Baker's Dozen

by Amey Zeigler

  “Hello?” a small voice answered the phone with much hesitancy.

  “Hi, Mrs. Armstrong?”

  Again, hesitancy. “Yes.”

  Andy hoped the wind didn’t affect the audio. She stepped out of the wind. “I’m Georgia Haines, I was one of your husband’s students. I left a note for you at your house.”

  “Yes.” Still no change in her small and timid voice.

  “I was just wondering if he happened to know anything about an emissions converter prototype.”

  “Who did you say this was again?”

  “Georgia Haines, a former student.”

  “He did have one, yes.”

  “Do you know where he got it?”

  “My husband is a very curious man. As usual, he was intrigued by the new technology of one of his co-workers, a pompous German professor, was working at a lab here in Boston.”

  “Do you know what happened to it?”

  “I gave it to one of his students who was interested in the technology and wanted to buy it from the German professor.”

  “Scott Vehemia possibly?”

  “I really don’t remember. Too much stress has happened in my life since then. If you’ll excuse me…”

  Andy continued. “I was sorry about your husband’s disappearance. Just out of curiosity, was he acting strangely before he left?”

  Silence on the line.

  Andy continued. “This is really important. I’m trying to help my friend who might have had the same problem. Did your husband act out in violence or do things he wouldn’t normally do?” Mrs. Armstrong sniffled into the phone. “Mrs. Armstrong?”

  “He did terrible things, to our dog, to me. I’d never seen him act so brutal before. He’s usually so gentle. Just a chemistry professor. Eccentric? Neurotic? Yes, but never brutal. Always so curious about things. But then he”—she stifled a sob—“he threw our dog against the outside of the house and bashed in his head.”

  “I’m sorry. Did he say why?”

  “He was barking too loud.” Mrs. Armstrong sobbed again. “Two days later, he went missing. It’s been six months of pure torture. I’ve hired private detectives to find him, called the police. No one can find him.”

  “I am so sorry, Mrs. Armstrong. I will do everything I can to help you find peace.”

  “He’s out there, all alone. I don’t know if he’s suffering. Or even still alive. No one is watching out for him. He’s not taking his meds.”

  Andy paused. “Meds?” Andy needed a connection, anything linking him to Scott.

  “He takes a statin drug for a heart condition. I wish I knew where he was.”

  Scott wasn’t taking statin drugs. He was young and athletic. Andy drew a blank.

  Then as almost an afterthought, Mrs. Armstrong added, through tears. “And his depression meds.”

  Andy’s heart beat faster. “Do you know what depression meds he was on?”

  “Cymitol.” The woman cried inconsolable sobs. “For anxiety. I must go.”

  When Andy hung up the phone, she glanced around the windblown trash scattered about the abandoned lot.

  “I just need two data points,” she murmured. Andy didn’t have all the links but she was closer. She had to call Carla.

  “Did you get to visit Scott?” Carla asked when she got on the phone. “How is the case coming?”

  “It’s coming along,” Andy said. “I have a question. Did Scott take anti-anxiety meds?”

  “Ugh. My mom would kill me if I tell you.”

  “Which one?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. Alinor? They all sound the same to me. I don’t know their names.”

  “But he took them. For anxiety?”

  “Yes. But really you can’t tell anyone.”

  “I think I might have found the missing link.”

  ****

  Andy returned in a quickened pace, opening the doors and busting into the room, still holding her phone.

  “I think I figured out the cause of the problem with the converters,” she said.

  Sabrina glanced down her nose at her. “Oh, do tell.”

  “I think the converter gasses are reacting to anti-depressants, or anxiety medications.” She explained Dr. Armstrong’s strange disappearance. “Both Dr. Armstrong and Scott were taking them. And both name brands contain a chemical called, flaxoprime. If the studies found random patterns they couldn’t duplicate, it could be they couldn’t find the hidden variable, and it would appear random.”

  Christiaan stood. “We have to stop it.”

  “The law is going into effect. Other people may be having problems, and we just don’t know it yet.”

  “But if we have the authentication codes, we can convict Tyrone.”

  And she still held her trump card. And now it was time to play it.

  “Okay, but I want all of Imperium arrested.”

  Christiaan and Sabrina glanced at each other. Christiaan spoke. “We’ll talk about it.”

  Sabrina, Antonio, and Christiaan conferred. Antonio was chosen as voice.

  “We’ll trade the codes for a guarantee Imperium will be taken down. With one condition.”

  “What’s your guarantee?”

  “We will share the evidence on the jump drive with the US government. Although not our original goal, this must happen. I assure you, we will have the cooperation of the US government.”

  Andy nodded.

  Christiaan spoke up. “But, we’ll need a plan to persuade Tyrone to come to Germany.”

  “You mean kidnap,” Andy said.

  “I don’t think he’ll come willingly.” Sabrina smiled at her, wrapping her arm around Christiaan. “And Germany’s extradition treaty with US didn’t go so well. They said we can only prosecute Tyrone in Germany. Well, to Germany we must go.”

  “What’s your condition?”

  Christiaan folded forward in his chair facing Andy. “Kidnapping for extradition is kinda tricky business. If you help us capture Tyrone, we’ll make sure Imperium goes down.”

  Andy had to continue to the end. She wanted justice for Brad. A man she loved like a brother. His gaunt face haunted her. “You want my help and the codes.”

  Antonio gave her a persuasive smile. “You’ve been in there. Christiaan says you have an almost photographic memory. You know his apartment, the details. We need details, Andy. And you are an American. You know things about your culture we could never know. You have a distinct advantage.”

  “Okay,” she said, acquiescing. “I will help you, but I have my own condition.”

  Christiaan arched an eyebrow and rocked back in his chair.

  “I take no part in it.”

  “But—” Christiaan said, leaning forward, protesting.

  Andy held up her hand. “I don’t want to be around for it. I will give you one plan and a method for getting into his place in exchange for a new identity. I trust you. But just in case, I don’t want to be the one left holding the bag. If this was a frame-up for me to take the fall, if this goes south. I don’t want any part of it.”

  Christiaan’s expression fell. “You’d think we’d set you up.”

  “After all we’ve been through, I don’t think I could believe otherwise. Meet me back here in a couple of hours,” Andy said, picking up her bag.

  Christiaan tried to stop her as she headed for the doors. “It’s not safe for you to wander around the streets by yourself in St. Louis. Tyrone is still free, his men are hunting you. I’ll come with you.”

  “No.”

  Christiaan persisted. “I’d feel better if I—”

  “I’ll be back in two hours. I’m just going to say my goodbye to a great city I love. I’ll have a plan when I get back.”

  Andy meandered by the open-faced windows of the downtown boutiques in a haze. Evening replaced afternoon, the shopping changed from an afternoon drizzle into a flood. She was occupied with how they were going to get into Tyrone’s place again. Security would be on high especially after their break-in
at the engagement party.

  What haven’t they tried? Perhaps a fat suit. Nah! Although how lovely Sabrina would be in one. Maybe someone could fake a heart attack and they could dress up like EMTs, but someone had to be inside already to fake the heart attack.

  Ideally, Tyrone’s people should do the calling to give them an excuse to go in.

  She stared absentmindedly into the windows not seeing her reflection until she glanced to something on display, something she’d seen before. At Tyrone’s apartment. A lightbulb of inspiration caused her to smile. For the first time, Andy stepped into a cooking store to make a purchase.

  Then on the way back to the warehouse, she picked up a few friends.

  ****

  Christiaan worried about Andy until she returned to the temporary base less than two hours later with two paper bags tucked under her arm. Antonio, Sabrina, and Christiaan waited for her in the meeting room, Christiaan sat on the table.

  “I’ve got it,” Andy said, a gleam in her eye. “We’ll knock him out with this.”

  Andy retrieved matching silver cylinders from the first paper bag.

  “Huh?” Christiaan asked.

  Antonio was more kind. “Andy, I don’t think salt and pepper shakers will knock him out.”

  Andy was not deterred. “Not unless we put something else in it first. Like oxycontin. When he eats this in combination with alcohol the interaction will have some really nasty side effects.”

  “Brilliant.” Antonio grinned from ear to ear.

  “But how are you going to get the poison in there?” Christiaan asked.

  “Hold on, I’m getting there. He needs to call us.”

  Christiaan rolled his eyes. “I don’t think he’ll just call us up and invite us in.”

  “Yes, he will.”

  “But he’ll recognize us.” Tyrone had already seen Christiaan. And he was pretty sure Tyrone will kill him if he goes into his building.

  “No, you wear disguises.”

  “The disguises are in your bag?”

  Andy smiled, shaking her head. So cute with her eyes aglow. He didn’t want to squash her with his pessimistic realism.

  “It’s like we’re playing the yes/no game again. No.” She patted the bag. “This is why he’s going to call us.” Opening the bag, she showed Christiaan the crawling creatures. She smiled wide. “Infestation.”

  “Cockroaches?” he asked in confusion.

  “Remember your robotic cockroaches? These little guys will follow your bugs to his Penthouse suite.” Andy crossed her arms in self satisfaction. “He’ll call the Pest Control but you’ll answer the call before they do. By the time the real Pest Control comes, you’ll be long gone.”

  “We can monitor his phone call with the bug as well.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Andy you’re a genius.” And he kissed her. On the cheek.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tyrone sat down to lunch. Poulet basquaise facile. His pinkies outstretched, his fork and knife properly aligned at seven and four respectively. Where was Andy Baker?

  His men had been combing the city, searching his contacts. Perhaps she fled the town, maybe the country. All the better. If she was gone then he could go back to business as usual. But, someone else would take her place. No, she must be stopped, made an example. People needed to know who was in charge of this city.

  He sliced delicately into his filet when movement caught his eye from the corner of his penthouse suite. He blinked, mouth open, staring at the crawling carpet. Then he swallowed, his gut sickened. Closing his eyes to fight the nausea. He wiped his eyes with his napkin. Then yelled.

  ****

  “I’m here for a bug problem,” a man said with a slight twang. He consulted his clipboard. “An emergency. Penthouse suite.”

  “Hush,” the concierge said, shifting his gaze left to right with his crow-like eyes. “Come with me.” He swiftly escorted the bug man up in the elevator.

  ****

  “Clean every surface!” Tyrone was yelling at the new maid who hastily collected spices and jars, condiments. “Yes, sir,” and cowering murmurings of, “Right away,” were followed by doors clanking and people scurrying about.

  Tyrone wiped his eyes with his napkin, then his brow. He didn’t dare touch anything.

  ****

  The concierge followed the pest man as he sprayed the penthouse suite. After a time, he grew bored. “I’ll come and get you when you are done.” The bug man nodded, his hat hiding his face, and continued spraying the corners and baseboards.

  “The sheets, the curtains! Everything, everything has to be washed!” Cleaners washed the windows. Fresh linens applied.

  In the evening, the maids rehung the curtains, men vacuumed the floors. The concierge returned upstairs. “Is the pest man still here? He was supposed to page me when he was done.”

  A woman, attractive, exotic, probably too exotic to be a maid was replacing salt and pepper containers. “He left when he was finished.”

  The concierge’s old crow-eyes scanned the room checking the men and women cleaning furiously and figured the room was safe enough. Satisfied the bug man had left, the concierge descended in the elevator.

  Tyrone breathed in the toxic fumes. It was better than to share air with one of those… He couldn’t bear to recall what he’d witnessed. A cockroach. He shuddered. Where there was one, there were one hundred. He forced the thought from his mind before it soured his stomach. He finished preparing his meal. A light salad, though it was late when he could finally sit down to dinner. Chateau Mouton-Rothschild 1945 at his side. He needed an old friend after a day like today. He downed a glass. Then a second.

  A little salt, a little pepper. Oil and vinegar. After finishing his salad, he told his man he was going to lie down. His head throbbed. Maybe it was the nausea from the intruders earlier today. His head spun.

  He nestled in his bed, still feeling groggy, he couldn’t get the bugs out of his mind. Soon he was seeing his dinner all over the freshly shampooed carpet.

  Shaking, his eyes watering, bile still on his lip, he clicked his button for help. His eyes clouded with darkness, sickened by pain. He recognized the pest man.

  Then he realized. He’d been poisoned.

  ****

  Christiaan didn’t have time to change when he hid in the broom closet. As Tyrone ate, Christiaan knocked out his guard. After Tyrone lost his dinner, Christiaan was ready to carry him to the elevator shaft. This was no easy task. Christiaan was strong, but Tyrone’s mass tested him. His face resembled a pasty bagel. Pinched, glossy, his eyes watering, drool coming from his mouth. He smelled awful.

  Christiaan hit the elevator button to Roof. When he entered the elevator, the guard monitoring the feed downstairs would spot them both and call backup. He had just minutes before his men would arrive. It would be too late. Sabrina would be there with the helicopter.

  His footsteps echoed down the hall until he opened the outer door. The cool blasted him as he kicked it open, an alarm sounding. He searched the skies.

  Two red lights splashed shadows on the roof. People shouted inside the hallway. He jammed the door shut. Almost there.

  The helicopter landed with wind blowing all over. Christiaan heaved Tyrone up into the door. He wasn’t going easily. Dead weight weighed more than active. Shots ricocheted behind him. He ducked behind the tycoon, shoving him in at the last minute. Then they lifted off.

  Hours later, Christiaan sat across from Tyrone, the latter had his hands bound in cords to a chair at the refurbished warehouse base.

  “It’s going to be a little tricky getting me through customs,” Tyrone said, still a little blue around the gills, like a blueberry bagel or more accurate, a green bagel.

  Christiaan smiled, relishing his victory, wishing he could thank Andy one last time for her perfect plan. But there wasn’t time. He had to deliver Tyrone to the German government as soon as possible. “You’re not going through customs.”

  “I don’t have my passport on m
e.”

  “I’ve got all the paperwork I need.” Christiaan poured over a file folder in the dimly lit room. Sabrina observed behind the one-way mirror. “You killed Herr Doktor Professor Mertz.”

  “I know my rights. I don’t have to say anything without my lawyer.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for an American law officer. I am not bound by American law.” Christiaan scowled as Tyrone paled. “Now let’s try this again.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Oh, yes, probably not with your own hands, but ordered the hit just the same. I’ve got emails here to prove it.”

  “You don’t have anything.”

  “I have repeated emails from you to Herr Doktor Professor Mertz about some concerns he had about his emissions converter. Then he sent you some interesting emails, saying your prototype was defective. You knew they caused problems. They made people go crazy.”

  Tyrone shrugged. “Rumors. I don’t believe anything not written in a peer reviewed journal.”

  “Oh, okay. Glad you’re skeptical. It will make this experiment more interesting.”

  Tyrone’s eyes watered, but with his hands tied behind his back, he couldn’t wipe them. He kept the air of nonchalance just the same. “Okay, I bite, what experiment?”

  “Oh.” Christiaan gazed at the ceiling casually. “We decided to link a couple of the converter’s intermediary gasses to this interrogation room. We’ll leave you in here for a few days, and observe your behavior.”

  Christiaan pushed back his chair as if to leave. Tyrone visibly shuddered, casting his gaze upward in fear.

  “You didn’t.”

  “There have been repeated cases of insanity. We’ll test if it really is output gasses. Or maybe you’ll be one of the lucky ones who isn’t affected.” Christiaan smiled.

  Tyrone’s puss-filled eyes grew wide. Christian liked him scared. He had the emails from Mertz, but he needed a confession from this weak man to take down all of Imperium for Andy. What a pathetic mess he was, sweating, eyes watering. It would be his pleasure to put him behind bars.

  “What do you want?” Tyrone asked.