Lynne Heitman - First Class Killing

“I’m close.”

“Can you stay close? I might need you tonight.”

He said that he would. I checked my watch. Eight-thirty. If I was really lucky and really reckless and irresponsible behind the wheel, I could still make the ten o’clock shuttle back to Boston.

I tried Harvey next. Maybe I could catch him before he left to meet Carl for dinner. He didn’t answer his cell phone, which was not surprising. When I called his hotel, they said that he had checked out, which was more than surprising. It was disturbing. When he didn’t answer his home phone in Boston, I was more than disturbed. I was worried. Harvey rarely deviated from his planned schedule.

I was still trying to find him, leaving urgent messages at both his numbers, when I had to board the ten o’clock flight home.

Back in Boston, the hunt for a parking space was the usual nightmare. The cars double-parked up and down Beacon Street with their parking lights flashing signaled another bad night for anyone in the Back Bay without an assigned parking space. I circled the block several times before giving up and making my way to the mammoth parking garage under the Boston Common, where there was always space for those willing to pay. I hated paying for parking in my own neighborhood.

The idea came to me as I rode the elevator up to the surface. Without giving myself a chance to overthink it, I turned on Charles instead of crossing and walked the short distance to the familiar dwelling on Chestnut Street. I stood for what seemed like a long time on the front steps with my finger poised over the buzzer. I collected myself, pushed the button, and waited. When the answer came, I talked fast.

“It’s me. It’s Alex. Please don’t hang up. I need to talk to you.” What came back was a ringing silence that managed somehow to be cold and angry.

“Tristan, please.”

The buzz that released the building’s front door lock was the most welcome sound I’d heard in a while. I pushed through and headed up the stairs.

TRISTAN WAS DRESSED COMFORTABLY AND smashingly in midnight-blue sweatpants and a celery-colored pullover. There was just no way to catch him looking sloppy and unkempt. He stood in the middle of the living room of the two-bedroom condo he shared with Barry. With its fresh-cut autumn flowers and large cathedral windows, the place was as serene as a church, a jarring juxtaposition to what was going on between us.

I stood close to the front door, leaving it to him to determine the distance between us. As a union officer, he knew everything that was going on, including my part in it. He was not taking it well. “Tristan, please don’t look at me that way.”

“How should I look at you? Tell me, Alexandra. Shall I look at you as a friend, because it’s hard for me to see you as a friend just now. Is Alexandra Shanahan your real name? Or do you have a code name? Something like Double-O Lying Bitch.”

Some people sputtered when they were angry and searched for words. Tristan wasn’t one of them.

“All this time, I’ve been looking out for you and trying to protect you, and now it turns out…”

“Turns out how?”

“It turns out that you’re not my friend at all. You’ve been using me for my contacts and abusing my trust, and you humiliated me in front of Irene. I was so hurt by what you did.” He drifted to the window and ran a finger along the edge of one of the slats in the blinds, along a line that was long and straight and predictable. It wouldn’t throw him any unexpected curves.

I moved in enough that I could lean against a chair. I wasn’t sure I could make this right, but I had to try. “This was supposed to be a simple job,” I said. “I would collect evidence on a few hookers, the airline would confront them, they would quit, and I would be out of there and on to the next assignment. But things got complicated. I never meant to involve you, or hurt you. Meeting you was the only bright spot in this whole mess.”

“No, dear.” He shook his head. “That will not play.”

“What?”

“You cannot simply say you’re sorry, and can’t we be pals anyway, and that will be that. You had lots of chances to tell me the truth and trust me, and you never thought fit to do so.”

“I’m telling you now.”

“Now that cats are flying out of bags everywhere?”

He wouldn’t look at me. “Look, you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But I was hired to do a job, and as part of doing that job, I had to pretend to be someone I’m not. If that offends you, so be it. I can’t change what I did. I would do it over again, and it’s not over yet. There is a lot going on tonight.”

He turned and looked at me as if I’d just declared the sky blue. “Ya think?”

“What have you heard?”

“Only that Angela is circulating a rumor that I helped you get her fired.” He moved to the mantel to adjust the spacing of the high-end trinkets arranged there. Most of them were souvenirs from his around-the-world travels. “I think she’s planning on hurting someone.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because she says she is. It feels like it, too. Everyone is edgy.”

“What is she saying?”

“She’s saying she will find the people who did this to her, and she will get them. Are you happy with what you’ve done to us? It’s absolute chaos around here.”

“If you want to blame someone, Tristan, blame Angel. She’s the one who did it to you, and she’s been doing it for years.” What I didn’t say was that he had allowed it to go on, but his sixteen-foot ceilings were too low for that high horse. “Do you think you’re in danger?”

“I don’t know. I sent Barry up to the house in Maine.”

Which meant he was worried, which really worried me. I moved farther into the room, from leaning on a chair to leaning against the arm of the couch. “If you think she’s coming after you, you should leave. You should pick up a trip and leave town.”

His laugh was bitter. “As if that would save me. Angela is everywhere, dear. Besides, I think she’s more interested in you.”

“So she said. Is it true she’s coming back to work?”

“She never left. She was back before the ink was dry on the notification letters.”

It was one thing to hear this news from Angel. She could have been lying. But hearing it from Tristan, union officer, meant it was official. I felt like crying from sheer frustration, but I was pretty much cried out for the evening. Maybe tomorrow. “What kind of deal did she cut?”

“I don’t know. Whatever she did, it had nothing to do with the union. She doesn’t need us. She has friends in high places.”

“What does that mean? Friends at the company?”

“Way higher. The rumor is, it was some U.S. senator who got involved behind the scenes.”

“A U.S. senator?” The surprising news just kept coming. I was starting to feel numb. Since it didn’t seem that Tristan was about to throw me out, I went ahead and sat down on the couch.

“He sits on a subcommittee that has something to do with the bailout loans to the airline industry. One phone call from him was all it took.”

“One of her clients,” I said.

“Undoubtedly.”

“Angel told me she had some kind of secret weapon. She called it her nuclear bomb. This guy must be her weapon. Still, I’m surprised a U.S. senator would get involved in something like this.”

“It’s all hush-hush.”

“You know about it.”

“I know everything. Everyone talks to me.”

“The same could be said for Matt Drudge. How did the airline react?”

“Are you kidding? Only too happy to oblige.”

“They were?” I wondered if Harvey knew.

“Of course. Do you think they’d want the press that goes with firing a bunch of flight attendant hookers? I think the good senator gave them exactly what they wanted: a reason to wash their hands of the whole affair.”