Orchids to Die For (Jim Morgan Adventure Series) (3 page)

“Well, Catherine Harris, shall we?” As he offered her a guiding elbow to walk beside him, back -- into the Roaring Twenties.

* * *

Eunice, back from the ESP laboratory, sat down in a plush green leather desk chair in her home office. She grabbed a pen and made a to do list on a yellow legal pad. The first entry read: “Book five passengers to Sao Paulo, Saturday 9 A.M., round trip.” She was acting on the premonition of a psychic, and it made her feel terribly apprehensive.

She eased back in her chair and mentally ran through the possibilities of who would be using the fifth ticket. Kicking off her high heels, she caught herself biting the corner of her pinky fingernail. She reached the pen and made a second entry on her to do pad: Fly to Chicago. And then, all of a sudden, she became very sleepy.

She went to her bed in the adjoining room, pulled back the thick Swedish down-comforter and crawled in, nylons and all. Her last waking thought, before she fell dead asleep, was of the last man that had slept alongside of her months earlier, Jim Morgan.

* * *

Margolova answered the International call and listened to a sob story about Morgan being in a nightclub, with a beautiful, blonde woman; but their tail couldn’t afford the cover charge to follow them in. She thanked the caller, sardonically, and hung up. Then said, aloud, in Russian, “Idiots!”

In Islamic, Joseffie, still half-asleep, begged her, “Get some sleep, mama. You’re driving me coo-coo,” and pulled the coarse wool horse blanket back over his bearded face.

* * *

Senator Alberquist poured himself a glass of milk and carried it up to his bedroom where he set it down on a hand-carved ivory coaster. He removed his shirt and was placing it on a chair-back when his home phone rang. It was after nine and a rarity for him to get calls that late. He entered the 777 codes, to insure a secure line, and answered.

It was Ames, “Sorry to bother you this late John. But I thought this might be important to you. We’ve picked up on some overseas calls to Margolova. She’s placed a watch on Morgan.”

“Ah, the plot thickens. Thanks, Arnold. He should be okay until he starts picking orchids.”

“That was...is our thinking here, too, John. I just wanted you to know. I’ll talk with you again, soon. Goodnight John.” Ames yawned as he turned out the office lights. He had just worked a fourteen hour Sunday, and he loved every minute of it.

The Senator hit the release button on his tape recorder, which would append a date and time to Ames’ call, drank his milk and went to bed with fond memories of his daughter, ones that floated easily in and about his brilliant mind.

* * *

Exiting Tommy Guns, both wearing fedora mobster hats, Jim pulled out a pack of Camels and put one between his lips, then offered one to Catherine. She started to take it and then announced, “I quit a few months ago, but you go ahead -- it doesn’t bother me. Morgan and his “Doll” made their way to the bugged Austin. They looked, cool. They made a handsome couple, and they both sensed it. They also knew this, that they were both having a surrealistically great time.

Catherine looked into Morgan’s face with the full moon lighting up his smooth facial features and thought that his dangling cigarette gave him a bad boy aura, and -- it fit him. She tried to recall how many glasses of white wine she had consumed, and she felt that the ancient mystery of all romance was blooming full, right before her fantasy laden eyes, and she felt an unreal chill, a wave of uncontrollable energy dance through her body, and it made her physically shudder from her shoulders right down to her knees, “Jim Morgan. I must tell you, it’s been a long, long time since I’ve had such a fun time.”

Her hat brim was shadowing her baby blues, yet Morgan saw them sparkle in the darkness, and his senses screamed out from within his being that something very special was happening there – in their – here and now. And it made him smile deep and wide and he knew, right then, that love was once again entering into his life, and he felt an exceptionally strong compunction to kiss her – right there, in the parking lot, but he held back and asked her, “Hey, I’ve got an idea, want to take a walk on the beach?”

Without hesitation, her dimples indented and she smiled out an exhilarated, “Yes!”

They drove off, giddy, and made their way down to the 77th Street beach holding onto their fedoras and their mutual feelings of romantic expectations, “It’s a bit tricky to park around here, so -- hold on.”

With an illegal U-turn and a dodge around a gated entryway, they pulled into a lakeside apartment complex. Morgan turned off the lights and parked with the engine still running. The view from the Austin was a spectacular cinema graphic sight; right smack in front of them was the full moon casting soft moonbeams that painted a whitish-yellow path across the water right onto the smallest wavelet lapping gentle on the beach sand.

Catherine’s breath was whisked away with the beauty of the panoramic view, “Oh, this is simply awesome, Jim,” and she averted her view onto him, and said, very playfully, “You know you’re seducing me. Don’t you?”

“Yeah.” He grinned and gave her a sharp wink, then asked, “Is it working?” And he watched her, as she smiled and kicked off her shoes in preparation for a budding lover’s stroll in the lakeshore night.

They both heard the crash and turned their heads, simultaneously, back to where they exited Lake Shore Drive. Through the opening they drove through, they observed a green and white taxi slide past – upside-down, with sparks flying out from a metal-to-road skid that the cab’s roof was enduring. It was less than a second in passing when a second vehicle – a big SUV -- came sliding, sideways, right behind the flipped over Checker.

Morgan exclaimed, “Jesus Christ!”

Catherine, placing a hand on his upper arm, uttered out, “Oh...My...God.”

They both got out of the car and began a jog toward the gates. Morgan offered Catherine his hand and she grasped it in mid stride. She, being barefooted, said, “Ouch”, twice, as she stepped on errant parkway pebbles. Jim stopped, looked at her bare feet, “Want me to go back and get your shoes?”

“No. I’m fine. 

Morgan smiled; then looked at her a few seconds, and then offered, “Okay, but watch your step. Let’s go.” And they went on, much slower... 

Traffic had already begun to back up behind the crash. A police cruiser with flashing lights was approaching from a block away in the southbound lane, people were walking from their residences, and a few were running. Some idiot was honking his horn in a road-rage fit; and everyone knew his name, too. It was, Asshole.

Jim and Catherine were 50 yards from the wreckage when the taxi exploded, sending up a fiery ball of yellow and orange flames. The concussion from the blast had stopped them cold. Morgan let go of Catherine’s hand and placed his arm protectively around her shoulder and they just stood their watching the blaze in bystander amazement. There was nothing more that they could do, but observe.

An officer was spraying foam on the fire from a hand held extinguisher. An ambulance was being directed to a safe parking spot, and more sirens were announcing the arrival of yet more safety vehicles in route. Morgan asked, “Seen enough?”

“Yes. Have You?” She countered.

Hand in hand they returned to the Austin, with occasional glances back at the highway and, now hidden from view, wreckage. A huge bubble had burst; the ambiance of a first night together was all but shattered. They both knew it. It was, the way it was. Back in the Austin, Catherine pulled out a small note pad and pen, asking Jim, “Do you mind?”

“No. Not at all,” as he reveled in the vigor and intensity of her occupational interjection.

Jim’s thoughts flashed back to the rear-end tap they had experienced earlier, and his intuition began using his grey matter as a punching bag. “Was it the same cab? Why did Eunice call him? Was the Arab cabbie acting suspicious? And ... Just who is this -- Catherine Harris?”

Catherine finished jotting in her book. She looked back to the road and announced, “Looks like the traffic is moving.”

“Yeah, I’d better get you back to your hotel,” then, looking at his watch, “It’s already past ten.”

Catherine gathered up her shoes as Morgan started up the Austin.

Chapter Five

It was midnight when Morgan arrived at his parent’s home. He entered through the garage, passing through the laundry room and quietly unlocked the rear inner-house door. Surprised, he found his mother sitting up waiting for him at the kitchen table, “You’re up late,” and he gave her a peck kiss on the top of her head. “Everything okay?”

She reached her red ceramic teapot and began pouring a fresh cup, while saying, “Everything’s fine, Jimmy.” She was announcing her intention to, be up a while, let’s talk, with the newly poured cup of tea. “Your father’s asleep. He has a meeting at the shop, early tomorrow.” She looked at the big oval clock and corrected herself, humorously, “Today.”

“I met a really nice girl today, mom. Her name is Catherine.” He watched her sip her tea; she was looking at him over the rim of the cup, waiting for him to elaborate. Sensing this, he smiled, saying, “I think I’m in love.”

The big clock ticked, breaking a momentary silence. “By the way, you have three messages on the phone from Eunice. It sounds like she has a job for you. She closed with a, ‘Love You’ instead of her usual ‘Ta Ta’ business. What’s going on with that?”

“I don’t know, mom. I haven’t spoken to her in months. She called my cell earlier. I didn’t answer. I’ll call her tomorrow, ah – later today,” and he yawned, “Things just weren’t working out with us. She was always, too busy...all work, no play.”

“Just your opposite, Jimmy. All play and no work?” She topped off her tea.

“Well, I’m trying to be a writer, mom. It just looks like I don’t do anything.”

“And, what’s with all that money on your dresser? Did you finally sell a book?”

“Very funny, mom. I’ll take it to the bank this morning. Did you want some rent, or anything?”

“No. But I wish you wouldn’t gamble on those horses. Your father’s been calling you ‘Track Man’ lately. Have you talked with him recently?”

“No. He calls me ‘OSHA Boy’ around the shop. So I’ve been staying away. I know he loves me. It’s just his way.”

She gathered up her teacup and pot and placed them in the sink. The pow-wow was over. The peace pipe was smoked and the campfire was extinguished. With goodnights in order they went off to bed, she to a snoring machine shop autocrat, and he to his old collegiate room.

Morgan laid in the dark and reflected his evening. His favorite moment, vividly recalled, was when he kissed Catherine goodnight at her hotel door. And from that memory, he fell into deep, sound sleep.

* * *

“What do you mean he killed your cousin Ahmed? How did he kill him?” Margolova was livid upon hearing that Morgan, and the blonde CIA agent accompanying him, had just killed the tail that she had ordered to be placed on him. “Nyet! No. I do not want you to take revenge. I will personally see them both dead. This, I can promise you, comrade.”

In Arabic, the N.Y. City, Iranian, submissively asked, “What do you want me to do, Margolova?”

“I still want him followed. Tell your men to be more careful. Are you all idiots? Get me information on this blonde agent, too. I want to know everything about her before I slit her throat open,” and then ended the International call with a brutal humph.

Captain Fillmore, Chicago Police Department Veteran, and a damn good cop, watched the paramedics remove the Iranian’s charred body from the still smoldering taxi. Although the Coroner hadn’t arrived on the scene, he asked for the kid’s wallet and the young medic retrieved it for him. He moved away from the stench and began going through its contents.

He asked the medic to replace the wallet and then made a call to the personal cell phone number of a friend and local FBI officer.

Twenty minutes later, the ringing phone on his nightstand wakened Arnold Ames. He was asked to return to work by his Director in Charge. As he dressed to leave he felt the energy of pure excitement pulsating through his veins. He was now a full time player and pivotal kingpin of a major operation. Thirty-five minutes later, he pulled into the CIA compound, ready to work – ready to serve. His watch read 1:00 a.m., straight up, EST. From that moment on, he would begin living under GMT, world time, and he laughed to himself and wondered just what time it really was, in Greenwich Mean Time.

* * *

Catherine Harris tried to be quiet when she entered her hotel room. But she needn’t have bothered, as her roommate, Mary Lynn, was quite awake, “I was beginning to worry about you Cathy. We’ve got a busy schedule tomorrow, you know?”

“I know Mary Lynn. I’ll be quiet, sorry for disturbing you.” Catherine undressed in the bathroom, changed into her jammies, brushed her teeth and went to her bed and, still wearing her fedora, got in; all without turning on a light.

Five whole minutes passed before Mary Lynn asked, “How was your night, Cath?”

“Oh, you’re awake?”

“Yes. I’m keyed up about the conference. Where did you guys go to eat? Anywhere good?”

Catherine rolled over onto her elbow resting her head, fedora and all, in the palm of her hand, and spoke to a blackened out room to an unseen roommate, “It was fantastic Mary Lynn. The food was grand, the drinks flowed like water and the show was unbelievably hysterical. I can’t wait to sit down and write about it. And Morgan ... I’ve never met anyone quite like him, ever.”

“How much did you have to drink, Cath? They all start out with their shinning armor and fat wallets. Then, slam-bam, I’ll call you – one day.”

“He asked me out to dinner tomorrow night. I said I’d go. Do you mind?”

Tomorrow night’s the Harlequin Romance social thing at seven. Open bar until eight, snacks, and that guest speaker... What’s her name?” And, there’s a door prize, too. Did you forget?”

“He’s a published author, Mary Lynn. He gave me a copy of his book, “The Mala...Grecian Turtles,” or something. I left it under the seat of the car... Damn. Anyway, it’s racy, I read a few lines.”