At Wit's End

by Lawrence, A. K.

  Assured that with time - and a hefty retainer for the lawyer - they’d get everything worked out. Marie then called Robert and explained what had happened. To layer on bad news Robert informed her that the replacement sous chef had started and he couldn’t possibly fire him on his first day.

  “I’d be happy to offer you a loan, though. What do you need?” Robert’s kind offer almost brought tears to Marie’s eyes.

  “I can’t take a loan, Robert, I have no way of paying you back.”

  “Maybe not at the moment but I know you’ll work this out. You figure Michael took it?” Robert’s Brooklyn accent was thicker when he was upset and Marie could barely understand him.

  “I didn’t want to think about it but that’s the only thing that makes sense,” she acknowledged.

  “Where do you suppose that scumbag is hiding out?”

  “I would assume he’s at his apartment,” Marie answered. “I tried his phone but it was disconnected.”

  “So why don’t I meet you over there and we’ll get your money back?” Robert asked.

  Marie hesitated. She had no desire to admit this. “I don’t know where he lives.”

  “You what?” Robert was stunned.

  “We always came to my place. I figured he lived in some roach motel.” Marie couldn’t believe how naïve she’d been. “I called information, did an internet search, called the few numbers I have for him and it’s like he never existed,” she told him.

  “Have you considered that?”

  “What, that he never actually existed? How foolish would I have to be to fall for that?”

  “Honey, it happens to a lot of people. Read a newspaper.”

  “You honestly think he lived an alternate identity for 6 months all in the hopes of scamming me out of money? That seems vaguely incredulous,” Marie told Robert. She was pacing around her apartment and doing her best not to think about how badly she’d been scammed. “I hadn’t even officially applied for the loan when we met.”

  “Yeah well anyone who’d talked to you would have known you were going to. You talked about your plans for C U There all the time,” Robert reminded her. “They were good plans, don’t get me wrong. I wish I could have invested but my money’s tied up in the stock market right now.”

  “That’s sweet, Robert. I’m going to figure this out. Can I rain check the loan for living expenses? I have a few ideas yet.”

  “Of course. You keep in touch, let me know what’s going on. My door is always open for you, Marie.” Robert paused before his usual exit line and Marie waited. “You know my kid is really into computers, right?”

  Robert’s 16 year old son Teddy spent an inordinate amount of time playing on his computer, something Robert had lamented since Marie had known him. He would have been far happier had Teddy played sports. “He set up the system at the restaurant, right?”

  “Among other things. He’s been teaching me some and we talk a bit,” Robert was proud of his newfound abilities on the computer, a device which had confounded him for years. He was even more proud of his new relationship with the son he hadn’t been able to connect with. “He’s been telling me about this guy, one of the best programmers Teddy has ever known, he says. For the right amount of money the guy will hack the Pentagon.”

  “That’s insane! And a great way to end up in prison,” Marie commented.

  “That or working for the CIA. Anyway, maybe this guy could help you out somehow.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can do anything on the internet these days,” Robert said. “Maybe he could trace the money or find Michael or something, I don’t know. There’s gotta be something that can be done though, right?”

  Marie thought it over. “It couldn’t do any more damage,” she told him. “How do I get in touch with this mercenary?”

  “I’ll have Teddy send him a message and give him your number and email address. Hopefully, if the problem is interesting enough, he’ll help you out.”

  “Thanks, Robert.”

  “Fuhgeddaboutit.” Marie could imagine him winking as he hung up the phone.

  Wit unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door to his high rise apartment. He had taken the late flight out of Miami and all he wanted was his bed. The sight of the apartment stopped him in his tracks and he dropped his carry-on bag to the floor. He hadn’t been here in six months yet everything looked the exact same.

  The curtains were open and revealed New York’s late night skyline, a sight he’d never grown used to. The bottle of liquor he’d been drinking from before leaving for his first flight still sat on one of the Louis Something-or-Other end tables. He sighed at the waste of time and money it had been when he’d had the decorator class his place up. He’d dropped a pretty dime on this ornate nightmare and it didn’t mean a damn thing.

  He wondered if the suit he’d worn to the funerals was still lying on the bedroom floor. Creepy. Wit went into the living room and fell onto the creamy leather couch. He grabbed the bottle of scotch sitting next to the remote and took a long swig while the big screen TV went through its version of a boot up.

  Wit’s stomach twisted when he realized the TV was set to the same channel he’d been watching when he had left for the airport, one of the 24 hours news channels. He’d been watching the arrest of the two men who’d bombed the bar and killed his best friends. Now, as Wit drank deeply from the bottle, two talking heads were debating the current threat of a government shutdown. Great.

  Wit turned the television back off. Restless, he grabbed his laptop and sat back on the couch with it. He double-checked his connection and followed his personal protocols to the Deep Net, the area beyond the regular internet where hackers and programmers socialized, bargained and bragged. He scrolled through a few message boards and didn’t see much that interested him.

  He checked a few of his email drops and saw Byte420 had sent him a request. With the scotch warming his stomach he opened it and considered the words. He toggled a few screens and pulled up the phone company’s database. He searched the phone number Byte420 had included and from the billing information he took the full name of the woman and checked in at a government site. When her license came on the screen the bottle of expensive liquor stopped halfway to his lips and he whistled.

  “Well, hello there, Marie Lee Chase,” he leaned back in his chair and stared at the picture for a moment. Wit went back to Byte420’s message. He had a hangover to end all hangovers from his multi-month binge and he felt like doing absolutely nothing at all yet he felt the first stirring of interest he’d had in ages.

  Impulsively he hit reply and let Byte420 know that Zero was on the job. For his payment he had a small programming task for the young man, a problem with code he had been stuck on. He sent the needed information to Byte420 then went through the disconnect protocols and slapped the lid of the lightweight computer shut. With the last of his energy he went to the bedroom, knocked the unnecessary throw pillows to the floor and collapsed fully clothed onto his bed. He was lightly snoring within minutes.

  Wit crawled out of bed at the crack of noon and wondered what had died in his mouth. He stumbled to the bathroom to take care of that and realized he wanted coffee in the worst way. His cupboards were bare, a nuisance task he had forgotten to have his housekeeper take care of. God forbid the woman show any initiative.

  He changed clothes quickly and tried to remember if CoffeeBot was still open down the block. He jammed a hat on his head and made a mental note to schedule a haircut. He was about 5 months overdue. He grabbed the satchel that carried his laptop and his eye fell on the printout of Marie Chase’s license. Wit had forgotten he’d printed it. There was something about that face…

  Wit grabbed the page and slid it into his laptop. He’d think about it over a cup of coffee. If he didn’t have caffeine within the next ten minutes he was going straight back to bed. He grumpily pushed the button for the elevator and stared at the doors like a zombie. He shook out of it and made a note to
go grocery shopping. There was no way he was doing this every morning.

  The young lady behind the counter surprised him by not having any tattoos or piercings. Wit nearly went back out the door to ensure he’d come to the right place but the overwhelming aroma of coffee checked that urge.

  He ordered the largest size available, black, and took it to a small table where he promptly burned his mouth trying to drink half of the cup in one motion. The energy zinging through his veins almost made up for the blister he was sure he’d have on the roof of his mouth later. He set the rest of the hot drink aside to cool and set up camp. His laptop began booting up and he laid a notebook and several pens next to it. He plugged his earphones into his phone, scrolled to Mumford and Sons and hit play.

  He opened the cover of the notebook and laid Marie’s picture over the top page. He tilted the book so no one walking by would see what he was looking at. He stared at the government head shot and contemplated what he found so appealing.

  According to their information she was 5’ 7”, 130 pounds, brown hair with green eyes. That description encapsulated nothing of what he saw in the picture. The brown hair exploded in thick ringlets that fell at least to her shoulders. The green eyes sparkled with an inner drive and the lift of her nose gave her an air of mischief. Her bottom lip was full and he wondered what it would be like to tug that lip with his own.

  A stirring of interest indeed. Wit laid the picture aside and started digging into Marie Lee Chase’s life. He checked all the social media sites and learned about her catering company. He discovered she had several friends if pictures were anything to judge by. She’d had great grades in school and had been a member of several after school clubs.

  Marie Chase didn’t have much in the way of debt, or she hadn’t until recently. Wit raised his eyebrows at the amount to which she’d gone into the red recently. It broke pattern which was something that caught his attention. He wondered exactly what kind of help she needed; Byte420 hadn’t offered many details.

  Wit started and deleted several emails. After he realized he was acting like some sort of high schooler with a crush he dropped his head into his hands. This shouldn’t be that difficult. Perhaps his nerve was shot after drinking himself into oblivion for six months.

  He finished his coffee and started typing. When he hit Send it was with a small feeling of relief and satisfaction.

  Chapter 2

  Marie checked the time and decided the bedroom could wait. She turned the vacuum off and shoved it into the closet. A timer went off in the kitchen and she hurried in to take the canapés out of the oven. She had an appointment with Susan Collins about catering a dinner party. The woman’s in-laws were coming into town and she desperately wanted to wow them. Seeing as she couldn’t cook worth a damn, she did the right thing and contacted Marie.

  Marie had prepared a varied selection of appetizers so Susan could sample some of what she had to offer. With a quick peek she decided they needed just a tad longer in the oven. She reset the timer and, once again, cursed Michael to perdition.

  Week one after receiving her loan was supposed to be spent moving the company into the new digs, not scrambling to impress a client in the hopes they’d write her a deposit check so she could cover rent and a few standard groceries. Her stomach twisted and Marie wondered if she was developing an ulcer. She shook it off and forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. Planning Michael’s demise was something best done in the ridiculous amount of free time she now had on her hands and not when she was trying to keep an upbeat mood for a consultation.

  Mumbling about the many different ways a man could be castrated, she went around the room and lit the candles she had set around the apartment. She liked their look and scent and knew it wouldn’t alter the aromas or tastes of the dishes she had prepared. She hit switches and gave the living room mood lighting. She plugged her iPod into the stereo and selected “Susan’s Mix”, something she had compiled with Susan’s party specifically in mind. Light classical music began playing through the apartment and she was glad she’d gone with the surround sound.

  Marie firmly believed catering parties wasn’t just about the food. Everything should be taken into account and planned out accordingly. She liked to have candles or other special lighting set up with well-planned music all with the aim of perfect ambiance. This evening was her opportunity to give Susan a taste of it. Hopefully she’d be impressed enough to write out a check.

  The timer went off and she went back to the kitchen. Everything looked perfect and she turned down the temperature on the oven and propped the door open slightly. Susan would be here any minute and she wanted to make sure what should be hot would be.

  The bottle of Riesling in the refrigerator taunted her slightly. If she’d had time she would have opened the bottle and sampled it before Susan arrived. Unfortunately the timing hadn’t worked out that way and, upon reflection, she didn’t want Susan seeing an already open bottle with some gone. That wouldn’t set the right impression.

  Which reminded her to grab the wine glasses from the top cabinet and check them for spots. The dishwasher in this apartment was abysmal and she didn’t always remember to check before putting them away. With a small sigh she quickly ran hot water and let the steam build in the glasses. She used a lint free towel to wipe away the spots and considered it perfect.

  Another check of the time and she knew Susan was running late. She huffed out a small breath, checked the appetizers once more and went to her laptop. If she loaded her email she knew the door would buzz. It was the usual way of things.

  She scrolled through the multitude of messages that had come in since she had last checked this morning. She had no desire to purchase Viagra through a Canadian pharmacy and, really, did she seem like the type of person who needed or wanted to meet hot and barely legal girls online? Marie certainly didn’t think so. Most of the messages were spam and, with barely a thought, she deleted the entire page’s worth.

  Briefly she wondered if she’d hear from the guy Robert had told her about. Somehow she doubted it. Besides, what could be done? The money was gone, probably already spent.

  Petty revenge was tempting in its own right but Marie really wasn’t that kind of person. Or was she? If she saw Michael today wouldn’t she be the first in line to, at the very least, slap him?

  The doorbell distracted her from that train of thought and she quickly went to the door, double-checked Susan was on the other side and buzzed her in. With her professional face on Marie went to the elevator and began the process of wowing the client.

  An hour later Marie had a pad full of notes and ideas with a hefty deposit check tucked into the pages. Because Susan wanted to have her in-laws believe she had prepared the dinner Marie wouldn’t need to call in any favours for servers or a bartender. Small blessings.

  She changed into comfortable clothes, blew out the candles and poured herself another glass of wine. She propped her feet on the coffee table and went online. She wanted to update C U There’s website and she hadn’t checked for messages today. Now seemed to be as good a time as any.

  The crisp white wine was exactly what the doctor ordered. Susan had liked it also and Marie made a note to pick up a few of the bottles for Susan’s dinner party. Marie cocked a brow when she saw she had a new message through C U There’s site. She opened it and was thrilled to note it was for another consultation.

  Apparently Brad Witson had been out of town for several months. He had just gotten back to the States and he wanted to throw a semi-formal party to announce his return. Having learned her lesson Marie went to a search engine and dug into what she could about Brad Witson’s life.

  She checked the dates on the results that came up and realized he must have been out of town for most of the past year. She found that interesting and wondered how he’d heard of her business. She would make a point to ask him that. Her eyes widened as she began reading the results that had come up.

  Brad Witson had been a wunderkind
in the business world for several years. His name came up repeatedly in finance articles. Everything he touched seemed to turn to gold, the Kid Midas of Wall Street. Then one day nothing. He completely disappeared. There were a few “Where’s Wit?” articles and it appeared that question hadn’t been answered.

  It would be soon, Marie knew. Her natural curiosity had her wondering why he’d left and where he had been. If it was somewhere interesting culturally perhaps she could use it as a theme for his party.

  There was a tab that offered images and she selected it. While the page loaded she refilled her wine with what was left in the bottle. When she sat back down and looked at the screen she gave an involuntary gasp.

  Surely somewhere the gods were laughing. Not only had they given him the ability to make money at the drop of a hat but the man was hot in the way that any woman with a pulse could appreciate.

  “My God, he could model underwear,” she muttered and scrolled down the page. Lo and behold she found images that actually did show him modelling a very fashionable designer’s line of boxer briefs. He looked younger in those pictures and she gathered he’d modelled in college. Marie swallowed heavily and wondered how on earth she’d ever get through the consultation without ripping his clothes off.

  She toggled back to the message he’d sent and sent back a reply with her cell phone number. She wondered what his voice would sound like when he called and knew she was being ridiculous. She hadn’t had a high school crush since, well, high school. She’d have to get over this or she’d embarrass herself no end when they met.

  “Good night, Brad,” she whispered to the screen. She blew the image a kiss and took her tipsy butt off to bed.

  The fitness room was empty except for Marie. Her schedule had always been different from most of the people who lived in the building so she wasn’t surprised. She relished having time alone to force her body into her version of submission and on days when she had a slight wine hangover she was particularly brutal.