Thin Blood Thick Water (Clueless Resolutions Book 2) (21 page)

“Whew, that’s a relief,” Maggie breathed, as she pulled off her ear cups.  Max, holding his gun and folded target in one hand while he lifted the ear cups off with the other, voiced his agreement

“I’ve had enough shooting for today,” he said. “Let’s pay up and hit the road.”

Once in Maggie’s car, with her behind the wheel this time, they swapped their impressions of the experience.

Maggie felt pain in her right hand and was driving with it in her lap. The hand was still healing from the bruising caused by smashing her closed fist into the face of her young abductor, back on the ferry on Fundy Bay. It was still tender. The strong recoil of the magnum bullets she fired with her new, lightweight revolver had aggravated the injury. Max insisted that she pull over and allow him to take over the homebound driving responsibilities.

“Okay, let’s switch,” she agreed. “I want to see how well we scored on the target sheets.”

Within a few short minutes after entering back onto the highway Maggie let out a loud expression of delight. “Oh, wow! I cleaned-your-clock on this game babe!” she exclaimed, using sport style jargon. With her wounded hand she held up her unfolded target sheet to show Max the bullet holes which were mostly centered on the human torso outline.

“Yeah, but look at mine,” he countered, with feigned bravado. “It looks like Swiss cheese.”

Maggie held up Max’s target. There were many more holes than with Maggie’s but only half were within the figure outline.

“Your score is about fifty percent and my hits were well over eighty percent,” Maggie stated in a ‘trash-talking’ tone.”

Over the next ten-to-twelve minutes they traded barbs, laughing in between. Max extolled the benefits of huge barrages of bullets versus Maggie’s fewer and more accurate strikes and her  recommending closer targets vs. his further targets, etc., etc.

Their good-natured repartee served to vent some of their tension and pent-up frustration caused by the recent abduction, physical abuse and death threats. They were feeling more secure for themselves, and for each other, having weaponry for protection in the future. They were finally relaxed.

They would have sounded like callous, insensitive brutes if anyone overheard their banter, but both Maggie and Max knew how close they had recently gotten to becoming past tense. On a more serious note now, they both vowed to be more vigilant and better prepared in any future similar circumstances.

By the time the somewhat-reinvigorated warriors pulled into the driveway of Hargrove House apartments, they were ready for martinis and early frozen TV dinners.  Before turning in, each read through the ‘care and storage’ pamphlets which came with their respective new side-arms. Max tried on his shoulder holster and adjusted the harness for a snug, but not tight fit under his left armpit.  Maggie fitted herself with the inner-thigh holster for her revolver. She immediately realized that when wearing slacks, jeans or an extra short dress or skirt, her purse, or handbag would be the best alternative.

After a few nods-off while watching TV, the mutual agreement was that it was ‘nighty-night’ time.

On this mid-November morning, Maggie Marshall had an appointment to meet with an attorney representing a large multi-national financial conglomerate. He was working as their agent. It was a lunch meeting at a Hartford, Connecticut office building. The purpose was a pre-screening recruitment exercise which was initiated by the attorney/agent.

Maggie drove Max to Tweed Airport and saw him off. She hadn’t mentioned the interview to Max for two reasons. First, he had enough on his plate dealing with the USAP ‘puzzles’, and second, Maggie wasn’t one hundred percent certain that she would attend the meeting. Her reasoning was that she hadn’t gone to the financial conglomerate, they came to her, after all.

The appointment was first agreed-to because Maggie assumed that it was a general canvassing effort on their part, to hire an operative for this geographical region. Considering it as a potential avenue to gain new clients, within the sphere of her operation, was Maggie’s motivation for accepting the invitation.

After watching Max pilot the sleek, twin-engine Beechcraft into the air over Long Island Sound and turn northward, she drove to her office to take care of business.

Jessie greeted Maggie warmly, which surprised her. Realizing that the young office manager had been ‘flying solo’ at her job lately, Maggie accepted the embrace and returned the warmth as an older sister would to a younger sibling. Jessie was proving to be all that Maggie could hope for in her young business enterprise and, working alone without the benefit of co-workers with which to socialize, might have proven detrimental to a less-disciplined, less secure young woman.

They swapped recent work related experiences, with Maggie leaving out the gory details of her experience in Nova Scotia.  Then they went over Maggie’s schedule for the remainder of the work week. Calls from her regular lender-clients had dropped off and it was time to go out and ‘beat the bushes’ to find some new sources. The inevitable cycles in her area of expertise could result in a downward swing with little forewarning.  Staying on the alert for the current trends was one of the ‘secrets’ to Maggie’s success. Being prepared was her business byword.

With no significant pressing business for the day, Maggie decided to go ahead with the Hartford appointment and had Jessie pencil it into her schedule. She felt that it might open the door toward a larger-scale, more stable, income flow for Marshall Real Estate Services.

At 10:30 AM Maggie left the office and went to the apartment to prepare for the lunch meeting in Hartford.

Max called just as she was entering their apartment. He let her know that the flight went well and they agreed to catch up on the latest developments when he went to his Lakeside apartment at the end of the day. Maggie let him know that she had decided to attend the luncheon meeting in Hartford, and the reason for it. Max wished her luck and, still reacting to their recent experiences in the business world, urged her to ‘keep an eye on her rear-view mirror’, in other words, watch her back.  Maggie promised to do that and, understanding his concern, assured him that he needn’t worry.  She then went about loading her valise with her usual promotional portfolios and hand-outs which she used when making prospecting calls for clients. With Max’s words of caution ringing in her ears, Maggie went to the wall safe in the main bedroom and took out her recently-purchased revolver. She loaded the five chambers and closed the wall safe. They hadn’t discussed it but she noticed that Max’s new auto-loader was not there.

Standing there alone in the apartment bedroom holding a loaded gun, reality penetrated Maggie’s usual up-beat, carefree but careful personality.  She realized now, that over the last two years her life had become seriously complicated.

The drive to Hartford was uneventful. Listening to some old favorite tunes on the car radio allowed Maggie to reflect on less-anxious days.
“It seemed so simple then,”
she thought. At the same time she recalled those days as having no meaningful male relationships, and being rather dull, almost lonely. Though more complex, she preferred things just as they are now.

The GPS had led her to the hotel parking garage and she entered, took the automatic token and, as the gate swung upward, Maggie spiraled up the ramp to locate a vacant spot. Once parked, an elevator lowered her to the lobby level. She approached the information desk to get directions to the luncheon room.

The information clerk wasn’t sure of the meeting room reservation but when Maggie mentioned the name of the attorney who had invited her, the puzzled clerk smiled and became very helpful.  “I’ll page him, just a minute please,” she said. “He‘ll be right out,” she repeated after a few moments, motioning to a settee just behind Maggie. “Make yourself comfortable.”

The elevator to the left of the receptionist opened and a well-dressed, older gentleman carrying an attaché case emerged, looking directly at Maggie. He strode toward her and, with his free hand extended he introduced himself.

“I’m Jeffrey Gordon and you’re Margaret Marshall, I presume.” They shook hands and Gordon escorted her toward the cloak room window. “Would you like to check anything?” he asked.  Maggie passed on checking her suit jacket and Gordon continued to urge her toward a small, 10-table dining area adjacent to a cocktail lounge. The bartender came from around the bar with lunch menus and ushered them to a booth-style table along an interior wall.

“I thought this was a luncheon meeting,” Maggie asked in the form of a statement.
“And so it is!” exclaimed attorney Gordon. “Lunch is on me and a waiter will be here shortly to take our orders.”

“Are there other guests?” Maggie asked suspiciously. “Or am I the only one?” The polished attorney went on to explain that her contact information was given to him by an associate who dealt with real estate finance specialists in the Canadian Atlantic Provinces.

“And who might that be?” Maggie asked. Gordon opened his attaché case on his lap and extracted a manila folder. Opening the folder he pronounced the name of the local banker who Maggie met with for information on local financing practices in Nova Scotia. Satisfied that he was legitimate in his contacting her, Maggie was wondering why she would have mistaken this meeting as a general open meeting, with several local financial operatives, with lunch thrown in.

The bartender came to the table with coasters and napkins to take their orders for drinks. Maggie ordered an ice water with lemon and the attorney ordered the same with a look of thinly disguised disappointment, obviously being politically correct out of respect for his ‘guest’.

“And to what, or to whom, do I owe this special invitation?” she asked Gordon directly.

The attorney explained his role as an agent of an international conglomerate heavily invested in eastern Canadian and eastern North American real estate. The name, or names were not mentioned but he insinuated that there was a heavy Asian influence.

Maggie ordered a light lunch salad and he ordered a full meal from the dinner menu. While they waited for the meals, Gordon explained to Maggie that the conglomerate’s investments in American properties, mostly through low-income housing programs unofficially subsidized by US government agencies, were under-performing and had no government guarantee. “For those which were in jeopardy, some ‘quiet sort’ of behind-the scenes refinancing of the debt service was the preferred resolution,” Attorney Gordon stated suggestively. Maggie sensed, by this man’s rather shifty demeanor that he was hinting at an illicit arrangement. She needed further clarification of what was being proposed.

The meals were served and Maggie picked at her salad. She had sipped the ice water and, with the reference to Eastern Canada, was not at ease eating the food. In the meantime, Attorney Gordon was wolfing down everything on his plate, almost without talking a breath. Maggie decided it was time to ‘cut to the chase’.

“Are you referring to high-stakes loan sharking?” Maggie asked, abruptly.  Gordon looked up from his plate and started to cough. Choking was a more accurate description, as his face turned a bright red and his eyes were bulging while he tried to catch his breath. The bartender peeked out from around the corner and the waitress froze in her steps with a hand to her mouth. Maggie had been instructed in CPR techniques but the thought of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, with the mouthful this man had, turned her stomach. As she began to rise and attempt a Heimlich maneuver, Gordon spit his gorged food out in a napkin and heaved a heavy intake and exhale sequence of breathing. He sat back in his seat exhausted.

Maggie had heard about all she could take. She signaled the waitress and explained that she was leaving.  She bid adieu to the hapless Jeff Gordon, Esquire, and walked out to the elevator.

Maggie was laughing to herself over the lunch incident as she stepped from the elevator and entered the parking garage at the level where her car was parked.  She put down her valise and was fishing in her handbag for the auto keys when she spotted two figures lurking behind her car.

Along with the keys in her purse, her hand felt the cold metal of the Smith & Wesson revolver.

“Hey,” she yelled. The now obvious male figures directed their attention toward her. One of them scurried around the car and started to move menacingly in her direction while the other was finishing whatever they were there for. Maggie gripped the revolver, pulled it from her handbag and leveled it on the target, now approximately 20 ft. in front of her.

“Hold it right there!” she ordered in a confident, official-sounding tone. The warning took effect as the charging figure stopped in his tracks. Apparently the prowler, assuming Maggie was some sort of law enforcer, calculated that she wouldn’t discharge her weapon at an unarmed retreating figure. He began to back-step with his arms outstretched as his cohort ran down the ramp toward the exit. Once behind a concrete abutment the aggressor turned and ran down the ramp, following behind his partner-in-whatever.  Maggie, her heart beating in a rapid tempo, lowered her weapon.

“What in hell was that about?” she murmured to herself. Holding her weapon pointing upward, she slowly moved to, and around, her car. Seeing nothing, she looked underneath. Some sort of plastic-looking strap was hanging almost to the ground under the rear portion of the auto. It didn’t seem to belong there and she backed away quickly.

Getting nervous now, Maggie replaced her weapon, took out her cell phone, and dialed 911.  When the dispatcher answered, Maggie described what had happened and where she was. The dispatcher asked her to stay calm while the alert was being sent to the nearest officer.  In less than a minute a police cruiser moved up the ramp, spotted Maggie and screeched to a stop within fifteen feet of her car. Two patrolmen jumped out with drawn guns and crouched behind their vehicle. The driver had the car radio microphone and ordered Maggie to raise her hands and kneel on the pavement. She crouched down beside her attaché case and handbag with her hands raised and shouted that she was the owner of the car and she had called 911. The patrolman from the passenger side slowly approached her, looking left to right. He asked for her license ID and with Maggie responding that it was in her purse, he asked that she remove it gently. When handing over her license card she told the patrolman that two men had run down the ramp on which the patrol car had driven up. The patrolman holstered his pistol and waved the other up to where Maggie stood.

The driver escorted Maggie, with her attaché case and hand bag, over to the patrol car and radioed in her brief description of the two perpetrators. Before he had finished, the other patrolman yelled to him to call in the bomb squad. One drove the patrol car well past her parked car while the other took Maggie’s case and ran with her down the ramp to clear and close the exit/entrance. They waited there for the emergency vehicles which, since sirens could be heard heading in their direction, would arrive momentarily. Maggie asked what they had found at her car and the answer was, “Something suspicious under the back floor, near the gas tank.”

A black armored vehicle, followed by a black SUV screeched to a halt for directions from the patrolman. He told Maggie to stand out-of-the-way, near the exit, and he jumped onto the armored vehicle running board as it drove up the ramp. A second patrol car arrived from the opposite direction and a female police officer suggested that Maggie sit in the vehicle with her while the bomb squad did their inspection. They chatted about what she saw and why she was there.

On a street corner, one block from the garage entrance, Maggie noticed the attorney/agent whom she had met with, get into a cab. She pointed the cab out to the policewoman and told about meeting him by appointment, there in the hotel, earlier. The policewoman radioed in the name of the taxi company and its cab number, along with the location and direction it was headed. Maggie was surprised at that quick call-in and asked the officer, “Do you think he had anything to do with my car? Did you recognize him?” The officer insisted that the observation was for general reference only, in case he was connected to the incident, and until they determined the result of the bomb squad inspection.

After approximately 10 minutes, the female officer’s shoulder radio blared with a request for the keys to Maggie’s car. The request was followed by her partner who trotted down the ramp to get the keys. Maggie asked if there was a bomb. The patrolman said that the underside checked out okay. The bomb squad needed the key to inspect the interior to be certain that everything was in order before they issued the all clear message. The all clear came through the police radios after a few minutes and Maggie was allowed access to her car.