by Amey Zeigler
Jack snorted. He was lucky he wasn’t in prison. In just one day, social media and police investigations cost him everything. And he didn’t need Tyrone now, he needed beer, a girl, and some peace.
“Now Tyrone needs something from you.”
“You think I’m afraid of Tyrone?” Actually, he was. But it wouldn’t matter. If Jack was convicted, his life would be over anyway.
“You should be.” Bobby leaned close, close enough to whisper in his ear over the loud music. “Tyrone has a new set of chef’s knives he’d like to try out.”
Jack knocked over his beer bottle. He snatched up some cocktail napkins and mopped up the mess.
Bobby waited until the napkins were soaked through before continuing. “Need the identity of Andrew Baker. Help us find him, then Tyrone might forgive this little indiscretion.”
“How would I know who he is?”
“He’s been to your shop. Found evidence. Maybe he showed up on your cameras.”
His mind was clouded with alcohol. “I don’t know. I don’t know. The police confiscated everything.”
Bobby stood, grabbing Jack’s shoulder. “Think about it, Jack. Something’s got to be suspicious. Get your revenge on Andrew Baker.” Bobby dropped a card with a deadline. “We need information before then.”
Chapter Three
After a shower, she had ten minutes to choose an ensemble then dress and get out the door. There was no way she could assemble everything in time. She called Brad.
“I’m running late,” she said, not telling him why. “But I’m almost ready.”
While still on the phone, she threw on a tiered peasant skirt. Pressing speaker, she dropped the phone on a bench to tuck her hair up in a spiky Tina Turner wig. She shook her head to allow the spiny ends to flutter around her, like having a slinky on your head.
Brad responded, laughing a little. “Someday it will be a matter of life and death.”
Hopping on one foot to the mirror, because she stepped on an errant earring left on the floor, she pried open bobby pins with her teeth, securing the wig to her head. “Yeah, but hopefully not today.”
Now, makeup.
“You’re not coming dressed in one of your funny costumes again, are you?” he asked.
She smiled. Man, he knew her so well. She shook her head as she applied rouge to the apples of her cheeks like she was painting a barn. “Meet you in a few…if you can recognize me.”
“You’re well-disguised, Andy, but I always spot you.”
“Not the last two times.”
“Yeah, okay, so you cheated with the kabuki mask.”
Andy smiled. “Whatever. This one won’t be too tough.”
Tiered peasant skirt, equestrian thigh-highs transformable to ankle boots, a purple fuzzy shrug over a baby tee, and she was ready to go. She smiled. She would blend right in. Total disappearance in an outfit like this. “Be there in a bit.”
Hurrying, she picked up her clothes. Usually she just left them on the floor, but these she’d worn for three days in a row, and they were starting to stand on their own. As she gathered them, a little piece of paper floated out.
Hugh’s digits.
After hesitating, she pocketed the scrap and tossed the clothes toward the basket, missing it completely. She’d come back and clean it all up.
Then she grabbed her bag.
****
As soon as she crossed the gangplank to the entrance of the refurbished riverboat of the Riverfront Casino, Andy blended in. After passing security in the lobby, she slid into a chair at the slots, scanning the dimly lit room for Brad. When she didn’t spot him after a few minutes, she stood, surveying the crowd. People from every class tried their luck, from the guys with the impoverished hope of betting their last hundred bucks to the wealthy recreational gamblers. But she still didn’t spy Brad.
Someone approached her. A man with sunken, purple wells beneath his eyes. She didn’t recognize him.
“Gotcha, Andy!”
“Brad!” Andy stepped back in surprise at Brad’s lined and pale face. She stopped herself from blurting out, “You’ve aged.”
Stress robbed his boyish youth, replacing it with this old man. Andy’s heart clenched at the change in such a short time.
“You look great, Andy,” he said, smiling, but it did little to improve the tension in his face.
Andy wished she could say the same about him. But managed to say, “You look well, too.” A lie, but it was a compliment, so it didn’t count.
He arched an eyebrow with a disbelieving half-smile. “Our table is ready. Shall we?” He held out his arm for Andy.
He escorted her through the Riverfront Casino which was docked forever on the Mississippi River. Andy doubted it even had a motor. They probably gutted the engine room to make way for more lucrative activities.
A glass spiral staircase climbed to the seventh story to the outdoor dining room where the wealthier class of patrons overlooked the water sparkling with reflected light. At the top of the stairs, they waited to be seated. The wind picked up, blowing the strands of her wig around.
When the seating host, a man with dark receding hair in short waistcoat and tails, showed them their secluded table for two, Andy plunked down her bag beside the chair leg as he seated her. Menus appeared out of nowhere. With a foreign accent, the waiter told them about the house specials for the evening and served their drinks. She waited impatiently for him to be gone.
After he disappeared, Andy ignored her hunger and the desire to open the menu to discover what smelled so delicious at the table next to them. Brad fidgeted with his flatware.
“What’s up?” Andy said, thumbing her menu. “Your face tells the whole story. Is work at Imperial Energy more stressful than what you expected?”
Grimacing, he peeked around to make sure no one was within ear shot of the table. He whispered, “Have you received any texts from Conner recently?”
“Not since he dumped me last year after his big promotion.”
“I haven’t seen him for two weeks. I think he’s… I think he’s been killed.”
Andy’s throat tightened. “You think he’s been killed?”
“He discovered something. Something big. And he uncovered some stuff at work.”
Andy was silent. Staring at the lines in the tablecloth.
“I hoped you might be able to, you know, investigate.”
“What do you mean?” Andy’s face warmed.
“I think you know what I mean.”
“No.”
“Your dad’s column?”
Andy exhaled. So he did know. Or he guessed. “How did you find out?”
“Andy, I know you. I know you use those disguises for things. When Mike disappeared, but his column didn’t, it wasn’t hard to guess who picked up the torch.”
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“Conner gave me something. I’ve stashed it in my office.” He slid a small envelope across the table. “Here is a map to it, as well as the entry code to the room it’s in. I hid it behind the aquarium. I left you two things.”
“You didn’t bring them tonight?”
“I can’t take anything out of the office without getting frisked. It’s too dangerous.”
“You can’t email it?”
“Andy, they frisk us at the door, what makes you think our email is secure?” He sighed, annoyed. “Sorry, I’m a little stressed. You could get in using your disguises. You could dress up as a cleaning lady or something.”
“What am I supposed to find?”
“Conner said all the leads are on a jump drive under the folder labeled ‘Pictures of Amanda.’ There’s an encryption code to get into the jump drive.” He passed Andy a piece of paper with an authentication code of seventeen numbers.
Andy picked up the paper. “What’s on the jump drive?”
“As far as I know it’s the only copy of emails, reports incriminating Tyrone. Conner gave me the jump drive a few weeks before h
e disappeared. With it is a sticky note with the name of Conner’s contact. He’ll be able to tell you more about who is involved because he was one of the ones who discovered the cover-up. You must convince him to testify. Without this, it will be hard to get a conviction. I think everybody else connected with the case is dead or missing.” He glanced around. A chill rose up Andy’s spine.
“We don’t have much time.” He bent forward, whispering. “Also, Dr. Victor Armstrong. You’ll need to find him. He’s missing, too. I tried to call him but they said he was no longer at Boston University. Find a home number or address. Try to find out his connection to another professor at BU. I can’t remember his name. Something foreign.”
“I’m confused.” Andy leaned forward, “What’s the story?”
He glanced around again, as if he were a young boy, so small, his sunken eyes, large, in his white face. “When I started working for Imperial Energy, I made some connections.”
“Connections?”
He hesitated. “Like an association of powerful men. Men who make things happen in this city. We had to commit to an oath of loyalty.”
Andy’s throat constricted. The mob. She didn’t want to get involved in organized crime. Those guys operated way beyond her skills.
Brad confirmed her fear. “This will be more serious than chasing down federal agents caught with their pants down.” Last fall. Literally, she caught Ross Underlee with another federal agent in a, well, compromising position. They were trading sexual favors for top secret cover-ups. She was pleased he had kept up on her articles. “They make blood oaths.” He emphasized this by pointing his finger on the table. “What I am about to give you violates my blood oath.”
“Blood oaths?”
“We make compacts to never tell the secrets discussed in our meetings, to protect one another, to help each brother in Imperium.”
“So, why are you telling me?”
“Because there are other people out there searching for this information, too.”
Andy’s heart quickened.
Brad continued, leaning over and whispering to Andy. “Conner said a man approached him saying he was from Concordant.”
“What is Concordant?”
“Another syndicate across town. He persuaded him to help him find some dope on Tyrone.”
“He blackmailed Conner?”
Brad nodded.
“What did Conner do to incriminate himself?”
His lips crumpled into a frown. “I don’t know everything about Conner. But the guy from Concordant said Tyrone had some guy killed, and he wanted to convict him but needed evidence.”
Andy nodded, encouraging him to go on.
“Under duress, he snooped around Tyrone’s affairs. What he found was way worse than what the Concordant guy told him. Conner tried to tell him, but the Concordant guy just shrugged and said he only wanted a conviction for Tyrone.” His gaze grew tense. “Andy, I don’t know what’s going on, but Conner hasn’t responded to any texts in the last two weeks. He always responds to my texts. We were close.”
A memory of her dad flashed for a second in her mind. He didn’t respond to her texts either. It had been three years. Then immediately refocused.
“So, why not go to the police?”
“Because I don’t know if the police are in on it.”
“Surely you could go to Fred.”
“You mean Frederick Alexander Hillsdale III? Carla’s old boyfriend? I doubt I can trust him. Hillsdales are in Imperium.”
“He’s rejected his family’s money. And doing his own thing should mean something.”
“He’s also a weirdo.”
“Just because he wears basketball shorts with combat boots doesn’t make him weird. He’s someone I trust on the St. Louis Police Department. He’s been a reliable asset for me.”
“Oh, yeah, how did you get to know him?”
“It just so happens Fred likes old movies in the park and so does Bethany.”
“Who’s Bethany?”
Andy whipped her head. Her voice switched to an exaggerated Californian accent. “She’s, like, an alter ego, okay!” Andy dropped back to her normal voice. “It’s my way of milking him for information without compromising my identity.”
Brad just shook his head. “Anyway.”
Andy leaned close. “How about the FBI, then? Go there for a witness protection program.”
“Probably on Tyrone’s payroll, too. I can’t trust anyone else because I’m not sure how far the corruption goes. You don’t know Imperium. They are everywhere.” He paused, glancing around again before leaning in. “Everybody lies. Don’t believe me? Here’s the real kicker: I found out the guy claiming to be from Concordant doesn’t work there.” Brad paused. “One of my contacts in the association has never heard of him. Conner says he’s been following him for about a year.”
She bit her lip, her fingers twirling the stem of her empty wine glass, thinking. It was all coming too fast. Andy didn’t know anything about organized crime. “What’s in it for you?” she asked.
“Freedom. I didn’t realize what I was getting into, and I want out. There are only two ways out. Death or the downfall of Imperium.” Now she understood his haggard appearance. “I’d prefer the latter.”
A silence passed between them. Her gaze darted to the other couples seated with hurricane lamps between them, the flames wavering in the open breeze. It was all so ironic. All those years growing up, Brad convinced Sandra and her dad he was the obedient one, and Andy was the rebellious one. And now she was having this conversation.
Brad broke the silence. “Listen, I’m sure they’re watching me, so we don’t have time. Are you in or out?”
Seeing Brad so scared, so small, so internally sick with fear, made her all the more afraid.
She understood when she replaced her father as Andrew Baker there might be some retaliation from those she exposed. But a lone wolf breaking the law was different than taking on organized crime. This was the mob he was talking about.
“Give me a minute to think about it,” she said. She wasn’t even sure she had the skills to do this. Picking up the codes and stuff, she stuffed them in her bag, hefting it over her shoulder. “I’m going to the bathroom to freshen up my face.”
Before she left the table, he stopped her by touching her forearm. “Conner told me he was going to propose to you last year.”
Andy faced him, snorting. “Why didn’t he?”
“I think he was afraid. Maybe he feared his boss would find out who you are. Or maybe he was afraid you’d discover who he really was, deep inside.” He paused. “He had a ring, Andy.”
Andy nodded and left the table. She’d had too much disappointment for the night. Her beloved stepbrother was in a mob. Her ex-boyfriend was killed, and he hadn’t proposed last year out of fear.
Just as she was about to enter the restroom, she noticed a sign on the door.
Closed for cleaning
Even better. No one would be coming in to disturb her. She glanced across the foyer at a stooped, old man in a janitor jumpsuit, gray wisps of hair falling over his balding head with each back and forth of his mopping motion in the men’s bathroom.
While he faced away, she slipped past the cleaning cart and large gray garbage bin into the bathroom, and slipped into a stall. Digging through her bag to find her phone without success, she placed her mirror and lipstick on the toilet paper dispenser to freshen her makeup later.
She sat on top of the black box at the back of the toilet, her skirt covering the automatic flushing device. She hooked the heels of her boots on the inside of the toilet bowl. A little uncomfortable, but not bad. So much better than those manual flushers with a two-inch hexagon riding up your rear when you sat on them. She’d been in more awkward places, for sure; between mattresses, in a dessert cart, and up a fireplace flue just to name a few.
She just wanted a quiet moment alone. To think.
The door slammed open, stuttering her heart, shak
ing the stalls, and making her lipstick roll to the edge of the dispenser. Her ears pricked alert to voices.
“In here,” a gruff voice said. Her breath halted at the shuffling of feet. The sound of men in the ladies’ room was more than disorienting.
“I’m cleaning in here,” the janitor said. “You can’t—”
“No one comes in,” the same voice interrupted. “You got it?”
The door closed with a bang, and the men continued to shuffle around and struggle. Her heart thundered in her chest. Andy trembled. She couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t breathe.
“Toss him over here.”
Andy didn’t dare budge as something large smashed up against the mirror. Her gut sank.
“So, Mr. Potts, squealing, are you?” a man said.
Brad! She counted the voices of three men.
A familiar accent spoke next. “There was a girl with him.”
The seating host ratted her out.
Four men. Too many for her. If she were armed, it would be different.
She couldn’t get to her phone or recorder because the noise to wade through her purse would alert them. She just sat and listened.
“What were you telling the girl, Mr. Potts?” one of the men said.
“Nothing.” His voice sounded pinched, wheezing, like they were strangling him. “We were just meeting for some drinks, dinner. A friendly date.”
“She was no date. You know you aren’t supposed to share secrets. Why did you break your promise, Mr. Potts? You know the Grand Master doesn’t like broken promises. She must be some girl for you to risk your life for her.”
Brad whimpered. An unmanly, inhumanly whimper.
“You must have had something very important to tell her. What was it? What did you risk her life to tell her?”
Only a pause. Andy held her breath.
The man continued. “Now you are forcing my hand to do some very unpleasant things.”
A groan of pain grated at her heart. But the man still continued.
Another groan from Brad. Andy was frozen. She wanted to throw her hands over her ears to block out the sound, but she was paralyzed.
“I didn’t do anything,” Brad said through breaths, exerting great effort to speak. “Leave the girl alone.”
