“I’ll do the same.”
Mendes nodded, and Reese left his office.
Eight
While Maze played on the CD, Reese let the GPS on his phone guide him to the Pennington home in Compton. He parked the car out front. The neighborhood was quiet, the houses well kept, as were the lawns. He’d called ahead to get Mrs. Pennington’s permission to visit, and as he walked to the porch, a short round woman wearing jeans and an apron stepped out. “Mr. Anthony?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come on in.”
Reese was led into the living room. The shades were drawn, keeping the room in shadows, and there was a silence in the air that seemed to settle into his bones. On the wall hung a collection of framed photos depicting her and a man he assumed was her late husband at various occasions and ages. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Pennington,” he relayed genuinely as she gestured him to a seat on the rose-patterned couch.
“Thank you,” she told him quietly as she sat in a matching armchair.
“I won’t stay long. I just have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Have the police found out anything?” she asked before he could begin.
He shook his head and watched pain rise in her eyes.
She said, “I already told the police everything I know. Gus went to work that night and the police called me that next morning saying he was dead.”
“Did your husband have any altercations with the people who worked for him? Someone who might have done this?”
“No. Gus was good to his people and they were good to him They’re as tore up about this as me and my grandson.”
Reese’s report said the young man was a college student. “Is your grandson at school now?”
“Yes. This is his junior year at UCLA. He wants to be a film director.”
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s doing. Misses his grandfather a whole lot. He’d just given Gus one of those music player things for his birthday. Spent all night loading it up with Gus’s kind of music. Said he wished the police had given it back.”
Reese paused. “What do you mean?”
“It wasn’t with the personal effects they brought over.”
Reese pulled out his phone. “Excuse me a moment, Mrs. Pennington.” His call to Mendes went right through. They talked for a moment then he ended the call. “The police didn’t find a music player, Mrs. Pennington,” he said to her. “Are you sure he had it with him that night?”
“Positive. He was so excited. Said it made him feel like he was with the young crowd having one. Chris, my grandson, said the police probably kept it.”
Reese hoped not. “I’ll look into that for you.”
“Thanks. You said on the phone that you work for the commissioner’s office?”
“Yes. I used to be a cop back in Detroit too.”
She studied him seriously for a moment. “Then you tell me, you think the police are doing all they can?”
Reese understood the question. “Yes, ma’am, I do. The captain’s straight up and he’s real frustrated that the investigation isn’t moving faster.”
She looked off into the distance for a few silent moments. “Sometimes the police don’t care about us little folks.”
“I know, but I promise you, the captain and I will do everything we can to get Mr. Pennington and your family justice.”
Tears were sliding slowly down her cheeks now. She offered him a watery smile. “Thank you, Mr. Anthony.”
Reese thought he’d imposed enough. Her grief was still fresh. He’d just wanted to meet her, relay his condolences, and try and get an idea of who the real Gus Pennington was. “Thank you for agreeing to talk to me.” He took out a business card, wrote his cell number on it, then handed it to her. “If you need anything, you call, okay?”
Her graying head nodded.
“And I’ll look into the missing player.”
She walked him out to the porch.
As Reese drove away, he watched her in the mirror as she went back inside and closed the door. His heart was heavy. Having been a cop and seen a lot of death, he had special empathy for families suddenly losing a loved one to violence. According to the report, the Penningtons had been married over forty years. He shook his head sadly. He’d call her back later this evening to talk to the grandson. Hopefully the young man still had the receipts and serial numbers. Mendes might find it useful. Reese didn’t own one of the devices, so he knew next to nothing about them. He called Bryce and put him on the speaker. “Hey, baby brother.”
“What’s up? How’s La La land?”
“It’s here. Talk to me about MP3 players.”
“What do you want to know?”
“If I stole one, could I use it?”
“Depends on what kind it is. With some you’d need the real owner’s password in order to download. Why, somebody steal one?”
“Possibly. If I call the manufacturer would they know if anyone tried to download on it?”
“Again, depends on the type, but probably. Everything else is tracked on the Net these days.”
“Okay.”
“How you coming on those Super Bowl tickets?”
Reese smiled. “Thanks for your help, Bryce. Be home in a few days.”
After ending the call, his mind naturally settled on JT. He’d left her sleeping because he hadn’t wanted to disturb her. Leaving while she slept also made for a less awkward good-bye. He wondered what she was doing. Did she think of him at all? He’d been away from her for only a day and admittedly found himself missing her bad. Because thinking about her was so distracting, he put it away for now and turned his mind to his next stop. His buddy the commissioner called last night to let him know that Marquise Chambers had yet to send the league any information on the anger management classes he’d agreed to take. Now that JT was no longer his agent, he had an appointment to meet the new representative, Bobby Garrett, and find out the cause of the delay.
The GPS guided him to Wilshire Boulevard. He parked and entered the tall fancy brick building where Garrett’s fifth-floor office was housed.
The Garrett agency’s suite wing was as fancy as the building: lots of glass, sleek modern furnishings, and plants. Hip hop music blasted the air. Framed black and white glossies of his athlete clients lined one wall. A heavily made-up woman was seated at a desk by the glass door. She looked him up and down approvingly. “May I help you?”
Accustomed to being looked over, Reese simply smiled. “Morning. Reese Anthony to see Mr. Garrett.”
“He’s in conference right now, but he should be done in a few minutes. Can I get you some coffee?”
Before he could respond, a young woman with gold-streaked hair stormed into the waiting area, shouting, “Have my money tomorrow, Bobby! Tomorrow!” Her dark brown face was contorted with anger as she strode past Reese and the receptionist, snatched open the glass doors and departed.
The receptionist shook her head, handed Reese a cup of coffee and explained quietly, “Babymama drama.”
“Ah,” Reese responded just as discreetly.
On the heels of the angry exit, a medium-size man in an expensive gray suit appeared. He didn’t look happy, but upon seeing Reese, walked over and stuck out his hand. “Mr. Anthony?”
Reese stood and shook. “Yes. Thanks for seeing me.”
“No problem. Come on in. Trina, hold my calls.”
“Yes, Mr. Garrett.”
Garrett took a seat behind a massive wood desk and motioned Reese to a chair. “Sorry about the disturbance. She’s my ex. Wants more money.”
Reese simply nodded.
“So, what brings the league to my humble abode?”
“Chambers. The anger management classes.”
“What about them?”
“Where’s he taking them and the name of the facilitator.”
Garrett smiled faintly. “He’s not taking them so there is no facilitator.”
Reese studied him. “And
his reasoning?”
“Now that I’m his rep, that agreement is null and void.”
“Really?”
“I told him we’d revisit the issue and see if we can’t get it resolved more to his satisfaction. His former agent has a history of not looking out for her clients’ best interests, and this is just another example.”
Reese found Garrett to be quite interesting. “This is Ms. Blake you’re referring to, I assume?” Reese asked, though he knew the answer.
Garrett nodded. “Used to work for her. I didn’t agree with her capitulation tendencies, so I left her agency and formed my own.”
“I see.” What Reese also saw was probably the perp who’d sabotaged her car. This was getting even more intriguing. “Ms. Blake aside, your client doesn’t get a do over on this. The commissioner’s office isn’t going to capitulate.”
Garrett looked him up and down. “You’re new on the job, I hear.”
“Yes. And?”
“Nothing, just needed confirmation. I’d like to meet with Commissioner McNair at his earliest convenience.”
Reese shook his head at the arrogance. “I don’t think you understand. If Mr. Chambers decides to withdraw from the agreement, he’ll be suspended for the remainder of the season, and will probably go to jail when Coach Walker files assault charges.”
“We disagree.”
“Then we’ll leave it at that. You have twenty-four hours to fax the info on the anger classes to the league offices in New York. If you decide not to, consider your client out for the season.” Reese set his cup on the edge of the desk and stood.
“You can’t keep him from making a living, Anthony.”
“No, I can’t, but the league can. Thanks for your time, Garrett,” he said, and walked out.
Back in his car, he asked himself if Garrett was really that arrogant. He knew the agent was posturing in an effort to impress his new client, but there was posturing and there was reality. He also hadn’t liked hearing JT dissed. Unless she had a slew of disgruntled ex-employees, Garrett had to be the one who’d done her vehicle, and the cop in him wondered if the man had a record. His carriage, speech, and mannerisms said no, but the damage to JT’s car said something else entirely, so he planned to check Garrett out. In the meantime, he hoped Garrett had a Plan B because if the coach choking incident went to court, Quise Chambers might as well be in hell wearing gasoline drawers. A jury would fry him. “Capitulation, my ass,” he groused aloud, and headed the car back to his airport hotel room to file his report with McNair.
After Reese Anthony’s exit, Bobby Garrett thought about what a shit morning he’d had so far. First Kelly with her ghetto self in his face about her checks still bouncing, and then the commissioner’s man trying to tell him his business. All he needed to make his day even more whack was to have something go down with the Wenzels, so he got Matt on the phone.
Matt Wenzel’s voice was cool. “What do you want, Garrett?”
“Just making sure you’re holding up your end.”
“I am. Anything else? I’m busy here.”
“Yeah. You said a man from the commissioner’s office stopped in to talk with you last week. What was his name?”
“Reese Anthony. Why?”
“He just left my office.”
“What!”
“Calm down. We talked about a client. Had nothing to do with the other item.”
Wenzel’s sigh was audible, “Good. He’s a former cop. He tell you that?”
Garrett stilled. “No.”
“Vice cop. Detroit.”
Bobby factored that into the mix, but decided he had more pressing issues at the moment. “We need to get together and talk about the next step.”
“There isn’t going to be a next step. Soon as my father gets back, we’re out.”
Bobby sat up angrily. “No, you’re not. I’ve got too much riding on this, and so does Bo.”
“Price is too high.”
“How much do you love your wife?”
“What?”
“I asked how much do you love your wife? Would you want something to happen to her?”
There was silence on the connection for a moment, then Matt Wenzel asked in a voice cold with suspicion, “Are you threatening me, Garrett?”
“No. I just posed two simple questions.”
“You come near my wife and I’ll drop the ball so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
He wasn’t moved. “You have your daddy call me when he gets back. I need to talk to the man of the house.”
Outraged, Wenzel growled, “Did you hear me, Garrett?”
Bobby replied by ending the call. Matt was a weak link, and if the elder Wenzel didn’t do something about it, he would.
Across town, Matt Wenzel sat fuming. His digital recorder had caught the whole conversation, but as he angrily shut off the recorder, the knowledge offered little solace. Would Garrett really harm his wife? He already knew the answer. Reaching over, he picked up the framed picture of Melissa sitting on his desk and for a few moments gazed down at her sunny smile. He had to get out, but how to do it and stay alive was now the question.
While munching on the turkey sub she was having for lunch, JT checked her e-mail and saw a message from Marquise Chambers. Wondering what he wanted, she clicked on it. The display on the monitor began to shimmy and sway. What appeared to be numerical code filled the screen. Line after line, faster and faster, moved up from bottom to the top until it seemed to be rolling at warp speed. Eyes wide, she yelled, “Carole!”
Carole was too busy yelling herself. Her screen was doing the same thing.
An hour later Misha, the young Nigerian woman who handled the agency’s tech issues, looked up from JT’s laptop and said, “You picked up a virus, JT. Pretty ugly one too. It managed to get past your firewalls and it ate everything, and I do mean everything. Files, address book, registry. Hope you’ve been backing up your stuff.”
JT nodded.
Misha gave a sigh of relief. “Carole’s virus was on her desktop and it’s spread through the office network to your desktop too.”
“So my laptop and all the computers in the office are dead.”
“Yep. Probably two different versions of the same virus.”
JT wasn’t happy. “Where’d it come from?”
“Probably that e-mail you clicked on. As for Carole’s?” She shrugged. “Hacked maybe?”
JT snatched up her phone and got Quise on the line. When he answered, she said through gritted teeth, “Hey Quise. Your e-mail wouldn’t open. What did you want?”
“I didn’t send you an e-mail.”
“You sure?”
“Why the hell would I be sending you e-mail? I’ve moved on, remember?”
“Well somebody sent me an e-mail using your name and it fried my computer.”
His laughter didn’t endear him to her one bit. “Wasn’t me, but if you find out who, tell them dinner’s on me.”
Angry, she ended the call. “He says it wasn’t him.”
Misha packed up her tools. “Sending viruses is a felony. What else was he going to say?”
“Let’s suppose he’s telling the truth. Is there a way to tell who did send it?”
“Stuff that deep is out of my league. You need a big brain for that. I know a guy. He’s in Mexico right now, but he’ll be back in a week.”
JT shook her head. “I need this figured out asap because I don’t want it happening again. Do you know anyone else?”
“Not anyone with those skills. You could call around to the colleges.”
“That’s an idea.”
“In the meantime,” Misha said, “I’ll go online and order you some new equipment. Even if you find out who, none of these computers are going to work again.”
JT sighed. “Okay.”
After Misha left, JT said to Carole. “Good thing everything’s backed up.”
“I know. We’d’ve lost everything from contracts to phone numbers to Lord knows
what else. People pick up viruses all the time. I just never thought we’d be one of them.”
“Me either. We’ll have Misha upgrade the firewalls and whatever else she needs to install to keep this from happening again.”
“Sounds good.”
“In the meantime, you may as well go home. With no computer, there’s not much you can do. The answering machine can handle any calls.”
“What are you going to do?”
She shrugged. “Go home too, I guess.”
JT was rarely home during the day, and as she moved around her place it felt odd seeing sunlight streaming through the windows instead of the darkness that usually greeted her after a long day at the office. After going into her bedroom to remove her suit, she changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, then sat on the couch and called her mother, Michele, in Texas. “Hey Mom.”
“Hey, yourself,” Michele answered. “How are you?”
They spent thirty minutes catching up. JT shook her head upon hearing about the young women at her mother’s church throwing themselves at the new unmarried minister. “He is a cutie,” her mother said. “And if I were thirty years younger I’d be acting just as silly, I suppose.”
“Mom, we both know the only thing you’d get out of a marriage to a preacher is a divorce.”
Her mother laughed. “You’re probably right.”
“Have you heard from Maxie?”
“She’s in Michigan somewhere babysitting a big-brained scientist.”
“Wonder if he does computers?”
“What?”
“Nothing, just some drama at work. How long has she been back in the States?”
“Not long. I heard from her a few weeks back, but not since.”
Max did security work for the government and was likely to be anywhere in the world. JT and her mother worried constantly about her safety. Even though they knew she was highly trained and could take care of herself, they worried just the same. “Did Daddy court you, before you two got married?”
“Yes, he did in his own way—sent me flowers, took me to the movies. Why’d you ask? Somebody courting you?”
“I don’t know. He says he wants to.”
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