Twisted Dreams

by F J messina

  Saunders seemed nonplussed. “I thought I made that perfectly clear. You see, somewhere in the process, Mr. Oakley has used digital subterfuge to undermine the integrity of the process.”

  Sonia was hoping for more, but Saunders stopped there. “Well, how do we find out exactly how he’s doing that?”

  “Oh, I already know that.” Saunders’ hands had slipped, palm to palm, between his knees, the apt student having convincingly solved the problem posed by the instructor.

  Jet caught Sonia’s eye and was subtly shaking her head.

  Sonia continued, “Well, Burnett, uh, Mr. Saunders, could you tell us how he’s doing that?”

  “Oh, it’s simple.” Burnett’s hands slipped upward, finding a place on the table as he leaned in toward the girls, conspiratorially. “You see, one of the vendors, The Bluegrass Sump Pump Company, is no longer in business. Yet, somehow, it continues to send invoices to Bronson/Brownlee. Those invoices are still being paid.”

  Jet perked up. “Wait a minute. You mean they’re paying for things they’re not receiving?”

  Saunders sat back, tall in his chair. “That is correct.”

  Jet was fully engaged. “I thought you said that with those elaborate processes in place there were all kinds of checks and balances about paying for things.”

  Now it was Burnett Saunders whose energy level was rising. “In an effectively run organization, I said. In an effectively run organization. In many organizations, not every step is taken seriously, though, given the natural state of the human heart, one really can’t see why anyone would fail to follow the proper procedures laid out by the─”

  “Yes, yes,” Sonia interrupted. “But exactly how is Oakley doing,” she lifted her hands in frustration, “whatever it is that he’s doing?”

  “Electronically.”

  Jet’s head dropped to her chest and rocked back and forth. Then she looked up and gave Burnett a patient smile. “Please explain.”

  “You see, it appears Mr. Oakley has taken advantage both of some deficits in the purchasing processes used by Bronson/Brownlee and his ability to electronically steal Mr. Brownlee’s signature.”

  Jet sat up taller in her chair. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Tell us more.”

  “You see,” Saunders’ eyes bounced back and forth between Sonia and Jet, “the Bronson/Brownlee purchasing process is not one hundred percent in accordance with proper procedures for verifying the receipt of certain items, particularly when it comes to vendors with whom it has a long-standing relationship, as in the case of The Bluegrass Sump Pump Company. Therefore, with The Bluegrass Sump Pump Company going out of business and having digitally stolen Steven Brownlee’s signature to create invalid purchase orders, it wasn’t difficult for Oakley to create bogus invoices and approve their payment, again, using the electronically stolen signature. Mr. Brownlee is no longer heavily involved in the whole process. Therefore, if he happened to come across some paperwork with the vendor name of The Bluegrass Sump Pump Company, it wouldn’t be surprising at all that he might not have any idea the company no longer even exists.”

  It was Sonia’s turn to speak. “So . . . putting it simply, Oakley is creating false purchase orders to back up bogus invoices from a company that no longer exists. What then?”

  “Oh, it’s dreadfully simple from there, Ms. Vitale.” His voice became very matter-of-fact. “He simply creates an account to which he transfers the payment, and, of course, it’s an account to which he has personal access.”

  Jet thumped the plastic table with her fist. “So, the damn bastard pays a bogus invoice to an account he owns, then he walks away with the money, free as a jaybird pluckin’ a piece of straw out of the hand of a scarecrow. Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Sonia shook her head and chuckled at Jet’s allusion.

  “Yes, Ms. ah . . . Jet.”

  Jet looked at Saunders over her nonexistent glasses. “And you can prove that this varmint has been rapin’ and pillagin’ the poor old man with your forensic accounting wizardry?”

  “Well, yes.” Saunders touched his bowtie and sighed. “And no.”

  Sonia squinted. “Yes and no?”

  Saunders clasped his hands and rested them on the table. “Yes, I can use the records you gave me to prove that someone has been producing false invoices and payments.” He let out a short breath. “It will be more difficult to prove that it was Mr. Oakley’s doing.”

  Jet was still animated. “I thought you said that he was sending money to an account that he had access to.”

  “Well . . . yes, but.” His hands went back to his lapels, this time actually hanging on them for a moment as he spoke. “You see, he may have used a false identity to create his access to the account.” Saunders paused, then a hint of a sly smile crept across his face as he leaned in over the table. “Now don’t tell anyone that I used a little skullduggery and the repayment of a long-overdue personal favor to determine this, but it appears that within three days of each payment to the phony account, someone, Mr. Oakley I presume, empties the account.”

  Sonia leaned back in her chair. “So that would make it difficult to prove it’s Oakley, right?”

  “I’m afraid you’re correct.” Saunders crossed his arms and leaned back, sighing.

  Sonia picked up her coffee and swirled it as she pondered the situation. Then she took another tack. “Well, at least we can get it to stop, right? We just ask you to write us a report, Mr. Saunders, and we help Steven Brownlee take it to the police.”

  Jet slammed her fist on the plastic table, sending Sonia and Saunders rocking backward. “No way, sister.” Her blue eyes wide open, she bore down on Sonia. “We’re not letting that piece of crap rip off Mr. Brownlee. We’re going to prove that it’s Oakley, and we’re going to get Brownlee his money back.” She turned and looked across the table. “Right Burnett?”

  Saunders seemed taken aback by Jet’s directness. “Well . . . ah, Jet. I’m not sure how we could do that. With him emptying the account in three days and possibly using a false identity, I’m not sure how we prove it’s him.”

  Sonia joined in. “Yeah, and let’s not forget that he’s a computer whiz. As soon as anything goes sideways, he’ll be in there covering his tracks electronically.”

  Jet stood up, almost knocking her folding chair over backward. “Listen. We may be done for now, but we’re not moving forward until we can find a way to catch this bastard and get the old man’s money back for him. Come on Burnett, let me show you out.”

  Sonia retired to her office and took a seat at her desk. After showing Burnett Saunders out, Jet joined her, standing in the doorway.

  “What was that?” Sonia asked.

  Jet cocked her head. “What was what?”

  There was a sing-song lilt to Sonia’s voice. “Come on, Burnett. Let me show you out.”

  “I don’t know.” Jet stepped into Sonia’s office. “It just seemed like the right thing to do.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Really.”

  “You would have done that for any other client?”

  Jet shrugged and busied herself getting situated in the chair opposite Sonia’s desk. “I guess. What’s your point?”

  “My point is that I’ve never seen you do that before.” Sonia’s eyebrows went up, her chocolate brown eyes smiling. “Except when I made you do it last week.”

  Jet squirmed around in the chair as if getting comfortable for a long session. “So?”

  “So, I did it because I thought it was funny that Burnett Saunders seemed so attracted to you.”

  “And?”

  “Aaand . . .” Sonia’s smile was coy. “Now I think that perhaps you might be attracted to him.”

  “Get off it.” Jet seemed suddenly concerned with the condition of her fingernail polish. “That stiff piece of railing? What could a woman find attractive about him?”

  Sonia’s shoulders lifted. “I don’t know. What if he lost the oversized suit and the giant bowtie? Would he
seem like a different guy?”

  Jet leaned in and got a mischievous look on her face. “What he if lost the suit and was standing there in nothing but his Calvin Klein low-rise skivvies? What would you say then?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Now it was Sonia who was off-balance.

  “Oh, honey chile.” The voice was pure southern belle. “Don’t you know that they always say the clothes make the man. Well, sometimes, now mind you, just sometimes, the clothes don’t make the man until he takes ‘em off.”

  Sonia sat there wide-eyed. Finally, she brushed that wisp of hair out of her face. “Oh brother. Is it time for lunch yet?”

  “Not yet. We just ate those pastries.” Jet licked her lips. “But I do know one thing.”

  “What’s that?” Sonia rocked back.

  Jet stood, ran her long, blonde ponytail through each of her hands and looked off at the ceiling. “I do believe I am slowly, ever so slowly, developing an unusual appetite.”

  16

  After their meeting with Burnett Saunders, Jet worked on trying to find phone numbers or email addresses for more of Mariana’s friends. Meanwhile, Sonia continued to call the few numbers she’d gotten from Jet. In each case, she tiptoed around questions concerning Mariana and her relationships, finally asking each of them frank questions about Mariana’s current location. As she worked, Sonia’s eyes kept drifting to the photograph of Mariana that she had put in a simple black frame and set on her desk. Sometimes she shuddered as she thought about all the things that might happen to a young woman.

  Just after one o’clock, Jet knocked on Sonia’s window. “Time for lunch. Where do you want to go?”

  Sonia thought for a moment. “Papi’s.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes. Again.”

  “Okay, but you’d better not get drunk this time.” Jet tossed the line at her while she slipped on her light blue spring jacket.

  “I did not get drunk.” Sonia grabbed her jacket and her purse as well. “And any light-headedness I suffered was entirely your fault.”

  They walked down the stairs in the rain and got into Jet’s car. Sonia shivered. “Nasty day.”

  Jet started the Camry and looked each way before turning right onto East Main. “Yup. April can come back and bite you on the butt, can’t it.”

  Sonia didn’t reply. Eventually, however, she did ask, “So, are you ever going to tell me how we’re planning on getting shots of Nick Petropoulos messing around on his wife?”

  “That I am my dear. Right now.” A knowing smile crossed Jet’s face. “It involves getting some exercise.”

  “What does that mean? Getting some exercise.”

  Jet continued to smile and turned the car down Ashland Ave. “Did you know that roller-skating is recognized as a complete aerobic workout that involves all of the body’s muscles, especially the heart. In fact, one hour of roller-skating burns between 300 and 600 calories.”

  “Well, you don’t say.” Sonia’s voice was light but filled with a touch of apprehension. “And how do you know all this information about roller-skating?”

  “There’s this new thing.” Jet’s voice was totally snarky. “It’s called the internet.”

  Sonia watched as they passed the beautiful old homes she saw daily but never tired of. “And are you implying that you’re planning on going roller skating soon.”

  “No, no, no.” Jet shook her head broadly. Then she turned to Sonia. “I’m implying that we’re going roller-skating soon.”

  “And would that be at The Wildcat Roller-Skating Emporium?” Sonia’s voice was rising.

  “Uh huh.”

  Sonia turned to Jet. “And would we be doing that tonight, because we’re interested in supporting a certain sorority’s fundraiser for kids with a particular kind of cancer?”

  “You’ve got it.” A big smile crossed Jet’s face. “Tonight, at eight o’clock, you and I will be going to The Wildcat. We won’t actually have to roller-skate. We’ll just stand around with the rest of the ‘watchers’ who’ll be there. I’m guessing it won’t be too hard to get a shot of some young slut sneaking off with Nick-the-Dick to get a little extra aerobic exercise of a different nature.”

  Sonia took a deep breath. “Well, I’m certainly glad that’s your plan.”

  “And why’s that?” Jet pulled into a parking space around the corner from Papi’s.

  “Actually, I never learned how to roller-skate. No skiing, no skateboarding, none of that stuff. I run. I run and I keep my feet right there on terra firma. No wheels or slippery sticks between me and mother earth.”

  Jet whipped her head to her right. “Seriously? You never learned to roller-skate? It’s easy. How could you not know how to roller-skate?”

  “Hey.” Sonia’s voice was suddenly defensive. “If you live in an old neighborhood where the sidewalks are all uneven and the streets are full of cars, and you don’t grow up near a rink, somehow roller-skating just seems to slip on by.”

  “Well don’t you worry.” Jet’s demeanor had become motherly. “I’m sure you can be a good ‘watcher’ even if you can’t skate.”

  Sonia nodded, glad she had made her point. “Yes, I’m quite certain I can.”

  “Well, here we are, sweets. The site of your drunken debauchery at our last lunch.”

  “Cut it out.” Sonia slapped Jet gently on her arm. “I was just a bit lightheaded. And it was your doing all along. I didn’t order those margaritas.”

  “Okay, okay.” Jet slipped out of her car and spoke to Sonia over its roof. “But let’s hope you can handle your booze better today.” She headed for Papi’s in the light rain.

  “One. Just one.” Sonia spoke as she tried to catch up to Jet. “And I don’t care if we just drink water.”

  Jet opened the door and led Sonia up the stairs and into the restaurant. “Buenos dias,” she said to the hostess.

  “Buenos días. Como estás?” came the reply. She was a sturdy woman, dark-haired, dark-eyed, wearing jeans and a white top that failed to cover her broad shoulders. She was helpful but slow to smile.

  Sonia stepped slightly in front of Jet. “Can we be seated with Paco today?”

  Somehow the request had managed to bring out the woman’s smile, one that was actually quite warm. “Claro. Right this way.” She led them quickly to a colorful table in the far corner of the restaurant, Paco’s section for the day.

  As Sonia and Jet waited for Paco to come to their table, Jet asked, “So why did you want to come here again so soon? Just to see Paco?”

  “Yeah.” Sonia reached out to the salsa bowl that sat on the table and dipped a warm chip into it. She held the chip in her hand while she answered. “It’s killing me that we’re not making any progress on this case. I just want to assure him that we’re working as hard as we can, trying to find her. And I want to see if there is anyone else we should be talking to, people we should be asking questions.” She popped the chip into her mouth, whole.

  Paco walked up to the table, standing between them. “Buenos días ladies. How are you today?”

  Jet gave him a big smile. “Bien, gracias, bien. Y tú?”

  “Bien, bien, bien.” He was all smiles as well. “And you Ms. Sonia. You are well?”

  “Yes Paco, very well. How are you holding up?”

  Paco’s professional demeanor slipped away, replaced by a hint of deep sadness. “It is difficult,” he sighed. “We pray every night. I come to work and try to do a good job, but my heart is so heavy. And Lily, my wife. She is broken.”

  Jet took his hand gently. “We understand, really we do. And we’re trying everything we can think of.”

  Sonia touched his other hand. “We’ve been out to Downstream Farm and spoken to the people she worked with. We’ve spoken to her professor from Mayweather. We’ve called a number of her friends already. No one has been much help. And even though we’re licensed PIs, we’re not able to see her phone records. But just know that we’re not going to give up. We’re not. In fac
t, I was wondering if there was anyone here today we should speak to.”

  Paco thought for a moment. “Si. Yes. I told you I would get you in touch with Mariana’s cousin, Gabriela. Tomás called in sick today; Gabriela is covering his shift. That’s her, over there, in the red shirt.”

  Sonia and Jet both turned and saw a beautiful woman, probably just shy of thirty years old. Her Mexican heritage was obvious, though she seemed unusually tall by those standards. Thin, shapely body, thick long black hair, long dangling earrings, jeans that hugged, really hugged her body, and shoes with heels not normally worn by servers in a restaurant; she appeared more like a flamenco dancer than a woman serving lunch in a small Mexican eatery. The looks men gave her as she walked by them completed the illusion.

  Sonia turned back to Paco and saw the look of a proud uncle in his eyes. “Any chance we could get a moment to talk to her today?”

  “Oh, yes. When you finish your lunch, I will tell her to come talk to you. I’ll cover her tables for her if I need to.”

  Sonia and Jet ordered enchiladas and margaritas. They talked about a number of cases while they ate, including the fact that Jet had, thus far, been frustrated in her attempts to catch the group of young girls who were stealing the high-end make-up from BCI’s drugstore client. When they were finished, they asked Paco to send Gabriela over so they could talk.

  The black-haired woman seemed to glide across the red tile floor, her hips swinging back and forth. “You are the women who are trying to find my cousin?” Her voice was soft but dark and powerful. “Have you made any progress?”

  Sonia pushed her margarita glass to the side. “Well, not as much as we’d like. We were hoping that you could help. Is there anything that you can tell us? Anything at all?”

  Gabriela seemed to hesitate, her eyes scanning the room.

  Jet sat up a little taller. “Gabriela?”

  “Listen,” Gabriela spoke almost without moving her lips, “I don’t know if this means anything, and I don’t want to get Mariana in trouble, but she came in here the night before she disappeared.”