Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

And now, here she was.

At school, Nicky found it difficult paying attention. How did you focus on algebra and chemistry when one of the richest men in the country was pissed off with you because you weren’t crazy about giving hand jobs to UN officials, B-list actors, and museum board members? If only her teachers knew what was troubling her, the things she had on her mind. What an idiot she was, confiding in one of the other girls that she was coming around to the conclusion that Pritkin was kind of a sicko, that the things that went on in this fancy New York brownstone were very, very wrong. Against the law, even.

“What law?” asked her friend, who wanted everyone to call her Winona, like the actress, even though her real name was Barb.

“I don’t know, exactly,” Nicky said. “Pervert laws.”

Nicky said it would be creepy enough, the stuff Jeremy asked them to do. But when he pushed them to do it with his friends, these other important people, didn’t that kind of cross a line?

Winona was not convinced. “He treats us good,” she said. “You think you’d get this kind of money working at Arby’s? Anytime I need some cash, he gives it to me. And look at the people we get to meet! You know that director? Who was here last week? He told me I could be an actress. That I had what he called the look . He’s going to keep me in mind, case anything comes up that I might be good for.”

“He’s feeding you a line of bullshit.”

“I don’t think so. Look at me.” Winona tipped her head back, turned her face to the light. “Come on, check me out.”

“Maybe.”

“And the thing is, Mr. Pritkin is very special. He’s not like regular people, so the regular rules don’t apply to him.”

Nicky had heard all this before, and not only from Winona. Jeremy enjoyed talking about how he had been born with a superior genetic makeup. Just as some people could develop genetic diseases, there were others who could develop superior genetic characteristics. People like Michelangelo or Einstein or Gershwin or Lincoln. Gifted people.

Jeremy believed himself to be one of them, and allowances had to be made for particularly gifted people. The standard rules were not applicable.

“What makes him so special?” Nicky asked.

“Uh, look around?” Winona said. “This house? The people he knows? The things he’s done for them? You think an ordinary person could do all that?” Winona shook her head disapprovingly. “You better not be thinking of telling on Mr. Pritkin. That’d be really stupid. If you don’t like it here, leave. No one’s forcing you to stay. But don’t mess it up for the rest of us.”

After Jeremy had his little sit-down with Nicky, reminding her of her place in the power structure, she knew it was Winona who’d ratted her out.

Now Winona would be in his good books. Nicky needed to get back in there, too. What else was she going to do? She would tell him she’d made a mistake, that she was grateful for the lifestyle he’d given her.

Not that she really was sorry. But sometimes, there was shit you had to do to get by. This was one of those times. She knew that what Jeremy had said was true. She was a nothing. He had rich and powerful friends. If she ever decided to speak out, no one would believe her. Or if they did, they wouldn’t care.

Nicky had a plan. She would sneak up to his office — one time, when he’d had her accompany him up there, she had spotted the four-digit code he entered to unlock the door — and wait for him inside the Winnebago. Surprise him. Wear her highest heels. Jeremy had a thing about high heels, insisting all the women who worked in the house wear them. Like it was a Playboy club, said one of the kitchen staff, with Hugh Hefner in charge.

Nicky had no idea who Hugh Hefner was.

But she did know one interesting tidbit. Jeremy’s professed reason for installing the Winnebago, that he had taken family trips in one as a boy, was only partly true. The real reason was, he’d lost his virginity in one when he was fifteen. The RV was a way of commemorating that blessed event.

Jeremy was in the residence today. He wasn’t jetting off to Europe or Asia or Africa. Sooner or later, he’d be coming up to the third floor. It was where he spent much of his day. So, without being seen by any of the staff, she got up to the third floor and got into the RV.

Twenty minutes later, he showed up.

She was peeking out the window, and while she was relieved at first to see him, his expression gave her pause. His face looked like thunder.

Oh-oh.

Jeremy went straight to his desk and picked up the phone. In case he looked her way, she dropped down below the window. But she could still hear his side of the conversation.

“I’ve been trying to get you all day. This is serious.”

A pause.

“Don’t tell me to calm down. This is a whole new ball game. Twenty years ago no one could have predicted this. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought and I can’t see but one way to contain it.”

Another pause.

“Look, so far, it doesn’t appear that many of them have done it. But more might. And the more people who do, the more likely this will all lead back to me. That can’t happen. You can’t afford to let it happen, either.”

Pause.

“Shut up. Stop blathering. There’s no point rehashing what was done. It happened. We have to deal with things as they are now. Things are already under way.”

Pause.

“No. Money can solve a lot of problems. But not this time. Too many variables. Tentacles reaching out in too many directions. That’s why I’m going at this another way.”

Pause.

“I don’t think you really want to know.”

Pause.

“I suppose the only upside is, I’ve formed no attachments. If I had, this might have been more difficult. But based on the latest reports, there aren’t exactly any standouts. Not a great loss.”

And then he said something else, prompting a chill that ran the length of Nicky’s spine.

I did not hear that. Forget you heard that.

Jeremy was finishing up his conversation. A couple more grunts, an “uh-huh,” and then, finally, “Fine.”

At which point he put the phone back onto its cradle.

“Sweet Jesus,” he muttered to himself.

Nicky raised her head high enough to peek out the window again. Jeremy didn’t look any happier now than he did when he’d walked in. Her plan to put things right would have to be postponed to some later date.

She ducked her head back down, figured she would hide here until he left for another part of the house. Nicky sat down on the floor, resting her back against the cabinet door under the sink. Her movement set off the tiniest, almost imperceptible squeak from the springs in the recreational vehicle’s undercarriage.

“Who is it?” Jeremy called out.

Shit, Nicky thought.

Should she step out, reveal herself? Shout “Surprise!” and see if she could bring a smile to his face, pretend she hadn’t heard a thing? Or hold her breath, not move, make him think there was no one there?

But again, he called out, “If there’s someone in there, you better come out. Now.”

There was a small bed at the back end of the vehicle, with horizontal cabinetry doors underneath it instead of open space. Not exactly a place to hide there.

Nicky heard a drawer in Jeremy’s desk slide open. Some rustling.

She peeked through the window. He was tossing items from the drawer onto the top of the desk. A notepad, some scraps of paper, a set of keys with a silver W attached to them, some pens.

Finally, he found what he was looking for.

A gun.

“Last chance,” he said. “I’ve every right to shoot an intruder, and I will do it.”