by Brian Bakos
33. Confrontations
This devoted band called itself the Eldorado Exploring Expedition, and I believe they were sworn to secrecy. – Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad
Finally, Laila could stand it no longer. The house was squeezing in like a giant clam, crushing the very life out of her. She had to get away from it! She had to retreat to the haven of her automobile; she needed cigarettes to soothe her jangled nerves. If she remained in her room swilling booze much longer, she wouldn’t be able to drive or do anything else.
She rushed out to her car. It was parked in its customary spot by the right hand wall of the garage. Next to it, holding pride of place in the center of the expansive building, reposed Frank’s SUV; at the far end was the little 2-seat sports car that he liked to bomb around in occasionally when he was feeling frisky. The interior of the garage was very dim, but she had no difficulty maneuvering its familiar spaces.
She opened the door to her car and started to get inside. Then she froze with horror. Directly in front of the car ...
Something was hanging from the ceiling – watching her!
“Oh!” she gasped.
The illusion lasted only a moment. Before she could even think of fleeing, it had vanished back into the evil realm from which it had emerged. Laila jumped into her car, fired the engine, and backed out of the garage with rubber squealing on the concrete.
She stomped the brakes at the security gate, pitching herself forward against the seat belt. Her fumbling operation of the remote control failed to get results. For a panicked moment, she thought that she was locked in. She stabbed at the remote again.
“Come on, open up!”
She had the ghastly feeling that something was creeping up behind her. Something dead and horrible, slithering out of the garage. At last the gate opened enough to permit her exit. Laila sped away, nearly scraping sheet metal against the partially opened gate, unaware that she was being observed from across the road.
A shadowy radio call announced her departure, and farther down the road, another vehicle fell in discreetly behind her amid the traffic.
Her favorite shopping mall was the destination – the same one where she’d ‘bumped into’ Keith weeks before. Would the bastard be lurking in there again? She’d take that risk; the other malls were farther away, and she didn’t fully trust herself behind the wheel.
Cars and pedestrians filled the sunny parking lot – everything looking prosperous and content. Inside the mall, crowds of people bustled past her talking, laughing, munching ice cream cones. Teenagers obsessed over their cell phone relationships. She felt like a wraith wandering among the living, unseen and unwelcome. She was estranged from all the people around her, as if she was of another species.
She moved past glamorous shop windows, scarcely noticing the mannequins clad in expensive outfits. She thought of stopping for lunch at one of the restaurants, but she wasn’t hungry despite having eaten nothing all day.
She moved into the central court with its large fountain shooting multi-colored jets of water into the air like magic sprites. This area never failed to cheer her up, but today it was drab, lifeless. The people around the fountain seemed grim, like funeral attendees.
Suddenly, an old woman was at her elbow. Laila flinched as if from an electric shock.
“Who ... what do you want?” she gasped.
Laila had seen this lady before, recognized the cunning, malign expression on her face. Gemrock! And someplace else farther back in time, as well ...
What was she doing here?
“I have tread the path you’re on now,” the woman said. “You must beware the perils – too much guilt and too much greed.”
“W-what?”
But the mysterious lady said nothing more. She moved off and joined two others waiting for her by the fountain. The trio disappeared behind the jets of water.
$$$
Patricia regarded Henry over the rim of her martini glass, rather savoring her younger brother’s discomfort, along with the premium Russian vodka.
“I really blew it with Dad today, Sis,” he said, taking a dose from his own martini.
“How many times have you said that before over the years?” Patricia replied. “You sound like a broken record.”
“I mean it this time,” Henry said. “He was totally pissed off!”
Patricia sighed. “So what happened, exactly?”
“He called me at the worst possible moment. I was ... indisposed.”
“Indisposed?” Patricia asked. “Like with the ladies, you mean?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Patricia kept a serious expression on her face, but inwardly she was smiling. That was Henny for you, always getting into trouble with his pecker. She couldn’t imagine how Debbie put up with it, unless she was on a truly world class denial trip.
And why had he come all the way to her apartment just to talk about this? Did he really expect her to care? Then again, she’d been just as foolish herself, calling him after the breakup with Kristen. This seemed to be an intractable part of their sibling relationship – always seeking approval and sympathy from each other when there really wasn’t any.
“I can’t seem to please him, no matter what I do,” Henry whined. “I quit the Party because of him, didn’t I? You’d think he’d pat me on the back a little, but ohhh no!”
“Well, Dad never claimed to be ‘Mr. Cuddly,’” Patricia said. “If you’re looking for affection, I suggest buying a dog.”
$$$
John “Blackjack” Hogan sat at his desk pondering the items he’d received from Frank Armstrong. His calendar had been full, but he’d cancelled every other commitment in order to deal with this ugly matter.
When he’d visited Frank’s office earlier today, the poor man had been distraught, showing him compromising photographs of his wife with her ex-husband, along with a blackmail note. Hogan had immediately smelled a rat and advised Frank to disregard the slander until it could be investigated.
As if Frank, or any other man, could remain calm with something like this hanging over his head.
What a fabulous woman Laila was! Hogan had met her briefly once, years ago at a cocktail party, and had been immediately smitten, as any other man would have been. She looked even better in the photographs – more mature, with a subtle, underlying sadness to her face. If this was the portrait of a woman on the prowl, he’d eat his law license!
How did a guy like Frank Armstrong snag a beauty like this and hang on to her for all this time? Hogan shook his head and contemplated his own solitary life. There really was no justice in the world. He looked wistfully up at the photo of his spacious lot on Corozal Bay where he planned to build his retirement home.
Stick to business, John. Get to the bottom of this mess.
Hogan was a big, imposing man with a head shaved like an egg. Within it resided a sharp legal mind. He’d been Frank’s personal attorney for many years, liked and admired the man. They understood each other well. He was one of the few people in Frank’s hire that could not be bullied, despite the fat retainers. At the first hint of abuse, John Hogan would simply walk out and never return. Frank respected that.
Hogan also knew Frank’s two children, and he despised them both – especially Patricia. In Hogan’s mind, she was the lead suspect behind this whole matter. As the eldest offspring and next in line to Frank’s power and money, she had a strong motivation to move her step mother out of the way.
Then there was the reorganization plan Henry Armstrong was advocating. Hogan didn’t like the looks of it, and not just for its rather dodgy legal foundations. The thought of Henry Armstrong gaining power in his father’s business affairs riled him on a visceral level. He’d advised Frank to go slow with it until all the angles could be considered.
Well, his investigators were on the compromising photos case now – all of them top people in their field. Hogan also knew who the less reputable private investigators were, the ones more likely to partici
pate in a frame-up. It was just a matter of greasing some palms and twisting a few arms before the real story emerged, Hogan believed.
Then again, maybe the tracks were more deeply buried than he could dig up. There was even the possibility that the photographs were authentic, but Hogan simply couldn’t credit the idea.
As for Keith Frost, he planned to interview that ‘gentleman’ himself. He studied the card bearing the address his investigators had found, then tucked it into his wallet.
Hogan was a man who hated to lose, and he seldom did.
