by Clyde Witt
Back in her room, Aston opened another bottle of water, released her hair from its braid and scrolled through the pictures on her phone. She was pleased with the pictures of the abandoned clothes dryer hiding what she hoped was the box of palladium. The scenes of how it was hidden in the open were excellent.
If she told Eric about the box there’d be no going back in the morning. Maybe she should play along for a while until she did more research on palladium and how to sell it?
She transferred the images to her laptop and sent them to Eric under the subject line: Elephant Hiding In The Herd. With that task finished she showered and prepared for her dinner with Fred. She dumped her day pack on the bed. The other two T-shirts she brought were in slightly better shape than the one she’d worn all day. After selecting her cleanest dirty shirt, she used the bar of soap to wash it in the sink and dried it with the room’s hair dryer. As she reloaded the day pack she spotted the sample-size of Forest Dreams perfume given to her the week before at Kohl’s. What the hell, she thought as she touched a bit behind her earlobes and on her wrist.
Aston stood in the corner of the lobby where she could observe the dining room and not be seen. At exactly seven she entered. Fred was easy to spot. He was the only person wearing a uniform. He rose to his feet as she approached the table.
“Well, we’re both still in uniform, I see,” she said, and slipped into the bench seat to avoid any welcoming hug.
“Right. I’d say yours looks a bit fresher than mine, however. Something big’s happening tonight, so guess who is still on duty? And will be for a long while.”
Aston caught her breath. She looked at Fred’s waning smile, away, then back. “Well, shit. Do they ever give you enough time for dinner?”
“Good word for it. Not tonight, I’m afraid. You look great, by the way. I thought maybe that long ponytail was a permanent fixture.”
“Oh, thanks. And it was a braid, not a ponytail. You must be thinking of some other girl you arrested today.”
“Nope. I’m sure you were the one testing her luck with rattlers and tarantulas this morning.”
“Yep, that was me. Happy to say I survived without a scratch. Well, I did manage to get a few on my leg, but—”
“Find what you were looking for?”
Aston leaned back on the bench and reached out to adjust the flatware next to her empty plate. “Yeah, sure did. Got the bird and a lot more.”
“Let me think, that was the many-spotted sparrow, right?”
Aston smiled. “Not exactly, but close.”
“Since, I’m still on duty tonight, how about we meet tomorrow. Lunch maybe?”
“I’m outta here in the morning.”
“Need a ride?”
Aston shook her head and looked across the room. “Nope, I’m good.”
When Fred was gone she took out a note pad and began listing the reasons for going back, or not going back, to the hidden box. Taking the stuff for herself meant financial independence. Sharing it with Eric, and his company, meant—what?
“Lots of question marks on that note,” said the waitress as she slipped a plate of chicken-fried steak in front of Aston. “Must be about a guy.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Aston responded.
Chapter Twelve
Eric twisted Pat’s business card with the fingers of his left hand while he searched computer records with his right. It didn’t take long to find her; stellar med-school record and reams of research papers, the names of which he could not begin to pronounce. In one journal he found a profile piece in which she commented that she was determined to find a cure for AIDS before she turned forty. He scrolled up the page and figured she was about thirty-eight, so she still had some time. Another international publication had her listed in an article entitled, Thirty People You Want To Listen To.
His phone rang and the caller ID read, TRAVINO. Speak of the devil and up she pops. “Hello, Pat?”
“Is this the puzzle man?”
“Hi. Well, I’ve never been called a puzzle man, however, I guess it is, or, I am.”
“Great. The bad news for me, but the good news for you, is that my schedule for the day just fell apart and I have a free afternoon. I’d like to—well, get a piece of your time, I mean. The puzzle-making business sounds like fun, more fun than medicine, anyway. Let’s go for a ride.”
“Ha. I am attracted to the shy, retiring type of woman. I have a ton of work on my desk. Your car or mine?”
“Yours. The deal was, you take me to Starbucks and I take you to Dunkin on the second date, I think. Or was it the other way round?”
“Hmm. How about the Starbucks in Sandusky? That should take about an hour and by then the turbo will be warmed up. I’ll show you how the car goes from zero to sixty in less than four seconds.”
“I hope you’re shitting me. If not, I’m going to need some serious medication to lower my blood pressure.”
“I shit you not. Officially, the car is supposed to do it in something like three point-five. I always ease up a bit. You know, it’s hard to reach the pedals when you’re pinned back against the seat.”
“Okay, now I’m officially terrified. Maybe we should take my car.”
“Nope. A deal’s a deal. Where should I pick you up?”
The drive took a bit more than an hour using all the back roads with the most twists and turns. Eric kept his speed below sixty miles per hour to make conversation possible. He thought much of Pat’s work, finding a cure for AIDS, was not that different than puzzle making, except she had no idea of how the pieces went together. In the coffee shop he was pleasantly surprised when she ordered the brew of the day, no cream, no sugar.
“Less complicated and better for me,” she said.
“Agreed. Let me ask you something,” he said as they sat at a table near the window where he could keep an eye on his car. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room? I’m not sure he’ll fit in the car on the way back if we don’t.”
“You mean, you,” Pat said and looked straight at him.
“Yeah, me. Or is talking about it unethical?”
“It is unethical and if you say we had any conversation about the topic I’ll have to kill you.”
“Ooo, faster than my, ah, medical condition?”
“Much faster. The bottom line, or end of the story—shit, bad choice of words—is, I have all the hope and faith in the world for the program you’re now part of. Truth be told, Doctor H is not one of my favorite people, however, he knows his stuff. It’s just that he was busy doing research on the days the bedside-manners class met, so he’s a bit rough. I’d rather have him down in the lab than talking with patients, but we’re a bit short-handed these days. Make sure you do exactly as he tells you. Have faith.”
Eric looked out the window. Two wildly tattooed young men approached his car. He smiled as they leaned in for a closer look at the instrumentation.
“Faith, you say. Hmm. Look at those two guys out there dreaming about my car.”
Pat turned and looked at the colorful pair. “I think they’re dreaming about stealing your car.”
“Not at all. I have faith that they’ve been trained by their dads, or someone, to appreciate and respect beauty. Notice how they keep their hands behind their backs? They stand at least a foot away so their clothes don’t touch the car. I can tell, they’ve been to car shows.”
The two car admirers scanned the crowd as they entered the coffee shop. Their eyes locked on Eric and they approached the table.
The tallest of the pair said, “Excuse me dude, that your ride out there?”
“Yep. What do you think?”
“Nice wheels. Is it the 540 or the 580?”
Eric turned to Pat. “We’re talking horsepower here so—”
“I get it. On our second date I’m taking you to a medical conventio
n.”
“Oh, excuse me, ma’am. I just don’t get to see many of those and—”
“It’s fine. He was getting bored talking about doctor stuff,” Pat said and smiled at the young man.
“How’s that seven-speed dual clutch working out for you,” the second kid asked.
“Great. Does everything I ask it to do, even before I can think to ask.”
“Yeah. I got my eye on a GT3 RS, but I don’t know if it’d be worth the bump.”
“Serious bump. This one set me back a hundred sixty-four thou. The GT runs, what?, about two hundred forty, I think.”
“Yeah. Serious money. Well, great talking with you. Stay cool,” he said and turned back to Pat. “You can go back to talking pills and broken legs, ma’am.”
As they settled into his car for the return trip, Eric said, “I’m glad we don’t have the weight of that elephant to take home with us.”
Pat smiled. “Me too. And for sure, he wouldn’t fit in my car for our second date.”
Eric whistled a song from the Queen album Aston had loaned him as he returned to the office. He glanced at the clock: Quitting time. Katie picked up her purse and headed for the door. “Night, Boss.”
“I miss anything this afternoon,” he asked.
“Nope, just the usual—small fire in the break room and the plumber should have the flood in the men’s cleaned up by Tuesday.”
“What—”
“I’m kidding, Boss. Roger says the number four cutter needs some PM so it’ll be down for a few days.”
“Any message from Aston?”
“Nope. She’s not due back until tomorrow, right? My kid’s hounding me for another skateboard lesson. I’m not so sure bringing Aston on board was your best idea this month.”
Eric smiled. “Oh, she’ll be great. And right, she’s coming in on a late-morning flight tomorrow. Why don’t you and Francie pick her up at the airport and stop at that new skateboard park over in Broadview Heights on your way back?”
“Hey, thanks, Boss. You’re in a chipper mood. Must have been a good lunch today.”
“Right. Different. See ya tomorrow afternoon.”
He sat at his desk staring at the picture of his father and Russell Starke, then wadded up a scrap of paper and tossed it at the photo. “Okay, Pop, what now? Business as usual or should I head off into the jungle?”
He opened his email looking for new orders or some word from suppliers that there would be no delays this week. The email from Aston caught his eye and he checked the time on it. Last night? How had he missed it? Attached was a picture of what looked like a wood box inside of a metal container. He scrolled a bit more and saw what looked like a junk yard.
His eyes drifted back to the photo of his father on the wall. “I’m not sure I’m spending the company money in the best possible way, Pop.”
Chapter Thirteen
Aston studied cracks in the cement steps at the front of Bright Horizons as she swallowed the last sip of coffee, then dropped the paper cup behind the seat as she got out of the Porsche Boxter. While she moved her skateboard, along with several mangled coffee cups from the floor of the passenger side, into the trunk, her eye caught Gabby seated next to the receptionist’s desk, Phyllis at his side. They were framed by the windows, and she thought they looked like a wheelchair version of American Gothic.
“Well, obviously, I won’t be going along on this trip,” Phyllis said as she surveyed the two-seat Boxter. “So, tell me what you saw out there in Arizona, young lady.”
“Morning Bird Lady. Gabby, had I known there’d be a guest this morning I woulda rented a bus.”
“Now don’t get all snippy Sweetie Pie,” Gabby said. “Phyllis and, ah, I mean, Bird Lady and I just happened to meet in the hallway. She was wondering if I’d heard anything from you.”
“Didn’t Eric tell you about the Blue Buntings?” Aston asked.
“Nope. Haven’t seen hide nor feather of that character since you left,” Phyllis said, sitting up in her wheelchair. “Holy shit. Blue Buntings?”
“Yep, and the sparrow. Okay, let’s say, after our meeting this morning, I bring Mister Sunshine here back around noon, then you and I go do lunch?”
“Oh, that sounds delightful,” the older woman said and clapped her hands. “Sort of like Thelma and Louise.”
Aston smiled. “Not exactly,” she said and moved to release the brakes of Gabby’s chair.
“Who’s Thelma and Louise?” he asked.
“You don’t want to know, Buster,” Phyllis said as she turned to leave. “I have to go do some primping.”
Aston drove into the parking lot at Tree Top Flyers and parked next to Eric’s red Porsche. On the left of his car sat a red Mazda convertible.
“Humph,” Gabby said, looking in the direction of the two cars, “I think Eric’s car had a baby.”
As Aston started to push the old man up the ramp, the office door swung open and Eric and Pat exited.
“Hey, Aston,” Eric said. “I thought you weren’t coming back until later today?”
“Change of plans. Caught a red eye last night. One of my better decisions,” she said as she gave Pat a full body scan.
“Oh, ah, Pat, this is Aston, our QC manager and her friend, Gabby. He’s sort of our in-house curmudgeon,” Eric said. “This is Pat, er, Doctor Travino.”
Pat locked eyes with Aston. “Right the first time, it’s Pat. Hi, glad to meet both of you. We’re headed out for coffee. We’ll be back within the hour. Can we bring you anything?” she asked as they moved down the steps, not waiting for an answer.
Eric turned back as they moved toward the parking lot. “Say, Aston, the maps and other things are in a folder on the right side of my desk. Why don’t you two start thinking about some designs while I’m out? Can’t wait to hear about the trip.”
“Sure thing, Boss. We’ve got this,” Aston replied and gave Gabby’s wheelchair an abrupt shove.
As they reached the door, Gabby said, “Better slow down, girl, or you’ll put me through the plate glass.”
“Hush, Buster. Did you see how he had his hand in the middle of her back?”
From Eric’s office window, Aston’s eyes followed the pair as they got into the Mazda. Damn short skirt for a doctor, especially when she’s driving a sports car, Aston thought. “Let me find those files and show you what I discovered,” she said to Gabby as she studied the piles on Eric’s desk.
“Looks like they’re off for a quickie, don’t it?” Gabby mumbled as the car drove out of the parking lot.
“Maybe it is time to tell you about Thelma and Louise,” Aston said as she began to search through the stack of folders on the desk.
“Save your breath. I watched the movie long ago. I just like to get the Bird Lady’s feathers riled up. I’m heading down to the breakroom for coffee. See ya there.”
“Right,” she said and continued her search. With the file in hand she stood to leave, then stopped. A bottle of pills, wedged between two books on the desk, caught her eye. She hesitated before picking up the bottle. The label appeared to be written in Egyptian hieroglyphics—RZVAJINKPMORJF-UHFFFAOYSA-N on the first line, and C8H9NO2 HOC6H4NHCOCH3 on the second. She gave the bottle a light shake before writing the code of letters on a piece of scrap paper and jamming it into her pocket. Carefully, she put the bottle back between the books. As she did, she noticed a business card: Doctor Patricia Travino, director, Cyril J. Richards Clinic. That’s the name I was supposed to check the other day, she remembered.
She pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and scrolled through her contacts until she found Diane’s number. Diane picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, Aston. I thought you were out west or something?”
“Came back last night. You free for lunch, wait, make that dinner, I’ve already got a lunch plan. Dinner tonight
someplace?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Just need to tell you about a guy with a gun and a bad choice I nearly made.”
“Ooo, juicy story?”
“How about Casa DeAngelo’s around six?”
“Make it seven. I have to work late.”
Eric and Pat sat at a corner table in the Dunkin Donut coffee shop. Pat said, “Your QC manager seemed kind of young for that job, but the official curmudgeon looks like he was sent from central casting.”
Eric smiled. “Yeah, well, long story, I guess, about both of them. Turns out it might make for some interesting business for us—assuming I live long enough to see it through.”
“Oh, gimmie a break. You will, mister doom and gloom. I guarantee it.”
“How can you say that? Like you said, maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“Look, “she said and reached across the table and rested her hand on his. “I know what I’m talking about here. Plus, a positive attitude goes a long way to help recovery for these kinds of things. And you’re right, we shouldn’t be talking about anything medical. Now, tell me how that May/December team could mean profit for the puzzle business.”
Eric looked out the window at her Mazda and its temporary license plate. “Well, it’s a crazy idea I’m being drawn into. Financially, the company can’t afford it. It’s all about buried treasure out West, or someplace.”
“You mean, like buried pirates’ gold in the desert?”
Eric smiled, “Well, sort of. It’s a crazy story, which we’re only beginning to validate, about some guys stashing—ever heard of palladium?—in the desert. Then the pilot of the plane used to steal the stuff dies before he can retrieve it. Something like that.”
“What’s palladium? Sort of rings a bell, but—”
“Right. Well, it’s used in catalytic converters. In the exhaust systems of cars. Pollution control. Apparently the stuff’s worth more than gold these days. I guess when this guy, and I should use the word ‘allegedly’, stole it, it was mostly used in jewelry.”