Cafe Underground Presents
River Of Lawyers
Book 1 -- Chapters 9
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 9
Instead of the quiet evening at home she expected as she left the office she was waylaid by two old friends. Mary Ellen and Edee were determined to fill the empty void despite Andi's insistence that there was none--demanding she accompany them for dinner and drinks. Andi promised to be ready.
They ate at Lemon Grass, accepting a chili strength rating of two in the house-scale of twenty. It was searing enough to preclude tasting anything after the first few bites and brought perspiration and heart palpitations. E and Mary Ellen swore it "perfect."
Afterwards they crossed the river to a mixed club near Old Town. Andi turned down a margarita and accepted a beer; she didn't really want to drink and felt uncomfortable. Friends shuffled by or pulled up chairs, the music wasn't loud, but still the room was noisy and too many wanted to hear about Tracy.
Andi eventually made her excuse, left her half-finished beer and caught a bus up Hawthorne. With any luck she could be home for the last of Mystery.
The bus was half empty--she looked through the oddly lit carriage into the yellowing eyes of Lively. There was no way to escape--she looked aside and took a seat near the front, bracing herself, listening to him shuffle to the seat just behind.
"So, Wicksham..." he rasped greasily, "...talked to your client yet? Does he want the rest of that report?"
Andi could smell the alcohol as he leaned forward to whisper behind her ear. She slowly shifted and turned to meet him with a level gaze. "I've prepared a report with your pages attached. I probably won't hear until next week. If he's interested, I'll be in touch--don't hold your breath." She paused moment, still holding his eyes with her own, then she turned away and again faced forward.
"I'll be waiting..." the voice behind her whispered.
She heard him get up and move, but she didn't look around--when she got off a dozen blocks later he was gone. She shivered involuntarily and ambled to her apartment under her umbrella. It was only a light rain, but the air was growing icy. It would be good to be home again.
What would Morse do? He could have the police get search warrants and retrieve the reports as stolen property, but probably wouldn't. The reports might be innocuous enough to ignore, but he probably wouldn't do that either. Lively couldn't be trusted to hand over all the copies--she'd said as much in her report--so even buying them back was a doubtful proposition.
The next moves in the game were Morse's and would come next week. She unlocked her apartment door and slipped inside.
At eight thirty three the next morning Lena came in subdued.
"You OK?" Andi asked.
"I'm fine." Lena snapped as she sat down at her computer.
Andi blinked and bit her lip. Time to find something else to do. She looked down at Morse's finished report and picked up the phone, she'd leave a voice mail describing the reports and Lively's offer to sell more pages. Then she phoned Ramirez--he was out and she had to leave a message. She killed time going over the entire set of files, glancing at each paper and list, reacquainting herself with details. It was nearly eleven when Morse called back. He'd already sent a messenger to get the report.
"Was there something more you wanted?" he asked carefully.
"Yes..." Andi wanted to broach the subject carefully. "I've heard rumors connecting Mr. Bryant and his staff to questionable activities..." she waited for him to comment, but the phone line lay silent. "I've not included the rumors in the report because they were outside the scope of my investigation...and the report might not be secure." That was about as plain as she cared to get. She waited, wondering if he might terminate her right there and then.
"Rumors...?" Morse asked quietly. "Of what?" His voice was eerily soft and silken.
"Blackmail..." Andi didn't want to embroider the statement, she let the word float by itself.
"Have you evidence substantiating the rumors?" He still spoke in the voice of a waiter at a candle-lit dinner.
"No evidence...just innuendo from disgruntled people..." She wondered if he would be insulted.
"I would like to hear it, Ms. Wicksham...but perhaps in a separate report. Is it reasonable to have a short accounting Monday?"
"Monday afternoon perhaps...at the earliest." Andi hoped she put the appropriate uncertainty into her voice. Not what she wanted to do--pound out another report for him. Damn, damn, damn.
"Fine..." Morse's tone of voice signaled his moving on to other matters.
"Oh, and Mr. Morse...has a woman named Maureen worked in your firm over the last year?" Andi jumped in before he could hang up.
"Maureen? No last name? I don't think so...I'll ask Rene for you." A touch of impatience clipped his voice.
"Mr. Bryant submitted a change of address sending mail to the office. You hadn't told me that..."
"It was an arrangement freeing him for business travel." Morse said tersely.
"Convenient timing...do you have a power of attorney to pay bills?"
"You can't be told confidential information Ms. Wicksham. Is there anything else?" His voice was cold.
"Oh...and Mr. Morse..." Andi inserted. "We've run to the end of your pre-paid retainer..."
"Send an invoice with your reports. I'll have a check cut this afternoon...will that be sufficient?"
Andi allowed that it would be fine and they hung up.
"Can you whip up an invoice for Templeton, Morse and Bryant?" she asked Lena. "We'll bill them when the messenger comes."
"Aye aye, Captain Sherlock..." Lena had obviously recovered her sense of humor.
Andi glanced at her watch, looked across and smiled. "I'll buy you lunch."
"You're on...Pizza at the Baghdad?" Lena asked. She lifted an eyebrow. "How much you billing Morse?"
They huddled, giving Lena an opening to complain again that expenses weren't recorded in way she could deal with. They reconstructed what they could, chose a rate for Lena's time, and billed through the end of the day.
Fifteen minutes later, Morse's messenger came in the door, grinning and sweating. Lena handed Andi the invoice as if it had been ready for an hour. Andi glanced, stuffed it in with the report and scribbled her signature on the messenger's pad.
"Lunch!" Lena crowed. "Second star to the left and straight on till morning...its time for pizza..." She already had her coat in hand.
Andi tackled Morse's second report when they returned. Now that she'd let her suspicions out of the bag how much did she dare tell? Could she pencil the allegations without flat-out implying that as a managing partner Morse was an extortionist and crook? She wished she'd kept her mouth shut.
Bryant had been killed for something related to this--did telling what she knew buy the next ticket to feed the fishes? The idea of finding loose ends so Morse could do damage control was repugnant. Would that make her an accessory in Bryant's murder?
She calmed herself down.
This was a time for exceptionally dull report writing--an exercise in technical craft. She'd simply play impartial investigative observer, no judgment, no blame, just the facts ma'am--let the cow chips fly where they may.
Lively's allegations and suspicions would be stated third-person. As a disgruntled employee it could be rationalized with little effort. The incongruities and gaps in Chang-Turner's statements were nothing in themselves, Bodega's suppositions about Bryant's clients were hearsay and Andi's were pure fabrication.
Laid out as in terse understatement it didn't look as daunting as she'd originally thought--the allegations of blackmail were there--without a single shred of proof to hang them on. He asked for a short accounting, that's what she'd given--the whole thing in two and a half pages.
Andi finished the spell check and saved the report for review on Monday. She was looking out the window when Ramirez called.
"Wicksham, here..." Andi answered gruffly.
"Ramirez returning your call, Wicksham...what do you got?" He sounded like he was piled high with details and had squeezed in this call as a favor.
"Just keeping in touch like you asked...I've hardly left the office since we talked last." Andi glanced over to Lena, she was working away at something as if there was nothing else in all the world. "I was wondering if there'd been activity on Bryant's credit cards."
"There's been nothing on them..." he said curtly. Ramirez didn't want to talk.
"Next of kin?"
Ramirez's voice lowered. "A sister...someone's looking into it." It lowered further, to almost a whisper, "Oh...and some friend was listed once on the `in case of emergency' line of a bank account..."
"Friend?"
Ramirez paused as if looking over his shoulder. "A Samuel Lee...3715 Boyington, apartment 4, but you didn't hear it from me."
"Samuel Lee...apartment 4...sure Ramirez...no sweat." Andi felt sorry she'd bothered him and didn't want the call to be totally one sided. "Oh...I remembered something I didn't tell you about my visit to Bryant's house."
"Yes, Wicksham...." Ramirez's voice was suddenly layered deep with disapproval.
"I hit the redial button on Bryant's kitchen phone and it dialed Noris-SDI...I figured you'd want to know."
"Noris-SDI..." Ramirez groaned. "Wicksham, what do you think you're doing? Do you know what you've done to me? Jesus H...Now you're an indirect witness to Bryant's actions before that party...the only witness. And to make matters worse you've blown your already dubious credibility by coming up with this after I've reported."
"What? You reported what we discussed at our meeting?" Andi was incredulous.
"Of course, Wicksham...what do think--that I was grilling you for old time's sake? Get a grip...it was that or let Lieutenant Max bring you here...remember your finger-prints at Bryant's? You got 'em on the milk carton, for God's sake."
"Oh yeah..." Andi responded quietly, "It was past it's freshness date. But I didn't remember about the phone thing until I reviewed my notes just now..."
"You took notes...?" Ramirez's voice perked up a bit.
"Of course I took notes. What do you take me for--a complete amateur?" The words were hardly out of her mouth before she started hoping he wouldn't feel obliged to answer.
"Notes...OK..." there was a sound of shuffling papers as if Ramirez was looking through a pile of papers. "...they might help deflect Max's suspicion that you're withholding for some foul purpose. Can you fax them? We have a meeting in twenty minutes."
"Sure...I'll find them..." Andi looked desperately at the piles on her desk top.
"Do it...you got the fax number?" Ramirez went silent and seemed to write himself a note. "We'll talk later..." then he was gone.
She dug out her note book, made copies of the pages from that visit to Bryant's, filled out a cover sheet and fed them into the fax. She stood and watched as it clicked and buzzed and scanned each page. She'd owe Ramirez a pizza at least--and she was the one doing the work.
Lena was still bent over a pile of papers. Andi looked up Venture, Investment and Banking in the phone book without finding what she wanted. Cursing to herself, she picked a number at random from the investment listings and asked if the could tell her how to find venture capital sources--it took six more calls, but she assembled a list of twelve companies. She called each saying she was looking for Stanley Turner--on the seventh call she found him; Aorta Capital. She smiled and hung up as the receptionist transferred her call.
Lena leaned back in her chair, pointed to a tall stack of letters and said, "I've finished the last two years billings. So...why don't I pick away at your albatross pile?"
Andi looked apprehensively at the letters awaiting her signature. "You give me papers to sign while you eyeball my pending files? These're unfinished reports and stuff waiting responses, not make-work... I'm not sure..." Her real worry was that Lena might see just how ragged her system was.
"Just a thought..." Lena held up her hands in surrender. "I could just pack up my gear and go home..."
"But..." Andi didn't want her to go. If there was any response to the billings her time would be paid for months. "...Ok, phone back the software developers and see if they got funding from an Aorta Capital. Then maybe you can enter phone logs and lists...and there are some routine letters I haven't gotten around to..." it was a concession. "But don't be ragging to change my system..."
"Who? Me?" Lena looked open-eyed, with her open hand against her chest. "Don't worry Andi...I'll be gentle...you'll hardly notice a thing."
Andi raised an eyebrow. Famous last words. She didn't want to admit it, but Lena was going to be good for her business.
"While I'm at it though, I'll see if you need a way to log expenses." Lena smiled a smug, self-satisfied smile and reached for the languishing piles. "Lord knows you need more room on your desk anyway...you given any thought on getting more business?"
"More business? I'm up to my eyebrows." Andi shook her head and reached for a pile of letters.
"You've got to tell me what sort of jobs you want...I got ideas for business development..."
"Enough..." Andi waved her arms to ward her off. "I would like to have the Chance to have a social life someday--thank you." Then she mumbled as if to herself, "More business..." she snorted, "..bah humbug." and successfully fought down an urge to smile.
She turned away to look out the window as the phone rang. "Wicksham." she answered bruskly.
"Morse, again..." he sounded excited. "I've reviewed your report with the material from Lively. "The file did come from my office. This is liable to be a complicated matter...I want to bring in another investigator..."
Here we go Andi thought to herself. He's going to pull the plug in favor of someone under his thumb.
Morse continued, "What I'd like you to do is set up another meeting...he expects you to contact him early in the week? Call Monday...but wait until I have the other team watching. Ask when he can have it ready...tell him I'm in a hurry and putting pressure. The other team will know what to do."
"Other team? Sure..." said Andi cautiously. "How much of the material do you want?"
Morse let the phone go silent, evidently reaching for something across his desk. "Ask for material on the State of Oregon versus Maybon, it has to do with sewage creating a public hazard...and Temptation Development versus Urth...the second one is a phony just to keep him humble...tell him we'll take all he has at seven-fifty a page. There might be a couple hundred pages."
"So how do you want to do this?" Andi picked up a pencil and turned to a clean page in her notebook.
"The other team is setting up weekend surveillance. On Monday I'll call you...he'll be home and they'll be ready to tail him. These people are pros. I'll send a check by courier to cover the payment, you can cash it next week for small bills...let him think he can call all the shots..."
"Ok. Is that all you want me to do?" Andi asked quietly.
"That will be fine. You're doing a good job, Ms. Wicksham. You don't want to be involved in this...it's peripheral to Mr. Bryant. We want to keep you on the good side of Lively."
"Sure..." said Andi unsurely. "Is that all?" Once the "other team" busted in to seize his files Lively would know how they got there. He wasn't stupid.
"I'll be in touch Monday." He rang off, leaving Andi holding her pencil and staring across her cluttered desk.
Lena turned from her telephone an hour later. "Quite a few of the software folks got funds from Aorta Capital...arranged by Ibbe...sticky wicket huh? The thick plottens..."
"It only means they knew each other and shared a common lack of ethics..." Andi grumbled. She put her head down and worked another hour until the courier came with Morse's check for an even two-thousand.
Even that couldn't cheer her up. The energy of the room had drained. They called it a week and locked up--Monday would come soon enough and she still had to meet Bodega.
Saturday morning Andi lazed in bed listening to jazz on the radio as late as she could--which was about eight-thirty. The weather outside had turned frigid, the temperature dipping below freezing and there were warnings of possible snow. Cold enough to be comfortable cuddled under the covers, but she didn't want to read and being in bed alone made her feel sorry for herself.
She pulled aside the comforter, turned up the heat and ducked into the bathroom for a shower.
She slipped on long thermals, wool socks and Levi's, then pulled her down jacket out of the closet. How crazy can you get? It was one of the coldest days of the year and Bodega wanted to meet outside. It was carrying environmentalism a bit too far. She chuckled to herself and wondered if he'd think that line was funny.
Meanwhile she had time on her hands. She'd hit the Hawthorne Cafe before the Saturday morning brunch crowd mobbed--maybe she'd see friends and tag along.
The weather had turned crisp, the temperature near freezing, the sky a uniform leaden grey. Andi ate by herself, nodding to friends who smiled from their tables without inviting her over. She looked out the window at a paper scuttling down the sidewalk and considered canceling her meeting with Bodega.
The waitress left her check, slipping it casually beside the pepper as she reached to adjust the two dried flowers in their vase. Andi looked at her watch. There were three hours to kill before meeting, she might as well go down to her office.
Files lurked on her desk like pools of quicksand waiting for the first unwary step. She turned to stare out the window. Cars coursed the street, pedestrians hurried, holding hats against the wind. The neighborhood was busy on weekends; students from Reed and Lewis and Clark and PSU flocked to shops and hang-outs indulging them with alternative atmosphere. Hawthorne was popular and was yet to succumb to the virulent commercialism that had taken NW 23ed.
Andi missed Lena and sulked.
She'd come in on Saturday again! Was that workaholic or what? It would be easier to focus if Lena was there. Lena brought excitement, work became special, there was magical efficiency. Andi leaned back in her chair and felt sorry for herself.
She flipped on her computer, looked across at the piled files, pulled out notes on her visit with Bodega and reached for her notebook.
Bodega mentioned Ibbe and Drexler. Both were high on her list--Ibbe spoke to Bryant before the party and Drexler owned the boat. Both had been Morse's targets yet clients of Bryant. Both seemed to be actively avoiding her. Lively alleged both were blackmailed. Neither was likely to admit it.
Andi put aside Bodega's file and picked out the one on Chang-Turner. There wasn't much in it of any merit.
Andi pulled out Lively's file and reread his comments on Chang-Turner.
"Dragon Lady"--the hyperbole of a disaffected ex-employee. She didn't live beyond her means, even if her husband's investments were an unknown. It would be a major effort to find anything. She attended the Yacht Club party but if her husband was a business crony it wouldn't be unusual.
Andi pulled out the party's guest list and found Stanley Turner's name. It wasn't Chang-Turner, so she'd never made the connection. Damn. Despite gut-level certainty of Chang-Turner's complicity, she was slipping away.
She could check her out, but Morse wouldn't underwrite a probe without something more substantial than rumor. Payoffs from clients could take the form of business dealings with her husband. It would be a dead end.
She pulled over her notebook. She'd ask Lively if he knew other ex-employees.
She considered canceling with Bodega, but looked at her watch and decided there wasn't time. He might not even go to his office on Saturday--he was probably out getting the snacks he promised.
Andi closed the files and carefully replaced them on their stacks. If she left now she could walk up to Mount Tabor for that meeting--driving would be easier and faster, but it was Saturday. She looked out the window; low grey clouds blanketed the city, but it was dry and the cold air would be refreshing. She pulled on her down jacket and gloves and tugged her hat over her ears.
She'd walk. She needed the exercise.
The hike took longer than she expected and Bodega was waiting in his dull amber Toyota on the curve by the crater. The air temperature hovered below freezing, her breath made white clouds and the skin on her cheeks tingled, but she was pleased that she wasn't out of breath from the walk.
Andi knocked on Bodega's car window and he turned around in surprise.
"I expected you to drive..." he explained unnecessarily as he pulled on a stocking cap got out. A big old husky eased from the back seat, shook himself and nosed Andi's palm. She gave its ears a rubbing.
"I spend too much time in my car...and had the time." Andi was almost knocked over as Bodega's dog wagged its tail and leaned heavily against her. A few early snowflakes drifted down and survived a moment on his fur.
"That's Raoul..." Bodega said.
"Hi, Raoul..." Andi rubbed the dogs ears another time and stepped away.
Bodega pulled a well worn day-pack from the passenger seat and pulled it on. "So, where were we..." he smiled a self-conscious smile.
"When we first talked I read you a list of companies I was interested in, but when we met you focused on Brian-Core and Noris-SDI...was that on purpose?" Andi figured she might confirm it. Bodega could still be leading her down some primrose path on the directions of Morse.
"Comparatively, the others are small-time hoods...the same types of problems maybe...if you want we can go into them, but Morse and Ibbe have the biggest skeletons to hide. You asked my best guess on who might have wanted Bryant to disappear...it's them."
Andi nodded and said "Thanks..."
Bodega glanced across at her as they walked by the swings and jungle-gym. He seemed eager enough to help yet patient enough to let her lead the conversation. Raoul lumbered beside them quietly, expectantly lifting his nose in the air for olfactory signals, always staying within eight or ten feet, looking back, his wise old eyes filled with stolid, canine concern.
"Morse has the largest file on toxic polluters in the state?" Andi asked.
"Probably in the Northwest...but not just polluters...he's researched personnel and stockholders and political movers--the whole web of interconnections between Northwest industries and their influence on power and policy."
"Why?"
Bodega smiled. "Decisions effecting business bottom lines are political, not scientific--or democratic...so they're decided in back rooms or the golf course. It's the way the system works--like it or not..."
Bodega was casual about such a cynical observation.
Andi asked, "What does he do with his information?" They stepped up to the access road and turned downhill toward the soapbox derby track as the air filled with light, small snowflakes.
"Power brokering is a world unto itself." Bodega snorted, "Because he has so much background, he avoids fruitless confrontations and pulls strings like no one else. That's what he sells to corporate clients...he knows back door approaches to influential board members; what politicians might really want or need...what issues they might bend on. All very hush-hush and hands-off...he knows everything to be known about the legislators, staff and bureaucrats. The man's a definite pro."
"But he does work for environmental advocates?" Andi asked. It seemed to go against the grain of a reputed power-broker.
"I think he care about the state. Just because Morse's a businessman doesn't mean he's conservative. Maybe it assuages his guilt, but he does real work on real issues...pro-bono..." Bodega pursed his lips and shook his head. "He gets things done..."
"Would he use that information to blackmail clients?" Andi asked. She watched Bodega's face to judge his reaction.
"For what? He makes big money from corporate clients...and I always pegged him as more into power than profit. Sullying his reputation would cost him access...and that's worth more than money." He paused and met Andi's eyes as he finished; face relaxed, voice calm. "And for what it's worth...I find it hard to believe."
Andi watched the dancing flakes falling around them, veiling the dark trees in misty white. One settled on Bodega's shoulder before disappearing into a shiny dot. The sloping valley dropped steeply, the city beyond completely lost--wind swirled the snow in the air, but it was hardly visible on the ground. Could she believe him? He was Morse's friend by his own admission--this whole interview could have been rehearsed.
Bodega moved down the hill and paused by some concrete dividers left by park personnel. He unslung the backpack and pulled out a thermos and a white paper box. "Dim sum and hot and sour soup." He looked up to see her reaction.
"Great..." Andi rubbed her hands together. A plume of steam rose from the opened thermos.
Bodega rummaged in the pack, pulled out two mugs and poured the soup. Andi took it on herself to open the box and set the selection of dim sum before them.
"So tell me about yourself..." Andi asked, holding the soup up to her lips to feel the rising steam bathe her face with a touch of warmth.
"Not much to tell...master's in biology from U of O, a disappointing stab at writing, an amicable divorce from a ten-year marriage...usual stuff...and you?" He tossed a shrimp dumpling to Raoul, who casually caught it on the fly.
"English major at PSU, played drums in rock and roll bands in high school, didn't want to teach, stumbled through a couple dismal jobs and stumbled into tracing down ex-husbands and serving summonses. One thing led to another and I'm still doing it."
"Private eye?" Bodega smiled as he bit into a shrimp dumpling.
"I wished I was named Sandra Spade, or Lauren Laurano. `Andi's' too perky for a detective."
"You could change it...it's short for...?"
"Andrea...but I've been Andi since I was a kid. I think Andrea would have long hair and lipstick."
"No doubt..." Bodega stared out toward where the city waited invisible. They finished off the food without speaking.
He repacked the backpack and they began the uphill grade. He continued as if he'd never been interrupted. "Noris-SDI and Brian-Core might be likely targets of blackmail, but they're hardly influencers of power...their indiscretions are fodder for groups like mine, but their total net worth is under seven-eight million. Profit on that investment is probably a million or two a year, at most...divided by the owners...they could buy off a senator or two, but not the workings of the state."
He looked into her eyes. "Morse sells influence to the billion dollar boys...Japanese mega holders, the timber industry...Bonneville Power. Why should he risk that for a measly twenty or thirty grand?"
"I don't know...but there are rumors that Bryant was doing it." She kicked a branch that lay in her way. "Noris-SDI is a small fish?" she asked in surprise.
"Out of my personal league...but small for a corporation ...they're certainly not a giant. They don't play at Morse's level. Look...should Westinghouse or CBS or IT&T have questions on Northwest politics who do you think their lawyers would call? Why should Morse risk that for mere chump change?"
Bodega turned up a path at the top of the grade, choosing a route that would circle up to the top of the hill. He must come here regularly--Andi tried another tack.
"Is the information he has worth killing for?"
Bodega paused. Andi took another step before she looked over.
"But it's not Morse that disappeared..." he said.
"But is it?" Andi pressed.
"No doubt...no doubt about it at all..." Bodega murmured as he looked up to the darkening sky.
They continued on up to the peak, pausing before the statue of the fat-cat publisher of the late 1800's. He was probably responsible for a decent share of the racist policies and land grabs that made up Oregon Territories history. Now his bronze effigy pointed westward, his portly belly bulging his waistcoat, as if he were something to be proud of. Bodega and Andi climbed up read the inscription. Raoul lifted a leg in editorial comment.
West of them, where the river and downtown usually hummed was silenced by the snow; there was the dark suggestion of hills under a sky growing charcoal in the gathering storm. The snow was falling swiftly now, blowing across the pavement like dry sand at the beach, already piling in drifts in gutters.
They shared a glance that agreed that they should go back, heading north to the path that would wind down to the crater. Andi paced Bodega stride for stride--it was comfortable walking beside him, as if they were colleagues or long-time friends. She was sorry the walk was over and sorry she still suspected him of working for Morse.
He volunteered to drive her back down and she accepted. It was too cold to opt for rugged independence. As he pulled to the curb across from her office, he turned and asked, "...would you be interested in dinner...strictly social, if you want..."
Andi looked down, embarrassed, then looked to meet his eyes, "I guess there's no reason for you to have known...but I'm a lesbian..."
Without missing a beat he quipped "So that means that you don't eat dinner or don't you want to risk being seen with a man in public?"
"I just wanted you to understand..." she fumbled. "I do eat dinner as a matter of fact."
"If you're busy or something, it's no big deal..." he extended, giving Chance for the issue fall away.
"No...it's OK...if you want to..." She wasn't doing anything--and Bodega was interesting.
"Any particular food requests? Vegetarian, vegan, or anything I should be careful of?" He smiled a lop-sided smile and scratched his ear.
"Omnivore, but I avoid red meat most of the time..." Andi admitted.
"Ditto...any time or place you want in particular?"
"How about seven at Three Doors Down?"
"Sounds good...have a good afternoon." He leaned back as she got out, then reached across to flip the door lock, treating her to an easy smile.
Andi waited until he drove off, then picked her way through the snow and traffic to get back to her office. What had she just done? Was this a date with a man?
No--she decided firmly. It was only a dinner with a professional colleague--not that Lena wouldn't tease unmercifully if she got wind.
Andi stamped the snow from her boots before coming in coming up stairs. Bobby Soxx Magnolia and three long-haired friends were spreading tarps across the floors and masking off the doors and windows to the blaring beat of seventy's rock and roll.
Bobby grinned, "Better hurry if you want in or out...we're going to be throwing paint in just a bit...and it won't be a pretty sight."
Andi believed him. She rushed in and grabbed her notebook--she could write out notes sitting at her kitchen table.
She'd record what Bodega told her. And then there were the casual connections between Bryant's clients--Stanley Turner financing Drexler, Ibbe's real estate expertise helping Drexler, Bryant writing Ibbe's contracts, Ibbe and Turner scamming software developer's. She had a lot to rethink this afternoon.
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