Ask Not For Whom The Panther Prowls

by Astor James Monroe

  As they sped off, they blew through a red light in their haste. Unfortunately for them, it was near the end of the fiscal month and the state police had to fill their quota in a hurry. After a brief chase they stopped. It didn't take long for the police computer to link Dr. Roger's companions to their warrants. Dr. Rogers kept his mouth shut, which the men much appreciated, and as an uncooperative witness who was just riding with his friends, he was free to go. He went.

  More to the point he was picked up by his friends. They drove a late-model BMW and drove him to a mansion in Buckhead.

  15. Graduate Admissions.

  I was negotiating the crowds on Peachtree during the inter-class rush when I ran into a pair of the Bengali women Laura and I had met at the airport. I didn't recognize them, of course, but they were lost and I looked vaguely familiar so they asked me a question.

  “Sir, Can you help?”

  “Yes, well maybe.” At least they weren't pan-handling. “What do you need?”

  “Where is the Physics Department?”

  “That's easy, just walk back to Peachtree Ave and then a block north. It's the sixth floor in 25 Peachtree, the old Sun-Trust bulding.”

  I received a puzzled look. My directions could have been in Greek for all they helped. So I asked, “Why did you want to know?”

  They looked at each other and discussed for a few moments, then one replied, “We're applying for the Master's program.”

  “Why don't you follow me? I'm heading that way.”

  We chatted a bit as I helped them thread the maze of students who were hurrying to class, the maze of the professionally indigent, and the maze of vehicles whose frustrated drivers were preparing to force their way through the students. They had taken advantage of an offer to come to the US as maids, but it hadn't been as nice as they had been led to believe.

  I said, “I'm sorry to hear that. Where are you living?”

  “With our master's in a big house.” I figured that. Only the tip of the one-percent could hire a foreign maid.

  The other one added, “In Buckhead. This is our afternoon off. The first one in a month.”

  I don't know the labor laws and how they apply to maids, but that didn't seem fully legal. So I asked, “How will you be able to attend classes?”

  “We'll leave once we are admitted.”

  This struck me as optimistic, but not impossible. I replied, “Will you be able to quit?”

  They conferred again, and one smiled at me, “They took our passports, but I found them when cleaning the master's bedroom. We can leave when we want to.”

  I guided them to the elevators and onto the sixth floor, then left them with the director of graduate studies. In the meantime, I called Laura.

  “Will, what is it?”

  “Do you know who works immigration?”

  “I might, why?”

  “I ran into two Bengali girls, like the ones we met in Miami. They're working as maids in Buckhead.”

  “So what. Lot's of people work as maids.”

  “I don't think they're here legally. Their employer held their passports and -”

  “Wait. How did you run into them?”

  “They were asking directions to the Physics office. They wanted to apply to the graduate program.”

  “And you just happened to be there?”

  “I was returning from class. You know how the streets get then. They were completely lost.”

  “OK, so what do you want me to do about it?”

  “Arthur's not going to want me to follow them, but is there someone Federal who can? They're in Dr. Stott's office right now.”

  “Get their address and passport information if you can. Fax it to me.”

  “Laura, you're a lifesaver. I'll do that.”

  I returned to Dr. Stott's office and they were still discussing their options. I knocked on the door and joined the conversation. “You know,” I added, “it would be helpful if we had a copy of your passport and address. I'll make it while you're talking.”

  They reluctantly gave me the information, and I quickly copied the documents. Since the copier was also a scanner, sending a copy to Laura was a matter of a quick second pass through the machine.

  2

  That afternoon I was on my way to my car in G-deck to go pick up Danny from school. He was a bit clingy of late. It was not surprising, first a favorite teacher, then his mother, and finally this interloper who married his mother were all struck down with poison. Not to mention being abducted by his father and then rescued from a gunfight. It was enough to make anyone clingy. It must have been Hell for a six, almost seven year old.

  Unfortunately, it wasn't over for him. I was interrupted as I pulled my keys out to open my car. A burly Hispanic gentleman asked me to follow him into a van. The small but decidedly powerful handgun he pointed in my general direction was a decisive argument in his favor. He gave me a quick, but thorough frisking. He took my cell and my keys. Then he told me to enter the vehicle.

  Danny was inside. His eyes were wide with fear and he was quietly sitting there. My host told the driver “Vamonos!” and then settled in to inspect the cargo. It was not the most pleasant of car rides. I asked if I could sit next to Danny. The man thought for a few moments and said, “Stay where you are.”

  The van drove for what seemed forever, but was in reality little more than a half and hour. I heard the exchange as they exchanged greetings with the guard at a gated community, but given the implied threat from the gentleman with the pistol, kept quiet. It wouldn't have mattered, in any case, they were used to chattering anonymous cargo. Although it was usually female.

  We pulled into a garage. I heard the door shut behind us and then we were told to get out. The van, an old and non-descript Ford Econvan painted in a mixture of faded green and rust was incongruous sitting next to the jet-black highly polished BMW on one side and the Jaguar on the other.

  They pointed toward a door in the back of the garage. I picked up Danny, this time they didn't object, and we entered the dim bowels of the building.

  3

  Danny and I ended up in a small windowless room in the basement. He looked at me and said, “Will, are you scared?”

  “A little.” I lied.

  “I'm scared, a lot.”

  “Danny, I'm not sure how, but we will get out of this.” Telling him that if they meant to kill us they'd have done it by now wasn't likely to be reassuring. Besides, they could have plans that needed us alive for a short time. After that they'd dispose of the evidence.

  “I need to pee.” I banged on the door, and eventually it opened a crack. I explained the problem and they slid in a plastic drywall compound bucket, without its handle. Then the door was locked again.

  “This will have to do, Danny.”

  4

  Danny was sleeping fitfully as he leaned against me. I was alternating between sleep and worry. A knock on the door awoke both of us. A vaguely familiar man entered and told us to get up.

  “What's going to happen?”

  “I talked to my employers, Will, and they have decided to let you and your boy go.”

  “Thank you.” I paused, “Do I know you?”

  “You should, I'm John Rogers. From chemistry.”

  It took me a few seconds, but I placed him. “I thought you were in the hospital with a stroke?”

  He smiled, “I, um, used some of my micro-encapsulation techniques to arrange for a diversion. It was safer in the hospital, even if the trip did get a tad boring after the first few days.”

  “What?”

  “Time-release LSD.”

  “Makes sense. Why are they letting us go?”

  “No point, who would believe you about what you saw?”

  “I'm not going to argue.”

  “Good,” he turned to the door, “Now if you'll follow me.” We did.

  He led us to the front of the garage. They had retrieved my car and it was sitting there with the two Bengali maids I'd seen in the morni
ng sitting in the back. John handed me my keys, and cell phone. He pointed out, “Don't bother checking your email. We've run the battery out on it.”

  While Danny climbed into the front seat, John chatted about the weather, and how he was looking forward to resuming his position at GSU.

  Since he didn't run away, I assumed it was safe to start the car. I drove down the drive and part way out of the gated community. Once out of sight I put the car in neutral, parked in the middle of the road, and told the two women to get out.

  “Danny?”

  “Yes, Will?”

  “Can you open the glove box, that button in front of you?”

  He did. “Hand me that big book.” I wanted the car instruction manual.

  “Thank you. Let's get out too.”

  “Will why are you leaving the car going?”

  “You'll see.” I hoped my suspicions were nothing, but I'd learned that you were never paranoid enough.

  We started to walk to the exit. I opened the instruction manual. If our captors were thorough it would be empty. It wasn't and I pulled out a cheap cell phone from its cutout in the maintenance schedule.

  I turned it on. Then I called Laura, and quickly told her what had happened and where I thought we were. She would pass that on to Detective Morrison. I was going to try to raise Arthur myself.

  I didn't get the chance. The guard from the gate came running up to us.

  “Hey! Move that car, you're blocking the road.”

  I looked up the road, and then back at him. “Why yes, I guess I am.”

  He started to push me towards it. I pushed back.

  “Move the car or I will call the -”

  “The police? Please do, and while you're at it call the bomb squad. And maybe the fire department.”

  He looked at me. I yelled at the two women and Danny. “Run! Out the gate.”

  “You mean it?” He let go of my shirt. That was all the freedom I needed. I turned as I trotted away. “Yes.”

  He turned back to the car and started to say, “It looks fine.” He didn't get to finish “to me.” before the car exploded. He was knocked backwards, I was knocked forwards, but it didn't matter we both ended up on the ground from the blast.

  When I sat up, slightly dazed from the concussion, I could already hear sirens in the distance.

  Epilog. A Housewarming.

  Between the INS, the CIA , the FBI and various other three-letter agencies too numerous to count, the case was taken out of our, well Laura's really, hands. Not that I minded, we had other things to do. Like maybe becoming a real family. Danny was finally beginning to accept me as a suitable person. The university president and provost were, for the moment, at a stand. No doubt sooner or later they'd find a way to remove the 'unproductive' physics professors, namely me. But by then I'd have finished my two years probation as a private investigator and could tell them where to put it if I wanted. Of course, I might find something on them in the meantime. So all was right in the world. Except perhaps for those Bengali women. They were deported as 'illegal and dangerous' aliens. Too bad that meant they couldn't give evidence against the powerful people who owned mansions in Buckhead. It was something of a shame that one or two of them applied and were accepted to Master's programs at GSU. Their student visas allowed them to stay in the country. So maybe the next few months would be interesting after all.

  In the end Laura and I sold the town house. There were too many bad memories in it for both of us. Of course that meant we bought a new domicile and had a party to celebrate. Most of our usual friends were there. That same immiscible mix of police and professors that defined our lives. There were a few additions. Danny insisted that his favorite teacher Ms. Jane was invited. Since she and her parents were the start of my investigation, it seemed fitting. I invited my students to show up if they wanted. It made for an interesting party.

  The doorbell rang, and being the closest host I answered it. It was my new student Shen Yi. “I'm glad you could make it Yi, come in. I'll introduce you to the people you don't know.”

  He did, I handed him a brew and we started to make the rounds. We entered the living room, and he suddenly dropped the beer. “Jane?”

  iSince the stimulants used to help people with ADHD will also improve performance for others there is a black market in them among college students at high pressure universities. Since their use carries a significant risk of causing or exacerbating heart problems, there is the occasional 'promising career' cut short.

  iiSeriously, if you want to see how much money is wasted on your professors salary, just ask. But before you write your state representative to complain about the wasteful spending on professor's salaries, check out the football coach, college president and various senior administrators.

  iiiThis is a bit of an Americanism, but you can sign up to have weather and emergency notifications sent to your cell phone. Given the south's proclivity for tornadoes and other forms of extreme and interesting weather this is generally a good idea.