by G. K. Parks
“Miss Parker,” Frack spoke, “you’re a seasoned investigator. We shall defer to you for the hiring of third parties and the allocation of any resources you deem imperative for the proper execution of an investigation. You will coordinate all discoveries through me.” He held out his business card, and I took it and read his name. Jack Fletcher. Fletcher, Frack, close enough, I reasoned.
“With any luck, none of this will come to fruition,” Ackerman replied, standing and shaking hands with Martin, “but it’s pertinent to compile the information while it’s still new and fresh. I know how you are, James.” He patted Martin’s good shoulder. “You like to be ahead of the curve on everything.”
“Since I have the resources at my disposal, it would be ill-advised not to use them.” Hopefully, he was talking about his deep pockets and not my skills since I was not a resource nor available for his disposal. Okay, so maybe I was angry, bitter, offended, and a few dozen other adjectives. There were some flaws in my personality which needed work, but I was only human, after all.
“We’ll see ourselves out,” Ackerman concluded.
I handed my business card to Frack/Fletcher, and he put it in his pocket and followed his boss to the door. “I’ll walk you gentlemen out,” I offered as a means to distance myself from Martin. Once the door was securely shut behind us, I pulled Ackerman aside. “Why’d you call me this morning? I did absolutely nothing to get him out of lockup. I gave the guy a ride home. That was it. So why did I sign a dozen different forms and risk all your attorney-client privilege shit just to sit around the police station, drinking coffee?”
“I can only act in regards to my client’s wishes,” he responded with a brief, knowing smile that made me uneasy. “If you want answers, you’re going to have to ask Mr. Martin.”
I felt myself blush, embarrassed that these complete strangers had witnessed my unraveling. “Yeah, that would be easier if we were on speaking terms.” He chuckled and got in his car, and I went back inside the house, hoping a tactical assault team might be waiting to put an end to this misery. No such luck.
“I’ve discovered something.” Martin was speaking from the couch in the living room, and Bruiser was nowhere to be seen. Going into the living room, I sat across from him. We needed to clear the air before things got further out of control. “You and I are really great at fighting, world-class level of yelling and arguing. My god, we should have our own reality show.”
I snorted. “People would think it was scripted.”
“I’m sorry.” He appeared genuinely repentant. “I’ve had a shitastic day, and you were only trying to help.”
“I probably should have been a bit more considerate.” My words didn’t sound sincere, but I wasn’t feeling particularly sincere. “We need to get over ourselves before we scare off even more of your hired help.” I looked around the room. “Bruiser’s gone AWOL, after all.”
Martin smirked. “He’s downstairs.”
“Oh.” We sat in the awkwardness for a while, recovering from our screaming match.
“We’re going to table the current situation for the next ten minutes.” He looked at his watch. “Think of this like you would any other day. Nothing’s happened. Pretend I answered my phone when you called last night.” I stared at him as if he were insane. “Humor me,” he insisted. “You said we need to get over ourselves, so let’s just fast forward through all the yelling, screaming, and whatever other types of emotional torture we were going to inflict upon one another.”
His idea was absolutely ludicrous, but there was no way I’d be able to stay here and investigate if I wanted to kill him myself. I tried to organize my thoughts, and he waited patiently for me to begin.
“I finished the case with Mark last night.” My tone was low. There was an underlying feeling of defeat I just couldn’t shake. “I told him I was done, and there was no way I was going back again.”
“How did that go?” His tone was equally subdued.
“About as well as could be expected. They weren’t happy with my leaving, but I wasn’t happy with the prospect of staying.” He wanted to say something but stopped himself. “I just thought I should tell you.” It felt stupid saying any of this now, but he nodded thoughtfully. I was staring at my nails, considering getting a manicure, when he finally spoke.
“The two weeks, your plan that we’d see each other again in two weeks,” he swallowed, “the job ran longer than you expected?” At least now I understood the reason for his anger. If we could learn to speak the same language, life would be so much easier.
“The paperwork was completed yesterday. It was more complicated than I imagined it’d be. Frankly, two weeks was just my best estimate, but I guess I never made that clear.”
“When I didn’t hear from you, I thought you went back for good,” he admitted.
Shaking my head, I stared out the window. “Why didn’t you call? Or you could have asked Mark.” Mark and Martin were friends from way back, and Mark had introduced the two of us and encouraged Martin to hire me when I emerged onto the private sector security scene.
“I guess I didn’t want to know.”
“Understandable, I suppose.” I was already tired of this conversation. “Let’s just chalk it up to bad timing and another missed opportunity.” I stared unyieldingly until he agreed.
“Okay,” he mumbled, pressing his lips together. “Back to business then?”
“Back to business, as long as you stop being a complete asshole.”
He smirked. “I’ll work on it.”
“Why’d Ackerman call this morning?” If we were back to business, then I might as well dive in head first.
“You weren’t rushing to the precinct to spring me on your own volition?”
“I thought you were working on not being an asshole.” He gave me a pointed look. Apparently, I needed to work on holding my tongue. “I was asleep and hadn’t heard the news yet.” I could see the question in his eyes. Sighing loudly, I relented. “If I didn’t get the call, I still would have been there as soon as I found out.”
“See, that’s why you got the call.” He was making no sense. Having no interaction with him for the last month had impaired my ability to comprehend his irrationality and insanity mingled in with his extreme mood swings and unilateral decision-making skills. I opened my eyes wide and made a face, trying to get him to connect the dots, but he cocked an eyebrow up, confused.
“I don’t understand,” I retorted, annoyed.
“If something happens to me,” his tone shifted to serious, “I want to make sure you have access to all the information. I saw you work your friend’s murder, if you don’t remember. You couldn’t let it go until you found the person responsible for his death.”
“But he wasn’t dead.” I rubbed my forehead; Martin was giving me a headache.
“That’s not the point.” He was insistent. “I know you,” he said simply. “You would do anything to find the truth and get justice. I just want to leave you with the best starting place possible.” He smiled sadly.
“That is possibly the nicest thing you’ve ever said and quite frankly the most morbid. Are we talking your untimely demise or something along the lines of you being found in the back room of a stash house with stripper Barbie?” I tended to use sarcasm and bad jokes to avoid the more serious emotional moments.
“More the former, but obviously, you’d still be read in on the latter. Once again, I wasn’t with Caterina.” He was ready to argue this point. “Hang on.” He wasn’t going to let it go until he satisfactorily proved his fidelity or at least his fidelity when it came to not screwing the recently deceased. He rummaged through his jacket pocket, looking for the receipt showing his reclaimed belongings. “Read this.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and skimmed through the list: watch, class ring, cell phone, wallet containing three hundred and twenty-two dollars, three credit cards, license, one condom. I stopped reading.
“I believe you,” I told him, and
I did. My internal voice was already running through other arguments the DA could make if they were still pressing charges, but I silenced it. There was no need to fight anymore.
“Now that that’s settled, is there anything else we need to discuss in order to avoid any more mimicry of banshees?”
“Well,” I folded my hands together and tapped my knuckles against my lips, conveying an air of seriousness, “if I have any say in the matter whatsoever, I’d prefer upon your demise to get one of those nice sports cars you have on display instead of information regarding your untimely death.”
“Any vehicle in particular?” he asked, playing along.
“The one with the doors that lift up.” I tried to sound sincere.
“Which one? Almost all of them do that.” He smirked.
“I guess you better manage to remain breathing until I figure that part out.”
Six
After being accused of murder and drugged, Martin wanted assurances that nothing like this was going to happen again. He would never admit it, but the whole situation had rattled him. So Bruiser and I devised a schedule, so the two of us could comprise a full-time protection detail to monitor his movements, at least for the next couple of weeks. During the week, I would meet Martin at the Martin Technologies building and guard him at work. This made the most sense since I was still a MT employee. It also gave Bruiser a good eight to ten hours of downtime before Martin would leave work, and Bruiser would then resume his normal bodyguard duties.
The only problem was determining weekends. It was a Saturday, and with the news vans out front, I wasn’t going home tonight. Relenting, I had no choice but to stay at Martin’s compound for the rest of the weekend. Then next weekend, Bruiser and I could split the days into twelve hour shifts, but we’d both stay on the property that way there was someone to rely on for back-up in case anything occurred. The seriousness of the situation was being completely blown out of proportion, but it was Martin’s dime. After everything he had been through this year, I understood his reticence.
“Are you sure you’re okay staying here?” Bruiser asked as I settled into the guestroom on the second floor. He was convinced our bodyguard schedule was going to fall to the wayside.
“It’s not a weekend at the Poconos,” I retorted, “but as long as I can avoid the third and fourth floors, I can manage a couple of days.” He understood my need to avoid the parts of the compound where I had gunned down two mercenaries.
“You can take days, and I’ll keep an eye out at night. Since you’re running the investigation for the lawyers, a daytime shift would be better.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry I gave you a hard time earlier.”
“That’s part of your job as my predecessor.” He turned and walked out of the room.
I shut the door and put my gun holster on the nightstand. Then I took off my pants and shirt and hung them in the closet. I didn’t have anything packed for the weekend because I didn’t know I wasn’t going home tonight. Obviously, I should know better, especially after four years at the OIO, but thankfully, Martin always kept his guestrooms well-stocked with basic toiletries, and I commandeered a bathrobe. Tying it around my waist, I set to work, developing an attack strategy.
I wasn’t used to being back inside Martin’s house, and even though the room I was currently occupying was completely foreign to me, I could still feel a knowing unease settle throughout my body. I pushed the thought away and worked on expanding the list I started earlier. Until I got a chance to review the official police reports, I didn’t have much to go on. Picking up the phone, I dialed Fletcher.
“Jack Fletcher speaking,” he answered.
“Hey,” I greeted. “It’s Alex Parker. Can you smooth things over with the local PD? It’d be easier to shadow their progress than to remain two steps behind the investigation.”
“Ms. Parker,” he sounded friendly, “normally, that’s not how these things work. I don’t believe we’ve ever been granted a tagalong status with the police department. Our firm deals mostly with corporate or civil cases, but on the few criminal cases we’ve worked, we’re the defense.”
“You’re not the defense this time. Actually, you aren’t anything this time.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad you hold my job in such high regard,” he commented, but his tone was teasing.
“You know what I mean. From the current legal standpoint, it’s not a case for you, yet.”
“That is true.”
“Will it cause any anxiety attacks at your office if I convince the cops to let me work with them instead of running something completely separate?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem but let me double-check with the partners, and I’ll get back to you by Monday morning.”
“Good night, Mr. Fletcher.” I was trying to put on a good face after everything he had seen and heard this afternoon.
After concluding the call, I went into Martin’s second floor home office. I turned on his computer and began compiling as much information as I could find on Caterina Skolnick. My laptop had access to all the proper criminal databases, but it was at home. The same place I should be. For now, general internet searches would have to suffice. I printed a tome of Skolnick’s personal information, information on her modeling agency, her biggest gigs, estimated worth, and a few dozen pictures of her with various men taken at numerous events. Now I had a starting place.
“I thought you were taking days,” Bruiser commented. He was sitting on the couch in the living room as the outside surveillance feed filled the big screen television. Although, there was a book opened on his lap, so I wasn’t sure how well he was monitoring the perimeter.
“I am taking days,” I insisted. “But it doesn’t mean I’m not working nights too.”
“Get some sleep, Parker.”
Agreeing with his suggestion, I went into my room and shut the door. It was almost two a.m. when I turned off the light and got into bed. “Bad idea,” I muttered, getting up and turning the light back on. The dark was eerie and suffocating. Why wasn’t there a television in the guestroom?
I climbed back into bed and shut my eyes, re-evaluating everything I knew. Unfortunately, I didn’t know much. At some point, I fell asleep, but I awoke just before dawn, gasping for air and trembling. The nightmares of fending off mercenaries and Martin getting shot had returned.
There was a knock at the door, and I unsteadily opened it. “You okay?” Bruiser asked, his gaze shifting from me to the rest of the room.
“Of course.” I swallowed and tried to play it cool. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I thought I heard you scream.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.” He continued to scrutinize my expression. “Nightmares,” I admitted, and he nodded and went back to the living room without another word. Obviously, I wasn’t the only one plagued by bad dreams.
A few hours later, I emerged, relieving Bruiser who promptly vanished into thin air. I was sitting on the couch. All of the information I printed last night was sprawled from one end of the coffee table to the other. I had a notepad in my hand and was attempting to create a proper timeline concerning Ms. Skolnick’s career and life history. On a whim, I dialed Lt. Moretti for an update on the case. I was on hold, listening to some god-awful music when Martin bounded down the steps.
“Good morning,” he greeted, a very obvious grin on his face.
“If you say so.”
I sifted through the papers, looking for the most recent photo of the victim. Caterina was pretty, thin, blonde, and exactly what you’d expect from a model. There were dozens of photos of her from magazine spreads, modeling gigs, and parties with numerous suitors. As far as I could tell, she never went out with the same man twice which would make solid leads more difficult to pinpoint. She seemed lively and vivacious, not at all like the photo in the preliminary police report.
Martin leaned over the back of the couch to see what I was doing. “What do you w
ant for breakfast?” His lips brushed against my earlobe.
“I’m not hungry.” I really didn’t understand his mood swings. Maybe after sleeping on things, he had a more positive outlook on life. Who knows?
“Fine.” He kissed my cheek before standing up. “I’ll just have to surprise you.”
I turned and gave him my patented ‘what the hell’ look, but he had already moved into the kitchen. I shook my head and continued to be tormented by the agonizing music. Eventually, a woman’s voice cut in, saying Moretti wasn’t taking any calls at this time and I would have to try back tomorrow.
Sighing, I hung up and went into the kitchen. Martin was in front of the stove, cooking eggs and bacon. I poured myself a cup of coffee, before sitting down at the table. Once breakfast was ready, he put a couple of plates, some silverware, and the food on the table, humming as he did so.
“Did you bust into the painkiller bottle when I wasn’t looking?” I joked.
“Not that I remember, but then again, if I did, would I remember?” He was being extremely playful this morning. “Oh, hang on.” He disappeared from the room, and I picked at the eggs while I waited. Returning to the kitchen, he slid a personal check facedown across the table.
“What’s this?” I asked, not bothering to flip it over.
“It occurred to me while I was getting dressed that I hired you yesterday, and we never had a proper negotiation. No champagne toasts. Nothing.” He tried to appear ashamed, but his good mood was ruining the effect. “Needless to say, I calculated what you were paid last time, divided it by the weeks, and if it’s not enough, we can negotiate.”
“I’m sure it’s more than adequate.” I pushed the check away and reached for a piece of toast. “So much for you not being my boss and me not being your bodyguard.”