Helen thought about the meeting this afternoon. She had set up the email to go out automatically from her hotmail account at 8:30 this morning. She knew she had gotten Josh hot at the hotel bar two days earlier, and banging him gave her a huge edge. Josh would start to doubt himself, feeling manipulated and probably ashamed, just like any other man. With this one, though, she sensed she also needed to instill some old-fashioned fear. Barnes may have been shaken, but he kept his cool. He didn’t have a chance against her and Crawford, but better to avoid any minor blips. That was the reason for the delay in contacting him and why Crawford would come along to the meeting. He had been in the photo with the sister, plus Josh was smart enough to figure out Crawford had taken the picture at the grocery store. In person, the threat would grow and become tangible. There would probably be no need for Crawford to do anything other than sit quietly. She’d have to remind him of that. Sit quietly, for now.
Helen stretched like a cat, feeling her back pop just a little. It was good to sleep in. She luxuriated in the 1500-threadcount sheets that cost more than most people spent on their entire bedroom set and pictured what she must look like had someone been there to see her. The silk nightie rode over her hips as her arms reached up to the headboard. The white panties, with a fine red lace embroidered along the triangle covering the patch of hairless, tan skin that started well below her belly button and ended where her inner thighs met her hips, were her favorite. She had worn something black and lacey the night she seduced Josh, knowing that men preferred that slutty look. She had thrown off the sheet during the few hours of deep sleep she ritualistically found in the hours just before dawn and it lay tangled around her knees. Helen looked down and could see her nipples taut against the rose-colored material. It always excited her to awaken to evidence of an erotic dream that must have flitted through her mind just before sun-up. She was a little surprised that, upon reflection, Josh had been one of the figures in her dream. However, it was equally likely she was aroused by what the day before her held. She loved the excitement of her work almost as much as the financial reward. If all went well, she would clear $2 million for a few more hours work. The nightstand held a stack of the business books she had been reading, the top one a text on financial management. Helen’s day-to-day life may be exhilarating, but she was conservative about her money. Another year or so and she could retire, which meant something entirely different to her than most people. She had a goal in mind - $20 million – and at the rate she and Crawford were going it was just around the corner. The one point six mil she’d paid for the house a year and a half ago had already appreciated twenty percent and her stock holdings, diversified among conservative value funds and a small percentage of high-risk international currencies was growing nicely.
Pulling out of the driveway in the Maserati today instead of the Lexus before the garage door had fully risen, Helen backed into the circular apron and shifted into drive without coming to a full stop. She spun onto the road in front of her house and forced the heavy, black BMW heading the same direction to veer sharply left to avoid hitting her. A pissed off yuppie with an anger-twisted face flipped her the bird and mouthed, “fuck you” even as his expression changed to admiration and forgiveness as he got a glimpse at her profile going by. Helen took the series of curves and turns at a sharp pace as she descended from her mountain home to the floor of the San Fernando Valley. Crawford would be waiting for her at a bus stop on Ventura Blvd. in Studio City. She didn’t know where he lived and didn’t care, though she was pretty sure he didn’t actually take the bus. He made enough money with her to live wherever he wanted, but he barely seemed to notice. Helen set up an offshore account for him when they had become partners and made sure his share was wired to him after every job. Two weeks ago she had deposited $250,000, bringing his net to $2.5 million. She had no idea whether or how he spent any of it or if he cared. If he had a plan or a larger purpose, she was not privy to it. He always got her voicemails immediately and was where he said he would be, on time. He must check his messages constantly, or maybe he had a service page him. Or maybe a carrier pigeon dropped a slip of paper with a transcript of her message into his hand. She didn’t know and it didn’t matter. Before Crawford, she had been the brains and the brawn. Now she could concentrate on what she was good at.
Driving more conservatively as she hit the commercial stretch of Ventura Blvd. near Studio City – no reason to draw undue attention – Helen gave little additional thought to the meeting at 2:30. This was standard stuff. They would deliver the message, make clear what they wanted, lay out the consequences, and time-box the response. She’d gotten that from one of the management books and liked to use the terms she learned. Time-box: Tell him exactly how much time he had to do what she wanted. No flexibility. Pressure, plus fear, was a very effective combination.
Crawford was sitting on the bench at the bus stop at the intersection of Laurel Canyon. Six other people also waited, but the only one sitting on the large bench with Crawford was a tiny, round, brown woman who didn’t care any more about the dangers of city living. She looked at him like he was a character from a scary movie, transported off the screen and next to her on the bench. Crawford was staring straight ahead, no magazine, no gum, just staring. A homeless man in his early forties, so black he looked blue, mumbled to himself and rocked back and forth. Two teenage girls pretended to be absorbed in the contents of each other’s purses but kept sneaking glances at Crawford. A large, pumped-up Latino in his early twenties was making the tats on his biceps jump, maybe to impress the teens or maybe to impress Crawford, but did so safely behind the bench and out of Crawford’s line of sight. Either Crawford sensed Helen approaching or had the peripheral vision of a gecko; without moving his eyes from their straight-ahead gaze he stood up as her car covered the last fifty feet. She pulled up and popped the electric locks and looked at the faces of the others at the bus stop. No one looked at her once they realized she was there for Crawford, except for the Latino guy in the muscle T-shirt whose bravado was returning with Crawford’s departure. She gave him a wide smile around Crawford’s shoulder as he got into the car and licked her lips. She raised her eyebrows and hit the gas at the same time, the acceleration closing Crawford’s door the last few inches.
“Sleep well?” she asked Crawford.
He replied silently by taking off his hat and smoothing his hair. He was an anachronism slouched in the low-slung bucket seat of the $225,000 racing car. Replacing the hat, he turned and stared at her. She continued.
“We’re meeting at a restaurant later this afternoon. Exude quiet menace, as you do in such a lovely way, but that’s all. We’ll give him until tomorrow afternoon to deliver.”
---------------------------------
Josh couldn’t sit still at home and got to Jerry’s Deli half an hour early. It was a large restaurant, always packed with brunch-goers Sunday morning and moderately busy the other days of the week. Nights were busy, too, because it was open 24-hours. For whatever reason, Jerry’s was one of those public spots people used as a meeting place. The tables were big, but businesspeople preferred the booths. Large enough to accommodate three people on each side, the tired red vinyl was less cracked and weathered than most diners. It was also less drab than the typical Denny’s and didn’t smell of harsh disinfectant and the body odor of homeless people using it as a late-night refuge. Clean, bright, with a huge menu and an ownership that didn’t care if you just sat for a couple hours with coffee.
Normally, Josh would wait by the hostess stand until the person he was meeting arrived. Sometimes he’d take a table and keep an eye on the door. He didn’t know the protocol for blackmail, so he settled for a stool at the counter. He half-turned to keep an eye on the door, though he was sure he’d know Helen had arrived by the hair standing up on the back of his neck. Like Minneapolis, he was the only one at the lunch bar that time of the afternoon.
Josh pretended to read the newspaper-sized menu, but his eyes wouldn’t focus. He had almost given up on trying to figure out what to expect. He thought again about Allison. Did she have some deep, dark secret and he was about to learn the price of keeping it hidden? Allison was as far from the secret-keeping type as you could imagine. He couldn’t conjure something in her past horrible enough to be part of this, certainly nothing that would have escaped his attention as her only brother. A thought occurred to him – the asshole ex-husband. He was borderline psycho, probably capable of anything. He might have done something to get Allison into huge trouble. But a death threat? Incredibly, it wasn’t out of the question. That still didn’t explain why Helen approached him, though. He thought about his own life, any indiscretions or lapses in judgments. As a kid he had gotten into a little trouble, but not anything serious. A few college forays into computer hacking that had raised the ire of the campus security guys, but it was innocent enough. No FBI file with his name on the tab, he was pretty sure. Besides, he wasn’t running for office or pope, so he didn’t have to be squeaky-clean. Just as well, he thought, since there were a couple of less-than-perfect decisions he’d made in the past. Like the Olympic gymnast from France he had met during a stint in New York many years earlier. They’d hit it off and he had visited her that spring in Paris. It wasn’t until they were letting the air dry them off after a very vigorous couple of hours in her apartment that she mentioned she was married. And that her husband was in the army. He was away for a training exercise that weekend and she had told him she wanted a divorce and she was going to lead her own life, but…Josh kept his eye on the door the rest of the evening. But those kinds of things didn’t lead to this. He started wondering about friends and colleagues. Josh had an eclectic circle he traveled in. Plenty of regular people, but a few big hitters, men and women who had gained influence through professional success. A few he had helped out of some tough situations, situations where his ability to use technology and be discreet was important. He was also close to a couple of well-known academics. But he didn’t hold sway over them or know anything about their worlds that would be worth anything to anyone. There was still nothing.
The minutes dragged. He kept looking at the clock behind the counter. At exactly 2:30 Helen walked through the door. He didn’t know how he would react, but the overwhelming emotion was shame. He had let this woman seduce and manipulate him. An image of the hotel room, the bed, the shower, came to his mind unbidden and he felt stupid. He tore his focus away from the image and looked behind her. She wasn’t alone. Josh felt a sudden cramp, the feeling you get when food poisoning clutches at your gut. Right behind Helen was the man from the photo. In the picture, he scared Josh because he was a stranger who posed a threat to Allison. In person, Josh viscerally understood this man was dangerous. Helen could show a smile, a persona she could turn off and on. This man was flat. From twenty feet away, Josh could feel him – he was a dead zone, like a spot in the ocean where no life survived, no fish, no algae, nothing.
Helen took in the entire restaurant in just a few steps and spied Josh immediately. She broke into a wide grin and crossed to the counter. Sitting at the stool on his right, she put her hand on Josh’s shoulder like an old friend, kissing him lightly on the cheek. Josh shuddered.
“How nice to see you again. You look a little tired, though.”
Josh had thought he’d be unable to tear his eyes from the man but realized he had slipped into the seat on Josh’s left without his noticing. Josh wanted to turn and look at him but felt frozen, the way you felt when waking from a bad dream and hearing a noise in the room but paralyzed, unable to sit up and look around. Helen read the fear in his eyes and her own twinkled.
“This is my associate, Crawford. It’d really be best for you if this turns out to be the only time you meet him.”
Some absurd instinct almost made Josh turn and put his hand out in greeting, like this was a normal meeting. Josh got up the courage to swivel his head around to look at Crawford, who sat erect on his stool, brown hat still on his head. He tilted toward Josh and beneath the brim of the hat Josh saw his eyes. The irises were yellow, flat, and dead. Josh didn’t doubt that anything Helen couldn’t or wouldn’t do could be done by Crawford. Crawford said nothing, just looked directly into his eyes. Helen’s hand, still on Josh’s shoulder, squeezed hard and broke his stupor. He turned to her with his full attention, though something old and primal in Josh felt Crawford at his back.
Helen leaned in close. No smells of chocolate martinis now, just clean skin and a hint of toothpaste. She folded her hands on the counter, as though about to explain to her guests why she asked them all here for this meeting. That’s exactly what she was about to do.
“Your work at Cardient must be very interesting, very rewarding. How wonderful to be part of a company that saves lives.”
This was why they were here. Josh’s mind raced, trying to imagine what about his work could possibly put him here, under these circumstances. He began to get an idea. She continued.
“Wall Street is very excited about Cardient these days. Despite how good your colleagues in R&D are at keeping secrets, there have been leaks. Only six months until that new defibrillator is ready for a clinical trial? I keep reading words like ‘breakthrough’ and ‘unprecedented.’ Must really be something, no?”
She smiled sincerely at Josh. He could almost believe she was a regular person expressing interest in his work. The Ventrica VII was a brand new technology being developed by Cardient’s research guys. There had been hints of it for years and all the company’s competitors were trying to solve the same problem: how to deliver the right kind of shock to the heart at just the right moment and – here was the kicker – without having to physically connect the device to the heart using wires called leads that were required in all existing devices. Cardient had been making progress and a breakthrough last year put them way ahead of the game. This was the project that could make billions of dollars for them and shoot the stock into the stratosphere or sling the company to the bottom of the heap and jeopardize the entire company if it failed. It was huge for Cardient but Josh didn’t have anything to do with it. R&D was a completely different division and he had no insider knowledge about the Ventrica. Helen gave Josh a minute to process all this.
“You’re going to give me the design. And you’ll get it to me by tomorrow at 5:00 p.m.” She leaned closer and looked around Josh. “Isn’t that right, Crawford?”
Josh followed her gaze and saw that Crawford had not moved. But now there was a long, thin knife on the counter in front of him. It rested on top of the two photos Helen had shown Josh in Minneapolis. He turned and looked Josh directly in the eye. Crawford spoke the first and only words Josh would hear from him:
“Same to me either way.”
Josh wanted to scream, to tell the people in the restaurant the insanity happening here. These two people were threatening a totally innocent woman, his sister. They wanted him to get some goddamn product designs or they would kill Allison? This didn’t happen, not in the real world. This was from a cheesy paperback thriller, or horrible dream. But the knife was real and the pictures were real and Helen’s hand resting on top of Josh’s was real. He didn’t feel smart or funny or effective. He felt like he had lost control.
“But…why?”
“Sweetie, ‘why’ isn’t any concern of yours. Yours is but to do or die.”
“But, why me? I don’t have anything to do with it. I can’t get this!”
“Sure you can, Josh. You’re smart. And you’re in charge of all kinds of fancy technology there. I’ll bet you could get hold of anything on any computer, if you really wanted to.”
Her hand stopped patting Josh’s and started stroking his wrist. “And you really want to, don’t you?”
He had questions, but realized instantly they didn’t matter. He knew what they wanted now. All that mattered was he knew what he could do to keep them away from Allison. It never occurred to him his own life may also be in danger. “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll find a way. But I need more time – it’s not that easy.”
He couldn’t do it by the next day. He’d need at least the weekend, maybe more. If he said he could do it, just to make them happy, then what would happen if he couldn’t deliver?
Helen shook her head. “I have faith in you Josh. You’ll find a way. Tomorrow – Friday by 5:00 p.m. Use the email address I sent you.”
“I can’t, it’s not possible. Please, just a few more days. I want to give you what you want.” She had stopped stroking his wrist and her smile was gone.
“Tomorrow, or your sister dies. Then you’ll have until Monday to get it, or you die. Make it tomorrow and you lose nothing. Don’t, and we’ll still get what we want but you’ll have paid a price.”
She stood. The smile had returned.
“Work with us, Josh, and you’ll never see us again. Remember: no police and no friends. No one. If we see you’ve gone for help we’ll kill you both, but you’ll be last so you can watch Crawford work on your sister. Play along, be smart, and it will all be over soon.”
Josh felt Crawford get up. By the time he turned Crawford was halfway to the door. Josh looked down. The knife was gone. The pictures were still there. He felt Helen’s lips against his ear.
“One more thing. No one can know you’ve gotten the blueprints. If they find out, it’s the same as if you didn’t get them.”
He felt her pull away and saw her follow Crawford out the restaurant. Josh realized he was standing, and his legs twitched, wanting to run after them and beg for more time. He believed them. They would do what they said they would do if he failed. But what he didn’t know was: would they do what they promised, leave him and his sister alone, if he succeeded? The fear was still there, but Josh’s anger began to compete.