Part One:
Disrupt
One
“What? What do you want?”
The well dressed man practically screamed into the phone’s receiver after it rang. Pam had been watching his text message exchange with more than a little delight as his emotion level went from happiness to nearly throwing the phone down the aisle.
“No, I am not coming home right now!” Those seated near him could hear the exasperated voice echoing out of the phone’s earpiece. “Because I’m on my way to a lunch meeting, I told you about this last week”.
“I’m going to lunch with Gabe. We are meeting with Randall’s people about the design of the new Street Café and we still have sections of the proposal to finish”. He had to back the phone away from his ear because the responsive tirade was so loud.
“Are you kidding me? Sweetheart, she works on my floor. The only things I know about her are what you’ve said when you accuse me of sleeping with her”.
The audible response was reaching its crescendo when he looked at the phone and simply switched it off. He turned to face the front of the train as if he hadn’t just become Sunday morning subway entertainment for the other six bored occupants of the car.
He was quite the young looker, Pam mused to herself as she traced her point of view over the still excited flesh of his neck and exposed upper chest. He either maintained regular tanning sessions or was gifted with a dark olive complexion that seemed to give him an almost golden layer of satin sheen over his face and neck. She continued to scan down his torso and felt a deep seated internal chill as he rhythmically breathed to calm himself. Pam noted with great delight the warming of her own midsection as his chest heaved and she continued to probe with her eyes until they ultimately landed on the bulge housed in the casual khaki slacks he wore. Her left hand was involuntarily easing its way up her left thigh when she was violently removed from her fantasy by the sound of opening doors.
This was her stop.
She stood forcefully to clear her mind of its enjoyable previous engagement and leaned very slowly over the young man’s shoulder from the aisle. “You are fucking her aren’t you?” She breathed into his ear and gave him credit for the calm reaction as he turned toward her.
“Excuse me? Do I know you?” He asked with only mildly feigned annoyance.
“The girl who works on your floor – don’t worry, I don’t really care one way or another.” She said as she reached into her purse. “Here, contact me when that self deprecating cunt you were arguing with is asleep.” She handed him a simple plastic card that read only:
PamPrivate@VolicorpGlobal.com.
When she chooses someone she likes, Pam always handles meeting them this way. It is quick, efficient and she gets what she wants. No one, male or female, has ever not contacted her after she hands them one of her cards. She always asks for it back before they start and she only has five of them total. She polices herself with this zero sum system knowing the stupid things that can happen if she doesn’t.
Then without looking back, Pam strode casually to the door of the train. She had things to do today.
So much to do! She thought to herself as she stepped out into the cool morning air.
*****
She was slowly drifting from her slumber, but the rhythmic sound the tires made on the freeway was a constant lure to fall backwards into the embrace of sleep. She needed sleep to recapture her dream.
Horrible images and dreadful sounds continued to accost her consciousness as though her sanity were at war with the unholy forces of an evil god of chaos whose existence she only recently discovered. The tide of war was being slowly shifted in favor of full chaos because of the smells she remembered. Did she piss herself? She wasn’t sure if she cared about that, but she fervently wanted to forget the smell of burning pennies.
The party she was hosting for the Saint’s game today flashed into her mind and she thought she should be getting out of bed to get an early start on preparing. She would have to wake Tim because she needed him to go shopping. He’s so disgusting! What is that smell? He will be cleaning this up before my guests arrive!
There’s a noise! Someone’s in the house!
Someone’s breaking into the house! Wake up! Tim, Wake up! Someone’s in the house!
Where’s Alisha? Oh my God! James! James, where’s Alisha?
“James, someone’s in the house!” she screamed! “Wake up! James, wake up! You need to get to Alisha!”
Monica Weathers opened her eyes so suddenly she feared the morning sunlight would instantly vaporize her retinas. Without moving her head, she sat amazed and horrified when the phantoms she saw through her watering eyes materialized into reality. Once her dark brown irises adjusted, she began to assess what could only be the previous night’s nightmare come to reality and quickly decided that her retinas burning would have been the more desirable option.
There was a yellow glow surrounding her peripheral vision as she began to swim farther away from the deep current of her dream and closer to the gloomy shore of reality. It suggested that it was sometime near dawn and she was facing towards the west, away from the rising sun. Almost thanking God for small favors; she became aware that she was sitting on a bench seat in the back of what appeared to be a late model SUV. She was still in the loose tee shirt and panties she slept in and that particular realization conjured up a large degree of morbid shame, despite the exhaustion and dread.
When she tried to clear the water from her eyes, she noted that her wrists were bound to each other by shackles that were themselves wrapped around a bar protruding through the door panel. The same sized bar extended from beneath her seat and shackled her ankles in similar fashion and she found that she could move enough to almost straighten her spine. Almost. Though she took some solace in knowing that the excruciating pain radiating from her abdomen meant her fear of pissing herself was somewhat premature.
Whoever got me into this situation is going to pay, she thought as she finally decided to attempt moving her head. When she looked to her side she noticed the meanest looking Spanish woman she had ever seen. Which was quite a statement since she herself was half Cuban. Monica noticed that the flesh surrounding her eyes was swollen and red as if she had been crying. The shackled and barely dressed woman knew her mistake as soon as she saw the fire in the small young woman’s eyes.
Her mistake was waking up.
“Do you ever stop screaming?”
It was a strange thing to hear from someone she just met. But, Monica was fairly certain that she would be experiencing many strange occurrences that day and conceded to herself that her new acquaintance probably knew more than she did about her situation.
She attempted to speak.
“I… I’m very thirsty.” As the words formed a new and fascinating pain manifested from her neck and the lightning in her throat caused new tears to glisten their way down her cheeks.
“I bet you are”, the woman said. “Just be glad you decided to faint.”
“Are you serious? What the hell is going on?”
“Look bitch, I’m not in the mood to answer your stupid questions. Just shut up!” The woman reached into a pocket in her jacket and retrieved a small container. She squeezed the container above Monica’s mouth and the water coming from it tasted better than anything she had ever known.
“I suggest you stop talking now, Mrs. Weathers,” a new male voice said from the front seat.
Monica began the painful act of turning her neck towards the new voice. She was starting to contemplate the words to convey the likelihood of her shutting up before she knew where her daughter was when she felt a small pain in her left arm. It was almost indistinguishable from the rest of the fiery tempest she was already experiencing, but when she looked to her left she noted that the Spanish girl was holding an empty syringe and smiling. The carnal smile she was flashing belied any professionalism Monica may have been hoping for.
That bitch! The world was losing its gravity now, or gaining it. Whatever the science; Monica was falling, or flying, towards a darkness so black it seemed to glow. She was relieved to feel the pain from her abdomen quickly ease away, but before the blackness finally wrapped its warm and comforting blanket of peace around her, she managed to think one more thing.
Alisha.
*****
Her daddy looked towards the intercom unit and grinned back with a mock questioning look. “It’s kind of early, did you order a pizza?”
Alisha canted her head to the left and cracked a silly grin. “I just thought you might be hungry, daddy”.
“Well, do you have your credit card ready? They will expect a big tip for having to wake up this early”.
Reaching over, he thumbed the unit’s activation icon and a video materialized in the darkened glass table top. “Good morning. Can I help you?”
She couldn’t see the pictures in the glass but she noticed that her daddy wasn’t smiling anymore and pressed herself up under his arm as he was speaking to their guests. He always smiled when she hugged him and when Alisha looked up at his face she was happy to see that her hug had worked.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you Lieutenants.” He said as he paused to allow the machine in the table to speak back. Alisha knew that there were actually people downstairs talking to her daddy and that the machine in the table acted like a telephone, but she didn’t really understand how it was possible.
Her daddy made lots of incredible machines.
“Of course”, he said finally. “Come on up. I was just about to refresh my coffee anyway.”
She watched as he pressed a few more icons on the glass tabletop and the picture winked out. When he looked back down at her, he was smiling in his usual warm way.
“Do you want to wake up Flynn for me?”
It was a simple question, but Alisha wasn’t sure she wanted to answer him. She was trying to be braver when talking to her daddy’s assistant, but he still sounded so scary when he talked because she just met him only two days ago. It didn’t matter now though, because she knew she wasn’t brave enough yet and started to shake her head.
“Nic-Bruce”, he began. “Remember what I told you Friday? Flynn is here to make sure that we stay safe. Just think of him like a game on your phone, just much smarter and much larger. I need him to help this morning for a little while.” He explained to her as he knelt down to see her face.
“I’ll wake him, but once he’s up can you at least run down and see if Marcy is awake yet?” At that she almost jumped with excitement because she really liked Marcy.
Marcy had come to live with them a while ago. Alisha wasn’t sure how long it had been, but Marcy had been at her last two birthday parties so to her, Marcy had been there for a very long time. Daddy told her that he pays Marcy to clean and cook for her. Since he needs her a lot, she is able to live downstairs in her own room for free!
“Okay Daddy.” She whispered and grabbed his right arm with her left. She had her stuffed white rabbit named Scarlett tightly compressed into her right. I can be brave, she thought to herself. If daddy says there is no reason to be afraid of Flynn, then he trusts him and I can too. I just wish his voice wasn’t so loud.
“Are you ready sweetheart?” He asked.
“Yes Sir.” She replied, hoping she meant it.
“Okay then, Flynn I need you.”
Alisha tucked her face into the arm she was holding when Flynn responded: “Good morning, sir. I trust you slept well?”
“Oh, and good morning to you as well, Mistress Alisha.”
“Good morning old man.” Her daddy said. She was very scared now and thought she wouldn’t be able to talk at all.
“Alisha, say good morning to Flynn. He was nice to you, I expect you to be nice back.” Looking up at his face, she accepted her daddy’s admonishment and squeaked out a shy “Goo… Good Morning Mister Flynn”.
“Are you and Mistress Scarlett well this morning?” The proper male voice asked from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.
Alisha giggled and said “Scarlett thinks you’re scary, but I don’t.”
“Well, certainly I must make extra efforts to calm Mistress Scarlett to my presence then.” Flynn’s voice was lower and Alisha felt calmer after talking to him even for that short time.
James was listening to their exchange with calm smiling patience and once both were quiet he asked “Flynn, is Marcella awake?”
“Sir, you have expressly forbidden me from monitoring her quarters. In fact, I do not have sensory devices there at all.”
“I know that, Flynn. You should be able to detect higher energy consumption from a light or something being on.”
“Oh, then yes. Energy readings have increased in her quarters by zero point zero zero seven percent in the last few minutes, sir.”
Her daddy was almost laughing out loud when he looked back down at her and said. “Thank you Flynn, I’m starting to understand why you scare little white rabbits.” He stood up as the voice responded, “I’m not quite able to understand your dialect, sir. Perhaps you should rephrase your meaning”.
“Just forget it. We have visitors. Call Marcy and tell her that Alisha is on her way to say good morning then stand by for more instruction. After you acknowledge this command do not speak unless I personally command, understood?”
“Yes sir, I will instruct Miss Bergeron to await Mistress Alisha then stand by silently for further instruction.”
“Thank you. Ally, do you want to go downstairs and see if Marcy is ready to come up?”
“Okay, daddy!” She replied, then hurried towards the staircase near the front door with Scarlett pressed safely into her side.
*****
Now this is but a nice bit of bullshit! He thought to himself. His mind was muddled with racing images and horrible circumstances.
There was a subsection of Justin Markel’s thought process that was hoping his inner turmoil and frustration wasn’t leaking out too badly, but there was an entirely different, and almost equal, section that really didn’t care about showing his displeasure. He and his partner were still waiting on a full debriefing about what happened in the Weather’s house, but word reached him about Mo almost instantly. Justin counted himself among everyone and everyone loved Bryan Meaux like family.
Realizing his hands were clenched; Justin started a simple breathing exercise to calm himself as he rode the elevator with his partner and their escort. Babysitting! The thought was enough to destroy his concentration and he slammed the inside panel of the elevator with the heel of his fist.
“Will you ca’am tha’ fuck down!” It was his partner, Mike, who yelled at him.
“Dude, Mo is fucking dead! Didn’t you hear?”
“Ya’h, ‘ah ‘eard. Don’ change why we got’ta be ca’am tho, so chill out!’’ The red haired lieutenant nodded at the short older woman standing between them in a way he thought would be subtle.
His partner’s not so subtle head nod was so unintentionally humorous that he lost a bit of his previous frustration and gave him a small smile as he said, “Yeah, well I’m sorry for that outburst ma’am. I’m usually much calmer about things”.
“Don’t worry about me”, she said. “I’ve been to far worse places under far worse circumstances, believe it or not.”
Having only just met the little social worker in the lobby of the building; he had only her word to validate her statement, but he thought she had little need to lie. Who cares if she was lying anyway?
“How long do you think this is going to take?” Justin found that small act of conversation was helping to calm him a great deal.
“I don’t know. I’m supposed to inspect the place to make sure it’s livable.” With that, she couldn’t suppress a small chortle at the thought. “You know how these folks like to live in these exclusive high rises – barely above slums, some of them.”
Justin wasn’t in the mood for sarcasm, “how long do you think, though?”
“As long as he wants it last”, she said. “He’s got more money than the Pope, I see his name on some of the gear you’re wearing right now, and from what I read on the way over here; he has a live-in nanny who is very overqualified for the job. So, I don’t think this should take long at all, but it isn’t up to me.”
Just as he was about to ask a follow-up question, the elevator doors opened silently to expose the tenth floor of the building. On the residential levels there were no large lobbies to welcome those exiting the elevator, only a long hallway that looked to extend about two thirds across the building’s width. As the cool fragrant air washed over them, Justin heard a small whistle from his right and looked down.
“This is going to be the nicest home inspection I’ve ever done.”
Justin had little reason to doubt her statement either. The hallway floor was made from very ancient looking planks of wood that were stained a deep cherry color and had a thick overlay clear resin that made him want to think the boards were at least six inches deep in water. Covering all but about two feet on either side of it was a long woven rug with abstract lines that wove in and out of each other in non-repeating circular patterns. Since no two patterns were alike, he couldn’t figure a way to create it other than all in one long piece. Its colors were earth tones meant to be pretty, but to also not hold the observer’s attention for very long.
The walls were a light gray with brilliant white, ornate wooden trim where they met the floor and ceiling. Following the ornate theme of the hallway, the light sconce fixtures were arrayed equally on either side of the hall and gave off enough light to be bright, but not uncomfortable.
They only saw three doors in the hall; two of them were about halfway down and facing each other and the third was facing them from the other end of the long corridor.
“Ours is on the left”, she said. “Let’s get going, he probably already knows we’re here and standing around like kindergartners staring at ice cream isn’t going to get us out of here any faster.”
Upon reaching it, there were many things Justin Markel found odd about the door. For one thing, it had no handle; in fact, it had absolutely nothing he thought a door should have. It looked to be made out of glass, but had such dark black tinting that it was completely opaque. After giving up his search for a doorbell button, he picked up his hand to start knocking when he was interrupted by a strange thing.
A small rectangular section of the door that was exactly at his eye level suddenly materialized into an image of an artificial speaker and a button with the word CALL on it. Mentally shrugging, he pressed the call button and waited a few seconds.
“Ah, our guests have arrived. Please come in.” It was a pleasant female voice he hadn’t heard yet, but guessed it was probably the nanny.
Then the door disappeared.
It was the only way he could describe what happened. The door was there, the nanny told them to come in and then instantly and without a sound, the door wasn’t there. A heartbeat later, he could feel an atmospheric change that almost convinced him that he was stepping out of the cabin he had once stayed in on a cruise ship. The Bruce home felt and smelled as though it were an island beach.
What was there, though, was the most beautiful individual he had ever seen.
She was barefoot and wearing light colored jeans whose legs barely grazed the inlaid marble floors. As he worked his eyes up from the floor he couldn’t tell if the jeans were too loose or too tight, but decided he didn’t care once he made his way to the small but impressive rise of her bottom. Disappointment rose though, as he noticed that her white tank top was pulled low over the top of her jeans hiding the midriff he hoped to see.
She was tall at his estimate of around five feet nine inches, but her form was thin and lithe with corded muscles chasing each other down her exposed arms, and hips that were about half again as wide as her waist. The perky breasts that hung on her chest weren’t exactly tiny, but they looked as though they weren’t much of a hassle for her to carry around either. A point that was almost brutally accentuated by the lack of any attempt to contain them other than the use of a ribbed white tank top that wasn’t quite as opaque as their magical front door could boast.
Something was tickling his intuition. He couldn’t nail it down, but this wasn’t at all right. Sure, a man with the resources that James Bruce had could definitely afford such eye candy as a nanny who was actually qualified for the job. But, this person did not carry herself as eye candy. In fact, if he had to guess; anyone who referred to her as such would probably not like the outcome. No, she was something entirely different. Ultimately, it was the lack of shoes that tripped his danger sense.
She’s ready to move, and quickly! Nannies don’t have a marathoner’s body and constantly stand on the balls of their feet like a cat ready to pounce! His mind was racing. Seeing her naked and seeing her in his rear view mirror as he fled were both ideas that were starting to have equal appeal to him.
Then he felt a heavy form slamming into his back.
His first thought was that the beautiful killing machine that greeted them had suddenly moved too quickly to be seen and removed him from the fight before he was able to register that they were even under attack. Thankfully though, his second thought was correct. His lummox of a partner had been so engrossed by the same siren with diamond nipples that he walked directly into his back with an audible “oomph”.
Like a black widow knowing her kill was at hand and subdued, she purred out a simple “good morning lieutenants, I hope your ride up was uneventful”.
“Good morning ma’am”, almost surprised at his ability to speak his own thoughts; he continued, “I’m sorry, Miss, but I’ve never been given your name”.
She beamed at him a smile containing teeth so straight and white that, should her career as a nanny for billionaire inventors ever crumble; she would have plenty of work in toothpaste commercials. She had dark brown hair pulled high and tight into a ponytail. Again, she has it well out of her way. Stop that! He berated himself.
“My name is Marcella Bergeron. It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Markel.” She replied with her dark brown eyes set in such a way that made her look like she was staring down at him even though she was a good two inches shorter.
“I don’t remember introducing myself, Miss Bergeron”, he said with a smirk.
“I’m sorry; you introduced yourself as well as your two colleagues here to James from the lobby.” She replied in a tone that was meant to offend, but only slightly so. Then she went around the room shaking hands as she spoke. “Your hair reminds me of passion, Lieutenant O’Leary. We must speak more about your interesting and rugged looks later.” She made the effort to maintain contact with Mike’s hand and eyes as she administered her dark seductive magic.
“And, you Mrs Green. You are the guest of the party are you not?” How someone was able to completely adjust their body language on the fly so well was quite the mystery to Justin. Marcella transformed from an aggressive succubus to a subjugated waif as simply as he would walk from one room to another.
“Please follow me”, she said turning towards the other end of the apartment. “James is waiting to receive you in the dining area.”
“James?” Justin asked. “Isn’t he your boss? Why so informal?” He should have known about this wild-card. He had no reason to believe that James Bruce was involved with anything illegal or even immoral, but he hated surprises. Marcus did not know about the nanny. He would have told us about her and had us research her. He doesn’t do anything without putting us through nine levels of researching hell first.
Justin was determined to find out who and what this person was. She was no simple nanny.
“They are my friends”, she replied curtly and continued walking silently towards the brightness in the common living area of the apartment.
*****
Monica Weathers was recently developing a bad habit of waking up in horrible situations, and this time a blinding headache was on standby waiting to greet her once she opened her eyes. With her head pounding and her throat feeling as though it were made from sandpaper, she started to sit up and realized she would need a few more tries to accomplish that feat.
Back lying on her back, she looked around and tried to get an idea of where in the hell that noise was coming from. A muddled thought ran through the peripheral of her less than efficient awareness. Somewhere, someone was banging on something metal.
“Oh look, sleeping beauty is done with her nap.”
It was a voice she recognized; its chill was enough to snap her mind out of its funk and she sat up. It was an action that carried an immediate and overwhelming magnitude of regret, but what was done was done.
Monica was extremely glad she hadn’t eaten anything since going to bed and, so far as she knew, could have been last night or three days ago. She was nauseated to her core and her body was screaming its displeasure at not having enough stomach contents with which to retch.
“Get up and get moving, Cuba. There’s a big smelly man here who says he’s your ambulance chaser and he doesn’t look happy at all.” With that, Isa Gonzales rapped her retractable baton against Monica’s cell door a few more times then walked away. Monica didn’t see where she went. All she could see was the condensation dripping from a metal water container sitting on the top of a small round metal table a few feet from her.
There was a time when Monica could walk, but just then she was having a very difficult time remembering the small steps involved with standing then putting one foot in front of the other. With an act that could neither be described as walking nor as falling, but as their unholy bastard child; she managed to pull herself into the metal chair next to the table.
What she found upon her arrival was a bit of a shock. Sitting on a bright orange plastic tray that reminded her of lunch hour in elementary school were small dosing cups labeled with an assortment of over the counter medicines. She brushed aside all but the two whose labels were popular headache medicines and swallowed every pill whole without even thinking of needing water to rinse them down. Then, after her sore throat acknowledged her error; she poured water from the container so quickly that she spilled much of it onto the table before she finally had enough in her cup to greedily and noisily inhale the cool life sustaining liquid.
After the third cup of water, her tunnel vision was slowly beginning to broaden enough to notice a fat man standing outside her cell holding a duffel bag and a briefcase. Next to him stood a tiny figure holding a tray of food in one hand and swinging a ring of keys on the other hand’s forefinger.
“Can you please just open the cell?” Scott Leblanc asked.
“I kind of liked watching her stumble for that water. Didn’t you?” Isa looked right at him but still made no move to open the cell door.
“Look little girl! You will open that cell this instant, or I’ll-”
“-You’ll what?” Isa angrily interrupted him. “Tell me what your fat ass is going to do! Sue me? Shoot a friend of mine every hour I don’t?” She was being belligerent, but was also moving to open the cell at the same time. “You aren’t going to do anything but eat, shit and die of a heart attack you fat fuck! Just don’t touch Cuba’s food though. It was made special for her.”
After a mean spirited wink, Isa unlocked and opened the door, put the tray of food down onto the metal table, and walked out in a huff.
“What the fuck is going on, Scott?” Monica asked softly through the pain of her throat.
“I don’t know. No one here is saying anything at all.” He replied, and then gestured towards the tray that Isa had plopped down. “You should eat something.”
The food they brought was a mixture of fresh fruits, a couple of muffins, three thick slices of bacon and a tall glass of orange juice. All of it looked absolutely divine to Monica, but there was one frightening thought that was keeping her from devouring every last morsel. She looked down at the food and back up again at Scott with a look of dismay and horror.
“Don’t worry about what she said.” Scott replied. “That insipid little bitch was only trying to make things worse by scaring you. If they wanted you poisoned, they have far more efficient ways of doing so.”
She could stand it no longer and began greedily eating the bacon strips nearly whole. “Can you tell me what you do know?” She choked out with a full mouth.
“Well, I’ve asked about Tim as many times as can be asked and always get the same response of ‘he’s being held for questioning, we’ll let you know if we are going to have him booked’.” He said.
“Isn’t he supposed to get a phone call or something? Hell, aren’t I supposed to get a phone call?” She managed to ask between mouthfuls.
“Technically neither of you have been arrested. You’re just being held for questioning by the Feds, but if you want to know my opinion about your role in this I’ll tell you what I think I have figured out.” His reply was confusing to her, but she waved her finger in the air to indicate he should keep going.
“Also I got a personal visit this morning from someone who you aren’t going to like at all.” His face seemed distant and elusive as he said it.
“Who was it?” It was a simple question, but Monica’s heart fell from her chest as she realized the one topic they had yet to discuss.
“Oh please God, no!” The waves of fear and realization were rolling up her so fast that tears began to roll from her eyes and her weakened state was the only thing that stopped her from standing straight up. “Scott, Alisha! Where is she? Who has her? Is this James’ bullshit again?” She had so many questions, but so little energy to focus on them.
“First of all, Alisha is well and safe.” He tried reassuring her by placing his thick hand on hers, but she drew it away from him immediately. “Anyway,” he gruffly continued, “as I said; I was visited, at my home of all places, by a young woman delivering a small stack of legal documents.”
Monica knew exactly where this was going.
“She only looked to be in her twenties, but her letterhead read that she was a senior partner in the Martin & Grace Professional Law Corporation of New York City.” Monica stopped him with an upraised hand and started to voice a question when he continued, “well I had the same question, but before I could ask it; she calmly pointed out her Louisiana Bar Roll Number. I did some online research and legitimized her, she has been on our Bar for over a year.”
“So, James was behind this then!” Monica wished she could scream, because she damned well would!
“Well, before you start letting your mind wander; I also checked on past interactions between your ex and Martin & Grace. It appears that they handle most, if not all, of his patent filings and software licensing. There was also a big to-do in their company newsletter about how Miss Cooper would actually be moving to town in order to personally oversee the Bruce Account on a more personal, and profitable, level.”
“Miss Cooper? Let me guess!” She was seething! “She’s young, looks like she should be a lingerie model instead of a lawyer, and has the language skills of a politician?”
“Oh, you know her?” He looked genuinely confused.
“No! I just know James, and this smells so much like his bullshit; I think I’m going to need a mask to breathe!” She was getting focused now, “tell me what she brought you.”
He was already pulling documents from his briefcase. “This”, he said as he put them down on the table.
“I’m going to leave those with you.” She was starting to read them as he spoke, then he continued. “They are pretty much airtight petitions for James to be named sole custodial parent with sole physical custody based on the events of last night and your incarceration.”
She had no heart, it was dead. She found that she had to force her body to even want to breathe.
“Tell me he won’t get that, Scott! Tell me he won’t even be able to get into court until they let me out!”
“I can’t tell you that, and I won’t.” He answered. “The matter has already been placed on tomorrow morning’s docket, and given the efficiency of that act; I would imagine that it will be the first matter heard as well. I’ll be there bright and early to fight for what I can, but you should prepare yourself to accept that I will not be able to fight this off. I got notice from three other Martin & Grace partners of their intentions to be present tomorrow as well.”
“Shit! When are they going to let me out?” She asked and demanded in the same breath.
“I don’t know that either. I don’t think they plan to hold you very long or even book you on anything, though.”
“How do you know that?” Well, minor news that wasn’t bad was a good thing, she thought.
“They don’t feed people who are going to be arrested a decent breakfast and offer them medicines for ailments that aren’t going to kill them right out.” He answered. “They also don’t let their mothers go shopping for them and send them street clothes to wear in the meantime.”
As he said that, he stood and opened the duffel bag that Monica had forgotten all about.
“Everything you should need is in here”, he opened the duffel and sat back down. “Four days of clothes with underwear and bras along with toiletries and other female things that I don’t really care about. This captain Marcus seems fair, and wants to make sure you’re taken care of while they keep you. They seem to be trying to figure out what to do themselves, and are keeping you in federal custody while they think. You will be safe here, and you have this whole detention unit to yourself. Try to rest and not think about the worst until I can shake some more answers out.”
He stood and began walking out, but turned and added, “another thing: James was visited by social services this morning. They did an in-home investigation to make sure his living conditions are up to snuff. Which, of course, is absolutely laughable, but nonetheless; he was given temporary sole physical custody of Alisha. I asked his lingerie model slash lawyer if she could get him to visit you here to talk about what to do with your daughter in the meantime. He may or may not decide to do it, but it could help.”
“Just leave me alone.” She said, fearful that the resignation creeping into her mind was likely never going to leave.
*****
“Hey Cuba, you’ve got another visitor.” Isa hissed from her perch while slamming the headset of the phone down so hard that Monica thought she actually saw the sound it made.
Monica had only just finished zipping the front of the jeans she had been allowed to wear when she quickly turned her head towards the voice she was so astutely learning to hate. “Who is it?” she asked through the pain still tingling in her throat.
Isa was up and moving by the time she had Monica’s attention and looking down the long corridor that Scott had entered and exited through. “I don’t know, but he’s certainly welcome to stay as long as he wants.” Isa’s face had a primal grin and her stance had changed to one of open and welcoming body language.
Even without the line of sight angle that Isa enjoyed, Monica knew full well who her visitor was simply by reading her new little nemesis’ slutty posture. Great! Just great! This is all I fucking need right now, she thought to herself. Why is he here? She started feeling the familiar red hot flame of absolute hate well up inside of her. She didn’t really know how many tools Miss Gonzales had to make her sleep so she knew screaming in anger and frustration would not really be an option at this point. But, she wished she could.
James Bruce entered her line of vision in his usual over confident manner.
He was accompanied by another woman she hadn’t met before. She was attractive, thin and of decent height compared to James’ own six feet two inches, and dressed in formal business attire consisting of a tight pin-striped skirt that rose about six inches from her knees and a matching jacket. When she turned to look towards her; Monica noted that she wore her badge on a long chain around her neck, which disqualified her as the mysterious Miss Cooper. She spoke to Isa momentarily and nodded to James as she made a gesture with her right hand telling him he could walk towards Monica’s cell.
After thirteen years of marriage, James had wasted away to the point that he was about fifty pounds overweight and down trodden with no real inspiration to improve their life. Monica blamed the demise of their marriage on his apathy and lack of motivation to improve himself. Now, as the years passed after their divorce he actually seemed to be aging in reverse and she hated him for his choice to finally be inspired and motivated after she left. By now there was absolutely no trace of the extra pounds he used to carry and he had an air of confidence that Monica simply did not understand.
She had to swallow hard to suppress the bile that had suddenly tried to rise when James leaned over into Isa’s personal space and whispered something that apparently made her quiver like a twelve year old schoolgirl accepting an invitation to homecoming. He canted his head to his left and smiled towards Monica as he purposely brushed against Isa’s small form on his way towards her cell.
He was wearing his usual uniform of tight jeans and a long sleeved dress shirt. The shirt was of course, not tucked, and the sleeves were rolled to fall just below his elbows revealing thick vascular forearms with only a light dusting of dark black hair. Despite his insistence to dress casually, his shirt was tailored to fit and expertly pressed. It was brilliant white and just translucent enough to allow the glow of his skin to show slightly, but was not see through. The tailor had cut it to rest on his V shaped chest then it drastically lost material as it contoured its way to his thin abdomen. He looked exactly like what he was; the man who invented the devices that now separated Monica from her freedom.
She heard the familiar deep metallic thump of her cell door being unlocked before her ex husband walked into her cell. The metal on metal sound of the door re-locking solidified her fears that he was here to add his own personal level of hell to her nightmare. She always knew he would retaliate, but she always thought she could be smarter and predict his advance. She only ever wanted to do the right thing for her daughter.
He sat at the small table and poured himself a glass of water. When he noticed that there was only one glass, he looked directly up at her and gave a small gesture of feigned remorse and continued drinking. He gestured towards the metal chair directly across from him and grabbed her eyes with his own. Monica openly admitted hating many things about her ex husband, but his ability to command eye contact from her at his discretion ranks near the very top of the list.
Oh, why does he have to have those eyes! I hate his eyes so much, she screamed to herself. As he sat there with his canted head and way too charming smile, he beamed his most effective weapon against the female sentient ability to say no. He was born with a rare genetic abnormality that caused his eyes to look almost feline. His irises were light jade, but he had halos of light brown surrounding his pupils causing a golden glow where the two bright colors combined.
She didn’t know the scientific term for this abnormality but it apparently had a great succession chance because Monica was now looking into her daughter’s eyes. He held her there with silent intensity for a small eternity before abandoning his cocky grin to lower his head slightly with a stern fatherly look of disapproval.
Monica felt trapped in his gaze. She couldn’t look away from him. Primal emotion and energy rose from places she long thought dormant. James flicked his hand more forcefully towards the chair without breaking his visual hold and said, “Sit down”.
Finally being able to follow an instruction caused a torrent of relief to wash over her, but her ever rising emotion burst forth and tears ran easily and thoroughly down her troubled and aging features.
“What are you doing here?” She heard herself wimper once seated.
“Really Mon, that’s what you’ve chosen as your first question?” He asked curtly before putting down the glass and standing from his chair.
She stole a glance at Isa and secretly wondered how fast she would be in her cell if she decided to throw the metal container of water at this insufferable man.
“Please James, where’s Alisha?” She begged.
He continued standing, but he stepped over to her side of the table to stand over her instead of walking away.
“She’s in her room at my apartment playing a videogame I would imagine. Your parents are there with her, and Marcy is looking after things.” He changed his tone to be more serious and somber then gave a small indicative gesture back over his left shoulder and said, “I asked them not to record us. They didn’t exactly laugh in my face at the request, but I’m pretty sure they did after I walked away.”
“Look, I’m not here to make you feel worse, sweetheart.” He continued while putting his hand on her shoulder. A hand she had no intention of batting away. “You should know that I am on your side and I honestly have a hard time believing any of this shit!”
“How is she James? What does she know?” Monica was aware of how frantic she was sounding, but she didn’t really care anymore. “I’ve never met Marcy, I don’t trust her around Ally!”
The hand on her shoulder turned to steal and tightened as his voice lowered to reply. “First of all I never asked you to qualify anyone for me, nor will I ever. Secondly; Ally is fine. A little confused as to why your parents are at my house, maybe. But, I told her that an emergency happened at work and my parents couldn’t get to Baton Rouge fast enough to help. Marcy might need to help me, so I called your parents.” His commanding tone and dominant posture were stripping away her defenses as if they were paper.
“As soon as I am allowed and I know it won’t traumatize her, I will bring Ally to see you. I’ve already arranged with that girl you saw me walk in with to let you talk to her on the phone as much as is feasible.” His wry grin and slightly canted head gave Monica enough information to understand just how he managed to pull that off.
“Did you do this?” She was getting angry now as more tears began to flow.
“Do what?” He relieved the pressure from her shoulder and looked around with a look of stupefied admonishment.
“Don’t give me that stupid look!” She snapped back up at him. Then she pointed towards Isa and continued, “Your shit might work on dumb little cunts like her, but to me you just look like a fucking tool!”
At that Isa snapped to attention and started reaching down towards her belt as she took a couple steps towards them. Monica felt a new and overwhelming wave of fury as James stayed calm and looked towards Isa with a shake of his head. He held his left hand up in a stop gesture and was able to stall Isa’s advance enough to turn back towards Monica.
“Please calm down, Gaol.” He told her using the old pet name she hated, then he looked back towards Isa.
“Miss Gonzales, everything is okay. I still don’t know what’s really going on today, but it’s easy to see how stressed and fatigued everyone here is because of it. Monica has no real way to hurt me here and I see no reason not to let her vent a little frustration if she can refrain from throwing insults your way.”
He looked back at her and asked, “You can do that much, right?”
The well of absolute rage inside of her was near its boiling point, but she knew who was in the worst position in this exchange, even if she still didn’t know why. With her barely perceptible nod Isa rolled her eyes and sat back down, clearly disappointed.
“Don’t call me that!” She lashed out.
“I’ve never stopped calling you that. You’re the one that decided to stop loving me, remember? I don’t recall having a say in the matter. Now, you were asking me something?” He followed.
“Did you do this to me? Was this all your plan?” The question sounded stupid… Even to Monica’s own fury addled senses, but she still needed to know.
“Plan for what? Getting back at you? Are you now admitting that you have committed acts that would warrant vengeance? That would actually be a great step towards fixing whatever malfunction your brain has that feeds the control issues, but I’ve already told you. When my attack comes; you will see it coming from the front and it will destroy you entirely. Since you are yet to be entirely destroyed, I’ll let you come to the correct conclusion.”
“Fuck you, James! I don’t have control issues!” She didn’t know what to say or do so she just violently crossed her arms. Her anger at her situation was fogging her mind too badly. She needed to know where her husband was and why she was here. James can’t handle Alisha’s day to day affairs, she needs me to tell her what to do!
“Honestly sweetheart, you need to rest and clear your mind. You aren’t doing anyone any good by sitting here brooding on the world’s supposed offenses towards you. Alisha is safe and I will be taking care of her until this mess gets sorted out. You’re her mommy and will always have access to her whenever you want.” His tone was deep and calming causing Monica to lose control of the anger she so fiercely felt was hers.
“But I want her now. I want to talk to her, hold her and tell her I love her.” Her ever vigilant defenses were systematically dismantled. The only man to ever successfully dispel her emotional walls had just worked his magic again. She was crying so hard that she thought she might actually faint again. That would be a pleasant thing; to be able to faint and leave this nightmare in the land of reality.
“You can’t. Unfortunately, at the moment you’re here and they aren’t going to let you leave, nor are they going to let Ally in here. She knows you love her very much and you know she loves you the same.” He was lifting her as he then wrapped her with the embrace she could only ever remember hating. His embrace was the only one to ever make her feel small and sheltered. Monica loathed his strong arms and thick chest so much that she found herself giving to it fully. In her entire life on this planet she knew of no greater feeling of home and safety. Sobbing into the chiseled flesh between his pectorals, she breathed in his natural smell and instantly felt the effects of her accumulating exhaustion. Sensing her change in posture, James cradled her the same way he did when he carried her into their modest hotel room on their wedding night all those years ago. She felt the heat from his body as its sinuous mounds of muscle effortlessly moved her slacked and submitted form. She actually returned his smile before he gently placed her onto the cell’s small cot.
He secured eye contact once more then looked away as if to hide the small tears forming and said, “Miss Gonzales, I think Mrs Weathers may be a little tired of receiving guests for the time being”. Monica used to enjoy the pain he showed when having to address her by someone else’s last name, but he somewhere along the way figured out that it no longer hurt. She wished more than anything that it would hurt him to say her new married surname, but it didn’t. He was over her in his own way, and that thought cut into her heart like a ragged saw blade.
Then he stood; straightened his shirt and walked towards the door of the cell to wait for Isa. By the time she got there to let him out, he had his canted grin equipped and made a concerted effort to touch Isa’s hand as she opened the door.
“Here’s one of my cards, one of my real cards.” He said as he pulled the small gray piece of plastic from his back pocket. “If you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call me”. He handed Isa the card in a manner that ensured he would touch her small hand then smiled back at Monica for a brief second from the doorway. After that, he quickly turned and walked away.
Both women watched as he left their line of sight then Isa looked towards her nearly laughing as she read the card he gave her.
“Bruce?” She asked as she lifted the security card hanging from her shirt pocket. “You mean this Bruce? As in the guy who owns this company? With all the craziness of your fat husband killing my friend, I almost forgot who he was.” Isa was pointing to the small logo on the card that simply read ‘Bruce’ in a small burnt orange font.
She didn’t wait for Monica to answer and instead slammed and locked the cell door.
“Well Cuba, you certainly know how to trade up. I’ll give you that.” Isa was laughing in a way that suggested that she probably needed sleep just as badly as she did, but if the little brown bitch ever made it back to her desk; Monica didn’t know.
The familiar and blissful darkness had come back to her at last; she welcomed its warmth.