1 Executive Lunch

by Maria E. Schneider

  "It's important," Derrick put in earnestly. "We've been trying to find out when the drugs are coming in. This guy is a likely suspect, but we don't have enough evidence. We're pretty certain that the drugs come to him in specific cars through Larry's Body Shop where he works. We figure he's the middle point right before street distribution, but we need some hard evidence or a witness that will testify about where the extra money is coming from." Derrick was obviously at ease with his decision, but not with Sean's assessment.

  "So where do I come in? Why not another officer?"

  "Marilyn--Mrs. Harrison insisted that I come alone," Derrick said. "But I think I've convinced her that I need to have someone--not a cop--there to talk to her about the battering. She hasn't exactly agreed to it so she may not show."

  Sean nodded. "But she will if she is setting him up. If Derrick takes another cop it'll be two cops protecting each other. If he takes a caring civilian, it will hold up better in court if it comes to that."

  I was skeptical. "What makes you think anyone will believe I can help a battered woman?"

  Sean smiled. It was his courtroom smile, an evil one that didn't reach his eyes. "You're an outsider. You've got self-confidence, and you aren't a counselor. Real counselors wait for victims to come to them. You're not real."

  I was pretty sure he didn't mean that as a compliment. "So…when?"

  Sean spared another glare for Derrick. "I just found out about this before Mass when I asked Derrick about your mess and the unknown James."

  "Did you find James?" I asked eagerly.

  Derrick shook his head. "Not yet. Not enough info. We need a last name or at least his last arrest date or why he was booked. Can you get that?"

  I sighed. "I'll try, but…most of what I get is just second-hand gossip."

  He nodded. "I know how that is."

  Sean said, "To get back to Derrick's project, the meeting with the possible informant is Tuesday at eight o'clock in front of Sedmons."

  "Sedmons? Where is that?"

  "In Edgewood," Derrick replied glumly. "Which is why it would be far safer if I went alone."

  I shot him a glance. "Riiight. No one is safe in Edgewood, not even in daylight." I couldn't believe my own brother would send me there, not even to protect Derrick.

  "There will be two undercover cops in the area. I'll be perfectly safe without an escort," Derrick said.

  "Unless Mizz Harrison rips her shirt off and starts yelling rape. Unless the other cops see what happens, you're in a mess with no witnesses."

  "Well," the shuffle again, "there is that."

  I sighed mentally, only keeping it quiet to avoid reminding my brother of my behavior in church. "Okay. But I'm wearing black. And I'm taking a knife." And a gun. Only Derrick didn't need to know that because I wasn't licensed to carry concealed. He would never go for that.

  "No weapons."

  I gave him my haughtiest glare. "You're leaving yours?"

  He nodded.

  I blinked. I stared at my brother in disbelief. Sean looked like he might kill Derrick rather than wait for it to happen naturally. I suggested, "You could at least insist that she meet you somewhere reputable like Denny's or something!"

  Derrick just shrugged.

  I could have refused. It probably would have been better for everyone if I had.

  Chapter 12

  Monday wasn't a bad day. Gary Marcus, Allen's boss, came by my office, and we chatted a bit. I was now officially a peer of Allen and reporting directly to Gary, the vice president of the division. Gary was in his fifties and an avid golfer. Any signs of athleticism had faded, as had all but a ring of gray hair forming a semi-halo just above his ears.

  Gary assigned Turbo, Bruce, and to my great humor, Paul, as direct reports to me. He also assigned Tam Wong and Jerry Zercroft to my group. They were both excellent technicians with expertise in equipment, soldering, and testing.

  "You'll be heading the special technical team. I expect some great new products that we can qualify into our library of recommendations. I know you'll need to order some new equipment; Allen had been about to do that before you took over."

  "Of course," I demurred to his expertise.

  "I'll need you to project the equipment requirements, the overhead, salary, and any other expenses. Get back to me on a burn rate. We've already done similar hardware designs so you can ask Dan Thorton for his past numbers and get a good idea of what you'll be spending."

  "No problem." I had only an inkling of what he was talking about. "I assume I'll be doing the performance reviews for my people?"

  "Absolutely. I'll have their paperwork transferred over to you immediately. Turbo will switch from reporting directly to Allen to reporting to you. It might make the transition easier if you let Turbo handle things like performance reviews until you decide if you want to make any changes."

  That was definitely a good idea. Once this whole thing was over, and I got demoted again, the guys might not like me knowing all their salary information. Turbo could have that job as far as I was concerned. Since he had also been handling the equipment budget, I sent him an email to get a copy of that information. I sent another email to Dan, the department finance guru, to see if he could get me last year's expense numbers.

  Tuesday night rolled around way too quickly for me. Despite the meeting with Derrick, I went and got my new hair style right after work because I had already made the appointment. I was pretty sure getting a new cut was a bad idea, but I couldn't put it off since I was supposed to be making all kinds of changes to prove to an invisible enemy that I was dying to get ahead.

  Angela had already picked out my new hairdo, a kind of layered at the bottom, long look. I let her have at it, while I concentrated on more important things. "Did Emma ever tell you why James was arrested?" I asked. "You know, was he a burglar or into car theft?"

  She wasn't fooled by my casual attitude. "No idea. According to Emma he was arrested because he was hanging out with the wrong crowd. You know, he didn't do anything wrong himself."

  "Could be true," I allowed generously. "What did the crowd do?"

  "No idea."

  "When was the last time he was sent up?"

  Angela glanced at the other ladies in the shop. "It's not really the kind of thing you ask about, you know?"

  When I checked out, my hair looked great, but my credit card slip had no names, dates or other good information.

  Derrick swung by my house around seven. His green Dodge was clean inside; no empty soda cans or take-out bags littering the floor. If he used the vehicle for stakeouts, he didn't park his trash in it.

  "Hey," I said.

  "Hello," he replied, holding the door for me. "You ready?"

  I shrugged and pulled my baseball cap down lower. It was a shame to have to cover the new hairdo, but I wanted the hat. "I suppose I'm ready. All I have to do is sit quietly, unless you give me a signal to start talking, right?"

  He nodded.

  I added, "And under no circumstances am I to leave you alone with the lady."

  He grunted. "Sean's been filling you in."

  My turn to nod.

  "Harrison could be important. Even if she takes it back later. I'm going to try and get permission to record it, but I don't expect her to agree. I can't do it without her permission unless I get a judge's order and since she isn't the guilty party, that won't happen."

  I was big on the right to privacy, but since my Tuesday night was being eaten up by driving into a very avoidable area, I was thinking maybe the law was too strict. Downtown Denton in the daytime wasn't that nice. The south side was horrible, especially after hours, with bums and discarded trash billowing down the streets and alleys. The closer we got, the higher the ratio of boarded up buildings.

  Apparently, one of the restaurants was still open and had been converted to a bar. That didn't mean it wasn't boarded up. The place only had three windows intact; the other two were crisscrossed with two-by-fours and some plywood. The door did
n't need to swing open, because it was propped and rotting. It was probably easier to stay open twenty-four hours than get the door shut.

  Derrick held back and let me go in first, although he couldn't seem to make up his mind if it was polite on this side of town. Taking the lead could mean getting the first bullet.

  Personally, I think he should have let me hide behind him, but I'm against letting men be too protective, or so I told myself.

  No shots rang out when I stepped through the door. Of course, it would have been hard to see me because of the smoke. Most of it seemed to be coming from the kitchen, but I was willing to bet no one was going to come and ask us if we had a smoking preference.

  "Booth in the back," Derrick whispered in my ear. He took my arm to guide me.

  I only tripped twice. The second time, I moved the bill of my cap up a bit, but it didn't help. The floor seemed to be made of brick or uneven cobblestone. Apparently that served as an excuse to let debris gather.

  "Shit, the health department ought to shut this place down," I grumbled. Derrick tightened his grip, warning me to be quiet.

  The back booth was by one of the windows that wasn't covered by boards. I did not want to sit down. It wasn't the presence of the diminutive lady crouched against the window that turned my stomach. It was the roaches under the table.

  Granted, I couldn't see under the table, but there were roaches waiting to crawl up my leg. Women can feel roaches from blocks away, and I knew they were there.

  Derrick shoveled me towards the booth. I had pretty good purchase with my sneakers. In fact, I may have stepped in some gum, and I think it helped glue into place. He grunted and pushed harder.

  My foot caught against one of the uneven ridges in the floor and I catapulted, face first into the vinyl-torn seat. "Ack!"

  My half scream made the lady jump. "Who is she? I told you not to bring anyone!" The window probably wouldn't hold long if she pressed any harder against it.

  "It's okay, Marilyn. She's not a cop. She's here to help. In case you decide you want it." Derrick was a tall man, bigger in the dim light. His boyish red-haired charm looked freakish in the smoke. He sat beside me and put his hands in plain sight on the scarred table. I knew Derrick, and even I wasn't reassured, but that was mostly because I was trapped in a roach infested building with him between me and the door.

  "I want to record this conversation if you will agree," Derrick suggested gently.

  Marilyn shook her head mutely, pursing her thin lips closed. Her hair was frizzy, maybe a little gray or maybe just a light brown; it was impossible to tell in the dim light. She wore no make-up and her eyes looked tired. "Her…you gotta make her go!"

  "She is here to help," Derrick said patiently.

  I did my best to look helpful. I didn't want to chance smiling, because I was pretty sure if I moved my lips at all, something fowl might fly in.

  I almost jumped out the window when a harsh voice demanded our order. "What'll it be?"

  "Ah!" I swallowed the rest of my scream. Marilyn must have seen the waitress coming through the haze because she didn't jump.

  Derrick turned slightly, but he was tense and not much happier than I. "Three cokes."

  "Cokes?" She snapped her gum. "Rum and coke?" She started scribbling on her pad.

  "No," Derrick corrected. "Just coke. No rum."

  He may as well have shouted, "I'm a cop." I closed my eyes.

  The woman taking our order faded backwards quickly. She must have worked here a long time, because even walking backwards, she never touched another table.

  Derrick turned to Marilyn. "I won't record the conversation. I just need you to tell me how your husband works his deals."

  Her eyes slid away to the window. "There ain't no deals. Where's the recorder?"

  Derrick sighed and pulled it out of his jacket pocket. He took the tape out to prove the recorder wasn't turned on. About that time, the waitress showed up with our sodas. I rolled my eyes and pulled the cap lower. I did not need to be seen with a cop that had to keep looking like an idiot cop. He had just marked Mizz Harrison as an informant. Good God, we were all going to be killed.

  The funny thing was that Marilyn didn't seem to know or care. She looked out the window again, moving her head sideways to see around the grime that coated the pane. She mumbled unintelligibly, "--to do."

  "What?" Derrick leaned over the table a bit. "We know he is dealing drugs, Marilyn. I need you to tell me what you know. Do you know what days the cars come in? What kind of cars? Does he bring the drugs home?"

  I looked out the window hoping to discern what she was trying to see. It was difficult to distinguish the actual outside from the dirt on the window. There were lumps in the alleyway that might have been trashcans.

  "I ain't talking. You brought someone," Marilyn whined.

  Derrick sucked in a deep, frustrated breath. "I want you to feel safe. I want you to know that there are other women that have gotten away from men that abused them. That you could start a new life too."

  Marilyn glanced at me. I gave her a sickening smile. I couldn't imagine being abused, and one woman to another, she knew it. I was more like the enemy than an empathetic friend.

  "Come sit next to me," she suggested to Derrick halfheartedly. "I don't want her to hear."

  That wasn't according to plan. Sean had specifically told me to make sure that Derrick didn't get too close and that he in no way blocked her exit. If he sat next to her, she could claim she felt threatened, unable to escape.

  "Uh," I started.

  Derrick stood up. I grabbed his sleeve. "Derrick!"

  "It will be fine." He tried to keep moving.

  "I won't tell anything I hear," I promised madly. I glanced outside the window, looking for an excuse, a message from God or a train to run over us both.

  What I got was Huntington. He was handing something to a shorter individual that looked a lot like…Huntington? I blinked, the dual images in the dirty glass impossible to sort out. My mouth dropped opened, and I swung my arm around to point. Instead, I knocked over both my soda and Derrick's. Bubbles spilled across the table right into Marilyn's lap. She screamed.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was time to leave. Without delay, I scrambled out of the booth and nearly knocked Derrick over in my hurry. He grabbed me to keep us both from falling over.

  "Git yer hands off my wife!"

  Derrick was holding me up, so he couldn't go for his gun. Oh yeah; he wasn't carrying a gun.

  A guy the size of a small truck moved in, swinging a baseball bat and yelling about his precious wife.

  "Eeek!" I tried to backpedal, but the table was behind me. Bat guy finally got a glimpse of me and stopped with the bat raised over Derrick's head.

  "You--?" He decided to swing anyway, but by now Derrick had turned and was able to duck away.

  I rolled off the table. "I'm not your wife! Don't hit him!"

  The bat hesitated on the second swing. The guy's eyes darted around, searching. He finally saw Marilyn back in the corner. "Stupid bitch."

  All of a sudden, I understood the look of hopelessness on her face that had appeared when Derrick mentioned abused wives.

  I had been right. There was no way she would mistake me for an abuse case. I lacked the fear. Fear that I suspected would never leave her. She cowered against the window, tears rolling down her face. She didn't try to run. She didn't even look like running really occurred to her.

  I would have broken out the window to get away from that bat.

  "Hey!" The barmaid decided to intervene. "You take yer filthy fight outside!" Now that the bat wasn't actively swinging, she hefted her bulk over and grabbed at the weapon. "I don't need no trouble, Ted." Her beady eyes were aimed at Derrick.

  I was willing to bet that normally the barmaid had a gun, but she knew Derrick was a cop.

  Ted gave one last scathing look towards his wife and then shouted, "Gimme a damn beer! I want a beer!"

  He didn't relinquish
the bat, but he sat down. He stared at Derrick defiantly.

  I remembered to breathe and nearly choked on the smoke.

  Derrick leaned across Ted's table and got in his face. "Don't use that bat on your wife."

  Ted didn't answer. He smiled a crooked kind of missing-teeth smile. "Nah."

  I looked back at Marilyn. She was studiously looking out the window. "Come with us?" I whispered.

  She shook her head, just slightly. Fingernails bitten to the quick clutched at her shirt, holding it tight across her chest.

  I had a picture of her ripping her shirt and screaming, giving the signal for Ted to come running. But I had knocked the soda on her lap and startled her into a scream too early.

  "Just for tonight," I whispered.

  Another mute shaking.

  "Do you need a job?" For some insane reason, I thought that might help.

  This time, out of surprise, she turned her head and almost looked at me. Confusion crossed her face, probably because it was a stupid question. She shook her head again, this time more noticeably.

  I sighed and checked on Derrick. He was watching Ted, making quiet, earnest suggestions about cherishing women.

  "Go somewhere else tonight," I said. "I know you think it'll be worse later, but hell, you'll live to see another day."

  She did turn enough to look at me then, but it was with a hollow emptiness that beheld the promise of a bad beating. For a moment, she almost looked as if she relished it, and I could only imagine it must be because maybe she would die, and then she wouldn't have to be hurt again.

  "I'm sorry." I didn't know what else to say. I couldn't make her come away. And what did I have to offer her? I didn't really have a job to give her. I couldn't start her life over for her either.

  Derrick was suddenly looming over me again. "Let's go."

  He watched Marilyn for a moment, but he had dealt with her before. He already knew she wouldn't come with us. He must have figured out that she had been trying to set him up. He was more saddened than angry.

  Once freedom was in sight, I didn't move slowly. I still felt prickling on my legs as we left the building. As soon as we got in Derrick's car, I rubbed my legs up and down, praying nothing went squish. The rubbing didn't help. A million bugs were crawling up and down my body. My stomach had knots big enough to moor a boat.