Keep the Wolf from the Door

Chapter 16 - Daisy Waters

16.

Daisy Waters

            Sarah stared at Michael from across her desk. "After tapping into all of my resources, which are pretty substantial in your particular case, I've come to the conclusion that TJAW is nothing but a bunch of bullshit. Your Lieutenant is just a dirty cop working for somebody else with big intentions. Either way, you can be sure that Aleksey's death was no accident."

            "I was already sure of that."

            She stared at him blankly. "Congratulations."

             Michael paused. "That's it?"

            "This goes much deeper than I am willing to. All I can tell you is to watch your enemies, and friends, closely."

            "So watch my ass, period?"

            "Smart boy."

            "Sarah-"

            "The new millennium: time for change." Sarah pulled out a leather case and unzipped it. "Passport, BC health card, credit card, social insurance, birth certificate and driver's license all top notch quality. Kid will be born on Canadian soil; they'll be saying 'eh' in no time," Her smile faded. "Balance due immediately." 

            Michael pulled the tote bag from between his feet and rested it on her desk. She looked down at the thick wads of cash and smiled. "A pleasure bubi, as always."

*          *

            Michael paced inside his study squeezing a blue and white Cowboys stress ball. He glanced down at the old article he dug up on Miller. He had read it over several times and was tempted to read it again, especially the parts that had subjectively highlighted Miller's sociopathic tendencies.The name on the bottom of the article was Dan Leger – a washed up online journalist notorious for his left wing prose.The man had scrutinized Miller during his Rampart days. Charlie knew him from around placing the odd bet here and there. And Charlie had been calling Leger off the hook with not as much as a call back. According to his bitter ex-girlfriend, he was covering a story somewhere in Europe, his apartment had been sublet and she didn't know when he would return. "When you find him, tell him he owes me for rent." She slammed the door on Michael's face.

            The conversation—or lack thereof—with Sarah ate at his brain.

            Michael reached into his desk and pulled out the paternity test. The DNA had legally confirmed Miller as the biological father. He stared at the document as though it was the key to unlocking the mysteries of the universe.  The doors to his future were closing, but he refused to stop until he made it through the labyrinth. Unfortunately, he was running out of time.

            The knock on his office door caused him toshove the paternity test and newspaper in his drawer. He minimized Russian Roulette on his laptop screen. "Come in."

            Dr. Richards – middle aged divorcee whose wife took half of everything he owned in their settlement. He placed bets with Michael and had been trying to recoup for his losses ever since. He was a good doctor who practiced on the offbeat of the medical profession. By day he worked at the hospital, by night he worked at Triage: a hospital of another kind. The very place men go when they have no other option. A place that asks no questions only provides care to those who need it and could afford it, one way or another.  

            "When did you say her flight leaves?"

            "Less than 48 hours."