Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1)

by Douglas Wickard

  Rose politely offered her hand across the bar.

  In an honest attempt to do her profession proud, Sydia shook it with fortitude and strength.

  “African. I’m originally from Senegal, but I’ve lived most of my life in Europe and in the States.”

  “Wow. You have a very strong handshake.” Rose released quickly. She flexed her hand several times. “I’ve always hated a weak handshake, but, boy oh boy, you don’t ever have to worry about that.”

  “I’m sorry. I spend so much of my time dealing with men… doctors, I mean, it’s something I picked up on the floors in med school. A competitive thing. Introductions had to be strong. Personal. And above all else, equal.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Rose smiled. She placed her hands on her curvy hips and returned her heartthrob eyes back to Hammer. “Well?” She wiped her forehead with a napkin. “Can I get you something else?”

  Dan looked at Sydia. “You want another glass of wine?”

  “Oh, hell, why not? I’ll take the same, please.”

  “The same, then, for the lady and I’ll have a Makers Mark on the rocks. And another Perrier.”

  “Comin’ right up.”

  “A bourbon drinker?” Sydia was amused at the fact she was already learning essential information about the man standing beside her. Rose went about her bartending duties as Sydia attentively went about hers.

  Hammer smiled. “I don’t remember your handshake being so strong.”

  “That’s because I didn’t shake your hand, if you remember correctly.” A pensive moment. She observed the detective conscientiously taking a mental inventory of his faulty recollection.

  “I won’t take it personally. And since we’re on first name basis now, I guess you really should be calling me Dan.”

  She finished the last of her wine as Rose delivered the new one. She held up the glass. “Cheers. To your health, Dan. And to a long and happy life.” Rose returned to her post at the opposite end of the bar. She wasn’t pleased with the present situation surrounding Dan and Sydia. She gave a faint, insincere smile. Sydia proceeded to do something totally obnoxious. She winked at her, to tease, so Rose would notice.

  Dan grabbed his rock glass and together they toasted.

  “Here’s to you.” He added, taking a taste of the dark amber liquid. “Now, that’s strong.”

  “So, Dan… one question.”

  “I’m the Detective. I ask the questions.”

  She laughed. “Okay, humor me, then. Why did you invite me out for a drink this evening?”

  “I figured you wouldn’t go out to dinner…”

  “Sweet.” And she honestly meant it. This guy was a charmer.

  He fiddled with the red stir stick floating in his drink. He rotated the ice cubes counter-clockwise. Sydia on the other hand, found solace in bar food. She picked a cashew from the bowl filled with an assortment of mixed nuts. She dug for a honey roasted one buried in the bunch.

  “Well, would’ve you?”

  His attention was undividedly upon her. His blue eyes matched the color of his pressed, cotton, button down, long sleeved shirt. A greenish-blue. Cyan. She projected a mental picture of Dan, standing in a dark, oppressive room located at some precinct. A single, forty watt light bulb swayed. He stood there, so secure in his skin, interrogating some poor unfortunate lawbreaker and putting the squeeze on pretty good. The stalwart Detective forced answers by his physical presence alone. Either Sydia had been watching far too little television or just had an over-excitable imagination. “I don’t know. It’s been rough the last couple of days. Couple of weeks, actually. I’ve been working a lot of hours. Subbing for other Residents. I’m beginning to think that hospital has become an added appendage!” God, she was rambling. Her conversation had turned erratic and unfocused. Ignorant. She continued anyway. “I rarely have time for sleep, let alone go out for dinner. And with a Detective, no less.”

  “It’s not a great time for me, either. The City is in a panic. People are scared.”

  “The whole thing is just awful.” She wiped her lips with the paper napkin. “Any suspects?”

  “No, nothing. Everything’s clean. Like a whistle. Not a trace. No fingerprints. Nothing.”

  “Was the fire this evening… at the hospital, an accident? Electrical outlet or something?”

  “I doubt it. That young girl, Angie, I mean… sorry, she was our only witness.”

  Sydia nodded.

  “Charleston’s a sleepy town. Trying to keep up. We’re not used to this sort of thing. Or, equipped. Sure, a drug bust, some domestic violence here and there, once in a blue moon a gunshot wound, but…”

  “Gunshot wounds and related trauma injuries are on the increase in the ER, Dan. Since I’ve been working here, finishing my residency, I’ve witnessed the uptrend. Personally, I don’t think there’s anywhere on the map that’s immune to this kind of violence any longer. How about you?”

  The wine was beginning to mellow Sydia, attacking her impulses. A thousand, soft downy pillows were landing all around her, soothing her. Comforting her. She forgot how good wine tasted and more importantly, how it felt.

  “Hope for the best, I guess.” Dan said.

  He spoke with few words. She admired that quality in a man. In anyone, actually. “You seem like a really positive guy. I like that. That good old boy attitude.” Dan looked embarrassed. He lowered his head. “Doesn’t anything ever faze you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What gets Dan Hammer down?”

  “Not having my little girl with me…”

  “You have a child?”

  “Almost six now.”

  “Wow. So I guess that means you must have a wife, also, then. Or at least you did have a wife.”

  In a feeble attempt to avoid the question, Dan’s eyes went to the television set situated at the end of the bar. Sydia followed his line of vision. An attractive female news reporter, popular to the Charleston area, was standing in front of MUSC, microphone in hand, doing a report on the fire. BREAKING NEWS flashed across the screen. The parking lot behind the hospital was a foster home to fire trucks, police cars, and news vans. Police crews held back curious onlookers behind barricades. The reporter’s voice was barely audible.

  “Hey, Rose, can you turn it up for a second?”

  Rose grabbed the remote control and raised the volume. Everybody at the bar turned toward the television, engrossed in the story unfolding only a few short blocks away.

  “Chief Sallen, from Charleston’s Fire Marshall Office recently gave a Press Conference stating, and I quote, ‘the fire that mysteriously started on the fourth floor of the Medical University of South Carolina and killed the lives of thirteen year old Angie Kessler and her mother, Sarah Kessler is now suspected to be the work of an arsonist. There is no further information. Every effort is being made to apprehend the person or persons responsible. Chief Sallen gave no mention of the fact that Angie Kessler was recently found on Old Towne Road, or to the gruesome discovery of a second body found dead in the same vicinity of an unknown, unidentifiable teenage girl…’”

  The once cozy bar took on a sub zero chill.

  Customers whispered to one another and ordered more drinks.

  “Thank you, Rose.” Dan turned back to Sydia. “Sorry.”

  Sydia didn’t know how to respond.

  Dan finished his drink, let out a short sigh and took Sydia’s hand in his. The frisson she felt was welcome. And exciting. He could’ve been a surgeon! His hands were soft and strong and amazingly un calloused. His nails were short and manicured. Clean. She fantasized sucking on his thumb. Damn, she must be getting drunk!

  “I guess we’ll discuss your wife another time.”

  Dan interrupted her. “Ex wife.”

  “Testy, testy…”

  “It’s a testy subject. Hungry? Want to grab something to eat?”

  “I’ve realized something in my life…”

  “What’s that?” Dan gentl
y massaged her hands, her fingers, triggering pressure points she’d forgotten she had.

  “… I’ve come to the realization that if I wait long enough, everything eventually comes full circle.”

  Dan shook his head in confusion. “So, should I take that as a “yes” or a “no?””

  “Actually… a yes.”

  Sydia’s cell phone vibrated at precisely that moment. “Great!”

  “What?” Dan withdrew his hands for fear of overstepping his boundaries.

  “One of the disadvantages of being a Senior Resident at the Hospital.” She pulled out her cell and checked the number. “Excuse me for one minute.” She slid off the barstool, the effect of the wine in full swing. She smiled at herself, aware of her giddy mood and walked to the back of the restaurant. She went outside under the forested canopy of twinkling lights and answered the call. A patient of hers, transported to SICU was having respiratory failure and the Resident on duty, a dimwit, needed her immediate assistance. Of course, she agreed to be there as quickly as possible and ended the call.

  Damn!

  Sydia strolled leisurely back to Dan. She placed her hand upon his waist, straining her fingers through the cotton material of his shirt to feel the warmth of his body, the masculine outline of his burly physique.

  “I guess I’ll have to take a rain check on that dinner.”

  “Emergency?”

  “Something like that.” She pulled her windbreaker from off the back of the barstool and with limited agility attempted to put it on. Dan stood up to assist her. “You Southern boys sure know how to spoil a girl!”

  “Try, at least. When’s you’re next day off?” He was feeling confident suddenly, assertive.

  Sydia left Dan standing at the bar and walked toward the entrance. Midway there, she turned and looked at Dan. She liked what she saw. “Next year.” She smiled. “Interested in making a date?”

  Dan chuckled. “Too long for me to wait. For any man.”

  “I’m worth it.” Her words slurred. Enough to notice.

  “I’m sure you are. Want me to escort you back?” Dan wanted her, wanted to be with her, hang on to her for dear life, and never let her go.

  “Nah, I’m okay. It’s only a couple of blocks, and I definitely could use the walk. I only hope I’m worth something once I get back.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  She patted her chest. “Some fresh air will do me good. Oxygenate.”

  Sydia pushed the entrance door open. A swell of cool night air assaulted her. Then, she did something cold and utterly heartless. She didn’t bother to look back.

  8:17 PM

  Friday

  24

  “Ohhhh, Ba-by,” Lisette cooed, as she greeted Janice at the door with open arms. “Get that scrawny ass of yours in here!” In the background, Marvin Gaye’s sensual voice sang about Sexual Healing.

  Janice entered Lisette’s waiting embrace. “That’s the best offer I’ve had all day.” She kissed Lisette’s sweet full lips, investigating the kinky row of dreadlocks that fell heavy and twisted and thick down the middle of her back. A whiff of something wonderful simmering in the kitchen ambushed each one of her senses.

  “I hope you’re in the mood for Mexican.” Lisette uttered, grabbing Janice’s hand and slamming the front door behind them. She pulled her into the kitchen, her agreeable hostage. “I’ve made the food, honey, but I’m leaving the beverages up to you.” On the black and white tiled countertop sat an unopened bottle of Don Julio Silver Tequila, some fresh limes, Cointreau and a blender.

  Janice observed the details of Lisette’s kitchen, her reporter duties working overtime. Cookbooks from every country lined the top of the refrigerator, separated by old wooden wine crates. A round table sat positioned in the corner of the room. Pushed up against it were two chairs with rattan backs. The walls were painted an eccentric canary yellow. A funny rooster clock hung above the sink. A full sized poster of Martin Luther King hung mounted on a door, presumably leading to the bathroom. An inscription printed in large black letters read: I HAVE A DREAM. Written in bold red at the bottom of the placard was a large X. Blood red.

  The smell wafting from the stove was wonderful, overpowering almost! Spicy and warm, it tickled Janice’s nose. Her stomach gave a little growl. Hopefully, Lisette couldn’t hear. They knew each other, but not that well. Not yet, anyway.

  “There’s ice in the freezer.” Lisette pointed to the refrigerator as she continued her preparation. “I picked some up on the way home from school.”

  “I get the hint.” Janice retired her reporter skills for the time being and relied on her past incarnation as a prize bartender. It came in handy while she was putting herself through college. All those forgettable Friday and Saturday nights, standing hours behind big corporate restaurant chains like TGIF’s or Houlihan’s, while other waspish, sorority gals were out on dates and conversing with “Mr. Right,” Janice was counting down the wee small hours of the morning with Gin and Tonics. Her favorite time of the evening was thirty minutes before closing when her happy bartender – thanks for the shitty tip -- face peeled away and she offered her oral revenge. “Last call.”

  Last call for alcohol. Amazing the puzzled look on customer’s faces as she curtly, without apology, removed their favorite libation from in front of them.

  Later, counting dollar bills and grouping them into twenty dollar bundles like a stripper, Janice would run back to her studio apartment before dawn and get just enough sleep to start the entire routine all over again. Not to mention, studying. Oh, fond memories…

  Like the corners of my mind. Right?

  More like riding a bicycle, Janice thought. She poured the liquor into the blender with equal amounts of lime juice, Cointreau and ice. Pushing the Puree button, she listened as the grind went from clunky to smooth.

  “Yummy, I can taste it already.” Lisette took a tablespoon of bubbling mole poblano sauce, a Mexican specialty dish combining sixteen different ingredients, including herbs, spices and chocolate. She blew on the spoon several times before offering the sample to Janice. The flavor was amazing. Lisette gathered warm chips from the oven, Mexican rice with grilled corn and black beans from the stove. From the refrigerator, a fresh green salad topped with avocado, tomatoes and slivers of red onions was placed on the table, next to an assortment of bottled salad dressings. A colorful ceramic bowl brimming with homemade guacamole completed the setting. “Nothing fancy,” Lisette said, discounting her achievements.

  “Right. Just whipped it up.” Janice did her part by pouring the frozen mixture of Margaritas into large Martini glasses, ice cold from the freezer. Garnishing them with fresh lime wedges, she placed them on the table, glasses steaming. “This looks beautiful,” Janice said, admiringly. She took a seat and waited for the hostess to present the main dish. From the oven, Lisette pulled out a pan filled with chicken basting in the rich, dark mole sauce. She sat it down on the table onto colorful potholders.

  “Here it is. Direct from Mexico. Hope you like it.”

  Lisette sat down next to Janice. She could smell the sexy oil of musk on her skin. A light odor of sandalwood drifted from the living room. She took a match and lit the candle, and then held Janice’s hand. “Let us pray.” Lowering her head, she began. “Dear Lord, we are grateful for this food placed before us, thankful for good friends and company this evening. May this food, provided by You, nurture us and be blessed in Your name. Amen.”

  Janice listened to Lisette’s prayer. The way she enunciated each word for added meaning. Out of respect, she kept her eyes closed and her head lowered. Somehow, she wanted to be a part of this Universal homage to the Lord. A Lord. She just didn’t know how to go about it, or how to do it. It was how she had lived her life up until now, driven solely by facts. Hard and fast and concrete.

  Then again, the quests Janice had always embarked upon were outwardly directed, never inwardly motivated. A Spiritual quest, so to speak. Maybe Lisette was a teacher in many ways. M
aybe Lisette was her teacher. Janice thought, sitting here, so closely beside her, listening to Lisette’s soothing voice, sensing her unwavering belief, that she so wanted to be taught. She so wanted to be a part of Lisette’s homage. So, Janice decided to change things up. In essence, Janice’s tiny breath of a prayer, her lowered head, her closed eyes, her sweaty, nervous palms of devotion were for Lisette. Only for her.

  Amen.

  Janice took her Margarita and inhaled a slurp of its splendid iciness. Lisette followed.

  “This is scrumptious.” Lisette said, squeezing her lime of any remaining juice over the top. “Girl, you haven’t lost your flair!”