Chasing the Dime (7 page)

He looked for Post-its on the computer and the back of the counter's facade but saw nothing. He reached down and lifted the blotter but there was nothing under it but a dollar bill. He dug his finger around in a dish of paper clips but found nothing. He reached further across the counter to see if there was a pencil drawer. There wasn't.

Just as he thought of something, he heard the sound of her sandals. She was coming back. He quickly reached into his pocket, found a dollar and then reached back over the counter. He lifted the blotter, put down the dollar and grabbed the one that was there. He put it in his pocket without looking at it. His hand was still there when she came around the partition, holding a thin file, and sat down.

‘Well, I figured out one part of the problem,' she said.

‘What's that?'

‘This girl stopped paying her bill.'

‘When was that?'

‘In June she paid up through August. Then she didn't pay for September.'

‘Then why's her page still on the site?'

‘Because sometimes it takes a while to clean out the deadbeats. Especially when they look like this chick.'

She gestured to the computer screen with the file and then put it down on the counter.

‘I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Wentz wanted to keep her on there even though she didn't pay. Guys see girls like that on the site and they'll keep coming back.'

Pierce nodded.

‘And the number of hits on the site is how they determine the rates for the ads, right?'

‘You got it.'

Pierce looked at the screen. In a way, Lilly was still working. If not for herself, then for Entrepreneurial Concepts Unlimited. He looked back at Wendy.

‘Is Mr. Wentz back there? I'd like to speak to him.'

‘No, it's Saturday. You'd be lucky even to catch him here during the week, but I've never seen him on a Saturday.'

‘Well, what can be done about this? My phone's ringing off the hook.'

‘Well, I can take notes and then maybe on Monday somebody could — '

‘Look, Wendy, I don't want to wait until Monday. I have a problem now. If Mr. Wentz isn't here, then go get the guy baby-sitting the servers. There has to be somebody who can go into the server and take her page down. It's a simple process.'

‘There's one guy back there but I don't think he's authorized to do anything. Besides, he was sort of asleep when I looked in there.'

Pierce leaned over the counter and put a forceful tone into his voice.

‘Lilly — I mean, Wendy, listen to me. I insist that you go back there and wake him up and bring him out here. You have to understand something here. You are in a legally precarious position. I have informed you that your website has my phone number on it. Because of this error I am repeatedly receiving phone calls of what I consider to be an offensive and embarrassing nature. So much so that I was here at your place of business this morning before you even opened. I want this fixed. If you put it off until Monday, then I am going to sue you, this company, Mr. Wentz and anybody else I can find associated with this place. Do you understand?'

‘You can't sue me. I just work here.'

‘Wendy, you can sue anybody you want to in this world.'

She stood up, an angry look in her eyes, and pirouetted around the partition without a word. Pierce didn't care if she was angry. What he cared about was that she had left the file on the counter.

As soon as the sound of her sandals was gone he bent over and flipped open the file. There was a copy of the photo of Lilly, along with a printout of her ad copy and an advertiser's information form. This was what Pierce wanted. He felt a surge of adrenaline zing through him as he read the sheet and tried to commit everything to memory.

Her name was Lilly Quinlan. Her contact number was the same cell phone number she had put on her web page. On the address line she had put a Santa Monica address and apartment number. Pierce quickly read it silently three times and then put everything back in the file just as he heard the sandals and another pair of shoes approaching from the other side of the partition.

The first thing Pierce did when he got back to the car was grab a pen from the ashtray and write Lilly Quinlan's address on an old valet parking stub. After that he pulled the dollar bill out of his pocket and examined it. It had been face down under the blotter. He now studied it and found the words
Arbadac Arba
written across George Washington's forehead on the front of the bill.

‘Abra Cadabra,' he said, reading each word backwards.

He thought there was a good chance that the words were a user name and password for entering the Entrepreneurial Concepts computer system. While he was pleased with the moves he'd made in getting the words, he was unsure how useful they would be now that he had gotten Lilly Quinlan's name and address out of the hard-copy file.

He started the car and headed back toward Santa Monica. The address of Lilly's apartment was on Wilshire Boulevard near the Third Street Promenade. As he got close and started reading the numbers on the buildings, he realized that there were no apartment complexes in the vicinity of the address she had written on the advertiser's information sheet. When he finally pulled up in front of the business with the matching address on the door, he saw that it was a private mail drop, a business called All American Mail. The apartment number Lilly Quinlan had written on the info sheet was actually a box number. Pierce parked at the curb out front but wasn't sure what he could do. It appeared that he was at a dead end. He thought for a few minutes about a plan of action and then got out.

Pierce walked into the business and immediately went into the alcove where the mailboxes were. He was hoping the individual doors would have glass in them so he could look into Lilly Quinlan's and see if there was any mail. But the boxes all had aluminum doors with no glass. She had listed her address as apartment 333 on the info sheet. He located box 333 and just stared at it for a moment, as if it might give him some sort of answer. It didn't.

Pierce eventually left the alcove and went to the counter. A young man with a swath of pimples on each cheek and a name tag that said
Curt
asked how he could help him.

‘This is sort of weird,' Pierce said. ‘I need a mailbox but I want a specific number. It sort of goes with the name of my business. It's called Three Cubed Productions.'

The kid seemed confused.

‘So what number do you want?'

‘Three three three. I saw you have a box with that number. Is it available?'

It was the best Pierce could come up with while sitting in the car. Curt reached under the counter and came back up with a blue binder, which he opened to pages listing boxes by number and their availability. His finger drew down a column of numbers and stopped.

‘Oh, this one.'

Pierce tried to read what was on the page but it was upside down and too far away.

‘What?'

‘Well, it's occupied at the moment but it might not be for long.'

‘What's that mean?'

‘It means there's a person in that box, but she didn't pay this month's rent. So she's in the grace period. If she shows up and pays, she keeps the box. If she doesn't show up by the end of the month, then she's out and you're in — if you can wait that long.'

Pierce put a concerned look on his face.

‘That's kind of long. I wanted to get this set up. Do you know if there's a number or an address for this person? You know, to contact her and ask if she still wants the box.'

‘I've sent out two late notices and put one in the box. We usually don't call.'

Pierce became excited but didn't show it. What Curt had said meant that there was another address for Lilly Quinlan. This excitement was immediately tempered by the fact that he had no idea how to get it from the young man who had it.

‘Well, is there a number? If you could call this woman right now and find something out, I'd be willing to rent the box right now. And I'd pay for a year up front.'

‘Well, I'll have to look it up. It will take me a minute.' ‘Take your time. I'd rather get all of this done now than have to come back.'

Curt went to a desk that was against the wall behind the counter and sat down. He opened a file drawer and took out a thick hanging file. He was still too far away for Pierce to be able to read any of the documents he was going through. Curt ran his finger down one page and then held it on a spot. With his other hand he picked up the phone on the desk but was interrupted before making the call by a customer who had entered the shop.

‘I need to send a fax to New York,' she said.

Curt got up and went to the counter. From underneath he pulled out a fax cover sheet and told the woman to fill it out. He returned to the desk. He put his finger back on the document and lifted the phone.

‘Am I going to be charged for faxing this cover sheet?'

It was the other customer.

‘No, ma'am. Only the documents you need to fax.'

He said it like he had said it only a million times before.

Finally, he punched in a number on the phone. Pierce tried to watch his finger and get the number but it was too fast. Curt waited a long time before finally speaking into the phone.

‘This is a message for Lilly Quinlan. Could you please call us at All American Mail. Rent on your box is overdue and we'll be re-renting it if we do not hear from you. My name is Curt. Thank you very much.'

He gave the number and hung up, then came toward Pierce at the counter. The woman with the fax shook it at him.

‘I'm in a big hurry,' she said.

‘I'll be right with you, ma'am,' Curt said.

He looked at Pierce and shook his head.

‘I got her machine. There's really nothing that I can do until either I hear from her or the end of the month comes and I don't. That's the policy.'

‘I understand. Thanks for trying.'

Curt started running his finger down the columns in the binder again.

‘You want to leave a number where I can reach you if I hear from her?'

‘I'll just check with you tomorrow.'

Pierce took a business card off a plastic rack on the counter and headed toward the door. Curt called after him.

‘What about twenty-seven?'

Pierce turned back.

‘What?'

‘Twenty-seven. Isn't that what three cubed is?'

Pierce slowly nodded. Curt was smarter than he looked.

‘I've got that box open if you want it.'

‘I'll think about it.'

He waved and returned to the door. Behind him he heard the woman telling Curt that he shouldn't make paying customers wait.

In the car Pierce put the business card in his shirt pocket and checked his watch. It was almost noon. He had to get back to his apartment to meet Monica Purl, his assistant. She'd agreed to wait at his apartment for the shipment of furniture he had ordered. The delivery window was noon until four and Pierce had decided Friday morning that he'd rather pay someone else to wait while he used the time in the lab preparing the next week's presentation for Goddard. Now he doubted he was going to go to the lab, but he would still use Monica to wait for the delivery. He also now had another plan for her as well.

When he got to the Sands he found her waiting in the lobby. The security officer on the door would not let her go up to the twelfth floor without approval of the resident she was going to visit.

‘Sorry about that,' Pierce said. ‘Were you waiting long?'

She was carrying a stack of magazines for reading while she waited for the delivery.

‘Just a few minutes,' Monica said.

They went into the elevator alcove and had to wait. Monica Purl was a tall, thin blonde with the kind of skin that was so pale that just touching it might leave a mark. She was about twenty-five and had been with the company since she was twenty. She had been Pierce's personal assistant for only six months, getting the promotion from Charlie Condon for her five years of service. In that time Pierce had learned that the aura of fragility her build and coloring projected was false. Monica was organized and opinionated and got things done.

The elevator opened and they got on. Pierce hit the twelve button and they started to ascend, the elevator moving quickly.

‘You sure you want to be in this place when the big one hits?' Monica asked.

‘This building was engineered to take an eight point oh,' he replied. ‘I checked before I rented. I trust the science.'

‘Because you're a scientist?'

‘I guess.'

‘But do you trust the builders who carry out the science?'

It was a good point. He didn't have anything to say to that. The door slid open on twelve and they walked down the hall to his apartment.

‘Where am I going to tell them to put everything?' Monica asked. ‘Do you have like a design plan or a layout in mind?'

‘Not really. Just tell them to put stuff where you think it will look good. I also need you to do a favor for me before I leave.'

He opened the door.

‘What kind of favor?' Monica said suspiciously.

Pierce realized that she thought he might be making a move on her. Now that he and Nicole were no more. He had a theory that all attractive women thought that all men were out to make a move on them. He almost laughed but didn't.

‘Just a phone call. I'll write it down.'

In the living room he picked up the phone. There was a broken dial tone and when he checked messages there was only one and it was for Lilly. But it was not from Curt at All American Mail. It was just another potential client checking on her availability. He erased the message and tried to figure it out, finally deciding that Lilly had put down her cell phone number on the mailbox application forms. Curt had called her cell phone.