Steal Me (Longshadows Book 1)

by Natalia Banks

  Casper pressed that little fake smile on his round, shiny face. Lacking any response, Lorraine said, “But listen to me, Casper. You keep up your end of the bargain, you’ll never see or hear from me again.”

  “I understand, of course.” He nodded.

  “No, Casper, you don’t. I mean not you, nor anybody on the school board will have any reason to be interested in us. We won’t stand in anybody’s way or interfere with your miserable, corrupt business in anyway. There won’t be any reason for any of us to have a heart attack the way Albert Jenkins … or Antony Scalia did. Do you understand?” She said unwavering.

  The two stared each other down, Casper setting the letter down on the desk. “Good day, Mrs. Phoenix,” was all he said, and all he really needed to say.

  “Good luck, Mr. Newkirk.” Was all she could say.

  Ten minutes later, Lorraine was halfway across the plaza when a familiar voice called her name from behind. “Lorraine, wait!”

  Lorraine turned to see Treena jiggling toward her. “Lorraine, um … I just want to say, I heard about what happened with your son’s play, and … I’m glad it’s back on.”

  “As glad as you are that I won’t be around anymore?” Lorraine said.

  “Well, no, not nearly … ” The two women shared a tense chuckle. “Look, I was hard on you, I know that. But, it wasn’t just that I was jealous, though I guess I probably am. You’re so young, pretty, happy and everything — ”

  She sighed, “It’s not all sunshine and roses Treena”

  “I know that, too, Lorraine. I guess you make it look easy. But, you’ve paid the price for what you have, and you keep paying, willingly. That’s more than a lot of these people are ready to do. It’s more than I’m willing to do, too, I guess I should admit.” She looked down.

  Lorraine nodded, a downy woodpecker fluttering by overhead.

  Treena said, “I do want you to know, though, that it was as much about doing a good job as anything. I mean, imagine working diligently for years, just to have some … some hobbyist flutter in and try to turn the whole place upside-down.” Lorraine didn’t have to search too hard for a recent example of that. “It was a little scary,” Treena added, “for all of us. I guess we made it all the scarier for you.” She gave Lorraine an apologetic half smile.

  “I’ve been through worse.” Lorraine admitted.

  Treena put forward her hand, extended in friendship. “I’m sorry again, Lorraine. Good luck.”

  “To you, too, Treena.” Lorraine glanced up at the Capitol building behind them. “We’ll all need it.”

  Lorraine’s fingers clicked across the keyboard, fingers sliding along the touchpad to guide the curser to her account on the website usignit.com. Her petition for the new pro sports tax had garnered almost ten thousand signatures, still well short of the requirement to put the petition in front of the President.

  Griffin approached her from behind, his strong hands finding her shoulders and the napes of her neck, a gentle cycle of squeezing delivering a soothing massage. Lorraine leaned back, head resting against his chiseled torso.

  Even Griffin’s tender touch, the familiar surroundings of their comforting study, nestled in the heart of the fabulous penthouse, could bring Lorraine no solace. “Maybe this is pointless, Grif. At this rate, I’ll never get the amount of signatures I need.”

  None of the books on the walnut bookshelves, not even the endless resource of the internet, could offer any solution. Griffin said, “I know it’s not easy for you to give up, especially when you believe in something. It’s not that old bugaboo is it?”

  “It’s not about being afraid, Grif … at least not for myself. The whole thing with Albert, I just can’t get it out of my head. What if he really was murdered?” She asked disturbed.

  “Let’s say that he was. It wouldn’t have had anything to do with the pro sports industry. And your position is much more a threat to them than to the school board. And to think that both the school board and pro ball both go around murdering people, it’s just a little far-fetched, don't you think?” He reasoned.

  Lorraine sighed, eyes dipping closed as the tension leaked away from her shoulder muscles and upper back. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Lorraine, if somebody in the pro ball leagues was really concerned about your petition, they’d just exert pressure on some other end. They’re businessmen, Lorraine, and blood is a big expense.”

  Lorraine nodded, but Griffin added, “Anyway, killing you wouldn’t stop that petition. If anything, with you out of the picture, that petition would be stuck online, and probably would only get a lot more notorious, a lot longer. Anyway, you’re already too famous to kill.”

  “Griffin!” She blurted, half smiling, rolling her eyes.

  “The last thing they’d want to have to deal with is a martyr, Lorraine. I’d be a lot easier just to make a few calls and squash this thing somewhere down the line, once the heat’s died down.”

  Lorraine smile melted away. “What you're saying is that … I can’t win this, no matter which way I go.”

  Griffin finally had to say, “No, baby, I don’t think you can.”

  “So the school board gets to just go on being as corrupt as they wanna be — ”

  “We don’t really know how corrupt they are.”

  “And the pro sports leagues?” She asked perturbed.

  “What can we possibly do to change any of that?” Griffin countered in a calm and sympathetic tone.

  “What about the schools, Griffin, the kids? These monsters are turning our high schools into football recruiting stations and sending ninety-nine percent of them to the poor house or the hospital … or the graveyard.”

  “I know, Lorraine, it’s … it’s frustrating as all hell. But again, I just don’t know what we can do about it.”

  Lorraine knew he was right, a cold chill passing through her. And she also knew that, if he was wrong, she could be taking a terrible risk in the service of a doomed mission, and the risk wasn’t to her alone. She realized that if either the school board or these pro ball leagues were indeed ready to kill, that they’d go after her, Griffin, the kids, her parents.

  However committed Lorraine was to the cause of education, she was more committed to the cause of her family, the love and lives they created, the futures they looked forward to. Nothing was more important than that to Lorraine and nothing ever would be.

  Maybe I am afraid, Lorraine had to admit, of course I am. But I’m afraid for them, not myself. I’ve been shot, I’ve nearly died! But the idea of little Kayla or Ashe getting caught up in anything like that again … no, I just can’t have it. Griffin and Ashe have suffered enough, we all have. And I won’t let Kayla suffer in the same way, or even worse. The legacy of death and violence that’s plagued the Phoenix family ends, here and now; at least if I have anything to say about it.

  Lorraine took a deep breath and reached out to the keyboard, pale index finger trembling as she guided the curser to a small button labelled Cancel Petition.

  One click and it was all over.

  Chapter 14

  Lorraine and Griffin were pacing around his study in the penthouse, the smell of freshly ground Arabica coffee beans filling the oak-paneled walls. The prints of Tony Gardner’s paintings where everywhere around them, Einstein peering out from the foam matte board, challenging, begging Lorraine to find some solution to their pending doom.

  They only took their eyes off the paintings long enough to glance at each other, and neither liked what the other wasn’t saying.

  A knock fell on the open door and Jeremy stuck his head in.

  Griffin said, “Come on in, Jer.”

  Jeremy and Anton stepped into the little room, Anton stepping past Jeremy to examine the paintings. Jeremy said, “We were just on our way to talk to that lawyer of yours. Are you sure about this? We still say this isn’t the right time.”

  Griffin tossed out an amused huff. “Actually, I think this may be your last chance. Take t
he fifty at least. And the job at the company will cover your insurance. There’s no reason to be proud.”

  Anton turned from one of the paintings, a brush-rendered picture of a snowy landscape. “D’ese nice,” he said in his thick Jamaican accent, bending his over six-foot height to look more closely at the pictures. “D’ese aight fer sout’paw, man, aire.”

  Lorraine asked, “What’s that? Southpaw?”

  Anton said, “Left-hand paintah, can tell by d’ese strokes here. De right-hand paintah do like d’is wit his brush, see?” Anton demonstrated with his right and left hand, each one naturally creating brush strokes in a certain direction.

  Lorraine and Griffin stepped toward the painting, each taking a closer look. All the notable strokes of the hashmarks, a criss-cross pattern of brush strokes, had a definite pattern favoring the motion of right to left, with the right-facing up strokes passing over the left-facing down strokes.

  Anton turned to another painting, this one of a Paris street, and he pointed out the same cross-hatch pattern. “Pree,” he said, and Lorraine and Griffin were quick to see the similarity. Anton glanced around at the shelves, then turned to the laptop. His long, dark fingers clattered over the keyboard, eyes scanning the monitor. “Pree, pree,” he said, not needing to explain what it meant.

  Griffin and Lorraine looked at the monitor, a painting by the great painter Rembrandt, known to be right-handed. A close examination revealed that the cross-hatch pattern was subtly but visibly different, stronger on the strokes heading from left to right, the opposite of the other paintings.

  “My God,” Griffin said astounded.

  “Which of that lying rat’s arms did you mangle?” Lorraine blurted out.

  “Right,” Griffin said, “I’m certain of it.”

  Lorraine turned to Anton, and beamed “Anton, I could kiss you right now!”

  Anton shrugged. “Mi deh ya,” he said, meaning, I am here. Jeremy smiled and gave Anton a playful swat on the shoulder.

  Lorraine and Griffin sat down at that familiar long table in the deposition room at the county courthouse. The tan walls had little decor save a framed photo of a black-robed judge wearing a stern expression, silently overseeing the proceedings. Attorney Hal Rodney had arranged to have Tony’s original paintings around the room on easels, as before, trying not to smile as Tony Gardner and his lawyer sat down.

  Hal turned on the recorder on the table and said, “Mr. Gardner, thank you for joining us again today.”

  He nodded broadly. “Awright. So … what?”

  “Right to the point,” Hal said with a little smile, setting down a folder and crossing to one of the easels. “Very good. Mister Gardner, these are your paintings, isn’t that right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” He mumbled.

  “Take a good look. Are you sure these are the paintings you identified as yours, the paintings you made?” Hal said as his eyebrows raised.

  “Yeah, man, that’s my name right in the corner. Are you blind?” He retorted, his annoyance starting to bubble up within him.

  “I am not,” Hal said, no room for levity in his professionally courteous tone. “But, just because that’s your name, it doesn’t mean you painted the picture.” He let the question hang for a minute before explaining, “After all, somebody may have forged your paintings and switched them, from out of your lawyer’s office’s storage, perhaps.”

  Tony sighed, rolled his eyes, and took a good, hard look at one of the paintings. “Did you paint this painting?” Hal repeated in a steady tone.

  “Yes,” Tony said, confused and irritated.

  Hal pointed to another picture. “What about this one? One of yours, right?”

  “Yes, Jesus, I painted ‘em all, okay? You dragged me all the way out here for this?”

  “Okay, we’ve established that you painted these paintings.”

  “Yes, okay?” Tony said raising his voice.

  “Before Mr. Griffin Phoenix inflicted those injuries to your right arm, rendering it useless for painting.”

  “That’s right.” Tony confirmed.

  “Because, of course, you’re right-handed.” Hal said, recalling the information Tony had previously disclosed.

  “Yes, I’m right-friggin’-handed!” He said in a huff as he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “But, these paintings, Mr. Gardner, were painted by a left-handed person.” Hal said matter of factly with full conviction. Tony froze in his chair, the unspoken fear clear in his wide eyes and opened mouth, blood draining from his face. Hal crossed to one of the paintings, pointing out the hashmark patters of the brush strokes. “Any professional appraiser or art expert will testify that there’s a subtle difference in the way a left-handed or right-handed person makes these strokes. And you’re clearly right-handed.”

  “No, I’m … I’m amphibious.” Tony stuttered.

  “You mean ambidextrous?” Hal corrected him.

  “Right, that’s right, both-handed.”

  “No you’re not, Mr. Gardner, and we can prove that in about seven seconds. Shall I pass you a pen, ask you to write a simple word with your left hand, or do you wanna just come clean?”

  Tony looked at Lorraine and Griffin, and Lorraine could sense his desperation, she could almost hear his increasing heartbeat, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his shorn head. His lawyer stood up, closed his attached case, said, “I can no longer represent this client,” before walking out of the room without looking back, ignoring Tony’s pleas and closing the door behind him.

  Hal turned to Tony, who glanced at the door and seemed to be weighing his options. Hal said, “You won’t get halfway down the hall before the cops grab ya. They may even just shoot, depending on how much coke they lifted from the evidence locker.”

  Tony looked at him, then at Lorraine and Griffin and back at the attorney.

  Hal said, “We’ve got you on attempted grand larceny, attempted fraud, malicious persecution.”

  “That’s no big rap, I can fight that!” Tony barked.

  “Sure you can … with the public defender, and they process a case every seven minutes. Seven minutes, Mr. Gardner, seven minutes between you and fifty years in jail. You’re a young man, maybe with good behavior you’ll get out in twenty years. You gotta remember that my client here will do everything in his power to ensure that justice is served to the very fullest extent.”

  Hal didn’t have to go into detail. Everybody in the room knew what he meant by ensure and justice and fullest extent; he meant favors, bribes, and a forever-unmerciful parole board.

  Hal leaned forward, his aging face nearing Tony’s younger, more angular features. “You’ll look a lot worse than me when you get out, Mr. Gardner. And not without reason.” Hal leaned back and stood up to resume pacing around the room, casually passing the very pictures which were meant to destroy Lorraine and Griffin and their family. Instead, they were the weapons of the former would-be rapist’s undoing, and the delivery of his ultimate justice.

  “But, things may not be so bad,” Hal said, Lorraine and Griffin holding hands as they watched the interrogation unfold. “If you’ll turn state’s witness against your conspirator, we can reduce the charges, maybe even — ”

  “It’s some older broad,” Tony said, not even bothering to wait. “Barclay is her name, Mary Barclay.”

  Griffin muttered, “Mary Barclay? She’s about late fifties, graying hair, kind of short, bent posture a bit, talks with a kind of accent, English maybe?”

  “That’s right,” Tony said. “Ain’t surprised, said she knew you, used to be your maid or something.”

  Lorraine said, “Marion Beemish … Mrs. B.!”

  “Has to be,” Griffin said, turning to Tony. “She’s left-handed, too.”

  Hal asked, “You didn’t know she painted?”

  “She only worked for me for about two years.” Griffin turned to Tony. “Where is she, you rat bastard?”

  Tony shrugged. “I never visited her, she only came
to see me. So I don’t know, do I?”

  Griffin released a frustrated roar and rushed Tony, grabbing him by his collar and smashing him against the wall. “What are you planning? Where is she?” Griffin roared.

  “I don’t know where she is! All we’re doing is suin’ you, man!”

  Hal forced himself between Griffin and Tony, Lorraine willing to sit and watch Griffin get in a few shots. Tony deserved it, and a lot more. Hal pushed a button and the door opened, two uniformed officers rushing into the room.

  “Thank God,” Tony said, “I want this maniac arrested. He keeps attacking me … and I’m a cripple!”

  Hal said to the officers, “Charge him, Officers, attempted grand larceny, conspiracy, sexual assault, attempted rape … ”

  “Wait a minute, man!” Tony’s voice cracking under the pressure.

  “Get his phone … as evidence.” Griffin instructed.

  Tony struggled feebly as the unformed officers closed in on him, wrenching his hands behind his back. “Oh man, this ain’t right! We made a deal!” He desperately pleaded.

  Hal said, “After you testify, we’ll do what we can on our end. ’Til then, you’re under wraps, pal.”

  “What? Waddaya mean? For how long?” Tony stuttered.

  Hal shrugged. “Depends on how much money you can raise for bail.” Hal looked over the head-shaved, scraggily Tony, right arm bent, palm up. “Worst case, I’d say not more than a few months, maybe a year. But, I may not be able to avoid … stretching things out, for the sake of juris prudence, you understand.”

  Tony started to kick and buck as they dragged him out of the room. Hal said, “Don’t feel too bad … My guess is they’ll kill you in the shower before you ever get to trial.”