They headed into the bar and sat at a quiet table that looked out onto the practice range. A waitress took their drink orders and Frank lit up a fat Cuban Cohiba cigar.
“You can smoke those things in here?” Clem questioned.
“Let them try to stop me,” Frank frowned. “Hell, I’ve been a member here since 1972. Do you have any idea how much money I’ve paid them over the years in club dues and bar tabs? Damn, this is the only place left where I
can
smoke these babies.”
The waitress returned with a Glendronach for Frank and a Sam Adams for Clem.
“Enjoy yourself today?” Frank asked, sipping his whiskey.
“Sure did. This is a pretty swanky place.”
“Yep,” Frank answered. The conversation was going nowhere. “Lets take a look at the menu. How about the Lobster Thermidor?”
Clem knew Tara probably had dinner waiting for him but didn’t want to go rushing home if Frank was finally going to spill the beans.
“Sure, why not?” Clem smiled. Frank called the waitress back over as Clem pulled out his cell phone and powered it up.
“You can’t use that thing in here. I told you that earlier,” Frank scolded.
“Just checking messages, that’s all.” Clem scrolled down a list of missed calls. “Hmmm…”
“What?” Frank asked, peering over at Clem’s phone.
“That’s a Kentucky number.”
“They leave a message?” Frank asked casually.
“No.”
“Well, it couldn’t have been that important.”
It was now close to six. Clem was annoyed he’d missed the call. It made him look bad as it was now after office hours and too late to call back. His patience with his boss was wearing thin.
“Okay, Frank. Are you going to cut to the chase or not? We’ve run out of things to talk about and you’re still not saying anything about who’s going to be filling your shoes.”
Frank gave Clem a weary look. “Clem, you’re a worrier. Cut it out. Stop thinking about Molinaire for half a second and stop being so concerned about Fitz. Hell, you’ve been uptight all afternoon about your damn cell phone being turned off. Lighten up.”
“
Concerned,
Frank. I’m
concerned
.”
“Same thing,” Frank argued.
Over dinner, Frank and Clem talked about The Minnesota Vikings, Joe Mauer and the Twins, how to make the perfect Martini and the best Caribbean island to vacation on - everything except the six hundred pound gorilla in the room. By the time Frank had added their dining expense to his club tab it was past eight o’clock.
They walked out to their respective vehicles in the parking lot pulling their golf bags behind them. Clem was curious why Frank was playing it so close to his chest at this late stage of the game.
“Look, Frank. I know you might not want to discuss this but for a seamless transition of power….”
“Have fun today?”
“I did. Thanks.”
“Two weeks, Clem. Then it’s all yours. See you at the office tomorrow.” Frank walked off towards the trunk of his black Lincoln town car where a chauffeur was waiting for him.
Clem smiled. That’s what he’d been waiting four years to hear.
CHAPTER 7
Kurt Fitzgerald was beaming as he left Frank Bergenson’s office. He walked past Rose, Frank’s matronly secretary giving her a wink and firing a finger shot at her.
“Bye, Kurt,” Rose smiled.
“See ya, hot pants,” Kurt smirked, though the thought of seeing Rose in hot pants was certainly not on his agenda. That, however, could not be said of Justine who stepped out of the elevator and was now walking towards Rose’s desk. Fitz had made more than one pass at her during her two years at Bergensons. She could’ve filed a sexual harassment report against him on more than one occasion but Justine had decided to always let it go in the interest of company harmony. If Clem knew Fitz had made sexual advances on her he’d have made a big deal of it and Justine didn’t want that. It would probably result in her being branded a trouble-maker and terminated, so Justine’s policy had been to just try and avoid the man altogether, whenever possible.
Seeing Fitz leave Frank Bergenson’s office in such a good mood was enough for Justine to put two and two together very quickly and get a resounding four. She’d had this nagging feeling that Fitz and Frank Bergenson had been a little too tight these past weeks. Fitz’s wink at Rose had been duly noted plus the obvious fact that whatever the reason was for Fitz and Bergenson’s meeting, Fitz was visibly pleased with the outcome. He walked towards the approaching Justine.
“Hey, baby. Looking as hot as ever.”
Justine shot him a sarcastic smile and kept walking. This time it was Rose’s turn to note Fitz’s behavior. Rose was mother hen to all the young chicks at Bergenson & Adler and was protective of her brood. Justine and Rose exchanged affectionate smiles as Fitz exited back down to the floor below via the elevator.
“Hello, Justine. We don’t often get to see you up here. What’s the special occasion?” asked Rose, genuinely pleased to see one of her favorite girls.
“That man creeps me out, Rose.” Justine glanced back to make sure Fitz had gone.
“He’s not so bad.”
Justine pulled an expression that strongly suggested she felt otherwise. “He’s always hitting on every woman in the agency.”
“Well, maybe not every woman here gets quite so upset about it as you do, Justine. We don’t all have your cute looks and slim figure.”
“You’re sweet, Rose but he’s a freako. Anyway, I’m not here about that. It’s Clem’s birthday next week and I’m planning a little party for him in the office on Wednesday. So I was wondering if you and Mr. Bergenson might want to come.”
“Oh, that’s sweet of you. I’ll ask him. Let me check his calendar and I’ll get back to you. What time?”
“Four o’clock,” Justine grinned like an excited Girl Scout as Rose scribbled down the info.
“Okay. Well, I can’t guarantee Mr. Bergenson will make it but I’ll be there for sure. Clem is such a terrific guy. Though the last time I saw him up here he was steamed about something.”
Justine puffed her cheeks. “He’s been so busy on the Rebakor business….so, why is Freako always in such a good mood these days? I don’t get it.”
“He’s been up here to see Mr. Bergenson a few times recently. I think Mr. Bergenson is just trying to reassure him,” Rose said quietly in case there were lurkers listening.
“Reassure him?” Justine sneered again. “About what?”
“Well,” Rose whispered. “I think his ego took a big hit with all the praise and acclaim Clem has been getting, you know.”
“Oh, poor baby! Gimme a break!” The phone rang and Rose signaled to Justine that she had to take the call. “See you Wednesday then?”
“You got it, honey,” Rose gave Justine a motherly smile as she picked up the phone. “Mr. Bergenson’s office.”
Justine walked away. “Okay, thanks. But keep it under wraps. I want it to be a surprise.”
“Mum’s the word,” Rose mouthed, covering the mouthpiece.
The traffic downtown started to get busy after four o’clock and Tuesday was no exception. The early shifters were getting off work and either heading out for happy hour at their favorite watering holes or heading back home to the burbs.
A green Chevy Malibu waited on a metered parking spot outside the Kemp building as various cars and SUVs pulled out of the huge skyscraper’s underground garage. Private investigator Jack Kelsey was an ex-cop who’d been around several blocks many times. He was a heavy-set guy, tough and savvy. The deep lines etched in his face seemed to suggest that he’d seen it all before and then some during his time as an officer of the law. This line of work was easier on the heart and the lower back, and a whole lot less stressful.
Kelsey sat patiently in his Chevy Malibu studying each vehicle that drove by him. But the only car he was looking out for was Clem’s silver Mercedes. His alert gray eyes kept constant watch. In the front passenger seat were the simple tools of his trade: digital camera with telephoto lens, video camera, Colt snub nose handgun and, most importantly, a notepad and pencil. Pens were unreliable – they ran out of ink. Names, numbers and times, that’s what he’d been asked for. A photograph of a certain Mr. Clem Drew was propped up on his dash to make sure he could I.D. the guy. He waited patiently.
A silver Mercedes sped out of the underground parking garage and quickly turned right onto Nicollet Avenue. The one-way traffic flow meant the green waiting Chevy was already pointing in the same direction. Kelsey clocked Clem’s face. He quickly turned the key in the ignition and pulled out into the steady flow of vehicles but stayed a few cars behind his target. The silver Mercedes weaved in and out of the traffic moving at a slightly faster clip than everyone else. Kelsey kept track but stayed his distance.
The Mercedes turned a quick left onto Hennepin Avenue and then a right on Eighth Street, escaping the busier thoroughfares. The green Chevy followed as Clem headed south out of downtown towards the older neighborhoods that blended downtown with suburbia. After a short while, Clem’s car seemed to be staying at a more constant speed which made Kelsey’s pursuit easier.
Clem’s car slowed down as it turned onto Calloway Avenue, a quiet street of small shops and residencies. After a few hundred yards, the silver Mercedes pulled over and stopped outside an old brownstone apartment building. Kelsey kept driving. With one hand on the wheel, he reached for his video camera. He filmed Clem step out of his car and stuff a handful of quarters into a parking meter then recorded Clem walking the few yards to the apartment entrance.
Kelsey stopped his car and started to slowly back up. He was out of Clem’s line of sight but Kelsey’s zoom lens had its target clearly in focus. While he filmed, he narrated what he observed.
“Subject’s arrival time at location…5.48 p.m. Subject has exited vehicle and is proceeding to entrance of apartment building located on Calloway Avenue.”
Clem disappeared inside the brownstone. All Kelsey could do now was wait. It was anybody’s guess which apartment buzzer Clem had pressed once inside. Kelsey scribbled down the address and noted the time just for good measure. Then he reversed his Chevy into a parking space which gave him a clearer view to the entrance to 1611. Kelsey switched off his car’s engine. Now he just had to remain vigilant and that meant no shuteye. That was the trouble with these kinds of jobs. He was hungry. Flipping open the glove compartment, he leaned over and grabbed a bag of toffees. That should keep his blood sugar high enough to keep him awake until Clem emerged, whenever that might be.
It was just after eight when Clem got home that night. He’d called Tara to give her a heads up that he was running late this time. She was over preparing anything elaborate for dinner since Clem had started acting so strangely disinterested in her cooking as well as her body. Tara hadn’t had a face-to-face conversation with her husband since Mrs. Cho had found the card in his jacket and she wasn’t quite sure how she was going to react when she saw him. She’d written several speeches in her head, most of them extremely angry and she wasn’t sure which one was going to blurt out of her when Clem walked in.
Tara sat quietly in the living room reading, or pretending to read, when she heard Clem enter the kitchen from the garage. She was still in her shorts, t-shirt and Nike running shoes. She knew that the two of them wouldn’t be going out anywhere that evening as they never did that anymore, so there was no point dressing up in anticipation. And considering the mood she was in, a public place would not be a good idea right now.
Tara heard Clem put his laptop case on the island counter but she stayed out of sight in the living room. She waited for Clem to at least call her name but he didn’t say a word. All she heard was the sound of his footsteps as he walked across the hardwood floor in their kitchen towards the carpeted staircase. Tara could hear his muffled footsteps ascend the stairs up to their bedroom so she put down her book and walked quietly to the foot of the stairs.
She waited, and then heard the shower running.
Should she confront Clem before he showered, during or after? And why was he showering before the dinner she hadn’t made him?
Tara’s beating heart and racing mind were getting the better of her. She felt she was on the verge of losing control of her emotions. Control was the key. Tara knew that. But she had so much pent up angst inside she had to vent it somehow or she’d explode. Tara couldn’t just stand there waiting for Clem to stroll back downstairs all in his own good time. She was ready to fight but her opponent wasn’t coming out of his corner. That gave
him
control and she didn’t want that. Tara opened the front door and ran outside. She was like a volcano ready to explode so she decided she might as well keep running. And that’s exactly what she did, all the way around the leafy trails of Caribou Lake.
Clem stood in the shower soaping his body from head to foot as if cleansing himself of a contagious skin disease. Physically, Clem was in great shape and took pride in his appearance but his apparent ‘squash’ bruises from the other night were giving him quite a banged up look. The steaming hot water blasting out of the large circular showerhead drowned him in a cascading waterfall, like a baptismal purification washing away his sins. Clem closed his eyes and turned his face upward so the water drenched his face. He stood there for fifteen long minutes lost in a mental no man’s land. It felt good, so good.
After toweling himself dry and putting on his bathrobe, he felt more spent than usual on this particular night. He went downstairs to the kitchen and poured himself a large brandy then went looking around the house for his wife. Finding no one home, Clem sat down on the sofa and started flipping through the TV channels on the remote as he usually did to unwind. Nothing grabbed his attention. He turned it off and went back upstairs to the bathroom.
Rifling through the cabinet drawers, Clem found a red plastic canister of Oxycontin. It was an old prescription from when he’d torn his meniscus on the basketball court a few years back. The pills were an easy way to zone out and while he didn’t need them for his knee injury anymore, they sure helped him relax quickly and mixed with some booze it was the perfect cocktail for a very good night’s sleep. Clem gulped down a single pill with the remains of his brandy and got into bed. If that didn’t send him into a deep sleep nothing would. He didn’t know where Tara was and was really too tired and woozy to worry about her right now.