Toxic Blonde

by David Stever

  “She come alone?”

  “Yes. Then left early. I remember because the rest of the women all talked about her. Nobody liked her. Except for Tom, I guess. The affair had begun at that point and I was the naïve wife who didn’t have a clue. The others tried to ignore the awkwardness—and arrogance—of her being in my house.”

  “What about her personal life?”

  “All I know is what you already know. She was working for a firm in California and met Tom and my uncle at a conference. They raved about her taking the job at BST and I never thought anything more until Uncle George complained about her.” Brynne came with one of her gin and tonic specialties. “She can stay. Brynne knows everything anyhow.”

  Brynne stopped behind my chair and massaged my shoulders. “Tense...muscles are tight. You could use a deep tissue massage.”

  “Between the drink, the massage, and the bikini, I’m losing my focus.”

  “Maybe you should aim your focus in a different direction?” Mary Ann laughed and Brynne gave me a hug from behind. “You two get back to work. I’m on the deck.”

  “She always like that?” I asked.

  Mary Ann shook her head. “Enjoying her new-found freedom.”

  I sipped the drink. I don’t know what she did different, but she sure could mix a gin and tonic. “You and your uncle drive the same car.”

  “Yes. He admired mine so much, he bought himself…” It took her a moment before she figured it. “Oh, God. They thought I was him.”

  “Yep.”

  “Dear Jesus. You think she wanted to kill him?”

  “The three of you need to stay in this house until I tell you.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “The house is the safest place for you. Emmanuel and his guys are the best.”

  George Ainsley was asleep in a cozy, brown leather recliner in the study. The room had a mahogany writing desk, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined with Leah’s extensive library of classics, plus a pricey collection of first editions. Ainsley had a copy of le Carrè’s, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold open in his lap. A half-empty bottle of Scotch and a glass were ready and waiting on the desk.

  I reached back and knocked on the door.

  His eyes opened and it took him a second to clear the cobwebs.

  “Mr. Delarosa.”

  “Impressive collection, isn’t it.”

  “Yes. I could stay here forever,” he said.

  “Me too.” Only for different reasons.

  “Any updates? I still refuse to believe I was a target.” He was now awake and remembering why I brought him here. “She and I…she and I worked well together.”

  “Maybe so, George. However, there are reasons to believe her motives are more than the accolades and a fat payday.”

  “How so?”

  “The feds confirm evidence connecting her to a foreign government.”

  He stared at me for a second, and then held up the novel. “You been reading too many of these. She is a razor-sharp engineer with an extremely lucrative future in this industry.” He got off the chair, poured himself a Scotch and offered me one that I shook off. “Whomever our landlord is sure has excellent taste in liquor.”

  “The FBI was tipped by your complaint. You put her name in front of them.”

  “She was not my complaint. Tom allowed himself to be distracted. We are showing weakness at the top and that opens the door for competitors.”

  “How so?” I asked, but Ainsley’s concern was perfect for my Arthur Rhodes cover.

  “We are in a business that requires a top-secret level clearance and security. No different from a senator being seduced out of a government secret. Any fissure in our foundation, any sign of dysfunction within the company, and the enemy will pounce. A little gossip goes a long way and the owner of the company having an affair with a senior executive and causing a divorce would be the perfect opening for the jackals. The world is waiting for our technology and Tom is screwing around.”

  “You complained you were being cut out of your own project.”

  “I had to do something. I needed to scare Tom into believing me, and I thought the pressure of a DOD inquiry would jolt him back to reality before BST is seduced right out from under him. Then he and I will both be on the outside looking in.”

  I left Ainsley sulking in his own stew—and the Scotch—said good-bye to Mary Ann and Brynne, and reassured them their stay at the beach-side paradise would only be another few days at the most. I also reminded them we did not have maid service.

  Emmanuel saw me off and I no sooner got fifty yards from the house when my burner phone chirped.

  A message from Keira Kaine: “Can we meet?”

  Right on time Keira. Right on time.

  29

  A second text came from Keira a moment later. “7 a.m. Santorini’s 10th St. Tomorrow.” I shot back a confirmation, and then sent Quade a message that we were on for the morning.

  I parked the BMW in my garage behind McNally’s and went in through the kitchen. Mike and Katie were leaning against the bar, staring at the television.

  Mike pointed at the screen. “You see this?”

  The local evening news was on and a young reporter was on the scene at the harbor docks, where a crane was pulling a white Lexus SUV from the water.

  Again, the authorities are saying there was no body found in the car, but they did say the vehicle belongs to a Mr. George Ainsley of Port City. And, according to police, Mr. Ainsley cannot be located at this time. The investigation continues. Back to you in the studio.

  Katie grabbed my arm. “Johnny?”

  “Unfortunate.”

  “What do you mean? Is that Mr. Ainsley’s car? What happened?”

  “I told you he did not show up for breakfast yesterday.”

  “You think he’s dead?”

  “I think he’s missing, and it just so happens that he and Mary Ann Bellamy drive the same car. My money says our Russian friends went after the wrong car. Ainsley was the target all along.”

  “Oh my God.” She plopped down in a booth. “This is terrible. That poor man. He was a little quirky, but didn’t deserve this. Are you going to tell Mrs. Bellamy?”

  “I already told her.”

  “And?” She got up and followed me as I went behind the bar and poured myself a bourbon and headed to my booth. “Johnny! What did she say?”

  “Sit down and lower your voice.”

  She slid in opposite me and for the first time I saw an emotion I had not seen in her before—fear. She always had this naïve bravado about her, a happy-go-lucky, afraid-of-nothing, we-can-conquer-the-world attitude. This was different. The Ainsley business affected her.

  “Trust me. You know this case is more than following Bellamy and his girlfriend. I need to keep you from view.”

  “Whose view?”

  “You witnessed Keira in action. If the Russians associate you with me, they’d snatch you up in a Moscow minute. Gives them plenty of leverage.”

  She sat back in the booth. “You think they killed Mr. Ainsley?”

  “We’ll find out.” I leaned across the table to lower my voice and to also emphasize my point. “We’ve talked about this before. This is real life. These people are ruthless and to them, Ainsley is nothing but a small nuisance. A fly to be swatted to the ground. They won’t give a second thought to eliminating him. You either.”

  She didn’t respond but sat with wet eyes and arms folded across her chest.

  “Keep doing what you are doing with the trackers on the computer. That is critical. We need to know where they are at all times. Bellamy, Keira, the goons. I am meeting Keira tomorrow morning at seven. Restaurant called Santorini’s.”

  “Make sure you still have the small GPS button Scott gave you.” She got up and went behind the bar.

  ***

  Four cars and the white van were the only vehicles in the lot of the no-tell, rent-by-the-hour Starry Night Motel when I arrived at nine. I pulled aro
und to the back of the two-story building and took another look at the text message I received from Eric. He and Ortiz had set up in Room 214, one floor above and one room over from the two Russians in Room 112. I made my way up the back stairs to the second floor and Agent Ortiz opened the door when I knocked.

  “PI Dude!” The room had two full-size beds, cheap brown paneling on the walls, matted and worn orange shag carpeting, a small television bolted to a scuffed-up dresser, and the place reeked of sweat, stale beer, and cigarettes. Eric sat on a bed with two laptops open on a table he had pulled close. “Welcome to the seventies.”

  “Has it been cleaned since the seventies? Is it safe to sit down?”

  “At your own risk.” Ortiz moved some files off the bed to clear a spot for me beside Eric. “Don’t even think about using the bathroom.”

  I sat down and sunk a good six inches. “Let’s not stay here any longer than we need. How did you do?”

  “You forget you are in the presence of a mad genius,” Eric announced. “I have audio in their room but we didn’t have time to get a camera in. Katie sent an alert that their van was heading back. We had to scram.”

  “This dude is a genius. Somehow he turned his key card into a master key.”

  “They really need a firewall. Took me less than two minutes once I logged on their network. They have Wi-Fi but can’t clean the bathrooms.”

  “Could you see how they paid for the rooms?” I asked.

  “Cash.”

  The special agent stretched out on the other bed. “They are both in the room but their conversations are in Russian. Only the TV for the last hour, though.”

  Eric turned up the volume on a small speaker attached to the receiver and it was the drone of a soccer match. “How far will the bug transmit? Because this mad genius is hungry and I’d much rather listen from the car instead of this rat hole.”

  “Hundred yards without any obstruction. I can stay if you two want to make a food run.”

  “Groovy, PI Dude. Why are we listening to these two, anyhow?”

  “Anything that will clue us into—ˮ

  A noise from the Russians’ room came over the speaker.

  “Was that a knock on their door?” Ortiz jumped up and we huddled around.

  Their voices went back and forth, and then one of the Russians opened the door.

  “Hey.” A female voice. The door closed. “Wait, you didn’t say it was two of you.”

  “It okay. We pay for two.” A male voice, in broken English. “Here, here.”

  “No way. Gonna be forty each.”

  “Okay, okay, we pay.”

  “One at a time.”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn, they hired a hooker,” Eric said. “Oh, shit, we are down and in it.”

  Ortiz and I traded a glance. She was probably as amused and confused by the Eric speak as I was. The speaker went silent. Thirty seconds later we heard a rustling around and bed squeaks.

  A long, deep moan…“Baby, baby.”

  “This is awkward,” Ortiz said.

  One final grunt, and then laughter, from the other man. One man yelling and one laughing.

  “That was quick.” The female voice.

  The Russian voices argued back and forth until a door slammed.

  “Did he leave?” I asked.

  Ortiz peeked through the drapes. “No. Maybe he’s so humiliated he hid in the bathroom.”

  Eric flopped back on the bed. “The dude is a minute man. It’s okay dude. We’ve all been there.”

  “Yeah?” Ortiz asked.

  Eric’s face turned red, and I was about to add a witty tidbit to the conversation, when all three of our phones buzzed.

  A text from Katie: “Keira’s car approaching.”

  Eric popped up. “No way. Dude, this will be off the chain.”

  I sent a message back: “How far?”

  “One mile.”

  “Katie, good job.”

  Ortiz stayed at the window. Moans and grunts came through the speaker. We surmised it was now the second Russian’s turn. I had a tiny bit of sympathy for these two because when the blonde walked through the door, their time serving the motherland could come to a painful halt.

  “She’s here.” Ortiz closed the gap in the drapes.

  Keira must have a key because the door opened without a knock and the screaming began immediately. Mostly in Russian but we heard enough English to figure what was happening.

  Screwing a whore with my money…get out…now…

  The door slammed. Ortiz ran to the drapes. “Didn’t know hookers could run that fast.”

  More screaming. “Damn,” Eric said, “she’s laying them dudes out.”

  Somewhere in the midst of the screaming, we did hear:

  Santorini…

  More screaming, then, what I feared:

  Nyet… nyet…Nadia…nyet…nyet

  “Did he just say her name?” I asked.

  “Nadia, he said. Nadia.” Ortiz scribbled it in a notebook. A guttural scream came from the speaker followed by a moment of silence.

  More rustling around, bed squeaks, a crash…maybe a lamp falling.

  Nadia…nyet…sorry, sorry. A second loud cry…

  “PI Dude, what is happening?”

  “She carries a stun gun.”

  “Dude, no way. She stunned them?”

  “Serious?” Ortiz said.

  “Yep.”

  The door slammed in their room and Ortiz went to the window. “There she goes. Stun gun, huh? Brutal. One way to keep her employees in line.”

  “I hope her mood lightens because I’m the guy who is meeting her at seven tomorrow morning.”

  For once, Eric was speechless.

  30

  Santorini’s was a Greek breakfast and lunch hole-in-the-wall, but as luck would have it, I had never been in the place. The danger of donning the Arthur Rhodes persona was taking the chance of being recognized, and even though Keira chose this location, it worked. The Greek section of the city was never my beat as a uniformed cop, and I never had much action in this part of town as a detective. The Greeks kept to themselves, centered their lives around the Orthodox Church, and did a decent job of staying out of trouble.

  The warm aroma of fresh brewed coffee hit me as I walked in, and to my right was a pastry case containing some of the most decadent-looking baklava this side of Athens. I made a mental note to come back once the Bellamy business was over.

  Ten booths lined the left wall and Keira was in the last booth, the exact location I would choose. Basic operative tradecraft, whether an agent for a government or a private detective surveilling a subject: the goal was to put the establishment in front of you to observe all who entered. She also had the kitchen door behind her in case of a quick exit.

  I approached the booth and she gestured for me to sit.

  “Glad you reconsidered, Ms. Kaine.” A teenage boy came to the table to take my order. “Coffee, black.” Keira had a cup of tea in front of her.

  “I’m curious,” she said.

  I thought I looked sharp in the blue suit I chose for the meeting, but she wore black slacks, an oversized black blazer, a white blouse unbuttoned halfway down her chest, and a man’s red and black striped necktie loosely tied around the collar. Direct from the pages of Vogue.

  “You should be. I made a generous offer.”

  “Why so secretive? Why not contact me through normal channels?”

  “A lot of eyes are on you and Bellamy. If word gets out you’re open to offers from rivals, it could create a bidding war for you. Think of my offer as a preemptive strike. Eliminate the competition before the competition realizes you were available. Plus, any emails or calls would be traceable.”

  She nodded. “I’m content where I am.”

  The young waiter came back with my coffee. “Would you like anything?” he asked. Keira shook her head.

  He moved to the next table. The Greek coffee tasted as good as the aroma advertised. Qua
de’s history of Keira working for the Russian mobster Orlov kept playing in the back of my mind. She sat here in designer clothes from the runways of Milan, blue eyes that could turn a man to mush, looks that should put her in front of a camera, but the black purse on the chair beside her reminded me of her brutality. Did she carry the stunner with her at all times?

  “Content? Bellamy’s divorce will screw it up. Or is that your strategy? Create chaos at the top until the company falls apart? Then swoop in, clean up the pieces, and then reap the rewards? After all, you have all the knowledge and nothing to lose.”

  “Mr. Rhodes, I’m proud of our work. The last thing I want is to disrupt the organization. If his divorce happens, it’s a temporary distraction.”

  “But here we are.”

  She shrugged and stirred her tea. “I know the players in this industry, and most cannot afford what you’re offering. My time is valuable. Please don’t waste it. This offer?”

  “You see the news last night?”

  “Mr. Ainsley?” She stopped stirring. “Already gave a statement to the police. Had issues, though.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Likes his Scotch. Also could not deal with the fact we were moving from this little R&D company to a player on the main stage. Smart man, spent his career on this technology, then when our breakthrough was apparent, he gets crazy. Resents my involvement, couldn’t handle his own success. Starts talking, complaining, and we get scared he’s going to blow the whole deal.” She took a sip of tea and set the cup down. “Millions at stake and he won’t shut up.”

  I studied her for a moment, hoped to spot a tic, a tell, any sign of nerves. Nothing. She was steely cool. “Is he at the bottom of the harbor?”

  She aimed the blue eyes at me. “I need to go to work.” She waved for the waiter.

  “Do I tell my employers he’s a non-issue?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Disgruntled employee found dead. That’s heavy baggage,” I said.

  “Non-issue. I’m sure there’s an explanation.” The waiter laid the check on the table as he breezed by. She put a five on it. “You have one more minute, but I’ll help you along. It’s not China—they’ll just steal the technology. Japan is too proud to bring in an American, and the Russians are all bluster with no substance. Leaves the private sector. Space X and Centauris are the only two with resources to make that kind of offer. Am I close?”