“Tex would say that I couldn’t hurt a flea if my life depended on it,” Nick said with assurance. “He would be proud that I’ve defended my home and family from a worthless no-good lying reporter.”
“Excellent. And I’ll vouch for Mallard. He was only protecting poor little me.” I rubbed the knuckles for effect. “Perhaps you didn’t quite comprehend my message yesterday, Leonard. My sister is harmless. You go back and tell your boss she’s actually eager to be a reporter for the biggest news agency in the world. And then you might mention that the rest of Patra’s family is plumb out crazy with connections so far-reaching that we can remove you from the planet without anyone the wiser. Are you getting all this?”
The rat was sensing defeat. His nose twitched and his gaze darted around the room. And I had tried to sound so reasonable, too. I left the knuckles on while I began photographing every piece of paper and card in his wallet.
“How do I know your sister isn’t as crazy as the rest of you?” the rat demanded.
“It’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it?” Nick asked, strolling over to cut the ropes around his prisoner’s feet. “We think Patra is crazy for wanting to work for an asshole. But if that’s what she wants, we’ll see that she gets it. We’re giving her your photo and ID. If she sees you anywhere near her, she’s to call the police without question. She’s a good girl. She’ll do exactly that.”
Mallard just tapped his bat impatiently against his shoulder, a man of few words.
“You rich, privileged asses will get your comeuppance,” Leonard growled. “I’m not letting this go.”
Nick and I looked at each other and laughed. “Rich!” Nick said with shades of meaning.
“Privileged.” I nodded agreement. “We probably should start a trust fund.”
I finished up by snapping a photo of our nosy prisoner. I had him now, although I didn’t think I would mention how I could make his life a living hell with his entire identity in my hands.
I threw the wallet back after Nick released his wrists. Leonard was still massaging blood into his hands and didn’t catch it.
“Just think of my grandfather as Mafia and you’ll understand us better,” I said sympathetically. “He’s not with us any longer, so the younger ones are making their own way in the world. But Nick and I, we know the connections, if you take my meaning. Be a good spy, do your basic research, and then go back and tell your boss that Patra is as clean as she looks.”
“Or else what?” the rat snarled, but I could tell it was a half-hearted retaliation.
I shrugged. “Depends. Your credit may disappear. Your dog may take flight. You might meet with some unpleasant uglies in a dark alley. Do you really want to find out? Do your research instead of spying on pretty girls. You’ll understand.”
We could probably do all that and heave a horse’s head on his bed if we were feeling mean enough, but our usual retaliation tended to be behind the scenes. Unlike Graham, Nick and I hadn’t erased our pasts. And since our mother had consorted with everyone from the CIA to the rulers of foreign countries, we’d run tame in palaces. Riley could fill a book on us with almost no effort.
An uneasy feeling rolled over me as I realized we’d been able to hide behind our mansion walls these last weeks, but now our address was in the hands of one of the biggest bullies of them all, thanks to Patra. Graham would be very unhappy if more creeps showed up.
“Oh, and one last bit of advice,” I said with saccharine sweetness, hoping to put an end to this once and for all. “Patra is a good person to have at your back. You really don’t want her for an enemy.”
He snarled and escaped the crazies. Now that I had his name, I could search in BM’s computers and see if he left a report. It could be entertaining reading.
I looked out the window to see if the coast was clear. Sean O’Herlihy, the gadfly reporter, was leaning against our wrought iron fence, studying the house where I was standing. Had Patra called him or was he following Leonard? The interesting point was that when Leonard emerged from the alley into the street, the rat caught sight of Sean, and scampered in the opposite direction from the Metro to avoid him.
Score one for O’Herlihy. The rat not only knew him, but was afraid of him.
After giving the house another thoughtful look, Sean sauntered off in the same direction as his fellow reporter. Not dumb. The good reporter sensed a story.
I gestured for departure by the stairs. “Job well done. Coast is clear. Even O’Herlihy has gone away.”
I’d had my suspicions about Sean and his motives in the past, but as far as I’d determined, he really was after Graham’s story and nothing more. Mallard seemed to trust him, which had to be enough for me.
Mallard reset the trip wires. Still scowling, Nick sauntered down the stairs, examining the construction project as if he owned the place.
“The place looks like a McMansion,” he said in disgust, gazing around the over-sized family room.
“You prefer dark and dingy?” I passed him and headed to the first floor. “With EG’s bats maybe?”
“Elegant,” Nick corrected. “Our original woodwork is sophisticated and elegant and doesn’t look like a nursery.”
“Thanks for stepping up to the plate while I was out,” I offered. “We don’t need any more spies than Graham.”
“Getting friendly with the spider in the attic, are we?” Nick asked testily. “He’ll throw us out as soon as Oppenheimer files the lawsuit on the house.”
“We should buy this place and aim telescopes and satellite dishes at him,” I agreed cheerily. “Is Oppenheimer getting any closer to Reggie? Are there hidden funds we don’t know about?”
“My guess is that Reggie spent years siphoning off Max’s money for drugs and we’ll never see a cent,” Nick said gloomily. “We won’t be able to afford house upkeep even if Oppenheimer can get it back.”
“One day at a time, grasshopper.” I located the unboarded window, sat on the sill, and decided the distance to the ground was negligible. “Maybe we’ll grow on Graham and he’ll let us stay.”
Nick’s laugh followed me out. Sooner or later, we’d been thrown out of most of the palaces and tents we’d occupied.
Thirteen
Patra’s perspective
Patra stood on the corner, waiting for Ana’s spy to stomp past. She’d seen Ana in action enough to know her sister had probably raked the jerk over the coals a few times and threatened him with their powerful connections.
Sometimes, if she was feeling generous, Ana would offer the jerks a bit of cheese to tempt them in another direction. Patra was curious as to that direction. The creep didn’t look happy.
Sean showed up a moment later and fell in step with her. “His name’s Leonard Riley. Used to be an investigative reporter until he got locked up for wiretapping and other stupidity. Now he’s either too old or dumb to learn the technology, so Broddy uses him for small snoop jobs. What’s he doing hanging around?”
“Spying on me. I’m trying to decide how to use him,” Patra said, watching as Riley stepped into a bar. “But if he’s a drunk, he’s not worth the trouble.”
“We all turn into drunks eventually. How else do we anesthetize ourselves to the shit we see around us?”
“By acting on it instead of complaining. Isn’t that what you think you’re doing by spying on Graham? What did he do to you?” Deciding Sean was more interesting company than a drunken sneak, Patra leaned against a lamp pole to talk.
“Way back when we were toddlers, my dad and Ana’s dad were friends. Her dad got killed. Mine got sent to jail. And Graham rose out of the ashes. He keeps doing that. Let’s just say I’m curious as to how.”
From beneath lowered lashes, Patra studied O’Herlihy. For an older guy, he was more than attractive. He probably had more than ten years on her, which put him nearer Ana’s age bracket. She’d never met Graham, but she’d heard Ana’s complaints. Their host was probably in his thirties as well. She’d learned conspiracy t
heories at her mother’s knee, but she was only interested in the one involving her father.
“Old news,” she said dismissively. “Times have changed. Ana’s father was a terrorist before Ireland got rich. Now they’re bankrupt again, along with everyone else. The IRA is driving around in rusty BMWs. Muslims are the enemy now, not Protestants. Once they run out of oil in the Mideast, war mongers will move on to Africa. Historical cycles, doomed forever to repeat themselves.”
“A Maximillian through and through,” Sean said admiringly, before catching sight of someone or something down the street that made him frown. “Riley has called in the heavyweights. I wonder if he got permission from BM to pay hired help.”
Patra cast a casual glance over her shoulder. It was a mild Saturday evening. The neighborhood was a mix of offices, row houses, and boutique hotels. The street bustled with pedestrians and traffic. She wasn’t as adept at sorting out Americans as she was Europeans, but she assumed the people in gaudy shirts were tourists. The ones in jackets and blazers were a little more DC.
The six-foot, three-hundred pound gorilla wearing a narrow tie and shoulder holster under his shiny gray suit coat would be recognizable anywhere.
“Charming,” she muttered. “Looks like the guy from the limo, except this one’s bald. Did Riley put a hit out on me or on Ana?”
“Your whole family, if his employers can afford it. He needs his job and it appears as if someone is interfering in it.” Sean looked entertained.
Patra wondered if she should call Ana and Nick, but she was a grown up now. Calling on her older siblings shouldn’t be necessary. She didn’t think this goon could have burned her London apartment, but it had probably been one like him. Thugs were international.
“I have a college education. I ought to come up with a better trap than sex,” she grumbled, snapping a few quick photos of the gorilla and shooting them off to Ana as a precaution. Then she straightened her gauzy, low-cut tunic, tousled her hair, and smoothed a wrinkle from her cropped leggings.
“There’s nothing better than sex,” Sean said laughingly. “Just ask your mother. But I don’t think you’ll get far with this creep.”
“I don’t need to get far.” With a lazy saunter, Patra strolled toward her target. He didn’t even cast her a glance. She tsked under her breath, pretended to stumble on her high heel, and fell into the gorilla’s arms.
He caught her with brute instinct. He would have brushed her off, but she grasped his coat sleeve.
“Oh, thank you, sir. My feet are so tired, I can scarcely lift them. I really don’t need bruised knees too.” She lifted a leg clad in tight knit and wiggled her toes at him. “Let me buy you a drink. I was just headed for Maxine’s here anyway.”
She took his arm, limped a little, and he silently dragged her into the dark bar.
Patra had seen her mother perform this next act so many times, that she could repeat it in her sleep. In fact, she’d used it more than once through college, adapting according to her purpose. She squeezed the thug’s arm, lit up like a lantern, and as if totally surprised by the company inside, cried, “Mr. Riley, what are you doing here? This is so exciting!” She tugged her baffled escort in the same direction as his pal. “I never thought I’d have a chance to meet you.”
She settled cozily on the bar stool next to Riley’s and held out her hand. “Patra Llewellyn, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She gestured at the gorilla, who took the stool on her other side. “This gentleman just saved me from an ignoble fall, and I’m about to buy him a drink. Could I buy one for you, too?”
Riley gaped. Really, he was getting too old and slow for his job if he bought that act. Beside her, the gorilla shrugged his hefty shoulders and ordered a whiskey neat.
At the sound of the door opening, Patra glanced at the bar mirror. Sean slipped in and headed for a dark corner. She sparkled even brighter to provide him entertainment.
“I’ll just have a tonic and lime,” she told the bartender apologetically. “I have a lot of prep work to do for my new job, and I don’t want to be fuzzy. How about you, Mr. Riley? Another round? Now that I’ll have a salary, I’ll be able to pay my credit card again.”
He nodded, quit gaping, and donned a suspicious expression. “Patrick Llewellyn’s daughter?” he asked in a surly tone, not responding to her best innocent smile.
Patra upped her Brit accent. “You know daddy? Oh, that’s terrif! Did you work on any stories together? The world has changed so much since he was alive, I don’t think he’d recognize it. He thought Dick Tracy wrist watch phones were ridiculous, and now look at where we are.” She pulled out her smart phone, snapped a shot of the three of them together, and sent that off to Ana, too, just to jerk her chains. “May I upload this to my Facebook account? It’s just so exciting meeting you this way.”
“Dammit, no!” Riley finally found his tongue. “Broderick hates for us to expose ourselves in social media. You’d better take that account down.”
“Oh, no, I can’t do that. I’m not an important investigative reporter like you, but I have fans already. It’s the greatest way to build an audience. I’m certain Mr. Broderick will understand marketing. How about you, Mr. Riley, what have you been working on lately?”
She pulled out her shiny card case to hand him her business card, then dropped the case. “Oops, I’m clumsy when I’m tired.” She waited expectantly.
Riley glared but picked the case up and handed it to her. She carefully tucked it into her purse so she could have his fingerprints pulled later. Maybe Ana knew someone who could dust Bill’s apartment for prints. She’d have to steal the gorilla’s whiskey glass if she had a chance.
“I’m retired,” Riley said grumpily. “We all write our memoirs at this age. Did your father have notes for his?”
“Oh, daddy just had boxes of notes and dusty old disks. Even his lawyer said they were worthless. I lost them all in a fire. You must have exciting tales to tell about politicians you’ve met. That’s what I aspire to, interviewing the president and the prime minister!”
Riley wanted to know about her father’s memoirs, interesting. Did he suspect there was dirt in there? Or was he just fishing? If so, he wasn’t very good at it. An interviewer had to show interest in his subject. Riley looked as if he wished she would drop dead.
“It’s a dangerous world out there for little girls,” Riley said with scorn. “You ought to stick to interviewing movie stars.”
“Oh, I’m sure I will for years and years, but I can wait until opportunity knocks. It was so good to meet you, sir.” She waved her credit card at the bartender. “But I really must do my Rhianna research before I talk to her Monday. Such a fascinating woman! Good luck with your memoirs.” She leaned in to touch gorilla’s coat and confiscated his empty glass while he was distracted. “And thank you again, sir.”
After signing off on the tab, she sauntered out without her unpleasant companions even thanking her for the free drinks. She’d like to think it was because she had them so baffled that they couldn’t react, but she figured it was because they were jerks.
Sean lingered in his dark corner booth without looking up at her departure. Go, Sean.
Still, she located a dirty alley between buildings, climbed over the feeble gate, and hid against the wall between garbage cans to see what happened next. She watched the bar entrance in the traffic mirror reflector on the corner. The gorilla lumbered out a few minutes later, heading in the direction of her new home. Patra didn’t worry too much about the gorilla knocking on Graham’s door. Ana had his photo and a gargoyle glare that would scare varnish off wood.
Riley appeared next. He looked up and down both sides of the street, studying everyone before stepping out onto the sidewalk. Apparently satisfied that he was safe, he trotted in the same direction as Gorilla Boy. There was a closer Metro stop in the other direction. Really, could one man be so stupid?
She fell in a block behind him and Sean joined her a moment later.
“
We really should quit meeting this way,” she told him, not looking at him.
“I wasn’t sure you could take care of yourself as well as Ana does. After you left, the thug and Leonard had a brief discussion. Money was exchanged. My bet is that someone is a target for gorilla-boy’s automatic. Want to place any wagers on whom he’s about to threaten?”
Patra snorted. “Sexist pigs like that will think they don’t need automatics to scare Ana. They’d think a good shovel would work. So my bet is petty revenge on Nick or Mallard or both.”
“Very astute of you, if not spyboy.” He shoved a hand in the pocket of his tweed trousers as he watched Leonard turn a corner. “Did you indicate you had something that might be of interest to Broderick?”
“Old news,” she scoffed. “Leonard wants to know if I have my father’s files, which probably means Broddy wants to know. If they try to look for them inside the Monster Mansion, they’ll either be dead or behind bars for a long time.”
“Graham’s that good, huh?”
She finally shot him a quick glance. Sean looked determined as well as interested. And interesting. Excellent jaw. Cute curly dark hair. Nice shoulders. But did she really know the man? “You’re kidding, right?”
Sean shrugged. “A guy can only try. Why do you protect Graham? He could be a pervert and a terrorist for all you know.”
“So could you, for all I know. Graham has the benefit of offering us a house to live in. He leaves us alone, and we return the favor, to the best extent possible, leastways. One doesn’t muddy one’s own nest. Look, Leonard is taking the street behind ours and Gorilla Boy is casing the front. Obviously, they didn’t learn. Surely they don’t mean to commit murder on a public street. Threatening seems more their speed.”
“Do I call the cops now or wait until there are bodies?” Sean asked dryly.
“The bodies would be the gorilla and Leonard, and that comes under messing the nest.” Patra texted Ana and Nick. “Really, I don’t know how old-fashioned hoodlums think they can keep up in modern times unless they recall technology exists.”
Undercover Genius Page 10