Cafe Underground Presents
COMING UP ROSES
Book 2 -- Chapters 10
The Detective Andi Wicksham Series, by RL Bell
Copyright © 1997 RL BELL
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....author RL Bell
Andi Wicksham's INVESTIGATORY SERVICES
Chapter 10
Andi returned to her office squinting from the beginnings of a headache, but feeling smug about the way she'd handled Gould and Simpson. There was some satisfaction in being pushy.
Two clients with routine missing-person's searches had called asking to speak to her particularly--they left numbers and requests to call back. Ramirez returned her call, there was the morning's correspondence to dig through and three extra inches of files appeared in her pending box like mushrooms after rain.
"I talked to Jason Janowitz at The Bloom's office in Phoenix..." Lena chirped.
"Yeah?" responded Andi.
"He was ordered to come out here to interview Feight..."
"I knew that." murmured Andi with a smile, she smirked at Lena and settled in her chair.
"Did you know that other than a year or two of teaser notices about Feight's roses and a ream or two of junk dumped into the web, no one in the rose-breeding business outside our clients had ever seen those roses..." Lena put one hand on an out-thrust hip and gave a knowing smile.
"They weren't award winning?" asked Andi in surprise.
"Claimed to be, but not awards from competitions...nothing like that to Jason Janowitz's knowledge...never submitted for competition or special shows, no pictures--ever. Nothing..." Lena smirked and turned to return to her computer.
Andi smiled and sank into her chair. She tossed her notebook onto her desk and let Lena's bombshell trickle in and unsettle the facts she'd already gathered. If true, it explained both Jason's disappointment and why they'd hired her--to bolster the appearance of the rose's value. If the entire rose fiasco was a hoax to collect insurance, her observations took on other hues. Feight's involvement would be a given, the group's timing was just rushed by him croaking.
"...and I want to thank you for encouraging Mrs. Knowles to request that I test her snooper dish..." Lena asserted sarcastically over her shoulder before reaching for another pile of correspondence.
Andi glanced from her paperwork, then immediately lowered her eyes. "So...she got a hold of you?" she asked innocently, finding enough in her files to keep from looking up.
"I set up an appointment to run trials, but told her I wasn't licensed to do surveillance..." Lena smiled smugly.
"But..." Dismayed, Andi started objecting, then looked up to Lena's face. "Well, it's not strictly true...you work under mine."
Lena gave a wry "who cares" shrug.
Andi continued. "I figured that what was good for the goose was good for the other goose...call it karmic balance. You kept encouraging her to buy the stuff. Maybe I'll tell her you've just got licensed." Andi started chuckling, Lena collapsed laughing in her chair, legs sticking straight-kneed out before her.
"...karmic balance?" Lena asked at the edge of laughing again. "What tangled webs..." she observed sagely.
"Pride goeth before the norm..." responded Andi with a flippant toss of her head. She suddenly stopped mid-chuckle and soberly checked her watch. "Isn't it past time for lunch?"
Returning just under an hour later, Andi called the missing person clients to discuss their investigation's negative outcomes. The first, a woman seeking a step-sister last seen thirty years ago, was pulling a blank. The other, a business man after a dead-beat business partner who appeared to have skipped to an ex-husband in Quebec.
Despite Andi's discouragement, the first was eager to throw good money after bad--the second would appreciate a referral to a Quebecois investigator...and would she kindly send her final bill?
Andi had repeated a grim investigatory prognosis to the sister, but agreed to keep on and had already said yes to the businessman when Lena swung around holding her phone in the air and mouthing "Francois..."
Andi ended her call and pushed the button to change lines. "Hi, Francois. Thank God you called, I was stuck on the phone."
"Did I interrupt?" Francois asked, concerned.
"...interrupt? I used you for an excuse..." Andi reassured. "What you got?"
"You mentioned counterfeiting...wanted me to check your suspects?"
"Yeah..." Andi acknowledged warily.
"Well, it's old material...some of it anecdotal." Francois equivocated.
"Ok...what?" Andi snapped impatiently.
"You know I can't vouch for it a hundred percent..." Francois dragged it out.
"So, tell me for God's sake..." grouched Andi.
"Your dead guy Feight owned a print shop in Seattle and was busted for counterfeiting eighteen years ago."
"No..." Andi answered, perking up and reaching across her desk for her notebook.
"Yes...big deal in the local papers. Lost his equipment, charges dropped..."
"Anything else?" Andi pushed, her pen waited, poised over paper.
"Of course...I got reams, but it's recent stuff. Eighteen years ago everything was strictly paper files...quill and ink-pot..."
"Francois..." Andi interrupted. "...are you going to fax the stuff or what?"
"I sent it e-mail while you dumped your call. Lena's already got it..."
Andi looked up to Lena who gave a silent "OK" sign with thumb and forefinger. "Thanks, Francois. What else?"
"What else?" Francois murmured distractedly. "...on your friend Nimitz...I shot-gunned a query on the net and got hit from a non-commissioned officer somewhere in Japan saying he clerked at an investigation of a lieutenant named Nimitz who was caught forging visas and foreign passports...using photo-copiers...evidently way high-tech."
"That's promising..." answered Andi, breaking into a smile. "First good news in days."
"...remember...it's chat-room bull, not science. The time and base were right for Nimitz...but you can't take it to the bank." Francois could write disclaimers for tobacco companies.
"OK...enough already..." Andi interrupted. "It's great. I won't risk my good name...you done good."
"Well, gee...shucks ma'am...all in day's work...no more than any red-blooded American would'a done..." Francois did John Wayne. It would have been neat to see him swagger in character, maybe slap his hat against his knee.
"And ah have always relied upon the kindness of strangers." replied Andi in her make-shift Southern drawl. "Thanks...unless there's more, I got to run."
"Bye..." tossed in Francois, then the line went dead.
Andi marveled at the quirkiness of her friends and pushed her notebook to a side. "You checking Francois' stuff?"
Lena glanced up grinning. "Some hot, most not. Records of property transactions, business ownership, ya-da ya-da...I flipped through maybe eighty pages, printed maybe twenty, seems he put the good stuff on top..." she pointed to the printer as it began clicking and spewing paper.
"Thanks..." Andi acknowledged vaguely, as she pulled her notebook back and phoned Ramirez. One ring, two...then miraculously, he answered.
"Inspector Ramirez..." he drawled.
"Yo, Ramirez...it's Andi..." she responded.
"OK Wicksham, you win at phone tag. Are you expecting a prize?"
"Things point to Tyson being murdered by one of my clients..." Andi admitted honestly, she didn't mention Simpson, though she had reason to kill her uncle--it was hard to figure her as part of the counterfeiting and she didn't seem capable of Tyson's locked-room murder.
"We've all assumed that...didn't we?" Ramirez pointed out dryly.
Andi exhaled slowly, determined not to be baited. "Up until now, the counterfeiting angle seemed more compelling." She paused to look down at her notebook. "I got stuff you'll want to hear. First, the rose thing might be an attempt at fraud, seems they might not have been valuable after all...you might pass that on to the insurance people...give 'em out number, Lena will want to charge them something..." She'd started slow, but sped up with each word.
"...it don't look good..." murmured Ramirez in a decent imitation of friendly consolation.
"I appreciate your solace," Andi pushed on impatiently. "but did my clients launder bills through their stores?"
"Wicksham, slow down...you've over-run your caffeine allowance." Ramirez slowed his delivery to a crawl as a good example. "Yeah they were looked into and yeah they had a significant number of screwy bills pass through, but the official opinion is that a steady small volume isn't enough to get an inditement. Incidently, most are in North-East Portland where there's what the Treasury calls a `higher public-turnover ratio'...meaning a cash economy that results in a lot of phoney money in circulation."
"Were any of my clients involved?" Andi closed her eyes, burdened by the effort to get a simple answer.
"You're asking unofficially...?" asked Ramirez carefully.
"...as always." confirmed Andi quietly.
"It seems obvious some of them have been in on it, but there are two hundred stores the Feds keep tabs on...thirty of whom are suspect."
"Yeah?" prompted Andi, taking a deep breath to slow down.
"On average, each launders a couple hundred a day..." Ramirez's voice was hushed as if not wanting to risk being overheard there in his office.
"That adds up doesn't it?" observed Andi.
"Well...yes and no. Two hundred a day times thirty places moves a couple hundred thousand in a month...the Feds claim a million gets laundered in that much time. With so much floating around, a couple-hundred a day might come from legitimate business."
"A million a month?" Andi whistled. "Where is it going...my clients aren't floating in anywhere close to that amount."
"Well, actually that's the other reason the feds are involved...a possible terrorist connection..." Ramirez let the answer float meaningfully.
"Which of my clients..." Andi asked quietly, she wasn't sure if she really wanted to know.
Ramirez whispered almost conspiratorially. "Sandra Gould, Feight himself, and our Mr. Tyson..."
"Oh God..." sighed Andi. A cold shiver coursed up her back. "...if Tyson, Gould and Feight were counterfeiting and Feight and Tyson are dead...the only one left was Gould...." No sense worrying that the roses might be a ploy--she'd just rattled Gould's cage as hard as she could.
"Have you been threatened?" Ramirez suddenly shifted into professional concern.
"No..." admitted Andi. "But I think I've put my foot in it in a serious way."
"Not unusual...." commented Ramirez quietly.
Andi ignored him. "...that damn note...why would anybody want to tie me to Tyson?"
"Good question, Wicksham...we discussed that a week ago among our group of extended professionals."
"...extended professionals?" questioned Andi with a chuckle.
"Give me a break. Extended...over-extended...do you really care what we're called?" Ramirez wasn't going to recognize any humor but his own today.
"Sorry..." Andi apologized reflexively.
"Uh...and I got some bad news you probably don't know...it's not going to make you feel better." Ramirez came across with enough true-compassion to telegraph that it was something bad.
"Yeah?" questioned Andi, guardedly, she stretched a kink from her neck and glanced nervously out the window.
"Rex Nimitz was found dead this morning at that address you supplied--shot in the chest, point-blank range. Thanks for the tip..."
Andi gave it a moment to sink in--it felt like a lump of molten lead solidifying in her gut, then she woodenly responded "...what's the story?"
"Well...it wasn't a random killing. The place was trashed in the course of a thorough...and I mean thorough...search. The body was bruised pretty bad so they figure he took a beating before being popped. The TV and CD player were still there along with his wallet and a fancy watch so it wasn't common theft or burglary." Ramirez reported it in a professional, emotionless monotone.
"Phony bills?" asked Andi.
"...nothing money-wise but pocket change..."
The line hung silent a moment. "And I might have news you don't know, Ramirez. Nimitz was probably kicked out of the service for forging documents on copy machines..." Andi felt a boost in her spirits telling him.
"No..." Ramirez said with believable surprise.
"So I been told...unsubstantiated..." Andi conceded. "...but couple it with Albert Feight being arrested for counterfeiting. And that's not just rumor..."
"Feight...counterfeiting?" Ramirez almost shouted.
"That's something 'eh? Stir in him and Tyson's history of smuggling illegal weapons..." Andi smirked at having better research than the pros.
"I'm impressed..." Ramirez rewarded her. Praise wasn't one of his usual gambits. "Nobody mentioned that counterfeiting either...but then the guy was slabbed before this investigation kicked in. You got the year of that arrest?"
Andi looked over to Lena. "The year Feight was arrested?"
Lena beat at her keyboard, pulling up files and flipping through screens. Andi could hear Ramirez's breathing and the rustle of papers as he multi-tasked some other project in the moment he waited.
"...here it is..." Lena looked over her shoulder. "Date of warrant, original arrest, or disposition?"
"Any of 'em..." Andi told Lena. "...they won't trust hand-me-down research anyway." Lena read off a date and Andi passed it on to Ramirez. "Am I still on your suspect list?" She asked drolly.
"You've dropped to the lower half, but our psychologist assures us that helping the police is a sure sign of complicity. According to him it shows that you're either trying to atone for wrong-doing or bribe us for leniency." Ramirez chuckled. "I'm working with some seriously bitter cops..."
"They aren't the ones I'm worried about." Andi admitted. "Whoever snuffed Tyson pulled off a magic act getting out of that room. You gotta re-think Feight if our murderer can pull off artful crimes...that means a pro...and I'm about as close to being next as anyone..."
"Yeah...actually that's part of why you're still on the list." Ramirez offered in a indifferent tone. "They want me to keep in touch so we'll have a ring-side seat..."
Andi could feel a rising tide of panic. She couldn't admit she'd just come from deliberately baiting Gould. Her heart took off as if she was running a sprint.
Ramirez sighed a condescending sigh. "Gould and Tyson joined Feight just before the money started showing, but that doesn't make her a murderer...or even a decent suspect."
"Ramirez..." Andi interrupted.
He continued over her interruption. "There's no evidence to back it up. What you're doing is jumping to conclusions. Deduction is great for detective fiction, but without evidence you got nothing...there's an affluent-person's hobby and some business connections tying Gould to a crowd with a couple of deaths...that's a long way from murder."
"They had a political connection too..." Andi remembered Gould's comments about ..vital funding of unpopular causes. "...she worked with him funding militia groups."
"Great..." admitted Ramirez cynically, "...she shared some wacko ideology...that's still not evidence. It only means she's social scum. It's legal to be an off-the-deep-end conservative. There are a million people in the state who share those beliefs...does it mean they're murders too?"
Andi took a breath and pushed off from another bank. "At first there were five in the rose group. With Gould, Tyson and Feight working together they kept control. With Feight dead the voting blocks were two to two...I figure that when Laroux wanted to hire me, Tyson and Gould went along rather than draw attention. With Tyson dead, Gould was left one vote against two...she couldn't stop the investigation and didn't dare speak against looking into Tyson's death.
"Yeah...I follow everything you're saying, Wicksham. But you still got a big nada..."
Andi paused a moment, discouraged. "Where was Gould the friday Tyson was shot?"
"That morning she was at a coffee shop in Oregon City sucking capaccino with some friends, then she was with you, then in Portland where she had a half-dozen appointments...bank, doctor's office, accountant...all of them, even you, back her up." Ramirez reported the list as if bored with it all.
"But before and after I met her? She's only a few minutes from Tyson's..." Andi wanted to pound the meager evidence until it tied Gould to Tyson's chest wound.
"How did she seem when you saw her...stressed? Nervous or inordinately impatient? You didn't mention it to Allen and Talbert. You said..." There was a rustling of paper in the background. "...you saw her at ten after eleven, left about quarter to noon. Is that right? She was in Portland at twenty-after evidently cool as cucumber--doesn't leave much time to snuff Tyson and slow her heart back to normal after the rush."
"But it's possible?" stretched Andi.
"Wishful thinking, Wicksham...damn-near everything including parallel universes are possible. But you had more opportunity than Gould, and if you were a player like Allen thinks, you'd have motive. Are you getting personally involved in this?"
"Only to the degree that I'm scared of being knocked off...did anybody go back to review Feight's death?" Andi could feel hopelessness seeping in around her.
"On what grounds? Asking for a second coroner's opinion would be slapping the face of a colleague. That isn't going to happen. Look, there have got to be another six or eight others in on the counterfeiting...at the least..."
Andi rested her elbow on her desk and lay her head upon her palm feeling the throb of her headache coming on. "So you got nothing to go on?" she asked with a pout.
"Wicksham...I'm your friend...I think you need a break. Go walk in a park and watch a bird or two--this thing's getting to you and it ain't pretty. Believe me, we're doing everything we can."
'Yeah...thanks...sorry to whine. See ya later..." Andi waited for his "goodbye" and slowly lowered the phone to her desk.
"He tell you to chill?" asked Lena with an over the glasses look.
"Yeah...so what?" responded Andi defensively.
"Maybe you should..." Lena said pointedly.
"Thanks for the support...I'll try to remember that if your life is threatened." retorted Andi.
"Hmmmm..." murmured Lena disapprovingly, spinning in her chair back to her table and clicking her computer screen through a couple of menus.
"I got someone to see..." lied Andi in a grumpy mumble. "...I'll be taking a walk." she admitted after a second.
"...be back by closing?" Lena looked up, concern wrinkled her brow and was reflected in her eyes.
Andi bit her lip, then said, "Sure...I just need a little time to think." She offered a little worried grin and gently closed the door behind her.
Mount Tabor was draped in a brilliant green that contrasted dramatically with its dark, gnarled tree trunks and loamy soil. Yellow dandelions and purple and blue bulbs splashed color here and there up the steep slope before her. She walked fast and hard up Hawthorne and through streets past 52ed; by the time she got to the twisting park trails she needed to slow and catch her breath.
The world seemed determined to bear her down; her mother's illness, the disagreement with Lena over baby sitting Simone, now the chance that Gould, who she'd just given a hard, rude shove, was a murderer.
If asked for advice, Lena would urge a vacation--she'd insist if Andi admitted how scared she was. She could do it, there wasn't any reason she couldn't just call off the investigation.
Andi climbed steadily upwards, choosing steeper, smaller trails each time there was a choice. She broke into a sweat--it felt good; sticky and cool against heated skin. Turning around, a slice of downtown Portland stretched before her, shimmering grey-blue under the light summer haze.
She could bolt and run--no one would call it that even if that's how they saw it. Nothing held her. Lena could keep the office going with one hand tied behind her back--Sonny might even be persuaded spend a couple of hours a day taking messages and making excuses.
She gained the top of Mount Tabor and walked the loop to stare east through the trees toward Mount Hood. Its glaciers glistened above and below a layer of clouds. Did she owe anything to her rose-obsessed clients? Very little new besides Nimitz's death had been added to the equation. What did it matter if she continued or not?
Ramirez was right that there must be counterfeiting connections far more likely to be the murderer. And there wasn't any reason to quit the case at the moment. Ramirez was right, she hadn't been directly threatened. Andi ambled down the north slope to where she could see Mount Saint Helens, then back up for the vistas of downtown and the western hills.
Feeling better, she started her descent, picking different paths than the ones coming up. She picked up mochas and biscotti from Coffee People's and returned clear-headed to the office.
Lena poured her mocha into her regular mug, swung her feet up on Andi's desk and caught her up to date. "...Alison Simpson just called, real upset...says she needs you to call her back. I have the contract ready for P.J. Blazisimo...with that big-type disclaimer you wanted stating no guarantee of success...you don't trust our standard boiler-plate?"
"They kept talking about results...results this...definite that. I don't think they understand what we do." Andi shrugged and chewed the end of her biscotti.
"Don't forget to call Simpson." Lena yawned. "You know, we've either got to get to sleep earlier or set the alarm at a decent hour." She gave Andi a cheerful salute with her mug and swiveled back around to her keyboard.
"Yeah sure..." Andi made a face. Simpson was hiding something. Andi took another sip of mocha and glared at the malignant pile in her pending box.
She set her coffee to a side and flipped to Simpson's number, holding the biscotti in her teeth like a cigar.
"Hello..." a timid voice answered.
"Alison?" Andi confirmed, taking the biscotti from her mouth and holding it like Groucho did his stogie. The voice didn't quite sound like Simpson.
"Andi...thank God you called. I came home a couple of hours ago and found two men tearing my things to shreds. They'd taken apart the drawing room and living room, pulled everything from Uncle Darrel's and my closets, dumped drawers, flipped over beds...it's terrible."
"Have you called the police yet?" demanded Andi.
"They said I shouldn't..." Simpson mumbled, half-in tears. "They beat me...kicked my face...broke a tooth...they wanted Rex's envelope...I said I didn't have it...then they beat me some more and left..."
"Did they believe you?" Andi was almost shouting.
"I don't know, they said they'd come back if I was lying..." Simpson's voice shook and Andi could identify the mushiness of her speech as that from the swelling.
"You should pack a suitcase and call the police...ask for Lieutenant Allen. Drive to the police station to make a report and help them draw a picture of your attackers, then go somewhere...anywhere, for a week or two." Andi lectured forcefully. "They were there when you drove up? Do you remember their car?"
Only the sound of breathing came from the other end of the line.
Andi asked loudly, "Alison...do you understand? You've got to get away..."
"But I look just awful...all black and blue and swollen. I don't want to be seen like this..." Simpson wailed and burst out crying.
Andi cut her off. "Listen...Alison...you took the time to call me for advice...listen to me and follow it. Call the police and get out of there..."
"But I didn't call you for advice..." Simpson cried. "...I called to warn you...I told them I'd given the package to you..."
"You WHAT?" Andi shouted into the phone.
"It was the truth...you took it, remember..." Simpson pleaded.
She shut her eyes against another threatening headache. "Yeah..." she replied dully. "...I did at that..."
"I'm sorry..." Simpson pleaded in a small voice. "I had to...do you understand, I had to..."
Andi finished the call and hung up. "Oh my God..." she moaned dismally to the ceiling.
Lena spun her chair around, concerned--Andi filled her in.
Lena's response was cool and professional. She immediately hid the envelope in the closet down the hall, started digging through files to stash everything related to the rose case and backed up recent computer work. Next, after a cryptic call to Francois, she berated Andi's reluctance to have a gun and vowed to borrow one for the next few days.
Andi didn't argue, she had a feeling in her stomach that could dissolve soda bottles.
Andi's next call was to Ramirez--her prayers were being heard, he picked up on the second ring. "Ramirez..." he answered grimly.
"It's Andi...I got a border-line emergency. Alison Simpson has been beaten up by thugs looking for a package Rex gave her to mail."
"Wicksham...slow down. Has she called the West Linn police?" Ramirez was all-business.
"Yeah...at least I told her to. She's awfully scared."
"Is she seriously hurt?" asked Ramirez calmly.
"I don't know...broken tooth, bruises...I don't think anything vital..."
"Did her attackers get what they wanted?" He asked as if going down a list.
"No." Andi answered simply.
"Why not?" asked Ramirez in the bored voice of any cop taking report.
"Because I have it..." Andi admitted. "I've got it here...unfortunately she told them that..."
"That's handy..." Ramirez responded with an unprofessional lilt.
"Yeah, but when I opened it there was nothing inside important enough for someone to kill for. I mean it...it had nothing but academic papers on roses. It made no sense, I can't see the thugs caring about roses."
"You opened someone else's mail, Wicksham?" Ramirez asked incredulously.
"Whoa, Ramirez. It wasn't mail...it never got mailed and the guy's dead for goodness sake...it didn't even have an address..." Andi argued. "...the important thing is that the package seems fake."
"No, I don't think so, Wicksham. The important thing is that the thugs are going to track you down." Ramirez actually chuckled at her predicament.
"Hey...this isn't funny." Andi shouted.
"Did I say it was funny?" he asked in faux-outrage.
"What are you going to do about it?" Andi demanded.
"Do about what, Wicksham? I'm listing your office and residence as places our regular patrols will drive by and check. I'll personally check you out every time I get on the streets, I'll get the West Linn uniforms to get a statement and description from Alison Simpson to put out a APB on her attackers." Ramirez ran that list off the top of his head, but used his tired-cop voice so it didn't have a drop of compassion.
"Lot of help that'll do..." complained Andi.
"Hey, it's not like we know who these guys are, who they work for or where they're hanging out..." Ramirez grumbled as if shouldering the weight of the world. "There's no way I can get a round the clock guard for you...if you want that, call an agency and spring for the tab."
"Thanks a lot, Ramirez..." Andi replied stiffly.
"That's what I'm here for, ma'am..." Ramirez answered in the parody of an old-west sheriff. "You got copies of that stuff in Nimitz's package? Fax them over..."
"Ramirez..." Andi exclaimed frantically. "Are you focused in on what's happening? Tyson and Nimitz are dead, Simpson's beaten up, I've got the package his murderers and her assaulters want and they know it...they're on their way over..."
"So, give them the package...what's the problem...you say it's not important..." Clearly Ramirez wasn't handing out sympathy that afternoon.
Andi looked in frustration to Lena who was busy with her own telephone conversation--their eyes met, Lena smiled. "Ramirez, I don't think you understand..." Andi tried again.
"Listen, Wicksham..." he interrupted, "Take the package and tack it to your door with a note, maybe the thugs'll take it and leave you alone. Bring Lena and yourself over to our house for a few days...Tanya will love it. You need to get away from it all...you seem a little up-tight."
"Up-tight? Of course I'm up-tight, Ramirez...it's how I handle situations where I might get killed...I consider it a coping mechanism."
"Well, good...it's good to hear that you got things under control. I think you should take my advice and hang out at our house, but I'll make you a deal...you let me get off the phone, I'll ask Max if we can set up an emergency response should your bad guys make an appearance..."
"OK..." Andi grudgingly agreed. "I'll talk to Lena about visiting..."
"Fine...goodbye..." Ramirez sounded grateful to finish the call.
Andi sat back and rubbed her eyes. No doubt the same person was behind Tyson and Nimitz's murders and Simpson's assault. The one still standing was Gould, but there was no more evidence than they had before and Ramirez made it clear that suspicions were a waste of his time.
Lena hung up her phone, looked over and stretched. "It might be out of character for the thugs to come to the office..."
"Because both Simpson's and the place in Saint Johns homes?" asked Andi doubtfully. "...maybe they're at our apartment."
Lena smirked. "They're not...at least not at the moment. I've got Daniel downstairs listening. He'll call us and Ramirez if he hears anything." Calling him was a good idea--Daniel crafted jewelry in his living room and because he spent his days in a wheelchair he didn't get out very much.
"You're enjoying this..." Andi accused suddenly. "You're actually enjoying this..." She almost felt betrayed.
"Call me a sucker for cheap thrills." quipped Lena. "But I'm calling in old debts and getting all the outside help I can muster."
"Help?" queried Andi, "What help?"
"Francois is doing a telephone link between him, us, Daniel and the cops...and I have biker friends with serious bad-attitude that'll lurk around and give us cover..."
"You've got biker friends?" said Andi incredulously.
"You don't think I've been a fem-bottom all my life did you? On the way to figuring what I liked, I played serious eight-ball and rebuilt motorcycles."
"No..." Andi responded in a hush of disbelief. "You're pulling my leg."
"Straight up, Sherlock...a bi on a bike...though just for a while. Maybe it was the scene...I realized my real skills lay elsewhere." Lena stretched her fingers to inspect her nails and primped the shoulders of her shirt. "Anyway..." she continued, "...I also got Paco involved. Who know's what he'll come up with."
They were interrupted by a call from a client. Andi tried to sound interested while Lena fielded another call.
They puttered independently, doing make-work for a nervous half-hour. "Ramirez thinks we should hang at his crib a few days..." Andi tossed the idea out for comment.
"Francois too...offered a flat in his complex off Division." Lena dropped her flippant smile. "I'm taking this seriously Andi, I really am..."
"You want to disappear? Maybe a week or so...?" Andi carefully extended the possibility, half-hoping Lena wouldn't take it.
Lena leaned back in her chair. "Naw...I don't think so. Not right now...there's a chance it'll all blow over."
The telephone rang, riveting them in their seats a moment. Lena reach back and snatched up the receiver in a smooth fluid movement. "Investigatory Services..." she answered in clerical neutral.
Andi swiveled back to face her desk, but kept her ears wide open.
"Yeah...sure...oh, wow..." Lena's end of the conversation didn't offer much to eavesdrop on. "...uh huh, yeah...are you sure? Yeah, OK..." She lowered the phone and addressed Andi. "Francois's talked with Paco...he wants you in on a conference call..." she pointed to the second phone.
Andi reached and held it to her ear. "Hi Francois..." she mustered a perky lilt.
He charged into a monologue. "Hey Andi...if I got this right you've goons wanting a package you've got, right? Paco says he can get a bug/tracer thing to stash in the package...interested?"
Francois had spoken so quickly Andi felt left behind. It took her a moment to even say "What?"
Francois started again, a little slower. "Lena told about your problem. I don't have advice on keeping the thugs off, but Paco thinks he can get a toy that'll track 'em."
"Oh...yeah." Andi finally got the drift. "Ramirez suggested we hand it over anyway." Once she understood she was ready. "How's it work?"
"Not problem for you to worry about..." Francois assured her. "I'll take care of that end. Paco'll get the bug...you provide transportation."
"How long will it take?" asked Lena practically.
"Paco's going to call when he finds something...it's kind of short notice..." Francois' smile was obvious even over the phone. "I'll need to match frequencies, that might take an hour. We can be there in under two..."
Andi looked at her watch, it was already getting late. "Seven-thirty..eight?" she asked apprehensively. It was already later than they usually worked.
"Quick as it can happen..." Francois apologized.
"We'll stay here...it'll be safer." interjected Lena firmly, catching Andi's eye for confirmation.
"Fine..." Andi agreed insecurely. "You going to call or just come by?"
"Probably just swing in..." Francois answered. "...depends on if Paco can get specs or I have to figure 'em out."
That last didn't inspire confidence. "Sure..." she answered nervously, "...see ya then..."
Lena winked in approval and they put down their phones. "So, what do you think of hot chocolate?"
"What if they snatch the envelope while we're gone...it wouldn't be safe for one of us to stay alone." Andi glanced at the window wondering if Nimitz's murders were watching.
"So?" answered Lena, "We'll both go...it comes with us."
"What?" demanded Andi.
Lena was already running down the hall to the closet. She returned with it tucked under her arm. "To lure them into grabbing it, they have to know we have it...right?"
"Let them know we have it so they can let us have it?" quipped Andi sarcastically.
"Don't worry...I got that covered. At least while we're here we'll be in good hands." Lena gave her a smug smile and waved her toward the door with a little bow.
"In good hands...famous last words..." mumbled Andi half-jokingly. "I suppose I'm buying?"
"But of course, mon cheri...you tops need to feel important...it's a control issue isn't it?" Lena handed Andi the package and locked the door behind them. On the street Lena nodded almost imperceptibly to two big women in leather pants leaning on motorcycles and smoking. The women fell silent and the one facing in from the street casually turned their way.
As Andi and Lena walked slowly down the sidewalk to the Cup and Saucer, the envelope felt as big as a suitcase and as heavy as a keg of nails. Andi left it on the table screaming silently for attention.
One of the bikers followed and commandeered a seat between them and the door. Andi ordered a hazelnut latte and offered to split a poppy-seed bagel. Lena settled for iced herbal tea, shrugging non-committally at the bagel. "I pulled out an interesting tidbit from the coverage of Feight's arrest."
Andi looked up but didn't respond.
"The neatest part of his counterfeiting attempt was faking that special paper..." Lena smiled gently. "He took a heavy linen bond, starched it for color and enhanced stiffness and ironed it for the right slickness and polish."
Andi nodded, "That would be his contribution to the team...but once he gave-up the secret he became a liability..."
"Yeah..." added Lena, turning away, her interest in the subject exhausted.
Andi shrugged and chewed her lower lip trying to pretend there was nothing out of the ordinary in them sitting quietly in the noisy room. Conversation lagged to nonexistence and she pretended not to scrutinize every customer coming in.
No ominous figures burst in. Conversation remained conspicuous in its absence. Andi drummed her fingers on the table until Lena reached a reproachful hand. The Cup seemed unusually busy, There were a handful of early diners, but most patrons seemed there for coffee and socializing--hovering around tables and filling the room with laughter and raucous conversation.
Their drinks were delivered, then Andi's bagel. Andi's appetite had deserted her. They sat awkwardly, Lena, looking up at the clock, Andi watching the door, studying each person passing the threshold. Lena's biker friend lounged easily, sipping coffee black and sweeping the room with her eyes every minute or so.
Fifteen minutes into the vigil, Lena brought her gaze back to Andi's. "Let's go. I got to get out of here..."
Andi nodded, dropped a five dollar bill on the table to avoid the problem of tab and tip, tucked the envelope under her arm and followed out to the street. Lena's motorcycle friend, blinked almost unnoticeably as they shouldered past the line by the cash register, pushed her coffee away and followed a nonchalant eight or ten feet behind.
The stairs up from the street had never looked so foreboding, corners shielded killers and every doorway held assailants. The hall was quiet, the work-day ended, there seemed nobody but themselves in the deathly quiet building.
Andi locked the door behind them with a sense of completing a test--and didn't want to think of leaving. Lena swung her chair so she could watch the door with her feet up on Andi's desk. Andi collapsed wordlessly in her chair, then with a fearful look at the window behind her, moved out of easy line of fire. "I'm getting paranoid..." she squeezed a smile in Lena's direction. Her voice was raspy and her smile felt forced.
"Naw...paranoid is when you imagine people are out to get you..." Lena reassured her, glancing from the window to Andi's usual place before it, "...I think this is real."
"Thanks..." Andi mumbled insincerely to no one in particular. "...just what I needed." She opened a case file only to slam it shut a moment later. "Did you get that gun you talked about?" She avoided guns herself, but felt reassured that Lena had one.
Lena pulled a dark thirty-eight caliber automatic from the purse she'd kept casually on her lap, pulled back the top with a loud click to cock it and checked that the safety was on. "I'm told it's lethal to the max and to not let the kick surprise me..." she said conversationally...the stress didn't seem to effect her at all. "Music?" she pointed to their radio.
Andi shook her head "No," it would make her jittery--she could feel her stomach growl. "What're we having for dinner?"
"You really hungry?" Lena raised her eyebrows.
"My stomach hurts..."
"It's an ulcer..." diagnosed Lena offhandedly. "...too much coffee and not enough bagel..."
"Thank you Dr. Watson..." grumped Andi, crabbily.
"It's what I'm here for...did you ever wonder about Sherlock and Watson's intimate relationship?" Lena was objectionably chirpy, her voice offensively melodic.
Andi was about to make a nasty retort when there was a sharp rap upon their door. Andi glanced quickly to Lena who slipped from her chair to stand against the side wall, the gun held in both hands and her eyes upon the door. Andi stepped to the opposite side of the office and called "Who is it?"
"It's me, Francois, with Paco..." came Francois's voice.
As Andi stepped to the door and twisted the lock she noted that Lena hadn't relaxed her vigilant pose. The door opened and Paco and Francois stepped nervously inside--both of Lena's leather garbed friends hovered in the hall just beyond.
The woman who'd followed into the coffee shop caught Andi's eye for a nod of acceptance before Andi closed and re-locked the door.
"Quick time 'eh?" Francois asked with a lift of his eyebrows.
"Not on this end." grumbled Andi. "You get the thing...?"
Paco pulled a thick spring-clip from his pocket. It was a heavy-duty version that might be used for binding reports in a lawyer's office.
Francois retrieved two plastic boxes from his pocket the size of paperback books. "There you go..." Paco said simply, handing her one. "It's got a range of a few hundred yards so there's no reason to keep your target in sight."
"Just like that?" Andi asked doubtfully.
"What did you expect, hand-cuffs unfolding from a paper clip? I could have gotten an exploding pack of red dye, but that would let them know something was wrong, wouldn't it?"
"Thanks..." mumbled Andi. "This will be fine. I'm a little on edge..."
"...a little..." Lena said in an aside only to be rewarded by Andi's censuring glare.
Andi picked up the clip and slipped it over the top edge of the material from Rex's envelope. "That's it?" she asked, looking up for confirmation.
Francois flipped a switch on his black box and a needle on the dial sprang to life. It pointed directly at the envelope. Francois backed to the far side of the room and turned to one side then the other--the needle kept pointing to the package as if it were north.
"Not bad..." conceded Lena taking the black box from Andi, "...did you say the thing was a bug too?"
Francois looked over to Paco.
"Couldn't get that one...sorry..." Paco shrugged. "...too short a notice."
"No problem..." Andi interjected smoothly. "...this'll do fine."
"So, what do you suggest," Andi looked to Paco, "Should we leave the package or make them pick it up from our apartment?"
"Leave it here...Lena says you've got safe houses?" Paco's face was expressionless.
Andi nodded silently. She sealed the envelope, pressed it hard against her desk top a moment, then ripped it open. With Simpson's original folder before her as a model she taped the new one shut, then glued the original stamps in place.
"I'll do the name..." Lena volunteered, shouldering her way forward. After practicing with a piece of scratch paper she mimicked the block printing of Rex's name. "Use the address where he was killed?" she looked up at Andi.
"Why not?" Andi shrugged. "Rex expected it there..." She stepped away from the desk and watched her friends. They were certainly casual...with Tyson and Nimitz dead and Simpson beaten, there was a sense of death in the air...she could feel it in her bones.
Lena completed the address. "Finito mi amora...muy bueno, 'eh?"
"Bueno...bonita, bonita..." Andi responded absently. She shook her head to clear the stream of thoughts that swam threw, then stretched a kink from her back and asked Paco "Sonny OK?" Sonny and Paco were usually joined at the hip, it was unusual to see him alone.
"...poetry night at Cafe Lena..." Paco's teeth showed again.
"You leaving the package here?" Francois asked nervously.
"How will they know it's here?" asked Lena practically, she rested a hand on a thrust out hip and made a scrunched up face.
"We'll show 'em..." said Andi. "You guys slip out...we'll follow in ten minutes with the envelope. I'll flash it, then run back." She looked to the others for approval. There was a minute of silence as she looked from one face to another.
"OK..." put in Lena cautiously.
Paco nodded silently.
Francois shrugged that it made no difference. "Let me show you how the boxes work..."
"Aren't you coming along?" asked Lena uncertainly.
Francois smiled smugly. "We got two boxes...you take one, we'll have the other." He held a cellular phone out to Andi. "...Lena says you're against them..."
"I just don't want to be available twenty-four hours a day..." Andi said defensively.
"....Luddite..." Francois chuckled. "...I'm told that you've moved comfortably into the eighties..."
"You guys are having all together too good a time." said Andi suspiciously.
"Why not?" quipped Lena with an evil grin. "All we have to do is not step in front of your bullet..."
"That's no way to talk to a friend." scolded Francois, shaking his finger back and forth. "We also have to watch for traffic lights..."
Go on to Chapter 11
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Last Updated 5/24/97
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