Twenty minutes later, Diane is back on the phone. “No ID, Chase. I don’t like it. I’m getting a bad vibe about the whole thing but she’s no threat as things are now, so I’ve had Ai-Ling escort her up to the War Room. Can you keep her busy while we do some more checking?”
“Sure,” I say and we ring off. It then occurs to me, This could be fun.
Smiling, I slide my finger back up the screen restoring the picture and sound from the security bay below. Seconds later, the door sized segment of the video wall Ai-Ling had exited through earlier swings open and a blindfolded torrent of expletives in a hospital gown steps through followed by Ai-Ling who closes the door behind her so that it again becomes one with the wall.
The blindfold is removed, and the room is filled with those same crackling sharp eyes that so captivated me at the club.
I involuntarily cross my legs.
The woman glares at each person in the room in turn before stopping on Sonia. “Since when does a prostitute rate a place at the big man’s table?”
This is one for the brain, and I ask myself, How much of my personal life does this woman know and why does she know it?
Everyone on my team, even Gordon, is too disciplined to give anything away and we all wait, impassively.
Turning her back to us, the woman looks up at the scene displayed on the wall. The security garage is displayed with her car in sub-bay 2 to the left and, to the right, a canvas tent is being set up in sub-bay 3, next to bay 1 where the woman had just passed security inspection. The woman spreads her arms wide and a gap appears in the back of the gown.
I squeeze a boulder size lump down my throat and my unbrain kicks in. Damn! If that gown was tied just a bit more loosely—
“So,” the woman says, “you sick perverts got quite a show, didn’t you?”
I shift uncomfortably in my chair and uncross my legs only to cross them again. Sonia gives me the side eye and a scowl. Clearing my throat, I try to look nonchalant but, given that Sonia’s scowl has deepened, I don’t think she’s buying it.
Turning back to face us, the woman reaches behind her back to untie the gown and says, “Here, one good humiliation deserves another. Let’s have a repeat performance, shall we?”
Sonia holds up a hand. “I’d save the amateur theatrics for a less gullible audience. I assure you that your little act will do little to impress us. However, if, when in a room full of men, you just can’t resist taking off your clothes, then please, proceed. Perhaps you can get a little tip money out of it.”
Unbrain: Works for me!
Gordon straightens in his chair and says, “Let’s not get carried away.”
Unbrain: Oh, will you shut up, Gordon!
“Oh, carried away?” the woman says to Gordon as she points at the screen behind her. “What do you call putting my humiliation up on the jumbotron there? Who was getting carried away then?” Her eyes turn back to Sonia and she says, “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here? I thought your only position with this organization was flat on your back.”
Sonia tilts her head to study the woman and then smiles. “I am very flexible,” she says, “and can assume any position that suits my client’s needs, including that of corporate attorney. Now,” Sonia’s eyes narrow, “something tells me you already knew that. So, let me ask you a few questions.”
Sonia holds up two fingers and pulls them down one by one as she speaks. “One; the existence of this facility, and two; anything about something happening in Boise that may, or may not be, of some interest to us. But, first, perhaps we could start with your name. Your real one, preferably, because, I assure you, we will find out what it is anyway.”
The woman studies Sonia for a few moments before smiling and saying, “My name’s Erica Palmer. Check all you want, that’s my name.
“Look,” she continues, “I understand the need for security. But that,” she gestures up at the screen, “was unnecessarily humiliating. If I weren’t in as much trouble as you idiots are, I’d never have come here in the first place.”
“You’re deflecting,” Sonia says. “And your overly dramatic behavior is doing nothing to convince us that you are worth more of our time than what we’ve already wasted on you. Now, do you need me to repeat my previous two questions?”
The Palmer woman pulls out a chair on the other end of the table from me, sits and, with a tilt up of her chin, she says to Sonia, “I’m coming to that but first—” Then, turning to me, she says, “You were rude to me at the club and I demand an apology.”
Brain: So the power struggle continues.
“You,” I reply feeling the same irritation the woman’s behavior triggered at the club, “merit no such apology. That little finger wag power crap you tried earlier was insulting and you got what you deserved in return. And now you have the presumptuousness to show up uninvited at my private residence and complain about the treatment you receive when you get here. It is not I that should be doing the apologizing, Ms. Palmer.”
Glaring back at me, she says, “Well, I’m sorry. I don’t have time to make an appointment!” The woman’s face twists into one resembling a six-year-old being forced to eat her greens. Then she says, “But, I do apologize for my earlier behavior. I had no intention of approaching you like I did but, well, when I saw you I kind of got nervous and fell back on an old habit. But that was no reason for you to be rude. You were a prick, and I told you so and won’t take back a single syllable of what I said.”
“Hm.” I say, “Okay. I could have been more courteous when letting you know I resented your behavior. I offer my apologies and accept yours in return. Now get to it. Why are you really here?”
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