Night Moves

by DJ Steele

  Megan turned and walked around to the front of his desk. He saw the troubled look on her face.

  "I’ve been concerned about you, Mr.—Alan. The long hours you have been working. Do you even go home at night or are you sleeping on your couch?" She nodded toward his leather couch.

  "Didn’t realize you noticed. I try to make it home, but some days I just can’t seem to catch up. Right now, I’m trying to find common ground within our party to get legislation passed. We’ve got to get our fiscal house in order."

  "I know how hard you’ve worked to get support behind the agenda of the President. You’re doing a great job as Speaker."

  "Your kind words mean a lot. Washington likes nothing more than to see a person in power crash and burn and my position makes me a target."

  "If there’s a fight, Alan, I know you’ll be the one left standing," she said in a soft voice.

  Megan had a way of calming him. Right now, though, he wasn’t sure he was concealing his interest in her. Changing the subject, he said, "Enough talk regarding this job. How are you doing?"

  "I’m fine. Like you, burning too much midnight oil."

  "I hope this job isn’t preventing you from spending time with your boyfriend."

  Megan didn’t speak, making him regret his poor choice of words.

  Wagner shrugged and added, "Forgive me for prying into your private life, Megan. It’s none of my business."

  "It’s okay. We broke up over a month ago."

  "Sorry to hear that," he said with as much sincerity as he could muster, all the while excited over the prospect of her being unattached.

  "Honestly, I don’t know how we got together in the first place. We didn’t have anything in common. All he talked about was football. When I talked about my job, he got jealous. We finally broke up over pizza."

  "Pizza? Seriously?"

  "No. Not exactly. We hadn't been getting along for some time. He was insanely jealous. I admit I talked a lot about my job and how I enjoyed working for you. He never liked when I worked late. There were a lot of little things that led to our break-up. It just happened the night we stayed at my place and ordered pizza. When we sat down to eat, I told him the first time I had the Margherita pizza was when you ordered it for us. He never let me finish telling him we had worked through lunch. We got in a fight and I told him to get out. It was over. So, I kid that we broke up over pizza."

  "I hope this wasn’t my fault."

  "It all turned out for the best. He left and I got to eat the whole pizza myself."

  Wagner chuckled. "At least it had a good ending." They both erupted into laughter.

  "All your talk about pizza is making me hungry," Wagner said. "How would you like to join me for dinner tonight? We can discuss some of the projects I’m working on."

  "Yes. I would like that. What time?"

  A loud ping from his cell phone averted his thoughts. It was an incoming text message. He quickly glanced at his cell phone screen and noticed it was from the contract killer. His stomach shifted uneasily as he read the text.

  Change of plans. Meet at 1pm. Don’t be late. Money in brown paper bag.

  Wagner quickly flipped the phone over to prevent Megan from reading the text. He couldn’t be sure she didn’t see it.

  "Do you need to answer your phone?" Megan inquired.

  "No, It’s nothing urgent." Wagner heard the strain in his voice. "How does six sound?"

  "Could we make it a little later, say around 7:30? I’ve got some errands to run first."

  "7:30 it is."

  Megan turned on her heels and walked out of his office.

  Wagner’s fingers curled up inside his fists. He was certain tomorrow would not be a good day. He needed one more favor from Max.

  A gun.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Julia and Laquita sat inside her parked car watching the rain bounce off the windshield. The torrential downpour battered the roof of the car like a drum roll. An occasional clap of thunder lit up the sky.

  "Ya ain’t gotta garage or carport so we don’t git wet?" groaned Laquita. "Ya gotta be kiddin’ me."

  Julia had circled the block twice to make sure nobody had followed them from her office. She parked her car along the curb in front of her home to wait out the storm. Hopefully the rain would stop or at least ease up allowing them to make a dash to her front door.

  What was Laquita’s problem anyway? The D.C. area was expensive. She was lucky she could even afford a home. A home with a garage was…well, out of her price range. Besides most people in D.C. biked, walked or took the Metro.

  Julia, aggravated with Laquita’s smart ass attitude, snapped, "I suppose you have a garage?"

  "Lord no. Why’d I need a garage? Ain’t got no car."

  A wave of regret surged through Julia. There were many things she didn’t know about Laquita. Partly because there was too much happening right now. And partly because she didn’t care enough to ask the woman about her private life.

  Julia made a sympathetic face and said, "I’m sorry Laquita. I just assumed you had a car."

  "No hard feelin’s." Laquita leaned forward and peered through the windshield toward the sky. "I just figgered ya had a garage."

  A slow smile crept across Julia’s face. Touché. She deserved that.

  Staring out the windshield, Julia saw in the distance the sky slowly beginning to lighten. "Looks like the rain should taper off soon. We can make a dash for it or just wait a little longer."

  "Seein’ these are all the clothes I got, I vote we stay put," replied Laquita. "This rain is a regular frog wash."

  They stared out the car windows even though the raindrops pelting the windows obscured any view of what was outside.

  Julia said, "My grandmother always had sayings for life events. But you have a very colorful way of expressing yourself, are you from the South?"

  Tilting her head toward Julia, her face got serious. Laquita answered in a slow southern drawl, "I’m from New York City." Julia’s eyes and mouth froze in an expression of stunned disbelief. She added, "It took a whole lotta practice to git me a Suthern accent."

  Laquita’s stone expression morphed into a grin. Julia laughed at the joke realizing how stupid her question sounded.

  "I’m from a podunk town in Alabama, called Masonville. In the south we call it a one-horse-town, if ya git what I mean. Lived there till I was sixteen. Then one night momma packed up us kids and we upped and left for Dee-Cee. Left most our things we didn’ need, includin’ my no-good daddy. We moved in with my Aunt Selma till momma saved nuff for us to have our own place.

  Julia didn’t want to pry into why a mother would pack up and leave suddenly in the middle of the night, but she imagined it was to escape a bad situation. Maybe that was when Laquita got the scar on her forehead.

  "Does your mother still live in the D.C. area?"

  "Uh-huh. Not fer from the airport," piped Laquita. "I git my colorful language from Big G. She came and stayed with us after momma got us a place.

  "Big G?"

  "Big G was what I called my granny. When I was itty bitty I hurd my daddy call her that. Then, I just started calling her Big G and it stuck. Her real name was Gracelyn. She was a big bone woman. Liked her food. Specially sweets. Big G had a sayin’ ‘bout everythin’. She’d say, ‘We don’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of.’"

  "That’s funny. You’ll have to teach me a few of those sayings." Julia couldn’t believe she was actually enjoying being stuck in the vehicle with Laquita.

  "Big G took care of me and my two brothers cuz momma had to work two jobs. I spent mosta my time with Big G. When she died, momma moved us back in with my daddy. Didn’t take her long to figger out why she left him in the first place."

  Laquita shifted uncomfortably in her car seat, her fingers gently rubbed the scar on her forehead. She continued, "I didn’ like Dee-Cee. I had to go to a school I despised. 'Em yankee kids were mean. Told me I talk funny. Cause of that, when I was
at school, I kept my mouth shut. Then one day my teacher asked me a question. I tried to sound like ‘em, but I didn’. All ‘em kids laughed at me."

  Julia narrowed her lips as the familiar feeling from high school began to surface. In middle and high school, everyone wanted to fit in and be liked by the popular kids. Julia was shy and lacked confidence. Those years were difficult.

  Laquita said, "Guess you was a popular kid. Cheerleader or somethin’."

  Julia shook her head. "Cheerleaders don’t become accountants. I was a science-math nerd long before there was a STEM program for girls. My legs in middle-school were too long and my feet too big. Boys called me Olive Oyl. In high school I never felt like I fit in. Because my grandmother was away a lot, I never could do much with my classmates."

  "Now look at me and you," said Laquita. "Whose gonna believe I’m working with the CIA? I shoulda believed Fly when he told me he worked for ‘em."

  A rumble of loud thunder caused Julia to jump and Laquita’s hand to fly up to her chest.

  Damn. She should never have misled Laquita about the man in the elevator working for the CIA. He was probably a retired CIA officer. Most of the Bridge Club were retired CIA officers not ready to spend their days playing golf, fishing or whatever retired people do. It was only a matter of time before Julia had to explain her past to Laquita.

  "About the CIA." Julia intertwined her fingers.

  Laquita turned in the passenger seat giving Julia her full attention. Julia stayed silent contemplating how much she should tell Laquita. The woman had already jeopardized their safety when she told her friend Max that they were surveilling the motel.

  Laquita said, "How ‘bout ya tell me how ya know CIA folks. How long ya been workin' fer ‘em?"

  "It’s complicated." Julia's face stiffened. She folded her arms across her chest.

  "So, ya don’t work for ‘em?"

  "It’s complicated," repeated Julia.

  "I got that," huffed Laquita as she crossed her arms. "We got ‘nuff trouble without ya lying to me. How 'bout ya don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’."

  At first, Julia giggled at Laquita’s remark then she burst out laughing.

  Laquita joined in.

  The rain was now a drizzle lightly tapping on the windshield.

  "You’re right Laquita. I need to explain everything to you. It is complicated, but…" Julia held up her hand to keep Laquita from talking. "But I do owe you the truth. We are in this together and I think together we can help each other figure out why Kat Lejeune hired my firm. The rain has let up enough for us to head inside my place, have some hot chocolate and—."

  Julia froze in mid-sentence when she realized her problem.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "You havin’ a stroke or somethin'?" Laquita asked Julia. "What is it?"

  Julia stared out the window. Her mind scrambling to figure out what she should do.

  "Kat Lejeune." She turned her head toward Laquita.

  "I was supposed to meet her at the office today at five and give her the photos I took and collect the rest of the money she owes me."

  "Now hold your horses. Don’t you be gettin’ stupid Julia. Max warned me to stay away. That CIA man or whatever he is told ya to git out of there. Just call her up and tell her somebody in your family died and ya gotta go to a funeral. That’s like almost the truth."

  "She’s probably on her way to my office by now. I’ve got to find her phone number and call. She could be in danger."

  "Sure, you do just that. And maybe while you’re at it, you outta ask that crazy bitch why she framed us. I betcha she hired that murderer."

  "Frame us for what? That's absurd. She hired me to get photos of her husband and the woman together."

  Julia twisted to reach in the back seat for her backpack. She unzipped the bag and quickly searched through the files she had taken from her office. Kat Lejeune’s file was not in her backpack. Her heart raced causing her chest to hurt.

  "It’s not here Laquita. I must have accidentally left it at the office."

  What if the killer was waiting to see who might show up at her office? What if Kat Lejeune became his next victim?

  "Why would ya leave the one file we need? You really don’t work for the CIA, do ya?"

  "Dammit Laquita, I didn’t leave it on purpose," she said curtly. She punched the burn phone on and saw the time posted 4:40. Julia let her head drop against the steering wheel and said, "We have to go back. We’ve got to warn Kat Lejeune. She might be innocent in all of this." Julia put the key in the ignition and started the car.

  "Don’t I git a vote?" protested Laquita.

  The clock in the car glowed 4:42.

  Laquita placed her hand on Julia’s hand preventing her from putting the car in drive. "It’s too late Julia. We don’t have nuff time to git back to the office."

  Laquita was right. This time of day was rush hour traffic. The streets would be clogged with workers trying to get home or to the nearest bar. She turned off the ignition and sunk down in her seat feeling defeated and frustrated.

  "What are you doing?" asked Julia.

  Laquita had the backpack in her lap and was rummaging inside.

  Laquita announced, "What have we here?" She fished out a folder. "This one was put in upside down." When she turned the folder around, the name Kat Lejeune was on the label.

  "Oh my God. Let me have it." Julia snatched the folder out of Laquita’s hand, opened it and found the contact number for Lejeune.

  "Yeah, you can thank me later," scoffed Laquita.

  Julia’s hands were shaking as she thumbed the number. The time had ticked to 4:45. "Shit, it’s busy." She waited a second and called again. Still busy.

  "Come on Kat. Get off your damn phone. Pick up," Julia muttered out loud.

  Was Lejeune already at her office? Less than fifteen minutes and it would be five o’clock. The phone was ringing. Kat was not answering. Maybe she didn’t recognize the number and thought it was a spam call.

  Julia was considering her options if Lejeune didn’t answer when she heard the woman's voice.

  "Hello?"

  Julia took a second to catch her breath. She blinked, calmed herself and asked, "Is this Kat Lejeune?"

  "It is. Who is this?"

  Julia gave Laquita a thumbs up.

  "This is Julia Bagal with the private investigative firm you hired."

  Lejeune said, "I’m very sorry, but I’m still at work. I’m going to be at least twenty minutes late. I tried calling your number to let you know. It just kept going to voice mail."

  "Sorry. I have a different phone. My other phone broke." She watched Laquita mouthing the word funeral. She looked out her side window to keep from being distracted by Laquita.

  "I’m afraid I’ll have to cancel our meeting and reschedule with you. I have a funeral to attend. Very unexpected." Julia was hoping the last part of her sentence would cause a reaction from her client. Would Kat tell her that her husband and the woman were dead?

  "Oh. I’m very sorry to hear that. I understand." Lejeune paused and then continued, "But, if it’s possible I really need to see those photos right away. Can you email them to me, and I will send you the money?"

  It seemed strange the client didn’t mention her husband had never come home. Even if his body had not been identified by the police, Lejeune would have said something. A wife would have notified the police or called her to find out what happened to her husband when he didn’t show up last night.

  "When was the last time you saw your husband, Mrs. Lejeune?"

  "What? I don’t see how that has anything to do with what I’m paying you to do. Did you or did you not get photos of my husband and the woman at the motel?"

  "Yes, I got photos. One of a man I thought was your husband entering the motel room. Also, I have photos of the woman in room 205. Would you like to tell me what’s going on?"

  "I’ll pay you double to send them to me," Lejeune’s voice sounded desperate.
<
br />   "Maybe I'll send these photos to the police and let them know you’re involved?"

  "Involved in what?" Lejeune asked in an angry, irritated tone of voice. "What are you talking about?"

  "The murder of a man and woman at Willow Oaks Motel. Was the dead man your husband or is your husband the murderer?"

  Lejeune clicked off.

  "What’d she say?" asked Laquita.

  "She hung up. She didn’t sound like she knew what had happened. If not, then her husband came home. Or lied and told her he was away on a business trip. Who knows?"

  What Julia did know was Kat Lejeune would now check out what she had told her. Hopefully she would go to the police and tell them what she knew.

  There were too many possibilities of what might have happened at the Willow Oaks Motel. But she was certain, Kat Lejeune’s story was full of holes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Rain’s let up," announced Julia. "Let’s make a run for it."

  She tucked the burn phone in her jacket pocket. Laquita had tossed the backpack in the backseat after retrieving Kat Lejeune’s file. She couldn’t easily reach it from the front seat.

  Stepping out of the car, she noticed Laquita was by the front door holding her pocketbook with one hand and the bat in the other hand. "Damn," she whispered under her breath. The least Laquita could have done was get the backpack. She opened the back door, stretched across the seat and retrieved the bag.

  After slamming the car door, she scanned up and down the street making sure she didn’t see any possible threats before scurrying to her front door. "You could’ve helped me get everything out of the car," she said aggravated.

  "Ya hangry?" Laquita’s eyes looked amused. She bent down and petted a calico cat that had strayed onto the porch. "This belong to you?"

  "No. That’s Albert, the neighbor’s cat. He likes to visit."

  She thought about what Laquita had said. It was time to eat. For the past hour she felt tired and grumpy. Her blood sugar had dropped.

  "When I open the door, make sure Albert doesn’t sneak in," she cautioned Laquita.