions as a matter of cause, but in the end, pragmatism and the majority ruled: justice for a murdered singer and freedom of a simple waiter were deemed expendable in the furtherance of Ducroix’s truly astonishing research.”

“You seem to know a lot about this.”

“I had no hand in the operation, if that is what you are suggesting. It’s not the sort of thing we do.”

Jimmy could’ve asked what it was Uncle Martin did, but at the moment, he didn’t really care.

“So why’re you telling me this? What’s in it for you?”

“I can tell you who conducted the cover-up. I can tell you who saw Ducroix walk free while Mr. Awalt languishes behind bars.”

“Hey, I want the man who killed Evie. You think I care about this other guy?”

Uncle Martin smiled. “I think you very much do. There’s a strong need for justice in you. It’s obvious in your music.”

“It’s obvious in my . . . Just who the hell are you, man?”

“I told you, I work for a very powerful organization working behind the scenes for centuries.”

“What are you, elves?”

Uncle Martin’s expression soured. “Your jokes are getting us nowhere. I have told you Ducroix did indeed kill your fiancee and that I will tell you who it was that covered it all up: if you tell me where Ducroix is. Your van was seen last night just after three on La Raza and again today, following your incursion inside the apartment of Rufo Clemente, an accomplice of Bivo Papacostas’s; by the way, those two gentlemen you messed with seemed none the happier afterwards. I’d watch out for them, should our negotiations work out here and you are released.”

“Great, glad you’re looking out for me. Maybe you could untape me here. No? Whatever, the point is, bro, I don’t know where your boy Ducroix is. Try asking the tweaker, Fred or Ed or something like that. The one who didn’t return the van last night. Or maybe it’s some other van entirely, I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”

Uncle Martin studied Jimmy’s face. “This other tweaker?”

“Little guy about 5'2. Scraggly. Call up Roscoe Jenkins at ChemSteem, he’s probably got some info on this guy.”

Uncle Martin still studying Jimmy’s face. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth? Even if he’s dead, I need to verify Dr. Ducroix’s status and or whereabouts. It’s vital I know for sure.”
“Look, I can prove it— I recorded vocal tracks last night at and the tracks’ll have a time-stamp proving I’m telling the truth. Check it out, the place is fifteen minutes away. Tell my producer, Nigel, you know me and need to check on the Fantasy of the Damned tracks before he gets his money— oh, yeah, we owe him recording money to get the master out of hock for tonight’s show for Wild Bill Donovan. It’s kinda complicated.”

Uncle Martin studied Jimmy a long moment before checking his watch. “You do know you’re asking a lot. Frankly, for my sake, I hope you’re lying.”

“So you can go back to smacking me with the pistol until I tell you where Ducroix is and you kill me?”

Uncle Martin shrugged. “It would be easier,” he said, and paused like he was considering something. “Don’t suppose you have any more rope do you?”

“You bet . . . bottom drawer right there by the stove.”