by Nick James
“Not from what I remember,” Drake said then motioned her down the stairs with a wave of his pistol.
It had been months since Bobby had been in the basement. What had once been just cinder block walls with a concrete floor, workbench, furnace and windows that hadn’t been cleaned since 1926, was now transformed into a paneled room with plush carpeting and a large, circular bed raised up a step on some sort of pedestal. The bed had black silk sheets and a silky white bed spread. A pair of bright pink handcuffs were centered on a red, heart shaped pillow sitting on the middle of the bed. The ceiling over the bed was mirrored. A double chest of drawers was positioned against a far wall next to an upholstered chair and matching foot stool. Two large candles sat on either end of the chest of drawers. The candles were unlit, but must have been scented because the room had an almost sickening vanilla scent. The dim basement windows Bobby recalled had been replaced with glass blocks.
Drake kept his pistol trained on Camila as he looked under the bed, then cautiously opened a small door in the corner of the room and checked the little furnace room, not much bigger than a closet. “Very nice, darling, now, how about some party treats for your boy.”
“My pleasure,” she said, then reached under the heart shaped pillow and removed a packet of white powder. She carefully poured a small amount in the middle of a mirror on the chest of drawers then opened one of the top drawers, pulled out what looked like a playing card and began to chop through the pile of powder, she eventually arranged a half-dozen lines across the mirror then stepped aside and purred, “All ready for you, baby.”
“And so am I,” Drake said stepping up to the dresser. “Why don’t you move you ass over there next to Mr. Shy and get yourself acquainted.” He waved his pistol in Bobby’s general direction then pushed Camila along by pressing the barrel against her tail bone. “Watch and learn, Custer, watch and learn,” Drake said then pulled a twenty out of his pocket, rolled it, bent over and inhaled a line of coke.
“Whoo-hoo-hoo, oh man, that is some good stuff, baby,” Drake exclaimed. He stood up, shook his head, then bent over and took up another line. “Whoa, that is nice, real nice. You better get ready honey, it’s time for you to show me some respect.” He waited a moment, wild eyed, then shouted, “Come on, honey, get your ass in gear.”
Camila quickly undid her blouse, tossed it in a corner then unhooked her bra and discarded it in the same general area. She unbuttoned her jeans, inched them down over her thighs, gradually stepping out of them then kicked them into a far corner.
She had an attractive figure with large, full breasts, dark erect nipples, a flat stomach and a very small black silk thong. And then there were what looked like three bullet scars. One in the right shoulder about the size of a dime. There were a couple of small puckered lines where the wound had ostensibly been opened to remove a slug and not quite professionally sutured. Another ran along her right thigh, more of a long red gash, but clearly from some sort of round rather than a sharp blade. The third appeared to have gone through the left cheek of her otherwise attractive rear and exited out the side, a couple of inches behind her hip. Both the entrance and the exit wounds were red and if Bobby had to hazard a guess he would have said all three wounds were two or maybe three years old. She didn’t seem to be the least bit uncomfortable standing there in just a thong and her string of pearls.
“Why don’t you two get started,” Drake said. He bent back down and snorted two more lines. “Oh God that’s good,” he gasped then set his pistol down, reached for the packet and shook out a larger pile on the mirror. “Hey, did you hear me? Get going, damn it while I’m still in the mood.”
“Maybe it would be better if you…”
Drake jumped from the dresser, wound up in mid air and slapped Camila hard across the face as he landed, then grabbed her by the hair and flung her onto the bed. “Shut up bitch,” he screamed. She half rolled across the bed then looked up at him with watery eyes and blood running from her nose.
“I just thought that…”
Drake quickly grabbed her by the hair and shook her head with each word. “Do. Not. Think. Bitch.”
Bobby stepped over to the dresser, picked up Drake’s pistol and said, “I think we’ve all seen enough of your bullshit.”
Drake looked up at him and let go of Camila’s hair. “Don’t even pretend you have a pair of balls you spoiled little rich son-of-a-bitch. Now put that damn thing down before you hurt yourself.”
“Get the hell out of here, Drake, you’re done.”
“Do you have any idea what…”
Bobby clicked the hammer back on the revolver. “I said get your ass out of here, go on, drive away while you still can.”
Drake rubbed his nose a few times, then licked the powder off his index finger and said, “Oh this is going to be fun.” He took a step toward Bobby and Camila suddenly flew off the bed, grabbed him around the waist and attempted to tackle him. He half stepped to the side, then gave her a hard right cross that dropped her to her knees. He punched her again and as she went down her eyes rolled up into the back of her head. He stared at her on the floor for a moment, breathing audibly as his chest heaved, then turned and headed toward Bobby.
“You stupid little…”
Bobby squeezed the trigger and Drake’s face took on a strange look. He fired a second time, a dribble of blood spurted from just under the right eye and ran down along his chin. He stood for another second or two weaving back and forth before he crumpled to the floor.
Bobby bent down to help Camila just as a pair of footsteps thundered down the wooden basement steps. He turned to look toward the noise and caught the glint from a silver toed boot right before everything went black.
Chapter Twenty-Six
He could hear voices long before he opened his eyes. He was stretched out on the plush carpet of the basement room vaguely aware a number of figures were standing around him. He blinked a few times and attempted to sit up, but things suddenly began to spin.
“Not so fast, not so fast,” Camila said then reached down and picked up a towel with ice cubes and placed it gently against his cheek. She said something in Spanish and two sets of hands carefully hoisted him to his feet then set him down on the bed. Morris Montcreff sat just opposite him in the upholstered chair sipping a drink.
“You’re back,” Montcreff half laughed and raised his glass in a toast. A couple of the guys in the room softly clapped their hands.
“Thank you,” Camila said. She had a blue bathrobe wrapped around her and held a towel with ice cubes, similar to the one Bobby had, up against the side of her face.
“Where is he?” Bobby asked looking around.
“Who?” Montcreff said and Bobby got the message immediately. “Before I forget, hand over that phone, will you?”
Bobby reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out the phone and handed it to Montcreff.
“Nick,” Montcreff called then handed the phone to the same guy Bobby recognized from his breakfast earlier in the day. “Probably be a good idea if no one was able to find or track this damn thing.” Nick disappeared and a moment later Bobby heard his feet clomping up the wooden steps.
“You are probably going to have a visit from our federal friends in the next day or two. What do you plan on telling them?” Montcreff asked.
He thought for a moment then said, “There’s a good chance they’ll know Drake contacted me, maybe even that he was going to pick me up. I think I’ll tell them that we arranged a meeting, in front of my building and he never arrived. In fact,” Bobby said pulling out his cellphone. “Let me call him now and…”
“Don’t,” Montcreff said. “They’ll be able to trace the call to here. Can you have someone bring him back to his office?” he asked Camila.
“Maybe just drop me in front,” Bobby said. “I don’t want to go in there looking like this,” he indicated his swollen face beneath the ice pack.
Camilla said something in Spanish and another set of boots clom
ped up the wooden stairs. “You have my deepest gratitude, Mr. Custer. I am in your debt,” she said.
Bobby gave a nod and the right side of his head immediately began to throb.
“A car is waiting in front to take you to your office. We will be in touch,” Camilla said then turned and said something in Spanish. Some guy stepped forward, helped Bobby to his feet and guided him up the stairs and out the front door.
On the way out he noticed that the guy with the crewcut was back on the living room couch reading a newspaper. A very large handgun rested on the coffee table in front of him. As he made his way to the door the man looked up, nodded and in almost a whisper said a heavily accented, “Thank you.”
Outside he noticed Drake’s vehicle was nowhere to be seen. He climbed into the rear seat of a black SUV, one of the two usually posted at the end of the block. There were two guys seated in front, the one in the passenger seat turned toward him and asked, “Where would you like us to go?”
“I think my office, it’s…”
“We know where your office is. Maybe close your eyes and rest, it will only take ten or fifteen minutes.” He said something to the driver and they pulled away from the curb.
Bobby tried to close his eyes. Even though they weren’t speeding the moving vehicle made him dizzy when his eyes were closed so he just sat there quietly staring out the window and thinking about the recent events. He couldn’t have cared less about Drake, although now he would have to be prepared to deflect anyone looking too closely at him.
They were in the middle of downtown, about two blocks from his office and just passing the First National Bank building when he remembered the call he had to place and the bank of pay phones in the lobby of the bank. He leaned toward the front and said to the man in the passenger seat. “You can just drop me off here.”
“We’re only two blocks, I can see your building up ahead.”
“Here will be better.”
The man gave a command in Spanish and the car immediately glided to the curb. The guy in the passenger seat hurried out and opened the door for Bobby, then held his arm as he stepped out of the car. “If you like I can walk with you?”
“No, thank you all the same, but it looks worse than it really is. I have some business to attend to here and then I’ll just go home. Appreciate the ride.”
“It’s us who should be thanking you,” he said and shook Bobby’s hand. Then he climbed back in the car, they quickly pulled back into traffic and disappeared around the corner.
Bobby made his way into the lobby of the bank building, aware that his bruised face was catching the attention of more than one passerby. He hurried over to the half-dozen pay phones opposite the escalator and dialed Drake’s number. A recording recited the phone number and then the beep sounded.
“Hi, agent Drake this is Bobby Custer. I think I spotted you in front of the building in kind of a burgundy car, but you pulled away before I could get your attention. I’ve waited out in front for over an hour so I’m guessing something probably came up. I’ll be back in my office, just give me a call when you want to meet. I really don’t have much to report except that Mr. Denton had a fall. Anyway, just give me a call, thanks.”
He made his way to his car, drove home, fixed himself an ice pack and a bourbon, in that order, and stretched out on the couch.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The cellphone ringing woke him a little after six. For a brief moment he wasn’t sure if it was six in the evening or six in the morning. The bourbon on the coffee table looked untouched although the ice cubes had melted. For the briefest of moments he thought it might be Drake calling, although he immediately realized that wouldn’t be possible. The plastic bag he’d filled with ice cubes had fallen to the floor. The ice had melted and the oriental rug now had a large wet spot about the size of a family sized pasta bowl.
“Hello.”
“Okay, I admit it, I’m a bitch.”
“Emily?”
She started talking, picking up speed as she went along. “I’m sorry, I know you were preoccupied with work and I didn’t mean to but, I sort of had too much to drink. Okay, okay, I know what you’re thinking, I had way too much. I know, I know. It’s just that I wanted us to have a fun night and then when you sort of, I don’t know, went inside yourself, I just got, well you know, kind of crazy. Umm, are you still mad at me?”
“I’m not mad, Emily, I never was mad,” Bobby said then suddenly realized that his headache was gone and he got off the couch and headed for the bathroom to look at his face.
“Well, you must have been pretty pissed off because you left me that bullshit note about having to go to your office.”
“Actually, I did have to go,” Bobby said then stepped in front of the bathroom mirror. There was a definite bruise, black and blue and swollen, but it didn’t look as bad as he feared.
“But you didn’t answer any of my calls. Okay, I know, I know, I can get crazy. I left a bunch of messages on your phone…”
“My cell?”
“No your office. That’s where you said you’d be so I just figured I’d call, and then I called and called and called and well you have me really worried. Are you okay?”
“Actually, I’m home. I’ve been home most of the afternoon.”
“What? Why? Are you okay? Did you get fired? Did…”
“Emily, slow down, slow down.”
“Well, what happened? Something I did? Did I say something stupid?” she suddenly sounded near tears.
“Nothing bad, actually it’s really stupid, I mean something I did. I was in the rest rooms at the office, they’d just done the floors, I slipped, caught myself on the edge of the granite countertop. You know with all the sinks.”
“Actually no, that’s one men’s room I’ve never been in.”
“Yeah, of course, anyway bounced my thick skull off that granite and wasn’t feeling the best so I just came home.”
“Did you get it checked out?”
“Checked out?”
“Yeah, did you go to the doctor or the emergency room?”
“It’s not that kind of deal, I’m fine.”
“Have you eaten anything?”
“No, actually I was asleep when…”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry. Why do I…okay, I tell you what, you get comfortable and I’m coming over with dinner.”
“You don’t have to do that, I…”
“Not another word. I’m coming over. You just get comfortable and let me mmm-mmm, make it up to you. See you in an hour. Is Thai okay?”
It was actually closer to forty-five minutes when he buzzed her through the security door then waited and watched her through the peephole in the door as she stepped off the elevator and hurried to his door. She was carrying two large brown paper shopping bags with handles.
After she knocked on the door he waited a minute and watched her unbutton another button on her blouse, sort of fluff her hair and move her lips back and forth ostensibly checking her lipstick.
When he did finally open the door, she wore a large smile that immediately disappeared the moment she focused on the right side of his face. “Oh my god, you poor baby,” she said then dropped the shopping bags and stepped into the living room forcing him backwards.
“What have you done for that. No wait, don’t even say it. I already know, absolutely nothing. Right? Now you just get comfortable on that couch and I’ll be back in a minute.” She picked up the bags then bustled down the hallway and into the kitchen. He heard the door open and close on the refrigerator, then heard some glasses and plates clanging off the granite counter top. “Be there in just another minute, you better get comfortable on that couch, mister.”
She came back down the hallway carrying a tray with two wineglasses, plates of food and a blue gel cold-pack. “Alright, now here, you just sit back and put this against that face. God, I can’t believe you didn’t go to the doctor, actually scratch that, yes, I can believe it.”
“How am I
supposed to eat if I’m holding this damn thing?”
“I’m going to feed you.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Okay, first take a sip of wine,” she said and held a glass out to him. Bobby took a sip and handed the glass back. “Good, now the cold-pack, do it,” she said in response to the look he gave her. “Okay, now settle back, good. Here we go,” she said and draped a paper napkin across his chest. Then she scooped a forkful of food, Thai noodles with chicken, and inserted it into his mouth.
“Mmm-mmm, really good, but I think I can feed myself.”
“I don’t mind, really I don’t.”
“Thanks, but I can do it.”
“Okay, then let me run that gel pack back to the freezer. Once you’ve finished dinner that’s going back on your face for twenty minutes. I brought some special creams that I’ll put on that bruise just before we go to bed.” Bobby must have given her some sort of look because she said, “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be gentle, all night,” she grinned. “Now you just settle back, relax and let me take care of you.”
When he woke the following morning he was alone in bed. He heard Emily banging pans out in the kitchen. He pulled on a robe and wandered down the hall.
“Well, look who finally decided to get up. Hows the head?”
“How’s it look?”
“Mmm-mmm, better, the swelling is definitely down, those creams will help. I’ve got some coffee on. How ‘bout a cup while I get your omelette going.”
“You really don’t have to do all this.”
“You’re right, I don’t have to, but I want to, okay? You like it black, your coffee?”
He answered with a nod.
“Here you go, now doctor’s orders, sit your butt on that stool and prepare to be overwhelmed by the world’s best ever breakfast. With that she opened up the oven and pulled out a pan with two caramel rolls. “I can’t take credit for baking them, but I figured out how to warm them up. Here,” she said then placed the rolls on separate plates, handed a plate over to him and said, “Dig in.”
