Tower of Babel

by Michael Sears

  “Well, you didn’t mention that she’s a very attractive woman—in the Kardashian mold.”

  “I didn’t think it was relevant.”

  “And that’s a nice outfit. It’s a shame they didn’t have it in her size.”

  “If she’s here, that means Pak is coming.” Ted wanted to hide under the table. He should have been prepared for this contingency. A fedora. A fake mustache. A face mask.

  “She’s looking over here.”

  A waiter with the build of a beer keg lumbered up to the table. “Did anyone get your drink orders?” He wore a butcher’s apron the size of a tablecloth. For a table for eight. His bulk blocked them from view. Ted breathed a little easier.

  Kenzie gave the guy the kind of smile that says, You’re late, incompetent, and lazy, but I’m not holding it against you. “A Bombay martini. In and out. Up. Two olives. And I think you better get him one, too.”

  “No,” Ted said, keeping his face buried in his chest. “Water.”

  “Bottled? Sparkling?” the waiter asked.

  “However it comes out of the tap will be fine.”

  The waiter shrugged. It was a good imitation of the shrug the maître d’ had performed and delivered a similar message. He strolled away in no apparent hurry.

  “What’s she doing?” Ted asked.

  “Texting. Two more just showed up. There’s a really fat guy in a grey suit. I don’t know him. Sixty plus. Bald. Very ugly. He’s trailing a hottie in a Herve Leger off-the-shoulder bandage dress that looks sprayed on. She’s barely old enough to vote.”

  “You know the designer?”

  “I know both the designer and the dress. But I don’t have enough junk in the trunk for it. Or cash in the wallet.”

  Ted wanted to come up with a comment on her curves that wouldn’t get him in trouble. Something along the lines of not having noticed a lack of trunk space, but classier. The moment passed. Kenzie saved him with her next announcement.

  “Here comes Pak. They’re all shaking hands and taking seats. The hottie seems to be wondering why she’s there. She may be medicated.”

  “I can tell you don’t like her,” he said.

  “I’m reporting what I see.”

  “How does the Harvey Whoever look on her?”

  “She’s got the back for it.”

  “You notice that I haven’t tried to crane my head around to catch a glimpse.”

  “You deserve a medal. Actually, you could take a look. Cheryl’s facing the other way. See if you know the old guy.”

  Ted casually looked around the room, turning slowly. Councilman Pak and the other man were standing a few steps from the table, their heads together. The guy’s head was like a polished bowling ball abandoned on the north pole of a small planet. Kenzie’s description was spot on. Councilman Pak was selling something hard, but nobody was buying. Their discussion was restrained but tense. Neither man appeared to be happy.

  “Negative,” Ted said.

  “He looks like he’s got money.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Why else would she be with him?” Kenzie said.

  “I can’t argue with that logic.”

  “And here’s the star of the show,” Kenzie said. “Baby Reisner. The heir apparent.”

  Ted turned a bit farther and reeled back. “No!” A fortysomething couple was crossing the dining room. The man had black hair slicked back à la Gordon Gekko. His chin preceded him by an arrogant inch or two, so that he seemed to be looking down at people. Two steps behind him strode a woman in the law firm uniform of blue suit and white silk blouse. Her honey-blonde hair was expensively cut in a short-cropped shag, and though she wore almost no makeup, she didn’t need it. She had a body that would always draw looks but held herself in a manner that telegraphed, If you’re not talking business, don’t bother. It was Jackie.

  Ted ducked his head and swore quietly. How had an estate lawyer gotten herself pulled into this kind of maelstrom? Did she even know what was going on here? Of course she did. Jackie was not only smart; she was shrewd.

  “Really?” Kenzie said. “Does he know you?”

  “Not him. Her. That’s the lawyer.”

  “I guessed that. She’s carrying a briefcase.”

  “She knows me,” Ted said. “It’s Jackie.”

  “That’s intriguing,” Kenzie said. “One of the bad guys.”

  “And if she sees me, we’re done.”

  “She never even looked in this direction.” Kenzie was watching the group across the room.

  Ted was rethinking his decision to turn down the martini. “I can’t get up and leave, can I?”

  “I think that would be a very bad choice.”

  A different waiter arrived with Kenzie’s martini. “Are you ready to order?” he said.

  “I asked for water,” Ted said, moving the chair again to ensure he couldn’t be seen. He was still reeling. There could no longer be any doubt—Jackie had deliberately defrauded Barbara Miller in order to provide those properties to LBC. It was not coincidence that had placed her here with the young Reisner. She was a major coconspirator.

  “We could use menus,” Kenzie said.

  The waiter shrugged. Ted thought this must have been part of their training for the job. “Sorry,” the waiter said, though he managed to convey that he wasn’t in the slightest. “You want to see the wine list?”

  “Yes,” Ted said. “It’ll give us something to read while we wait.”

  Kenzie took a sip of her martini. “Too much vermouth.”

  “Send it back.”

  “No, I’ll never get another.”

  A thirtysomething Latino in a white tunic plunked down two glasses and a pitcher of water. Ted smiled his thanks. The man filled the two glasses and produced menus from under his arm.

  “What’s your recommendation?” Kenzie asked him. “Porterhouse or the rib eye?”

  “No sé,” the man said, before racing away.

  “I guess he’s not our waiter either,” she said.

  “What’s going on?” Ted asked.

  “Now, that’s interesting. Your friend Cheryl is sitting next to the lawyer. Jackie.”

  “Cheryl is not my friend. Neither is Jackie. Jacqueline.”

  “Jacqueline. Okay.” She took another sip. It seemed to go down easier than the first. “So, the three men are talking. Laughing. The old guy is telling a story now. The hottie is wondering why nobody is looking at her.”

  Ted risked another look. Cheryl and Jackie were chatting together like old friends. This was not their first meeting, or second, or third. Ted tried to fit this new information into what he already knew but felt his foundation shifting and tilting. He turned away before he got caught staring.

  Kenzie continued to report. “And now the asshole maître d’ is stopping by to pay his respects. It’s all positively medieval. Prince Reisner is giving him the two-handed shake. And. Wait for it. Yes! Reisner flashes a bankroll the size of Jackie’s briefcase, peels off a bill, and tucks it in the guy’s breast pocket.”

  “You’re enjoying hating this place,” Ted said.

  “Did you ever eat at that Bahá’í place near the courthouse?”

  “I don’t know it.”

  “The food’s simple. Nutritious. Tastes good but nothing fancy. But the women who work there are about the nicest folks you’d ever want to know. They’re nice to everybody.”

  “I think I’d hate it. What’s going on over there now?”

  “A tray of drinks. The waiter and the old guy are talking. He’s ordering for the table.”

  “Watch the women. Jackie and Cheryl. That’s where the action will be.”

  “Okay,” she said, sounding dubious. “Why?”

  “The men will talk. That’s all. But if money changes hands, it will be t
he women who do it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s the only reason they’re here. This way both Reisner and Pak can testify under oath that they had nothing to do with cash payments for favors.”

  “I’m going to record them,” she said.

  Ted’s immediate reaction to this escalation of their surveillance was mild panic. This wasn’t part of the plan. They could too easily be caught. He held his breath and watched Kenzie manipulate her menu as a shield for her phone.

  “That’s going to work right up until the waiter takes our order,” he said.

  “So I’ve got a while—oh, damn.”

  “What?”

  “They’re heading for the ladies’ room.” Kenzie stood.

  “Wait. You can’t follow them into the bathroom and tape them in there.”

  “I can goddamn well try.” She was gone.

  Ted was stuck, afraid to look behind him without Kenzie to scout first. He calmed himself and tried to think through the ramifications of what he had just now learned. Cheryl had come to him with two requests—to find Richie’s killer and to follow the case of the surplus money. Then at some point she had lost interest. In both questions.

  He had no trouble fixing the exact moment when she had lost all interest in the money. It was when he had made her realize that the Miller properties were tied up in the LBC project. Now that he’d seen her here, this made perfect sense.

  But later she had pulled him off Richie’s case—fired him. Something had changed.

  She must have received new information. Had she found out who killed Richie and stopped caring? Or was she afraid? Of whom? Of what?

  And who would have provided that information? Jackie? Ted didn’t think so. He could easily imagine her furthering her career by abetting a conspiracy of wealthy power brokers. He was convinced she had defrauded Barbara Miller. But an accessory to murder? Not likely. If she knew anything about Richie’s death, she would have run to a safe harbor—the Judge or the cops. She was weak, venal, ambitious, and cruel. But she wasn’t evil. Or stupid.

  Each question led to two more. His head began to pound.

  “Will the lady be returning?” The beer-keg waiter was standing there with an expression of constrained impatience.

  Ted wanted to get rid of him. He needed to think. “Tell you what,” he said. “Bring us two shrimp cocktails, steak for two medium rare, creamed spinach, and hashed browns.”

  “The porterhouse?” the waiter asked.

  He wanted the man gone. “Yes, yes.” But now he also wanted a beer. “What craft beers do you have?”

  “Heineken?”

  Ted was an admitted beer snob, but he could be flexible when faced with ignorance or prejudice. “That’ll be fine.”

  The man drifted away and left Ted with his unanswered questions and a headache. Kenzie had been gone long enough. He couldn’t risk going to check on her; he might be seen and recognized. Two minutes more. And then what? Two more minutes? He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Jackie and Cheryl were returning to their table. He kept his face averted.

  “Damn. Damn. Damn,” Kenzie announced as she threw herself into the chair facing him.

  “They didn’t make you, did they?”

  “No, nothing like that.” She spoke quickly, spewing words across the table. “But I saw the handoff. Those two bitches have no shame.”

  “Slow down. Just tell me what you saw.”

  She slugged down the remainder of the martini and spiked the glass on the table. The laws of physics must have been temporarily suspended. It didn’t break. “When I walked in, they were standing at the sink. They looked at me but didn’t react. I walked to a stall, and as I passed them, Cheryl made a show of reglossing her lips, and the other one made herself busy washing her hands. I sat on the toilet and watched through the crack around the door. You don’t get to see a whole lot that way. I wasn’t going to get a picture. But Jackie took a big envelope—it was folded over the long way—out of her purse and handed it to Cheryl like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they do this all the time. It disappeared into that ten-gallon tote she carries. They didn’t try to hide it. I don’t think they cared whether anyone saw them or not.”

  “So, basically, we’ve got nothing. It was an envelope. It could have held newspaper clippings or recipes. We have no proof of any bribery.”

  “Can we order?” she said with a tight, forced sigh. “I’m suddenly very hungry. And I want another drink.”

  He could hear the defensiveness in her voice, but he really would have liked to have a video of what she’d seen. “A video might have helped.”

  “You make it sound like I screwed it up.”

  She was reading things all wrong. He was disappointed but not with her. “What? No. I’m pissed we’ve wasted our time—again—on another crazy idea.”

  “Fine. How would you have handled it?”

  “I’m not saying I would have done any better. It was . . .” He couldn’t think of what it was, but it wasn’t good.

  “What? It was . . . what?”

  “Shrimp cocktail?” The waiter set his offerings down before them.

  “You ordered?” Kenzie did not need to add the words “without me.”

  “Can I get you anything else?” the waiter asked.

  “Yes. I want the rib eye.” She enunciated each word with the precision of a pistol shot. “Black and blue. And another martini. And this time tell the bartender to just wave the vermouth bottle over the shaker. Any questions?”

  “Does the gentleman still want the porterhouse for two?”

  Ted shook his head, as much to clear his brain as to indicate a negative response. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

  “Certainly, sir.” The waiter wasn’t happy about it.

  The hell with him, Ted thought, though he managed to smile mirthlessly until the man left. He looked to Kenzie only to find she was staring angry laser bolts at him. He tried not to cringe.

  “Do we have a problem?” she asked.

  “I thought I was helping. Who knows when we might have seen a waiter again?”

  “Oh, forget about that. Do we have a problem about me not getting you the pictures you wanted?”

  “Absolutely not. We’ll have to find some other way of catching them.”

  Kenzie attacked a large shrimp with the ferocity of a pit bull. A very attractive pit bull, despite the Morticia disguise.

  “What?” she said, looking up and catching his gaze.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Was I staring?”

  She graced him with a quizzical look before returning to the shrimp. “I suppose we could follow Cheryl. At some point she’s going to pass that envelope along to her boss.”

  “Councilperson Pak. A man of the people.”

  “Yes,” she said. “As long as those people can afford to provide him with envelopes full of cash.”

  Ted found himself staring at her again. She was easy to look at, but that alone didn’t explain the attraction. She had a passion that was missing in his life. It must have been there once, but he’d given it up for ambition. A bad swap.

  He was also a bit in awe of her ability to be so direct. She didn’t need to take control and give orders; she merely stated where she stood and allowed him to do the same. It could be disconcerting at first, but he was becoming comfortable with it. With her.

  Kenzie polished off the last shrimp and looked up again. For a moment she looked into his face and smiled. Then her gaze shifted and her eyes widened. “Whoa. They’re leaving.”

  Ted risked another quick look over his shoulder. The whole group was standing and shaking hands. Jackie picked up her briefcase and walked away from the table. Ted ducked his head and turned to Kenzie.

  “Are they all leaving?”

 
“Reisner and Pak are sitting down again. Cheryl ordered another drink. The ugly guy and the hottie are . . . Jesus Christ, they’re coming this way.”

  Ted watched Kenzie’s eyes. He could almost see the reflection of the odd couple approaching.

  “I know this face,” the man said. He was hovering behind Ted. “But not the hair. You are a pretty girl. With red hair, you would look like a model.” The air of menace oozed off the man, though his voice was gentle. The accent was British, but beneath lay a rougher, more guttural sound. He stepped forward into Ted’s field of vision. “You, I don’t know.”

  Kenzie was frozen. Angry but frozen.

  Ted stood slowly. “In my country it’s considered rude to chat up a man’s date without introducing yourself first.”

  For what felt like minutes, the man examined Ted with flat black eyes. There was no feeling behind them, only cold depth. The man smiled with half his mouth. The smile was scarier than the stare. He tipped his head. “It is the same in my country. Good night.” He turned to leave.

  Kenzie unfroze. “I don’t know you. Should I?” Her voice cut through the hubbub of dinner conversation at the nearby tables. A few diners shot her quick glances but looked away again when they read the ugly man’s angry face.

  “You don’t know me?” He took a step toward them, daring one or the other to take the challenge. “You know nothing,” he sneered.

  Ted held up both hands in a placating gesture, but he did not retreat. “Can we take it down a notch? You’re out of line.”

  But Kenzie pushed past him. “I may not know you, but I know who you are. Trust me, I will see that the world knows who’s bribing politicians, pushing us aside, and destroying our communities. I’ll make you famous. If you aren’t afraid of me, you’re a fool. I’m coming for you.” She finished with an index finger point to his chest.

  Ted always thought this was a bad move. A crazy person might grab the finger and do nasty things to it.

  This guy ignored it and leaned in, using his height and bulk to intimidate. He was back in control and spoke softly, kindly, almost apologetically. “A man should choose his battles carefully. Life is both precious and fragile.” He walked away calmly but stopped at the entrance to the dining room and looked back at them. He took out a cell phone and spoke for a moment. Ted met his eyes across the long room but couldn’t read anything in them. Finally, the man left. The hottie followed like the pilot fish keeping up with the shark.