If you maybe pitied Vivian before I don't think you will for long. I want
to thank my friend Inga for the use of her name and reviewing this chapter.
*-*-*-*-*
Up two floors above them, in his luxury tower, Donald Getty was getting ready. It was a big night for him. It was the night he would announce his candidacy and in the process bring the value of his stocks up. In front of the mirror he worked on his tie. Even after thirty years he still had difficulties with Windsor knots. As he was struggling her secretary came into the room, a concerned look on his face.
"Mr. Getty? Sir?"
Getty turned and faced the stammering man. "What is it Mr. Bell," he asked his secretary. "Damn blasted knot. Here you do it. I knew I should have brought Inga along for this."
The secretary grabbed the two ends of the tie and made a perfect, elegant knot. "There was an FBI agent killed today."
"So what? FBI agents are killed everyday. Its part of the risk they take my boy." Getty walked over to the deep red wing backed chair and sat down with a glass of bourbon. "It happens."
"B-but you don't understand sir. There are some people here to see you about it," replied the timid man.
"To see me," Getty started to ask.
"To see you," said Alex.
Donald Getty looked up to find three women standing in his door way. Had he been a few years younger and in better condition he would have gladly welcomed them. As it was he had enough to worry about without these three, although lovely, ladies interrupting his quiet time meditating with his bourbon before the big event. "I can assure you Miss." He paused waiting for her to introduce herself.
"Munday, Alex Munday. These are my associated Dylan Sanders and Natalie Cook. We are with Charles Townsend Investigations."
"As I was saying I can assure you Ms Munday that I didn't kill the FBI agent."
"That maybe Mr. Getty," said Dylan, "but there are people out there who want to kill you."
Getty sat for a moment as though he was thinking about her statement. "Powerful men make enemies. It's natural. I am sure many people out there want to kill me and many more will in the future."
"These people are serious about it," said Dylan. "They have hired an assassin."
Getty looked at the young woman in front of him. She reminded him of someone. He shook the feeling off and continued. "Ladies, I have my share of body guards. Even though I make nothing more than nuts and bolts I have loonies occasionally come after me. I am well protected from them." Getty started to walk away from them and signaled Mr. Bell to show them out.
"This isn't about nuts and bolts," said Alex shrugging off Bell's hand. "This is about missiles that Codyne made in the eighties."
Getty stopped in his tracks. He slowly turned to the angels and looked them over. "What are you talking about?"
Bell looked back and forth between his employer and the guests. He had never seen Donald Bartholomew Getty look frightened before. He liked the look of his boss that way, "A bite of humble pie never hurt anyone," the secretary thought to himself.
Dylan decided to explain, "Codyne Industries made small arms and missiles on a government contract from 80-85 when suddenly they stopped. Apparently other than a few newspaper articles the evidence of it has gone down the memory hole."
Getty turned to Bell. "Mr. Bell, could you please excuse us for a moment. We will be leaving for the conference at six thirty." Bell did as he was told although longing to know what exactly was going on.
"Contract 54-P2-5," he said refilling his glass by the bar. "A mistake if ever there was one. We thought it was a governmental contract but it wasn't. The man we dealt with was with the government but had his own agenda. Once I found that out I never delivered the last two thousand or so missiles and they were repainted and sold to civilians pretty much through Army Surplus stores. We decided that the public should never know and since then our reputation has been clean. Like I said just a nuts and bolts operation."
*-*-*-*-*
Anthony entered Vivian's room, 1710, to which he had received a summons. She was holding a hand held mirror and looking at her reflection. Anthony watched her quietly and saw the tears in her eyes. He felt a bit sorry for her. Then she threw the mirror it smashed against the wall with a crash. The bits of glass tinkled like chimes to the floor. Vivian swallowed hard and turned to see the assassin. She straightened up the best she could in her chair and all traces of the woman from the moment before were gone. "Anthony, you are here sooner than expected. Come closer."
Anthony did what he was told and stepped closer to the woman. "Kiss me," she said. He stared at Vivian unmoving from his position within the doorway. "I am a woman with needs too. Even you won't touch me now. Not even a freak can love a freak," she said giving a hollow laugh. "Are you thinking about that angel? Anthony, I always could read you. You don't think that a girl like that could have cared for a man like you do you? A silent freak with a hair fetish? What woman in her right mind would want a man who ripped her hair out every time he got close to her? Think about it and you will know the answer and hopefully it will get you focused on the case. Jorge said she is here and alive, how could she have survived that jump? Those angels have more lives than cats." She watched him turn to leave.
Whatever bit of pity he felt for her when he entered the room was gone. If she hadn't been the one signing the check he would have run her through just for the Hell of it. "Remember we'll always have Beverly Hills," she called out laughing. He cringed inwardly at the reference to their brief affair when they had first met and continued on his way.
He climbed opened the room window and looked out to the west. It was getting late and the sun was setting on the horizon backlighting the Sears Tower. He stood there and took a deep breath he could feel the blood whizzing through his ears; part in anger over what Vivian had said part in excitement of the kill. "Vivian was right, the children at the orphanage were right," he thought. "I am a freak. Why would Dylan ever want someone like me?" His thoughts just made him angrier and more ready to use the anger on Getty.
He went into the hall just as the elevator nearest his room opened. The waiter inside smiled, "Oops wrong floor I need the 19th." The door started to slide shut but Anthony stuck his cane in between and stopped them. He stepped in and the doors slid closed with a hiss. The elevator rose slowly but didn't stop on the 19th floor. It came to a stop on the 20th and Anthony exited the lift, the waiter unconscious on the floor.
He walked down the hall and knocked on the door to Getty's room. There was no answer so he let himself in. He looked around the expensively decorated apartment suite. Anthony heard a noise, stopped and withdrew his sword from the cane covering. As the man came around the corner he ran the sword through his heart. The man with the sword protruding in his chest looked up from the book he was carrying, surprise written across his face. Anthony pulled the sword out and looked at the man on the floor. It was just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bell, Donald Getty's secretary was now dead.
Anthony cleaned his sword on a towel from the bathroom and slid it back into its case. "Damn," he thought. He would have to take care of his assignment at the WTC after all. Maybe backstage before the man went on. Without the gun and the virus there was a greater chance he would be seen. He didn't need that. He left the room and took the elevator back down to the 17th floor to get ready for the speech that Getty would be given.
*-*-*-*-*
The angels convinced Getty to let them escort him to the Arie Crown Theater instead of his secretary Mr. Bell. On the way to the theater Alex went over the plan they had with the mulit-millionaire, "I am going to watch the entrance, Bosley will watch the back exits, Natalie will be up in the press area and Dylan will stay with, you."
Getty looked skeptically at the young women. He found it hard to believe that he was going to trust them but they seemed to know what they were doing. It was an added plus that he had heard of their boss Charles Townsend and that the agency was highly recommended, but still three beautiful young women against a what sounded like a group of crazed people out to kill him? He was nervous. The angels tried to reassure him but it didn't work very well.
Getty's driver stopped at the red carpet to let Dylan and Mr. Getty out of the limousine. The walked the red carpet as the other dignitaries of the night did. Once they entered the building they were automatically ushered back stage. "So Dylan, is it?" She nodded yes and letting him know that was her name. "You told me about the crazy woman who is after me but how many does she have with her?"
"She has her sister who was an FBI agent, a body guard, an assassin, and another person who wants revenge on you," she said not quite knowing how to tell him that his son was the last person.
"And who might that be," he asked. He saw her hesitate. "I am an old man Dylan, I know I have made enemies who is it?"
"Michael Daniels." There she had said it.
"Michael Daniels.Michael Daniels," then his eyes widened. "Little Mikey Daniels?"
"Then you know who he is," she said.
"I know who his mother told him he was. It was a delusion of hers. I never slept with Henny Daniels. She accused me of sexual harassment before it was en vogue. She was actually the one harassing me. I turned her down and she claimed that her son was mine," he said and noticed her disbelieving reaction. "I know you don't believe me. I wouldn't expect you to. Hell I know it sounds like a load of crap but it's the truth. If they had had the quality paternity test then like they had today this would have been sorted out years ago."
"My father was never in the picture either," said Dylan unsure why she was opening up to the millionaire. "I was luck to have my mom, even if it was only for a few years. I imagine it is harder for a boy to grow up without a father though."
"Did you ever meet your father," he asked looking at the young woman.
"No, my mom told me once before she died that he was living in castle in the sky. Of course I was only four or five so I know that wasn't true but.well it was a nice image," said Dylan sadly.
"So," he said, "any special young man in your life."
Dylan gave him a look that said, "you've gotta be joking". "Sorry if you think I am prying. I always get nervous before a speech and talk a lot. Ask Mr. Bell. I think that is the main reason I keep him around," Getty answered in response to her look.
"Well, there is a guy I sort of like," said Dylan thinking of the Thin Man.
"Well let's hear about him," he said sitting on a metal folding chair. Dylan smoother her long green evening dress down and sat on the chair opposite of him. "What does he look like?"
"This is weird," said Dylan with a laugh. "It's what I imagined talking to my dad would be like when I was a teen." Getty gave her an encouraging look. "Okay. He is tall thin, my friends think he is creepy and I admit I did too at first. He has these blue eyes," continued Dylan getting a far away look on her face, "they are a pale blue color. He has a couple bad habits, he smokes and."
"Mr. Getty," interrupted a backstage assistant, "they are ready for you in make up."
"I'll be right there," he said to the young woman. "Come with me, Dylan. I'm very interested in hearing about this young man."
Dylan accompanied him to make up. "I really don't know what to say about him."
"Do you love him," asked the older man.
"I don't know, I think I might," replied Dylan surprised not only at her own feelings but at the fact Donald Getty was easy to talk to and that she genuinely liked him.
"I was in love once with a beautiful young woman, but I married another because I was afraid she would cause me to lose my status in society. I do love Inga, my wife, I do but not like I loved Rhonda."
"We start in a half an hour, you're on after the CEO of Sony," said the assistant to Getty.
"Yes, yes. I'll be right there. What I am trying to say Dylan, is don't let love pass you by. You might become my age and regretting it."
Dylan watched the man walk off towards the stage and realized that his lost love and her mom had the same name. She tapped the mouth mike with her tongue. "Nat, Alex, Bos? It starts in 30."
"Okay copy that," said Natalie, struggling to get the top on her strapless dress to stay up.
"Got it," said Alex fending off the advances of a young man.
"Right on," said Bosley shooing some autograph hounds away from the back entrance. He wondered who would want a politician's autograph anyway.
*-*-*-*-*
Up two floors above them, in his luxury tower, Donald Getty was getting ready. It was a big night for him. It was the night he would announce his candidacy and in the process bring the value of his stocks up. In front of the mirror he worked on his tie. Even after thirty years he still had difficulties with Windsor knots. As he was struggling her secretary came into the room, a concerned look on his face.
"Mr. Getty? Sir?"
Getty turned and faced the stammering man. "What is it Mr. Bell," he asked his secretary. "Damn blasted knot. Here you do it. I knew I should have brought Inga along for this."
The secretary grabbed the two ends of the tie and made a perfect, elegant knot. "There was an FBI agent killed today."
"So what? FBI agents are killed everyday. Its part of the risk they take my boy." Getty walked over to the deep red wing backed chair and sat down with a glass of bourbon. "It happens."
"B-but you don't understand sir. There are some people here to see you about it," replied the timid man.
"To see me," Getty started to ask.
"To see you," said Alex.
Donald Getty looked up to find three women standing in his door way. Had he been a few years younger and in better condition he would have gladly welcomed them. As it was he had enough to worry about without these three, although lovely, ladies interrupting his quiet time meditating with his bourbon before the big event. "I can assure you Miss." He paused waiting for her to introduce herself.
"Munday, Alex Munday. These are my associated Dylan Sanders and Natalie Cook. We are with Charles Townsend Investigations."
"As I was saying I can assure you Ms Munday that I didn't kill the FBI agent."
"That maybe Mr. Getty," said Dylan, "but there are people out there who want to kill you."
Getty sat for a moment as though he was thinking about her statement. "Powerful men make enemies. It's natural. I am sure many people out there want to kill me and many more will in the future."
"These people are serious about it," said Dylan. "They have hired an assassin."
Getty looked at the young woman in front of him. She reminded him of someone. He shook the feeling off and continued. "Ladies, I have my share of body guards. Even though I make nothing more than nuts and bolts I have loonies occasionally come after me. I am well protected from them." Getty started to walk away from them and signaled Mr. Bell to show them out.
"This isn't about nuts and bolts," said Alex shrugging off Bell's hand. "This is about missiles that Codyne made in the eighties."
Getty stopped in his tracks. He slowly turned to the angels and looked them over. "What are you talking about?"
Bell looked back and forth between his employer and the guests. He had never seen Donald Bartholomew Getty look frightened before. He liked the look of his boss that way, "A bite of humble pie never hurt anyone," the secretary thought to himself.
Dylan decided to explain, "Codyne Industries made small arms and missiles on a government contract from 80-85 when suddenly they stopped. Apparently other than a few newspaper articles the evidence of it has gone down the memory hole."
Getty turned to Bell. "Mr. Bell, could you please excuse us for a moment. We will be leaving for the conference at six thirty." Bell did as he was told although longing to know what exactly was going on.
"Contract 54-P2-5," he said refilling his glass by the bar. "A mistake if ever there was one. We thought it was a governmental contract but it wasn't. The man we dealt with was with the government but had his own agenda. Once I found that out I never delivered the last two thousand or so missiles and they were repainted and sold to civilians pretty much through Army Surplus stores. We decided that the public should never know and since then our reputation has been clean. Like I said just a nuts and bolts operation."
*-*-*-*-*
Anthony entered Vivian's room, 1710, to which he had received a summons. She was holding a hand held mirror and looking at her reflection. Anthony watched her quietly and saw the tears in her eyes. He felt a bit sorry for her. Then she threw the mirror it smashed against the wall with a crash. The bits of glass tinkled like chimes to the floor. Vivian swallowed hard and turned to see the assassin. She straightened up the best she could in her chair and all traces of the woman from the moment before were gone. "Anthony, you are here sooner than expected. Come closer."
Anthony did what he was told and stepped closer to the woman. "Kiss me," she said. He stared at Vivian unmoving from his position within the doorway. "I am a woman with needs too. Even you won't touch me now. Not even a freak can love a freak," she said giving a hollow laugh. "Are you thinking about that angel? Anthony, I always could read you. You don't think that a girl like that could have cared for a man like you do you? A silent freak with a hair fetish? What woman in her right mind would want a man who ripped her hair out every time he got close to her? Think about it and you will know the answer and hopefully it will get you focused on the case. Jorge said she is here and alive, how could she have survived that jump? Those angels have more lives than cats." She watched him turn to leave.
Whatever bit of pity he felt for her when he entered the room was gone. If she hadn't been the one signing the check he would have run her through just for the Hell of it. "Remember we'll always have Beverly Hills," she called out laughing. He cringed inwardly at the reference to their brief affair when they had first met and continued on his way.
He climbed opened the room window and looked out to the west. It was getting late and the sun was setting on the horizon backlighting the Sears Tower. He stood there and took a deep breath he could feel the blood whizzing through his ears; part in anger over what Vivian had said part in excitement of the kill. "Vivian was right, the children at the orphanage were right," he thought. "I am a freak. Why would Dylan ever want someone like me?" His thoughts just made him angrier and more ready to use the anger on Getty.
He went into the hall just as the elevator nearest his room opened. The waiter inside smiled, "Oops wrong floor I need the 19th." The door started to slide shut but Anthony stuck his cane in between and stopped them. He stepped in and the doors slid closed with a hiss. The elevator rose slowly but didn't stop on the 19th floor. It came to a stop on the 20th and Anthony exited the lift, the waiter unconscious on the floor.
He walked down the hall and knocked on the door to Getty's room. There was no answer so he let himself in. He looked around the expensively decorated apartment suite. Anthony heard a noise, stopped and withdrew his sword from the cane covering. As the man came around the corner he ran the sword through his heart. The man with the sword protruding in his chest looked up from the book he was carrying, surprise written across his face. Anthony pulled the sword out and looked at the man on the floor. It was just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bell, Donald Getty's secretary was now dead.
Anthony cleaned his sword on a towel from the bathroom and slid it back into its case. "Damn," he thought. He would have to take care of his assignment at the WTC after all. Maybe backstage before the man went on. Without the gun and the virus there was a greater chance he would be seen. He didn't need that. He left the room and took the elevator back down to the 17th floor to get ready for the speech that Getty would be given.
*-*-*-*-*
The angels convinced Getty to let them escort him to the Arie Crown Theater instead of his secretary Mr. Bell. On the way to the theater Alex went over the plan they had with the mulit-millionaire, "I am going to watch the entrance, Bosley will watch the back exits, Natalie will be up in the press area and Dylan will stay with, you."
Getty looked skeptically at the young women. He found it hard to believe that he was going to trust them but they seemed to know what they were doing. It was an added plus that he had heard of their boss Charles Townsend and that the agency was highly recommended, but still three beautiful young women against a what sounded like a group of crazed people out to kill him? He was nervous. The angels tried to reassure him but it didn't work very well.
Getty's driver stopped at the red carpet to let Dylan and Mr. Getty out of the limousine. The walked the red carpet as the other dignitaries of the night did. Once they entered the building they were automatically ushered back stage. "So Dylan, is it?" She nodded yes and letting him know that was her name. "You told me about the crazy woman who is after me but how many does she have with her?"
"She has her sister who was an FBI agent, a body guard, an assassin, and another person who wants revenge on you," she said not quite knowing how to tell him that his son was the last person.
"And who might that be," he asked. He saw her hesitate. "I am an old man Dylan, I know I have made enemies who is it?"
"Michael Daniels." There she had said it.
"Michael Daniels.Michael Daniels," then his eyes widened. "Little Mikey Daniels?"
"Then you know who he is," she said.
"I know who his mother told him he was. It was a delusion of hers. I never slept with Henny Daniels. She accused me of sexual harassment before it was en vogue. She was actually the one harassing me. I turned her down and she claimed that her son was mine," he said and noticed her disbelieving reaction. "I know you don't believe me. I wouldn't expect you to. Hell I know it sounds like a load of crap but it's the truth. If they had had the quality paternity test then like they had today this would have been sorted out years ago."
"My father was never in the picture either," said Dylan unsure why she was opening up to the millionaire. "I was luck to have my mom, even if it was only for a few years. I imagine it is harder for a boy to grow up without a father though."
"Did you ever meet your father," he asked looking at the young woman.
"No, my mom told me once before she died that he was living in castle in the sky. Of course I was only four or five so I know that wasn't true but.well it was a nice image," said Dylan sadly.
"So," he said, "any special young man in your life."
Dylan gave him a look that said, "you've gotta be joking". "Sorry if you think I am prying. I always get nervous before a speech and talk a lot. Ask Mr. Bell. I think that is the main reason I keep him around," Getty answered in response to her look.
"Well, there is a guy I sort of like," said Dylan thinking of the Thin Man.
"Well let's hear about him," he said sitting on a metal folding chair. Dylan smoother her long green evening dress down and sat on the chair opposite of him. "What does he look like?"
"This is weird," said Dylan with a laugh. "It's what I imagined talking to my dad would be like when I was a teen." Getty gave her an encouraging look. "Okay. He is tall thin, my friends think he is creepy and I admit I did too at first. He has these blue eyes," continued Dylan getting a far away look on her face, "they are a pale blue color. He has a couple bad habits, he smokes and."
"Mr. Getty," interrupted a backstage assistant, "they are ready for you in make up."
"I'll be right there," he said to the young woman. "Come with me, Dylan. I'm very interested in hearing about this young man."
Dylan accompanied him to make up. "I really don't know what to say about him."
"Do you love him," asked the older man.
"I don't know, I think I might," replied Dylan surprised not only at her own feelings but at the fact Donald Getty was easy to talk to and that she genuinely liked him.
"I was in love once with a beautiful young woman, but I married another because I was afraid she would cause me to lose my status in society. I do love Inga, my wife, I do but not like I loved Rhonda."
"We start in a half an hour, you're on after the CEO of Sony," said the assistant to Getty.
"Yes, yes. I'll be right there. What I am trying to say Dylan, is don't let love pass you by. You might become my age and regretting it."
Dylan watched the man walk off towards the stage and realized that his lost love and her mom had the same name. She tapped the mouth mike with her tongue. "Nat, Alex, Bos? It starts in 30."
"Okay copy that," said Natalie, struggling to get the top on her strapless dress to stay up.
"Got it," said Alex fending off the advances of a young man.
"Right on," said Bosley shooing some autograph hounds away from the back entrance. He wondered who would want a politician's autograph anyway.