Unknown Remains Read Free

blocked it with one of his Puerto Rican fence climbers, got the pointy-toed boot in the opening, then rammed his shoulder into the hardwood and the chain snapped and the door flew open. The girl backed away from them, afraid now as they entered the apartment.
    Ruben said, “Where you hiding him?”
    â€œYou want to see where Jack is? I’ll show you.”
    They followed her into the living room, the girl pointing at the TV showing a high angle looking down at the mountain of debris, what was left of the Trade Center.
    â€œYou want Jack? He’s in there.”
    As soon as she said it, Cobb imagined people being blown up and body parts compressed in the rubble. “Gimme your cell phone.”
    She took the phone out of her pocket and handed it to him. Cobb checked the call log. There were seven numbers. He checked the deleted calls. Jack’s cell number didn’t appear in either place.
    â€œHe would’ve called if he could,” the girl said. “I know that. And because he didn’t, I know what happened.” She turned and looked at the TV showing rescue workers circling the rubble, and Cobb left her there with Ruben, moving through the apartment, first going to the bedroom, looking under the bed, checking the bathroom, pulling the shower curtain open, and then checking the closet, looking behind all the clothes on hangers.
    The girl came in and said, “You really think he’s in here, are you kidding? Get out of here. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”
    Cobb wouldn’t have thought a girl this good-looking could get so mad, using language like that.
    He closed the apartment door and they started down the hall. “You believe the mouth on that one?”
    â€œMan, you don’t let a niña talk at you like that,” Ruben said. “Listen, they gotta show respect. You gotta demand it.”
    â€œShe thinks her boyfriend’s dead; she’s blowing off a little steam. What do you care?”
    â€œYou don’t teach them, they gonna give you trouble.”
    Cobb wasn’t listening; he was thinking about Jack McCann. He liked the situation: guy in trouble, walking away from his problems, Cobb trying to convince himself Jack was alive. It was way more interesting that way, but now they had to find him.

TWO
    Cobb parked across the street from a clapboard colonial in a rural residential neighborhood. The house was nothing special but had to have cost a small fortune in this trendy town. People had been stopping by all afternoon. Ruben, quiet for the last thirty minutes, said, “Think he’s in there?”
    Cobb lowered the binoculars and glanced at him.
    â€œAnything’s possible. But let me ask you, if you were in Jack McCann’s shoes, would you go home?” He glanced at Ruben’s blank, beat-up face, gold studs looking out of place in his mangled lobes, the ex-fighter wearing a pink and white striped shirt and black blazer today, a gold bracelet on one wrist and two diamond rings, one on each of his gnarled, swollen hands. Take away the jewelry, Ruben dressed like he was going to pledge a fraternity.
    Reconsidering, Ruben said, “He make it out alive, man, all he does now is disappear. Start over. His woman collects the life insurance, she all set. Know what I mean?”
    â€œBut we’ve got to make sure.” Cobb raised the binoculars and aimed them at the big windows in front, looking through the glass at people holding plates and cocktails, socializing in the crowded living room, late afternoon on September 16. Looked like a party but no one seemed like they were having fun.
    At six they drove into the town. Ruben wanted to go to Applebee’s. Cobb had never been to one, hated places like this, where eating was supposed to be fun, but he didn’t protest. It was happy hour, loud and crowded. They sat at a table in the bar and ordered drinks, Rubenlooking at the menu, reading the words out loud: enchiladas