by Dave Derin
Chapter 1
“What the…?” A subtle vibration and buzzing noise beside my head woke me from a deep sleep. I pressed my hands against my eyes. “What now?” I muttered, and with a groan rolled over and saw that my phone had vibrated off the table and lodged between my mattress and bedframe.
“Great.” I groaned, reached for the pulsating phone, and turned it over to see that it was my boss, Richard Swinger. I cleared my throat and quickly sat straight up in bed.
“Hello?” I said with an air of questioning in my voice. I knew nothing good could come from a phone call at two o’clock in the morning.
“Where the hell have you been, Stone?” Swinger demanded loudly in a gravelly voice.
I leaned my head away from the phone as he yelled, then sarcastically responded, “Uh, it’s two o’clock in the morning, Rich. I’m still in bed, where almost every sane person is at this hour. Why? What’s going on?”
“The case of your damn life, that’s what’s going on! Get your ass to the office pronto. I have Elizabeth there already prepping your file. You better be ready for this one. Bring your big boy pants.”
“Alright, I’m on my wa--”
Swinger hung up on me with a click. I placed my phone on the bed in front of me and stared at it for a second as I struggled to wake up and gain my bearings. I saw that I’d missed three calls from Swinger and sighed, “Well, hello to you, too, Dick.”
This wasn’t the first time he had pulled something like this. Swinger would admit he was a mediocre litigator, but he was the master of the second most important skill a lawyer could have, and that skill is the ability to pull a big retainer check from wealthy clients. If I had to guess, somebody important did something really dumb, just wrote Dick a fat check, and now he needed me to wake up at two in the morning to start spending that retainer, pronto.
The saddest part is the guy doesn’t even enjoy having money. He never took vacations and he only ate fancy meals with clients. He cared about money the way a video gamer cared about having the highest score, he wanted to die on top, without having had any fun along the way. Neither my father, nor Ames, saw eye to eye with him on that, but they never discounted the value he added to the firm.
“Who was that, babe?” a sweet voice murmured sleepily.
I glanced over at the smooth curve of my companion’s back, her perfectly round, tanned buttocks barely exposed under my white Egyptian cotton sheets. I smiled as I remembered the night before. It’d been a lot of fun, to say the least. Her slinky, low-cut black dress still lay strewn across the bedroom floor, her strappy black stilettos tossed carelessly beside the bed.
I’d met Crystal at a legal networking event yesterday, and honestly, all I knew about her was that her name was Crystal, she’s gorgeous, was incredible between the sheets, and didn’t want any form of commitment.
My kind of woman.
I gently stroked the line down her back to the two small dimples of her hips, then ran my hand through her soft hair. The alluring spice of last night’s perfume still lingered in her silky dark curls. She turned to face me, her full lips parted in a seductive smile.
I traced my fingers across her pouting lips and returned the smile, “It’s nothing, just work. My boss thinks it’s enough of an emergency to call me in to the office at two. How about you go back to sleep, and I’ll have breakfast delivered in the morning, just like I promised?”
“Aww, no morning round?” she teased gently.
I grinned and assured her, “There’s always next time, but I’ve really got to get to the office.”
“M’kay,” she whispered as she started to fall back asleep. She turned over, and the soft curls of her long, raven hair spread over my pillow. I caressed her velvet tresses once more since I knew I’d be too busy with this new case to see her again any time soon.
I grabbed my phone, jumped out of bed, and got a clean towel from the linen closet as I walked into the bathroom to place a call to the Armadillo Bakery and Cafe, the best 24-hour breakfast joint in town.
“Thanks for calling the Armadillo, what can we make fresh for you this morning?” An overly perky young lady answered.
“Yes, this is John Stone. I’ll have two eggs, scrambled, with an order of blueberry pancakes and fresh strawberries with cream. Let’s say, delivery at 8 am?”
“Oh! Mr. Stone! Yes, of course. I’ll have them take special care of you, as always,” she responded. I could hear her grin through the phone.
“Thanks, Nancy. You have a good one, now.”
“You as well, Mr. Stone.” She hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Which one is she this time? You know, we all have a running bet going on here…”
I tried to contain a chuckle and just said, “She’s new.”
I hung up the phone and surveyed my master bathroom. I’d recently had it remodeled with high-end finishes: brushed nickel no-touch fixtures, Italian marble countertop, and an incredible shower system that includes a relaxing steam bath. The heated onyx stone floors felt amazing on my frigid toes as I made my way to the shower.
I turned on the rainfall shower head, stepped into the open shower area, and inhaled deeply as the scent of my tea tree and peppermint body wash filled the steamy air. My interior decorator had insisted on putting live plants in the rainforest-themed shower area. I didn’t hate it.
No time to relax now. I finished up my shower and began to dry off. The cold air slapped my body as I stepped out of the shower. Usually, that would have woken me up, but my eyes were heavy that morning even as my mind ran through the new case’s possibilities.
What on earth could Swinger be so worked up about? I brushed my teeth and swished with minty astringent mouthwash. I spat the blue liquid into the sink and noticed an unsightly dark shadow across my face as I stared at myself in the mirror.
I dragged an electric razor over my stubble and ran my fingers through my thick chestnut brown hair as I fought with a stubborn cowlick. I couldn't walk in to Swinger and Ames dressed like a bum. I selected an outfit from my closet, one of my go-to navy suits and white button-down shirts. I felt my heart rate rise as I buttoned up my shirt and pondered what case was about to be thrown at me. I scooped my brown leather Berluti loafers from my shoe rack and laced them up before I took one final look in the mirror and gave myself a nod of approval.
I stopped by my antique four poster bed and gave Crystal a light peck on the cheek before I headed to the kitchen. “Coffee. Definitely need coffee,” I muttered to myself as I walked down the hallway.
I set my phone on the counter and selected a mug and K-cup from my turntable. Only the best Colombian brew would do. I popped it in the machine, leaned against the counter as I closed my eyes, and then released a big yawn. The Keurig sputtered and filled my mug with magical bean juice. I breathed in the earthy aroma of fresh coffee as it enveloped the room. I stood there dazed for a moment, my eyes heavy from sleeplessness, and jolted to attention when my phone vibrated on the counter next to me.
What does Swinger want now? I groaned and looked at the screen to see it was “The Ro-Man” calling.
I smirked and answered the call, “Well, well, well. Mr. Roland Dodge, Esquire. To what do I owe the pleasure of this ungodly early phone call? Don’t tell me you need to be bailed out again, man. I’ve kinda got some heavy stuff going on here.”
Roland laughed and said excitedly, “Nah man, nothing like that, but I wanted to give you a heads up. So, get this, you’re totally not going to believe this, right? Okay, so, yesterday--”
“Hey dude, I’ve got a major issue at work this morning and Swinger needs me there ASAP. Plus, it’s literally 2:30 in the morning. Can this wait until later today?” I interrupted.
He paused for a moment, then said nervously, “Wait,
Swinger already called you in? I thought I would catch you first. Shit. This is bigger than I thought.”
I stood up straight, instantly more interested in what my old college buddy had to tell me. The brewing coffee seemed much less important now. “What’s going on, Roland? How did you know Swinger would call me?”
“I knew Swinger would call because he is a total asshole, and the type of boss who thinks he owns his employees even when they’re off the clock--” he began.
“We’ve discussed Dick’s shortcomings before, Ro,” I interrupted his lecture.
“Yeah, and you’re still working for him instead of building your own legacy so I’ll keep bringing it up,” he replied.
“Anyway…” I trailed off in an attempt to get the subject back on track.
“Get this shit. So, yesterday I was flying home from New York,” Roland began in his thick, Brooklyn accent. “And there was this fine, redheaded honey named Susanna on the flight. A real southern belle. She was a straight 10. I tried to get it in, but no luck, man. But whatever, that’s not why I’m calling. So, the fuckin’ airplane exploded. Central US Airlines, you guys represent them, don’t you? CUSA?”
“Shit,” I whispered under my breath. “Are you alright, man? That’s absolutely insane, Ro. Where are you now? Are you at the hospital?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a few scratches and bruises, but nothing too serious. They just bandaged me up onsite, so I’m at home for a few days until I go back to work next week,” the blonde attorney relayed.
“That’s good to hear,” I responded with a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Ro. Do they know what happened yet? Was it an equipment malfunction or something?”
“No, dude. That’s what I thought at first, too. They’re saying it was a bomb. A freakin’ bomb, can you believe that? On a CUSA flight! I mean, obviously they’re thinking the Middle East and all that, but as far as I know, they don’t have anything solid so far.”
I paused for a moment to let the information sink in. “A bomb? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, dude, it was so unreal,” Roland practically screamed through the phone. I held it away from my ear, my head buzzed with curiosity and caffeine withdrawal.
“Has anyone claimed responsibility yet? How do you know all this if it just happened yesterday?” I asked quizzically. Roland was a civil litigation attorney, wasn’t associated with the FBI or any investigatory department, and he’d been known to exaggerate a story or two throughout the years.
“The FBI is all over it, man. Some FBI broad named Dodson, or something like that, she’s over the investigation. She was talking to some other feds during the clean-up, and I overheard her. They don’t know who was involved yet, but they think it’s terrorism. Terrorism! And I was on that flight,” Roland spoke so quickly I could barely keep up with what he was saying.
“Hey, Ro, just take a deep breath and slow down,” I said calmly. “Start from the top, and tell me everything you can remember.”
Roland was silent for a moment, then began with, “Well, I was trying to join the Mile-High Club with this smokin’ hot redhead…”
I rolled my eyes. Roland could be such a dog sometimes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve already told you I don’t want to hear the details of your little escapades. I really like Jessica, and I don’t see how you cheating on your wife is related to this case at all.”
“Aw, man. Don’t be like that. You know ever since she had the baby we’ve been having problems in the bedroom,” Roland whined.
I sighed loudly. I knew there was no sense in starting a stupid argument over something I couldn't change. “Okay. Please proceed.”
“Thank you, counselor,” Roland responded sarcastically. “Okay. So, I convinced this chick Susanna to come to the bathroom with me, right? So, we’re laughing and flirting and all, and before I could even land one single kiss on her, this little old white-haired lady came banging on the door! I was so pissed.”
“Okay, Ro, but I still don’t see how any of this is related to the case,” I raised the steaming coffee mug to my face and took a full breath of the rich aroma.
“I mean, honestly, I guess it’s not, but I had to tell you the backstory so you’d understand the rest.”
“Man, I really want to sit down and talk about all of this in detail with you, but Swinger wants me at the office right now,” I took a sip of my coffee and set the mug on the polished concrete counter.
“Alright, alright. Here’s the short version. We didn’t hook up. Little old lady cockblocked me. We got back to my seat, and I persuaded Susanna to sit with me. As soon as she sat down, like for real dude, as soon as her perfect little ass hit that seat, it felt like someone had cracked me over the head with a 2x4. I saw stars, like in those old Bugs Bunny cartoons, you know? I didn’t even think that shit was real…”
I really needed to get moving if I wanted to keep Swinger off my ass. I took one more quick sip of coffee, gathered my briefcase and keys, locked the front door, and headed to the elevator of my apartment building.
“Hey man, is there anything else? Any details that are pertinent to this case, or did you seriously just call me to brag about you not hooking up with some hot redhead?” I teased him and chuckled.
“I mean, yeah. I guess that’s it,” Roland said sheepishly. “But isn’t that wild, dude?”
“Yeah, it really is, man. I’m so glad you weren't hurt,” I said softly.
“Thanks, man. Yeah, it was freakin’ terrifying. Honestly the scariest day of my life. I still can’t believe I made it out okay,” he replied, and his voice wavered slightly.
“Yeah dude, that would have seriously put a damper on our league baseball team. It’d be hard to find a new catcher with such short notice before we start practices,” I joked and Ro let out a raucous laugh.
“Glad I mean so much to you and the team,” my old friend retorted playfully.
“You know I’m just messin’ with you, dude. You would have been sorely missed by everyone, Ro-Man,” I said as I pressed the elevator call button. “I’m about to get in the elevator so I’m going to lose you, but I’ll update you if I learn anything new during my meeting with Swinger, okay?”
“Sure, man. I mean, just let me know. I was there. I was right fucking there, and I lived through it. This is literally the most insa--”
“I’m sorry man, but I’ve really got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow. Just, take a deep breath, and we’ll talk later, okay?” I assured him as the elevator doors opened.
I hung up the phone and glanced into the elevator. A beautiful, petite woman looked back at me and smiled. She stepped to the right to allow me to enter the tiny space. Her shiny, straight chin-length black hair sparkled under the elevator’s lights, her eyes hidden beneath large dark Dior sunglasses. Her sleeveless yellow dress hugged her small frame as she crossed her sculpted arms beneath her breasts.
“Good morning,” I said politely as I stepped into the elevator.
“Good morning to you,” she replied with a vaguely Eastern European accent.
I felt her eyes roam over my body and looked over to see she’d removed her sunglasses to reveal stunning brown doe eyes.
“Are you new to the building? I’m John Stone. I’m up in 14B.”
She continued to study me silently, her magnificent dark eyes seemed to glow under the elevator’s fluorescent lights. I wondered if her accent was Russian.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, but before she could answer the elevator stopped on the ground floor, and the doors slid open.
“This is my stop,” she said quietly and stepped close to me before she exited the elevator. As she left, I caught a whiff of something exotic. Sandalwood, maybe? She turned around, met my eyes, and smiled coyly as she pointed to my blazer pocket. “Call me sometime,” she purred, then turned, and strutted toward the front door.
I reached into my blazer pocket and pulled out a business card. “Katerina Volkov, Financial Advisor,” I read aloud to myself. I watched
her walk away as the elevator doors closed, and her hips swished like she knew I watched her every move.
The elevator dinged as I reached the parking garage, and the doors slowly opened. I don’t know if I needed a financial advisor, but I’m sure Miss Volkov could offer me some very useful advice. I mused over this mysterious new neighbor as I made my way to my car.
I slid into my jet-black BMW 7-series, a fairly recent purchase, and placed my briefcase on the tan leather passenger seat. “You can’t work for me and drive a pile of garbage!” I heard Swinger yell in my head. I’d never minded driving my old Jeep, but what Swinger wants, Swinger gets. Plus, the monthly travel stipend Swinger and Ames gave me sure helped with the payments.
I sped off toward the offices of Swinger and Ames and dialed my paralegal Elizabeth from the car. “Hey Liz, I hear there’s a crisis at the office. What’s going on?” I asked as I jumped on I-345. I pressed the accelerator, the engine revved as I shot down the interstate. At this time of the morning, the only people on the roads were drunks and cops, so as long as I didn’t run into either of those, I’d be fine.
“Hey, boss,” Elizabeth started. “Swinger is in a rare sort of mood, just to forewarn you.”
“Yeah, yeah. When is he not?” I laughed, and she joined in with a quiet giggle.
“I know, right? Okay, so here’s the skinny. All we know so far is that CUSA has had 3 major events happen in the last month, all during the planes’ landing. Evidence of bombs have been found in the left turbine engine in each case. Traces of triacetone triperoxide, or TATP, were also found in every case, so it appears to be the same perpetrator.”
“Got it. So, it’s definitely terrorism, then? That’s the same stuff they used in Brussels in 2016, right?
“Yes, sir,” she replied, “they’re looking into the Islamic State as a potential perpetrator.”
“Okay, so we don’t have to worry about a civil suit biting us in the ass over this, do we?” I asked, relieved that I won’t have to deal with that litigation nightmare under Swinger’s scrutiny.
“It doesn’t seem so, no. The FBI has been here since 1:30 this morning apparently, and…” she trailed off.