Brainstorm (3 page)

My cell phone rang and I clicked off the TV. The face of
another client, Carrie Ashton, smiled at me from the screen. Now what?

“Hi Carrie,” I said, trying not to let the exhaustion I felt
creep into my voice.

“So sorry to call you after hours, Audrey, but our
website has been hacked or something. It’s crashed – frozen – I don’t know what
happened, but we can’t get into it. Our password doesn’t work. We need Harley
up here first thing tomorrow to look at it.”

Rather than go into the whole story, I told her Harley
was out sick, but promised to do my best to locate a techie for her. It was the
best I could do at the moment. If I’d been perfectly honest, I would have told
her to call a local high school and get a guidance counselor to recommend a student.
A lot of kids today can do as much as formerly trained IT pros, albeit
self-taught.

“Good,” she said, “because you know we sell 90% of our
products on-line. We’re losing money every minute the site is down.”

So here was client #3 who was having a problem –
certainly not as big a problem as Tony, or Ferdy, but still, an event had
occurred that was significant enough to bring her business to a halt, at least
temporarily. No business, meant no advertising. No advertising, meant no income
for me.

After a restless night’s sleep, I met Ferdy’s brother,
Sean, at the airport and drove him to the Crowne Hotel.
 
The stress was visible on his face – Ferdy
was his only living relative. There was no other family member to share in the
torment he was experiencing; no one to talk to about it. I knew how that
felt.
 
I gave him my cell phone number
and told him to call me when he needed to go to the police station, or anywhere
else, for the next few days. He hadn’t been in Syracuse for several years, but
he’d soon get the lay of the land and rent a car, and then I’d leave him to his
own devices. “My heart goes out to you,” I said, “and I’m terrified for Ferdy.”
I left him at the hotel, and with no office to go to, headed back home, first
stopping at a drive-thru to pick up a large cup of decaf.

I sank onto my couch, and in a little notebook, wrote
down the names of those associated with me who had met with an adversity of
some kind over the last two days. Ferdy, Tony, Carrie, and Harley. I stared at
the names, but didn’t see any other connection – just me, as Officer Morey had
suggested.

Maybe Harley would come back to work and maybe she
wouldn’t; I couldn’t blame her if she decided not to. But I needed her now more
than ever, with all of the damage control I would have to do, plus there were
deadlines looming for the clients who hadn’t run into trouble (yet), and I
still had to find a stand-in pilot for Tony. My head hurt. I put the list on
the coffee table, curled up on the sofa, and snapped on the TV, which was still
tuned to the news channel I’d been watching last night. I began to doze off as
it droned on in the background, but when I heard the anchor continue the story
from last night’s broadcast about the bank robbery, I came awake.

A police officer, flanked by two men in FBI jackets, was
announcing a $200,000.00 reward to anyone who could supply information leading
to the capture of Mr. Danny Stearns, who was no longer a person of interest,
but a suspect, in the brazen armed robbery of the National Bank of Rochester a
decade ago.
In one day?
I thought.
He went from being a person of interest to a
suspect in one day? What had happened?

One of the other officers held up a photo of Mr. Stearns,
and warned that he should be considered armed and dangerous. The camera zoomed
in and my eyes locked onto the picture; I sat up straight. He looked older now,
but I knew those eyes. They belonged to the man who’d run into me ten years
ago; the one who’d dropped the ski mask.

Oh, God, it was him
.
Breathe. One…two…three…four…
Oh, God!
He’d robbed a bank and killed someone right before he’d run into me! Had he
still been carrying his gun? How close had I come to being killed, too? My arms
and legs prickled as though they’d been asleep. The all-too familiar feeling of
trouble coming washed over me, and I knew I needed to talk to someone. Now.

I went to my bedroom and opened the top drawer of my
dresser, where I’d kept the business card for the psychologist that Dr. Collins
had suggested I contact; something I hadn’t felt the need to do since I’d left
Rochester. Black flecks clouded my vision as I tried to read the number. I
hadn’t paid that much attention to the card before, but now, as I tried to
focus, I noticed that Dr. Karol Steele was a psychiatrist, not a psychologist,
as Dr. Collins had been. Well, whatever she was, I needed to talk to her, and I
dialed the number.

Dr. Steele managed to talk me down in less than half an
hour, which she said was a good sign, and made an appointment to see me the
following afternoon. If anxiety was going to raise its ugly head, this might be
the time, and I knew from past experience that I would need an arsenal to fight
it. Unable to sleep, I spent the night pacing my apartment and wishing I had
someone to keep me company.

In a stupor the next morning, I called my office to check
messages and found one from a man named Miller Crawford, who wanted to speak
with me about taking him on as a client. I jotted down his name and number on
the same paper as I had written my current list of non-functioning clients. It
occurred to me that if I called him back and ended up taking him on, I might be
putting him in jeopardy of losing his livelihood too, at least temporarily.
Well, I told myself, I could make the phone call – that wouldn’t necessarily mean
he’d be a good fit for the agency. But who was I kidding? If a credit check
turned him up as a good pay, he’d be a perfect fit. I made the call, and after
explaining that my office was unavailable, arranged to meet him downstairs for
lunch. Then I showered, dressed, and drove to the office parking lot, where I
left my Jeep, Nelly, and drove Harley’s car to the hospital and parked it in
the garage. When I checked in on her, she was in good spirits.

“They’re letting me go home tomorrow,” she said. “An
officer was here earlier to see if I could give him my impression of the guy –
you know, height and weight, like that, but I was too frightened at the time to
notice anything.”

“Did they check you for a concussion?”

“I have a slight one,” she said, “but other than that,
just bruises.”

She ran her fingers through her hair, and I caught a
glimpse of a bruise on her arm that had been covered by the sleeve of her gown;
it looked a little on the green side, instead of purple, as it should have been
so soon after the attack. “Promise me you’ll take it easy for a few days?”

She nodded. “I’ll be back in next week.”

“Do you need me to check on your grandmother?”

“No, I spoke to her a few minutes ago. A neighbor is
looking in on her, but thanks.”

“Okay.” I dug her keys and the parking stub out of my
pocket. “Your car is here in the garage.” I held up her tote. “Do you want me
to hang onto this or leave it with you?”

“It’ll be okay for one night – leave it.”

I handed it over and gave her a hug. “I’m glad you’re
feeling better.”

Next was a stop to check on Tony. When the elevator doors
opened, I saw a police officer speaking with a woman who I knew at once had to
be Rose Bravada, Tony’s sister. She had the same big brown eyes and salt and
pepper hair as her brother. When they were done talking, I walked over and
introduced myself, and asked, “How is he?”

“Terrible at the moment,” she said, with tears in her
eyes, “but the doctor assured me he’ll be close to 100% eventually. He’ll be in
rehab for a long time.” She wiped her nose with a cloth hankie – no tissues for
this lady. I could almost see her standing at her ironing board; press, fold,
press, fold again.

“Can I see him?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, but he’s in no shape for visitors; he’s in
and out of consciousness. Both of his arms and one leg are broken, and they
still have to determine the extent of head injuries. I promise to let you know
as soon as he’s able to have company.” She took my hand, “Thank you so much for
calling me. The rest of the family will be here tomorrow.”

“Where will you stay?” I asked.

“I have a key to my brother’s house. We’ll be there.”

Outside, I hailed a cab and returned to my office parking
lot to retrieve Nelly. A remote check of my phone messages showed that Officer
Morey had left one. He answered on the first ring. “When was the last time you
spoke with Mr. Bravada?” he asked.

“The morning of the accident. Monday. We meet almost
every Monday morning before he flies. Why?”

He ignored my question and followed with another of his
own. “Where?”

“Same place every week – at Mike’s Diner. It’s close to
the airport.”

“Did he seem different that day? Was he feeling okay?”

“He seemed perfectly fine.”

“Okay,” he said, “we’ll have a longer conversation about that
later. I’ll get back to you.”

“No problem,” I said, and I hung up, wondering what that
was all about, and thinking he had a nice voice.

I decided to go through my files as soon as I could get
back into the building, and look for anything that might be of interest to an
outsider. I had records of advertising expenditures, copies of campaign
schedules, and creative material for each client. I had their contact
information, names of the banks they used, and in Ferdy’s case, copies of
applications he had made to the U.S. Patent Office over the last few years. I
just didn’t think anyone would want that stuff.

I drove to Krabby Kirk’s, looking for my new prospective
client, who was sitting in a back booth. “Miller?” I asked. He nodded, and
looked surprised that I had picked him out of the crowd. “People who aren’t
regulars are easy to spot,” I said. We ordered and got down to it.

“I’m in the security business,” he explained, “alarms,
cameras, that kind of thing.”

“No kidding,” I said, “I’m having an alarm put in my
office in a couple of days. I told you that’s why we’re meeting here. There was
an incident.”

“Nothing serious I hope?”

“No, no damage,” I said, omitting Harley’s injuries, “and
so far nothing seems to be missing.” Wanting to change the subject, I asked,
“So how many locations do you have?”

“This will be my third; I have a store in Watertown and
one in Rochester.”

“And you’ve been handling the advertising on your own? Or
are you already with an agency and looking to switch?”

“I’ve been doing it, but I don’t have the time to commit
to it anymore, not and do it effectively. I need someone to take over that part
of the business so I can concentrate on running the rest.” He rattled off the
names of several radio and television stations he’d used in both locations, and
I tucked that information away. Tomorrow I would call each one and make an
informal request for his payment history.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, “take me on as a client
and I’ll install a top-of-the-line security system for you myself to show you
how good my company is. No charge. That way you’ll have firsthand experience
with the product. Deal?”

“Okay, it’s a deal,” I said. We shook hands, and by the
time he left we had agreed to meet at my office in two days. I made a mental
note to cancel the other security company, signaled for my check, and asked for
a receipt. That done, I made the commute home, meaning I walked up the back
stairs.

I had almost two hours before my meeting with Dr. Steele.
She’d been wonderful with me on the phone, and I dared to feel some confidence
in being able to feel safe and comfortable with her. Since this would be our
first meeting, I hadn’t had a chance to fill out paperwork that would allow her
to get a copy of my file from Dr. Collins, but I’d given verbal permission so
she could call for some background. I kicked off my shoes and curled up on the
sofa, hoping a short nap might make up for the little bit of sleep I’d had the
night before.

The reception area of Dr. Steele’s office was tastefully
decorated with calming neutrals, not unlike the colors and tones I’d come to
appreciate at Dr. Collins’. When she came out to greet me, I pegged her to be
in her early 50s. She was dressed in a beige suit, medium heels, and had her
hair tied back in a loose bun. Her smile and soft, even, voice were welcoming,
and I relaxed and even felt a bit relieved, as I followed her into her office.

“Dr. Collins used to burn Frankincense,” I said. “Do you
do that?”

“My guess is that most of Dr. Collins’ patients were
drawn to her holistic ways, and therefore weren’t bothered by lingering aromas
such as incense. My patients, on the other hand, would not expect anything like
that and would most likely balk at it. So, let’s talk about last night’s phone
call.”

I explained the investigations surrounding Tony’s
accident and Ferdy’s disappearance, and told her the story of the bank robbery
and my connection to Danny Stearns. “I’m not sleeping well. I can barely eat
and I’m probably not going to have a business to support myself much longer.”

“Are you self-medicating?”

“I’ve been taking over-the-counter sleeping pills and St.
John’s Wort because I read on the Internet it was good for stress.”

“Well, actually,” she said, “St. John’s Wort shouldn’t be
mixed with other medications. I’m going to prescribe something to help you
sleep – a small dose, just so you’ll be able to doze off, and also something
for stress. You’re under a great deal of pressure, Audrey, and I know Dr.
Collins told you that unless it’s managed, it can – it
will
, cause your GAD to return. We don’t want that.” She handed me
a tissue.

“I don’t want to go back to those days,” I said, dabbing
at my eyes, “I
can’t
go back to
that.”

She tore up one of the prescriptions and wrote another.
“I’m going to increase the dosage of the antidepressant. And I’m going to want
to meet with you on a weekly basis for a while; until things calm down and
you’re feeling better.”

I signed a release form so she could get a formal copy of
my file and made an appointment for the following week. I thanked her and
looked forward to lighting some incense when I got home.