Thorns on Roses

by Randy Rawls

  Deciding a big breakfast might lessen the pain, he headed for the nearest Denny’s and stuffed himself with pancakes, eggs, bacon, and sausage accompanied by several cups of coffee. The arm still hurt, but he told himself it felt much better and was well on its way to healing.

  At one o’clock, he phoned Charlie’s office. After he came on the line, Tom said, “I need a favor. Get me on your cell when you can.” He knew Charlie would understand that he should shift to some place they could talk in private.

  An hour later, Tom’s cell phone rang, and he saw it was Charlie. “Thanks for getting back to me. I need a favor. Can you call me at Abby’s tonight about nine?”

  “At Abby’s? I thought you two were on the splits.”

  “She couldn’t stay away. My enduring charm won her over.”

  Charlie chuckled. “Yeah, I believe that. But whatever you had to do to get back into her good graces, I’m glad you did. Now, back to your question. Why should I call you at Abby’s?”

  “Because I love to hear your voice.”

  “Uh-huh. More BS. Why?”

  “I need an excuse to get away from her for a couple of hours. After you call, I’ll tell her you have a problem and asked for my help. Then I’ll disappear and do my thing.”

  “The gang?” Charlie asked, impatience dominating his voice.

  “If you don’t know what I’m doing, you can’t perjure yourself.”

  “Don’t get cute with me. Is it Mary Lou’s killers?”

  Tom hesitated. “Yes.” He sighed. “All I want you to do is make the call. Will you do that?”

  “You bastard, you know I’d cross a burning swamp for you, but I don’t like being cut out of the action. So, what’s your plan?”

  “That’s old terrain. Lonnie needs you. I’ll do the wet work, but I need a way to escape Abby without her suspecting what I’m doing. That’s where you come in. You call me out with an emergency. Will you do it?”

  “Nine?”

  “Yes.”

  “You piss me off, but I’ll do it. Now, when do you want me to come by and change your dressing? I’m sure you haven’t taken care of it, and we don’t want Abby grossing out.”

  Tom chuckled. “Yeah. I managed to soak it in the shower even though I kept it outside the curtain. How about five or so? I’m due at Abby’s by six-thirty.”

  “See you then.”

  Tom closed his phone only to have it ring again. “Tom Jeffries.”

  “Mr. Jeffries. This is Genevieve Rodriquez. Mr. Bernstein, Senior asks if you can come in to see him.”

  “Of course. When does he want me there?”

  Genevieve chuckled. “You know what he always says—at your convenience.”

  “I’m on the way.”

  Tom hung up the phone wondering what was up. The only time he’d had a face-to-face with the old man was when he hired on. Maybe the senior Bernstein had a hot case he wanted Tom to handle, something he didn’t want to delegate through one of the staff. Possible. He seemed a bit paranoid. Or, the worst, perhaps he’d gotten a sniff of Tom’s mission. Office rumor said he had a second sense about things that could affect the firm—and if anything went wrong, Tom’s association with BGE&B would get emphasized in the media.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Hey, chief,” Summers said, sticking his head in the door of Richards’ office. “Good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

  Richards lay down the paper he’d been reading. “Every day, I hope you’ll get a new comedy routine. I see it didn’t happen again. Get in here and tell me what you have.”

  “Good or bad?”

  “I’m not a patient lieutenant today, detective. Speak.”

  “Damn. Makes me wonder why I don’t take the promotions they keep shoving at me. Know the name Isidro Walker?”

  “Of course, you idiot. We just spent the morning learning he’s a member of the Thorns on Roses. Weren’t you there? I swear I saw somebody as ugly and obnoxious as you in that tattoo parlor. Are you sure it wasn’t you?”

  “Eat your heart out. Well, Isidro is out of the running.”

  “What? Dammit. I’m gonna come across this desk if you keep playing games. Why?”

  “Found dead in his driveway this morning. His throat cut so bad he was almost decapitated. Tollitson has the case.”

  Richards rubbed his fingertips across his forehead. “Are you sure? Maybe it’s a different Isidro Walker. We need him.”

  “The rose tattoo is on his chest—just like Astole said. Gotta be the same guy.”

  “What happened?”

  “I only have the written report. Neighbor called 9-1-1 about six a.m. and said there was a body in the driveway with blood running into the street. The first uniform on scene called it in as a homicide. Tillotson took it. ID in the billfold showed the victim was Isidro Walker. That’s about it.” Summers leaned back in his chair and smiled.

  “Why do I think you’re holding something back? Spit it out.”

  “You just won’t let a guy have any secrets,” Summers said, hunching forward. “There was a switchblade near the body—lots of blood pooled around it. Most of it probably Walker’s. Tillotson’s pretty sure the blade doesn’t fit the neck-slash. There’s an outside chance Walker scored first, and we can get DNA.”

  Richards stroked his cheek, appearing deep in thought. “What do you think? Is he dead because of his gang affiliation? Or, are we facing a coincidence—one that does not help us?”

  “I pulled his record. Lots of petty shit, but he’s never done time. No one would offer him a key to the city, but there’s nothing obvious that lines him up for execution.”

  “Okay, stay on it. I’ll contact Tillotson and tell him to keep us in the loop. Especially the vic’s DNA. If it matches what we pulled out of the Smithson girl, it’s another strike against the rest of the gang. In the meantime, we have four others to bring in.”

  Summers rose. “Three. Remember, Grayson disappeared, and we haven’t found him.”

  Richards picked up the paper he’d been reading. “You’re right, but get on the others. Find a reason to haul them in here.”

  * * * *

  Tom pulled into the BGE&B parking lot wondering what Rubin Bernstein wanted. He found it unlikely, but the old man might have stumbled onto his tracking of the Thorns on Roses. He hustled into the building and up to the executive floor. Genevieve ushered him into Mr. Bernstein’s office.

  “Have a seat, Tom,” he said, his head down over some papers. With a flourish, he signed his name, then looked up. “No, not there. Let’s sit by the windows. I pay a lot for that ocean view.” He rose and walked around his desk. “I like to enjoy it every time I can.”

  Tom made a left and headed for the conversation niche in the corner by the windows. This does not bode well, he thought. The other times I’ve been in here, I had the wingback chair in front of his desk. He’s putting on a show for some reason.

  When he had settled into a chair facing into the office, Tom said, “Genevieve said you wanted to see me. I got here as fast as I could.”

  “And I appreciate it,” Bernstein said, sitting across from Tom, facing the ocean. “I respect that in an employee. I mean, the feeling you need to move fast. It shows me where your loyalties lie.”

  Tom saw Bernstein’s eyes surveying him, stopping on the bandaged arm.

  “How did you hurt yourself? Is it serious?”

  Tom held the arm out. “No. One of those stupid things. I was working on my car, and the jack slipped. Couple of stitches. Nothing that’ll hold me back. Do you have an assignment for me?”

  “Ah, the impetuosity of youth. Would you like some coffee or a soda before we talk business? One of the pleasures of my position is the ability to slow the world down a bit.”

  Tom grinned. “As my generation says, I’m on your dime. Whatever you want, I want.”

  Bernstein slapped his knee as he chuckled. “You do have a most direct way. I like that. Sodas, it will be.” He rose, walked
to his desk, and flipped the intercom button. “Genevieve. Please bring in a couple of cold drinks. Mr. Jeffries and I are thirsty.”

  After receiving her assurance the sodas would be there in a moment, he returned to his position across from Jeffries. “Bert told me about your requesting cover a few weeks ago. I found it strange at the time. In fact, I asked myself why one of my investigators would need lawyer-client confidentiality if he were not working a case for the firm. I was not amused by some of the possible answers that came to mind. Of course, I had questions for Bert, but he has so much respect for you that I did not intervene. Well, no intervention other than supporting him when he suggested we assign Abigail Archer, one of our finest associates, to assist you. I trust she has been an asset to whatever you’re doing.”

  Tom wondered where this was going. Obviously, Mr. Bernstein was taking a circuitous route to something. “Yes, sir. She’s a talented lawyer and a nice person.”

  “My opinion, exactly.”

  The door opened and Genevieve entered. “I have caffeine and no caffeine. Which do you prefer, Mr. Jeffries?”

  “High test, please.”

  “Good choice,” Bernstein said as she poured. “Thank you, Genevieve. Please hold my calls until Mr. Jeffries and I finish our conference.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said and left the office.

  Bernstein sipped his drink. “Not a fine scotch, but suitable for the occasion.” He speared Jeffries with his eyes. “When you reach my age, you discover that the list of enjoyable things in life gets shorter—seemingly, every day. A cold drink in the afternoon, a fine single-malt scotch in the evening. Things you once took for granted take on a whole new meaning.”

  Jeffries puzzled as he took a large swallow. “Sir, at the risk of appearing rude, I’m sure you didn’t have me come in to share a soda with you. What’s on your mind?”

  Bernstein set his glass on the side table. “Excellent approach. One of the reasons I chose you—directness. I like that in a man. What I have on my mind are your activities. What are you doing, Mr. Jeffries, that might need a lawyer to protect you? And don’t tell me you’re working with the police. I checked. You’re not.”

  Jeffries copied Bernstein’s movement with his glass. “I’m not sure how you got that impression, but I would never have told you I had anything to do with the police. I don’t lie. It goes against my upbringing. If I don’t want you to know something, I simply won’t tell you.”

  A smile tickled Bernstein’s lips. “There’s that trait again. So, what are you doing?”

  “I choose not to tell you.”

  “Hmm. That may be too direct. You’re putting me in a difficult situation. Bert will do almost anything to help you, and he is my son. But, I am the primary caretaker of the firm. I built it. It is my life. I must protect it. My lawyer instincts say you’re into something that could bring disgrace or, at a minimum, embarrassment. I cannot allow that.” He paused, staring at Tom.

  Tom sat impassive, not allowing his face to broadcast how irritating the conversation had become. Who was this old man? Apparently, he had some kind of God complex.

  “Would you care to change your mind?”

  Tom smiled. “Sir, with all respect to you and your position, I appreciate your concern for BGE and B. If I thought I were hurting it, I’d cancel our contract. However, that does not change my previous answer. What I’m doing is my business, and I choose not to tell you.”

  Bernstein frowned. “Too much directness. You crossed the line to impertinence. I tolerate no employee who does not put the firm above his or her personal interests. Clearly, you believe your pedestrian values more important.” He stood. “Your contract gives me the option of abrogating it with a thirty-day prepayment of your retainer. I am exercising that option. Your check will be in the mail. Give your building pass to Genevieve as you leave.” He walked toward his desk, his back to Tom.

  * * * *

  Tom headed for his house after the meeting with the senior Bernstein, telling himself nothing had changed. So the old man canned him. Big deal. Being able to yell lawyer-client confidentiality to the cops would have been nice, if needed, but he could live without it. He had been in tougher situations and survived. His mission remained the same. He would just have to be more careful. Perhaps he should keep an eye open for a good defense lawyer though. He had encountered several during his limited time in Florida. It wasn’t like there was a shortage—the area teemed with them, like geckos in a garden. And, he could always ask for a recommendation from Abby.

  Once at home, he busied himself preparing for the night. At six, he finished loading his weapons into his car and made a last trip into the house to pick up a cooler. Inside were the makings of dinner for Abby and him—eggs, shredded sharp cheddar cheese, chopped ham, bacon, fresh bread and butter, and his special whisk. Plus, a chilled bottle of wine. Humming under his breath, he smiled at his thoughts of the evening to come. First, a delightful meal with Abby, followed by a quick trip to take out Laury, then back to Abby’s for a night with the woman he loved.

  For at least the twentieth time that day, he wondered how he had gotten so lucky, how he had stumbled across someone as wonderful as Abby. And the fact she reciprocated made the miracle more difficult to understand. For the first time in his adult life, discounting the bar-slut who seduced him, he considered spending the rest of his life with one woman. He wondered how Abby felt about children. He liked the idea of being a father, maybe more than once. It would be great to have a son to nurture into manhood, but a daughter would be nice also. A little Abby who could grow up under the umbrella of his and Abby’s love. Yeah, they could make beautiful children.

  After he finished with Laury and Raul, he’d pop the question and invite Abby to go ring shopping. Hmmm, he thought, I need to talk with Lonnie about how to propose, engagement rings, and marriage—things I know nothing about. I have to handle it just right. Can’t let Abby get away.

  * * * *

  Abby walked into Bert’s outer office. “Hi, Beth. I’m here, as ordered. Is he ready for me?” As soon as she said the name, a vision of Tom’s sister leapt into her mind. A young woman mutilated and brutalized lying on a stainless steel tray. A small shudder passed through her.

  Beth smiled. “Yep. He stuck his head out of his door twice in the last ten minutes. Looked around, then went back in.” Her face went serious. “I don’t know what’s going on, but he’s agitated, antsy. I suspect his father’s on his back about something—and that something must include you.”

  “We shall see. Thanks for the warning. Should I go in, or do you want to announce me?”

  “Let me buzz him. In his condition, he might jump out the window if you barge in.” She pushed a button on her desk. “Mr. Bernstein, Ms. Archer is here to see you.”

  “Send her in.”

  Abby shrugged and headed for the door only to have it open when she was halfway there.

  “Abby. Come in, come in,” Bert said from the doorway. “Would you like something to drink? Beth, please bring a selection of cold drinks—no, make it a Diet Coke. That’s it, isn’t it, Abby? You drink Diet Coke in the afternoon, don’t you?”

  Abby’s pace slowed. This was serious. She’d never seen Bert so flummoxed, not even at his wedding when he dropped the ring. She took a deep breath and entered the office. What must be, would be.

  Inside, Bert waved her to his conversation niche. “Let’s sit over here where we’ll be more comfortable. Hope you’ve had a good day. It’s been hectic in here. Dad’s all in a snit about the Evanosky case. If we don’t win it—”

  “You’re worrying me, Bert. Last time I saw you this nervous was when Pat was late starting down the aisle. Remember? She stepped on her train and had to have it repaired. I went to the altar to let you and the pastor know.” She grinned as she passed in front of him and sat on the loveseat. “Sit down and give me the bad news.”

  “Am I that obvious?” He settled across from her. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He took
a deep breath. “It’s Dad. He’s upset—and it’s not just the Evanosky case. He’s—”

  “Want your refreshments now?” Beth stood in the doorway.

  Bert rose. “Yes. I’ll take them.” He met her as she crossed the room and took the tray she carried. “Thank you, Beth. After Abby, I have nothing else on the schedule. Why don’t you take off? No need to hang around.”

  Beth raised an eyebrow, then whispered, “Mr. Bernstein, I’ve known you a lot of years. I hope you’re not about to do something you’ll regret. We both know Abby’s the best we have.”

  Bert glanced in Abby’s direction. “I agree. I’ll watch my tongue. Now go enjoy your family.”

  As Beth left the room, he set the bottles, glasses, and a bucket of ice on the coffee table. “She’s worried about you. She thinks I’m about to fire you or something.”

  “I heard. Is that why you brought me in? You’re dancing around like you have warts on the soles of your feet. Sit down. I know where you keep the hard stuff.” She rose and walked to a cabinet behind his desk, opened the door, and removed a bottle of Famous Grouse. “I always said you have great taste in women and booze.” She crossed back to him, put ice cubes in a glass, and poured in a healthy shot of scotch. “On the rocks or with a splash?”

  “On the rocks.” He took the drink and sipped. “Thanks, Abby. Now make yourself one. We have to talk.”

  “We have to talk? Aren’t those the dreaded words men hate to hear?” She grinned as she poured a short shot of scotch over ice, then added water from the wet bar. “The way you’re acting, I’d better keep a clear head.” After re-seating herself, she said, “Spit it out. Did I give away the company secrets or something?”

  Bert smiled. “No. Nothing like that—well, not that I know of. It’s Tom Jeffries. Dad’s sure he’s about to disgrace us.” He hesitated long enough for a sigh. “And that you’re doing nothing to stop him. In fact, he seems to think you might be helping him.”

  Abby sipped her drink, stalling, trying to find a path between the lie she didn’t want to tell and the truth she couldn’t tell. “What do you think, Bert? Do you believe I’d intentionally do something to hurt the firm?”