Part 18 (1/2)
”Okay. Thanks for that.” I hesitated. My paycheck was delayed, and I didn't want any more bad news today, but I knew there was something more here. ”What else?”
”Farrell, we're talking literally tons of cocaine. This is major league organized crime. There's someone else hurting here.”
He didn't need to go on. I was the cause of an astronomical loss to some crime boss. It wasn't a good place to be.
The landline phone rang and I heard Tullah pick up. Never one thing at a time. I had to end this call.
”I hear you. Thanks again, Captain. I'll be careful.”
He wouldn't let it go. ”Haven't you got somewhere else you could be? I'd still need to be able to-”
That plain ticked me off. Of all people, he should have had a good idea of how well I can take care of myself. ”I have all this kinda stuff hanging over me already, remember, Lieutenant? Now, I have a business to run. Gotta go run it. Bye.”
”Dammit, Farrell, the feds will want-” I hit the cut off and sighed. So, the local drug boss wanted my hide. Take a number. See if you can find me before the vamps do.
Tullah put her head around the door.
”Amber, there's Ms. Kingslund to see you, and a call. It's Mr. Carter on line 1.” Tullah looked irritated, and I guessed that Carter was beyond being polite. If he had a beef with me, I'd take that, but I didn't want him being unpleasant to Tullah.
I sighed, and all hope of the afternoon off disappeared completely.
”Ask Ms. Kingslund if she would allow me a couple more minutes for this call, please,” I asked Tullah.
”Okay, honey, I hear you,” came back through the part.i.tion in a pleasant contralto. ”Go ahead.”
My office was a former storeroom at my accountant's. Ms. Kingslund and I were separated by the thinnest of part.i.tions. I grimaced. Not ideal. I could have done without the 'honey,' too, but this wasn't going to be the best introduction a client could have and I let it ride. I couldn't put Carter off any longer.
Steeling myself, I picked up the landline.
”Carter, it's Farrell-” I was going to apologize for him having to hold while I was on my cell, before we discussed how he talked to Tullah, but I never got that far.
”You're finished, Farrell,” he shouted down the phone. ”I should never have trusted you. When Greg told me you were reliable and confidential, I believed him. What was he thinking? When I'm done with you, you'll never get work again in this town.”
”Whoa, Carter. Can we back up a couple of steps here?”
”Don't give me any of that bulls.h.i.+t. I'm not going to waste my time talking to you any longer than I have to. You betrayed my confidence by going to the cops. You exceeded your a.s.signment. You-”
”I made the police aware of serious criminal activity,” I cut across his rant. ”You look at my contract, Carter. I've done what I said I would do, and you owe me my fees.”
”I don't give a flying f.u.c.k what you think, you've screwed my whole company with your incompetent meddling.”
I have a little demon in my throat that just ups and says things sometimes. ”Incompetent?” said the demon sweetly. ”I'm not the one who's been running a busted drug smuggling operation.”
That was probably not the best thing to say, but we were beyond any reasonable conversation anyway, so I wasn't too upset with the demon.
”I'm going to sue you, you b.i.t.c.h,” he screamed before I put the phone down.
”I'm not taking calls from him until further notice, Tullah, and neither should you,” I managed to say calmly.
My guts were churning with anger. There was no way his lawyers could get anything to stick against me, but I really couldn't afford to waste time in court, or money on lawyers.
Taking deep breaths and deliberately not thinking about the five most painful ways to kill a man with my bare hands, I told myself it was likely Carter was just letting off steam and it would never come to a lawsuit. Or he'd take it to his lawyers and they'd talk some sense into him. Maybe, eventually, I would get my money. Maybe.
I couldn't spend time thinking about that now. I'd ignored my steady work for a bit of excitement, much good it had done. I needed a nice, run of the mill, predictable case that paid well. If Ms. Kingslund was still there, I really needed her business.
She was.
Tullah ushered her in, and my stomach did a flip. Oh. That Ms. Kingslund.
What with my anger at Carter, my surprise at seeing who it was, and getting out of my chair like I was suffering from rheumatism, I must have looked a sight to her. She ignored all that, walked over and stuck her hand out. ”Jennifer Kingslund. Please call me Jen.” She ran her eyes over the office as we shook, taking it all in. That didn't take very long, and they were back to looking at me.
”Then I'm Amber,” I replied. Her eyes were the cool blue of a s.h.i.+rt too often washed. Nice, but wary. Not that I blamed her; she'd come to my office looking for a private investigator. The name would have told her I was female, but maybe she'd been expecting a Kathleen Turner, playing V. I. Warshawski, turned out in a chic dress and jacket. What she'd got was darker, taller and leaner, short auburn hair pulled back in a pony tail, dressed in my office clothes, also known as slim jeans and plain white T.
Oh, and with extensive bruising all down one side. Yeah, I'd have looked wary too.
”After your last call,” she said, with a flicker of a smile, ”maybe you would appreciate a cup of coffee over in Papa Dee's?”
”Sure, let's go across.”
I picked up a blank client file, nodded to Tullah and we walked out into Denver's fall suns.h.i.+ne. Both of us slipped on sungla.s.ses against the bright light. It was hot, maybe one of the last few days of Indian summer, with the heat coming off the asphalt in waves.
That Jennifer Kingslund. What the h.e.l.l was she doing out here, talking to me?
Sleight of Hand Chapter 3
”I'm sorry about the call,” I said as we walked. ”It was just wrong to take it while you were waiting and could hear. I'm usually much more discreet with a client's business, but I didn't think he'd appreciate waiting.”
”Campbell gets overexcited, and I guess this isn't a good time for him,” she replied. Of course, she would have heard about the company on the news. She would have connected the dots while she listened to my side of the telephone conversation. And of course, she would know him. She waved an elegant hand. ”Let's leave it, for the moment.”
Jennifer Anna-Marie Kingslund was the CEO and owner of one of Colorado's leading businesses, the Kingslund Group. She owned hotels, restaurants, sports facilities and nightclubs. I remembered hearing she had diversified into PR recently.
Given her history of marriages that had come apart in public and the intriguing rumors of boardroom struggles, there weren't many people in Denver who didn't know something about her. According to the papers, she was a role model for businesswomen, or attractive and extroverted, depending on the angle of the story. She famously championed local causes. I didn't think I qualified as a local cause and had to scratch my head trying to come up with a reason she might want to hire a solo private investigator.
That, however, isn't a question you ask, as a solo private investigator.
Jennifer Kingslund could afford the best of the downtown agencies. If she had a reason to come to me, hopefully she would tell me. Even if she didn't, I wouldn't let that stop me from taking a case. I needed the money. Paying Tullah against the expectation of a prompt payment from Crate & Freight had left about sixty dollars in the account.
In the flesh, she seemed a bit taller than her pictures on the news, though still a couple of inches off my five-ten. Maybe that was the effect of the pretty Italian heels that she clipped along on. She was slim. She wore a simple red dress hanging to just below the knee. Her Scandinavian blonde hair had been done that morning by the looks of it, big and swirly. It was a color that made me think of old gold. A single, thin chain hung around her neck and she carried a little clutch bag. What with the dress and the hairdo, the bag and the chain, she was probably carrying around more value than my entire wardrobe. Sigh.
If she noticed me looking, she didn't let it show and she didn't return the favor. I guess there wasn't a lot to see beyond the casual clothes and ugly bruises. My belt and cowboy boots were top quality, but no one ever noticed them.
”Do you suppose,” she said, tilting her chin up at the peculiar turrets above Papa Dee's, ”that adding those ridiculous little roofs has resulted in so much as a single extra client?”
I laughed. ”Maybe not, but at least everyone knows where Papa Dee's is.” Then we were inside, where it was cool and dark, even with the sungla.s.ses pushed back up.
We picked up a couple of coffees and sat in a corner. There were only a handful of customers, mainly people from the surrounding small businesses. It was late for lunch. The wooden tables were wiped down and the staff was beginning to set them for dinner. I glanced around. The music was turned down low, but the customers were spread out through the restaurant. It was comfortable and it was reasonably discreet, if that was what she had wanted.