Friend Me (20 page)

Keep the envelope in your hands at all times. Someone will meet you, accept the envelope, and pay you another $500 at that time.

If Garza didn't work out, she had a second number to call. And a third. But Garza was a man who needed cash. He would perform as expected.

She'd chosen Coumadin after careful research. Coumadin was an anticoagulant. The standard therapeutic dose was 5mg per day, with a typical regimen of seven days. It worked by nullifying four vitamin K–dependent factors in the liver's clotting cascade. A therapeutic dose was effective in keeping the patient from clotting easily, and safe to use with medical supervision and regular blood tests. It was the most common blood thinner on the market.

She'd instructed Garza to prepare two full weeks of a triple-strength dose. With most human beings, spontaneous bleeding could be expected in a few days' time using that dosage. After a week, any cut or puncture could cause uncontrolled, fatal bleeding if not treated quickly.

Coumadin was not a narcotic, so the DEA wouldn't be interested. No one was likely to be paying any attention to inventory levels or how it was used, and Garza needed the money. What did he have to lose? It was the same ingredient as warfarin, and that was found in half the mouse and rat poisons on the market. Anyone could probably buy the same compound in an industrial version in farm supply stores.

This was too easy. A thousand easy dollars would make it worthwhile for the man to give her what she needed, in a form ideally suited to her purpose.

The white bottle sat on a shelf, indistinguishable from others like it, except for the label.

COUMADIN® (warfarin sodium tablets)

Crystalline 5mg

In groups of three, Luis dropped the 5mg tablets into a porcelain mortar and used the pestle to grind the tablets into a fine powder. Then he transferred the powder into the white gelatin capsules the customer had specified. In fifteen minutes he was done, the capsules bagged, and the envelope sealed. He pulled a strip of transparent tape from the tape dispenser and smoothed it across the flap.

Luis returned the Coumadin bottle to its place, and slid the envelope into the inner pocket of the jacket hanging on the wall behind the door. There would be no need to touch it again until evening, when he would make the block-and-a-half walk to Lincoln Park.

She'd made it easy for him. A walk in the park.

•  •  •

MELISSA PRETENDED
to look at magazines on the pharmacy rack until the old-fashioned regulator clock on the wall chimed 6:30, time to close for the evening. She'd seen a few people come in to pick up their prescriptions in the past hour, but Luis had spent most of his time filling out paperwork for something or other.

See you soon, Mr. Garza
. She turned and silently exited the store.

The job fair was organized on the model of a carnival. Most of the people that filled the busy area appeared to be in their
early twenties—young people looking for a career start. There were older ones too, but they were outnumbered. It was crowded. Even with the envelope tucked into the inside pocket, the jacket still hung loose on Garza.

The instructions said that he was to hold the envelope of Coumadin capsules in his hand as he walked about. That was the way the customer was to recognize him.

She came up behind him before he could notice her. She brushed heavily against the man as she passed, knocking the envelope from his hand. It fluttered to the ground.

He bent down immediately and picked it up, the woman that bumped him already swallowed up by the milling crowd.

If she had looked back, she'd have seen him retrieve the envelope from the asphalt surface of the parking lot, run his hand along its face, and caught the look of astonishment in his eyes as he realized the envelope had been switched. And she'd have seen his joy at discovering the five $100 bills inside. But by that time, she was almost a block away.

For her part, she was happy too.

Very happy.

Teppanyaki

T
he whole family hurried outside onto the lawn once Rachel spotted the car coming up the road. Scott knelt by Angela and put his arm around her. “Here they come, sweetheart. Grandma and Grandpa.” It was going to be good to have Rachel's father in the house.

Andy rolled down his window and leaned out, grinning from ear to ear. “Can any of you people tell us how to find the landfill? We've got so many gifts in this car that we need to take them to the dump.”

“No, Grandpa! Don't dump them. Give them to us,” called Scotty. The little boy ran up to the car and hung on to his grandfather's arm. Angela, more timid, stayed back and held her mother's leg.

Rachel picked Angela up and strode quickly toward the car. “Mom, Dad. I'm so glad you're here. I'll bet you're worn out, aren't you? Let's get your stuff inside and get you out of this car. I'll have supper done as soon as you're ready to sit down and eat it.”

Later, Andy made a show of scraping the last of the food off his plate. “Dinner was wonderful, Rachel.”

“You turned out to be quite a cook,” her mother said. “Don't you agree, Scott?”

“You've got that right. She's a great cook,” Scott agreed.

Rachel looked away. “Scott has to work late a lot. He's in charge of some very important account at his office. Sometimes it keeps him there late at night. Right, Scott?”

“I'm afraid so. But it won't always be like this. Someday maybe I'll get a government job and then I'll be able to relax.”

Andy Anderson laughed heartily. “You're right, son, you're definitely right. Those politicians are not overworked. Speaking of that, what do you think about June and me watching the children tomorrow night and you two going out to dinner somewhere? On us. You pick the place, we buy the meal. We get to spend some time with the kids and you get to spend some time with each other. Does that sound like a deal?”

Rachel exclaimed, “Oh, Dad. That would be wonderful. Wouldn't that be wonderful, Scott?”

It did sound good. “You bet. Andy, you've got a deal. Want to try for two nights?”

•  •  •

THE TEPPANYAKI GRILL
, downtown in Indianapolis's business section, was a popular destination. The hibachi-style restaurant attracted those who liked watching their food being cooked on a hot, smoking grill.

Scott and Rachel gazed at the unfamiliar menu displayed on a twenty-seven-inch HD television screen suspended from the ceiling at the restaurant entrance.

Scott put one hand on his cheek and raised his eyebrows. “Well, I guess it's not entirely a Japanese restaurant. Some of this food looks Chinese.”

“Scott, I don't know what any of this food is. I suppose the other women you work with do, right?” She wriggled out of the light jacket, exposing the dark blue top of her pantsuit.

“Do you come here often with other women or just once in a while?” It worried him that she would ask about other women. He didn't want this night to be about anything but just the two of them.

“Other women? How would I know what they like?”

“I thought maybe you'd been here on a business lunch with one of them or something. Or maybe one of those times when some of you work late?”

He didn't go out alone with other women. Rachel should know that.

“You probably know what women like. How about you just tell me what to eat?”

Scott looked at her then asked, “What?”

Rachel flushed, waved her hand. “Sorry, don't mind me. Just forget it. What do you recognize on the menu?”

She's worried about me and other women. I don't get it
.

“Is there anything on the menu you know you like?” she pressed.

Scott answered, “I like the Mongolian beef. I can get that. It's Chinese. You could try one of the Japanese-style dishes like the teriyaki chicken. You want to do that?”

“You don't have to choose for me. I can do it.”

“I didn't mean anything by it, I just thought—”

Tight-lipped she said, “The teriyaki is fine. I'm sure it's good.”

Something is wrong. Like she's suspicious of me. No one could have told her anything. No one knows anything
.

Scott put his hand on Rachel's back as they walked to their table near the front of the restaurant. He wanted to be able to look out the window and see the people move about outside.

“It's good being here with you tonight. I miss our time together. We don't have as much of it as we used to, do we?”

She shook her head. “We don't. I miss it too. I like being alone with you. Like we used to. I like . . . I like knowing I have you here just to myself and I don't have to share you with anyone else.”

Rachel reached across and laid her hand on the table, palm up. Scott returned the gesture and held her hand.

“I love you, Rachel. We ought to do this more often.”

•  •  •

MELISSA MADE HER WAY
to a table near the back of the room. Her long hair had been tied up into a bun and pulled under a scarf. The dark-framed glasses and shapeless sweater she wore made her unrecognizable.

From her vantage point she studied the
happy couple
at the other end of the room. She pictured herself sitting there with Scott. How long would it take before it really was her and not
the
other woman
?

“What can I get you this evening?” The young Asian server had approached her table without her noticing. “Would you like to see our menu, or do you already know what you'd like?”

Raising just her finger from the table, she pointed toward Scott. “What is that couple by the window having? Whatever they ordered looked good.”

“Oh, that would be Mongolian beef and teriyaki chicken. Are you expecting a friend?”

She forced a thin smile. “Next time maybe, but not tonight. Just bring both dishes and some green tea.”

“Five minutes.” He bowed appreciatively and hustled back toward the kitchen area.

Scott and
The Other woman
were talking about something, their heads bent toward each other. Melissa's abdominal muscles tightened as she saw Scott put his hand on
The Other woman's
hand where it rested on the tabletop.
The Other
was picking up some beef with a fork.

Melissa's food arrived. She picked up chopsticks first then chose the fork instead, mimicking Rachel, and picked up a piece of diced chicken.

Although she could not hear the words they were saying she imagined what Scott would be saying to her as she mimicked the actions of
The Other
. She moved her foot to touch Scott's foot, mildly surprised when it was not there.

Scott and the woman were laughing now. Hatred for Rachel burned inside Melissa. The flesh on her arms tingled, her fingers shook.
The Other
looked so inadequate. There she sat, usurping Melissa's rightful place.

Tomorrow she would tell him a joke and make him laugh. The pathway to intimacy that they had opened would never be shut now. Their relationship was a secret between themselves. She knew all about the other woman, but
The Other
didn't even know she existed. She and Scott could speak of their love, their secrets, and their deepest desires with no one else involved. Theirs was a relationship that excluded all others.

Except the children. I will have them
.

She sipped the tea, which had grown cool in the porcelain cup. She closed her eyes as her mind swam in fantasy.

She and Scott were on a wooden deck that sat on high posts overlooking a green valley filled with trees and small farms. Behind them candles cast a soft illumination against the plate glass windows of the mountain cabin. She lay close up against his chest on the soft lounge chair, his arm around her, his hand gentle upon her chest. Drawn by the fragrance of her hair, he rested his cheek against her head. Everything was perfect. Time was a stranger here. Long, stringy clouds moved across the face of the yellow moon lighting the mountaintops far away
.

This is how it will be. How it will always be
.

Movement caught her eye. They were leaving. She dropped two twenty-dollar bills on the table and followed them outside.

Scott's hand was at
The Other's
waist. No matter, her waist was much trimmer. He would like that better. He would like everything better. What's more, she could get him a new job at Virtual Friend Me, maybe get him put in charge of investor relations. It was all going to be much, much better.

Patience, patience
.

She followed the Taurus all the way to the house, then drove on by as Scott turned into his driveway. That had been enough. She would have a surprise for him tomorrow.

Table for Two

S
olar Charge had recovered to $116 at the NYSE opening bell. Maybe there was some hope after all. News of the FBI investigation into the shredded and missing documents had been shoved to the back burner of the news by the attempted shooting of a little-known congressman somewhere out west. There were no messages from Alan Castle, either in Outlook or on the office phone's display. That was good. The less he told Castle about his work for Archer right now the better. He'd falsified all his reports to this point. He was betting everything on ultimate success. A success that was burning off like morning mist.

Still, Castle's silence could be interpreted as avoidance.

Scott looked for a place to put his coffee mug. Papers were stacked everywhere, no empty desk space to be found. One stack of reports lay on top of an old
Wall Street Journal
, which lay on top of something else. Too much junk.

He picked up the papers and the
Journal
. Beneath them was his Bible.