The Undertaker

“I don't have any ID. They took my wallet back in Columbus. I have some newspaper and magazine clippings, but they're going to take some explaining.”

“Gee. Why doesn't that surprise me?”

“It's the truth. Look at me. I'm not even half-way good at lying and it took a real pro to dream this thing up.”

“A real pro?”

“The goon with the bad manners and sunglasses you tangled with. His boss.”

“The FBI? You're telling me they set this whole thing up, just to catch you?”

“They weren't FBI.”

“I saw his badge and his ID, and that was a US Government sedan.“

“Yeah? Then why didn't you get in the car with him, instead of tossing him into a brick wall? You knew he was bogus. The French cuffs and gold cuff links? Come on. If he was real, after you dented his head, why didn't he arrest you for assaulting a cop? You knew he was a phony.”

She studied me a moment and I could see some of it was sinking in.

“Look, I stumbled into something back in Ohio.” I leaned back in the chair and tried to look my least threatening. “I haven't figured it all out yet, but back in Ohio they're burying mob guys under other people's names, people who are already dead so no one will notice. When I got too close, they tried to kill me.”

“Kill you? The government? You really are crazy.”

“Am I? You told me Eddie died almost a year ago.”

“Yeah,” she answered warily.

“And he was buried here in Chicago?”

“Out by Park Forest.”

I pulled out the wad of newspaper clippings and laid the one for Edward J. Kasmarek on the desk in front of her. “Here, read this,” I told her, laying the clipping on her desk. She snatched it up and read it, then read it again. “That was in February. They used Eddie's name, but that wasn't Eddie and I know where the grave is. That's why I came here and tracked you down, because we're not the only ones.”

“This is nuts.”

I pulled out the ones for the Brownsteins, the Skeppingtons, and the Priors, and the ones for Terri and me, and I laid them on the desk. After she read them, I pulled out the three flash drives. “These belonged to a mob accountant named Louie Panozzo; I found them hidden in his car. They're the financial records of the New Jersey mob. He took them with him and I think it's what got him killed.” I pulled out the George Deevers driver's license and showed her that too. “This is a phony ID he had, but that's his picture.”

She looked at the ID and the three flash drives. She still wasn't sure, but she was listening. There was a thin-screen computer monitor sitting on her receptionist desk. “You've got a PC? Let me use it, I'll show you.”

“You aren't going anywhere near it... or near me.”

“Fine, fine,” I put the first flash drive on her desk and plopped on the floor with my back to the door. “Is this safe enough for you? Go ahead and boot it up yourself. You do know how to use a computer don't you?”

“Yeah, I know how to use one, smart ass! I got my Associates in Photography, but I'm not stupid. I know some bookkeeping, too.”

“Great. Put the drive in and bring up the directory.”

She picked up the flash drive. “Remember, I still have this,” she said as she showed me the letter opener again and slipped behind the desk. “If you're messing with me, you're gonna hurt in places you didn't know could hurt.” It took a few minutes, but before long, she was staring at the monitor, not at me, and I saw her fingers moving across the keyboard. “Okay, they're spreadsheets, general ledger accounts.”

“Nice to see the Associate's wasn't wasted.”

“Don't start with me,” her eyes narrowed. It isn't good salesmanship, especially when you're the one with your ass against the door and I'm the one with something sharp.”

“I think those are mob-owned businesses in New Jersey. They probably launder their money there and skim it back off the top.”

“Jeez! There's even a spreadsheet here for “Payoffs.” And what's this? Foreign bank accounts? Guess he wasn't worried about getting caught, was he?”

“He's dead. He's the guy they buried under my name.”

“Did you get a look at the names on that Payoff list? I'm not a political junkie, but even I recognize some of them.”

“Still think I'm crazy? There's a lawyer back in Columbus who's running the whole thing. The guys you met today work for him. And they have a doctor, a clinic, a funeral home, and their own cemetery. If I'm right, I know the names of nine people they buried back there, and there's probably more.”

“Nine people? How could they get away with something like that? Think of all the paperwork: the death certificates, insurance, taxes, driver's licenses, Social Security. Nobody can do that.”

“Sandy, they're the government. Waco? Ruby Ridge? Guantanamo? The CIA? The FBI? NSA? The Patriot Act? They can do anything they want.”

“But nine people?”

“Four couples, husbands and wives, and single guy. He's the one they used Eddie's name for. See, they didn't know about you. They thought he was single.”

“And what? You think they're after me now?”