“A CD-Rom,” Hannibal muttered to himself.
“Yes. It was this little golden disc. And he asked her what she was doing, or something like that, and she sort of shrugged her shoulders. He shouted that the disc could be worth ten times what she was worth. And then. Then he slapped her. God, it lifted her right off the floor and that disc spun across the room and slid almost to my feet. I looked down and there was a white label and it said “formulas.” Or maybe it was “formulae,” you know, with an e.”
Hannibal took another long sip from his tea. It was very sweet and so cold it hurt his teeth. “What happened to the girl?”
Marquita looked up. “You don’t really understand how it works, do you? He ordered her to her knees and she knelt. He ordered her to put her face on the cold hardwood floor. She screamed that she was sorry and begged him to forgive her. She was already crying when he pulled off his belt. I didn’t stay around to watch.”
Marquita probably didn’t even notice that she was crying too, but Sarge did. Silent tears left tracks down her fast-drying cheeks, and she seems oblivious to the others. Sarge used a finger to wipe the water from one side of her face. Hannibal stood slowly, eased down the steps to the patio, and began to wander into the yard. When he felt the pressure easing around his chest, he noticed that he was followed.
“It’s hard for you to hear, isn’t it?” Cindy asked, just as they reached the tree line of the narrow wooded area separating them from the next yard.
“Last night,” Hannibal said.
“Not even!” Cindy said, turning him to face her.
“I seen it when I was little,” Hannibal said. “Soldiers who thought their foreign born wives were just kids or slaves or something. And now this guy. I just don’t want to be him.”
“You could never be him.”
“Last night,” Hannibal repeated.
Cindy’s laugh was one sharp snort. “Well hell, if you’re going to be extreme about this, then it’s your whole race.”
Hannibal’s eyes widened. “You mean blacks?”
“I mean men. Every man is him in some small way. It’s just a matter of degree.”
Hannibal stepped forward onto last year’s dry leaves beneath the verdant canopy. “Maybe. I know I’ve seen Sarge mean. But now I see him gentle as a lamb with Marquita. How do you figure them coming together, huh? Kind of like a fairy tale. The bouncer and the princess.”
“Maybe they’re just destined to be together,” Cindy said, following her man into the thin shade. “Don’t you believe in fate?”
“You mean like kismet? Destiny? What will be will be?” Hannibal thought for a moment. “I believe if I step into empty space I’m destined to fall. I think it’s pretty much up to me whether or not I take that step.”
“Really? Well, master of your own fate, what’s your next step to finding this Rod character?”
Hannibal turned away, hands on hips, head shaking. “I’ve got to find out if Anita lost a disc with something valuable on it. Was her dad stealing formulas from Isermann — Borner? And I’ve got to find those guys he worked with. Such pretentious names. Brendon Hathaway. Elliot Gaye.”
“Elliot Gaye, the combinatorial chemist?”
“What?” Hannibal spun to stare at Cindy, her face mottled by the splotchy shadows of leaves above them.
“Well, you mentioned Isermann — Borner a minute ago. Gaye works for them.”
“A client?”
“Not really, but an influential social contact. He’ll be at that fundraiser tonight. It’s one of those things that, if you’re in certain industries, you don’t dare miss it.”
“You’re going to be there,” Hannibal said.
“Yep, and if you’re real nice to me, you could be too.” Hannibal smiled for a second, but then the smile sort of slid off his face. “Hey,” Cindy said, “I know it’s not your kind of thing, but…”
“It’s not that. It’s just that, you know, it’s too easy.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You know me. I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Yeah I know,” Cindy said, her eyes sparkling. “Doesn’t stop them from happening though, does it?”
10
With much reluctance, Hannibal handed the White Tornado’s keys to a boy displaying too much acne and attitude, and headed into the hotel. The Omni Shoreham was a huge, imposing structure, hogging eleven lovingly landscaped acres of Rock Creek Park in Northwest Washington. Since the 1930’s the Omni has hosted countless celebrities, several presidents and other world leaders. It was no place Hannibal was ever likely to spend a night, but it was a regular choice for these events people referred to as galas. Tonight’s gala, a Gourmet Gala to be precise, would benefit St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital. Hannibal was certain a lot of people were there out of a pure love of children. The fact that every noted pharmaceutical company was represented he attributed to enlightened self-interest on the part of researchers who were showing both support and deference to what they hoped would be a major customer.
Cindy naturally wore a well-fitted black gown with a single string of pearls and a different pair of black heels high enough to show her legs at their best. They had compromised on Hannibal’s appearance without much debate. Cindy had agreed to his wearing a simple black suit, although she did give him a Structure tie with a nice subtle design. Hannibal had agreed to go without his usual protective camouflage. No gloves and, more significantly, no sunglasses. It was a concession because he didn’t like to show strangers his eyes. He also didn’t like to think about what his eyes probably told people about him.
“What did you call this guy? Some kind of chemist?”
“Combinatorial,” Cindy said, handing her wrap to a coat check girl. “Combinatorial chemistry is an integral part of drug discovery, dear. Speeds up research and development, so useful compounds get developed more quickly and less expensively. Gaye was one of the combinatorial chemists who contributed to the completion of sequencing human genes.”
Hannibal rolled his eyes. “Check out the big brain on Cindy tonight.”
She held her arm out for him to take. “I memorized that bit when I was working a very small IPO for one of Isermann — Borner’s baby competitors.”
They sped through the lobby, their heels clicking across the marble as they passed between arched columns and beneath huge cut-glass chandeliers. The hotel was labyrinthine, boasting a couple of dozen ballrooms and meeting rooms, but Cindy steered them with confident certainty toward the gala’s reception. The instant they transitioned to the carpet of the ballroom a blonde Amazon spotted them. She was about four-fifths legs, and her black strapless gown was designed to make that conclusion unavoidable. Her lips were a little too full for a white girl and covered with a lipstick that made Hannibal think of candy apples. She stalked toward them wearing a broad smile, her eyes scanning Hannibal like the light beam of a Xerox machine. Was she memorizing him for later examination?
“Cindy,” the woman said, putting an arm around Cindy’s waist and kissing the air beside her right cheek. “I am so glad you decided to come. Now the real fun can begin.”
“Hi Glory. Hannibal, this is Gloria Deitz. International law. One of my best girlfriends at the firm. Glory, hon, I’d like you to meet Hannibal Jones.”
“Oh my God, Cindy, I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this gorgeous man under wraps all this time,” Glory said, gushing like a schoolgirl as they moved toward the bar. “And you never said about his eyes. What a simply luscious shade of blue. Or wait, now they’re looking green. Yummy.”
Hannibal had counted to ten in his head three separate times before parting his artificial smile to ask “Would you ladies like a drink?”
“Oh, be a dear and get me an appletini,” Cindy said. Her eyes promised him a reward for this evening, and his eyes accepted.
“Vodka rocks,” Glory said. As Hannibal turned to the bar he heard her chattering on to Cindy. “You are so lucky. Now, what do you call him?”