John Miller - Upside Down

Before that day, her own life must have been hard, but she didn't remember it that way, because the orphan's dance that came after that had been so horrible.

“Well,” Bennett said, exhaling loudly, “where are we at, people?”

“We are at your office,” Marta said. “What I cannot tell you is why.”

The fire in Arturo's eyes burned her, almost as intensely as did Bennett's.

“ Why is because Mr. Estrada here made a mess of an assignment so uncomplicated that a retarded chimpanzee could have pulled it off. I want to ask you why you two professionals, if I can use that word with a straight face, haven't been able to locate one frightened child and retrieve my property.”

“We will find her,” Arturo said quickly. “Soon.”

“Mr. Bennett,” Marta said calmly, “if you have other professionals you can summon, perhaps you would like to do that before we go any further in this mess. It seems to me that if you had bothered to tell either of us that in the envelope we were to bring you, there were-besides the eight pictures you mentioned-negatives, Arturo would have checked to see that they were there. And Amber Lee would have come up with them. Since you failed to mention their existence, I don't think you should speak to Arturo so disrespectfully. I think you should be more considerate of the only people who can remedy your predicament. We will fix this problem, but insulting us is not acceptable. If I were you, I wouldn't do it again.” The icy quality in her tone was as infused with warning as the buzz from a rattlesnake.

“I may have… I believe I misspoke. It's just that I'm under so much pressure. Of course you are doing the best you can. The best anybody on earth could do. And I failed to mention the negatives because I wasn't thinking about them. I assumed they would be with the prints. Well, there it is,” he said, trying to smile. “So I am sorry if I insulted either of you, because that wasn't my intent. I mean, if you can't succeed, who can? The cops don't seem to be getting anywhere, and they're the cops, for Christ's sake…”

The ringing phone in Arturo's pocket ended Bennett's stammering. He opened it, stared at the caller I.D., and put it to his ear. “Go.”

As Arturo listened to what the caller was saying a smile appeared and started to grow. “Right now?” He turned his free thumb up and nodded. “Where? Just four or five minutes away.” He stood and pocketed the phone. “The kid's using the cell phone. The aquarium just down the river.”

“Remember my negatives!” Bennett called cheerfully, clapping his sweaty hands.

After the trouble in the projects, Faith Ann wandered the streets of the French Quarter, thinking hard. The sidewalks were now filled with pedestrians, and sometimes she had to slow to avoid running into tourists who had slowed to gawk at something they didn't see every day where they came from. She was still shaken up from her encounter with the gang, and her jaw hurt like hell. Eventually she found herself in Jackson Square in front of the cathedral, sitting around with older kids to look like she belonged, watching tourists and the performers.

Through the glass doors of every newspaper stand Faith Ann passed, Kimberly Porter stared out at her, reminding her of how important her mission was. Unless you succeed where I failed, Horace Pond will die. It's all up to you, Faith Ann. You can do it. You must…

She pulled the remaining bills from her jeans pocket and counted as she walked. Seventy-four dollars out of almost a thousand. Her escape had been expensive but worth every penny. She was starving, so she stopped in a fudge shop and bought a plastic sack of pralines for many times what they should have cost. She wolfed them down-the sweetness stinging the back of her throat.

She walked to the aquarium and stood near the entrance, watching people. She saw a mother and her daughter, hand in hand, vanish into the building. Taking off her backpack, Faith Ann found her mother's cell phone and dialed. When the familiar voice answered, “Hello?” she felt small and terrified and before she knew it she started crying.

“I… I… I. Rush…” she managed to say. “It's me, Faith Ann. Please… I need help.”

Winter and Adams took Winter's Stratus, and Nicky followed driving Adams's Chevrolet. They arrived outside the River Club and parked in the lot. Nicky stopped the Chevrolet thirty feet away from them.

“Okay, Nicky,” Winter said into his radio. “Adams and I'll rattle this buzzard's cage. I'll radio if we need you inside.”

As the pair walked off, Nicky's voice came over the radio. “Ten-four.”

Inside the foyer, the smiling hostess was bantering with a group of men, one of whom Winter recognized as the previous mayor of New Orleans, the son of another mayor long dead. As the local dignitaries were being led to a table, Winter and Adams waited for the hostess to return.

“Two?” she asked cheerfully. “Smoking or nonsmoking?”

Adams opened his badge case and showed it to her. “We need to speak to Mr. Bennett,” he said.

“I'll see if he's in,” she said, a pained smile freezing on her face. “Can I tell him what this is in reference to?”

“Shouldn't you see if he's in first?” Adams replied.

She lifted the telephone on the lectern and punched three digits. “Is the boss in?” she asked. After a short pause, she said, “There are two gentlemen to see Mr. Bennett. FBI agents.”

She listened and looked back up at Adams. “Might I say what this is in reference to?”

“We'll handle that,” Adams said flatly.

The hostess said, “Just go straight to the rear near the bathrooms. The iron gate will be open. His office is at the end.”

Winter and Adams walked toward the rear, skirting the dining tables. He caught sight of two people who fit Clara Hughes's description cut across the restaurant from the office area and exit through a side door. Winter keyed the radio. “Nicky, the couple in the Lincoln are exiting the far side of the building. Follow them.”

“I see them, and I'm so there,” Nicky's voice replied. “Leather lady and Stick climbed into a big bad black Lincoln, just like the neighbor lady said. ”

“Stick on them,” Winter said. “But don't get too close.”

Now they would find out who the couple were.

“Well, that's an interesting turn,” Adams said.

“Nicky, we're going in to see the guy. Radio silence unless there's an emergency.” Winter shut off his cell phone as they passed through the ornamental iron doors.

Jerry Bennett's secretary was a plump, orange-haired woman seated at a desk, blinking owlishly. Her face was as round as a pie tin, and her red lips were surrounded by thin lines, like metal fatigue cracks. Her irises were the color of mud, and her eyelids seemed to be trembling under the weight of green eyeshadow. “Can I help you?”

Adams flashed his badge. “Special Agent John Adams. Jerry Bennett, please.”

“He's expecting you,” she said. She got up, crossed to a tall, solid oak door, and held it open for them.

Jerry Bennett's office was spacious and elegantly modern. Illumination was provided by hidden light fixtures. The club owner approached the two men and extended his hand, which, since neither man moved to shake it, remained suspended before him until he lowered it and sat down behind the desk. The thick surface of the desk was granite, the edges rough as though something with very hard teeth had chewed on it.

“May I see your credentials?” he said, focusing first on Winter and then on Adams.

Adams held his ID inches from Bennett's eyes. Winter pulled out his badge case, and Bennett read it silently. If the presence of a marshal meant anything to him he didn't show it.