Code Rojo

by Ray Flynt

  Ron Needell cleared his throat and dipped his head in my direction. “Speaking of Exhibit A.”

  He speaks about me as if I’m responsible. Probably blaming me for Ellie’s change of heart about him too.

  If Carmen had let me sit next to her, I’d be out of Ron’s direct sightline. Instead, he glared at me while making demands of Parson. “Can you explain why your office has had four clerical staff in the last six weeks?”

  Parson sat a little straighter in his chair. “Isaac, with all due respect, I don’t think this is within the purview of a partners’ discussion.”

  Isaac Bignell nodded. “Perhaps, Marshall, you, Howard, and I could speak briefly after the meeting.”

  Parson shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. Inspect the terms of our partnership agreement. Each of us has autonomy in personnel decisions affecting individual offices.”

  Mrs. Watkins tapped a spoon against her coffee cup. “Perhaps we should move along to the other items on our agenda.”

  Her reaction irked Needell the most, as he clattered his fork against the muffin plate.

  The matriarch’s words quelled any further dissension and Isaac shifted his focus. “I’d like to draw everyone’s attention to our operational budget under tab C of the meeting packet. As you’ll see, chargebacks to partners and associates will remain the same for the coming fiscal year. Any questions?”

  A thrum of page turning rose from the conference table as they leafed through spiral-bound books.

  Rose Watkins kept her gaze on me, making me wonder if she might be one of Tulverson’s informants, while Needell folded his arms across his chest and looked dyspeptic.

  Carmen had asked me to bring a notebook, so I dutifully scribbled notes. But without the materials in front of me, the discussion was difficult to follow. For example, the question arose as to why budget line 36 was $3,000 more than the previous year. The answer: Inflation. I couldn’t tell if they were discussing the electric bill or cost of fruit and muffins at partners’ meetings. The latter came to mind as people routinely visited the sideboard to refresh their plates.

  Unable to make sense of this portion of the discussion my thoughts drifted to the reason for my presence, or Carmen’s for that matter. I’d thought nothing about attending a partners’ meeting when first asked. I assumed each of them would show up with an aide or administrative assistant. Instead, Councilman Parson’s staff were the only outsiders. Were we another way for Howard to demonstrate his clout, aside from sitting at the opposite end of the table from the managing partner?

  I caught Mrs. Watkins staring at me again.

  Unnerving.

  As the mundane budget discussion droned on, a man seated next to Parson pivoted to visit the snack table. His gaze met mine and a look of recognition crossed his face along with a grin.

  The man had me at a disadvantage. While he looked familiar, a scan of my mind’s database produced the equivalent of a spinning wait cursor. Without my cell phone, I couldn’t even check the list of partners’ names or text Oliver to spark my memory.

  Did we attend the same high school? Had we once dated?

  The man filled his coffee cup and grabbed a muffin before returning to his seat without giving me another glance.

  I peered at Carmen, hoping she’d signal that I could leave, but she gave me no notice. She sat with her legs crossed, skirt creeping halfway up her thigh, and drawing stares from most of the men. I found it sporting to note how often one of them at the table would catch another staring at her, acknowledging same with a wink or raised eyebrow. Ron Needell, whose obsession with Carmen I already knew, looked her way most often.

  Following the budget discussion, Isaac raised the topic of the firm’s annual holiday party.

  Several around the table groaned, muttering, “It’s only March.” “Can’t that wait?”

  The managing partner held up his hand. “Not if we want to nail down a good venue that can accommodate a firm of our size. My wife is still complaining about the restaurant that hosted our event last December.”

  The crowd grunted, confirming the truth of his statement. As I watched, it seemed that lawyers acted no different than college frat boys: impatient, boisterous, and self-serving.

  Isaac Bignell closed the meeting book in front of him. “Are there any other items of business for the good of the firm?”

  Rose Watkins raised her hand. “I’d like to discuss the matter of my retirement.”

  The room fell silent.

  “Isaac, your father and I, along with Charles Clark, founded this firm in the 1960s. I’ve been a fixture here for more than fifty years, and you’ve all been generous to put up with me.”

  She waved off a few muttered words of protest.

  “No, it’s true, and you know it. Especially over these last five years. When Charles died, I vowed that when the time came, I’d much rather walk out the front door than be carried through it as he was. I’m now confident of concluding an important item of business pertinent to our firm’s future and am therefore announcing my plan to retire effective May first.”

  When she spoke of pertinent business, Mrs. Watkins peered in my direction. My gut told me she and Tulverson were collaborating. I intended to alert Warren about this change in her future.

  The oldest-looking man at the table, whom I didn’t know, broke into a chorus of For She's a Jolly Good Fellow. The others joined in, except for Ron Needell, who couldn’t keep his eyes off Carmen’s exposed thigh. Creepy.

  As the applause died down, Isaac rose from his seat. “Mrs. Watkins, you will always be the heart and soul of this firm. We’re not going to allow you to go quietly. Count on a gigantic party in your honor on the first of May and we’ll dance you out the door. This meeting stands adjourned.”

  The man who eyed me earlier stood, stretched out his arms, and made a beeline in my direction. “Sharon Porter. Imagine seeing you here.”

  The sound of his rasping baritone jarred my memory. Manny Keifer supervised the juvenile probation office in Bucks County. He hired me after college graduation, where I bided my time for a few years—still anxious to follow in my father’s law enforcement footsteps. Manny and I worked together for only a few months before he left to attend law school. After I’d joined the Frame Detective Agency, I lost track of his whereabouts.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Manny’s approach had drawn Carmen’s attention. Dragon Lady scurried toward us, just as Manny clasped both of my hands saying, “What brings you to BWC? I thought you always wanted to be a cop.”

  Carmen stopped mid-step, spun one-eighty, and grasped Howard Parson by the arm, leading him from the room.

  22

  I cut short my conversation with Manny, promising we’d meet for a drink after work in the near future. From the look on Carmen’s face, I knew there’d be hell to pay when I returned to Parson’s office. My stomach grumbled as I walked down the hall, mindful that I’d neglected breakfast. I doubled back to the conference room to grab a muffin, just as Isaac Bignell’s assistant rolled a cart with leftovers onto the elevator.

  It’s that kind of morning.

  Back at my desk, the door to Parson’s office was closed, so I went about the motions of doing my job. The councilman’s email account contained the usual mishmash of invitations, notifications, blog links, and spam. I printed off the important ones to hand to him later. The only voice mail was from a constituent complaining about a non-working traffic light. I dialed 311 to report the broken signal, then called Parson’s constituent to thank her for her vigilance and give her an update “on behalf of the councilman.” The woman gushed with praise. At least I’d made one person happy. Parson would have her vote at the next election, if he wasn’t in jail by then.

  The door to Parson’s office flung open and Carmen stalked in my direction. “How do you know Emmanuel?”

  I stalled for time. “Who?”

  She pursed her lips. “Emmanuel Kiefer.”

  “Oh, Manny. Sorry
…I didn’t make the connection to Emmanuel.”

  Parson called out. “Ellie, coffee please.”

  It didn’t matter that he’d forgotten my name. I swiveled in my chair, stood, and raced to the Keurig. After all, Carmen couldn’t complain about me obeying a direct order from our mutual boss. As the mug filled with Parson’s preferred Colombian blend, I readied the creamer and sugar, and tried to recall the details of the fictional Rojo résumé Tulverson had produced on my behalf.

  Carmen huffed impatiently next to me, while I held up a wait-a-minute finger. “The councilman needs his coffee.”

  Tulverson put my backstory in upstate New York, growing up in the small town of Oneida and attending nearby Syracuse University. My reason for coming to Philadelphia was to help an aging grandmother. But with Granny my only connection to the area, she’d also have to be my link to Manny. Maybe he lived next door to her and witnessed me playing cops and robbers with male cousins during our pre-teen years. That would explain his quip about my wanting to be a cop. I could try to convince Carmen his comments were an inside joke.

  After all, even when dealt a bad hand it’s possible to win with a bluff.

  Of course, a quick call to Kiefer’s office would reveal a lie out of any story I came up with. Carmen’s reputation as a schemer might make Manny wary of saying anything that would get me into trouble.

  Fuck.

  I’d need to catch up with Manny and give him an excuse to keep quiet about our shared past at the juvenile probation department.

  Breathe. One crisis at a time.

  Carmen followed me into Parson’s office as I delivered his coffee. He spoke on the phone, which kept Carmen’s tongue silent as I placed his mug on the desk.

  Parson wrapped up the call before I could escape and grabbed the fresh brew. “Thanks, Ellie.”

  “It’s Sharon.”

  Parson grabbed his head with both hands. “Ach, my apologies. Don’t know where my mind is.”

  I smiled. “No worries. Will there be anything else?”

  “Yes,” Carmen snapped. “What in hell did Emmanuel mean—”

  Parson pointed at the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Carmen. That’ll be all, Sharon.”

  Dragon Lady hesitated before easing into her chair. “Not until I get an answer—”

  He glared at her. “Scott called. We need to talk.” Parson turned toward me with a stern expression. “You may go.”

  I hightailed it into the reception area and closed the door behind me before he could change his mind.

  I’ve complained about boring stakeouts in the past but would gladly take one today.

  My reprieve on Carmen’s questions about Manny allowed more time to concoct a believable cover story. Googling Emmanuel Kiefer yielded an address on Dahlia Road in Warminster, PA, Bucks County. Tax records confirmed he’d lived at the same property for twenty-five years. Guess where Granny Rojo happened to live? I texted Oliver to see how well he knew Manny. Perhaps my boyfriend could run interference.

  Forty-five minutes passed with the two of them secreted in Parson’s office. No outgoing calls went through the office phone system.

  I’d love to know what they’re talking about.

  The light-switch camera came to mind. Events had distracted me from alerting Tulverson to its successful placement. I composed a text message about the camera and Mrs. Watkins’ impending retirement. If she was one of the AG’s informants, Warren would want to know. Several minutes passed until his response. Knew about Watkins. Watching video feed right now. Tulverson added a smiley face.

  I appreciated the irony of him knowing what was going on behind the closed door just a few feet away from me.

  Shortly before noon, a man wearing a T-shirt with the logo from the ground-floor deli carried a wicker basket into the office suite. “Delivery for Carmen Caztillow.” He butchered her name.

  I knocked on Parson’s private door.

  A scowling Carmen answered.

  “Your lunch is here.”

  She pushed the door open wide and scanned the delivery guy from head to toe like he might be a Russian spy. “Come in.”

  Delivery guy brushed past her and emptied his basket on Parson’s desk.

  Carmen hurried him out of the office and handed the invoice to me. “Make sure the tab is billed to the councilman’s personal account rather than BWC.”

  The bewildered delivery guy stood in front of my desk with Benito on his nametag next to the deli’s logo. I followed Carmen’s instructions and wrote a note on the back of the bill before handing it to him.

  He studied my instructions and scowled. “No tip?”

  “I’m not authorized. I’ll tell you what, Benito…” I reached into my purse and handed him a twenty. “Bring me a grilled cheese sandwich and bottled water and you can keep the change.”

  Braces flashed on his grin. “Sure.”

  With the councilman and Carmen huddled in their session, I wouldn’t be able to leave the office. I’d brightened another person’s day and would get lunch.

  I fielded a few more phone calls, took two messages, and left them on Carmen’s desk. At one o’clock, Parson emerged from his office and paused by my desk. “I’ll be out for the rest of the day. Tomorrow you can find me at City Hall.”

  You’re leaving me alone with the Dragon Lady?

  I handed him a folder with important emails.

  After Parson’s departure I peered into his office, seeing no sign of Carmen. She must’ve gone through the connecting door. A fact confirmed when she glared at me from the doorway to the office I’d shared with her only a few days earlier. She slammed the solid wood door; its sound reverberated in my ears.

  Her cold shoulder caused more unease than thoughts of a confrontation about how I knew Manny.

  The office fell silent. I jumped when my phone dinged with a text from Tulverson asking if I could meet him after work. I replied, asking him to name the place and time. No reply.

  I alerted Oliver that I’d need to be flexible at the end of the workday. He returned a thumbs up emoticon.

  Phone lights remained unlit. Quite possibly Carmen had exited using the door into the hallway. I didn’t want to check, putting too much stock in the no-news-is-good-news aphorism.

  Why incite the beast unnecessarily?

  Ninety minutes later, I got my answer. A young Asian woman with long, dark hair, wearing a gray Ralph Lauren pantsuit, entered the office and strolled confidently toward my desk carrying a manila folder. “I’m Jia Huang, here for a two-thirty interview with Ms. Castillo about the secretarial position.”

  Déjà vu all over again.

  23

  Tulverson asked me to meet him at six o’clock near stairway nine at 30th Street Station. I swam through a sea of commuters at the underground subway platform nearest the office and boarded the next SEPTA headed for 30th Street. An elderly man in a tweed jacket offered to give up his seat on the crowded railcar, but I told him mine was the next stop.

  Chivalry isn’t dead.

  Regional rail runs east/west alongside the terminal. Amtrak trains travel north/south beneath the cavernous waiting area that rivals the splendor of Grand Central Station in NYC and Washington’s Union Station. Stairway nine posted a 6:22 p.m. departure to Harrisburg, which signaled Warren’s reason for selecting that location. Our meeting wouldn’t last long.

  I relaxed on a curved wooden bench and scanned the concourse for his arrival. As the appointed hour approached, Warren ambled toward me carrying a briefcase and a bag of goodies from Nutbox, a popular snack shop. I suddenly had a craving for chocolate-covered almonds.

  Warren sat beside me, retrieved a padded envelope from his briefcase, and handed it to me.

  “What’s this?”

  He grinned. “Video from your boss’s office this afternoon.”

  I arched an eyebrow.

  “I’ll give you the shorthand version. Carmen wants to get rid of you. She had a run-in with Emmanuel Kiefer last y
ear. The fact that you two seemed to be chummy with one another puts you on her blacklist.”

  She’s on mine, so we’re even.

  “When Manny tagged my interest in being a cop that was probably the last straw.”

  Warren shook his head. “She never mentioned it in her conversation with Parson.”

  “Maybe she didn’t hear.”

  Warren shrugged. “On the flip side, Parson thinks you make the best cup of coffee he’s ever had.”

  I rolled my eyes. “With the video feed, do you still need me there?”

  We started off as the only two people waiting on the bench. When a couple plopped down at the opposite end, he lowered his voice. “We’re not letting you off that easy. Besides, when the time comes you’ll make a great witness in court.”

  “Okay. Tell me this. What’s the deal with Mrs. Watkins? Is she one of your insiders? She couldn’t keep from staring at me during the meeting.”

  Warren glanced around as a line formed at the top of the roped-off stairway with people eager for a prime boarding position on the train. “She’s helping us, but doesn’t know the particulars about your work. At this point, she probably associates you with Carmen, making her wary. If events go badly, don’t think of her office as a port in the storm.”

  Warren stood to join the growing line of passengers.

  “Wait.” I spoke too loudly, and Warren shot me a keep-your-voice-down look. “Parson kicked me out of his office, telling Carmen that Scott had called. Anything significant discussed about him in their conversation?”

  “McQuillen plans to visit tomorrow.” Warren grinned. “Thanks to the camera, we’ll get the particulars on video.”

  I shook my head. “No. Parson won’t be there. So if Scott’s meeting with Carmen alone, it’ll probably be in her workspace.”

  Warren scowled. “See what you can do to move them into Parson’s office.”

  Use my persuasive powers on a woman who wants to get rid of me? Yeah, right.

  “Wait. We need to—”