by Turner, Lori
Morpheus summed up his mental list of names, and he didn’t blink when he added Andrew’s name at the bottom. He wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep if for some unforeseen reason, Andrew’s heart suddenly stopped; but Joplin—now that would keep him up at night. He studied the notion, rolling the answers in his head; not liking his choices. There had to be another way. There had to be one person so important that, killing them would silence all others. It might even send the nosy warts in a completely different direction; making Tollin’s questionable death old news. Morpheus couldn’t free himself from one unmistakable truth. Who had been the initiator. Who had fired the first shot. Who had made the first move, forcing wheels in motion that had once sat idle. He had the answer…and when all was said and done, he would live with his decision. He just hoped that the others would agree with the way he planned to work this out.
When Morpheus returned to his plane, he couldn’t recall leaving the conference area on the larger plane. He sat down, and he heard Olga when she said…
“May I offer you something?”
“Privacy.” was all that he said…
Olga knew not to reply because most times, these meetings were to blame for his sour moods. He was deep in thought, and he didn’t hear the roar of the planes as they took their turns, flying off in different directions. When his plane took flight, Morpheus had an idea in his mind. A notion that just might work; and the idea would serve the bastard right. He couldn’t believe that he’d not thought about this earlier.
“No matter…” he said to himself. “I’ve thought of it now.”
He fished out his mobile, and he scrolled to a secure site on the internet where he kept a number of encrypted files. He opened the one entitled, ‘Paddox’, then he ran it through a number of virus scans, before finally opening it. When he’d found what he’d been looking for, he followed a series of sequences, virus checks, and scans, before closing out the file. Then he covered his tracks by emptying his cache and deleting the search history on his phone. In his line of work, it paid to be over cautious and his paranoia wasn’t an illness. He dialed the number, then he sat back in his seat. After four rings, the person answered.
“Hello.” Hearing this voice was like listening to his brother Raal, answering on the other end. Morpheus erased this comparison because he couldn’t mess this up. Now was not the time for teary reminisce’s, recalling when he’d first learned about him.
Morpheus spoke in an official tone.
“You don’t know me…but I am well acquainted with you.”
“Oh really.” Joplin said…and he didn’t like the tone of this call. His spidy antennae had picked up a disturbing frequency in this callers voice.
Morpheus said…
“We have a mutual friend. Claudette. But—when I knew her, her last name wasn’t Paddox. She’d been known as Claudette Dune.”
Joplin thought about the last time that he’d seen his mother. He said…
“If you’re calling because you want to rekindle old friendships…you’re a little late my friend. That ship sailed a long, long time ago.”
“Yes…I know.” Morpheus was silent, giving him time to get the snarky out of his head. He waited, and finally, Joplin said…
“So…if you know that my mother is dead—I take it that, this call has something to do with me.”
“I am calling to talk to you but Claudette isn’t the acquaintance that I’d been referring to. I just told you her name to let you know that I know her and I know you as well.”
“Look man…I don’t have time for twenty questions. Either get to the point, or I’m ending this call.”
This man behaved like a Gustafson—but his sharp tones didn’t resemble Raal. In fact—if he didn’t know with certainty that Joplin was Raal’s son, Morpheus would say that Joplin’s piss and vinegar attitude was a page out of his book.
Morpheus didn’t want to make that connection, so he kicked that fluffy sentiment shit out of his head, then he got down to business…
“We need to meet. You tell me the time and the place.”
“Oh really…”
“Is that all you have to say? I would have expected more from a Gustafson.”
“What the fuck!” Joplin said the words like a Jersey native, even though Morpheus knew with certainty that Jersey had never been one of his homes.
Morpheus said…
“Look…this meeting is going to happen. And I’m just giving you the opportunity to name the time and the place.”
“And if I don’t…”
Morpheus had thought “Damn, this guy is a chip off the old block—and not in a good way”. He’d felt a tight pull on his jaw, and he willed the irritating tick back into submission, when he said…
“If that’s the way you want to play it. Just know this…I’ve had my eyes on you for some time now, and there isn’t anyplace you can go, that I don’t already know about. When I make an offer—I only make the offer once. In other words—the gesture is off the table. I’ll see you when I see you.”
When he pulled the phone away from his ear, he heard Joplin shouting, saying…
“Hey…what the…. Wait… Seventy-fifth and….” Click.
“Stupid fucker” he said, then he sighed. If his meeting with Joplin didn’t go as he’d planned, Morpheus had decided that he’d killed the cocky bastard himself and he wouldn’t lose an hour of sleep because if Joplin died, the stubborn fuck will have deserved it. Family was family, and if Raal’s son had to die, he would damn well do it himself; and he would do it right. He owed that much to his brother; that and so much more. He pushed the thought to the rear of his brain, deciding that this was one problem he’d already sorted out. In fact…he couldn’t wait to finally get this shit off of his back. His thought leapt forward, then his minds eye filled with Mikita; the love of his life. He had her back, and this time, he wouldn’t fuck it up. Once this was all over, he’d be free to give her his full attention. They would get married, then he would suggest that they have another child. He would mend fences, restoring his relationships with Fawn and Bolden. Then, he would finally have a family. He would embrace the idea of house and home; bonding, companionship and all that other bullshit that Raal and Kyle are constantly bragging about. Morpheus could envision Raal, and the way he bragged about his children and their mother’s. He found himself thinking about the sister that he hadn’t seen in over twenty years. He wanted to make peace. He wanted her to atone for past mistakes. He groaned because bad choices had been to blame for the distance that plagued his family. He felt an itch calling attention to his trigger finger. He puzzled over the last time he’d killed a man. Oddly, this thought cranked up an irritating thought. He muttered a curse, then his anger boiled and he didn’t suppress his vexation.
“Fucking Joplin. Why did it have to be you? Of all the people in this gotdamn world…how did you get mixed up with Andrew—and why are you responsible for Tollin’s death?”
**********
Chapter 20
Last chance
Lucien couldn’t believe his luck. Twice in one day, he’d been dealt a crappy hand. On the ride home from the Children’s Center, he’d busied his brain, trying to figure out ways to contact Ona. She lived with her parent’s, and he didn’t want to chance calling her there. He’d considered going to her home, but the Samaritan’s lived in closed communities. Even if he waited for her at the dock, he’d couldn’t count on her being alone, and more than likely, after today, her parents’ wouldn’t allow her out of their sight. Then after standing by, doing nothing, and listening to crazy Sahara babbling lesbian nonsense; by the time his limo pulled up in front of his apartment, the full weight of his dilemma had left him mentally exhausted. He’d convinced himself into believing that there had to be away; he just needed time a lone to contrive a plan. When he stepped off the private elevator, and noticed the door to his apartment slightly ajar; he’d rightly assumed, that his sister had made herself a guest in his home. When he’d entered, h
e’d learned that he’d only been partly right. Chantel and Marisela were seated in his living room, waiting for his return. They’d both appeared to be in good sprits, and after the day that he’d had, he’d needed an infusion of good news.
Marisela jumped off the sofa, wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed his cheek, then drew back, angling her head for her hair to drape over her shoulder.
Her breath smelled of fruity wine, when she said…
“Your friend at the medical examiner’s office finally came through. He spoke to my attorney, and he said that on the day of Tollin’s autopsy, he’d been there and he’d noticed a number of irregularities. First oft—the procedure had been performed after hours, and a mixup had been the only reason he’d been there. He’d left the keys to his apartment in his locker. When he passed one of the examine rooms, and noticed the occupied sign was lit, he’d dawned a mask and found the head examiner, performing the autopsy on Tollin Pettier. He’d asked if he could offer his help and he’d thought it odd that the doctor had been there because except for the nighttime staff; everyone else had left for the day.”
“Is he a credible witness?”
Lucien had asked.
“Yes.”
Chantel called out to them because she didn’t want to be left out of the conversation.
“Come…sit you two, because her news gets better.”
Marisela joined Chantel on the sofa, and Lucien sat across from them on a chair.
Marisela said…
“He say’s that if we can get a judge to reopen the case, he’ll testify that my brother’s injuries were not consistent with suicide. There had been facial bruising, suggesting that he’d been hit. And that letter… If it comes down to it, I will testify to the fact—Tollin wouldn’t have ended his life all due to a letter. He’d been trying to contact Gloria Randolph and my parent’s and I had supported this decision; mainly because he didn’t have anyone in his life willing to support him. Especially after the way Eliza dumped him, when he needed her most.”
Lucien wasn’t a gossip and he’d never talked to Eliza about her breakup with Tollin. He also wouldn’t sit listening to her name being dragged in the mud.
“Don’t forget, that I’ve talked to Eliza about your family’s case and she assured me that she would help, however she can. She really wants to help Marisela”
Then he said…
“If suicide is being ruled out—have the private investigators formulated a motive for Tollin’s murder—and have they created a list of possible suspects?”
Marisela said…
“Tollin’s ex-business partners are being considered. Then there are a few foreign investors—and I don’t know the specifics concerning those beefs and I suppose that’s the reason the investigators are looking closely at his investments.”
He tried to sound interested when he said…
“That all sounds promising. I’m glad to hear that something is finally getting done.”
“And it’s all due to you Lucien.” Marisela leaned into her words when she said…
“I mean it. You get all the credit and if it had not been for your support, I would have given up months ago. When my parents saw how disturbed I was over my brother’s death, they’d advised me to leave it alone, and to get on with my life. Personally, I think that my parents had tried to discourage me because my father is afraid that we might learn that my brother had been involved in an unsavory business deal.”
“Well…that’s still a possibility.” He warned because he sided with her parents on that note, but Marisela didn’t appear daunted when she said…
“I don’t care Lucien…and I have you to thank for that. You see…you helped me to understand why knowing the truth is so important to me. I loved my brother…and unlike my parents who have chosen to remain in the dark; you’ve given me the courage to accept whatever I might learn.”
“Well…” He shifted uncomfortably on his seat. He brushed off the compliment, when he said… “You’re giving me to much credit.”
“I don’t think so.” She’d said…
“Oh, let him play the modest card because he won’t accept any praise. Not my brother. Perhaps you can think of another way to thank him. Maybe a trip. Perhaps we can jet down to Saint-Tropez it’s beautiful there at this time of year.”
Chantel had made a remark to her friend, but Lucien had zoned out of the conversation, and his thoughts had strayed to the woman of his dreams. He still had not figured out how best to contact her, and he wouldn’t accept that he’d never see her again. Lucien’s mind clouded with possibilities and he wasn’t even sure how long he’d zoned off.
A voice startled him, like the snap of a finger.
“Lucien—what’s wrong? Did something happen at the office?”
Marisela said…
“He wasn’t at the office. Remember…we stopped there before coming here.”
Chantel studied her brother, and she knew the reason he appeared so distracted, but with her friend here, she didn’t dare discuss his Ona problem. On the other hand, what were siblings for, if not to share their mistakes
She said…
“If you need to talk…you know that I’m always here to listen.”
“I don’t want to talk Chantel. As a matter of fact…”
Words that were the sum total of ‘get out‘ teetered on the tip of his tongue; and he would have mouthed them, had it not been for a knock on his door.
Chantel said…
“That must be Clive. I told him to meet me here. We’re going out for dinner. Marisela thought that you might want to join us—evening out our numbers.”
Lucien wanted to groan, and he would later because Chantel had outdone herself. Not only had she brought Marisela to his home; she’d arranged a scenario that amounted to a double date.
He stood from his seat, and he spoke while walking in the direction of the door.
“No thanks sis. I have plans for the evening.”
“Oh pleeeease.” Marisela trill, making him want to plug his ears.
He crossed over the threshold, leading to the foyer. They were out of sight, and he considered ditching the trio, if it came down to it. He reached for the doorknob while speaking loud enough to be heard in the other room.
“Not this time ladies. You’ll both have to share Clive as your escort. I’m sure my brother-in-law will get a kick out of that. What blue blooded man wouldn’t want the pleasure of having to lovely ladies on either side of him.”
“Not funny” Chantel had said, and he ignored her while pulling open the door.
“Clive…your wife is a…”
His voice dropped to a whisper, when he said…
“Ona…what are you… I mean…how did you get here?”
Ona was wearing the long black overcoat that he’d become accustom to seeing. There was nothing out of the ordinary when it came to her clothes; but by her demeanor, she appeared distraught and her eyes were the picture of grief. He stepped aside, clearing a path for her to enter. He touched the tip of her elbow, and he felt a wetness on the pads of his fingers. A light snow had begun to fall, and her hair was wet because she’d neglected to cover it. He’d seen her standing here in his apartment many times, but he sensed that this visit wouldn’t resemble the others.
“Ona…” The sound of his voice crisscrossed her senses; and instead of hearing him, his pronouncement had felt like the caress of his fingers. In that moment he’d wheeled one word that had had the power to overtake her. She felt the sway of the floor before completely losing the strength in her legs. A range of feelings overtook her; uncertainty, hesitation, resolution, then abject misery, brought on by defeat. When she heard Lucien recite her name, she’d been jolted by her refusal. Seeing Lucien had forced her to accept what she already knew. She didn’t love Geff and she couldn’t give herself to him in marriage. She lifted red rimmed eyes, and her knees grew weaker. Lucien encased her in his arms, steadying her. He’d wanted to shepherd her awa
y, taking her to a part of his apartment where she wouldn’t be seen. And he would have done that, but when he turned them both around, Marisela and Chantel had been standing just beyond the foyers entrance.
Chantel wrinkled her forehead, and her eyes did a slow up and down appraisal, before saying…
“Lucien…perhaps I should call Clive and tell him to meet us at the restaurant. By the look of things, you might need my assistance.”
Ona lowered her eyes, avoiding their gaze. She felt Lucien’s fingers when he tightened his hold, and she felt a firmness in his chest when he spoke.
“Maybe you and Marisela should join Clive at the restaurant.” His eyes narrowed when he said…”As a matter of fact…that’s exactly what you two ladies should do.”
He looked at the door, then back to Chantel, and his voice hinted that she shouldn’t cross him.
“Don’t worry Chantel. I’ve got this covered.”
Chantel looked at Marisela, and she couldn’t bare witnessing her disappointment. She didn’t know at what point her friend had made the mistake of falling in love with her brother. More to the point; she didn’t know what foolishness Lucien had gotten himself involved in. A Samaritan girl; really!
“Come on Marisela. Maybe my brother will join us later this evening. It is getting rather late.”
She averted his eyes, and the late hour reference was a dig at the Samaritan transportation system. Chantel and Lucien had talked about the Samaritan ferry and she knew that the last boat for the day would be departing soon.
