Project Northwest (14 page)

On the coffee table in the living room sat
the letter. She picked it up. It had been opened. The obvious
invasion of privacy ticked her off. She wasn’t used to restraining
her words and almost yelled,
you fuckers! I hope whatever you’re
doing backfires and you all end up in jail! This is America. Stay
out of my apartment and stay out of my life
.

Instead, she plopped onto the couch, silent,
angry, holding the letter she’d written ten days earlier, after
speaking with the landlord.

Her world felt like quicksand.

The landlord made it clear he needed a thirty
day written notice before he could terminate the lease. He was
evidently ticked that she wanted to terminate and suggested she
read the lease closely. He was more than willing to show her the
termination clause. She didn’t take any offense to his attitude,
chalking it up to a cranky old man who had been screwed over one
too many times.

She had dropped hints to James all month long
and was waiting for him to ask her to move in. James, she felt, was
on the verge of asking her to move into the condo with him the
night he’d had the car accident.

She sank deeper into the couch and recalled
that night. He was at the bar stealing her time from the boss, when
he said he had something very important to talk with her about. She
should wake him if he were asleep when she came to the condo. Just
then, his cell phone rang and he became angry—something was wrong
with his car. He at once paid his tab, stole a kiss, and left The
Lounge, almost in a sprint.

She arrived at his apartment at 1:30 that
morning and he wasn’t there. Her calls to his cell phone were not
answered, her messages not returned.

Calls to the few friends they hung out with
said they had not seen nor heard from him. She remembered the panic
in her throat when she started dialing the local hospitals, was
relieved when he had not been admitted to any of them, but then was
even more concerned and was starting to get agitated with James.
She finally started calling the police stations and learned his
mustang had been in an accident and as far as they knew, the
accident site had been cleared and Mr. Spain was at one of the
local hospitals – they had no other information at that time.

She kept calling his cell, leaving messages,
and didn’t sleep at all. She curled up on his couch, thinking the
worse. She was so relieved when he called her. She almost cried
when she heard his voice. All the worry and anger that had built up
suddenly left her.

That was five days ago and now their whole
life had changed. Her man was being blackmailed and although she
realized she didn’t have the full story, she had enough and, more
importantly, he had asked her to trust him, and deep down inside,
she was prideful that she never even considered not trusting him.
She would trust him with her life, if that’s what it took.

Having made her decision, she put the notice
back into the envelope, locked the apartment door, and dropped the
envelope into the rent slot of the landlord’s door on the first
floor. She heard the landlord on the other side of the door,
waited, and yelled, “Did you get it?”

“Yeah, I got it,” he said looking through the
peep hole. “The apartment had better be spotless if you want your
security deposit back. It’s in the lease, look it up.”

“Bye, Mr. Hancock,” she said as she walked
away.

Bridget arrived at work ten minutes before
her scheduled start time, which was odd because she was usually ten
minutes late. She found Cindy Stanton and pulled her into the
ladies room.

“Hey, just wanted to make sure you know not
to tell anyone I borrowed your cell phone. It’s really, really
important that you don’t say a word about it.”

“Sure, honey, my lips are sealed. But if you
ask me, you’re crazy if you let James go.”

“Let James go? Oh, you think I called another
man or something.” She put her hand on Cindy’s shoulder and laughed
at the idea. “The only other man I’ll be calling is my dad. Let
James go! You’re crazy; he’s going to have to beat me away with a
stick. But remember, don’t tell anyone, okay. And let me know if
anyone gets froggy.”

“Won’t say a word, promise.”

The two clocked in for their shift. Bridget
was assigned and worked the plush-booths on the stage floor and
Cindy was working the conversation tables near the bar. The first
hour of the shift was always slow and was dedicated to prep and
cleanup, but the place was packed when the stage act fired up at
seven.

The band was performing first-rate covers of
Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, and other grunge bands
from the nineties. The patrons couldn’t give enough praise; “...the
band is excellent,” “...they can play,” and more of the same was
the topic of discussion at the booths. Lighters suddenly appeared,
were lit, and waved in the air when certain songs were played, even
though smoking was not allowed. In fact, there was a statewide law
prohibiting smoking in any indoor public space.

The band played their heart out and Bridget
didn’t even notice that three hours had passed.

Cindy caught Bridget at the point of sale
station and said, “Hey, see that guy sitting over there, table four
near the bar?” She pointed in the general direction.

“Yeah, the guy in the white shirt and black
blazer, he’s kind of cute.”

“Yeah, I know, but he’s been chatting me up
and just asked me if you’ve been acting odd or anything the last
couple of days.”

“Really, he’s asking about me?”

“Yeah, kind of in a creepy way, too.”

Bridget printed her ticket, dropped it at her
table, thanked the customers for stopping by, and headed directly
to table four.

She noticed the guy was getting nervous when
he realized she was coming his way. She sat down in the empty chair
and immediately began the interrogation.

“I understand you have some questions.” Her
tone was not inviting. It was hostile, full of venom, and even
though she was speaking softly, the anger rang through loud and
clear.

“Ah, no—I—I don’t know what you’re talking
about,” he stuttered, but collected himself quickly.

“I hear from a source, more trustworthy than
you, that you’re asking questions. Well what do you want to
know?”

“I don’t want to know anything,” the man
said, trying his best to ignore her.

“Want to know if I have a man? The answer is
yes. Want to know if he takes care of me. The answer is yes. Want
to know if, in a million years, you can get in my pants. The answer
is absolutely no. Did I miss a topic? Want to know if he’s good in
bed?”

“Look, sorry if you’re having a bad day. I
haven’t asked anything about you, and I suggest you get back to
work and not make a scene,” he calmly said as he brought his bottle
of beer to his lips.

He recovered quickly, she thought, and was
willing to leave it at that. “Okay, but you’re number one on my
shit list. That spot is usually reserved for drunks and ass
grabbers.” She stood and began to walk away. That’s when she heard
him say it—“Bitch.”

She was yelling before she even turned
around. “What did you call me?” Every head in earshot turned and
watched the scene unfold. “I said what did you call me? Correct me
if I’m wrong, but did you just call me a bitch?”

He refused to answer. He instead chose to
pull a twenty from his wallet and toss it on the table.

Two security guys were on the spot before the
twenty even floated to the table. One bouncer grabbed him by the
back of the neck. His hands were massive and heavy. They escorted
him to the door and pushed him out. “Come back when you have a
little class and can handle rejection.”

A second associate, in as many as three days,
had been tossed from The Lounge. Mr. Wright’s team was batting
zero.

James walked in as the associate was being
forcefully removed. He didn’t take any special notice of the
incident. He knew security at The Lounge had a reputation for being
tough, a reputation they wanted everyone to know and wanted
everyone to exaggerate. He saw Bridget, who was already back to
work, thinking nothing of what just happened. James caught her
attention and she waved and raised two fingers, their little code
for the area she was working.

He ordered a Saison Dupont and savored the
earthy, herbal flavor of the beer. It was the perfect way to wind
down what had been a pretty good day. Well, except for the fact
that he was breaking the law and there was a good chance he would
be in jail or dead before the month was over with. The Dupont did
it’s best to make him forget his problems.

The band was up and started to play its
second set.

James went to the booth area on the stage
floor and looked for a booth with an available seat. Soon, he was
sitting with three guys from Shoreline, answering questions about
what happened to his face.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Bridget slipped James a note:

“I have every reason in the world to hate you
right now, you lied to me. But my heart tells me this is the time
to find a reason to love you. And that’s exactly what I’m going to
do.”

James read the note a couple of times, went
to the men’s room, balled it up, and flushed it down the
toilet.

When Bridget made her way back to the table,
James pulled her into his lap and whispered, “I adore and am amazed
in everything about you.”

“You’d better be.” She snuck a quick kiss and
took the drink orders for the table.

After about an hour of having a good time
with the guys, with them congratulating him on landing such a
beautiful girl as Bridget, they all felt like they were getting the
VIP treatment. Their table was always first, the drinks never
empty. James made it obvious that his phone wasn’t working for some
reason and pointed at the cell phone on the table. “Do you
mind?”

“Not at all,” said his new friend, pushing
the phone toward James.

James didn’t pick up the phone. He instead
dialed Marks number while it sat on the table and put it on
speaker.

Mark DeSantis recognized the area code and
answered only with, “Got it. Will know Monday. Check personal
pages, Sam.”

James pressed end–call and watched Bridget
light up the room as she visited table after table like a beautiful
butterfly.

* * * *

Mr. Wright was livid, screaming at the
associate who had been tossed. “Don’t you know you don’t call a
girl a bitch in this day and age? What the hell were you
thinking?”

“But she was being a bitch. She was jumping
all over me with attitude. What should I have done?”

“What should you have done? Well, get up and
walk away is an option that comes to mind. Take the tongue-lashing
is another option. Hell, she was walking away wasn’t she?” Mr.
Wright was shaking his head in disbelief.

After he calmed down, he said, “Look, you’re
young, so I’m going to cut you some slack, but I’m going to give
you some advice that just might save your life someday. Never,
ever, call a girl a bitch or cunt. They will flip out on you like a
raccoon with wetnaps. Ever seen a raccoon with wetnaps?”

“No.”

“It drives them crazy. They lose their
fucking minds.”

The other associates watched and listened to
the berating of their fellow team member, chuckled at the thought
of the raccoon’s frustration with the man-made wetnap. They were
sure it would blow the animal’s mind.

“I’m fucking running out of associates to
send in there, and we still don’t know why she was there Sunday
night. If we lose control of this mark, we are screwed in a big
way. I mean heads will roll, careers ruined, people hurt,” he
snapped. He gave a stern look to the two guys chuckling. The
message was clear to everyone in the Tahoe, quit messing up and get
the job done.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he
threatened.

“Okay, so she’s in there until what one A.M.,
right?” Mr. Wright asked in the general direction of the associates
in the back seat.

“Yes, sir. She’s scheduled from five to
one.”

“Associate one, gear up. You’re going in to
keep an eye on both of them, use your cell phone’s video to record
any contact between her and him and her and any of her co-workers.
Who is working tonight that was there Sunday night? Your cell phone
is fully charged, right?”

“Yes, sir, it is. Tiffany Fitzpatrick and
Cindy Stanton were there Sunday.”

“Finally, someone is prepared. Get in there,
stay sober, don’t be obvious with the recording, and for the love
of God, don’t do anything to get kicked out. Focus on those two
co-workers.”

The associate donned the bluetooth device,
did a radio check, exited the Tahoe, and entered The Lounge. He
quickly found Bridget, but couldn’t find James at first. Walking
the stage floor, he found him sitting at a booth with three other
guys. They were all talking and having a good time. He found a
perfect spot near a wall and pretended to record the band, but he
was really doing exactly as Mr. Wright had instructed, recording
every contact between Bridget and James.

He walked around and put a face to the names
of Tiffany and Cindy and watched and recorded any interaction
between them and Bridget.

Mr. Wright instructed the driver to take him
back to the condo, return to this exact spot, and be ready to tail
them if they went on another late night love fest.

When he reached condo 503, he reviewed all
the high-lighted footage of the day and didn’t see anything that
concerned him. Bridget looked beautiful exiting the shower and she
somehow even looked sexy cleaning up the condo. She then made her
way to her apartment and as expected, gave notice to her landlord.
James had been reined in.

“We lost a mic in her apartment?” Mr. Wright
asked looking at the log.