by Mike Faricy
“Gary, I’m going to have to check in and see if my client is awake. I’ll have to fill her in. I’ll be back to help just as soon as I can.”
“Good luck,” he said not taking his eyes off the unchanging images on his screen. Morton and I wove our way around various groups of people. Occasionally I picked up a phrase here and there; “Murder” and “Suicide” seemed to be two of the more common terms. No one mentioned the word; “Kidnapping”.
All too soon we arrived at unit eighteen and I stood out in the aisle for a long moment debating what my chances for survival were. I heard a groan followed up with a hacking cough coming from the other side of the red velvet curtains, so I took a deep breath and entered.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Natasha was in the process of just waking up, stretching and groaning with her eyes closed. She was still wearing the garter belt and stockings as well as her little silk robe although it really wasn’t covering much.
“Mmm-mmm, we must have had a good time, God, I can’t seem to remember a thing,” she said then stretched some more and rolled her head back and forth.
“Actually, there seems to be a slight problem,” I said.
Her face clouded and she suddenly sat up straight. “Slight problem? Whatever do you mean?”
There seemed to be something in her response, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “Well, it seems Princess Anastasia isn’t exactly here … at the moment.”
“What?” she screeched and flew off the chair. In one fell movement she was on her knees in front of the kennel. She unlatched the kennel door, tore it open and half crawled inside apparently thinking Princess Anastasia might suddenly appear.
“Where is she? What have you done with her?” she yelled. She was down now on all fours and halfway inside the kennel.
“I haven’t done anything. As a matter of fact, Morton and I fought off some guy who snuck in here last night. You were passed out in the chair, or at least asleep and didn’t wake up. We had security in here. I’ve spoken with the police, they arrested the guy and hauled him away. They’re here now, the cops, looking for the princess. As far as we can tell she hasn’t left the building.”
“Hasn’t left the building,” she screeched rocketing off her knees and up into my face. All sense of Ivy League propriety had vanished in an instant. “You don’t know where she is? Oh my God, you worthless, worthless excuse for a man. We’re scheduled to compete this noon. I’ve got to get the authorities involved,” she said then pushed me out of the way as she stormed through the velvet curtains.
By the time Morton and I stepped out into the aisle she was running in the direction of the security office with the short silk robe flowing behind her like some sort of super hero cape. All heads turned as she rushed past. We quickly followed in her wake.
Natasha was screaming, “Security, police, security,” as she ran. By the time Morton and I entered the office a crowd had followed and was gathering just outside. They stared in through the office windows, wide-eyed.
Allen had Natasha by the arm and was escorting her to the rear of the office where two officers in civilian clothes were sitting. Morton and I made our way thru the gathering crowd and into the office.
“Well then, exactly what do you intend to do?” Natasha was screeching at the cops by the time we made our way through the crowd and entered the office.
Both cops had a deadpan look on their face, like they were waiting for her to just get all the emotion out before they could get down to business. Based on the invectives and abuse being hurled at them by Natasha right now they were going to have a long wait.
It never failed to amaze me when people responded this way toward the very individuals whose help they so desperately needed.
“Apparently, neither one of you is listening. Let me repeat myself, I want to know what, exactly, you intend to do.”
“Please Ma’am if you would just calm down for a moment, we need your name and then we can start….”
“My name? Listen here you young fascist, this has nothing to do with my name. I’ll tell you what I need. I want the name of your superior, right this instant. How could you let something like this happen? My name? What difference does that make ? I….”
“Natasha Kominski,” I said walking up from behind. “My name is Dev Haskell. I was in here after we caught the one guy earlier. It looks like that’s when this other slime bag snuck back in and grabbed the dog, Princess Anastasia.”
“The poodle?” one of the cops asked.
“No, a standard sized poodle, you might wish to write that down as long as you’re just sitting there wasting valuable time,” Natasha said, she’d found her Ivy League accent at this point.
Neither of the cops wrote anything down. One of them was running his eyes up and down her figure taking note of the black garter belt extending a few inches beneath the silk robe. He seemed to be making a general assessment that I figured began with something like, “Maybe I could get your private phone number…”
“Natasha, everyone is here to help, right now, both you and your attitude are getting in the way and slowing things down. I think these gentlemen might have a few questions to ask you and if we could maybe just give them as much information as possible then they could do their job.”
“Oh, thank you, isn’t that nice. If you’d been doing the job I’d assigned to you in the first place we wouldn’t even be here right now.”
“And if you hadn’t passed out from the three bottles of wine you drank last night maybe you could have watched Princess Anastasia while I had to deal with the intruder we stopped and had arrested. Really not the point right now, is it? So, let’s get down to business, as you so gracefully suggested, and stop wasting valuable time. Please,” I said and indicated an office chair for her to sit down.
She sat down with a flourish, crossed her legs and folded her arms tightly across her chest where she remained red faced and smoldering. Her posture suggested this was going to be anything but productive.
“Can you describe the individual we’re looking for?” asked the cop she’d called a young fascist just a moment ago.
“No, it was dark,” Natasha replied.
“And, you were passed out and snoring,” I added. “He’s white, tall, six three or four, blonde hair, a crewcut, no facial hair. Big guy, body builder type. I guess he’d come in at about two hundred and twenty pounds. It looked like he was in a dark colored T-Shirt, didn’t notice any writing on it, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t something. I think he was wearing blue jeans. Oh yeah, and tribal sort of tattoos over his biceps.”
“I’ve got Gary printing off the image we have from one of the security cameras. It’s not the best, but it’s better than nothing,” Allen said.
Natasha frowned and let out an exasperated sigh, “Oh, for God’s sake.”
“Did he have the dog on a leash?” the fascist asked.
Natasha didn’t have a clue, of course and looked over at me.
I waited and gave her a look suggesting, “Go ahead, you seem to know everything.”
“He was carrying her, at least in the image we have.” Allen said.
“Natasha, would you go back to your area and see if the leash is still there, he might have brought his own, but at least we’d know he didn’t take yours.”
She glanced around quickly then got up and left without making a comment. Allen and the two cops watched her hurry out of the office.
“Sorry about that guys, she’s pretty upset.”
“Understandable under the circumstances so don’t worry, it comes with the territory. At least she’s easy on the eyes,” one of them said, then watched as Natasha hurried out of sight.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Natasha returned about ten minutes later. She was wearing a T-shirt, jeans and a much better attitude. “I wish to apologize for my behavior earlier. I hope you can understand, this is quite disconcerting for me.”
“No need to apologize, Ms Kominski,”
the young fascist said.
“Don’t worry about it,” the other cop said. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”
“All three of the leashes are right where I left them. Beyond that, nothing else seems to be missing. I realize this is sketchy information at best, but it’s all we have to offer at the moment,” she said then looked over at me.
“If its okay, I’ll get back to looking at exterior shots just to make sure this guy is still somewhere in the building,” I said.
“And we’ll get these images out to our people as well as your security folks,” the cops said.
“Thank you,” Natasha added and quickly made her exit.
“I’m really sorry guys, this is her worst nightmare and unfortunately you guys caught the flak,” I said once Natasha was out of the office. As I spoke we all watched her through the windows making her way past the crowd and heading back to her booth. She wore a look that suggested she didn’t know where to turn.
“Like I said, it comes with the job, we better get moving,” the other cop said and they were suddenly up and out the door.
I joined Gary back at the monitors, there were two other guys with him now reviewing images.
“Anything?” I asked.
“The good news is no, we haven’t seen him outside. If you’ve got time we could have you start going through the interior shots, couple of cameras covering the areas where he was last spotted. We’re just about current with the exterior images and he hasn’t shown up.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that. It just occurred to me, wouldn’t it make sense for him to try and leave here once the doors open? You know when it’s crowded, much more difficult to spot him at that point,” I said.
“Doors open at eleven, usually there’s a crowd waiting to get in. If he could find a place to hold up for a few more hours that would maybe make sense,” Gary said.
“Offices, storage rooms, maybe even rest rooms,” I said.
“I’ll get people on it right now. We’ve called in everyone we can think of for added security around here,” Gary said.
I started going through the first of thousands of interior shots Gary had just sent to the computer in front of me. Morton took a brief look at the computer screen before he laid down, rested his head on his paws and closed his eyes.
It was more of the same for me, only these mind numbing shots were of the interior. Gradually, as I worked my way through the files individuals began to appear in some of the images. That was fine initially and brought a welcome change to the numbing sameness, but in short order it slowed down any real progress I’d been making. A second or two longer to study the individuals in every image multiplied by literally thousands of images brought any sense of progress to an almost dead crawl.
And then another hour or so later of looking at images and there he was; crewcut, jeans, what looked like a plain black T-shirt. He was standing in the middle of an aisle, looking completely relaxed and sipping from a coffee mug. He looked like your average early morning riser. In the image three people were just walking past him and appeared not to give him a second glance. The princess was nowhere in sight.
“I got him,” I said and looked at the digital readout, the image had been taken almost two hours ago.
Gary rolled his desk chair over next to mine, repeated the catalog number of the image a couple of times to himself then rolled back to his keyboard. He brought the image up next to the first one of the guy carrying Princess Anastasia down aisle “J”.
“Definitely the same person. Looks like he might still be here,” Gary shouted and a couple more guys crowded round his monitor. He input the catalog number and brought up another dozen images that had the guy gradually moving down the aisle and out of camera range.
Gary brought the images up from the next camera on the aisle, there the guy was again, casually walking down the aisle sipping from a coffee mug. Gary tracked him through two more cameras, and then he disappeared.
There were a number of us gathered around his screen watching as the guy seemed to suddenly disappear from view. “Where in the hell did he go?” I asked.
“He’s gotta be in one of those booths right around there, he must have just ducked into one.”
“Oh no,” Allen groaned and we all turned to focus on the flat screen mounted in the upper corner of the back of the office.
Chapter Sixty-Four
The morning news show was just in the process of breaking to a live report. A headline ran across the bottom of the screen, black letters on a yellow background. “Breaking News - Kidnapping at the Blessington Kennel Club - Breaking News - Kidnapping at the Blessington Kennel Club – Breaking News – Kidnapping at the Blessington Kennel Club….”
“Where are they getting this?” someone asked. “We barely know what in the hell is going on.”
Allen changed the station only to find the same story was being covered live albeit by a different reporter. This would only serve to make the task of finding Princess Anastasia more difficult.
“Who recognizes this aisle, anyone?” Gary asked drawing our attention away from the news reports and back to the specific issue at hand, finding Princess Anastasia.
“I think it’s toward the back of the auditorium, close to the restrooms,” a guy said.
There was a distinctive set of leopard skin drapes hanging across one of the booths. I saw no point in waiting. I just grabbed Morton’s leash, a grainy printout of the guy’s image, and we headed out the door toward the back of the auditorium. We made our way to the restrooms then started heading up and down aisles looking for the leopard skin drapes. We found them in the third aisle.
I reminded myself that the leopard skin drapes meant nothing more than Crewcut had been here, or near here. I forgot to tell Morton, however. As we approached the drapes he suddenly charged through and barked before I could get hold of him and pull him back.
As I pulled him back into the aisle he was followed by a very tall, very lean guy with knobby knees and elbows stepping out from behind the drapes. His yellow teeth appeared much too large for his thin lipped mouth. The hair from the nostrils of his large, hooked nose seemed to flow directly into his handle bar mustache.
“Sorry about that,” I said and tried to dismiss Morton’s entrance with a laugh.
“Really, I’m not sure what you were thinking, perhaps you weren’t, thinking that is. Given the unfortunate circumstances of this morning, not to mention the ongoing competition, one would hope this sort of intrusion wouldn’t occur. May I ask what, exactly, you are doing here? Are you even allowed in this area?” He looked down disdainfully at Morton and then appeared to be even more disappointed when he finally settled his gaze on me.
“Really sorry, we’re looking for a friend and thought he might have been here? I wonder if you wouldn’t mind taking a look at this image and…”
“Hardly sufficient reason for the intrusion,” he said then appeared to examine our VIP badges, shook his head and scoffed, “Oh for God’s sake, will it ever end?” Then he slipped back behind his leopard skin drapes and yanked them closed.
We walked to the next booth, knocked on one of the aluminum posts and I called, “Excuse me.”
A moment later the curtain was pulled back and a woman stepped out into the aisle. I immediately recognized her as the owner of the chocolate lab named Hershey. The one that had received such a rousing round of applause once Princess Anastasia had left the competition circle yesterday and at the moment the odds on favorite to win the best of show.
“Yes?” she said giving me the distinct feeling I was interrupting something.
“Sorry to bother you, I’m wondering if you may have seen this individual,” I said and handed her a copy of the grainy black and white image we’d printed off.
She seemed to study the image for a long moment before handing it back to me. “No, afraid not. I’ve no idea who that might be, was there anything else?”
“No, sorry to bother you.” I said as she quickly slippe
d back behind her curtains and pulled them closed.
We stepped across the aisle and knocked on another aluminum post. No answer. We knocked on the booth next to that a moment later. A short, stout woman pulled the drapes aside and peeked out.
“Hi,” she said. Then immediately bent down and asked, “Now who is this?” She gave Morton a good rub behind his ears, which set his tail wagging.
“I’m sorry to bother you, I’m looking for this individual,” I said handing her the image of Crewcut. He was right in this vicinity maybe an hour or two ago. Any idea where I might find him?”
She took a quick look at the image and said, “Why that looks an awful lot like, Cecil.”
“Cecil?”
“Yeah, the Kissler’s. Hershey, Melinda and … well there he is now. Say Cecil, Cecil, just what have you been up to? Look, this guy’s got a picture of you here,” she laughed and waved the image up over her head.
I turned round and there was Crewcut, just stepping into the aisle directly across from us with a shocked look on his face, icy blue eyes widened in surprise and his mouth opened as if he were about to say something. Instead, he suddenly shoved a passer-by into me and took off running in the opposite direction.
“Cecil, say Cecil?” the woman called as he sped away.
Morton and I took off after him.
Chapter Sixty-Five
The aisles were crowded with an awful lot of people who apparently had time on their hands and seemed to be wandering aimlessly. There were a number of photographer’s taking pictures and dogs. Lots of dogs. In between pushing people out of his way, Crewcut stepped over a Cocker Spaniel and then a Basset Hound, hurtled over a Great Pyrenees clipped an Irish Setter and stayed well clear of a German Shepard. We were in hot pursuit as he headed for a stairwell.
“Call security, call security,” I kept yelling. Morton seemed to pick up on what we were doing and increased his pace. He looked up at me as if to say “You’re really slowing me down.”
