Patrick lay quietly on the sofa in Ellen’s office for a few moments in case someone checked up on him, but it appeared even Lisa had fallen for his “I’m so high” routine. In reality, he’d never felt so sober. He sat up and rubbed his forehead, racking his brain for an excuse to leave. Food poisoning? Toothache? Sick goldfish? He was coming up empty. And anyway, Lisa and Jamie would call him on his bullshit.
Desperate for inspiration, Patrick stood and paced around the room. In addition to the leather sofa, Ellen’s office featured an armchair, a wall of bookshelves filled with legal journals, a tropical potted plant, and several landscapes of Portland and Mount Hood. He paused and looked closer, recognizing Lisa’s signature style in a framed watercolor.
The painting appeared to depict an idyllic scene of children playing by a beautiful mountain lake. Patrick knew what Lisa had actually captured, though. It was that afternoon at the Academy when a pack of children had hurled mud at Lisa and Patrick as they tried to hold their ground on the wooden dock. Even the pair of security guards could be seen stumbling toward the figures in the painting. Mount Hood stood towering in the background, its reflection a mirror image on the still water. He shuddered at the memory and wondered if Lisa knew her artwork was hanging in Ellen’s office.
Right now, though, Patrick had bigger problems. He turned toward Ellen’s desk. It was large, built of some dark wood and covered with a leather blotter, a tray of files, three framed photographs, and a very out-of-date desktop computer. Taking a closer look, he saw it had a built-in drive, and Patrick thanked the gods of budget shortfalls. He moved the vintage PC’s mouse and the screen lit up, showing a password prompt.
Damn, he thought, I guess I couldn’t be that lucky. He looked over the desk and opened a few drawers, but there were no clues as to what the password could be. Then, with a rush of inspiration, he flipped over the mouse pad. There it was—a yellow post-it note with “Littlelisa1” written on it. Perfect. He typed it in, and the computer unlocked.
Patrick stepped back to the sofa where he’d left his messenger bag. He carried it to Ellen’s desk and pulled out the DVD from George’s house. He slotted it into the computer’s drive, silently praying the computer would read the disc, and breathed a sigh of relief when it did. Once loaded, he located a movie player utility and ripped a video file, watching in agony as the progress bar slowly crawled from zero to one hundred percent. His eyes kept flipping back to the office door, willing it to stay closed. Finally, the file was ready, and he emailed a copy of it to himself. He almost deleted the video from Ellen’s computer, then stopped. What better place to hide a smoking gun? He buried the file in a folder titled an uninspiringly “Quarterly tax audit archive do not delete.”
He ejected the DVD, returned it to its case, and tucked it safely in his bag. Logging out of the computer, he set it back to sleep mode. With a sigh, he sat back in Ellen’s chair and enjoyed a moment of relief at having a backup. The feeling was short lived.
His eyes rested on the three framed photographs on Ellen’s desk. One was a portrait of Lisa as a toddler with blond pigtails and a mischievous smile. Another featured Ellen posing with a group of men and women in suits. The third was a family photo. Slowly, Patrick picked up the frame. The picture must have been taken shortly before Lisa was sent to the Academy. He saw Lisa as a sullen teenager dressed all in black, her hair dyed a vibrant blue. Ellen stood next to her wearing a grim expression. The only person smiling was a man. Though they’d never met, Patrick recognized him instantly. He was the shorter of the two men in the video. The one who’d been murdered in the parking garage. This was Lisa’s father.
“Shit,” he whispered. His hands trembling, Patrick returned the photo to its place on Ellen’s desk. He flipped over the mousepad and frantically started retyping in the password so he could delete the backup video. He was too late.
“Patrick? What are you doing on my mother’s computer?”
Lisa stood at the open door, flanked by a very angry Ellen holding a martini glass and a dangerous-looking Theo.
Patrick stared back, completely at a loss. Part of him was tempted to just tell the truth and show them the video. But he wasn’t ready for that yet, or for what it meant for him and Lisa. He needed more time and decided that the right thing to do was nothing at all. And so, he lied. “I thought I’d do some research and look up more intel about Sheila.” He tried to control the tremor in his voice.
“My computer is password-protected,” said Ellen.
“Yeah, about that.” Patrick held up the post-it note and shrugged. “Found this under your mouse pad. You might want to do something about your security.”
“Mother,” said Lisa reproachfully.
“Yes, well, I have more important things to worry about than passwords,” said Ellen, looking flustered.
“And your computer should be in a museum. Maybe it’s time for an upgrade?” he asked hopefully, thinking it would be one way to wipe the evidence.
Ellen quickly shifted from embarrassed to irritated. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
“Hey, I found her police record,” Jamie called out from the lobby.
Patrick grabbed his messenger bag and followed Lisa, Ellen and Theo out of the office. They clustered around Jamie where she sat at Geoff’s desk using his laptop.
“Sheila Elkins has a pretty impressive rap sheet, but she was last arrested about four years ago. After serving a short sentence, there’s nothing else. She’s been on the straight and narrow as far as the police are concerned. Not even a parking ticket. Either she’s being very careful, or someone is protecting her,” said Jamie.
“Can you do a web search on her name?” asked Ellen. “Let’s see what else she’s been up to.”
Jamie typed and clicked on the first promising search result, opening a site titled “All Star Property Management.” She clicked on “About Us” and scrolled to a headshot of a respectable-looking Sheila, her spiky hair neatly arranged. She wore a navy blue business suit with a bright yellow scarf wrapped stylishly around her neck.
“Are you sure that’s Sheila?” asked Ellen. “She doesn’t look like a drug dealer.”
“You always were fooled by appearances, Mother,” said Lisa, obviously pleased to get in a dig.
“It’s absolutely Sheila,” said Jamie. “I recognize her from a party Lisa and I went to at this gorgeous house in Ladd’s Addition. Best jello shots I’ve ever had. Anyway, she looked different then, more meth head than middle management, if you know what I mean. But that’s her.”
“Patrick, is this the woman you’re working for?” asked Ellen.
“Yep,” he answered, nodding mournfully.
“This property management thing must be her front,” said Jamie. She pointed at the laptop’s screen which now displayed a map of All Star’s properties across Portland. “Look at the locations she manages—parking lots scattered all over town. It even mentions she works directly with the city to establish new food cart pods in All Star lots and follows all licensing guidelines and requirements.”
“Delightful,” said Ellen, her voice conveying no joy.
“Based on Patrick’s loose lips, I followed Sheila last night and searched her Airstream,” said Theo. “At the very least, she’s using her own cart to distribute.”
“No. Not just her own,” said Patrick with conviction. “She’s selling through carts all over the place. Remember the Clam Shack?”
“Oh! I loved that place,” said Jamie. “My favorite was the clams with all that garlic and a side of fried plantains cooked to crispy perfection. I still dream about that dish.”
“Sheila’s invention.”
“You have got to be kidding,” said Jamie.
Patrick shook his head. “Sheila said she fired the chef and shut down the cart because it was too popular and drawing unwanted attention.”
Jamie’s mouth dropped open. “That bitch. We need to destroy her.”
Ellen turned to Lisa and Jamie. “Did you notice the names of any other carts at the party last night? I have to assume that since Sheila was there, the other carts were also hers.”
“Yeah, Double D Donuts and the Prussian Pierogi were there,” said Jamie.
“You’re sure it was the Prussian Pierogi?” asked Patrick.
“What is it, Patrick?” asked Ellen.
“Last night, Sheila said when I ran out of product to drop off the cash at the Prussian Pierogi cart.”
“Not to her?”
“Nope.”
“Of course,” said Ellen. “The cart owners claim they earned the cash as legitimate revenue. They’re using the carts not just to sell drugs, but to launder money.” Ellen tapped Jamie’s shoulder. “May I?” she asked.
“Of course, Mayor Salder,” said Jamie, leaving her spot at Geoff’s desk.
Ellen sat down and opened the city tax site, logging into a detailed view of records. “Here are the tax filings for the Prussian Pierogi. That single food truck earned over two-hundred thousand dollars in gross revenue last year.”
“That’s a lot of dumplings,” said Lisa.
“Actually, that amount is just over average revenue for most carts in Portland,” said Ellen.
“How about Double D?” asked Jamie.
“Let’s see,” said Ellen, tapping on the keyboard. “Similar. Makes sense. She would want earnings to stay under the radar.”
“If she’s running carts in lots all over the city, that adds up to millions,” said Theo.
Ellen nodded. “And if her operation is as big as Patrick says, I find it hard to believe just one person is running it.” She returned to the All Star website and scrolled through the rest of the page, scanning the other headshots and bios. “George told us he thought Sheila worked for someone powerful, someone who everyone else considers legitimate. No one else on this site is of any interest.”
“Mayor Salder, could you scroll to the bottom?” asked Jamie. She pointed at the website’s footer. “It says All Star’s parent company is something called VSC.”
Ellen clicked and opened to a property developer’s web site, featuring a render of the company’s latest project in downtown Portland, a massive high rise with three hundred condo units and twenty thousand feet of retail space. She continued to scroll through the webpage and paused on a photo of a respectable-looking man with dark gray hair and thick-rimmed glasses. The photo’s caption read, “Victor Smith, CEO of Victor Smith Construction.”
“Maybe he’s the ‘big bad’ George mentioned,” said Jamie.
“Looks like the type,” said Lisa.
“Definitely evil,” said Jamie. “Do you know him, Mayor Salder?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, I do,” said Ellen. “Over the last twenty years, Victor Smith has been under investigation for everything from money laundering to racketeering, even bribery of election officials. Nothing sticks. Lately he’s painted himself as a legitimate businessman and philanthropist. Everyone’s fallen for it. And he’s doing everything he can to derail my campaign for reelection.”
“George mentioned he saw Victor and Sheila arguing at the party last night,” said Theo. “Since she’s an employee, maybe it was just a work issue.”
“Or she’s running the food cart drug cartel for him,” suggested Jamie eagerly.
Patrick barely heard their words. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the photo, again feeling as though the man was here, standing next to him. The man who’d murdered Lisa’s father in the parking garage.
“Patrick, what’s wrong?” asked Lisa.
“Dude, you are looking even more pale than usual,” said Jamie.
“I’m fine,” said Patrick. He stepped away from Geoff’s desk. Apparently, things could get worse. The truth wanted out, but Patrick wasn’t about to help it along.
“I’m starting to worry about your mood swings,” said Jamie.
“I said I’m fine, just leave it.” A chirping sound erupted from where the beeper was still attached to his belt. He felt like ripping it off and throwing it across the room.
“Patrick, it’s your beeper. Are you going to get that?” asked Jamie.
“Yeah.” He pulled the beeper out of its case.
“What does it say?” asked Ellen.
“Nineteen Glisan now,” he read.
“Patrick, do you know what it means?”
Patrick just shrugged and turned to Lisa. “Can I talk to you, alone?”
Theo plucked the beeper from Patrick’s hand and studied it. “Nineteenth and Glisan. That’s the Five Firs pod.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” said Patrick.
“Best vegan corn dogs in town,” said Jamie.
Patrick looked at Ellen. “Listen, I need to talk to Lisa. Just a for a minute. Can we use your office?”
Ellen looked hesitant but nodded her assent. Patrick pulled Lisa by the hand into the room and closed the door.
“Patrick, what is it? You’re scaring me,” said Lisa.
He looked at her beautiful face, her black eye reminding him of the one she’d sported the first time he saw her at the Academy. He knew things were bad between them at the moment. Now, with Victor Smith involved, it would only get worse.
“Lisa, let’s just take off. We can make a run for it and get out of here. I have a few grand saved up. It’ll keep us going on the road until we can find work.”
“What are you talking about? We can’t go.”
“Why not? I love you. I know you love me. Let’s leave all this shit behind us and start over.”
Lisa looked at him sadly and took his hand. “If we take off, my mom will come after us. The only reason you’re in the clear is because we’re doing what she’s asked. The last time I ran away, I ended up locked up at the Academy. And for you it could be worse. You could end up in prison.”
“Please, Lisa.”
“I can’t. We need to see this through. And then we can go on with our lives and leave this all behind.”
Patrick pulled his hand away and shook his head. “I hope you’re right.” He looked longingly at Ellen’s computer and imagined throwing it out the window and onto the sidewalk four floors below. Instead he opened the office door and stepped back into the lobby.
“I think we should send him in,” said Theo.
“I don’t like it,” said Ellen.
“Patrick can ask about Victor Smith and see how Sheila reacts,” said Theo.
“No,” protested Lisa. “What if George talked to Sheila? Patrick could be walking into a trap.”
“We made it perfectly clear to George what would happen if he took any action,” said Ellen. “Let’s not get melodramatic.”
“Are you kidding me? Sheila is a drug dealer who apparently works for the biggest crook in town, and you’re telling me to not get melodramatic?”
“It’s fine. I’ll do it,” said Patrick. The universe was offering him the perfect opportunity to return the DVD to Sheila. He’d forget he ever saw the video and find another way to delete the copy from Ellen’s computer. Maybe Lisa was right. If they just saw this through, they’d be done with the mayor, George Green, Sheila, Victor Smith, and the whole mess. They could go back to their lives and pretend none of this had ever happened.
But deep down, he knew that was impossible. Nothing would ever be the same.