Likely Suspects

by G. K. Parks

  As we waited for the elevator to arrive, Denton came down the corridor. “James, hang on,” he called, rushing to get to us. “Are you sure about this? I’ve never been in charge of quite so much before.”

  “You’ll be fine, Blake.” Martin patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve got the entire Board to back you. Come by my office in an hour, and you can sign the paperwork.”

  “See you then, sir,” he said respectfully. “It was lovely meeting you, Alexis. I’m glad James found someone who makes him realize there is more to life than work.”

  I tried to look coy, but I wasn’t sure how well I conveyed false emotions. It wasn’t easy to feign romance when murder was on my mind. Luckily, the elevator provided an escape from the awkwardness.

  “An hour, don’t be late. It wouldn’t look good for the acting Chair,” Martin teased as the doors closed, and we began our ascent back to the seventeenth floor.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” I hit the stop button, and we were halted between floors.

  “I must be to do exactly what you told me to do.”

  I resisted the urge to slap him across the face. “If you agreed, you could have said so ahead of time instead of blindsiding me, especially with the announcement about your girlfriend.” I used air quotes. I was pissed because this asshole just slapped a target on my back, but I didn’t want to say it. I knew it was a possibility when I signed on to the job.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” he spat, “but you got what you wanted. So be happy about it.” He hit the resume button, and we continued to the seventeenth floor. “I could lose everything doing this. So get off your high horse and do your goddamn job.” He stomped to his office while I remained in the elevator, stunned.

  Was I being completely unreasonable? Oh, that manipulative son of a bitch. The doors started to close, and I shoved them aside and went straight to my office to call Mark.

  “I need everything you have on those ex-employees. I also need you to cross-reference anyone suspicious with any type of gang or criminal organizations. Check out drug and arms dealers working near Dubai. If there is any connection to anything or anyone, I need to know. It’s a long shot, but I want to get this job over with before I shoot the bastard myself.”

  Twelve

  I sat in my office, rubbing my temples. The fighting needed to stop, especially before I killed Martin. The main reason I was angry at him was because I was angry at myself. Two innocent people died because I was sitting around playing secretary and babysitter instead of tracking down leads. Sure, Martin was eccentric, he didn’t listen, and he could go from serious to teasing at a moment’s notice. I knew this when I took the job, but I still took it. That was my mistake.

  Perhaps I was also afraid the little voice in the back of my head telling me I had no idea what I was doing was right. I didn’t have any idea what I was doing; if I did, things would be different now. Although thoughts like this led the other little voice inside my head to point out if I wasn’t here or if I didn’t know what I was doing, Martin would be a chalk outline of some goo on the pavement. I sighed audibly and put my head on my desk. If only all the voices in my head could just get along. I laughed at the absurdity. I must be clinically insane.

  I sat up in my chair and turned on the computer, clicking open on the company e-mail and selecting Martin as my contact. I’m waving the white flag. Can I come over? I typed the message and hit send. It was incredibly childish, but I couldn’t blame him any longer. And I was too proud to apologize in person.

  He responded immediately. Cease-fire accepted.

  I took a deep breath. Be calm, try to understand, and resist the urge to argue. I repeated these things a few times before opening my office door and going across the hall.

  He buzzed me in, and I sat on the couch closest to his desk and watched as he worked. Checking the time, I knew Denton would be here in a few minutes.

  He glanced up at my still form. “Nice to see you back to work.”

  “I’m sorry. This is the only way I know to keep you safe.” That was as close to an apology as he was going to get.

  We locked eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then decided against it and went back to reading the forms for temporarily signing over his company.

  “I guess you can be the witness.” He stared at the paper. “Someone from legal is coming up to notarize it, but it’s good form to have a third party witness the event.”

  “Okay.”

  “Maybe you could also play the part of doting girlfriend when Denton’s up here. It might help sell the fact you aren’t my added security.”

  “Sure.”

  “Look.” He dropped the paper on the desk and was about to say something, but there was a knock on the door. We both turned at the intrusion. “Never mind,” he mumbled as he changed the glass from opaque to clear and buzzed in Denton and someone else, presumably from legal.

  The papers were signed, and the formalities were completed rather quickly. “Let’s toast to your temporary job.” Martin went to the wet bar and poured scotch into two glasses for himself and Denton.

  Denton picked up a glass. “No,” he raised it in the air, “to returning to your rightful position as quickly as possible.” They clinked glasses together, and Martin turned to look at me. I was leaning against his desk, playing with the hem on my jacket.

  “I’m sorry, Alex.” This was his way of apologizing. “What would you like?”

  “Nothing, dear.” I beamed at him. The sweetness factor would give me cavities; I was sure of it.

  “C’mon, Alexis,” Denton poured liquor into a glass, “drink with us, at least to the good fortune of having Jimmy around more. I know it must be tough being in a relationship with such a workaholic.”

  “It is tough.” I walked over to the men, eyeing Martin, and Denton handed me the glass.

  “To us,” Martin toasted.

  “I’ll leave the two of you alone, but if you need anything, man, let me know.” Denton was almost to the door when Martin spoke up.

  “Just so you know, the office doesn’t come with the job.” He grinned, trying to convey it was in good fun.

  “No problem. I already have a nice office,” Denton said as he left.

  “So, Jimmy,” I couldn’t resist, “are we okay with this arrangement?”

  “As long as you never call me Jimmy again.”

  “Deal.”

  He didn’t want to fight anymore either, and what was done was done. It was time to move on and wrap this thing up so we could both get back to our lives.

  We spent the rest of the afternoon packing up anything he deemed essential or private. I went to my office and retrieved my laptop, notes, and handgun since the cleaning staff didn’t need to think I was part of the threat.

  It was before four when we walked out of the MT building. The police were still in the lobby and patrolling the area out front. It would probably be a few more days before they were gone, and then it would be as if nothing happened at all. Marcal brought the car around, and we got in and rode back to Martin’s compound in silence.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Mark arrived with a truckload of equipment. He had some surveillance cameras, flak jackets, a shotgun, box of shells, and motion sensors.

  “What did you do? Raid the supply van?” I asked as he unceremoniously dumped the equipment across the dining room table.

  “It’s nothing we needed. We’ve updated our equipment since you were there, and I thought you could use some hand-me-downs on loan, of course.”

  “Of course,” I mimicked, breaking down the shotgun to make sure it wasn’t loaded.

  “I figured we could set up some more cameras or sensors in those blind spots we found the other day, just to make things more secure.”

  “Great.” Martin seemed less than excited. “I love living in a fishbowl.”

  Mark ignored him and hauled a camera and mounting equipment to the western exit. Martin and I exchanged a look.

&
nbsp; “You want to help or should I?” I asked.

  “I’ll go. I need to make sure he doesn’t set up surveillance in my bedroom or bathroom. I don’t need any sex tapes hitting the internet.” He seemed so sincere I just stared at him, trying to determine if he was kidding.

  “I wouldn’t advise having any guests over, at least until this is straightened out.” I chose serious, which was obviously the wrong choice.

  He looked at me like I was insane. “Have you ever heard a joke before?”

  I didn’t comment, and he went to find Mark. I took the shotgun and box of shells and placed them in the kitchen. The box of shells went under the kitchen sink and the gun on top of the cabinets. I wanted them within reach but not any place overly obvious or in the way. I would have to remember to tell Martin to inform Rosemarie before she came to clean. If not, she might have an unpleasant surprise. The flak jackets I hung in the coat closet on the second floor near the stairs.

  I went out to check on the guys. Mark was on a ladder, and Martin was handing him various tools. “You got a handle on this?” I hoped they wouldn’t want help.

  “Yeah, we have it covered,” Mark responded. Before he could ask for anything else, I continued.

  “I’m going to check into some things. Can you keep an eye out?”

  “Yeah, we’ll manage while you’re gone,” Mark replied.

  “Okay, I’ll be back later.”

  “Take the remote access key,” Martin said as I reached the door. “It’s in the crystal bowl on the counter. It’ll get you in and out of the garage.”

  I retrieved the remote and took my car back to my apartment.

  * * *

  “Feels good to be home.” I took my notes out and began to re-evaluate the employees. I was looking for anyone with criminal connections who would have the know-how to make a bomb. As far as motivation went, I was still stumped. Maybe they, whoever they were, didn’t like Martin for personal reasons, or perhaps the Dubai acquisition was motivation enough to threaten him. Anything could be motive, especially when dealing with irrational people, and irrational people were the ones most likely to make bombs or shoot up a place.

  The employee files I had were limited. MT employed people of all races and ethnic backgrounds, none of which struck me as particularly radical or having obvious gang or terrorist ties. I looked for anyone with potential organized crime connections. Still no luck. Finally, I considered who might have dealings with weapons or drug trafficking. This, of course, was a much more difficult avenue to pursue. Did I have any ATF or DEA friends who owed me a favor? My brain was sluggish. I could feel a thought gnawing at the corners of my mind, but it just wouldn’t surface. It felt like I was trying to think my way through quicksand.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said to my empty room. “Think, Parker.” I ran through the list of things I knew: threatening letter, kidnapping attempt, manufacturing sabotage, a bomb. All of it happened near work or at work. The letters weren’t sent to Martin’s residence. The kidnapping and the explosion both happened outside MT. Was it someone with a beef with the company or a beef with Martin?

  They don’t know where he lives. The thought flashed across my mind like lightning. Obviously, I didn’t know this for a fact, but it would make more sense to attack someone at a private residence than in broad daylight in front of potentially hundreds of witnesses. I grabbed the dry erase note board I kept on my fridge and scribbled out the thought. Another thought struck me. Unless the attacks are supposed to be in public to scare Martin into stepping down from his job. Maybe isolate him at home and finish him off. Too much speculation on my part. I went back to the original thought; they didn’t know where he lived.

  I started back over. Everything’s been at work. I sprawled out on my bed and lay against the pillows. Okay, everything happened at work. Can the motive be work related? The only work related thing I was aware of was the Dubai acquisition. Evidently, there must be more going on than just one acquisition. I needed to ask what other big projects were in the works at MT. I added that to my note board before closing my eyes to try to clear my head.

  Opening my eyes, I glanced at the digital clock on my nightstand. “Dammit,” I swore and got out of bed. I had fallen asleep. These late nights and early mornings were counterproductive. I picked up my note board and everything I brought with me, locked my apartment, and drove back to Martin’s compound. It was a little after one a.m., and I hoped Mark was still filling in as bodyguard and wasn’t too pissed about the inconvenience.

  I arrived at Martin’s quickly, given the almost nonexistent traffic, and I used the remote to pull into the garage. I shut the door and took the steps up to the main level two at a time. I didn’t see Mark’s car and suspected he must have left for the night. The house was dark, and I was paranoid about tripping some new unforeseen security measure. But no alarms blared as I entered the living room. The table lamp was on, and Martin was sitting on the couch. His arm was outstretched over the back of the sofa, a half empty glass in his hand and an almost empty bottle of single malt on the coffee table.

  “Sorry, I was checking on some things and lost track of time. Did Mark leave?”

  “S’okay,” he slurred. He tilted his drink-holding hand, as if to examine his watch, and spilled the contents onto the couch cushion. “What time is it?” In his intoxicated state, he was unable to focus or notice the spilled drink.

  “It’s time for you to get some sleep.”

  “No.” He looked up with those green eyes, reminding me of a wounded animal. “I’m going to finish my drink first.” He put the glass on the table and poured the rest of the bottle into it. I sat down on the non-soppy cushion and decided to wait him out.

  “Y’know what?” he slurred, his tone semi-hostile. “They already fucking won.”

  I didn’t like drunk people, but when running low on sodium pentothal, drunk could be helpful in finding out some truths. Although, I would have preferred a quiet night of Martin sleeping and me staring at the surveillance feed, especially after our fight earlier.

  “Who?” I tentatively asked.

  “Whoever.” He took a sip. “The faceless, letter writing, hot dog bombing bastards, and I liked those hot dogs, too.”

  I swallowed, trying to avoid focusing on the casualties. We sat sullenly for a moment.

  “We’re going to stop them.” I didn’t want to go into details and start asking questions when he was in this state; it was enough trouble getting him to focus and stay on topic when he was sober.

  “Yeah, Mark said that, too.” He slurred the s badly. “Mark’s a good guy. Did he ever tell you about Panama?”

  “No.” I was getting curious now. “What happened in Panama?”

  “It’s been almost ten years now. I was just starting out.” He stared off into nothingness, but it seemed he was watching something which occurred in a different time and place. “I had just inherited the company from my father and decided I was going to change the world. I was in South America, trying to bring clean water and food to the smaller communities there.” He took another sip. “I was working my way back up through Central America. I had some transport issues and ended up buying my own boating company.” He paused, smiling devilishly. “Do you like boats?”

  “Sure.”

  “We should go out on my boat. It’s a yacht. It’s got cruise control.” I rolled my eyes. He was making no sense. “And some really nice suites. King-sized beds.” He waggled an eyebrow suggestively.

  “A boating company in Panama.” I was trying to get him back on track.

  “Yeah, so as I was saying,” the ‘s’s were getting worse, “Jabber was tracking some stolen art, and the dude was apparently not only an art collector but some cartel bigwig. Needless to say, the Federalis were in on it, and no one would help get him or hissteam out.”

  Hissteam? I was deciphering in my head. Oh, his team. I nodded for him to go on.

  “They were trapped, but I had the boats.” He raised his finger
in the air to emphasize his point, looking incredibly self-satisfied.

  “You rescued them from the cartel,” I concluded for him. “You brought them back to the States. You did save Mark’s ass.” Despite everything, I couldn’t help having a slight fondness for Martin.

  “Guns going off, people screaming, so many bullets.” He was lost in his memory. “So many bullets.”

  “Come on.” I got up and took him by the arm. “Let’s get you to bed. You need to sleep this off.”

  He focused on me and stood up, somewhat wobbly. “I shot him. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Shot who?” I draped his arm around my shoulders, and we headed for the stairs.

  “The guy who was going to kill Jabber.” I was completely shocked and turned to him. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me. I’m sorry I put you in the middle of my problems.” His story seemed to have temporarily sobered him.

  “I know what I signed on for.”

  “It doesn’t make it right. You were doing Jabber a favor, and he was doing me a favor.” He touched my bandaged arm. “You should go before anything else happens.”

  I swallowed, uncomfortable with the entire exchange. He leaned against me, rubbed his thumb across my cheek, and gently tucked my hair behind my ear, like he had the first day in his office.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I tried to reassure him. He leaned in and kissed me gently. I could taste the liquor on his lips. I shut my eyes. Don’t do this, Parker, the voice in my head warned, and I slowly pulled away. “You need to get some sleep.”

  “That I do.” He half-crawled, half-stumbled up the two flights of stairs. I was glad when we finally made it to his room, and he flopped onto the bed. “Join me,” he mumbled, seconds away from unconsciousness.

  “In your dreams,” I retorted, making a mental note to check on him in a while just to make sure he didn’t aspirate in his sleep.