Bloody Politics

by Maggie Sefton

That reminded me of something. “Hey, would you check on Loretta, just to make sure nobody strange has shown up? Because of all these things happening, I haven’t talked to her in a couple of days.”

  “Don’t worry. I already have. I checked over there yesterday evening after I left here. All was quiet. No strangers, no problems. And she’s really glad she has the security. Even though she complains about the lights coming on.” He grinned.

  “Oh, thank you, Casey. That’s sweet of you,” I said, making sure I didn’t betray my delight that Casey had gone to visit Loretta on his own.

  “No problem. She was making red beans and rice. They were delicious.” He winked.

  This time I couldn’t hide my smile. “And you didn’t bring me any? You dog. You tell Loretta to send me some authentic red beans and rice next time you see her.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell her,” he said with a grin as he headed down the hallway.

  Red beans and rice, huh? That’s how it starts. I smiled all the way to my office.

  Mid-morning

  I tabbed through the spreadsheet on one of Peter’s rental properties, completely immersed in expenses, so I didn’t notice Luisa standing in the doorway.

  “Molly, while you were on the phone a few minutes ago, I received a call on the residence line for you.”

  I broke the spreadsheet trance and glanced up. “Oh, really? Who would call me on the residence line?”

  “It was the D.C. Animal Welfare Control. The man said your neighbor had called to report a stray cat wandering in her yard and threatening her.” Luisa looked puzzled. “I figured it must be the big tabby that hangs around your house. You said he’s been there since you moved in last spring.”

  I sank back in the desk chair. “Yes, that’s gotta be Bruce. He’s been, uh … courting the neighbor’s pedigree, white Persian kitty. So this woman has been complaining about Bruce whenever she sees me.”

  “Well, that man said she filed an official complaint so he had to go over and bait a trap for your cat. Some sort of special cage that he put inside the garage. He’ll be back later this afternoon to pick him up and take him to the shelter.”

  “Oh, damn! I’d better go over there and see if Bruce is caught in the cage. Darnit! I was just getting into those spreadsheets. Nothing got accomplished Friday, so I wanted to make progress on them today.”

  “You’d better go over there now. I’ve heard tell those Animal Shelter fees are outrageous,” Luisa warned. “I’ve heard if you go to the shelter yourself, you can save some money on fines.”

  Annoyed, I pushed away from my chair and slipped on my suit jacket hanging over the back. “He’s not even my cat,” I protested. “Who knows where Bruce disappears to every night. His owner never shows up. No ID, nothing.”

  “He’s a mystery kitty,” Luisa teased as she walked into the hall.

  Mystery kitty. Pain in the ass, kitty. I grabbed my purse and phone and headed out of my office. It was still sunny and warm so it would be a fast walk back to my house. No need to call Jeremy.

  _____

  I heard Bruce’s loud meow as I walked up my driveway. He must have recognized my footsteps. A raucous meow, hoarse-sounding and coming from the garage. There was a yellow paper taped to the garage door. I yanked it off and read. It was an official ticket. From the D.C. Department of Animal Control. Damn! Handwritten itemized fines for animal control and entrapment, cage, and service call for a grand total of $675! “Dammit, Bruce! You just cost me $675, and you’re not even my cat!”

  Bruce meowed even louder, protesting the cage, no doubt. I punched in the garage code and watched the door rattle upwards. There in the back of the garage was Bruce, clawing inside a black cage. Meowing even louder.

  “Quiet down, Bruce. I’ve gotta take you to Animal Control,” I said as I walked inside the garage. I noticed the door to the backyard was open and an empty can of tuna was inside the cage. “That’s how he caught you, Bruce. It was the tuna.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat, you know,” a man’s voice sounded suddenly.

  I jumped back instinctively. I saw a man emerge from behind boxes I had stacked in the corner of the garage. Even in the dim light, I recognized the priest’s wide face, minus the glasses. Even the smile was the same. But there was a difference. This guy had a gun in his hand. Trask. I froze, my heart in my throat.

  “You …” was all I could say.

  His smile spread wider. “Yeah, it’s me. I figured it was time we finally met face-to-face.”

  “You were the one following me at the gallery.”

  “And everywhere else. Don’t play innocent, Molly. You already knew that. Those security guys have been trying to find me for weeks. That’s why I thought it was time to wrap this up.” He raised the gun.

  I stared at it. “Are … are you gonna shoot me?”

  “Not yet. I want DiMateo to get over here first. That way, he can watch me kill you. Before I kill him.” His wide smile disappeared. “Get your cell phone.” He pointed to the bag I’d dropped on the garage floor. “We’re gonna send him a text.”

  Bruce started meowing again as I backed up a few steps to retrieve my purse.

  “Damn cat is driving me crazy.” Trask aimed his gun at the cage.

  “No!” I yelled. “Don’t shoot him! I—I’ll let him go! Please!”

  Trask gave me a dark smile. “All right, Molly. Last wishes. Let him out.”

  I quickly bent down and fumbled with the cage latch until it gave way, Bruce screeching all the while. The cage door swung open and Bruce streaked out of the garage like a rocket. I watched him enviously as he raced to safety down the driveway.

  “Okay. Get the damn phone now.”

  I grabbed my purse and fumbled inside for my phone, feeling it beneath my keys. My car keys. I grabbed my phone and my keys, slipping my phone into one hand and holding my keys against my purse as I dropped it to the floor. “Here it is,” I held up the phone to Trask while concealing the keys in my other hand.

  “Okay, find his name in the directory, and give it to me,” Trask directed, holding out his gun-free hand.

  I scrolled through the directory to Danny’s name and pressed the message button. Then I handed over the phone.

  Trask took it and started to enter a message. “Come quick. I need you.’ That ought to do it.”

  While his fingers worked the keys, I dropped the car keys into my jacket pocket.

  Trask returned the phone. “That ought to bring him running. He’s probably not too far away.”

  I dropped the phone into my other pocket. “Prestige has probably seen you on the cameras already.” I pointed outside.

  Trask snickered. “They don’t know it’s me. I showed up in the D.C. Animal Control uniform with the cage and put the notice on the garage door. Then I opened up a can of tuna all on camera and took the cage around back into the garage. That’s when both the cameras on this side of the house started skipping, messing up the video. Funny thing about electronics. They’re easy to screw up.”

  My heart was beating so loudly I was sure Trask could hear it. I had to find a way to distract him. Slow him down until Danny could get here. And, then … and then what? We’d both get shot? I didn’t have an answer. And I didn’t know what to do. Except maybe distract Trask. Throw him off, somehow. Maybe I could try making a run for it like Bruce.

  That thought made my gut clench even more. I wouldn’t get very far. Danny would simply find my dead body, which would make it even easier for Trask to kill him. There was only one thing I could do to distract him. I shoved both hands into my jacket pockets. Fingering my car keys.

  Suddenly my phone buzzed. A message from Danny. It had to be. I flipped open the phone and read Danny’s message. “I’ll be right there. Five minutes, max,” I read out loud. Trask grabbed the phone from me and read the message himself, then smiled. �
��Okay. Five minutes to go.”

  I debated whether I should wait closer to the five minutes to use my keys or do it now.

  “Sorry, Molly. But I can’t let you send out any goodbye phone messages. They’d be too hard to explain. I’m going to make it look like a murder-suicide. Lovers’ quarrel, whatever. D.C. cops are overworked anyway,” he said sarcastically.

  That was it. I couldn’t wait another minute. I pressed the alarm button on my car keys, and the horn started blaring on my car parked in the driveway. Lights flashed, horn blared, making a terrible racket.

  “What the hell!” Trask yelled.

  I raised both hands in surrender and backed up. “It’s not me! Something happened!”

  “Shut that thing off!” he snarled, advancing on me.

  Suddenly Danny burst through the garage back door, gun in hand. Trask whirled around, but it wasn’t fast enough. Danny cracked Trask across the face with his weapon. Trask reeled sideways and tumbled backwards over the empty cage onto the concrete floor.

  Danny jumped over the cage and stomped Trask’s wrist twice. Hard. Trask yelled in pain as Danny kicked the weapon away. He backhanded Trask again. Then Danny yanked him up off the floor and slammed him against the wall.

  Trask moaned, obviously in pain. Blood streamed down his face as Danny searched Trask’s jacket, pockets, under his shirt, pants leg, ankles. He tossed a knife and another smaller pistol out onto the garage floor.

  “Damn you,” Trask snarled, cradling his wrist.

  “Shut up, Trask. Your wrist is broken, that’s all. The only reason I didn’t kill you is I don’t want to have to explain your mangy corpse to the D.C. cops. I’ll let your friends take care of you.” Danny picked up Trask’s two pistols and knife and tossed them onto the shelf.

  At the first blow, I had scurried to the other side of the garage to watch, shutting off the car alarm first.

  “Sonofabitch,” Trask glared at him again.

  “You’re wasting time, Trask. That wrist is gonna have to be set. I’m pretty sure I snapped all the bones. You’re gonna have to go to your place, grab some cash, and make a run for it.” He checked his watch. “We’ve had two days to send out the word to all your old buddies in Columbia and the Congo. Remember them, Trask?”

  I watched the color drain from Trask’s face as he stared at Danny. Hatred, pure and ugly.

  “Well, they remember you. And how you got away years ago. And they’ve had plenty of time to contact their people here. So, I figure you’ve got a fifty-fifty shot at getting away this time. Forget about the boat. We had it seized and locked up. There’s a chain on it now in the marina.”

  If looks could kill, Danny would surely drop dead that minute. “Motherf—” Trask let out a stream of curses. Danny stood, unfazed.

  “Get your ass outta here, Trask, before I break your other wrist. Your friends are probably already at the airport. So you’d better take a bag of new disguises. I sent them photos of all your others.”

  Trask kept his mouth shut this time, pushed himself away from the wall and headed out of the garage. He turned just once to glare at Danny and me.

  “Time’s up …” Danny said, advancing on him. At that, Trask broke into a limping run, down the driveway. He turned left and headed down P Street. It was after four o’clock now, so the sun was getting close to setting.

  I turned to stare at Danny. “Where were you? How’d you get around back without us seeing you?”

  Danny gave me a crooked smile. “I snuck back to the house after we left this morning. I’ve been here all day. I had a feeling Trask was gonna make a move soon. So I was able to see him when he came over in the Animal Control uniform.” He snorted disdainfully. “Then Prestige saw the video feeds spiked, so they knew he was up to something. Of course I saw him sneaking into the back of the garage.”

  “Where were you?”

  “I was hidden behind the garden shed outside, watching from a crevice I’d made in the back of the garage.” Danny pointed to the right rear corner. “I figured he was setting a trap. Then you showed up and I could hear what he planned. I had to wait till he turned around or something distracted him. Otherwise, he’d see me as soon as I came in the door. Then he’d shoot you first. I couldn’t risk that. I was about to call on your phone to distract him, then you did.” He pulled me into his embrace. “That was you with the car alarm, I knew it. Quick thinking.”

  I slipped my arms around him and stared into his face. We were still alive. So far. “He’s not coming back, is he? I mean … that was true what you said, right? About his friends coming to get him?”

  Danny kissed me lightly on the lips. “We won’t be seeing him again. He’s made a bunch of really badass enemies. And they will take care of Trask. Either before he leaves the country, or more likely, once he lands abroad somewhere. He won’t last forty-eight hours.”

  “Promise?” I said, realizing how bloodthirsty I sounded. I didn’t give a damn.

  “Promise,” Danny said, then leaned down and gave me a real kiss.

  Monday evening

  Larry Fillmore walked down the hallway to the office door bearing the nameplate, Spencer Graham Associates. He licked his dry lips twice, then tried the door. It was locked. So he knocked lightly, twice.

  Within seconds, the door opened and a man he’d never seen before at Spencer’s office appeared. An Asian man. He stared impassively at Larry.

  “I—I’m Larry Fillmore. I had a text message from Spencer Graham that I was to meet his associate here at six this evening.”

  “You may come in,” the man said, stepping back and opening the door for Larry to enter.

  Larry looked around Spencer’s office, hoping to see him, but he was nowhere. “Is … is Spencer here?”

  “No, he is not,” the man said, walking toward the door to Spencer’s inner office. “His associate is expecting you.”

  Larry obediently followed the man into Spencer’s office. That luxurious inner sanctum Larry had only been privileged to visit once. Instead of the savvy, hard-drinking lobbyist and manipulator sitting behind the mahogany desk, a slender Asian man sat there, smoking a cigarette. Gray streaked through this man’s jet-black hair. High cheekbones, thin face, and dark eyes. Larry could spot expensive tailoring even behind the desk. Gold cuff links also caught the light from the decorative hanging light above.

  “Good evening, Mr. Fillmore,” the man said as Larry approached the desk. “Thank you for coming. I am an associate of Spencer Graham and will be handling this transition.”

  “And you are?” Larry ventured.

  The man gave a small, cold smile. “I am one of his associates. Spencer won’t be returning, I’m afraid. He suffered a health crisis after he left Washington a few days ago. He’s resting abroad.”

  Larry got a bad feeling, hearing the words “health crisis.” “Uh, I’m sorry to hear that. Please … please convey my sympathies.”

  The man took a long draw on his cigarette, then blew out a stream of white smoke. “I’ll be sure to. The reason my associates and I asked you here, Mr. Fillmore, is to convey the message that we expect you to act with the utmost discretion if asked about Spencer’s whereabouts. We request that you relay only the information conveyed to you. A health crisis prevents Spencer’s return to the United States, and his company is presently being liquidated. Do you understand, Mr. Fillmore?”

  Larry tried to swallow around the large lump of fear that had risen in his throat. It started when the man raised his hand to his mouth with the cigarette. Larry recognized the huge gold ring with an enormous diamond on the man’s left hand.

  Spencer Graham’s ring. An original, custom-design, that Spencer once said: “Never leaves my hand.”

  Ice formed around the lump in Larry’s throat now, so it took a couple of tries to find his voice. “Y-y-yes … I understand. His health is bad. Can’t ret
urn.”

  The small, cold smile returned. “Excellent. We appreciate your cooperation. You may show Mr. Fillmore out now.”

  The other man simply walked over to the office door and held it open. Larry bobbed his head once—in obedience, submission, whatever—backed up a couple of steps then turned and walked from the office. It was all Larry could do not to run.

  Wednesday afternoon

  I felt the warmth of a tropical breeze brush against my bare skin and it felt good. Danny and I were both lying in our swimsuits on a chaise lounge beneath the shade of a palm tree. The gorgeous turquoise blue-green water of Turks and Caicos Islands stretched before us. Practically deserted because it was still officially hurricane season, the island was perfect. Peaceful and quiet, sunny and warm. Exactly what Danny and I needed. Fresh seafood and tropical fruits awaited us. Delicious, fruity libations already brought a welcome drowsiness as we lay in each others’ arms.

  And, yet … my eyelids couldn’t stay closed for long. I let the turquoise water lull me and the tropical birds perched above squawked their melodies, and I tried again. Resting my face against Danny’s bare chest, I felt his heart beating beneath my hand. Thank God.

  “You still haven’t relaxed. I can feel it beneath your skin,” he said quietly.

  “I can’t help it. I try. But it doesn’t work.”

  “I know.” He kissed my forehead. “It’ll get easier.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise. We just have to do this more. Practice.”

  “Practice. Okay.”

  I watched a seagull ride the air currents above the ocean, floating on the breeze, before he folded his wings and dove like an arrow into the surf. That gull might have looked like he was relaxing on the breeze, but he wasn’t. He was always watching the busy surf below.

  “Can we ever really relax, Danny? I mean, like not worry?”

  Danny sighed beneath my hand. “That’s different. We can learn to relax but still pay attention. Then we don’t have to worry … so much.” He kissed the top of my head.

  That made sense, I supposed. As much sense as we were ever going to have from all of this. It was over. Danny showed me the photo he received of Trask’s dead body—shot through the forehead. Then he assured me the rest of the rats had headed for their hideouts. I didn’t care where they went, as long as it wasn’t around me … or my friends.