Project Northwest (21 page)

“Not at all. In fact, I insist. Try to get as
close as you can. The closer you are to her, the closer we are to
Ms. Davies.”

“Yes, sir,” Max said, delighted.

Cindy returned and they exchanged cell
phones. “Did you get in touch with your boss?”

“Yes, thank you. I think I have the funny
part of our ‘pickup line’ drink.”

“Really, what is it?”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be in the drink
right? What if the funny part was that the cocktail was delivered
to the lady on a coaster that was, get this, scribbled with classic
pickup lines?”

“You know, that is not a bad idea at all.
Even better, what if it had a place where the man could write his
own little note or pickup line before the drink was delivered?”

“Now, that’s interesting. I think we may have
something here.”

“Me, too.”

They talked for hours and lost track of the
world around them. Much of the subject was on Cindy and her passion
for art. She loved the exhibition schedule at the Seattle Art
Museum, spoke in great detail about a recent showing of Lorenzo
Ghiberti’s “The Gates of Paradise” and his works in bronze, stating
that Americans just didn’t enjoy art like they should, ‘...we’re
like moths drawn toward sensationalism instead of light and we let
some of our greatest modern artists waste away.’

The associate admitted that he hadn’t been to
a museum in years, found her passion appealing, and wanted to tag
along with her on her next visit to SAM. They were in the middle of
making plans, when Bridget stopped by with James. She kissed Cindy
on the cheek. “Heading home, baby, I will see you tomorrow.”

“Is it that late already?” Cindy responded
shocked.

“It is and it was a slow night for some of
us,” Bridget said nodding her head toward the associate.

“Oh, this is Max, Max this is Bridget.”

“Hi Max. Well, you two be good, oh what the
hell, be a little bad, right? I know we will be. See ya
tomorrow.”

“Well, it looks like you’re about to close,”
Max said as he grabbed his coat.

“You know what they say, when one door
closes, another opens.”

“They do say that, don’t they? I guess all I
need is the key.”

“Some doors are unlocked.”

Chapter
Sixteen

~ William Paul Wright ~

Mark found Bama’s
number and called him at 6:30 A.M. Seattle time. It was 9:30 A.M.
on the east coast at the Pentagon.

“Personnel Records, Captain Wallace,” Bama
answered.

“Captain Wallace now, huh? When are you up
for Major?”

“I’m up for some major tail,” Bama joked.

The first few minutes of the conversation was
a mixture of tall stories and the standard subjects of families,
careers, and old times. Mark hinted all along that he was about to
ask a huge favor.

“So, Mark, what are you really calling
about?” Bama finally asked.

“It’s a huge favor.”

“Figured as much. Okay, you have my
attention. What is it?”

“I need some information about someone who
was in the Air Force.”

“I don’t know, Mark. I could get into a lot
of trouble.”

“I know, but it’s for James Spain. You
remember him, right? You’d be in jail and I’d be dead if it weren’t
for him.”

“Hmm, yes, I remember him. Okay, what’s the
name?”

“William Paul Wright, he was in the Air
Force.”

“Do you know the years he was in or year of
discharge?”

“Not really.”

“Do you know what AFSC?”

“What? Speak English! I have his service
number.”

“Okay, fire away.” Bama took the name and
service number. “I can find the record. I’ll take a look, Mark, but
I can’t dig too deep, you understand that, right? I’m taking a big
chance here. I mean, I’m at the Pentagon for God’s sake, and
everything we do is scrutinized.”

“I understand, just get me the most you can.
This guy is causing a lot of trouble for James.”

“I’ll fax anything I find from the FedEx on
Crystal Square. What’s your fax number?”

Mark passed on the information from the
phone’s faceplate in the hotel room.

“Thanks, Bama, or should I say, Captain
Wallace?”

“Captain is fine. Not a problem. I’ll send
you what I find. This will make us even, right?”

“Absolutely, and Bama, I do apologize for,
you know.”

“I know. She’s happily married, has three
kids now.”

“What, did you stalk her?”

“Didn’t have to, she sent me an email five
months ago. You know, considering, I’m glad what happened—happened.
I don’t even like kids.”

“It is a conundrum my friend. I find myself
in a very opposite position. At any rate, send the fax as soon as
you can.”

“Will do, take care.” Captain Wallace hung up
the phone.

Mark went to the parking lot, pulled the
clunky fax machine from the cargo area of his truck, and lugged it
up to his room. He connected it, went online, and sent himself a
fax and waited until it came through. He had missed an important
fax before and now always went through this test and sent another
one just to be sure.

When he was convinced the machine was
working, he lay in bed for a few minutes, watched the news, and was
shocked to see the Orioles had won. He dressed, ate the free
breakfast offered by the hotel, and was out the door to scour the
Embassy Suites parking lot. The only thing worth noting was that
the GMC had moved sometime during the night. He wrote the details
in his notebook.

When he returned to his room, the fax was
alive and kicking. Bama was coming through for him with flying
colors. He pulled the bottom sheet. It was the cover letter
containing only eight words scribbled in what he considered to be
poor penmanship: “Mark, this is a bad guy! Be careful.”

The fax printed another twelve pages and Mark
read each one carefully. William Paul Wright had an
attention-grabbing history and he was indeed someone of whom to be
concerned. Mark knew he had to get in touch with James and couldn’t
wait for the Seattle personals. He had to see him today, this
morning, if possible.

He paced the room, trying to think of ways he
could contact James without drawing attention.

“How can I do it? He’s bugged, he’s under
constant surveillance,” Mark said out loud as he looked in the
mirror.

Then it came to him and he called Sylvia.

“Lady Sylvia, Psychic, how can I help you?”
Sylvia Banks said when she answered the phone.

“Did you know I was going to call?” Mark
asked.

“Of course,” she responded.

“Okay, who am I, then?”

“Is this a prank caller? I’ll put a curse on
you,” she said through gritted teeth.

“No, not a prank caller, it’s me, Mark, now
don’t hang—” all he heard was a click followed by the dial
tone.

He called again, she answered, “Don’t hang
up. You had to have known I wasn’t going to call you, you’re a
psy—”

Dial tone.

He pressed redial, “Listen, I know I said I
would call after last summer, but I got caught up in my life back
in Sacramento. I really need your help.”

Dial tone.

Pressed redial again, “Sylvia, please. It’s
for a friend.”

“I know and this friend is James and he’s in
trouble with money?” Sylvia responded.

“Yes, exactly. I need your help, you have no
idea. How did you know it was James?”

“Mark, just because I’m a psychic doesn’t
mean I don’t like surprises. There are many forces at work and I
hoped you would call.”

“I’m sorry, I really am. Is your office still
on Post Alley?”

“Yes,” she answered coldly.

“Okay, this is going to sound really, really
strange, but I’m going to be bringing in a friend. But when he
comes in, he will strip down to his boxers, leave his clothing in
the reading room. He will then follow me to the back room while you
pretend to do a reading for him.”

“That is strange, Mark. You want me to read
his clothing?”

“Sure, if it makes you feel more comfortable
with it. I just need to get him into the back room.”

“Mark, my place of business isn’t some type
of happy finish pit-stop for you and your gay friend.”

“Sylvia, it’s nothing like that. You know
better. Trust me, when he leaves, I will let you read me and you’ll
see my life is about to take a change for the better. You have to
make the reading to the clothes convincing.”

“If you wish. What time will you be coming by
with your gay friend, James?”

“He’s not and I’m not—you know I’m not. Let’s
see, it’s eight thirty-two now, how about eleven? Block out eleven
to one for me because I’m not exactly sure.”

“I will speed up my eleven o’clock
appointment. That will be one hundred and twenty dollars for the
block, agreed?”

“Can I get a discount?”

“Sure, let’s make it an even two
hundred.”

“Is the one-twenty still on the table?”

“No, and it’s about to increase.”

“Two hundred it is then. Just remember – make
the reading seem like it’s real.”

“They are all real, Mark.”

“One more small favor, call his cell phone
after we hang up, he shouldn’t answer, but if he does, hang up. I
need you to leave a voicemail message confirming his appointment
with you today. This is important. Leave the message for Sam M.D.
and call after 9:30 or so.”

Sylvia wrote the number and name on a
notepad. “I’ll call and confirm an appointment for Sam M.D.
Anything else?”

“Yes, let him know where you’re located.”

“I can do that, anything else?”

“No, that’s it. Thanks Sylvia, I’ll see you
in a few.”

“Ciao, and I know you will.”

Sylvia dialed James’s number at 9:30 and
after four rings was routed to his voicemail, “Sam MD, this is Lady
Sylvia with Mystic House calling to confirm your appointment for
today at eleven A.M. Please remember, on Fridays my office is
located on Post Alley, just west of First Avenue.”

Chapter
Seventeen

~ Bonfire Fridays ~

Bridget was up
before James. She made him his favorite: scrambled eggs with
vinegar and garlic, and a couple pieces of bacon with toast. She
poured his coffee and gently shook him, “Wake up, baby, today is a
new day.”

“I’m up, it smells good,” he said as he
stretched his arms over his head.

“What does, breakfast or me?”

“Both, you smell delicious, but you know a
man loves his bacon,” he said as he sat up in bed and watched her
exit the bedroom.

“They should make a perfume that smells like
bacon, it would be a hit,” he shouted.

“Gross. Get up. I have to take you to work
and I want to finish unpacking today.”

“I’m up.” James took a shower, shaved, and
examined the two cuts in the mirror. They were all but healed, the
swelling was gone, and the wounds’ edges had pulled together and
now were a sliver of light pink. The black eye was all but a
memory. His lip had healed nicely.

“I think I’m going to have two scars,” he
said when he sat and savored his eggs.

“Let’s see,” Bridget said, examining him.
“Yes, they will be small, though, and women like a man with a few
scars,” she said as she softly kissed each one.

“They do?”

“Sure, small ones, though, not anything big
or gross. They make you look tough and sexy.”

“I’ll never understand women.”

“That’s our plan, you know, we have secret
meetings just to keep you guys on your toes. Don’t forget today is
cake day.”

“Damn, I forgot, and it’s my turn to bring
the card. Where can we get one this early in the morning?”

“I already have it. It’s next to your cell
phone on the nightstand. Okay, let’s get a move on,” she said as
she cleared his empty plate from the table.

“You got the card for me? This couple thing
might work, after all.”

“You better quit playing. I love this couple
thing and I love you, scars and all.”

“I love you, too.”

He collected the
Seattle Times
from
the hallway and quickly checked the personals while drinking his
coffee. There was nothing from Mark. James felt a sense of anguish,
but persuaded himself that Mark would contact him when he had
something.

* * * *

James stopped after he crossed University,
turned, and waved to Bridget.

She responded by blowing a kiss.
This is
how my mornings are going to be for the rest of my life,
he
thought, and it was wonderful. He made his way into the building,
found Mr. Stone, and presented the card. The card was quickly
circulated through the data center and found its way to Shelly.

“Is it cake day?” Shelly asked. It seemed
every professional was familiar with the concept of cake day. It
was the last Friday of the month and that meant a number of things.
It was a bonfire of birthday candles on sheet cakes for anyone who
had a birthday during the month, the well-deserved public
congratulations to anyone who was promoted, and it was the day the
guest speaker arrived to push the company line.

Sometimes, the guest speaker was the
corporate type, selling the power of 401K plans and safe money
investing. Every once in a while the guest speaker would be a local
politician speaking for the mere purpose of a photo opportunity.
But today, they had a professor of economics, and he apparently had
something to say, as everyone was strongly encouraged to
attend.

“Do we have to attend?” Shelly
questioned.

“Yeah, I think we do. With my recent
promotion, I think it would be frowned upon if I didn’t go. You can
stay here, though.”

“You know wherever you go, I go.”

“Right, two peas in a pod. You look better
today. Did you get some sleep last night?”

“Yes, for the first time in a week.”