“Screw you, Des. Walk a mile in my shoes, why don’t you?” Garrett, who might have been shorter than Alisa, sat taller in his seat while yanking down the end of his T-shirt.
“It’s okay, Garrett.” The last thing I wanted to do was witness a pissing match. I couldn’t waste time dealing with this crap. “Alisa, my conversation with Zahi…I learned a lot and your text helped.” She connected with my eyes, and I think she could tell I had urgent information to share and act upon, but I couldn’t share it in front of a PPI employee.
“Let’s just get to a safe place, and you can tell me everything,” she said.
I trusted Alisa’s instincts, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt. “Go left on Cedar Springs.”
Running through a yellow light that turned red, Alisa gunned the car to fifty mph, the engine whining like an angry horse.
“If we get pulled over by a cop, we won’t make any progress on any of this shit. Slow your ass down.”
Alisa ignored me. “Where now?”
I was making it up as we drove along. “Umm, take a left here on Lemmon.” I said it just because the light was green. Twisting my head around, I couldn’t find another car within two blocks. This whole thing seemed unwarranted.
“And?” Alisa said as I noticed Garrett still going to town on his fingernails.
We breezed past Wycliff, scooted under the tollway, and approached Inwood. David’s restaurant, Marvel, was close by. Caught up in the surroundings, I wondered if my best pal, Justin, was inside the swanky Asian fusion restaurant hatching another business idea with the former investment consultant.
“The airport is just ahead. Where to next?” Alisa asked as Des shook her head.
I thought for a second. “Keep going straight.”
“Into Love Field?”
“Why not? Go into the long-term parking lot and find a spot on an upper floor.”
Alisa twisted her head to look at me but didn’t challenge my direction.
Five minutes later, she cranked her parking brake and shut off the engine.
Silence resonated for about ten seconds. Opening my door, I practically fell onto the concrete. On all fours, I noticed a smattering of cars and not a single visible person.
“I think we lost the Russian spies,” I deadpanned.
“It’s safer in the car,” Garrett said, crossing his arms against his chest.
Alisa and Des looked at each other and got out of the car.
Des then said, “Garrett, this is weird. Just get out here, stretch your legs, and tell them your story.”
Garrett twisted around in his seat, peering out the back window.
“Yes, for the love of God, please tell me why we raced across Dallas to elude an invisible assailant,” I said.
Alisa sidled up next to me, and I spoke into her ear. “If Garrett doesn’t fork over his information, then you and I need to huddle real quickly. I think we’ll end up making a quick visit to the PPI offices.”
She nodded, then crossed her arms, tapping her sandal on the concrete. “Garrett. Out. Now.”
“Fine.” He lifted out of the car, pulling a pack of smashed cigarettes from his back pocket. He lit a bent Marlboro and blew smoke out of the side of his mouth.
“I can’t tell you how stressed I am.”
I looked at Des, who shook her head in annoyance. “He hasn’t told me the full story, but I just know it has something to do with Natalie.”
“Finally, some information,” I said, splaying my arms. “Garrett, Alisa’s sister has been missing for, what, ten, eleven days? Anything you can tell us about Natalie can only help us find her.”
Another puff on his cigarette as he buried a hand in his tight, front pocket. I swatted smoke drifting near my eyes.
“My parents live just outside of DC in Alexandria, Virginia.”
Squeaking tires came from our left, and the four of us turned that way. We watched a sports car follow the path downward to the next floor of the garage.
“Continue,” I said.
“I was at a shoot in Virginia Beach the previous week, so I drove up the coast and stayed a few days in Alexandria. I hadn’t been home since I graduated college and moved to Dallas about a year ago.”
Alisa flicked her hand, urging him to get to the meat of the story.
“It was Monday evening; the sun was still up, but it was dusk. Shadows covered the sidewalks,” he said, his eyes shifting. “I was walking down King Street with one of my old friends, just shooting the shit, talking about old times in Dorm Sixteen. The sidewalks were crowded, people coming in and out of trendy bars and restaurants. A lot of the DC crowd lives in Alexandria, and they love getting in a nightly cocktail hour before heading home.”
I got a visual of Uptown, where chic met flamboyant—although I knew Alexandria was more like a prized artifact, Uptown a synthesized accessory.
“Anyway, my buddy and I are just meandering down the sidewalk, when all of a sudden Natalie steps out of a bar with some guy and is, like, literally six feet in front of me.” Garrett extended stiff arms then shook them up and down.
“When did you see her?” I asked.
“Uh…last Monday night. I was due at a photoshoot in Austin on Tuesday, so I flew out that Tuesday morning.”
Alisa reached for my arm—for balance or to jump into the conversation, I wasn’t sure. “Did you speak?”
“I tried. I was shocked as hell to see her all the way in Alexandria, Virginia.” Garrett took another drag on his cigarette. “I said her name and walked up to her. For a moment, I could see her look into my eyes, like she wanted to say hi, but then suddenly she acted like I didn’t exist.”
“What happened next?”
“My buddy asked—” Garrett stopped, shuffled a foot on the sandy concrete.
“Asked what?” Alisa said directly.
“He asked me, ‘You know that stuck-up bitch?’ I told him that I worked with her.”
With a hand planted on her hip, Alisa wagged a finger at Garrett, but I spoke up first. “This is important evidence, don’t get me wrong. But why the hell were you so paranoid about being followed and needing to meet in an obscure place to tell us this story?”
“Fuck.” He pulled in another drag, the rim of the cigarette glowing orange. “It was who she was with, dammit.”
“Who was it?” Alisa said.
“Someone I know, kind of. The summer before I graduated college, I joined my cousins for a tour of the Capitol. They live in Nashville, and they called up their senator’s office and asked for a private tour.”
“Okay…” I said.
“Well, I went along, and it was pretty cool and all. But after we finished the tour, I kind of got into it with the senator’s receptionist. She was being rude, making fun of what I was wearing, so I said something.”
All three of us were leaning forward.
“The senator’s chief of staff walked by, overheard us arguing, and stepped in. He actually put his hands on me.”
“He assaulted you?” I asked.
“I’m not a China doll, so he didn’t really hurt me. But he grabbed me by the T-shirt and tried to toss me out of the senator’s office. He cussed me out, called me all sorts of names, said I wasn’t worthy of being in the Capitol. I shot him the bird as I walked away. Then he really lost it on me, saying I was nothing but a misfit. People had to hold him back; he was spitting all over himself like a frickin’ animal. My favorite term he called me was ‘a crack-smoking, piece-of-horseshit faggot.’ I just smiled at him.”
I scratched the back of my head. “Damn. Sounds intense.”
“That’s why I’ll never forget Edwin R. Storrow.” Garrett snuffed out his cigarette on the ground then lit another one in five seconds flat.
“So you’re saying that Natalie was in Virginia hanging out with this chief-of-staff asshole?” Alisa’s eyelids quivered, and I could sense she was about to fall into another emotional hole. I stepped next to her. “Hey, Garrett’s just the messenger.”
She looked me in the eyes then drew in a deep breath. Turning back to Garrett, she held up a hand and said, “Sorry. I don’t mean to put you in my crosshairs.”
Garrett moved toward Alisa then hugged her neck. “You know I only want the best for Natalie. It’s just all so stressful right now.” He stepped back and took another puff.
“That’s why you think you were followed, because Storrow has a government position?”
He nodded, pulling the cigarette away from his lips. “As Natalie walked away, she peered over her shoulder at me, so I know she recognized me. But then he grabbed her hand and jerked her attention back to him. Given what I’d experienced the previous summer, I knew he was one mean son of a bitch. He could have recognized me, gotten more information from Natalie about where I lived.”
“You didn’t call the cops to tell them you saw Natalie?”
“Shit, I didn’t know she was missing until this morning.”
I gave him a quizzical look.
“Remember, I’ve been in Austin, out of touch with what was going on until I walked in the office about three hours ago. I ran into Des here, who told me the news. It hit me all at once. Natalie in Alexandria, Storrow, everything.”
Des stepped toward Garrett, taking his arm. “Do you think this Storrow asshole might have done something to Natalie?”
Without looking, I could feel Alisa radiating heat.
Garrett’s breath shortened as he nodded and said, “Yeah, I think he’s capable of something bad. He’s got nothing but hate flowing through his veins.”
Running fingers through her frizzed-out hair, Alisa peered at the car, or nothing, her stress lines growing deeper at the outer edges of her eyes.
Lowering my voice, I guided Alisa off to the side and said, “Zahi told me he paid for Natalie, but it all went through PPI, as you know. Tiara set it all up, collected his payment. So Storrow might be one of Natalie’s…” I didn’t want to use the term and watch her crumble. “I think Zahi really cares about her, if that means anything.”
I reached a hand over to Alisa’s back. As soon as it touched, she pitched left, marching to the driver’s side door. She reached in, took her phone from her purse, and tapped her thumbs like a rabbit’s foot.
Waltzing back to our side of the car, Alisa kept tapping and swiping the screen.
“Done,” she said, clicking the screen dark.
“What’s up?” I asked, wondering if she’d taken the action that had entered my mind.
“Your flight to DC leaves in fifty minutes. They had two seats left.”
I nodded. “Good. Thanks. Can you pop your trunk?”
She walked around and pulled the trunk release lever.
I removed my handgun and stowed it inside the spare tire well. “Leave it there until I get back.”
“Shouldn’t we call the FBI or something?” Des asked, her voice pitching higher.
“We might end up there, but if we waste time dealing with the Feds, it could be a day or more before they take action, if they do anything at all. This Storrow guy has DC connections. I don’t want to play that game and lose.”
“Am I understanding that you guys think Natalie is a prostitute?” Des asked.
Glancing at Alisa, I turned back to Des and Garrett. “It looks that way, yes. PPI is involved in some way. I can’t say to what extent, or even if it’s run by the company. It might be run by a single person. All this intersects somehow. I’m hoping Storrow will give me the details.”
Des brought a hand to her face, still pink from her sunburn. “I just can’t believe it. It’s so messed up.”
“I heard rumors,” Garrett blurted out. “Our girls being used as hookers. Not all of them, but occasionally I’d hear something that made me wonder.”
“Really?” Des sounded agitated. “I must be naïve or just clueless.”
Checking the time on my phone, I put my hand on Alisa’s shoulder.
“I can’t miss my flight. Quiz Garrett here to see if there’s any more real evidence. Then call Paco and tell him everything I told you about Zahi, Tiara, and what I’m doing in DC. He may not be able to do much professionally, but it’s good for him to know.”
I took a step toward the terminal, but Alisa grabbed my arm. “Thank you.” She leaned up and kissed my cheek.
I turned and gave her a bear hug. “It will be okay. I don’t know how, but I just know we’ll find her.”
With a final wink, I flipped on my heels and jogged to the terminal.
20
It was like watching a colony of ants after someone kicked over their mound, as droves of suits exited the Dirksen Senate Office Building. Leaning against a large, red oak, I had one eye on my phone, re-reading the dossier on Edwin Storrow that Alisa had forwarded. A hoard of eager beavers rushed past me. At least a few federal government employees had something important to accomplish after work, it appeared.
But I only cared about one special employee. The chief of staff from the Tennessee senator’s office.
“That’s all well and good, Mark, but it’s our time to drive home a message. We can’t waste the opportunity. The American public is expecting us to push this agenda.”
Speaking at a volume so everyone around him would know he was involved in a conversation vital to the sanctity of our American way of life, a polished, middle-aged gentleman wearing a gray pinstripe suit and fancy wingtips, blew right by me while speaking on his cell. In addition to his lack of volume control, he was also a hand talker, his free arm gyrating like he was free-forming graffiti on the side of a building.
I twisted my shoulder back, avoiding contact with his whirling appendage. He was either clueless to his surroundings or was so consumed by the pursuit of power that he believed acting like an ass in public would actually help him achieve his goals.
I knew DC was full of people just like him. The man, who I guessed had an Ivy League education, adjusted his glasses then crossed Constitution Avenue as cars lurched to a stop and horns blared. I might have said something had I not turned around and spotted at least a dozen just like him.
It was a lost cause.
But losing wasn’t an option when it came to my purpose in the nation’s capital. Alisa, Josh, and I had been working nonstop the last four hours to increase our odds for success.
I typed a text to Alisa but didn’t hit send just yet. Per our plan, I first needed to spot—
Wait. There he was, ambling down the last few steps of the Dirksen Building. I’d embedded his picture in my mind, and it was a perfect match: a large man, near my height of six three but with far more girth. His head looked like a mountain in spring—bald on top, with an outline of hair on the sides, unnaturally black. It didn’t match his Hitler-like mustache, a bushy patch of silver.
I guessed he tipped the scales at close to two seventy-five, maybe more. A red, power tie played in the light, southerly breeze, flapping against a pale blue dress shirt, encased by a midnight blue suit. His pants were a couple of inches too short, and they popped off his ankles with every purposeful step. I imagined he had a definitive goal in mind as he left his office late Friday afternoon. Alisa had already seen to that.
Pulling out his phone, Storrow checked the screen just as he walked past me, then he slid it back into his suit coat pocket, his ski-sized wingtips testing the soundness of the concrete with each clod-hopping step.
I waited a few seconds then slipped into the flow of pedestrian traffic moving east on Constitution. A couple of blue-collar guys were sprinkled in the wave of people, so I didn’t stand out more than usual. The procession moved forward half a block, then stopped so fast I almost ran into a woman in a pantsuit, wearing a pair of running shoes. We’d hit the Second Street intersection.
The bubble of suits grew exponentially in mere seconds, then someone uncorked the plug and people spilled into the streets. Thanks to his height and bald head, I kept an eye on Storrow crossing the street. A good number continued moving east, while a smaller set tur
ned north on Second, including Storrow.
Thus far, he’d followed our script.
Two young women chattering away went around me on either side. Wrapped in pencil skirts, their toned legs moved in double time, as three-inch heels clipped the concrete, sounding like a group of street percussionists. Up ahead I saw a man with dreadlocks and a dog on a leash stopping the procession of people. I noticed Storrow pause, unaffected by the dog or man, looking for a way around them.
The two women who had just passed me—one with a larger-than-average backside and the other with a prominent nose—stopped instantly when they spotted the dog.
“Ohh, he’s just a cute little fella. Aren’t you just the cutest little doggie in all of DC?” The wider load leaned down to pet the cocker spaniel, and I wondered how her skirt withheld the pressure. Her friend joined her at knee level, and the dog took to her, practically jumping into her arms, licking her snout. Everyone observing noticeably winced, except for Storrow, who’d somehow gotten twisted into the leash.
“You homeless people should be put in jail for shit like this. Get your fucking dog away from me,” he said with vitriol.
The two women jumped to their feet, wagging fingers at Storrow.
“It’s men like you who think they own the world. Guess what, it’s not all about you, asshole,” said the woman closest to him, her nose being smacked by his wayward tie.
“Whatever,” Storrow said, flailing his arms while stepping out of the leashed web and continuing his path toward what I believed was a bar at the northeast corner of Second and Massachusetts.
The guy with dreadlocks just stared at his little pooch, seemingly oblivious to the altercation.
Stepping into the street, I avoided the entanglement and resumed my trek down Second, now about twenty yards behind Storrow. A couple of other folks gabbed on their phones, but the decibel level had dropped considerably, so much so I could hear the chief of staff’s heavy feet pounding what had turned into high-end brick pavers.
Approaching C Street, I removed my phone. Just as Storrow’s wingtips stepped into the road, I punched send on my text to Alisa. About ten seconds later, I heard a distance ring and Storrow pulled out his phone, first staring at the screen, then raising it to his ear while walking.
BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6 Page 22