Broken Wings (22 page)

Pamela took in a deep breath and tried to force back the tears in her eyes. She just nodded to Carol and said nothing.

Carol came up to her side and rubbed her hand encouragingly up and down Pamela’s arm. “Don’t do this,” she begged. “Don’t give up on him. I know he cares for you, Pamie. There’s got to be a very good explanation for why he hasn’t called you.”

Pamela felt her resolve strengthening. “Maybe I should go into the city and try to find him.”

“Absolutely. Why don’t you go today? I’ve got the whole day off and I can cover everything here for a couple of hours,” Carol assured her. “You need to get to the bottom of this.”

“You’re right. I’ll go today,” Pamela pronounced as she stepped out of the cage and went to the faucet to refill the water bowl.

Carol closed her eyes and silently prayed for any explanation other than the one she feared Pamela would discover.

*  *  *  *

Two hours later, Pamela stood outside of the entrance to Port of Call. Located on Esplanade Avenue and famous for their pizzas, hamburgers, and a specialty drink called the Monsoon, Port of Call was a familiar hang out for college students across the city. Pamela was well acquainted with the establishment from her days of working as an EMT. She had spent many a night huddled over intoxicated college students who had passed out, or fallen, inside the famous eatery. Getting wasted at Port of Call’s was considered a right of passage in New Orleans, like sneaking into Pat O’Brien’s with a fake ID, or spending a night sampling the various exotic drinks at Joe’s Bar. Pamela never understood many of the bizarre traditions embraced by the inhabitants of this city. But like so many before her, she had learned to love the Big Easy, despite its many decadent faults.

For a Thursday night, the popular eatery was pretty crowded. Pamela had to stop and remind herself that in New Orleans, weekends tended to start on Thursdays. She walked into the small dining area and surveyed the tables filled with young diners eagerly munching on their food. To the right of the dimly lit, paneled room, she saw a small bar with a blond-haired, older man standing behind it.

“Excuse me,” she shouted to the bartender to be heard over the mix of conversation and music. “I’m looking for Daniel Phillips. Is he in tonight?”

The older man gave Pamela a stern going over with his blue eyes. “You a friend of his?”

Pamela nodded.

“Well, if you see the son of a bitch, tell him he’s fired. I’ve had to fill in his last four shifts since he stopped showing up for work three days ago.”

“What do you mean he didn’t show up for work?” Pamela’s heart trembled with worry.

“I mean no one has heard from him since he left here late Monday night. I called his cell phone, but he’s not answering. You know I got him this gig, and then he goes and shits all over me. If you see him, you tell that son of a bitch never to ask me for another favor again.”

Pamela really didn’t hear anything else the disgruntled man had to say. She quickly backed away from the bar and raced out the door.

She got back in her old white pick-up truck and headed across the Quarter to Dauphine Street. She drove down the street until she found the green door that she had entered a few nights ago with Daniel, then had to drive around for over thirty minutes until she found an empty parking meter.

By the time she arrived at the entrance, the thick green door was no longer closed to the street, but open. She walked through the doorway and down the dark alleyway until she emerged into the bright courtyard. She felt herself almost running to Daniel’s carriage house. When she got to the french doors that served as the main entrance to his home, she started knocking on the glass. At first she softly tapped on the glass, but then her knocking started growing louder and louder.

“Knock any harder on that glass, honey, and you’ll break it,” a woman’s voice said from the side of the patio.

Pamela turned in the direction of the voice to find an older woman wearing blue overalls with a straw hat on her head, gardening gloves on her hands, and a warm smile on her lovely wrinkled face.

“You lookin’ for Danny boy?” she asked in a coarse voice that belied her sweet grandmotherly looks.

“Yes, I just came from the bar where he worked and they told me
—
”

“He’s gone, honey,” she said, silencing Pamela. “Packed up all his stuff, day before yesterday. He gave me three months’ additional rent and left in that blue Jeep of his.”

“Gone?” Pamela’s heart sank. “Gone where?”

“He never said and I never asked.” The woman looked down at a potted pink azalea by her feet. She started to pull at the weeds at the base of the plant.

Pamela remembered something Daniel had told her about the potted plants around his carriage house. “You’re his landlady,” Pamela said in a soft voice.

The woman looked up at her with a bright pair of gray eyes. “Yes that’s me. I own the place. Name’s T.J. Powell,” she said, holding out her gloved hand.

Pamela shook the woman’s dirty glove. “So he never said anything to you about where he was going, Mrs. Powell?” she persisted.

“Call me T.J., and nope he never said nothin’ except that he had changed his mind. Last week he said he was goin’ to be stayin’ on in New Orleans for a while. I figured he had met a girl.” She paused and peered into Pamela’s face. “Kinda’ was hopin’ that boy would settle down. I saw the women he had comin’ and goin’ at all hours of the night around here for a while and then it all stopped.” She shrugged. “Until I saw you with him last Saturday.”

“You saw us?”

T.J. nodded and pointed back to the main house across the courtyard. “Apartment A is mine. I can see all the happenin’s in the courtyard through my windows.” She paused for a moment and stared at Pamela. “Was he in some kind of trouble?”

Pamela shook her head. “Why do you ask?”

“There was a man here last Sunday. He was a real fancy dresser. He came knockin’ on my door askin’ where Daniel lived, so I told him. Next I heard a lot of shoutin’ comin’ from the courtyard. Daniel and that attorney were having a real
—
”

“Attorney?” Pamela edged in.

T J. laughed. “Yeah, the guy that has got his face plastered all over town. He’s an ambulance chaser; even seen a few of his commercials on television.”

“Did this attorney tell you his name?”

“Didn’t have to ask him. I recognized him right away. It was Robert Patrick.”

*  *  *  *

The R.A. Patrick Law Firm was located in the P&L building on Poydras Avenue in the Central Business District of the city. Bob had moved into his luxury offices right after he and Pamela married. She had thought him crazy for spending so much money on offices for a practice he had barely gotten off the ground. But Bob had considered the opulent accommodations a necessity for attracting high-end clientele. And as the elevator opened on the twentieth floor of the high-rise office building, Pamela couldn’t help but think that Bob had been right.

The vast reception area was lined in deep mahogany paneling and decorated with luxurious burgundy leather furniture. The long desk where a perky blond was seated was also made of mahogany and sat atop a plush gold and burgundy Oriental rug. On the walls were assorted posters of famous Louisiana festivals, such as The Jazz and Heritage Festival, the Breaux Bridge Seafood Festival, and the Ponchatoula Strawberry Festival.

Pamela marched right up to the blond at the front desk and smiled sweetly. “I need to see Bob,” she said through gritted teeth.

“It’s after office hours but I’m sure if you would
—
”

“Tell him it’s Pamela,” she barked, cutting the girl off.

“I’m sorry but if you would come back tomorrow
—
”

“Go get him!” Pamela yelled. “He never leaves the office before six.”

The girl frowned and tried to look impervious to Pamela’s outburst. “I’m sorry ma’am
—
”

“Tell him it’s his goddamn ex-wife and that I want to see the worthless bastard right now!” she shouted, losing all control.

The girl stood up from her desk and backed away. “I’ll go and get him,” she said nervously, and then disappeared into the entrance to the back offices.

Less than a minute later, Bob emerged from behind the company doors.

“Jesus, Pamela, I could hear you all the way back in my office. What is it?” Bob asked as he came up to her with a worried expression on his face.

“What did you say to him?” she cried out.

Bob put a concerned hand on her shoulder. “What did I say to who, honey?”

Pamela threw off his hand. “To Daniel. His landlady told me you went to his place and had an argument with him.”

“Pamela why don’t we go back to my office and discuss this,” he urged as he looked around the empty reception area.

“No, Bob. Tell me right now. What did you say to Daniel?” she insisted.

Bob took in a deep breath and cast his eyes to the Oriental rug beneath his feet. “I wasn’t going to mention any of this to you, but I had that man checked out after the party. Fortunately, the private investigator I hired was able to get back to me right away. I went over to his house to confront him about what I had found and he started threatening me.”

“Oh, please, Bob. You expect me to believe that horse shit!”

“He’s a con artist, Pamela. He has been chased out of several other states for swindling people out of money, property, jewelry, anything he could get his hands on. He uses some phony story about serving as a soldier in Iraq to lure people in and then he tells them that he needs money for surgeries or treatments for his PTSD.”

“You’re lying!” Pamela roared. “He had PTSD. I know the symptoms.”

“His name is not even Daniel Phillips, Pamela. It’s Alex Weston.”

Pamela stared into Bob’s pale green eyes. She could never tell when he was lying to her. He had long ago mastered the art of hiding the truth from her.

“I don’t believe you,” she declared and turned toward the elevator.

“Did he promise to help you get money for your organization? Did he introduce you to some of his rich friends at the party?” Bob asked behind her.

She slowly turned back to him. “Yes, but he asked them for money to help me. He never asked for any money for himself.”

Bob walked up to her shaking his head. “You were his ace in the hole, Pamela. Can’t you see that? He was going to flaunt you around town and get all of the rich society people to shell out money for your little sanctuary. Then he was probably going to organize everything so that the money came to him and not to you.”

“But I have spent the past few days on the phone with a slew of accountants. The people he introduced me to are sending me the money, not Daniel.”

“Oh, sure; that’s the way he’ll start out to make it look legit. But then he would have weeded his way into your life and eventually he would have gotten his hands on your bank accounts. I suspect he first had to lull you into a false sense of security. Did he sleep with you, Pamela, and promise to take care of you?”

She folded her arms across her chest but said nothing.

Bob rolled his eyes with disgust. “That’s how these guys operate. First they get into your pants and then into your checkbook.”

Pamela reached out to slap him, but Bob was too fast for her and he grabbed her hand. “I know you’re angry, but think about it. If he cared so much for you would he have left town?” he whispered.

Pamela anxiously searched Bob’s face. She willed herself to believe that this was all a lie. Bob was a manipulative little toad and would do anything to hold on to his control over her.

She pulled her hand away from him. “So that’s it?” she asked, trying to remain calm. “You went over to his place to confront him about what this private investigator found.”

“It’s the truth, P.A.,” Bob insisted. “I can give you the investigator’s name if you want to call him.”

“I might just take you up on that, Bob.” She paused and took in a deep breath. “Did he tell you where he was going?’

“You don’t want him, Pamela. He was no good.”

“Everyone told me the same thing about you,” she proclaimed. “But I married you anyway.” She headed across the reception area to the elevator.

“I’m sorry, Pamela,” he called out. “I really do hope you find a nice guy one day and have a happy life together. But this guy wasn’t for you.”

She pressed the elevator call button and shouted, “That wasn’t for you to decide.” She turned and glowered at him. “And if you ever go behind my back again, I’ll start talking to all of those snooty friends of yours. I’ll tell them the truth about you and our marriage.”

Bob gawked at Pamela, the disbelief emanating from his pale green eyes. “I can’t believe you would threaten me after everything I have done for you,” he hollered.

The elevator doors opened behind her. Pamela stepped inside and hit the button for the lobby. “Don’t ever interfere in my affairs again, Bob, or I will ruin you,” she warned, right before the el
evator doors closed before her.

*  *  *  *

By the time Pamela made it back home it was well after dark. Carol was waiting patiently on the couch inside watching television when Pamela walked in the door.