Or how he grew up. Don’t worry, Gary. You’re normal – one of us.”
I wanted to cheer him up. He’d been turning his life around, keeping to a tough diet, working out, planning for the future. Given the revelations of the past two days I hoped he could keep it together and not seek solace in food; to keep Carnevale foremost in mind.
19
I had just thanked Ocampo when a thought crossed my mind. We’d known about the brother connection less than forty hours and assumed his presence in the area owed to his adopter – or purchaser – being from the region. Gary had known of a brother, but we’d not considered whether the same was true of Donnie Ocampo, or whatever he’d been named. There’d barely been time to think.
“You’ve not had anyone trying to contact you, Gary?” I asked. “No unusual phone calls … or strangers loitering near the store?”
He frowned. “Last month the shop got a call from someone wanting to sell comics – at least, that’s what he said. But when I picked up the phone, the caller got all weird.”
“Weird how?”
“I said, ‘Hello, I understand you have some issues for sale.’ The guy says, ‘I don’t have issues. You’re the one that has issues. Did you ever wonder where your issues come from?’ It was odd, but he seemed to have a bit of an accent and I wondered if English was his first language, maybe that was the problem. I said, ‘I buy my inventory from sources around the world. What are you offering or what do you need?’”
“And the answer was?”
“The caller said …” Ocampo turned white as the sheet on his bed. “My God,” he whispered.
“What, Gary?”
“He laughed. And he said, ‘Peace, Brother.’”
“Peace,
Brother
?”
“Then he hung up. I thought he was just some smart-ass. Then there was the incident outside. This was the day before yesterday. Some guy was being weird. That’s about all I know. Jonathan was the one who told me. It kinda freaked him out.”
I went downstairs. Jonathan pulled his knit cap tighter to his scraggly hair and pointed to the wide front window. “The guy was looking inside. It was fuckin’ weird. He was pushing himself against the window. Like humping it. He had this big-ass grin on his face.”
“His face? What did he look like?”
“I couldn’t see his face because he was doing that mask thing.”
“Mask?”
Jonathan pinched his thumbs and forefingers into O’s, pressed the tips together, then turned his hands around as he brought his hands to his face, the palms pressing his temples as elbows pointed skyward. “All the while he’s pushing his crotch against the glass and flicking his tongue in and out like he’s fuckin’ Gene Simmons.”
“What’d you do?”
“I ran over and locked the door. I was thinking about calling the cops, but what am I gonna say: ‘There’s some dude making circles around his eyes and humpin’ a window’?”
“Then what happened?”
“I went behind the counter to grab my phone, at least get a shot of the creep. But when I turned back around he was gone.”
I got Jonathan’s sparse description: dark hair, maybe, blue jeans, dark T-shirt. I went to the rear and elevatored back up to Ocampo’s apartment.
“I’m putting a guard on this place,” I told him. “Night and day.”
It took an hour to get surveillance outside the shop. I booked to HQ and found Gershwin back from his deposition.
“You think Donnie knows Gary is his brother?” he asked.
“He’s in Miami, and something’s pressed his button. I think Donnie’s got an agenda that somehow involves Gary.”
“So why’d Donnie wait until now to make contact?”
“Maybe he just found out an adoptive parent died and he discovered evidence while going through the estate. Maybe someone left the truth in a posthumous letter. Or maybe Donnie’s known, but only recently started obsessing. A big possible is that Donnie’s been in prison. You’re checking that angle?”
“Three
I wanted to cheer him up. He’d been turning his life around, keeping to a tough diet, working out, planning for the future. Given the revelations of the past two days I hoped he could keep it together and not seek solace in food; to keep Carnevale foremost in mind.
19
I had just thanked Ocampo when a thought crossed my mind. We’d known about the brother connection less than forty hours and assumed his presence in the area owed to his adopter – or purchaser – being from the region. Gary had known of a brother, but we’d not considered whether the same was true of Donnie Ocampo, or whatever he’d been named. There’d barely been time to think.
“You’ve not had anyone trying to contact you, Gary?” I asked. “No unusual phone calls … or strangers loitering near the store?”
He frowned. “Last month the shop got a call from someone wanting to sell comics – at least, that’s what he said. But when I picked up the phone, the caller got all weird.”
“Weird how?”
“I said, ‘Hello, I understand you have some issues for sale.’ The guy says, ‘I don’t have issues. You’re the one that has issues. Did you ever wonder where your issues come from?’ It was odd, but he seemed to have a bit of an accent and I wondered if English was his first language, maybe that was the problem. I said, ‘I buy my inventory from sources around the world. What are you offering or what do you need?’”
“And the answer was?”
“The caller said …” Ocampo turned white as the sheet on his bed. “My God,” he whispered.
“What, Gary?”
“He laughed. And he said, ‘Peace, Brother.’”
“Peace,
Brother
?”
“Then he hung up. I thought he was just some smart-ass. Then there was the incident outside. This was the day before yesterday. Some guy was being weird. That’s about all I know. Jonathan was the one who told me. It kinda freaked him out.”
I went downstairs. Jonathan pulled his knit cap tighter to his scraggly hair and pointed to the wide front window. “The guy was looking inside. It was fuckin’ weird. He was pushing himself against the window. Like humping it. He had this big-ass grin on his face.”
“His face? What did he look like?”
“I couldn’t see his face because he was doing that mask thing.”
“Mask?”
Jonathan pinched his thumbs and forefingers into O’s, pressed the tips together, then turned his hands around as he brought his hands to his face, the palms pressing his temples as elbows pointed skyward. “All the while he’s pushing his crotch against the glass and flicking his tongue in and out like he’s fuckin’ Gene Simmons.”
“What’d you do?”
“I ran over and locked the door. I was thinking about calling the cops, but what am I gonna say: ‘There’s some dude making circles around his eyes and humpin’ a window’?”
“Then what happened?”
“I went behind the counter to grab my phone, at least get a shot of the creep. But when I turned back around he was gone.”
I got Jonathan’s sparse description: dark hair, maybe, blue jeans, dark T-shirt. I went to the rear and elevatored back up to Ocampo’s apartment.
“I’m putting a guard on this place,” I told him. “Night and day.”
It took an hour to get surveillance outside the shop. I booked to HQ and found Gershwin back from his deposition.
“You think Donnie knows Gary is his brother?” he asked.
“He’s in Miami, and something’s pressed his button. I think Donnie’s got an agenda that somehow involves Gary.”
“So why’d Donnie wait until now to make contact?”
“Maybe he just found out an adoptive parent died and he discovered evidence while going through the estate. Maybe someone left the truth in a posthumous letter. Or maybe Donnie’s known, but only recently started obsessing. A big possible is that Donnie’s been in prison. You’re checking that angle?”
“Three
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