About Face (19 page)

“Has there been any internal conflict here over the deal with Algoplex?”

“Not that I recall. Connie was skeptical at first, but I think we won her over. There's also been some grumbling about personnel lately: people let go, new people put in. My staff is intact, but Sylvain could be directing the changes.”

“Anything else? Especially in the last five days?”

Ellen touched her finger to her nose. “There was a big fuss about a woman who came in today. She had some kind of injury, she was pleading for help. Connie booted her out.”

“Who was this woman?”

“She was young, pretty, blond. Something happened to her face. I heard the name Erika.”

Ellen was startled by the speed at which I was on my feet. “Is Connie in?”

“I believe so. Unless she's gone to—”

“Thanks,” I called on my way out the door.

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After a few minutes of backtracking through the Plush maze, asking for directions more than once, I found the array of desks in front of Connie's office. She was giving instructions to an assistant. An expensive-looking couple, wearing their coats, waited nearby. They could have been social friends, stockholders, or potential clients, and probably were all three. They looked to be on their way to lunch.

I stepped in and asked Connie why an injured woman asking for treatment had been sent away. Fury flared in her eyes, then she ordered, “In my office.”

I waited by the door to make sure she didn't attempt an escape. She excused herself to her friends and we went inside. “Don't
ever
interrupt me like that again.”

“Why did you send Erika away?” I watched her closely. There was no widening of the eyes at the name. “You knew her, didn't you?”

“I have tried to tell you, Bill. Get out of this business. Just get out and don't look back.”

“What happened to her?”

“
You
happened to her. When are you going to learn? Everyone you touch gets hurt. You have no regard for their safety.”

“So you're part of it. You, Rupert, and Trisha did whatever was done to Erika.”

“That is such an ignorant statement I can't even respond to it.”

She appeared truly offended, but I wasn't buying it. “You all are too cowardly to come after me, is that it? Someone sent Brendon after Erika yesterday. Today they finished the job.”

Connie folded her arms and looked away, as though fed up with an especially slow pupil. “What's it going to take, Bill? Another death because you insist on intruding? Well, keep pushing. You'll get it.”

“You're only convincing me there's a lot more to find out. You've had your own battles with Sylvain. Tell me what they're up to with Algoplex.”

A small pool of moisture had gathered in the corners of Connie's eyes. She turned abruptly so I couldn't see her dab them. The emotion was so out of place, I regretted for a moment having discarded my politeness strategy. But as she opened the door for me to exit, the chill returned to her voice. “Don't ruin my luncheon, Bill. Just leave quietly.”

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Erika did not answer her cell phone, so I drove straight to the apartment building. She'd indicated she lived in the same one as Alissa, but I didn't know which unit and I'd never heard her last name. The directory listed three tenants with E first names. I memorized their apartment numbers and waited for someone to approach the gate. That could have taken some time on a Monday afternoon, but only a minute later I heard the metal gate being unlocked from inside. I pretended I was just on my way to open it myself. I smiled at a middle-aged man in a hat and overcoat on my way into the courtyard. He turned to watch me. I hurried up the walk before he could object.

The apartments were split into two wings. Two of the E's were in the wing on the left, so I started there. The door to the building hadn't closed all the way. The foyer was rather grand, with vaulted ceilings and a painting of a Casbah scene. I ran up the stairs to the second floor, then to the fourth floor. No one answered at either door, in spite of my banging and calls for Erika. No neighbors whom I could ask opened their doors or came down the hallway. The manager likely had ties to SG, so I avoided him.

I was on my way down when I encountered the man I'd passed on the way in. He was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. I nodded to him, and as I squeezed by, he said, “Bill.”

I turned. Before I had noticed only the short white hair and the crow's feet around his eyes. Now I saw that his face lacked expression of any sort. So did his voice. I made for the door. It opened in front of me. Blocking it was a young man in a heavy jacket. They had me trapped.

I allowed the older man to herd me outside and around the corner of the building. I'd stick around long enough to hear what he had to say. We stood on a patch of grass, the younger man blocking my route to the gate.

“You must be a friend of Gary's,” I said.

The older man looked at the other one. “He's Bill, all right.”

The younger man didn't react. His age and build were similar to Brendon's, but he had a more fatalistic slouch. Brendon's James Dean aura had been manufactured with a haircut, a leather jacket, and a sneer. This guy's eyes were as flat as his partner's voice.

“You're smart all right,” I said. “Why isn't Gary here? Too easily identified with the company, I guess.”

“Jesus, you are full of stupid questions.” The older man did all the talking.

“What do you want with me?”

“No problems for you, Bill.” His mouth stayed open. The smile was purely mechanical. “It's your friends who are in danger. It's selfish of you.”

“You should have told me earlier.”

“Now you know.”

“This is kind of vague. Which friends?”

“Can't tell you, Bill.”

His manner was so assured, I was dumb enough to believe he'd leave me with only the threat. The young guy's fist came out of nowhere. I was on the grass before I knew it. I felt the blow but not yet the pain. A tooth rinsed around with blood in my mouth.

The older man's patent-leather toe was poised in front of my eyes. “Mind your own business,” he said, not raising his voice. I shut my eyes in anticipation of the next blow. It didn't come. By the time I looked again, the men were at the gate. I deposited the tooth in my shirt pocket, got shakily to my feet, and staggered to the gate in time to see a brown Mercedes pulling away.

I was not well.
Wes was feeding me whiskey and the room was getting cloudy. The hospital had given me Vicodin. Wes insisted that the drink would finish the job and, as I lay flat on my back on my living room sofa, my judgment was impaired enough to listen to him.

Wes had brought steaks, which was thoughtful except for the fact that I couldn't chew. He looked crestfallen when I reminded him of that, then he topped off my glass. The whiskey did a nice job of secondary cauterizing on the hole in my mouth where gauze had been, and before that my tooth. Silver nitrate sticks in the ER had done the primary job. The doctor's initial concern had been that my jaw had been fractured or dislocated. The X-rays came out negative. After she satisfied herself that I could swallow and was reasonably clear in the mind, she let me leave.

It was when my head hit the sofa pillow that the pain really came on. I called Wes first, then Mike, to warn them to be on the lookout for the two guys. Wes, when he arrived, launched into his own story about a collision between his nose and a surfboard. There was a lot of blood and a realignment of cartilage and bone. For some reason his story did not cheer me up.

“You keep resting, Billy,” he said. “I'll char these steaks and figure out a way for you to get one down.”

The blood thumped in my face like a big bass drum. But after a while, Dr. Wes's medicine had its effect. I had the illusion of feeling good enough to sit up and move my jaw. I tried Erika again.

A woman answered her cell phone. She wanted a complete biography from me before admitting Erika was there. I had to repeat my name several times. In the background I heard her say, “Do you know someone named
Bihhh
?”

“Hi, Bill.” It was Erika's voice, small and timid.

When I said hello back, she understood immediately that I'd been attacked, too. I went first with my story, if only to explain why I was talking so funny. Then I asked about her.

It had happened this morning. She was leaving her building when someone threw a pint of liquid in her face. She had only a glimpse of a shape. It tallied with the young guy who'd sucker-punched me.

At first Erika thought she'd been blinded. She rolled on the grass, screaming and clutching her eyes, until she realized there was no pain; the liquid had not been acid. Her vision began to clear. But she could tell by the reactions of people who'd come to help that something terrible had happened. She ran back upstairs.

“You can see the pattern of how the liquid splattered across my face. I don't know what the stuff was. Everywhere it touched my skin, it turned it bone white. My face looks like a drop cloth. It's horrible. The first thing I did was cover every mirror in the apartment.”

I said how sorry I was and how responsible I felt.

“I guess I should feel lucky to still be
in
my skin. But this is awful, Bill. I went to the Plush clinic because I thought Dr. Plush would remember me. Mrs. Plush sent me away, no sympathy, no concern, nothing. I couldn't believe my ears. I was crying, I made
such a scene—it was embarrassing. The hospital didn't know what to tell me. The damage to the skin is mainly in the discoloration. They're analyzing the liquid. I was afraid to go home, so I'm at a friend's house.”

“I am really sorry, Erika,” I repeated. “I hate to say this, but I think Silicon Glamour is behind the attacks on both of us. They've proven they've got guys violent enough to have killed Rod. What can you tell me about Brendon?”

“He was a favorite of Trisha's. It seemed like he could get away with anything. I don't know why—” Her voice cracked and she sobbed. “I don't know what he had against me. He wanted me to get away from you when we were in the store. I wouldn't go. Then he started saying I knew where Alissa was. He tried to drag me off. I couldn't believe how he was acting. It was like he was possessed.”

“Was it Alissa he was upset about, or me?”

“Both. I think more Alissa. He . . . well, he did have a big crush on her. She was out of bounds: We weren't allowed to date other associates. But Brendon had it really bad for Alissa. He wanted me to be, like, his advocate or something. I knew Alissa wasn't interested.”

“He told me he was in love with her, but he said it in a weird way, like actually he hated her. Where can I find him, other than at the SG office?”

“I don't know. I don't know what to do, Bill.” Her voice cracked again. “I mean, I don't think I can go back to Silicon Glamour, ever. They were teaching me a lesson.”

“I'm afraid you're right. What about Alissa's apartment? You said you might be able to get me inside.”

There was a long silence. “I just don't know if I feel like it, Bill. I
do
want you to get these guys, I want them to
pay
. But I also want you to keep me out of it. I've done my bit.”

“I know, and I'm sorry to have to ask. But if we can nail Rupert and Trisha, we can probably find out what substance they had those guys throw on you.”

She let out a long sigh. “When you put it like that . . . Call me again tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Erika, I will.”

I thought back to the elevator ride up to the Rotunda and how I wondered if Erika was about to betray me. She'd trusted me; she'd taken a risk for me and she'd paid for it. The damage to her face could be permanent. I began to feel more depressed than I already was.

“That's a good boy,” Wes said as I took another sip of whiskey. He bore two sizzling steaks fresh off the grill. I made a comment about needing a blender to eat. Wes held up a finger for patience, then painstakingly cut the steak into tiny bits. His cooking skills did not extend beyond the grill, so our side dishes consisted of potato chips and salad from a bag.

A pleasant fuzziness oozed from my head down through my body after dinner. Wes, inspired by our date with Noela and Erika, loaded a copy of
Dr. No
into the DVD. Wes asked me what was happening with Algoplex. I filled him in. I also told him about the SG-Sylvain connection and the associates' mission to gather insider information from their dates. A slightly sick look came over Wes's face.

“And you thought Noela was curious about your company for its own sake,” I said. “I assume Trisha turns around and makes investment decisions based on what she hears, like people in the Hamptons do.”

“I'm going to have to review what I told her,” Wes admitted. “But what's Sylvain's role? They're VC's, not money managers.”

“They could have used information from Alissa in crafting the deal with Algoplex.”

“Right. You should find out if the deal was initiated before or after Alissa came on the scene. Her data may have spurred their interest.”

“Mike was the one who set up the first date. I wonder if that means—”

“No, because if they had Mike in their pocket, they wouldn't need Alissa. I'm a little surprised Sylvain is even still negotiating with Mike. It might seem like they're being hardasses about the key-man clause, but the fact is most VC's would run screaming when a guy like Rod is removed from the equation. They're trying to act cagey about it, but they still want Algoplex bad. I wonder what their real target is—maybe Rod's patents.”

This made some sense, but I was losing my grasp on the whole web of connections. “I also can't figure out Trisha. She seemed like the one in charge at dinner with the Sylvain guys. Mike said Sylvain's main backer on this deal was anonymous. Maybe—”