Savage Deception

by R. T. Wolfe

  "This is the turn of the twenty-first century. I invited them. I can cook. Grill, actually."

  "I'll bring a dish to pass. Domestic me."

  * * *

  Duncan and Andy took a cab from the Baltimore airport. How was it that an hour flight south took away two feet of snow? The ground was bone dry. Traffic was heavy as they crawled between buildings that rose higher and higher. It wasn't L.A., but it served as a sinking reminder he had a short trip there the following week.

  The IEM building towered above its awning, complete with a section of no parking in front. Duncan thanked the cabbie by name, tipped him and he and his brother stepped out. A valet stood to the side and a doorman to the front of them. Somehow, Duncan realized they were staring, silently questioning the awestruck stance of both him and Andy.

  The awe was not from the size of the building or the pricey décor. In deeply etched glass read the name of the business, but it didn't only read IEM, Import and Export Moving Services. Beneath, it read Ivanna and Edward Monticello.

  Chapter 24

  They were in her station in her office. Those facts alone made Nickie feel better. The pissing contest with the feds was getting old, but she needed them and she guessed they needed her.

  She imagined their closets with rows of suit jackets and boring ties and wondered if they wore them during takedown operations. She wanted to address them as Mr. and Mrs. Man in Black but thought that might strain relations. "Can I get you some coffee, water?"

  Strong shook his head.

  Right to it, then. It seemed too much rode on this conversation. She had nothing she could bring to them except hunches and gut feelings. Damn and shit.

  "As you know, I met with the former captain of police during his stay at the United States Penitentiary in Terre Haute, Indiana."

  No nod. No sign they were going to acknowledge her start of the conversation.

  She wondered if this was somehow connected to the source of their tip about the Madison Square Garden fight. "What I got out of him supports your boxing match theory. However, I must say it doesn't seem feasible to have this elaborate white house for paid and forced prostitution—"

  "Alleged paid and forced prostitution, Detective. We still have only your word on this."

  She wasn't willing to trust these guys enough to tell them she had been in the house or about her knowledge of the possible surveillance cameras. She also couldn't tell them she knew they dug up her past. "But isn't that why you involved me in the first place? Look, there is the match next weekend at Madison Square Garden," she said like she didn't know they knew. "And another the following week at Broadway Boxing. It's possible Moody might arrange for the girls the night before, but men are going to want... sex after they've beat their chests at a boxing match. I think he'll bring them back to his place."

  "Or he'll arrange to service the men on-site like he did at both the Seneca Casino and the one in Vegas. We have this under control."

  Panic settled in her spine. "You're shutting me out."

  "This isn't your jurisdiction, Detective." A spray of spit erupted from Strong's mouth as he said the last word. The finality of his statement was a swift slap in the face.

  "I was lead detective seven months ago when the dead girl was found in a back room at our local casino. I was the one who found the additional girl, hiding in the janitor's closet, and I was the one who got out of her where they were taking the girls." She would leave out the part about Duncan's role in it. "You can't shut me out, Strong." She sounded like a whimpering adolescent. It sickened her.

  "I found these guys in Vegas. Me." And Duncan. "I know their habits." She nearly jumped from her chair. "With three measly beat cops from Vegas Metro, we were able to save four girls and arrest three thugs and six johns. Lewis—" She tried for the softer of the two. "—you need me."

  Strong answered for him. "Do you want us to have a truck full of SWAT doing a stakeout in front of Moody's place each time a big event is anywhere within an hour radius of his place? We feel you're not looking at this objectively, Detective. Unless you have any new information for us, we'll see ourselves out."

  They left her sitting there, humiliated and deserted. She gave herself a full ten minutes before she peeled her numb fingers from where they clutched the sides of her chair. Opening and closing her hands, she loosened them and turned to her desktop computer. She used her preferred search engine to find agencies within the states that worked to fight child sex trafficking.

  She found nonprofits such as Child Rescue and Slavery No More and even read about the FBI's Innocence Lost National Initiative, which it started in 2003. Rarely did she bother with the comments left beneath online news articles, but there was one on top that caught her eye, directly below where she was reading.

  The article was about Child Rescue. The founder was the last in generations of women forced to sell their bodies, often as early as the age of twelve. The founder broke the cycle, severing ties with her relatives to keep her daughter protected from the life.

  The comment made mention that some women use their sexuality to land a guy. That's right, asshole. Twelve-year-old girls like to use their sexuality to land a fifty-year-old man.

  She pushed away from her desk, letting the feet of her chair scrape against the linoleum tiles. She hadn't felt this helpless since she was forced from foster home to foster home at the age of sixteen.

  * * *

  Connections rang in Duncan's head. Nickie's parents had something to do with her missing file. Were they truly so embarrassed from what she was forced to do? Remember their introductions at his art show, it didn't seem like such a stretch.

  Duncan had a good father, followed by an uncle who served as a good father figure. His biological dad was loving and attentive. He wished he could pick up the phone and tell him he remembered how he used to play Candyland with him and read to him and Andy at bedtime. Duncan could see it like he was watching a home movie. And his uncle had sacrificed his job and his first home to be a good parent when Duncan's had died.

  The thought of dismissing your own flesh and blood after what Nickie had been through was incomprehensible as it was, but this? This was no coincidence. Edward and Ivanna Monticello had something to do with the missing file from Nickie's past.

  A small nudge in the arm made him focus on the scene in front of him. The doorman held his hand on his walkie like he was ready to call Security as he and Andy blocked the path of the valet driver and the next group of businessmen who piled out of a Lexus. "Come on, man," Andy said in his ear. "Let's go find this Leslie Jacobsen."

  Giving his head a single, small nod, Duncan moved his feet. "Good day," he said to the doorman as the man held the door for them. "Thank you."

  The lobby was marble. Marble floors, marble pillars and marble-backed benches lining the center. An enormous marble reception counter was centered in the area. He and Andy passed it to the left and headed for the elevators. They didn't need directions. They were going to the top floor. There were three sets of elevators, each the color of gold-plated metal.

  They stood stoically in the quiet elevator. Both fit into their surroundings with their designer suits. Andy had to borrow a pair of Duncan's shoes and a tie. He didn't have ones to match the brown or black velvet hats they wore to conceal as much of their faces as they could. They waited until all but the last person exited on the way up to push the button that selected the top floor.

  They left the elevator and Andy walked right up to the first desk that held a younger woman. He whispered in her ear before he smiled and shook the woman's hand with both of his. This would not be a good time for anyone to recognize Duncan. Andy had always been the thicker of the two of them. Not nearly as tall as Duncan, but Andy was a brick. In high school, the girls called him the boy with the million-dollar smile. The woman who beamed at him as he walked away seemed to agree.

  They walked quickly and with purpose. "Last office before the corner office. On the right," Andy said to him.
>
  An assistant in a suit dress stood at a file cabinet just outside of a door that read, 'Leslie Jacobsen.' Four plush guest chairs lined the wall outside the office. The upper half of the door was opaque with frosted glass.

  Andy walked to the woman like he owned the place. Holding out his hand, he said, "Sylvester Andrew here to see Ms. Jacobsen." His full first and middle names. No one could accuse him of false impersonation.

  The woman had only slightly the same reaction as the one who gave him the directions. She accepted his hand and gave her regrets. "I'm sorry, Mr. Andrew, Ms. Jacobsen is gone for the day. Can I leave her a message?"

  Duncan could have kicked himself. It was a Friday. He never considered checking to see if Jacobsen might take off a day early to prepare for her vacation. Without a second's consideration, Andy retorted, "Yes, her trip to San Juan. Her plane doesn't leave until Sunday. She's making a special stop to meet with us."

  It looked as if Andy planned to break a lock. Duncan's coat lay over his arm. Digging in the inside pocket, he ensured his vials of mini-explosives were within easy reach.

  The woman blinked at Andy's knowledge about the trip and the date of the plane tickets, and awkwardly gestured for them to wait in the guest chairs. Now what did they do? As much as he wanted to, Duncan wasn't about to turn his eyes to Andy and give him the look that asked exactly that.

  They sat stoically, hands on their knees, as the woman went back to her filing. She made two phone calls, and Duncan could see she was working on a document. Control + P. He checked the area. No printer. Without moving his eyes from his forward gaze, he tapped Andy's shoe with his own.

  As if on cue, the woman walked to the center of a group of cubicles. The printer must be there. Duncan took his chance and grabbed one of the miniature vial of C4 from the pocket of his coat. He rushed the door that read, 'Leslie Jacobsen' in stenciled letters across the opaque glass. Grabbing a lighter in his other hand, he wiggled the knob on the door. It was open. He glanced over his shoulder just as the woman turned with papers in hand.

  He clicked the door shut as she stood in front of Andy. Her expression must have asked some unspoken question because he heard Andy say, "Bathroom. It was a bumpy cab ride."

  Duncan stayed low and went first to Jacobsen's computer. He doubted she had fifteen-year-old files stored on it but copied her hard drive onto a mega-flash drive anyway. As the documents uploaded, he combed through her drawers, not knowing what he might be searching for. Three tall, cherry wood file cabinets stood in the middle of a side of her office. Each had a lock. This time, he checked to see if they'd been left open first. They hadn't.

  The C-4 putty was a last resort. Instead, he searched the desk for the keys. In the drawers, beneath and on the sides of the desk. Any small hooks? Nothing in the canisters for pens or paperclips. But the matching black metal canister that held binder clips. Bingo.

  Pulling out the tiny keys, he heard Andy's voice. "No worries, Ms. Jacobsen. We just got here. Take your time. That sounds lovely," he said. Andy was pretending to speak into his phone.

  The file cabinets held neatly stacked folders, crisp like they'd hardly been used. The first file cabinet was A through H. At a whim, he checked the middle under M for Monticello. Nothing. Sighing, he flipped further to N for Nicole. Nothing. The ding of the computer signaled the uploads were complete as he heard Andy speak up expectantly. "No! No need, thank you. I'm sure he's fine. He gets car sick and the traffic..."

  Duncan hurried to eject the flash drive. He unlocked S through Z and decided to check Savage for the hell of it. The file was yellowed, but the corners just as crisp and untouched as the others.

  He heard the female voice from outside the door. "I'll call and let her know I'm taking my morning break soon."

  "You know, maybe you're right. I'd better check on him. Can you show me the way to the nearest bathroom? Women can be so much more insightful than men." Duncan imagined the smile on Andy's face as he said so.

  "Down the hall on your left. You'll see a side hallway."

  She wasn't leaving. He cracked open the door enough to see her.

  Andy scratched his head. "Where?" He took a step, placing his hand on her elbow and craning his head down the hall.

  Duncan stepped out with the file draped under his jacket.

  She turned before he barely cleared her desk area.

  "Is that the faster way to the bathroom, then?" Duncan asked the both of them. "I certainly took the long way." He reached in his pocket as he sat in the guest chair and blindly hit speed dial number three.

  Andy's phone rang. He answered, and Duncan hoped he heard the telltale signs of rustling in a pocket.

  "Oh, that's no problem. Certainly, we'll see you there."

  Andy stood and Duncan followed. "It seems we are rescheduling locations to that wonderful bakery down the street."

  "Marsella's? She loves that place." The woman nodded as if it made perfect sense.

  "Have a nice weekend," Andy said, and they headed for the elevator.

  * * *

  "You bought a dining table for tonight?"

  Nickie stood in the kitchen's east door that led to the dining room. She stood with her legs locked, slightly spread. Duncan liked to think of it as her rock-star stance. Next to the kitchen door to the north sat his perfectly acceptable kitchen table. Except he decided this was a dining room event and purchased a circular, glass table with wrought iron chairs. The kitchen table was enormous. It reminded him of home, and really anything smaller would seem out of place in a kitchen this size.

  In the middle of the kitchen table was the bouquet of assorted flowers he chose when he picked up the steaks and potatoes. On one side of the bouquet was the single brown paper grocery bag she brought with her. On the other side was the plain manila file folder labeled with a computer-generated label that read, "Nickie Savage." Not her birth name, Nicole Monticello. It was that fact that bothered him more than the contents. Her eyes went right to it when she arrived. He would let her take lead with it.

  Chapter 25

  "Mmm," Duncan nodded regarding the dining room furniture, "and a grill." He stabbed the potatoes with a fork. "I'm thinking of making the final area in the basement into a wine cellar. A certain cop ruined my dreams of a shooting range."

  "Sheesh, Duncan. It wouldn't be like an illegal cable line or pirating songs from the Internet." She moved toward him with her glass of Old Vine Zinfandel as he wrapped the bakers in foil and placed them on a plate.

  When he returned from starting the potatoes on the grill, she had moved the grocery bag and was ripping lettuce into the large bowl, which he also purchased that afternoon.

  "When are we going to discuss what's in there?" he asked.

  She stopped what she was doing, set her hands on the edge of his tall granite counters and locked her elbows. Dropping her chin to her chest, she sighed. "I think I want to wait."

  He slipped behind her, sliding his arms around her waist as he tucked his lips beneath her ear. Her shoulders relaxed as her head lifted.

  She continued. "I've thought about it and realized the last time we ate with Andy and Rose we had to deal with my drama."

  As he turned her to face him, she opened her knees so their legs scissored. He brushed the hair that hid her face over her ear and shoulder. "Drama is when a person or persons exaggerate a scenario for the sole purpose of... well... drama."

  Her eyes lit and she smiled. "You read that in Webster's, did you?"

  "Yes, I did," he lied and kissed her forehead, then her cheek. "And I was asking when we were going to discuss what was in your grocery bag." He kissed her other cheek.

  Her chest expanded against his. Her heartbeat was steady and strong.

  Rotating beneath him, she returned to her lettuce and answered his original question. "Strawberries, craisins, sesame seeds, tomatoes and dressings." She pressed her knuckles to the side of her jaw, cracked her neck and then repeated the procedure on the other. "Let's keep this where it be
longs, in the station. Can you come early, before you go to work?"

  Sticking his hand in the bag, he started pulling out the items. "This is female salad stuff, just so you know. And, yes, I can follow you in first thing."

  * * *

  Duncan didn't follow her in that morning. He told her he was stopping at the only bakery he deemed worthy enough to brew an acceptable cup of coffee. Nickie's caffeine was less maintenance. She could get it from the machine at work or stop at her favorite convenience store. Today would be a 20 oz. bottle from the machine at work.

  Her joints were pleasantly pliable from their night of sex, her muscles loose from her morning swim. And yet, the thin file weighed down the briefcase in her hand as she headed for the stairs. She hadn't seen Duncan's Audi when she parked.

  One of the first ones there, she flipped the lights in the common area and noticed Eddy had beat her in. He stood when she popped her head in his door. "Don't get up. I just stopped by to say, 'Good morning.'"

  He came around his desk anyway. "Is everything okay? I heard about the feds."

  "You heard?"

  His head dropped as if he was embarrassed for her. "Everyone knows."

  Everyone except Duncan. "You need anything? I'm getting a soda."

  He smiled and shook his head. She must be forgiven.

  She had to pay the damned machine twice for her Diet Coke, but she had bigger things on her mind. The sound of the sizzling release of carbonation was a good start. As she left the break room, she saw that Duncan had arrived... and was in Eddy's office. And right when she had been forgiven. Oh boy.

  As quick as a snake, Duncan's hand jutted out in a tight jab that landed centered on Eddy's face. Her shoulders lifted involuntarily as she winced. She knew no one else was here yet, but her head dropped and she looked from side to side anyway.

  Assaulting a police officer at the station. What the frigging hell was he thinking? Eddy returned the jab with a reflexive push that did little to waver Duncan. She didn't know whether to intervene, whether to pretend she didn't know what was happening or whether to give each of them a taste of their own medicine.