by Dave Derin
I really should call her.
I cruised down the interstate, surprised that I didn’t get stuck in traffic on the way.
The Eagles’ Hotel California streamed through the radio as I decelerated and took the exit for Commerce. I pulled into the nearest open parking garage and had to drive up four stories before I found an empty spot.
I snagged it, lifted my briefcase from the front seat, and heard the car beep as I locked it. I started my trek down Commerce, crossed to Main, and wrenched open the wide glass door.
A cool breeze of conditioned air hit my face as I entered the building.
“Good morning, Mr. Stone,” our rubanesque receptionist greeted me. “How are we doing this morning?”
“Doing great, Margie, can’t complain. It’s a beautiful day in Dallas,” I declared as I made my way through the lobby. “Oh, and Liz is sick today. Please make sure nobody bothers her, okay?”
She smiled and nodded enthusiastically as I turned to walk down the long hall to my toiling quarters. Elaborately framed pictures of the firm’s partners, both current and past, lined the hallway. I paused for a moment to look at my father’s picture.
Paul Stone, Esq. If not for the slight wrinkles around his eyes and the touch of gray in his hair, it would appear I was looking in a mirror.
I peeled myself away from my dad’s visage, opened my office door, and turned on the light. The harsh fluorescent ceiling lights made my eyes water as they adjusted. I walked over to open the window blinds to let some natural light in.
A new pile of case files sat on my desk, stacked neatly amidst my clutter. I set my briefcase down and picked up the file on top.
The label read Howard, Lucille. I flipped through the first few pages and discovered it was your basic probation violation case and tossed it to the side.
I sat down in my office chair. The worn leather squished as I settled my weight in it. I took a deep breath and started to work my way through the rest of the files.
The next time I glanced at my phone it was 12:23 p.m.
Oh, crap. I’m supposed to meet Roland in less than seven minutes. I closed the file I’d been reviewing and dashed to the door.
“Heading to lunch,” I announced to Margie as I strode quickly through the lobby toward the front doors.
“Oh, Mr. Stone,” the ebony-skinned receptionist started, “I almost forgot to tell you. Mr. Ames called for you earlier. I know you said you were not to be disturbed, so I told him I’d give you the message.”
I looked at her quizzically.
“Uh, Margie, why did you tell him I couldn’t be disturbed? I actually do need to speak with him,” I questioned.
“But, I thought you said, when you came in, you said to please make sure no one bothers you, right?” she blustered.
“Margie,” I sighed and offered her a weak smile. “I was talking about Elizabeth. She’s sick, remember? Don’t let anyone call and bother her. That’s what I told you when I came in this morning.”
The curly-headed woman’s face would have turned bright red had she not had such a dark complexion.
“I- I’m so sorry, Mr. Stone,” she exclaimed.
“It’s not a problem, Margie. Just... please listen carefully next time, okay? If Ames calls back for me, tell him I’ll call him this afternoon.”
I turned and heard her whimper softly to herself as I exited the building and started to walk toward Chef Wang’s. The heat was already unbearable, so I removed my suit jacket and threw it over my shoulder as I made my way to the restaurant. My pinstripe tie fluttered in the wind as I briskly walked to the restaurant and made it there just in time.
12:29 p.m.
Roland stood in front of the white concrete building and stared down at his phone with intensity. His ash blonde hair was cut short in a military style even though he was a civilian through-and-through. His stylish dark wash jeans were topped with a white collared shirt layered under a camel cashmere sweater, and the outfit was completed by a pair of tan Sperry boat shoes.
His wife had definitely dressed him.
“Ro,” I shouted as I neared the front door and waved my hand over my head. He jumped, then looked up, saw me, and broke into a huge smile.
“Johnny Boy, is it really you?” Roland yelled, and scooped me into a rough bear hug, which was awkward because I was nearly a head taller than him. He slung me back and forth and emitted his trademark high-pitched, hyena laugh.
“How’ve you been, man?” I asked as I wrestled away from his playful grasp.
“Aw, you know. Same ol’ shit, different day. How ‘bout you? A little birdie told me you might have some freakin’ fantastic news to share with me today,” Roland bounced toward the front door and pulled it open.
“After you, sir,” Roland bowed satirically and gestured for me to enter first. I ignored his antics, walked through the freshly cleaned glass doors, and joined the relatively short line in front of the order counter.
“I figured you’d have heard by now,” I replied sheepishly, and pretended to stare at the menu on the wall behind the counter.
“I can’t believe you didn’t call me,” Roland whined, and I shot him an annoyed look.
“Dude, I’ve been a little busy, okay? I’m telling you now. Anyway, that’s honestly not even why I need to talk to you.”
The line creeped forward as we stood in awkward silence. Finally, we made it to the register.
“I’ll have the Mongolian beef, a side of brown rice, and a water, please,” I said to the elderly Asian gentleman behind the register.
“Yeah, and I’ll have the sesame chicken with white rice and a Coke,” Roland jumped in.
The short man pressed a few buttons on the register.
“Fifteen dollars and ten cents,” he announced.
Roland pulled out his wallet, but I was faster with the draw and gave the clerk my VISA first.
“I invited you to lunch, so I’ve got this one,” I said with a smile.
“You paid last time, it’s only fair that we switch off,” Roland responded as he reluctantly slipped his wallet back into his coat pocket.
“Well then, I guess you just need to invite me out for a meal more often, don’t you?” I jested.
“Yeah, yeah. I suppose you’re right. I’ll try to do better,” he responded with a chuckle.
We grabbed our red trays overloaded with food and found a quiet table away from the front entrance. The faded burgundy cushions on the old metal chairs had ripped edges that poked the back of my legs, but I didn’t care. They had the best quick Chinese in town, and the joint was always spotlessly clean.
We sat down and Roland grabbed a few napkins from the chrome dispenser in the center of the table. I picked up my fork and began to dig in to my beef; the spicy aroma tingled in my nostrils.
I glanced up to see Roland staring at me. I swallowed my mouthful of seasoned sliced beef and rice.
“Can I help you?” I asked and took a swig of water.
“Did you not just say you had something super important to tell me?”
“Oh. I did,” I chuckled at my own distracted mind. “I’m a hungry man, give me a break.”
It was Roland’s turn to roll his eyes at me.
I took another gulp of water to wash the pepper from my throat and slowly pretended to take another bite of food as Roland let out a huff of complaint.
I laughed heartily. It’d been so long since Roland and I had hung out, I’d forgotten what a little peckerhead he could be.
“So, I met with that Agent Dodson, excuse me, Special Agent Dodson, and she’s a real peach,” I said sarcastically. “That Susanna girl you were hitting on? Yeah, she’s the terrorist, dude.”
Roland’s eyes widened, and he set his fork on the table.
“Susanna? A terrorist?” Roland stared into my eyes for a moment before a giant smile broke out across his face, and he busted out into a cackling laugh. “You almost had me there, man. Almost.”
I kept a deadpan face.
I’d figured he was going to react that way at first. Who wouldn’t? No one expects that the sexy sky mistress you fantasized about was really a bomb-wielding terrorist.
“I’m one hundred percent serious. On my father’s grave.”
Roland’s face dropped. He knew I would never swear on my father’s grave if I wasn’t being completely honest.
“Damn,” the blonde-haired attorney said, shocked. “I guess you never really know someone, huh?”
“Dude, you literally spent a few hours with her. You don’t know her in any sense of the word.”
“Yeah, I know,” he frowned, “but it just seems so strange. She’s like, a total innocent. I don’t even think she truly knew what the Mile-High Club was, and she’s a freakin’ flight attendant. I don’t want to say she’s dumb, but maybe just a little naïve.”
I took another bite of my sumptuous meal and chewed slowly as I watched Roland’s face go from sad, to scared, to angry.
“There’s literally no way she was involved, dude. Why the hell would she have sat down next to me if she knew the bomb was going to go off?” Roland’s voice got louder as he became visibly upset.
I looked around, and a few people stared back, curious about my buddy yelling about a bomb about to go off.
“Shh, dude. Chill. What do you mean, she sat down next to you? Don’t they have a special area they’re supposed to be in during the landing?”
“Yeah, they do,” he replied guiltily, “but I convinced her to sit with me. Pulled the whole ‘I’m a big powerful attorney, I can get you out of any trouble’ spiel. Worked like a charm.”
I leaned back on the flat, hard burgundy seat cushion. Roland was right. There’s no way someone would knowingly sit directly in front of a bomb if they knew when and where it was going to explode.
What does Dodson have on her besides a loose affiliation with an ex-boyfriend?
I took a sip of water and swished it around in my mouth to deaden the burn from the Mongolian spices. “I thought I told you to stop saying that, Ro. It’s going to get you in trouble one of these days, and I can’t always bail you out, ya’ know?”
“I know, I know. It’s not a lie, though. I am an attorney, just not one that could get her out of trouble,” he replied, embarrassed to admit the truth.
“You didn’t happen to get her number, did you?
“Nah, man,” he complained. “Like I said, no kiss, no action, nothin’. That little old green-haired lady made sure of that.”
“Wait, what? What green-haired lady?”
“I thought I told you about this nut. So, I finally got Susanna back to that tiny bathroom on the plane, and no sooner had we got there, this woman started beating on the door and yelling at us. I was so pissed, man. She was saying she had an old lady bathroom emergency, and that her bowels’ needs trumped our sexcapades, or something like that. She was crazy, man. Wore this bright neon green tracksuit, like you’d see in the 80s or something. She had to be like, ninety or something. Absolutely bonkers.”
I drizzled some soy sauce over my rice and took a large bite as I considered what Roland had just told me. It just didn’t make sense. Why would Susanna intentionally injure herself? The only conclusion I could think of was to discourage people from placing the blame on her, if she were actually involved, but it still seemed a bit risky. She could have been seriously injured or killed.
We both picked at our dwindling food in silence, and then Roland got up to refill his Coke.
“I need to speak with her,” I said when he returned and sat down.
“Uh, okay,” he replied cautiously. His metal chair scraped abrasively across the tile floor as he scooted closer to the table. “How do you plan on doing that? I don’t even know her last name.”
“It’s Jenkins. Susanna Jenkins. The feds have a whole file on her.”
“Damn,” Roland’s eyes widened again as he stretched the word out.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I really don’t like what I’m hearing. This investigator seems to have a bit of a chip on her shoulder. I’m not looking forward to our next conversation. Dodson is convinced she has the right people, Susanna and a sleazy ex-boyfriend named Cooper, but after hearing what you had to say, I’m not so sure.”
Roland nodded, his mouth full of sesame chicken. He took a sip of Coke from his red plastic cup and responded, “I agree. It’s fishy. This girl seems more equipped to handle a hair dryer than an explosive device.”
“I’ve got to keep this quiet though. If Swinger finds out I’m wasting his precious billable time on this, he’ll have my head.”
Roland nodded again. “Don’t worry, dude. I won’t say a word. Just keep me in the loop.”
We finished our lunch and parted ways with a handshake. I’d missed hanging out with Roland, but with our busy work schedules, an occasional lunch or coffee was all we could coordinate.
I started back toward the office and checked my email on my phone as I walked. I had a new email from Ames with a subject line that simply read, “Call me.”
It was almost 2 p.m., and I still had several more files to review before I could call it a day. I’d call him tonight. I strode briskly along Main and reached my office within a few minutes.
I swung open the glass door and saw our afternoon shift receptionist, a kind woman in her late sixties named Maryanne, behind the front desk. Her waist-length silvery blonde hair was always wound into a tight bun on the top of her head, and she exclusively dressed in ankle-length skirts and boots. On Fridays, she’d branch out and sport a long jean skirt.
“How ya’ doin, John?” The silver-haired receptionist asked.
“As good as always, Maryanne,” I smiled and noticed a new framed picture on the desk. “How’s that grandbaby?”
Her eyes lit up, and she cooed, “He’s just the most precious angel you’ve ever seen.” She started to reach into her purse for what I assumed were photos, so I quickly excused myself and jogged back to my office.
The new case files taunted me from their haphazard stacks on the floor and my cluttered desk. I shuffled around a few papers, found the file I was looking for, and slumped down into my chair to finish the review.
Hours passed as I studied the files before I was interrupted by Clarence, the night janitor who whistled an unidentifiable tune as he vacuumed the office hallway.
I checked my phone: 6:42 p.m.
How had it gotten so late? I sorted the files back into neat stacks so Elizabeth wouldn’t have such a terrible mess to clean up, picked up my briefcase, and started for the door.
“Have a good night, Clarence,” I said as I passed him in the hallway, the strong scent of Lysol wafting from his stained, gray coveralls. He waved at me and went about his business as he cleaned up after the firm.
The clerical staff usually leaves around 6 p.m., so the lobby was vacant and eerily quiet. I emerged from the front doors to find the sun had begun to set, and the air was comfortably cooler. Dallas nights in the summer could be spectacular as long as you covered yourself head-to-toe with mosquito repellent.
The parking garage had emptied. I trudged up the stairs to the fourth floor, found my car, and heard it beep twice as I unlocked it. The leather seats were much more comfortable than the rigid office chair I’d been stuck in for hours.
I started the engine, tossed my briefcase on the floorboard, headed down Commerce, and jumped on the interstate toward my apartment. The street lights had begun to come on a little too early, and I let my mind wander as the passing signs became a blur. The kelly green metal signs that marked each road streaked past as I powered down the quiet avenue that led to Stonesthrow, my apartment complex, a sixteen-story masterpiece of modern design.
This place really was a hidden gem.
The newly built complex included both heated indoor and outdoor pools, a first-class exercise facility with exceptional personal trainers and fitness classes, 2 tennis courts, a dog park, and a walking trail that led through the wooded paradise behind it.
> I never got to use the dog park, unfortunately. I’ve always loved dogs and grew up having several large mutts in the house, but with my busy schedule it would be nearly impossible to care for one properly. However, Claire often challenged me to a round of tennis and would beat me into the ground. She played tennis in college and never missed an opportunity to remind me how much better of a player she was.
I wondered what the golden-haired fox was doing at that moment.
As I pulled into the parking garage and stopped in the closest empty spot, my phone rang through the car’s speakers, and the name “Sugar Britches” appeared on the dashboard display. I grinned as I pressed the green button and accepted the call.
“Well, your ears must have been burning, pretty lady,” I flirted with my long-time friend with benefits and relaxed into the leather driver’s seat. “I was actually just thinking about you.”
“John? Oh my god, I’m so glad you answered,” Claire responded, and her voice seemed higher pitched than usual.
“Well, it must be fate then,” I responded lightly, but was concerned about her uneasy tone. “Claire, are you alright? You sound--”
“Honestly, no. I’m not alright,” the blonde beauty interrupted. “I really need to talk to someone, like, now. What are you doing tonight? Oh, what the heck am I thinking? I’m sorry, John. I know you’re insanely busy and can’t just drop everything to coddle me. It’s fine. I can just call my sister or--”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Just take a breath, sweetheart. I actually just got home, and since you called I was going to ask if you wanted to go out for dinner, but I’ll change clothes really quick and head over to your place, okay? I’ll grab some takeout for dinner on the way. How does that sound?” My voice softened as I tried to comfort my panicked friend.
“That sounds perfect,” she sighed and loudly exhaled the rest of her breath into the phone’s receiver. “What did I do to deserve a friend like you?”
“Well, I’m still waiting to find out,” I teased and chuckled as she audibly pouted. “I’ll be there soon. Just hang tight.”