by Ray Flynt
I used the time to acquaint Ellie with Oliver, explaining how he worked on the same floor as Ron. An awkward silence followed, until she glanced at me with a crooked grin. “Ron’s had a tough day.”
I arched a brow as if to ask how-so? When she didn’t take my clue, I cleared my throat. “What happened?”
Ellie leaned in to me. “I was at his apartment earlier when he received a phone call. I overheard part of the conversation although I don’t know all the details.” She peered over my shoulder to see if he might be returning. “It sounded like a bill collector. Kind of altered his mood.”
“Whose mood?” Ron bellowed from the opposite direction from where he’d left. He either got lost or found a shortcut back from the loo.
Ellie cooed. “Just girl talk about Councilman Parson…you know,” she gestured toward me, “training the new recruit.”
The waitress hustled over with another old fashioned in hand. Even though we were still working on our entrees, she asked Ron if we wanted dessert.
She knows a big spender when she sees one.
“Of courth.” He accompanied his slurred speech by toasting the air with his drink.
Ellie patted her tummy in an I’m-stuffed gesture.
On the other hand, Oliver loves dessert. He grinned, dropped the fork of unfinished pasta onto his plate, and shoved it away from him. “Sounds good to me.”
Gotta love his playful grin.
Ron guzzled his drink while I reminded him of my question about his relationship with Councilman Parson.
“Ah, Parson’s okay.” He batted the air. “Brings a lot of clients into the firm. But he needs to watch his back.”
“What’d ’ya mean, Ron?” I wondered if Needell was one of the insiders familiar with the Attorney General’s investigation.
His jowls glowed crimson and he dismissed my question with a wild wave of his arm. “I’ve said too much.”
I shot him a wink along with a big grin. “Not among friends.”
Ellie planted her elbows on the table. “You said Parson needs to watch his back…you must be talking about the Dragon Lady.”
Ron’s body wobbled in her direction, as he lifted Ellie’s chin with his index finger and announced, loud enough to draw glares from a neighboring table, “We have a winner. Ellie guessed the bitch right.”
Ellie’s gaze dropped, before she glanced at me with H-E-L-P written on her face.
“Let’s order coffee.” I motioned for the waitress, and Ellie mumbled, “Good idea.”
“Coffee all around,” I requested as the waitress passed our table.
Ron lunged for his old fashioned when Ellie tried to hand the unfinished drink to our server.
He grew loud and arm-wrestled Ellie for the glass, which developed into him groping for her chest until she slapped his hand away. The only thing less appealing than a creepy guy is a drunken creepy guy. The rest of us did our best to cajole, distract, and pull Ron back from the precipice of embarrassment. I shoved coffee toward him, while Oliver tried to engage Ron on sports. “What do you think of the Phillies’ prospects this season?”
“Fuck the Phillies,” Ron grumbled, attracting dirty looks from a couple of guys sitting at the bar watching a televised Grapefruit League pre-season game featuring the Phillies and Blue Jays.
I apologized to Ellie for raising the topic of Carmen. “She seems to drive him bonkers.”
Ellie offered a weak smile. “I’m not sure what Carmen ever did to him, but the Dragon Lady seems to have earned her nickname.”
Ron reared his head back. “Earned it? Hell, she promotes it. Carmen’s got a dragon tattoo right where her pubic hair oughta be.”
Ellie’s wide-eyed, tortured expression, directed toward Ron, will likely stick with me for a long time. Matched only by the surge of realization on Ron’s face after he’d divulged too much information.
I doubted Ellie would be returning to Ron’s apartment for the night.
20
The only good thing to come from our evening at the bistro was a free dinner. I’m not sure my indigestion, provoked by Ron’s behavior, and the vodka- and soda-induced headache were worth it.
Oliver and I walked back to his apartment in silence. Ron lived on the first floor of the same building, but we last saw him heading in the opposite direction as he sobered up in the cool night air while chasing after Ellie.
Safely inside, I braced my back against Oliver’s door. “Thank God that’s over.”
He wandered into the bedroom. “I was all psyched for their tiramisu until you ladies bailed out on the idea.”
At least I know where his head was during the evening.
“Hard to imagine that Ron is one of the AG’s insiders at the firm.”
“I agree.” Oliver stripped out of his clothes preparing to visit the bathroom. “I still think it’s my boss, Kate Bignell.”
Kate made sense, or possibly her brother, Isaac, the firm’s managing partner. He’d be privy to lots of information and could’ve blown the whistle on Parson.
Although he’d refused to confirm, Tulverson had hinted there might be more than one mole in the law firm. Bernice might even be a good candidate. In the same way that I didn’t know any other AG insiders, she wouldn’t suspect me.
I heard Oliver running the shower as I draped my clothes over a chair next to the bed. While waiting for him to finish, I pulled the combination light switch/camera from my purse. Dad made sure I knew my way around home improvement projects. Tulverson’s device shouldn’t take more than two minutes to install using the screwdriver on my Swiss Army knife.
Oliver ambled into the bedroom still drying his hair with a towel.
I slipped out of my bra and panties. “I’d like to leave a half-hour early in the morning, so I have time to plant the surveillance camera in Parson’s office before he arrives.”
Oliver yawned. “Sure. Set an alarm.”
Duh!
I planned to, just wanted to give him a heads-up. I edited the numbers on my phone’s alarm to seven o’clock, before spending the next fifteen minutes enjoying a hot shower, shampooing my hair, and applying moisturizer. When I finally snuggled next to Oliver, who’d already slipped into deep breaths, I suddenly felt wide awake. Thoughts of Ellie and Ron’s saga darted through my brain. Eventually, Oliver’s warmth and rhythms of his breathing lulled me to sleep.
* * *
Aware of dim light seeping between the curtains in Oliver’s bedroom, I heard thunder followed by raindrops pelting the window. Oliver snored next to me. I groped for my phone to check the time and bolted upright when I saw 8:23 a.m.
Damn. What happened to the alarm?
The phone revealed I’d set the time for p.m. instead of a.m., which is why the buzzer hadn’t sounded. In one swift move I shook Oliver telling him to get up, while bounding out of bed and aiming for the bathroom shouting, “We’re gonna be late.”
After a quick rinse of mouthwash, I ran a brush through my hair then traded places at the single sink with Oliver. I dashed into the bedroom, donned my blouse, and wriggled into my plaid wool skirt.
Not only wouldn’t I have time to replace a wall switch with a hidden camera, I ran the risk of being tardy to work and joining Ellie in the ranks of the unemployed. Carmen’s last words as she departed the office on Friday rang in my ears—Ms. Rojo, be punctual.
Oliver was still zipping up his trousers as I held open the apartment door and prepared to lock the deadbolt. We normally walked up 18th Street to the office in about twenty minutes. However, running late and with a cold rain still bombarding the sidewalk, I stopped Oliver at his building’s exit and visited my phone’s Uber app to order a car. GPS picked up our location. According to their map, half-a-dozen vehicles were in our vicinity. I opted not to request the pool car option, wanting a direct ride to the office. After entering the destination address for Bignell, Watkins, and Clark, Uber showed a four-minute wait for our vehicle.
The longest four minutes of my life.
We huddled in the semi-dryness of his building’s entryway. I hoped that Ron Needell, who lived on the ground floor, had already left for the office. I updated Oliver on Uber’s anticipated arrival, counting down as the minutes changed on the app. At the one-minute mark, the arrival symbol disappeared.
What the hell.
Moments later it re-appeared, this time flashing five minutes.
“Fuck!”
“What’s wrong?” Oliver asked.
Hadn’t realized I’d spoken my profanity. “Our car’s been delayed.”
“Given this weather, lots of people looking for rides this morning.”
In his typical low-key style, Oliver put the situation in perspective, but didn’t make me any less anxious. With less than fifteen minutes to arrive on schedule, I braced myself to encounter a fire-breathing dragon at the office. For a split-second, I contemplated leaving Oliver to wait for the Uber while I sprinted up 18th Street. My shoes weren’t right for a race, and I’d lose valuable time going back upstairs to the apartment to change them. Besides, the rain showed no sign of letting up. Arriving late would be preferable to looking like a drowned rat.
A late-model Buick pulled to the curb in front of the building. The driver’s window lowered to reveal a face roughly matching the one on the Uber app, only older and plumper. I clung to Oliver’s arm, as we made a dash for the car.
After explaining our urgency, the driver slipped into traffic behind an ambulance headed in the same direction, whisking us to the office in record time.
I boarded the elevator at exactly 9:04 a.m. and took a deep breath when stepping out onto the 16th floor.
Parson’s office was locked. Entering using my key, the reception area remained unlit, with doors to the adjacent offices wide-open, exactly the way I’d left them at quitting time on Friday. I turned on the overhead recessed lights, scurried to fire up the Keurig, sank into the chair behind my desk, and brought the computer to life just as Carmen Castillo marched through the door laughing with Councilman Parson.
Parson’s arm encircled Carmen’s shoulder as he gazed in my direction. “Good morning, Ms. Rojo.”
“Morning,” I chirped. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Parson nodded, while Carmen shot me an appreciative glance before they disappeared into his private office.
Moments later I carried in a steaming mug of coffee, hoping I’d remembered the exact proportions he’d liked of creamer and sugar. Fog shrouded the view out his window and rain drizzled down the panes of glass. After placing the cup on a coaster on Parson’s desk, Carmen shooed me away. “You’ll accompany us to a nine-thirty partner’s meeting. Close the door behind you.”
Ron Needell had spoken about a meeting where Parson would face a revolt from the partners for his clerical staff’s revolving door.
Why would I want to be at this meeting?
Busying myself for the next twenty minutes proved a challenge since Parson hadn’t assigned specific projects aside from staffing the reception area desk, answering the phone, and making coffee. I texted Oliver that I still had a job and surfed the QVC shopping website, ready to minimize the browser in the event of visitors.
At precisely 9:29 Carmen strode through the door from Parson’s inner sanctum. I rolled back my chair, prepared to stand.
She aimed a finger, freezing me in place. “There’s been a change of plans. Isaac Bignell restricted attendance for the beginning of the meeting. Show up at 9:45 and bring a notebook. Oh, and no cell phones; they’re prohibited.”
“Yes, ma’am. Uh, exactly where is the meeting?”
She gawked with a how-dumb-can-you-be expression. “Across from the elevators on this floor.”
I smiled. “Thanks. I’ll be there.”
Parson trailed after her, which made me wonder anew: whose tail is wagging what dog.
Restricted attendance suggested Ron had been right, and they planned to discuss how Parson—aided and abetted by the Dragon Lady—chewed up clerical staff and spit them out.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Through the now-open door to Parson’s office the fog at the windows had lifted, replaced by lightning sprinting between ominous dark clouds.
With my bosses occupied down the hall, it seemed like a good time to install the surveillance camera. I retrieved it and the Swiss Army knife from my purse, entered Parson’s private office, and partially closed the door to mask my activity from anyone entering the reception area. I flipped the light switch into the off position. There wasn’t time to throw a breaker, whose location I didn’t know, but should be safe unless coming into contact with the hot and neutral wires at the same time. I also had to ensure that those bare wires didn’t touch each other, risking a short.
It took less than two minutes to remove the cover plate and extract the old toggle switch from the outlet box located inches from the entry’s door jamb. The camera’s location would provide a bird’s-eye view of Parson’s desk less than ten feet away. I carefully bent the live wires away from each other.
A voice sang out. “Anybody here?”
Crap.
I placed my paraphernalia on a pedestal holding an African Violet before peeking around the edge of the door to see a young woman standing in front of my desk.
Her eyes widened. “Hi. Is Ellie around?”
“I’m sorry, she no longer works here.”
The woman’s mouth gaped. “I hadn’t heard.”
An awkward silence followed while she stood dumbfounded, and I wanted to get back to my task before the partners’ meeting deadline. “I’m Sharon Rojo. Mr. Parson’s new assistant. I’ve heard rumors Ellie might be working elsewhere in the building.”
“Oh.” She finally closed her mouth. “I’m Amelia, assistant to Mrs. Watkins across the hall.”
One of the founding partners.
“Maybe we can get together for lunch later this week.” I grinned. “You know…compare notes.”
Amelia smiled back, but didn’t take my cue to leave.
“If you’ll excuse me.” I prepared to duck behind the door. “I have to finish a project. But let’s do lunch…Wednesday or Thursday.”
She stared and sighed. “If you’re still here.”
Ouch.
Amelia exited the suite, allowing me to resume swapping the light switch.
With seven minutes remaining before I had to leave, I hooked the copper ground around the green screw on the new device then looped the black-colored hot wire around one of two brass screws. After attaching the other wire, I tightened both with the mini screwdriver, then tucked everything back into the box and secured them. I affixed the new cover plate eager to test whether the device worked.
I flipped the switch. A momentary flash. The overhead recessed lights didn’t work.
Holy shit.
I panicked, needing to find the circuit breaker. If I’d been thinking straight, I’d have realized an electrical box would reside in a utility closet. Instead, my gaze roamed to an area next to Parson’s doorway where the wall jutted into the room. A framed photograph of the councilman from one of his campaign rallies, large enough to conceal an electric panel, hung over the spot. Removing the picture revealed a square wall safe with a twelve-button keypad, similar to a phone’s, including corresponding alphabet letters for numbers two through nine, along with the star and pound keys. It had to be five or six inches deep, given how far that portion of the wall protruded into the room.
My joy at this discovery, sure to delight Tulverson, was tempered by the fact that the lights were still out and I only had three more minutes before Carmen Castillo and Howard Parson expected to see me.
A flash of lightning, followed by thunder caused the windows to shudder. It struck me that the storm, and not any screw-up on my part, had caused the electrical outage. I peeked into the reception area and observed no overhead lights, a blank computer screen, and my darkened desk lamp. For further confirmation, I glanced into the gloomy hallway where the emergency ligh
ts provided the only illumination.
I can breathe again.
With a minute to spare, I stowed the old light switch in my purse, rehung the councilman’s photograph, grabbed a notebook and pen, and marched down the hall toward the partners’ meeting.
What a morning.
21
Conversation stopped as I entered the conference room, and all eyes turned in my direction, except for Councilman Parson who sat with his back to me. Besides, he knew I was coming. At the opposite end of a walnut burl table edged with a Greek key inlay, sat managing partner Isaac Bignell. I recognized him from a photo display in the HR office detailing key members of the firm, including non-partner heads of divisions, such as Isaac’s sister, Kate.
Four candles flickered merely adding to the ambiance, since the room-wide window behind Isaac provided enough light to conduct business.
One woman sat at the table. She kept her gaze on me after the others stopped—Rose Watkins, the only living founder. An oil portrait of her graced the wall above a sideboard in the conference room where juice, coffee, and muffins on silver trays had been arrayed for the participants. Oliver claimed Mrs. Watkins was eighty-five; she could pass for seventy. Her eyes narrowed as she watched me. I couldn’t imagine what Rose might be thinking.
Of the remaining people at the table, I could identify only Ron Needell and Marshall Barstow.
Carmen Castillo sat in an armchair against the wall to the right of the entry. When I moved to sit beside her, she pointed me toward a group of chairs on the opposite side of the entry door.
It didn’t take long to learn why she’d ostracized me.
Marshal Barstow frowned at the interruption my arrival caused. “As I was saying, this firm has a stellar reputation, but the turnover in Mr. Parson’s office has become a source of gossip. Last week, I attended a reception for one of my Harvard Law School colleagues at a firm across town. When introduced to strangers and identified as affiliated with this firm, the topic of precipitous firings in the councilman’s office came up. It’s an embarrassment.”