The Lights of Tenth Street (54 page)

He laid the box on the bedspread and clumped halfway down the stairs. He poked his head around the banister, calling for Sherry. She appeared around the corner wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“Hey, hon, did we ever set up that New Year’s dinner?”

“Not yet. I suppose you want
me
to do that?”

Doug gave her his best little-boy grin. “Would you?”

“You’re impossible! Okay, fine, I’ll call the Woodwards tonight.”

“That’d be great. Keep it small.”

Sherry flicked her dish towel at him, cracking it through the slats on the stairs. She smiled at Doug’s mock yelp and waved her hand. “Go back to your present wrapping! I’ll make the call right now.”

“I love you, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Smiling, Sherry vanished around the corner, and Doug heard her pick up the phone.

He walked back up the stairs, unable to contain the grin on his face. They hadn’t been this playful in years. It was so fun again to be married! Doug sent up an earnest prayer of thanks. Then he hastened down the hallway to find some wrapping paper before the little hooligans who shared the house found their presents.

M
arco banged through the kitchen doors, muttering to himself. The cooks eyed each other but didn’t say anything. The waitresses took one look at his face and decided against a cheery holiday greeting.

He barked out questions about the evening’s preparations, hardly waiting for the answers. A couple of times he asked the same question over again. After a few minutes of prowling around, he left the kitchen and headed toward his office.

Tyson looked up, irritated, when Marco came in, but he took a look at his face and didn’t say anything.

“Let’s get down to business.” Marco sat behind his desk. “I’m already late this evening, and I’ve got a lot to do. As do you, I’m sure.”

“Agreed.” Tyson popped open a briefcase and handed over a single sheet of paper. “Here’s the final list. We’re hoping for an even wider distribution of the product, and Proxy wants your girls to help grease the wheels.”

“I don’t recognize all these names.” Marco drummed his fingers on the desk. “Who’s this?” He pointed. “And this?”

“They are two high-up officers at the only large chain that’s been slow in stocking our product. No one knows why they chose to miss Christmas sales, but we need to get them on board. We could conceivably increase our market penetration to over 8 percent if this chain stocked the product for a few weeks before D-Day. And both men will be in town for a week after Christmas for some meetings. They’ll be steered toward the club. A perfect opportunity for your key girls to make something happen. I know several of the girls are gone, but some are still around, right?”

“Just two.”

“Hmph. Christmas. No one wants to work. Well, maybe you can mobilize the others once they get back. In the meantime, get started on this. It’s worth a double bonus to you if the girls succeed.”

Marco didn’t smile. “I’ll work on it. But it’s hard to accomplish anything substantive this time of year.”

“What better time for some of these corporate bigwigs to be in an expansive,
generous mood?” Tyson narrowed his eyes. “You know Proxy doesn’t appreciate excuses.”

“I’ll try to make something happen,” Marco said. “But in the meantime, answer me a straight question. What do you plan to do with the girls? I notice their schedules are blank well before the big day.”

“You know better than to ask me that, Marco. That’s my jurisdiction, not yours.”

Marco went cold. Everything about the girls was his jurisdiction. But everything about the larger plan—including what witnesses and evidence to eliminate—was in Tyson’s. As he had suspected, the girls would never make it to Superbowl Sunday.

“Is there a problem?” Tyson seemed to be staring through him, reading his thoughts.

“No problem. I’ve just got a lot to do. Especially adding these deals to my plate.”

“I’m quite sure you can handle it.”

“I’m quite sure I can. In the meantime, I need to ask a favor relating to the Speed Shoes deal. The girl that set it up for us has been very pleased with her bonus.”

“As she should be.”

“She’d like—discreetly—to get a copy of the ad campaign if at all possible. To get a copy of the commercials, sort of like a memento since she brokered the deal. She can’t ask Wade, obviously—he’d wonder why she cared. So she asked me if there was any way I could get her one.”

Tyson shrugged and opened his briefcase again. “Sure. Actually, I have a CD copy right here. There’s only three files on the CD—one for each ad in the series—and if you just click on a file, the commercial will run. I’m pretty sure this is the final version.”

Marco took the CD from him. It was in a paper slipcover with DEMO written across the front. “Anything else?”

“That’s it. Just find a way to get these final distribution deals approved.”

Once Tyson had left, Marco popped the CD into his computer. As promised, three files showed in the window. He clicked on the first one, and watched the ad that had been unveiled—and used so well—that fateful night a few weeks ago. The second ad—scheduled to be shown just after midnight on New Year’s Eve—ramped up the volume a bit, whetting appetites for the final commercial to be shown on Super Bowl Sunday.

With interest, Marco clicked on the third file … and cocked his head in surprise.
Instead of running a third video clip, an error message popped up. “Unknown format. Specify.”

He clicked on it again. Same problem. His eyes narrowed. Could it be …?

He went to the door and jerked it open and hollered at a passing waitress.

“Get Maris in here!”

The waitress scurried off, and less than a minute later, Maris came strolling through the door.

“What’s eating you, boss?”

Marco gave her a look, and made an exasperated sound. “I have a file here I can’t open. You’re the only one in the place that’s not a total computer moron. Any ideas?”

“Gee, thanks for the compliment.”

Maris started forward, but Marco put out an arm, blocking the computer.

“Just tell me how to open it.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, I’m not going to be able to figure out how to open it unless I can
see
the thing! Good grief, Marco, I’m not going to eat it!”

She pushed past him and he relented.

She frowned at the screen and began fiddling with the keyboard.

“It looks like it’s some sort of audio file, but your computer won’t open it. Maybe it’s an MP3—”

“Like I know what that means.”

“Just hang in there, boss. It’ll just take a second.” Maris’s fingers flew over the keyboard so fast he couldn’t keep up. “I’m going to download an MP3 player onto your computer here, to see …”

Several minutes and a half-dozen curses later, she straightened.

“Aha! There!” The file opened, and she peered closely at the screen as strange sounds emanated from the speakers. “Ach—it’s just computer babble.”

She waved a hand, annoyed. “It doesn’t make any sense. I probably corrupted the file in trying to open it. Sorry, chief, I tried.”

“No problem.” Marco gestured toward the door and hustled her out. “Thanks anyway.”

He shut the door behind her and returned to his desk, eyes gleaming as he listened to the magic coming over his speakers. That was computer code! It had to be
the
code developed over at Tyson’s fortresslike building, the code that would be embedded in and transmitted with the television commercial on some impossible-to-hear frequency. One thing was sure—Tyson would never have knowingly given him a copy of the thing.

Marco leaned back in his chair and put his feet up. He should call Tyson on his
cell phone and tell him what he’d found. He should … but he wasn’t going to. Maybe this could give him some leverage over his condescending superior, some additional protection. Maybe he could use this to gain some additional protection not just for himself, but for his girls. He’d have to think about that.

Marco copied the file onto his hard drive and changed the name. Then he took the CD out of the computer, put it back in its slipcover, and set it in a drawer.

Until he figured out how to use it, he’d just act like the little disc didn’t exist.

“See you after Christmas!” Tiffany gave a blithe wave and blew a few kisses. “I’ll come back and make you all jealous with my tan!”

A chorus of grumbles from the other dancers followed her out the door. A four-day jaunt to the Virgin Islands was a nice Christmas present from her sugar daddy. She’d be back and ready for work—lithe and sun-bronzed—by Saturday night. Several other dancers were gone on similar warm-weather excursions. The rest of the dancers sat at a scattering of tables, counting out their money, trying to figure out what to do with the evening. There had been so few customers, Marco had decided to close early this Christmas Eve.

Ronnie counted out the DJ’s take, her mind turning to her empty apartment. It would be a lonely Christmas without Tiffany around. At least on the other days, she’d fill the time with work. With so many other dancers gone she could make a boatload of money without even trying. She thought about her mother’s plea to come home tomorrow, and almost wavered. Most of her colleagues had no home they cared to go to on Christmas day. At least she had her mom. But no—she had explained to her mother that the “restaurant” needed her to work; it was one of their busiest seasons.

She pushed away a nagging guilt at having been away from home for so long. At least she sent back lots of money to help her mom set up her new apartment and pay off her last medical debts. She’d even helped her buy a better car.

Ronnie heard the new lightness in her mother’s voice whenever she called, the conversations now sprinkled with religious talk. Whatever had happened to her mother, though, seemed like a good thing. It wasn’t creepy-religious, just … just
nice
. Sort of like the Turners and the Woodwards. Just nice and wholesome.

The Turners and the Woodwards might, for whatever reason, still want to befriend her even though they knew she was a stripper. But that knowledge would kill her mother. Especially now. Best to avoid her altogether.

Ronnie left the club and headed out of the driveway, feeling rudderless. She didn’t want to go back to her apartment—they hadn’t even put a tree up. What was the point, when it was just her?

She drove down Tenth Street, looking at the decorations, the festive lights that festooned every building, every restaurant, every shop. Lights of all colors blinked and sparkled as couples walked arm in arm along the busy sidewalk. Even the low-income apartment complexes where all the immigrants lived were draped with decorations, people bustling in and out on their last-minute Christmas errands. Ronnie watched it all from behind her car windows, feeling empty.

Some pretty white lights draped on elegant trees caught her eye. She saw the banner out front and, on an impulse, pulled into the busy parking lot.

There were hundreds of cars in the lot, their occupants emerging and streaming into a massive church building. A sign proclaimed “Vespers. Christmas Eve. 8:00 and 9:00.”

Ronnie got out of her car feeling for a moment that she was in a foreign land. It looked like there were hundreds of people there. She slowly followed the others streaming in. She could get lost in this crowd.

She slipped into the back, took a program, and found a seat. Despite what seemed like thousands of people in the room, the sanctuary was hushed, pensive, only a soft murmur of conversation rising over the gentle chords of an organ being played somewhere up front.

Two dozen people in robes took their places in a loft behind the altar. The whole congregation quieted as the choir director raised his hands, and the choir began to sing.

Ronnie sat, transfixed by the music. She didn’t understand the Latin lyrics, but it felt sweet … reverent … holy. Had she ever heard anything so beautiful? She closed her eyes and let the sound wash over her, caught up in a pure, unfamiliar feeling. Almost as if she were being wrapped in strong arms, loving arms. Her skin prickled and she felt she could have sat and listened all night. It was as if there was something
there
 … something she could almost touch if she just knew how.

The priest came forward and read the Christmas story. She had heard it before somewhere, heard about the baby born in a stable, about the angels singing, about the shepherds traveling to greet him. She wondered if the angels’ voices had sounded like the music she had just heard.

Peace on earth … goodwill to men
 …

She could almost believe in peace on earth. Here, this night, she could almost believe.

The service ended with more lovely music, the congregation standing as chimes were played, then filing out quietly and heading to their cars. There was little chatter. Everyone seemed as subdued, as pensive, as she.

She didn’t want to leave. She was reluctantly heading to her car when she heard a voice at her side.

“I thought that was you.”

She turned quickly. Marco was standing there, bundled up against the cold.

“Marco, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I figured I’d stop in. It’s Christmas, after all.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” She looked at him, curious. He seemed subdued, quiet. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing. Just—” He gave up with a shrug. “Well … nothing.”

Ronnie gave him a small smile. “I think I know how you feel.” A strand of music played again in her mind, and she stilled, trying to recapture the feeling. “That was beautiful.”

Marco nodded, and started to turn away. “Merry Christmas, Ronnie.”

Ronnie smiled at the use of her real name. “Merry Christmas, Marco.”

The two of them parted, went to their cars, and drove away, neither with any particular place to go.

A large figure broke away from his troop as ordered, and followed Marco out of the church parking lot. He settled beside him in the car, speaking to him, trying to get through.