Like Sheep Gone Astray (13 page)

Anthony closed his eyes and sank into a large upholstered chair facing Haberstick's massive desk. As he rubbed his temples, the old, nagging questions about the Stonymill deal flooded his mind. The receipts that never added up, the names that mysteriously disappeared from his files, the documents he requested from his former boss that were accidentally shredded by some unknown secretary somewhere.

Anthony knew that the bribe that he had accepted—and passed along to decision makers—six months before had been a deceitful, dishonest act on his part. But what disturbed him even more was the slow realization that nobody could tell him where the original money came from. That realization alone prompted him to keep track of every conversation, every meeting, and every dollar touching his hands.
I guess I knew even then that one day I'd want to be free from this hole I dug myself into. and I left just enough rope to get out.
Anthony looked up again at the paper in front of Haberstick with his own signature in red ink at the bottom.
Or just enough rope to hang myself.
He winced inside as Mr. Haberstick finally looked up at him. They looked each other in the eye as Haberstick began stirring a cup of hot tea. The clink of the metal spoon hitting the delicate walls of the antique porcelain teacup filled the silent void in the room.

Anthony cautiously cleared his throat, thinking only of his briefcase. This new ordeal had to be closely related to the events of six months ago. Why else would Haberstick be holding on to his briefcase? The detective would be calling soon, Anthony was sure.

“You want to know who's behind all of this,” Garfield Haberstick blurted. There was both a question and a statement in his tone. “I told you yesterday, Mr. Murdock, this is bigger than you and me. Heck, after what I've been stumbling upon lately.” His fingers tapped the paper in front of him. “I'm learning that even I do not know all the players in this intricate, convoluted game of enterprise and fortune.”

Mr. Haberstick rose from his seat and stood in his favorite spot next to the room-length window. A spark of uneasiness escaped from his eyes as he rubbed at a smear on the smooth glass surface. “It's all a game, Mr. Murdock.” His voice was a coarse whisper. “And you must”—he turned suddenly to face Anthony again—”you
must
be a dedicated player, because to lose is not an option. I, for one, refuse to lose.”

A smile formed and then quickly vanished from his thin lips. “I assure you, Anthony, in this game, things are not always what they appear to be. Take that check, for instance.”

Anthony had not even noticed that Mr. Haberstick had placed the envelope on the corner of his desk. Anthony softly bit his bottom lip as the genuinely worried face of Councilman Banks flashed in his mind. He thought again about his briefcase, choosing not to mention it in the hopes that Haberstick would think he did not place a high value on its contents.

“I want to see the check.” Here, at least, was a restarting point. He would figure out how to get the briefcase later. Anthony knew that the councilman would be waiting for him.

“The check is on the desk.” Mr. Haberstick's voice was distant as he surveyed the drab scene outside of his window again.

As Anthony reached for the envelope, Haberstick suddenly turned around and snatched it from under his fingers. “I want you to sign something confirming your acceptance.”

“I'm not accepting it. I only want to see it, examine it. You won't give me any answers, so I'll find them myself.”

“Examine it, see it, smell it—do what you want with it. But before you do anything, I want you to sign my own receipt. It's good to keep records, isn't it, Mr. Murdock? You never know when they will come in handy.” His voice was cold as his fingertips once again brushed Anthony's old documents still resting on his desk.

Anthony tried to look unperturbed as he scribbled his signature on a piece of yellow legal paper that Haberstick handed him. It was a simple handwritten receipt that would not mean anything to anyone outside of the room, Anthony reassured himself.

“Now go!” Mr. Haberstick faced the window again, his hands folded behind his back, his small, hunched frame swimming in his oversized black suit.

As Anthony closed the heavy door behind him, he heard Mr. Haberstick's warbled voice bounce off the hot windowpane glaring in the late afternoon sun.

“I'm not going to lose, Anthony.”

Terri loosened the diamond-studded clip in her hair to let the wind whip through her short tresses. The crisp fall air was an invigorating rush to her senses.

“This is unbelievable!” She shouted through the roaring breeze. “I never dreamed a convertible would be this much fun!”

“Well, the Lexus SC 430 has one of the highest customer-satisfaction rates of all luxury sports cars. You sure know how to pick a winner.”

Terri smiled at the salesman sitting in the passenger seat. His sun-bleached blond hair and bronzed arms looked as if he had been riding in the convertible with Terri all afternoon.

“When summertime hits, you'll really see how fun this baby is.” The corners of his bright blue eyes scrunched up as he smiled.

“Summertime,” Terri whispered the word after him. She could almost envision the scores of envious people standing at bus stops and riding in worthless automobiles who would see her in this red, classy thing. A twenty-first-century stagecoach for a queen. Terri could not get the smile off of her face.

“I don't want this test drive to end.” Terri was pulling back into the dealership lot. The colorful, neat rows of every imaginable luxury car sent chills through her stomach.

“This is definitely the car I want,” she stated as she reluctantly handed the keys back to the salesman. “But I do want to add some more options.”

Terri followed the man into an office, where he began punching numbers into a computer.

“Have you decided on what options you want? There's our gold package, and the rear spoiler, the—”

“All of them,” Terri quickly interrupted. “I want every single option you showed me in the brochure.” Terri felt good saying those words.

The salesman continued punching data into his computer. “That will put the car you want—in red, right—at…let's see, $61,190.”

“$61,190? Is that all?” Terri looked genuinely disappointed. She wondered how much other millionaires spent on their automobiles.

“Well, we can add our ultimate extended warranty package in addition to the one offered by Lexus.” A greedy smile contrasted with his innocent blue eyes. “You know, what was I thinking? I believe we have a SC 430 in stock that has everything that I talked to you about, and even more. We call it our crown jewel. Everyone wants to see it, but up to now, nobody has been willing to own it.”

Terri kept her head high as she noticed everyone in the showroom watching her inspect the car. Her inspection ended with the printed invoice on the window.

“Perfect,” she muttered to herself. “This is the car that I want.” She pointed, speaking as loud as an indoor voice could carry her. The jealousy begins. She made no eye contact with the other customers in the showroom as she walked with the salesman to another counter.

Terri withdrew a large wad of one-hundred-dollar bills from her purse. She prided herself in having thought to max out most of her credit cards through cash advances.

“I want to make my down payment now.” Terri had decided she would get the rest of the money from Anthony and pay off the car the next day.

As her new Lexus was being driven off the showroom floor, Terri took one last look at her old Mercedes-Benz. The car had been a college-graduation present from her parents.

“You've had a good run,” she murmured, running her polished fingers over the top of the green wagon. “Up to now, I've never wanted to leave you. But I've got a new image to create. I can't have a vehicle from the last millennium getting me around town.”

As she bent down to plant a light kiss on the back windshield, she caught sight of a white envelope peeking out from under the passenger seat.

“I saw this yesterday,” she reminded herself. She picked up the letter and traced Anthony's neat print written across the front. “Pastor Green,” she read aloud, flipping the sealed envelope around in her hands.

“It's Wednesday, so there's prayer meeting at church tonight.” She patted the letter in her palms. “I'm sure Anthony won't mind me dropping this off to Pastor Green.”

A wicked smile spread across her face as the gleaming new red Lexus pulled to a stop in front of her.

“Besides,” she murmured softly, “those backwards country people at Second Baptist Church need to see what a real blessing is.”

As Terri clicked down her new seat belt, a black Jaguar slithered into the space beside her. The smooth, polished metal shined so perfectly, Terri could almost see the glint of jealousy from her own eyes reflecting back to her.

“Who is this?” she muttered.

As if in response to her question, the passenger-side window of the black Jaguar rolled down. Terri tried to look away unimpressed, but the voice was unmistakable.

“Mrs. Murdock, we meet again.”

Terri tried to smile as she jammed the key into the ignition. “That's a nice car you're driving. Is it new?”

“No, I've had this for quite some time. I come back to this dealership regularly for scheduled maintenance. With a classy car such as yours, you should consider doing the same. It will keep both of you dazzling.”

Terri consoled herself with the compliment. “Thank you. I have to go, but I will be talking with you soon. I believe I have a meeting with your staff tomorrow.”

“Yes, and I do look forward to meeting with you again, Mrs. Murdock.” Terri noticed that a team of mechanics was nearing his car.

“See you later, Mr. Savant.” She began backing out of the space.

“Please, call me Reggie.”

Councilman Banks was pacing his office suite in slow, steady strides when Anthony arrived precisely at five-fifteen. Anthony stood unnoticed in the doorway, watching as the councilman walked from one bookcase to another, stopping once to drum fingers on the back of Gloria's empty seat, stopping again to straighten a pillow on one of the wide couches. A door slammed loudly somewhere in the empty corridor.

“Gloria! Is that you?” The councilman suddenly sprang around and, seeing Anthony in the doorway, collapsed into the sofa behind him, his lips tightening into a thin line.

“First the check, and now…Gloria,” his voice was low and despondent. His eyes reached Anthony's in a trembling gaze. “I don't know where she is.”

Anthony still stood in the doorway, trying to make sense of Walter's words.

“I haven't heard from Gloria since early afternoon. All I asked her to do was go down to the clerk's office at city hall and get some files I've been looking for. I wanted to review some of the documents from the whole CASH and Stonymill ordeal for clues as to who's behind all this. It should have taken her no more than forty-five minutes, an hour at the most.” His words seemed to fade into the fringed rug at which he was staring.

Anthony looked at Gloria's desk, noticing for the first time the wrapped, half-eaten delicatessen sandwich sitting next to her computer. A document was on the screen and the cursor blinked blaringly at the end of an unfinished sentence. As he observed, a bright screensaver popped onto the large monitor.
PRAISE THE LORD!
The italicized words darted across the blue screen.

“I called her from my cell phone around one o'clock and asked her to get those files for me.” Walter Banks continued talking. “When I came back at three-thirty, I expected to see her sitting at this desk, those files in my mailbox. Neither are here and I'm worried. Gloria is a dependable assistant—the best secretary I've had—and not hearing from her is…I'm sure she's fine. She probably became very involved in her task and lost track of time. She's a hard worker and I'm certain I'm worrying over nothing.” His voice faded into the carpet again before he continued.

“I closed my bank account first thing this morning, but now I'm not sure that was such a good idea.”

The politician beckoned Anthony to a small conference room. As they entered, Walter glanced behind them and locked the door. He arched his neck as if giving a quick scan of all the windows and then pointed to a large woven wastebasket sitting next to a burgundy armchair.

“I'd forgotten that to close the account meant taking out all the money. I don't feel safe with it, so I hid it until we talk to the detective. Where's that business card? I want to talk to him before the owner of that money comes looking for us. There. It's in there. Underneath the plastic trash bag.” He pointed as if the money was a biological hazard.

Before Anthony could pull out the detective's card, a phone at one end of the room's sole table began ringing.

“That's odd,” the councilman mumbled. “Very few people have this number.” He glanced at his watch. “And to be calling this late?” Suddenly his eyes brightened as he rushed for the phone.

“Gloria?” he shouted into the headpiece. Anthony watched as deep lines set into the councilman's forehead.

“Who-who is this? What do you want?” Walter whispered before looking bewilderedly at Anthony.

“Money? What money?” His voice held controlled hysteria as he clutched the handset.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” He turned to hang up the phone but stopped suddenly in his path.

“My secretary! What have you done to Gloria?” Outrage overtook his shouts. “Who is this?”

There was a long pause.

“Yes, he's here.” The councilman turned heavy eyes toward Anthony, who abruptly reached for the phone.

“He'll do whatever you want! Please don't hurt Gloria!” Walter shouted into the handset. “Here, speak to him!”

Anthony's fingers tangled with the cord as Walter tried to hand him the phone.

“It's no use.” Councilman Banks spoke gravely to Anthony. “Whoever it was has already hung up.” He gently laid the phone into the receiver. “The person demanded that the money be returned or Gloria will get hurt.”

“Where's Gloria?” Anthony's head swirled.

“I don't know, and something else is wrong.” The councilman reached for the satchel hidden in the wastebasket. As he continued to speak, he began counting out stacks of hundred-dollar bills.