by R. J. Jagger
The office was decorated in shades of panic, replete with piles of files, yellow post-its galore, and a half-empty pot of coffee on a hotplate.
The woman’s hair was blond and loose, cascading down the backside of a crisp white blouse. Down below was a pinstriped skirt, riding up thigh-high over nylons. Leather shoes with a two-inch heel were slipped off and sitting on the floor next to her feet.
Her left hand had no ring.
There were no pictures of men to be seen.
Teffinger’s heart raced.
He cleared his throat.
When the woman turned, she was just as beautiful as ever, with green eyes and a slightly crooked smile. Her face registered surprise, then something primal.
“Someone said you’re still hot for me,” Teffinger said. “I thought I’d stop by and see if that’s true or not.”
She came around and hugged him tight, stomach-to-stomach, then kissed him on the lips. With her arms around his waist, she leaned back and checked him out.
“How’d I ever let you get away from me,” she said.
Teffinger cocked his head.
“It was a push, if I recall.”
“Yeah, well, in hindsight it looks like I should have zigged when I zagged,” she said. “You’re here about Michael Northway. You want some coffee?”
Teffinger shook his head.
“I quit coffee,” he said.
The look on her face was what he expected.
“Honestly? You did?”
He smiled.
“No, of course I didn’t and yes, I’ll take some.”
She punched him on the arm.
“You haven’t changed.”
“Yeah, old dog, no new tricks.”
She poured a cup and handed it to him.
“There was nothing wrong with the old tricks if I remember correctly,” she said. She took a sip of coffee and studied him over the rim. “Here’s the deal on Northway. I was in New York yesterday taking a deposition. During the lunch break, I saw Northway across the street, this was on 42nd in Manhattan, a little before one. He looked the same as always with his surfer boy hair and cocky smile, except the power tie and tailored suit were gone. He was in jeans and a gray and white striped shirt with a collar, cotton, sort of sporty, maybe Abercrombie or something like that. He wore tennis shoes and had sunglasses hanging in the v-neck of the shirt. A woman was with him. She was younger, a lot younger, twenty-six or thereabouts, nicely dressed, very nicely dressed in fact, even by New York standards. She struck me as a lawyer.”
“What color was her hair?”
“Blond.”
“So she was sort of like you,” Teffinger said.
Kelly nodded.
“Apparently old habits die hard,” she said. “They disappeared around a corner. By the time I got across the street and on their tail, they were gone.” A pause, “Here, let me show you exactly where they were.” She pulled it up on Google Earth, first as an aerial view, then down to street level. “They were right there.”
The street was jammed with office buildings.
“Take me around the corner,” he said.
She did.
There was more of the same.
“Would you recognize the woman again if you saw her?”
Kelly shook her head.
“Doubtful,” she said. “They were at a distance and I was a lot more interested in Northway than I was in her. What I said is about all I can remember of her. Nick, I’m not positive it was him. You need to understand that.”
“You’re pretty sure, though,” he said.
She nodded.
“Right, pretty sure,” she said. A beat then, “Have you talked to Sydney lately?”
Yes.
Every day.
“Did she say anything about me?”
The question confused him.
“No. Why would she?”
“We meet about once a month or so for lunch,” she said. “Did you know that?”
No.
He didn’t.
“What for?”
“You want the truth or lies?”
He shrugged.
“Whichever is easiest.”
“That would be the lie,” she said. “I’m going to go the hard way though and tell you the truth. We do it so I can keep up with what’s going on with you. I made her promise to never tell you. It looks like she kept her word.”
“Apparently,” he said. “Remind me to talk to her about that.”
The woman downed what was left in her coffee cup, then closed the door and locked it.
She shut off the lights.
She pulled the window covering.
Then she sat on the edge of the desk in front of Teffinger, leaned back on her arms and dangled her legs, saying nothing.
Teffinger put an index finger on each knee and moved them slowly outwards.
The woman’s legs spread.
The nylons were held up with a black garter belt.
White cotton panties peeked out from between taut golden thighs.
“I have a confession to make,” Kelly said. “You’re the best lay I ever had.”
“Is that what I am to you, a lay?”
She ran her fingers through his hair.
“I miss sitting in that old car of yours on those stormy nights.”
He ran an index finger in a circle on her knee, then looked into her eyes and said, “I ripped up every picture I had of you, ripped ’em up then burned them.”
“You hated me.”
He nodded.
“That’s right.”
“Do you still hate me?”
He considered it.
The answer surprised him.
“Yes,” he said. “I didn’t realize it until just now, but the answer is yes.”
“Good.”
“How is that good?”
“It’s good because hate is another form of love.” She pulled her skirt up. “Show me how much you hate me, Nick. Make me sorry I ever hurt you.”
42
Day Three
July 20
Wednesday Morning
Yardley spent the night in the darkness around the corner of the building, curled up with her back against the structure, slipping in and out of consciousness. She must have fallen asleep because there was now a low-lying amber seeping into the sky. She stood up, took a few steps over and relieved herself on the ground. The more she thought about killing Cave the more it weighed on her. She’d try to wound him if possible then escape on foot. If he ever came after her down the road, she’d kill him without a second thought. He would have had his chance and blown it at that point.
The dawn got lighter.
The terrain took shape in the form of rolling prairie filled with scraggly pinions, yuccas, rabbit brush and grasses. To the west not more than twenty yards distant was a string of cottonwoods sucking up to a dried creek bed. Beyond that the foothills rose up.
Voices came from inside the structure.
Cave was up.
Yardley hugged the side of the building with the gun in hand waiting for the man to emerge. More than an hour passed, then he finally stepped out.
“Damned stupid tire!”
A stream of piss landed on the ground outside the door, then the trunk of the car popped up and Cave rummaged around getting the spare and jack out. Yardley took a quick look and found Cave on the other side of the car out of sight, working the jack.
She was focused but not afraid.
She had a gun.
He didn’t.
She crept around the corner and made her way to the door of the structure.
It was open.
She stepped in and found Deven naked on the bed, tied but in a different position. Instead of spread-eagle, her wrists were tied behind her back and one of her ankles was roped to the frame.
Her eyes were open.
She had enough wits about her to know not to talk.
Yardley looked around for a knife to cut
the ropes, found nothing, then set the gun on the mattress and worked at the knots with her fingers and teeth.
Cave was outside swearing, broadcasting his position.
The knots were tight.
It took time.
Finally they came undone.
Silently, Deven put her shoes on; not her clothes though, there was no time for the clothes; those she picked up and carried.
They got to the door and waited until Cave got the spare on and knelt down to put the lug nuts on. Then they slipped outside and around the edge of the building.
Neither woman talked.
They made their way to the cottonwoods and followed them for a hundred yards where they ended.
Back at the structure a gun fired.
Yardley cursed herself for not being smart enough to grab Cave’s weapon while she had the chance.
“Come on!”
They ran.
Deven was slow.
“Hurry,” Yardley said. “We need to get over that ridge before he spots us.”
“I’m trying!”
“Try harder!”
43
Day Three
July 20
Wednesday Afternoon
Back at the law firm Pantage kept her ass in the chair and cranked out billable hours until mid-afternoon, then did a web search for Concrete Flower Factory, the mysterious $500 credit card charge on Starry’s bill. It turned out to be a dungeon in an industrial area on the north edge of the city, up I-25 near furniture row.
When she told Renn-Jaa, the woman’s response was fast. “We need to get over there and find out what Starry’s game is.”
“Why?”
“I want to see the women he uses for one,” she said. “I want to see if they look like you. I’d also like to know if he’s into suffocation or strangulation or oxygen deprivation or whatever it is they call it. That and/or rape fantasies. Maybe that place is his release valve until he just can’t stand it any more and has to do it for real.”
Pantage cocked her head.
The woman made sense.
“Okay,” she said.
“We’ll go tonight,” Renn-Jaa added.
A pause.
“Sure.”
“Bring bribe money.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. A thousand?”
“A thousand? Are you kidding?”
“I don’t know. Just bring as much as you can and we’ll try not to use it all. All I’m saying is that we need to have enough to get the job done. Do you have a thousand laying around?”
“I wouldn’t call it laying around,” she said. “I’ll have to make a run to the bank.”
“Fine. Get fifties or smaller.”
“Okay.”
Ten minutes later Grayson Condor walked into her office, closed the door and settled into one of the chairs in front of her desk.
“How you holding up?”
“Fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Good question.
She smiled.
“Petty sure.”
“Pretty sure,” he said. “Well that’s better than I would be. What do you think about having a bodyguard, at the firm’s expense? I’ve made a few calls. There’s an outfit called Personal Security Specialists. They’re actually in our building on the tenth floor. They have a female on staff named Lea Skye, she’s an ex-Marine with a long list of credentials. She looks like a lifeguard. She could sleep on your couch. You wouldn’t have to feel weird about having a man in your place.”
Pantage exhaled.
“Can I think about it?”
“Sure. Go down and talk to her. If you decide to go ahead, just let her know. The firm’s already made arrangements.”
She nodded.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Good. If you need any time off—”
She shook her head.
“No, thanks, really I appreciate it, but what I need more than anything right now is just to have my posterior firmly planted in this chair.”
He understood.
Enough said.
Ten minutes later her phone rang and the voice of the California investigator, Aspen Gonzales, came through. “I have some news for you. It’s not particularly pretty.”
Pantage braced.
“Let me have it.”
44
Day Three
July 20
Wednesday Morning
Kelly was an animal, a dirty filthy little sex-starved animal who screwed Teffinger like a pack of wild banshees, then slumped down on her sweaty back and panted.
“Damn,” she said.
Teffinger got his pants situated.
“You’re going to have some ’splaining to do, Lucy. You were pretty loud.”
“I was?”
He nodded.
“Trust me.”
“I don’t care,” she said.
By the look on her face she was telling the truth.
Teffinger was back on the street within minutes, passing women, able to sense the ones who were animals. A raven-haired beauty approaching from the opposite direction held his gaze longer than appropriate, almost as if daring him to seize the moment.
“How you doing?” he said.
“Fine.”
They passed.
“Hey,” he heard over his shoulder.
He stopped and turned.
The woman approached. She wore an aqua tank that rode three inches above cutoff jeans. A flat little belly button peeked out. She pulled a tissue out of her purse and wiped lipstick off Teffinger’s mouth, then shoved the tissue in his shirt pocket.
“There, all better,” she said.
“Thanks.”
She smiled for a heartbeat then walked off.
When he arrived at the office, Sydney got in his face and said, “I watched the Tequila Rose surveillance tapes this morning. The guy that Pantage eventually left with, the gladiator, was checking her out long before she knew it.”
Teffinger filled a disposable cup with coffee.
“I would have been too,” he said.
“Not like that,” she said. “More like in a creepy way.”
“He was stalking her?”
“They didn’t meet by accident,” Sydney said. “He got in her space. Outside, he arrived fifteen minutes after her. It’s possible he tailed her there.”
Teffinger took a sip.
“Was he with anyone?”
“No, alone.”
“Is any of his left ear missing?”
“Unknown,” she said. “His hair’s always over it.” She grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the corner of Teffinger’s ear, then held it up to show him.
It was lipstick.
“Kelly’s or Pantage’s?”
A pause.
“Kelly’s.”
“Jeez, Nick, that fast?”
He shrugged.
“I guess so.”
“What about Pantage? She’s out?”
“No.”
“So she’s in?”
“Nobody’s anywhere. Things are just happening, that’s all.” He took a sip, filled her in on the information Kelly gave him about the Michael Northway sighting and said, “Coordinate with our counterparts in New York. See if you can sweet-talk them into rounding up surveillance tapes.”
She frowned.
“On the list of a hundred things I need to do, where do you want me to put this one?”
“At the top. Oh, call Leigh Sandt and fill her in too. She’s always complaining I don’t keep her in the loop.”
“You don’t.”
“Loops take time,” he said.
“So does coffee.”
“Yeah, but coffee trumps.”
He raked his hair back with his fingers.
It immediately flopped back down.
“Time to do some gladiator work.”
45
Day Three
July 20
Wednesday Afternoon
“Madison Elmblade, the lawyer.”
Madison Elmblade.
She was the bait Cave was supposed to take last night.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
Yardley opened the door far enough to where it got snagged by the chain, found things as the woman said and let her in.
“I’ve left you ten messages,” she said. “Why haven’t you called me back?”
“I’ll explain,” she said. “Just give me a minute.”
She got the coffee pot going, splashed water on her face at the kitchen sink and dried it with a paper towel.
“Cave came for you last night,” she said. “I was the one who fired the shots.”
“That was you?”
Yes.
It was.
“Why?”
She explained.
The more she told the story, the more Elmblade paced. At the end the woman said, “So that’s great that Deven’s safe, but what do you think happens now?”
“Simple,” Yardley said. “Cave will contact me sooner or later. I’m going to explain to him how I could have killed him ten different times but didn’t do it. I’m going to tell him we’re even. He needs to go his way and me and Deven are going ours.”
The lawyer wasn’t impressed.
“Do you really think that’s going to work?”
“I has to, it’s all I got.”
“You got nothing,” Elmblade said. “Less than nothing. What you got is Cave biding his time and figuring out a way to get both you and Deven tied up tighter than tight in his next little lair. You got nothing until he’s dead. Then you have everything.”
Yardley’s chest tightened.
She already knew deep in her bones that what Elmblade was saying was a possibility. Hearing the words out loud gave them a bigger proportion.
She poured two cups of coffee, handed one to the woman and said, “So what do you propose?”
“We kill him.”
She said the words and let them hang.
