by J. E. Taylor
Like you don’t already know. Play it cool. Steve nodded and took a deep breath, stretching his back and swiveling the chair toward the door. “She’s moving in with me.” He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his face.
“Really?” Charlie straightened up.
“Yeah, that’s what the fight was about. She gave me an ultimatum.” He gave a half shrug.
“Sucker.”
“I guess.” He pivoted toward his computer and returned his hands to the keyboard, hoping Charlie would leave without calling his bluff.
“I’m having a small get together at my place Friday night. I think you should bring her along.”
Steve raised his eyes. Charlie rarely socialized with his employees and this was the first personal invitation ever extended to him. The perfect opportunity to gain Charlie’s trust was just thrown into the shitter because Jennifer wouldn’t be there! Friday night her play opened and he promised he would be in the audience on opening night. Torn between his commitment to the job and the promise he made to his wife, Steve weighed the ramifications.
“I’d love to, but we can’t. My girlfriend’s play opens Friday and she’ll kill me if I’m not there.”
Charlie shifted and crossed his arms, his eyes darkening with doubt. “You’re girlfriend’s an actress?”
Steve nodded, wondering what Charlie would make of that. “She’s starring in Vanities, down in Soho. It’s her first lead.”
“What’s her name?”
“Jennifer Curtis.”
“Maybe next time,” he said and disappeared from view.
Steve stared at the now empty doorway and then returned his attention to the contract, silently swearing because Jennifer was now officially involved, not just some random girlfriend in Steve’s life and not taking Charlie up on the invite might screw up his chances of gaining his trust. He was going to get reamed.
Royally reamed.
Chapter 5
Charlie crossed into his office, irritated with Steve for declining his invitation. None of his employees ever said no, they all clamored to be in his inner circle, but not Steve. “What the fuck is wrong with him?”
He realized he knew very little about his star lawyer outside of the outlined in his file. That would need to be rectified. The kid certainly seemed aloof, too distant and private and getting any information from him was like pulling teeth. Today he offered up more than he had in the entire six months, almost as if he sensed Charlie’s doubts. He swung his chair around and stared out the window at the surrounding buildings.
CW FOG Inc. provided the legitimate front to his illegal drug operations as well as bringing in a decent amount of money on its own. Fiber optic glass had stepped up in demand and the creation and distribution for both the fiber optic business and his cocaine production occurred on the Brooklyn waterfront, miles away from his corporate headquarters in downtown Manhattan.
Steve had been privy to all aspects of the fiber optics business, but Charlie hadn’t let him in on where the excess cash was coming from. He made it perfectly clear that all the money movements needed to be below the radar, citing tax avoidance as the primary reason for the creative financial schemes he asked Steve to devise.
His eyebrows scrunched together. Steve never once asked for further explanations and that struck a chord. He swung back to his computer and Googled the Soho Theater. Vanities was indeed re-opening on Friday night. Staring at the monitor, he clicked on the cast link, shuffling through the pictures until Jennifer’s came up.
He leaned forward, taking a closer look at the dark haired beauty on his screen and chuckled. “Now I know why you put up with her.” On impulse, he bought a pair of tickets. He closed the web browser and stood, leaning on the window frame and flipping open the cell phone. “Anything?”
“No, he was with his girlfriend all night. His name’s on the mailbox and it looks like she’s moving in,” the voice answered. “What’s with this guy anyway?”
“Just making sure he’s legit,” Charlie answered. He looked over his shoulder into the heart of the office.
“Do you want me following her or back on his tail?”
He debated and glanced at his watch. It was still early and he expected Steve to be at the office until at least six. “Stay on her until lunchtime and then head this way.” He flipped the phone closed and glanced at his calendar. He had a meeting with one of his distributors in an hour. Closing his laptop, he locked his office before heading out.
Chapter 6
The car followed Steve out of sight and she kicked into action. Suitcases came out and garments flew from the bureau into the open luggage as she tossed as much of her clothing as the two bags would hold. She unplugged the tiffany desk lamp, and headed out to the garage, depositing the suitcases in the trunk of her car along with the lamp.
Seizing a box from the closet, she haphazardly threw some books and CDs into it as well as a frying pan. Satisfied with the impression of a quick packing, she brought the box down to the car. She made one last trip up to the apartment and looked around. The decorative pillows on the couch caught her eye and on impulse, she snatched both the pillows and her make-up case on her way out the door.
Tucked out of sight on the far corner, she studied each car that pulled to the side of the road by their building. She didn’t have to wait long before the man hired to watch her husband pulled into the same parking spot he had settled into the previous night. He leaned back in the seat watching the entrance of her building.
Jennifer took her time, driving around Brooklyn, stopping to grab breakfast at a little café before she headed back to their apartment. She didn’t have to be at the theater until later this afternoon and the morning performance was much more critical because her husband’s life was at stake. She had to make the man watching believe she was moving into their apartment.
Swinging the car into the no parking zone in front of the building, she climbed out and popped the trunk. Grabbing the box first, she balanced it on her knee and slammed the trunk closed.
A police officer stopped her halfway across the sidewalk.
“You can’t park there,” the heavyset officer said. Her gray hair curled around her cap and she continued to point at Jennifer’s car with each approaching step.
“Officer,” she began, “I just have a few things to bring inside. I’ll only be a couple of minutes. I promise.” She took another step toward the apartment.
The officer flipped the page and began to write out a ticket.
“Please don’t give me a ticket. I’m moving in today and I don’t have any help.”
The officer raised her beady, narrow eyes. “You can’t park here.”
Her arms were starting to burn from the weight of the box. “Just let me bring this up and I’ll move the car,” she pleaded.
The officer went back to writing the ticket.
She debated whether she should go upstairs or move the car. “Screw it.” She turned, entering the building, and headed to the elevator. The officer slipped the ticket under her wiper just before the elevator doors closed on the view. “Shit.”
Returning a few minutes later, she ripped the ticket off the windshield and dropped it in the trunk, retrieving the two suitcases. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tail staring at her. She paid no attention to him and slammed the trunk closed.
Jennifer deposited the suitcases inside and locked up before heading down once more. This time, she slid into the driver’s seat and pulled the car into the garage across from the building. She made a spectacle of herself juggling the throw pillows and tiffany lamp as she crossed the street, muttering under her breath and clutching the parking ticket in her hand.
The apartment door closed behind her and she exhaled. The encounter with the officer had been annoying, but it also was a good diversion. It gave her a chance to get a better look at their stalker. Dark hair pulled tight into a ponytail, tinted glasses and a scar on the side of his Latino cheek. Based on the number of cigarettes o
n the ground outside his car window, he was also a chain smoker.
She made the point of going over to the curtains and throwing them wide to let in the morning sunshine before she unpacked her clothes and placed the lamp on the desk where she had grabbed it. When she finished, she headed into the bathroom and ducked into the shower, letting the water dissolve the tension from her muscles.
“Please God, let that be convincing enough,” she whispered as she poured shampoo into her hand.
Chapter 7
The cell phone vibrated in his pocket and Steve checked the display. A text message appeared with instructions. He waited a half hour, then locked his computer and walked out of the office, heading to the Starbucks down the street.
He scanned the busy crowd for a tail before stepping inside. The scent of muffins and coffee filled the small shop. His stomach growled and mouth watered from the conditioned reflex of hundreds of Starbucks visits.
“Large vanilla latte,” he said to the bubbly girl behind the counter and slid his Bluetooth into his ear. “And a blueberry muffin.” He handed over a twenty, taking his change and his order, and headed to a corner table by the window where he opened the newspaper left behind.
A napkin fell out and Steve slowly crumpled it after reading the message scribbled on the thin paper. He glanced at the story highlighted in the message. A blonde-haired woman looked accusingly from the page of the newspaper. Found dead in her apartment last night, the information paralleled Jennifer’s dream. “Damn.”
“No kidding,” the older gentleman in the chair right behind him said. “How’d you know?”
Steve inhaled and glanced at the reflection in the window. His partner Jerry Kasmur stared into the glass, their eyes meeting briefly. Jack hadn’t filled Jerry in on Jennifer’s clairvoyant abilities and he wasn’t in the mood to get into the details of his wife’s gifts in a busy Manhattan Starbucks. Hell, it had taken Jack almost a year to accept it; he couldn’t expect Jerry to in five minutes. “Crystal balls, remember?”
Jerry choked on his coffee, sputtering it all over the table and Steve stifled a grin, scanning the article in front of him again before he spoke next. “By the way, I almost got nailed last night.” He sipped his coffee, his eyes constantly surveying the crowd inside the restaurant and outside on the street between glances at the newspaper in his hands.
Silence.
His phone vibrated and he pressed the Bluetooth, connecting the call. He took another sip, glancing at the newspaper while peeling away the wax paper from the bottom of the muffin.
“What happened?”
“I got the last of the documents and should have time to review them over the weekend,” he said into the phone. “I’m hoping I’ll have the final contract by Monday.”
“What happened?”
“I ran into him at the office on my way out,” he said and glanced back at the newspaper. “Jenny’s involved,” he whispered and took a bite of the muffin, swallowing the nervous lump that formed in his throat. “I needed a reason to be there at that hour and invented a crazy girlfriend.” He shot a sideways glance at the glass.
“Jack’s not going to like that.”
Steve uttered a short laugh. “That’s the understatement of the year.” Jack had been livid when he found out Jennifer was in New York with him. She wasn’t part of the agency. She was a civilian and he didn’t care that they were married. This assignment was supposed to be deep cover and the dossier they built for him had no mention of a wife. While her identity had been kept under wraps after the situation in Brooksfield blew wide open, anyone with the type of connections Charlie had could dig deep enough to find out about Jennifer’s past, and her connection to the FBI. The use of her maiden name on the billing made it much easier for that connection to be uncovered.
Returning his gaze to the paper, he asked, “Is this the same guy?”
“Yes,” Jerry said.
“Missing digit?”
“Yes.” The confirmation came with the scraping of the chair as Jerry got up, heading toward the door. “We’ve arranged for our seats to be next to yours at the play Friday.”
“Jenny ought to love that,” Steve said and rolled his eyes. Taking another bite of the muffin, he listened to his partner’s chuckle before the line went dead.
He finished his coffee while reading the paper. A cop in the seventh precinct survived the latest victim and she came home to find her sister dead. He’d seen some of the crime scene photos from the Slasher’s earlier victims, and if this was anything like the other murders, it was messy as hell.
That must have royally sucked.
He flipped to the business section and after reading three stories painting doom and gloom in the financial sector; he closed the paper, collected his garbage, and dumped it in the trash on the way out the door.
* * * *
Steve stepped on the elevator and pressed the button for the fifth floor.
A hand shot between the doors, causing them to retract. The owner of the appendage stepped on the elevator. He gave Steve a nod and went to press the button for his floor, but pulled his hand back at the last moment. “Looks like we got the express.”
Steve glanced at his elevator mate, offering a civil elevator smile, memorizing as much about him as he could. CW FOG covered the entire fifth floor and he had never seen this joker before. Between 6’1” and 6’2” with white teeth that poked out from behind his dark beard. The Prada shades shielding his eyes hinted that the man was better off than he appeared. A New York Yankee baseball cap covered most of his unruly curls, but some still poked out around the edges, matching the deep brown of his beard. His jeans were torn at the knees but his Nike’s were spotless. The corduroy blazer had patches on the elbows, reminding him of the pompous professors at Yale, yet he carried a package and clipboard under his arm.
The contradictions intrigued Steve. There was a strange, almost bohemian flavor to the man, the scent of sweat and nicotine emanating from him, mixing with the sweet aroma of vanilla latte in the small space. He took a sip of the coffee and watched the floor count rise.
When the elevator opened, he held the door for the man, watching as he headed into the office approaching the empty reception desk.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
The man checked his clipboard. “Is Mr. Wisnowski around?”
“Do you want me to sign for that?”
The man shook his head. “Says here to hand deliver to Mr. Wisnowski.”
“Okay. I’ll see if he’s in the office.” He stepped out of the reception area. Charlie’s door was closed and he rapped his knuckles on the mahogany wood, waiting. After a moment, he headed back into the lobby. “I’m sorry, but he isn’t in the office right now. You sure you don’t want me to sign?”
The man nodded and wrote a quick note. “Have him give me a call to schedule a more convenient time.” He handed him the paper and disappeared onto a waiting elevator.
Steve opened the note as he walked into his office and stopped in the middle of the room reading the scribbled script.
Got a package from Mr. B. Give me a yell and I’ll bring it by.
His eyebrows creased as he refolded the note and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
* * * *
The printer spat out copies of the contract and Steve picked up the group of papers, scanning his notes, and suggested updates, when Charlie entered the office. He grabbed the last page and intercepted him. “Do you have a minute?”
“What’s up?” Charlie swung his office door open.
“I wanted you to look over the changes to the contract before I send it out.” He handed over the pages. “And a courier was here earlier. He needed your signature and said to give him a call to set up another time.” He pulled the note from his pocket and handed it to Charlie.
A small smile appeared on Charlie’s lips as he read the contents and pocketed the paper. He took a seat behind his desk and motioned for Steve to do the same. Scanning the proposed c
hanges, he nodded when he agreed and chewed his lip when he had reservations. Steve had defined a more reasonable deal, sighting normal hours as between eight in the morning and six at night, and triple time only applied between the hours of midnight and six in the morning. Everything else was double time. “You think they’ll go for this?”
“I don’t know. They were pretty skimpy on the timeframe for reasonable and customary rates,” Steve said and raised his eyebrow, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the arms of the chair. He clasped his hands together. “I think they’re going to push for a longer triple time window.”
Charlie leaned back, drumming his fingers on the desk. “I’m not thrilled about paying triple for any time of day.”
“I could change it to say off hour service is paid at double time,” he said, “but they might tell you to go pound sand.”
Charlie chuckled. “Change it and let’s see what their reaction is. If they squawk, offer them this deal.” He handed the papers back to Steve.
“Will do.” He walked out of Charlie’s office with no more of a clue as to what the messenger’s note meant than before. After making the updates, he sent an electronic copy to Hammond Boilers and waited for their reaction.
Chapter 8
The empty apartment greeted him, he tossed both his briefcase, and overcoat on the desk, opting to fix a quick meal before settling into his daily de-brief. With the scent of chicken alfredo drifting through the flat, Steve opened his laptop and signed on, pausing to attend to dinner, stirring the sauce until it thickened and preparing a plate for both Jennifer and himself. Hers was covered and placed into a warm oven and his took the place of his briefcase and coat on the desktop. Settling behind the screen, he alternated between typing and eating, not really tasting the delicious meal he’d cooked. Instead, his focus remained on detailing his day at the office and the odd courier visit.
When he finished his recap, he pulled Charlie’s file, popping open a Corona before reading the information for the hundredth time. Charlie’s parents died in a legitimate car accident shortly after his brother was born. Paul Wisnowski had been traveling too fast for the conditions when he hit an ice patch that spun him into the path of an eighteen-wheeler. Both he and his wife died on impact, leaving Charlie and his younger brother Kyle in the hands of the state.