The individual faces, stacked in three rows on his monitor, lacked only a laugh track and an announcer. Then his realization that these six men and two women controlled untold billions of dollars in government contracts snuffed out his smile and he got down to business.
“Gentleman and ladies, my name is Paul Jeffers and I am Senior Vice President of JenelCo.”
Even on a computer screen, his was an imposing figure and he felt a familiar confidence.
“I have," he stated flatly, "the unfortunate task of informing you all that Mr. Jenel is dead."
Allowing time for this news to sink in, all eight members appeared flabbergasted, registering shock, fear and on one squat rounded man, a pleasing smile. After a moment had passed, the more attractive of the two woman spoke from the lower right square.
“Mr. Jeffers, my name is Ms. Thompson.” Her voice had the warm touch of a debutante. Her eyes, however, were those of a shark. “Could you explain how you know of our little...club?”
Jeffers smiled at her.
“Mr. Jenel brought me into this circle several years ago once he realized I could be trusted. He foresaw this possibility and left instructions on how to continue The Consortium’s work in Monterey.”
“Bloody hell!”
A pudgy red-faced man exploded at the screen’s top left. “If you think you can step into Jenel’s shoes just like that, you’ve rot in your head.”
“Conley,” Ms. Thompson hissed at the man. “Quit jumping to conclusions! I think it was brilliant of Jenel to take precautions against this event.”
“You would, Barbara,” the other woman of the group commented from the bottom center square. She resembled a hard version of actress Sharon Stone. “You’ve wanted control of the Monterey Branch since Jenel brought you in seven years ago.”
“Perhaps, Cecily," Thompson responded icily. "But it seems control only comes to you, in liquid form.” Her face grew larger as she leaned toward the camera. “Is that your good friend, Jack Daniels with you?”
Jeffers watched the tip of a whisky bottle disappear below a mortified and from then on, very quiet Cecily.
Ms. Thompson didn't bother to hide her smile. “Go on, Mr. Jeffers, tell us what happened.”
He proceeded to give his version of Jenel being shot by Mrs. McKenny, embellishing the story with a love affair gone wrong between the two of them and ended by telling them of the unfortunate death of Detective Hana and her condition in intensive care. When he finished, the man with salt and pepper hair in the middle left of the screen spoke.
“I believe Jenel was unmarried, so I’ll dispense with the pleasantries. My name's Richard Caldwell, Mr. Jeffers and what we need to know is what kind of position is JenelCo in now? Has our operation been compromised?”
Jeffers recognized Caldwell’s Harvard-generated accent and guessed the Blue Blood had been Jenel’s heir apparent. Jeffers also suspected that his answer to Caldwell’s question would determine whether he would be promoted or left to languish in his old position. He released the Consortium summary, pushing it away like an unwanted child.
“Other than the ongoing investigation and the arrest of Mrs. McKenny, all is well. The police see this as a crime of passion which caught one of their own in the middle. In addition, I have several key sources in and around Monterey to steer undue attention away from JenelCo, should that occur."
“Very good, Jeffers!” Caldwell beamed. “Very good. Members, I propose a closed conference to determine our next course of action.” Heads nodded and one by one, the squares on the screen blurred and grew silent until only the image of the Thompson woman remained.
“Please stand by, Mr. Jeffers, we’ll be with you shortly.”
She too faded to an unrecognizable blur and he sat in silence, finding with a start that the summary was back in his hand somehow. As if they could bite, he threw the pages onto the floor and returned to brooding over their existence for the next ten minutes.
“Mr. Jeffers.”
Caldwell’s voice pulled him back to the present and he found that six of the eight members were now absent. Only Ms. Thompson and Caldwell remained, both larger now as they shared his screen. Surprisingly, she seemed even more stunning while Caldwell, his creased forehead and crow’s feet now visible, appeared markedly older.
“Yes,” he said, focusing on the Blue Blood.
“We’ve decided to make you temporary CEO of JenelCo while we confirm your report.” Caldwell paused. “You understand the need for such confirmation?”
Jeffers nodded. “Completely, in fact I expected it.”
“Mr. Jeffers," Ms. Thompson smiled carnivorously at him. “Do not do anything out of the ordinary, simply conduct business as usual. We are sending you a package via express mail and should arrive by the end of the business today. Wear this communication device at all times and have it near you when disrobed. No exceptions, is that clear?”
“Yes, perfectly. Business as usual.”
“Very Good, Jeffers, we’re counting on you and we’ll be in touch soon.” Silently the two faded from his screen.
Jeffers sat back and sighed. Caldwell’s fatherly confidence struck him as odd and had he imagined the chemistry between Ms. Thompson and himself? He was left with these questions, along with the incomplete summary of the Consortium and had little idea of what to do about any of them.
“Mrs. McKenny?”
My body is gone, Jenny thought. It’s been replaced by a large collection of dull aches. She heard her name called again and, without thinking, turned her head. This proved a poor decision as the pain in her belly found an equal partner somewhere between her still closed eyes.
“Mrs. McKenny?” The disembodied voice responded to her movement. “My name is Agent Benson. I’m with the FBI.” Jenny hoped the agent didn’t expect a response. “I was the boss of a friend of yours, Carol Montoya.”
Jenny forced her eyes open and stared at the stranger next to her bed. She gathered what little strength remained, opened her mouth and uttered the only word she could. “What?” Even then it barely amounted to a whisper.
Benson nodded. “Carol was working undercover at JenelCo before she was murdered.”
She blinked once, then again as unwanted tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Mrs. McKenny.” He placed his hand on hers lying immobile on the bed. “I am determined to find her murderer and I believe the answers are at JenelCo.”
A heavy-set nurse walked through the door, stopped abruptly at the scene before her, then bustled up to Benson.
“Mister, what are you doing in here?” Her voice had an excitable edge. “It’s another three hours before visitors are allowed. You need to leave right this minute!
“I’m with the FBI.” He waved a badge at the nurse.
“Wanda,” as her name tag read, was unimpressed.
“Tell it to my supervisor, James Bond. This nice lady’s about to have a sponge bath and I don’t care if you’re with the FBI, CIA or the PTA, you won’t be here for that.”
She turned her considerable girth toward the flustered agent and began herding him through the door, past the two policeman standing guard. Both snickered openly at the agent, who’d threatened both their jobs trying to gain entrance. Even so, it had taken a call from Chief Dawson before they’d let him pass.
“Mrs. McKenny,” the agent said as he stumbled out the door, “I’ll come by later this afternoon.”
As the door shut, the nurse answered for Jenny.
“Don’t bother, 007, she’ll be asleep for the next day or so. Better yet, write a letter. You’ll find a nice selection of cards in the hospital gift shop.” Wanda’s tone communicated just how serious she was and told Jenny she’d found a friend.
Collin stepped free of the small hotel lobby and into the morning air as the cab pulled up. His head had begun to ache again and forced him to dig through his pockets for the remaining aspirin delivered to his room. The throbbing headache had affected his vision, robbing him of telev
ision. Only when he allowed his mind to drift did his eyesight return to normal. He popped the small tablets in and swallowed them dry.
He climbed into the cab, gave the address and shut the door as quietly as possible. In his fifties, balding and fairly thick around the middle, the seamy-looking driver turned without comment after hearing the address and steered his vehicle through the littered parking lot. Collin rubbed his temples and hoped relief would come soon. He’d never experienced a migraine before but suspected that his first was making itself known. He leaned his head against the head rest and closed his aching eyes.
“Morning, Ollie,” Williams looked up as Peidmont entered his office. Williams closed the manila folder and took off his ancient reading glasses. “I just finished Willy’s report on what happened, at least from his end of things. Can I expect something similar from you today?”
“Yeah, Chief, no problem,” Oliver said, distracted.
Williams cocked an eye at him. “It should shed some light on our friends over at JenelCo. Maybe even tell us what’s so important about those documents Willy was searching for.”
Oliver nodded, quietly staring out the window.
“I know about those papers Chief,” he said after a moment. “Right now, I’m more concerned about Jenny. What evidence are we looking at?”
Williams set Willy’s report aside and pulled another identical folder from a pile to his right and passed it over.
“Ballistics confirm that the weapon which had Mrs. McKenny’s prints all over it was also used to kill Jenel and Hana. The bullet taken from Mrs. McKenny’s stomach matched Hana’s service revolver, as well.”
“Pretty damning on the surface, I’d say.” It was worse than Oliver had feared.
“Yes and no.” Williams swung his glasses like a pendulum.
Oliver looked at his boss. “Tell me about the 'No' part.”
The Chief rocked back in his chair for a minute, his glasses continuing to swing in time by their delicate arms.
“In the last three days, no less than four people have been murdered, all of them connected to JenelCo in some way. Something mighty big must be stirring over there to cause that kind of carnage.” Williams' eyes narrowed. “Something to do with Fort Ord and the government contracts they rely on, perhaps.” Williams stopped rocking. “Is that what those papers were all about?”
Peidmont had to smile. “What the hell are you doing in administration?”
“I like theory,” Williams resumed his chair’s movement. “The pay’s better and after sixteen years of doing your job, I decided I prefer theoretical crooks to the real ones. They shoot imaginary bullets and I have a dislike for the other kind.”
“I think Jenny would agree with your preference right now.” Peidmont said, thinking back to the fiasco’s beginning. “Jenel sent me on what I thought was a wild goose chase, but before we were separated, Jenny mentioned she might know where more evidence was. Problem was, Jenel wanted to play his sick games with Jenny and Collin kept me so busy I never had a chance to look. I just don’t know if there’s any more evidence out there.”
"Speaking of," Oliver sighed tiredly. "Any news on Collin McKenny?”
“None at all,” Williams said, shaking his head. “Gone from the face of the Earth or at least the Monterey Peninsula as far as we can tell.”
“Real tragedy if he was found floating in the bay,” Oliver offered, then felt a surprising twinge of guilt. “Well, I suppose it can only help Jenny if I can shed more light on the web over at JenelCo.”
“You’re not a sailing man, are you, Oliver?”
“Let’s just say I get seasick around bathtubs,” Peidmont replied wryly. “Why?”
“In sailing, you learn about knots of every kind,” Williams said, clearly in his element. “There are knots that would take you an hour to untie, maybe longer.”
Oliver conceded this with a smile.
“But,” Williams went on, “there are also knots which look hellishly complex and yet unravel with a single tug. I have a feeling that’s the kind of knot you're dealing with here; you've just got to find that one thread and then pull till it all comes apart."
Collin stirred and sat up, his eyes seeming to open reluctantly. Instead of the cab’s back seat, he found himself sitting in a small unimpressive room. He briefly suspected that the scene about him was a dream, until his headache returned with a vengeance and something about the room struck him as oddly familiar. The empty chair nearby caught his attention. The cop! he thought. He'd sat next to him in this room.
“Why hello, Mr. McKenny.”
He turned and recognized as if from a dream the small, elderly therapist from the day before. A slight touch of fear rippled through him.
“Lady,” he said, more fearful than irritated. “What the fuck am I doing here?”
The older woman laughed.
“Perhaps I would not have used those exact words, Mr. McKenny, but I was about to ask you the very same question.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
McKenny leaped up and stared accusingly at the elderly therapist.
“You’re that shrink Peidmont brought me to.” A grin appeared after a moment. “Yeah, that’s right! You told him I couldn’t be fixed with a snap of your fingers. Boy, was he pissed!”
“Eventually we must all accept the limits of what’s possible, Mr. McKenny,” the doctor responded calmly. “However, you have yet to explain why you are here.”
McKenny seemed lost in thought for a moment, but caught up with the doctor’s question. “What? Oh,” confusion crossed his face. “How the hell do I know?”
The doctor’s right eyebrow slipped upward. “You don’t know why you are here?”
Though her question infuriated him, the obvious concern in her voice kept him from lashing out. “Look, Doc, last thing I remember was telling some cabby my home address. I guess I fell asleep. The next thing I know, I woke up here just a couple of minutes ago.”
She nodded at his explanation, her eyes skeptical.
“So...you would like me to believe a cabby carried a man of your size up the stairs and placed you in my waiting room. While you slept?”
He went red in the face. “I don’t give a fuck what you believe, Doc, I’m outta here!”
Turning, he reached for the door knob, which was followed by an agonized scream.
“AAAAAAIIIIII!!!”
McKenny gripped his head with both hands and his body shook as his lungs struggled to voice the pain in his head. The agony only ended when he stumbled away from the door and back against the opposite wall.
“Oh God! Oh God!” His breath came in short quick spurts. Terror filled his eyes. “What...what the hell was that? What happened to me?”
Dr. Merrill had taken several backward steps herself when the giant suddenly howled in agony.
“Mr. McKenny, what happened? Are you all right?”
He couldn’t keep the fear from sweeping through him now and could hear it in his voice.
“It...felt like a red hot needle went through my left eye!”
Pushing himself free of the wall, he stepped toward the door, gingerly testing each step as if on the thinnest of ice. As he came within an arm’s distance and slowly extended his hand toward it, a sudden desperate grunt escaped him and forced his retreat again to the opposite wall.
As if reading his thoughts, the doctor walked to the door and without hesitation, opened it as if to say, ‘See, I’m not affected.’
Again, he edged toward the now open exit only to fall back as another pain lanced through his head.
“What the hell have you done to me?” Panic fueled his voice.
Doctor Merrill closed the door, then came to stand by him.
“It is not I who is causing your pain, Mr. McKenny.” She reached up and touched his sweating forehead. “What does it feel like?”
“I told you already, like a hot needle right through my eye!”
She appraised him for half a minute. “You seem
different than when I met you last,” she stated flatly.
“No shit, Doc,” he said, regaining some of his composure. “Can’t you tell I'm back to normal? That other guy’s just a bad memory now.”
“Interesting, Mr. McKenny. Perhaps,” the doctor stepped toward her office, “we should spend some time, talking.” Without waiting for a response, the elderly therapist walked toward her office. With the pain in his head slowly retreating, McKenny reluctantly followed.
Ollie exited Williams' office and after grabbing a cup of stale coffee, found agent Benson waiting at his desk. The agent said nothing until Ollie had settled at his own desk and taken a sip of the astonishingly bad coffee.
Benson finally spoke, “I need your help, Peidmont.”
Ollie sighed as he began trying to organize his much neglected work space. “Haven’t we had this conversation already?”
Benson was unfazed. “Yes, we have, and I still need your help.”
He took another sip of coffee, set the cup down and looked at Benson. “Carol Montoya was murdered by those thugs from L.A., Benson. It’s been days since we got the report matching their weapons with the bullets that killed her. I’d say it’s pretty cut and dried.”
“We know who pulled the trigger, Peidmont,” Benson said patiently. "Not who ordered her killed. That’s where I think you can help.” The agent pulled a small 4X6 glossy from his coat’s inside pocket and laid it before him. The sideline shot of Jenny in her cheerleader outfit stopped Oliver’s heart cold. “I believe you know Mrs. McKenny?”
“You might say we’ve gotten to know each other recently.”
Benson’s eyes twinkled. “Rumors have it that you’ve become very, close.”
Oliver was suddenly very tired of Benson.
“For you, Benson, anything.” He picked up the photo and tucked it in a folder. “I’ll do my best to get her autograph, but I can’t make any promises.”
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