I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Believe it or not, but we are about ¾ through the story. There is an end in mind – question is, how WILL it end? Bwah! – Stealth Phoenix
Chapter 55
Victor approached the courthouse without the air of trepidation and fear that had marked his previous visits. The media swarming outside were shouting questions, but he'd been warned off making any interviews or comments by the Slugworth lawyer in the strongest possible terms. Still, he knew he looked dapper in his carefully fitted bronze colored suit and light golden tan shirt, showing off his tan and carefully highlighted hair.
Entering the stately building, he removed his sunglasses and tucked them inside his jacket. The building was swarming with people in suits – talking on cell phones or speaking quietly, holding briefcases or files. He'd wager more than 50 percent were lawyers – the remaining folks either clerks, clients or there for testimony.
There was a small crowd of nervous looking people gathered outside the room where his case was being heard. Victor recognized a few former employees. He met their eye evenly and he was titillated when they dropped their eyes first or shuffled out of his line of sight.
Smirking, he entered the courtroom and walked down the aisle to meet Raoul at the head of the room at the defendant's table.
The Slugworth lawyer cast a sardonic eye over his client, "You look relaxed considering the circumstances."
"Just confident. Has the DA attempted to press forward yet?" Victor said neutrally.
"No. I think Judge Danvers is going to dismiss the charges this morning unless they can cough something up."
"Good – then we can talk business," Victor said smirking slightly.
The DA team shuffled in, looking somewhat downcast and in a few cases, shooting glares in his general direction. The bailiff called the court to order and they rose as Judge Danvers entered the room.
The older man took his seat and glanced over the files before him, "Good Morning. I believe we are picking up after breaking yesterday to allow Mr. Sinclair's office to track down a key witness. Mr. Sinclair has Ms. Carmichael been located?"
Jack Sinclair stood, his face grim, "No your honor. Ms. Carmichael has not been seen since she was abducted yesterday."
Danvers peered over the reading glasses, "And do you have any further witnesses?"
Victor could see the DA grit his teeth. He knew that the former employees he'd seen this morning were afraid of him and what he could do to them – taking care of Veronica had just solidified their fears.
"No, no we do not, your honor." Sinclair gritted out, his courtroom training preventing him from shooting Victor with a poisonous glare. "I would like to request another continuance to allow the Police another day to locate our key witness."
"If I allowed that, I'd have to let everyone with a missing witness do the same. Denied. Do you have any further evidence to present, counsel?"
Sinclair leaned forward, hanging his head, "No your honor. We rest our case."
Raoul stood smoothly, "Your honor. The presented evidence is circumstantial and was supposed to be supported by this alleged witness. Without it, there is no evidence pointing to my client under these charges. I move to dismiss the case."
There was a rumble of protest from the audience in the courtroom and Judge Danvers had to tap his gavel to quell the mummer, "Order!"
The older man sighed and ran a hand through his thinning silver hair, "It is with deepest regret that I have to agree. The evidence portraying Mr. Brahm in a criminal racketeering scheme is based on the testimony of the missing witness. There is simply not enough here to press forward. I'm sorry Mr. Sinclair."
He shot Victor a stern look, "Personally, I think you're trouble Mr. Brahm, but I am bound by law." He slammed the gavel down.
"Case dismissed."
--
It was late afternoon by the time Raoul Slinkard deposited his inebriated client by his front door.
A celebratory lunch at an exclusive little sidewalk café in Hollywood Hills with three or four martinis had Victor gaily telling everyone around him what a wonderful guy he was, how talented he was, and how hung he was.
That was before he had barfed in a potted palm by the table.
Raoul had sighed and paid the check to the disgusted waitress, adding a hefty tip after Victor had grabbed her butt, making her squeal loudly.
"Thanks Raoul – you're a real pal. I promise you…we're going to make a lot of money. Sick...mad money. Money that will throw Wonka into the street," the drunken man slurred as he shakily hoisted himself out of the white Miata.
"Whatever you say, Vic. Call me tomorrow once you sober up and be prepared to wow us with some ideas," Raoul said silkily.
If this buffoon doesn't produce, his ass is hitting the street, Raoul consoled himself. After dealing with the idiot's ego all afternoon, it was a happy thought. We'll take over the restaurants, sell off his assets to cover his tab and wash our hands once and for all.
It had been against his better judgment to get involved with Victor Brahm at all. The shady dealings, the under-the-table threats and the way his accuser had 'disappeared' pointed to a dangerous man who could bring bad publicity to the company. But once Old Arthur Slugworth had heard that the accuser was none other than Wonka's main squeeze, he had been on the next plane to L.A.
"See ya!" Victor waved absently, negotiating the sidewalk to his door with furrowed brow.
What a putz, sneered the lawyer as he drove away.
--
Victor dug out his keys and attempted to wrestle the key into the lock. He dropped them twice before managing to get the door open and staggering inside.
Collapsing into his favorite black leather chair before the television, he allowed his head to sag back, feeling the world swirl around him like he was the sun in his own personal solar system.
He really hadn't meant to drink that much at lunch, but between his relief when the charges were dropped and the general celebratory mood, he had indulged himself an extra drink or two as a reward for controlling his temper and behaving himself long enough to get him to this point.
A soft clink in the kitchen had him sitting up and opening his eyes lazily.
A pretty young woman in a maid's uniform was standing with her back to him at the sink, washing dishes. Dark hair was piled up on her head and sensible shoes were on her feet, but the strong line of her calf as it disappeared under the hem of her uniform was tempting as were the soft curves of her ass under the dress.
"Who're you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Lana, sir. I'm Rosalinda's replacement," was her soft reply. She turned to face him, drying her hands on a dishcloth.
Holy crap! She's hot!
Victor grinned at her. This was a massive improvement over that old horse Rosalinda.
"So, Lana. Are you aware of your duties?" he purred, indicating her to come closer.
"Yes Sir. I am to come in three times a week, between 2 and 5 to clean your home. General picking up, washing clothes and dishes, making sure the refrigerator stays stocked, sweeping, mopping, windows…the works," she said, standing about two feet away from him.
"What else?" he asked, staring at her shapely breasts under the severe black uniform.
"Sir?" she asked, confused.
He indicated for her to kneel down so he could talk to her face to face, taking perverse pride in seeing her on her knees before him.
Leaning closer, he could smell her flowery perfume – something tropical and sweet, "I mean what else would you consider adding to your duties?"
He leered at her, enjoying the flush of embarrassment across her cheeks.
"I…I don't know what you mean Sir..." she stammered becomingly, her hands twisting in the dishcloth, dark eyes bright.
"I think you do…you're quite lovely. Where are you from?" he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek.
Her perfume hung heavy in his nostrils, the dizziness growing worse as he breathed it in.
I must have been more sloshed than I thought.
She lowered her head to look at the floor, "You would not have heard of it, Sir."
"Try me – I am very well traveled, you know." He said thickly, it felt like his nose and extremities were going numb. A small alarm started going off in the back of his head as he felt the numbness grow and his vision starting to tunnel in. The heavy perfume clogged his throat and he felt like he couldn't breathe.
Still, when he felt her small hand take his and hold it against her cheek, dark eyes dancing up at him with mischief, he felt his heart begin to race with anticipation.
"Loompaland," she breathed, her pretty pink lips glistening in the sunlight.
He felt his brow crease in confusion even as darkness claimed him.
--
L.A. sighed in relief as the man's eyes rolled back in his head and he toppled over to fall next to her with a thud.
Smiling, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number, standing to go to the door as she did. It rang once and picked up.
"He's out – we're clear," she said succinctly, opening the door.
A white service van from Sears was parked in the alcove next to the entrance. At those words, the doors popped open and a team of Oompa Loompas dressed in flat grey jumpsuits jumped out and ran into the house. Orville and Sher-Man Ra jumped out as well and entered the house without a look in her direction.
I'm fine…thanks, she thought sarcastically.
She walked around to the passenger seat of the van where Willy sat, cell phone in hand and a dark expression on his face. He had ditched his usual attire and wore a white shirt with regular sunglasses and a ball cap with his hair pulled back in a slick ponytail peeking out from under the back.
"Slimeball was trying to make a move on me. You're lucky the perfume worked as well as it did." L.A. said, a disgusted expression on her face.
"Yeah. Speaking of, you should probably go shower it off before you knock the rest of us poor dumb males out," Willy said.
One of his backfire creations for Valentine's day a few years back had found a new purpose. Originally intended as a scent for his eatable roses, it had been discovered during testing that it knocked anyone possessing a Y chromosome out for a few hours.
"I'm gone. I just wanted to ask how Reggie and Spencer took the news," She said, removing her hairpins and letting the heavy hair fall down around her shoulders.
His silence said plenty and she excused herself quickly rather than endure more of that painful moment.
Willy sat, his anger pulsing again as he recalled the horrible conversation. It wasn't that they ranted or raved at his inability to find her, or to prevent Victor from walking away scott free. Quite the opposite in fact, it was their calm acceptance and blind faith that troubled him.
"If there is anyone on the planet that can find her, you can Willy. We trust you."
While he waited for his team of workers to come back to let him know that the place was secure and the preparations for questioning were completed, he fought back despair. Each minute that ticked by without word was agony and the bright hope that she would be returned without harm faded. It was the uncertainty that was killing him slowly – the uncertainty that made him jump every time the phone rang, to look up expectantly every time there was a gasp or cry of discovery. It was the uncertainty that made him die a little bit more inside when it turned out to be nothing.
Now that Victor was in his hands, he was afraid of what he would do to the man.
He was not a violent man – in fact the thought of violence made him ill. But under these circumstances, he wanted to lash out at Brahm – to feel the visceral satisfaction of his fist breaking his nose to make him reveal what he had done with Veronica. He wanted to break the man until he was pleading for mercy, pleading for his life.
That was the realization that made him sick.
"Won-Ka?" asked a familiar voice. He turned around to see the solemn face of Sher-Man-Ra in the back of the van. He could see the open door of the condo behind him.
"Is everything ready?" Willy asked, jerking himself out of his thoughts.
"Almost. I wanted to talk to you before you go in there. How are you doing?" Sherman asked, taking a seat on the wheel well of the van.
Willy sighed heavily, "I'm ready to do this. If it'll get Veronica back, I'll do anything."
"I'm hoping it won't come to that," Sherman confessed.
The Chocolatier nodded sadly, "Me too. But part of me is also hoping it does. That's what I've been struggling with while sitting out here. Part of me wants to beat the ever loving crap out of the man for what he's done – and I don't like that."
"Really?" Sherman said, looking at his friend with interest.
Willy sighed. It was a tough call to make, but what could he do.
You could take a step back, Bob said.
What?
Take a step back and let Sherman run the interrogation. You're too involved, Bob said sensibly.
"I was going to ask you to let me ask the questions," Sherman said, echoing Bob eerily. "I know your anger may drive you to rash action. You are an essentially gentle man, and this is not your strength – I believe it would tear you apart if you went down this road."
Could you live with yourself if you let your anger override your better judgment? Bob asked. No matter what happens, do you want Victor Brahm haunting your thoughts for the rest of your days?
Closing his eyes at the anguish he felt, he nodded sharply, feeling like he was condemning Veronica to death with his inaction.
It was now out of his hands.
--
Veronica lay curled on her side. The dirt floor was lumpy and hard, but far better than the cot right now. She looked across to where the cot now rested in front of the door, the steadily breathing man laying on it, curled up under the blanket.
Thank God he was asleep.
She tried to make herself comfortable and to fall asleep, but jumped in alarm every time her new captor shifted.
Closing her eyes, she reviewed what had happened that evening.
Paolo had been finishing his dinner with gusto when the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside had snatched her attention. It sounded like a large truck.
Paolo had motioned for her to take a seat on the bed when the engine had cut out. There was a knock on the door and her heart thudded in fear and anticipation.
"Quien es?" Paolo asked harshly.
"Quién la cogida usted lo piensa es?" replied the voice harshly. "Déjeme en bendajo."
Paolo snorted and quickly dialed in the combination, clicking it open and flipping the latch.
A weedy man, tall and lean, dressed in a similar way as Paolo, but somehow seeming dirtier and more rumpled came through the door. His work boots were greasy and so was his face and heavily pot-marked face.
"This is Luis, do what he says or else," Paolo said, walking out the door.
Veronica watched as Luis quickly closed and locked the door once again before turning his attention to her.
She didn't like the way his eyes crawled across her body, or the way he leered at her, thin lips parting to reveal brown and jagged teeth. Veronica watched as he sniffed, eyes falling on the remains of the chicken and rice sitting on the table. He sat and wordlessly shoveled an amount onto the empty plate that would have been hers and started eating.
"So, you cook," he grunted after a moment, snake-flat eyes locked on her.
"Yes" she said simply, trying to keep herself calm. Her hands betrayed her, twisting in on themselves, the chain between the cuffs clinking.
"What else do you do?" he asked, innuendo sitting heavy in his voice.
Choosing prudence, she said nothing, but looked down at her hands.
There was a slight noise and she looked up and yelped in surprise as Luis had somehow moved closer, now only inches from her face.
"I asked you a question, punta. What else do you do?"
"I make candy," she whimpered, trying to lean back from his face. His breath smelled horrible, like he was rotting from within.
"Good girl," he sneered.
Then he had slapped her across the face, knocking her off the cot and onto the floor.
"Don't give me attitude, punta. I'll take it out of your pretty little ass."
Terror warred with pain as her cheek throbbed. She couldn't stop the slow trickle of tears leaking from her eyes as she looked up at him, waiting to see what he would do to her next.
He had lifted the cot and carried it over to lay across the door – making sure that she made no effort to bolt during the night.
Grabbing the plate, he had gobbled the remainder of the food, never taking his eyes off her crouched form on the floor.
Hours had passed and she had pressed her back into the wall and simply watched apprehensively. He stared right back, occasionally smirking at some dark thought and when he did, she trembled. Several times, he had taken out his cell phone and glanced at the small screen before snapping it shut and returning it to his pocket.
Finally, he had yawned and laid down to go to sleep, confident in his ability to wake and deal with her if she tried something and assured that he had her cowed sufficiently to prevent escape.
Too bad he was wrong about that.
As she had cowered in the corner, she planned. This guy was an amateur compared to what Marcus had done to her, she assured herself – resolve stiffening her spine. He couldn't do anything to her
She'd already survived the worst.
It would have to be tomorrow morning when she made her break. That would give her daylight hours and make it easy to see where she was going. He had made a mistake showing her the phone – she'd grab that as well and start calling for help as soon as she was clear.
Closing her eyes, she bided her time and prayed.
For Willy.
For herself.
For freedom.