Chapter Eight
Stormy Weather
I
John angrily threw the sheaf of newspapers on the coffee table where Lee was resting his feet, then dropped heavily down beside him on the couch.
"Bad day?" Lee asked as he laid the script he was studying down beside the newspapers.
"I guess you haven't read today's batch of papers yet," Johan gritted through clenched teeth.
"I try not to. Outside of the Sentinel, it's just a bunch of B.S. anyway."
"Damn right, and it's getting worse. Crawford's been having a field day ever since Dad's been thrown into jail. Now he's bringing up all that Green Hornet stuff again too. Damn, I'd sure as hell love to send a rocket up his . . . "
"I'd love to do that to, but Mrs. Reid made it very clear that you know what stays you know where."
"Doesn't mean we couldn't walk . . . "
Lee rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I can see that right now. Think you can outrun a police car, or do you plan on swinging from a nylon rope? Doing it in an overcoat might be kind of hard, or do you plan on going the super hero long johns route?"
John shook his head with a sigh, "You're right, it's just that I feel so damn helpless when the means to do something about it is sitting only a few yards away. It would be so easy . . . "
"It would," Lee agreed. He picked one of the papers and took a look at the front page. "At least the Daily Express seems to be backing off. They now have the story under the fold instead of a screaming headline."
"That's because of the gang war. It's getting worse every day," John answered.
"Yeah, I saw in this morning's news that a school was caught in the crossfire between two different Russian gangs."
John stood up and began pacing, "If it hadn't been closed for the night, it would've been a massacre. As it was there was supposed to be an AA meeting there that night, but it had been canceled."
He turned to face Lee, "Dammit, it's getting so no one can even leave their own home."
"Not even safe to do that," Lee commented, "I heard that an elderly couple down on South Street got killed in their own living room by a drive-by shooter. The cops said their house looked just like one owned by a drug dealer two streets over."
"I have got to do something before I go nuts here," John said as he began pacing again.
"What do you suggest?"
"I don't know. Frank said that I'm supposed to coordinate any of the leads that come in and to leave the bulk of the investigation to this lady detective he hired. But, hell, there's so much crap coming in right now, I don't know what to do with it, especially since nothing has panned out yet"
"What about that girl's boyfriend, the artist?"
John shook his head, "Frank wants this lady detective to follow the lead instead of us. Dammit, I know that if there was enough pressure put on him, he'd sing like a canary."
"So what about this lady detective?"
"Frank says she's very good. She's supposed to be some big time P.I. from L.A. by the name of Stormy Weathers, but I don't know . . ."
"Stormy Weathers? Sounds more like a stripper than a detective."
"Sounds like it to me too, but Frank says she's supposed to be one of the best."
John frowned thoughtfully. "You know, I think I'm going to have to check on this Stormy Weathers and find out what she's working on."
"I thought Mr. Scanlon wanted us to keep their distance. Isn't she supposed to be working undercover or something?"
"So Frank says, but I still want to talk to her." He shrugged. "Maybe I can give her a hand."
Lee nodded, "Sounds good to me. Want me to come along?"
"Nah, I can it myself, besides . . . " John picked up Lee's script and glanced at it before tossing it back to him, "I think you gotta study your lines there, Star." He added with a sideways grin.
II
Stormy Weathers stopped just inside the door for a few moments waiting for her eyes to adjust. Outside was a brilliant spring day. Inside it was totally dark except for the bluish light cast by the twenty or so computer monitors that sat on the long tables that filled the room. Once her eyes had adjusted, she could see that the room was nearly empty except for a bored looking college age kid who sat behind a tall counter on which was an old cash register. As she gazed around the room, she saw at the first long table a small knot of young men clustered around an older man who was intently staring at the monitor in front of him. He was almost totally still except for the manic movement of his hands across the keyboard in front of him. The air around them reverberated with explosions and gunfire worthy of World War Three.
"Hi," Stormy said as she approached the group, "Can I use one of these machines to check my email?"
One of the young men, a tall skinny kid who looked like he never had enough to eat, broke his concentration on the player's screen with reluctance. His eyes widened as a broad grin spread across his face. Stormy knew exactly how he would react.
She had taken a lot of care when she had dressed, choosing black jeans that were just tight enough to show the curve of her hips, without appearing too threateningly sexual. So too had she chosen the cowl necked sweater of royal blue. It was bulky and she had pushed its sleeves up past her elbows. Attractive but casual, it brought out the deep blue of her eyes. She had also used a very light hand with her makeup, choosing a dewy finish, a subtle blush and just a bit of brown mascara at the tips of her long dark blonde eyelashes to emphasize their length. Her girl-next-door image was completed with a big black velvet bow holding her honey-blonde hair in a low pony tail near the nape of her neck.
The boy elbowed the one next to him. The boy, shorter and chubbier with dark hair with blonde tips, grinned even wider than the first boy. "Hi," he said. "Can I help you?" he asked with a hint of a teenage lecher in his voice.
Yeah, I bet you can, Stormy thought. She smiled as sweetly as she could. "I'm from out of town and I need to check my email. I'm supposed to be getting something important soon. I heard there was a place around here where I could check it." She frowned attractively. "Am I in the wrong place?"
"You must've been looking for the Cyber Cafe down the street," the third boy replied. Between the other two boys in weight and height he was dressed entirely in black except for the dozens of silver zippers that covered his overlarge pants.
"That's okay," said the second boy, "She can use one of these machines."
He shouted over to the kid at the counter, "Hey! She can use one of these machines to check her email, can't she?"
The college kid looked up, then shrugged before returning to the magazine in his hands.
"'Sides," supplied the tallest boy, his voice dripping with contempt, "They're a bunch of posers." His voice changed to a simpering, whiny tone, "Oh, gracious, somebody didn't put enough soy milk in my mocha creme double latte."
The other boys rolled their eyes and snickered.
The middle boy pulled a chair out from the empty computer he was standing next to, "Here, why don't you use this one. My name's David. What's yours?"
"Ashley Warren," Stormy replied. She tilted her head, checking out the boys as they made a path for her. "Aren't you guys a little young to be here at this time of the day? What are you guys? High School seniors?" she asked.
"Nah," David replied. "I'm a junior. So's Allen," he replied, pointing to the tall kid who nodded a greeting to Stormy.
"And I'm Jeremy," said the shortest boy. "I'm a freshman."
"Yeah, next year, you mean," countered Allen.
"That's this August, you know," Jeremy retorted.
"Anyway," said David, "There's no school today. It's in-service for all the teachers in our district."
Stormy noticed that the man had not reacted during their entire conversation. His hands were still flying over the keyboard as his eyes remained glued to the screen in front of him. He was slightly over weight, having the same soft formless shape as Jeremy and David, but there was a noticeable bald spot surrounded by long dish-water brown hair that brushed the top of the collar of his blue flannel shirt. Stormy estimated him to be in his late 30's.
She gestured toward him, keeping her voice low. "Uh, I'm not disturbing anything, am I?" she asked.
"Nah, Sam's the man. When he's playing Balance of Terror, nobody can break his concentration," answered David.
"Yeah," added Jeremy, "A nuke could go off right next to him and he wouldn't notice a thing."
"Balance of Terror? I've heard of that game," Stormy said as she came to look over the man's shoulder. "It's some kind of internet game isn't it?"
"Yeah," Allen said, "It's the best game on the net there is. And we're the best clan in the country."
"We're the best because of Sam. Nobody can beat him," said David, admiration plain in his voice. "We've been in a clan battle all day long. Sam's the only one left except for this guy in Japan."
There was suddenly an extended blasting of gunfire. On the screen two characters in military fatigues were shooting at each other wildly with massive guns. Impossibly both characters remained standing for a few minutes, then there was dead silence. Only one character was standing. The three boys began whooping as the man sat for a few moments as though not believing the game had ended.
"Yes!" he shouted slamming his fist on the desk.
"Who won?" Stormy asked.
"We did!" the boys answered all together. "We're the best! We're number one!" they shouted throwing each other high fives.
"Sam, man, you're the best damn player in the whole damn world!" Allen crowed as he slapped the older man on the back.
Sam finally looked up as lines of statistics scrolled across a screen covered in pixilated blood. He smiled shyly up at Stormy. "Hi," he said, "I'm sorry I didn't even notice you when you came in. Have you been here long?"
"No, only just a few minutes. The guys here have been very helpful. I guess I must be in the wrong place. I was just looking a place to check my email."
Sam nodded. "This is probably the wrong place to check your email. It gets kind of noisy here sometimes," he explained.
"That's all right," Stormy replied as she sat down at the computer next to Sam. "I'm going to be here for only a few minutes."
Sam watched Stormy a few moments, watching her as she opened up her email, then turned to the teenagers, "You guys want to go out to celebrate?" he asked.
"Sure," said Allen with a shrug, "My folks want me to be home by five. I got another hour or two I can kill."
David and Jeremy looked at each other then shrugged. "It's okay with us too," David said, "Jeremy's mom said that she'd pick us up whenever we call her."
"We can't go too far though," added Jeremy.
"No problem," Sam replied, "We'll go next door for some soda and hamburgers."
"Yeah," Jeremy answered, "They got some great old video games there too."
Sam rose from his seat shaking his head. "Kids," he muttered wryly
Stormy watched Sam and the teens start to leave. Then Sam turned toward her. "Would you like to come with us? My treat. Uh, that is if you don't have anything better to do."
Stormy smiled back at him. "Sounds good to me. I think I'm getting a little hungry anyway."
"You'd think they'd get tired of playing them all day long," Sam observed as he watched the teens play the ancient console game that was imbedded in the table in front of them. "The graphics are way out of date, but they still can't get enough of them."
"I've heard that video games are a major industry," Stormy said.
Sam shrugged, "Yeah, there's a lot of money, but the competition is murder. Those kids eat up the stuff like it was candy. You can never get it out fast enough. And even then you got to always be adapting to the latest and greatest game system."
"Sounds like you know quite a lot about the industry."
"A little. I wrote some of the earliest games, you know stuff for Atari, TRS-80's, anything that had a screen and color."
"That must be a fascinating field."
"It is, but . . . "
"But what?"
"Sometimes, I wonder. Once parents were talking about not buying toy guns and having boys play with dolls instead. The idea was that maybe kids wouldn't learn to be so violent. Now look at them. They're playing games so realistic that some of the stuff is derived from real military simulations. Sometimes I wonder if we aren't really training these kids for war."
"That's a scary thought."
"It is. I've talked to Julius about it. I was thinking it might be time for us tone things down a bit."
"Julius?"
"Yeah, I work with Julius Archer. You know, the head of Logicsoft." Sam said offhandedly. "Actually I'm kind of a partner, but I don't like the limelight."
"How did you meet him?"
"I met him the day he bought my company. We were just a little two-bit outfit, but our games were beating out everything Logicsoft could even think of."
"So he bought you out?"
"Yeah, he paid me a lot of dough, and I can still do what I want to, which is design games, but still . . . "
"But still what?"
"I get tired. It's getting to be the same old thing. Sometimes the games we're designing scare me."
"Any of them in particular?"
"Yeah, there's one that I thought was actually going to be a military war games simulation. It involves terrorists attacking the Global Commerce Center. When I mentioned it in passing to Julius, he said that it was just a game. Still, I don't like the looks of it. It's too technical, like something you would make to brief a combat team, but not to waste a bunch of kids' afternoons. To be frank, I don't these guys here would like it." he added, nodding to the teens who were arguing over who was next to play the game.
"Is that why you play games with these kids?"
"Some. It's the best way I can judge if they like a game or not. Focus groups don't really cut it, at least with kids. But when a game is hot, you almost don't need any ads, just word of mouth will sell it."
"Sounds like it's quite a business. Have you ever thought of getting out or starting your own company?"
"No, I'm a financial coward. I like having regular paycheck coming in. As for forming my own company. Forget it. Julius and his lawyers have a way of eating up or destroying anybody who gets in their way. There's no way I could ever compete with him."
"But surely you have enough money to live comfortably. You don't strike me as somebody who's really into that whole upscale lifestyle."
"Maybe not," Sam replied thoughtfully, "I guess what I really like is designing the games and watching people enjoy them."
"Do you have kids?"
"No. I married once, but we split after a few years. The wife didn't think a grown man should be playing video games. And after that, well . . . I don't get out much, and the women I do meet are through the company. They're not my type, or should you say, I'm not their type. I'm not rich enough. They're more interested in money than in a real relationship."
"Don't you get lonely sometimes?"
"Sometimes, but it's weird, but when I play on line, I forget the loneliness." A twisted smile appeared briefly on Sam's face. "Sometimes I wonder if there's something addictive about them. You know like cigarettes. Hell, there could be some kind of mind control coding in the games that makes everybody want to play them."
Stormy gave brief shudder. "That scares me. Do you think that's really a possibility?"
Sam shook his head. "Nah, no way. It's just my imagination." He gave her a reassuring smile. "That's what makes me a great designer."
"Hey, Sam," David said walking up to the couple, "We gotta go now. Jeremy's mom is gonna pick up me and Jeremy up and she's gonna take Allen with us too. We had a great time. See ya online tomorrow night?"
"'Fraid not," Sam answered, "Got a party to go to then."
"Fun party or one of those business ones?" Jeremy asked.
"Business. You know, one of those ones where everybody stands around trying to suck up to people more important than they are and ignore those who are less important than they are."
Stormy watched the teens leave, then turned to Sam. "Sounds like you're looking forward to that party."
"Yeah, like I'm looking forward to having a sore toe. It'd be more fun being hit in the head. By the way, do you have anything planned for tomorrow?"
"Not a thing."
"Would you like to come?"
Stormy tilted her head with a wry smile on her face. "You mean to something that's as much fun as hurting your toe?"
Sam returned her smile. "It'll be a lot more fun if you went with me. I kind of like talking to you."
"I'll have to think about it," Stormy said thoughtfully.
"If you need something to wear . . . "
"That's not the problem. It's just that . . . I don't know . . . I'm new in town and I wasn't really expecting on going to a society party."
Sam seemed to visibly deflate before Stormy's eyes. He shrugged unhappily. "Yeah, I guess you're right. After all we just met . . . "
Placing her hand gently on Sam's arm, Stormy smiled gently at him. "You're really a nice guy. You know that?"
Then she paused for a few more moments in thought. "Okay, I'll go," she said. "Here's the phone number where I'm staying," she said after writing a number on a piece of paper. "Call me with the time."
Sam's grin widened. "I think this is a party I'm actually going to enjoy."
III
"Have you seen anyone come in like this?" John asked the cashier, showing her a picture of a beautiful blonde who gazed seductively at the camera.
"No. Have you looked around in the dining room?"
"Yes, I did, but I didn't see anybody who looked like her."
"Maybe she's running a little late," the cashier suggested helpfully.
"Could be, but she said she'd be here by 10. It's almost 10:30 now."
"Maybe she meant another Denny's. We have ten locations in town, you know."
"I do know, but I double checked with her. She specifically gave me this address."
The cashier shrugged. "Sorry, I can't help you."
John sighed as he pocketed the picture. "I'll take one more look around."
He studied the people in the restaurant. There were only a few people there taking advantage of the Saturday morning breakfast buffet. Several of them were elderly couples dressed for a day on the town. These was also a family with three young children. Obviously tourists, the parents were trying to study the maps and brochures in front of them as their children wiggled and teased each other.
The only person who even remotely resembled the picture was a brunette reading a romance novel as she worked on finishing off a plate of scrambled eggs. He pulled out the picture and studied it.
She was about the same age, and her face did bear some resemblance to the one in the picture, but that was about as far as it went. She was dressed in a well-worn jogging outfit that bagged around her body so that it was impossible to tell anything about her figure. Also when she happened to glance up at him, he could see that her eyes were a dark brown instead of robin's egg blue.
He shrugged. Might as well, make an idiot of myself and make sure it's not her, he thought.
"Hi," he said, approaching her. "I'm looking for somebody . . . " he began.
Putting down her book, she looked up at him and smiled, obviously liking what she saw. "Lucky girl," she commented.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but it's just that you look a lot like her."
"Sounds like a pick up line, if I've ever heard one," she replied. She nodded at the seat across from her. "Why don't you sit down and tell me about this lady who had the bad taste to stand a man like you up."
"Here's her picture," he said, handing her the picture as he sat down.
"She's pretty," the woman commented. "What's her name?"
"Stormy Weathers."
"Sounds like a stripper to me. Is that what she is?"
"No, she's supposed to be a detective."
"Supposed to be? Sounds like you're not too sure about that."
"I've never met her. So I don't know," John admitted reluctantly.
"You want some coffee?" she asked as a waitress poured her a refill. She handed the picture back to John.
John shook his head. He looked at the picture again. "You do resemble her a lot. Of course, your hair and eyes are a different color, but . . . "
She smiled. "But . . . "
"But hair can be colored and contacts can be used to change eye color," John said thoughtfully.
"That's what I've heard," the woman replied, her eyes twinkling in amusement.
"You're her, aren't you?"
She nodded. "I was wondering how long it would take you to figure that out," she said, laughing lightly. "After you left the first time, I was afraid I'd have to run out and catch you."
"I guess it's true when they say we reporters are trained observers," John admitted good-humoredly. "But why the disguise?"
"That's what they mean by working undercover. I don't think it'd be a good idea if I was seen talking to you. You never know who might be watching or who they might talk to. After all you're obvious enough as it is, but if the two of us were seen together it could be disastrous."
"Obvious? I don't think I'm obvious."
"Tiger, wherever you go, you're obvious."
"I am?"
"Let's see, a big, broad-shouldered blonde with the looks of a modern day Apollo. Yeah . . . "
"Apollo? Don't you think that's kind of stretching it?"
"I guess you didn't notice how every woman in this room stared at you when you came in. That cashier you were talking to was practically drooling."
"I guess next time I'll have to go for a more casual look; something in rags and a beard, maybe."
Stormy shook her head with a wide grin. "I think I could get to like you, tiger." Then she grew serious. "So why the meeting? Don't think I can do the job?"
"I don't know. Frank Scanlon recommended you, so I know you must be good, but my father's life is at stake here. I can't feel right about this unless I have a chance to talk to you," John explained.
"I hope you weren't thinking of handling the investigation on your own," she said seriously.
"I did think about it," John admitted reluctantly.
"Don't. It's better if you leave this in the hands of a professional."
"Now wait a minute . . . "
"I don't mean it as an insult. Look, would you handle his defense by yourself?"
"No, but . . . "
"Would you let me run that newspaper of yours?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you have no experience, no training."
"My point exactly. You can't just one day decide, 'jeez I'm going to become a detective'. It takes a lot of training, and experience to be a good private detective. And since we're looking at a capital case here, the more training and experience the better."
"I know that, but . . . "
"But what? Mr. Scanlon did show you my dossier didn't he?"
"Yes, he did. It looked great. Like you said, you have a lot of experience, and you have handled a lot of big, very important cases with great results, but . . . "
"What?"
"It didn't tell me a lot of important things."
Stormy frowned. "What didn't it tell you?"
"Like what kind of person you are, and most important whether you think my father's innocent or not."
Gazing at John thoughtfully, Stormy was silent for a few moments. She took a deep breath. "I know Mr. Scanlon largely by reputation. I also only know your father by reputation. Reputations can be tricky. They can hide a lot."
John nodded his agreement. "That's why I insisted on meeting you."
"I haven't met your father yet. That's next on my list. But I have spoken to Mr. Scanlon. He believes your father is innocent. In fact he refuses to even consider the remotest possibility of guilt. Mr. Scanlon doesn't strike me as the kind of man who would allow his personal feelings affect his judgement. So if he believes your father is innocent, I must assume that he is innocent as well."
"Especially since Frank is paying you."
"That has nothing with it," Stormy said. "And that's the most important thing I want you and your entire family, including Mr. Scanlon to understand. I'm not a hired gun. I don't turn a blind eye to evidence that might run counter to what my client wants. My main purpose is to discover the truth. If I do find that your father did kill that girl, I will not conceal or ignore that evidence."
John nodded thoughtfully. He grimly looked at the woman sitting across from him. "You won't find anything that proves him guilty. He didn't kill that girl."
"You can know someone all your life and then suddenly find out one day that you didn't know that person as well as you thought you did."
"I know that," John retorted more heatedly than he had intended, not mentioning that his father had kept both him and his sister in the dark their entire lives about his secret life as the Green Hornet. "But I am willing to state uncategorically that my father did not kill that girl."
"If he is innocent, I promise you I will find the evidence to prove it," Stormy said firmly.
"That's quite a promise you're making there. You're putting yourself way out on a limb."
"I know, and maybe I shouldn't, but I have a feeling that you and Mr. Scanlon are right."
"Why?"
"Because from what I've read and heard about your father. I don't think he'd kill somebody in a fit of anger and then hang around for the cops to find him with bloody hands. No, I have a feeling that if he did kill somebody, it wouldn't be out of anger and there sure as hell wouldn't be any evidence linking him to it either."
"I guess that's something."
"It's a lot. Somebody did set up your father. They went to a lot of trouble, but something happened. Something that shouldn't have. They intended to have a dead body there, but it wasn't. I strongly believe that girl is still out there. Somebody knows where she is or what happened to her. We just have to find that person."
"That's a long shot," John reluctantly admitted.
"But one nevertheless."
"Problem is that if we're thinking that way, so probably are the people who set up my dad."
"Right, so I have to find her before they do."
"You mean we have to find her."
"Now, John . . . "
"Just because I'm not a detective doesn't mean that I or the people at the Sentinel can't keep an eye out for anything leading to that girl."
"You're right. The more eyes and ears we have out there, the better, but I want you to promise me that you bring any and all leads to me and let me do the follow up. Okay?"
John grimaced. "Okay. There's more one thing I want to talk to you about."
"What's that?"
"There's nothing in your dossier about how you came to be called Stormy or why you became a private detective. I did read that you completed your police academy training on the East coast and graduated near the top of your class, but there's nothing there why you chose to go private instead of staying on the force."
Stormy gazed off into the distance for a few moments. Then a slight, sad smile appeared on her face. "Believe it or not, Stormy is my real name. I was born on a commune in New Mexico. My parents were hippies and were really into that back to nature scene. They made their own clothes and grew their own food. My brother's name was August because he was born in August, and I . . . Well, I was born on a stormy night. So they named me Stormy."
Her smile turned wistful. "My mother said that was the biggest mistake they had ever made. She said I was exactly that, Stormy. I was always getting into trouble. I was hardheaded, stubborn and had absolutely no ability to listen to anybody. I'm afraid I was far from being the perfect child of the summer of love. If anything I was probably the exact opposite.
"Now August, Augie, was different. He looked kind of like you. Blonde, blue-eyed, but kind of soft. He was like one of those summer days when all you want to do was sit in the shade and listen to the bees hum. Nothing ever seemed to bother him. He got along with everybody and never had a bad thing to say about anybody. He was the sweetest guy you'd ever met."
Hearing the sorrow in her voice, John asked very gently, "What happened?"
Closing her eyes, Stormy shook her head against the memories. "We were just kids. The whole peace thing was starting to unravel, but my parents stayed on. A lot of their friends left to become stockbrokers, bankers, whatever, but my parents stayed true to their beliefs. They loved the land. My mother made wonderful shawls from our sheep and the best cheese ever from the goats. They trusted everyone. They just seemed like they couldn't understand that there could be true evil in anyone. It's like they couldn't be suspicious of anyone. That was their biggest mistake.
"Part of that scene, of course, were the drugs. Mainly they grew their own weed. Just for their own use and for anybody who happened to drop in. They didn't see anything more wrong in it than growing your own wine or brewing your own beer. There weren't any of those drunken parties or sex orgies that some people liked to imagine. They lived simply.
"They were always willing to accept anybody who happened to show up at the commune. Runaway kids, women running from abusive husbands, or just people who had lost their way. Some of them stayed for a while, but most moved on, either after finding their feet or because they didn't expect there would be so much hard work involved. Then one day it happened."
Stormy paused wiping at her eyes with a trembling hand. "Sorry, I thought it wouldn't hurt so much after so many years."
"Look, Stormy, if it hurts too much . . . " John began.
Stormy shook her head. "No, it's all right. I'm okay. Sometimes it helps to tell somebody." She took a deep breath. "This kid just appeared one day. He was one of those lost ones. He was not only lost to his family, he was lost to himself. I never knew his past, all I knew was that by the time he showed up at the commune, he had buried himself in a witches' brew of drugs. He thought my parents had stashed somewhere on the commune something that was a lot stronger than the weed. I remember him always sneaking around, looking for hard core stuff or money. My folks didn't have either. Then it caught up with him. And my parents. It was monstrous acid flashback. He started screaming and then he grabbed a big knife and started slashing.
"Augie and I ran into the fields, my parents didn't. They tried to stop him. We kept on running and running. It must have been miles and miles. We finally found a sheep herder's camp. He took us in and contacted the police."
Stormy stopped talking for a moment, the words caught in her throat. Then she continued, "He slashed at anything in his reach. Sheep, goats, the dog. My parents. Finally himself. It was a closed casket ceremony. Two caskets. There was a Buddhist priest and a Catholic one. Both good friends of my parents.
"My mother's parents took us back East. I always had a feeling that somehow they felt that what had happened was in some way my parents' own fault. That they had somehow brought it on themselves. They never said that in so many words. They treated us okay. Tried to raise Augie and me the way they thought we should be raised.
"It was so different. We were used to high sharp mountains and skies so blue it hurt your eyes. We rarely saw a building higher three or four stories tall. And there we were among buildings that blocked out the sky no matter where we looked. People were always in a rush. Always on their way to somewhere to do something. Nobody had any time for two lost little kids. I never saw Augie smile again.
"As soon as he was old enough, he entered the police academy. He graduated top of his class. A few years later so did I. Augie was the best cop on the force. He was known as a real straight arrow. Did everything by the book. He'd get on a case and even if it took him years, he'd stick with it until it was solved." Stormy paused, staring down at the paper napkin she had unknowingly shredded into tiny, white, pieces of lint.
"What happened?" John asked very gently.
"Augie was undercover. It was going to be a major drug bust, but there was a leak. Augie's cover was blown. They found what was left of him near the railroad tracks. Somebody tried to start a rumor that he was dirty. That he had been double-crossed by his partners. Everybody on the force knew that was a lie. Everybody knew that Augie was clean. He was just that type of person that everybody could count on to do the right thing. They all knew that he didn't have a dishonest bone in his body.
"There was talk that the rumor had been started from someone very high up. Somebody was trying to cover their tracks by making it look like Augie was the leak. We never knew who was the real source. There was a big cover-up. Some people were transferred out or left the state. No one was punished. Their shame was buried under a code of silence.
"I got tired of the whole scene. And I got tired of the snow and cold. So I moved out to sunny California, joined up with a small detective agency and when the guy who owned it retired, I took over."
Stormy shook her head, seeing the concern on John's face. A self-deprecating grin appeared on her face. "That was a long time ago. Don't worry about me, Tiger. I'm a survivor."
"I can see that," John answered.
"You mind if we leave?" Stormy said, pushing out of her chair. "I need some fresh air."
"Sure. Do you feel like a walk? There's a park nearby. I'd like to discuss my father's case more with you."
"Sounds good to me," Stormy replied.
For a few minutes John and Stormy walked in silence through the park, each lost in their own thoughts. They finally stopped at the edge of the duck pond and watched children toss pieces of bread to the ducks gathered around their feet.
"Do you have any plans on what direction your investigation is going to take?" John asked.
"I think my best bet is Archer. I'm working on getting inside his inner circle. That's why I want to limit my contact with anyone associated with your family or paper. The less chance of blowing my cover, the better."
"Archer sounds like a good place to start. He has the money to set up a complicated scheme like this and he certainly does want the Sentinel."
Stormy nodded her agreement. "Exactly. He has the means and the motive."
"We just have to find the method."
"And the evidence," Stormy added.
"So who are you working on?"
"I was thinking about Archer, but that De la Culebra woman is trouble. No way I'm going to even chance crossing her. I'm working on one of his partners, Sam Sprite."
"He's the head of LogicSoft's games division isn't he?"
"Yeah. Archer bought his company out quite a few years ago. There's little love lost between them. He's going to be taking me to some party tonight. I'll probably be seeing Archer there, too. Will you be there?"
"No way. I've never been into going to society parties. That job belonged to my folks. Besides the Reid family is kind of persona non grata to those society types right now. Nobody wants to have anything to do with us. At least not until they find out which way the wind's blowing. Once my father's name is cleared, everybody will be our friends again, pretending that they were on our side from the start," he added bitterly.
Stormy gazed at John for a few minutes as he gazed thoughtfully at the children squealing with delight as the ducks jostled for the pieces of bread they threw among them. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment as a stray bit of the morning sun caught his hair, setting it ablaze. She shook her head, dispelling the image. Apollo's damn right, she thought, That's all I need is to get involved with a client's son. "This will be the last time we will meet in person," she said aloud, "I don't want to take any more chances than I have to." No need to tempt myself any more than I have to, she added mentally.
"I'll make sure our people keep their eyes and ears open. How do I contact you if we come up with anything interesting?"
"Through Mr. Scanlon. I'll be keeping in touch with him regularly. But, John . . . "
"Yes?"
"I don't want you or anybody else taking any chances. Get word to me as soon as something turns up." she said firmly.
John tilted his head, a glimmer of amusement in his storm grey eyes, "Yes, ma'am, anything you say, ma'am."
IV
The Lakeview Country Club sat atop a great prow of cliff over looking the great lake. It was said that the wooded shores of Canada could be seen from its tall wraparound colonnaded porch. It was also said that the vast wealth that supported the club had come from arrangements made with those who shipped contraband over the waters between Canada and the U.S. during World War II. Those rumors were hotly denied now by the club's staidly conservative members, not a few of whom were reputed to have grown wealthy from those illicit shipments.
These days the club's members drove to the club from the city many miles away to the club to get away from the pressures of business and to play a few rounds of golf or tennis. Or to host extravagant balls in the name of charity.
Sam Sprite smiled proudly as he escorted Stormy into the club's large ballroom. Stormy was wearing a simple pale blue sheath dress of silk shot with silver thread. Instead of a plunging neckline she had chosen a simple boat-neck and a long chain of silver-white fresh water pearls. Her golden hair was caught up with a soft chignon secured by a matching barrette of pale blue silk and seed pearls. In deference to the cool spring evening she completed her ensemble with a white silk and angora blend knitted shawl.
"You look beautiful. I was worried that you wouldn't find anything right for the party and would have to cancel."
Stormy laughed lightly. "As long as I have a credit card and there's a mall around, I can always find something to wear. Besides it was on sale."
"A double benefit, I take it," Sam said.
"Yep" Stormy replied. "Nothing's better than finding the perfect dress, except maybe finding it on sale."
"There's Julius," Sam said, pointing to a large knot of people in the middle of the room. Archer was expansively speaking with large gestures to his circle of admirers and sycophants. At his side stood the red head, Shannon De la Culebra stood at his side listening to the chatter with a bored look on her face. Multiple chains of large gold disks and rough cut rubies spilled down her ample bosom and her blazing hair tumbled down in copious waves from a golden diadem in the Roman manner. Also in the Roman manner she was wearing a long low cut chiton, but in a shade of scarlet that no proper Roman woman would have worn.
Archer grasped Stormy's hand in a firm, but cool, dry clasp when Sam introduced her to him and Shannon. He regarded her with a cool, measuring gaze as Sam explained how they had met.
"So you're from L.A., Ashley?" Shannon said in a deceptively sweet voice. "What brings you to the chilly mid-west?"
"I'm with the Miller Graphic Design Group. I'm checking out some locations for a few ads for one of our clients. While California has a lot to offer, they're specifically interested in some Great Lakes and Mid-West locations," Stormy explained. She had no doubt that Shannon would check her story out thoroughly. It was helpful that her cousin, Ashley, was really in town for that exact same reason. It was also helpful that cousin Ashley was a blue-eyed blonde who loved to help Stormy whenever she needed to be in two places at once. After all one buxom, blue-eyed blonde looked like another in most people's eyes.
"Sam explained to me that your company produces a lot of war simulation games," Stormy said, addressing Archer.
"Yes, we do. We're especially proud of our games division. A lot of our games are best sellers," Archer commented.
"Sam tells me that you're working on one based on a terrorist attack on the Global Commerce Center."
Archer glanced at Sam who shrugged uncomfortably. "That is one of our projects. At this point, however, it is in only in the preliminary stages of development. It may never be released."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"It all depends on how well it is received by our focus groups."
"So you don't think this one will be well received? Doesn't that get expensive, developing a game and then never releasing it?"
Archer smiled patronizingly, "Actually very few of the games we start development actually see the store shelves. We have to go through hundreds, if not thousands of ideas before we actually get one off the drawing broad. But it's well worth it. A best seller can bring in millions.
I'm sure you see that in your own industry. After all you have to do a lot of leg work and create a lot of designs before you settle on something your client might like."
"I know what you mean," Stormy smiled wryly, "Unfortunately sometimes that's just the beginning. You never know what will be a hit with the public.
"From how Sam described that game though, maybe it's just as well if it's never released. I'd be afraid it might give some potential terrorists the idea of really attacking the Global Commerce Center. After all, it's one thing if it's about a non-existent location, but a real place... I'd be worried that a simulation, even if it's only a game, could show weak spots that a real terrorist could take advantage of."
"Now, my dear Ashley," Archer said, "Surely you haven't listening all those old fogey's about video games warping children's minds, are you?"
"It's not the children I'm worried about. It's the adults," Stormy countered.
Archer started to say something, but his reply was drowned about by shouting near the edge of the large room. A tall, dark haired man was arguing with a pretty, young woman with black hair.
"Don't you dare say something like that, you...., you, pig!" the girl screamed. The sound of her slapping his face could be heard throughout the entire room. "I don't want to ever see you again!" She gathered up the skirts of her lavender dress and marched toward the front door. "Somebody call me a taxi!" she demanded in a loud voice. "I refuse to stay here one more moment!"
The club's major domo glanced toward Archer who nodded to him. The man turned and escorted the enraged girl through the door. Before the door closed Stormy could hear the sharp blast of a whistle as a waiting taxi was called for the girl.
Stormy noted with curiosity that two large men in well-cut tuxedos seemed to be angling for the dark-haired man as he stalked toward Archer. They paused uncertainly, torn between following the girl or following the man. She caught a quick glance between them and Archer. They stopped in their tracks and moved instead toward the edges of the room until they were out of sight.
"Monsieur Archer, Madame De la Culebra," the dark-haired man said in light French accent, "I am so sorry for Mademoiselle Reid's outburst."
"That's quite all right, Jacques," Shannon spoke up before Archer could say a word, "What was the problem?"
Jacques shrugged, "We had a small argument about her father. I told her that while I understand her being faithful to her father, I had some doubts about his innocence." He shrugged again. "Unfortunately she could not see the matter in an impartial light. She became quite angry at me."
"That's too bad," Shannon said, feigning sympathy, "You seemed to make such a lovely couple."
"It is no matter. She is too young anyway. After all a more mature woman, a more worldly woman, like yourself for instance, would be able to be more objective about the matter. N'est-ce pas?"
"Perhaps," Archer said, breaking into the conversation, "but I would have thought you would have been more tactful."
"It is just as well, I was tiring of her and since this situation with her father, she has become tiresome."
"So I take it you will be leaving for France soon?" Shannon asked.
"In a few weeks, maybe," the Frenchman replied, "I miss France and quite frankly I have become bored with this city. I never should have stayed here so long, but..."
"But there was Miss Reid," Shannon added knowingly.
"A pretty girl, a wealthy family of good standing, there are less enjoyable ways to spend one's winter in the United States," Jacques answered off handedly.
"Especially since you've gotten what you've come for," Archer said, trying to sound as offhanded as Jacques.
"I was not after anything but an amusing way to spend my time," Jacques replied. "And who is this beautiful creature?" he said, noticing Stormy for the first time.
"I'm sorry, I must have forgotten my manners," Archer said, "This is Ashley Warren," Archer said. "And I'm sure you've met Sam before."
Jacques nodded a greeting to Sam, "Of course, Monsieur Sprite, I trust you are doing well. I have heard that your games are doing quite well in the marketplace."
"We did very well last Christmas, but we can never relax on our past successes or somebody will overtake us. We always have to make sure that we keep ahead of the competition otherwise we will lose our market share. After all, today's hit is tomorrow's clearance item."
"How difficult that must be," Jacques said, "But surely you do have the opportunity to relax once in a while, otherwise you would not have been so fortunate to have found such a beautiful date. I am most envious of your great luck."
Taking Stormy's hand, he kissed it, "Enchante' Mademoiselle Warren," he said very warmly. "It is always a pleasure to meet such a lovely lady. My eyes are blinded by your beauty."
Stormy smiled back at the Frenchman as she retrieved her hand, "I bet you say that to every woman you meet."
"Only to the beautiful ones," he replied smoothly. "Alas there are not as many as one would think. But I feel that I am most fortunate to have two such rare jewels before me," he said including Shannon in his compliment.
"Talking of jewels," Archer said, "Have you seen any interesting ones during your visit in this city?"
"Although I do sometimes find myself occasionally intrigued by one gem or another," Jacques replied, "I am not quite the fancier of jewels as you might think. I must admit though that I find Madame De la Culebra's taste in gems most fascinating."
"Thank you," Shannon murmured as she fingered the heavy strands around her neck.
"I see," Archer commented, "I thought that you were well known for your interest in rare gems. In fact I have even heard that Interpol was interested in you because of that interest."
"Interpol has been interested in me in the past because I have occasionally been on the scene when something has disappeared. But that is in the past. Lately their attention has been diverted elsewhere."
"Oh, so you have become interested in other things. Such as what? Maybe paintings like Picasso or El Greco?"
"At times I do find paintings interesting but, usually I can take them or leave them," Jacques replied carelessly.
"Take them..., I find that interesting. Have you recently found something to take lately and leave something much less in return?"
Jacques frowned thoughtfully then said, "Perhaps I recall something that was in the hands of one who was not worthy of it and perhaps something was left that was a bit more fitting. Surely it is not wrong to take something from one who did not it deserve in the first place. Who knows, there might even be people who consider the taking a service to mankind."
Stormy noted that Archer's pale complexion was starting to pinken even though Shannon was not showing any reaction to the men's odd conversation. Like herself, Sam Sprite seemed to be completely at a loss as to what Archer and the Frenchman was talking about.
"And our dear Miss Reid, does she too share that opinion?"
"She seems to be always game for a bit of adventure, especially if it is connected with her family's little newspaper. But she in entirely blameless in anything I might have done," Jacques replied.
"Perhaps," Archer said so calmly that Stormy was not sure she heard the implied threat in his voice, "It would be a pity if something happened to her because of your foolishness."
"Monsieur Archer," Jacques said equally as calmly even though there was steel hidden in the mildness of his voice, "I would urge anyone who might think of harming Mademoiselle Reid to rethink their actions. I would not be only one who would seek revenge. And I would assure you that anyone who did do such a thing would suffer mightily for it."
Archer rocked on his feet. "I believe the night is getting too long for you. You are starting to overstep your bounds. It might be a good idea for you to call it a night," he said, tightly keeping hold of his temper.
"Perhaps you are right," Jacques said. Then with a curt nod he nodded to Stormy, Sprite and Shannon. "Good night, Madame, Mademoiselle, Monsieurs."
"What the hell were you two talking about?" Sam demanded of Archer as Jacques threaded his way through the ballroom.
"None of your business," Shannon said sharply before Archer could reply.
"I consider it part of my business if that French dandy's threats should adversely affect LogicSoft"
"Just keep on churning out those games," Shannon answered. "We'll take care of LogicSoft."
"And what if I decide to stop churning out those games. What if I publish on the internet the details of some of the games I'm working on? Especially those that are practically blueprints for terrorism."
"You wouldn't dare," Archer hissed through clenched teeth.
"If your actions threaten LogicSoft, I will. I'll make sure that the board of directors hear all about what has been happening around here lately," he threatened.
"Oh is our little gamemaker starting to develop a backbone?" Shannon simpered as she batted her eyes.
"Ashley, I think it's time you and I call it a night too," Sprite said sharply as he turned on his heel.
Stormy tried to look dignified as she struggled to catch up with Sam. Finally catching up with him she breathlessly gasped, "What's going on, Sam?"
"Archer is getting way out of line," he muttered more to himself than in answer to Stormy's question. "Something has got to be done before his ambition destroys us all."
"What to you mean?" Stormy demanded, roughly grabbing Sprite's arm.
Sam paused, suddenly realizing that Stormy was standing in front of him. "I'm sorry Ashley. I meant to show you a good time. I'm sorry about everything."
"Can't you tell me what's happening? I know some people who can help."
Sam shook his head. "No one can help me. Not even God. Just forget what happened. It's too dangerous. Let me call you a taxi," he added as the doorman escorted them through the front doors.
"But Sam," Stormy started, then stopped, seeing the panic in Sam's eyes. Sam turned away from her and headed for the valet parking lot as a waiting taxi pulled up to the doorman's whistle. As she bent to get into the taxi she noticed a rose boutonniere on the walkway. "Le Blanc," she said under her breath, noticing that it was the same unusual variety that the Frenchman had been wearing.
She glanced around, but couldn't see anything suspicious, but her internal radar was screaming a warning. "Ma'am" the doorman said politely as he held the taxi door open for her. Stormy looked for Sam and saw him paying the valet before stepping into his car, a black Volvo sedan. "I've changed my mind," she said to the doorman, "I don't need a taxi."
"Sam," she yelled, waving her hand to catch his attention.
Sam turned around, gaping open-mouthed as she ran to him as quickly as her high heels would allow.
"We got to talk," she said.
"Maybe later," Sam said, getting into the Volvo.
Stormy stopped him from closing his door, "No, now," she demanded.
Sam uneasily looked around them. "You're making a scene," he said worriedly, "I'll give you a call."
"No, you won't. We both know that. You're in big trouble..."
"Ashley, you don't want to get involved in this," he protested in a low voice.
"I'm already involved. You want to discuss this in front of everybody or in your car?"
"Okay," Sam said, relenting, "Get in."
"Good," Stormy said, hurrying to get into the car before he changed his mind.
"Now, tell me what this is all about," Stormy asked.
Sam shook his head as he worriedly watched the dark road ahead of them. "This isn't a game, Ashley. I have a feeling that things are going too far. It could get dangerous." He risked a look at her, "You could get hurt."
"I have a confession to make," Stormy replied, "I lied, my name isn't really Ashley Warren. It's really Stormy Weathers..."
The Volvo swerved slightly when Sam shot a surprised look at Stormy.
"Yes, before you ask," she continued, "That really is my name. Let's just say that my folks had a weird sense of humor and let it go at that. Anyway, truth of the matter is that I'm a private detective."
"You are?" Sam demanded in disbelief.
"Yes, I am. I was hired by the Reid family to investigate the murder he is accused of."
"But what does that has to do with me?"
"I don't know, but I do think that Julius Archer has a lot to with it. He is the one who has the motive and the means to destroy Britt Reid by framing him for murder."
"So you think Britt Reid is innocent."
"That's what I'm being paid to find out."
"But aren't you sure he's innocent?"
Stormy shrugged, "I don't have proof one way or the other, but my gut feeling is that he is. Otherwise I wouldn't be doing the investigation, no matter how much they paid me."
"But why me?"
"Because you're on the inside and you strike me as being an honest man..."
"Not like Julius..." Sam supplied.
"Right." Stormy caught the glare of headlights behind them. They disappeared as they rounded a bend in the road, then reappeared. Could be nothing, she thought. But why do they make me nervous?
"Archer is up to something. Something a lot bigger than a simple hostile takeover of a newspaper. I think it has something to do with that game you were mentioning. It's not really a game is it?"
"No, I'm starting to think more and more that it isn't, despite what Julius is claiming. It's not something that I or anyone on my team came up with. I probably wasn't even supposed to find it. But when I run across a file on our network that's so heavily encrypted even I'm not allowed into it, my first reaction is to find a way into it."
"What about secret projects for the government?"
"My security level allows me into those. I've done black box projects for the government that are so secret I can't even talk about them in my dreams."
"So this one was unusual." Stormy tried to catch a furtive look in the rear view mirror. The head lights were still behind them. It was a long drive back into town from the club and they were on an open stretch high above the cliffs overlooking the lake. Scenic in the day, at night it made her nervous. She reached into her small purse and felt the reassuring shape of the small Colt .380 Government Pocketlite inside it. Although the gun was less than a pound in weight it was powerful and accurate enough to do the job of a much larger weapon.
"Yeah," Sam continued, seemingly not aware of her movements. "So, of course I hacked into it."
"And it was the game you were talking about."
"Right, at least that's what Archer said it was. When I asked him why I had been locked out of it, he gave me some nonsense about it being a personal project that he was too embarrassed to talk to me about. He said he was afraid it wasn't good enough."
"But why didn't he just say that it was a government project?"
"Wouldn't wash. All military simulation projects go through me. I wouldn't have let it bother me, but once I found that hidden file, I started looking for more."
"And you found them..."
"Yeah, lots. I didn't get into all of them. There were too many and it takes a lot of work and time to crack the lock on them. Archer's up to something bad and it's starting to scare me."
"You could go to the police about it," Stormy suggested.
"With what? Game simulations? It's not against the law to design games or even create war simulations. As long as those plans are not acted on, they aren't illegal. Archer hasn't done anything illegal yet."
"Except maybe engineer the murder of a young girl and frame an innocent man for it."
"You need proof," Sam reminded her.
"So what are you going to do?"
"Bring it to the board of directors like I mentioned. Between them and me, we'll have enough votes to make him step down as CEO."
"If you can convince them that he's a danger to the company."
"Right, and I'm sure I can do that. They would rather get rid of somebody before they become an embarrassment to the company which Archer would become if his machinations became public."
"Have you considered that they might decide to get rid of you instead?" Stormy asked him pointedly.
She lowered the visor in front of her in order to see the car behind them better. Even though she tried to look casual, pretending to check her makeup, Sam noticed what she was doing.
"You've been watching them too," he said, making it a statement, not a guess.
"Yeah, I don't like the looks of them. They've been on our tail ever since we left the club. We're not going that fast. Most people would've gotten around us a long time ago." She shot a glance at the dark waters far below them. "This is too good a place for an 'accident'."
Sam sped up and the car behind them lagged a few moments. Suddenly it accelerated.
"I think they've decided it's time to quit pretending."
The Volvo sped up, but the car, a heavy SUV, quickly overtook them. With a screeching protest of metal against metal the SUV sideswiped them. Sam, prepared for them, turned toward them instead allowing himself to be pushed onto the sandy shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he urged his solidly built car ahead of the bulkier vehicle. Lower than the SUV it clung closely to the road as it accelerated into and out of the curves, while the SUV had to slow down or risk losing control.
The SUV caught up with them on a straight stretch of the road. Ahead of them they could see the first glimmers of the city outskirts. Suddenly the side window behind Sam disintegrated with the blast of a shot gun.
"Faster, Sam," Stormy urged unnecessarily. She pulled out her gun, but with a curse of frustration shoved it back into her purse. While it might be good for close in, it was useless for shooting a large moving target at any kind of distance.
"We're goners," Sam moaned.
"Never give up," Stormy said, even though she felt as hopeless as he did. Especially since she could see another set of headlights rapidly coming up behind them. Even though she could not see the flash of red, white and blue lights, she prayed that it meant rescue, but cynically expected it meant more trouble.
Another blast from the shotgun peppered the Volvo in an explosion of deafening sound and fury. The Volvo swerved under the attack. It was getting too much for Sam whose only exposure to violence was in a game. Tears of fear were streaking down his face as his hands shook on the steering wheel.
"Stormy, we're gonna die!"
The SUV was even with them. In the darkness they couldn't see the faces of their killers, only the ugly gleam of the shotgun's barrel. Suddenly the SUV shook and swerved. Open-mouthed, Stormy saw a brief flash of light come from the front of the car behind them. Unbelievably, the car was firing rockets and luckily for the them it was aiming at their attackers.
Now the pursued instead of the pursuer, the SUV broke off its attack on the Volvo, racing past them with its attacker hot on its tail.
"The Green Hornet," Sam said in an awed voice as a long black car passed them.
"That's him?" Stormy asked.
Sam nodded as he pulled to the side of the road. "I think I'm going to be sick," he said quickly opening his door.
"Sam," Stormy said getting out as well. "Are you going to be alright?" she asked.
Sam nodded. "Yeah." He looked down the road where the black car and the SUV had disappeared. "Oh my god, what have we gotten into?"
Stormy could see that Sam wasn't going to be driving anywhere tonight. He was too shaken up to do anything but lean against his car. Seeing that he was going to be okay, she walked around the Volvo. Taking in its bullet ridden carcass, she had serious questions whether or not it was going anywhere under its own power tonight, especially since she saw a suspicious dripping of liquid underneath it. She touched a finger into the liquid and sniffed it. Gas.
"Sam," she said, "I think we ought to head back into town."
"I don't think I can drive," he protested.
"We're not driving," Stormy answered. "We're walking. Your car is leaking gas."
"Oh," Sam replied. "I can call someone to pick us up," he offered as he pulled out his cell phone.
"I don't think that'd be a good idea. Word might get back to Archer," Stormy said as she pulled out her own cell. "I know someone who might be able to help." For a moment she thought about calling John Reid. It would be good to talk to him again. Instead she dialed Scanlon's number. It was busy. She sighed and dialed John's. No answer, just the answering machine.
"No go," she said, putting her cell back into her purse. "Damn, if I'd known I was going to be hiking home, I'd have worn sneakers."
Sam pulled off his jacket and gallantly gave it to Stormy. "Here," he said, "You look cold."
Stormy smiled her thanks, then her smile faded into uncertainty. A car was coming up to them. She pulled out her gun, prepared for anything.
The Green Hornet stepped out of the car. "Is that how you greet someone who's saved your life?" he asked.
Stormy keep her gun leveled at his chest. "I do when I don't know what he's up to."
"It's getting cold out here. Wouldn't you rather get into my car where it's warmer?"
Stormy hesitated, but still kept her gun aimed at the Green Hornet.
"It's a long walk back into town in those heels you're wearing," he commented.
"Stormy," Sam said from behind her, "I think we can trust him."
"I don't know. What happened to the SUV? Did you kill them?" she asked.
"No. They're still alive. We couldn't continue pursuit once we hit town. Too much risk of running into the cops. I'm surprised that you care what happened to them. If they had their way, you would have been dead."
"Why did you save us?" Stormy asked.
"Let's just say I have an interest in some of Archer's business dealings. I was watching the club when I saw the SUV leave after you did. It didn't look right so I decided to see what would happen."
"I'm not saying that I'm not grateful..." Stormy began.
"Then leave it at that. My reasons for saving your lives are my own. Now do you want a ride back into town, or do you plan on walking the next ten miles?"
"Stormy," Sam said, "He's right. Besides, he's the Green Hornet."
Stormy stared at Sam. She expected him to be frightened at the idea of riding with the legendary masked criminal, but instead he appeared to be overcome with excitement. "But..." she said to him.
"Good God, the Green Hornet, Kato, the Black Beauty... This is fantastic. Do you how many game designers have wanted to do one on the Green Hornet? To actually ride in the Black Beauty... That's been the biggest dream of my life. Wait a minute, I got to get something out of my car," he said excitedly as he opened the Volvo's trunk and pulled out a small briefcase.
With an exasperated sigh, Stormy finally lowered her gun. "Looks like you have a fan there," she said to the Green Hornet.
"Looks like it," he agreed wryly. "Wait a minute," he said to Sam, "What do you have in that briefcase?"
Sam stopped, blinking owlishly at the Green Hornet. "Well, I have my laptop. I never go without it. Oh, and my sketch pad. Uh, would you pose for me?" he asked hopefully.
The Green Hornet shook his head. "No," he said, "I don't think so, and..." he added when Sam started reaching for front passenger door, "You ride in the back with us."
"Okay," Sam said agreeably and slid into the back seat.
The Green Hornet bowed to Stormy, "After you, madam."
Stormy stood for a moment studying the Green Hornet, then finally putting her gun back into her purse, climbed in. She noticed that Sam was already busy with paper and pencil. She shook her head in wonder. Those sketches could come in handy later, she consoled herself thoughtfully.
"Where are you taking us?" she asked the Green Hornet as he settled in next to her.
"There's a motel nearby. We'll drop you off there. I'll give you some money for it."
" I don't need your money, I have a credit card.."
"I don't think it'd be a good idea to use your credit card. At least not yet. Same thing with making phone calls. Somebody's out to kill you. It wouldn't be a good idea to give them a way of finding out where you are," the Green Hornet said.
"You don't need to worry about me," Stormy said acidly to the Green Hornet. "I'm a private investigator, I don't need any advice from some cheap crook."
The Green Hornet smiled patronizingly at her, "I assure you, Miss Weathers, I am anything but cheap."
True to his word, the Green Hornet took them to a small motel along the highway. It was a simple mom and pop place that looked well kept up with a short two story L of no more than fifty rooms. Sam had enough cash to pay for their rooms while Stormy waited in the Black Beauty that sat just out of the light of the motel's brightly lit sign. Sam returned with two keys and directed them to a back corner of the motel.
The Green Hornet walked Stormy to the door of her room. Stormy noticed that Sam had hung behind. He was busy talking happily to Kato as he caressed the Black Beauty's smooth body. "Looks like he's in love," Stormy commented to the Green Hornet.
"The Black Beauty seems to have that effect on some people," the Green Hornet said.
Stormy took a moment to closely study the masked man. He was tall, over six feet and even though the long overcoat gave little hint of his build, she could tell that from the way he moved that he was well-built and athletic. He had a strong jaw line and a firm mouth. The kind a woman would like to kiss, neither effeminately full nor cruelly thin.
To kiss... Stormy shook herself mentally, surprised at where her thoughts were leading. It must be because I'm so tired, she told herself. Still there was something about those smouldering grey eyes that captivated her. Grey eyes... smoke grey, she thought, her mind again wandering into dangerous places. There must be something about a masked man. So sexy....
Forcibly pulling herself away from her thoughts, Stormy tried to act casual. "I think it's time to call it a night. I'm beat," she said, unlocking her door. She rolled her shoulders, trying to get a kink out of them.
"Looks like you could use a back rub," the Green Hornet said. He too, seemed to be unnecessarily delaying his leaving.
"Know where I can find a masseur at this time of night?" she asked playfully.
The Green Hornet leaned casually against the wall jamb, "I think I could find someone. Maybe even find somebody who could draw you a nice hot bath too. Looks like you could use one too."
"Mmm, with mountains of bubble bath?"
"Of course. Are there any other kind?"
"Uh, boss," Kato said, "I think it's time we get going."
Stormy sighed. Sam was standing next to Kato, at a loss as to what to do next. "Maybe next time," she said to the Green Hornet.
The Green Hornet's eyes traveled slowly up and down Stormy's figure. "Maybe," he said before turning to leave.
Stormy thoughtfully watched the Green Hornet walk back to the car and climb in. Sam stood next to her watching as well. Finally she said, "Sam, you think you could draw me a picture of the Green Hornet?"
"Sure, no problem."
"Without the mask?"
Sam thought for a few beats, then he nodded, "Probably."
"Good," Stormy said, then closed her door behind her, leaving a puzzled Sam looking at the parking lot where the Black Beauty had been.