A Land Cruiser was slowly sliding past Hannibal on his left. To Hannibal, nobody needed a vehicle that size unless they were entering a demolition derby. A Voyager trailed it by a little more than a car length, its driver’s attention divided by four children bouncing in the seats behind her. Hadn’t they heard about seat belts in that household? Well, maybe he would give them a reminder.
A slow smile spread across Hannibal’s face and he was singing along with the music under his breath. As he and the band reached the chorus, “Beer drinkers, yeah, hell raisers,” Hannibal released his accelerator to let his Volvo drift back so that the four wheel drive Cruiser was completely past him.
“Let’s do it, Tornado,” he muttered between lyrics. Watching his mirrors closely, he slapped the shifter down into second gear and made a sharp slide to his left. Chauffeur Mom slammed her brakes and Hannibal moved through the space and directly into the third lane. The woman was yelling at her charges, who had flown all about the inside of the van. Hannibal could spare only a sliver of attention to the kids buckling up, because he was watching the Ford, which also jogged hard left. It paused in the middle lane for a moment before moving over to the third and settling in three cars behind Hannibal.
“Well, I guess that settles that,” Hannibal said. But already his exit was coming up — exit 2B, leading to that little stretch of I-295 that would take him to Maine Avenue downtown. Pressing the accelerator to the floor, Hannibal felt his engine move comfortably into overdrive as he pulled the steering wheel to dive in front of the Land Cruiser. Again he slid across two lanes of traffic to dart onto the exit ramp, and then downshifted as his car leaned into the sharp right curve. His tires made a small squeal of protest, but only for a second. When he slotted into traffic between two other skillful and determined drivers, there was no gray Fairmont in his rearview mirror. And from there, no one could guess where in Washington he may be headed. Hilton hotels were not among Hannibal’s usual haunts.
When Hannibal stepped out of the elevator in Cindy’s building he saw that the sign on the door had finally been changed. “Niesewand and Baylor” had lost its senior partner shortly after Gabriel Niesewand went to prison for his involvement in a conspiracy to defraud a wealthy client, and the murder he committed trying to keep that conspiracy a secret. Hannibal had something to do with that conviction. Now the sign read “Baylor, Truman and Ray.”
"And Tinker to Evers to Chance," Hannibal thought, reminded of the famous triple play. However, moving those other two partners onto the firm’s masthead did put Cindy a step or two closer to full partnership some day soon. Her star was rising very quickly indeed.
Like any major law firm, this one had its gatekeepers, but they all knew Hannibal and hardly raised their heads as he entered the office. When he did get someone’s attention, he just pointed at Cindy’s door and smiled.
“No one this morning,” the receptionist said, meaning that Cindy had no appointments. Nodding thanks, Hannibal pushed Cindy’s door open and stepped quietly inside.
Not a corner office yet, he reflected, but still quite an impressive space for a young associate. Her desk was covered with papers, books, and small sheets containing her hastily scribbled notes. Tastefully decorated he thought, with a lovely, subtle fragrance from the bowl of floating violets on a side table.
Cindy herself was nowhere to be seen, so he dropped into the visitor’s chair closest to her desk. While he waited he picked up one of the firm’s brochures, curious to see what else had changed since Niesewand’s departure. He saw now that the firm specialized in “Emerging Business, Technology and E-Commerce (EBTEC).” Must everything have an acronym, he wondered? “At Baylor, Truman and Ray we recognize that fast-moving businesses have special needs. We have assembled a multidisciplinary team of attorneys to serve those needs — including attorneys with backgrounds in the intellectual property, securities, corporate, real estate, land use, telecommunications, environmental, labor and litigation practice areas…”
Hannibal wasn’t sure how you could use the word “specialize” with a collection of areas like that, but there was pride attached to the fact that his woman, Cindy Santiago, represented the “securities” part of that list for emerging businesses. What would his brochure say, if he had one? “Hannibal Jones recognizes that life is hard and unfair. He specializes in helping people who are in trouble and need help to get out of it.” Not so impressive, he thought, but it did sound more like real work.
Cindy rushed into her office in a navy blue suit and heels. She froze when she saw Hannibal, delight dancing in her dark eyes. Her arms were filled with large bound volumes of legal precedent, and she clutched a pencil between her teeth. One long strand of hair had worked loose and hung down to tickle the tip of her pert Latin nose.
“Now here’s a lovely surprise,” she said, once she had dropped the books on her desk and pulled the pencil free of her mouth. Hannibal stood and they shared a brief but warm embraced, ending the hug with a quick kiss. “Just in the neighborhood?”
“Actually, my current case brought me nearby, and I thought you might like to run out for a late lunch. Or have you eaten, already?”
“Oh heavens no. In fact, I really can’t get away today. Do you want me to order something in? We can eat right here while I get some of this research done.”
Not exactly what Hannibal had in mind, but he said, “Sure, that sounds great. If I can use your computer for a minute.”
“Help yourself,” Cindy said, rolling her chair a little out from her desk. Hannibal pushed the visitor chair over beside her and tapped the keys while she spoke into her intercom. The two quickly became immersed in their own tasks and sat in a comfortable silence until a young lady who may have been hired for her cuteness laid food on Cindy’s desk and withdrew without a word. Cindy put her notebook down and corralled her soup and salad. Hannibal leaned back and began unwrapping his hot pastrami on rye.
“Well, this is kind of cozy,” Cindy said. “So tell me how this new case is starting out. Missing person, right?”
“Well, sort of,” Hannibal said after his first bite. The meat was hot and fresh, with a generous slathering of sharp, stone-ground mustard. Perfect. He sipped from his lemonade to clear his mouth. “The guy apparently stole something from a young girl he was staying with. I found out he had a suite at the Capital Hilton over on 16th Street right after he left the girl.”
“What did he steal?” Cindy asked. “That’s one of the most expensive places in the City. Certainly the most expensive of the Hiltons.”
“Well that’s just it,” Hannibal said, tracking mustard down his thumb with his tongue. “We don’t know what he stole, but it does sound like he’s already sold it, doesn’t it? Anyway, he was only at the Hilton for a week. I think he found a new mark pretty quickly.”
“Okay, so you got a forwarding address, right?”
“You could be a detective,” Hannibal said. “Actually, he left both a previous and a forwarding address, one in Denver, the other in Miami. But as I just confirmed with on-line mapping services, neither address actually exists.”
“Okay, so he’s somebody who’s used to keeping a low profile. Where do you go from here?”
“From here I go back to the victim for more background info. But enough about my day. How’s that DPO going?”