Trifecta

by Pam Richter

  "No. Thanks. I will get another store." Finally tears started rolling down her cheeks. The body was leaking out a little pain.

  When they reached the shop it was closed. Sabrina opened the cash register, wondering how much money Bea had collected, but it was empty. She almost panicked and then looked under the cash drawer. There was the spool with the amount of cash receipts for the day. As Sabrina examined it she saw a note on the bottom. Bea had been afraid to leave so much cash and had taken it to the bank.

  "Look at this," Sabrina said, showing Eve the spool from the cash register.

  "I know. I used the telephone at the bank. Told Bea to double the prices. I didn't think the Hulks would know the difference. Of course, Hashimoto will notice and be upset."

  "That's an understatement."

  "The bank manager was kind of angry that I used the phone on his desk without permission, but it was worth it."

  Sabrina laughed in delight, "It certainly was. Now I have more money to help open the new store."

  "You should really show off your talent. On Sunset Boulevard, or Rodeo drive. Someplace in Beverly Hills."

  "I could never afford it."

  "Oh yes you could," Eve said positively. "You're the best designer in Los Angeles. And then there will be a design store in San Francisco. And New York."

  CHAPTER 25

  Having been in the CIA for some fifteen years, and having been a military man, Burgess Whitcomb knew plenty about the Komitet Gosudarstvennoi Bezopastnosti, the Committee of State Security for the Soviet Union, more commonly known as the KGB. But never before had he believed one of his own operations was infiltrated.

  Burgess knew the organization was gigantic, with approximately 400,000 employees and yearly budget somewhere in the range of three billion dollars. The KGB also used millions of citizen informers to gather information on political dissidents inside its own country.

  Burgess Whitcomb contacted the head of Soviet Counter-Intelligence in his Maryland office, giving him the three names that he had under suspicion, Willard Modert, Sergi Malcovich and Ivar Cousin. He pumped the man about Soviet agents; how they were organized, what he should do in case he had people on his own staff that proved to be KGB; what system there was to stop them, or turn them to the advantage of the CIA.

  The KGB expert told Burgess that spies were often far less ideological than is generally assumed, their priority being self-preservation rather than a commitment to ideological Communistic beliefs. Many are known to very tough and have blood on their hands. Even when the West thinks one has turned and become a double agent, they are always distrusted and are never given vital security information, but are used to spread disinformation back to their own country.

  The expert on the KGB told Whitcomb that agents work from field stations abroad and are often placed for years in deep cover. Their jobs consist of infiltrating traditional military plants, to find out about weapons systems and military secrets. They may use industrial espionage to collect information from computer networks, but they also employ burglary, wiretapping, and try to buy information from employees. Besides training in lethal defense methods they are also trained to penetrate secret information by technological methods.

  The man told Whitcomb that KGB agents try to recruit American citizens to become spies. They usually don't have a large budget to turn a company's highest officials, but the person in the mail room or the one running the xerox machine can prove be useful. They routinely get access to TRW records, see who is in debt in the industry they've infiltrated and try to bribe that person into providing information.

  Burgess was told that his best strategy for now was to do nothing overt and to watch the men. Their backgrounds would be scrupulously studied from the Counter Intelligence office. Burgess was also told that the scenario he had described, the note planted on one man with the accusation he was with the KGB, might be a vendetta. It sounded like two agents, who were notoriously brutish men, might be having a feud and that was why the information about his secretary, Willard Modert, was revealed in such an unusual manner.

  Burgess hung up the phone. He was starting to believe that his target in this investigation really was one of the two Miller women. A Japanese corporation, heavily financed in computer hardware and software, was showing an unusual interest in them, and in Ferd Steinbrenner.

  Burgess was forming an insidious investigative network around the two women, which included Sabrina's boyfriend, Mark Ponti, and which now included Hashimoto International.

  * * * * *

  The small Japanese waiter who had helped Sabrina and Eve escape from the luncheon was still serving at the table where Hashimoto and his staff were dining. He waited in mirthful anticipation for a reaction to their disappearance. As he was serving the different courses he had a chance to overhear the conversation. Sato Hashimoto was boasting that the women wanted to make themselves beautiful. That was why they were taking so long. Women, Hashimoto explained, always used their beauty to get what they wanted, so before they began negotiations they would endeavor to make themselves appear as delectable as possible.

  The waiter watched as Hashimoto took out a cell phone. The waiter assumed good news as Hashimoto gloated, practically rubbing his hands together in glee, when he told his staff that his controller bought a building.

  It was only after he had finished the telephone call that Hashimoto began frowning and glancing toward the back of the restaurant where the Ladies' Room was situated.

  Since the diminutive waiter's first language was Japanese he had no trouble following the conversation as he hovered solicitously near. One of the men commented that surely the gaigen, or foreign women, were beautiful enough that they did not have to spend twenty minutes in front of a mirror! Several others agreed that it was very strange, unless they were indisposed. Both had eaten copious amounts of food. Much more than any self-respecting Japanese women would eat. There were several comments about the eating capacity of American woman and how disgraceful it was. And did you notice that they could not even master the simple techniques of eating Japanese food with the proper utensils?

  The women had a very aggressive way of looking directly at a man's eyes when he talked to them, too. It was an extremely disconcerting mannerism. Japanese women showed suitable respect by glancing down with proper regard for their superiors, indicating modesty and correct feminine style. These American women had even tried to have a conversation with very important men while they were eating. Asking questions and then staring into their eyes. Deplorable! One could never understand what American men could see in their women. Aggressive. Unfeminine. Demanding. They wanted equality! Ha. That was laughable. Women could be useful in business, serving tea and taking guests sightseeing; doing diminutive feminine tasks. But never decision making in the board room. And never at the top salaries men received. American women tried to usurp men, but they would never get away with that kind of conduct in Japan. Everyone knew women were of the earth, men were of the heavens. Any woman who tried to change that would be quickly punished.

  All agreed that American women might make very good mistresses. Except that these women were so very large. Almost six feet in height. Amazons. But that could be intriguing. They had very long legs and might be able to arrange them into interesting and provocative positions. Everything pointed to the fact that they were not demure and had not a shred of modesty. Aggressive behavior in the bedroom would be a rather unique experience. Even the traditional Geishas, experts in providing pleasure through all of the senses, music, dance, singing, and in the bedroom, were trained to be very modest. It was rather exciting to think about these American women with the wonderful and disturbing, staring blue eyes. Maybe they would like to use mirrors and watch. The possibilities were endless.

  There were giggles and titters and all the while Sato Hashimoto sat frowning. Finally he banged his hand flat down on the white table cloth forcefully enough to make plates and chopsticks bounce, cursing, "Bakayaro!"

  Ever
yone stopped chattering. Their small waiter was immediately at his side. Hashimoto told the waiter to go to the Ladies' Room and find out what was taking the women so long.

  The waiter smiled and said, So sorry, but it would be improper for a man to knock on a Ladies' Room door.

  Hashimoto told the waiter to find a woman to check the Ladies Room.

  The waiter took his time.

  Hashimoto fumed.

  The waiter came back and said, So sorry, the women are not in the Ladies' Room.

  Hashimoto asked if the entire restaurant had been searched.

  The waiter went off to search. There were many banquet rooms and he walked through each one slowly and returned with the message that the women were not on the premises.

  Hashimoto used his phone again and called to see if the entire contents of a store had been purchased. He was informed that only half of the merchandise had been sold. Then the store had been closed. From the look on Hashimoto's face, the waiter could tell he had been tricked in some financial fashion.

  Hashimoto smiled his ugly smile, unsuccessfully hiding extreme anger, which was noted by the Japanese waiter, who had earlier watched and enjoyed the sight of such beautiful identicalness in the two women. He had relished helping them escape from the arrogant businessman who was keeping vile secrets. He also enjoyed the kao, or loss of face the host experienced by the disappearance of the women, who had fled in the middle of an extremely expensive meal, after consuming as much as they wanted. Hashimoto certainly would not burp with pleasure at the end of this meal.

  If the small waiter had understood the extent of Hashimoto's anger he would have been shaking in his small shoes. Hashimoto was taken over by fury. The fact that he was in a public place was the only thing keeping his behavior in control. Hashimoto was not called The Volcano for nothing. When his anger erupted he was awesome. His co-workers never wanted to see him in one of his rages because it was like a spoiled child's temper tantrum blown to gigantic proportion. In board meetings he ranted and raved, arms chopping, while spittle flew. When rages were upon Hashimoto, employees who could hide from him hid, because he would not fire them, but he would humiliate them beyond endurance. Even in this modern day and age, several of Hashimoto's older employees had performed the ritual suicide, hara-kiri, after having been the brunt of one of his frantic screaming angers.

  Now Hashimoto was going through an internal rage so immense that he vowed he would ruin the women. If he could not have them, he would see them worse off than if they were dead. As he sat in outward calm, he imagined himself performing buriburi, or the beating with many sticks, ritually performed on woman in Japan who displeased their master. He imagined using his martial arts on them himself, causing internal injuries with lethal blows to stomachs, breasts, necks and heads, so fearful that they would bleed internally and then blood would flow from all body orifices. He imagined crushing their long bodies in the machines in his industrial plants. Slowly.

  Hashimoto became calmer and calmer as he presented himself scenes of the women's destruction. He was finally reaching a place of wa, or harmony. After all, he did have Sabrina's store. And he would get the computer out of Eve. His scientists would duplicate the computer and the implant method. He would put all of his enormous wealth behind this scientific endeavor. Someday he would possess an army of strong androids. Then there would be nothing he could not achieve.

  The world would be his oyster.

  CHAPTER 26

  That evening, as Eve sat at the dinner table with Sabrina and Mark, she felt a sad anticipatory nostalgia. The dining ritual represented normalcy, warmth and pleasure in her short life span. The clock on the kitchen wall ticked pleasantly as the salad bowl was passed. Eve heard Mark's heart thump an extra beat when Sabrina smiled at him. Morris, sitting in Sabrina's lap purred loudly, his head occasionally popping above the table to peer in Sabrina's plate, gauging when he would receive his treats.

  Eve wished the dinner could go on forever. The poignancy she experienced was because she knew she would have to leave soon. The thought made her desolate and sad.

  The only thing missing now, making the comforting scene perfect, was Ivar. He had been following them almost all day as they had looked for a new place to open Sabrina's Fashions, and the knowledge was like a little warm sun making happiness in her chest. She had tried to call him but there had been no answer.

  For a moment, Eve wondered if he was with another woman. It was an obvious Sabrina Thought. Ivar would never want another woman. Eve knew. She was sorry that Sabrina Thoughts tended to be so negative. Sabrina had those unconscious thought processes from childhood, having never been adopted into a real family, and having had the men in her life tend to use her, rather than want to keep her forever.

  Eve wished she could change the Sabrina Thoughts and make them happy, but this was not a two way street. She would receive thoughts circuits from Sabrina's brain, but could not reciprocate. It was a pity in a way. Sabrina was a fabulous designer and doubted herself. She also doubted the fact that Mark cared for her, which was a definite mistake. Everything about the way Mark behaved pointed to the fact that he was deeply in love with Sabrina. It was as if she had blinders on and did not know that Mark would do anything in the world to make her happy. There were too many messages insisting that he could not love her, so Sabrina pushed him away unconsciously to avoid getting hurt. That confused Mark and made him think she didn't care about him. Emotions were so very complicated.

  As Eve ate her third Lean Cuisine Cheese Cannolini, which she loved intensely, she listened to Sabrina telling Mark about the loss of her store. Eve knew Mark blamed her for all of Sabrina's current problems. He was right.

  Eve enjoyed being with them both, but decided to leave so that they would have time alone together.

  Eve did exercises in front of the television in her small apartment and growled fiercely each time the evil killer in the movie came on the screen, thoroughly enjoying being uninhibited by her natural reactions. When food commercials made her mouth fill with saliva she didn't have to worry if it dripped a little, with no one watching. Eve exercised strenuously because she still had horrible dreams that woke her up, screaming and tearing up the sheets.

  Eve called Ivar and arranged for him to stay the night. She never ruined the bedclothes when Ivar was with her.

  * * * * *

  One of the perks in owning a clothing store was that when Sabrina decided she needed any of the merchandise she could take it home. Today she had stuffed a beautiful black lace teddy into her purse, right next to the gun she was still carrying around. She wanted tonight to be very special. She was determined to ask Mark if he was satisfied with their love life. The thought that he wasn't had been nagging. Of course, she would be very sensitive and delicate when she brought the subject up.

  Sabrina did not wear provocative night wear. In fact, she never had done so with Mark and she was almost embarrassed when she went into the bathroom to change. She thought it would be a nice surprise for him, but discovered that she was, indeed, very embarrassed when she looked at her image in the mirror. She looked like a prostitute at the very least. Whore was what she really meant. Not a courtesan, harlot, a fancy kept woman or a tramp, but a whore. The black lace revealed more than it covered and she tightened the too cute bow that held the two halves of it together and frowned. She looked stupid. It was nauseating to have to display oneself in this manner to get some kind of physical response from a man. It was also demeaning and humiliating, as if one had to present a sexual package for perusal.

  Sabrina decided to take the stupid thing off, redress in her clothes, go back into the bedroom and get a regular nightgown. If the Japanese, who had fantasies about her wanton bedroom behavior, had seen this kind of modest conduct they would have been very surprised. But this was real life. She could pose in small bathing suits as a model. That was business. And besides, she knew the camera would add a little weight.

  To Sabrina, her reflection looked like an
anorexic string bean, a scarecrow, in a silly, frilly, revealing nighty. She sighed at the prominent bones of her clavicle and hips and wished she could gain just a little weight. Sabrina didn't see the long firm legs, tiny waist, the breasts that did not need a bra, or the concave stomach. All she saw were arms she considered too thin and the too visible bones of her rib-cage.

  As she was starting to untie the bow, Mark knocked on the bathroom door. "Oh, hell," Sabrina whispered.

  "What's taking so long?"

  "I was trying on something from the store."

  "Oh. Can I come in?"

  "No. I don't want you to see this."

  "You design everything yourself."

  "Stupid looking."

  "Why?"

  Sabrina opened the door.

  "Oh!"

  "I'm going to take it right off," Sabrina said, and passed him into the bedroom to get something decent.

  "You look beautiful."

  "I look like trash."

  "I like beautiful trash," Mark said, smiling and following her into the bedroom. "Keep it on for tonight. You remind me of a beautiful centerfold in Playboy or Penthouse."

  "Skinniest centerfold you ever saw." Sabrina was rummaging in her dresser, pulling out a conventional nightgown.

  "It even looks good from behind. You should wear those things all the time."

  "Why? Are you so dissatisfied with our sex life that you need me to wear sleazy lingerie?"

  Sabrina turned around and saw Mark's eyebrows bunching up. So much for bringing up the discussion with delicacy and tact.

  "No. But you're not skinny. You're perfect and can wear that kind of thing and look beautiful. Everybody in the world wants to be tall and thin, Sabrina. I don't know what the problem is."

  "The problem is that you don't like our sex life. You even thought of sleeping with Eve."