CHAPTER THREE
Blair stared aimlessly at the belongings of her corner office. She designed the room with great care. There was color, but not enough to be the punch line of a joke whenever she entertained colleagues or guests. She congratulated herself on the balance of femininity and professionalism, an oxymoron in close minded circles.
Recruited by her father after she graduated she was given her place. Unfazed by the ease in which she earned it she worked long hours to build a reputation. The details of her job were to ensure the legality of commercial transactions. She was the legal mouth piece for Warner Industries, being formerly groomed to one day inherit all the responsibility her father now had.
"Miss Warner your mother on line one," her young assistant, Vesper, announced over the speaker.
Blair picked the phone up lazily wondering what her mother could want, last time she heard, she was in a quiet villa near the Mediterranean with her baby sister. "Hello darling," her mother bubbled from the other end.
"Hello mother."
"Darling how goes the life of a corporate lawyer?" she queried jovially.
Blair answered carefully. Even in at age twenty six her parents battled for her affections. To say the least Monica felt like she had lost a battle when Blair announced she accepted her father's job offer. Blair considered her a prize for any man, but to think that her parents shared the perception still stung on occasion.
They provided for her in every material way. They shaped her in their dual images. Fortunately there was a balance, with a bigger part of the quintessential Blair to keep the two personalities in check.
"I'm happy to hear that you're doing well dear," she offered never missing a beat, "I know that you have such a busy schedule, but I was wondering if you wouldn't mind watching your sister for a while."
"Mother…," Blair warned, but her mother would not be deterred.
"Maxwell and I want to have some time to ourselves and Bailey does miss her big sister, you know how she adores you."
"Mother…."
"Just adores you darling, she reminds me so much of you when you were her age, it's charming to hear her attempt to pronounce Louis Vuitton."
"Mother I would love to," Blair conceded quickly. There were several versions of Blair's childhood, and she didn't need to be reminded of her mother's edited account.
"Wonderful darling wonderful I can have her on a flight within the hour." Blair visibly frowned when she heard the words.
They chatted idly about gossip, clothes, and relationships. By the end of it when Blair hung up, the ringing migraine that was her mother, still resounded in her head. She would have to compromise her schedule to spend time with Bailey; it would make her feel guilty if she hired a nanny for all of her sister's stay. However the visit was very short notice, calling from the airport, short notice.
She called her assistant in to ensure that her afternoon would be cleared. Blair kept a room full of Bailey's favorite toys. She would have it ready by the time her sister's flight came in, but that included cancelling on Randall for their dinner; she wasn't sure how she felt about him meeting her baby sister quite yet.
Randall was a nice man, a good man, everything she thought she wanted to marry and even as they spent more time together she could feel something missing. It was a nagging feeling that notoriously tugged on her whenever she could feel a relationship coming to an end. She'd invited him on a girl's night out, to perhaps be inspired again by doting friends that called them the perfect couple. Before the night even drew to a close she knew it was fruitless. No, she wouldn't string him along any further. She would let him and her father down gently.
Her father's unusually proactive interest in her relationship was a new development. He introduced her to Randall. After their first date, which she had never told him about, he brought Randall up in every other conversation. The way Blair saw it her father was getting older and he wanted his little girl to find happiness.
She wanted happiness. She knew that in all probability Randall wouldn't be the one to make her happy. Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She answered turning her thoughts to work, leaving other personal musings of contentment for later.
Sweaty and sated from a backseat tryst with a lovely stranger he would never have to meet again Donald Herring smiled at a night well spent. All his friends were married with kids and cheating on their wives. Why play games when you know you're a bastard? He didn't need or want a wife and he hated kids. Kicking women out of his backseat on his way home was a perfect arrangement he'd perfected since college. If it isn't broke don't fix it, he thought to himself.
He'd begun to doze off when the car finally stopped. The sound of his driver's door slamming shut startled him. Sitting up to wipe the drool from his mouth he grabbed his jacket as ungracefully as he exited the car. The ugly rundown building in front of him was the first clue that he wasn't in Kansas anymore. It was an deserted building with a loading deck aged by use and abandon.
"What the…" his eyes landed on the driver as soon as he'd finished taking in the unfamiliar world around him. "Get back in the car and take me home."
The driver didn't respond.
Donald Herring's five eleven frame would have been intimidating in some circles, but the driver didn't back down when the wealthy man stalked toward him.
"Mr. Herring," a voice called out from the building.
Herring's frown hardened when he heard the voice of a woman. His gaze trailed along the broad shoulders of the driver to the shadows where a brunette in black emerged. Being a male first and foremost he noticed she was easy on the eyes. "Who are you?"
Jo took a seat on the landing eyeballing him.
Herring scoffed looking around, "you as deaf as lurch here?" he pointed to the tall man, who had yet to utter a word.
Jo looked at Remy. The tall Cajun was a talker on most occasions, but he could play the strong and silent type better than most. "Donny you've been a very bad boy, in the thirty six years you've been living you haven't contributed a single good thing to society. You're responsible for some shady stuff I don't even want to mention, I could, but I won't."
"What the hell is this?"
"Intimidation."
Remy's meaty hand swiftly connected with Donald's stomach. Keeling over in pain gasping for breath Jo didn't bat an eye. She was more than familiar with his list of offenses unofficially documented. His money made it easy to avoid accountability. Associates of his had been collared on smuggling, but nothing could concretely link Donald Herring to the crime. A lot of innocent people had been hurt so that it seemed like his hands were clean, too many to count—too many even on sleepless nights.
That's what Jo thought of as Remy hit him over and over. Remy took great care to leave his face, but his body wouldn't be the same after tonight.
Crumbled in the dirt smelling of blood, sweat, and sex Jo's noise twitched at the musky combination. Her boots crunched under the dirt and broken glass, she lifted a shard with her gloved hand. "Drunks and kids always looking to spruce a place up," she threw it aside waiting for Donald to recover.
"Wha…wha…why?" he barely managed the monosyllable.
"Tomorrow after you've had your run in the park and flirted your married secretary out of her pink lace panties, your driver Hal's going to take you to work, like he does every morning. And you're going to go to your office on the twenty first floor with one change." Jo placed the contract within inches of his face, "this isn't the first time you've seen this and it won't be the last."
Herring frowned.
"At you're meeting at nine thirty you're going to sign this."
"The hell I will," Herring glared first at Jo then the larger man.
"You've got a busy schedule Donny anything could happen to you between the times you wake and get to work. Life's unpredictable that way."
There was no mistake in Jo's threat and from the look in his eyes he understood it. Jo felt like her point had been made. Donny would sleep on what had happened tonight. And just in case he needed any more incentive they had left a nice surprise for him when he got back home. Remy threw him into the back seat.
The red lights faded as the limo receded into the dark. There it would just be another car on the road of the sleepless city. Jo sighed and looked at the time. Louie, her former partner, had invited her for drinks at his place. She'd been putting him off for the past few weeks making excuses. He didn't deserve the cold shoulder. It was eleven thirty now he probably expected her a lot earlier if he hadn't already gone to bed. It was presumptuous on her part to walk to knock on his door and anticipate the owner to answer. Louie was five years her senior, but he had a lot of qualities that reminded her of an old man.
"Damn Po," he had a habit of calling people by their last names. He claimed to shorten her name because the thought of how long it was made him too tired to say it.
Jo stepped into the house after he greeted her. The décor hadn't been changed since his mother passed away nine months ago. Jo had had the pleasure of meeting and being fed the late Beatrice Underhill. She was always fondly reminisced in Jo's mind as the mother-in-law that got away. Louie being born a man and ruining Jo's chance at the world greatest mother-in-law was a long standing joke. Louie had even entertained the idea when they first started working together. It didn't take long to see however that they worked better without physical anticipation. It wasn't until later on that he was privy to Jo's preference for women.
Jo could see that he had probably been asleep. Nevertheless he headed into the kitchen, his mother's pride and glory, and retrieved the beers he'd bought for that night. To say he was pissed when Jo hadn't showed after a noncommittal maybe was an understatement.
They drank quietly eying the other.
"Your friend Ramsey called me today," he swallowed.
Jo smirked bringing the bottle to her lips, "et tu Lou?"
"I'm your friend Po no matter how it looks."
"That sounds familiar," she snorted.
"You come here with the explicit purpose of being an ass?"
Sighing heavily scratching the back of her head, she settled into a chair against the wall closest to the kitchen entrance. "Not the explicit," she defended with a smile.
He answered with a chuckle. Their relationship was an uncomplicated one. They lived by a code of loyalty both had grown up with. Louie took a bullet for her when she didn't secure a house properly. The crack head they were going after had an older woman drugged up and wrapped around his finger. The woman hadn't had the good sense to understand they were the good guys. Jo covered for Louie when a stripper named Helen became obsessed with him on an undercover assignment after he dipped his proverbial pen in the ink. The ordeal jeopardized the four month operation. All involved were happy that stalker Helen now resided in a Rhode Island psychiatric facility.
It was easy to share anything with someone knowing the answer to any question would be unconditional loyalty. She had that with Louie and he had that with Jo. However, some things couldn't be said aloud no matter how understanding the listener.
"How's life under the hood," he asked.
"Same ole," Jo shrugged. Louie became a regular at Teodor's garage. Since Jo wasn't as eager to visit him he made it a point to pop up with 'car problems'.
"The car is making some weird sounds when I make turns," he offered offhandedly. Jo knew where he was going, but started on a third bottle without comment. He caught her up on the precinct gossip. It was the safest topic and he knew she'd be curious even if she didn't ask. Prostitute Joan, a black woman in her early fifties with a long flowing silver wig, was a regular. She bragged about knowing the 'shoe sizes' of the 'suits', a term not so endearingly used for their bosses. He related her latest escapade in the precinct. She was high as a kite propositioning anyone who gave her a glance. It wasn't until later that evening she was found outside her cell with a rookie named Marv Gentry in a very compromising position.
In the wake of the story Jo's beer sprayed from her mouth and Louie drank in Jo's reaction with a grimace. It was priceless. "Ugh nasty," she growled wiping her chin and looking down at her wet jeans. Joan may have been a looker thirty years ago, but now she had the look of a woman gang banged by too many vices.
"I'm not goin' to be the only one taking that image to the grave with me," he shared.
After another hour Jo left. Louie had a job and while she had the day off she'd probably go in and work anyway. The garage was closer than her apartment so that's where she headed.