Chemical Burn (21 page)

English Propriety

“How do you do, sir?” I took off my hat and extended my hand. “My name is Reginald Livingston, and this lovely woman is my sister, Margaret. Livingston, Incorporated. Proprietors. At your service, sir.”

“Richard Petri,” Ricky said as we shook. “Pleased to meet you both, Mister Livingston, Margaret,” he said, shaking her outstretched hand as well. “Look, most of our people have gone for the day. I was headed that way myself.”

I looked at Rachel, and she didn’t miss the queue.

“Oh, that is unfortunate, Mister Petri,” she said taking him by the arm and walking towards the receptionists desk just inside the elevator. A young, shapely woman in her early twenties watched us. We stood in a small, contained lobby. A closed pair of tall wooden doors stood on the left of the desk, and I saw one camera over the receptionist’s desk and one behind us over the elevator. There was a stairwell door directly across from the receptionist’s desk. “Our flight leaves in the morning, and we were hoping to make one more stop during our tour.”

“Did you folks have an appointment?” Ricky said, smiling at Rachel … and her cleavage.

I jumped in, “No, actually. We’ve been discussing our intentions all day with a number of corporations in your line of work. One of them had accidentally mentioned VeniCorp in a rather negative light—something about you beating the trousers off them or some such. I can’t say whom, of course, but if you are successful in the industry, then we’d like to consider doing business with you … and not them.”

“You’re a perceptive man,” Ricky said a bit slyly.

“Oh, I absolutely pride myself on it, sir,” I said, bowing my head slightly.

“I’m going back in, Paula,” Ricky said to the receptionist. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a card-key, passing what I recognized as a Prox II card over the reader. The door clicked, and he opened it, motioning for Rachel and me to enter. “Why don’t we talk in my office?” Ricky offered.

Rachel and I stepped through the door, smiling at each other. I winked at her when Ricky couldn’t possibly see it.

“So, uh. What is it you’re into?” Ricky asked.

“Rare and noble gases,” Rachel said enthusiastically.

“Correct,” I added. “Neon, xenon, argon, and their applicable derivatives. We even produce halon for several security firms in Great Britain.”

Richard walked into the office space. Offices lined the outer wall, stretching from the door all the way down about seventy feet. Small and large cubicles filled central area, and the far end of the office space lay behind floor-to-ceiling glass, a laboratory containing an assortment of equipment, several desks, and some computer terminals.

“It’s a lovely space, Mister Petri,” I said. “Is this all of it?”

“Thank you, and yes, it is.” Turning back to Rachel, he said, “We don’t have much use for gases like that, at least not today.”

“Perhaps not,” Rachel said, taking Ricky’s arm again. “But think about the future.” We walked towards the corner office.

“I always do, Miss. It’s my job.”

“Of course it is. And we understand completely that you might not require our products or services at this time. We’re mostly laying the groundwork for an international expansion.”

We stepped into his open office. Ricky took a seat in a big leather swivel chair behind his desk, while Rachel and I perched on the end of upright chairs set in front.

“What a coincidence,” Ricky said, smiling slyly. “So are we.”

“All we’re asking is that you consider our organization for your future needs.”

“Of course I can do that. I don’t close doors. Do you have a business card I can keep?” Rachel looked at Justin.

“Unfortunately, we’ve nearly wall-papered the city with cards today,” I said smoothly. “We ran out two offices ago, terribly sorry. Perhaps I could pull up our website on your terminal there. At least you would have that.” I stood up so I could see Ricky’s hands on the keyboard.

Ricky typed in a password, brought up a browser, and stepped aside.

“There ya go. All yours.”

I sat down and typed in an IP address. “They’re in the process of moving the servers for our site, so we have to use the IP for a few more days. You can go to LivingstonInc.com eventually. Decent IT help is so hard to find,” I lamented.

“Eh … you ain’t kidding,” Ricky added, understanding completely.

I finished the URL and hit enter. The cursor churned for a few seconds and then the screen came up with a “Page Not Found” error.

“Bloody hell!” I blurted then regained my composure. “I’m sorry, Mister Petri. They were supposed to have this work complete over the weekend.” I closed the browser and stood up, stepping back to stand next to Rachel who remained seated. “At least you’ll have the URL once they have the site back up.”

“Like you said … bad IT guys are dime-a-dozen, good ones worth their weight in gold.” Ricky sat down and locked up his terminal.

“Agreed, sir.” I nodded in affirmation. “I say, do you have a card? I’d like to contact you upon my return to Britain, if that’s alright with you.”

“Certainly, Mister Livingston.”

We shook hands, and I put my hat back on as I gently grasped Rachel’s elbow. “You’ve been more than kind, Mister Petri. And please, call me Reginald.”

“It’s Ricky, and it was my pleasure.”

“Thank you, Ricky,” she said as she stood and held out her hand. “We really do appreciate you speaking with us after business hours. We were told that Americans would be a bit uncouth, but we’ve encountered nothing but kindness all day.”

“Like my daddy used to say, don’t believe everything you hear.” He lifted her hand up and brushed her knuckles with a kiss.

She bowed her head. “Lesson learned, Richard. I’ll have to keep that in mind. Ta,” she added as she extracted her fingers.

We stepped out of the office, and turning I said, “We’ll show ourselves out, Ricky. Thank you again for your time. Cheerio.” I tipped my hat and quickly followed behind Rachel. I opened the main door for her, and we stepped into the elevator. “The Girl from Ipanema” played on the way down, and I almost started whistling again, but thought better of it. We quickly walked back to my car, noting the Audi had disappeared.

The moment the doors closed on my Chrysler, Rachel hugged me from across the seat and kissed me on the mouth. She was flushed with excitement, and I found myself feeling some odd stirrings in places not previously stirred by Rachel.

“That was fantastic!”

I smiled and licked my lips, tasting her lip gloss. I’d never think of strawberries the same way again. I cast her a sideways glance and started the motor. “And useful. He gave me an easy in.”

“The URL?”

“Yep. I’ll show you when we get to my loft.” I pulled out and exited the garage, merging directly into a traffic jam.

She paused. “You’re taking me inside?”

“Yep.”

“Justin, you
never
let me into your loft, only your house and the martial-arts school. You said it was private.”

“That’s right.”

“And now it’s not?” She sounded rather suspicious, but excited, too. “What’s the special occasion?”

“Last night,” I replied vaguely.

Confused, she asked, “What do you mean?”

“Well, because of what happened last night, I had to show Xen a few things … things nobody knows … things I never considered telling anybody until recently. You deserve to know, too. You should have been first, but it didn’t work out that way. I figured I better fix that.”

“That sounds so ominous,” she muttered, raising an eyebrow at me. I forced my way into a crack between two taxies and waved at the middle finger raised by the driver behind me. Then I pulled out my phone while we were stopped at a light and handed it to Rachel.

“Dial Yvgenny. The locking code is 2273.”

She opened the phone and keyed in the code. She hit the Contacts button, scrolled to Gershovich and hit dial, handing the phone back when it rang. I grabbed it and put it to my ear. Yvgenny picked up,

“Da?”

“Yvgenny, it’s Justin.”

“Let me guess … you having killed some Mexicans this time … or perhaps Americans … and you are needing my help.” Yvgenny didn’t laugh this time.

I practically whined, “No … nobody’s dead, Yvgenny. But I do need your help. It’s an easy one.”

Rachel shot me a questioning look and mouthed,
What happened?

“Sure it is,” and this time Yvgenny laughed. “It is always being easy with you and your
requests
.”

I mouthed the word
Later
, to Rachel. Talking into the phone again, I said, “Do you have any Prox cards handy? Prox IIs, to be specific. Every place I can think of that would have them will be closed.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not having any here. However, man I am knowing uses courier service. He could probably have them here in forty-five minutes if you’re needing them today. And he only charges retail. He is actual vendor.”

“Perfect. It’ll take me that long to get to your place with this traffic. Think he would have a card imprinter as well?”

“Probable. I will asking him. Shall I hang up phone and calling him?”

“Also perfect. Thanks.” We both hung up.

“So, what was that about no one being dead?” Rachel asked, bursting with curiosity.

My phone rang. I held up my finger, prompting a dirty look from her as she endured another bout of
taleus interruptus
. I looked at the phone and cringed. “Oh, shit! I forgot to call the abatement guy.” I was tempted not to answer it, but I knew I would only be prolonging the inevitable, and Marsha would get angrier the longer I waited, and she’d been waiting all day.

“The what?” Rachel asked, baffled.

“He’s the guy who came for the bodies last night.” I answered, trying to ignore the blank stare Rachel held on me. “Hi, Marsha!” I said brightly.

“
WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY GAMBLING HALL?
” I winced and pulled the phone away from my ear.

“Curiosity got the best of you, did it?” I asked her quietly and a bit nervously.

“Don’t tell me about fucking curiosity!” she hollered. “My place is demolished!”

“I’m
really
sorry, Marsha. But it wasn’t my fault.”

“Yeah, sure,” she accused. “Trouble follows you like stink on shit.”

“It’s not like I invited them in.
They
followed
me
. And besides, they started it.”

Rachel had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. She was clearly enjoying me on the defensive
way
too much. And she knew as well as anyone that someone else always started it, and someplace usually got demolished afterwards.

“It looks like a football team came in and wrecked the place. And there’s blood everywhere! I mean
everywhere!
”

“Well, actually, it was more like a Russian baseball team,” I corrected. “There were eight of them.”

“Eight?” she said, stunned. “Are you okay?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice.

“Yeah. I’m fine. And thanks for asking,” I said, delighted to hear the calm, loving Marsha again. “Xen’s okay, too. He’s had a little trouble, and he wanted to meet there. He picked your place, not me. But he had no idea people might be following me. If you need more money to cover the damage, I’ll cough it up gladly. Tell me how much.” I paused, and an idea popped into my head. “How about we
really
renovate the place? Do it the way you always dreamed. On me.”

Her tone changed to friendly, “You sure know how to sweet talk a girl.”

“I try,” I said and smiled at Rachel. “Look, I’ve even found an abatement guy for you. He has a designer and everything. I was just about to call him when you rang me. Honest.” I crossed my fingers at the fib, and Rachel slapped my arm. “I’ll have him call you either tonight or tomorrow. The deal is, you want it, you get it, okay?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Deal,” she said firmly. And by her tone I could tell I was in for a pretty big bill.

“Hey, something just occurred to me,” I said.

“What?”

“The lot next to yours is still for sale, isn’t it?”

“As far as I know,” she asked with a curious tone.

“You want a business partner? I might be able to scrape up some investment capital, and you could double your square-footage or more. Build whatever you want. How does that sound?”

“I don’t know. Let’s talk about it.” I could tell she was interested, but she was also smart enough to be cautious, even with friends.

“You’re on,” I agreed. “I have to sort a few things out over the next few days, but we’ll work out a deal when things calm down, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and we’ll start training in the next few nights. You and Rachel still have your showdown.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, “I haven’t forgotten. The leg is just about ready for some action, and I’m jonesing for it,” she added eagerly and with a bit of an edge.

“Good. Oh, and this abatement guy … He’s sort of an oddball. When I first met him, he had on a clown suit, so don’t be surprised. He’s quite the entrepreneur.”

“I’ll wait for his call.”

“Thanks for understanding, Marsha. And I’m sorry about the hassle.”

“We’ll work it out, mister.” We hung up. Realizing I had left Stanley’s card on my desk, I handed Rachel the phone. “Dial 411. Ask for Stanley-Fast Catering and Clowning.”

“The guy who picked up the bodies also runs a catering service?” she asked, appalled. I laughed as she dialed, but I didn’t answer. She said “L.A.” when asked by the 411 system, following up quickly with the business name. She paused for a minute and then handed me the phone. “It’s ringing.”

I waited for an answer. “Hello?” said a recognizable voice.

“Is this Stanley?” I asked.

“It is.”

“This is the guy from last night.”

“Oh, hey! How are ya? Those packages have been dropped off. They’re a memory.”

“Perfect, and thanks. I love working with professionals.”

“Me too,” Stanley agreed.

“Look, you still interested in the abatement gig?”

“Hell yes!” he said enthusiastically.

“Okay. Here’s the deal. Got a pen?” There was a pause.

“I do now.”