by G. K. Parks
Six
“Jesus,” I flipped the safety back on my gun and put it on the table with slightly shaking hands, “what did I say about showing up when I’m working?”
Martin sighed and rolled his eyes. “Alex, if I had a nickel for every time you’ve pointed a gun at me, I could go crazy at a vending machine.” Running my hands through my hair, I took a deep breath. “Plus, I left you a message. Didn’t you get it?” The smirk on his face was irritating. “I thought things between us had changed, and you weren’t keeping me at arms’ length anymore while you were working.”
“Old habits die hard.” I glanced at his overnight bag. “What are you doing here?”
“So you didn’t get my message?”
“All it said was you were stopping by before you left on your trip.” Scrunching my brow in frustration, I felt the exhaustion setting in. “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning. I finished at the office early, packed a bag, and came here. Marcal will pick me up at eight a.m. and take me to the airport. It’s okay that I’m here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s fine, but I’ve been up for the last thirty-something hours. I need a shower and sleep.” Not bothering to elaborate, I found a change of clothes and shut myself in the bathroom.
Stepping under the steamy water, I was tired, frustrated, and otherwise just plain old blah. Lathering my long brown hair, the ramifications that I was fired hit hard. Some job. Eastman was a piece of work, and PDN was a joke. However, there was a dead body, dozens of federal agents crawling all over the hotel, and my job was to go another round of interviews whenever the police called. Joy. And to top it off, Martin was leaving tomorrow morning for the next three weeks.
“Hey, are you hungry? I was thinking of cooking, but if you’d rather order in, we can do that instead,” he said when I exited the bathroom.
“I don’t care.”
He studied me for a moment, and his gaze settled on the crumpled blanket on my sofa. “Still depressed? I know how much you love sleeping on sofas, but Mark says it’s a sure sign you’re depressed and to seek professional help immediately. Thankfully, I’m a professional.” He smirked as the devious thoughts swam through his mind on ways to cheer me up.
“Don’t even.” I didn’t want to talk about it. Talking about it was what led to the problem in the first place. “I spent all night in interrogation, and I’m exhausted. Now isn’t the time for that conversation.”
A smile crept onto his face. “Putting the screws to the bad guys?”
“No. A body was found. So guess who’s suddenly a material witness and potential suspect. Oh, and to top it off, I was fired.”
“What?” Everything I just said made little sense, and he was flummoxed. Curling up on the couch, I elaborated while he made lunch or dinner or whatever the hell it was. When it was ready, he put it in front of me, and I picked at it. We ate in silence for a time until he cleared his throat. “Alexis,” he hesitated, and I looked him in the eye, “why don’t you come back to Martin Technologies full time?”
“Because your initials are monogrammed on the front door. Not to mention, I screwed up the security protocols and have to fix them. Don’t worry, I’m not charging you my consulting rate since it’s my fault.” Wow, I was batting a thousand. I was fired from PDN. I couldn’t get my old job back at the OIO. I screwed up at MT, and there hadn’t been any private investigator gigs in a few weeks. “I give up.”
Without another word, I went into my room and crawled into bed. There was no point in coming out. Nothing good could come of it. I shut my eyes and curled into the fetal position. As I drifted closer to sleep, Martin climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around me.
“We’ll talk about this later,” he whispered, kissing my hair.
A while later, the phone rang, and I opened an eye to make sure it wasn’t mine. Martin grabbed his cell and went into the living room. From his half of the conversation, I could tell it was about his business trip. I didn’t even know where he was going or why he was going. Some girlfriend I was. Maybe that should be added to my current list of failures. Instead of getting out of bed to start making that list, I fell asleep and woke up in the middle of the night.
Martin was next to me, and the illuminated three a.m. glowed in the darkness. I stared at him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. I was a workaholic, and so was he. The difference was he was a CEO with a corporation. I was an unemployed loser. It made it difficult to drown my sorrows in work when there was no work to be done.
Around five, Martin shifted and opened his eyes. “Since when are you awake this early in the morning?”
“Since I went to bed sometime yesterday afternoon.” I snuggled against him. “Don’t go.” The words left my mouth, and I felt idiotic for saying them. He held me tighter, obviously confused since I always insisted we put our careers first. “Stay here. The two of us can hide in my apartment forever.” I laughed, playing it off as a joke.
“Really? What about food and other necessities? Your fridge and pantry are sadly paltry.”
“Delivery. Lots of delivery.”
“We would run out of condoms pretty fast and then what?” For once, I was glad he was a morning person and could joke around at five a.m. At least his annoying habit was good for something.
“We’ll have Marcal pick them up and deliver them since your driver would need something to do.”
“So we’ll just hide in your tiny apartment for the rest of our lives?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled. “Alex, I don’t believe you for a second. You’d go crazy.”
“I am crazy.”
“Fine, I’m calling your bluff. If you’re completely serious about this, then I’ll call my accountant, liquidate my stocks, sell my company, and never leave your side.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “But we’re not staying here. If you insist on hiding indoors, then we’re going to my place. It’s bigger and comes with a pool, home gym, plenty of rooms, and a much better cable package. So you’ll just have to move in with me.”
“I don’t want to move in with you.” This was an old argument. I practically lived part time at his place anyway. Depending on work, various injuries, and other issues, I would spend anywhere from a night to a couple of weeks there on a fairly regular basis, but that didn’t mean I wanted to move in permanently.
“Hence, the flaw in your otherwise brilliant plan,” he teased.
“Damn.”
We fell silent for a few minutes, and I wondered if he was going back to sleep. But then he interrupted the quiet. “I have to go on this trip, but if you need me here, maybe I can rearrange some things and cut it short.”
“No. It’s fine. I’m fine. You should go, and I’ll hide in my apartment all by myself.”
“Why don’t you come with me? You’re not working. I’ll be busy, but it’d be preferable to not seeing you for the next three weeks.”
“I can’t. I have more questions to answer for the police department, and I have to fix the elevator issue at your company. When did life get this hard?”
He snorted. “It’ll be okay.” He shifted so he could see my face. “What I will never understand is how someone could fire you. That guy must be an absolute moron. You’re an amazing consultant, and before that, Mark always said you were an amazing agent. This Eastman schmuck has no idea what he’s missing.”
“Is that flattery I detect?”
“See, and a damn fine investigator too.” He smirked. “If your ribs are up to it, I’m wondering how much more flattery it will take to convince you to drop your panties. After all, I’m going away for three entire weeks.”
I smiled. “The ribs are okay with it, but keep talking. I might need a bit more convincing.”
* * *
After Martin left later that morning, I went back to bed. There had to be a way to shake the funk I was in. My career stagnated, and the last time this happened, it was self-inflicted. It had been an escape from the job, the
death, the mayhem, and it was the clean break I needed. However, my current predicament wasn’t any of those things. I wasn’t trying to escape; I tried to return. Unfortunately, that wasn’t meant to happen mainly because, in all honesty, I liked being my own boss, taking different gigs here and there, and I knew Martin worried. Too many close calls and we were both fairly neurotic when it came to the other’s safety.
“What to do. What to do,” I mumbled, burying myself further in the sheets. Since the few friends I had at the precinct weren’t assigned to the current murder investigation, I couldn’t insist of insinuating myself into a consulting role, and Det. Jacobs didn’t get the hint. PDN fired me. Perhaps I was insubordinate, and maybe I overreacted. But where the hell did Paul come off thinking I would land him a finder’s fee because of my previous employer and current love interest? No, something was still shady about that situation. Even Jacobs thought it was fishy.
Could Paul have choreographed the murder and ensured I would be removed from the situation? After all, we had a rather strange conversation in his hotel room a couple nights before. And why was he staying in the hotel in the first place? Plus, what about that under the table deal? How did he make contact with one of the European business tycoons, and why would they want access to James Martin or his company?
So maybe that last bit was my paranoia getting the best of me. It happened, and sometimes, it was difficult to decipher where the crazy train started and where legitimate concern ended. Granted, I wasn’t always the most rational person on the face of the planet, and emotions were known to get the best of me on occasion. Mostly, I acted overzealously to protect people I cared about, but this didn’t feel like one of those instances.
I stretched, feeling the tenderness in my torso, but nothing popped or cracked. Maybe I could eke out a few miles on the treadmill to help sort through the endless string of questions my psyche posed. Changing, I started out slowly, gradually increasing the speed as I thought about the entire three weeks I was employed by PDN, the lengthy checks the Secret Service conducted on its private contractors, and the dead hotel night clerk. If Eastman was dirty, there should have been an indicator in his past. Someone would have noticed and caught on, right?
Pounding out the miles, I needed to know the deceased man’s name. Who knew he was scheduled to pick up a few extra shifts and work days? The telephone halted my questions and stopped my impromptu workout which began as an easy jog and turned into an all-out sprint.
“Parker,” I huffed, unsuccessfully attempting to regulate my labored breathing with only shallow breaths.
“Hello, Ms. Parker, this is Officer Sarcone from the police department,” the voice responded, sounding completely business appropriate. “Would you be willing to answer a few more questions concerning your employment with PDN?”
“Sure.” Maybe we could do this over the phone since the PD didn’t want to hire me.
“Great. Can you come by the precinct at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yeah, okay. Hey,” I paused, wondering if it was worth asking the question, “do you know what the dead guy’s name is?” That was a somewhat irreverent way of asking the question, but being in law enforcement for any length of time tended to have a desensitizing effect.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m not allowed to disclose any information on the current case.”
“It’s just a name. I’m not asking if you have any suspects or if an arrest has been made or what evidence you’ve found.” Okay, that was overstepping. Tread lightly, Parker, my internal voice chastised.
“Two o’clock tomorrow.” There was an uncertain hesitation, and then two whispered words. “Alvin Hodge.”
The line disconnected, and I put the receiver down. Oh, Romeo, what’s in a name? My mind played through Juliet’s soliloquy which I had been forced to memorize in high school as I wiped my sweaty palms on a dish towel and took a seat in front of my computer. It was time to see what I could discover about Mr. Alvin Hodge. It was the closest thing to a work distraction I had, even if no one hired me to work on the case.
Seven
Alvin Hodge was born and raised in Portland, Oregon. He had two ex-wives, four unpaid traffic tickets, and lived in a decent neighborhood in the suburbs. Not exactly what one would think of when discussing homicide victims, particularly since he drove an eco-friendly automobile. I tapped my fingertips against the keyboard, trying to come up with something relevant to type into the databases. Even though the murder seemed hotel related at the very least and conference related at the most, I still ran backgrounds on his two ex-wives. Typically, lovers whether past or present had the strongest motives for murder, but Sally Hanson lived thousands of miles away in Portland. Moving on to ex-wife number two, Rachel Romanski was a local yoga instructor with no criminal record. I would drop by and ask a few questions, but she didn’t strike me as worthy enough to be considered a person of interest.
After wasting an hour on an absolutely fruitless endeavor, I showered and heated some leftovers. Halfway through lunch, there was a knock on my door. Opening it, I was surprised to find Paul Eastman outside.
“You must really want to see how quickly I can file harassment charges,” I growled. “I’m assuming you used company records to learn my address, and I’m pretty certain this can be construed as stalking.”
He stared blankly at me. “I came to apologize. I left a few messages on your office phone and stopped there first, but you were out.”
“Wow, you really want to make sure that stalking charge sticks, huh?” I moved to shut the door, and he stepped forward, blocking it from closing with his foot. “I’m within my rights to shoot an intruder if I’m in fear of my life. So in two seconds, I’m going to scream bloody murder. I would suggest you leave before things escalate beyond that point.”
“I want to hire you,” he blurted out, taking half a step back.
“You fired me two days ago, remember?” I glared daggers, wondering if anyone would believe I was afraid of this guy enough to warrant putting a few holes in him.
“I don’t want you back at PDN. I want to personally hire you. The police have been questioning me. They think I’m involved in that man’s death.”
“Well, are you?”
“No. I don’t even know who died.” He looked down the empty hallway of my apartment building. “Can I come inside so we can talk about this?”
“No.” I moved to shut the door, but he didn’t budge. “Fine, if you want to make an appointment, I’ll meet you at four thirty tomorrow at my office. And if you come to my house again, you won’t be walking away.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” He nodded curtly and turned toward the stairwell.
Slamming the door shut, I locked my two deadbolts and went to the window to make sure he left my building. His appearance was beyond inappropriate, and it left an uneasy feeling in my gut. But on the bright side, I had some idea where to continue my computer search for leads on the deceased.
After a couple hours of internet searching, half a dozen phone calls, and a stiff drink, I gave up. There was no reason for me to dig into Hodge’s death. No one hired me to do it. Okay, maybe Paul wanted to hire me, but I wasn’t too keen on the idea. After my search for other possible suspects in the Hodge murder turned up empty, I shifted gears to focus solely on Paul Eastman.
Everything he said in his hotel room seemed true enough, and he didn’t have a record. I even phoned a few guys at the OIO to see if he had a file without a conviction. Sometimes, crimes were dropped for lack of evidence, inappropriate arrest or search, or whatever, but that wasn’t the case. Despite his stalker-like behavior, strange urging for under the table business dealings, and failed attempts to join the ranks of law enforcement, he wasn’t a criminal. And if he was, then he was smarter than I gave him credit for.
“It’s time to reevaluate your behavior,” I grunted, recalling words various shrinks might have said to me over the course of the years at various psych evals and man
dated job required therapy sessions since I personally abhorred psychology and would never seek it out on my own. “What do you hope to accomplish?” I snorted, hating psychobabble and confused why I was tormenting myself with it. Unfortunately, my sick, deranged psyche had a point. I was a backseat driver, and being relegated to material witness in the middle of a homicide wasn’t acceptable on any level. I needed a real case.
“Thank you for calling Martin Technologies. This is Jeffrey Myers speaking. How may I assist you today?” he asked pleasantly.
“Hey, it’s Alex. I have some unexpected free time this evening and wanted to run some drills before I read through the revised maintenance proposal. How much will you hate me if I come in tonight and set half the alarms off?”
“Do you need help?” he asked, sounding hesitant.
“No. I can lock down the elevators and accidentally set off the sprinklers on my own. Actually, we should probably disable the sprinklers because I don’t think Mr. Guillot wants a flood in the building, especially since he’s in charge while Mr. Martin’s traveling.”
“Okay, how ‘bout I make a few calls to the security firm and police department, giving them the heads up concerning your impending drills? Then I’ll hang around until you show up, disable the sprinklers, and let you have the run of the place until the night shift arrives.”
“Sounds great.”
“All right. Just do me one favor and ask Mr. Guillot for permission before you turn this place upside down. Some of us still work here.” The teasing was evident in his voice.
“Fine.” I pretended to be annoyed and hung up. Then I dialed Guillot and asked that he send word to Jeffrey before he left work today.
At least I found something to occupy my time. Changing into something slightly more work appropriate, I reviewed the elevator schematics and protocols one more time before setting out. On the bright side, tonight’s check would help prove my theory to modify the system, and if something went awry, there would be plenty of time to correct it before pitching the new implementations to the Board. Plus, it’d be a great opportunity to work on my stealth tactics and clandestine maneuvers. Hell, maybe I should become a burglar since this private investigator/consulting thing wasn’t going very well.
