William Bernhardt - Blind Justice

“All right,” Vickie announced. “Time for the abdominal massage.”

“No,” Ben whispered. “I absolutely refuse.”

“Ben,” Christina hissed, “stop being a pain,”

“I am not going to sit here massaging a pillow!”

“Hurry along,” Vickie said, staring at Ben. “Put your body bolsters in place.”

Ben looked puzzled. “Body bolsters?”

Vickie rolled her eyes and turned away. Apparently he was beyond help.

Marjorie tried to explain. “A firm pillow. Something your friend can rest her tummy on.”

“Darn,” Christina said. “I think we left mine at home.”

Marjorie commiserated with her. “Oh, that’s awful, dear. You’ll never make it through the rest of the session without one.

“I guess I’ll have to try,” Christina said, looking sorrowful. “Unless someone has an extra.”

“I have a spare that I use in the office,” Marjorie said. “It’s just down the street.”

“That’s generous of you,” Ben said, quick on the uptake, “but I’d hate for you to miss any more of the class.”

“Me, too,” Marjorie replied. “You think you’d mind getting it?”

“Me?”

“Well, I don’t want your friend to miss anything. And you don’t seem terribly…occupied at the moment.”

“You’re right,” Ben said, trying to contain himself. “I’ll go.”

Marjorie groped around in her purse. “Here’s the key,” she said. “You shouldn’t have any problem. The security guard doesn’t start taking names until eight.”

“This is awfully nice of you,” Christina said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s just a pillow.”

True in more ways than one tonight, Ben thought. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

And he was.

But he made a stop at the locksmith’s first.

27

BEN HOISTED THE HEAVY document boxes out of the back of his Accord and onto the sidewalk in front of the Oneok Building. “I thought we swore we were never, ever going to do something like this again.”

“This is different,” Christina said. She pushed the boxes onto the flat of the dolly. “This isn’t nearly as dangerous.”

“I’m not sure I see the distinction. It’s late at night, we’re breaking into someone’s office, there are guards, possibly alarms, and a high likelihood of getting caught.”

“Ah,” Christina said, recalling their earlier breaking and entering, “but there are no Dobermans.”

“You’re right. I feel much better now.” He tilted the loaded dolly back and pushed it toward the front doors of the office building. He was wearing blue jeans and a blue work shirt. Christina was wearing cling-tight black leggings, a black shirt, and a sequinned black jacket with a gold lame collar.

“By the way,” Ben said, “if you were trying to dress inconspicuously, you failed.”

“I’m not trying to be invisible,” she replied huffily. She held open the door while Ben wheeled the dolly through.

The security guard, sitting behind a large oval station, waited for them to arrive. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“Got a delivery for Quinn Reynolds,” Ben said.

“Awfully late to be making deliveries.”

“We did the best we could. We had to bring these documents all the way from Amarillo.”

The guard nodded toward Christina. “You with him?”

“Oh yes. Haven’t you seen me before? I’m a legal assistant working for Mr. Reynolds. I’ve got to organize these documents.”

“We’ve got a trial first thing in the morning before Judge Schmidt. Mr. Reynolds is going to be furious if we’re not ready.”

At the mention of the judge’s name, the guard’s resistance dissolved. “You got a key?”

“Of course,” she said. “How else would we get in?”

“Okay. I’ll let you up.” He led them to the main bank of elevators. Christina and Ben followed with the dolly. After the elevator doors opened, the guard inserted a card into the metal slot just beneath the floor buttons.

“If you have any problems, call my desk,” the guard said. “Extension 4571.”

“Got it.” The door closed between them.

Ben and Christina exhaled. “See,” Christina said. “I told you it would be easy. You just needed to get the old testosterone pumping, Ben.”

“We’re not home free yet.”

They exited the elevator on the seventh floor and wheeled the document boxes to the front door of Swayze & Reynolds. Ben inserted the key and pushed. No alarm sounded. That was one point in their favor, anyway. Assuming it wasn’t a silent alarm.

They scrambled through the lobby and into Reynolds’s interior office. Ben saw Polly perched in her usual spot in the corner. “Hello, Polly.”

Polly did not respond. She looked even worse than she had on Ben’s last visit. Her eyes were hazy; her plumage had faded. The pile of plucked feathers on the bottom of the cage had grown taller.

Ben pointed to the large credenza. “The documents are in there.”

Christina scrutinized the lock. “Piece of cake. I used to pick locks like this regularly at Raven, Tucker & Tubb. So I could read my quarterly evaluations.”

She took a paper clip from Reynolds’s tabletop, straightened the outer prong, and inserted the rounded center into the lock. She jiggled the clip for a few seconds. Ben heard a tiny clicking noise. Christina withdrew the paper clip and the drawer popped open.

“Not really designed to hold state secrets,” she said.

“Lucky for us.” Ben examined the top row of files. “True to the man’s word, here’s what we’re looking for.” He pulled three thick files out of the drawer, then closed it.

Ben perused the files for a few moments. “These are exactly what we need. They explain how much money Lombardi got from ADC, with names, dates, and places. Have you got that copier?”

“You bet.” Christina withdrew a black hand-size device from inside her jacket.

“That’s a copier?”

“The crème de la crème. It can scan four by eight inches at a time, and it’s very quiet.”

“What did that set you back?”

“Only twenty bucks. I got it from Burris. Secondhand.”

“At least.” Ben handed her the documents. Christina turned on her machine. There was a soft purring noise, then a red light flashed.

“Watch this.” She pulled the scanner down the first column of the top document, then pressed a button. A printed strip of paper emerged from the back of the scanner, but after a second or two, the paper became tangled and snarled. The paper backed up, clogging the machine. The scanner began to vibrate, then emitted a high-pitched squealing noise.

“Shut it off!” Ben said. Christina pressed the power button. The squealing gradually subsided.

Ben sighed. “So much for the crème de la crème. Get your money back.”

“Can’t. Burris doesn’t give guarantees.”

“With good reason. Where’s the firm’s copy machine?”

Christina led the way. At the end of the hall, they turned left into the central supply room. A large wall-to-wall window admitted faint illumination into the room. Ben saw paper cutters, typing paper, printers, a computer terminal, and in one corner, wedged between a tiny supply closet and the wall, a large photocopier.

“Stay away from the window,” Ben whispered. “We don’t want to be seen from the street.” He scrutinized the front panel of the copier. “I can’t tell which button turns this machine on. Have you still got that flashlight?”

“Yeah.” Christina withdrew a small plastic flashlight. A weak beam shone across the room for a few seconds, flickered, then died.

“D’you get that from Burris, too?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”