FIVE

Angelo stared at the five-floor building, six if you counted the basement. Suites one, two, three and four were on the first floor. He went up the stairs and found suite one on his left, two on his right, three right after two and four right at the back of the building with its door tucked under the angle of the staircase as it wound up to the second storey.

The door to Hardway's office was a polished mahogany affair, and it was standing open. Not wide open but open enough to be so obvious. Angelo casually walked across the room and then rushed back like an idiot to the bottom of the stairs once he heard footsteps. Don't even ask how he got past security. Once the person had passed, he walked back towards the door and pushed it with his shoe, and it swung open on its hinges to reveal a small, quiet reception area the size of motel room.

It was decorated in a pastel color somewhere between light gray and light blue. There was thick, dark carpet on the floor. A secretary's desk in the shape of a letter L, with a complicated telephone and a sleek computer. There was also a filing cabinet and a sofa, a window with pebbled glass and another door leading straight into an inner office. Angelo whistled softly and waited. Nobody was here. He shut the door behind him. It was quiet. The lock was latched back, like the office had been opened up for business. He padded across the carpet and to the reception area.

Okay…Tracing this person should be really easy, right? Right? Wrong! But still, this would be like trying to find out the identification or cause of death of a person. Since he used to be a doctor, he could do that. There was the smell of perfume in the air. He threaded around the secretary's desk and found a woman's bag, open, neatly stowed against the vanity panel to the left of the chair. He tilted his head to the side…

"G'dammit, Lara. Why do you leave your bag here? Sebastian sprayed himself in the face with perfume!--Sebastian, noooo. No. Give it to me…Give it!--Damn it, Lara. Next time, I might be the one who sprays myself. We can't let that happen. I might die of the "women-talk-a-lot" disease. And I'm very important--Ew…Honey! Sebastian's eating your lipstick…Na-a-a-ah, hold on. Leave him. It's actually fun to watch."

…Pained, he shook the memory from his head and continued on. Less enthusiastic than he was before. He sat on the chair and looked at the bag. The flap was folded back, revealing a soft leather wallet and a plastic pack of tissues. He took out his pencil and used the eraser end to poke the tissues aside. Lipstick, perfume, make-up--is that a condom? Angelo paused for a moment and made a face, glancing from the pencil to the condom. Ugh…

"I don't even want to know…" he muttered. The computer monitor was swirling with a watery screensaver. He used the pencil to nudge the mouse. The screen crackled and cleared and revealed a half-finished letter. The cursor was blinking patiently in the middle of an uncompleted word. This morning's date at the very top of the letter. He thought about it and glanced between the tidy placement of the absent woman's bag, the open door, the uncompleted word, and he shivered.

He used the pencil to exit Microsoft Word. A window opened and asked him if he wanted to save the changes to the letter. After a moment, he clicked 'Yes'. He opened the file manager screen and checked the directories. He was looking for an invoice. Surely, there's gotta be a Ms. Skyler here…He thought about it. He clicked on a subdirectory labeled 'Invoices'. The right-hand side of the screen came up with a long field of file names, stacked alphabetically. He ran the cursor down the list and spooled them up from the bottom. No Skyler in the Ss.

Mostly it was just initials. That didn't make it any easier. He sat there, thinking. When did the search for D'Angelo Spencer start? It musta been a clear sequence. He thought about how he normally found out the cause of people's deaths and compared. It was Ms. Skyler's instructions coming at the outset, nothing except a name, a vague description about his size, looks and job. Hardway mighta called the hospital he used to work with. Like that's any help…Then, Hardway would've had a puzzled pause, in a dead end.

Then, the whole shot with the bank account. A call to an old buddy, old pal, favors called in, strings were pulled. Maybe a blurry faxed printout from Knoxville, maybe a blow-by-blow narrative of credits and debits over the phone. Then, there was the hurried flight down to South America, questions asked all over, the other guy, the argument, the newspaper. The death.

A short sequence, Angelo could understand. Like a rough idea of what the hell Hardway's been doing. There would've been delays. Call it a total of twelve to thirteen days, separated by a day's thinking time, plus a day at the start and one at the end. Maybe altogether fifteen days since Ms. Skyler set the whole thing in motion. Kinda slow for a guy like Hardway…

Mostly they were just long acronyms maybe standing for law firm names. Angelo checked the dates. Nothing from exactly fifteen days ago. But there was one sixteen days old. Well, okay then…It was labeled L&W-12. He clicked on it and the hard drive chattered. He had a major urge to just hit it. "Hurry up…" he grumbled.

"Kasu, Will you hurry up and tell us? We've been guessing for half an hour."

"It's not my fault your stupid."

"Oh? I'm stupid? Well, at least I'm cuter."

"What!"

"Admit it…Come on, ittle Kasu. Admit it! Admit it! Admit it!--Okay, I'm gonna go now. Tellitubies is on…"

The hard rive chattered and buzzed. It snapped him out of his thoughts and the screen came up. A firm called Latham & Watkins. There was a billing address but no phone number. He quit the file manager and entered the database. Searched for it again and came up with a page showing the same address, but this time with numbers for phone, fax, telex and e-mail. He leaned down and used his fingers and thumb to pull a couple of tissues from the bag. Wrapped one around the telephone receiver and opened the other flat and laid it across the keypad. Dialed the number by pressing through it. There was ring tone for a second, and then, the connection was made.

"Latham & Watkins." A bright, cheery voice said. "How may we help you?"

Angelo held the receiver away from his ear. You can help me by tuning the speakers down a lil' bit… "Can I speak to Ms. Skyler, please?" Angelo asked. "One moment." the voice said. There was tinny music and then, a man's voice. He sounded quick, but deferential. An assistant. "Ms. Skyler…please." He said again, the last word a little confused. The guy sounded busy and harassed. "She already left for Glendale. I don't know when she'll be back."

"Do you have her address there? I seem to have lost it."

The man agreed and recited the address, apparently from memory. "I think you might need to hurry." the guy said. "Sure, I will." Angelo said back, he hung up, thinking more. Okay, one step close to gold. He closed the database and left the screen blank. He took one more glance art the missing secretary's abandoned bag and stumbled out of the office, after hearing footsteps.

The secretary died fifty minutes after she gave up Ms. Skyler's identity, which was about five minutes after Danny had a little fun. She could've ran and screamed for help. But, too bad. She took Danny for a good guy. Who wouldn't? A nice, polite, happy, cheerful guy walks up, grumbling about wages. You're an idiot if you didn't talk to him. But, well, your a bigger idiot if you did. The guy smiles at you in a charming way and makes you laugh…

..You would've never guessed that guy was a mental, psycho, serial killer. Danny lit yet another cigarette. Troubled. His face demented and deadly serious, there was patience and anger in there. But there wasn't a trace of guilt or regret.

Smiling manically, Danny bent down, hands on his knees. A woman was handcuffed, to a railing, covered in gasoline, duct tape stuck on her mouth. Her face wet with tears. Pervious screams, all women, rang in his ears. It didn't bother him one bit. He looked down at her and held a knife to her face. She pulled away, trying to scream.

"It's okay mom. I won't hurt you…not, yet, anyway."

No response. More muffled screams and tears.

"I'm gonna take the tape off if you've got your answer. Promise not to scream or…" Danny looked at the knife, and shrugged, "Well, you can use your imagination. And I warn you, those thoughts are gonna be a bloody mess." he grinned, laughing slightly. "You promise not to scream?"

The woman started nodding wildly, eyes bulging, Danny tore off the strip and waited for the answer, smiling.

The woman gave him a look of pure hatred, "You son of a bitch, I've never loved you. I've wanted to kill you ever since you were born!"

Danny's smile disappeared. A pitiful look on his face.

"Yeah, that's it. You wanted the truth? There's the truth. I fucking hated you and I hope you rot in hell you psycho bastard!"

Inside the massive office toilet, Brandon, one of guys, was mopping the secretary's blood off floor, his expensive pants rolled up and his socks and shoes off. Danny was outside his office, smoking, pondering. "So, what are you going to do now, Wes?" Carl asked, nervous. It had been a close call earlier today. Danny almost caught him coming out from Conan's office. Conan had told Danny only about Ms. Skyler…forcing him to do the job. To look for her and bring her to him.

They never mentioned a D'Angelo.

Danny inhaled and blew smoke rings, staring into space. "I'm going to find Ms. Skyler…"