No Time To Run (Legal Thriller Featuring Michael Collins, Book 1) (14 page)

Tammy Duckstein tore the pieces of paper containing her notes off the pad, stapled them together, and then filed the notes with the rest of the
Maltow v. Jarvis Health System
file.

She didn’t like this Vatch person. She didn’t like him the first time they spoke, and the most recent conversation didn’t change that opinion. She didn’t appreciate being called “girlie,” nor did she appreciate his demand for her to turn over the entire
Maltow
file. It was her investigation, not his. It was her informant, not his. And any cooperation between government agencies was wholly within the committee’s discretion, not his.

Tammy Duckstein had been around long enough not to be bullied. If Agent Frank Vatch wanted a bureaucratic turf war, then she could provide him with one. For the past year and a half the
Maltow
file was the primary, if not the only, reason she came to work. It wasn’t going to be given up that easily.

The other disciplinary files were simple cases. A lawyer showed up drunk to court or a lawyer made a racist joke. Occasionally, a lawyer was accused of stealing client funds, but the amounts were small and the cause was one type of mental illness or another.
Maltow
, however, was different.

A case like
Maltow
was why she spent all those nights at law school after the divorce. It was interesting, and she was finally able to match wits with some of the highest-paid attorneys in town. 
Maltow
wasn’t about a solo practitioner who had barely passed the bar. It involved the prestigious law firm of Wabash, Kramer & Moore.

Unless Vatch got a court order, the
Maltow
file was hers. She just needed Michael Collins to return her call. That’s all she needed.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

A repeated thump, squeak, thump could be heard all the way down the hall. The Grateful Dead’s “Uncle John’s Band” provided the background vibe.

Michael saw that his hotel room door was open. Another few steps and he confirmed that his room was the source of the noise.

He walked inside and was engulfed by plumes of marijuana smoke. Distorted music blasted from a small clock radio on the nightstand. Kermit was on the bed jumping up and down with the beat. Black magic markers were in each hand; his head came only an inch away from the ceiling on each bounce.

Four large sheets of white poster board hung on the wall. Occasionally Kermit would bounce over to the board and write a number. Then he would reference one of the two-dozen receipts, also taped to the wall, and continue jumping.

“
Kermit.” Michael turned off the music. “Kermit,” he repeated.

Kermit looked away from the poster boards and toward Michael in mid-bounce.

“
Yo, chief.” Kermit bounced, again, but, this time, dismounted the bed like a drugged-out version of the Romanian gymnast Nadia Comaneci.

“
I was in the zone there, buddy.” Kermit wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “Sorry if I didn’t see you.” He walked past Michael to a table with an ice bucket containing several bottles of overpriced water from the wet bar. He put the caps back on his magic markers, set them on the table, and then removed a bottle of water.

“
Want a sip?”

“
Not really,” Michael said. “Did you get the research done that I asked for?”

“
Whoa.” Kermit held out his hands. “Nice to see you too, my friend.”

“
Nice
to see you too,” Michael said, in a calm voice. “About the research―”

“
Started it.” Kermit pointed at the ceiling, and then at Michael. “Made serious progress, but then I ordered one of those fancy mocha java double espresso lattes with the whip cream and
choco-sprinkles …” Kermit looked back at the poster board, paused, and then shook-off whatever thought he had.

“
And?”

“
And I got this receipt for $4.62.” Kermit pointed at one of the receipts taped to the wall. “Which was also served by Clerk Number 282.”

“
And?”

“
And so I had to come back here and get to work.” Kermit gestured toward the poster boards, as if it were all so clear.

At this point, despite a concerted effort to avoid knowing what Kermit was doing with the dozens of receipts he had been collecting since he had arrived in New York, Michael was forced to ask.

“
I’ve become a follower of Dr. Moo Yung Song,” Kermit explained. “You may have heard of him.” Kermit paused, but Michael didn’t respond and so he continued. “Dr. Song’s birth name was Howard Carson, but that changed with the immaculate enlightenment, now its Dr. Song.”

“
Not ringing any bells with me.”

“
He is the prophet of numeric equilibrium.” Kermit looked at the poster boards again, and then back at Michael. “I read about Dr. Song in the in-flight magazine coming up here.”

“
An article in an in-flight magazine?”

“
Well,” Kermit finished the remaining water, and set the empty bottle down on the table. “not exactly an article. It was an ad.”

“
In the back of the magazine.”

“
Correct-o.” Kermit snapped his fingers, happy that Michael understood. “Dr. Song has a whole series of audio cassettes, CDs, MP3s, whatever your format, but they’re pretty pricey. So …” Kermit paused and stared out the window for a minute, and then looked back at Michael. “I had to make do with the information provided in the ad.” Kermit picked up a new bottle of water, and unscrewed the cap. “But from what I gleaned, it’s pretty brilliant. An awakening for me, really.”

“
The ad talked about this?”

“
Not exactly,” Kermit said. “Dr. Moo Yung Song talks about how life is really a series of mathematical equations, and that we must bring the numbers into balance. Specifically, the number 100 is the ultimate sign of numeric equilibrium.” Kermit took two quick drinks of water. “And so I thought to myself, what are the most common numbers we deal with every day?”

“
I don’t know.” Michael checked his watch. He was ready to leave.

“
Receipts,” Kermit said. “And that’s when I decided to commit myself fully to having the receipts equal 100 by the end of every day.”

“
Your receipts.”

“
Any receipts.” Kermit smiled. “You take every digit on every receipt you have, and then you add them up, or subtract them, or multiply, or divide, and then. ...” Kermit spread his arms wide. “When you get another receipt the process has to begin anew because the whole numeric equilibrium has been thrown out of whack-o.” His arms went wild, and then still just as quickly.

“
That’s why you had to stop researching for Andie.” Michael looked at the dozens of equations covering the hotel room walls. “Because you got a new receipt.”

“
Not just any receipt.” Kermit jumped up on to the bed and pointed at the first series of numbers at the top of a poster board. “A receipt with all even numbers, very rare.”

“
I see.” Michael nodded. “Do you think you have time to break away from this important spiritual journey to try and actually get Andie out of jail?”

Kermit took in a deep breath, and then finished off the second bottle of water.

“
I guess so,” he said. “What’d you have in mind?”

###

The First National Bank Building was more open and airy in the daytime, but the large slabs of polished black marble still gave weight to the space. As they walked up to the security desk, Michael turned to Kermit.

“
Just let me handle this, okay?”

“
What about partners?”

Michael patted Kermit on the back.

“
Just let me do the talking.”

They stopped at the desk. Cecil and Flo both looked up at them. Neither had a smile.

“
Sign in here.” Cecil pushed a clipboard toward Michael.

“
Then we can get you a visitor badge,” said Flo, still no smiles.

“
I’m actually not here to see anyone,” Michael stumbled through an initial explanation. “Well, I am here to see someone, just not up there, if that makes any sense.”

Cecil looked at Flo with a raised eyebrow.

“
Don’t make much sense to me,” Cecil said.

“
Me neither, honey.”

Michael took a step back from the security table. He took a breath and started, again.

“
I don’t know if you remember me, but I came in here a few days ago. It was late at night, and I was trying to track down some information for a friend.”

Cecil looked at Flo, again. The raised eyebrow was back.

“
Anyway, I’m a lawyer. I’m going to serve a subpoena and discovery on the owners of this building. It’s important that I talk to the building manager right away.”

“
Stop right there, Mr. Lawyer,” Cecil said. “Subpoena you say?”

“
You’re an attorney now?” Flo asked.

“
I am.” Michael lowered his head, apologetically. “But, I just really need to talk to the building manager or whoever would know the contact information for the security guard that was working on the night of – ”

“
Well, he ain’t here,” Cecil said.

“
Guy ain’t ever here,” said Flo.

“
Works out of the main office uptown.”

“
Own forty or fifty buildings all over the country,” added Flo.

“
This is just one of them.”

“
Well.” Michael was getting desperate now. “It would be great if you could help me out. Make a call for me?”

“
Not on your life,” Flo responded without hesitation.

“
That’s a negative,” said Cecil.

“
In our position, it’s better to be seen,” Flo said.

“
And not heard.”

Michael started to talk again, but this time Kermit cut him off.

“
Perhaps you two are not aware of the teachings of Dr. Moo Yung Song. He was most recently featured in various in-flight magazines across the country.”

Cecil looked at Flo, and Flo back at Cecil.

“
No? Well, let me tell you a little something about Dr. Song, of whom I am a disciple.”

Cecil leaned over to Flo.

“
Call the police.”

“
Readin’ my mind,” Flo said back.

“
If you could just hear me out,” Kermit said as Flo picked up the phone and dialed. “Dr. Song teaches a lifestyle rooted in eternal balance of our earthly and solaristic energies, one that may be quickly summarized as a ‘numeric equilibrium.’”

Kermit and Michael could hear the phone ringing.

“
So to achieve this equilibrium, one must seek to have balance in their life, most often achieved by having even numbers, particularly 100. That is, at least, the sect that I am a part of.” Kermit took Michael’s wallet out of Michael’s back pocket, and removed the cash. He handed the wallet back to Michael.

“
This is First National.” Flo eyed the money in Kermit’s hand as she spoke into the receiver. “Thought we might have a situation, but I think it’s taken care of.” She hung up the phone as Kermit laid the cash in front of the two security guards.

“
Now,” Kermit separated the cash into two stacks, one for each. “Keeping in mind the teachings of Dr. Song, how can we help you reach your numeric equilibrium today?”

###

Flo led Michael through the doorway behind the security desk and into a combination office and break room.

“
The guy’s name who was working that night was Daniel Beale.” Flo walked up to a cluttered desk.

She shuffled aside some empty fast-food containers and started digging through the sheets of paper underneath.

“
We ain’t exactly prepared for an audit or nothing.” Flo pointed toward the circular break table. “Have a seat over there.”

Michael walked over to the table, and removed a notepad from his briefcase.

“
You said his name was Daniel Beale?” He wrote down the name.

“
Yeah.” Flo picked up a piece of paper, looked, and then discarded it. “Cool name, sounds like a ballplayer or something, but he certainly wasn’t no ballplayer.”

“
He was new?”

“
Didn’t work here more than two months, before his supposed vacation.”

“
Supposed?”