by Sasscer Hill
“But will they give you that information?” I asked, surprised. “Stonehouse is pretty tough.”
“I know him,” Will said.
“What do you mean? I asked.
“Why don’t I get you another beer?”
“I don’t think so.” I rose to my feet.
In one lithe movement, Will stood and closed in. Momentarily startled, I stepped back, but he edged closer, placing a hand on the wall near my head, then watched my face.
My body responded, rising with heat. Then someone knocked on the door.
“Nikki, you got Scat in there with you?” Stella.
Will exhaled, and stepped back.
“No,” I called. “I don’t have the cat.”
“You might be wrong about that,” said Will, tilting his head toward my closet near the bathroom.
Scat was sitting on a pile of clean tee shirts on a shelf above the hanging clothes. She must have snuck in when I rolled my chair back.
“Wait a minute, Stella. Oh, for God’s sake.” I marched back, retrieved the cat, and carried her to the door. I opened it and handed Scat to Stella.
“Cat’s a regular busybody,” Stella said as she stared at Will.
“I’d better get going,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess,” I sighed.
He walked through the door past Stella, who finally moved out of the way as I shut the door.
CHAPTER 37
Carla and I sat in her red Mustang across from World Enterprises in Fort Lauderdale. At nine p.m., the street lamps left shadows, and the headlights of passing cars distorted the shapes of pedestrians moving on the sidewalk.
“We’ll just watch,” she had said that morning when she came to the track to hit me up with her plan. “See who comes and goes.”
Looking across the street now, she said, “I’m surprised that World Enterprises owns so much concrete on Atlantic Boulevard.”
I stared, taking in the circular driveway and awning. A glass atrium rose above the entrance. On either side, polished marble walls climbed to dizzying heights. Footlights in the thick, tropical foliage at the base illuminated the marble walls and made the glass shine and reflect like the surface of a lagoon.
“I hope Klaire’s right, and Hallandale Vice raids this place,” I said.
Carla and Klaire had made the call with a voice changer the night before, and I’d been amused that Klaire hadn’t trusted the untraceable status of the phone. She had made Carla drive up I-95 almost to the airport to make the call. Still, it pays to be careful, and who knew what Broward County police might do?
Across the boulevard, cabs and limos pulled up to the main entrance. Men in hot-colored Hawaiian shirts or solid tees entered through the glass doors. A few had long-haired women in high heels on their arms, and I caught the glint of gold necklaces and bracelets on a couple of the men.
A group of Asian guys approached along the sidewalk on our side. They were loud, joking, as if they’d just come from a bar. They wore well-cut suits with a fine sheen. They were not speaking English. We had the convertible top up, and the late model Mustang’s darkened windows provided cover. The men didn’t notice us as they jaywalked across the street in front of the car.
The group drifted into the flow of people getting out of cabs and limos across the street. It was like opening night for a movie. Except there weren’t many women.
“You think the girls are already inside?” I asked.
“I don’t know. But we’re not learning anything sitting out here.”
“We’re not going in there!”
“I know, I know,” Carla said.
“Besides, with your hair and that red dress, everyone would see you coming a mile away.” She had on high heels, too. I’d worn a plain black skirt, a red tee, and flats.
As we watched, the crowd moving into the building eased. By nine-twenty, it was a trickle.
“Where is Rick?” Carla asked.
“This thing will probably go on past midnight. Vice probably wants to let it simmer for a while.”
A last limo rolled into the half-circle drive. A white stretch. The doors on the entrance side opened, and a man with a dark ponytail pulled a young woman out. Her hair was the color of cinnamon and honey.
“It’s her!” I said. “Did you see the way he jerked her?”
“Where the hell is Rick?” Carla’s voice was tight and grating.
The glass entrance doors opened, and Chakri came out in a hurry, yelling something at the long-haired man. Chakri made a sharp get-in-here motion, glanced nervously up and down the street, and the three of them disappeared inside the building.
“What are they doing to her?”
Carla didn’t answer. I hadn’t seen the other man who’d been with the girl before at Gulfstream. Maybe he was finished with her. I pushed the Mustang’s passenger handle and started to open the door, but Carla grabbed my arm.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going in there,” I said. “This is bullshit!”
“But you’re the one who said, ‘no way,’ and we promised Klaire…”
We stared at each other a moment. “You got those fancy, dark glasses in your bag?” Turning to the back seat, I grabbed her red straw hat. Perfect with my red tee.
Carla opened her bag and withdrew a pair of tinted glasses. They had graduated lenses I could see through at night. After handing them over, she checked her face in the rearview, like she thought she was going in, too.
“No, Carla,” I said. “You gotta stay here and keep watch. If anything happens to me…I need you out here with a phone.”
She started to protest, then sighed. “I guess you’re right. But wait, your hair. You’ll need this.” She withdrew a small bottle of Bumble and Bumble spray. “Hold out your hands.”
I did, and she pumped wet glue onto my palms.
“Yuck, Carla, I could use this stuff to shoe horses!”
“Stroke your hair back and up with your hands. Hurry, before it dries!”
I did, and when the hat went on, my short hair disappeared. The glasses hid my eyes.
I put my hand back on the Mustang’s door.
“Wait!” Carla pulled her favorite weapon from her purse. “When you put this red lipstick on, you’ll look totally different. Besides, it goes with the hat. Chakri will never recognize you.”
“Yeah, well let’s hope Rick doesn’t, either.” I swiped on the lipstick, swung the door open, and climbed out of the car.
* * * *
I paused just inside Worldwide’s lobby, uncertain of my next move. The glass atrium soared overhead, and palm trees in bronze planters dotted the tiled floor. On one side, a door led to one of those little coffee/sandwich/pharmacies you see sometimes in office buildings. Across the way, a fountain gurgled and splashed.
Ahead of me, three men stood behind a table covered with white cloth, cream-colored envelopes, and what looked like a computer-printed checklist. All three men had short fair hair, and though not especially threatening, they blocked my access to the elevators. Apparently, I needed an invitation.
I didn’t see Lena or Chakri, but two male guests in tropical flowered shirts waited for the elevator. One of them turned briefly, revealing a printed name tag. When the chime sounded and the doors opened, the two men disappeared inside. I watched the floor number lights to see where they got off.
“Can I help you, miss?” One of the reception guys stepped from behind the table and walked toward me. He got close enough for me to smell his expensive cologne. He gave me a cool stare. Probably saw me watching the progress of the elevator. I looked away from the number lights. I could always drop Chakri’s name, but then this guy would discover I wasn’t on his list.
“Hey, is there a coffee shop anywhere around here? I got a killer headache.” I cupped the back of my neck with one hand and rubbed, grimacing like the pain was brutal. “I need some caffeine.”
The guy paused a beat, then smiled. “Yeah right over there, behind th
at palm. You lucked out. They’re open till ten. They have pain meds, too.”
“Great.” I bailed out of the lobby through a swinging door and entered the coffee shop. The guy behind the counter was reading a magazine and yawned as he looked up. Mid-thirties, balding, with a patch of scruffy beard under his chin.
I ordered a small cup of black coffee, and when I had it, I grabbed a magazine off the rack, then stood by the door, sipping the bitter liquid and leafing through the magazine without seeing the pages. From my new position, I could read the numbers on the elevator. I waited while one of the check-in guys handed a couple of stragglers name tags from inside the envelopes. The elevator took them to the tenth floor.
I walked back to the sandwich counter, set my cup down. I started to put my tote down, too, but noticed a gummy mix of spilled coffee and sugar on the counter. I set the magazine in a dry spot and pulled my wallet from my tote.
“You want the magazine?” the guy asked, scratching at his beard.
“Actually,” I said pulling a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet, “I want to go to the party next door, but I forgot my invitation.”
He laughed. “Twenty bucks ain’t gonna get you up there.”
“But I really need to go.” I pulled the glasses off and gave him a pleading look. “I think my boyfriend might be up there…with somebody else. You know what I mean? I really need to find out.”
His expression softened, his eyes wandered to parts of me where they had no business.
“So what will get me up there?” I asked.
“Normally I’d charge a hundred, but with you being so cute and all, I’ll give you the cut rate. Fifty bucks.”
Damn it. Then I remembered the way the two men had jerked Lena into World Enterprises. I pulled out another twenty and a ten. He reached for it.
“Wait! You get it when I know you can get me in.”
I was a little uncomfortable when he motioned me into the storage area behind the counter, but he led me through a locked door into a hallway, then opened a door to a concrete stairwell. I craned my neck back. The stairs spiraled upwards as far as I could see.
“You can’t get into this hall from the street without a key pass, but once you’re in you can access the whole building. You look like you won’t have any trouble climbing up ten floors.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “But how do I know the door to the tenth floor will open?”
“It will,” he said. “Fire regulations.” He held out his hand for the money, and I gave it to him.
* * * *
I stopped on the second floor to make sure at least this first door was unlocked. Peering at the names of offices visible through the narrow opening I’d made, I realized even if Worldwide owned the building, it didn’t use all the space. The second floor appeared to be the law offices of Smith, Hammer, and Goldstein.
I sprinted up the next eight floors, and my breath remained steady. I might not ride as much as some jockeys, but I could still prove that the experts who consider us the world’s fittest athletes are right.
When I reached the tenth floor landing, I stopped and tried texting Carla, but couldn’t get reception through the concrete. I heard music, but not close by. I cracked the door open. The music grew louder, and bits of conversation mingled with a female pop star’s electronic beat.
Peering into the carpeted hall, I could see the elevator doors halfway down. Across from them, light and noise poured from a wide opening into the hall. Must be the party room.
I eased from the stairwell. A few people stood near the elevators, chatting with drinks in their hands. Nobody paid me any mind, so I called Carla.
“I’m in. On the tenth floor.”
“Who’s there? Do you see Lena?”
“Not yet. I’m at the far end of the hall. I’m just going to stroll to the party room and see what’s going on. Anything happening out there?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Nikki, be careful.”
“Plan to,” I said and disconnected.
I put the phone away and, catching my reflection in the glass covering an old ship print, I made sure my hair was still tucked beneath the red hat. Walking toward the music, I smiled at three guys with drinks near the elevators, then entered a large room.
Party time, only not the drunken debauchery I’d feared. The crowd seen on the street earlier was lined up at two bars on either side of the room and at a long table laden with finger food standing in between.
A number of men and women in dark business suits and gold badges appeared to be working the crowd. One of them, a woman, stood close enough for me to read the badge pinned to the lapel of her suit.
“Teresa.” Below that, “Worldwide Enterprises.” She wore her dark hair long, but neatly pulled back. Her makeup was expertly applied and conservative.
Catching my glance, she approached.
“Hi, how are we doing tonight?”
“Fine,” I said.
Her smile flashed, showing perfect white teeth. “You should get something to drink and eat. The shrimp is to die for. And please, if you have any questions about the various ways that Worldwide can benefit your company, just ask.”
She handed me her business card. “Call me anytime.”
I examined the card. An “executive associate,” probably one step up from coffee server.
She smiled again. “Of course you know how many US businesses are prospering from partnerships with Worldwide. Going forward, we see at least an eleven percent increase in sales of fabrics, green tea, and electronic equipment from Thailand and south east Asia. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to products and raw materials available through Worldwide!”
“Really?” I asked, stifling a yawn. “Uh, my company loves working with Worldwide. You know, I’m just going to take you up on your offer of a drink.”
I smiled, turned away, and headed for the closest bar.
Three men in Hawaiian shirts with their drinks already in hand grinned at me. One wiggled his brows.
I kept going, speared a shrimp off the food table, then stopped to watch a woman walking through the crowd in a dazzling yellow dress. She must be modeling imported Thai silk.
Nearby, a dark suited man with a gold badge spoke earnestly to the Asian men I’d seen outside. I couldn’t understand a word he said—all Chinese to me—but his promotional body language and tone duplicated the spiel I’d received from Teresa.
This crowd was entirely too business like. Where was the action? Where was Lena?
As I approached the bar, I noticed a permanent display of framed, color photographs on the back wall of the room. I eased past the people in line for drinks and studied the pictures.
The first one looked like an interior shot of a fabric mill, with workers busy handling textile machinery. In the background, some of the employees looked like children. Another photo showed the docks, with a massive crane offloading a container while people in hard hats operated forklifts and other equipment. Another displayed a long run of stockroom shelves holding computers and software equipment. Was there anything Worldwide wasn’t into?
The largest picture, centered on the wall, drew me closer. A massive container ship plowed straight toward me through a roiling sea. The words “Worldwide” were stenciled on its dark prow.
My understanding of Chakri’s business gelled, and a chill swept along the hairs of my forearms.
Traffickers used container ships to move humans as slaves or indentured workers. Was Chakri a slave trader? Glancing around the room, I didn’t see him.
Since liquor loosens tongues, and bars are a great place to eavesdrop, I moved back toward the line for drinks.
A muscular guy in a tight black tee shirt near the head of line motioned at me.
“Ladies first.” He stepped back leaving a space in front of him.
“Thanks,” I said and moved in next to him.
“I’m Ned, and this is Ted,” he said grinning at the guy next to him, who also looked
like a weight lifter.
“I’m Mary,” I said, doubting these two guys were really named Ted and Ned.
Glancing at the other people in line, I saw only one woman. She wore a dark green suit with pumps, not strappy stilettos like the women I’d seen going into the building. A guy with an equally business-like attitude was with her. He even carried a briefcase. Ned and Ted seemed more like fraternity boys out to have a good time. Their reason for attending was the one I wanted to learn about.
I ordered a tonic water, and the iron pumpers had something called a “curl,” which involved multiple bottles and different colored fluids. I caught the smell of carrots, oranges, and rum. One of those health drinks with plenty of booze. The three of us drifted from the bar and sipped from our tall glasses.
“So, Ned,” I asked, “are you in the computer industry?”
“Ted and I run a barge company. We like to help the big boys move in and out of port.”
“Cool,” I said. “You mean like cruisers and container ships?”
“Yeah,” Ted said before taking a slug of his drink. “Like that. What do you do?”
I’d already thought about this one. “I do marketing for a lingerie manufacturer.”
“Really?” Ned appeared interested. “Which one?”
“Triangles. It’s new, just about to launch.”
“You got any, like, glossy photos or anything on you?” Ted asked.
“Sorry, no.” Time for me to lay down my bet. I smiled and arched one brow. “But if you’re seeing some of the girls here tonight, they might be wearing our product.”
It hung there for a moment until Ted bought it.
He grinned. “We are all over that! We’ll have to take some of those triangles home as souvenirs!” Then he made a sound like a donkey braying.
I tried to smile amiably while they hee-hawed and slurped down more booze. Ned darted a look at a closed door in the corner. A small sign next to it said “stairs.” Only there was no matching red “exit” sign.