by DJ Steele
"Let’s continue this conversation in the kitchen," offered Adam.
"Actually Adam, right now I need to get in touch with my client about the photos. Unless you can share with me what the Bridge Club knows then I don’t think we have anything else to discuss."
Marvin let out a chuckle. "Wow, Adam. That girl remind you of someone? Someone who handed you your ass thirty years ago. How does it feel to have her granddaughter do the same?"
Chapter Nineteen
"Looks like my work here is done," Marvin declared to Julia as she entered the living room. "After I explain how the security system operates, I’ll get out of your hair."
Julia’s brow furrowed when she noticed the soda can that contained Marvin’s tobacco spit on the floor by the door. She hoped he wouldn’t knock it over.
Adam West left earlier after he figured out Julia was not going to hand over the photos. "Marvin, can this system monitor me while I’m inside my home?"
Marvin used a thumb to push his coke-bottled glasses up his bulbous nose lined with red broken capillaries. The only hair on his head was a gray mustache in need of a trim. "It could, but it won’t. If you hear a noise in the middle of the night, you can immediately put eyes on your house and check the perimeter without getting out of bed. Any breach of entry will send a signal to the police."
Marvin showed her how to use her iPad on the dining table to access a live web cam feed. It was impressive. She was able to see all around her home and a wide-angle view of the street and back yard.
When he finished explaining all the nuances of the system, he asked, "You got a gun?" He bent down and began putting all his tools in his large heavy-duty tool bag.
Julia’s mouth expanded into a wide grin exposing her dimples as she rested her hands on the small of her back. She replied, "With this sophisticated security system, why would I even need a gun?" Marvin didn’t know she kept a pistol in her nightstand drawer.
"Julia, I do this for a living. I always give the spiel that once my security system is installed you’ve got nothing to worry about, but…" Marvin looked up giving her his full attention.
"But what?"
"I know your grandma. I have a lot of respect for her. However, when Elke’s involved, people have a bad habit of dying."
The grin on her face quickly faded.
Laquita must have heard Marvin and came out of the kitchen asking, "Who’s gonna die?"
"Nobody," Julia quickly responded. "Marvin was just telling me how his security systems keep people safe."
Julia wasn’t sure if Marvin was trying to keep her safe or scare her. Probably scare her into being careful. It worked.
Marvin picked up his bag, soda can and warned, "Keep this system activated at all times."
He opened the front door, turned, and zeroed in on Julia’s face. "Remember what I told you."
"Thank you. I will," replied Julia walking over to the door and closing it behind him.
"What was y’all talkin’ bout?"
"How to operate the security system."
"He’s kinda weird. That spittin’ and his yellow teeth were gross."
"Marvin’s okay. I think he did a good job installing the system."
Julia turned the dead bolt.
"Let me show you how to activate and turn off the system," said Julia. "Remember the code is 1015."
"Them numbers yo birthday?" quizzed Laquita. "Lotta people use a date they won’t forgit."
"Yes. No. I mean it’s complicated." Julia was impressed how Laquita figured the numbers were of importance, like her birthday.
"Seems like a lotta thangs in your life are complicated," Laquita shot back.
Julia disregarded the comment. She was sure her birthday was not October 15th even though that was what her birth certificate read. She planned on confronting Elke about it but had never found the right time. Her therapist told her a lie was more comfortable than the fear of being hurt by the truth. Perhaps that was why she never found the right time.
"I still don’t feel safe," declared Laquita. "Even if that alarm goes straight to the police, we could be dead ‘fore they git here."
"Have you been able to get in touch with Max?" She wanted to change the subject.
"No. I tried right ‘fore breakfast. I told him I was usin’ a friend’s phone. We shoulda heard from him by now. Mor’n that, we shoulda heard from that Kat Lejeune woman."
"Kat Lejeune isn’t going to call back. If she was, she’d have done it by now. We have to assume she’s involved." She paused a moment and then continued, "Or something has happened to her."
Laquita rubbed the scar on her forehead. Julia saw distress in her eyes. "We’re in a hot mess. I spect that woman set us up."
"I kept thinking that might be the case, but what does she have to gain? How would the photos exonerate her from the crime if she hired somebody to kill her husband and that woman?"
"Maybe the killer ain’t who we think. Maybe that dead woman’s husband got wind of what wuz happenin’ and killed ‘em."
"My biggest issue with everything is there has been nothing in the news about the identity of the victims. If the dead woman was the killer's wife, then he’d have to report his wife missing and establish an alibi. Same for Kat Lejeune."
"I reckon." Laquita plopped down on the couch and pulled up her long legs in a cross-legged lotus position. "We could be barkin’ up the wrong tree. Sure wish Elke or that Bridge Club would call."
Julia remembered the warning from Marvin. When Elke’s involved, people have a bad habit of dying. It was true.
"I’m sorry, Laquita," Julia said.
Laquita’s face appeared confused. "Fer what?"
"For involving you." Julia sat in a chair across from Laquita. She leaned forward and clasped her hands tight. "I can’t figure how to get us out of this mess." People had already died from this assignment. She couldn't do anything about that. But she could keep Laquita from getting hurt.
Laquita sat still and silently studied her face. The silence made Julia more nervous than those big brown eyes staring at her. She unclasped her hands and pushed against the back of the chair. Did Laquita blame her for the situation they were in?
Laquita broke the silence, "My Big G liked to say, ‘Can’t never could’."
Julia tilted her head to the side. "Huh?"
"It means quit saying you can't do somethin'. You have to try or ya never succeed. We might not be good at figurin’ this out right now, but if ya wanna be a detective then here’s your chance."
Julia’s back started to ache. She shifted uneasy in the chair and tried to keep her tone even when she spoke, "This might get…no, this will get dangerous."
Laquita smiled with her eyes. "Well then, if it’s dangerous you gonna need help. Count me in."
"You don’t have to stay and help me. You can walk away. Go to the police."
"Ya need me. And right now, I need to be needed at somethin’."
A look passed between them.
Julia appreciated Laquita’s brutal honesty. The woman she wanted to fire just a few days ago was at this moment the only person she could count on. "If we try to help solve this, there are risks. Lots of risks."
"Ya know Julia, Fly took risks and got himself killed tryin’ to do good. I ain’t saying I’m not scared. I wanna help ya help the CIA. I wanna do somethin’ worthwhile for once in my life."
Julia shook her head like Laquita wasn’t understanding the seriousness of the situation. She had deliberately misled Laquita to believe they might work with the CIA. The Bridge Club was not with the CIA any longer and even though they might be good at doing things the old ways, this was a new world. Marvin said the old ways don’t usually work in this technological age.
"Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know if the CIA is involved. Maybe we just stumbled on a murder and it’s as simple as that. Wrong place, wrong time."
Laquita retorted, "Ya know that ain’t true, it ain’t that simple."
Julia pressed her lips together. They had nothing to go on except the photos which, at this point, proved nothing. "If we withhold evidence from the police we could get in trouble."
"You already said, we don’t know what we got. It ain’t like we’re helpin’ somebody get away with murder. That Kat Lejeune woman hired us to take photos. We did our job and left."
Julia rubbed her hands together feeling a surge of renewed enthusiasm. "You’re right. If we could help solve this case it would be a feather in our cap, as Big G would say."
Laquita scrunched her face and jerked her head back. "Big G ain’t never said that."
Julia tried to hide her disappointment. Maybe that was a saying Elke used to say. Like Big G, her grandmother had her own share of idioms.
"We need to find Max. Do you know where he lives?"
"Nope. He moves around a lot."
"How about his place of work?"
"It ain’t a place you'd be welcome at."
"How come?"
"Unless you're a drug dealer or a hooker or some sleazy creep ya caint git in that place."
Julia eyes stretched wide as she stared with a smile toward Laquita. She had an idea. It was a long shot, but it just might work.
Laquita must have read her mind. "Whoa, sista. I know what ya thinkin’. I said I’d help. Not help git us killed."
"Max knows something. He might be able to lead us to the killer or, at the very least, help lead us in the right direction. Since he hasn’t gotten back to you, we go to him." She felt a surge of excitement. If they were able to solve this murder, they’d get the credit. Not the police. Not Elke. But them.
"Ain’t happenin'." Laquita crossed her arms and shook her head. "Count me out. It’s a bad idea."
"Just hear me out."
Julia leaned close and hashed out her plan.
Chapter Twenty
Wagner was an early riser, but today he had trouble getting out of bed. Last night at dinner with Megan, they both drank too much wine. He sensed she was nervous going out with him even if he used the lame excuse it was a business dinner.
He rolled onto his side and stared at the metal revolver lying on his nightstand. He felt a new kind of fear. It wanted to overwhelm him. The truth was he was in over his head and he couldn't see a solution.
Last night, Max had given him the gun and said it was untraceable. The serial numbers had been removed.
It wasn’t like he planned on going out and robbing a bank or murdering somebody. He needed the gun just in case the killer threatened him. It gave him leverage.
Problem was he didn’t really know how to use the handgun. It was never part of his official training. Wagner recalled a crash course on firearms when he was recruited by the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR). The first time he fired a gun, he hated it. He didn't need a weapon to infiltrate a president's administration. It was his superior intellect and ability to influence powerful American policy makers that made him Russia's most valuable asset.
His training and education were to be an American politician. In a strange recant of procedure, the Kremlin felt his lack of knowledge of firearms might be helpful to deflect any possible suspicion of him being a Russian asset. Their instructions were to focus on politics, leave all the dirty work to his handlers.
Last night during dinner he attempted to talk about the legislative agenda he was working on, but his thoughts were consumed with his increasing desire for Megan. She had changed out of her gray pant suit and was wearing a flattering light blue dress and black stilettos.
Megan must have read his thoughts from her expressions. Her hand slid across the table and cupped his hand. The touch of her warm smooth skin sent a shudder throughout his body making him feel more confident in asking her to come home with him.
As soon as he said, "Megan, I…", his phone buzzed. He tried to ignore it, but Megan had already withdrawn her hand insisting he check his message. She gave him a furtive look he wasn’t sure how to interpret.
He reluctantly pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket and read the text. The message was one he couldn’t ignore. He politely told Megan he was sorry, but there was a family emergency that required his attention. Megan said she understood and tried to hide the disappointment on her face. After dropping her off, he had the driver take him to his home.
He had pushed his key in the front door lock and turned it when a hand from behind gripped his arm causing him to instinctively spin around.
Facing him stood Max wearing a dark hooded sweatshirt, blue jeans and white tennis shoes. Max, at 5’10" was shorter than him but more muscular. Wagner could see on his old college roommate’s face that he had lost the fight not to follow in his family’s footsteps. The hard life on the streets made the man look ten years older than his age.
"We need to hurry inside," urged Max.
Anger flashed through Wagner’s eyes. "That asshole you had me hire is a murderer. Now he wants more money, or I could be his next victim."
It took a few minutes for Max to calm him down and convince him that if he’d pay what the killer demanded he’d be okay.
What did Max know? He’s the one who found this maniac.
"You hesitate, you die," warned Max as he pulled a gun from a paper bag and handed it to Wagner.
Wagner thought maybe he should remind Max of what he just told him. Pay the killer what he demands, and you’ll be okay. What the hell did he mean by don’t hesitate? Instead of asking, Wagner nodded and asked what Max knew about the man he hired. Max told him he had talked to the guy a couple of times in person and a couple of times on the phone.
The talk on the street was the guy was unstable. Even local gangs stayed away from him. Not much else was known about the man. Max claimed he didn’t know any of this before a friend of a friend recommended him.
After Max left his home last night, Wagner made sure all the doors and windows were locked. He never felt this lonely and scared in his entire life.
Rays of sunlight streaked through the plantation shutters covering the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. Wagner raised up and sat on the edge of the bed planting his feet on the floor. He thought about his face-to-face meeting with the killer at noon today. Even though Max had given him an untraceable gun last night, he didn’t feel any safer. He felt more vulnerable, more unsure of how to handle today’s meeting with this lunatic.
His head collapsed into his hands and he agonized over his decision not to contact his handler and deal with the reporter himself. What was he thinking? He massaged his forehead hoping it would help let go of the mounting headache.
Wagner could still call his handler, confess he made a stupid mistake and how much he regretted it. No, he had crossed a line and there was no stepping back. He shuttered thinking what the Russians might do to him.
His hands dropped into his lap and he eyed the pistol on the nightstand. Except for last night, it had been a very long time since he held a gun. The small handgun could take a life with just the squeeze of the trigger. Max told him it was a semi-automatic, six inches long and weighed just twenty-five ounces. Easy to conceal. He picked up the handgun from the nightstand. The grip felt comfortable in the palm of his hand. The pistol had a full magazine and a round in the chamber. Max said all he had to do was aim, pull the slack out of the trigger and fire. He already knew that, but it was good to refresh his memory. The bullet would travel at supersonic speed, pierce through flesh, tissue and bone before exploding out of the body.
An intrusive thought entered his mind. If he got to the meeting before Razor arrived, he could hide, walk up behind him, point the barrel to his head and fire. Death would be instantaneous. The gun untraceable. All his problems, his fears, gone in a flash.
He thought of his past handler being murdered in the park. His handler's head exploded as a pink mist sprayed in the air. She collapsed on the park bench. Dead.
His hand started to tremble. Every second that ticked by, Wagner fe
lt his desperation mounting. Breathing became labored. Pulse pounded in his ears as beads of sweat rolled down his back.
Then without warning Wagner heard the buzzing of his phone on the nightstand. His eyes stared at the vibrating phone for several beats thinking he should answer but couldn’t. He lowered the gun to the nightstand, composed himself before picking up the phone.
"Alan, are you okay?" Megan’s voice sounded upset.
He took a deep breath.
"Um, yes. I’m afraid I overslept," Wagner struggled to keep his voice steady.
"I just didn’t know if you’d be able to come in this morning because of your family emergency."
Wagner had forgotten the lie he used last night that allowed him time to get home and meet Max. "It’s going to be okay. My Uncle had a heart attack, but they got him to the hospital in time."
"Would you like me to send flowers to the hospital?"
He needed to be careful with his lies. Megan always handled things like this for him. "No thanks Megan. I already took care of it. I’ll be in the office in forty-five minutes or so."
Chapter Twenty-One
Shockley tried to relax as he waited outside the Chief of the D.C. Metropolitan Police Department. How many times had he been in this hot seat since he started the job?
Too many.
He shifted on the stiff chair not because the chair was long overdue for the trash heap, but because the hard surface reminded him of all the times he spent in the principal’s office during his high school years.
The Chief’s aide, Amy Long, wasn’t one for pleasantries. Amy had instructed him to take a seat and the Chief would be with him shortly. Sitting behind the computer monitor on her desk, she kept her head low clicking away on the keyboard. Amy's desk was tidy. Unlike him, she didn’t have post-it notes all over her desk and monitor. Her files were in a vertical desktop organizer.