Devil's Den

by Jeff Altabef

  Maybe the heroic stuff was a tad too much, but he had to go big. Nothing would have worked anyway; Wendy was an iceberg. She was supposedly married, but no one had ever met her husband. Much of the staff believed that, if the unlucky sap had ever existed, she had murdered him long ago, stuffed him into little plastic baggies, and buried him somewhere on the shooting range.

  All the members of the club were supposed to be treated like royalty, but it didn’t take long for the employees to realize some were more important than others. Mr. Hoffman was close to the top of the list. He owned a nationwide chain of private hospitals that catered to the super wealthy, which made him special even at the club. Nonetheless, Hoffman was a staff favorite. He often performed in disguise as Toby Nate Tyler—aka “TNT”, a bearded country music singer—in the poor sections of town. His best song, Better Pack Your Bags, My Wife’s Got a Taser was popular in the ghettos. The staff knew his secret, but so far no one had ratted him out. Often, they’d hum the melody to the song when they were near him, and watch as the man’s face turned red.

  Today’s fundraiser benefitted the Founding Fathers’ Brain Cancer Research Corporation, a charity Mr. Hoffman supported. An extremely aggressive form of brain cancer had been diagnosed in the population ten years earlier, and since then, it had been showing up with increasing frequency. It typically attacked people in their early sixties, moving through the body with extreme swiftness. With no known cure, once detected, doctors couldn’t do much of anything. The government said one in seven was expected to come down with the disease, but in Jack’s neighborhood, the number was closer to one in four.

  He dived into the employee bathroom and quickly changed into his uniform. Alone, he stuffed his street clothes into his duffel and squeezed it under the sink for safekeeping. He didn’t have time to get to his locker, and he had nothing of real value in the duffel anyway.

  Despite the nastiness with Wendy, he felt good. He had a second job, a secret one working for a rebel group, and he was close to obtaining some explosive secrets—secrets that could start a civil war.

  The soft sounds of jazz welcomed Jack as he swung open the double doors leading to the large ballroom. The immense crystal chandelier sparkled like the sun. It took six people half a day to polish it like that, but they had it shining tonight.

  Jazz had become very popular among the rich and powerful. No expensive benefit was complete without a live jazz ensemble, and one could gauge the importance of the benefit by counting the number of musicians in the band. From the look of the crowded platform where the musicians performed, this benefit was top-notch. Jack preferred the driving beat of the latest new rock, but well-performed jazz involved a certain artistry that appealed to him, a certain freedom of interpretation that made every song unique.

  A new lead female singer, who Jack hadn’t seen before, stood at the front of the stage, a microphone grasped gracefully in her thin hand. Her long, wavy, strikingly scarlet hair fell well below her shoulders. She was tall, thin, and young, yet her voice sounded highly polished and expressive as she sung the lyrics to a popular love song. Ten other musicians joined her on stage, most of whom looked familiar from other performances at the club. They played everything from electric guitar to the saxophone, but Jack struggled to take his eyes off the jazz singer. Only when the trumpet took over for her did he break the trance and glide toward his section.

  An all-glass–enclosed greenhouse was connected to the main ballroom and stood opposite the stage. The dividing wall that sometimes separated the two had been taken away, making the three glass walls and the vaulted glass ceiling part of the main room. A long table, filled with a variety of appetizers on large white china serving plates, stood on one end of the greenhouse room, while bartenders manned a wooden bar on the other end.

  Most of the guests had not yet arrived, but the bar buzzed with activity. The men wore finely-tailored suits, and the women cocktail dresses. Apparently, black was in fashion for the upcoming summer season. Most of the men looked to be in their fifties or older, while the women in the room appeared at least two decades younger, on average. Enough diamonds sparkled in the room to fill Jack’s duffel bag.

  A few small groups of two or three engaged in intense conversations. Mr. Johnson and Mr. Bennett had a charged discussion with a third man, whom Jack did not recognize. They both leaned in close and spoke adamantly to the stranger, who stood silently with his arms crossed.

  Jack’s keen eyes moved from group to group, imagining what type of deals they might be hatching.

  The business world and high finance was, however, far beyond his reach. His younger brother, Tom, had a chance to live in that world. Tom had all the brains in the family and scored high enough on the assessments to earn an education contract. One day, maybe Tom would be in a room like this as a guest. Maybe, but Jack couldn’t see it.

  Tom’s a science guy. He’d never voluntarily leave his lab for an event like this one.

  Luckily for Jack, he’d loved tennis from a young age and had won a few tournaments in his early teens, though he’d never finished above the semis in the county tournaments. He couldn’t compete with teens who enjoyed private lessons and unlimited court time. While he had never attracted the attention of a corporate sponsor to go pro, he’d scored high grades in the one year he spent at a tennis instruction vocational school, and had more than enough talent to teach. After a few years apprenticing under Blake, he might be eligible to be a head instructor himself.

  A lot of good that will do me, he thought with a smirk. Jobs for tennis instructors didn’t come easy, and he’d never find a more prestigious place to work than at the club. Besides, he liked his boss. Blake gave him leeway.

  Jack started filling water glasses while the smell of the appetizers made his stomach jump. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast except a dried beef stick. One of the perks of working in a large benefit was the leftovers. At least half of the food prepared for tonight would go uneaten, which the staff would split up amongst themselves.

  The lights flickered on and off, alerting the guests to the end of the cocktail hour and the beginning of the formal dinner. He glanced over at the band and thought he caught the eye of the redheaded singer.

  It must be my imagination. She’s out of my league, although something about her looks vaguely familiar.

  He was certain he’d remember if he’d met her before, but....

  Probably just my mind playing tricks on me.

  As most of the guests filled the main room, Jack spun into action, pulling out chairs, dispensing compliments freely, and flirting where appropriate.

  Once the initial activity calmed down and everyone’s orders had been taken, Mr. Hoffman took to the stage. He moved stiffly due to a bulging stomach. The lights shone on his balding head and nervous smile. Jack had seen him perform as TNT and thought he looked more comfortable as the bearded country singer than the successful hospital executive. Maybe he was meant to be a country singer, and this was really his disguise. He cleared his throat awkwardly and started speaking about brain cancer research and the need to find a cure.

  At least, Jack assumed he was talking about that. He paid little attention as the words droned on, preferring to glance at the crowd, checking out the latest styles, and getting a feel for the mood in the room. People let their guards down when they thought no one was watching them, and Jack could tell a lot from body language. He had just noticed Mrs. Bennett playing footsie with someone who was not Mr. Bennett, when he sensed that someone had silently slunk up behind him. Then the unmistakable scent of Heather’s perfume, musky with a hint of honey, lingered in the air like a sensual cloud.

  Without turning around, Jack spoke softly. “Can I help you, Mrs. Benson?” He wanted to keep his eyes focused ahead of him, but he couldn’t help but take a quick look.

  Heather had a thin muscular body toned from many hours at the gym, long blonde hair that didn’t resemble her natural color, and crystal blue eyes that oozed sensuality up
on command. She often wielded them like sex toys when the mood hit her. She was Mr. Benson’s—an aging media mogul’s—third wife, which made her dangerous.

  According to wide-spread rumors, her family had lost a good deal of money on a business deal that went bankrupt and were close to dropping out of the privileged class. Once someone dropped out, they rarely, if ever, made it back in. The families had known each other for decades, and a hasty marriage was arranged between the young and beautiful Heather and Mr. Benson, who had recently divorced wife number two. Heather felt little affection for Mr. Benson, but the deal secured her family’s place in the social structure, at least for a little while longer.

  Jack couldn’t blame her; Mr. Benson was her best option—probably her only option.

  She had taken an interest in Jack, scratching a certain itch, part sensual and part dangerous. She liked things a little dangerous.

  Maybe too dangerous.

  She was good fun, and Jack hoped to squeeze some secrets from her, but he’d have to end the affair soon.

  Not today, but definitely some time soon.

  Never content, Heather needed to turn up the heat, and Jack couldn’t afford getting burned playing her games.

  Her breath brushed hot against his neck, and her voice sounded soft and raspy. “I have a problem that I need you to fix.”

  Jack stole another quick glance.

  She wore a low-cut sleeveless black dress that ended mid-thigh, and a diamond and ruby necklace that must have cost a fortune.

  She is likely going to be the death of me.

  Without looking at her, he whispered, “I’m working right now. Maybe we can arrange something later?”

  She slithered closer to him, sliding an inch behind his right ear, her voice so soft he could barely hear her. “This can’t wait. I have the information you want, and to get it you’ll need to give me something in return.” She blew hot air into his ear.

  His heart pounded and an electrical current surged through his body. Heather knew how to make him crazy, and he’d been trying to get this information out of her for months. He scanned the ballroom looking for Wendy.

  She wasn’t on the floor, which meant she was probably in the kitchens berating the chefs over something trivial. The kitchens were good; she could be stuck there for a while.

  Still worried about getting caught, he asked warily, “What do you have in mind?”

  She sounded impatient, her words curt. “They’re going to play a stupid video. It’s twenty minutes long. Doug droned on about it at lunch. We have plenty of time, and no one will notice you’re gone. Meet me at the room if you want those secrets you’ve been pestering me about. If you don’t come, I’ll know you’re not serious.”

  Jack turned, but she was already strolling back to her table.

  He smiled. Can’t get off the ride now.

  Since no one needed him at the moment, he headed to the now vacant bar where David, his best friend, worked as bartender.

  A few years older than Jack, David had short blond hair with streaks of red mingled in it. He was tall, but slightly shorter than Jack, tanned, and good-looking. A new female bartender chatted him up. From the way she laughed and touched his arm, Jack guessed he had made another new friend. They came so easily for him.

  Upon seeing Jack, David moved to the end of the bar. “What’s up, bro? Getting tennis elbow filling the water glasses?” He fidgeted with a small toy umbrella he placed into mixed drinks.

  “Not yet, but I need a favor.” They were alone, but Jack whispered anyway. “I need to use the room in a few minutes.”

  David’s face lit up in a wolfish grin. “Man, you’re playing with fire with that one. Are you sure?” He mischievously popped open the miniature toy umbrella with a smirk.

  “Just this last time. She has something I need.”

  “I bet.” David slowly brought his right hand down on the bar. “Don’t get caught, bro. You can give it back to me tonight at poker.” He lifted his hand, and Jack palmed the brass key.

  “No worries. I’d never miss an opportunity to take your money. You’re like that goose who lays the golden eggs, only you don’t have any gold.”

  “Maybe someday, bro.”

  Jack headed back to his section and made sure everyone had a full glass of water for the start of the video.

  He glanced at the key, with a shiny number nine etched into the metal.

  ---End of Special Sneak Preview---

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