by Scott Cook
“I’m not maxing… How much can you bench, Victor?” I poked as I set the bar down after my twelfth rep.
Vic chuffed, “I can blow both you kid’s outta the water… I’d show ya’ now, but I got to hobnob with my customers. You know how it is.”
“Yeah Vic,” I said, prepping for my next set. “I certainly do.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Vic!” A woman called from the standing pull-down machine. She was fortyish and wearing an expensive-looking neon pink leotard that showed a lot of slender doughiness. “But this weight is awfully heavy… can we maybe start a little lighter?”
Vic flushed and quickly turned away. After a moment, I heard him say, “You’re already on the lowest plate, Mrs. Walters. Any less and you’d just be pulling the bar down. Remember, a little resistance is good. Good for your triceps.”
“Oh, but I’m not looking to get buff, Vic,” she insisted. “And I’d hate to, you know… lose my chest… you know?”
I could just see the two of them. Vic was doing an admirable job of schooling his face. I also took note that Mrs. Walters didn’t seem to have much chest to lose. That probably explained her covetousness for what was there.
I met Vic’s eye and grinned. He surreptitiously shot me the bird.
“Most women don’t get buff, Mrs. Walters,” Vic was saying. “Women lack the testosterone levels, generally speaking. Also… it’d take quite a while to buff up with only ten pounds. But toning now, which is what you said you wanted, well that’s perfect. Low weights with lots of repetitions. Keeps the limbs firm and slender, you know. Let’s bump this up to twenty pounds. You can do that, I’m certain.”
I used my groans to cover my laughter. I swear I felt Vic’s eyes boring into me.
After my chest presses, I moved over to the lat pull myself. Mrs. Walters was on one side of the multi-station machine, puffing away with two plates now pinned on. I set the pin all the way to the max on mine, a hundred and sixty pounds. I reached up and pulled the bar down with my hands just to either side of the cable, palms down. I set my upper arms and began to press the bar down, pivoting at my elbows and focusing the load onto my triceps. One-sixty wasn’t my max, but it was the max the machine could do. So I did twenty-five reps.
“Jesus Christ…” I heard Mrs. Walter say as she watched me. “Now he’s what I call buff.”
“I’m just here for inspiration, ma’am,” I remarked coolly, as if I weren’t pressing down the weight of an average-sized man. “Mr. Vic says that if I work hard, I might someday get the body I want.”
While I don’t speak fluent Italian, I do know a little… and the word that Vic used to describe me was most unflattering.
Mrs. Walters grinned a sultry grin and said: “With that body, sweetie, you can definitely get whatever body you want. God! You’re doing more weight than I weigh!”
“Oh, do go on,” I enthused, wiping down the bar and moving to the rack of free weights. “I’d better watch it though… Vicky gets jealous when I flirt.”
Once again, there was a rather warm and disobliging Italian expression aimed in my direction.
I’d done seventy-five reps in three sets, and she was still on her first set of a dozen.
As I started hammer curls, I once again got my mind back on Veronica. At the moment, she felt that her life wasn’t in immediate danger. After the attempt, she’d spent most of the week in the hospital and had only been released the day before. She’d come to Orlando on business, some meeting or other at Lockheed Martin. She was staying at the Hyatt Regency on I-Drive and informed me that she was carrying a Beretta .32 in her purse.
Veronica was undoubtedly right. The killer, or killers, whoever they might be, would probably not make another attempt on her life so soon. Veronica said that she’d told Alex all that she’d told me, and that the story was also being broadcast on Bay News Nine over in the Tampa Bay region as well as on other news sources around the country. Naturally. A boat fire and explosion is an attention-getter.
It would be the height of foolishness for anybody to make a try at her now. Certainly a lot of suspicion would be directed at her husband’s family and associates. However, that wasn’t a guarantee. I felt that I needed to do something more direct regarding her safety.
Veronica hadn’t hired me as a bodyguard. That would be a very difficult job and one I didn’t like to accept. Any effective bodyguarding required a team, at least when someone’s life was threatened. My primary job was to find out who was trying to kill her. If I were at her side twenty-four/seven, I couldn’t do that. So what I needed was a small team of trusted associates I could rely on to stay with my client while I poked around and exasperated the hornets.
While I certainly had quality people I could rely on, Lisa being at the top of the list, they weren’t really at my disposal for something like this. Lisa was involved on another case, at least for now. Wayne, Sharon and Juan were cops and had their own jobs to do. I had ICE, but the truth was that I was more at their disposal than the other way around. I could see if any of Greg Foster’s people were available… but that would no doubt cost me my fee and then some. Aside from that, I really didn’t know about their capabilities.
I was working the heavy bag now and feeling a bit frustrated. Either I would have to sequester Veronica in a safe house of some kind, or I’d have to hire a professional security team to stick on her heels as she went about her business. In either case, I’d need the security force. If and when the balloon went up, I could insist that she be placed in a secure location. I had several in mind, including my new boat. It was in a gated marina and access to the boat itself was difficult. Easily defensible and fairly luxurious. I felt that was important. I supposed that we could simply keep her at her Saint Petersburg house as well since she’d be more accustomed to that. Harder to defend, but…
But regardless, I need the manpower. Or womanpower. And I didn’t have it. The only option might be Rick Eagle Feather, Sharon’s uncle. He was a big, combat-hardened Calusa who could certainly be relied upon. Yet he had his own affairs to attend to.
“Oh! Apollo Creed ain’t gonna know what hit ‘em,” came a New York sounding voice from behind me.
I turned to see local racketeer Pauli Franco wearing an expensive tracksuit, and trailing behind him was his six-foot-six, long-haired, gangly bodyguard.
“Paul,” I said amiably. “Getting a little iron pumped today?”
Franco shrugged, “Gotta keep the old body goin’.”
“How has it been after the shooting?”
The hood shrugged again, “No big deal. Couple of little slugs. Couple of weeks to recoup and I’m better than ever.”
“Good,” I said neutrally. “How’s Marie?”
“Still beautiful,” Franco replied. “Workin’ on anythin’ interesting?”
I narrowed my eyes at Franco. He and I had started out on a bad foot a few years back. I’d busted into his office and threatened him with my Colt, and then he’d sent two of his hard boys to settle the score. That had ended with two dead hard boys and one private eye with a hole in his leg. We’d somewhat reconciled when his wife needed my help during the Shade incident. Although we weren’t really friends, we did at least have a mutual respect.
“Paul… why do I get the feeling you aren’t just asking out of idle curiosity?” I inquired.
“Why don’t you just answer the fuckin’ question, Jarvis?” the bodyguard said in his deep, cigarettey voice. “Stead of being a fuckin’ wiseass.”
I eyed him coolly for a long few seconds and then looked back to Paul, who was smirking, “Pauli?”
“Okay, you’re right, Jarvis,” he said. “I’ve got a line on somethin’ you might want to hear… but this ain’t the place to discuss it.”
I nodded, “Can you give me a hint?”
“Mr. Franco said this ain’t the place, peeper,” the bodyguard snarled. He grabbed a fistful of my sleeveless workout shirt and tried to shove me. I didn’t shove. I felt a familiar sensation bloomi
ng inside me. A tingling along my spine and a crimson mist at the edges of my consciousness.
“Paul, you and I have a nice understanding, so I’m going to say this nicely,” I said reasonably. I then locked eyes with the goon and, in a low and far less reasonable tone, said: “Don’t you ever put your hands on me again. Ever. You put your hands on me again, Lurch, and I’ll fuck you up hospital bad, you understand me? And when you get out, should you feel an inkling of manful vengefulness and come looking for me… I’ll kill you. Are we clear?”
The goon only sneered and even chuckled disdainfully, “Take your best shot, asshole.”
“Okay, okay, you guys,” Franco said, holding up a hand for calm. “Don’t push this guy, Aden. That ain’t how we deal with him. He ain’t a guy you push.”
I blinked in surprise, “Aden? Your name is… Aden?”
“Yeah, Aden Philips,” the goon sneered and leaned in closer to me. He didn’t touch me, though. “You got a problem with that name?”
“Not at all,” I said levelly. “I’m not the one who’s got to walk around with it.”
“Come see me this afternoon,” Paul cut in an attempt to forestall the bloodshed. “I’ll be able to talk open there. For now, I’ll tell you that somebody tried to hire me to whack out some broad. I think you know what I’m talkin’ about?”
I nodded, “I do. Okay, Paul, I’ll talk with you later. Thanks.”
Paul grinned and walked away with Lurch in tow. Just as they stepped through the archway that led from the boxing room and out into the main gym, Aden turned and shot me with his thumb and forefinger. I blew him a kiss.
Before heading over to Venus to meet with Paul Franco, I drove back to my house to spend a little time playing with Morgan and Rocky. Both dogs had been rather non-plussed about having been left out of the new boat delivery. Neither one had spoken to me since we got back, so I figured I’d better give them as much TLC as I could.
I tried to explain that it would’ve been a pain in the butt to get two dogs through customs and quarantine in Grand Cayman. I also attempted to explain that we needed to arrange some form of potty facilities for doggies on the new boat before they could spend a lot of time there. I think they intellectually understood my reasoning… but emotionally they felt hurt and needed time for their feelings to process and for them to accept the value of forgiveness.
…Or maybe I was projecting.
We played a rousing game of toss and retrieve wherein I did most of the tossing and they did most of the retrieving. A great deal of time was spent coaxing both dogs to release their retrieved objects. Rocky, for instance, would come back with his ball or Frisbee or squeaky toy and then lie down on the grass at my feet and chew on it relentlessly. Morgan would trot back proudly, set the ball down between his feet close to me and then stare. When I’d bend down to pick up the object, he’d snatch it away, run to the far side of the lawn and then back to me to repeat the process.
When the dogs were sufficiently panting and thirsty, and I was sufficiently coated to my wrists in slobber and grass clippings, we retired to the interior of the Old Jarvis Ranch for a cool refreshment. There was also a great deal of petting and rubbing. For two notorious killer attack dogs… Morgan, a black Doberman pinscher and Rocky, a brown and white pit bull, the boys were just about the most lovable pair you’d ever want to meet.
I went into my home office then and activated the lappy and began to do a little research on the handy interweb. I discovered that Bradford Avionics Inc. was registered in Wyoming. That made sense since their main manufacturing facility and mailing address was located near the border between Wyoming and Colorado. However, they did have an office in Saint Petersburg, Florida. Probably the admin and marketing division. Although Florida wasn’t known for a great deal of manufacturing, it was the home of a lot of corporate activity due in no small part to low taxes and high quality of life. Orlando and the Tampa Bay area were particularly crammed with business centers. Jacksonville, Miami and a few other cities were as well, yet O-town and Tampa’s downtowns were comprised primarily of big business offices.
I also discovered, thanks to the articles of incorporation, the names of the board members of BA Inc. Veronica was indeed the CEO and chairperson. Julius Bradford had been the CEO and his brother, Marcus, was currently the VP of research and development. Andrew Bradford was the VP of operations, and Sarah Beth the VP of marketing. There were a few other names, too. Directors in charge of the Saint Pete office and the Wyoming plant. There was someone named Wilfred Franklin, the secretary and treasurer.
I jotted these names down and then opened a Google docs spreadsheet and started making notes. I could access this from anywhere thanks to the Cloud-based system. There were a few advantages of living in the twenty-first century. I felt it was something of a love-hate relationship. Being a millennial, of course, I was supposed to be all bout-it, bout-it when it came to tech. I was supposed to live my life through the lens of a cell phone screen. However, I was something of a Luddite and had enough experience from growing up with an active military and construction family to appreciate the analog world for the wonderful place it was.
I can still remember one of my earliest fishing trips with my great-grandfather, Patrick Jarvis. He’d served in World War Two and afterward. The picture of this rugged man in his middle-eighties smiling down at your tiny six-year-old hero and saying:
“Kid, lemme tell ya’… no matter what ever comes down the pipe in this computerized world of ours… nothin’ can ever take the place of a cold beer, a fish jerking your line, the laughter of your family or the soft touch of the woman you love.”
Time had proven the old sailor right, too…
Once I’d written down all the names I thought were pertinent, I logged into a secure server at Patrick Space Force Base, which required no less than three levels of authentication. Once there, I had access to next-gen resources, including a name search tool that puts even the FBI’s NGI system to shame.
I was then able to gather addresses, phone numbers and emails of all of the officers I’d made note of. I learned, for example, that Marcus Bradford owned a cattle and horse ranch outside of LaBelle, Florida. Perhaps that might be my first interview, should he be there.
I also tried looking up Theodore Whittaker. To my shock and awe, I found quite a number of them, even in Florida. There were a dozen in the Tampa Bay area alone, which was more than a little daunting. Surely though, Veronica would have a phone number and address for me to check. Although that seemed like a bust, it did spark off an idea.
I sent an email to Richard Kelly, ICE’s director of intelligence. I asked him if he could do a hospital search in the Tampa Bay area for old Teddy bear. Just a hunch, but why not? I also included a request to get all the info that the International Counter-criminal Enforcement agency had on BA, Inc.
My phone began to twitter with Lisa’s special ringtone, thus saving me from more boring computering. I hit the accept button.
“Dick Longwood. How may I be of cervix?”
A laugh, “You never run out, do you, baby?”
“No. No I don’t. What’s up, doll face?”
“Nothin’ much. Just on a boring stakeout. Figured I’d see what fun, excitement and really wild things you were getting into today.”
“Oh, played with the lads, and now I’m doing boring research on that webbernet thing the kids are all raving about,” I replied, leaning back in my command comfy. “Got a case today. Remember that boat that sploded over the weekend?”
She chuffed, “No, of course not. What boat? What weekend? Do I remember… hehehe… what about it?”
I shook my head, “I’m honestly starting to feel guilty about my influence on you… well, the lady Clay and I took off is out of the hospital and doing okay. She came to hire me… us when you’re free again. She has this strange idea that there’s a teensy-weensy possibility that her life is in danger.”
Lisa laughed, “Yeah, no shit! So what’s the story?”
I filled her in on my conversation with Veronica, “Oh, and I was working out at Vic’s earlier and—“
“You didn’t say you were working out,” Lisa snapped in mock irritation. “Did you hide that on purpose? Who is she! What’s her name!”
I waited for her laughter to subside, “Good grief… anyway… I was weight liftering and boxering when who should cross my hawse but your friend and mine, Pauli Franco.”
“Weight liftering? Boxering?”
“Sure… that’s what we do in this country now, ain’t it? Just add ING to the end of words and turn them into verbs. Like Googleing and adulting, for example. Why say something like ‘behaving like an adult’ when you can both be lazy and sound ignorant and just make some shit up.”
She laughed, “Not that you’re bitter or anything.”
I scoffed, “Not at all. I do engage in writering, though. Maybe it’s an occupational hazard. However, all this is beside the point.”
“It’s so unlike you to digress.”
“Don’t be a hater,” I chastised. “Anyway, Paul comes in and says we need to talk. Says he can’t discuss it in public but gave me a hint. Apparently, somebody called him up to put out a contract on a broad.”
Lisa chuffed, “And you’re thinking that the broad in question is Mrs. Bradford?”
“Yup. So lucky me, I get to go to a titty bar in a few minutes. However, I’m also considering a bit of a problem, so put your mind on it… at some point soon, I want to put a couple of people on Veronica. Whoever made a try for her might wait a little while for the heat to subside, but not forever. I just don’t know who I can call for that job.”
There was a pause, “We’ve got people… but not dedicated. I think I may have this case wrapped up in a day or two, so that might give us two people.”
I sighed, “Yeah, but if you and I are watching her all the time, then who’s investigating?”
She pondered that for a moment, “Investigationering you mean? That’s true… okay, let me put my noodle on it.”
