Chapter Thirty Two

 

1:45 p.m. EST

 

In an elbow-race up the stairs to Zack’s office, Jim took two steps at a time, Ted three. At the top, stepping to Zack’s office entrance, they were stopped cold at the sight inside–Mary lounged in Zack’s desk chair. Her bare feet propped up on his desk, she nursed Zack’s coffee stein. The TV blared a replay of Armstrong’s most recent proclamation.

Mary muted the TV, said, “Where’s Zack?”

Jim stepped inside, said, “Gang of lady cheerleaders attacked him in the parking lot of the Jabberwocky.”

“Ha, ha, ha.” Mary sipped coffee.

“That’s Zack’s stein,” Ted said as he sat on the sofa and stretched out his legs.

“I know.”

Picking his teeth with a toothpick, Ted said, “You get my note?”

“I got it. Also got Zackary’s phone messages about the Jabberwocky.”

Jim studied Mary’s unpainted toenails. “Who’s your pedicurist, O’Brien?”

“The Dalai Lama, who’s yours?”

“Ted.” Jim sat on the sofa arm away from Ted.

“So, where’s Zackary?” Mary sat up.

Jim yawned. “Probably tied up somewherebasement, closet. Those cheerleaders looked hungry.”

“Too bad they didn’t take you,” Mary said.

They heard the steps creaking and looked toward the door. Zack entered, paused at the sight of Mary at his desk, noticed the coffeepot full, studied the coffee’s color then said to Mary, “You have lunch?”

“Just coffee. I made a fresh pot.” She held his stein up.

Zack, pretending not to be surprised: “You make it right?”

“Asphalt.”

“Good.” Zack retrieved a mug from his file cabinet, poured a cup and tasted it. “Not bad. You get our messages?”

She imitated Ted. “Yep-purr.”

Zack walked behind his desk and looked down at her.

Hair slicked back on the sides, she wore a white-gold polo shirt tucked into beltless jeans. Smells like orange blossoms wet with rain, and her eyes, ever more brilliantly blue, Zack thought and said, “Would you mind putting your shoes on?”

“Why?”

“Anyway, do you mind if I sit at my desk?” He set his mug down and lit a Camel.

Ted chucked his toothpick in the wastebasket and stood. “I’m gonna check AP, the fax machine, be right back.”

Mary stood and held her right hand up. “Before you go, Oz-man, listen to this. The reason I was out-a-pocket” She tipped her head. “I been by Chief Manny’s office, and guess what?”

Zack, Jim and Ted displayed similar raised brow expressions.

Basking, Mary went on. “Seems there was a gruesome homicide last night at the Miami Beach Ocean Resort.”

“That’s ancient history.” Jim waved his hand.

“Not so fast,” she said. “Seems the homicidee—white male, Russ Parker—they opened his hotel safe deposit box_turns out he’s got phony ID. Russ Parker was a David Taylor from Arlington, Virginia.” She pointed her right index finger between Jim’s eyes. “And guess what else, Mr. Jim?”

Jim said, “He was a transvestite drug dealer.”

Ted scratched an ear. “What?”

Zack, in amazed wonderment, slowly shook his head.

She continued, “The white Lincoln sedan of infamous Channel 10 video fame, a Hertz, was rented to a Mr. Russ Parker in Arlington.”

Zack, Jim, and Ted exchanged glances, Zack said, “Jim got that.”

“Bet he didn’t get this.” Mary paused to savor the moment then said, “The chief said that the dead guy, Taylor, alias Parker, is a, no pun intended, dead ringer for the little fat guy on said Channel 10’s infamous video.”

Like a church at 3:00 AM., silence filled the room.

Ted said, “I gotta go, be right back.”

“Don’t take your time.” Mary sat and leaned back in Zack’s chair.

Jim sat up. “Okay, so it all confirms my theorysome kind of out-of-state drug deal gone sour.”

Zack lit a Camel and blew smoke in the air. “We got riots, anarchy, martial law, terrorists, dead aliases, cops dressed up as alleged cops, President Benny smack in the middle of it alland ace reporter Jim Roberts thinks it’s a drug deal gone southhummm.”

Jim stood and walked to the window. “Zackary, I’m concerned you’re forcing the facts to fit a larger conspiracy theory.” He paused. “Whether the truth is there or not.”

“Mary, do you mind if I sit at my desk?” Zack asked again.