The Demon Pool

by Richard B. Dwyer

  “I have to go in early tomorrow.”

  “On a Saturday? I thought you worked for the government?”

  Bruce looked conflicted.

  Kat slid out of the booth. She leaned over and left another red mark on Bruce’s cheek.

  “I really want to see the car, Bruce. You’re not the kind of guy who leaves a girl disappointed, are you?”

  She smiled a wicked little smile and walked off toward the stage.

  ***

  Bruce watched Kat stroll away. She climbed the stairs and stood next to the dancers’ pole. The DJ boomed Kat’s introduction.

  “Get those fives and tens ready cause Kat’s back and the girl next door is worth a whole lot more.”

  Bruce glanced back at the bottle of champagne and then looked at his watch. He had the car and she wanted to see it. He would stay until her shift ended. He could always catch a nap in his office later. Maybe tonight would be the night.

  He finished the champagne in his glass and immediately refilled it. He found it funny the way he’d become used to the taste of overpriced bubbles.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The short drive down I-75, between Ft. Myers and Naples, did not diminish the appearance of Jim’s uniform. He spent an entire hour doing the whole spit-and-polish routine before leaving for tonight’s special duty assignment. His Florida Highway Patrol black dress jacket added an air of formality that reminded Jim of his Marine Corps Dress Blues.

  It didn’t seem to matter what uniform he wore. When Jim showed up in a dress uniform, heads turned. He kind of liked it, although it sometimes left Linda pissed when the attention came from the wrong women. The younger, pretty ones.

  He pulled his Charger into the Colony House Hotel and Country Club’s parking lot. Luxury vehicles and the odd limousine packed the main parking area. He drove slow, guided by lot attendants in bright safety vests holding flags. They guided the Charger past the backed up valet and main parking area to a remote section, farthest from the main entrance, reserved for state and local government vehicles. Even the remote lot looked packed.

  As he drove, Jim watched Florida’s high-tech glitterati arrive for their version of the Oscars. Every important state and local politician and business leader would be here tonight. Jim had scored a small share of the new prosperity, assigned to supplement the executive security detail for the governor and his staff.

  The Florida Department of Law Enforcement, responsible for the governor’s security, had found themselves shorthanded again. Many Florida cops, both local and state, pulled double duty as military reservists, spending days, weeks, and sometimes months away. When you added vacations and sick leave, things could get thin, even around the governor. With his relationship with Linda unraveling, Jim welcomed the distraction of work and the extra pay. As long as no one showed up to screw it up. As a model, Linda sometimes ran with the high-end crowd. Crap, I hope she’s not here tonight.

  He parked, grabbed his hat, and stepped out of the Charger. His knee barked at him again. He locked the car and made his way toward the front of the hotel, walking past the expensive automobiles of the nouveau technorati. The evidence of Florida’s technology boom spread itself all over the Colony House parking lot tonight, as well as on Florida’s highways where the Acuras, Lexuses, and BMWs of young, high-tech executives were slowly outnumbering the Cadillacs and Buicks of the retirees.

  Ignoring the ache in his knee, Jim continued toward the hotel’s main entrance, dodging incoming vehicles and weaving past small throngs of well-heeled guests. He did not envy the men in three-piece suits and tuxedos this evening. Just the walk through the parking lot had him sweating, threatening to melt his uniform’s sharp creases. Wearing the black dress jacket was the price he’d paid for tonight’s overtime.

  Jim paused and pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket. He blotted the sweat from his face. He stood still for a moment, looking at the Colony House’s new tower. It loomed behind the original building. He admired the modern structure’s gleaming, retro design. It looked old and new at the same time. His mind wondered for a moment as he made a mental comparison between the Colony House and the tiny house outside of Ft. Myers he and Linda had bought together. No comparison really.

  “We should have a house of our own,” she had said. So he made a leap of faith. So much for faith.

  He put the handkerchief back in his pocket and stepped up the pace, wanting to get inside before his uniform wilted completely and left him looking like Joe Shit, the Rag Man. The FHP uniform was not Marine Corps Dress Blues, but it looked damn good anyway.

  He had almost reached the portico when he saw a silver Corvette pull up. He recognized the car. Apparently, so did many others. In just seconds, the crowd around the entrance doubled in size. Jefferson Briggs had arrived. Let the party begin.

  ***

  Briggs pulled his Corvette into the portico of The Colony House Hotel and Country Club in Naples. The Colony House had a storied reputation as one of Southwest Florida’s most exclusive properties. Briggs knew that it had been the temporary home of Thomas Edison while he built his winter residence in Ft. Myers. It seemed appropriate that he would receive his Technology Entrepreneur of the Year award in the same room in which Edison used to dine.

  Briggs had had an amazing run of success, and he intended to enjoy it. Part of that enjoyment sat next to him in the Corvette. Her name was Kimberly. A classic, auburn-haired beauty with legs that never seemed to end. Briggs had met her in Miami after he had judged the Miss Hot Florida Sun contest. She was not as smart as the other contestants, but so what? Kimberly was arm candy deluxe.

  Tonight she wore a black and silver sequined dress, cut above mid-thigh on one side and off the shoulder on the other, with a pair of strappy high heels. Briggs was almost jealous that nearly everyone would be looking at Kimberly. At least until his speech. Well, it was a small price to pay to be the “most admired man in Florida.” That was what the Wall Street Journal had called him, and he intended to live up to that appellation.

  He let the Corvette creep up to the entrance of The Colony House. As soon as he put the car in park and unlocked the doors, attendants opened them. Even in the shade of the portico, it was still hot. Briggs stepped out and took a valet ticket from the attendant. Kimberly exited the car and waited near the hotel’s entrance. A detachment of journalists swarmed past her and surrounded Briggs, cameras flashing.

  “Mr. Briggs, is it true that the governor has asked you to chair the Florida Technology Council?”

  “How do you feel about the conservative backlash on embryonic stem cell research?”

  “Is it true that you plan to take Advanced Genetic Technologies public?”

  Briggs held up one hand and moved to squeeze past the group. The pack had pinned him against his car and he did not like it. A familiar voice boomed over the noise of the crowd. “Let’s go, people. That’s enough. Let Mr. Briggs through.

  ***

  Jim had watched as Briggs struggled to get past the human fur-ball of reporters and lookie-loos that surrounded the Corvette. Where the hell is his big bucks security?

  Jim forced his way through the mass of onlookers and reporters, using both his body and his voice. Reaching Briggs, Jim turned toward the reporters. His voice boomed again.

  “Please move away from the vehicle, people.”

  Jim used his body as a shield against the human wall, forcing it back until Briggs had room to squeeze past and escape into the hotel. Jim followed him through the entrance. Two thick-chested men in hotel blazers rushed past him and out to the portico. About time, boys.

  Jim looked around the hotel lobby as Briggs walked away, his hand on the middle of a woman’s back, guiding her past gawking onlookers.

  The lobby itself, despite its grand size, displayed an Old World charm that must have impressed visitors from the North over a hundred years ago. It impressed Jim today. The cream of Florida’s business and political communities packed the reception area. Jim glanced
at his watch. He needed to get checked in to avoid being late.

  The entrance to the hotel’s security office sat next to the main reception desk. Jim made his way past the regular guests, some still in beachwear, and past the beautiful people in their tuxedos and gowns. A small table stood beside the security office, manned by a plainclothes officer. A computer generated sign taped to the wall said “Security Check in.” The “i” in “in” was lowercased and the hyphen missing between the words “Check in.” It looked cheesy. Jim gave his name. The officer flipped through pages on a clipboard and stopped on the third page.

  “Ok, Trooper Demore. You’re assigned to the Edison Ballroom. Go past the main desk and follow the hallway around to the left.”

  “Thanks,” Jim replied. He looked at the sign again and wondered how often such small errors led to big consequences. Probably more often than we know.

  He walked past the hotel’s main registration desk where a well-dressed, very lovely, front desk agent caught his eye. She smiled at him. The kind of innocent, flirty smile that drove Linda mad when it happened in front of her. Since he and Linda were no longer an item, he pushed the little tinge of guilt aside and smiled back. The woman, still beaming, quickly went back to whatever she had been doing. Jim never asked for that kind of attention, especially when he was with Linda.

  “Like she can’t see you’re with me,” Linda would say.

  Usually, the incidents never went any further, but occasionally, what Jim called her “crazy eyes” came out. Jim looked down at the floor, shook his head and smiled a sad smile. The crazy eyes always meant trouble.

  A small crowd gathered outside the Edison Ballroom. Jefferson Briggs stood next to the redhead. They formed a small circle with the governor and his wife. Jim tried to slip by, looking for the special agent in charge of the ballroom’s security, when Briggs called out to him.

  “Trooper Demore.”

  Trapped. Crap.

  “Hey, thanks for your help back there,” Briggs said.

  He pushed his hand toward Jim. Jim forced a smile and shook hands with Briggs.

  “No problem, sir. Looked like hotel security dropped the ball. I thought you had your own guys?”

  “Didn’t expect to need them tonight. I knew the gov’s people would be here,” Briggs replied. Jim saw the governor wince at being called “the gov.”

  Briggs continued. “One of the advantages of working for me, though, is you get to spend most of your evenings home with your family.”

  Jim glanced away from Briggs and noticed the redhead staring at them.

  Briggs continued, “The hotel crew is about a half-step above rent-a-cops. I’ll talk to their boss later. I want you to meet someone.”

  “Mr. Briggs, I really need to get checked in first,” Jim said.

  “You’ve got all night for that. Come on.” Briggs turned toward his little group. Jim, with less enthusiasm, stayed with him.

  “Governor, this is the trooper I told you about. Wrote me two tickets, refused to cut me any slack, and tonight saved me from a pack of press vultures.”

  The governor extended his hand. Jim was not intimidated, but his face warmed a bit and he shifted uncomfortably as he shook the governor’s hand.

  “Trooper Jim Demore, sir.”

  “Glad to meet you, Trooper Demore. This is my wife, Anne.”

  The governor’s wife extended her hand. She looked to be in her mid- to late forties and holding up rather well. Jim shook her hand.

  “Ma’am.”

  Jim’s smile was genuine. After a second, Kimberly cleared her throat. All eyes, including Jim’s, went to the redhead.

  “Hi, I’m Kimberly.”

  As their eyes met, an unexpected jolt of excitement, like an electrical shock, went through Jim. Damn.

  Even when he’d met Linda, he hadn’t felt that kind of spark. He found himself captivated by Kimberly’s smile and her soft, grey eyes. He’d never felt this much instant attraction before. For a moment, it was as if the room had emptied of everyone but him and Kimberly.

  He became aware that Kimberly had extended her hand. For a second, he stood there like an idiot. When he finally took it, he found a feminine, yet surprisingly strong grip. Velvet flesh pressed against the skin of Jim’s hand. Her grey eyes sparkled and teased, and maybe even promised?

  Jim heard Briggs speaking to him. He dropped Kimberly’s hand and managed another one-word greeting.

  “Evening.” He barely recognized his own voice.

  “Well, Trooper Demore. Have you given any more thought to my offer?” Briggs asked. “Anything I can add to it?”

  Jim looked at Briggs. “No, sir,” he said. “I’m happy where I’m at.”

  “Maybe I should have Kimberly try to convince you?” Briggs taunted him.

  Jim wondered. Had Briggs noticed the spark?

  “Jeff,” the governor chimed in, “I’m sure Kimberly can be very persuasive, but the State of Florida spends a lot of money recruiting and training these boys. If you need more security, put an ad in Soldier of Fortune. Let’s go find our seats and let Trooper Demore get back to his duties.”

  Jim sighed and nodded slightly at the governor. The governor extended his hand to Jim.

  “Nice to meet you Trooper Demore.”

  They shook hands.

  “Nice to meet you, sir.” Jim nodded toward the governor’s wife and Kimberly. “Ladies.”

  The governor’s wife smiled. Jim looked at Kimberly and found himself recaptured by her entrancing, grey eyes. Her voice was soft and naturally sensual.

  “Nice to meet you, Jim.”

  The governor’s wife took Kimberly’s arm and steered her into the Edison ballroom. The governor walked with them, stopping here and there to greet someone. Jim watched the two women walk away until he felt a hand on his arm. Briggs stood next to him.

  “You know, Demore, the public doesn’t give a rat’s ass that you’re out there protecting them.”

  Jim watched technology’s upper-crust make their way into the ballroom. They talked and laughed among themselves. A few bothered to glance in his direction. To most of them, he was probably invisible, at least until he chased them down the freeway. But Jim knew people would be alive tomorrow because of cops like himself.

  “I didn’t consult an opinion poll before I took this job, Mr. Briggs.”

  “No, I suppose you didn’t. It’s just a damn shame to see you waste your time working for people who would throw you under a bus if it meant saving a hundred bucks on a speeding ticket. Think about it Demore.”

  Briggs let go of Jim’s arm.

  “By the way, she has a sister. A twin. You’ve got my card.”

  Across the room, now seated, Kimberly waved in their direction. Briggs waved back.

  “I have to go. Think about it.”

  Briggs make his way to his table. He stopped along the way, shaking hands and slapping backs.

  Jim did think again about the offer from Briggs. Yes, the State of Florida underpaid its Highway Patrol Troopers, and, yes, they were often overworked. But those things didn’t matter. He loved doing something that made a difference.

  As the evening dragged on, Jim listened to speaker after speaker talk about how technology would bring new jobs, new opportunities, and new wealth to Florida. Occasionally, he caught Kimberly glancing his way and he couldn’t help but think about Briggs’ offer. Even if he didn’t want to.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When Kat left the club at four in the morning, she found Bruce standing next to his new car. As a rule, she did not date men from the club, not even the ones who bought the two-hundred-dollar bottles of crappy champagne. It looked as though tonight might be an exception.

  She walked out of the club wearing skin-tight, low-cut jeans and high heels, though not as high as her club heels. A simple, sleeveless shirt, tied in the front just above her navel, hid the parts she so easily revealed inside the club. As she came around the west side of the building, she knew Bruce wou
ld be watching for her. As she approached him, the car caught Kat’s attention.

  Bruce stood next to a red and black Dodge Viper SRT10 convertible. Impressive. Quite a car for a chubby, middle-aged bureaucrat with alimony payments.

  Bruce had never talked much about money, but this understated government-man had something going on. Now seeing the car, whatever it was, she wanted some of it.

  “I’m impressed, Bruce,” she said.

  Bruce looked nonchalant, as if the car was nothing special, but his eyes sparkled.

  “New toy. That’s all. I came into a little money, kind of an inheritance, and I always wanted a nice car.”

  Kat stood close to Bruce where her perfume, and, underneath the perfume, the musky residue of her sweat, would have its strongest effect. When Bruce spoke again, his voice was quiet and wistful.

  “A man ought to have at least one nice toy before he gets too old to enjoy life,” he said.

  Kat snaked both arms around Bruce’s waist, pressing herself to him.

  “Take me to breakfast, Bruce. Then let’s go play with your new toy.”

  Bruce took her home sometime after seven in the morning. A security gate protected the residents’ complex. Bruce steered the Viper past green spaces and numerous plants and trees that gave the complex a park-like setting. With the Viper’s convertible top lowered, the heat from the morning sun pressed down on them. He parked the Viper in front of her apartment. Kat turned toward him and saw the anticipation on his face. Today, Bruce would be disappointed.

  “I’d invite you in, Bruce, but my brother is staying with me right now and it’s only a one-bedroom apartment.”

  She lied. She did not have a brother. She wanted Bruce to wait. To keep him on the hook a little longer before she added her body to the deal. She wanted to be sure the return on her investment would be worth it. His lips turn down slightly, for just a moment. Something that resembled a penciled-in smile replaced the momentary frown. His voice was hesitant when he spoke.

  “Maybe we can have dinner sometime. When you’re not working.”