“No. I only told him what he told you on the phone.”
“And he didn’t ask for details?”
“Yes, of course he did. But I didn’t know if I could trust him, since he said he didn’t know the name of the scientist.”
Maggie nods. “Well, he’s certainly heard of Roger Asprin. On the other hand, he’d have no reason to know Dr. Asprin is our primary accreditor.”
“Can you help me get an audience with him?” I say, knowing the answer in advance.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Maggie says. “Though I must warn you, he’s a very busy man.”
“I’d appreciate any help you can give. After all, it would be horrible if the Spanish Flu came back.”
“It would indeed.” She stood, and extended her hand. “I’ll have someone from his office contact you.”
“My number’s on the business card I gave you,” I say, helpfully.
She picks the card up and looks at it. “So it is.”
I shake her hand and give her a wink. “Thanks for showing me your shillelagh.”
“Anytime, Mr. Creed.”
I leave her office knowing my card will be in her trash can before I hit the elevator button. Not that it matters, since the phone number I had printed on the card goes to a Chinese take-out restaurant in Richmond, Virginia.
I climb in my waiting limo and call Callie, who lives in Las Vegas with her girlfriend, Eva, a trapeze artist who performs nightly in the Cirque du Soleil production “O” at the Bellagio.
“I’ve just passed the city limits en route to Newport Beach,” Callie says.
“Great! Thanks, Callie. I’ll meet you there,” I say. Then I call Lou and tell him to release Sam.
“Are you sure?”
“He gave us what we need. Plus, if all goes well tonight, we’ll need his room at Sensory.”
“Want me to fly him back to Louisville?”
“He’s been through a lot. Take him wherever he wants to go. And Lou?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank him for me. I know he hates me, but I owe him big time. Without his help, I’d have no chance of finding Rachel.”
“He didn’t help you willingly,” Lou reminds me.
“True. But the end result is the same.”
Lou pauses a moment. Then says, “I’ll take care of it.”
30.
“Roger’s in Chicago till Friday,” Jane Asprin says. “Some type of international conference.”
“Then who’s this?” I say, pointing my gun at the naked guy sitting on the bed beside her.
“I have no idea,” Jane says. “A rapist, obviously. As you can see, he tied my wrists to the headboard and took off all my clothes. If you hadn’t come in when you did, he would certainly have raped me.”
“It didn’t sound like rape,” I say.
“You just walked in. Perhaps you didn’t hear me calling for help.”
“It didn’t appear you needed any help. This guy came to your door, you let him in, called him Hector, and gave him five hundred dollars to tie you up.”
“If you heard all that, why did you wait so long to barge in?”
“I didn’t want to miss the show.”
“You’re disgusting.” To Hector, she said, “Are you just going to sit there with your hands up your ass? Do something, you imbecile!”
“He’s got a gun,” Hector says.
Jane sighs. “At the very least you could untie me. You think it’s fun lying here butt naked while some asshole points a gun at me? I can tell you this, Hector: a real man wouldn’t stand for it.”
Hector looks at me.
“No, you can’t untie her,” I say.
Hector looks at Jane. “He says—”
“I heard him.” To me, she says, “Did Roger send you?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“About what?”
“Hector.”
“Do you want me to tell him?”
“What kind of crazy question is that? Of course not.”
From behind me, Callie says, “I’ve got his laptop.”
When she enters the room, Hector’s eyes bug out like marbles. “Firewood!” he shouts, crossing himself.
I have no idea what that means.
Jane says, “Who are you people, movie stars gone bad?”
“What do you think?” I say.
As good looking as I am synthetically, and Rachel is naturally, Callie has us both beat. She is, quite frankly, the most astonishingly beautiful woman in the world. In Jane’s bedroom now, all three of us are staring at her.
“What?” Callie says.
“Your beauty.”
“Oh, please. I look like a hairball some cat coughed up and shit on. Why is Jane still tied up? You can’t possibly find her attractive.”
I look at Jane’s body a moment. “It’s sort of like a movie you’re not really into. But it’s the only thing on TV, so you watch it.”
“I’m right here, you know,” Jane says.
“What’s her version?” Callie says.
“She was telling me how Hector was about to rape her just now.”
“Rehearsing her story for hubby?”
“I suppose.”
Callie sets Roger’s laptop on the floor and pulls her cell phone from the hip pocket of her jeans. She moves in close and takes Jane’s picture from the waist up.
“What the hell?” Jane says.
Callie backs up a few steps and takes another photo, getting Jane’s entire body in the shot. Then she shows me the digital images.
“What do you think?” she says.
“I think you did the best you could with what you had.”
“Fuck you!” Jane says.
“Can’t get enough, can she?” Callie says.
I tell Hector to get dressed.
“I don’t have no underwear,” he says, with great sorrow, as if apologizing.
Callie and I exchange a glance. We aren’t sure, but we think Hector might be mentally challenged.
When Hector finally realizes he can get dressed the same way he got undressed, without underwear, I walk him downstairs, and out the door and tell him to go home. It’s dark enough that I can probably get Jane’s body into my trunk without anyone noticing. Hector tries to hug me goodbye, but I keep him at arm’s length. I feel for the guy, but what can I say? I’ve got trust issues.
I close the door, lock it, and walk up the stairs. When I enter the bedroom, Jane says, “How long are you going to make me lie here naked?”
“I’m not sure. So far, I’m comfortable with it.”
Callie is standing at the window, watching Hector walk away.
Jane says, “If you promise to let me go, I’ll let you fuck me.” She looks at Callie and says, “Her, too.”
Callie suddenly turns and runs out the door. “Start without me,” she calls as she moves quickly down the steps.
When I hear the front door close behind her, my head explodes with pain.
31.
“Where’s Jane?” Callie asks, ten minutes later.
“In the trunk of my car.”
“You drugged her?”
“Drugged and duct taped. How’s Hector?”
“Not so good. He was getting ready to call the cops.”
“Not as impaired as we thought?”
“He seemed more lucid on the phone.”
“Did he get through?”
“To the cops? No. But he spoke to his drug dealer.”
“You’re guessing he was going to call the cops?”
“Those were his last words before hanging up. He said, ‘gotta go, there’s some strange shit goin’ down. I might have to call the cops.’”
“He told his dealer he might call the cops?”
“He had the brains of a goldfish,” Callie said. “But I don’t think he was clinically mental.”
I don’t say anything to Callie about the white-hot pain that washed through my head for a split-second, minutes ago. Once again, I feel fine almost instantly. But I’m a little concerned about driving through L.A. If this thing flares up again, I could have a wreck.