Lost By The River

by David Moynihan

  “Aw, let her go,” I slurred, right up on top of them, with my hands reaching for her arm. The fellah holding her moved to stop me, paused, then punched straight up at my face. I caught his arm in my left, slapped him to the curb with the bottle in my right hand. Beer spilled. He bled. A waste of two fluids, one precious. In the cop nightmare she'd jump me for smacking her man, but Alys hopped up, turned, spat on him. The rag-toter reached for a gun. I slipped my 9mm against his head. He dropped his hands fast and I felt in control, until a car door behind me opened.

  I spun, holding textile man between me and the and erupting vehicle, gun still close to his head, hoping someone cared about him. From the back of the car, a familiar face. It was one of the attendees at the great Agate unveiling. I wanted to ask the man if there'd been leftover sandwiches, but it didn't seem the time.

  Silence all around. Alys edged away. Honored guest barked something foreign. She stopped.

  “You are, perhaps, more skilled than your appearances this morning let on, Mr. Drake,” said the man.

  “Mom always said I underachieved. And you are?”

  “Yuen. I am an executive with one of the mainland's top pharmaceutical companies. We would have had a more formal introduction this afternoon, but you were then, as now, involved in the beating of someone foreign-born.

  I shrugged aside for a moment, smacked the tailor's apprentice on the back of his neck with my pistol, let him down gently and moved towards Yuen.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You gotta score so many points a day or they take away your season tickets. Enough. What the hell are you doing here?” My gun hand waved toward the car. Yuen motioned to his driver. Seeing my success with the lady, all the dudes eyed me coldly. Jealous losers.

  “As you are, Mr. Drake, I am seeking the location of Dr. Ansbach. This girl,” Yuen pointed at the lass, who stared at us both uncomprehendingly, “is supposed to have information on his whereabouts. I suspect she has not been forthcoming with my men. We will take her back, and learn what she knows, and she will return home.”

  “Ought to be up to her to leave paradise.”

  “Yes. Ought to. In this case it is not. If you will excuse me, Mr. Drake—” he made a move for the girl. I fired two shots at his feet, missing them by inches.

  “Wrong. She will go with me. You will leave my presence. I will find out anything she might know. You will hope I never see you again. We have about 2 minutes until the cops come in droves. I'm used to explanations. Are you?”

  He stared for a moment. Grimaced. Cursed in Chinese at his two followers on the ground. Heard sirens in the distance. Got in his car and left, leaving his minions behind. I motioned to the girl. She stared at me.

  “Hurry!” I barked.

  She hurried. I took her to the car. We drove around to the other side of the beer store, waited as two dozen officers arrived on the scene, reeking of donuts, too late to do anything but discover the pair on the ground were neither dead nor particularly informative.

  Even with a professional, it can be tough to start a conversation. First I went right for it. “Doctor?” I asked, making pained expressions. No, she indicated, rubbing her hands over the bruised area to show nothing broken. I did the “Home?” bit, faking my head against a pillow. She looked at me bleakly. An entire life story, involving impoverished parents, lost loves and a darkened container ship, went before my eyes, but I figured it just a flashback to some original programming I'd seen once on the chick channel.

  When I offered her Ansbach's name she looked at me warily, then reached over to smooth her torn half-robe over her knees. Whatever they did, it wasn't about the talking, so I dropped her off at a battered woman's shelter with a couple grand and my card. Number on the back was an aces fake paper guy who spoke Chinese and owed me several. If she remembered anything, I'd hear it, but I wasn't optimistic and didn't want to waste time.

  Luckily, I made it to a second beer store before closing.

  SIX

  Keeping with my recent bout of professionalism, I slept 'til nearly noon. On my return to consciousness, I saw my right hand swollen to the size of a pumelo from the good Korean store. I soaked the digits in epsom salts and sat at my desk, wrist in the pot, slowly navigating the interweb lefty as the pain ebbed away.

  There was a trading halt on Agate Pharmaceuticals.

  Tough to tab over in a one-handed condition, but after a few missed passwords and a near account lockup my bank balance still showed the check clearing. I tabbed back to the finance sites. No volume; not moving. I checked the news. Trading Halt on Agate Pharmaceuticals. More news: News Pending. Earlier: click to find info about a pending story that might be forthcoming, story-wise. Helpful, the information superhighway.

  I went to check the message boards, they were frozen. Other boards—nothing. No interest. Nada. Puzzled, I checked websites for the area's print and ink sites, caught a glimpse of an interesting story.

  AREA EXECUTIVE REPORTED MISSING.

  BLOOD FOUND IN HOME.

  After a couple flubs with my registration hack, it let me in.

  Potomac, Md.

  Investors from the District and Montgomery were searching the 2 1/2 acre estate of Agate Pharm CEO Tim Harrigan. The firm, which by all reports is in the closing stages of selling all or a part of itself to major life sciences interests, had expected Harrigan at work early this morning for another meeting with key figures in the negotiations.

  Harrigan, a 1984 Graduate of Georgetown Med, had served as CEO of Agate since he and a partner acquired technology developed by Dr. Roger Ansbach used in developing experimental drugs for the treatment of cancer and other fatal diseases. Initially, Agate was only one of many companies in the duo's staple, but a slowdown in the biotech sector and certain high-profile drug failures forced him to shutter other interests, including...

  The neighborhood where Harrigan's estate is located has been plagued by home invasions and burglaries recently. A source with the Montgomery County police department speculated that perhaps the executive surprised his assailant, but with Harrigan's location uncertain the source would not go further.

  Harrigan, 56, is divorced, with two children by his wife. She has not been identified pending notification. The children live with their mother.

  I almost didn't recognize the lot outside Agate. It was full. Calls to the VP babe had gone unanswered, and my appointment with Ansbach's go-to gal wasn't 'til after lunch. Reporters from a pair of financial news channels had set up outside, the staid bureau chiefs demanding gossipy goodness from their on-air “talent.” Police and finance made for ratings-grabbing headlines. Well, better ratings than solo finance. But the golf club makers want to sell to a certain level of income...

  Some time after giving up on resolving the marketing debate, I saw my contracting exec out front, perched discretely near the back of the throng. She confident eyed me during her chatter. A few heads turned my way. I sat through the attention by imagining myself as piece of camouflage, albeit an underdressed 6'3'', 240 model. One of the cameramen on duty looked familiar to me. He smiled. I snarled back. Execgal, realizing her error in acknowledging my presence, said “excuse me,” to her interrogators.

  “Go right in. Put it on my desk,” she said to me. Repeating the phrase with a more condescending tone. My videographing friend looked puzzled at this, but he was having difficulties of his own with the on-air talent, a gal so new her cheekbones hadn't yet graduated to the razor sharpness of a professional journalist; that angular product of stress, bulimia and surgery we expect from our gatekeepers. A puzzled wave from him sent me away; clutching at my pocket like I had something important there besides cigarettes. His smirk helped to drown out titters from the assembled brain trust.

  I wandered past the whispering, huddled Agate staffers, moved to her desk and sat down, wishing only I'd muddy boots on to claim her territory as my own. But, then, you can't plan for every eventuality, no matter what they teach you. Bored, I surfed her computer, zapped all her nea
tly categorized emails and personal documents to my flash drive, and checked to see whether Agate would ever trade again. It had. Investors knew the value of a CEO. Shares were up slightly on medium volume.

  News on Agate, apart from the incessant drone about on “investigation ongoing,” dried up. Execgal strolled in to her office, face on satisfied, stoked to etch out a few tons of PR fluff for rewriting on the evening shows. I looked dully at her.

  “Anything to tell me, Mr. Drake?”

  “Maybe. I still on this? Can't much keep it quiet now. You can have your check back.”

  “I—what? Mr. Drake, your services are—”

  “Exemplary, I know. But what the hell do you need me for? Part of the job is keep the cameras away. My basic strategy for doing this is give 'em my best side: the back of my head, moving away quickly.

  “I—no, Mr. Drake, you don't understand. You didn't answer the phone this morning, and I...”

  “Blew it. There's other work in the offing. Just checking the metro reports. Bust here, assault there. Simple things, I can really go to town.”

  “Mr. Drake, if it's a matter of your fee, I—maybe—have you found anything?”

  “Some girls. Ansbach got around. There's an appointment with another, later today. Figure it out from there.”

  “I—Ansbach 'got around?' He never socialized... I'd not thought—”

  “Lady, you've taken biology. It's like what cells do, only with appendages, and the parameciums don't go at it until a set amount of nutrient slides across. Didn't take me long to figure out, whoever else you get can work it from here. Here's what's left of your cash, you can stop payment on that check, probably easiest.” I turned and went for the door.

  “Wait,” she said, and came racing toward me. I had none of it, backed toward the door, spun, and felt the edge of it thwack against my nose.

  “Cameron,” said my attacker, “Cameron, I just heard. Really, I hope this doesn't mean anything regarding your compound. As you know, were we to restart trials, I'm sure approval with my agency could be gained in as little as three years. Somebody must want to take this to the market. It's a cure; we believe. But the testing has to be there—oh, have we met?”

  I looked at him coldly, wondered if I could smack the guy around. He was small. Delicate. Maybe quick. My hand still hurt.

  “... terribly sorry. You must understand; it's such an exciting time right now. We really don't have very many moments of—I'm Dr. Hannigan. Can I help you with that? Your nose seems to be bleeding. No. Really. Dreadful. Anyway, Cameron, what can we do about this now? You must know we're willing to...”

  “Dr. Hannigan. I appreciate your concerns. And I thank you. But it's a business decision, and right now we're not sure who's going to be in charge, whether it's a temporary situation, or...”

  “Right. Yes. I know. Horrific headlines. This morning. But, ah, Dr. Ansbach, where is he? Can I talk to him at least?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “I'm—what? Where IS HE?”

  “He's not in the office now.”

  “Not in the office, at this most important of junctures—why, that's—do the media know? Is it possible? How could two officers of this company...”

  “No, no, no. We have no worries on that score,” Cameron said quickly. “You've dealt with Dr. Ansbach before. You understand how difficult he can be... at times unapproachable. It's worked out well for this organization to deal with him. In fact, this gentleman here—” she pointed to me, drawing attention once more to the blood dripping from a scrape on my cheek ”—will be putting us in touch with Dr. Ansbach shortly.”

  “Is that—well, by God. Young man, come with me. You must know just how important this situation is. Literally billions of dollars—and the lives of many unfortunates, we cannot forget that. No, cannot forget that. Life is so precious, that's why we inspect every detail. Every single one. And I can't even comment on matters, for you or any of the hoard outside, but I tell you this company is important. Yes. So, you, run along, and fix that dreadful cut, but tell me, where is he?” Hannigan pushed me towards the door; I was somewhat off-balance, figured the only way to extricate myself was lay him out flat. I'd do that if he kept touching me, but he stopped. Cameron looked at me. I snarled.

  “Catch up to him soon. Tough guy to track. Likes to stay incommunicado.”

  “And you're the best man for it—the best. I can see that about you. And stoic. Yes. A real stoic. Tell me, is there a military background?”

  “Marines. Six years.

  “I knew. Of course. What rank, soldier?”

  “Marine. Low.”

  “Yes, surely—”

  “They kicked me out early. 'Failure to show significant progress.' Is this important?”

  “Important? No. No, I suppose it isn't. But failure—that I don't see. Insubordinate, perhaps...”

  I slid past.

  “Wait, Mr. Drake,” said Cameron. “Your envelope.” She dropped waved the loot at me, its thickness having mysteriously increased. Like a junkie my hands involuntarily reached for the fix. Walk away. Run. And kick the crap out of that loser just to burn the bridge.

  I grabbed the dough, headed for the door. Inside were some options granting me the right to buy 2,000 shares of Agate at 20% of the listed price, for an instant profit of $20k more. The vanished CEO's signature lay on them. No sign of blood.

  I was in this.

  In the car, I tried to slide the option packet under the seat. Kept pulling it up to look at it; do the investor math. You obsess on the possibilities. Only thing I could do to keep from mental addition was visit a hooker.

  SEVEN

  Eveline's house was one of those new-built giants, behind wrought gates and a hedge-strewn rolling drive, thousands of square feet and huge windows where our modern wealthy could look out on an empire of a quarter or half-acre, depending on zoning. Still there was something special about the angle of the place, set against the hillside, impetuous, bold, and every shrub just so.

  Word was it was a solo operation. Starred reviews praised her maturity, especially “if you're into MILF-y,” no two-call verification, and no need to remind on discretion. She advertised, but discretely. And never a word from the neighbors or the cops.

  I felt under-dressed.

  Eveline came to the door in a flourish, with a smile and a swirl of silk that promised something. Before I'd spoken she had me inside, my coat off, and despite a long look at me, found something in my forlorn appearance to praise.

  “Mr. Drake,” she said warmly after greeting me with a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Oh, but you're a strong one, aren't you? Bet you can bench a ton. You'll just have to show me.”

  “Have a workout room?” I asked.

  “Girl's gotta stay fit. We can visit it if you'd like. But first, let me get you something to drink. Would you care to freshen up?”

  Remembering the dad line about not turning down a breath mint, I took her up on the offer, wandered into a bidet lounge with an image of my hostess, Manet-style, nude and insouciant with maid and flowers. Retro. I scrubbed my face, concentrated on who played the maid, reset, and returned.

  She'd sized me up, and dressed down, but only halfway, open robe setting up a firm bod wrapped in seams and stitchings. A stunning view, but I had work to do.

  “I'm here about a guy,” I said.

  She whimpered for a sec, looked close at me, half-closed the robe, thought better, blinked, and then all business.

  “What?”

  “A customer. Regular. Need to find him.”

  “I wouldn't know...”

  “You'd know quite a bit. Classy how you do it. It's important. Man's a doctor. Gone missing. His boss is missing too. There's blood, and the people who make a living smelling it. I find him, you don't get a bunch of cops on the doorstep. Press too.”

  “Really, Mr.—”

  “Drake.”

  “Mr. Drake, I couldn't for the life of me guess what is that you're referring
too.”

  “Sweetheart, we're past the coyness phase. I doubt any man could see ya without wanting a closer peek and souvenir photos. Cops get the classy ones too. Man's name was Ansbach. He paid. A lot. When did you last speak with him? And did he hang anywhere else?”

  “Well, this has been a disappointing encounter, Mr. Drake.”

  “Sorry for any letdowns. Always figure my record with the ladies precedes me. Certainly been enough exes to spread the word. Ansbach?”

  “He—hmm.

  “You're too smart for threats. I'm too old. Bad things will happen. Soon. If I don't drag him up. Where? A lovenest? A cabin? A gutter? Where?”

  “I—”

  “Tent near the Patapsco? Favorite spot by Anacostia where the rats saunter into pistol range? Where?”

  She stood silent for a minute. Paused to cover herself. Became businesslike, in that DMV clerk way so many women have.

  “Someplace more exotic.”

  “Overseas? I checked his passport.”

  “No. Baltimore.”

  “What?”

  “Joke. There's a club on the East side there.

  “And...”

  “Not his style.”

  In the game of dozens, whoever flips out and attacks the other party loses. I don't like to lose, so I grabbed her remote, flipped on the plasma screen, switched away from the home decorating channel to the financial reports. A recap of the Agate debacle was live on screen. I saw myself at the edge of the picture, scowled when I saw they'd caught my good side.

  “Talk to me or talk to them,” I repeated.

  She went silent, eyes all on the screen. I waited for her to tell me how bad I looked... but her eyes were fixed on the quote scroller. It was in the F's, so we'd have a long time to wait, but the trading halt got mentioned, with the share price hold.

  Her eyes went unnatural green as she stared, like a muppet in contract dispute. I waited. She walked to the kitchen, grabbed keys, went downstairs, slipped aside a framed reprint of some geisha, treated it delicately enough that I realized the thing wasn't a reprint. Her hands switched around, opened a safe, and pulled out envelopes as I watched.