The Warhol Incident

by G. K. Parks

  “Well, I had to return your keys. I couldn’t just leave without locking your deadbolts. Plus, I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, and I felt bad about this morning.” He confused me again, and I tried to remember what happened.

  “You didn’t hurt me, but you didn’t have to stay. And you really didn’t have to make breakfast.”

  He ignored me as he always did. “You look a million times better today. How are you feeling?”

  “Better. About last night,” I began, but the phone interrupted.

  He lifted the cordless phone from its cradle. “It’s Mark, again. He’s called four times.”

  “Just pick up the receiver and slam it down.”

  Martin frowned and answered the phone. “Hey, Mark. It’s James.” He paused. “I don’t know. Hang on.” He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Tell him I’m not here.”

  “She says she’s not here,” he relayed my message, and I rolled my eyes. “Uh-huh. Okay. I will.” Brief pause. “We talked last night. She’s okay.” He concluded the call and replaced the handset.

  “Mark says he’s sorry and you should consider hearing him out.”

  Gracing Martin with my ‘yeah, right’ look, I picked up my coffee and sat down at the kitchen table where I was presented with a plate of pancakes. “Thanks, but you’ve already done so much.” I looked at the couch. “Did you sleep there all night? You could have taken my bed or went home. I am perfectly capable of staying by myself.”

  “I wanted to stay, and you needed a good night’s sleep.” He glanced at the digital clock. “And a good morning’s sleep, too.” It was almost two o’clock.

  I picked at the pancakes while Martin watched me eat. “Not hungry?”

  “I ate at home. So, how long are you planning on avoiding Mark?”

  I put my fork down and studied the ceiling, collecting my thoughts. “I need to say something first.” Martin’s expression changed. “Last night, those things I told you, I shouldn’t have. There was no reason why you needed to hear about what happened in the warehouse in so much detail.” I licked my lips. My mouth had gone dry. “A couple of weeks ago, when I tried to throw you out of my apartment, I shouldn’t have told you quite like that either. I just wanted you to understand.”

  “You have to talk to someone,” he said gently. “I can be that someone. I don’t like what’s happened, but listening is the least I can do.”

  “Have you been talking to Mark? Because that’s more or less what we’re arguing about. He thinks I need to talk things out.” From the look on Martin’s face, I knew he discussed this with Mark earlier this morning.

  “I guess I should be forthright with you,” Martin said. “Mark’s mentioned some things to me. If it makes you feel any better, it was for purely professional reasons.” I stared at Martin, not knowing what in the world he was about to divulge. “Before I hired you to work as my security, Mark told me the real reason you quit the OIO.”

  “Oh.” My tone turned cold as I remembered the Bureau shrink’s assessment that I failed to discuss the incident properly and satisfactorily move past it.

  “It’s why you were the fourth person I interviewed for the job. It’s also why I gave you a few chances to walk away when things got rough.” He had a guilty conscience for not saying anything sooner. He and Mark both needed to learn how to take a hint. “The point is I don’t care what Mark thinks. You know how much you can handle and what needs to be done. You might have a few scars, but you’re not damaged beyond repair. Don’t let him make you feel that way. You,” Martin paused and corrected himself, “we, can take things at your pace and handle them when and if you’re ready.”

  “Only time will tell,” I replied cynically. I wasn’t sure how to take any of what he just said. Was it a compliment, criticism, or just words to clear his guilty conscience? I put my plate in the sink and leaned against the counter, attempting to regroup. He came up behind me.

  “Are we okay?”

  Turning around to face him, I wasn’t sure the two of us should even be a we. Maybe things were moving at a pace faster than what I could handle. I shrugged, and he moved to kiss me. It was soft and brief as he carefully touched his lips to mine. His hands brushed against the sides of my torso, just below my ribcage. Maybe things were moving too quickly for both of us. Placing my palms against his shoulders, I rested my cheek against his chest, but he wouldn’t return my embrace. One of us had to prove I wasn’t completely breakable, even if this wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world right now.

  His right shoulder was colder than his left, and I spotted one of the ice packs from my freezer next to the stove. I pulled away and dropped my hands. “You aggravated your shoulder by carrying me to bed last night,” I surmised, walking away. We weren’t good together. I didn’t see what possessed me to think letting him make this decision was a good idea.

  “It would have happened anyway. It just gets sore sometimes.” There was something he wasn’t saying, but we had enough drama at the moment.

  I sat on the corner of the couch, curling my legs under me. “You should go home and prepare for your meeting. What time is your dinner with Luc?” I tried to cover my retreat with a work distraction. Martin was a workaholic, after all.

  “I have time. We’re meeting at five for drinks and going from there. All my files are here, so if you’ll allow me the use of your table,” he wasn’t falling for my distraction tactics, “Marcal can bring something more business appropriate I can change into when he comes to pick me up, if I’m permitted to change in your apartment.” His tone wasn’t lost on me, but I chose to ignore it.

  “Of course.” I didn’t want to fight with him, even though I hated how emotionally manipulated I often felt when he was being genuinely thoughtful and I was so difficult to handle. Most likely, that had more to do with my own take on the way things were and less on how they actually were, but that was beside the point.

  “What are you doing today?” he asked.

  “Absolutely nothing,” I said. His expression was akin to if I suggested I wanted to live on Jupiter. “I might get the mail. Watch some TV. If I feel overly ambitious, maybe I’ll do some laundry.”

  “Really?”

  “Hell, yes. I’ve been busting my ass for a month now. It’s over. I’m done,” I paused, thinking about things, “at least for today.” He chuckled and placed the remote control beside me before heading back into the kitchen. Since my one bedroom apartment was comprised of a single large room containing my living room, kitchen, and dining room, it basically meant he crossed from the couch to the counter. “However, if you touch those dishes, I will be forced to kick your ass,” I warned.

  He stepped away from the sink, his hands in the air. “Yes, ma’am.” He detoured to the stack of papers he placed on the corner of my kitchen table. I hated being called ma’am, and I glared at him. He smirked and sat down.

  Over the next two hours, he reviewed and made notes for his working dinner while I spent the same time lying on the couch, alternating between reading a magazine and watching television. Marcal knocked on my door, carrying a garment bag. I let him in and offered the few meager items I had in my house, but he declined and went to wait for Martin outside in the car, insisting he parked in a tow-away zone. Martin changed into a designer suit. He went into my bathroom to check his hair with his shirt buttons undone and tie hanging untied around his neck. Men, I thought ironically. I climbed off the couch and leaned against the doorjamb, watching him.

  “Here, let me.” Despite his lackadaisical attitude, his shoulder hurt, and his right hand wasn’t as dexterous as it should be. Standing in front of him, I buttoned his shirt. He absently played with a strand of my hair, using his left hand and staring unnervingly at me. “I think it’d be best if you kept whatever this is quiet.” I worked on figuring out how to knot his tie.

  “I agree.” His eyes were getting a little too alluring as I finished the kno
t, so I turned and walked out of the bathroom and back to the safety of the couch. He double-checked his appearance in the mirror before emerging. “If my meeting doesn’t run too late, I can come back later tonight.”

  “That’s okay. I’m going to work my way through those leftovers and go to bed early. I’ll see you Monday at the office. New surveillance equipment, exciting stuff,” I feigned enthusiasm.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alex. By the way, you need to work on your compromising skills.”

  I made a mental note to remind him to have Bruiser escort him from the car to my door and vice versa because who knew what kind of crazies could be lurking in the hallway. I just started washing the dishes when the phone rang. It was Martin.

  “Mark’s on his way up. I just wanted to give you the chance to run down the fire escape.” He mocked my avoidance. “However, he is carrying a pizza, y’know, from the good pizza place, so perhaps you should knock him out and keep the pizza. I can send Bruiser up to help you hide the body.”

  “Go to work,” I insisted, hanging up the phone. I went to the door and unlocked the deadbolts, opening it before Mark even knocked.

  “Hey.” Mark was shocked I opened the door.

  “Is that supposed to be an apology?” I asked snippily, gazing at the pizza box.

  “Can I come in?”

  “That depends. Mushrooms?”

  “Yes.”

  Stepping away from the door, I gestured him inside. “What do you want?”

  “Alex, I believe you misconstrued my words yesterday.” I took the pizza and placed it on the counter, opening it to verify the bribe of mushrooms was legitimate. “I was worried about you. You can’t blame me for that.”

  “I’m pretty sure I can blame you for anything I want. Global warming, rising gas prices, lack of good feature films to go see.”

  Mark sat at the counter and waited for me to stop being ridiculous.

  “Although, I guess in all fairness, none of those things are your fault. None of them. If you wanted me back at the OIO, why didn’t you talk to me? If it was Kendall’s idea, why didn’t you prepare me? I went into that meeting, got my ass handed to me, and then ended up blindsided with a job offer.”

  “I didn’t know how you would react. If I said anything, you might have run for the hills.” In all likelihood, that probably would have been what happened. “It was Kendall’s idea to have you come back full-time. I thought maybe you might want to ease back in by consulting on a few cases first.”

  “You told Martin why I quit.”

  “He had a right to know who he was hiring and why you weren’t an agent anymore. You could have told him yourself, but you didn’t.”

  “Telling some guy how I got two good men killed wasn’t going to cinch my interview,” I retorted. Although, in twenty-twenty hindsight, it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference since Martin had known all along.

  “Regardless of your reasons, you didn’t tell him. You never told him.”

  “And we come full circle.” Finishing my slice of pizza, I went to wash the dishes I abandoned. “What part of we aren’t talking about this don’t you get?”

  “Fine, we won’t talk about it. So why the hell aren’t you coming back to work?”

  “I quit.”

  “Why?” he shouted over the running water.

  I turned the water off and spun around to face him. Considering the fact we weren’t talking about it, I didn’t have a good answer. “Screw you.”

  “Why?” he asked again, his volume only slightly lower.

  “I don’t want to come back. I’m doing just fine on my own.”

  “Really? You worked for Marty, and I had to run backgrounds on everyone. You worked for Evans-Sterling, and you ask me for help on the car bombing and the package. Without my resources, the resources at the office, where would you be? You call that fine?”

  “I’m not fighting with you.” I was done.

  “Parker, if you were okay with it, you’d be back on the job.” He stood up. “You do realize that, don’t you?” He had me there, and he knew it.

  I pulled a beer from the fridge and placed it on the counter in front of where he stood. It was a peace offering, and he opened the cap and sat back down.

  “I like my freedom. No warrants, no gathering evidence, no court orders. I don’t have to make a case.” I listed the positive attributes of my current private investigator/security consultant status. “If you can guarantee the same kind of gig consulting at the Bureau, maybe I would consider it on a temporary, short-term basis.” I had to prove to Mark I was fine. Martin thought I was. Maybe I should listen to him more often.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Mark opened the box and took a slice for himself.

  Twenty-six

  As requested, I worked on improving my compromising skills by allowing Martin to come over Sunday. He reported his business dinner went well. His hesitance over the new hire had ebbed away over the course of the last few weeks. As long as Guillot wasn’t a criminal or a killer, everything would be fine.

  “Did you talk to Mark yesterday?” Martin asked curiously.

  “I agreed to go back to work on a temporary, consulting only basis. Mark doesn’t know if the director will agree to it, but...” My voice trailed off. I wasn’t happy about this.

  “Alex, you don’t have to go back. Don’t do it.”

  “We’ll see.” I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, or why I was doing it. “Don’t worry. If it even happens, it’ll take time to get the paperwork in order and pass the background checks. Then there are the mental and physical evaluations, blah, blah, blah.” Just the thought of it was exhausting.

  “So, tomorrow,” he changed the subject, “are you sure you’re feeling up to coming to work?”

  “I’m perfectly fine. I caught up on some much needed sleep, and I’m ready to get back out there.”

  “The installation isn’t supposed to start until end of business. The crew should arrive at four, so if you could be there to supervise and make sure everything gets installed where it’s supposed to go, I’d appreciate it.”

  “That I can do.”

  Martin and I spent a couple of hours going over building schematics and reviewing the upgrades he approved. By the time he left my apartment that night, I had detailed notes on everything being installed and exactly where it was going.

  The next day, I checked my mail, threw out the pile of flyers and junk mail, and stopped by my office to repeat the process. Mr. Sterling sent a letter, expressing gratitude for the assistance I provided. Enclosed was a check in the amount of the reward for any information pertaining to the missing paintings. It wasn’t an exorbitant amount, but it would help cover my travel and hotel costs from the last two weeks.

  Glancing at the time, I called Detective O’Connell. I owed him my thanks for sending his report to the Paris police, and I filled him in on everything. Nick offered to keep an eye out for any suspicious pings on French travelers entering the country, just in case. Unfortunately, he never identified Ski Mask.

  “At least Ramirez is long gone,” he offered as consolation. “If I hear he’s causing trouble, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks. You’re still my favorite detective.”

  On the way to the Martin Technologies building, I picked up a new cell phone to replace the one that got smashed in Paris. Things were getting back to normal, finally. I wondered when Ryan would call with an update. I hated to admit it, but Martin was right. I had issues separating myself from the job. Thoughts of Clare entered my mind, and I wondered if she had been cleared of any involvement. Did she know Jean-Pierre was still alive? As I entered the MT building, I forced all Paris related thoughts from my mind and greeted the security guard, Jeffrey, before heading to the top floor to put my purse in my office and wait for the equipment installation guys to show up.

  The seventeenth floor had changed in appearance since the last time I was here. One of the four conference rooms had been modif
ied and converted into Guillot’s office. Martin wanted to keep a closer eye on him than he had his former vice president. I was swiveling back and forth in my desk chair when my office phone rang. The equipment installers were downstairs. I went to the lobby to greet them.

  Over the course of the next two hours, I supervised the installation and approved the locations for the new cameras. A few locks were changed, and the security office and Martin’s office were both upgraded to biometric technology. I was standing in the lobby, watching the equipment specialist code the lock so it would open for each of the security guards, when Martin emerged from the elevators.

  “Everything set up?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’m just waiting for the lock to be coded properly and that should be it.”

  “Stop by my office and sign the paperwork before you leave.” It was good to know he could act professional in public.

  After the men were done, I signed off on the work order and went upstairs, retrieved my belongings, and knocked on Martin’s open door. He looked up and smiled.

  “Close the door on your way in,” he said playfully.

  “Two things. First, here is the work order, signed and dated for your records. Second,” I glanced at the glass wall and the cameras in the hallway. “before you decide to fool around with any of the secretaries in your office, I’d suggest you remember to change the setting on your wall of windows. If not, the security guards will have front row seats to one hell of a show.”

  Martin adopted a wolfish grin. “I don’t think that’s an issue, at least not with the assistants. It could be a problem with a certain security consultant I know.”

  “I don’t think that issue will come up.”

  He raised his eyebrows, preparing a cheeky response, when Luc knocked on his door. Martin buzzed him in.

  “Pardon,” Guillot said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You’re not. I was just on my way out.” Picking up my purse, I went to the door. “If there was nothing else, sir.”