by Anna Murray
Jane stood up and slid past him.
Jack opened the fridge again. "I've got some cream soda," he called out. "Perfect with tater tot hot dish."
Jane screwed up her face. "No, thanks. Ever notice how they make the cans, in color and design, to look like root beer? Did you know that 80% of all cream soda sales are accidental?"
A sheepish look covered Jack's face. "How did you guess this was a mistake purchase? I hate shopping. I grab the stuff off the shelf as I fly by."
Jane nodded knowingly. "It looked like root beer. Don't feel bad. It happens all the time. Cream soda is riding on root beer coattails."
"You'll have water then?"
"Yeah."
"You're in luck. I know how to make a glass of water from scratch." Jack opened another cupboard, removed a cup, and filled it at the sink.
When they both sat down there was another round of silence. Jane eyed the glass. "Water reminds me of my friend, Sandy."
"That right?"
"My first day on the job Sandy took me out to visit a client. On the way back she said she was thirsty, so she drove to a McDonald's drive-thru and asked for two cups of water."
"She went to McDonald's for water?"
"Yes!" Jane pushed a tater tot around on her plate. "It was free. From that moment on I knew we'd be friends, because I knew it was going to be fun to hang around with her. And it was." Jane fought to hold back tears. She drank the water and rubbed her eyes. "Sorry about that. This is so hard right now."
"It's ok. I know. I know."
"I've been through other tough times."
"Me too."
"I can't look back right now. I can't think too much about it."
"Good attitude. Eat," he ordered.
Jane took a bite. "It's delicious," she lied. In truth she couldn't taste it.
"Thanks."
More silence.
"I saw the photos of your wife in the living room. She was beautiful."
"Yes. She was." He set his fork down and looked at her.
"You know, you could go to the police."
Jane coughed and reached for the water. She held up a hand as she drank, and replaced the glass with a hard thud. "You saw the chat. They have cohorts in law enforcement. Sandy even said they were driving government cars."
"What?"
"When I got back from Mille Lacs I stopped at Northtown Mall to pick up my car. I'd met Al there in the morning, and we drove up together. Anyway, he left me, and I went inside and called Sandy. It was maybe a quarter after 3 pm."
Jack was fully focused on her now. "And you got through?"
"Sandy put me on speakerphone. She said there were some strange men and cars in the lot when they came back from lunch. Then I heard yelling and, and, and, and, shots. I heard men shouting, and m-more shots, and one man yelled, "where's Jane N-Nelson? Then it was like everything exploded. And then silence."
"Government cars? How could she be sure?"
Jane gripped the placemat edge and folded it back and forth. "She said they were black with big bumpers."
"CIA? NSA?"
She shrugged, and Jack could help but notice her blouse tightening across her young breasts. "I could be walking into a trap. And what do I have? A few pages of cryptic screenprints, with no proof it isn't a hoax. For all they know I could have typed it all into a file and printed it to use as an alibi."
"You as the killer is implausible. Women don't do mass murders."
"True, but look at what they did to the guy in Atlanta after the Olympic bombing a few months ago."
Jack remembered the incident. A man named Jewell was falsely implicated in the bombing even though he was never more than a "person of interest" in the case. His home was searched, his family interrogated, and his reputation was severely damaged.
"You've got me there. You might have to change your name and identity to move on."
Jane groaned. "Great. Is that a marriage proposal?"
Jack's smile didn't reach to his eyes. "Not from me. We need more information. Tomorrow I'll call my swamp contacts. Right now I'll go through interview notes and data on Dan Decker's funds. I have my book research in a box downstairs, and I can get online to get recent info.
"You have internet service?"
"Dial-up through AOL."
"Excellent." Jane rose and rolled up her sleeves. "I'll clear these dishes and clean up while you get started on your detective work." Jane jumped up and her lithe body went into action mode. She appeared to be grateful to have something to keep her busy.
"Oky-doke." Jack pushed back from the table and slapped his thigh. Buddy bounced up from his rug in the corner and followed his master to the door.
Chapter 10
In his New York penthouse, Dan Decker fled to the safety of his private library. Surrounded by richly stained mahogany shelves and coffered ceilings and the odor of premium Habanos, he still couldn't find the solace he craved like a drug addict. The weight and density of such opulent, lemon-scented luxury -- once regarded as reward -- had now become a hollow, burdensome prison. The crown moldings, strong panels, and heavy dark doors merely mocked his inner weakness.
His stomach ached and growled. Dan sank into the ruby-velvet Edwardian chair, pulled open a desk drawer, and reached for the Maalox. Living in a constant state of fear -- a barely restrained panic he prayed his wife Connie didn't see -- had taken its' toll. God help him, he'd involved his son, but he'd had no choice.
This morning he'd learned the team had blood on their hands. BadBass and FiveStar had called their debtors, and a group of people in Minnesota had been eliminated. This had gotten out of hand. Way out of hand. FiveStar hadn't told him BadBass had connections to the southern mob. Damn it, you don't mess with those guys! If the Great One found out he'd be mightily pissed! The Great One had standards. He wasn't doing this to benefit terrorists or drug lords. He might even pull out of the deal.
Dan heard a soft tapping on the door. "Come," he muttered.
Connie entered the room. "Honey, are you ok? Dick and Amanda Venzela are up from Florida, and here for dinner. Ruth is grilling your favorite filet mignon."
She reached across the desk, and Dan touched her hand. "I'll be there in a minute. I have paperwork to finish up."
"OK." Connie backed away and exited the room. She couldn't help noticing her husband's recent distraction, and she hoped he wasn't having another affair. She'd managed to brush off his brief infatuations over the years, and she was beginning to relax. Men slowed down after fifty. At least that's what her mother said, and she'd always trusted her mother's wisdom.
Dan leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over his face. His dinner guest, Dick Venzela, was an old college classmate, and one of his best recruiters for new money in his funds. His thoughts ran to the crap going on over at Long-Term Capital Management. It scared the hell out of him. He didn't trust Scholes and the silk shirt crowd any farther than he could toss a barbell. The Black-Scholes model of pricing options didn't account for extreme stock price swings, and the derivative shenanigans had been largely responsible for the 1987 crash. Damn them. The LCTM gang was going to bring down the entire market with such nonsense. Dan had to get his piece and save himself before they imploded like a torpedoed submarine when it reaches crush depth.
He knew a crooked operation when he saw one, and the Merriweather gang fit the bill. His buddy, Scholes, might have a Nobel prize nomination, but the risks in using his model were higher than anyone realized. The whole market was at risk, and lately he just wanted to cash in his chips and get the hell out.
Chapter 11
Jack felt a lump in his throat as he stared across the table at his wife's old pink cotton shirt hanging from Jane's narrow shoulders.
She cast her eyes downward. "I don't have another blouse. I found this in the guest room closet. If it bothers you -- "
"Not a problem." He waved a hand and dove into his wheat chex. "Did you sleep at all? Did Buddy bother you?"
Her blue
eyes lifted and she smiled. "You have a great dog. Buddy licked my hand and slept next to me on the bed."
"He's never met a milk bone -- or a pretty lady -- he didn't like."
She blushed and the red reached to her temples. "Well. I slept like a rock, but I want to crawl back in after I eat. I feel so tired." She bit into a plain bagel.
"Normal reaction to stress. It will get better."
"You're right. I suppose it's the brain's way of healing." She looked down at her plate. "Did you dig up anything last night?"
"Decker's in trouble. My contact at AJ Lordan emailed me back right away."
"AJ Lordan? The big investment bank?"
He nodded, and his square jaw tightened. Then Jack leaned from his chair and pulled a notebook off the counter. He flipped to the fifth page and started reading. "We sent out redemption notices for our holdings in Decker's funds last month. The investment performance achieved by Decker is consistently and significantly ahead of peer funds year-on-year. The difference is so great that it appears too good to be true. That means it probably is."
Jane was gobsmacked. "They KNOW this?"
He swallowed a spoonful. "Shocking, isn't it? Oh, it gets better. Decker has been looking for financing lately. You could say he's rearranging the Decker chairs."
"Isn't this the smoking gun you've been looking for? Isn't it enough to prove the takedown scheme isn't a hoax?"
"Maybe." His shoulders rose and fell. "It's an opinion."
"An expert opinion based on hard evidence! Shouldn't someone be doing an investigation and issuing subpoenas or something?"
He sighed. "Of course, but these guys are a cabal. You don't accuse your own of malpractice. It's a case of 'there but for the grace of God I go.''"
"Uff da!" Her chin jutted forward with the exclamation.
"You got that right. You know, when I was writing my book I interviewed Decker, and he gave a different explanation for his results each time I talked to him. First he said he used rapid sector rotation. When I debunked that one, he said it was his genius formula for picking winners. At that point I thought maybe he was getting inside information, and when I hinted at it he changed his story to his great picks and bull spread options strategies. Finally, he claimed his success was "a secret" and why should he reveal it to some kid? He said I was lucky he'd even talk to me. At that point I let it go."
"How frustrating."
"Yep. Now he needs to cause a market crash to save his hide. His big scam requires a bigger crime to cover it. Once again, it looks like it's up to people like us to save the nation."
Jane slapped a palm across her forehead. "Who knew? Captain America is a math professor cum ice biker living in St. Paul."
He laughed. "Hey nerd lady, your cape is showing too."
"You didn't mention I'm also wearing my Wonder Woman plastic-molded, mighty-maiden breasts." Her eyes sparkled as she grinned. "I'm so much more than Super Girl."
"I'm beginning to believe you."
She sobered. "Truth be told, I'm scared out of my wits. You must know I really need you right now. I'm barely hanging on to my sanity. I can’t even give myself time to grieve, because this is all moving so fast. It’s like I’m walking through thick fog."
Jack raked a hand through his thick, dark hair. "You know I'll do my best to help."
Jane exhaled forcefully. "OK, Mr. Superhero. So . . . did you throw out the newspaper?"
Jack flashed a guilty-as-charged expression. "You really want to know what's going on?"
"We don't have a choice."
Jack rose, grabbed the paper, flipped so the headlines weren't showing, and turned on the TV he'd hung above the cabinets so his wife could watch while cooking. He pressed the channel button until he got to CNN.
Big bold letters flew onto the screen in a zoom-effect graphic: "Minnesota Massacre". A horn blared and bass rumbled like thunder.
"Wait, didn't that happen, like a hundred thirty years ago? New Ulm?" Jane commented.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it did," came Jack's reply.
"Dang. They never get this stuff right," she rejoindered.
The voiceover promised exclusive, up to the minute continuing coverage, and then the scene transitioned to a reporter, who spoke from outside the Woodbury City Hall. "Press conference about to begin . . ."
The picture showed officials congregating around a podium at the front of the council chamber. The chief of police introduced Alden Black, FBI liaison. Alden slid into position behind the microphone.
"I have a brief statement, and then we'll take questions," he explained. "At this time we are still sifting through evidence and leads. We're asking the public's cooperation. We do know Valley View Web Design was a front for a drug distribution center, and this was likely a drug war hit. A large cache of cocaine was found on the site."
Jane gagged. "What the F--!" Her anger exploded into a raging torrent. "He's lying! He's lying! No way! They're lying!" She threw her plate at the man on the screen.
"Hey, don't break my TV! Look, I believe you."
"Why are they lying?" She yelled.
Jack spoke quickly. "The pressure is on to give Joe Q. Public a motive. Decker's thugs set it up to look like a drug conflict. It makes perfect sense if you think about it."
Jane had slumped back into the chair. "I give up. I turn in my cape. And my badge."
Jack grabbed her hand and turned her to face him. "Hey. You knew this wasn't going to be a walk in the park. So, there's a few minor glitches."
"Glitch? This is beyond the Y2K problem. This is an F5 tornado!" She grabbed a lock of hair at the crown of her head and started in on the twist action. "They'll never believe me now."
"Look, it's one FBI guy trying to save his professional ass. Happens all the time." Jack turned the channel to WCCO.
"Sure. At least it can't get worse."
The screen flickered and she saw a pretty young reporter interviewing her old boyfriend. "I lied. It can get worse."
" . . . Ben, you dated Ms. Nelson in college. Did anything about her seem strange at the time?"
Her ex looked into the camera. "She was a bit of a loner, you know what I'm sayin'? I stopped seeing her after her accident because she wasn't herself after . . . she was different, but I never thought she'd be involved in anything like this."
"Holy Lady of the Plastic Door!" Jane pounded her head on the table. "What a dolt! I was stuck in a hospital. Was I supposed to be cheery? Screw you, Ben Mott! I was in an effing wheelchair! You couldn't handle that kind of different!" She pumped a fist at the screen.
Jack lifted a shoulder and grinned. "Good news. It looks like your old flame is still a loser. Dumping him was a smart move."
"He ended it."
"You sure about that?" Too late, Jack realized he shouldn't have egged her on. Jane was on a roll.
"You know how he told me he was ending it? You know? Well, he didn't tell me to my face."
"It figures. He's a jerk." Jack waved a hand and feigned distraction.
"He faked a butt call on his phone."
"What?"
She laughed hoarsely. "You know, a butt call, like when you sit on your phone and it pushes buttons and dials a random number? A fake butt call is when you pretend you got the right number and blabber before the person has a chance to speak. He told "Jason" I was a liability, and he was done with me."
"Heh."
"Yeah." Jane groaned and started tugging her special lock of hair.
Jack had begun to recognize the stress signal.
"I'm tired. I need to sleep." She was staring off into a space somewhere between the back door and the refrigerator.
Jack rose and set his bowl in the sink. He took a long look at Jane. She was still winding the shock of hair around her finger. Yes, she needed to escape to sleep, and he needed a break to put some distance between himself and Jane Nelson and the whole mess. Talking about her old boyfriend had made it feel intimate. It was natural and easy to be around Jane, and he liked
her sense of humor. Hell, it was incredible she had one under the circumstances. She was the kind who grew stronger when life threw her a bad break.
"OK. Go back to bed. I have a class this morning, and right now I need to continue life as usual." He grabbed his parka from the back of the chair and slid his arms into the sleeves. His keys jangled in the pocket. "Don't answer the phone. I'll leave my cell number on the counter, but don't call unless it's an emergency. If Buddy needs to go out -- and he shouldn't -- you can put him on his chain outside the door. Don't go into the yard."
"Right, chief. If I get bored I'll check out a book."
"You like movies? You're welcome to the VHS collection in the old commode next to the TV."
"Oh, I already checked out the movies in your guest bedroom." She winked, and her eyes strayed to his broad shoulders. "Lady Chatterly's Lover should take the edge off."
His neck reddened. "I didn't know we had videos in . . . " His voice trailed off briefly, and he suddenly dug into his coat pockets for his gloves. "As they say down south, mi casa es tu casa. Enjoy whatever you can find to eat for lunch." He pulled the black leather onto his hands and palmed his car keys.
"You bet. Peanut butter and grape jelly. I'll see you later, Captain." She tossed him a mock salute and slipped from the room.
Chapter 12
Moreno ran into his boss upon returning from an interview -- a woman who'd seen suspicious men in the parking lot around the time of the shootings. Alden Black spied him in the hallway between the restroom and his office.
"Hey, Phil," Alden boomed, "any breakthroughs?"
Moreno looked seriously peeved and answered back with a question. "Why did you say it was a drug deal?"
His boss looked down his nose smugly. "Ah, you watched the conference. Phil, the people living in mini-mansion land needed a bone. They're going nuts out there in the 'burbs, and they have guns. They're all seeing a madman on the loose in their backyards. We needed to avoid panic."
Moreno's dark, deep-set eyes glared a hole in the boss. He set his hands on his hips and frowned.
"Besides," Alden continued, "if the real perps think we're fooled they might relax and slip up. We can always correct the info error later."