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Ransom in Death - Chapter 8
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Cyrex
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21 October 2012
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It looked like a set from one of Roarke’s vids, Dallas thought. The floor gleamed in a black and white checker pattern. A large curved staircase dominated the entryway with a sparkling chandelier overhead.
David Rogers made an impressive entrance, smiling charmingly. He looked a little like one of the actors in the vids, Clark Table, Dallas thought...without the mustache. Dallas had studied up on Rogers during the flight. Roarke provided his own take on the Chicago powerhouse.
“He’ll slide in an insult in the middle of a compliment to gauge your reaction. He likes to be in control. He claims he can gauge a person by their response to seven stimuli or less,” Roarke warned her.
“Did he control you?” she asked.
“He thought he had me classified, he was wrong.”
David clasped her hand, bringing Dallas back to the present. “Roarke, I’ve been very curious about your wife.”
Touching her but speaking to Roarke as if she didn’t matter. Dallas had no doubt he was aware of the Mrs. Roarke discussion in the Senate hearing so the wife comment was not as innocent as it sounded. She wondered if this would count as one or two stimuli?
“Eve,” Roarke said speaking to Dallas rather than responding directly to David, “this is David Rogers.”
“Mr. Rogers,” Dallas acknowledged the introduction, “I understand you’re the person to talk to if you want anything done in Chicago.”
Rogers preened a little. The ass, Dallas thought, he actually thought her comment was a compliment. His family had controlled the drug, construction and political machine in Chicago for three generations. You couldn’t get a building permit in the city without going through him. His grandfather took over the criminal network when the former first crime family died during the urbans. As if a cop would compliment that.
“I do what I can,” he smiled charmingly, but didn’t release her hand. “Roarke, your admin didn’t say what you wanted to discuss.”
When Roarke didn’t immediately respond, Rogers shrugged, “Let’s get comfortable, shall we?”
He tucked Eve’s hand into the bend of his elbow and left Roarke to trail behind them as he led them into a living area. The sofa and chairs were plush burgandy. A decorative screen covered the fireplace since the summer heat precluded a fire. He took Eve to the far chair and seated her gallantly. He then gestured Roarke to the sofa and took the chair facing Roarke. Effectively isolating Eve and excluding her from the conversation.
“I’ll admit to curiosity about your wife,” Rogers told Roarke again. “I was delighted to learn she was going to accompany you.”
Roarke didn’t reply again. After a couple of beats, Rogers turned to Dallas. “You must forgive me, but we didn’t know what to make when our Roarke married...a cop.”
“Pretty old news now, isn’t it?” Dallas asked nonchalantly.
Rogers laughed lightly, “But I never got any answers....obviously the pregnancy rumors were untrue.” He paused slightly waiting for a response, outrage, sadness, anything... Dallas simply watched him steadily. He glanced at Roarke and saw nothing there in response to his gambit. Of course, if Roarke had had a reaction it would have been covered up immediately.
“Then there was the rumor that you married him for his money, yet you stay on as a cop. I must say I don’t understand why you would continue to risk your life when you have so much at your fingertips.”
“That might explain why I would marry him...but not why he would marry me,” Dallas pointed out.
“My money annoys her,” Roarke added.
Rogers studied him a minute. “Well, you got rid of a great deal of that annoyance when you purchased the regenerating drug.”
“True,” Roarke agreed easily.
Roarke had always proven elusive, Rogers thought, but Dallas was unresponsive. He had dealt with cops before and they were usually easy. He should have known that no one who fascinated Roarke would be easy.
Rogers turned back to Dallas, “Then there was the train of thought that Roarke was buying his way into the NYPSD. Always good to have friends in the police department.”
Man, Dallas thought, ignore her, reduce her to an object, a whore, a gold digger and now a bad cop. This man was doing some major fishing to get a response.
“I do believe his sales to police departments have gone up, haven’t they Roarke?” Dallas responded, ignoring the implications.
Roarke nodded, “Working as a consultant with the police department, I’ve gotten a better handle on their specific needs. Sales to law enforcement worldwide has doubled.”
“Interesting market ploy,” Rogers said.
“Will Carolyn be joining us?” Roarke asked casually, glancing towards the doorway.
Rogers winced, “I’m afraid not. I didn’t think you would need your old....friend in a business meeting.”
“Why not,” Dallas asked lightly, “I’m here.”
“Precisely,” Rogers waited a beat then as if he was reluctant to say anything, he continued, “I’m afraid your husband and my wife were once more than friends. I didn’t think it was appropriate...”
Dallas grinned widely, “If that stopped me, I wouldn’t meet half the women in New York...Boston....London...”
“Eve,” Roarke said. “As you pointed out recently, if I slept with all the women people assume I slept with, I wouldn’t have had time to make a dime.”
“True,” Dallas said. “You can bring her on in, David. They weren’t lovers. Roarke has never been shy about confirming who he slept with. I can’t imagine he’d bother to lie about Carolyn.”
“Unfortunately, she’s away,” Rogers dismissed it with a wave of his hand.
“I understand she’s been ‘away’ for nearly 8 months. You called in the FBI in January reporting she had been kidnapped. No one has seen her since then,” Dallas moved into interview mode.
“What the hell is this?” Rogers stood up.
“I’m afraid you misunderstood the purpose of our visit, David,” Roarke said, remaining seated. “Lieutenant Dallas has a few questions for you concerning Carolyn’s whereabouts.”
“I don’t understand....did you find her?” Rogers started pacing, “No, if you had found her, you would have led with that.”
“Explain,” Rogers stopped in front of Roarke and glared down at him.
Roarke and Dallas had discussed how to handle the lead in. Roarke had bet he would be asked to explain, Dallas figured she would, since she was the cop. She owed him a round of a game of his choice.
“A couple of the Lieutenant’s men were called to a traffic accident. They found the woman killed had actually been kidnapped four years ago. Her husband had been making regular payments to a non-profit organization for proof of life videos. Sound familiar?”
“Damn,” Rogers paced over to Dallas. She stood before he reached her. “How do you know about the FBI?”
Dallas shrugged, “Normally I ask the questions. Since I want you cooperation, I’ll lay it out and hope that you care enough for your wife to forget the ego.”
“Ego!” he was sputtering.
“You kicked the FBI out because you thought you could find her faster your way.” Dallas made it a statement, not a question. “How’s it going?”
“Well it hasn’t been four years,” he bit back.
“There’s several similar cases. My men have located where they were holding our vic, have a witness talking to a profiler. We know what they are doing, we know money more than power or influence is the motivator. We don’t know how they are selecting their victims or who they are. The more information we have, the better chance we have of finding that out and recovering all the victims,” Dallas answered in rapid fire. “Now are you going to cooperate?”
Rogers simmered for a few minutes. When Dallas didn’t back down from his glare, he stalked back over to Roarke. “Would you want the Feebs in your business?”
“If it meant finding Eve, I’d hand them the keys,” Roarke answered simply.
Rogers dropped to the coffee table. He leaned forward with elbows on his knees, cradling his head in his hands. Roarke leaned forward.
“David, Carolyn’s my friend, no matter what you believe, you must believe that. I’ve seen Eve put together seemingly unrelated information to find the one clue that unravels a case. She’s impressed the hell out of the FBI where their paths have crossed, to the point they’re asking her and her whole team to consult on this.”
Rogers looked up, “Her whole team, does that include you?”
Roarke caught Dallas’ smirk over Rogers’ head. “It’s been offered,” Roarke admitted.
“You’ve become a fucking upstanding citizen, haven’t you,” Rogers asked. “Carolyn refused to have children until I got out of all the borderline stuff. No child of hers born into the life,” he felt Dallas’ stare boring into his back but he didn’t turn and he didn’t stop. “She held you up as god damn shining example of someone who had turned around. I didn’t believe her. I thought she was naive. Thought you were working an angle.”
“And now I’m afraid I’ll never get the chance.”
“I’ve conned cops, eluded cops, avoided cops,” Roarke told him. “No one was more surprised than me that I fell for a cop, unless it was the cop who fell for me. I can tell you it shocked me to meet a good cop and to find out she’s not alone. If you can’t trust the Feds, trust Dallas."
Rogers stood and ordered in a house droid. A few minutes later the droid returned with discs. Rogers handed them to Dallas then sank into the chair facing the sofa.
"Those are the originals. I've made copies. I knew sooner or later someone would notice Carolyn wasn't appearing in public. I thought I might have to prove I hadn't harmed her. I didn't realize there were others."
Dallas didn't mention that if he had continued cooperating with the FBI he might have known. She put them in the evidence bag that Rogers had mistakenly thought was a handbag.
She sat on the sofa next to Roarke, facing Rogers. "When was the last time you saw Carolyn?"
"January 16 at 8 am," he had gone over this many times, first with the FBI, then the investigators he put on the case. "She had a full day, there was a meeting in the morning with a client on a new marketing blitz. Then a charity luncheon. Fittings for her Spring wardrobe should have take up her afternoon." He smiled slightly, "You have Leonardo," referring to the designer that Dallas usually wore who also happened to be the husband of her best friend. "Carolyn is favoring an up and comer Ja-Na't.”
“She spoke at the luncheon, but no one remembers seeing her afterwards. She didn't show up for the driver or contact Ja-Na't. I can't find anyone who remembers seeing her after she left the podium. The people at her table say she never returned."
"Surveillance where the luncheon was held?" Dallas asked.
"Glitch," he said disgustedly. "Every camera in the whole damn hotel went down for twenty minutes at the same time."
"Where was she to go after she made her speech? Back stage, to the press, back to her table?"
"There was a waiting room, the speakers were to hold a press conference together, go out at once. She never made it to the waiting room."
"How far from the podium to the waiting room?"
David leaned back and closed his eyes. He had walked that small corridor hundreds of time, both in reality and in his dreams.
"It's 32 feet, two rooms, no exists in the direction of the waiting room."
"And in the other direction?"
"Forty feet, 3 doors, 2 are accesses into the meeting room. Then it opens onto the lobby."
“What was the speech about?” Dallas asked.
“It was a focus on mental health and depression,” David said. He opened his eyes in time to see the sharpening of both Dallas’ and Roarke’s expressions.
“Does that mean something?”
“Some of the drugs in our vic’s system have potential mental health use,” Dallas answered non-committedly.
“Drugs? Carolyn hated drugs,” he looked at Roarke, “You know that.”
“I do,” Roarke agreed. “Her mother spent a lot of time in and out of medical facilities. Carolyn was convinced the drugs were part of the problem rather than the solution,” he added for Dallas’ benefit.
“With her there,” Dallas said.
Dallas considered for a moment, “If she was active in an organization around mental health, she must have had contact with doctors and clinics.”
“Of course,” Rogers answered.
“Do these,” she held up the disks, “identify any of those contacts?”
Rogers sat up, eyes sharp again. “No, I never looked in that direction.”
“I need lists,” Dallas said. “And your word you will not go vigilante on me. We don’t want to spook anyone before we’re sure where to look.”
“I’ll get you lists and time. But if I don’t see results, well, we’ll need to renegotiate.”
“Fair enough,” with the Feds behind her, Dallas figured she could get his ass behind bars in record time if he got in her way.
She rose and Roarke with her, “We’ll be in touch after I get a chance to review the data. Get me the names."
Another dust storm clogged the air conditioning. Instead of cool air, fans pushed the dust around in the rundown bar. Deb Bowers felt the sweat rolling down her back under the tiny tank top. Layers of dust coated her hair and skin, mixing with the sweat into a greasy paste. She dreamed of getting to her room and cleaning off this crap. She longed to get the hell out of this small New Mexico pit stop, but Maxie wouldn’t hear of it. Any attempt to leave was met with threats of return for treatments.
Deb popped another round of beers on the badly scarred table. Sports spewed out of screens all around her. She couldn’t remember what the treatments were, she just knew the very word brought her to a cold sweat. Like her life before the bar, the treatments were a vague shadow in the back of her mind.
She’d run, get one of the truckers or bikers that came through to give her a ride. They’d probably want a bout in bed for the ride but it might be worth it to get the hell out. But where would she go? She didn’t remember anyone but Maxie. Truthfully she didn’t remember Maxie all that clearly before the treatments.
Then there was the headache. If she didn’t take the injections regularly the headaches brought her to her knees. Maxie could always tell when she tried to avoid the medications and the threats began again.
She hadn’t taken the injection for three days now. The headache beat viciously at her as the heat and dust burned her skin and clogged her nose. Deep down she hated that she needed the drugs. Deb knew, just knew, if she could make it through the headaches she could come out the other side drug free.
Laughter broke out in the corner. Three regulars watched a PPC instead of the constant sports chatter. Deb decided she could use some laughter and dropped by to see if they could use a refill.
“What’s the joke, Carlos?” she asked, tucking the cloth she used to wipe the tables in her waistband.
“Rich guy made fools of the Senate,” Carlos snorted. “It’s on every channel, all over the net. Where’ve you been?”
She shot a glance at the soccer game underway on the nearby screen. “Hasn’t been on the sports channel.”
“Don’t know why not...he hit it out of the park,” Hank said with a laugh. “Scored a touchdown.”
“Down for the count,” Frank grunted.
Carlos laughed, “You got to see this Deb. About time someone took down those turds in Washington.”
“It’s just a rich fuck taking on other rich fucks,” Frank complained.
“Nah,” Hank said. “Grew up poor, made it rich. American fuckin’ dream.”
“Talks funny, don’t think he’s American,” Frank pointed out.
Carlos shook his head, “Came from England or something. But he married an American cop...makes him an American.”
“Neeew Yorrk City cop,” Frank drawled derisively. “New York City ain’t real America.”
“She can stamp my green card anytime,” Carlos patted his crotch affectionately. “She took ‘em down some too.”
“Deb, get your ass in gear,” Maxie yelled from behind the bar. “Beers at table 6.”
“Refill boys?” Deb asked.
“Sure, another round,” Carlos leaned in and whispered. “We’ll show you when you come back.”
Deb smiled widely and headed towards the bar. Carlos watched her fine ass as she bent over Table 6.
It was about 20 minutes before she made it back to the table. Frank and Hank had already left. Carlos scooted over and patted the seat beside him. “Time for your break, darlin’. Give your feet a rest.”
She glanced toward the bar, then yelled, “Taking 10, Maxie.”
The steel-haired Maxie checked the bar. It was still early and most of the tables were empty. “Keep it to 10,” she agreed.
Carlos had the best soundbite set up. He scooted towards Deb, draping an arm across the back of the seat. Deb looked into the brilliant blue eyes on the screen and felt her world tip. Memories came roaring through her. She knew that face, she knew that voice and she damn well knew who she was and it wasn’t Deb Bowers.
She laughed with Carlos then went back to work.
The pressure of the headache increased, but now she knew she could work through it. Deb only had to hang on until she could think clearly. She wasn’t sure who Maxie really was but she sure as hell wasn’t her cousin cum guardian.
Once she was clear of the drugs, Deb really could begin planning her escape.
David Rogers made an impressive entrance, smiling charmingly. He looked a little like one of the actors in the vids, Clark Table, Dallas thought...without the mustache. Dallas had studied up on Rogers during the flight. Roarke provided his own take on the Chicago powerhouse.
“He’ll slide in an insult in the middle of a compliment to gauge your reaction. He likes to be in control. He claims he can gauge a person by their response to seven stimuli or less,” Roarke warned her.
“Did he control you?” she asked.
“He thought he had me classified, he was wrong.”
David clasped her hand, bringing Dallas back to the present. “Roarke, I’ve been very curious about your wife.”
Touching her but speaking to Roarke as if she didn’t matter. Dallas had no doubt he was aware of the Mrs. Roarke discussion in the Senate hearing so the wife comment was not as innocent as it sounded. She wondered if this would count as one or two stimuli?
“Eve,” Roarke said speaking to Dallas rather than responding directly to David, “this is David Rogers.”
“Mr. Rogers,” Dallas acknowledged the introduction, “I understand you’re the person to talk to if you want anything done in Chicago.”
Rogers preened a little. The ass, Dallas thought, he actually thought her comment was a compliment. His family had controlled the drug, construction and political machine in Chicago for three generations. You couldn’t get a building permit in the city without going through him. His grandfather took over the criminal network when the former first crime family died during the urbans. As if a cop would compliment that.
“I do what I can,” he smiled charmingly, but didn’t release her hand. “Roarke, your admin didn’t say what you wanted to discuss.”
When Roarke didn’t immediately respond, Rogers shrugged, “Let’s get comfortable, shall we?”
He tucked Eve’s hand into the bend of his elbow and left Roarke to trail behind them as he led them into a living area. The sofa and chairs were plush burgandy. A decorative screen covered the fireplace since the summer heat precluded a fire. He took Eve to the far chair and seated her gallantly. He then gestured Roarke to the sofa and took the chair facing Roarke. Effectively isolating Eve and excluding her from the conversation.
“I’ll admit to curiosity about your wife,” Rogers told Roarke again. “I was delighted to learn she was going to accompany you.”
Roarke didn’t reply again. After a couple of beats, Rogers turned to Dallas. “You must forgive me, but we didn’t know what to make when our Roarke married...a cop.”
“Pretty old news now, isn’t it?” Dallas asked nonchalantly.
Rogers laughed lightly, “But I never got any answers....obviously the pregnancy rumors were untrue.” He paused slightly waiting for a response, outrage, sadness, anything... Dallas simply watched him steadily. He glanced at Roarke and saw nothing there in response to his gambit. Of course, if Roarke had had a reaction it would have been covered up immediately.
“Then there was the rumor that you married him for his money, yet you stay on as a cop. I must say I don’t understand why you would continue to risk your life when you have so much at your fingertips.”
“That might explain why I would marry him...but not why he would marry me,” Dallas pointed out.
“My money annoys her,” Roarke added.
Rogers studied him a minute. “Well, you got rid of a great deal of that annoyance when you purchased the regenerating drug.”
“True,” Roarke agreed easily.
Roarke had always proven elusive, Rogers thought, but Dallas was unresponsive. He had dealt with cops before and they were usually easy. He should have known that no one who fascinated Roarke would be easy.
Rogers turned back to Dallas, “Then there was the train of thought that Roarke was buying his way into the NYPSD. Always good to have friends in the police department.”
Man, Dallas thought, ignore her, reduce her to an object, a whore, a gold digger and now a bad cop. This man was doing some major fishing to get a response.
“I do believe his sales to police departments have gone up, haven’t they Roarke?” Dallas responded, ignoring the implications.
Roarke nodded, “Working as a consultant with the police department, I’ve gotten a better handle on their specific needs. Sales to law enforcement worldwide has doubled.”
“Interesting market ploy,” Rogers said.
“Will Carolyn be joining us?” Roarke asked casually, glancing towards the doorway.
Rogers winced, “I’m afraid not. I didn’t think you would need your old....friend in a business meeting.”
“Why not,” Dallas asked lightly, “I’m here.”
“Precisely,” Rogers waited a beat then as if he was reluctant to say anything, he continued, “I’m afraid your husband and my wife were once more than friends. I didn’t think it was appropriate...”
Dallas grinned widely, “If that stopped me, I wouldn’t meet half the women in New York...Boston....London...”
“Eve,” Roarke said. “As you pointed out recently, if I slept with all the women people assume I slept with, I wouldn’t have had time to make a dime.”
“True,” Dallas said. “You can bring her on in, David. They weren’t lovers. Roarke has never been shy about confirming who he slept with. I can’t imagine he’d bother to lie about Carolyn.”
“Unfortunately, she’s away,” Rogers dismissed it with a wave of his hand.
“I understand she’s been ‘away’ for nearly 8 months. You called in the FBI in January reporting she had been kidnapped. No one has seen her since then,” Dallas moved into interview mode.
“What the hell is this?” Rogers stood up.
“I’m afraid you misunderstood the purpose of our visit, David,” Roarke said, remaining seated. “Lieutenant Dallas has a few questions for you concerning Carolyn’s whereabouts.”
“I don’t understand....did you find her?” Rogers started pacing, “No, if you had found her, you would have led with that.”
“Explain,” Rogers stopped in front of Roarke and glared down at him.
Roarke and Dallas had discussed how to handle the lead in. Roarke had bet he would be asked to explain, Dallas figured she would, since she was the cop. She owed him a round of a game of his choice.
“A couple of the Lieutenant’s men were called to a traffic accident. They found the woman killed had actually been kidnapped four years ago. Her husband had been making regular payments to a non-profit organization for proof of life videos. Sound familiar?”
“Damn,” Rogers paced over to Dallas. She stood before he reached her. “How do you know about the FBI?”
Dallas shrugged, “Normally I ask the questions. Since I want you cooperation, I’ll lay it out and hope that you care enough for your wife to forget the ego.”
“Ego!” he was sputtering.
“You kicked the FBI out because you thought you could find her faster your way.” Dallas made it a statement, not a question. “How’s it going?”
“Well it hasn’t been four years,” he bit back.
“There’s several similar cases. My men have located where they were holding our vic, have a witness talking to a profiler. We know what they are doing, we know money more than power or influence is the motivator. We don’t know how they are selecting their victims or who they are. The more information we have, the better chance we have of finding that out and recovering all the victims,” Dallas answered in rapid fire. “Now are you going to cooperate?”
Rogers simmered for a few minutes. When Dallas didn’t back down from his glare, he stalked back over to Roarke. “Would you want the Feebs in your business?”
“If it meant finding Eve, I’d hand them the keys,” Roarke answered simply.
Rogers dropped to the coffee table. He leaned forward with elbows on his knees, cradling his head in his hands. Roarke leaned forward.
“David, Carolyn’s my friend, no matter what you believe, you must believe that. I’ve seen Eve put together seemingly unrelated information to find the one clue that unravels a case. She’s impressed the hell out of the FBI where their paths have crossed, to the point they’re asking her and her whole team to consult on this.”
Rogers looked up, “Her whole team, does that include you?”
Roarke caught Dallas’ smirk over Rogers’ head. “It’s been offered,” Roarke admitted.
“You’ve become a fucking upstanding citizen, haven’t you,” Rogers asked. “Carolyn refused to have children until I got out of all the borderline stuff. No child of hers born into the life,” he felt Dallas’ stare boring into his back but he didn’t turn and he didn’t stop. “She held you up as god damn shining example of someone who had turned around. I didn’t believe her. I thought she was naive. Thought you were working an angle.”
“And now I’m afraid I’ll never get the chance.”
“I’ve conned cops, eluded cops, avoided cops,” Roarke told him. “No one was more surprised than me that I fell for a cop, unless it was the cop who fell for me. I can tell you it shocked me to meet a good cop and to find out she’s not alone. If you can’t trust the Feds, trust Dallas."
Rogers stood and ordered in a house droid. A few minutes later the droid returned with discs. Rogers handed them to Dallas then sank into the chair facing the sofa.
"Those are the originals. I've made copies. I knew sooner or later someone would notice Carolyn wasn't appearing in public. I thought I might have to prove I hadn't harmed her. I didn't realize there were others."
Dallas didn't mention that if he had continued cooperating with the FBI he might have known. She put them in the evidence bag that Rogers had mistakenly thought was a handbag.
She sat on the sofa next to Roarke, facing Rogers. "When was the last time you saw Carolyn?"
"January 16 at 8 am," he had gone over this many times, first with the FBI, then the investigators he put on the case. "She had a full day, there was a meeting in the morning with a client on a new marketing blitz. Then a charity luncheon. Fittings for her Spring wardrobe should have take up her afternoon." He smiled slightly, "You have Leonardo," referring to the designer that Dallas usually wore who also happened to be the husband of her best friend. "Carolyn is favoring an up and comer Ja-Na't.”
“She spoke at the luncheon, but no one remembers seeing her afterwards. She didn't show up for the driver or contact Ja-Na't. I can't find anyone who remembers seeing her after she left the podium. The people at her table say she never returned."
"Surveillance where the luncheon was held?" Dallas asked.
"Glitch," he said disgustedly. "Every camera in the whole damn hotel went down for twenty minutes at the same time."
"Where was she to go after she made her speech? Back stage, to the press, back to her table?"
"There was a waiting room, the speakers were to hold a press conference together, go out at once. She never made it to the waiting room."
"How far from the podium to the waiting room?"
David leaned back and closed his eyes. He had walked that small corridor hundreds of time, both in reality and in his dreams.
"It's 32 feet, two rooms, no exists in the direction of the waiting room."
"And in the other direction?"
"Forty feet, 3 doors, 2 are accesses into the meeting room. Then it opens onto the lobby."
“What was the speech about?” Dallas asked.
“It was a focus on mental health and depression,” David said. He opened his eyes in time to see the sharpening of both Dallas’ and Roarke’s expressions.
“Does that mean something?”
“Some of the drugs in our vic’s system have potential mental health use,” Dallas answered non-committedly.
“Drugs? Carolyn hated drugs,” he looked at Roarke, “You know that.”
“I do,” Roarke agreed. “Her mother spent a lot of time in and out of medical facilities. Carolyn was convinced the drugs were part of the problem rather than the solution,” he added for Dallas’ benefit.
“With her there,” Dallas said.
Dallas considered for a moment, “If she was active in an organization around mental health, she must have had contact with doctors and clinics.”
“Of course,” Rogers answered.
“Do these,” she held up the disks, “identify any of those contacts?”
Rogers sat up, eyes sharp again. “No, I never looked in that direction.”
“I need lists,” Dallas said. “And your word you will not go vigilante on me. We don’t want to spook anyone before we’re sure where to look.”
“I’ll get you lists and time. But if I don’t see results, well, we’ll need to renegotiate.”
“Fair enough,” with the Feds behind her, Dallas figured she could get his ass behind bars in record time if he got in her way.
She rose and Roarke with her, “We’ll be in touch after I get a chance to review the data. Get me the names."
#
Another dust storm clogged the air conditioning. Instead of cool air, fans pushed the dust around in the rundown bar. Deb Bowers felt the sweat rolling down her back under the tiny tank top. Layers of dust coated her hair and skin, mixing with the sweat into a greasy paste. She dreamed of getting to her room and cleaning off this crap. She longed to get the hell out of this small New Mexico pit stop, but Maxie wouldn’t hear of it. Any attempt to leave was met with threats of return for treatments.
Deb popped another round of beers on the badly scarred table. Sports spewed out of screens all around her. She couldn’t remember what the treatments were, she just knew the very word brought her to a cold sweat. Like her life before the bar, the treatments were a vague shadow in the back of her mind.
She’d run, get one of the truckers or bikers that came through to give her a ride. They’d probably want a bout in bed for the ride but it might be worth it to get the hell out. But where would she go? She didn’t remember anyone but Maxie. Truthfully she didn’t remember Maxie all that clearly before the treatments.
Then there was the headache. If she didn’t take the injections regularly the headaches brought her to her knees. Maxie could always tell when she tried to avoid the medications and the threats began again.
She hadn’t taken the injection for three days now. The headache beat viciously at her as the heat and dust burned her skin and clogged her nose. Deep down she hated that she needed the drugs. Deb knew, just knew, if she could make it through the headaches she could come out the other side drug free.
Laughter broke out in the corner. Three regulars watched a PPC instead of the constant sports chatter. Deb decided she could use some laughter and dropped by to see if they could use a refill.
“What’s the joke, Carlos?” she asked, tucking the cloth she used to wipe the tables in her waistband.
“Rich guy made fools of the Senate,” Carlos snorted. “It’s on every channel, all over the net. Where’ve you been?”
She shot a glance at the soccer game underway on the nearby screen. “Hasn’t been on the sports channel.”
“Don’t know why not...he hit it out of the park,” Hank said with a laugh. “Scored a touchdown.”
“Down for the count,” Frank grunted.
Carlos laughed, “You got to see this Deb. About time someone took down those turds in Washington.”
“It’s just a rich fuck taking on other rich fucks,” Frank complained.
“Nah,” Hank said. “Grew up poor, made it rich. American fuckin’ dream.”
“Talks funny, don’t think he’s American,” Frank pointed out.
Carlos shook his head, “Came from England or something. But he married an American cop...makes him an American.”
“Neeew Yorrk City cop,” Frank drawled derisively. “New York City ain’t real America.”
“She can stamp my green card anytime,” Carlos patted his crotch affectionately. “She took ‘em down some too.”
“Deb, get your ass in gear,” Maxie yelled from behind the bar. “Beers at table 6.”
“Refill boys?” Deb asked.
“Sure, another round,” Carlos leaned in and whispered. “We’ll show you when you come back.”
Deb smiled widely and headed towards the bar. Carlos watched her fine ass as she bent over Table 6.
It was about 20 minutes before she made it back to the table. Frank and Hank had already left. Carlos scooted over and patted the seat beside him. “Time for your break, darlin’. Give your feet a rest.”
She glanced toward the bar, then yelled, “Taking 10, Maxie.”
The steel-haired Maxie checked the bar. It was still early and most of the tables were empty. “Keep it to 10,” she agreed.
Carlos had the best soundbite set up. He scooted towards Deb, draping an arm across the back of the seat. Deb looked into the brilliant blue eyes on the screen and felt her world tip. Memories came roaring through her. She knew that face, she knew that voice and she damn well knew who she was and it wasn’t Deb Bowers.
She laughed with Carlos then went back to work.
The pressure of the headache increased, but now she knew she could work through it. Deb only had to hang on until she could think clearly. She wasn’t sure who Maxie really was but she sure as hell wasn’t her cousin cum guardian.
Once she was clear of the drugs, Deb really could begin planning her escape.
Is Clark Table suppose to be like Clark Gable?