I gave him a sympathetic nod. “Well, I’m sure I’ve taken up enough of your time,” Mr. Gruber. I started to rise, but Gruber placed a doughy hand on my shoulder, firmly guiding me back down.
“Nonsense, Ms. Alexander. I want to be sure you’ve got accurate information about me for your article. Not that I doubt you’d do a thoroughly professional job. You graduated at the top of your class at Temple University, with a degree in journalism, I believe. And you’ve picked up quite a following since you moved to L.A., three years ago, or was that four?”
Fuck. What’s going on here? “Have you been investigating me?”
He smiled benignly and continued as if I hadn’t said anything at all. “How are your parents enjoying Florida, by the way? And your brother, Paul, isn’t it? I hear wonderful things about his club. Although owning a business can be precarious. I just heard of a similar club that was wiped out in a fire. Nine people died. Such a shame.”
A wave of nausea swept through me and I struggled to my feet. The bastard was threatening my family. Oh God, what have I gotten them into? It was one thing to do impulsively stupid things that landed me in trouble. But to drag the people I love most in the world into this. How could I have been so naïve? I stood and put a steadying hand on the back of my chair. I refused to let this slime bucket see he’d gotten to me.
Gruber bent down and retrieved my bag from the floor. He held it in his hand for a moment, rubbing the leather between his index finger and thumb. “This is very good leather. Italian, I believe.” He smiled, handing it back to me. I turned to the door, not bothering with the standard goodbye chitchat.
“I’m looking forward to the article in Newsworthy!” he called after me. “You’ll be sure to send me an advance copy now, won’t you?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Nobody threatens my family and gets away with it. Fucking asshole…Show him a thing or two… fucking jerk.” I alternated between quiet muttering and full on ranting all the way home in the car. My headache had gotten worse, and it didn’t help that Nell had somehow managed to find the only Swedish Rap station in the universe and was now banging out the beats on the steering wheel.
We pulled up in front of the house. Nell motioned for me to wait in the car while she scanned the area. When she deemed it safe, I climbed out of the Hummer and approached the door just as Mrs. Gentile emerged from her witch’s den. She stared unabashedly at Nell who in turn blew her a big friendly kiss. Mrs. Gentile’s eyes got very wide for a moment before she retreated inside and slammed her door shut. It was the first time I’d laughed in days.
Nell put in a call to Nick while I changed and went in search of aspirin. I found a bottle of baby aspirin in the bathroom cabinet. My mother says one a day will prevent heart attacks. I popped a large handful of them, then I took a glass from the kitchen cupboard and filled it with some Frank’s Black Cherry soda. When I was a kid, aspirin and Frank’s soda was the cure-all for all of life’s little ailments.
Nell appeared in the dining room holding her cell phone. She drew up a seat next to me and handed me her phone.
“For you.”
“Hello?”
“I hear you had yourself a little adventure today.”
A rush of pleasure swept through me at the sound of Nick’s voice. He didn’t seem angry. That was a good sign. On the other hand he wasn’t exactly jumping for joy either.
“Um, I can explain.”
“By all means.” He waited for me to continue.
“Well see, an opportunity presented itself and naturally I would have called you—”
“Naturally.”
“Yeah, well, you were busy, and like I said there was this opportunity…”
Nick sighed heavily. I recognized that sigh. I grew up with that sigh. It was the sigh my mother used to heave right after she’d found out I’d done something particularly fool hardy. Her words, not mine. It screamed, “I’m very disappointed in you, young lady.” Her disappointment was worse than being grounded.
“Are you going to ground me?” I asked.
He choked back a laugh. “I thought a spanking might be more in order.”
I flushed from head to toe. “Bite me,” I growled.
“It would be my pleasure,” he replied, his voice dripping with innuendo, “but right now I want you to start at the beginning, and tell me everything you remember from the time you walked into his office until the moment you left.”
My bravado abandoned me as I recounted in great detail the events of the afternoon. By the time I had finished describing Philip Gruber, the man had grown cloven hooves and a tail. “I’m afraid for my brother, Nick. I’m afraid for anyone related to me. The guy’s a freakin’ psycho.”
“Stay put. I’m coming over.”
I had fallen asleep on the couch and was in the middle of a full-on nightmare when Nick arrived. I awoke to a cool hand on my forehead and some soothing words.
“It’s okay, angel. You were just dreaming.”
Groggily I sat up and looked around. “How long was I asleep?”
Nell shrugged. “Not so long. You snore.”
“I do not!” Oh God, I snore!
“I am joshing with you.”
Oh, some of that hysterical Swedish humor I’ve heard so much about.
Nick lifted my legs and sat down next to me and began absently stroking my calves. He eyed me fondly, and a lump formed in my throat. What with being threatened, chased around with a hatchet, and watching people explode before my eyes it was getting harder and harder to pull off the “tough girl” routine. Any act of kindness could send me right over the edge. I think he sensed my vulnerability and my need to remain in control, and he cut his eyes away from me.
“Nell,” Nick said, “Come here. Now that Brandy’s up there’s something I want you both to see.” He extracted a magazine from his back pocket and placed it on the coffee table. Then he got up from the couch, allowing Nell to take his place. He opened the magazine and waited. Nell and I stared at the contents of the picture for a moment, attempting to focus on the slightly blurry sight that lay before us. Then, simultaneously our brains kicked in and our mouths fell open as recognition dawned.
“Oh, Herregud!”
“Holy Mother of God!” Eeewww!
He was naked. Naked and hairy and giving Curtis Maitlin the time of his life. “He” was Philadelphia Mayor Bradley Richardson. I flipped the magazine over to see the name of it. “Secrets.” Boy, you could say that again. “Are these legit?”
Nick nodded. “And hot off the press. It’s not even due out until tomorrow.”
“Then how did you—never mind.” I didn’t want to know. “When were they taken?” I asked instead.
“Can’t really tell. Maitlin looks pretty young though, late teens, possibly. That could make these shots as old as ten years.”
“I wonder who took them.”
“They look pretty amateurish. My guess is Richardson had no idea he was being photographed. Maitlin probably set up a hidden camera or more likely a camcorder and made stills from the original video.”
I disappeared into the dining room, allowing time for Nell and Nick to ruminate about this latest discovery. I just couldn’t bring myself to look at the magazine with Nick in the room. They were naked for God’s sake. And doing it. What if I started to laugh? Then he’d know how truly immature I am. It was all too embarrassing.
I sat at the dining room table eating peanut butter crackers and trying to avoid eye contact with the photos. Nick brought the magazine in and grinned. “Does this make you uncomfortable, angel?”
“Not in the least.”
He reached over and flipped it open to “the page.”
“Do you mind, I’m trying to eat here.”
Wow. The Morals Police turns out to be a closet, gay porn star. Who woulda thunk it. Okay, so I’d been half right about the mayor being blackmailed into helping Maitlin. Right crime. Wrong motive. It wasn’t information about the slush fund Maitlin
was using as bait. It was the pictures of him and the mayor doing the horizontal shuffle. And a few other things I’d never dreamed physically possible. What was the mayor thinking? Talk about your bad career move. I wondered if he even knew about the magazine coming out. Well, he couldn’t know about it yet, or he never would have agreed to meet with me. He probably thinks that’s the secret I had on him. Which brought up the next question. Who ratted him out to a national gay porn tabloid?
Well, the real question is, who would have the most to gain by exposing, no pun intended, the mayor to a major scandal? Could the mayor’s political opposition be so underhanded that they’d go to such extreme lengths to undermine the mayor’s campaign for re-election? Well duh! And where did Gruber fit into all of this? He financed the mayor’s campaign. No doubt about that. And he’s a real bastard. No argument there, either. But did that make him an accomplice to murder? My headache was getting worse. I needed chocolate. Now that was one thing I was sure of.
I debated whether to call Bobby. This was big news and he needed to know about it. On the other hand, he’d find out soon enough. He was mad at me, and I didn’t feel like getting a lecture about staying out of trouble, or the company I’m keeping or visiting a public official with the intent to blackmail a confession out of him. Since when did he become such a goody two-shoes anyway? The truth is I didn’t want him to worry about me, and even if I didn’t plan to tell him about what I was up to this evening, he had a way of getting things out of me. In the end I decided to keep my mouth shut.
The time came entirely too quickly. Nell had left shortly after Nick arrived. I thought she would be coming with us for “back-up,” but apparently she was already penciled in to guard some pop star who was playing at the Spectrum. Nick briefed me over and over on our plan. I was to stay at least six feet away from the mayor at all times. I was to keep my back to the wall and make sure I could view all exit ways. If I felt the least bit threatened, I was to leave immediately, and if I couldn’t leave for some reason (God forbid a million times—again, my mother’s words, not mine) I was to signal for help and he would be there in an instant. No heroics, no unnecessary chances for the sake of getting a confession. Just ask the questions and get the hell out.
While Nick tested out the equipment I phoned Paul.
“I just called to tell you I love you and you’re a really great brother.”
“Is something wrong with the car?” he asked. “Because you can tell me, and I won’t like, get mad or anything.”
“No, Paulie. The car is fine, I swear. I just wanted to tell you is all.”
“Oh. Well, I love you too, Bran.” He paused. “You sure you’re okay?”
The lump in my throat was threatening to choke me. Yeah, I’m fine.”
Nick placed the listening device on the dining room table. It was miniscule.
“Are you sure that thing really works?” It looked like a wiretap for a Barbie doll.
“State of the art, angel.” He scanned my face. “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know.”
I shook my head. I was going to get the son of a bitch and his little pal too.
Nick nodded briefly and then picked up the wiretap and pulled me to him. “Got to put this somewhere inconspicuous,” he drawled, flashing me a grin. Slowly he lifted my shirt. My heart began to beat in triple time as his fingers grazed my belly. “We could go south,” he said, playing with the waistband of my jeans, “or we could put it right about here.”
I gasped as he slid his hand up my shirt stopping right between my breasts. He lingered there for a moment, resting his palm against the front clasp of my bra. Smoothly he tucked the “bug”inside and slowly removed his hand, but not before brushing his thumb softly against my skin. I felt my nipples go stiff and a soft moan escaped my lips.
“Did you say something?” he whispered into my ear.
“No,” I squeaked, feeling the flush rise up from my nether regions. “Damn it’s hot in here.”
“Now for the tape.” Nick tore off a piece of tape and began to lift my shirt again.
I gently slapped his hand away. “I think I can take it from here,” I said.
“Well, I don’t know. This is a delicate operation. You really ought to leave it to a professional.”
“I’ll take my chances.” I took the tape from him and shoved it under my shirt, securing the wire in place. Nick caught my wrist as I began to tuck my shirt back into my jeans, all playfulness gone. He lifted my chin, commanding me to look at him, and there was an edge to his voice when he spoke.
“I meant it before when I said don’t take any chances. We don’t know what you could be walking into tonight. If you choose not to go there’s no shame in it.”
I gulped. Nick always seemed so in control. If he was concerned, then I should be full on freaking out. No, I’d come this far I had to see it through.
“I can do this Nick. I have to.” No other explanation seemed necessary.
“Let’s go.”
Mayor Bradley Richardson liked to describe himself as “a man of the people.” Judging by his zip code I believe he meant, “a man of the very rich people.” Richardson lived in an old moneyed section of Philadelphia called Chestnut Hill. Chestnut Hill is located along the border of Philadelphia and Montgomery County and is known for its magnificent old homes and sprawling mansions.
Germantown Avenue runs through the center of town. We traveled this route now, Nick at the wheel of a black Ford pickup truck, me staring vacantly out the window, trying not to throw up. A feeling of foreboding settled in the pit of my stomach and refused to budge. Maybe it was the culmination of everything that had happened during the week finally catching up to me, or the fact that all I’d eaten in the past twenty-four hours was a pack of stale peanut butter crackers and some baby aspirin.
We passed Cosimo’s Pizza and I almost asked if we could stop in for a slice. I don’t know what it is with me and life or death situations, but they always seem to make me hungry.
At five til nine we rounded Glen Oak Avenue and cruised down the tree-lined street, stopping briefly in front of a beautiful ivy covered three-story home. Set far back from the sidewalk, an enormous cobblestone driveway wound its way through a thickly wooded area that obscured the house from the general public.
“This is it,” Nick stated, pulling away from the curb and parking several hundred yards down the block. He cut the engine and unbuckled his seat belt. I reached up to my shirt and fingered the “wire” nervously.
“Testing, one, two, three,” I said into the air.
“Don’t worry, you’re all set. Just walk up to the door and ring the bell. I’m going to double back and position myself off the side entrance. The house has French doors leading out to a back patio. It looks like a tropical rain forest out there so I’ll be well hidden.”
“How do you know so much about the layout of the house?” I was very impressed, thinking he had somehow managed to obtain blue prints or something.
“I was here for a party once.” He shrugged. “Charity event.” The man never ceased to amaze me.
I had hoped he was going to kiss me for luck but Nick was in his professional mode, all quiet efficiency and intense focus. I guess under the circumstances I should be grateful he took his work seriously. With ever increasing nervousness I opened the door and shut it softly behind me. I forced myself not to look back at the car for fear that I’d chicken out and dive back in. Taking a slow deep breath I started down the street and up the long winding driveway to the mayor’s house.
It was dark when I got to the front door. No glowing porch light to welcome the intrepid blackmailer, only the crescent moon peering out from under a thick layer of clouds. Great. And me without my umbrella. I squared my shoulders and rang the bell and waited. And waited some more. Then I knocked loudly and waited some more. I was almost to the point of yoo-hooing, when on impulse I tried the doorknob. To my surprise it was unlocked. Should I go in? Would that be rude, considering I
was invited? Let’s see, I’m worrying about appearing rude to a murderer I’m purportedly here to blackmail.
I let myself in and switched on the hall light. As I stepped onto the marble entry, I was awed by the grandeur of what lay before me. A wide marble staircase wound its way to the second floor. Two Grecian urns six feet high stood on either side of the stairs, their estimated value that of the price of a small country. A dim light emanated from one of the rooms off the entryway. Soft, classical music was playing in the background. The music made the quiet all the more noticeable. I began walking towards the room with the light, scuffing my shitkickers along the floor just to make some noise. I would have been petrified if not for the fact that Nick was just outside the French doors, hidden in the bushes, listening to every sound I made.
“Hello,” I called out tentatively as I inched my way closer to what appeared to be the library. As I entered the room I noticed a man’s arm hanging limply over the arm of a Lazy Boy recliner. “Mr. Mayor, it’s Brandy Alexander. We had an appointment this evening.”
I worked my way around to the front of the chair positioning myself in front of him. “Mayor?” His eyes were closed, his head tilted slightly forward onto his chest. On his lap was a glass of what smelled like single malt. The glass had tipped over, spilling some of the contents onto his lap. Oh great! He’s drunk. Drunk and unconscious. Now I’ll never get my confession.
I gave him a vigorous shake, hoping to rouse him to consciousness. That’s when I noticed the magazine lying at the foot of the recliner. It was torn to shreds, but I could still make out a few essential body parts and the title. “Secrets.” Well, not anymore. An empty plastic vial rested on the floor a few feet away from the magazine. I picked it up and looked at the label. It was a prescription for anti depressants, but the pills were nowhere to be found. Oh Shit.
I glanced back up at the mayor, who, thanks to my shaking, was now slumped totally forward and bent in half. I leaned over him, wishing I’d paid more attention in CPR class when I did a story on the Red Cross a few months back.
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