Tomorrow Wendell (White Dragon Black) (20 page)

He could breathe, and he still hadn’t pissed blood, so Jonathan counted himself lucky and let his shirt drop.

He opened the second drawer of his filing cabinet and took out one of the spare pairs of pants he kept there. He put on his coat and grabbed his doctor bag of goodies and tricks from under the desk.

He opened it, placed the second order of dumplings that Wendell hadn’t touched inside, and closed the bag back up.

Tucking the pants under his arm and hefting the doctor’s bag, Jonathan left his office.

He thought briefly about locking the door on his way out, but he decided one small disadvantage—being jumped for example—was outweighed by the many pros of leaving it open.

Also, he didn’t really remember, for sure, what key on his key ring fit the lock or even if it was on his key ring.

When he got outside to his car, Jonathan remembered two other reasons he didn’t like the coming of winter. One was scraping frost from his windshield.

This job had been made easier ever since he’d gotten a credit card. He’d only applied for it so he could use its edge to scrape the windshield. The lack of interest being accumulated, since he had never made a purchase with it, was driving the company bonkers, if their correspondences were any indication.

The second reason Jonathan hated winter was that his old Lincoln didn’t like the cold and had many more foul things to say than he did, when he tried to start her.

He lost almost ten minutes between scraping the white patina from the windows, interspersed with cajoling attempts to get the car to start.

Once the engine managed to turn over and stay running, Jonathan pushed the lever that controlled the heat all the way over the thickest red line and pulled away from the curb.

Jonathan felt a pang of regret driving right past the first coffee shop he came to, but because it didn’t offer a drive-through, he had no other choice. Having just got the old Lincoln to finally start, there was no way he was shutting her down before she’d gotten all the coughs and shudders out of her system.

The thought of leaving the car running in this city, even a locked rust-bucket like his, and finding it still there two minutes later was laughable.

Luckily, the second coffee place on his way out to Wendell’s house did have a drive-through. Jonathan gratefully turned in, driving away again a minute and a half later with two extra-large coffees—one black for himself and one with cream for Frank.

Five minutes and half of his coffee later, Jonathan pulled in behind Frank’s car which he found parked almost seven blocks from Wendell’s house.

Jonathan opened the door and stepped out of the running car into the cold. He remained out only long enough to wolf whistle before he slid back into the cocoon of warmth the Lincoln had eventually become.

He waited, sipping the coffee, until he heard something scrape against the side of the car.

Turning his head, Jonathan saw the broad canine head looking through the window at him.

He reached over and opened the door, allowing Frank to hop in. The snow dusting his short-haired pelt immediately began to melt.

Jonathan pointed out the pants in the back, and then putting the car in drive, continued on down the road.

The dog hopped over the seat back and, a moment later, Frank’s voice issued from there.

“I sincerely hope one of those is for me.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan said, passing back the cardboard cup. “Plus, if you open up the bag beside you, you’ll find a Styrofoam container—thought you’d appreciate some food.”

“I knew I smelled dumplings. These from Lucky Monkey?”

“Where else?” Jonathan responded. “Before you dig in, you got anything to report?”

“I’m sorry to say there isn’t, Alvey.” He sighed. “I’ve done my best. Slinking about, looking for anyone else slinking about or hiding, but I can’t find anyone. If there is someone following your client, well, they’re doing a damn good job of being discreet about it.”

It was Jonathan’s turn to sigh. He thanked Frank all the same.

Jonathan continued to drive aimlessly in a loose circle with Wendell’s place at its center. It gave Frank some time out of the dog shape to enjoy the food—cold as it might be—and the coffee, which he knew was still warm.

Jonathan didn’t think ten minutes had passed before Frank thanked him and let him know he could be dropped anywhere.

Jonathan pulled over to the curb at the next alleyway.

The sun still stubbornly hid behind the horizon and the old suburb he’d been circling looked more like a military bomb-testing site than a residential neighborhood. Given the conditions, Jonathan wasn’t too worried about someone seeing Frank getting out.

“Look, stay at it until Wendell leaves to come to my office; he’s to be there at ten this morning. If he leaves too much earlier than that, follow him, but if it’s late enough he’s just going to meet me, call it a day. Go home with my thanks and get yourself some rest. Sound good?”

“Will do,” Frank said as he got out and then walked towards the alley.

Jonathan put his vehicle in gear again and headed for Wendell’s place of work. He wanted to have a chat with Orville’s friend, Gerald, and maybe, if he still had time, he would check into Orville himself afterwards.

Jonathan found the office building where Wendell worked and was delighted to find it offered free parking. He drove across the lot, only too aware of just how many cars were already there at twenty to eight in the morning.

The sun had finally decided to poke its head up, spreading a wane glow like a lamp fish trying to draw a meal to itself in the depths of the ocean.

Getting out of his car, Jonathan found the wind, as though mocking the rising sun, seemed to be blowing right out of the artic and only picking up speed as it crossed Lake Ontario. He was glad to get into the vestibule of the office building.

He checked the list of companies that held offices in the place and, finding Kubera & Chiatany, Inc., caught an elevator to the fifth floor.

Luckily for him, the only other two people in the elevator got out together on the fourth floor. In the moments between the door closing on the fourth floor and opening on the fifth, Jonathan slipped his nine-millimeter from his shoulder holster and into his trench coat pocket.

The doors opened, revealing a carpeted foyer and a long curved reception desk.

Jonathan stepped briskly from the elevator and crossed the short distance to the counter confidently.

He noted the set of doors on either side of the foyer from the corner of his eyes and gave a quick but cold smile to the older, still attractive, receptionist.

“Have a meeting with Gerald,” he informed the woman, as though it wasn’t his idea to be there at that hour of the day. Taking a guess, but an educated one, Jonathan jabbed his thumb towards the doors to the left of the elevator.

The woman nodded and Jonathan walked confidently away. He pulled open the wood door, and stepped out of the warm glow of dark polished wood into the fluorescent world of a grey-carpeted hive.

Only the most senior members of the firm would be gifted the privilege of being ensconced behind the door to the right.

The automatic direction for at least seventy percent of the human race is to turn right when given a choice.

Regarding the accepted direction as the correct way, all the big wigs and all the places clients would see, would be behind those doors to the right.

Counting on that logic, Jonathan’s choice of pointing left when he referred to a lesser employee on the command chain became almost a sure thing.

Before him spread a vast warren, comprised of fabric half-walls. Each placed to keep every individual sequestered behind their mass produced desk.

Yet, at the same time, every worker remained exposed for scrutiny by one and all.

From Wendell’s own standing in the company, and the way he spoke of Gerald Cooper, Jonathan assumed Cooper would command an office of his own, no matter how diminutive.

Jonathan headed to the outside wall and began to stride purposefully past the office doors. The fact that it only took two to three steps to get from one door to the other told Jonathan just how small the offices sequestered behind the doors were.

He walked with his head facing forward, as though he knew exactly where to go. However, his eyes darted from one door to the next.

He had traveled two-thirds along the visible wall, before he caught the name ‘Cooper’ spelled on the door in small stickers that were supposed to look like engraved brass.

He grabbed for the handle, but before he could turn it, a nasally voice intruded on his plans.

“Excuse me? Can I help you?”

Jonathan turned. Behind him sat a man in his mid-twenties. He had the misfortune to have lips drawn so tightly over his teeth it looked like they’d been ironed on.

The guy rose swiftly from behind a pressboard desk wedged into a grey, half-wall cubicle across from Gerald Cooper’s office.

This motion gave Jonathan the chance to also note that the man had the distinct disadvantage of apparently having sat down hard on a long stick that he had yet been able to remove.

“I’m here to see Gerald,” Jonathan stated. He didn’t have to fake the annoyance in his voice at being interfered with.

“Mister Cooper doesn’t have any meetings scheduled for this morning.” The man glanced pointedly at an appointment book on his desk. It indeed appeared empty until the afternoon.

“Yes, well, this is of more of a . . . personal nature.”

“Mm-hmm.” The young man tapped his finger on the top of the cubicle.

“Look, kid. I’m going to knock on this door and if Gerald doesn’t want to talk, I’ll go. But I bet you he invites me in.”

Without waiting for the guardian of Gerald Cooper’s lair to approve, Jonathan rapped on the door.

He opened it just a crack and saw a man in his mid-thirties who managed to be handsome enough, in a slick, 80s Wall Street sort of way.

Gerald Cooper dressed to impress. Jonathan thought it wasn’t just his boss’ eyes Mr. Cooper aimed to catch.

“Gerald, I’d like a moment of your time.” He said through the cracked open door.

He looked up at Jonathan and frowned, his eyebrows crawling towards each other.

“Do I know you?”

“Come over here and let me whisper a reminder.”

“What?”

“Invite me in.”

Behind Jonathan, Gerald’s assistant tried to inform Gerald that he had tried to stop Jonathan.

“Invite me in or come here so I can share the reason you don’t want this conversation aired about the office.”

Gerald was clearly confused. Just as clearly, the man had a few skeletons in his closet.

Jonathan couldn’t help wonder if one of them led back to his client.

“Sit down, Brown,” Gerald told his assistant, as he got up.

Cooper took the couple steps necessary to close the distance from desk to door.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jonathan noted the young man taking his seat. In the next moment, Gerald Cooper stood at the door. He got close enough that their conversation through the partially-open door could remain private, but no closer.

“Who are . . . ? What do you want?” Gerald hissed.

Jonathan calmly whispered, “There is an exceedingly powerful firearm in my pocket aimed at your testicles. So, invite me in, like a friend, or lose two of yours.”

Gerald’s eyes went wide and he glanced down.

Jonathan pressed the muzzle of his gun tight against the fabric of the trench coat pocket.

With a gulp, Gerald Cooper swung open the door and exclaimed in a strained voice, “Oh, why didn’t you say so? Come in.”

Jonathan stepped into the office quickly. He kept the door closed as much as he could to block Gerald from trying to communicate anything to his assistant, Mr. Brown.

He spoke loud enough so the sound of his voice would carry to the young man listening at the door. However, he spoke softly enough that the words themselves would not be discernable.

“All right, Gerald. Sit down. Now I have some questions about you and your friend, Orville.”

“What? Listen, I had nothing to do with the funds! I don’t—I don’t even know if it was Orville!”

“Shut up,” Jonathan said, settling into a chair between the desk and the door. He’d already become bored with Cooper.

Gerald nodded and stared without blinking at Jonathan.

As hard as he tried to keep eye contact, Gerald couldn’t help but glance down at the pocket containing the gun.

“A few simple questions. Then I’ll go.”

He motioned for Cooper to sit and the man finally did.

“If you raise any sort of alarm, you can count on seeing me again—something you really don’t want to happen, Gerald. But if you just let this moment pass, you and I will never meet again and no one will ever know how close you are right now to wetting yourself. Got it?”

Gerald nodded as red blotches stained his white cheeks.

“All right. First, are you and Orville still good friends?”

“Um, we’re not really that good of friends?” Cooper hesitantly shared with Jonathan.

“Pardon?”

“We—we’re more like acquaintances. Uh, we hang out around the office, but I never see him outside of work. We don’t, like, go for drinks after work or anything.”

“Really?” Jonathan inquired in an emotionless tone. It was a skill he’d perfected for certain spells which also, all too often, came in handy for his work.

“I swear,” Gerald nearly whimpered.

“Okay, let’s say I believe you.”

Gerald let out a sigh of relief and he hazarded a weak smile.

“If you’re only office friends, then you’ve had no contact since he’s been suspended?”

“No. No, none. Not a word.”

“Okay. Now, tell me, Gerald, anything strange been happening to you over the last few days?”

“I—uh—I don’t understand.”

“In the last few days,” Jonathan spoke as though to a child whose finger was up his nose wiggling like a worm in a puddle. “Has there been anything unusual occurring? Threats made against you? Weird horoscopes, or fortune cookies? Maybe unexplainable happenings?”

Gerald looked like he wanted to weep.