Simple Intent (21 page)

“Sir?’ Sailor switched the call to the speakerphone. 

Reilly heard traffic noises. 

Sailor said, “Are you all right?

“I’m fine. Get me Eddie.” The man breathed heavily, his words paced upon the exhale.

“One moment, please.” Sailor reached for the hold button, but Reilly grabbed her hand. 

On the other end, the man kept talking. “Goddammit, Gina. Did you have to pour that shit on there? That fucking kills.” 

They heard a woman’s voice. “Shut up, Hi. I’m trying to help.”

Reilly released Sailor’s hand. 

She pushed the hold button and a red light blinked. “Oh my God, it’s Berger.” 

“And Gina.” Reilly looked away.

“What should I say?”

“Tell him Deluca stepped out. And get his number.”

Sailor hesitated, then punched the blinking light. “I’m sorry, Sir. Mr. Deluca is unavailable. May I have him call you?”

“You tell Eddie I need him to deliver a message to his pal.”

“A message, sir?’ 

“Yeah. Tell him, I don’t stop till I get back what belongs to me. You got that?”

“Yes. I’m writing it down.” Sailor grabbed a pen. “Who should I say is calling? Sir?” 

But Berger had hung up. 

Sailor looked at Reilly. “What the hell was that? He wants Deluca to deliver a message to his pal?” 

Reilly had some questions himself like, why was Gina with Berger when she said they were through? 

There was a tap on the door and Mimi leaned her head into the office. “Thanks for covering for me, Sailor.”

“No problem.”

Mimi noticed Reilly and smiled. She smoothed her blouse and looked for something to say. Finding nothing, she started to close the door, then popped her head back inside.

“Pretty crazy what’s happening on the docks, isn’t it? My sister lives over there, says she can’t even get home. All the streets are closed off.”

Sailor and Reilly looked puzzled. 

Mimi said, “The explosion... Wait, didn’t you hear? They’re probably still talking about it.” She nodded toward the TV, then pulled the door shut. 

Reilly found the remote and the local channel’s breaking news report. 

The reporter, Taylor Dunne, a round-faced salon blond stood at an entrance to the Philadelphia Docks, a flurry of activity behind her.

“Officials have reason to believe an incendiary device was planted under the Chinese crate. There is still no confirmation on the origin of the tractor-trailer. Pier authorities are investigating—”

The anchor in the studio interrupted, “Is there any word on casualties, Taylor?”

“Yes. We have at least four fatalities, Stan.”

“Do we know who they are, Taylor?”

“Not at this time, Stan. Authorities won’t release that information until the victim’s families have been notified.”

Reilly hit the mute button. “Holy shit.” His eyes went to the message from Berger.

“Wait. You don’t think Berger did that, do you?” Sailor pointed to the scene. As firefighters held hoses on a black smoking mass, a crowd of dockworkers gathered around another reporter, some with cuts on their faces, others with tears in their eyes.

“One way to find out.” Reilly pulled out his phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“Gina.”

“Gina Chamblee? Berger’s Gina? Lou Gallo’s ex-wife?” Sailor said, “Hang on Reilly, Let’s think this out. What would a retired detective be doing at the Philadelphia Pier?”

“Maybe he planted the bomb?’ 

“Or he was with the truck.”

“Why would he be with the truck?” Reilly said. “He’s not a dockworker.”

“Who said the truck drivers were dock workers?”

“What are you saying, Sailor?”

She scribbled something on the message pad. “Did you see the door of the truck? The one they kept showing on the roof of that building?”

“Yeah?”

“How’s your Italian?”

“Besides cannolli, spaghetti and Chianti, not so good.”

“Look.” Sailor turned her pad of paper around. She had written, ‘apirs a vicen’, the words as they appeared on the wrinkled truck panel and under that, ‘capirsi a vicenda’.

Reilly ran a hand through his hair. “That sounds familiar.”

“It should. It’s one of Lou Gallo’s favorite sayings. He said it at least four times during the trial. It means ‘to understand each other’.”

Reilly lowered his voice, “That was Gallo’s truck?”

Sailor nodded.

“And we know Berger and Gallo have a past,” Reilly said.

“Right. So now we—”

“Do nothing. Yet.” Reilly looked at her. “Deliver the message to Deluca. He’ll have to contact his pal, right?”

“Probably won’t call him, not if it’s someone involved in that.” Sailor pointed to the TV screen and the smoldering remains of the semi.

“Okay, so he’ll meet the pal in person, or–”

”E-mail him.” Sailor picked up the phone, punched in three numbers.

“Who are you calling?”

Sailor spoke around the receiver. “Early. He’s a computer genius. I wanted to talk to him about the disc, anyway. He’ll help us. He likes me.”

Reilly rolled his eyes. Didn’t she know? All the guys liked her, some more than others.

Ten minutes later, Richard Early left his cramped corner in the firm’s basement and made his way upstairs. He wondered what Sailor needed and why the air seemed better up here.

SO, that’s it?’ Sailor stepped back. She’d been leaning over Early’s shoulder. She enjoyed watching his fingers fly over the keyboard, hitting all those F keys like he knew exactly what each one would do.

Early wanted to turn his head and sniff. Just one long, deep inhale. Sailor was close enough to lick. Not that he’d lick her. He was just trying to place the high points in her cologne. It was driving him insane. He got the floral undertones of peony and gardenia, but there was something else, something that reminded him of tabouli or baby powder. It was an intriguing mix. Usually commercial colognes were simple, but Early had been distracted by the programming, and by Sailor’s breasts. 

He’d been asked to do a few unusual things since he began with MDB&S, but it was usually by pudgy men who bore the aroma of bacon and Crest with a hint of desperation. Not like Sailor. Early had been able to follow the anonymous email back to the internet provider. Now he was hacking the customer base.

“You’re amazing,” Sailor said. “Where did you learn all this?”

Early grinned, his eyes on the screen. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Sailor’s eyes went wide, until she realized he was joking. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

Early snorted, his laugh more of a choke and gurgle. 

A flashing warning appeared on the screen. 

Sailor said, “Uh-oh.” 

Early hit a few keys, watched the download figures. “Ten more seconds, come on.” He typed faster, opening and closing windows.

The screen went blue. Then blank.

“Darn it.” Early smacked his hands on the keyboard.

“What happened?”

“They slammed the door.” 

Early sunk back in the chair. “You know, it’s probably not such a good idea to do this here.” He looked around Deluca’s office. “But, I could work on it at home.” He looked at Sailor. “If you wanted to come over.”

Sailor said, “Are you saying you’d be able to find out who sent the message and if there are any more?”

Early rocked rapidly in the chair. “No sweat. I’d be glad to help you.”

Sailor wished he’d quit bouncing. She touched his arm. “So, something that’s encrypted would be...” 

Early stopped rocking. “As easy as finding a geek at a Star Trek Convention.”

Sailor wrote on a notepad. “Here’s my number.” She handed it to him, then grabbed Deluca’s computer disc from her purse and held it up. “I’d be interested to see what you can find on this.” 

She leaned close enough for him to feel her breath on his cheek. “Richard? This is just between us, right?’ She nodded, waited for him to nod back. “Call me as soon as you know anything.” 

Richard Early slipped his first beautiful girl’s phone number into his left front pocket next to the rabbit’s foot and smiled.

Sailor walked him to the lobby, where Early got on an elevator and went back to the dark halls of taxes, with tabouli, baby powder and peony on his mind.

Paris Kendrick, jilted mistress, unhappy wife, keeper of secrets, watched from the reception desk. The call to Mrs. Theodore Wells Montgomery hadn’t gone as planned. The old bag said she’d known all along, and that it would take a lot more than a two-bit floozey pumped up with silicone and Botox to get the best of her. What Paris hated most was how Alice said, “Dammit, now he’ll expect me to sleep with him.” 

Here was Paris, actually missing her husband, Arnold, who was thousands of miles away and not due back for a week. She would have thought the idea of Ted and Alice going at it under the silk sheets would be enough to turn her off sex for the rest of her life, but oddly, she felt her blood rising. 

It was a toss up. Her optometrist had a nicer ass—and a voice that said, I’m looking at more than your pupils when I blind you with my penlight. Paris was sure that brush against her thigh last week was not accidental. She sighed. Of course, there were plenty of opportunities right here at MDB&S, and don’t forget Jerry, the delivery guy. There was something about that curly chest hair peeking out of his brown shirt that bugged her, but the guy had eyes the color of Yves St. Laurent’s spring collection, and she knew she looked good in blue.

A girl’s got to be choosy, or else she’d end up with something like the geek who was getting on the elevator. What did Sailor see in him? And what were they doing in Deluca’s office? 

Paris didn’t like this girl. She was too beautiful, too savvy. She made Paris feel old and resentful. Paris sipped her tea and was thinking of tanned cabana boys in Oaxaca when Deluca stepped off the elevator smelling like gin and trouble.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Eddie.”

“So when are you going to leave that husband of yours and run away with me?”

“Who says I have to leave him?”

Deluca raised a brow. Paris winked. She’d invented this game. She leaned over her high desk, twisted her headset mic out of the way and lowered her voice, “You might want to keep a better eye on your intern.” 

He looked up from her cleavage. 

“Leave a girl alone in your office, and you never know what she might find—or hear.”

Deluca unlocked his door, saw tomorrow’s calendar on top of the in-box, just where he’d told Mimi to leave it. Everything seemed in order. Sailor could poke around all she wanted. There was nothing for her to find here. He sat at his desk, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt then pulled a glass and a bottle of Macallan from the bottom drawer. What a fucking mess. He poured himself a snoot and kicked off his shoes. On the third sip, he saw the message pad. He slid it over and read it, then downed his drink. Goddamn Berger. 

Deluca tore the paper from the pad, balled it up and dropped it in the nearly empty wastebasket by his desk. It joined another pink paper. This one was neatly folded. Deluca fished it out and read Sailor’s precise writing, “Capirsi a vicenda.” 

It was late and all Reilly wanted was another cold beer and a soft bed. That wasn’t true. What he really wanted was a line of coke the size of his middle finger, a girl who never said no and a week in a hot tropical climate where clothes were optional. But he was trying to be good. He knew things could get out of control. Hell, look at Shelly. It wasn’t going to happen to him, he was too smart for that, and the way Sailor felt about drugs, he was seriously thinking about giving the whole thing up, just as soon as this caseload lightened. 

He opened the door to his apartment, paged his dealer and grabbed a beer. While he waited for the call back, he flipped through TV channels, watched the end of a bad movie and finally settled on a shopping network where a gorgeous brunette sold jewels from her cleavage. He had his hand on the phone when it rang.

“Hi. It’s Sailor. You busy?”

Reilly hit the TV mute button, saw the ticker across the bottom of the screen, ‘...last chance for the Executive Hotdog Rotisserie...’. He tore his eyes away. “It’s late. What are you doing up?”

“I’ve got something you might want to see.”

Yes, you do. Reilly thought. 

Sailor said, “Can you come over?”

“Sure. Give me a minute.” Reilly hung up the phone, saw the ‘sold’ banner flashing over the Executive Rotisserie and sighed.

Ace called a meeting in the prison weight room. The CO outside the door had been plied with money and favors. He was one of theirs and they treated him well. 

“There better not be no miscommunication on this matter. You hear?’ Ace looked around at the blank faces. “What I mean is I want this done right, and nothing comes back on me, understand?”