by Martha Carr
Wasn’t that what Esther told me to do, she thought. How does anyone do this for a career path?
“Wallis! Wallis, over here. Hey, what are you doing in this neck of the woods in the middle of a workday? I didn’t think you took shopping breaks?”
It was Julia, the oversized, tall blonde from the neighborhood Bunko game, dressed in a green neon velour jacket and black yoga pants waving from across the street.
“Hey, can’t believe I ran into you!” she yelled, excited, still waving.
Wallis knew there wasn’t much time before she was expected at the caves.
Julia took a glance in both directions and came running across the street, still talking loud enough to be heard by anyone walking down the block. Wallis let out the breath she was holding and tried to smile.
“Julia, hello, how are you? Needed to run an errand on my lunch hour,” she said, hoping it didn’t sound like an excuse.
“Lawyers have lunch hours? What’s so special down here you had to fight through all that traffic?” said Julia, looking around at the different shops nearby.
Her words came running out of her, colliding with each other. She wasn’t waiting for responses.
“Hey, did I tell you? Roger’s at Sutler this year. He’s doing great! See? You had nothing to worry about, after all. Really working out great! Of course, we miss Ned and seeing you at all the school nights.”
Wallis felt the smile slipping from her face. In the aftermath of the past few months and worrying about her mother’s recovery from the stroke, she had forgotten what was happening in her own neighborhood. The children of her friends were being offered a chance at a better life without realizing there was no way out. Their choices were being pared down to what was needed by the system that had paid for the good life.
Roger had been recruited by Management’s feeder school, Sutler and Wallis had never found a way to tell her the truth. Another secret. If Management’s system was still the same, it was too late to get Roger out without a lot of bargaining or a little bloodshed.
I have to choose right now, thought Wallis, and Norman wins this one.
“I’ll see you at Bunko, right?” she asked, cutting off Julia’s long recitation of Sutler’s merits. She needed to keep moving but without Julia tagging along.
“What? Oh sure, sure,” said Julia, looking a little embarrassed. “Friday night out with the girls. First night back since they locked us all up in Sandra Wilkins’ house.”
The night Maureen died, thought Wallis, feeling her cheeks flush. Maureen was trying to protect me.
“They never did say what the problem was on our own street. I heard they thought there was a crazy man spotted wandering around with a knife or something.” Julia’s engine of words had revved back up again and she had launched into the new topic with full force. “Before that, we took that two year break after Yvette died,” said Julia, counting off the tragedies on her fingers. “It’s a wonder we still have a game. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we do. Gets me out of the house and comes with dessert and a door prize. Can’t beat it.”
Wallis forgot where she was for a moment, remembering first their friend’s Yvette’s death two years ago. What was it Helmut had told her? Yvette Campbell was killed by a rogue operative in Management trying to make a point. The realization washed over her and she wondered if she might not live to walk out of the caves. It seemed like the more likely possibility in that moment.
After all, George Clemente had killed Yvette to send a message. George Clemente had sent in troops to kill Wallis in her own neighborhood, killing Maureen Bowers instead.
Norman’s brother, Tom, had told her that Clemente had given the order. She had no reason to doubt Tom. He was the Keeper, the only member of the Circle who knew all of the secrets, all of the members of the cells and how they connected. His identity as the Keeper was also a secret.
There are too many of them, too many secrets, thought Wallis, as a wall of words from Julia about who was doing what to who washed over her. It sounded like loud buzzing in her ears. Her mind was busy with a curious thought that came to her and seemed too large to make sense.
George Clemente has been hunting me for years and I didn’t see it, she thought. She was caught in the middle of an idea that was growing in her head and the more she thought about it, the more the pieces came together in a horrible, predictable pattern.
I’m at the center of all of this mayhem. How is that possible? I was minding my own business, happily helping people get a divorce over and over again, when this was all dropped in my lap.
“What?” she asked, realizing Julia had asked a question.
“Where are you headed now? We can go together. I love to window shop, which works out well for me on my budget. More cents than dollars,” she said, letting out a nervous laugh.
“I have to run in and out. No time. I’m, I’m…” Wallis couldn’t think of a better reason to be able to turn and walk away from Julia. She knew time was passing but the string of events kept piling on top of itself and wouldn’t stop.
I am running down a street at the same man’s behest without anyone around to make sure I come back out in one piece, much yet alive, she thought, piecing it all together. I don’t even have my phone with me. I have lost my mooring.
“Ned,” she said, without thinking. “He’ll be alone.”
“What about Ned? Wallis, you okay?” asked Julia. “You look a little funny. Tummy trouble?”
“What? Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she said, realizing she was going to meeting and taking her chances. “Just too many things to do in the short time that I have left,” she said, swallowing hard. “I have to go,” she said, giving Julia a quick hug to smooth things over as she turned and started walking as fast as she could without breaking into a run.
Tears caught in the corner of her eyes. “I’m sorry Ned,” she whispered, pulling her coat closer, patting the sweater underneath. “I choose Norman right now. I have to go.”
Wallis got to the end of the development and took the long stairs by the luxury condominiums, down toward the Capital Trail, the pathway that ran along the length of the river. Tucked underneath the urban development were the caves, blending into the scenery as part of the old culture holding up the new city.
The beer caves were part of the city’s history, built in 1868 by James River Steam Brewery and had been used to store the brown bottles of beer in dark caves made up of clay bricks with vaulted ceilings and four anterooms. The buildings that once stood above the caves had been eighty feet high and had made beer using a bustling steam engine. The caves were known to have held up to six thousand barrels of dark, malted beer. They were a perfect place for a clandestine meeting and the perfect place to leave a body behind.
The building was long gone and had been replaced by condominiums that would have towered over the brewery.
A chain link fence had been erected in front of the two graceful entrances years ago to keep out the curious teenagers who were using it as a place to hang out and drink. Fern moss and overgrown pin oaks growing above the caves helped to shield the entrance.
Wallis slowed down as she neared the entrance, glancing over at the bobbing sailboats tied up at the slip only yards from the entrance. It all looked so peaceful.
She kept moving and went up to where the tall metal poles met in a makeshift gate and could see that the padlock was hanging off to one side. She pulled on the gate moving it only far enough to slide in the middle, scraping her hand on the way.
“Hello?” she called out as she walked further into the dimly lit cavern.
“You only had a few minutes left. Cutting it closer than I would have thought you’d be willing to do.” A man stepped further into the middle of the cavern.
“I know you,” said Wallis, trying to peer into the darkness without stepping any closer. She gasped as she recognized the tall man standing in front of her. “David Whitaker, what are you doing here?”
“Making a difference in
the world, Black Widow” he said with a sneer.
“You were always too smug for your own good. Sharon is better off with you.”
David lunged forward letting out a low growl, his fist raised. Wallis took a half step back, as her foot stepped into a shallow puddle.
“I see you’re not as brave without your sidekick assistant and a golf club to aim at me.”
“I should have let Laurel keep swinging at you that night. Paul is far better off without you.”
“Don’t talk about my son,” he said, a string of spit flying out of his mouth as his voice echoed around the walls.
“You aren’t even the one who called me. You’re here on orders. You’re just one of George Clemente’s lackeys, aren’t you? What’d he promise you?”
“Only thing I wanted. A little revenge. What, that worry you? You and me, alone down here.”
Wallis felt her anger growing. Sharon Whitaker couldn’t run far enough away from this man and Norman was taken.
“You don’t even have a phone with you. I tell you, I don’t even have to check. You’re too good at following rules.” He held his arms out wide, smiling. “Besides, there’s no reception inside these thick walls. Wouldn’t matter.”
“You’ve been drinking, haven’t you,” said Wallis. “Needed the liquid courage?” She realized he was afraid. Not of her, but of something.
He took another step toward Wallis but this time she held her ground.
“If you don’t tell me in the next ten seconds what George Clemente wants me to know I’m leaving,” said Wallis.
“And I’ll tell him you never showed up,” said David.
“You really are pathetic. George Clemente’s finest attribute is how paranoid he is at all times. You don’t think he didn’t send someone to follow both of us, keep an eye on things? He already knows I’m here. He’s probably wondering what’s taking so long.” Wallis was only guessing but she was also pretty sure David was worried about the same thing.
She spoke slowly, letting him know she was willing to threaten him, even now. “I’ll bet if I talk about you enough in public,” said Wallis, “he’ll find out everything I know about you. And remember, I was your wife’s divorce lawyer. I know everything there is to know about you. Hidden accounts, property, problems at work.”
David narrowed his eyes but seemed resigned, clenching his fists at his side. Even in the dim light and the cold, clammy air of the caves she could see he was sweating.
“That goes both ways. You’re not any better. You never cook, you never clean. Your son won’t sleep in his own room.”
Wallis felt a shudder go down her back but she stood still, determined to hide from David that he had gotten to her. He’s been watching us, she thought.
“There’s going to be a meeting,” said David. “A high-level Management meeting here in Richmond,” said David, spitting out each word. “Clemente wants you there.”
“Why?” asked Wallis, but she was only trying to get David to say more. A picture was already forming.
“To speak on Clemente’s behalf. Ridiculous, right? You influencing anyone. But you’re the great spawn of the founder of Management and everyone is well aware of how much you value your integrity.” His voice came out in a whine. “He wants you to sell him to the crowd. There’s still some hurt feelings over what happened last year.”
“You mean the war,” said Wallis, evenly. “You’re talking about his part in starting the civil war. And what am I supposed to say? He regrets the dead bodies and is humbly sorry? I don’t think anyone will buy a humble George Clemente.”
“You’re the Black Widow. You can spin anything. Hell, didn’t you convince a judge that Sharon is a good mother?” he said, snickering.
“To what end?”
“I agree, to what end,” said David, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. Wallis could see he was shaking.
She turned to go.
“To help him win the minds and hearts,” said David, blurting it out. Wallis turned around to see he was still trying to smile, act like he had the upper hand.
“That’s all I’m supposed to tell you,” said David. “Monday night, seven o’clock at the Jefferson Hotel. You know the place,” he said. “You know he thought about demanding Ned speak but this was his concession to you. He thinks you two could work together eventually. When you see the inevitability of what’s coming.”
“A third party, so to speak,” said Wallis, not taking the bait when he mentioned the time Clemente took Ned to tell him about his heritage. She was sure she could get him to say more.
“That’s obvious, and no. No one needs one more large structure battling it out, back and forth with nothing to show for it. No, the great reveal. He’ll be the hero all the mindless masses can’t get enough of. Cover of People magazine, wall to wall coverage on E.”
“Exposing the inner workings will only reveal him as the lunatic he is for having caused so much destruction or because no one believes him. Nothing good will come of that,” said Wallis.
“Depends on how you grease the wheels. You’re too provincial for your own good. Sure, you’re a big fish in this small pond but when Clemente is done, that won’t matter. Make the right deal with the right people, everything becomes possible. He’s going to restore the natural order of things. Point the finger at the real threat and you’re going to help.”
“I want proof of life,” said Wallis, growing impatient. “No chance without it and he won’t have a chance if I don’t start the ball rolling. Even with his deals. We both know it or he wouldn’t have gone to all of this trouble. I want proof.” She was taking in short, shallow breaths, willing herself to not let the emotion overwhelm her.
David’s confidence seemed to return as he pulled a picture from inside his coat.
“Be careful what you wish for, Wallis Jones,” he said, holding the photo just out of arm’s reach. Wallis waited for him to hold out the photo as she steeled herself. I can do this for Norman, she thought. At least this.
He threw the picture at her and it spun in the air as it fluttered from side to side. Wallis reached out to get it, grabbing it between both hands as David shoved her aside, pushing his elbow into her ribs.
She cried out in pain, letting out a small yelp, holding tight to the picture as she steadied herself, putting a hand against the damp clay brick. She turned the picture over slowly, but in the dim light she couldn’t even be sure it was Norman.
She held the picture out in front of her as she walked slowly toward the light, trying to take in the image in pieces. It was Norman. He was grimacing, sitting back in a chair looking straight at the camera. He looked angry, she thought, gently kissing the picture.
Everything she had been trying to hold down, keep hidden, let loose. She teetered to the side, leaning against the wall at the entrance to the beer caves. The picture was at her side as she leaned over into the overgrown weeds. She squeezed her eyes shut, scratching at the clay brick, heaving violently even after there was nothing left. Finally, she was able to stand up straighter and spit, trying to get the bitter taste out of her mouth.
The clicking of heels on the nearby steps warned her someone was practically running down the long stairs nearby. Wallis slid the picture into her pocket and slipped back between the opening of the chain link fence, moving quickly away from the stairs and down to the Capital Trail, closer to the water. She didn’t look back.
There was a set of stairs further down the trail that would lead up to the street level and even closer to her car. She didn’t know who was barreling down those stairs but she didn’t want to stay to explain or find out they meant her harm. Anything was possible.
The trail was visible from the street and Wallis didn’t want to take the chance of running and be seen by someone she knew. There was no explanation she could give. Wallis wanted to get out of there and back to her phone. There was something nagging at her. David Whitaker knew too much about what went on in her house.
&nbs
p; Her foot crunched on something as she passed the small wooden structure that was used as an office by the marina. It was more of a shed with a window and well worn. She looked down and saw that there was glass covering part of the path. A small window pane was broken in the door of the office.
“No, no, no.” Someone was speaking quickly, almost shouting. Wallis recognized the sound of pleading. She had heard it too often in court.
“Dammit,” she whispered, as she reached into her pocket for her phone, remembering it was up at the car. She turned the handle of the door, pulling it open as she rushed inside, hoping surprise would work.
Fred Bowers was standing over David Whitaker holding a gun to his head. He looked so calm.
“You can’t,” Wallis said, putting out her hand.
“I can,” said Fred, “and no one will care.” David Whitaker was on his knees, crying, his coat hanging open. The front of his pants were wet.
“Then don’t because I’m really begging you not to,” said Wallis, shaking violently.
“What do you care?” asked Fred, pressing the barrel of the gun into David’s forehead, eliciting a whimper.
Wallis took the picture out of her pocket. “This is why I care,” she said. Fred leaned over to get a better look at the picture.
“You do this?” he asked David, his voice was cold and even.
“No, no, that wasn’t me. George Clemente did that.” His voice came out in a squeak.
Fred looked at Wallis. “He has a lot to say with the right motivation. Anything you wanted to know before we do something about this?”
“I do have a question,” said Wallis, trying to think of something better to say to Fred. “How did you know I don’t cook?” she asked. “How did you know where my son sleeps?”
David started to cry harder, bowing his head down. Wallis felt the bile in her throat again.
“Please stop, Fred.”
“He’s crying because he knows I won’t like the answer,” said Fred. “Tell her.”
“Have you done something, David?” asked Wallis.
Spit dribbled down his chin as he tried to get out the first few words. “I put a few cameras in your house,” he said, without looking up from the ground. “It was right after you kicked me out of your office. I wanted to get something on you.”