Steve Martini - The Enemy Inside

“Your wife wouldn’t have the list, by any chance?”

He smiles at me and says, “No.”

“I’m not interested in outing any of these people,” I tell him. “All I want to know is whether anyone there that night might have seen what happened when my client passed out. Did they know any of the people who helped him to his car? Names,” I tell him. “That’s what I need.”

“Why? What do you need them for?” he asks.

“It’s part of the case. It’s confidential. I really can’t discuss it.”

“Well, I guess we all have our secrets,” he says. “Let me think about it. I’ll talk to my assistant. See if we still have the list. But, like I say, I’m not sure I can give it to you.”

He is affable, a little slick, perhaps a sales background if I had to guess. If he has the guest list and I issue a subpoena he will probably shred it and claim it was discarded long before the subpoena was issued. For the moment I may have to depend on the man’s goodwill, as much as I hate to.

He leads me to the front door, shakes my hand, gives me a broad smile, and two minutes later I’m back in the Jeep headed south toward the office.

The good news is I have now found the location of the party and confirmed that Alex passed out and was helped off the premises by person or persons unknown. The bad news is that this is all hearsay, none of it admissible in a court of law. We still have no percipient witnesses. No one who saw any of it. More to the point, I have no names or descriptions of any of the people who shanghaied Alex and dragged him off into the desert that night.

The tempered glass pitcher sat steaming on the hot plate under the Mr. Coffee. Two ham and cheese sandwiches with plenty of sliced tomatoes were on plates on the countertop in the kitchen. Herman was already chowing down on one of the sandwiches.

“Come and get it! Coffee’s ready!” he hollered down the hall to Alex.

“Be there in a sec!”

Herman mopped down the countertop where he’d assembled the food as he chewed. He would do the dishes and put everything away the minute they finished eating. He didn’t want to waste time cleaning up once his support crew arrived. Herman’s rolling suitcase was already zipped up, sitting in the entry hall ready to go.

After thinking about it for a while Herman had calmed down. He was reasonably confident that their location had not been blown, at least not yet. If the people tracking Alex already knew where they were, they would have made a move by now. He and Ives had been camped here for three nights.

“Hurry it up!” Herman yelled down the hall again. “We don’t have all day.”

“Coming.” Alex dragged his wheeled suitcase out of the bedroom and down the hall. He stood it up next to Herman’s by the front door.

“Got everything?”

“You wanna check my room?” said Ives. He wasn’t used to the hustle.

Alex grabbed the plate with the sandwich, skipped the coffee, and headed into the living room to turn on the TV.

“No time for that,” said Herman.

“Just want to see what’s on CNN.”

“Be the same bad news tomorrow,” said Herman. “You can catch it then. We don’t have time.”

Alex dropped the TV controls back on the coffee table. “You act like you been in the army.”

“How’s that?”

“A drill sergeant.”

“Could be your generation lacks discipline. Ever think of that?” said Herman.

“Well, I know you can’t be talking about me,” said Ives. “Cuz when I was a kid I walked six miles in bare feet in the snow in the middle of winter to school and back, both ways uphill.”

“Sounds like my school district, except we didn’t have any feet,” said Herman.

Alex laughed.

“Tell you about the army I was in. Long as we’re telling whoppers,” said Diggs. “Four older brothers who’d kick my ass in a heartbeat if I didn’t jump fast enough to do what they said.” He rinsed off his plate and started drying it. “But even then they had to wait in line to get their kicks in, behind my mama. And she wore big boots.”

“Good old days in the hood,” said Alex.

“And you want me to believe you weren’t born suckin’ the silver spoon? If I didn’t get you outta bed in the morning you’d sleep ’til dinner.”

“Actually, if I could, I’d sleep through dinner. Don’t want to hurt your feelings, but anybody ever tell you you’re a terrible cook?”

“You’re eatin’ my food.”

“It’s either that or starve,” said Alex.

“And here I was thinking you liked Cheerios and milk.”

“And as for sleeping late, there isn’t much else to do. You won’t let me go down to the beach.”

“Too easy to drown,” said Herman.

“I’m a good swimmer.”

“Not if somebody chains an engine block to your foot.”

“Here’s an idea. Why don’t you do something useful and get me a woman?” said Ives.

Herman laughed. “You wouldn’t know what to do with a woman. Besides, do I look like a pimp?”

“Now that you mention it.”

“Just cuz I beat your ass at rummy last night.”

“Let’s not talk about that,” said Ives.

“What would your mother say?”

“No, not my mother,” said Alex. “You can get any other woman but her.”

Herman started to laugh. The kid had a quick lip. “You’re awful. No wonder these people want to kill you. Now hurry up and eat before I have to slap you around.”

“You hurt me and the lawyers are gonna be very unhappy,” said Ives.

“Yeah, but think of all the fun I’ll have.”

Ives laughed. Something went down the wrong way and he began to choke.

“Have another bite,” said Herman. “Sit tight. I’ll come over and give you a Heimlich hug.”

Between choked words: “You leave my heinie alone.”

Herman busted up. Three days and they had already come to this. Another week and they’d be throwing food and lighting farts on fire for laughs.

“True what they say,” said Herman. “Familiarization does breed contempt. Maybe best if I just let ’em kill ya.”

“You couldn’t do it.” Alex was coughing, still clearing his throat.

“And why not?”

“You’d have nobody to play rummy with.”

“Well, there you go, something to do tonight.”

“You already took all my money,” said Ives.

“Four dollars and twenty cents? You’re not worth much.”

“You’re right. I’m gonna have to talk to my boss about a raise when I get back.”

Herman didn’t touch it. The smile on his face evaporated. He turned his back and started sponging the countertop again. “Hurry up and eat, we gotta go.” Graves’s death and the fact that he hadn’t told Alex suddenly wrung all the merriment from his voice.

“Something wrong?”

“No. We just gotta go. I’m gonna-”

Before he could finish the thought there was a rattle at the door, almost like someone was knocking but not quite. Herman wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the wind.

But Ives heard it too.

They both looked at the front door.

“You think it’s them?” Alex whispered.

Herman shook his head and put a finger to his lips.

There it was again. This time there was no question, three clear knocks.

“Must be your guys. I’ll get it.” Alex was closer. He started to get up.

Herman’s right hand shot out like a traffic cop, freezing Ives in place. He moved a finger to his lips and listened for a second. Then a couple more knocks. He motioned for Alex to take his sandwich and the plate and head to the bedroom.

Ives looked confused. But he didn’t say a word, not even to whisper. He picked up the plate and slipped quietly down the hall.