bar.
“Do I have your attention now?”
Glen was wide-eyed and more than a little irritated. First the front door and now this. “You’ve had my attention. Don’t forget
who’s in control here. I give the orders. You follow them.”
Scott picked up Glen’s glass and dumped the contents on the floor. “If you say so.”
Glen knew he was being played right then. “You want to know about the box. I’ll tell you. Don’t blame me if it comes back
to bite you in the ass.”
“The box.”
“High-tech, next generation, A.I. fuzzy logic heart. It’s the next piece they need.” Glen hurled his empty glass at the bricks
above the fireplace.
Scott smiled. “Maid’s gonna love you.”
“Get this bastard, Scott. Find the box. Follow the trail. Trace it all back to Wellmen. Let us take care of the rest.”
Scott leaned forward, pursed his lips. “Is Wellmen the one?”
“Have you been listening to anything I’ve said?”
Scott nodded. “Spell it out for me. I want to hear you say it.”
“Scott, get back down to Florida. Get these sons of bitches. Get them for me. Get them for Cynthia. Get them for yourself.
Get them.”
Chapter 8
Tampa, Florida Friday, 7 January
Scott dropped the bottle, heard it shatter when it hit the concrete. The flight to Tampa International had been awful and
turbulent. He spent most of the time in the bathroom. He staggered up to the second floor of a small rundown apartment building,
lost his liquid lunch over the railing, then pounded on the door to Apartment 2E.
No one answered.
He continued pounding.
Scott stopped when he thought he heard a voice. The door opened a crack.
He saw the chain was on, didn’t care, and kicked the door open. He backed Helen into the couch with his eyes, put his hands
around her throat and squeezed.
“Now we’re going to have a conversation,” he said. “I ask the questions. You provide the answers. Do you understand?”
Helen bobbed her head. Scott liked the terror in her eyes and the fact that he liked it surprised him.
“Have you seen Jessica?”
Helen sucked at her lip and shook her head.
“Where is Jessica?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can I reach Pattie?”
“I don’t know.”
He smacked her backhanded across the face. “Where is Jessica’s date book? Where are the files?”
Her eyes darted around the room. “I don’t know.”
He smacked her again. For an instant, it seemed the room moved.
She tried to kiss his mouth. He pushed her away.
“How much did they pay you to lie to me?”
“No one paid me to lie.”
He let her go. Her eyes widened. He staggered toward the door. “I don’t need you. You need me. Remember that when they find
Jessica floating face down.”
She ran after him. She grabbed his hand and pulled him against her.
The room shifted under his feet. Scott wobbled and started to fall. Helen supported him. The room had a ceiling fan, he saw
suddenly. It was going round and round and round.
“Scott, stay with me,” she said. She draped his arm around her shoulder and helped him into the other room.
Everything was moving. A door opened. There was a bed. He fell onto it face first. Everything went black.
Hours later, he smelled something, opened his eyes, tried to sit up, found it difficult. Helen was standing over him in her
underwear. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He was lying in bed with a sheet over him. His clothes were in
a heap on the floor. She stuck a plate of food into his hand.
He took the plate, set it next to him, then looked under the sheet to see whether he was really naked or not. “We didn’t?”
She handed him a cup. “We did.”
He took a sip and spit. “Bourbon.”
“Water.”
“Bourbon, get me a bottle. I’m not going to do anything today sober.”
“You’re an angry, mean S.O.B. when you’re drunk. You’ll get no booze from me.” She threw a bottle of pills at him.
He looked at it. “Midol?”
“Maybe
“Do I have your attention now?”
Glen was wide-eyed and more than a little irritated. First the front door and now this. “You’ve had my attention. Don’t forget
who’s in control here. I give the orders. You follow them.”
Scott picked up Glen’s glass and dumped the contents on the floor. “If you say so.”
Glen knew he was being played right then. “You want to know about the box. I’ll tell you. Don’t blame me if it comes back
to bite you in the ass.”
“The box.”
“High-tech, next generation, A.I. fuzzy logic heart. It’s the next piece they need.” Glen hurled his empty glass at the bricks
above the fireplace.
Scott smiled. “Maid’s gonna love you.”
“Get this bastard, Scott. Find the box. Follow the trail. Trace it all back to Wellmen. Let us take care of the rest.”
Scott leaned forward, pursed his lips. “Is Wellmen the one?”
“Have you been listening to anything I’ve said?”
Scott nodded. “Spell it out for me. I want to hear you say it.”
“Scott, get back down to Florida. Get these sons of bitches. Get them for me. Get them for Cynthia. Get them for yourself.
Get them.”
Chapter 8
Tampa, Florida Friday, 7 January
Scott dropped the bottle, heard it shatter when it hit the concrete. The flight to Tampa International had been awful and
turbulent. He spent most of the time in the bathroom. He staggered up to the second floor of a small rundown apartment building,
lost his liquid lunch over the railing, then pounded on the door to Apartment 2E.
No one answered.
He continued pounding.
Scott stopped when he thought he heard a voice. The door opened a crack.
He saw the chain was on, didn’t care, and kicked the door open. He backed Helen into the couch with his eyes, put his hands
around her throat and squeezed.
“Now we’re going to have a conversation,” he said. “I ask the questions. You provide the answers. Do you understand?”
Helen bobbed her head. Scott liked the terror in her eyes and the fact that he liked it surprised him.
“Have you seen Jessica?”
Helen sucked at her lip and shook her head.
“Where is Jessica?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can I reach Pattie?”
“I don’t know.”
He smacked her backhanded across the face. “Where is Jessica’s date book? Where are the files?”
Her eyes darted around the room. “I don’t know.”
He smacked her again. For an instant, it seemed the room moved.
She tried to kiss his mouth. He pushed her away.
“How much did they pay you to lie to me?”
“No one paid me to lie.”
He let her go. Her eyes widened. He staggered toward the door. “I don’t need you. You need me. Remember that when they find
Jessica floating face down.”
She ran after him. She grabbed his hand and pulled him against her.
The room shifted under his feet. Scott wobbled and started to fall. Helen supported him. The room had a ceiling fan, he saw
suddenly. It was going round and round and round.
“Scott, stay with me,” she said. She draped his arm around her shoulder and helped him into the other room.
Everything was moving. A door opened. There was a bed. He fell onto it face first. Everything went black.
Hours later, he smelled something, opened his eyes, tried to sit up, found it difficult. Helen was standing over him in her
underwear. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He was lying in bed with a sheet over him. His clothes were in
a heap on the floor. She stuck a plate of food into his hand.
He took the plate, set it next to him, then looked under the sheet to see whether he was really naked or not. “We didn’t?”
She handed him a cup. “We did.”
He took a sip and spit. “Bourbon.”
“Water.”
“Bourbon, get me a bottle. I’m not going to do anything today sober.”
“You’re an angry, mean S.O.B. when you’re drunk. You’ll get no booze from me.” She threw a bottle of pills at him.
He looked at it. “Midol?”
“Maybe
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