“Depends on the circumstances. Say, I know this great steak house downtown. As soon as this is over, I’m going to take you there.”
As the traffic slows to a crawl over the Driscoll Bridge, our conversation drifts back to the weird serial killer.
“If he’s right, so much for paying my rent.” I sigh. “I’m not sure I believe his story.”
I check my maps app. “The Nuglax office isn’t far from here. Maybe we could stop there and talk to someone about Ray.
“Good idea.” He pulls off the parkway and follows signs to the Westfield Mall and hands me a platinum card. “Buy what you need. We’ll meet back here in an hour.”
~Chapter 21~
Dash
In my experience, a woman, shopping, and a deadline, don’t mix. So, when Lanita returns to the car before me, I’m stunned, even more so by her transformation. With professional make up, designer dress, and stilettos, she’d be at home in a boardroom full of executives.
“You look amazing. Have you been waiting long?” As I unlock her door, I imagine her plump red lips wrapped around my cock, now tenting behind my suit pants.
“No, I just got here.” Her tongue flicks out and her gaze roams over my body. “You clean up nice, too.”
Wishing we were going to a hotel instead of trying to find a killer, I trot around the bumper, hop in, and start the ignition.
On Route 46, I squeeze her bare knee. “Before we visit Nuglax, call Maureen.”
A few minutes later, my gorgeous partner’s phone rings, and she puts it on speaker.
“Whatever Lou said, he lied.” The merry widow sounds worried and my internal bullshit-o-meter pegs at her broad generalization.
I shake the tree, hoping useful nuggets of intel will fall out. “Really? He said someone set you up.”
“He d-did?” She pauses, no doubt needing a moment to regain her composure and make up a new pile of complete crap. “N-no. I’m just surprised he’d tell you.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Landy, eyes bright, jumps into the conversation and Maureen is quick to respond.
“Well, we dated for a while and when I broke it off, he wasn’t happy.” That part of her story rings true but I’m more interested in what Lou said about Raymond’s lack of a backbone.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, I change lanes, and ease up on the gas. “On your website, you mentioned your husband was about to blow the whistle on his employer. Would you happen to have any proof? Emails? Recordings?”
“I did, but not anymore. Why?”
“No reason. We’ll be seeing you soon.” The map lady directs me to turn at the next exit.
Meanwhile, Landy, shaking her head back and forth, hangs up. “She’s a terrible liar.”
“Agreed.” My cell pings and my heart races at my dad’s text message.
Pops: Found bb. Called Tim. 40.82, 74.0715
“What’s up?” As she glances over, I put my phone in my pocket while trying to sound disinterested.
“Spam.” I don’t want to raise her hopes. My father may have located the black box and my negotiator is the world’s best but it’s going to be tricky to buy back the flight recorder.
While I celebrate the small win, the Google lady directs me through back roads to an eerily quiet industrial complex. Many of these employees now work from home and parking lots are vacant, including the one attached to the Nuglax building.
I park in a visitor’s spot close to the main entrance. Inside, a bored guard looks up from his phone, motions us over, and points an index finger at a set of instructions, overhead.
Once he takes our pictures and studies our driver’s license, he makes us temporary passes. We’re walked through a metal detector to where a young woman in tortoiseshell glasses waits by the elevator.
The cube farm on the third-floor seats over a hundred but I count only a handful of customer service reps. One gen-x has his feet on the desk and two others toss a nerf ball over the half-walls.
