Ted Palliser stood slump shouldered beside the short hall leading to the, public only, washrooms. Above his head was a white plastic reindeer trailing a ribbon with the words, Season's Greetings emblazoned in red and gold and on the opposite wall a clone, only the words were, Merry Christmas. Ted was sick and tired of forcing a smile for every person headed into the john and out again. His thoughts exploded like a busted piñata. What the hell was there to smile about? Have a nice crap? Glad you can go? Security wasn't even allowed to use them as they had their own in the security office. Nick had cursed that rule earlier in the month. Connie and her little power game. Wait until Hardy gets back, he thought with vengeance.
Ross did a radio check with the temporary guards—Malcom's office employees—and redeployed them as necessary then he slipped into the security office and helped himself to a beer from the fridge. Connie was upstairs so nobody would be bothering him in here. He'd locked the door; let those other goofs watch for big Russians.
Malcom listened suspiciously as Connie insisted on reporting how she'd organized the security and what each member of the team was doing. She enjoyed Malcom's face scrunch when she described Ted's duty, but he didn't say anything. She wandered to the window and gazed out across the city.
"I love this view," she exclaimed, lifting up on her toes and bending over to peer down to the street.
Malcom agreed, though his attention was elsewhere.
"Maybe the security office should be on one of the upper floors, we could deploy in both directions must faster, don't you think?" She turned and sat her bum on the window ledge.
"There isn't any spare room up here." Malcom said. "Look, I'm very busy right no—"
"There must be some department or office on these upper floors that could perform just as well down where we are now." She continued. "And they'd have their own lockers and showers."
"That would be a problem up here then. Those amenities aren't available." He waved an impatient hand. "Shouldn't you be downstairs where security is needed?"
"Then maybe just the head of security and a secretary or second in command." She went on, ignoring him.
Malcom felt the unease of Connie's badgering. She was angling for more than he'd already foolishly ceded and not about to give up without a full effort. "I suppose it's something we might discuss down the road." He offered, hoping to deflect her. "Now perhaps—"
"Mmmm... something else we might look into as well, Malcom, is my current position becoming permanent."
He'd created a monster! "Hold on now, Connie. Hardy is my chief of security. He's been with me a long time and when he gets out of hospital that job is still his. We talked about that."
"Hardy." She pushed off the window ledge and wandered back beside his desk. "I could tell you some things about Hardy that might give you some second thoughts about his competence."
"I don't think this is very becoming of you, Connie. The man is at a disadvantage right now, unable to answer any- any charges."
"Trust me, Malcom, he couldn't. You could ask Ross or Nick about him, it certainly hasn't been a big secret from us."
He stared at her. At her innocent smirk. At her painted fingers toying with the uniform tie. At her breasts! He caught himself and coughed. "Okay, Connie, what hasn't been a big secret?" He looked deliberately at his watch.
"He's gay." She puckered her mouth and raised her eyebrows.
Malcom stared again. "Gay?" His closed his eyes and when he opened them she was closer. "You uh- you're telling me that Hardy Pinkerton is gay?"
"Mm-hmm. Not that that matters so much but it's the relationship he has with Ted that—"
"TED!" Malcom's face expanded almost as large as his shout. "Ted Palliser and Hardy!"
"We didn't want to say anything because we knew what Ted meant to you but in the interest of the company's image it probably should be addressed."
"Ted Palliser?"
Connie knew she had him hooked and she fleshed out her description about Hardy and his behaviour to the point that Malcom was ready to call the hospital and fire him immediately.
"He is good at his job though, Malcom," she said. "Firing him would be a waste of that skill. All he really needs is a good lesson... like losing his seniority, that would send the proper message." She closed the space between them and Malcom gulped.
His secretary's voice popped out of the intercom and Malcom recovered his focus as she advised him that there was a Sydney Court waiting to speak with him.
"Who?"
"The young man you had in earlier... about Miss Lakefield."
"Aaah, right. Send him in." He made a helpless shrug for Connie and said he'd think about her request. She grew very still and in a low, hard voice told him she would be very disappointed if he failed to act on her suggestion. She strutted to the door and stood back as Sydney entered. Their eyes met and both recognized something in each of them, then she was gone.
Malcom was tripping over his jaw as Sydney came to the front of his desk. Hardy Pinkerton and Ted Palliser! How could he have not known?
"Hi, I uh- I came for the money you promised me." Sydney broke into his daze.
"Huh? Money?" Malcom's eyes snapped into focus at the mention of money and he cleared his throat magisterially.
"Sydney is it? How can I help you?"
"I believe I helped you, sir. I did find Miss Lakefield for you as asked."
"Right, right. You did?"
"Yessir, she's at the Armbridge Hotel with her friend from the junk store and the three Russians. You spoke to her, remember?"
Malcom stared blankly at the young man. "Is she- is she alright?"
"She was when I left. I don't think she's in any real trouble... inconvenient I'd call it."
"And now what is it you want?" He pictured Holly vowing to gut him for tossing her to the Russian wolves.
"And now I'd like the money you offered. The five thousand."
A barked laugh. "Five thousand? I said I'd give you five thousand? I don't think so, young man." Once again the mention of money centred Malcom's focus.
"Wait a minute, pal. That was the deal. You were frantic about her whereabouts and you made me that offer. I found her for you now I want my money."
Malcom saw the young man begin to turn red and his neck muscles flex and he quickly pressed his security button under the desk with his foot. "Take it easy now. Let's talk about this rationally."
"I want—my—money."
The office door flew open and Connie stood, legs apart and a gun held out in the two-handed manner, face high. "Freeze!" Sydney gawked at the woman he'd just seen and mouthed a profanity in surprise. "Down on your knees with your hands on your head."
"What?"
"You heard, perp."
Perp? Was she for real? "Look," he began, "I have legitimate business with this guy."
"Where the hell did you get a gun?" Malcom gawked.
"It was in Hardy's locker, he's had it for ages."
"I never authorized weapons."
"Hey!" Sydney shouted from his knees. "Remember me for Christ's sake?"
"I told you to get your hands on your head." Connie took an aggressive step toward him.
"If you so much as touch me I'll have your ass in court by nightfall."
Connie looked to Malcom who shrugged, defeated by all the events, and mimed getting him out of his office. "Okay a compromise. I won't touch you and you'll leave the premises peacefully, right now."
Sydney stood up and turned to Malcom and snarled. "You bastard! This how you run your big company? Making and breaking promises as it suits?" He flung a hand at him and marched past Connie out the door. She lowered her gun and considered Malcom for a moment and then left to escort Sydney out of the building.
"What was that about?" She asked him on the elevator. The gun was back in her holster and she seemed unconcerned with the whole affair.
"Bastard reneged." He cautiously told her about finding the woman as asked and about the money Malcom had promised. The elevator sank to the main floor and he felt more at ease with the woman as his story unfolded.
"Well, lesson learned, eh... Sydney is it?"
"Yeah."
"Connie Rubbi. Pleasure."
"Yeah? Why?"
"Cause I'm sort of in the same boat with him." She told Sydney about her temporary position as the elevator reached the lobby and the doors slid open. He heard about the raise she was asking for because she needed a lot more money than her current salary could provide. She explained about her desire to be an actress. "Nobody, and I mean nobody knows about that. I can't believe I just told you."
"I'm a nice guy." He leered at her. "So is this an expensive thing this acting?"
"I've saved up nine thousand dollars but I need probably another six or seven to at least finish the course and then hire an agent."
Nine thousand dollars! Sydney's alarm went off. "Listen, Connie is it? You got time for a coffee?"
"Why?"
"Maybe we could be of use to one another. I've got an interesting proposition you might consider."
She gave him a sour look and pointed to the street doors. "I get those all the time, buddy."
"No, really! A business proposition. It might help you get the money you need."
"What's in it for you?" She took his arm and steered him out the door but held it open.
"A solution to a financial problem of my own." They stared at one another for a moment. Finally Connie stepped outside and let the door go. "Give me a call." She gave him a personal card with the Company logo and her number already scribbled on the back.
******
Nikoli had to make a huge decision. Gregory and Anton needed their clothes, which Sydney had taken with him when he left, but Holly and Jacob needed watching while he was gone. His big face looked overwhelmed.
Gregory was coming to a boil and Anton began shivering and sneezing, a result, no doubt, of his time lying in the damp alley.
"Bring something from your room you dolt!" Gregory snapped. "It will have to do for now." Nikoli pointed at Holly. "Never mind them! Get me some clothes!" Nikoli fled.
"Well, Gregory, guess this is goodbye until another time. Sorry the deal didn't work out and, by the way, we had nothing to do with Sydney's plan. "
"All of you will regret your actions," he snarled.
"I'm sure you'll have enough on your plate explaining to Davidov... does he know about those shorts?"
Gregory turned pink and made a fist at Anton who stopped sneezing long enough to smirk. Holly grabbed Jacob's arm and they checked the hall outside and left.
"Where are we going?"
"Home. Nothing more we can do right now."
"But the cards and that- that sleazy bastard that stole them?"
"Do you know where he went?"
"No, but we know where he lives."
The weather had turned cooler still and a gusting wind was carting off anything on the street that wasn't fastened down. Decorations swayed dangerously from the light poles and the spurts of music from the various stores were swept away in indistinguishable harmony. Winter was bullying fall out of the way. She pondered that a moment as they hit the street and hailed a cab. They did know where Sydney lived and that might be the best place to start in case the Russians had the address as well.
"I have to change first. This outfit isn't warm enough any more. Which begs the question, Jacob, where did all this mercenary military look come from?"
"I wasn't always a used goods dealer, my dear. There are chapters in this old man's life you wouldn't believe if told."
"Try me."
"Let it be enough to know that at one time I was called, La Puma."
Holly snorted a laugh and stared at his straight face. "La Puma! Are you kidding me?"
"I told you. It's all classified anyway so forget it."
"La Puma!"
Jacob's face became a match to the stormy sky and he looked out the cab window, ignoring her.
Still grinning, Holly waited until Jacob unlocked the shop and then she went straight through to the house and up to her room. When she cleaned up and changed into jeans and a fresh blouse and pullover, she went back down to the shop and found Jacob sitting with his head in his hands.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"I left my car at the hotel. We were in so much of a hurry I forgot the damn thing was parked right outside. I'll be lucky if it isn't towed."
"No problem, Jacob. We'll grab another taxi and pick it up. We're going to need wheels anyway."
"It just seems such a waste of money." He grumped.
"It is but unless... La Puma... has a better plan..." She started to laugh but his look stopped her.
"You can laugh, Holly, but don't think you know what it is you are laughing at. I'm sorry I mentioned it. It was very bad judgement on my part."
"Oh c'mon, Jacob. How big a deal can it be?" She followed him out to the street and waited while he locked up. He looked away and didn't answer. Holly mentally shrugged and began watching for a taxi.
The car hadn't been towed and they climbed in and headed for 134B Oak Lane. Aside from the Christmas wreaths and lights hanging from the eave troughs on the houses it was the same disappointing location on the same, nothing special street she'd visited before and their knocking and bell ringing achieved the same result.
"We could stake it out," Holly suggested half-heartedly.
"Or we could just go in and have a look around." Jacob said.
"You mean break in?"
"No, like this." Jacob took something from his pocket and after a short fiddle with the lock the door opened.
"Jacob? I'm not sure I really do know you." Holly followed him inside and they climbed to the second floor where he repeated his lock trick and they were inside Sydney Court's apartment.
"Pretty Spartan, I'd say." Jacob remarked, wandering through to the bedroom.
"Looks like he's still moving in."
Holly stuck her head through the doorway and took in the stack of cartons surrounding the pullout. "He seems to have a little workshop out here though." They went back to the dining/living area and poked through the book collection.
Jacob surveyed the titles while Holly booted up the computer and prowled some files.
"Well, well, well. Check this out. It seems our Sydney Court is really one Daniel Kipman. He's manufactured a new little identity for himself; nice job too." She kept looking and came across the recently visited sites, noting they were all on collectibles. "He was studying too. There's an article here on Tarot cards."
"Here's my ad," Jacob said, holding up the folded newspaper from the milk crate table. "Little bugger intended to scam me!"
Holly shut the computer down and browsed the bookshelves and then opened the closet door and rummaged through the clothes hanging there.
"Anything?" Jacob asked, opening and closing file folders.
"Nope. Nothing to tell us where we might look for him. I guess a stakeout is going to be our best chance."
"Here's his real ID material. Huh, he used to work in Page's bookstore, there's an employee card here along with his driver's license, birth certificate and social insurance number. Thankyou, Mr. Kipman, I'll just hang on to these for future reference."
Holly finished their search with a check of the kitchen, noting the cold beers in the fridge and the leftover pizza. She opened a few cupboards but it was obvious, Daniel Kipman, alias, Sydney Court, was no domestic.
"Let's go, Jacob. We know the phone number, we can call later and see if he's home. Staking this guy out is not the best use of our time."
Gregory looked in the mirror with dismay. Nothing Nikoli had fit either of them and he had been dispatched to buy something suitable. The clothes, Nikoli had found for them were, off the rack, cheaply made polyester and in them they looked like commission only, encyclopedia salesmen. Getting his custom tailored suit, stolen by a cheap, penny ante scammer, was now a futile dream. Nikoli couldn't understand the complaint from Gregory, Anton thought his was fine. Gregory nearly wept as a tortured longing for the delectably plump Valry filled his brain, anywhere away from these two mud-filled heads. He placed another call to the consulate requesting replacement weapons and a further promise of secrecy, his personal currency with them rapidly running to a deficit.
"It is imperative that Comrade Davidov know nothing of our failure in this matter." He said to his underlings, gathering himself for the resurrection of his future. "We go and pick up weapons immediately." He tugged at the snug fitting, deplorable jacket and winced as he led his men out of the hotel room.
******
The server wore her Santa hat at a jaunty angle and wished everyone that she served a Merry Christmas as she handed them their change. The shop was festooned with plastic ribbons of printed holly and bells and carols droned endlessly from the speakers in every corner. Sydney carried the tray with the coffee and the apple fritter for him and the double latte and cranberry muffin—buttered—to the table where Connie waited. She was out of uniform and into a cobalt blue blouse with the top two buttons undone, a grey skirt, short enough to approach trashy, and stilettos, and she was drawing the attention of a group of teenaged boys, eating pie and snorting milkshakes. With deliberate flash, she slipped out of her trench coat and draped it over the back of her chair. One of the boys began choking on his pie.
"Napkins." She said, like a command. Sydney hurried back and grabbed a handful of them.
He tore a sugar packet apart and dumped the contents in his coffee and then added two creamers, stirring and tasting before tackling his fritter.
Connie eyed him over the edge of her huge muffin and waited as he wiped his lips and swallowed before speaking.
"Glad you got away. I was hoping we wouldn't have to wait too long to get together."
"My team can handle anything that comes up." She peeled the paper sleeve off of her straws.
"How long have you been taking your acting lessons?" He began, a toe in the water.
"Two years. It' a three year course." She sucked at her latte through the double straws.
"And it's gonna cost you, what did you say, fifteen grand?"
"Not the course. That's only nine. The rest is for an agent, a photo résumé, clothes and stuff. It isn't cheap getting into the acting business."
It was for me, he mused. "So will you be able to raise the rest?"
She bit into her muffin again and considered him. What was his game? Why did he want this coffee with me? "What was this proposition you wanted to talk about?"
Wasting time is not on, he learned and he plunged ahead. "Aaah- I happen to have a very, very valuable, collectible, set of Tarot cards that I'd like to sell and it strikes me that with your connection to Malcom DeWhitt, who is a collector and wealthy to boot, you and I might join forces and see if we can get him interested."
"What kind of money are we talking here?" Connie asked, sipping her drink with more intensity. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the boys watching her and she purposely caressed the straws slowly with her lips. There was a soft groan from their table.
Sydney crossed mental fingers and, having no clue as to the real value, tossed out a five-figure amount that stopped her sipping and brought her bosom onto the tabletop as she leaned toward him, boys forgotten.
"Say again
"Sixty thousand... give or take." He appreciated the view via the blouse buttons and the moistening of her glossy lips.
Connie saw the glint his eyes gave off and she positioned herself strategically, both physically and mentally. "What are Tarot cards, Sydney?"
He licked his own lips and sat back, inhaling. "I've got them with me, but I'm not getting them out in public. They are just too valuable to flash around anywhere."
She sat up and hooked an arm over the chair. A different boy made a gasping noise. "I'd have to see what we're talking about."
"I understand completely and showing you is no problem... just not in here."
This was beginning to sound like a line from a lounge lizard and Connie searched his face for signs of duplicity. When he stayed silent she nodded slowly and leaned forward again eliciting another groan from the teenager's table.
"My place is only a short hop from here."
"Works for me." He drained his coffee mug and stood, taking her coat and waiting until she stood and helped her into it. She looped the tie and cinched it tight about her waist then strutted ahead of him to the door, giving him the full display.
Malcom received the reports from his security people, grumbling over the fact that Connie had left early in spite of his demand for a full bore alert. They were leaving at their regular time in protest since he wasn't interested in reprimanding her for her behaviour. His receptionist leaned in the door and said goodnight and as the office lights went out, leaving only the safety lighting to cast weak shadows, the staff filed onto the elevators and left for the day. Malcom felt a hollowness in his chest at the silence left behind.
Ted Palliser arrived a few minutes later as requested and was crushed to learn he would be working the nightshift along with a couple of general office workers until the alert was withdrawn. He couldn't understand Malcom's coldness toward him recently.
"The floor will be locked tight in about twenty minutes, sir. Nobody can get in then."
"I'm not asking for a favour, Palliser." Malcom frowned. "I'm not leaving this building until I know those Russians are gone." Ever since he'd learned that Holly was still alive he feared they may try to use her again to get to him and he couldn't allow that. Sacrificing her twice would be a horrible, terrible thing to do and he had to give it careful consideration before mandating a no ransom policy for himself.
"If you don't leave, sir, how will you know?" Palliser? What happened to Ted?
Malcom stomped around his desk. "Goddamnit, just do your job and see that nobody gets inside these offices!" He waved a hand in the air to demonstrate his demand. "And find out where the hell Connie Rubbi is!"
"Can't you just call her cell phone, sir?"
"Did I just ask you to find out where she was?"
"Yes, you did."
"WELL THEN BLOODY WELL GO AND DO IT!"