Studying Scarlett the Grey

by Kelle Z Riley

  Eventually Jack shrugged. “The long and the short of it is that the new ventures started producing an almost immediate—and unexpected—return on investment.” He pulled a tablet from the pocket of his jacket and loaded images of sales projections, quarterly reports, and other financial data.

  Matthew nudged the tablet toward Bree, giving her better access to the data and making it clear she was an analytical expert. While she paged through the data, he steered the conversation.

  “Storage units and rental cars are a long way from rent-to-own TV sets and rent-by-the-day party supplies. Why the change?”

  “It started almost by accident,” Jack began, sipping his coffee. “The rental business is thriving, partly because the younger generation isn’t into ownership. So short term rentals for everything from seasonal décor to furniture is in demand.

  "One week, it’s a game night party with friends, complete with a rented gaming table and themed dinnerware. The next week you switch it out for a Hollywood movie themed get-together. Then a luau. And so it goes. Halloween and Christmas decorations are hot-ticket items too.

  "As this segment of the business picked up, we realized we were running out of warehouse space. That’s when Billy got the idea to purchase a storage unit site. We use a portion of the units for warehousing various merchandise—sorted roughly by theme—and the others we rent out. About six months ago, we moved from our old storefront to the main office at the rental complex.”

  “Billy?” Bree queried, fishing for information.

  “Billy Bandergas. He’s a cross between a business mentor, adopted uncle, and friend. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know Billy, but we really got close when dad started declining. Billy took over a lot of the day-to-day operations. He knows the ins and outs of the business better than anyone, except me. And dad. Once upon a time, that is.”

  Business mentor. Not the same as business partner. Bree filed the information away.

  “And the auto rental?” Matthew asked. “Also, not typical for you.”

  “That was a happy accident and—indirectly—Billy’s doing as well. He’s an old gearhead, always tinkering with vehicles of one sort or another. He used one of the storage units as a garage.

  "One day, a customer asked if he could rent a car. It snowballed from there. Some of the rentals are tourists, but most are, again, younger people who don’t want to bother with owning a car. We do daily, weekly, and monthly rentals of select vehicles. Billy’s even proposed we add a pickup/drop off service at the airports.”

  “So, a combination between ride shares and traditional rentals?” Bree asked. “Quite the concept. And definitely likely to ruffle some feathers.”

  Jack shrugged. “Every new business disrupts old businesses. And if the models work, we’ll expand out of Chicagoland and into other cities. I’m not against growth. As long as I’m still serving my customers and caring for the employees.”

  “Everything you’ve said,” began Matthew, “makes sense. Except for one thing. What exactly makes you uneasy? Why did you seek me out?”

  Jack shoved his plate away, propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his clasped hands. “On the face of it, I have nothing to worry about. But something doesn’t feel right to me.

  "As far as I can tell, there are no discrepancies in the books, no reason to doubt the business income, yet something isn’t right.” He shook his head, brow once again furrowed.

  “Maybe I’m just imagining disaster around every corner. A family business operates on very slim margins. Once the debts are settled and employees paid, there is just enough left over for a simple life.”

  Simple to Jack Trayder and simple to Bree Mayfield-Watson were worlds apart, Bree mused as she looked again at the spreadsheets showing profit versus loss. Jack’s frame of reference was vastly different from hers.

  “In any case,” Jack gave a disarming smile and slight shrug of his massive shoulders, “I heard that your firm specialized in industrial investigations. Beyond determining if there is anything amiss in the business, I’d like to know how the employees view us.

  "What we’re doing right. What can be better. I’d love to go undercover in my own organization to see for myself what we do right and wrong, but,” he shrugged again, “I doubt that’s possible.”

  “You are far too distinctive to be able to hide in plain sight,” Bree agreed, thinking his height and build alone would “out” him if he tried.

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re in luck,” Matthew said, sparing Bree a sidelong glance. “No one will look twice at my associate once she’s undercover.”

  The backhanded compliment hurt. One of her primary assets—according Matthew—was her ordinary appearance that left few, if any, impressions. Medium height, medium brown hair, uninteresting brown eyes.

  Nothing outstanding about her, unless you counted her curvier-than-a-plus-size-model build. And even that was toning and tightening due to the rigorous training exercises Matthew insisted she do to stay safe in dangerous situations.

  Still…no one will look twice? Every woman wanted to be someone who elicited a second, or third, look.

  “Watson? Stop daydreaming.” Matthew’s sharp tone refocused her meandering thoughts on the men sharing her table.

  Jack Trayder outlined his goals then left, allowing Bree and Matthew time to discuss strategies, research, and their roles in the upcoming mission.

  As the breakfast crowd morphed into the lunch crowd, Bree hurried to the university to finalize the transition of her classes to the new professor, grateful her days of teaching were at an end. Because soon, perhaps even sooner than she’d like, she was going undercover. Again.

  Chapter 5

  Days later, Bree reported to Trader Jack’s Emporium, new employee paperwork in hand. The office manager looked up from her documents. “Everything seems to be in order, Miss Holmes,” she said, referring to Bree by her undercover name of Cat Holmes.

  “I see you’ve had retail experience, a customer service job, some admin and bookkeeping work.” She flipped through the papers in her folder. “A bit of everything. Working your way through your undergraduate schooling shows initiative.”

  Bree averted her eyes and fidgeted with her necklace. This version of her camera necklace, which featured a silver Celtic knot fashioned from three entwined cats, fit with the persona of a young college graduate she adopted for the mission.

  No one will look twice at you. You’re the perfect grey man. Able to blend into any situation without standing out.

  Like pretending to be ten-plus years younger, and faking experience in a range of jobs she hadn’t actually done—unless selling Girl Scout cookies when she was eleven counted as retail.

  Bree offered what she hoped looked like a tentative smile. “I grew up watching Trader Jack’s commercials. I’ll bet it’s a fun place to work.”

  “Everyone here is friendly,” Mrs. Telligio said. “Don’t be afraid to ask any of us for help.” She pointed to a chair. “Our work uniform is simple. Comfortable closed-toe shoes—that means sneakers, not sandals—a shirt with sleeves, and slacks. Jeans are acceptable if they are clean and don’t contain holes. And when you’re working, always wear your Trader Jack’s vest.”

  Bree slipped into the army drab vest Mrs. T indicated, pleased to see a colorful image of Scarlett The Grey embroidered on the pocket.

  She followed Mrs. Telligio to Jack’s office where the manager introduced her to Jack Trayder. Jack’s eyes widened and he did a double take, his head cocked to the side. “Amazing transformation,” he muttered.

  “Pardon?” asked Mrs. Telligio.

  Jack waved the comment away. “I was just thinking about some negotiations I had earlier with a consultant. I was told they did amazing work and I think I understand what that means.” Behind Mrs. T’s back he winked at Bree before grasping her hand and giving her a standard welcome.

  Minutes later, Bree and M
rs. Telligio left the office and headed into the main retail space. “Welcome to Trader Jack’s,” said Scarlett the Grey from her place of honor near the counter. Thankfully, Scarlett gave no indication that she and Bree had met previously. “Hello, pretty lady.”

  Bree fussed over the bird while Mrs. Telligio explained the bird’s schedule, then told Bree about her assignments. “You will rotate through a number of jobs to help you understand the business and us get a feel for where you’ll be the best fit. Today you’ll work with Liza in customer service.” After a brief introduction, Mrs. Telligio left.

  “Bye, T,” called Scarlett.

  Liza, a brunette about Bree’s real age, showed Bree the computer data system with its product categories. “Study these and watch for a while. Later you can work with me as I handle orders. Then you can try a few on your own.”

  Bree settled in at a desk behind the order counter and familiarized herself with the filing and inventory systems on the computer.

  Later—when everyone was looking away—she’d upload a tracking bot to the system to allow her tech team to have remote, real-time access to the accounting. They’d compare data from the bot with the sales figures provided by Jack Trayder himself to search for discrepancies.

  “Hello, pretty lady,” said Scarlett, greeting a new customer. Bree glanced over the top of the monitor at a line of customers and froze at the sight of a familiar face.

  Sasha.

  Bree slipped out of her necklace, dangled it over the monitor’s edge, and slumped in her chair, ears tuned to the transaction.

  “I’m here to return my vehicle,” Sasha said in a cultured British accent.

  “Which vehicle was that?” asked Liza. “Oh, I see it here on the key fob. The red Mustang. Was everything satisfactory?"

  “It was quite fun, you know, sporting about,” replied Sasha. “A bit different, driving on the wrong side of the road and all.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper “I felt rather like an old Chicago gangster when I was visiting the city, don’t you know? The farmer’s markets and craft fairs were delightful as well, although one can’t imagine a gangster buying vegetables and craft items.”

  Body on full alert, Bree listened while Sasha and Liza chatted. Once the spy had left the building, Bree gathered her necklace and worked her way up to the counter, gaze sweeping the area, memorizing faces, and identifying characteristics of the other customers.

  She ducked her head and slumped her shoulders, doing her best to blend into the background while turning in a slow circle to capture as much of the scene on camera as possible.

  “Cat?” Liza called her from the front counter. “Come help me with the next customers.”

  Bree moved beside Liza, palming the key fob to Sasha’s car, and slipping it into her pocket before going through the motions of helping the customers.

  A few hours later, Bree shrugged out of her vest and headed down the street to a convenience store on the pretense of grabbing lunch. Tugood met her by the soda fountain.

  “Your text said you needed to see me. Urgently.”

  “Sasha stopped in at Trader Jack’s today.”

  Matthew’s fist tightened on his drink cup, crushing the paper, and sending soda sloshing over his hand. “Damn.”

  “Didn’t you expect her to come to the Chicago area? After all, you are her primary contact here.”

  “She was headed to D.C., where I expected her to get in touch with others in her network.” His voice dropped low, for her ears only. “She’s dirty, Bree. I discovered it early in our renewed association. I think she’s involved with a terrorist cell and I’d hoped to keep tabs on her.”

  “She must have ditched our tracking devices if she caught you by surprise.” Bree stared at him, trying to discern his thoughts from his face, but his expression had gone blank.

  “Sasha is as much a professional as I am.” A grim smile etched his face. “Or she used to be. She passed our tech on to her contacts without knowing she’d been observed. We’re tracking them now.”

  “Good. Will this help us fill in any gaps on her movements?” Bree passed the rental key fob to him.

  “Unlikely, but I’ll have Grant see what diagnostics he can pull from the car’s navigation system. Hopefully, the missing key will slow down anyone who tries to delete data from the car’s black box. I’ll get this back to you by the end of the day.”

  If anyone could find information from a mere key fob, Grant was the man to do it. His laid-back exterior might get him mistaken for a beach bum, but his mind was razor sharp.

  Satisfied, Bree grabbed a sandwich and a bottle of Diet Coke before donning the persona of Cat Holmes and heading back to Trader Jack’s.

  Bree skirted the parked Mustang in front of the shop and stepped through the side door into a tangle of bodies and raised voices.

  “Green money! Green money!” squawked Scarlett from her perch, repeating the phrase over and over, adding to the general cacophony.

  “Lizzie,” shouted a sharp, nasal voice over the sound of the parrot, “you have to follow the procedure. The procedure, man. You put the keys on the hook as soon as you check a car in. You know? On the hook. That way they can’t get lost.”

  “On the hook, on the hook,” squawked Scarlett.

  “I swear, I did. I always do.” Liza’s voice wavered and Bree felt a wash of shame knowing she was to blame for the young woman’s trouble. She only hoped the information Grant pulled from the vehicle was worth the pain.

  “If you put the key on the hook, the key would still be on the hook. Right?”

  “Billy, don’t lash out. She’s doing her best. Maybe it slipped.” The throaty rasp came from a bulky grey-haired employee whose vest, which smelled of cigarette smoke, proclaimed her name to be Margie.

  “The key can’t slip, Margie. It’s not hanging on a nail. It’s a hook. Can’t slip off a hook.”

  Liza’s face reddened and her hands fisted at her sides. Margie took a step toward Billy. Bree wedged herself between them to diffuse the situation. “I saw her put it on the hook,” Bree lied.

  “Who are you?” The speaker turned to her, giving her a first good look at the man at the center of the harangue. “Oh, you must be the new girl. Where have you been? Out back playing with the boys in shipping?”

  Beside her, Liza stiffened even more. Her face went from red to pale.

  Bree bit back a retort and sized the bully up. Five feet nine or ten, she guessed. Wiry. Bowlegged. Stiff stance bristling with tightly coiled energy. Thinning hair, once brown, but now tinged with grey. Dark, flinty eyes. She thrust her hand in his face and strove for a cheerful, clueless tone.

  “I’m the new hire. Cat Holmes.”

  He looked at her outstretched hand. “Billy,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet as if trying to add another inch or two to his stature. “Billy Bandergas. I’m in charge of the garage and vehicle rentals here at Trader Jack’s. Been with the company since before Jackie Jr. learned to drive. I’m his right-hand man.” Billy wrapped his hand around her palm and pumped it a couple of times, squeezing in a crushing hold.

  Bree slid her index finger along his wrist to gain control then dug her thumbnail into the web between his thumb and finger. “Oh, Kitty Cat here’s a gripper, she is. She’s a strong one, that Kitty Cat,” he announced to no one in particular as he pulled his hand from hers. He shook his hand theatrically and laughed, smugness oozing from him.

  “Pretty lady! Green money! Jack of all trades!”

  Billy turned from Bree. “So, Lizzie, let’s get goin’! Search the place and lemme know when you find that key. I gotta get this car ready to go again. We’ve got a customer coming in for it. Chop, chop!” Silence, punctuated by an audible sigh of relief, echoed through the room as he left to return to the rental cars and garage section of the facility.

  Hours later, when Tugood visited the shop, he slipped Bree the key with a wink. She kicked the fob under a corner of the c
ounter, then headed to a computer terminal. While the rest of the staff waited on customers and searched—again—for the missing key, she uploaded the tracking bot to the computer system.

  “Thank goodness,” Liza exclaimed, just as Bree pulled her flash drive from the computer. “Here’s the key. I can’t imagine how this ended up on the floor. Billy will be glad to have it back.”

  “Do you want me to take it to him?” Bree offered. “I could use a chance to stretch my legs.” Relief flooded Liza’s eyes, but she didn’t hand the key over.

  “I should take it, but if you want to tag along, it will give you a chance to see the garage and car rental area. You’ll eventually work there for a stint.”

  Bree followed Liza through a series of back hallways that ended with small doors opening onto various storage stalls, listening as she walked.

  “The space didn’t originally have back doors into the units,” Liza explained, “but when we moved to this location, Jack had the climate-controlled areas reconfigured so we can enter from either the back or the front.

  "Back entrances are for employees and front entrances are for customers. The idea was to convert the central buildings into a kind of outdoor mall.”

  “That’s fine for the summer, but not so nice in the winter,” Bree observed.

  “Jack thought of that too.” Liza gave her a smile. “He installed walkways and large industrial heaters to keep them warm. Next year, if all goes well, he plans to add awnings with drop down panels to make the space semi-enclosed.”

  “That sounds expensive.”

  “For now, it’s just talk, but I can see it transforming into something bigger. The cool thing is that Jack plans to include his long-term employees in a profit-sharing plan once things take off.”

  “No wonder you love working here.”

  “With a few minor exceptions, I love everything about the business.” Liza gestured to a pair of doors on their right. “Several units were combined to make the garage area. One half of the garage complex functions as a kind of staging area and showroom. The other half is for working on the cars. It was a major renovation.”