Eric opened the door for Robert and caught Cody with his fist poised to knock. Cody smiled bashfully, turning his clenched fist into a bunch of wiggling fingers to wave hello.
“Did someone here request a personal appearance by Cody Alexander?”
Eric was a bit slaphappy. Cody’s delivery and cute facial expressions seemed immensely hilarious. “That would be me. Did you bring your all-soprano boys choir, too?”
Cody breezed into Eric’s room. “I certainly did not! If Robert wants company, he’ll have to call room service himself.”
Robert whispered to Cody on his way out the door, “Glad you’re here! Some things not even the best attorney can do for his client.”
Cody smiled his understanding, then Robert left them alone. As the door slammed shut, Cody tossed his suitcase on an armchair. “Do I get a hug or are you too tired?”
Eric’s half-smile appeared. He embraced Cody and they undressed each other wordlessly. Cody flicked off the lights and hopped into bed beside Eric. He knew it was a night for holding, for hanging on; not a night for making love or asking questions. Even though he didn’t know what caused Eric’s pain, Cody didn’t ask why he felt tears on Eric’s face. That could come later.
Cody remained awake long after Eric fell asleep. He watched Eric toss and turn on his side of the bed, wondering what demons he was battling in his dreams. It was as if Cody was seeing Eric for the first time. He had come to think of Eric as his solid Rock of Gibraltar. Cody knew Eric felt deeply, but seldom expressed strong emotion. He had always marveled at Eric’s coolness under fire; his ability to act and think quickly. He felt more secure with Eric than he had ever felt with anyone else. It worried Cody to see such a strong man suddenly so vulnerable. And then, Cody began to feel needed, really needed for the first time since he met Eric. His white knight had fallen off his horse and was lying helpless on the ground in a suit of armor weighing five hundred pounds. The white knight needed Cody Alexander and that felt mighty good.
Cody slept lightly while Eric was busy next to him. Eric told Cody once that he remembered almost all his dreams, and that sometimes he could consciously influence what he dreamed about. Many mornings Eric would tell Cody he had discovered a solution to a business problem in one of his dreams. Cody realized Eric used his dreams for something else. Dreamland was where Eric Price could be both the prince and the pauper, the white knight and the black knight, strong and weak. Cody hoped Eric would find whatever he needed in Dreamland that night.
CHAPTER 19
Los Angeles
Extremely proud of the stir his article created, Micky felt like celebrating. When Micky’s editor told him the magazine had received hundreds of inquiries from legitimate news media, he knew he had finally hit paydirt. Everyone wanted to know more about the elusive Eric Price. Micky Ryan would give the world what they wanted, but on his terms. When the Tribune or Times or one of the networks came crawling to him, he would make them regret ignoring his many job applications. They would all pay a fortune to get the whole story, and he would spin it out for years! When the money started rolling in, he could kiss his lousy job good-bye because he would be set for life.
Micky invited the entire office staff out for a victory drink after work. Cheryl, the gum-chewing receptionist with a naked man tattooed on each arm and a Campbell soup can bracelet, summed up the staff’s feelings best. “Mick, ya must be frickin’ crazy! How’s ‘bout jus’ givin’ us each a couple bucks instead?”
“How’s ‘bout givin’ yaself an enema with a blowtorch?” Micky replied, superbly imitating Cheryl’s whiny nasal tone.
Instead, Micky bought three rounds of drinks at a sleazy bar for pimps, hustlers, drug dealers, and anyone else unfortunate enough to find themselves in that section of Los Angeles. As Micky opened his mouth to order another round, an enormous hand grabbed his shoulder and spun his barstool around.
“That’s enough for today,” the giant told Micky. “Your presence is required elsewhere.”
Micky began to protest, so the giant lifted Micky from his barstool by pinching his coat lapels together in his beefy right hand. A shove on the back prodded Micky toward a rear exit. When Micky stared dumbly at the door, the giant pounded it open, propelling Micky through it with a solid kick.
Micky stumbled out the door and was shoved into a waiting limousine by two men in dark suits. The giant and his two companions joined Micky, then the limo eased out of the alley and into the street.
“Who are you? Where are we going?” Micky shouted. “Damn pigs,” he muttered for good measure.
“Tough talk for a runt,” the giant snorted. “Our boss wants an audience with you. Couldn’t reach your secretary for an appointment!” he howled. “So the boss asked us to extend a personal invitation. Sorry for the inconvenience, runt. Guy like you must keep awfully busy rutting through dumpsters for new material.”
“Who’s your goddamn boss?” Micky demanded to know.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” the giant replied through a vicious smile.
Micky was locked in an empty room for two days. He had no idea where he was. Three times a day, someone tossed a sack of burgers and a couple water bottles at him. Twice daily he was allowed to use a toilet. On the third day, Micky was led to a conference room and left alone for several minutes.
Eric entered through a side door wearing a damp trenchcoat and dark glasses. The two antagonists regarded each other for several moments. “Micky, you’re not looking well. You really should attend better to your personal appearance,” Eric snickered.
“Eric?” Micky frowned. “What’s with the beard? Is that how you plan to hide your real identity? It’ll take more than a few days of facial hair growth to get rid of Jason York! Did you enjoy my story about you?”
Eric removed his sunglasses, putting them back in their protective case. “About your story, Micky. Where did you get all that fascinating information?”
Micky smiled viciously, pleased by the trouble he had obviously caused Eric. “Really got to ya, huh? Well, I’m not through yet! I’ll spill my guts until it hurts, but I swear I’ll drag you off that giant pedestal you put yourself on!”
Eric sat on the edge of the conference table as Micky spoke, studying him with genuine bewilderment. “Why do you hate me so much, Micky? I took you in when you had nothing, cleaned you up, and loaned you money. You displayed your gratitude by stealing money and clothes, wrecking my car, breaking my furniture, lying to me, sleeping by day, and hustling tricks by night until I kicked you out. I’m the injured party, yet you’re the one seeking revenge. Why, Micky?”
“Ha!” Micky snorted. “I thought we were friends, but when I didn't volunteer to let you jump my bones, you threw me out.”
“Micky,” Eric sighed, shaking his head. “I was never interested in you sexually. If you thought so, that was just wishful thinking on your part. I saw you leave the house after dark broke, and return the next morning with cash. I had no intention of sleeping with a hooker.”
“We had an agreement!” Micky cried. “You were supposed to help me get back on my feet, but you kicked me out before I could land a decent job. I’m performing a public service, Eric. You’re slick and you’re smart, but underneath that polished exterior, there’s a black hole where your heart should be. You’re no better than the scum I drink with. Maybe just a little less honest.”
Not satisfied with words alone, Micky spit at Eric, who dodged the wad of saliva while retaining his composure.
Ignoring Micky’s ranting, Eric got down to business. “Micky, there are only a few people who could have supplied you with some of the details for your story. Give me your source and contact info. Then I’ll let you go.”
“You can’t keep me here forever,” Micky sneered. “Once I’m free, you’ll be able to read more about yourself in future articles.”
Eric shook his head. “I don't think so. One of my associates just bought your magazine and fired you for excessive absenteeism. Your forme
r employer is going to publish a retraction and apology, then release your colorful history of petty thefts, prostitution, DWIs, credit card fraud, and failed treatment programs. That should pretty much discredit you. I’ll make sure all your future employers receive an anonymous copy of your record, so I think your writing career is over. Now, who was your source?”
“Go to hell!” Micky screamed.
Eric reached into his coat pocket and removed an envelope which he tossed at Micky. “Open it,” Eric encouraged him.
Micky was surprised to see pictures of his mother, sister, and infant nephew. “Where’d you get these?”
“Someone who works for me took them recently. My, they all look so healthy. And they must be so proud of the way you take such good care of them.” Eric removed another envelope and withdrew a slip of paper from it. “We intercepted this cashier’s check for fifteen hundred dollars this week. How very generous of you, Micky. Is that all that was left from the bonus you were paid to write about me?”
“Give me that!” Micky screamed as he lunged at Eric. “If you hurt them, I’ll kill you!”
Eric waited until Micky was only a foot away, then jerked his knee up, driving it into Micky’s groin. As Micky doubled over in pain, Eric shoved him back into his chair.
“Tell me your source!” Eric barked. “If you tell me, I'll send your family this check, and add another ten thousand. Cooperate with me, and I won't interfere in your life as long as you don't interfere in mine. If you don't cooperate, I’ll make your life a living hell. Now, who's your source?”
Micky hung his head between his legs, holding his aching groin. “His name is Mark Jensen, or at least that's the name he gave me. I met him at a bar. When he saw your picture in my apartment he told me about your past. Couple weeks ago he called and gave me enough specifics to write a full story.”
“What does this Mark Jensen look like?” Eric asked.
“Tall, dark, and very sinister, especially with the thick mustache.”
“Where can I find him?” Eric prodded Micky.
“I don't know where he lives or works,” Micky claimed. “He's real secretive. Drops in unannounced every few months to have sex, then disappears. Drives a Jeep Wrangler. He's married to some woman in Belair. I think he's Muslim. Wears a religious medallion with Arabic writing. That's all I know about him, besides the fact he hates you.”
Eric paced the room for a few moments, then handed Micky the envelope with the cashier's check. “I'll keep my word, Micky. Your family will get another ten thousand from me, and I'll leave you alone as long as you behave. I'm going to verify the information you've just given me. If it checks out, you'll be free to leave, so sit tight.”
“He’s a scary guy, Eric,” Micky mumbled. “He really enjoys pain. Some of the stories he told me were pretty awful.” Micky trembled slightly as he recalled the gruesome torture tales.
Studying Micky intently, Eric realized he might have a couple more useful pieces of information. “Any particular stories you want to share with me, Micky?”
Micky nodded grimly. “He described the sound of your mother’s bones snapping. He tried to get her to call you and beg you to come home. Then he’d be waiting to kill you. She refused to cooperate.”
Eric glared at Micky, barely able to contain his rage. “And my brothers and sister? Was he responsible for what happened to them?”
Micky nodded.
Eric left the conference room abruptly, dialed Security Chief Jack Gentry, who answered on the second ring. “Jack, drop what you’re doing and get me everything there is to know about Mr. and Mrs. Mark Jensen in Belair. He drives a Jeep Wrangler, but I don't know the year. He's tall, kinda swarthy looking with a thick mustache. That's all I've got on him, but I have good reason to believe he's Marcus Sloan from the list I gave you in Ada. Call in every favor you can. I want pictures of this guy, where he lives, works, plays, and I need it yesterday. This is urgent and confidential. Questions?"
“No, sir. You'll hear from me in thirty minutes with a preliminary report.”
“Call my cell phone, Jack. I'll be waiting.”
Twenty minutes later Eric's phone rang. “That was quick!” Eric complimented his chief cop. “What’ve you got for me?”
“California DMV sent me a copy of Mark Jensen’s license and vehicle registration,” Jack replied. “He looks like the guy you described. Drives a Jeep and lives in Belair. He also has enough gun permits to be an arms dealer, so I checked with the FBI and CIA, and they’re both tracking him. They suspect the self-defense course he offers is a cover for terrorist training. Apparently Mr. Jensen converted to Islam in the 1990s and has many contacts in the Middle East. I sent an armed team to Belair to begin surveillance.”
Eric's heart was pounding. “Good work, Jack! Sounds like you've got our man in your sights. Tell your team to get a picture of him ASAP. Then send it to one of our labs for enhancement. Have them compare the photo on Marcus Sloan's old driver's license to the photo on Mark Jensen's new license to determine if they're the same person. I know our lab has software to enhance old photos and simulate aging so there'll be no doubt whether we have a match. I want to be absolutely certain we've got the right guy before we move in.”
“Got it, boss. Comparing the two license photos will take an hour. Getting a recent photo of Mark may take longer if he doesn't show up at home soon.”
“Okay, give me what you can. I'm staying right here until I'm certain we've located him.”
Micky had been kept at a warehouse Foresight leased to store truck components. The building occupied the middle of an industrial block, surrounded by other warehouses and light manufacturing operations. Inside, there was a large open space with six enclosed offices against one wall. Micky’s guards used two of the offices as bedrooms, Micky slept in a third office, the fourth was used as a kitchen, and the fifth office served as their TV room. The sixth office was a conference room, reserved for Eric's use.
After Micky was returned to his cubicle, Eric paced the conference room while his driver, personal bodyguard, the giant, and his two companions watched TV. Realizing he was warm, Eric slipped off his trenchcoat as he paced.
Across from the Foresight warehouse stood an empty office building which Mark Jensen and his companion Riley called home for three days. They followed Micky and his captors to the Foresight warehouse, broke into the office building across the alley, and waited patiently for Eric to arrive, just as Mark was certain he would. It took three days, but when Eric stepped out of the limo earlier that day, Mark wanted to scream with joy. His prey was finally within reach!
Mark checked the sights of the M-72 Light Anti-Tank Weapon for the hundredth time. The portable, shoulder-fired missile launcher had an effective range of only one-hundred-fifty feet, but they were well within that distance. Although he was anxious to end Eric's life, Mark was willing to be patient. He had looked forward to this moment each day he’d spent in a Mexican prison. He was not about to waste the opportunity.
When two men emerged from the warehouse, adrenaline rushed to every part of Mark's body. His heart beat faster, his vision became crystal clear, and the sound of his own breathing was nearly deafening. Through the rain, Mark saw one of the men open the right side passenger door while another man wearing dark glasses and a designer trenchcoat, got in the limo. The first man circled the car, jumped in, and started the engine. When Mark heard the engine purring, he squeezed the launcher's trigger and sent the missile screaming toward the limo's midsection. It crashed through the passenger compartment window, exploded, and a giant fireball erupted, lifting the limo several feet into the air, then brutally ripping it apart.
Mark grinned at Riley. “Got it in one! Our work here is done, soldier. Let's break camp!”
While Mark folded the M-72 to its carrying size and packed it in his briefcase, Riley scooped up several food wrappers, erasing every trace of their presence. Moments after the limo exploded, Mark and Riley were on their way down the fire escape on
the other side of the building, racing toward a van waiting for them in a nearby parking ramp.
CHAPTER 20
When Eric's bodyguard heard the blast, he drew his gun, raced to Eric, and pulled him under the conference table. The giant and his companion drew their weapons, then peeked through a crack in the door. Seeing only the burning limo, they eased out onto the street.
The giant rushed back to Eric. “Looks like someone took out the limo with an anti-tank rocket. Must have seen my guy wearing the trenchcoat you loaned him and thought it was you. This place’ll be crawling with cops in a few minutes, so you better leave.”
Eric shook his head wearily. “I should never have offered him my coat. Is there another vehicle around?”
The giant tossed Eric a set of keys. “Take my truck. I'll stay and deal with the cops.”
Eric and his bodyguard grabbed Micky, then they left through the front door. Eric turned to the giant. “Thank you. I won't forget this.”
The giant nodded grimly and gave Eric a three-fingered salute.
The weeks rolled by and Eric’s sense of urgency abated. Each day he tried to take at least one step toward restoring the health, reputation, and security of his family. Eric arranged Harry’s parole through his fraternity brother, John Adamson. A popular U.S. Senator, John used some of his political IOUs to obtain an early parole for Harry, allowing Eric to remain anonymous. Eric’s attorneys were convinced they had an excellent shot at overturning Harry’s conviction.
Paul and Joanna York began to recover slowly. Harry asked Eric if their parents could be moved back to Skyline. Since Eric was concerned about the quality of healthcare there, he insisted they remain at his home in Minneapolis.
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