Nineteen

"I need to look into this Pemberton character a bit more," I explained, "but I'm having trouble tracking him down."

Manny listened while carving a chicken leg, carefully cutting away the bones and gristle. "What do you need me to do?"

"The guy seems to treat his employees really well," I explained. "He provides full health benefits even for his part timers."

"Wow! That's generous these days." Manny had spoken without looking up. He was still focused on his chicken dinner. "He doesn't sound like a bad guy."

"So here's my idea," I proposed. "What if we interviewed Pemberton for a human interest story? - Generous Boss In Kingsburg, something like that..."

"Are you serious?" Manny was looking at me now.

"It wouldn't take much effort," I reasoned. "A few hours and a couple of phone calls, maybe."

"Yeah!" Manny exclaimed, "Just that and my job! If word of this gets back to Ed..."

"How is Ed going to find out?" I demanded.

"Ed's a sharp guy," Manny explained, "and he has a nose for stuff being out of place. Hey, maybe that explains why he works for a newspaper."

"You work for a newspaper, Manny."

"Yeah, well, not for long if I keep hanging with you," he jabbed.

"Can you use an alias? Doctor your press credentials?"

"It's risky," Manny explained cautiously. "People tend to look at that stuff more closely these days. Homeland Security, and all."

"Can you get Janice to print up some fake passes?" I asked.

"Janice?" Manny asked with ridicule in his voice. "Really?" 

"Yeah, why not?" I asked. "She likes you, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, that's kind of the problem," Manny explained. "She does me a favor, she's gonna want something in return."

"Like a backrub?" I teased him.

"Like dinner," Manny clarified. "An expensive dinner at a classy joint. Not like this."

"What if I picked up the tab?" I suggested.

"Yeah, but then I still have to listen to her talking about her cat's health problems for an hour and a half. And wonder why all of her friends can find decent guys, but she's still single."

"That sounds brutal," I conceded.

"Tell me about it!" Manny exclaimed. "And that's if she doesn't start crying. She starts crying, I can't handle it."

"Okay, maybe we'd better just leave her out of it."

Manny looked around the dining room. "Hey, where's your girl Justine today?"

"She's off today," I confirmed.

"What, you know her schedule now?" Manny demanded. "Don't tell me you're stalking the poor girl!"

"I know that she's off today because she came over to the studio this morning."

"Get out! You serious?"

"Yup."

"Whoa! How'd you get her to come around?"

"I enlisted the help of an old friend," I said. "A ringer."

Manny's expression silently demanded more information.

"Someone with experience in the business," I continued. "Someone with a female perspective."

"Wait!" Manny exclaimed. "You're not talking about..."

Now it was my turn to use silence.

"Veronica?"

"In person."

"Holy shit!" Manny exclaimed. "What's miss fancy pants doing hanging out with a loser like you?"

"I needed a favor," I confessed.

"And she just dropped everything to spend the day coiffing hair in your living room?"

"Yes, something like that."

"So, cranky Peter is out of town, I guess?"

Manny makes me chuckle. "Peter's not my problem," I said. "Anyway, somehow she found a little time to come over and help out, so I didn't refuse."

"You, two..." Manny explored, "...you're not..."

"We're not," I assured him.

"So, anyway, Justine!" Manny inquired subtly.

"Justine," I repeated.

"How'd she do?" Manny was being polite, but I knew where this was going.

"She did really well."

"Did you get her to take her top off?" - Manny was predictable. He always appreciated a great rack. I knew that he would ask this question eventually. Usually, it's his FIRST question.

"My God!" I exclaimed with exaggerated indignation. "Listen to you!" 

"Hey, I'm just curious," Manny argued.

"Curious, right," I mused. "Is that what dirty old men tell themselves these days?"

"So, did you get her to take her top off or not?"

"Of course, I did," I boasted with bravado.

"No way!" Manny's face was now a deeply saturated shade of pink.

I gloated a bit more. "What do I look like, an amateur?"

"Oh my God, Mike!" Manny exclaimed. "You are shameless."

"Thanks!" I said. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"So, tell me," Manny prodded, "how ARE the eighth and ninth wonders of the world?"

"Hmm, well... Picture something truly amazing, and then boost that by another thirty percent for good measure."

"Dios mio, Mike!" Manny was about to fall off of his bench. "You've gotta show me the pics!"

"I can't do that!" I said, once again projecting an air of false indignation. "That would be unprofessional."

"Oh, come on, Mike!"

"I have to respect the privacy of my client," I said.

"Privacy?" Manny demanded. "You're not planning to submit those photos to an agency?"

"Not all of them," I said with a wink.

"You are killing me, Mike!" Manny exclaimed in a pained voice. "Killing me."

I took a sip of my coffee.

"This is your old friend Manny, here. Manny, who's been with you through thick and thin. Emphasis on the thin!"

"Okay, I'll tell you what," I offered. "Find a way to make this Kingsburg thing work, and maybe we can discuss it."

"Oh, so it's bribery now?" Manny inferred. He was right, of course.

My phone vibrated. A message popped up: "Meet me where you parked - EP"

"Is everything okay?" Manny asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, sorry, I've gotta follow up on something."

"Your mystery dame?" Manny asked.

"A lead." Something in my head urged me to be vague, to be cautious.

"Okay," Manny said.

I reached into my wallet, pulled out a fifty and placed it on the table. "Talk to you tomorrow?"

"You bet!" Manny assured me. "Be careful out there!"

"Thanks."

"Thank YOU!"

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved

Eighteen

The bus ride home was uneventful. A group of schoolboys and girls laughed and teased each other in flirtatious ways. The rush hour crowds were still toiling away in their offices. 

The apartment was secure; no one had broken in yet today, thank goodness. I poured myself a drink, switched on the computer and the external drives, and began work on Justine's photos. 

First, I separated out the flawed shots - times when the model had blinked or had an unbecoming expression, or where I failed to acquire sharp focus on the eyes. I tagged the remaining files as potential keepers or at least worthy of further review.

I picked out a handful of images that caught my eye - mainly nice poses or expressions. I adjusted the contrast and white balance in order to bring the look closer to my expectations. I cropped some of the images, as I prefer head shots with a 4x5 aspect ratio.

Next, I delved into retouching. Even gorgeous nineteen-year-olds have skin flaws, and a professional makeup job doesn't cover everything. I don't exaggerate the touch up process. I never want the subject to look as though her skin were made of plastic, but I do want her to look as nice as she can - clean, clear, and natural. That typically requires the removal of the occasional freckle, mole, crease, blemish, or other imperfections.

A dash of sharpening and saturation spiced up the overall look. I took a second pass at fine-tuning the white balance in order to ensure natural looking skin tones. In some cases, I added a vignette effect, a slight darkening at the edges of the frame. 

I boosted the rating on my selected and now processed shots up to three or four stars. Some photographers rate all of their work at the maximum rating of five stars. I could never justify that strategy (perhaps it's a vanity issue on their part). I reserve the five-star rating for my absolute best images, because I want to be able to distinguish them from the rest of my work.

The initial sample looked great. Justine was a stunning young woman, and we had captured her in a variety of alluring poses. I felt good about the results, good enough to stop obsessing over it for a few minutes so I could call Manny.

"Hey, what time do you finish tonight? - Could you meet me at the Rainbow? I have a project that I'd like to discuss with you."

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved

Seventeen

"Mr. Daniels, Inspector Wentworth of the State Gaming Commission. This is Inspector Carson."

Carson stared but said nothing. He was the cigarette smoker who had watched while I pretended to deliver flowers in the Pembertons' neighborhood. He photographed Mrs. Pemberton leaving my building while catching his own reflection in the frame. If he recognized me, he didn't acknowledge it, but his presence felt heavy, nonetheless.

"Pleased to meet you," I said. I felt uneasy about shaking hands with these two. I had assumed that they were the ones who had broken into my apartment. That seemed unlikely now, but I had no way to be sure that they were clean.

"Thanks for coming in," Inspector Wentworth began.

"And by the way, it's Daniel. No 's' at the end."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said politely.

"It's okay."

"Mr. Daniel, are you acquainted with Ross and Emily Pemberton of Brownewood?" Wentworth was calm and professional. I tried to match his detached tone.

"I've met Mrs. Pemberton," I said. It was a vague response, but I worried that it wasn't vague enough.

"What is your relationship with Mrs. Pemberton?"

"It's a business relationship," I offered.

"What sort of business?"

"I'm a photographer."

"She wants you to take pictures at a wedding, does she?"

This is a typical law enforcement tactic. They ask a ludicrous question. If you answer "Yes," you indicate a lack of credibility which encourages them to dig more deeply. If you deflect the question with an attitude, they realize that they're making you feel uneasy, and it gives them an excuse to be less than polite in return. The best response is calm and vaguely truthful. 

"She didn't mention a wedding," I replied.

"What IS the nature of your business with Mrs. Pemberton?"

"That's a private matter, and it doesn't have anything to do with gaming," I replied. "Are you investigating the Pembertons?"

"We can't comment on whether someone may or may not be under investigation, Mr. Daniels."

"Daniel."

"Daniel, sorry," Wentworth continued. "But there are factors at play that could raise concern. Any information that you could provide would be appreciated."

"I don't have any information."

"You're not investigating the Pembertons?"

That was an interesting comment. Why would they come to that conclusion? 

I started to suspect that Gordon was behind this inquiry. It would be like him to point another agency in my direction. Gordon's too cowardly to stab you in the back himself; he encourages other people to do it for him.

"I'm not an investigator," I replied.

"You're a photographer," Wentworth clarified.

"Photojournalist," I confirmed.

"Which one is it?" he asked incredulously. Carson shifted forward in his chair. The sharks smelled blood, but I wasn't about to cave in.

"It's both," I said. "I've worked in the fashion industry and I spent twenty-two years with the paper photographing everything under the sun."

"Okay, Mr. Daniel," Inspector Wentworth continued. "What was it that Mrs. Wentworth asked you to photograph?"

"Her husband," I said dryly.

Inspector Carson jumped in for the first time. "Does Mr. Pemberton have a woman on the side?"

"I don't know," I said. "I haven't been able to locate him."

"But that's basically what you do, right?" Carson continued. "In cases like this."

Carson's tone was becoming annoying. It sounded like something that Gordon would say. Maybe they were army buddies, not that I could imagine Gordon's fat ass in a uniform. But there had to be some connection. That would explain how the cops ended up with the photos of Emily Pemberton taken by the Gaming inspectors. Gordon knew all along who had taken the photos. That's why he didn't say anything when I pointed out the cameraman's identity.

"It's not a case," I insisted. "I don't work on cases."

"Okay, well, what exactly differentiates you from a private investigator, Mr. Daniel?"

"I don't follow people around or open their mail. I don't tap phones or break into apartments." I had hoped for a reaction to that last statement, but the inspectors didn't flinch. Maybe these guys were straight shooters. Or maybe the Gaming Commission recruits men with a good poker face.

"I photograph what's in front of me, that's all," I continued. "Sometimes my clients are able to use what I find, and sometimes they aren't."

Wentworth glanced for a moment at the contents of a folder. "Were you at the Twin Bear Casino last evening, Mr. Daniel?"

"I was."

"Did you see Mr. Pemberton there?"

"I did not."

"Were you looking for him?" Carson asked.

"I'm not sure why my reasons for visiting the Twin Bear would be important to the Gaming Commission," I said. "But yes, I was hoping to run into him there."

"Did you speak to anyone else about Mr. Pemberton when you were at the casino?" Wentworth asked.

"Yes," I admitted. "Some Russian guy invited me to have a drink with him when he heard me mention Pemberton's name. Ivan Mednikov."

"That's an alias," Carson explained. "His real name is Ivan Krzynskiy."

"What's his connection to Pemberton?" I asked.

"We're trying to determine that," Wentworth explained. "What exactly did he say?"

"Not much," I replied. "But he seemed to lose interest when he found out that I meant Ross Pemberton. Maybe he was looking for someone else."

Wentworth wrote silently in his folder.

"Did Ivan mention someone named Kolzak?" Carson asked.

"No."

"Or Leonidovich?"

"No, but that's a middle name, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Carson asked. Wentworth looked up from his paper.

"It's a middle name. It means son of Leonid. They probably wouldn't go by that name. Not by itself."

Carson and Wentworth didn't seem to have anything to add, so I took the initiative.

"May I ask a question?"

"Go ahead," Wentworth answered.

"Were the two of you following Mrs. Pemberton, two days ago, in the morning?"

The inspectors sat silently. They hadn't expected this.

"And did you happen to take some photos?" I continued. "I wouldn't ask, except I saw a copy of those photos yesterday at the police station. I'm pretty sure that I saw your reflection in a window across the street. I'm also fairly certain that you drive a blue Chevy."

Carson deferred to the party line. "We can't comment on whether someone is being investigated. But we do appreciate your cooperation."

"Okay, well let me ask one more thing."

There was no comment from the inspectors.

"If there were such an investigation," I continued, "would it possibly include forced entry into a private residence?"

"It's possible if there were evidence of illegal gaming on the premises," Carson explained. "But we don't serve warrants ourselves. We would cooperate with the State Police or the Sheriff's office. Our department doesn't have the manpower to stage a raid."

"So, for the record, the State Gaming Commission did not break into my apartment the other day?"

"Not to our knowledge, sir," Wentworth responded.

I had one final question. "Would you have any idea who did?"

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved

Sixteen

In the interest of time, I had set up three different backgrounds, a gray one, a black one, and pure white. Justine's features worked in all three settings, so I moved her around quickly. I shot her in soft lighting against the white and gray backgrounds and more dramatical lighting against black.

Justine wasn't completely at home in front of the camera, but she was relaxed and enthusiastic, and I was able to direct her easily. Véronique had done a beautiful job with the hair and makeup. 

About twenty minutes into the shoot, I brought the ladies over for a quick review session. I showed them the images that we had captured thus far and asked them for ideas on poses or expressions that they might like to try. We shot a series with her backlit and then had fun with facial expressions using a Paramount setup.

"Justine, what outfits did you bring today?" I asked. We didn't have a lot of time, but I wanted to see if she had brought something that could showcase a certain style or mood.

"I have a mini-skirt and a white blouse."

Véronique and I looked at each other. "We'd like to try that."

Justine emerged a minute later wearing the outfit. Véronique restyled her quickly and added some accessories. We shot against the white backdrop, which brought out an edgy punk look. I asked Justine to make oversized movements and expressive faces. It was hit or miss, but some worked well.

"Could we do it with the blouse more open a bit to expose what you're wearing underneath?" I asked. It was edgy and sensual, suitable for a fashion spread. This was solid material, and she was capturing the mood perfectly.

Véronique has never been bashful. "Do you have something more sexy?" she asked.

"I have a powder blue negligée," Justine acknowledged, "but I wasn't sure if I should wear it. It's sheer."

"Let me see," Véronique demanded.

Justine pulled the top out of her large bag. Véronique held it up and nodded with approval. "It's very nice!"

"I didn't know if it was too much," Justine said.

Véronique encouraged her. "Look at the walls."

I had shots from previous sessions hanging around the edges of the studio, all shot in boudoir-style, sensual but tasteful. They get a lot of compliments.

"You are more beautiful than any of these girls," Véronique assured her. "You wear this, and you will look amazing."

"Okay." Justine went back to change. Véronique's glance said it all - you've got a winner here, my friend. Don't let her down.

Justine was stunning in the see-through top with the matching powder blue thong. The outfit worked best against the white background, but we tried all three for variety. She maintained a sensual, pouty look throughout.

"Does the outfit have a matching bra," I asked. 

"Yeah." Justine started to walk toward her bag.

"Okay, I'd like to shoot the full set, but first let's get a few shots without the top."

Without a second thought, Justine slipped out of the sheer top and tossed it to the side and continued to pose. She had invested her trust in us, and we were able to create some fabulous images.

"Okay, Justine, I'd like you to turn away from me and look toward the side of the room. Chin down just a little. Lips parted. Perfect!"

That was a killer shot.

"Okay, turn fully away and play with the hair. Nice! Hold that for a second."

Another great shot.

"Okay, turn to the side please. Maybe cross your arms across your bust. That's it."

Véronique stood right beside me and said nothing. If the results hadn't been up to her expectations, she would have been interrupting me.

"Okay, relax your left arm and touch your face with your right. Hips back slightly. Great, Justine, that's perfect."

By the time we were finished, we had an amazing collection. Justine was fabulous and gave us a remarkable session. The management of Allegro would be idiots if they passed on this girl.

"You were amazing, Justine."

"Yes!" said Véronique. She even started clapping.

"Thank you," said Justine shyly.

"Go ahead and get yourself changed."

Justine and Véronique were acting like school chums, giggling and chatting. Véronique gave Justine her card and told her to contact her at La Reine for a complimentary cut and styling session. Justine looked like a kid who'd just opened an amazing Christmas present.

I thanked both women and wished them well as they left. I transferred the files onto two separate drives, burned a copy to an optical drive, and put the original memory cards in the gun locker. These were images that I did not want to lose.

The downtown bus was slow, but I got to Courthouse Square in plenty of time. I sat outside on a bench for a few minutes and let my attention wander. It would have been a great day to grab shots of people on the street, but after this morning's session, I was content to relax and watch the pigeons squabble over dropped crumbs. The mind has to rest sometime.

I entered the offices of the Gaming Commission and asked for Inspector Wentworth. Two gentlemen in their late 40's walked into the lobby. Wentworth and Carson were the occupants of the blue Chevy.

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved

Fifteen

Véronique walked in and looked around approvingly. "The place looks better than I remember." I wasn't certain whether that was meant to be a compliment or a critique. She masks her sarcasm well.

"I've been up since six setting up lights and getting the place ready," I said proudly.

I had to stuff the remaining file folder mess into boxes and store them out of site. It's going to take days to reorganize them and get them back into the file cabinets. For now I needed to focus into this shoot. We're working with a brand new model, and we don't have a lot of time, so getting the results that we need could be challenging.

"You must be excited," she noted.

"I am pretty excited."

"Hello!" Justine called out as she walked in with a huge smile on her face.

"Hi!" Véronique jogged over and gave her a little hug and a kiss on each cheek.

"Wow! Look at that smile," I remarked. "You're going to light up the camera."

"I hope so," she said.

"Can we get you anything?" I asked. "Water? Something stronger?" 

"Oh, no thank you!" Justine replied.

"Are you ready?" Véronique asked.

"I am!" Justine replied enthusiastically. "I even brought some outfits, just in case."

"That's great! So motivated!" Véronique chimed in. "Come, let's start with your hair."

She turned to me quickly. "We'll see you in a little while, Mike."

"See you!"

I checked the batteries in both cameras and ran through my studio lighting checklist - ISO settings, autofocus settings, exposure mode, shutter speed, flash sync speed, white balance, file type, noise reduction disabled, radio sync channels and groups set. I cleaned the lenses that I intended to use and double-checked that both cameras had freshly formatted memory cards in them.

 Everything was ready to go when the phone rang.

"Hello."

"Hello Mr. Daniels, this is Inspector Wentworth with the State Gaming Commission. We'd like to ask you a few questions. Do you have time now?"

Wow! I just won that money, and they're calling me already?

"Um, actually, I'm with a client right now," I said.

"This is an urgent matter, Mr. Daniels," Wentworth continued. "It won't take up much of your time."

"Okay, I'm sorry, but I do have people here right now. Could I call you back in a few hours? Or maybe I can come to your office after lunch?"

"What time will you be available?" Wentworth pressed.

"Where's you office?"

"We are located at 199 Brandt Street, near the courthouse complex."

Parking in that area is impossible. It would be better to take the bus. If I finished with Justine and Véronique at around eleven...

"I can be there at one o'clock?" I checked.

"One o'clock," Wentworth confirmed. "Please ask at the desk for Inspector Wentworth or Inspector Carson."

"Okay, one o'clock. I'll be there," I assured him.

"How does she look," Véronique asked?

"Wow! Gorgeous!" I affirmed. "Are you ready to get started?"

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved

Fourteen

I have a suit. Actually, I have a couple of suits. I wear them to funerals. I wear them to stuffy occasions when I need to blend in.

I also have a Cucinelli. Calling it a suit seems inadequate. I wear the Cucinelli when I want to make a statement.

Véronique bought me the Cucinelli. It was one of those moments of weakness when a woman can't bear to watch a man dress himself for one more day. I'm amazed that Pedantic Peter never found out. He probably checks her credit card bill every month. Maybe she has an account at a French bank that he doesn't know about.

I love my Cucinelli; tonight, it's going with me to the casino.

I opened the gun cabinet and took out two thousand dollars and the .45 caliber pistol. Both decisions gave me goose bumps. Losing Mrs. Pemberton's money was not be a good idea, but I needed to do something to get noticed if wanted to come away from Twin Bear with useful information.

Guns technically aren't permitted on the reservation. If you have a permit and you're driving through on the highway, they have to let you pass through. But spending hours in a casino while a .45 waits in the trunk of your car - that could be risky.

Win, lose, or draw - I've done my share of all three. Tonight, only one of those results would be acceptable. I needed a hot hand. I needed to be at the top of my game. I needed a drink.

I parked in the nondescript 24-hour lot a few blocks down from the casino. Parking at Twin Bear would be comped, of course, but I didn't want valet parking attendants snooping around in my car. Parking off site also set up a potential getaway in case of trouble.

I converted one grand into chips and left the other thousand in my wallet as a backup. I'd dip into it if I had to, but I preferred to have it as a confidence booster. There's no feeling worse than gaming when you're broke. Desperation leads to poor decisions, guaranteed.

I started with blackjack. My luck went up and down, but over the course of an hour or a little less, I picked about eleven hundred net. 

I looked over the poker tables. Ideally, you want to find a table full of tourists while avoiding ringers who dress up to look like tourists. I played a few hands, but one grisly older fellow spent a bit too much time studying me. I moved on before he had a chance to screw me out of a bit pot.

The second table worked out better. I asked the waitress whether she knew whether Mr. Pemberton would be stopping by. I noticed a flinch in the dealer. Dealers have tells, too. 

By the time that I'd finished with blackjack and poker, I had over forty-five hundred in chips, a nice return on that initial grand. I went to the roulette tables and placed nine bets of five hundred dollars each. 

Three of the rolls went bust, four returned modest gains, and two hit it big. I had made $9,300 at the tables in a little over two hours. I tipped the dealer and gave five hundred to a pair of newlyweds, bringing my total well under the ten-thousand dollar barrier that the feds watch so carefully. The newlyweds thanked me and asked me to take a photo with them. I promised to catch up with them later.

As I cashed out my chips, the waitress from the poker table informed me that someone in the lounge wanted to buy me a drink.

A small, slight man extended his hand. "I hear that you are a friend of Mr. Pemberton, Mister..."

I shook his hand. "Davis. Doug Davis." 

"Ivan Mednikov." He pronounced it ee-VON. Ivan was smiling widely like a man who'd attended too many sales training seminars.

The waitress took my order: straight bourbon. "Not a friend, really," I explained. I've been trying to get him interested in a business deal."

"Oh, what kind of business are you in?" Ivan inquired.

"Retail. We've been talking about expanding his drugstore chain," I explained. "Branching out beyond the region. We spoke at length last year, but he said that it wasn't a good time for him. Too much going on."

Ivan listened closely. The waitress brought my drink to the table.

"I was hoping that I might run into him here and see if he might be interested in moving forward."

"You are talking about Ross Pemberton, yes?" Ivan asked with interest.

"That's him!" I said. "Do you know him?"

"Yes. We have met," Ivan replied.

A tall man in a black suit approached and whispered in Ivan's ear. The man had short cropped hair and the rugged, low body fat look of a boxer or an MMA fighter.

"I hope that you and Mr. Pemberton are able to work out your business deal," Ivan said. 

"Thanks."

"If you'll excuse me, I need to attend to some business of my own," Ivan explained. "But please, enjoy your drink. It's on me."

"Thanks! I really like your casino." Obviously Ivan didn't work for the casino, but playing stupid can be an asset.

I found the newlyweds and bought them a drink. They looked unshakably happy, and I admired them for that. How long could they make it last? 

We found the camera girl and posed for a cheesy photo. I tipped the photographer well, and she gave me a look as if to say that more services could be purchased for the right price. She had a stunning body, and I thought about it. Maybe another time.

I flagged a cab, gave the driver fifty bucks and told him to drive. No one followed us, no chiseled Russian henchmen in a black Mercedes to make the evening interesting. Apparently, Ivan and his crew were not interested in Ross Pemberton. And yet, they singled me out and bought me a drink when I mentioned the name. 

Maybe it was one of the sons that they were looking for, one of the kids with fast cars that Mrs. Edna Smith had mentioned. Maybe one of them had a gambling problem. Loan sharks - that would explain a lot. It might explain Mrs. Pemberton's desperation to get her hands on her husband's money. Maybe she was trying to get one of her sons out of debt and out of trouble.

I had the taxi drop me at a coffee shop close to the 24-hour lot. I bought a double espresso, used the toilet, and walked warily out the back. There weren't any Russians waiting in the alley. It was clear.

I walked swiftly to the lot and removed the black bag with the .45 from the trunk. I wanted to keep it close to me for the ride home.

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved