The Sweet Thief

by Temple Madison

  Griff couldn’t look the senator in the eye, so he released him, lowered his head, and turned away. “No,” Griff agonized. “It’s... it’s not love. There is something there, but I don’t know what it is. I’ve never—” He rubbed his forehead. “Hell, I don’t know what name to give it. It’s... hell, it’s... I don’t know... different.” He looked up at the senator and pleaded. “Please... I don’t want her hurt or dead... just out of my life.”

  “Good god, man, it may not be as easy as all that. The letters, the pictures... it’s all evidence that this girl is part of a bigger—”

  Griff abruptly turned away. “You treat me like a damned idiot! Don’t you think I’d know if anything like that was going on?”

  “No, you wouldn’t know,” the senator yelled. “Not always.” With a jerk, he pulled at Griff’s arm, turning him around. “Griff. The security of the whole country is at risk, and this woman, whoever the hell she is, may be dangerous. We may not know at this point, but we have to go on that assumption.” When Griff didn’t respond, the senator lowered his voice. “Griff. Son. Have I ever steered you wrong before? I know people like this. I’ve been in poli—”

  “All right!” Griff shouted. “Don’t give me one of your stale lectures. I don’t like it, but I guess I’ll have to go along with it. What do we do now?”

  “Just carry on as you have been. Don’t give her any reason to think anything has changed. But when you see her, stay alert, and for god’s sake, watch your mouth. In the meantime, I’ll put a tail on her.” The senator turned to leave then hesitated at the door. “I’ll let you know something as soon as I can.”

  Griff didn’t answer, but showed his dislike of the situation by turning his back on the senator.

  * * * *

  Concern preoccupied the old man’s thoughts as he softly crept out and closed the door. He knew Griff was being blinded by his feelings for the woman, but that the beautiful sun-bleached blonde with hot pants for the president might not be as innocent as she seemed. He also knew it was possible he could be wrong, but if he was right, and she was part of something much more dangerous, then exposing her and everyone she was connected to would be unavoidable. It would cause the biggest scandal in political history, including the assassination attempt.

  That brought to mind the day Griff had been shot down by a sniper. The marksman, who was later identified as Diego Ramirez, was dressed in battle fatigue, and had managed to get in on the ruse that he needed to install the spotlight. He then cleverly hid behind it in the center window that had a clear view of the podium. While Griff was giving his speech, the sniper had blasted three shots into the crowd, all intended for the president, but had ended up injuring two others.

  The humid weather, love for Griff, and high tempers had turned the crowd into a mob that resulted in total chaos. They’d managed to jump the sniper, who endured a beating so severe it was initially thought he might not live long enough to stand trial.

  The National Guard, Secret Service, and the local police worked hand-in-hand until they finally managed to get him in custody where he was finally convicted and sentenced to death in federal court. After a rushed two-day trial, he was executed by electric chair.

  The senator couldn’t help wondering—what would happen next?

  Chapter Twenty

  Senator Bliss worked hard trying to find a private detective to put on Gabrielle’s trail. Name after name crossed his mind, but for one reason or the other, he decided against them. He was looking for someone special, someone he could put his trust in, someone that wouldn’t go running to the media with every piece of information he gave them. It was late when he sat down at the desk in his study and began scratching through a drawer. He pulled out a stack of names he’d compiled over the years and quickly shuffled through them until disappointment caused him to give up.

  He wasn’t there.

  The man—the woman—whoever—just wasn’t there.

  Drained, weary, and out of ideas, he dropped the stack and lowered his head into his hands, rubbing his fingers over his tired eyes. Still wondering which way to turn, he got up and began pacing and rubbing his sore neck. He seemed to be stuck between a rock and a hard place. He couldn’t afford to send the case through the usual channels of prying eyes and loose lips, and yet he couldn’t find anyone he could trust. Choosing just anyone would be a sure way to have the wrong people get their grimy hands on the story. If that happened, all hell would break loose. Right now, they only looked on it as the usual presidential bad-boy affair, but if they had any idea what might be behind it, it would rip the whole damn country apart.

  It was too important to give to just anybody, he kept telling himself. It has to be someone really good, someone special. All at once, a name from long ago stopped him in his tracks, and he snapped his fingers. The name. What was the name? He quickly turned, sat down and grabbed at the stack of odd-sized pieces of paper, shuffling through them again.

  What the hell ever happened to that old sea dog? he asked himself as he quickly glanced at one scrap of paper after the other. When he found it, he slowly withdrew it from the pile. That was it. Old Cap Robertson. He must have been mad to have shuffled that card in with the rest of these losers. Quickly pushing them aside, he looked at the dirty, wrinkled-up card as if it were the Golden Fleece, the Tablets of Stone, and the Excalibur all rolled up into one.

  As he pondered the mental picture of the old sea dog after so many years, a slow grin tugged at his mouth. Suddenly he found himself in Shanghai again. Shanghai with its crowded streets, almond eyes, jerking rickshaws, smoky bars, beautiful oriental women, and a certain drunken chicken named Ralph. He looked back at the card, wondering if the old sailor could still be in business. He dropped it down in front of him and quickly pulled the phone over, hoping the number was still good. Cap was the only private detective he knew of who was worth two cents and knew the value of keeping quiet. If he couldn’t get the goods on this gal, nobody could, so the senator sat quietly listening as the phone rang.

  When he heard a gravelly voice come on the line, the senator yelled into the receiver. “Cap! My god, how the hell are you?”

  “I’m fine,” he replied, then went into a coughing spasm. When he recovered, he said, “Who the hell is this?”

  “It’s Bliss, Cap. You remember, Orval Bliss?”

  “My god, Orval, I thought you was dead.”

  “I’m too damned mean. Hell wouldn’t take me.”

  “Ain’t that what I’ve always said?”

  “Cap, I’ve got a job for you. A job nobody can do but you. Are you up for it?”

  “Well... I don’t know. Does it involve beautiful women?”

  “Hell, yes!”

  “How about bullets? Is my ass gonna get blown off?”

  “You betcha!”

  “Am I gonna be crawlin’ in sewers and gettin’ thrown out of airplanes?”

  “I was hopin’ you wouldn’t ask.”

  “Would I be dealin’ with the dregs of humanity?”

  “The lowest.”

  “My life is gonna be put in danger on a daily basis, is that right?”

  “You probably won’t live through it.”

  “Hot damn, then I’m your man.”

  The senator laughed. “Good old Cap. I knew I could count on you. You gonna be in your office tomorrow? I thought I’d come over and tell you all about it.”

  “I’m here now.”

  “But, Cap. Do you know what time it is?”

  “Get your horny, flea-bitten old butt over here, and we’ll talk about old times.”

  The only picture Senator Bliss had was the one mailed to Griff along with the ripped up nightgown, so he grabbed it and headed out his front door.

  Cap’s office was way down on the corner of Delaware and I streets. When the senator got out of his car, he looked up at the second floor and saw a rounded corner full of bay windows that threw an interesting golden pattern down on the street. He could almost hear the capta
in’s guttural voice. I gotta have lots of windows. I spent so many damned years in that banged-up old submarine that I can’t stand the idea of stayin’ cooped up in an office with four walls and tiny little windows. That’s why I’m a private detective. Love to mind everybody’s business but my own, and it keeps me on the streets.

  “I want to know everything,” the senator said to the husky, chain-smoking, rumpled-up man in a swivel chair, “right down to the brand of deodorant she uses. I want to know where she comes from, if she has a record, any living parents—and if the woman has skeletons in her closet, I want to know the story on every one of ’em.”

  “Does she have any aliases?”

  “Only one that I know of. She was introduced to Griff as Margine Moore, but we found out that Gabrielle Valdis is her real name.”

  The detective looked down at the photograph and whistled long and low. “Wow, that’s some dish.” He reluctantly laid the photograph down as he lit up another cigarette with the butt of the first.

  “You ain’t gonna let a pretty face get you sidetracked, are you?”

  The detective frowned up at the senator. “I don’t get sidetracked,” he said, sounding insulted. “Especially by a cheap little floozy.” His finger snapped against the photo loudly. “Like this one.”

  “This ain’t no ordinary dame, Cap. If she can get Griff Nyle to jump through hoops, there’s not much hope for a banged-up old sea dog like you.”

  Blowing a burst of smoke through his pursing, faded lips, and laughing, he looked at the senator. “Speakin’ of dames. Remember Tillie, that octopus I swore was flirtin’ with me? I still say that beast had the longest eyelashes I ever saw. Man, how would you like—”

  “Same old Cap,” the senator said with annoyance. “Damn you. You don’t take anything serious, do you?”

  “Hell, Orval, relax. You know me well enough to know the job’ll get done. Right?”

  “Sure, I know Cap, but I’ll breathe a lot easier if we get this business over with—then we can reminisce about the old days.”

  “Okay, serious it is. Now, to get started, I’ll need—”

  “It doesn’t matter what it costs. I’ll take care of it.”

  Burning blue eyes looked up at him from an acne-scarred face. “Why the hell don’t you let the government pick up the tab?”

  “I got my reasons, okay?”

  “Okay, okay. But I’ll need an advance to get started. Then the rest can come later.”

  The senator pulled out his checkbook, laid it on the desk, and began writing. When he tore it out, he looked at Cap to see if he thought it was enough.

  “Fine,” he said, folding the check up and putting it in his breast pocket.

  “Cap.” The senator’s face turned grave. “You’ve gotta keep this under your hat. It’s high-level, top-secret stuff, and I can’t afford any leaks, especially to the press. They’re already digging around tryin’ to find out her identity.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve read the paper. No reason to worry, Orval. You know me. I wouldn’t even give my own mother the time of day if I knew it would put my client in jeopardy. If there’s anything on this gal, I’ll find it, and the only people who’ll know are the ones who you tell.” Cap pulled out a tablet, picked up a pencil, and looked at the senator. “I’ll need all the information you can give me.” When the senator frowned as if he didn’t understand, Cap went on to explain. “You know, like where she comes from...”

  “Hell, I thought you was gonna tell me.”

  “I just need a starting place, that’s all.”

  “Well,” the senator said, scratching his head. “I don’t know much. She came up here from Texas. Dallas, I believe.”

  Cap began writing and nodding as the senator spoke.

  “She worked at Neiman Marcus for a while. Interior Design, I guess. She came to Washington to help the First Lady with the private residence in the White House.”

  Cap looked up at the senator and smiled. “How is Lorelei?”

  “She’s fine,” the senator said. “Gonna have a baby.” He smiled like a proud grandparent.

  “No kidding. Well, congratulations, you old coot. It’s about time you became a grandpa. You know, the two of you have come a long way since the good old days.” Cap’s eyes narrowed on the senator as he cocked his head. “This Griff Nyle character, what kind of man is he? I mean, really.”

  “Please, Cap,” the senator said, his smile fading. “One problem at a time.”

  The next day, the senator ushered Cap into the White House.

  Cap stretched his neck and looked around. “My god, how can anybody live in a place like this? It’d be like livin’ in a museum.”

  “They don’t live in this part. This is for visitors. The president and the first lady live in the private residence. That’s on another floor.”

  “Is that where we’re goin’?”

  “Not just yet.” The senator stopped and turned to him. “Listen, Cap. Lorelei doesn’t know what’s going on, so when we’re around her, please keep it quiet. We’ll just tell her we ran into each other in a bar or something, okay?”

  “Sure. Say...” Cap gave a wide smile. “I can’t believe I’m actually gonna meet the president of the United States!”

  “Pretty excited, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Cap said and then lowered his voice. “Are his teeth capped, or are they really that perfect?”

  “You’re about to find out for yourself,” the senator responded, looking down the hall.

  Cap looked up and saw a tall, handsome man approaching them. He recognized him immediately. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, looking at his long hair, Italian silk suit, and Chippendale body. “Big as friggin’ life, ain’t he?”

  “Griff,” the senator called out to him. “I want you to meet someone.”

  When the two strangers approached each other, nothing was said, but Cap was aware of a strong connection of their gazes. Cap looked from Griff’s handsome face down to his perfect body as he slowly began to pace around him. “You sure are some Fancy Dan, ain’t you? My god, the women must be all over you.”

  Griff’s eyes began blazing. “Who the hell is this bozo?” he muttered to the senator.

  The senator subtly reached around Griff and grabbed Cap’s arm, pulling him back. “His name is—”

  “My name’s Cap Robertson,” Cap interrupted, still giving Griff a good going over. “A name you’d better not forget. I was a captain in the Navy, maritime seaman, private detective, and lover of beautiful women. And I did all of them exceptionally well.” He winked at Griff. “Especially the last.” When he extended his hand, it hung there—painfully ignored.

  “Get rid of him,” Griff muttered, and walked away.

  The senator ran after Griff and stopped him. “My god, Griff, I can’t fire him now, we need him. He’s the only one that can handle this job.”

  * * * *

  Griff’s gaze slid toward the sea captain, then shifted back quickly when he saw Cap return his look. “I don’t like the way he looks at me. He’s... I don’t know... crude, unwashed, and ugly as sin.”

  “Just because he doesn’t wear a three-piece suit and has a few acne scars, you think he’s no good? He’s the best in his field, Griff. Don’t let his appearance fool you.”

  “He stinks of tobacco.”

  “So hold your fuckin’ breath,” the senator muttered, barely moving his lips.

  Unwillingly, Griff turned his focus over to the detective and widened his eyes when he saw a cloud of smoke around the man’s head. “My god, he’s smoking!”

  “What?” the senator said, whirling around to look at Cap. When he saw the cigarette, he strode over, grabbed it out of his mouth, crushed it out, and furtively dropped it into his side pocket. “Cap, my god, you know there’s no smoking in the White House. What the hell’s wrong with you?” Without waiting for an answer, he rushed back over to Griff. “Sorry. He knew better than that. He knows we’re talking about him, an
d it’s just his blasted rebelliousness surfacing.”

  “I just want it on record that I don’t like this.”

  “Okay, for god’s sake, the fact is duly noted. But believe me, you’ll be singin’ a different tune when you see what he brings in.”

  “Oh, my god, look at him.”

  The senator looked around. “He’s puttin’ on a show.”

  “What?” Griff said, a look of disbelief on his face.

  “He’s puttin’ on a show. He resents being discussed, and he’s puttin’ on a goddamned show.”

  “He’s crazy. How can you have anything to do with a crazy man? He smells, he smokes, he looks holes through you, and then he insults you. He’s crazy, I tell you, crazy as a goddamned loon.”

  “Well, maybe that don’t cut no ice with you, but out there on the streets, it’s what keeps him alive. The way he figures it, if you think he’s crazy, then you’ll leave him alone.”

  “Fine,” Griff said, “he’s got his wish.”

  “Griff,” the senator pleaded. “Give him a chance. Believe me, he can be sane when he wants to be.”

  Griff became silent, then turned and looked down the hall, up at the ceiling and finally back at the captain.

  “I’ll keep an eye on him, okay?” the senator said.

  With some reluctance, Griff nodded, resigned to the fact that he was stuck with this necessary evil. “Well, all right. But if he does one thing... just one thing I don’t like, out he goes.”

  * * * *

  “I’ll tell him to watch it.” The senator walked back over to Cap, and they spoke together outside of Griff’s hearing. “You almost got your butt thrown out of here, do you know that? Fired, goddamn it, before you ever got started. Throw those bent-up cigarettes away and keep that mouth of yours closed. And Cap, try to act like you’ve got at least half a brain, okay?”