Saturday
When the clock's alarm sounded Paul buried his head into the pillow in an attempt to block its insistent shrill and ward off reality.
To guarantee he responded and to circumvent his plan Charlie kneed him in the back as she crawled over him to silence the summons.
She eyed his still body as she stood and stretched.
"Paul," she ordered, "get up and get dressed. You have to get to the bank by eight and you know the drive will take up some time itself on a weekend."
"No," he mumbled in response. "Give me another hour, Chuck. I need rest." He waited for her understanding and her insistence that he sleep a bit longer. Nothing happened.
When she failed to agree and compounded it by ignoring him he resigned himself to opening his eyes a couple of minutes later. Paul maneuvered himself to his side with a long groan. "Where did you go?"
Leaning down to make eye contact with him Charlie tousled his hair and pointed towards the bathroom. "Get dressed, Paul, and I just switched that shirt you wanted to wear to work. That one you picked out had a stain on the front."
"What?" Paul moaned in alarm and threw an arm over his eyes. "That's my lucky shirt! I counted on wearing that to the bank."
Already an ill omen had inserted itself into Paul's brand new day. He muttered with more than a touch of sadness, "I love that shirt, that specific shirt, that one and only shirt! When I pulled it from the closet last night nothing looked wrong with it that I could see. Come to think of it, I look great in it even if Charlie hates it. She claims the sleeves remind her of Gandalf and I know she just doesn't appreciate British fashion."
By the time he concluded his monologue and untangled himself from the bed linens he could hear her brushing her teeth in the bathroom. Paul sat up straight and took stock, mentally running through his upcoming responsibilities that day. He would finish his supervised training at the Georgian and if all went well he would walk away with some substantial leads to the fraud suspects.
He crawled out of bed.
Before accepting Charlie's word for it Paul snatched his first choice shirt and examined it, turning the hanger from one side to the other for a comprehensive exploration. Suspicion flooded his thoughts when he discovered a brownish stain across the left pocket. Hadn't he picked that shirt up from the cleaners in pristine condition just a couple of days ago and hung it straight in the closet? How could he have stained it so badly?
A shortage of time derailed him from further investigation. Checking the clock he gave up any idea of pursuing the matter and began to hurriedly dress.
Mike knocked loudly on the doorframe while he knotted his tie. Paul grinned at his protégé in greeting, genuinely pleased to see him. "Morning, Levi!"
"Am I bothering you? I could come back," Mike suggested.
Before Paul could respond or invite him to enter, Mike crossed to the bed and sat down on its edge anyway.
"No, I don't mind the interruption but I do need to get to the bank today for my undercover work." Paul tilted his head and checked Mike's expression before sitting down beside him and snatching his shoes. "Go for it."
Mike frowned. "Ok, here's the deal. Dale hates me. No, Dale Jakes detests me."
Paul regarded him with some bewilderment. "That's a bit harsh, Mikey Mike."
"But true," Mike assured him. "Somehow I always set him off, from the first time he ever met me. But yesterday evening I bumped into him- and I mean literally bumped into him- while he had a bowl of ice cream in his hands and it flew all over him." Mike wrinkled his nose. "I mean what managed to miss the floor splattered him."
"What flavor?" Paul quizzed.
"What?"
Briggs rose to his feet to tuck in his Charlie-chosen shirt. "What flavor was the ice cream?"
"Pistachio," Mike decided.
"Damn!"
Mike looked stricken. "Tell me what you mean! Why is that so horrible? What's the significance of the pistachio?"
Paul raised his eyebrows and answered in a confidential tone of voice. "Pistachio happens to be my favorite flavor, and last time I checked that particular ice cream carton had about two servings left. If Dale lost one I know he replaced it, so that means no pistachio ice cream will be left in that carton for me." Paul regarded Mike with sorrow. "That hurts me."
Mike's mouth flew open.
Paul laughed at Mike's expression and slid his wallet into his pocket.
Mike shook his head back and forth. "Paul Briggs, I thought you would help me, not make fun of me."
"Absolutely," Briggs grinned. "I'm good now and I did pay attention. So other than the ice cream why would you decide that Dale hates you? Did you do something else to him?"
"One more thing," Mike admitted, steepling his fingers and narrowing his eyes in concentration. "I accidentally knocked a lamp over in his room and broke it about an hour later."
"How?"
Mike looked uncomfortable and paused a moment to form his answer. "Something stupid again. I guess I'm just a klutz." He added, "I offered to pay for it or even to replace it but he refused and told me to just get out."
"Hmmm…" Paul decided, "Tell you what, I have to take off now but I promise I will give this my undivided attention after work today."
Mike still looked worried.
Paul leaned down and patted Mike on the back. "I promise."
"Ok," Mike nodded.
"Out the door, Charlie-" Paul yelled in the direction of the closed bathroom door before bidding Mike good bye.
When Paul pulled up to the Georgian thirty five minutes later a sixth sense warned him that something had changed with the bank's exterior environment. As he slipped the jeep into a parking slot he studied the rest of the lot. Considering the number of employees and their transportation, it appeared that two additional automobiles had arrived before opening hours.
Since he lacked a key someone inside had to disengage the lock to let him enter. Paul took advantage of the wait to scour the vicinity for anything hinky, but the rest of the area appeared relatively normal.
Stella stood by the bank manager's desk and they whispered confidentially, though both nodded in greeting when they saw him arrive.
Paul glanced at the empty teller cage and reminded himself that Cody, Ariel, and Stella arrived and departed on a staggered schedule.
Evidently Stella came to the bank first each morning.
Paul saw that Stella had begun readying the bank for the first customers before she occupied herself with the manager. He shot her a charming smile and pantomimed that he would finish it. He deftly inventoried the worktables, adding deposit slips and withdrawal forms where appropriate, locating pens and then straightening chairs and magazines in the waiting areas.
A chiming bell startled him and he paused to watch as the manager ushered Cody inside, then released the door locks so that customers could enter. Stella opened the heavy shade covering the outside windows to the drive-through and Paul saw two cars already waiting in the queue.
The manager tapped him on the shoulder and relayed a message that the bank's president wanted to see him privately.
Once the manager pointed out where to go he watched until Paul actually entered the office.
Paul didn't look back to see if the manager or even Cody or Stella showed curiosity in his whereabouts. The summons didn't surprise him, nor the company. Once he entered the president introduced him to two fraud investigators who confided a six thousand dollar check had been fraudulently cashed the previous day.
As soon as he heard the news Paul added his impressions from the day before. He dictated everything he could remember about the couple he had watched during lunch, from their beige Lexus to the description of the couple riding in it.
The group bounced ideas and strategies for several minutes. All of them agreed Paul should continue with his cover, because at that juncture they had no proof that one or more of the tellers were not part of the scam. Briggs genuinely doubted their collusion, but had learned long ago that exemplary investigative work meant keeping yourself open to even the impossible and implausible.
Paul studied them one by one when he finally rejoined the other employees. He had to employ all of his covert skills to examine Ariel, who flirted outrageously anytime she made eye contact and who posed an imminent risk to his own personal happiness.
Charlie had not appreciated the lipstick stained shirt last night, and though she understood perfectly from an intellectual and agent perspective that Paul's undercover work held the blame, he felt it best to steer clear of Ariel. Thanks to his fellow teller the romantic dinner had turned into a sit rep instead, and the mood certainly failed to materialize as the one he had promised Charlie they would enjoy.
Cody remained aloof as he normally did, not appearing interested in the extra people in the building or even in the underlying unease pervading the bank.
The bank closed at noon on Saturdays, and he left as soon as he finished his job requirements. Paul looked forward to a couple of hours of serenity through a surfing jaunt, then maybe a nap once he logged his notes for the day.
Charlie wouldn't be home until late, and Paige had called and reported she would be home mid afternoon.
Paul helped himself to a bottle of water from the refrigerator and marveled at the solitude of the house. He moved his head side to side to unkink tight neck muscles and practiced some deep breathing to unwind from the bank and the commute.
The front door opened to admit Dale Jakes. He warned he was on the run and had returned for a late lunch because he had to hurry back to his current case.
Paul watched with interest as Dale slapped cheese, deli meat, bread, and condiments onto the counter before searching for a plate and building his sandwich.
Jakes regarded him as he bit into the bread. "Want one?"
"Sure," Briggs nodded, and sat down on a stool to watch Dale work. He felt lazy, and must have looked lazy as well, because Dale glanced at him and chuckled.
"What's up with Mikey?" Briggs ventured.
Dale slid a plate in front of him and Paul grabbed the sandwich and took a huge bite, nodding his thanks.
"Your hotshot FBI protégé is lucky I haven't beaten him to a pulp."
Briggs uncapped the water and drank deeply before commiserating. "He can annoy the best of us."
"Right," Dale agreed, leaning over the counter as he ate his own sandwich. "Yesterday he managed to body slam me by hurtling himself down the stairs."
"Ouch," Briggs grimaced. "Seems like a genuine accident, though."
"Sure it was, but it happened because he tripped over the next to the last stair, tripped because he fell over his own pair of shoes which he'd left in the middle of the step!" Dale's voice rose for emphasis as he relayed the circumstances.
Paul imagined the scene and had to agree with Jakes. It really was Mike's fault. "I'll remind him of the keep the stairs clear rule we have."
"Do that," Dale prodded, "and add the part about running and playing ball in the house."
Paul leaned back in surprise. "Mike?"
"Yes Mike," Dale confirmed, "along with Johnny."
Dale took a bite and tilted his head towards the steps.
"Are you planning to share details, DJ?"
"Sure. The teens…"
Briggs hid a smile. Johnny and Mike had certainly personally reminded him of adolescents more than once.
Jakes narrowed his eyes. "Do you want the story or not?"
"I want the story."
"So the kids decided to play basketball upstairs and used the hall as the basketball court, all this while I attempted in frustration to write a report in my room. When I heard them I got up to shut the door but made it too late. Apparently Levi threw wildly and the ball arced into my room and crashed into my lamp."
"Oh wow," Paul winced. "Man, that's unjust."
"Unjust doesn't come to mind, but hey, you think as you like. You're the house leader."
Briggs rubbed his chin and sifted his thoughts. "You're in the right here, and Man, I can handle this two ways. I can come down really hard on both of them, Johnny as well as Mike, or I can snatch them up then let that be the end of it."
Dale rinsed his plate.
Paul regarded the set of Dale's shoulders and added, "Whichever way I go, though, that has to be the end of it. It's now in my hands and they won't need more repercussions from you. I don't want you to fawn all over them but I expect you to accept an olive branch."
Jakes nodded and motioned for Paul's empty plate. Briggs slid off the stool and returned the meat and cheese to the refrigerator.
"What's on your mind?"
Jakes laughed sarcastically. "I'm a rat. I just tattled and I could have kept this to myself. Stupid as it sounds, I actually feel guilty for reporting on the house toddlers."
Briggs transitioned into his leader mode and answered seriously. "No, I asked and had you lied then that would have made trouble between you and me."
"Johnny usually responds to you," Dale affirmed.
"True, I can rein him in and the same can be said for Mike. Right now I'm not too happy with either of them. Just thinking about one of them crashing over the banister freaks me, but I am incredibly upset about the whole basketball incident. Both of them know better."
Dale turned to leave. "Gotta go."
"Stay safe man. I'll take care of the other two," Paul promised.