Zipper Fall (4 page)

“Mr. Gaudens.” Auguste Bernard Pillory III ghosted to my office door with his usual, otherworldly elegance.

My eyes popped open and I sat up ramrod straight. “Yes, boss.”

“Are you feeling well?” Pillory frowned the slightest bit. He allowed his handsome and finely sculpted face to show a hint of concern. Considering his usual, stoic expression, he may as well have shouted a red alert. He had the sort of silky, raven hair women envy and consider a waste on a man’s head, bound in a professional ponytail with his usual flair, a sure sign a client meeting was somewhere on his schedule.

“Wh-why do you think I’m not well, boss?”

He drifted in like silent fog, his thin lips pressed in a face as pale as porcelain. “Your face is red. Your expression—are you in pain? I have that new client for you for tomorrow, but I can reassign him to Yamada, if you’re coming down with something. It wouldn’t do to infect the whole office.”

Unable to withstand his scrutiny, I stood. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m alright… just something I ate. I’ll be right back.” I headed for the bathroom. The hallway carpet would soon show a well-worn path between my office door and the facilities unless something drastic changed in my personal life. A quick peek under the doors of the other stalls confirmed I was alone. I locked myself in the handicapped stall, unzipped my trousers, and let them drop along with my briefs. I sat; the cold porcelain of the water tank was soothing against my back. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, and there he was. I kept the sound turned so low, only I could hear.

My right hand almost mirrored his.

I won’t go into further details. Suffice it to say I was back in my office within ten minutes, my face cooling off and my hair slicked back to disguise the moisture clinging to it.

I felt somewhat more functional as I reached for the thick manila folder left by Auguste Bernard Pillory the Third. A new account. Hmm. And I was to meet their vice president tomorrow. From the look of it, Black, White, and Blue, LLC was a fairly small, but successful, personal investment outfit. Further growth and expansion was part of their strategic plan—thus their need for an advertising campaign. The names of the partners were a bit unusual, but hey—whatever. As long as they liked my presentation. I was to meet Mr. Schiffer tomorrow.

A thorough analysis of Black, White, and Blue’s current customer base revealed new, logical places for strategic expansion. It didn’t take much to alter a boilerplate proposal to fit my new client’s needs and e-mail it to Pillory for approval. After lunch, Pillory granted his go-ahead, and I quickly morphed the document into a PowerPoint presentation.

Then I kicked back, stretched my legs out under my desk, and situated my laptop in front of me. To all outside observers, I was busy at work. If only they knew. As it happened, I had more than one project to plan.

W
ORK
would have been going well, had it not been for the awful, gnawing feeling of guilt that wouldn’t let go of me no matter how hard I tried to will it away. I worked hard. I focused. I put my cell phone away, having copied the video onto a separate flash drive. I used the image of the angelic, debauched face as my wallpaper.

Not safe. Definitely not safe.

Then I just sat there, berating myself for being paranoid that somebody would recognize the face on my laptop’s wallpaper as one of post-coital bliss. Only I knew what it was. What could possibly happen? He was just another handsome, sleepy, smiling man. Jack’s room was poorly illuminated and light and shadow played with the ambient reflections off the street, making the image appear almost monochromatic.

Oh, what the heck. Might as well go full out. I captured the end of the video sound track from my phone and played with it a little bit. I doubted anyone would recognize the sound for what it was, and if any questions arose, I could claim that it was a growl of a big cat I found on a wildlife video. The thought of Azzuri as a big cat made me smile. The image seemed appropriate. Not wasting any time, I used the office phone to call myself.

“Gwrrraaaahrrr!”

My cell phone just had an orgasm. If lots of people called me, I’d have one, too. Hands free.

On a more serious note, I really had to return all those items I stole. Having become intimate with their owner in a virtual, roundabout sort of way, it no longer seemed acceptable for me to keep them. Now, I had been known to occasionally return an item, but knowing the guy was in town made it slightly tricky. First I called Reyna, who naturally couldn’t pick up, so I left a message.

I worked for maybe ten minutes, rehearsing my presentation for Mr. Schiffer of Black, White, and Blue, LLC, when my phone roared.

“Gwrrraaaahrrr!”

I jolted. The primal roar hadn’t lost its original effect on me. Wiggling in my seat, I picked up. “Reyna!”

“Hi, Wyatt.” A slight pause followed. “Hey, are you alright?”

Everyone was suddenly interested in my well-being. “Yeah, why?”

“You sound a bit off, is all. What did you want? I’m finally catching up on all my work, now that Azz-hole isn’t breathing down my neck.” She paused expectantly.

“Just checking up on you. So he’s still out, is he?” I asked to make sure.

“Yep. Wanna pick up a drink after work?”

“Sure,” I said, my response utterly automatic. We’d meet at the same place at the same time and have the same drinks and the same bar food—wait. Wait—
wait
!

I couldn’t get drunk or even slightly impaired if I had plans to infiltrate Azurri’s apartment and get away with it. And I had to do it because, face it, the guy was hot and I felt like we had a connection of sorts, and I felt bad about what I’d done. There was no way to cancel on Reyna now, though; she’d want to know why, and I didn’t feel like coming up with a lame excuse.

L
ATER
that night, Reyna was on her third beer while I was on my first. I felt her warm eyes sharpen as she took me in and scrutinized my nondescript black top and the way I had slicked my hair in an effort to make it obey. And, of course, the one and only beer I was still nursing.

“Wyatt. Something isn’t right with you. You’re not keeping up.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. In reality, I was scared shitless. Suppose the gorgeous guy was there again, and suppose I didn’t have it in me to leave?

“Wyatt, you’re doing it again. Hellooo!” She waved her languid hand before my eyes, making her silver bracelets jingle.

I made an effort to pull myself together and chose a diversionary tactic. “So, Reyna, has it occurred to you that you and your boss are just clashing on personality? You could both be nice when you’re apart, you know? Some people just aren’t meant to work together.”

“Dang, Wyatt. You’re saying he’s as cool as I am? What basis do you have to form that conclusion?”

I did have a basis. I just couldn’t share it with her, so I just sat there thinking, my mind whirling like a gerbil wheel. “But you’re more effective with him on vacation, right?”

“You’re saying I should find another job? I love my job. It’s just Azz-hole who’s the problem here. You don’t know him. He’s capricious. Violent, even. His temper is legendary, and he always has to have his way.”

Oh boy.

I really didn’t need to hear that.

T
HREE
hours later I was ready to head into the night, dressed in my black cargo pants and with my loose, black shirt tucked in. It was best not to be recognized. A lot of times I’ve cursed my too-short figure, but even I had to admit it was extremely convenient to look androgynous and nondescript. I fluffed up the black hair attached to my usual repairman’s cap and said hello to Haus behind the desk.

He lifted his eyes up from his book, his wide mouth giving me a toothy grin. “Long time no see!”

“Yeah…. Whatcha readin’?”

“
The
Old Man and the Sea
,” he gruffed, as though he wasn’t keen on sharing that. “Some people live the life, the rest of us grunts just get to fantasize about it, you know?”

“You bet,” I said, nodding. I didn’t know. I was living the life right now. The sweet glow of excess adrenaline already made me feel like I was floating two inches above the floor.

“Back to Azurri?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Well, that was smooth. I suppressed a breath of relief, signed the guest book, and then took the elevator to the fifth floor. I made it to the flat roof and enjoyed the feeling of being on one of the tallest buildings in the neighborhood while I navigated among the chimneys. For Shadyside, this building was pretty tall, and I thought I could almost feel the Allegheny River to my right and the Monongahela River to my left, merging past the lit-up skyscrapers of the visible downtown area to form the Ohio. It was pretty hot that night, and I regretted the necessity of dressing in long pants and long sleeves. Chafing from sweat already, I pulled my harness and rope from the vent where I had left them. I put Azurri’s silver dish and the cash from his freezer into the cargo pockets and descended the wall. I felt that old thrill of hanging over a precipice. Wind whipping up the wall caressed my exposed neck as I moved my feet down the carved toeholds of the façade. Fifth floor and fourth floor, dark. Third floor, also dark.

I landed on the parapet with a light thud. Wind swirled around me again, and I unclipped the line while bent over in a protective crouch. I needed to get in fast, before the weather took me for a very short ride.

I pushed in the half-open casement windows, slid to the carpet, and crouched. The bed was, thankfully, unoccupied. I listened; there were no signs of life. Like a cat, I stretched my limbs, then progressed through the dark apartment. First I’d return the silver candy dish. As I pulled it out of my pocket, the sound of Velcro ripped through the silence of the evening. Damn… that was way too loud for comfort. I pattered over to the dining room table, only to find its surface empty. The boxes were gone from the floor. Where there used to be an expanse of antique-store items, order ruled once again. Only the ruby-eyed, ivory tiger remained.

Shit. Now he would notice.

No help for it, though.

With the gentlest care, trying to be perfectly silent, I reached out to place the antique piece of silverwork onto the gleaming wood next to the tiger, and was about to touch the polished wood when I heard the unmistakable
click
of the slide of a semiautomatic pistol being moved back.

“Stay where you are, punk,” a velvet voice rumbled deep right behind me. I stilled in midmotion, my former quiver of excitement drenched by cold fear.

He was here.

Endless seconds ticked by before the tense silence was broken.

“What the fuck’re you doing here?” The voice was rough suddenly, and as soon as I finished setting the silver candy dish next to the tiger, a large hand spun me around.

He reached to the wall, keeping the gun trained on me. The overhead light came on, almost blinding me. He wore jeans and a button-down white shirt, and his feet were bare. As he moved toward, me I didn’t hear a single footstep; he prowled with a silent and predatory gait.

He threw a left hook. The heavy blow landed on my cheekbone, and I crashed into the table behind me.

“I asked you a question.”

“Just putting some stuff back,” I said nonchalantly, suppressing the pain, not letting my hands fly to my face; betraying any evidence of pain wouldn’t do me any good whatsoever.

“You do that often?” His voice exerted a force of its own. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him and let my gaze slide up and down his intimidating form. He exuded confidence. It appeared that my presence was not exactly a surprise.

“How did you know?”

“Shaddap, punk. I’m asking the questions.”

“For now,” I quipped, right before the gun lashed forward and made unwanted contact with my jaw.

I
CAME
to, firmly affixed to a dining-room chair. My head felt a bit fuzzy and my jaw and cheek hurt, and stiff, sticky tape was digging into my wrists and ankles, so naturally they hurt too. The man I used to regard as the object of my desire stood across the room, leaning against the doorway in a casual contrapposto, his gun now stuck in his waistband.

“So, talk.”

The situation was complicated by the fact that I had the hots for this guy in the worst way possible. I never expected to get beaten up and I’ve always been able to talk my way out of anything, yet this guy pistol-whipped me as soon as I opened my mouth. It was time to reassess my strategy. It wasn’t too late. I didn’t see a phone in his hand, so I assumed the police weren’t on their way.

I’ve been operating under the theory that if I was ever caught as a burglar, the best bet would be to seem amateurish and bumbling. Hopefully, the homeowner would let me go. I planned to just talk, talk, talk my way right out the door. Somehow I didn’t think Azurri would have been impressed by a lot of jaw flapping, though.

I returned his penetrating gaze with all I had. “I’m sorry?” I lifted my eyes to his, going for the innocent puppy dog look. “Look, I just felt bad for doing some things I shouldn’t have. I bungled it, and I came back just so I could return the stuff I took. I am… sorry.” My voice grew quiet, and he remained silent, and there was just the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen nearby.

He looked me up and down with unveiled curiosity. “I’ve never met a real burglar before.” His eyes drifted toward my soft climbing shoes. He examined my black cargo pants, the long-sleeve shirt and the leather gloves, all black. He took two steps and reached his hand for my head, and I tried to dodge his touch, forgetting I was tied to one of his dining room chairs. My overgrown hair tickled my neck as he plucked off the hat with the wig and my skullcap.

Revealed and helpless, I drew myself up as much as my restraints allowed and flashed him a defiant scowl. “What would you like to hear, Azz-hole?”

He straightened some as a suspicious look narrowed his eyes. “Only my employees call me that, punk.”