Two Peasants And A President Part 6

"I mean most people would turn around to see who's following."

"Guess I'm not that curious," she said.

That's not very convincing, he thought. Not nearly as convincing as you've been all evening.

Suddenly he pulled over and stopped. Then he looked in his rearview. This time she turned around to see the other car pull over about a couple of blocks behind them.

"Who are they?" he said.

"I have no idea," came the reply.

"Who are they?" he said, this time louder, turning and looking straight at her.

She looked at him like he'd suddenly lost his mind. He was starting to wonder if he had just blown a fortunate encounter, but it was a little late to think of that now.

"I told you I don't know and I meant it," she said quietly but tensely. He desperately wanted to believe that this beautiful woman had really taken a shine to him and those two guys following them were pure coincidence, but he hadn't made it through combat and a national election by being stupid.

"Don't lie to me," he said menacingly. He shoved the shifter into gear and the big car shot forward, it's tires squealing.

"I want to get out," she said. There was no reply.

"I said, let me out! d.a.m.n it." He pulled over to the curb.

"In case you haven't noticed," he turned to her. "We're in, what shall I call it . . . an unwelcoming area. Perhaps you could hitch a ride home with one of those pimps or crack dealers over there. I'm sure they'd love to help a pretty woman like yourself." She glanced out the side where a set of gleaming gold teeth framed by a disgusting smile greeted her.

"What do you want?" she said.

"I want to know who you're working for," he said. She thought about it for awhile.

"Look, I don't know who those men are and I'm not working for anyone. I took you for a sympathetic soul and I leaned on your shoulder, that's all."

"Save it," he spat out. "It worked for awhile; actually you were quite good. But it's over. Make a choice, level with me or face the consequences."

"What consequences?"

"Think it over. You know who I am. If we tool over to DCPD and I tell them you're a hooker who tried to roll me, who do you think they're going to believe? I'd bet this month's salary that if they run you, they'll come up a list of priors." He was winging it here, he knew, but he was banking on her being out of her territory and out of her depth.

"You're full of s.h.i.t," she said angrily."

"How much are they paying you?" he said, more gently now. She thought for awhile, but said nothing. "O.K. Play it that way. He did a tire-squealing huey and burned rubber back the way they'd come, surprising the h.e.l.l out of the two men who had been following them. As he pa.s.sed their car, he did his best imitation of a Roger Moore h.e.l.lo wave. He also thought to himself that somehow they didn't look like they were from Boston.

Where are we going?" she asked.

"DCPD, I told you."

"I want to speak to my lawyer," she said.

"I'm sure they'll allow you to do that," he replied.

"Look, can't we come to some sort of an accommodation?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," she said. "I swear I don't know who those men were. I was just supposed to take you home and have a little fun."

He made a quick right turn and then a left and another right until he thought he'd lost their tail. You dumb son of a b.i.t.c.h, I told you, you aren't that irresistible. It was bad enough that his quiet evening had practically turned into a car chase, but he'd made a fool of himself, too. So much for swearing off women.

Once they'd cleared drug central, he found a spot to pull over and turned off the engine.

"I guess this is where we come to the part about friends," he said.

"What do you mean?" she replied.

"Once your friends find out you've blown the a.s.signment, I'm guessing they won't be very happy. Somehow, I'm also thinking they probably aren't really your friends, you know, like people who go out of their way to help you when they have nothing to gain. And I'd be willing to wager my next month's paycheck that if they had to bail you out of jail, it would be sayonara, or maybe something worse. Am I right?" Her look said yes.

"I've got a pretty good idea how it was that we came to meet tonight. And in case you're interested, it has to do with a lot of innocent deaths and some people who couldn't give a d.a.m.n."

"So tell me," he continued. "We were supposed to go back to your place, and at the most inopportune moment, a couple of thugs barge in and start taking pictures. Am I right?"

"Something like that," she said. "Only without the thugs."

He thought for a moment. "Did they think I'd just parade around naked for you while you clicked your cell phone a few times?"

"There's a camera in my purse," she said. "All I have to do is make sure it's got a good view of the bed and press a gadget in my pocket. The camera does the rest, I don't even have to take it out of my purse; there's a little peephole."

"So what about the guys in the car?" he asked.

"I don't know anything about them. There wasn't supposed to be any violence. Tomorrow I'm supposed to meet my contact for lunch and give him the purse, that's all. He hands me another five grand and the return ticket to Boston, that's all."

"Who's the contact?" he asked.

"Some guy who's well-connected, I don't even know his real name. Look, if they find out I blew it, they're gonna want more than their down payment back. When I said these guys are well-connected, I meant it. n.o.body I know has ever made them mad, at least n.o.body who's still around."

Virgil thought for awhile.

"All right," he said. "Here's what we're going to do." He started the car after checking his mirror and pulled out into the street.

"We're going to go back to my place and make them think everything's going according to plan. Only tomorrow when you meet your contact, you're going to tell him I got drunk and fell asleep with my clothes on. You're gonna tell him that I fell head over heels for you" not far from the truth, he thought uncomfortably "and not to worry, we're going to have dinner tomorrow and then go back to my place again to finish the job."

"So what happens when they figure out I blew them off? You know, after you've used me and don't give a s.h.i.t anymore?"

"Your going to have to trust me," he said, looking at her square in the eye.

"Oh yeah, first I try to make dirty movies with you and destroy your career, and now I'm supposed to trust you. Do I really look that stupid?"

"You better just face it, Molly. Your plan's already blown and your friends are going to find out when you can't deliver the product. You can either go back to them on your hands and knees and hope for the best, or you're gonna have to trust me. I'm pretty well connected too, at least in this town. I've got friends who are quite capable of persuading your buddies in Boston that it would be in their best interest to forgive and forget when it comes to you. And I can get you a job, a real job, the kind without car chases and secret videos. How 'bout it, Molly. Ready for a change?"

"Doesn't sound like I have a choice," she spat out. "Not much of a f.u.c.king choice."

On the way home, Virgil found himself looking up at the rearview mirror. He wasn't sure if Molly had leveled with him, but something told him she had. But that left the two men who had been following them. That someone might want to dig up some dirt would hardly be surprising, given the waves he'd been making in the Senate lately. There were any number of possible candidates when it came to who was behind this. The DNC, any one of several Super Pacs, those members of the press who routinely carry the Democrats' water, his ex . . .

Molly had been staring straight ahead, having not uttered a word since he'd confronted her. He wasn't entirely certain she'd decided to cross the line between her current employer and what he was offering her. They played hardball in Boston; he knew that. She had to be very scared now.

Twenty minutes later they turned into his drive. As he locked the car, he glanced up and down the empty street. Once inside, he rearmed the alarm system and took her coat.

"The guest room is upstairs on the left. If you need anything, I'll be down here for awhile." She didn't even look up at him, just turning and trudging up the stairs. A part of him liked it better when she was playing him, at least it felt good. But the thought of having a lewd film, in which he was the star, circulating in the press and online made him shudder. He forced himself to focus on what he had to get done before tomorrow noon.

22.

'Greasy spoon' would be a compliment, thought Molly as she watched Chuck eat a hamburger that was dripping grease onto his plate. His fries glistened with whatever oily substance they had been cooked in. She figured that was the reason Chuck had insisted on meeting here, because it was just the sort of place she detested, and he knew it. Ever since she had rebuffed his clumsy advance, he'd done his best to be obnoxious.

"Did ya get it?" he asked, as he squeezed the plastic catsup bottle, its sputtering sound the perfect counterpoint to his disgusting persona.

"No," she replied, relishing another opportunity to p.i.s.s him off.

"What da ya mean?" he asked angrily, a greasy piece of burger tumbling out of his mouth.

"I mean no," she answered, looking directly into his eyes. "He got drunk and pa.s.sed out."

"So what the f.u.c.k!" Chuck said. "I don't give a s.h.i.t if you screw his corpse, as long as you get it on tape."

"Is that what you like to do, Chuckie, screw dead bodies?" she retorted, enjoying her taunt.

"Look, you f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h," he said, spraying spittle on the table. "I might just arrange to screw yours if you don't shut the f.u.c.k up."

"Relax, perv. He fell for me and I'm going to spend the night with him. You'll get your sleazy little video."

"When?" he asked.

"Tomorrow," she replied.

"Yeah, well it better be tomorrow," he said, wiping a gob of catsup off his mouth with a cheap paper napkin.

The disgusting spectacle made Clifford glad he'd decided to skip breakfast. He'd had his hands full this morning anyway just getting ready for the job he'd only found out about last night. He played back the sound; everything was crystal clear, same with the video. Virgil's lady friend is a handful, he thought to himself as he watched her turn her back defiantly on the dirt bag from Boston. The thug just glared at her back as she walked away, the toothpick twitching between his lips.

23.

Holly slept fitfully, both anxiously awaiting and dreading the morning. When it finally came, she was exhausted and nervous. When her fruit arrived, she ate it unenthusiastically, thinking simply that she needed the vitamins. Then she sat on her cot, knees up to her chest, as if to protect herself from she knew not what. She had almost dozed off, chin resting on her knees when she heard the lock. It startled her and she jumped. The same man stepped inside the door and looked around as usual.

What came next paralyzed her with fear. The familiar sound of the wheeled bucket rounding the corner was followed by. . . a different person! Holly panicked, her heart racing, knowing that the new cleaning lady would find the rolled paper in the drain. The man had sat down in his usual spot and was looking right at her. Her mind spun dizzily, grasping for a way out, something to stop the inevitable. She was certain the man could see her fear; she was shaking, she could feel it.

The woman began her mopping on the side of the room opposite the sink. She was working her way across and would be by the sink in less than two minutes. Holly coughed, then coughed again, expectorating as though expelling phlegm. She jumped up and lunged toward the sink, pretending to spit something into it. Then she grabbed the toilet paper roll while stealing a glance at the cleaning lady who had looked up at her.

When the cleaning lady looked down at the floor again, Holly leaned over, gurgling as if she was about to spit up more sputum. Placing her body between the sink and the cleaning lady, she palmed the rolled up paper and spat again into the sink. With her free hand, she ran water into the sink while the other hand slipped the paper under her waist band. She wiped her mouth and hands with toilet paper and turned around, certain the woman behind her had noticed something and would alert the man.

The new cleaning lady had stopped mopping and was looking at her. Holly nearly peed as she slunk back to her cot. The woman's face had a frown on it now. She c.o.c.ked her head and looked suspiciously at the young American. The man sitting outside looked up. Then he said something gruff in Chinese and the woman started mopping again. When she was through, she washed out the sink and replaced the tattered towels and washcloth with another set, glancing one more time at Holly. Then she and the man were gone.

When she had finally stopped trembling, Holly's body seemed to slowly wither into a fetal position on the cot. She lay there for some time, staring at the wall, her spirits at lowest ebb since she'd been dragged away from her husband, her honeymoon, and her life. Her thoughts wandered to suicide, wondering how it would feel to bash her head against a concrete wall. Her eyelids crept slowly closed, finally releasing her to the dubious refuge of sleep.

An hour later, robo-doc came in, startling her awake, plunging her back into the depths of fear and depression. She wanted to hit him with all her might as he went through the usual routine, not even bothering to speak. Briefly she wondered if life in a Communist country turned people into indifferent zombies like this man. She didn't pause to dwell on it because she had a new and frightening problem to deal with. What had happened to her 'angel'?

The afternoon was excruciating. The questions, the numbing silence, the fear. She paced back and forth, not knowing what to think, not knowing what to do, wondering if the other cleaning lady had told anyone that the American was up to something. Had her friend been arrested? Had they discovered what she was attempting to do? Could that shot have been her angel crumpling to the ground in the courtyard? The mere thought chilled her deeply.

But it was nothing compared with what would happen that evening.

They'd brought her dinner, she guessed around six. For once it vaguely resembled food. What seemed like a half an hour later, she was lying on her back on the cot, head resting on her hands. She'd been staring at the ceiling for some time, thinking of her family and of Ray, trying not to think about what had happened to her angel, but fearing it might soon happen to her.

The sound of the door at the end of the hall opening brought her upright. Seconds later she heard her own lock turn. No one had ever come after dinner and the sudden change in routine alarmed her. She drew her knees up to her chest in the now familiar response to fear. Two men in police-style uniforms came into the room. One of them motioned her to stand; he was holding handcuffs. The other man held what looked like a blindfold.

Part of her wanted to bolt through the door and somehow escape. But it was futile; there were two men standing in her way, and she didn't even know the layout of the building, much less the grounds around it. She stood submissively and turned around, cursing her weakness and the abject helplessness that had been her existence for she knew not how many days.

Once again, she was being led down a long hall. She listened, hearing only Chinese voices in the distance. Then she was led into a room and pushed down into a chair. When her blindfold and handcuffs were removed, she found herself sitting at a table. Across from it was a large window in which she could see her reflection another one-way mirror. Had she been brought here for interrogation? Would they ask her about the cleaning lady? The men turned and left, locking the door behind them. She could hear m.u.f.fled voices on the other side of the mirror. Her knees had begun to tremble and she badly wanted to pee.

For what seemed like hours, she heard nothing but the faint voices on the other side of the wall. Then abruptly the lock on the door was turned and the two uniformed men returned. Once again, she found herself being led cuffed and blindfolded back down the hall.

Later, when they had turned out the light in her room, she lay in the darkness trying to make sense of what had just happened. Someone had looked at her through the one-way gla.s.s, that was obvious, but for what purpose? Dark imaginings returned. The hirsute, pot bellied Arab. A forced marriage somewhere deep in China to a hunchbacked dwarf farmer, a place where she would never be found. Medical experiments ala Dr. Mengele. She felt more dispirited than at any time during her captivity. The message from her angel had lifted her heart, giving her hope. Then the appearance of a new cleaning lady and the fear of discovery had crushed it all.

Two days pa.s.sed. The routine had been the same, save for the new cleaning lady who seemed sullen and uncaring. Robo-doc seldom spoke and each time examined her like a veterinarian might a goat. She had read a book, or perhaps it was a movie; she couldn't remember, in which the prisoner had been slowly brainwashed until he became utterly submissive, without a will, without a personality, a person in name only.

Holly told herself that she must not stop thinking rationally. To totally surrender was to die inside. Somehow she had to summon the will to continue fighting, to be stronger than they were.

On the third day, after eating her fruit, she sat listlessly on her cot, staring at Uncle Tom's Cabin lying on the floor. Again she heard the familiar sounds but scarcely looked up when the man and the cleaning lady arrived. With her head bowed, all she could see was their feet. Then her heart leaped as she saw that two of them were clad in pink canvas shoes. She looked up into a familiar, smiling face. Her heart leapt so high she thought she would float off the cot.

Holly desperately wanted to hug this tiny woman who had been her only friend, the only person in this vile place who seemed to care about her. But she forced herself to stifle the smile that had begun to brighten her face. The man sitting across the hall was watching her again.

As the cleaning lady mopped the floor, starting as always on the side opposite the sink, Holly got up and walked slowly to the sink. She grabbed the roll of toilet paper and pretended to blow her nose, while checking to see that the man could not see her from where he sat. Then she quickly retrieved the sc.r.a.p of tightly rolled paper from her bra and carefully inserted it into one the small holes in the sink drain.

She walked back to her cot, pretending to rub her nose with the back of her hand. As she sat down again, she glanced at the man in the hall. His expression had not changed; he was examining his fingernails. The cleaning lady worked her way across the room, Holly's heart thumping louder and louder until she was certain it could be heard. When her angel finally reached the sink, she paused, but only briefly. Then she quickly palmed the message and continued her work. As she prepared to leave, she glanced over at Holly and smiled, not broadly but as a conspirator might, confirming what had taken place.