The Twelfth Of Never: A suspense mystery romantic thriller

by Lillian Francken

  Jenny put the pile of dog tags back in the envelope along with the map and sheets of paper. She got up and started walking away, but suddenly felt a tug on her arm. Her heart raced thinking about the man with the snowy white hair, and then turned almost ready to strike out at whoever pulled at her sleeve.

  "You dropped this." An elderly man in a brown tweed suit said. His outstretched hand held the two small envelopes and the kind smile across his face made her relax for a moment.

  Jenny reached for the two envelopes. All she could muster up was a feeble, "Thank you."

  "Are you okay?" the elderly man asked.

  "Yes," she said, finally regaining control. "I guess my mind was elsewhere."

  "You should be more careful."

  "You're right," was all Jenny said.

  Jenny stared at the elderly man. She quickly put the envelopes in her purse and followed the stream of people to the exit.

  * * *

  Ian was within arm’s reach of Jenny when he felt someone bump against him. In an instant his wallet was gone, but not before he turned and had the violator by the scruff of the neck.

  "Hey, man," the streetwise youth pleaded as he was dragged into one of the long corridors leading away from the main terminal.

  Ian slammed the youth into the locker, smiling as he reached in his pocket while still hanging onto the kid. One hand was over the kid's mouth, the other thrust the blade up into the young man's rib cage. Slowly the body slumped to the ground. Ian wiped the blade on the young man's shirt, bent down and reached into the kid’s pocket, and took his wallet back. Ian looked around, and then walked off as if nothing had transpired. When he got to the exit, he searched the street for the woman, but saw only heads bobbing about.

  * * *

  Jenny stepped off the bus onto West 9th Street. She stood for a moment looking up at the old warehouse. Three others got off the bus, but quickly went in other directions. Jenny entered the old building, took the freight elevator to the upper level where Benjamin had the top floor all to himself. Jenny lifted the gate, and then unlocked the steel doors that separated the outside world from Benjamin's domain.

  The bright afternoon sun filtered in from the overhead sky windows, sending rays across the open space of the top floor studio. Jenny glanced around at the easels scattered throughout the room as sunlight danced across the floor. She walked through the studio to a room in back where Benjamin stored his supplies. Once inside the small enclosure, she tucked the brown envelope behind a few crates. Jenny was about to walk out, then remembered the two smaller envelopes still in her purse. She sat down on a wooden crate, reached in her purse, and held the envelopes for a moment before sliding her finger under the flaps and dumping the contents onto her lap. She just stared at the pile of hundred-dollar bills and could do nothing more.

  CHAPTER 10

  The cherrywood paneling glistened with fresh oil. The low hum of fluorescent tubes sent subliminal messages that the day was already too long. Gideon sat at the end of the conference room table, staring at the empty coffee cups and overflowing ashtrays that sent a foul stench into the room. Everyone had left for home hours earlier. Gideon did not have a home to go to. It had been nine hours since Delaney had breathed his last breath and Gideon was not any closer to solving who did it than when he first walked into Delaney's room at 1:39.

  Gideon went over the details a thousand times, and still nothing added up. No one noticed anyone talking to Rico other than the nurse with the chart. No nurse admitted to being on rounds at that time. Gideon ran his hand through his thick curly hair. The pounding in his head was fierce and his body ached with every breath he took. He shook his head, trying to shake away the exhaustion that was overtaking his body. Finally, in desperation he picked up the coroner’s report on the assassination yesterday. Prints were run through Langley, but turned up nothing. Gideon stared at the picture: the face was someone familiar. He remembered Private Jimmy Hartwig from Oklahoma City, who had joined the unit three weeks before Dong Ha. Little Jimmy, as the men called him, was fresh out of boot camp with all the enthusiasm of a young recruit. Gideon flashbacked to that night they'd captured a young Vietnamese woman. Delaney's interrogation had gone non-stop for five hours until, without warning, he took out his revolver, put it to the woman's head, and blew her brains out. Little Jimmy became a man that night. He never left Delaney's side and, Gideon guessed, followed him into the world of terrorism later.

  Gideon tossed the report on the table. It did not matter anymore. There were more pressing matters to concern his troubled mind. Once more, he picked up the list of employees on duty on the seventh floor that day. He looked at the graveyard shift, and then the day shift. It was the umpteenth time Gideon sifted through the names as he tried to remember in his mind each and every one. Something just was not right but he could not put his finger on it. Then it hit him when he saw Cindy’s name on the list. She was the woman he saw enter the elevator. It puzzled him that she’d come back when her shift was over. Suddenly the door opened. Gideon put the list down, and then turned.

  "Oh, it's you," was all Gideon said, as he reached for the coffee cup, gulped it down. He glanced back at the sheets on the table.

  "You still at it?" Jake asked.

  Jake quickly walked over to the pot of coffee on the table, picked it up and poured himself a cup. He reached for Gideon's cup and topped it off. Jake stood leaning against the wall while lighting up another cigarette, his third in the last half hour. It was late, and both men were too tired to think straight anymore. All that kept either of them going was the caffeine intake and even that was not enough.

  "Thanks," Gideon mumbled under his breath.

  "Don't mention it." Jake yawned and then took a long drag on the cigarette while leaning his head on the wall. He looked around but saw nothing. He was too tired to even care anymore.

  "Talk to Rico's wife?" Gideon asked. It had been the third time Jake left to talk to her that evening.

  "It's not easy. Did I tell you she's expecting?" Jake looked down at Gideon.

  "You mentioned it." Gideon didn't want to say it was the fourth time that evening. Instead he took a sip of the hot liquid, then turned and asked. "You married?"

  "No." Jake exhaled.

  "They shouldn't allow cops to marry."

  Jake glanced at Gideon, laughed, and then asked. "Why would you say that?"

  "Too much pain. If they don't divorce us, we end up making them widows."

  "You being cynical because of this?" Jake asked, and then glanced around; he knew exactly what Gideon meant. He could not even find a girlfriend to put up with it, much less a wife.

  "Telling it like it is, that's all."

  Jake reached for the cup on the table and took a sip of coffee. He grimaced, before putting the cup back down. The coffee was as thick as Mississippi mud.

  "You've been looking at that list all night. Why don't you give it a rest?"

  "There's something missing."

  "Like what?" Jake asked. He flipped the chair around, then straddled it and glanced up at Gideon for a moment before looking back at the list.

  "I don't know exactly," Gideon replied, shrugging his shoulders. His head ached. Colby wanted answers he could not give, and he was too tired to think straight anymore.

  "It came right from Personnel. They verified it against the punch cards. Everyone who was on duty is on the list." Jake reached over and snapped his finger, hitting the sheets in Gideon's hand.

  "I was in the lobby about twenty minutes before Delaney died. There was this woman in a nurse's uniform who walked in." Gideon stopped for a moment, remembering the face that was embedded in his mind.

  "Just because she walked in doesn't mean anything."

  "The elevator stopped on the seventh."

  "So, maybe she worked up there. Maybe she didn't?" Jake said as he disregarded what Gideon was getting at.

  "Her name was Cindy Malone." Gideon set the list down and looked up at the clock.

&
nbsp; "I remember her," Jake added. A baffled look crossed his face as he picked up the list that lay on the table and stared at it for the longest time. "She's not on here," Jake turned to Gideon.

  "I know."

  Jake watched Gideon. "She was on duty yesterday, we talked. Cute blonde with the prettiest eyes."

  "You sure about that?"

  "Yeah, I remember the blondes." Jake said, and then glanced down at the list. "She got off on the seventh?"

  "Positive."

  "I think she goes back on duty tomorrow morning. The shift change was at eight. She'd finished rounds when I got here this morning."

  "Why would she come back?" Gideon asked, with a puzzled look on his face. "Are you sure she's a blonde?"

  "Yeah, about five one, with the most intense bedroom blue eyes you ever saw." Jake closed his eyes, smiled to himself when he remembered the young girl.

  "That's not the Cindy Malone I saw get on the elevator."

  "What did she look like?" Jake asked.

  Gideon reached in his wallet and handed Jake the picture of the sketch.

  "Do you always carry a composite?" Jake mocked.

  "No, it's a picture I've had for a while," Gideon replied, disregarding the remark. "The woman looked like this, except the hair. It was shorter."

  "Who is she?" Jake asked.

  "If only I knew." Gideon jotted Cindy's name on his yellow tablet with a few notations about checking her out.

  Jake laughed. "Let me get this straight. You carry this picture around and you don't know who she is?"

  "I don't want to talk about it," Gideon snapped.

  "Well, what do you want to talk about, the autopsy report?"

  "No, we already know he didn't die of natural causes." Gideon leaned back on the chair and stretched his arms behind his head, as he yawned.

  "We have lots of prints," Jake added as if Gideon did not already know.

  "Yeah, and I bet none matches the guy we're looking for."

  "What makes you so sure it's a man we're looking for?" Jake snapped.

  Gideon ripped the page off the tablet and tossed it in the wastebasket that was already filled to capacity. He glanced up at the clock again. It was too late to do anything more.

  "I'm calling it a day," Gideon said.

  "You got a place to stay?" Jake asked. He smashed the cigarette butt and then glanced up at Gideon.

  "I've got a flat I'm using for a few days."

  "You can come home with me, I have an extra bed. Besides, I could use some company tonight, if you know what I mean."

  "Rico the first partner you lost?" Gideon asked.

  "Does it show?"

  "Like I said, it never gets easy."

  "Don't you usually work in pairs?" Jake asked.

  "Not always. I prefer working alone."

  Gideon gulped the last of the coffee, and then tossed the cup in the wastebasket. He got up slowly. The day’s events clearly had an effect on his tired body. Gideon reached for the lists that were scattered about, tossed everything into his briefcase, and reached for his jacket.

  "Aren't you coming?" Gideon turned and asked.

  Jake tossed the half-filled cup of coffee into the wastebasket and then got up and followed Gideon to the door. Both men knew tomorrow would not be any better. There were no leads: all they had were three dead bodies, a girl who came to work but was not on duty, and a trail that was getting colder by the hour.

  * * *

  Louis Mendez spent the day dodging his bookie, Carlos. Louis had avoided his apartment, the pool hall, and all his old haunts for the last two days. He was slowly running out of holes to hide in. The one place he did not have to worry about seeing Carlos was when he was working as a janitor at the hospital. He was already ten minutes late when he pulled into the underground garage, parking his red-hot ’57 Chevy in back of the lot, away from all the other cars.

  It was Louis's job to clean at the hospital. The job required no skills. It was a job Louis relished, giving him time to study racing forms, and pick tomorrow's losers. His addiction made him a castaway in a city that hated losers. As soon as he hit a winner Carlos would be paid and his credit line increased. But until then, he had to stay low.

  Louis made his way to the janitor's supply room in the basement. It was not until the door swung closed and Carlos had Louis pinned to the wall that he realized his troubles were not over. The yellow, orange, and purple silk paisley shirt was all Louis focused on; he feared looking into Carlos's eyes. Carlos could always tell when he was lying.

  "Louis, you avoiding me?" Carlos said softly. Then the brass knuckles sent Louis doubling to the floor gasping for air. Carlos stepped back and admired his handiwork, while waiting for the excuses he knew would come.

  "No, Carlos." Louis struggled to talk. "I been busy," he gasped for a moment. "I look for you, but no find you."

  "You lie to me?" Carlos bent down and grabbed Louis by the scruff of the neck, and then quickly slapped the shaking man across the face.

  The young man crouched in the corner. "I got a sure winner for tomorrow's race."

  "Louis, you play me for a fool?" Carlos turned and raised his hand as if speaking to an audience. He then quickly turned to the man on the floor.

  "I pay you." Louis raised his hands, shielding his face from further blows.

  "We friends," Carlos quickly added as if to ease Louis's mind. He then turned around to the man in the shadows.

  "What you want of me?" Louis knew Carlos never let anyone off on their debts, and feared he would be made an example of.

  "You got five big ones?"

  "No," Louis said pathetically. He knew Carlos was onto him. "Carlos I promise, tomorrow I pay," he begged.

  Carlos shook his head. "It’s not good enough."

  "Please Carlos, I good for it. I no stiff you."

  "Louis, tell you what," Carlos said with a smile on his face, he glanced at the dark corner, and then turned back to Louis. "I have a friend," he pointed to the corner of the room. "He wants a favor. You do it, I give you time. Two days."

  "What he want?" Louis asked. He knew now they were not alone, but could barely make out the man in the shadows. Louis feared he was Carlos’s henchman, the one who broke arms and legs for a living.

  Carlos tightened his grip. "You do cleaning up on the seventh floor?"

  "Yeah," was all Louis could muster up to say. He listened intently, hoping in the end he would not lose his job for what Carlos asked.

  "There's a meeting room up there?"

  "Two," Louis corrected.

  Carlos turned to the stranger, and then continued. "Bring me garbage from each. You understand?"

  "And for this, you give me two days?"

  "One, if you ask more questions."

  "Okay, okay Carlos, no questions. Where you want it?"

  Carlos turned again to the stranger and then back to Louis. "Just bring it here. Drop it off and leave. Don't look back." Carlos twisted Louis' shirt, and then continued. "For this you get two days."

  Louis eagerly agreed. It was an easy task for two days’ extension. Louis picked up the mop, and then pushed the cart out of the room and made his way up to the seventh floor. He would start there tonight and work his way down, hoping to get it all behind him as soon as possible.

  The hospital was quiet. It was well after one in the morning. Patients were all tucked in for the night, and only a small crew was on duty to maintain order. No one paid any attention to Louis as he mopped the floor and made his way down the halls. The meeting rooms were the last rooms to be cleaned. He did not vary his routine or call attention to himself. Carlos and the stranger would be waiting for him in the basement where they would turn over the treasures he found.

  Louis did not know what he expected, but when he opened the meeting room, it looked like it did every night after an all-day session. He quickly emptied the wastebaskets of coffee-soaked garbage that reeked of stale cigarette butts. The containers of Chinese carry-out were open and their
contents coated the garbage he dumped into bags. All he was told to do was take it downstairs. Not to scrutinize its contents. And that was exactly what he did.

  * * *

  Jake's apartment was on the Lower East Side. It was a part of the city that was overrun in recent years by lowlifes, but Jake did not care. His grandparents still lived there along with his parents. It was a place he hoped to raise his own family someday. Jake's tiny apartment was on the second floor, but what Jake forgot to mention to Gideon was the second bed was a sofa.

  Gideon figured as much when they walked through the door and saw the sparsely furnished living room. The kitchenette was not much to speak of, and there was only one other door that led off the room besides the bathroom. Gideon figured Jake was desperate for company. The two never made it beyond the Jack Daniels bottle. They sat watching the tube, but not listening and talked about life in general, but nothing in particular. What Gideon really wanted was to call Beth to see if he could have the girls, but Jake was nonstop chatter. For obvious reasons he avoided sleep that night.

  Jake reached for the bottle and filled Gideon's glass to the brim before filling his again. "How long you been divorced?" Jake asked.

  Gideon was sure he covered this, but shrugged it off. "Three years," he said. Gideon was annoyed, feeling more like a babysitter that night, than anything else.

  Jake shook his head, slurring his words as he slapped Gideon's knee. "She shouldn't have done that to you."

  The liquor was talking. Jake knew nothing about Gideon's life. For all Jake knew Gideon was a real heel when it came to women and, in fact, if you listened to Beth tell it, he was. Gideon picked up the glass and downed half the contents.

  "Life hasn't been easy for her," Gideon said in Beth's defense.

  "Whose life is?" Jake slurred.

  "There were times she needed me," Gideon stopped for a moment. It hurt to say the words. "I wasn't there for her." Gideon added, but somehow it did not make him feel any better.

  "Duty called."

  "Yeah, but she didn't ask for that life."