by Steve Richer
“Just a minute, please.”
Still dubious, she picked up the phone and whispered into it. Seconds later, another gray-and-blue security guard showed up. Good, Lawson thought. At least he’d gotten this far. The man swept his body with a metal detector wand and then escorted him to the 44th floor, probably keen to pass him on to someone else.
Another spacious lobby welcomed him upstairs. The uppermost floor was reserved for only the top executives so there was room to spare. Lawson had to do the ID song-and-dance again with his father’s assistant because it was his first time here in nearly twenty years and nobody knew him. Eventually though he was shown into the office of the chairman of the board.
The office was breathtaking. In fact, upon its last redesign it had been featured in Architectural Digest. The outer wall was nothing but windows opening on the Midtown skyline. On another wall was a cascade, water flowing behind frosted glass before landing in a pond that was essentially an aquarium.
There was a sunken seating area near a wide bookcase which doubled as a bar. On the opposite end was the chairman’s desk which was constructed of teak and aluminum with a glass top. David was standing behind the desk as Lawson entered.
“Well this week is definitely strange. There’s a murder in our home and then you show up at my office, something you’ve never done before. Have we entered some sort of parallel universe?”
“Hello to you too, dad.”
“What’s going on?”
Lawson headed to the seating area. “You still keep the good booze here? Noel said you usually hide a bottle of single malt on the bottom shelf.”
Before waiting for an answer, he opened the door and sure enough he found a brown bottle of twenty-five-year-old Bunnahabhain. He poured himself a generous glass and drank it in one gulp. It was medicinal, he told himself. He had earned it after everything he’d been through today.
“Isn’t it too early for this, son?”
“After what happened last night? You’re really asking me this, dad? Would you want one?”
David hesitated and then took off from behind his desk. “Why the hell not.”
Lawson poured another drink and topped off his. He handed the crystal tumbler to his father and they toasted silently before drinking.
“Thanks, I needed this.”
“That bad, uh?”
“Your mother’s a wreck, as I’m sure you’ll understand. She hasn’t slept a wink since last night, trying to wrangle every PR firm in town. She’s terrified of what this will do to the family, to our reputation.”
“I’m shocked!” Lawson said in exaggerated fashion which actually made his father smile. “Have you learned anything new?”
“I’m told the police are still at the penthouse, dusting for fingerprints or whatever it is they do. The only thing I’m aware of is that none of us know who the girl was, how she could have got in, and why someone would have done such a thing to her. If the police know anything, they haven’t told me.”
Lawson nodded, realizing that his father didn’t know more than he himself did. He finished his drink. “Right.”
“You want to tell me why you’re visiting me now? You haven’t been here since you were a child.”
Putting his empty glass down, Lawson took a step toward his father, gathering the nerves to say what he had to say.
“Any chance you can arrange a meeting with WWG’s head of security?”
“Why? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, just something with my movie company. I’m looking for some advice from a pro.”
Whether or not his father bought the lie, Lawson didn’t know. But after a few long seconds, the older man nodded.
“I’ll make a call.”
Chapter 13
Five minutes later, Lawson was on the second floor, this time not bothered with an escort. A secretary led him into a nicely furnished office although it couldn’t even begin to compare with his father’s space upstairs. The brass plaque on the door said Chief of Security Paul O’Keefe.
“He’ll join you in just a few moments,” the woman said pleasantly. “Can I get you coffee, water, anything?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
There was a large window to the left side of the desk but it wasn’t the focal point of this office. There was a table underneath it which was laden with documents and a sad grocery store poinsettia. Instead, what drew the eye was the wall behind the desk.
It was covered with framed pictures and a few awards. It was nothing ostentatious. Lawson could imagine his mother going to great lengths to call attention to photographs which would make her seem somehow better than she was. It wasn’t the case here. He recognized these as pictures someone genuinely liked and was proud of.
Lawson came closer to the desk to inspect the images. There were black and white pictures of young men in Army fatigues, somewhere in the jungle. From the looks of it, he would say these had been taken in Vietnam. A Silver Star was mounted inside a mahogany frame.
Then there was another picture, the same young man now in the uniform of the Boston Police Department. Looking from left to right, the photographs seemed to be in chronological order, he could read them like a story. A later newspaper clipping showed the man as a high-ranking police officer. The headline read Superintendent O’Keefe retires with honors.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Lawson spun on his heels and found the man from the pictures entering the office and closing the door. He was a lot older than he appeared in the photographs, at least seventy, and paunchier. His suit didn’t fit well.
“No problem,” Lawson said. “I was admiring your wall.”
“I hope you don’t think it’s a vanity thing. I like to remember where I come from.”
O’Keefe motioned for the young man to sit after shaking his hand and then he rounded the desk, sitting in the high-back swivel chair.
“Is this why your office is on the second floor and not upstairs?” Lawson asked. “I mean, your position is essentially on the level of a vice president, right?”
“I guess you could say that. I supervise all of the conglomerate’s branches, from cyber security to physical security.”
“Then you could have one of the cushy offices on the 44th floor.”
O’Keefe grinned. “That’s not me. I like to be on the ground, close to the action. So what can I do for you, Mr. Winslow. Your father said you wanted to see me urgently.”
He liked to be where the action happened and he obviously didn’t have time for chitchat either, Lawson observed. Good.
“A man in your position must have many contacts in this business, right? Military, police, you must know a lot of people.”
Leaning forward, O’Keefe squinted. “Are you in some type of trouble?”
“No, nothing like that. Well, not really.”
“What do you need, Mr. Winslow.”
“I was wondering if you could recommend someone for me. Somebody knowledgeable about all manners of security and investigation.”
“Look, if you need a protection detail I can assign some men to you.”
“No, it’s not what I need.”
“All right. Then you could hire a private military contractor firm. I’m sure you have the means to do so.”
“Mercenaries?”
“Depends what you need, sir.”
Lawson didn’t want to say too much. “I need somebody discreet who knows his stuff. I don’t need a private army.”
Nodding, O’Keefe looked away and pondered the question.
“I think I might have someone perfect for you, I’ve used her for some sensitive assignments. Let me find her number,” he added while he rummaged through a drawer.
“Please don’t tell anyone about this, Mr. O’Keefe.”
“Tell what?” the old man said with a wink.
Lawson had lunch after he’d made an appointment with the woman and fortunately she was available to meet today. He’d wanted for her to c
ome to his hotel but she balked at that, instead suggesting a restaurant just off Washington Square Park.
He hadn’t quite known what to anticipate but it was definitely not what he saw. She pretty much took his breath away.
Bailey Holloway was about his age and she had to be as tall as he was, her blond hair stopping right below her shoulders. As she walked in, she looked around cautiously as if she was expecting this to be some sort of ambush.
She located him by the description he’d given her, as well as the beer and plate of nachos he said he’d order. She slid into the booth across from him and they shook hands.
“Mr. Winslow, I’m Bailey Holloway.”
“Call me Lawson.”
“Bailey. Do you mind if I record our conversation for my files? Just so I don’t miss any details?”
She put her phone on the table and navigated to the audio recording app.
“Sure, you’re the expert.”
She started recording with a nimble flick of the thumb.
“So what do you need me for?” she asked.
“You go straight to the point, don’t you?”
“No sense in wasting time. As I told you on the phone, it’s a thousand dollars a day, five thousand minimum, payable up front. I’ll submit an itemized list of my expenses after.”
“Yeah, I got your check right here.”
Lawson pulled it out from inside his coat but she shook her head.
“Is that a personal check?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not going to work. On the way over from Newark I googled you.”
“You googled me? That sounds kinky.”
She ignored him. “I know you have a production company. You should pay me through your company, not because it’s a business expense but it’s to officially put as much distance between us as possible. This is important if you’re under surveillance.”
“How do you know I’m under surveillance?”
“If you’re in trouble, if you need my services, there’s a good chance you’re under surveillance in some capacity. Am I wrong?”
“You’re not.”
“Okay, here’s a little about me. I was with the Secret Service. I have experience leading investigations, performing protection details, running counter-surveillance, and I’m also proficient in tactical response.”
“You don’t look old. Why did you leave the Secret Service?”
She looked away from him and shrugged. “The money is better in the private sector.”
Lawson wasn’t schooled in the arts of interrogation but he knew women. He knew when he was being lied to. However, it wasn’t important right now. If O’Keefe vouched for her then she had to be good at what she did.
“What do you need from me?”
“Everything we say is confidential, Bailey?” he asked before finishing his beer.
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, here’s the situation. Last night, a body was found in my parents’ apartment and I have a feeling I’m the number one suspect.”
“Did you do it?” she inquired matter-of-factly.
“No but I’m being blackmailed.”
He told her everything, not leaving any detail out. He mentioned the text messages, the police interviewing him, hiring John as his lawyer, and today’s police car vandalism.
“I see.”
Lawson groaned. “I’m sure glad you do because I have no idea what the hell’s going on. So I’m hiring you to protect me but also to help me get to the bottom of this.”
She nodded and looked at the nachos. He was about to encourage her to dig in but she averted her eyes as if having triumphed over the temptation.
“Obviously someone has it in for you, Lawson. Someone is trying to set you up or they want to mess with you. We need to narrow down who. Any ideas?”
“I’m a pretty easy-going guy, I don’t have enemies.”
“Everybody has enemies.”
“Well I don’t, okay?”
Lawson flagged a waitress and signaled for another beer.
“People can be resentful and not show it. It’s a good enemy who doesn’t manifest himself before striking.”
“Is that from The Art of War or something?”
Bailey shook her head. “Work experience. Think about it, who’s not happy with you right now?”
“Some Saudi investors are backing out of my movie project. I’m trying to contact their lawyer but so far no dice.”
“What about the party last night? The killer was most likely in attendance. Can you get me a guest list?”
“Yeah, I’m sure I can.”
Lawson didn’t look forward to asking his mother for the list, she would give him the third degree. Then he had an idea: he would ask his sister Morgan to get it for him.
“So what’s next?” he asked.
“We wait until you get blackmailed again.”
Chapter 14
Coming back from the bathroom, Lawson hooked a right toward the bar. He hailed the barmaid.
“Can I get a Stella and two shots of Jack?”
If she heard him, she showed no signs of it. There was a lot of chatter around the bar, students from NYU who hadn’t gone home for the Christmas break and yuppies bragging about something or other. Plus the music was loud and nobody had thought it was a good idea to mute the TV mounted on top of the bar.
He was about to shout for help again but noticed that the busty bartender in a tight T-shirt was busy pouring ingredients into the blender. While he waited, Lawson decided on a Hail Mary. He pulled out his phone and called California.
“Worrall and Associates, how may I help you?”
“This is Lawson Winslow. Any chance Sheldon is finally available?”
He wasn’t even sure why he was bothering. The man had seemingly disappeared. Since Christmas was right around the corner, the lawyer was probably out of the country with his family already. But he was desperate, he had to try.
“Just a moment please,” the secretary said.
Lawson was startled by the response. He heard the line click, followed by heavy breathing.
“Yeah?”
“Sheldon, how’s it going? Lawson Winslow.”
The man sighed with disappointment. “Oh, right.”
“Oh right? That’s all you have to say to me? Yesterday you called my office and dropped a tanker of shit on my lap. You want to explain what’s going on?”
“Lawson, I’m sorry it has to be this way. My clients are backing out of the movie, that’s all that needs to be said.”
“That’s bullshit, Sheldon. That’s fucking bullshit!”
“Hey, I’m just the messenger over here, all right?”
“You’re a lawyer, you’re not just a messenger. You have powers of persuasion; why don’t you use them with your clients? This movie, it’s not Sharkado, you know that. This is a legitimate project. We all stand to make a lot of money here. This is a marquee movie, we could get awards.”
“I know, I know…”
“No, I don’t think you do. I think you’re trying to flick my nuts. I think you’re trying to renegotiate when that ship has already sailed a long fucking ways off. Is that what’s going on, Sheldon?”
“You have it all wrong,” the lawyer replied.
“I’ve been in LA long enough to know that I’m not wrong about this. You’re angling for a better cut of the backend. But let me tell you something: it’s not gonna happen. You hear what I’m saying? This is me telling you that you won’t get away with it. I’m in fact reducing your gross points and taking your ass to court.”
“Lawson…”
But Lawson cut him off. “I’ll bury your clients with so much paperwork they won’t be able to step foot in America again without using a fucking camel to climb over the top. You hear me?”
“Listen, it’s not about renegotiating terms.”
“I find that really hard to believe.”
Lawson found himself extremely thirsty. He snapped his
fingers but still the barmaid wouldn’t look in his direction.
“I swear, Lawson. I know this movie is a great project but there’s nothing I can do. My clients telephoned me out of the blue, said to call the whole thing off.”
That stopped Lawson cold. He wasn’t the world’s greatest negotiator or the most experienced film producer, but he was learning how the Hollywood game was played. You could negotiate when you knew the other party wanted something. This seemed like it was no longer the case.
He took a deep breath. “Why? Why are they backing out, Sheldon?”
“Honestly, I don’t really know. They said something about the nature of the movie. Too much sex and violence, no respect for religion. You know how it is in Saudi Arabia.”
“It wasn’t a problem a month ago when we shook hands. You remember that day? You remember the three hookers each I got them? They didn’t seem against sex and violence back then, did they?”
“I’m sorry, Lawson. It’s out of my hands. You’ll have to find new financing.”
Something incredibly scary occurred to the young man. The timing was wrong. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
“Did somebody get to them? Is someone telling them to back out?”
“I… Look, maybe I can keep an eye out for somebody else to bankroll your movie, okay? What do you say?”
“Sheldon, who got to them? Who told the Saudis to drop out?”
“I… uh… I have to go. Happy Holidays.”
“Wait, Sheldon!”
It was too late, the line was dead. What was going on? Why was he being so mysterious? Someone was pressuring Worrall and his clients. But who and why?
“Hey! Can I get a tall Stella and two shots of Jack?”
This time the barmaid heard him. She said, “I’ll be right with you.”
Lawson doubted it. The woman was laughing in an exaggerated way at what one of the young guys at the bar was saying. She was flirting for tips and decidedly not about to serve him. But Lawson needed alcohol more than ever so he stuck around anyway.
Using the free moment, it was as good a time as any to call his sister about the guest list. She picked up on the third ring.