name?”
“Nah. Just Doom, you know? He was Doom to those of us around here.”
“Did you know Jessica? Was she his . . . wife?”
“I don’t know if they were hitched or not, but they were together all the time. Before the fire, she worked at a pub on Burnside. Still there, if you wanna check it out. Ringlers.”
“There was a fire at the pub?”
“Not at the pub, but there was definitely a fire.”
Jake’s hands are slick. He wipes them on his pants. “When?”
“Details aren’t really my thing either. At least a decade ago, maybe more. Doctor Doom himself set the thing. Accident, by all accounts, but there’s no shirking it. The blame lies with him.”
Jake feels the sweat break out along his hairline and down his spine. He’s never believed much in coincidences, and his stomach is sick at the scenario placed before him.
“What happened?”
“Well, you know that copper stuff inside of wiring? It’s worth an awful lot of money to the right people. And Doctor Doom, well, he never had a real job. Quick buck here and there. Just stuff like that, ya know? That’s all he was ever looking for. Somehow he got into this whole copper deal and started scaling buildings for the stuff. Breaking apart AC and heater units for it. Awful hard work for a guy who didn’t want a job.”
Jake rubs at his neck, tense—tells himself it’s the lack of sleep, the long drive, but it’s more than that and he knows it.
“And he started a fire?” he asks.
“Yeah, man. Huge thing too.”
“How?”
“Well, I don’t rightly know all the details, but if I remember correctly, the police found a soldering iron there in the rubble. If he used that, it’d been far too easy to get the sparks flying. It was an old school. Couple sparks is probably all it took before the place went up in flames.”
It’s not just his lips now; Jake’s mouth goes dry. The morning sun beats through the glass windows pressing against his back, drawing sweat that slips down his chin.
“Was anybody hurt?”
“Lady, I think.”
Jake is trembling, the pieces sliding into place, creating a horrible, horrible picture. If what this guy’s saying is true, his dad killed Olivia’s mom.
“You okay, kid?”
“Yeah, just . . . What happened to him—to Doctor Doom?”
“Arrested, man. Caught all burnt and blistered. Never saw him after that. Last I remember, he got sent up on charges for what he done. That school wasn’t his first, so who knows.”
But Jake’s mind is a step ahead. There are articles online about the fire. Brielle was reading them last night. Doctor Doom’s last name has to be in there, and if it’s not there will be arrest reports. Jake’s last name could be in those reports.
The guy checks his watch and then stands, moving toward the back of the small shop. “You can keep asking, kid, if you got more questions, but I gotta get set up. Appointment in a few.”
Jake follows him back, his mind moving like a trap, his eyes absently wandering the walls and the pictures plastered there. Photos of tattoos done in the shop, of clients with dragons and tigers and flowers. Lots and lots of flowers.
“Can you tell me what happened to Jessica?”
“Disappeared when Doctor Doom did, I think,” the guy says, setting the picture on the tray before him. He lays out a series of metal tools on a white terry cloth.
“Was she was involved in the copper theft?”
“Nah,” he says. “I doubt it. She was a sweet gal. Pity she got mixed up with him. Don’t get me wrong, he was a nice guy—Doctor Doom—fun to be around, threw a great party. But Jessica, well, she was special. Had something of a temper, but with Doctor Doom, ya know, probably a necessary thing. She needed someone in a suit and tie, you know? Someone who could get her out of waiting tables.”
Jake watches him prepare his workstation, his mind taking a beating, moving slow. Eventually his eyes settle on the picture.
“How do you know them, kid—Doctor Doom and pretty little Jessica?”
“I think they were my parents.”
“Whoa. Didn’t know they had a kid. Here,” he says, lifting the picture off the tray and handing it back. “You keep it.”
“Thank you.” He’s not sure how he feels about this picture now. About what his . . . dad . . . did. He doesn’t look at it as he slides it into his pocket. “I appreciate it. And your time. I know