The Partnership

by Dustin Stevens

  Right on top was the picture of the girl’s feet Reed had been staring at while seated at his desk a half hour before, the tattoos clearly visible. Beside each of the symbols was the corresponding numeral, two even clusters of five.

  “Here, take a look at this, see if it makes any sense to you,” Reed said.

  Scribbled in blue ink along the left side of the page were the numbers 5-7-3-9-4. Opposite them in matching script was 6-1-4-5-5.

  Moving away from his post in the doorway, his father crossed the room and came up beside him, peering the length of his nose at the paper.

  “5-7-3-9-4-6-1-4-5-5,” he read aloud, paused, then read them off once more, this time merely whispering to himself.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Bank account number?”

  “Maybe,” Reed said, staring down at the page another moment before pulling out the closest chair and sinking down into it, “but who gets their bank account number tattooed on their foot?”

  Making her way over from the counter, wiping her hands on her apron, his mother pressed up against her husband, taking a look at the picture.

  “The girl tattooed numbers in Chinese on the bottoms of her feet?”

  Leaning his back against the wall, Reed propped an elbow up on the table, using his hand to rub his eyes. “Well, we’re pretty sure she is Chinese, so that part’s not so surprising.”

  “Still...” his mother conceded, accepting the answer while making her point.

  “Right,” Reed agreed. “Unusual, most likely for a purpose, which is why I went to the trouble of tracking it down.”

  “Too many for a social security number,” his father said, pushing past the conversation, focusing on the numeric puzzle before them, “or a combination.”

  “Yup,” Reed said. “Went through a half-dozen other possibilities too. Latitude and longitude, tried matching it to zip codes. One was in Macomb, Illinois, and the other doesn’t exist.

  “I even took a stab at a simple alphabet substitution, but that didn’t work.”

  “5-7-3-9-4-6-1-4-5-5,” his mother read off again, saying the numbers slowly, as if hoping something would jump out at her. “Are we sure this is the right order?”

  Dropping his hand away from his eyes, the lights of the room seemed a bit distorted as Reed looked from the page to his parents.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, look,” she said, pointing at the page, “we keep looking at them this way because that’s the way they are in the picture.”

  Reaching out, she spun it around so the toes were facing downward, inverting the two clusters. “Maybe she had them tattooed this way, so they would be read left to right.”

  A tiny spark ignited within Reed as he leaned forward, looking at his own handwriting now jotted upside down.

  “6-1-4-5-5-5-7-3-9-1. Sonuva...” he muttered, catching himself just short of the punch line. “Mother, you are a genius.”

  Feeling his heart rate increase in his chest, Reed slid his phone from his hip and dropped it down on the table. As fast as he could he punched the digits in and pressed send, turning the volume over to speaker.

  Even trying to get away without letting them hear at this point would be an argument he in no way wanted to have, especially after a long day, with dinner just moments away.

  Besides, if it really turned out to be something so obvious, they had more than earned the right to listen in to whatever was on the other end of the number.

  Three distinct rings sounded through the kitchen, all three people gathered tight around the table, Reed seated and leaning forward, his parents both pressing in close.

  Opposite them Billie seemed to also sense what was happening, her ears visible above the far edge of the table.

  After the third ring the line cut to a pre-recorded message, the faint sound of fuzz audible before a woman’s voice came on over the line.

  Young but clear, it contained no accent whatsoever, nothing to indicate the speaker was non-native.

  “Hello, this is Bethanee Ing with the Columbus Dispatch. If you are listening to this recording, that likely means I have perished.

  “In such an event, please contact my editor Alaina Blair. She’ll be able to help.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Businessman had planned to sleep all that morning, just as he normally did, his daily schedule resembling something like six a.m. to one p.m. Most days he ended up falling just short of that goal, seven hours a bit optimistic given his particular line of work.

  One of the few upsides about running the club was that the hours tended to coincide with the twelve hour time difference to China, meaning he could conduct business on both sides of the globe simultaneously. Per accordance with Columbus laws the club closed at two, the remaining four hours spent closing the books for the evening and tending to affairs from afar.

  The sudden intrusion of The Muscle that morning had ruined things. It had pulled him awake just two hours into his sleep, had ensured he would spend the morning getting the images scanned and transmitted, a task that was infinitely more difficult than it should have been to ensure that no trail connected back to him or the organization.

  The combined effects of the stress of the previous few days and the lack of sleep had The Businessman running on reserve energy, his eyelids beginning to sag, his body feeling sluggish and lethargic.

  Based on what he was seeing as he stood and surveyed the floor below, the club seemed to be feeling much the same.

  The crowd was thinner than usual, the impending holidays taking customers away on vacation, or at the very least tying them down to their family. This The Businessman didn’t think too much of, knowing it would swing back the opposite direction right after the new year, the same people returning with two weeks of pent up angst ready to be released, their addictions having driven them almost mad in the time since their last visit.

  His real concern resided with the other half of the room.

  The meeting in his office twelve hours before had been meant to deliver a message. The girl in the news report had first shown up in a shipment a couple of months earlier. Such a rare find compared to what was normally delivered, The Businessman had lost his focus, thrusting the girl right into the rotation at the club, giving her far too much access for a new hire.

  At first his faith had seemed well rewarded, the customers extremely receptive, the girl’s flirtatious manner and flawless English making her a favorite. As a hostess her job was exclusively as a place setter, getting men comfortable, their inhibitions down, before handing them off to one of the other girls.

  In that role there was nobody better, a fact that had clouded The Businessman’s judgment. He should have seen her for what she was, somebody that was clearly there with an agenda.

  What her agenda was he still had no idea, the girl very good at covering her tracks, so good in fact that more than once he had wondered if in fact she was up to something else or he was just being paranoid.

  She was certainly not police or a federal agent, the girl having seen more than enough to put them all away months before. She could have been a reporter of some sort, though multiple surprise searches of her quarters revealed nothing to indicate as much.

  That lone point, not knowing who she was or what she was after, was the only reason The Businessman had not called for her removal sooner. He knew The Muscle had been clamoring for it long ago but had bristled, at first not wanting to lose a valuable asset, later because he wanted to know what to expect should she come up missing.

  Eventually the point had come though when whatever trepidations he had were pushed to the side. The girl’s actions were becoming too brazen, her insubordination making it obvious that she was far more than she pretended to be.

  Her removal, and the subsequent news coverage of it, were supposed to make it clear to the other girls what happened to those that stepped out of line. No matter how bad they might have believed they had it, things could always get worse.

&nbs
p; Standing along the railing outside his office, leaning heavily against it with his palms pressed into the polished black metal, it appeared that the message had been received to a crippling degree. The crowd was thin, but more than that the girls were non-interactive, clearly nervous and fidgety, casting glances to one another. Gone was any hint of flirtatious banter, replaced with open fear, none wanting to converse with those around them.

  This would never do. They needed the girls compliant, but they also needed them accomplishing the tasks they were imported for. Without that there would be no profit margin, and without a profit margin The Businessman’s place in America would be in jeopardy.

  His role was much more vital than The Muscle’s, that much he knew. He was family, controlled the finances, ran the fundamental aspects of the organization.

  The Muscle was nothing more than a hired hand. It was deemed a partnership, the man was paid far above his station, but at the end of the day, the suppliers would have no qualms cutting him loose, would have a replacement within a day.

  Even at that though, The Businessman knew it would not take a great deal for he himself to be cast aside as well. This was his fourth city since being sent stateside and while he had done excellent work thus far, there was always a steady supply of people lined up, just waiting for a similar opportunity.

  He might wear fancy suits and drive a nice car, but in a way he was not much different than the girls on the floor below, all sent to America for the hope of a better life.

  Anger spiked within him as he watched his employees going through the motions. He allowed it to pass through him, squeezing the rail tight enough to cause veins to bulge on the backs of his hands, before slowly releasing it, trying to force out some of the venom he felt within as well.

  He would give them today. What they had seen was jarring, would probably have an effect on him as well if in their position.

  Starting tomorrow though, things would return to normal.

  Or else.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  For the second time in as many days Reed started the morning with a trip to the precinct, forcing himself to wait until just after seven before arriving. Given that the stop would be a short one, the next several places on his list requiring the start of business hours, he had stayed at the house long enough to have a cup of coffee with his parents.

  With all three sprawled about the living room they had discussed the day ahead, Reed laying out the places he needed to go in the course of the investigation, his folks outlining some shopping they needed to get done and maybe even a restaurant they wanted to try for lunch.

  For just the briefest of moments the scene had managed to pull Reed from the reality of things, finding their presence a welcomed change from the norm. Once upon a time he and Riley had occasionally started days the same way, her swinging by his place to pick him up, coming early so they could have time to be normal people for a few minutes before heading off to work.

  Just one year before it had in fact been her sitting there, presenting him with the best and worst Christmas present he had ever received.

  In the moment he had been thrilled to get the Rose Bowl tickets, had called his father that moment to tell him to book a flight to Pasadena, they were going to watch the Sooners.

  Just six days later they had both been forced to stand in line at LAX to buy emergency tickets back, the unthinkable having occurred.

  Reed knew there was absolutely nothing he had done wrong, but it didn’t stop the occasional pang of guilt from creeping in. As much as he had come to respect and even admire Billie as a partner, he could not help but wonder if things would be different had he not gone to the game.

  Sure, Riley would have been hurt by his not making full use of her gift, but at least she would be alive.

  Aided by the rare jolt of liquid caffeine in his system, the thought held center court in his mind as he swung through the precinct and ran Bethanee Ing through the system.

  Starting with the DMV, there was only a single listing in the area with that name. The picture on it had all the expected differences between it and the person Reed first saw two nights before, there being more color in her cheeks, her hair pulled back behind her in a ponytail. An even row of white teeth was on display as well, a full smile gracing the girl’s face.

  At twenty-eight years old she was young and pretty, looked to be quite happy.

  The sight of her twisted his stomach a bit tighter as he pushed her name into the CPD database, finding her record clean.

  For a moment he considered running a Google search on her before thinking better of it, wanting to get to the Dispatch with no preconceived notions, letting them tell him where to best start looking. After that, if there were still holes to be filled in, he could easily go back and dig through the online records.

  Printing out a copy of her license, Reed led Billie down the stairs to the first floor, passing through the frosted glass just long enough to knock on the frame of Grimes’s door.

  “Hey, Captain, just wanted to let you know I got an ID on the girl.” He paused before continuing, waiting for Grimes to look up from his desk and motion them into the room before continuing.

  “Bethanee Ing,” Reed said, reciting the name from memory. He walked forward until he was standing just behind the visitor chair he normally used and crossed his arms, having no intention of staying long.

  “ME?” Grimes asked, remaining poised over his desk, both elbows resting against the front edge of it.

  “No,” Reed said, explaining the tattoos on the bottoms of her feet and the answering machine on the other end of the number. When he was done he waved the printout in his hand before him and added, “Just pulled her driver’s license, it’s definitely her.”

  Alternating a glance down at the paper before moving back up to Reed, Grimes nodded slightly. “Headed there now, I assume?”

  “I am,” Reed replied, “just wanted to let you know. After that I’ll swing by the address on her license, look to notify family if I find any.”

  A grunt in agreement was the only sound as Grimes again nodded, his face drawn tight.

  For a moment Reed got the impression there was something the captain wanted to say, his mind sorting through the possibilities before landing on the meeting at KCBS the day before, of the surprise on Dade’s face at his sudden arrival.

  Still, for as much as he wanted to know if anything had been said, this was not the time to be inquiring.

  If something needed to be addressed, it could be assured that Grimes would do it.

  “We’ll keep you posted,” Reed said, slapping at the side of his leg as he wheeled away, he and Billie both disappearing before another word could be exchanged.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Dispatch building was located on the east side of downtown, one of the last remaining vestiges of the old construction that had been in place before the gentrification of the Arena District and Short North took over. Standing a dozen stories tall, it was constructed of sandblasted brick, the exterior appearing pale white, as if it had once been painted and then eroded by years of exposure to the elements.

  Attached to the top of the building was a metal sign with letters standing several feet tall announcing the name of the publication. By night they would glow bright red, a proud advertisement for the paper that was produced below, but now in the early morning hours it was just barely visible, the plain steel blending in against the milky sky behind it.

  With the metered spaces on the street out front full, Reed pulled into the pay lot across the street. Dropping the ticket from the front gate onto his dash, he attached the short leash to Billie’s collar and led her to the front door, careful to have his badge plainly obvious as it swung against his chest, having no interest in another exchange like the one at KCBS the day before.

  Already more than a day and a half had slipped by since they found Bethanee Ing’s body, an unknown amount of time having passed since she went into the water before that.
Best case, her killer had the better part of two days head start, could be anywhere in the world, or of greater concern to Reed, could be planning to do it again.

  Now that he had a name, a clear heading, a message from the victim herself, Reed could feel the intensity within ratcheting upward. Already regretting the earlier coffee, sweat was forming in the small of his back, his heart rate pounding as he entered the lobby.

  The first floor of the building seemed to serve as a small strip mall for employees and downtown workers. In total more than a half dozen stores filled the space, a minimart, florist, and café present on one side, a newsstand, dry cleaners, and deli on the other.

  In the center of the space was a coffee cart, the pop-up business arranged in the center of an intricate tile mosaic on the floor. Already a line of consumers was stretched ten feet away from the stand, a pair of women hustling behind it to fill orders.

  “Damn,” Reed whispered, leading Billie around the edge of the commotion to a bank of elevators on the far wall. Fitting with the general design of the building, gold filigree was arranged in a vertical striped pattern over the front of each one, an arrow above the door rotating slowly to designate the floor they were stopped on.

  With no directory on the wall and no way of knowing what floor Alaina Blair would be on, Reed entered the closest elevator and took it to the second floor, exiting a moment later into a scene vastly different from the one in the lobby.

  Gone were any vestige of the original architectural style and the overall buzz of people and movement. In their stead was a drab cubicle farm, the color scheme grey and white, only a couple of heads visible as employees slogged back and forth, eyes half closed, appearing as if they would rather be anywhere else in the world.

  With Billie tight by his side, Reed moved forward a few steps in the aisle way before stopping and peering both directions.

  “Excuse me?” he said, his conversational tone sounding extra loud in the silent space.

  On cue a pair of people appeared from either side of the narrow aisle, one a young black man, the other a middle-aged Caucasian woman with red hair.