26th
02 -
2011
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2 comments »
(Or RoW80 Check In for February 27th)
Between July and November of 2010 I wrote 11K words on Luck for Hire. I worked on Model Species in November and took December off. In January, I joined A Round of Words in 80 Days and made a goal to add 50K to Luck in 80 days. 10K every two weeks. The best laid schemes of mice and men…
Every book has a slightly different process. Generally, Eric knows the nature of the end of the book when we start. With Pas de Chat, he knew the steps to get there with little diversion. With Divine Fire, the exact ending was fairly elusive and only fell into place after Eric mulled it over for years. The nature of Luck for Hire is such that we left a lot of plot avenues open. Who are the good guys? Who are the bad guys? Who are the ambiguously gray guys? Eric knew the ending, more or less, but the journey was full of paths to take.
Of course, the more I wrote, the fewer paths could be left open. Halfway through RoW80, we had hit the major plot points of Luck for Hire. I had added about 27K words (33K minus rewritten materials). Decent progress for a month and a half. The last two weeks have been spent in inspection and rewriting. This is the hard part. The fatiguing part. What layers need to be added? Where are the weaknesses?
We decided to link up a few of the characters, giving Aleister and Dana a past relationship and Aleister and the LVPD a present one. We’re going to add to the Las Vegas section of the book and hopefully do more to pit Aleister against Howell. Eric’s rewriting a few scenes in a more direct way than he’s done in the past, which is exciting. And I have epigraphs to write. The thought is to augment some chapters with news stories about the events. Having not one journalistic bone in my body, I’m not raring to write these, but it’s work that needs to be done. On Monday, I’ll start on my next 10K goal.
Visit other RoW80 participants:
7th
01 -
2011
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4 comments »
“Aleister, I’m being watched. I’m sure of it.”
“Have dinner in a crowded restaurant, Dana. Then check yourself into a nice hotel room. You’ll be fine.” Impatiently, he ended the call and switched over to music. Queen tonight. Freddy Mercury’s grandiosity suited New York.
Bardem’s Market was the sort of place Aleister could appreciate. In addition to the usual selection of beverages and convenience foods, it stocked a seemingly random array of household items. Duct tape. Putty knives and spackle. Barbecue tongs. Tiny screws for eyeglasses and hearing aid batteries. They also had a wide selection of candy.
Alcander collected a putty knife, a Rocky Road candy bar and a carton of some off-brand of fortified chocolate milk. The advertising on the carton made a big deal of being higher in protein than regular chocolate milk and the “traditional” carton was eco-friendly. Aleister didn’t care. He wanted chocolate milk and it was the only brand that Bardem’s carried.
That wasn’t all he wanted, but he couldn’t quite decide what else he needed. He would buy scratch cards since he was in a state that had a lottery. He could use the extra cash. But what else? He lingered, as he always did.
The cashier, a balding man, sat behind the counter reading a car magazine. Aleister Luck wasn’t sure if the man had noticed him when he came in and didn’t seem to care if Aleister loitered. There were cameras, but Aleister didn’t look up to see them.
Aleister crouched down to finger a roll of waxed twine when the man walked in and started shouting loud enough that Aleister could hear it over Princes of the Universe.
“Open the register! Open the register!”
Aleister cursed under his breath, a sound that not even he heard over his music. In his lifetime, he had been involved in more robberies than he cared to count. Partly, it was because he liked convenience stores and gas stations. But mostly, this was simply how his life was.
He inferred several things about the situation without moving from his concealed spot. The robber was standing near the counter. He was probably waving a gun at the cashier.
Aleister didn’t fear the robber and his gun, but was dismayed at what this incident indicated about Aleister’s plan for the evening.
Regardless, action had to be taken.
Luck opened the carton of chocolate milk. In one movement, Aleister rose and threw it in the general direction of the counter and the thief’s ski-mask-covered head.
The milk missed the robber. Instead, it hit a magazine rack that sat on the counter. It ricocheted and splattered and fell on the floor.
Yes, the robber definitely had a gun. He pointed it in Aleister’s direction and the cold case behind Aleister exploded. Aleister threw himself to the side. The thief followed. Or rather he tried. The protein-fortified milk was viscous and covered a patch of floor at the thief’s feet. His right foot lost purchase and he fell. His head caught on the edge of counter on the way down and thudded heavily on the floor as he landed. He was out cold.
Aleister collected a second carton of milk from the refrigerated case. He fished a twenty dollar bill from his wallet and put it on the counter. The cashier hadn’t quite recovered. He had popped the register and collected the money. And had most likely triggered a silent alarm.
Aleister deftly avoided the spilt milk and plucked the gun from the man’s hand. He considered for a moment and took the ski mask as well. These were the other things he needed tonight.
The robber wasn’t bleeding; Aleister suspected that he was only suffering from a concussion. While robbery didn’t mark this man as the smartest of the population, Aleister was pleased that the thief had invested in a no-slip grip on his gun. Less finger prints on the handle.
Aleister heaved a sigh.
“It’s going to be a very long night,” he told the cashier as he left Bardem’s.
22nd
10 -
2010
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no comment »
This is the second part of Smith’s revitalization, being the third part of a chapter I call “Compatriots.” Part 1 & Part 2 have their own entries.
—###—
Compatriots (3 of 3)
Aleister ended the call and joined Smith at the table. Smith had set up Aleister’s laptop next to one of his own.
Dana hovered behind. “I have no idea why he copied all that he did. I’m sure some of it sure, but…”
“Oh, it will all be useful,” said Smith. “If Chicky-D collected it, it will all be useful. Just give me some time to look it all over.”
Dana started pacing. “Time. Do we actually have time?”
“We’re not going anywhere until tomorrow,” said Aleister. “Why don’t we take a short shopping trip after we eat and give Smith a chance to do his thing. By the way, Smith, your payment and the numbers for Dana’s card should be en route to you.”
“I know you’re good for it,” said Smith. He didn’t look up from the laptops. “I’ll press the cards in a few minutes.”
To Aleister’s relief, Dana’s misplaced sense of urgency extended into their shopping foray. She didn’t spend long in any one store. She visited several boutiques and bought several new outfits and then moved on to Target for necessities like shampoo and underwear. Aleister paid for everything, putting it on a random card from his wallet.
When they returned to Every Game, Terri was further along in her book and the clientele playing online games had increased. In the back, the pizza was still warm and Smith was where they left him.
“What do think about the files?”
Aleister waited until the question penetrated Smith’s bubble of concentration.
He clicked over to a folder. “These files are from R. That’s a software package for statistical computing. It’s fairly popular in the biotech research community. Which, I gather from the some of the other documents is what Benes was a part of.”
“Do you have a list of Dr. Benes’ colleagues?” Aleister asked. He took a seat at the table, while Dana continued the restless pacing she had begun earlier.
“Yes. Yes, that was simple.” Smith waved the question away like it was a fly. “You might have told me that he was a cancer researcher. That might have been helpful.”
“Sorry.” Aleister gathered a paper plate and a thick slice of pepperoni pizza.
“Well, it looks like these researchers found a way to predict what drugs would work against a certain cancer by what cancer genes are found.” Again Smith clicked between several open files. “Benes seems to be saying that cancer drug treatments are only helpful about five percent of the time, and that this diagnostic can determine whether a certain drug and gene configuration can lead to a successful treatment.”
“That a good thing, right?” asked Aleister.
“It’s good for patients,” said Dana, “but not for companies that make cancer drugs. If their therapies are used more targeted manner, they’ll lose sales from treatment trial and error.”
“It could end up being a loss of big money. That’s why his research was being stifled,” said Smith. “You do not want to get on the bad side of Big Pharma. I would guess that the big, evil law firm that you used to work for is getting a kick back. They helped facilitated Benes’ disappearance, didn’t they?”
Dana sat with a thud. Her face had gone pale enough for even Smith to notice.
“Don’t worry,” said Smith, “Chicky-D will keep you safe.” On some unheard cue, he popped from his seat.
“How does he know about statistic programs and cancer genes?” Dana asked when Smith was a set of shelves away.
“Smith has a lot of hobbies,” said Aleister. “Some of us work by not paying much attention to the world. And people like Smith have their eyes open to everything.”
Aleister took over at his laptop and brought up airline websites.
“Here you go Ms. Kendricks.” Smith returned and handed Dana her new ID and a credit card.
Dana frowned over the two pieces of plastic. “I’m from North Dakota. No one is from North Dakota.”
Smith grinned. “Exactly. No one is familiar with it, no one is going to be able to scrutinize it. At least I didn’t make you from Fargo.”
15th
10 -
2010
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2 comments »
Process: Remember Smith? No, you probably don’t. My first go at giving Aleister Luck a compatriot was not very interesting. What Aleister needed was a Moz and what I gave him was a generic non-player character. This is a rewrite of Smith. At over 1200 words, this is only the first half of that scene, up until the phone call to Templeton Schlotz. I’ll post the conclusion of this scene next week.
—###—
Compatriots (1 of 3)
Dana’s heart sank a little when they pulled into the strip mall’s parking lot. The white stucco glared in the afternoon sunlight and the pink and lime green trim did nothing to make the building more chic. An eponymously named hair and nail salon was flanked by a Dollar General and double storefront called Every Game. A tattoo parlor and a bartending academy rounded out the mall.
Aleister tossed his sunglasses on the dashboard and Dana wished for the fiftieth time that she had chosen to take her other purse to the casino. The clutch that had matched that outfit hadn’t been big enough for her sunglasses much less a hairbrush or makeup other than the pink lipstick. They couldn’t go to her apartment, she knew that, but she felt unhinged from her reality with only a few meager belongings.
Aleister promised that they would stop to buy essentials, but this was not the kind of place that Dana had in mind. She took a deep breath that came out as a chuckle.
“Anything wrong?” Aleister asked.
“Nothing new,” Dana replied. Her life was in danger and she was concerned about belongings.
Outside the car she headed to the dollar store, but Aleister did not.
“You need to come with me.” He heaved open the door to Every Game. “We need to get a few things squared away before we get you better outfitted for travel.”
“And we need to do that here?”
In Dana’s estimation, Every Game tried to live up to its name. She recognized only a fraction of the board games on the shelves and didn’t quite know what to make of the array of cards and dice on display. Shelves on a far wall held books illustrated with dragons, green-skin bogeys, and other monsters. Another wall was covered with racks of small, unpainted pewter figures. The rest of the store’s floor space was occupied by several large tables and an array of desks with privacy dividers and power strips. Most were empty, but a few had computers set up in them and others were occupied by young men using laptops. All were engaged in computer games of some sort.
The cashier was a young woman with pink hair. Dana wondered if the tattoo that flowed from her shoulder to her wrist had been done at the parlor a couple doors down. The cashier put aside thick novel when Dana and Aleister walked in.
“Can I help you?” The area behind her counter included a wide selection of snack foods as well as a glass-doored refrigerator of soda and energy drinks.
“Is Smith around?”
“He’s in back.” She nodded in that general direction. “I’ll warn you though. He’s working on upgrading a system for one of our customers and it wasn’t going well. There’s been cursing.”
Aleister grinned. “We’ll watch ourselves.”
“Do me a favor. Take one these back with you.” She took a miniature bottle of orange juice from the fridge and handed it to Aleister. “And remind him that he should eat lunch.”
“Isn’t it a little late for lunch?” Dana commented. The last time she had checked her cell phone it was well after 2pm.
“Well, I doubt he remembered to eat breakfast either.”
The exchange caught the attention of two of the computer gamers near the counter. They frowned at Dana’s presence and traded glances.
The back room of Every Game was separated from the store by several sheets of pegboard and a metal chain that hooked between them. Beyond, ceiling-high metal shelves were piled with extra stock. Aleister picked his way through the maze of shelves until they came to an oasis with a large table in its midst.
Smith was a skinny man, less pale and older than Dana expected. He was hunched over an opened computer tower and a mess of circuit boards and wires. Several other computers and a pile of textbooks vied for space on the tabletop.
“Hey, Smith,” said Aleister.
“Chicky-D! Nice to see you.” He barely glanced in Aleister’s direction and didn’t seem like he was going to disengage from his work any time soon. “What brings you by?”
“I need your help on few things. Unfortunately, time is a consideration.”
“No, problem. I’m not getting anywhere with this without a run to Fry’s. It’s running way too hot. I think it’s this damn video card, but Bill won’t let me replace it.”
“Chicky-D?” Dana asked.
“Yeah,” said Smith. “Chicky-D. Short for chicken dinner. You know, ‘Winner, winner, chicken dinner’? Big Al here has some pretty incredible luck. Or haven’t you noticed?” He said everything without meeting either Aleister or Dana’s gaze.
“I have noticed,” said Dana.
“Actually, incredible might be an understatement. There was this one time when we were playing…”
“Luck is for fools,” said Aleister.
The statement stung Dana, but did a good enough job of derailing Smith.
“So, what do you guys need?”
“First, this is for you.” Aleister handed the man the bottle of orange juice. “And Terri says you should eat lunch.”
Smith snorted and opened the juice. “Too late for lunch.”
“We’re going to need an ID and some cards for Dana.” Aleister lowered his voice, though Dana doubted that much could be heard with the books and boxes that clogged the shelves. “And I wouldn’t mind it if you’d take a look at some data I have.”
“That’s an interesting set of requests,” Smith commented.
“I can add extra to your usual fees.”
“Oh, no. That’s not necessary. You need these things tonight?”
Aleister nodded. “Yeah. We plan on travelling in the morning.”
“No problem.”
Preparations for the fake driver’s license were taken care of quickly. From the labyrinth of metal shelves, Smith produced a plain blue background and a camera with a flash that whistled at a pitch below dog’s hearing as it recharged.
“Try to think of being at the DMV and having to wait about three hours for this picture to be taken,” Smith advised.
When Dana saw the digital photo, she thought she looked desperate and plain with no makeup, her hair in a ponytail, and a deep worried crease in her forehead.
“And I’ll need your new signature.” He presented her with a pad and pen. “What’s your middle name?
“Beverly,” said Dana.
“Does anyone ever call you that?”
“No. I’ve never liked it.”
“Okay, how about Felicia?”
Dana shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have an opinion.” She glanced at Aleister, but he was busy setting up his laptop amid Smith’s mess of computers.
“How does Felicia Kendricks sound? Write it about three times and print it once.”
Dana did as she was asked. “How do you know to do this?”
Smith shrugged. “A hobby. Chicky-D, helps keeps me in the black so I don’t have to worry about how the store does.”
“You own the store?”
“That’s a hobby too, though more of Terri’s than mine.”
As if summoned by her name, the pink-haired girl peeked around one of the shelves. “If you haven’t eaten yet, I’m going to order some pizza. Would you two like some as well?”
“That would be great,” said Aleister.
Smith shrugged in apathy. “Get me an order of that cheesy bread.”
“Any thoughts on toppings?” Terri asked.
No one answered. Aleister had moved away from the table and was dialing his phone.
“Anyone?” Terri raised her eyebrows in Dana’s direction.
“I don’t have an opinion,” said the new Felicia Kendricks.
15th
10 -
2010
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1 comment »
Note: The chapter Preparations doesn’t quite work. In its stead are The (R)Evolution of Smith pt. 1, Phone Call, and The (R)evolution of Smith pt. 2.
—###—
Compatriots (2 of 3)
“Templeton and Schlotz, how can I help you?”
“Good morning, Cindy. This is Aleister Luck. Is Mr. Schlotz available?” Aleister had never met Cindy, but from her voice he imagined her as honey-blonde with blue eyes that could either be icy cold or as warm as a summer sky.
“Oh, good morning, Mr. Luck. Mr. Schlotz arrived at the office about ten minutes ago and has some time before his first appointment. Give me a moment to put you through.”
Aleister suspected that if Jacob Schlotz was in the middle of a board meeting he’d likely take a moment to speak to Aleister. Aleister didn’t care to contemplate exactly what that implied.
“Hello, Aleister. What can we do for you?” Aleister had never met Schlotz either. The old man had a nasal voice that made him sound like he always had a bad cold. While their relationship had always been one of banker and client, Schlotz always called Aleister by his first name while Aleister only referred to his elder as Mr. Schlotz.
“I’m going to be traveling over the next few days and will need enough in my discretionary fund.” They never spoke in terms of an exact number.
“Relocating?”
“No. Following up with some people.”
“By air?”
“Mostly.” Aleister was never entirely sure and Schlotz knew that.
“Cindy should have sent your updated travel account numbers. If you don’t have them, talk to her and she’ll pull them for you.”
“I have them.” Aleister was sure that Cindy had sent the new cards or new account numbers or whatever it was that Aleister would require. He might have placed the cards in his wallet; it didn’t matter. He’d have what he needed in those cases, but he’d learned years ago that it was best to notify Schlotz when situations like this arose.
“I also need a new card number.”
“Do you want us to issue the card and send it to you?”
“That won’t be necessary. Please, leave it open until my representative contacts you. I will also need a monetary transfer to my representative’s account.”
Dana was watching him and listening to the conversation. Aleister rose and walked to the kitchen. He tucked his phone against his shoulder and gathered two bottles of Gordon Biersch from the refrigerator.
“None of this is a problem. Is there anything else you need, Aleister?” This was not a business question. Schlotz had known Aleister’s father and knew that both father and son entered into and extracted themselves from predicaments with ease. Every year, Aleister received an invitation to the Schlotz get-together, an old school social event in Geneva for family, friends, and close clients. Aleister had never attended.
“What sort of job are you on?” Schlotz asked.
“I’m wrapped up in something going on here in Las Vegas. Something that found me.” He imagined a silent nod from Schlotz.
“Will legal recourse be needed?”
“Possibly. I hope not.” By which Aleister meant, most likely.
“We’ll keep tabs then. You know to call us if you need to.”
“I will do that, Mr. Schlotz. Thank you.”
“Let me transfer you back to Cindy.”
It wasn’t necessary, but Aleister waited until Cindy’s sweet voice greeted him again. “You should be all set, Mr. Luck. Don’t forget your passports.”
“Thank you, Cindy.”
8th
10 -
2010
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2 comments »
Process: This isn’t a scene that we’re particularly happy with. It lacks punch, especially on the heals of Preparations. The Preparations chapter is currently getting a rewrite and some of the content from it will moved into this scene. In the end, this lull might work better when all is said and done.
A few weeks back I wrote a short short for 52|250 featuring Mr. Luck. While whimsical, it isn’t cannon. “Magic, Inconspicuous” gives Aleister abilities that are beyond his capacities.
—###—
Mr. Borhan and Ms. Kendricks Travel
When travelling alone, airports were tiring places for Aleister Luck.
On one hand, every traveler was the object of vigilance. Cameras, security personnel, bored people-watchers in airport bars all observed with varying levels of interest. Under those circumstances, it was difficult for Aleister to do anything.
On the other hand, an airport offered many options. Aleister knew that fellow passengers are truly interested in one thing: what they themselves are doing. Travel veterans who were used to the routines of kiosks, metal detectors, and transferred flights showed purposeful disinterest in what happened to others. It was within those gaps that Aleister could work.
But with Dana Spelman at his side? Aleister steeled himself for a series of very long trips.
“Did you print out our confirmation numbers?” she asked as she headed toward the check-in kiosks. Aleister stopped her with a hand on her elbow and steered her to a counter.
“Follow my lead,” he reminded her.
The young man at the check in counter gave Aleister a strained smile. “Where will you be flying to today?”
Most of his job involved verifying boarding passes and checking bags. These days, it was rare that someone approached his counter needing to book a flight.
“New York. La Guardia.” Aleister hadn’t glanced at the departure board.
With a look at the impatient queue of passengers, he tapped his touch screen. “There are three seats left on the 9:55 flight.”
“When is the next flight after that?”
The clerk’s eyebrows lifted. “2:35 in the afternoon. Five seats available.”
“We’ll take the 9:55.” Aleister drew a credit card and his driver’s license from his wallet. Without looking at them, he knew the names on them all would match.
“Would you like to book a return trip as well?”
“Not at this time.”
The clerk saw that Aleister was only carrying a backpack, but still asked, “Checking any baggage this morning, Mr. Borhan?”
“No.”
The clerk drummed his fingers in the top of his console while the boarding pass printed. He tucked it and Aleister’s card into an envelope and wrote the departure gate number on the outside in green marker. “And you as well, ma’am?”
“Yes, we’re…” To Aleister’s relief, she didn’t try to justify their pairing with any particular story. “Yes, La Guardia. Same flight.”
She also remembered to use her Kendrick ID and didn’t bat an eyelash when called by that name.
“Have a good trip. Thank you for flying Southwest.”
*****
They rented a car and Aleister drove out of the city.
“Wasn’t one of the researchers at Columbia? I assumed that we’d be visiting him first.” She dug her notebook computer from her backpack and balanced it on her lap.
“We’re going to New Jersey,” said Aleister. At least, that was where he was headed at the moment.
“Okay.”
As Aleister drove along the I-278, Dana checked through her files and list.
“Princeton?” she asked.
Aleister knew that if he ignored her, Dana would repeat her question and ask more.
“Listen, Dana. You’re here because it was dangerous to leave you in Las Vegas. I have a very specific way of working and I’d rather you didn’t impinge on it.”
“If you let me know what you intend, I can…”
“No. It doesn’t work like that. I go where I need to be.”
“And we need to take a drive to Princeton instead of meeting the researcher at Columbia?”
“It would seem so.”
“And, this information that you stole, does it have any purpose? Because I’ve turned it every which way and it doesn’t tell me any more about Benes’ research than I already knew.”
“It has a purpose.” He had transferred the files to Dana’s computer, but Aleister kept the flash drive and Dana’s old SIM card in a secure travel wallet.
“You know what it is yet?”
Aleister shrugged. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”
“Fine.” With a sideways glance, Dana closed the laptop.
To further discourage conversation, Aleister turned on the radio and switched stations until he found something loud. Stone Temple Pilots from their first album. Dana winced and made a face but was quiet until the song was over.
“Would you mind if I put something on?” she asked.
“Knock yourself out.”
Dana hooked her MP3 up to the car’s stereo and fiddled with its dial. Eventually a woman’s voice filled the cab of the car, soaring over a hybrid of electronic and symphonic melodies. It was unfamiliar to Aleister and pleasant enough, but he didn’t ask Dana any questions about the artist. Aleister wasn’t in the mood to converse.
George Pitzner lived in the middle of a tree-lined street of row houses. Each townhouse was painted a slightly different shade of blue-gray and had their own stoop. Aleister parked across the street and did not hesitate to approach Pitzner’s door.
“Shouldn’t we wait?” While Aleister had crossed the street without concern for traffic–there was none–Dana glanced back and forth with a paranoid air.
“Wait for what?” Aleister asked.
“I don’t know. To make sure it’s safe?”
“We’re safe.”
Aleister rang the bell twice. When his patience wore thin, he pounded with the side of his fist.
“Doesn’t seem to be anyone at home.” Dana peeked through one of the windows that flanked the door. “I think I have a work address. And a phone number or two.”
Aleister shook his head. None of those things would do any good. He beat on the door again, harder.
George Pitzner’s door didn’t open, but a window in the next townhouse did. A woman with cottony white hair poked her head out.
“He’s not home,” she said.
“Can you tell us when he’s coming back?” Dana asked.
“He’s not. He’s dead. I take it you didn’t know that.”
Aleister wasn’t surprised. “How long ago?”
One of the woman’s bony shoulders raised in a disinterested shrug. “Few days. Luckily, he carpooled and one of his coworkers had a key. Well, I think she was more than a coworker. Anyway, she found the body.”
“That’s terrible,” said Dana.
“How?” Aleister asked.
“Heart attack, they say.”
“Do you think it was something other than that?” Aleister skipped down the steps of Pitzner’s stoop and leaned toward his neighbor’s window.
“He was a quiet guy. Kept to himself. Acted kind of strange sometimes.” The woman settled in on the window ledge. Her fingers tapped on the casing and Aleister wondered how long she had smoked before she gave it up. “I think he was on some medications. You know that type. Maybe he’s on some meds, maybe he drinks a little, maybe he forgets and takes an extra dose of whatever.” She waved her invisible cigarette toward the sky. “You know like that actor. That good-looking kid that they said was suicide, but was really an accidental OD.”
Aleister nodded. He didn’t remember the details. “Did he have many visitors? Other than the coworker that may have been more than a carpool buddy?”
“No. He was real quiet,” she repeated.
“Nothing a few days back, maybe at night?”
“Truthfully? I don’t hear so good anymore.”
“Well, thank you for your help,” said Aleister.
The woman’s bony shoulder rose and fell. “Are you two police or something? ”
“Or something,” Aleister agreed.
“Nothing to me.” She pulled her woolen head back through the window and shut it.
Dana was still standing on George Pitzner’s stoop. She had worn the gold earring, a cascade of gold substantial enough to set off the metal detector at the airport. They glittered against the paleness of her face. “So, he’s dead.”
“Seems so.” Aleister headed to the car and Dana followed after a moment.
“We’re too late then,” she said once they were in the car. “I thought you said this is where we needed to be.”
She turned away from Aleister and stared out the passenger side window.
Aleister started driving, heading in the vague direction of New York.
This situation was trying. Aleister had always worked alone, though he had done so mostly through lack of opportunity. While he had confederates like Smith and Mr. Schlotz, a partner had never sought him out. His magic had failed at the casino when she watched him, and it was quite possible that her very presence was confounding. Still, Aleister couldn’t accept that Princeton was a mistake.
“Will we be going into his apartment tonight?” Dana asked.
“I’m not sure there’s any reason to,” said Aleister.
“Do you think he only had a heart attack?”
“I think that’s fairly unlikely.”
“So, he was murdered too?”
Aleister didn’t answer.
“Then all these men are in danger? All the ones on this list?”
“There are several women too.”
“Yes, that makes me feel so much better. What a waste of time.” Dana thumped the car door with the side of her fist. “Now we’re behind. Whoever DCM sent, they’ve probably been to Columbia as well. We might as well go back to Las Vegas and wait for them to hunt us down.”
“Whoever DCM sent is patient. He’s good at what he does, and he’s not going to rush what needs to be done. He needs time to survey his mark. The few hours we spent in Jersey aren’t going to affect that.”
Dana still watched the traffic through the passenger window. “I hope you’re right. Time is but stream we go a-fishing in.”
16th
09 -
2010
|
4 comments »
In front of a plain blue background, Dana Spelman winced as Smith’s camera flashed. To Aleister Luck, she looked five years younger with minimal makeup and her hair in a ponytail. Aside from the line that creased her forehead.
“How about once more without the consternation?” Smith gave her an encouraging smile. “Surely this isn’t the first illegal thing you’ve ever done.”
It was meant as a joke, but the joke fell flat. Smith took the headshot a second time without much difference in the result. Dana bolted from the stool before the flash from the camera faded from Aleister’s eyes.
“I need your new signature,” Smith called to her. “How does the name Felicia Kendricks sound?”
“Fine, I suppose,” said Dana.
“Sign that name three times. Then, make yourselves at home while I fix this up,” said Smith. “There’s beer in the fridge.”
Although sparse, Smith’s apartment was nicer than any of Aleister’s domiciles. The photography area was set in a spacious walk-in closet and could be easily concealed. His collection of computers, printers, laminators, and magnetic strip encoders littered the suite’s extra bedroom. The rest of the apartment was similar to any kept by a young man in the tech industry: an excellent home entertainment area and few other amenities or decorations.
Once Smith was sufficiently embroiled in his work, Aleister sank into one of the thick chairs facing the very large flat screen television.
“He does have a point,” Aleister said. “Considering your history, is this going to be a problem?”
Dana brushed her bangs out of her face with her fingers. Strangely, she still had the polished bearing of a lawyer from Devine, Chance and Merit. “It’s been a little over-whelming, you know? I never saw myself having to get a fake ID and using stolen credit cards to get by. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you in this. I wouldn’t have known where to go.”
“Smith is very good at his job, and you won’t be using a stolen credit card,” said Aleister. “Just relax. Take another look at the data we pulled from Devine, Chance and Merit while I make call. Or better yet, take Smith up on the offer of a beer.”
Dana nodded, again resolute. “Yeah. I’m still not sure why you copied some of this.”
“We’ll find it useful,” said Aleister. He opened his phone and dialed, as he usually did, without looking at the numbers.
“Templeton and Schlotz, how can I help you?”
“Good morning, Cindy. This is Aleister Luck. Is Mr. Schlotz available?” Aleister had never met Cindy, but from her voice he imagined her as honey-blonde with blue eyes that could either be icy cold or as warm as a summer sky.
“Oh, good morning, Mr. Luck. Mr. Schlotz arrived at the office about ten minutes ago and has some time before his first appointment. Give me a moment to put you through.”
Aleister suspected that if Jacob Schlotz was in the middle of a board meeting he’d likely take a moment to speak to Aleister. Aleister didn’t care to contemplate exactly what that implied.
“Hello, Aleister. What can we do for you?” Aleister had never met Schlotz either. The old man had a nasal voice that made him sound like he always had a bad cold. While their relationship had always been one of banker and client, Schlotz always called Aleister by his first name while Aleister only referred to his elder as Mr. Schlotz.
“I’m going to be traveling over the next few days and will need enough in my discretionary fund.” They never spoke in terms of an exact number.
“Relocating?”
“No. Following up with some people.”
“By air?”
“Mostly.” Aleister was never entirely sure and Schlotz knew that.
“Cindy should have sent your updated travel account numbers. If you don’t have them, talk to her and she’ll pull them for you.”
“I have them.” Aleister was sure that Cindy had sent the new cards or new account numbers or whatever it was that Aleister would require. He might have placed the cards in his wallet; it didn’t matter. He’d have what he needed in those cases, but he’d learned years ago that it was best to notify Schlotz when situations like this arose.
“I also need a new card number.”
“Do you want us to issue the card and send it to you?”
“That won’t be necessary. Please, leave it open until my representative contacts you. I will also need a monetary transfer to my representative’s account.”
Dana was watching him and listening to the conversation. Aleister rose and walked to the kitchen. He tucked his phone against his shoulder and gathered two bottles of Gordon Biersch from the refrigerator.
“None of this is a problem. Is there anything else you need, Aleister?” This was not a business question. Schlotz had known Aleister’s father and knew that both father and son entered into and extracted themselves from predicaments with ease. Every year, Aleister received an invitation to the Schlotz get-together, an old school social event in Geneva for family, friends, and close clients. Aleister had never attended.
“What sort of job are you on?” Schlotz asked.
“I’m wrapped up in something going on here in Las Vegas. Something that found me.” He imagined a silent nod from Schlotz.
“Will legal recourse be needed?”
“Possibly. I hope not.” By which Aleister meant, most likely.
“We’ll keep tabs then. You know to call us if you need to.”
“I will do that, Mr. Schlotz. Thank you.”
“Let me transfer you back to Cindy.”
It wasn’t necessary, but Aleister waited until Cindy’s sweet voice greeted him again. “You should be all set, Mr. Luck. Don’t forget your passports.”
“Thank you, Cindy.” He ended the call, retook his seat, and placed the bottles on the coffee table next to Dana’s laptop.
“Once Smith is finished, we’re all set. May I?”
She took one of the beers and turned the laptop in Aleister’s direction.
Aleister killed the connection she had been using and found an unprotected wireless signal.
“Again, Aleister, I have to thank you,” Dana was saying.
Smith flopped down in another chair and turned on the television. He stopped surfing on a replay of ultimate fighting.
“Your payment and the numbers for Dana’s card should be en route to you,” Aleister said to Smith.
“I know you’re good for it,” said Smith. “I’ll give it a couple minutes and then press the cards.”
“I wouldn’t have even known to pull the SIM card on my phone,” said Dana.
“You don’t watch much television then,” Smith commented.
Dana leaned forward with her beer in hand. He was sure that she could see the computer screen and the plane tickets he was booking, including one under her own name.
“I couldn’t have gotten through this without you,” she said quietly.
In the middle of a bout, Smith went back to his workroom.
Dana touched Aleister’s leg.
“Dana, I’m doing my job.”
“It’s not like I hired you. I’m sure I can cover expenses when I’m back to normal, but…”
“It’s not about money. This is simply something I need to take care of. You? Dr. Benes? You’re just details.”
Any other explanation was cut short by Smith returning with the driver’s license and credit card. “Here you go Ms. Kendricks.”
Dana frowned over the two pieces of plastic. “I’m from North Dakota? No one is from North Dakota.”
Smith grinned. “Exactly. No one is familiar with it, no one is going to be able to scrutinize it. At least I didn’t make you from Fargo.”
3rd
09 -
2010
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4 comments »
Just when you thought I might start writing this book in chronological order, I decide on a new “first” chapter. Or maybe second. This scene and “Mr. Luck Goes Fishing” could both work as Chapter 1. If anyone wants to weigh in with an opinion on that, please, do so.
—###—
Mr. Howell
Felix Benes was still awake.
The blinds in Benes’ apartment were open. From the street, the man in jeans, and a brown bomber jacket could see someone moving in front of the blue-white light of a computer monitor. The apartment below had a light on as well, but the flickering light that radiated from the around the closed blinds was indicative of a television set.
Two people awake. Possibly more. Possibly Benes.
Things could get interesting and that didn’t bother Nicholas Howell at all.
He took the stairs to Benes’ floor.
He had considered telling the two in the SUV that he was going in, but decided that, no, they were obviously rookies. While many of the residents of this shoddy neighborhood had vehicles far above their income, parking opposite Benes’ building was a bone-headed decision. He wouldn’t bother with them until he needed them.
The lighting in the stairway was too high to reach, but the ceiling in the hallway was lower. On tiptoe, Howell pushed aside the brittle plastic cover on the bank of overhead lights. The neon bulbs were hot through his gloves, but it only took a quick twist to dislodge the bulb enough to darken the corridor.
Howell waited for a moment, listening. The building was quiet. A TV was on somewhere and Howell hadn’t determined that it was from below until he stopped at Benes’ door. A sit-com, it sounded like. The volume was loud and Howell suspected that the resident below was old, hearing-impaired, and had probably fallen asleep with the set on.
The door’s lock and dead bolt were easy enough to pick. A chain might have made things interesting, but Benes hadn’t bothered. Howell braced the door as he opened it. It creaked, but not loudly. He opened it only as wide as he needed and closed it gingerly behind him. From the entry hall of the apartment, Howell stood and surveyed the scene.
The apartment was dark aside from the two laptop screens. The computers were set on the counter that divided the kitchen area from the rest of the studio apartment. The floor was littered with opened suitcases and a handful of cardboard boxes. It would make removing any trace of Benes easy.
Benes sat behind the wall of screens, roughly facing the door, but paying no attention to it. Howell could see his head bob and tilt as though Benes was conversing with someone. Aside from the muffled pitch of an infomercial from downstairs, Howell didn’t hear anything else.
The situation disappointed Howell.
The reports said that Benes showed some evidence of being paranoid, and that might have made things interesting. But, a truly paranoid man did not sit in the dark. He might not sleep and have a pot of coffee on the counter, but he wasn’t utterly oblivious to his current surroundings. Howell caught a better look at Benes and found that he was wearing a set of high quality headphones. Benes wasn’t speaking to anyone, but seemed to be holding a silent conversation with the information on the computer screens.
Howell shook his head. His job was getting to him. Often, there was no challenge in it. In general, people were not competent. They did not take precautions, and if they did, they were the wrong precautions. Investigators jumped to wrong conclusions in the face of the slightest conflicting data. The only time any of them had any success was when they were lucky. Howell didn’t rely on luck, he relied on being competent. He was flexible and confident in his ability to complete the simple tasks while under pressure. The problem? Lately, there was no pressure.
Nicholas Howell moved quickly and efficiently. When Benes saw Howell, his eyes went wide. He pushed away from the computers, and grabbed a cell phone from the tabletop.
The taser’s electrodes hit Benes in the torso, below the ribs. His body tensed and, without making much sound, Benes toppled, stiff as a board, to the floor. Howell kicked the phone out of reach. Before Benes could recover, Howell kneeled down and stretched a piece of duct tape over Benes’ mouth. He retrieved a syringe pen from his pocket, twisted off the top and pressed it against Benes’ neck. He had a few minutes until the drugs kicked in.
“Don’t struggle or I will actually hurt you,” he said as he hoisted Benes to his feet. He wrenched Benes right arm upward, behind Benes’ back. The muscles were tight from the taser blast and Benes inhaled in pain.
He faced Benes toward the futon in the corner of the studio apartment. “Where did you hide your other things, Mr. Benes?”
Howell watched Benes face and eyes. When he received no response, he faced Benes toward the closets in the hallway. “Where did you hide your things, Mr. Benes?”
Benes croaked against the tape.
“Quiet. Where are your things?” Howell asked again.
Benes’ gaze flickered toward the kitchen area.
Howell pointed him in that direction. “Where?”
This time Benes looked everywhere but the stove area.
“Thank you,” said Howell. He lowered Benes to the ground.
Howell removed the SIM card from Benes’ phone and pocketed it. Using his own phone, he called the two in the SUV.
“Donavan.” One of the second string picked up after three rings.
“You and your buddy need to drive off, circle about a mile and a half, and park around back.”
“What? Is this Howell? We’ve been waiting for–”
“Yes. This is Howell. When you’ve parked around back, call me and I’ll clear you to come up and help our inebriated friend down to our car.”
“Help you down? You’re already up in–?”
“Yes,” said Howell. Losing patience wouldn’t help. “And I assume that one of you can take care of Benes computers.”
“Yes, that’s–.”
“Hurry it up then.”
“Fine. We’ll be there in–”
Howell ended the call. He listened and heard the SUV drive off like he instructed. Music was still playing from Benes’ music player. He disentangled Benes’ earphones and turned the mp3 player off.
He sat down at Benes’ laptops. Nothing on the screens was particularly familiar to Howell, but it wasn’t his job to understand it. Howell plugged a USB drive into the larger, more solid looking laptop and began transferring files.
In the kitchen area, he checked the oven and the stovetop. Benes was mildly clever and Howell found the flash drive, the packet of money, and the poorly made false ID in the exhaust hood where the light bulb had been removed. While he had time, he checked the bed, the closets, and the bathroom as well, but found nothing else.
Howell unplugged his thumb drive from the laptop when Donavan called back. He had copied enough information from the one laptop to have insurance if he needed it.
Benes was semi-conscious when Donavan and the other guy from the SUV tapped on the door. Benes acted and sounded like a very drunk man. They’d escort him downstairs under the pretense of taking a hard-partying friend home.
And Howell truly hoped that no one saw them in the hall or stairway. The rookies looked like thugs in their black fatigues and the stocking caps rolled up around their foreheads.
“Black fucking masks,” he muttered.
“What was that?” The smaller one, Donavan, was nearly done with the laptops.
“Nothing. At least you’re wearing gloves. Hurry it up.”
To Howell’s disappointment, the egress from Felix Benes’ apartment went entirely smoothly. No challenge tonight.
—###—
The addition of this character at this point in the story reveals a bit about our process. Eric starts with a pretty basic plot structure. Scenes are filled in as needed and, more interestingly, characters are filled in as needed. I wanted to write a scene where we meet the ill-fated Felix Benes, even if it was only a “cutting room floor” exercise. During a conversation earlier this week, it became evident that the man that did the job on Benes is probably the more interesting factor.
20th
08 -
2010
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4 comments »
“The customer you are trying to contact is currently unavailable.”
Detective David Moore frowned at the pleasant female voice on the other end of the phone.
“Is your girlfriend still not answering the phone?” David’s partner, Ray Sanyo squinted at the report he was typing. He’d never get used to the electronic forms. As usual, he had entered the wrong information into the wrong field. He cursed and jabbed the backspace a dozen times.
“She’s not available.”
“You mean she’s still avoiding your constant inquiries and you got her voice mail again?”
“No, I mean she’s not available.”
Ray glanced away from his monitor and across the desk. He sighed and saved the file. “Fine. Let’s go.”
They didn’t find Dana Spelman at her condo. The domicile was locked and Ray saw no indication that anything out of the ordinary had happened there.
That didn’t deter David. “I’m just saying, the grounds crew had been by. You saw them up the street. They could have cleaned up.”
“Cleaned up,” Ray repeated.
“They wouldn’t have known better. Crushed plants, mud on the steps.” David twisted the cruiser’s mounted computer toward him to peruse the morning’s calls. He shook his head. “I’m telling you, something’s up.”
“Or she dropped her phone in the toilet and isn’t available until she gets a new one.”
“I think it’s Benes. Benes is a loose cannon. You heard her say the same things I did.”
Ray shook his head. He had indeed heard the same answers from Dana Spelman.
Felix Benes had gone missing five days ago. Without explanation, he hadn’t shown up for his usual Thursday night dinner with his cousin Milos. Milos had a key to Felix’s apartment and was distressed by what he found.
To Ray and David, the apartment didn’t look like anything was out of place. According to Milos, the place was a mess. Felix’s laptop sat open and unplugged and had virtually nothing on it. That, according to cousin Milos, cinched it. Felix never left without his laptop.
The follow-up had led Dets. Moore and Sanyo to Dana Sullivan, a lawyer representing Felix in a case against Felix’s former employers. According to Spelman, the man had become increasingly unstable. His original claims of stifled research had become paranoid delusions. The last two meetings she’d had with him had concerned her. Well, David took her reaction as concern. To Ray, she had seemed perhaps too emphatic. She didn’t play it hysterical, but her fear for her personal safety didn’t quite ring true.
“I know what it is that bothered me,” said Ray as he eased their unmarked cruiser on to the I-15. “She sounded just like my ex-wife when she’d guilt me about the job being dangerous.”
“The job is dangerous,” said David.
“Yeah, but Marla would get this tone.” Ray shrugged. “I don’t know. Spelman had that tone. Anyway, I bet you lunch that she’s safe and sound in her plush, air-conditioned office.”
The receptionist at the front desk smiled with false cheer as she informed Ray and David that Dana Spelman was no longer employed at Devine, Chance and Merit.
David put his elbows on the counter and leaned forward. “Is there any other information you can give us? Like date of termination? Reason for termination? Forwarding information?”
Her glossy lips curved again. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have the authority to convey those facts. If I knew them.”
“Logically then, since we are the LVPD, you should point us to someone who can answer those questions.” He showed his badge. She was unimpressed.
“Just one moment.” She worked the phone and quietly explained her predicament to whomever she’d decided had authority. “Mr. Felts will see you. 5th floor,” she said finally.
“Thank you.” David’s smile didn’t meet his eyes either.
Mr. Felts let them wait ten minutes in his pseudo-lobby: three fairly comfortable chairs next to the desk of an older, steely-gazed, receptionist. While waiting, Ray perused the office bulletin board. An orange flier caught his attention. He read it twice before Mr. Felts showed them into his office.
“Detective Moore and Detective Sanyo, yes? I’m Richard Felts, a partner here at Devine, Chance and Merit. How can I help you? You are with the LVPD, yes?”
“That’s right,” said Ray.
Felts wasn’t more than five-ten. The color of his finely tailored suit matched his mouse gray hair. He was slim and fit for a man old enough to have hound-dog wrinkles.
“What can I do for you?” He congenially sat on the edge of his polished redwood desk. David and Ray took seats in gleaming leather chairs.
“We’ve been investigating the disappearance of Felix Benes,” David began.
“Dr. Benes, the cancer researcher.”
Both Ray and David nodded.
Mr. Felts went around his desk and shuffled several files. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he checked files that lined a desk drawer. “I believe that we’re no longer handling that case, and that we’ve already been cooperative with the LVPD on the matter of Felix Benes.”
“Yes,” said David. “We spoke to Dana Spelman previously. Unfortunately, we need to do a follow up with her and we haven’t been able to contact her.”
“Oh?”
“We were informed by the young lady downstairs that Dana Spelman is no longer employed here,” said Ray.
“That’s correct. Ms. Spelman left our employment two days ago.”
“Was the Benes case reassigned before it was closed?”
“We closed it before Spelman left.”
“Was Ms. Spelman let go from the firm because of her performance on this case?”
“No, and she didn’t mention the case in her exit interview.”
“She left?” David asked. “I guess I was under the impression that Devine, Chance and Merit were the ones that terminated her employment.”
“No. Ms. Spelman received a better offer elsewhere.”
“Where?”
“I would tell you if I knew, but she was not under any obligation to share that information.”
Ray rose and dug a card from his wallet. “Well, my partner and I would like to talk to Ms. Spelman. If your HR department can help us out any further, we’d appreciate it.”
“Of course.” Felts pocketed the card without looking at it.
“I noticed,” said Ray, “a post on one of the bulletin boards. About a guy that’s been causing some problems for your security staff?”
Felts grimaced, for effect. “That.”
“Is there a reason you haven’t called us in to help out on this?”
“I think that the pride of our security chief is mostly the reason we haven’t turned to outside help. Rest assured, that man is fairly harmless. There’s been a mild case of trespassing. Nothing more.”
“Well, you have our card if you need us on that count too.”
In the elevator, Det. Moore shook his head. “It’s Benes. He’s schizo and he decided to kidnap Dana because she wouldn’t help him.”
“That’s your theory?”
“Yeah, so what’s yours?”
Ray waited until a young woman in a business suit left at the third floor.
“Everything Spelman said sounded like a lie.”
“Yeah, yeah. Like your ex. She’s a lawyer, maybe she just sounds that way.”
“No,” said Ray. “Spelman had something to do with Benes disappearance and now it’s getting a little too warm in Vegas and she’s skipped town.”
“And that’s your theory.”
“Yes.”
“You still owe me lunch.”
—###—
Yesterday, I posted my first version of this scene. Does this one work better? In any case, thank you all for reading!
19th
08 -
2010
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1 comment »
Process note: Mr. Luck isn’t the only one investigating what’s going on with Felix Benes. This is my first go at introducing the LVPD into the mix. But it doesn’t work. To quote Lenny Nero: “It’s a test pattern. Nothing happens. I’m snoring.” I knew it was not great before Eric pointed it out to me. We considered letting it sit a while as a place holder, but Eric came up with better characters. I plan on writing the replacement scene today and posting it tomorrow (08/20/10) for #FridayFlash.
In the meantime, what do you think? Does this work as a scene?
—###—
Detectives Raymond Sanyo and Beth Leveen arrived at Dana Spelman’s condo shortly after 1pm.
Det. Sanyo could still taste the garlic on his breath. “I can’t wait until lunch tomorrow. Pizza buffet. You asked for it.”
Beth rolled her eyes. “I’m sure your arteries are in shock after eating healthy.”
“How was that stuff healthy? Olives and greasy meat?”
“Olive oil is good for you.”
“And my breath smells like ass.”
Det. Leveen rang the bell and waited. Sanyo checked the address before Beth rang again.
“We have tried to contact her by phone, right?” Ray asked.
“Yes. No answer at any of her contact numbers. Left a message yesterday on her personal and work voice mails.”
Ray snorted, a noise the emanated from deep within the big man.
Det. Leveen leaned on the doorbell. “You think something is up?”
Ray shrugged. “Odd that she hasn’t called us back about an investigation involving one of her clients. Maybe she’s avoiding us.”
He turned his back to the door and surveyed the neighborhood. “Crap.”
“What?” Beth peered through the front window.
“This neighborhood is too damn new. No nosey little old ladies to question.”
“Little old ladies?” The entrance room was neat and tidy.
“Well, little old men too. They’re just as likely to peek from behind the blinds or water their lawn too long when something is going on. Never underestimate the hobbies of the elderly, Leveen. Young people, they keep too much to themselves.”
“I’ll remember that the next time we get a call and one of your old ladies has mistaken the sound of a video game for an actual crime being committed.”
“Hey, those teenagers had the volume way too high. That was disturbing the peace.”
Beth frowned at Spelman’s door and her verbose partner. The place was quiet. “No one’s here. Let’s go.”
“Just a sec.” He pointed at a landscaping truck parked in front of a section of condos up the street. Pointed the other way, the crew of workers had already taken care of Spelman and her neighbors.
Ray approached and greeted a Hispanic man gathering a blower from the truck’s trailer. He waited until Beth had caught before flashing his badge.
“Have you guys done any work on unit 26?” He pointed a thumb toward Dana Spelman’s condo.
“Uh… No, sir. We skipped it.”
“Any reason why?”
“Uh… I don’t know. Was told to skip it. Talk to Julio, he’ll know more.”
A bigger man in a work shirt and straw hat was already approaching. “Julio?” Ray asked.
“Si. Is there any problem?”
Ray flashed his badge again. “None at all. You guys skipped unit 26?”
“Yes, sir. The back gate was supposed to be unlatched for us. It wasn’t so we skipped it.”
“The woman that lives there forgot to leave it open?” Beth asked.
“Si.”
“Is she’s the forgetful type?”
Julio gave her a noncommittal shrug. “The HOA in this neighborhood… They’re pretty strict. No one is very forgetful.”
“Place looks great,” said Ray. “You do good work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Have a good one.” Ray waved as they walked away and Beth nodded.
“Place of employment next?” she asked when they got back to the car.
“Yep. We can let her know that she’s going to get an HOA citation.”
The secretary at the reception desk wore the same suit as Beth, but at two sizes smaller and three inches taller, no one could really tell.
“I’m sorry. Ms. Spelman no longer works for Devine, Chance and Merit.” Her smile suggested that Dets. Sanyo and Leveen be satisfied with that and continue on with their day.
Ray leaned forward. “Is there any other information you can give us? Like date of termination? Reason for termination? Forward information?”
Her glossed lips curved, but the smile did not reach the receptionists eyes. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have the authority to convey those facts. If I knew them.”
“Logically, you should point us to someone who can answer those questions.”
“I suppose so. Just one moment.” She worked the phone and quietly explained her predicament to whomever she had decided had authority. “Mr. Felts will see you. 5th floor.”
“Thank you.” Ray’s smile didn’t meet his eyes either.
Five paces from the desk, he asked: “Isn’t she wearing the same suit as you?”
“Yes,” said Beth, “but I have better shoes.”
Mr. Felts let them wait ten minutes in his pseudo-lobby: three fairly comfortable chairs next to the desk of an older, though no less steely gazed, receptionist. Beth sat while Ray stood cross-armed and nodded to the aids and assistants that scurried by. Something caught his eye on a bulletin board. He investigated and was back before Mr. Felts showed them into his office.
“Det. Leveen and Det. Sanyo, yes? I’m Richard Felts, a partner here at Devine, Chance and Merit. How can I help you? You are with the LVPD, yes?”
Felts might have had an inch of height on Dana. His finely tailored suit matched his steel gray hair. He was slim and fit for a man with hound-dog wrinkles.
“That’s right,” said Ray.
“You both look like you’ve been out in the heat today. Can I get you anything?” He motioned to the bar and minifridge behind his desk. The windows of his office were comfortably tinted.
“Nothing for me,” said Ray.
“Water would be good,” said Beth.
Mr. Felt passed her a plastic bottle. He sat on the edge of his polished redwood desk. Ray and Beth took seats in the office’s gleaming leather chairs.
“We’ve been investigating the disappearance of Felix Benes,” Beth explained as she twisted open the bottle.
“Dr. Benes, the cancer researcher.”
Both Ray and Beth nodded.
Mr. Felts went around his desk and shuffled several files. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he checked files that lined a desk drawer. “I believe that we’re no longer handling that case, and that we’ve already been cooperative with the LVPD on the matter of Felix Benes.”
“We had the name of the associate in charge of Mr. Benes’s case, but we haven’t been able to contact her yet,” Beth explained.
“Oh?”
“We were informed by the well-dressed young lady downstairs that Dana Spelman is no longer employed here,” said Ray.
“That’s correct. Ms. Spelman left our employment two days ago.”
“Was the Benes case reassigned before it was closed?”
“No. It was simply decided that our agency wasn’t the right one to be handling the case. Especially considering the circumstances.”
“Those circumstances being Mr. Benes’s disappearance?”
“In part.” Mr. Felts referred to the file. “There were many incompatibilities. Mr. Benes is an unstable man. His testimony in any suit would have been highly suspect.”
“Was Ms. Spelman let go from the firm because she didn’t share those opinions?”
“They weren’t among the reasons she gave for leaving.”
“She left?” Beth asked. “I guess I was under the impression that Devine, Chance and Merit were the ones that terminated her employment.”
“No. Ms. Spelman received a better offer elsewhere.”
“Where?”
“I would tell you if I knew, but she was not under any obligation to share that information.”
Ray rose and dug a card from his wallet. “Well, we’d like to talk to Ms. Spelman. If your HR department can help us out any further, we’d appreciate it.”
“Of course.” Felts pocketed the card without looking at it.
Ray was still sitting. “I noticed a post on one of the bulletin boards. About a guy that’s been causing some problems for your security staff?”
Felts grimaced, for effect. “That.”
“Is there a reason you haven’t called us in to help out on this?”
“I think that the pride of our security chief is mostly the reason we haven’t turned to outside help. Rest assured, that man is fairly harmless. There’s been a mild case of trespassing. Nothing more.”
To Beth, Ray didn’t look convinced. “Well, you have our card if you need us on that count too.”
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