3 Bad Guys Get Caught (8 page)

“Why do you have to bring it up now? I
thought we were going to have fun tonight.”

“I’m opening my own bar,” Amy explained.
“I want Mila to help me run the place, but she won’t leave Panther. Must be
that hot boyfriend of hers who treats her so well.”

“I told you I don’t want to talk about
it. I’m going to the bathroom.” Mila slid off her chair and went to the back of
the room.

Amy shook her head. “You know, she used
to date this really hot guy, David. He was from England originally. Very good
looking and rich to boot. Sure, he was older than Mila, almost in his forties,
but he treated her like a goddess. They had really big plans, but he ran into
some trouble with the law,” Amy whispered conspiratorially. “It was all over
the papers; something to do with the stock market. Mila was scared to death
that she’d be called in for questioning. She had to flee the apartment David
had been renting for her with scarcely more than the clothes on her back. She
told me all of this afterwards, or I would’ve been there to help her.”

Janet nodded understandingly. Her head
felt fuzzy from the liquor. She had no idea why Amy was telling her all of
this. Maybe she had had one too many tequila shots.

“So then she ran right into Anton’s
arms. He treats her like crap, making her slave away in that restaurant, but
she’s been glued to him ever since. I don’t see what she sees in him. I keep
telling her to quit both the shitty job and the guy, but she won’t listen, not
even when I offered her to work for me in my new place. Sometimes I think that
she’s afraid to leave him.”

“Love is blind—”Janet started to say.
“What was her ex’s name again? David what?”

“Let me see … It was this weird last
name, not British at all. Muller—that’s it—his name was David Muller.”

It took all of Janet’s self-control to
keep her jaw from dropping. Mila sure had an interesting taste in men.

“Except for me, there isn’t a soul here
who’d help her. That bitchy cousin of hers didn’t lift a finger when Mila was
up the creek. I don’t think Mila even told her. Have you met her?”

“Who?”

“Her cousin, Ania.”

“Not yet.”

“I’m sure you will soon. Mila tells me
Ania stops by the restaurant often. The witch even had the nerve to come there
for dinner with her husband and have Mila serve them. You see, Ania’s married
to this rich guy who takes care of her every whim. Talk about a real life fairy
tale; she used to be a tour guide in Prague, and her future husband was
shooting a documentary there and just happened to sign up for one of her tours.
If you ask me, she’s nothing major in the looks department, a bit on the
heavier side, but she does have nice boobs though. It just goes to show you
that it’s not looks, but luck that matters. That’s how Mila came to New York;
Ania had invited her to show off her new life on the Upper East Side, thinking
Mila would leave after a month and go back to her little life in Prague, but
Mila wasn’t leaving New York. I got Mila her first job,” Amy added proudly. “At
the time I had only been off the boat for barely a year myself.”

“Where are you from?”

“Ireland, Cork. She lived in this dumpy
apartment for a while, but then she met David and things really started looking
up for her. It’s a shame—”

“What’s a shame?” Mila had re-joined the
group, taking them both by surprise.

“It’s a shame that these tequila shots
are waiting for you to drag your little behind out of the bathroom,” replied
Amy without missing a beat.

“Now that’s more like it.” Mila lifted
the shot to her lips.

Janet followed suit. This time the drink
went down much easier.

“Another round!” Amy shouted.

“Coming right up.” The bartender winked
at them.

“He’s kind of cute,” Mila whispered,
eyeing Janet and Amy in turn.

“I’ve got no time for men in my life,”
Amy shot back. “I’ve sworn off one night stands, but you’re welcome to make a
pass on him, Janet.”

“Go for it, girl!” Mila chimed in.
“There’s no better cure for a broken heart than a good fling.”

“Oh, no,” Janet protested. “I’m still
licking my wounds.”

But Mila wasn’t giving up. Once the
bartender placed another round of drinks before them, she leaned over the bar
stand. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Peter,” he replied. “Are you ladies
having a good time? Frankie told me to take good care of you. Hope I’ve been
doing a good job.”

“We’re having a great time,” said Mila.
“We’d really appreciate it if you could take care of our friend Janet, here.
She’s suffering from a broken heart. Are you single, Peter?”

Mortified, Janet intervened before Peter
could answer, “I’m afraid my friends had too much to drink. I think you should
keep that tequila away from them.”

“Come on, Janet, loosen up a little!”
Before either of them could say another word, Amy was up on the bar stand,
unbuttoning her blouse and swaying her behind to the beat of the music.
Instantly, there were whistles from all the males in the room.

Peter beckoned for her to get down.
“Amy! We just polished the bar. Frankie is going to be pissed if he finds out.”

“I never get pissed at my friends,” a
low baritone joined in. “I’m Frankie, Frank Gardner.” The owner of the voice,
broad-shouldered and muscular with dark brown eyes and curly brown hair,
offered his hand to Janet.

“Very nice to meet you, Frank,” Janet
replied.

“The pleasure is all mine. Any friend of
Amy’s is a friend of mine.”

“Frank!” Amy waved from the bar stand,
writhing her body to the beat of the music. “Are you girls going to join me up
here or what? Or are you chickens?”

In an instant, Mila was hopping onto the
bar stand. “Come on, Janet, don’t be a chicken!”

Oh, to hell with it! Janet thought.
Under a normal set of circumstances she wouldn’t as much as dare contemplate
the idea of dancing on a bar stand, but she was undercover and in character, so
all bets were off. Frank gave her a hand, and Amy and Mila pulled her up. Janet
steadied herself on the polished wooden surface of the bar. She looked down and
saw a blur of faces looking at her expectantly.

“Come on, Janet! Show us what you got!”
Mila nudged her.

The music pulsed through her body, its
words beating in her ears, “I don’t care, I love it. I don’t care!” Janet let
her body sway to the rhythm of the song. A bout of whistling followed, which
she took as a sign of approval.

“You go, girl!” Amy cheered her on.

Janet smiled, feeling liberated. Dancing
on bar stands wasn’t exactly part of her assignment. She was supposed to pretend
to be friends with Mila to get the information out of her, but right now Janet
didn’t feel like she needed to pretend. She was fully in character.

Janet woke up from excruciating thirst.
She prodded the nightstand for a cup of water, which she usually left there
before going to bed, remembering only too late that she had failed to do so
last night. To her surprise, the cup was there. Dennis, she thought, both
grateful and ashamed. She gulped down the water and checked her watch: it was
ten a.m. Slowly, the details of last night assembled in her head: the drinking,
the dancing on the bar stand, getting home late, Dennis putting her to bed. She
wished she could thank him, but he was already gone.

Her shift at Panther didn’t start until
six. Perhaps she and Dennis could have lunch and she would tell him everything
she had learned last night. She couldn’t wait to see his reaction. She dialed
Dennis’s number, but his phone went straight to voicemail. She tried his cell
phone, but got the same result. After leaving messages on both lines, she
showered and got dressed.

She poured herself a bowl of cereal and
dowsed it with milk. Not exactly her favorite breakfast, but she didn’t feel
like cooking for herself without Dennis there. She didn’t have much of an
appetite after last night anyway. Baxter seemed to feel the same way as he
sniffed his bowl, barely touching his food.

“What’s the matter, Baxter? Eat your food.”
But unlike his usual self Baxter merely looked away. Janet wondered if he was
mad at her for being away so much. For the past two nights her neighbor, Mrs.
Chapman, had been watching Baxter. Dennis had been picking him up in the
evenings, keeping him company until Janet got home from her job, and taking him
for his morning walks while she recovered from her crazy hours at the Panther.
Of course last night wasn’t entirely work, and she couldn’t help feeling guilty
about that, wondering what Dennis would think if he knew the details of her
outing. Perhaps she should be selective about the level of detail, like the
part where she got up on the bar stand and danced, drunk.

Janet stared at her cereal. Maybe she
wasn’t cut out for undercover work after all. She rose from her chair and
dumped the remnants of her breakfast into the sink. Her momentary feeling of
remorse was replaced by that of vindication. Sure, she hadn’t exactly been a
paragon of exemplary behavior last night, but she did get some very important
leads. Like the fact that Mila Brabec was David Muller’s ex-girlfriend; what
were the odds of that? That was Manhattan dating for you: there was a finite
supply of gorgeous women, and men like Muller only dated model lookalikes.
David Muller; talk about old ghosts. She couldn’t wait to tell Dennis.

***

Dennis tried to concentrate on his work,
but found it impossible to do so. He was too angry to focus: angry at Janet for
staying out until crazy hours of the night, coming home smelling of liquor and cigarettes,
angry at himself for being powerless to do anything about it. He didn’t want to
stand in her way, but did she have to go out cavorting God knows where to solve
a case? He was certain that there were other ways to get the job done, and even
if there weren’t, he didn’t want his girlfriend’s honor to be compromised in
exchange for dirt on Julius Libby. It wasn’t worth it, not to him, but Janet
was hell-bent on proving that she could pull her weight. As if Dennis had ever
doubted it! Or had he?

Perhaps, in some unconscious, unintended
way, he was to blame after all; in the past, they had always divided their
duties between them with Dennis taking on the riskier assignments. He was the
one out in the field facing fire (figuratively speaking), but the only reason
he was able to do it successfully was because Janet had his back. She was the
eyes in the back of his head, giving him the intelligence he needed. Perhaps he
should have told her that more frequently, or at least once. He sure hoped that
was all there was to it. That it wasn’t her way of telling him something else.

He remembered her reaction when Laskin
had whipped out the engagement ring he had bought for Aileen. Leave it to
Laskin to make a mess of things. The longing expression on Janet’s face had
been worth a thousand words, and Dennis knew exactly what it was that she
longed for. He wanted to give it to her, he really did, but he just wasn’t sure
that he would be able to. Maybe it was a classic case of emotional
unavailability, but it felt pretty original to him. It was his case after all,
and he was the one stuck with it. He’d had to rebuild his life from scratch,
and he didn’t want to change it, afraid of upsetting the balance it had taken
him all this time to achieve. He had been engaged once, and he had thought it
was going to be for keeps, but when the going got tough his fiancée thought
differently. He had to rebuild his life from scratch, alone. Until he met
Janet, when it came to relationships, a few months was the extent of his commitment.
Janet had changed everything. It had taken a major leap of faith on his part to
get close to her. They were in a good place, and he didn’t want to change
things just yet.

“What’s eating you this morning?” Ham
perched on the edge of Dennis’s desk.

Dennis looked up from his screen,
rubbing his eyes. It wasn’t a good thing when he was so distracted by his
thoughts that his boss could sneak up on him. “Work stuff.”

“Just work?”

“Just work,” Dennis confirmed. He wasn’t
about to confide his love troubles to his boss.

“How’s it going with Libby?”

“It’s going. We’ve got a lot of
information, but so far nothing suspicious.”

“You say that as though it’s a bad
thing,” Ham smirked. “You don’t like him, do you?”

“It’s not that—” Dennis began.

“It’s all right. I don’t like him much
either, so don’t pull any punches.”

“He’s living beyond his means. So far,
there’s been a reasonable explanation for everything. Valuable paintings bought
at a fraction of their cost at garage sales, lucky investment in a startup
company …. Julius Libby is one lucky guy.”

“Do you really believe that, Dennis?”

“I’d like to believe it, sir.”

“If there’s dirt, our client wants it
out now, not later.”

“Understood, sir.”

“I know I can count on you, Dennis; on
Janet and you, both.”

After Ham left the room, Dennis rose
from his chair. Janet’s undercover job as a waitress at Panther was yet to
produce any intelligence, and he wasn’t going to sit around the office
twiddling his thumbs. He was going to pay Libby’s office a visit.

***

Councilman Libby’s office was located in
a pre-war building in lower Manhattan. Dennis signed in at the visitors desk.
“The elevator’s down that way.” The security guard pointed.

The lobby looked like it had not been
renovated since 1918, and the elevator matched the rest of it. Dennis
hesitated, eyeing the caged construction and wondering whether he should opt
for the stairs instead.

“Don’t you worry,” the guard assured
him, walking after him. He pressed the elevator button. “She runs like
clockwork.” Just then the grill opened. “Here we are. She’ll get you up there
in a jiffy.”

Dennis stepped inside, doing his best
not to shudder as he felt the elevator floor sink underneath him.

“Steady as she goes,” the guard called
through the closing grill.

During the rickety ride upstairs Dennis
wondered if this was an intentional trick on the part of Libby’s administration
to discourage visitors. He was certainly having second thoughts about his
decision to visit Libby.

The elevator came to a thumping stop,
and after a few suspenseful moments, the grill slid open. Dennis leaped out,
glad to have his feet back on firm surface. The hallway was lined with chipped,
crooked tiles that dated to the same period as the elevator and the lobby. In
the middle of the floor was a sign: Councilman Libby, Suite 5A.

Dennis found the door of Suite 5A and
rang the doorbell. He was buzzed in instantly.

Inside he was faced with a glass
partition. “Do you have an appointment?” asked the girl behind the glass. Her
dark hair was pinned up and she was dressed in a conservative suit, but these
measures failed to diminish the intensity of her dark blue eyes, surrounded by
long lashes, along with her red, full lips, and model-like figure.

Bullseye, Dennis thought. He guessed
that a man like Libby would have hidden skeletons in his closet, but he didn’t
think he’d find one so quickly. He’d seen his share of executive assistants,
and they didn’t look anything like the siren Libby had hired to greet his
visitors.

Dennis flashed an official-looking id he
used whenever he was doing work for the agency. “My visit is in connection with
Mr. Libby’s upcoming nomination,” Dennis informed her. “I would like to examine
the office records.”

The girl blinked at the id. “I do not
have you on the list of visitors,” she replied calmly. “Mr.— I didn’t get your
name.”

“Mr. Walker!” Libby’s voice carried
through the glass partition. A moment later, Libby himself appeared before
Dennis in all his crisp, smiling glory. “How are you, Dennis?” asked Libby,
swinging the door open. “Please, come inside.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Libby. It is a
pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Walker.
Lillian, Mr. Walker is always welcome here. He is to have access to any records
he requests.”

“Yes, Mr. Libby,” Lillian nodded, eyeing
Dennis sharply.

“Please, come into my office, Mr.
Walker. Lillian, hold all of my calls.”

Dennis followed Libby down the gray,
threadbare carpeted hallway. Libby jiggled a door handle, pulling the shabby
door open with some effort. “Here we are, please, come into my office.” Libby
motioned at the worn chairs across from his desk. “Please, make yourself at
home.”

Dennis sank into the dilapidated chair.
The interior of Libby’s office was a stark contrast to his lavish home and to
Libby himself, who seemed completely out of place in his tailored Brooks
Brothers suit.

“Please excuse Lillian,” Libby began.
“She’s interning with us a few days a week; a distant relative of the mayor’s,
got her mind bent on going into politics,” he added in a theatrical whisper.
“My regular assistant is Michael Tuller; he’s out today on a personal matter,
but you can contact him for anything you need going forward.”

“Thank you, Mr. Libby.” Dennis tried not
to betray his disappointment. So Libby wasn’t as obvious as he had thought, but
sooner or later, Dennis would find a chink in his armor. He sure hoped it’d be
sooner.

“Please, call me Julius now that we’re
speaking privately. I believe that we’ve moved on to first name basis, Dennis?”

“Thank you, Julius.”

“I must admit that I was expecting you
to visit earlier.” Libby leaned back in his chair, smiling easily. “You’ve
shown commendable restraint.”

“I have a heavy workload. I promise not
to take up too much of your time.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world for
you, Dennis,” Libby assured him. “So, how can I help you today?”

“I’d like to see the office financial
records for the past three years,” Dennis made his request.

“Yes, of course.” Libby picked up his
phone. “Lillian, please make electronic copies of our financial records for the
past three years for Mr. Walker,” he gave the instructions. “Would electronic
records be sufficient?” he asked after hanging up. “We try to conserve paper
usage here.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Lillian should be able to get you the
records today, but I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed,” Libby added. “As you can
see, we do not get much funding.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

Libby gestured at his sagging desk.
“Just look at this computer monitor; it belongs in a museum. This building is a
historic landmark, and it’s falling apart. Have you noticed the winged lion
mosaic in the lobby?”

“Yes, yes I have,” Dennis replied,
realizing that Libby was referring to the tarnished tiles on the lobby’s
ceiling.

“It’s a shame it’s in such disrepair,
but I refuse to spend money to spruce up the office while we have city schools
going without basic supplies and homeless are on the streets. In my new
capacity as the New York senator, it is one of my goals to secure better
funding for the city needs.”

“I am sure the interests of your constituents
will be well protected under your charge.”

“I can assure you that if I get elected,
they will be, and so far I don’t see any reason why I wouldn’t get elected.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for my next engagement.”

“I won’t impose on you much longer.”
Dennis rose from his chair.

“Lillian will have those records for
you. Should you need anything else, please do not hesitate to contact me.”