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Chapter or Story
Truth and Consequences - by MMB
Chapter 3: Dealing With It
A very disgruntled and unhappy Davy pushed past his grandfather's legs and made a beeline to the den and the video game. Sydney looked after him, then up into Parker's carefully composed face. "Not a good morning, is it?" The mask didn't slip, but her eyes gave her away - she was miserable. He opened his arms to her and then gathered her close. "He's promised he'd be back as soon as he could..."
"I know," she sighed, leaning. "But Davy is so disappointed and angry - at me, at Jarod..."
"I'll talk to him about it, and see if I can't help a little," he promised. "How are YOU?"
"Wishing Jarod were on his way back home, rather than out to California for God knows how long," she sighed again. "The house seems so empty now."
"At least this time you know how and where to find him," he soothed. "It isn't as if he just walked away without saying goodbye and then vanished."
"I know that. But it also isn't as if I didn't let him in to every corner of my life and now..." She blushed, even though she knew that Sydney was well aware of the direction her relationship with Jarod had taken - and frankly and unapologetically approved completely.
"He'll be back, Parker. Think of it as an extended business trip." Sydney knew he'd probably have to keep reminding her of this as time passed. He felt her hold him back and lean, seeking comfort in a way she hadn't for a very long time. "You'll get through this, and it will be OK."
She nodded against his shoulder. "Keep reminding me of that, OK?"
"Not a problem." He continued to hold her until she finally pushed herself away. As he watched, she began to carefully reconstruct a wall between her private pain and her need to function in public. He gave her the space she needed. "Got a big day today?"
"Not sure. Depends on what Sam's people had to say last night, and whether Tyler has that info. I also want to make sure the construction people get started on reinforcement and cleanup. I want to get to those archives." She kissed his cheek fondly. "I see that Sam's man is already posted outside, with Deb's in the car ready to follow her to work. So I suppose I'm leaving you in good hands." She looked around him toward the kitchen. "Kevin up yet?"
"Not yet - and Deb's in the shower." He kissed her cheek in return. "You'd better get going, though - sounds like you have enough of a full day already stacking up on you, and I have my work cut out for me between Davy and that stack of project folders Jarod left me." He gave her a gentle, lopsided smile. "Let your day be busy, Parker - it will help the time go faster."
"I'll try," she said, trying to make her reassurance sound convincing. "Thanks, Syd." His encouraging smile carried her out the door and back towards her car.
~~~~~~~~
Chief Harrison scanned the report that Donaldson had just handed him, and then dropped the pages on his desk and sat back in his chair. "Just give me the high points," he directed, leaning forward to grab up his coffee mug and then settle back in his chair to listen.
Jerry Donaldson was tall, stout and balding. He ran his hand over his bald pate in what everybody in the department knew was a gesture of either nervousness or frustration - today, Harrison had a hunch it was frustration. "Ya know we've all had our theories about what goes on in that there huge place," he began, well aware that over the years each citizen of Blue Cove not directly involved with the Centre had speculated on its purpose, staffing and activities. "I swear to you, Chief, when I got that group of gardeners all together, I began to wonder if I'd walked straight into The Island of Doctor Moreau! Half the workers there were handicapped in one way or another - one was missing a hand except for three real dinky fingers, and..."
"Jerry!" Harrison didn't have either the time or the patience for his officer's editorializing that morning. "Just tell me what you learned, willya?"
Donaldson breathed in deeply, then let it out in a huff. "I didn't learn nuthin'. Nada. Bupkis. Those guys are either deliberately blind, deaf and mute or else GENUINELY one or more of the above. Not one of 'em remembers our John Doe."
"Shit." Harrison put his coffee mug down with a thump. "That just doesn't make sense."
"No, sir, it don't." Donaldson kept his shudder muted. He had NOT enjoyed his time at the Centre.
The Chief stared down at his desk, where the photograph of the dead man's face on the morgue slab was off to the side of the officer's uninformative report, and rested his chin in his hand for a bit. "Somebody has got to know this guy!"
"Well, I think it's pretty obvious that he's no local. That means he could be from just about anywhere," Donaldson mused. "And God knows, it could be a complete coincidence that he was shot execution-style not long before somebody - probably him, the trigger WAS found next to his body - bombed the Centre and snuffed a deaf-mute gardener..."
"Execution-style," Harrison mused to himself. Suddenly he held up a finger and reached for the phone. "Judy, get me that FBI fella - Gillespie, I think his name was - on the horn, willya? Thanks, babe."
"Whatcha thinkin'?" Donaldson asked, intrigued.
"That an execution-style murder suggests mob ties. I wonder if our FBI guy has looked into that angle."
The bald officer shook his head. "That don't make sense neither, Chief. Why would the mob bring a guy all the way out here in the boondocks just to off him?"
Harrison's ice-blue eyes glittered up at his officer. "It do make one wonder, don't it?"
"Wonder what?"
"You said it yourself," Harrison pointed out, figuring that explaining his thoughts to his own officer would help him get them in focus enough to explain to the feds, "that the Centre is a weird place that only God knows what goes on there. We have an execution-style murder take place on their very property, just about the time somebody - probably our DB - takes a whole shit load of C-4 to the administration building..."
"Chief," the intercom crackled with the voice of the dispatch girl, "Agent Gillespie."
"Good." Harrison grabbed for the phone. "Gillespie, sorry to interrupt..."
Gillespie accepted a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee from another shirt-sleeved agent and settled down in front of the white board with all sorts of crime-scene photographs from the Centre incidents. "Not a problem, Chief. What can I do for you this early in the morning?"
"Something one of my officers here said got me to thinking. Have you looked into any possible mob connections here to identify our John Doe?"
The FBI agent carefully laid down the faxed translation of the report on the suicide attempt's yellow sheet from Japan. "I've just begun thinking along those lines myself," he admitted. "I got some information on one of our survivors and a couple of our victims this morning. Seems like there was a small contingent of Yakuza at the Centre yesterday."
"Christ!" Harrison shook his head. "This just keeps getting better..."
"Tell me - what is it that got you thinking this way?"
The Police Chief sat back, not having expected that kind of confirmation so quickly. "My officer called our John Doe's murder “execution-style.” We don't see that kind of stuff where there's no mob or organized crime involved."
Gillespie sipped from his white cup carefully. "You have a point, Chief. Where were you thinking of taking it?"
"Actually, I was hoping YOU would be able to do that better than me," the Chief rubbed his eyes tiredly. "You don't suppose if we put that picture of our DB on the law enforcement net, we might hear from SOMEbody who knows him, do you?"
"Anyplace specific you want me to try?"
Harrison smiled. "New York, Miami, Dallas, San Francisco, Los Angeles... Places where the mob has a sizeable presence..."
"Las Vegas, Atlantic City?"
"Couldn't hurt." Harrison sighed and took up his own coffee mug again. "Good to know we're on the same page, even when we're NOT consulting constantly."
Gillespie nodded and motioned to the agent that had brought him the coffee. "I'll let you know if I get any response, Chief - and we're still on for that meeting tomorrow, right?"
"You got it." The Chief looked up at Donaldson in triumph. "See you tomorrow." He hung up the phone. "Seems our FBI guy was just starting to come to the same conclusion - evidently there was a wad of Yakuza heavies in amongst the ones caught when the Tower went."
"Gotta love it when the evidence starts suggesting we're right," Donaldson nodded his head with a knowing, dipping motion.
~~~~~~~~
Jarod watched out the little porthole as the clouds just seemed to slide by beneath him. The little Centre jet was a comfortable ride compared to the days-long drive he'd made across the country weeks before. Miss Parker had assured him that there would be a town car to pick him up at the airport at Monterey and drive him the rest of the way to his home in Pacific Grove. He had debated whether or not to call his mother to tell her he was on his way or not. He didn't have the same qualms about calling Ethan. He looked down at his watch - still set to East Coast time - and decided his half-brother was probably awake by now. He drew out his cell phone and brought up one of the programmed numbers and waited.
"Hello?" Sounded as if he caught his brother either going into or out of the shower.
"Hey there! You running late today?" Jarod put a smile in his voice.
"Hey there yourself, big brother!" Ethan pulled the towel just a little tighter around his still-damp waist and settled on the edge of his bed. "What's the occasion?"
"I'm about two hours out from Monterey," the Pretender announced casually. "I should be back in Pacific Grove about a half-hour after that."
Ethan was silent a moment. "Does Mom know?" he asked finally.
"Not yet. You should probably warn her, though. Parker's got me booked into a Centre town car dropping me off at the house - and the sight of one of those could be enough to..."
Ethan put up a restraining hand, even though his brother couldn't see it. "Say no more! I'll stop by her place on my way to the office and give her the news." He paused again. "What made you decide to come back after all?"
Jarod sighed and landed his chin on one folded fist to peer out the porthole again. "I promised her I would," he said quietly. "I keep my promises." He closed his eyes as his son's and fiancé's faces. "I promised Parker and Davy I'd come back to them too."
"Somehow, I'm not surprised," the younger Russell responded. "How is my sister?"
"She has her hands full with the Centre, I tell you! But she's handling it. You shoulda seen it when she came up from the sublevels - all the people that she'd gotten organized gathered around her, and then she talked to them. She REALLY talked to them, the poor slobs who slaved away for the Centre underground, and she had them eating out of her hand!" Jarod remembered that moment when he'd been so proud of her and known for certain for the first time that she'd made the right decision.
"How'd she take your decision to come back here?" It wasn't taking much work to open up those inner channels and feel his sister's sorrow. "She's not happy is she." That wasn't a question.
Jarod sighed. "No, she wasn't happy about it at all, but she understood. Sydney understood too - he was the one that convinced me that I should get it over with. Davy, on the other hand..."
"Unhappy?"
"Very much so." The memory of putting his son to bed the previous night could still bring a lump to his throat.
"Well, look. You're going to be here soon enough, and we can talk then. Lemme get going here, and let Mom know what's what - maybe even call Em and see if she and Mom can coordinate and welcome-home supper." He rose and began walking back toward the bathroom.
"What did I do, catch you on your way into the shower?"
"On the way out, as a matter of fact," Ethan chuckled, "and it's getting damned cold sitting here still dripping."
That made Jarod laugh out loud for the first time that day. "Go get yourself decent, little brother - I'll probably drop by the office a little more toward closing time."
"You're so kind." Ethan's dry tone still had the smile behind it. "Talk to you in a bit."
Jarod disconnected, then absently dropped the little device into the breast pocket of his sports coat and returned to watching the clouds slide evenly past beneath him.
~~~~~~~~
Siskele opened the heavy case that held much of the Triumverate's Centre-related files and found the one Ngawe had requested, then handed it to the man in the bed. The elderly African opened the folder and flipped quickly through the pages one by one until he found the one he was looking for. "It seems that much of the Centre's contact with the Japanese has come through Los Angeles lately, if not through Mr. Lyle specifically." He looked up at his aide. "We want you to send three of our best men to Los Angeles to find out all they can about any holdings, properties and personnel the Yakuza controls outright here in the States."
"Everything?" Siskele wanted to clarify the scope of the investigation. "Do you want us to include even the more marginal associates like drug runners and pushers, protection rackets and the police officers involved, and that sort too?"
"Absolutely." The older man's voice was like the echo of Doom. "We want to know the sum and substance of Yakuza business here in the US - because THAT is going to be the price they pay for doing harm to us."
Siskele nodded his bald head and hid a shudder. "Are you sure that you want to take them on in out-and-out war, sir?" he asked with less than a confident tone. "Tanaka's dead, and so are all who helped plan the attack on the Centre..."
"Except for that yellow dog now under the protection of the Americans, that is," Ngawe corrected his young nephew curtly. "We have Tanaka's father nicely penned for us in an East Coast prison - we want HIM dead. Now." Ngawe smiled sweetly, a smile that Siskele could feel freezing him all the way to the floor. "Let THAT be the first token “shot” fired in this war that we WILL win."
"Miss Parker is going to be livid..."
"Miss Parker's likes and dislikes will play no further part in this," the older man snarled, and he closed the folder and threw it down forcefully toward the foot of the bed. "The priorities of the Centre are moving out of sync with those of the Triumverate. Given the marked loss of revenue the Centre has constituted for us over the past few years, we will give her reasonable and generous latitude to reimburse us for our investments - with interest - as she brings her organization under her control." The old man settled back into his pillows thoughtfully. "Of course, if she DOESN'T get a handle on the Centre in a reasonable amount of time, we MAY find it necessary to intercede again..."
Siskele began to smile a little more comfortably. "And then we WOULD have Centre participation and resources at hand."
"Indeed." Ngawe nodded. "But we will give her enough time to genuinely sink or swim as Chairman on her own first. She has been a loyal associate to us, however reluctant her work for the previous Centre administrations through the years may have been. We have every reason to believe that she's capable of doing her job well. We will give her the chance she deserves."
Siskele moved to exit the room so he could begin coordinating the team to go to Los Angeles. "Yes, indeed," Ngawe muttered to himself as he finally had a moment's privacy, "we will give her her chance. For now."
~~~~~~~~
Miss Parker rose from her desk and went to where the thermal carafe could refill her coffee mug. Outside her window, the sounds of jackhammers could be heard as the full-scale cleanup efforts got underway, and something told her that sound would be both a comfort and an irritant to her as the days and weeks progressed.
"Miss Parker?" The soft Chinese-accented voice came over the intercom.
She stepped back to her desk and pushed the button. "What is it?"
"There is a Mr. Mayeda from Los Angeles on line three for you, ma'am."
She sighed. Mayeda - that was the name Sam had given her for one of the associates in that photo with Berringer and Flores. Yakuza. Christ - what the hell did HE want with her? "I've got it, thanks," she sighed and moved around the corner of her desk and sat down again, pulling her fingers through her hair in a habitual, nervous gesture. She took a deep breath and then picked up the receiver and pushed the blinking button. "Mr. Mayeda."
"Miss Parker." Mayeda's voice held only the slightest hint of accent, and was very smooth. "I am calling you on behalf of Ueda Kyoshi-sama, who has assumed control of the Yakuza branch formerly run by the Tanaka family."
"I had a pretty good idea who you are," she informed him in fluent and unaccented Japanese, her voice tight and cold. "I'm very busy, as you can imagine, so best you get to your point quickly. What do you want?"
"Ueda-sama asked me to discuss with you a telephone call I received from one of your Centre associates yesterday - a Gilbert Flores."
"Yes?" Her voice slipped into a wary and guarded neutral tone. "Does he call you often?"
Mayeda shook his head. "No, Miss Parker, he does not - at least, not for the reasons he called yesterday. It seems that Mr. Flores is quite... upset... with the direction your new administration is intending to take the Centre. He wanted my help in destabilizing your organization to the point that he, or one of his confederates, could take the Chairmanship from you."
She settled back into her chair, her eyes narrowed. "He said so in so many word?"
"Hai." The Yakuza liaison ran his fingers over his carefully-manicured moustache. "Of course, I informed Mr. Flores that Tokyo has given me a very strict set of instructions that I am not to undertake or in any way cooperate in ANY action that might be counter to the welfare of the Centre."
"Do you actually HAVE such a directive?"
Mayeda had to admire her for having the courage to ask such a question - it put him in the position that if he lied, and the Yakuza DID eventually move against the Centre, there would be considerable loss of face if those actions worked out badly in the end. Then again, he reasoned, she had spent several years in Japan - she understood the concept of face better than most gai-jin. "Yes, Miss Parker. Such a directive IS in place."
She swiveled in her chair and looked out her rather spartan window and across at the pile of noisy rubble that had once been the Tower. "And you are saying that there is a new dynasty running your organization now?"
"Hai. Ueda-sama has... the support of the other branches of the Yakuza."
She bent forward and pulled a blank legal pad toward her. "Tell me, Mr. Mayeda, are there a large number of contracts with my Los Angeles affiliate still in effect?"
"Hai - there are. We have financed a number of cooperative efforts that center around shipping and receiving of goods." Mayeda narrowed his eyes. "Is there a problem with them?"
"Are those contracts long-term?"
"Not necessarily. Most of them are negotiated as the situations arise."
She started to nod. "Very good. Then you will understand if I tell you that the business our two organizations has been doing with each other will cease through attrition. We will honor all our outstanding contracts, as agreed - but you can consider this as notice that the Centre will not be interested in renewing contracts or writing new ones. My organization will be moving to legalize all its activities, and frankly," she reached for her coffee mug, "that means no longer doing business with your people."
"Understood, Miss Parker." Mayeda thought quickly. "What about existing information about our organization that has been necessary for yours to fulfill your contracts? Will you be turning that over to your law enforcement?"
"Not necessarily. Our face would suffer in having to explain HOW we learned such things and had not shared earlier." She sipped from her coffee. "But it would probably be wise, at this point, for you to assess how much information the Centre has and make any necessary adjustments."
"Yes," he agreed, "it probably would. I will relay your suggestion to Tokyo at the next opportunity."
"And I thank you for your warning, Mayeda-san."
"Good luck in your endeavors, Miss Parker, and in dealing with your Mr. Flores."
She smiled coldly. "Thank you, Mayeda-san. My people will be handling Mr. Flores, you can be assured on that fact." She sat forward suddenly. "If there's nothing else..."
"Not at this time. Good day to you." The Yakuza liaison disconnected the call.
Miss Parker thought for a moment, the receiver still in her hand, and then she replaced it and punched at her intercom. "Have Sam and Tyler come to my office as soon as possible."
~~~~~~~~
"Leave me ALONE!"
Sydney looked up from his review of the project summaries to see his grandson storm into the kitchen and then out through the arcadia doors into his backyard - heading for the tree house that the two of them had built the previous summer. The psychiatrist turned back to a very confused and hurt looking Kevin, standing in the door to the den as if completely abandoned.
"What did I do?" the young man asked with wide and confounded blue eyes. "I thought he LIKED that video game..."
"Davy's taking Jarod's leaving very hard," Sydney told the young Pretender, "and he's taking it out on everybody - you, me, his mother..."
"I don't understand," Kevin shook his sandy head. "You'd think that he'd want to hold the rest of his family even closer."
Sydney smiled. "Once he gets over being angry, he will. But right now he feels betrayed. He had started to feel stable with a father AND a mother in his life - and now he has to get used to going back to it just being his mom and him in the house."
"But Jarod said he was coming back..."
"I know that. And Davy wants to believe it too. But Jarod will have to leave and come back again before Davy may allow himself to believe it." Sydney glanced over his shoulder and out the arcadia glass at the tree house again. "Just give him a little space and time to stew. I told Parker that I'd talk to him today - I'll probably let him work on it himself until after lunch, when Deb's back and you aren't feeling left at loose ends."
Kevin sat down heavily in one of the other kitchen chairs. "Are families always this chaotic, Sydney?"
The older man chuckled and put the summary he had been reading down at last. "Sometimes," he admitted, "although this one had been pretty calm and peaceful before Jarod came back."
"Do you think I'll ever be able to find my real family?"
Sydney gazed at the young man compassionately. It was so easy to think of him as if he'd always been a part of this cobbled-together clan rather than a complete newcomer to social interaction as a whole. If there had been one saving grace of all that chaos that had arisen after Jarod came back, it was that Kevin's entrance into their lives had been so seamless, so effortless. Still, it was no wonder that the young man would wonder about his real family.
"I honestly don't know," Sydney replied gently, wishing he could tell him otherwise. "I'm hoping that once we get into those archives in the Centre sublevel, somewhere in there will be a clue as to where to start looking."
"Do you think they got angry at me for leaving?" Kevin asked next, his voice thoughtful and a bit hesitant.
"No," Sydney assured him firmly. "I'm sure that if anything, they were frantic to get you back - just as Jarod's family was. They probably never have stopped looking for you."
"Really?"
"Really."
"But, what if I'm not what they hoped I'd be?" The young man played with the crack in the kitchen table where the extension leaf would fit. "What if I'm a disappointment?"
"Why do you think you'd be a disappointment to them?" Sydney asked quietly.
Kevin's shoulders shrugged dejectedly. "I don't know - maybe because I don't know how to act right, or because I didn't turn out..."
"Look," Sydney sat forward. "If you were my son, and I'd just found you again, I wouldn't be very judgmental - I'd just be thrilled to have you back in my life again, safe and sound. It would take an awful lot to make me disappointed - I might have trouble exchanging my expectations with reality, but I'd work at it and adjust."
"Really?" The voice was even smaller.
"When I discovered I did have a son that I never knew about, it took us a long time to feel out the boundaries of our relationship." Sydney remembered some of the painful first encounters with Nicholas, and his face grew thoughtful. "Nicholas grew up thinking another man was his father - so he had a hard time accepting the truth. He even spent some time very angry at both his mother and me - his mother for never telling him the truth, and me for never being around."
"Is he still angry?" Kevin's eyes were wide - this was a side of Jarod's mentor that he'd never expected.
Sydney smiled and shook his head. "Not at all. I get along with Nicholas quite well now - I even spent some time with him and his wife this past Spring Break."
"And you love him - even though he wasn't what you thought he'd be?"
"I didn't know he existed for most of his life," Sydney corrected him. "I had no expectations to adjust, except for those that told me that we'd become closer than we ended up being. Yes, I love him - and I know he loves me in his own way."
Kevin thought about what he'd been told. "What if I never find them?" he finally asked. "What if I end up alone?"
Sydney nodded and sat back in his chair to look at the young Pretender evenly. "That's what you're afraid of, isn't it? Ending up alone?" Kevin nodded, his face reflecting his unhappiness at the mere idea. Sydney leaned forward suddenly, mindful not to bend himself over the table where it would hit his wound, and put a hand on the young man's arm. "Can't happen, Kevin. You'll always belong here, even if you can't discover your real family."
Blue eyes looked piercingly into warm chestnut. "Do you mean that?"
"I don't make a habit of saying things like that when I don't mean it," Sydney assured him gently. "But if you want reassurance, talk to Parker or Debbie or Sam."
"And Davy?"
Sydney glanced over his shoulder again, and saw the boy's two legs dangling over the edge of the platform in his old oak tree and swinging back and forth. "Davy too, eventually. Give him time."
~~~~~~~~
The combination of palm trees and pine trees that lined the lane to his seaside home never failed to bring a smile to Jarod's face. There was nothing more contradictory than those two pieces of flora growing side by side, and nothing more fitting to frame the approach to his home. The Spanish-style home was at the end of the lane - the gate marking an end to public access on that road. Jarod leaned forward and thanked the silent sweeper who had driven him these final few miles, then climbed from the black town car and watched as it backed carefully down the lane until the road was wide enough for it to turn around in.
Jarod looked over his shoulder up the lane, to the end of the driveway that was the entrance to his parents' home - his mother's home now - and then pushed the buttons on the security box that caused the gates to move inward on silent hinges and wheels. It was a strange feeling, coming back to a place he'd called “home” for three years now and yet feeling out of place. He walked down the asphalted drive, past the two stately live oaks that had stood guard over that plot of land for hundreds of years, and up through the wrought-iron gate to his front door.
"It's about time you got here!" Margaret exclaimed, bursting through the door and throwing her arms around her son's neck. Jarod dropped his duffel bag and set his laptop case down carefully and then put his arms around his mother, hugging her tightly and picking her off her feet a bit. He could feel that she'd lost some weight since he'd left - something he'd have to take up with Em and Ethan about later on.
"Now THAT'S what I call a welcome!" he grinned at her after he set her back down on the ground.
"Where's your car?" she demanded, looking beyond him and not seeing his beloved red bomb parked in it's customary place on the asphalt.
"Still in Delaware, I'm afraid," he replied, bending over to pick up his luggage and head into the house past her. "I'll be needing it when I get back home."
"THIS is home, Jarod," Margaret tossed her auburn and silver head. "Your sister and brothers are HERE."
Jarod only shook his head and moved toward the hallway. "I know they are. My son is in Delaware. I'm needed there."
"You're needed HERE too."
He halted, sighed, then turned around to face her. His eyes ran over her beloved features, now clouded over with frustration and worry, and wondered at the change time could make in him. Eight years ago, he'd have given everything he was and everything he owned to lay eyes on her. Now...
"Mom, I'm not asking permission. I'm telling you. I have a son - an eight year old boy whom I love very much. I love you too, but you have Ethan and Jay and Em..." Margaret's blue eyes filled with tears, and Jarod sighed and put his luggage down. He walked back to his mother and held her close gently. "Let's not fight about this the minute I get home, OK?" he asked softly into the hair above her ear. "Let me enjoy seeing you again for a bit first."
"I just..."
"Mom..." He released her with his dark brows bent warningly over implacable chocolate eyes. "Not now."
He walked away again, grabbing his duffel bag and laptop on the way to his bedroom. Some homecoming, he thought to himself regretfully.
~~~~~~~~
Flores groaned as the jangling of the telephone set off a four-alarm headache. He raised his head from his pillow only with great difficulty, his dark eyes bloodshot with the consequences of trying to climb out the bottom of a bottle of tequila, and his hand flopped aimlessly at the nightstand until it finally hit the phone receiver by accident. A second swat allowed him to get his hand actually around the receiver and drag it to his ear. "MMmmgwhat! This better be pretty damned good, or..."
"Christ!" the voice on the other end of the phone was frantic and frustrated. "Don't tell me you polished off that bottle last night?"
"Who the hell is this?" Flores groaned, rolling onto his side and reaching with shaking hand for his wristwatch.
"It's me, Stu - who the hell ELSE would it be?" Berringer growled into his ear. "Wake up, Gil - fast."
"S...Stu?" Flores tried to roll up into a sitting position, but settled back into his pillow with a pitiful groan. "What the he..."
"Your meet with Santini is set - two hours from now, in the hotel restaurant." Berringer dropped the appointment on his confederate without preamble. "You owe me huge."
"T..TWO hours!" Flores made another mammoth effort and managed to get himself sitting upright. "That was quick!"
Berringer sounded incredibly pleased with himself. "I told you, you owe me huge. I'll meet you in the lobby in an hour and half so that we can put together some kind of proposal."
Flores was rubbing his eyes madly, trying to rid both them and his brain of the post-alcoholic fog. "I thought you wanted to stay in the background on this," he complained, hoping he was remembering the long discussion correctly.
"I've changed my mind," the Nevadan bit off the words. "You haven't looked at your email for the day yet, have you?"
"Of course not. You woke me up!"
"Then you don't know that your private interview with Miss Parker has probably been rescheduled, like mine was, for almost a week from today." Berringer sounded thoroughly disgusted.
"WHAT?!" Flores' ire rose quickly as well. "I have business to take care of in LA..."
"AND we've been ordered to remain here in Delaware until those interviews are finished."
The Hispanic rubbed his face and chin. "Do you think she knows?"
"Christ, Gil - think! This IS a Parker we're dealing with here," Berringer reminded his associate angrily. "God only knows what she knows, much less how she found it out."
"Hell!"
"Wake up and get your ass down here," Berringer insisted, his voice low and threatening. "We have work to do before Santini gets here."
~~~~~~~~
Deb gave a short wave to the nameless and silent man who had watched patiently over her from the back of Oggie's store. Oggie had been a little taken aback when she had explained what the man was and what he was doing coming to work with her. But once he'd heard her out, he'd declined the invitation to call in to Miss Parker and simply pointed out the corner from which the man could keep his vigil without bothering the customers very much. The day had gone well - she'd been working for Oggie off and on for most of her high school years, so she knew what he expected of her.
Her guardian had followed her home, keeping a safe and discrete distance between her little Nova and his massive black town car. He maneuvered the car into a U-turn that put him in direct line of sight with the front door of the house and waved back as the girl walked from her car to the door.
Deb pushed the door open and frowned a bit, for a moment debating calling her bodyguard. The house was unusually quiet for a day that had both Davy and Kevin in residence - normally the two of them were boisterously competing at the racing video game that had been the current favorite. "Hello?" she called carefully as she closed the front door behind her.
"Back here," she heard her grandfather's voice, and she followed it to find Sydney sitting at the kitchen table with a number of folders bearing the Centre's logo in front of him.
She went to him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek to prevent him from rising to greet her. "Don't get up - what are YOU up to today?"
"Paperwork," the older man grumbled as he folded his current reading material closed to give her his complete attention. "How did it go?"
She shrugged. "Same as always. I don't think Oggie changes his store around EVER, and I've been working that cash register since I was fourteen."
"Any problem with having Curt with you?" Sydney's face showed his curiosity.
"Nope," she shook her head. "Oggie didn't even call Miss P - just pointed him out to a nice corner that looks out over practically the whole store. It was like having our own private cop on duty - made me feel very safe." She looked around herself and gave a listen in the direction of the den. "Where are the boys?"
"Kevin's working at your father's computer - doing some investigation on the Internet, I think. Davy's out back in the tree house." Sydney shrugged. "Have to admit, its nice not to have the droning of those race cars leaking out of the den for hours on end."
Deb frowned. "What's Davy doing in the tree house?"
"Moping about Jarod's leaving."
"Oh, for pity's sake!" Deb breathed in exasperation. "That kid needs to get a clue." She moved as if to go past Sydney through the arcadia doors when her grandfather grabbed her arm and prevented her from continuing.
"Leave him be. I'll talk to him after lunch."
Deb sighed, then nodded. "Spoiled little brat," she mumbled under her breath.
"Deb!"
"I mean it! Wouldn't even finish his cake last night." She sighed again, then turned. "Alright! So how about I rustle us up some of that lunch you're mentioning. That oughta keep me out of trouble for a while..."
"Let me help," Sydney said and stood, stretching carefully. "I've been sitting and reading for long enough for a while. It feels good to stand and move around."
"Did I hear the word lunch?" Kevin stuck his head around the corner of the den door, then grinned at Deb. "Hey there! How was your work?"
"Same-old, same-old," Deb tossed off casually. "Say, you want to ride into Dover with me this afternoon? I'm thinking that maybe we could catch a movie after I check up on Dad?"
Kevin blinked. "You mean, watch television somewhere else?"
Sydney chuckled as Deb gaped at the young Pretender for a moment this time. "Uh, no - I mean go to a movie theatre, Kev. I wanna see something on the BIG screen for a change. Ever heard of that?"
"Yeah," he backpedaled carefully, "I... guess..."
"You'll like it, trust me." Deb sounded very sure of herself.
Kevin shot a glance at his mentor and saw that Sydney was just nodding agreement with Deb's last statement. "If you say so..." he hedged.
She turned to face him. "Look. You liked swings, didn't you?"
"Yeah..."
"Then trust me."
When she put it THAT way...
~~~~~~~~
Miss Parker waited patiently until Tyler had seated himself in the chair on the other side of her desk. "Sam will be here as soon as he can - it's just you and me for now. So talk to me. You can start with that sixth man in the photo Sam showed me yesterday."
Tyler opened a folder about midway through the several he was carrying and pulled out another photograph and slid it across the desk to her. "Andrew Duncan - Flores' right-hand man. Spent 10 years as a cleaner under Berringer before moving to Los Angeles. Before that, spent 2 years in prison for assault. He has gang connections in LA and San Bernardino counties that he's used off and on to back up Centre-related efforts."
"Sounds like we REALLY need to clean house in Southern California," she sighed, tossing the photo back down on her desk after studying the man's face closely. "Any idea how much of cesspool that place is yet?"
"Flores has done quite a bit of recruitment on his own, it seems," Tyler moved to another folder and extracted a stapled report and handed that across the desk next. "He's created a sweeper force that has never seen the inside of this place at all - using ex-gang associates of this Duncan and borrowing some of his friend Rodriguez' heavies."
"And Rodriguez is..."
"Mexican mob." Tyler looked at his boss. "And most of the contracts with the Yakuza and other criminal elements were never run through this office either - seems Mr. Raines and Mr. Parker before him basically let Flores manage the whole West Coast operation. He's even “requisitioned” manpower and resources from the San Francisco office from time to time, and has been handed whatever he wanted on a platter."
"Well," Miss Parker settled back in her chair, "now we know why he was so displeased at the idea that I was going to take the Centre legit."
"Yup."
"What about Berringer?"
"I thought y'all'd ask about him, so I dug around a little. That one's a REAL piece of work. Mr. Raines recruited him straight out of the Torzulo family ranks - and worked a sweetheart deal with the Don to get his way. Berringer was an enforcer and assassin for the Torzulos, and has the Centre operations there mostly involved in gambling technology and providing muscle for protection schemes."
"Damn! Here and I thought what was going on here in Delaware was bad enough!"
"Yes, ma'am." Tyler watched his boss process the information he'd presented.
Suddenly she waved a pointed finger at the rest of the folders he had put on the desk. "What's in the rest?"
He handed her another stapled report. "Here are the personnel tallies you asked for - using the phone numbers both from the sign-out sheet at the bomb site and the data from Broots' computer, we've calculated the number of dead and missing. Forty-two known dead so far, thirteen still missing. All the dead or missing were either Tower employees or maintenance staff."
"Did we get the bonus checks cut for the folks who were stuck down below with us yet?"
"Yes, ma'am! They went out in the mail day before yesterday," Tyler assured her, "along with their regular forty-hour paychecks."
Miss Parker nodded. "Good. I don't like to make promises and not keep them." She heard Jarod's voice saying the same thing to them the previous evening and her face clouded for a moment.
"Ma'am? You OK?" Tyler had seen that momentary lapse.
"I'm fine." She waved her hand dismissively. "It's just... Never mind..." She looked up as a knock sounded on her door and Sam walked in. "Oh, good. You're just in time. Tyler has been giving me the low-down on the situation in Los Angeles and Las Vegas." She watched her burly security Chief drag a second chair from next to the wall and park himself next to Tyler. "So... Anything new from our two mutineers?"
"I got the call a minute ago," Sam said somberly. "Berringer called Flores to tell him of a meet between them and Santini in about an hour."
"Your tails have eavesdropping equipment on them, don't they?" Tyler asked, beating Miss Parker to the same question.
Sam nodded, but his face was serious. "But this time it's going to take more work to listen in. They're meeting at Pakor Frozen Foods."
"That damned place!" Miss Parker growled. "Somebody should have burned that establishment down years ago!" She glowered up at Sam. "So that means we're stuck having to wait to SEE what they plan?"
"No," the ex-sweeper shook his head, "I just said that it would be take more work, not be impossible. Pakor is Centre-owned and operated - no doubt that's WHY Berringer chose it: ease of access and the fact that such a meeting would be SOP under the old Centre regime. But..." and here the sweeper's eyes started to twinkle, "the management is loyal to whoever's in the Chair - and I've already been in touch on your behalf, Miss Parker. He'll have a couple of my best surveillance teams nicely in place by the time the group gets there, and we'll have a full transcript of the meeting."
"Provided Santini's security people don't neutralize OURS," Tyler piped up. "Someone with that much mob clout doesn't run around all by his lonesome..."
Sam smiled, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. "That's why I've dispatched TWO teams. With luck, we get transcripts from both - but the odds are that if one team is discovered, Santini's people will feel they've eliminated all threat of discovery. Redundant effort can be a very effective strategy." He looked over the desk as Miss Parker. "I hate to put so much of our resources at risk here, but this is important!"
"No, no, I concur entirely!" She was quick to reinforce his idea. "These are very dangerous people we're dealing with here - we're going to have to be really on our toes to come out on top in the end. Any thoughts about what it will take to take back our LA and Vegas operations from these clowns?"
"I have one, but it's risky." Sam set his wad of folders down on the desk next to Tyler's.
"Well?" She steepled her fingers beneath her nose in a gesture she'd learned from Sydney years ago and prepared to hear him out.
"Simply put, we cooperate with the federal and state law enforcement agencies and let THEM clean house for us."
That brought Miss Parker bolt upright in her seat. "What?!"
Sam had been expecting that reaction ever since he'd received his bolt of inspiration. "It would nothing more or less than telling the truth, Miss Parker, and it sure as hell would send a message. We can make the case that you've just taken over after the bombing, and have decided to clean house. In the midst of all that, you discovered this overtly and blatantly criminal element operating out of those two satellite offices. We hand over all the info we have on these bozos, their resources, their contracts, everything - and then..." Sam sat back with a contented look on his face, "all the fireworks would be on the heads of those we'd want to get rid of anyway. You'd come out smelling like a rose, the Centre would gain reputation as an organization that no longer tolerates criminal behavior, and the feds take the heat for any collateral damage."
Miss Parker looked at Tyler, who merely looked back at her with an openly questioning look on his face, then began to smile - a smile that died quickly. "I just told the Yakuza liaison from Los Angeles that we'd honor our contracts with them - and that we'd keep all information we have about them from ending up in the wrong hands."
"Call them back. Warn them what you're dealing with and HOW you intend to do it," Sam suggested. "Refund all their deposit monies on the outstanding contracts in full, no questions asked and regardless of whether Flores made them or Raines did - and tell them to get busy and make themselves disappear. Let them know that you're doing your best to keep them out of it, and giving them as much warning as essentially you've had - but that any information on hand in the LA office might as well be considered compromised when the feds move in." Sam's expression was somber. "I'm sure they know how much they've told Flores over the years."
"We wouldn't have to call the feds immediately," Tyler offered, sitting forward himself. "We can continue to collect intelligence on people I'm sure the feds have been after for a while themselves, meanwhile giving the Yakuza time to do whatever they need to."
"You know," Sam said suddenly, "considering that the Triumverate is going to want a piece of the Yakuza fairly soon, this move on our part is going to piss THEM off too - especially considering that we'd be aiding the Yakuza and not at the same time giving information to THEM. If there's any paranoia in Africa, we'll be painting ourselves as renegades and traitors."
"Perhaps, but that might not be such a dire situation as you're fearing." Miss Parker was sitting back in her chair, her fingers steepled again. "We just got through spending a GREAT deal of time digging into Triumvirate dealings, did we not?"
"Yeah, but..."
"But nothing, Sam. We hold their American dealings by the short-shorts. That was part of the reason WHY Jarod had us keep digging even after they swooped in on Raines, you know..."
"Now, just hold on here. I know I'm just the new kid on the block," Tyler drawled out, looking carefully back and forth between Miss Parker and Sam, "but maybe y'all could help out this country boy a bit. Just who the hell is this “Tri-um-whatever” and why the hell would they be pissed at us?"
Miss Parker looked at Sam, and he simply sat back in his chair again. "You started this," he pointed out bluntly. "You hired him. YOU explain it to him. He deserves to have the whole picture - and directly from you, dontcha think?"
She looked at Tyler, then looked down at her watch, then up at him again and sighed. "You didn't have any lunch plans, did you? This may take a while..."
Tyler shook his head, not at all comforted by the expression on his boss' face. Just what the hell had he gotten himself involved with here after all?
~~~~~~~~
Sydney could hear Deb's little Nova firing up and then backing away from his garage door. He looked over at the kitchen table, cleared of its file folders and now cleared of all but one place setting. Davy's lunch of sandwich and chips and milk sat untouched - he had refused to come in when called for lunch. The three adults had eaten without him then, Sydney joining Deb and Kevin in discussing which movie they were going to see that afternoon, enjoying watching Kevin's sense of anticipation of the afternoon's activity slowly grow until his blue eyes were sparkling.
But now that he and Davy were alone, with nobody to interrupt or distract them, it was time for him to take charge of helping his grandson cope with the sudden disappearance of his father. "Davy," he stuck his head out the arcadia door again, "come in here, please."
"I'm not hungry," he heard in an obstinate tone that sounded very much like his mother's.
"David Thomas Parker, get down out of that tree before I have to come out and pull you out of it." Sydney didn't like using such an authoritative voice very often, and almost never loudly enough to carry far, which made his projected voice into a whip that snapped in the boy's ear. He moved completely out the door and waited with a full scowl on his face. "You don't want me telling your mother that I had to climb the tree myself to get you, do you?"
A hand suddenly parted the leaves, although the face stayed hidden. "You're hurt," Davy announced with a startled grumble. "You're just out of the hospital. You'll hurt yourself."
Sydney started walking across the lawn. "Do you honestly think that will stop me?" He halted at the base of the tree, one hand on a wooden rung at about eye level and one foot on the very bottom rung. "Well? Are you coming down, or am I coming up?" A dark head peeked over the edge of the access hole in the middle of the tree house floor, blue eyes wide and astonished at his grandfather's persistence. When the head made no move that looked like concession, Sydney raised his other hand for the next rung up and began to pull himself onto the cobbled ladder up the side of the oak tree. "Alright - move over, here I come."
"No!" Davy shouted, knowing that he REALLY didn't want to have to face his mother and explain why he forced his grandfather to climb a tree, and he finally moved. "OK, OK, I'm coming down."
Sydney sighed in relief - the climb would have been more than would be wise for him to attempt at the moment, but his bluff had worked. He released the rungs once his feet were firmly on the ground again, and he stood waiting for his grandson with his hands on his hips. "Into the house. Now!" he ordered, once more using a softer but no less authoritative voice the moment the boy was standing on the ground next to him.
Davy didn't look at him, but did as directed, his posture slouched and slightly rebellious nevertheless as he walked in front of his grandfather across the yard, up onto the patio slab and through the arcadia doors. "Sit down." The command was inflexible, and Davy flopped into the chair where his lunch sat waiting for him. Sydney moved to put some water on to boil for tea and watched out of the corner of his eye as Davy stared at his food for a long moment, then snagged a chip and popped it in his mouth while he thought his grandfather wasn't looking.
Sydney took his time preparing his tea silently, knowing that doing so would keep Davy off-balance enough that when he did sit down, he stood a good chance of getting through to the boy. How often had he had to use these tactics on the boy's father, after all. Sydney smiled inwardly, glad that his back was still turned to the table, thinking how apropos it was that he had to deal with a second generation of Pretender and need the same tactics. Carefully schooling his expression back to a professional neutral, however, he took up his tea mug and carried it back to the table. He took his time sitting down and then arranging his hands on the table ahead of him before finally letting his eyes meet those of his grandson.
Were it not for grey eyes that looked so very much like his mother's, Davy could have been a carbon copy of Jarod at that age. Sydney found himself wondering that he could have looked into this child's face and not known the truth about his heritage for all those years. He shook himself inwardly from his reverie and faced the matter at hand. "Just what do you think you're going to accomplish, behaving like this?" The grey gaze dropped to the food in front of him as the boy realized he had no ready answer to give. "Answer me." The voice was soft, inflexible, and nothing less than a demand.
"I dunno," Davy finally allowed in a disgusted tone and with a defeated shrug. He had never had his doting grandpa pull rank on him before like this, so he knew he'd finally gone too far. He knew Grandpa Sydney's temper was one thing even his mother feared - and he'd never once seen it himself. His mother had alluded to the one time Grandpa had gotten really angry at her and chewed her out. She had put the experience in terms that clearly communicated her true reluctance to ever do anything to cause him to get angry at her again - and so while he sat quietly at the table and projected frustrated compliance, he was feeling far from secure.
"That's not an answer I can accept." The grey eyes flitted up to meet the unusually stony chestnut gaze of his elder, and then dropped back to watch his fingers pushing the sandwich back and forth on the plate. Mommy was right - Grandpa Sydney in this kind of mood was scary. The voice stayed soft, demanding. "Try again, and think through your answer this time."
The longer the boy thought about it, the more he realized that he had not only had no idea what he'd hoped to accomplish by being angry at everyone, but that his actions had no possible justification. There wasn't a single redeeming argument in his defense that he could give to this stern man who wore the face of his beloved grandfather, but wore it without any sign of the love and acceptance that had always made the man so approachable. "N... nothing," he finally admitted, his composure completely in tatters now. "I'm sorry, Grandpa..."
"This is not the time for apologies," that firm, unbending voice stated softly. "Now is the time for you to understand what you did, why you did it, and why your behavior is completely unacceptable." Sydney took a long sip of his tea, knowing from his experience with Davy's mother years ago the power of silence to undermine confidence. "Explain yourself," was the next demand.
"I can't." Davy was shaking inside and now thoroughly miserable. A tear started down his cheek. "I miss my Daddy," he blurted out in a heartbroken tone.
"Do you think that your mother and I don't miss him because we aren't running around looking and acting miserable?" Sydney put away the stern voice, but kept it soft and neutral still. It wouldn't do to demolish the boy completely, and Davy, like his mother before him, was proving very vulnerable to this kind of discipline.
Davy shook his head, another tear falling - and then another. "Then do you think making us miserable just because YOU feel miserable is an appropriate thing to do?" Sydney persisted. The boy shook his head again, the tears running steadily down his face now. "And what about Deb - she makes you lunch, a nice dessert, and you treat her like dirt. How do you think that makes her feel, when she's trying not to worry so much about her own father?"
Davy raised streaming and tragic eyes to his grandfather. "I'm s...so s...sorry, Grandpa..." he sobbed and then looked down in utter shame and choked on his tears.
"Come here, Davy."
The boy looked up again. Where the stern man had occupied his grandfather before, his loving Grandpa Sydney had magically returned - and was holding out a hand to him. With another sob, the boy flung himself from his chair and up into his grandpa's arms, wrapping his arms around the man's neck tightly and sobbing bitterly. Sydney winced at the rough movement but hugged the boy close, murmuring soft and comforting sounds in his ear until the sobbing slowly ebbed, leaving the boy spent and limp in his arms.
"I forgive you," Sydney told the boy gently, still holding him very tightly, "but I'm not the only person you owe apologies to. You're going to have to talk to your mother, and Deb, and even Kevin - you were downright rude to him this morning, and he didn't understand what he'd done wrong."
"I'm sorry," Davy repeated again and burrowed deep into his grandfather's embrace. "I just want..."
"I know," Sydney shushed at him gently. "But your Daddy has things he has to take care of first - and then he WILL be home. He's promised us, and he's told us he never makes promises he can't keep."
"But he's going to be away for a long time..."
"But he's coming back, Davy," Sydney repeated. "That's the important thing - that he didn't just LEAVE, but he left and promised to be back as soon as he could. Every day that goes by takes us one day closer to the day he gets home."
"You won't leave too, will you?" Davy's question was asked very softly.
"Of course not!" Sydney kissed the lad on the top of the head and held him just that much tighter. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."
"I love you, Grandpa, and I'm sorry I made you so angry..."
"I love you too, Davy," Sydney hushed at the boy gently, feeling him curl up in his arms needfully and snuggle as close as he could get. "It will be OK. I'm not angry anymore."
He closed his eyes and kissed the top of the head leaning into his chest once more. God, Jarod, don't be too long, he thought. Your son needs you desperately!
~~~~~~~~
Tyler stared at his boss as if she'd grown a horn in the middle of her forehead. Never, in all the time he'd worked for the Centre, had he thought that THIS was what the organization was all about. He glanced to his side and saw that Sam had taken in the narrative with little reaction - he's known this all along, Tyler realized with a jolt.
"So..." he started, leaning forward, "let me see if I've got this straight now. Y'all are saying that the Centre has been just as active criminally all this time as the Yakuza or mob?"
"Tell me, 'Tyler-ma'am', how many think-tanks have in-house morgues handling gun shot victims?" Miss Parker answered his question with her own, followed by a deep sigh.
Tyler's eyes opened wide at that question. To be honest, since the very first days of his employment, he'd not asked himself that question. Now he suspected that the answer would have had him running away screaming before.
"And what you're suggesting is to completely transform this place into something that is virtually the opposite of what it has been - that your crack yesterday about being out of the terrorism business wasn't just a joke?"
"Give the Texan a cigar," Sam commented dryly.
"Sam..." Miss Parker scowled at her security Chief and then turned her gaze back to Tyler. "That's right."
"And you're saying that while you won't help or hinder the Triumverate's action against the Yakuza, and while you KNOW the Yakuza are responsible for the bombing, you're still gonna give them advanced warning of this plan to turn state's evidence so they can get their action under wraps?" She nodded again. "Even though you know that this is going to piss off the Triumverate - and they're the ones who gave you the job in the first place?"
"Mm-hmmm." She nodded again. "And I'm going to refund the money the Yakuza paid to have us do things - to the penny. The Centre will take care of Centre business - and right now, that means backing away from doing business with the Yakuza in what THEY will consider an honorable fashion. What the Triumverate wants from them is their business to arrange."
Tyler shook his head and settled back in his chair. "Well, ma'am, if you hadn't told this to me yourself, I wouldn't have bought it for a dollar. You sure ain't hopin' for much, are you?"
"Are you still in?" she asked pointedly in response. "Now that you know what's what and what's possible, you still feel up to this challenge? Or do you want out?" She and Sam shared a concerned look - Tyler had proven very efficient and effective as an assistant, especially in Broots' absence. Losing his participation would make life quite difficult in the days and weeks ahead.
Slowly his head shook back and forth and he sat forward again. "Hell, no. I'm still in." His dark eyes looked up into hers and danced, and he made his drawl thick again. "Y'all are doin' something that needs doin', and y'all can use all the help you can get in your corner. So long as you keep me clued in on who's a player and on which side, and what you want me to do, I'm your man, Lobsang. The Tyler clan don't wear no yellow stripe."
Sam looked at the younger man in confusion, then glanced up to see Miss Parker's amused smirk quickly hidden behind a mask of professional decorum. "Lobsang?" he asked her quietly.
But Miss Parker was satisfied. "Then let's get to it, shall we? Sam, you keep me updated on any surveillance info - Tyler, you keep probing the LA and Vegas operations. I want to know all their current projects, who's assigned to what, everything. If somebody farts in either office, I want to know who and what they ate the night before. Got it?"
"Yep!" "Yes, ma'am!" The two male voices were almost in unison.
"Good!" She rose to her feet. "It's past one, I'm starved, and I'm buying. You boys hungry?"
Chapter 3: Dealing With It
A very disgruntled and unhappy Davy pushed past his grandfather's legs and made a beeline to the den and the video game. Sydney looked after him, then up into Parker's carefully composed face. "Not a good morning, is it?" The mask didn't slip, but her eyes gave her away - she was miserable. He opened his arms to her and then gathered her close. "He's promised he'd be back as soon as he could..."
"I know," she sighed, leaning. "But Davy is so disappointed and angry - at me, at Jarod..."
"I'll talk to him about it, and see if I can't help a little," he promised. "How are YOU?"
"Wishing Jarod were on his way back home, rather than out to California for God knows how long," she sighed again. "The house seems so empty now."
"At least this time you know how and where to find him," he soothed. "It isn't as if he just walked away without saying goodbye and then vanished."
"I know that. But it also isn't as if I didn't let him in to every corner of my life and now..." She blushed, even though she knew that Sydney was well aware of the direction her relationship with Jarod had taken - and frankly and unapologetically approved completely.
"He'll be back, Parker. Think of it as an extended business trip." Sydney knew he'd probably have to keep reminding her of this as time passed. He felt her hold him back and lean, seeking comfort in a way she hadn't for a very long time. "You'll get through this, and it will be OK."
She nodded against his shoulder. "Keep reminding me of that, OK?"
"Not a problem." He continued to hold her until she finally pushed herself away. As he watched, she began to carefully reconstruct a wall between her private pain and her need to function in public. He gave her the space she needed. "Got a big day today?"
"Not sure. Depends on what Sam's people had to say last night, and whether Tyler has that info. I also want to make sure the construction people get started on reinforcement and cleanup. I want to get to those archives." She kissed his cheek fondly. "I see that Sam's man is already posted outside, with Deb's in the car ready to follow her to work. So I suppose I'm leaving you in good hands." She looked around him toward the kitchen. "Kevin up yet?"
"Not yet - and Deb's in the shower." He kissed her cheek in return. "You'd better get going, though - sounds like you have enough of a full day already stacking up on you, and I have my work cut out for me between Davy and that stack of project folders Jarod left me." He gave her a gentle, lopsided smile. "Let your day be busy, Parker - it will help the time go faster."
"I'll try," she said, trying to make her reassurance sound convincing. "Thanks, Syd." His encouraging smile carried her out the door and back towards her car.
~~~~~~~~
Chief Harrison scanned the report that Donaldson had just handed him, and then dropped the pages on his desk and sat back in his chair. "Just give me the high points," he directed, leaning forward to grab up his coffee mug and then settle back in his chair to listen.
Jerry Donaldson was tall, stout and balding. He ran his hand over his bald pate in what everybody in the department knew was a gesture of either nervousness or frustration - today, Harrison had a hunch it was frustration. "Ya know we've all had our theories about what goes on in that there huge place," he began, well aware that over the years each citizen of Blue Cove not directly involved with the Centre had speculated on its purpose, staffing and activities. "I swear to you, Chief, when I got that group of gardeners all together, I began to wonder if I'd walked straight into The Island of Doctor Moreau! Half the workers there were handicapped in one way or another - one was missing a hand except for three real dinky fingers, and..."
"Jerry!" Harrison didn't have either the time or the patience for his officer's editorializing that morning. "Just tell me what you learned, willya?"
Donaldson breathed in deeply, then let it out in a huff. "I didn't learn nuthin'. Nada. Bupkis. Those guys are either deliberately blind, deaf and mute or else GENUINELY one or more of the above. Not one of 'em remembers our John Doe."
"Shit." Harrison put his coffee mug down with a thump. "That just doesn't make sense."
"No, sir, it don't." Donaldson kept his shudder muted. He had NOT enjoyed his time at the Centre.
The Chief stared down at his desk, where the photograph of the dead man's face on the morgue slab was off to the side of the officer's uninformative report, and rested his chin in his hand for a bit. "Somebody has got to know this guy!"
"Well, I think it's pretty obvious that he's no local. That means he could be from just about anywhere," Donaldson mused. "And God knows, it could be a complete coincidence that he was shot execution-style not long before somebody - probably him, the trigger WAS found next to his body - bombed the Centre and snuffed a deaf-mute gardener..."
"Execution-style," Harrison mused to himself. Suddenly he held up a finger and reached for the phone. "Judy, get me that FBI fella - Gillespie, I think his name was - on the horn, willya? Thanks, babe."
"Whatcha thinkin'?" Donaldson asked, intrigued.
"That an execution-style murder suggests mob ties. I wonder if our FBI guy has looked into that angle."
The bald officer shook his head. "That don't make sense neither, Chief. Why would the mob bring a guy all the way out here in the boondocks just to off him?"
Harrison's ice-blue eyes glittered up at his officer. "It do make one wonder, don't it?"
"Wonder what?"
"You said it yourself," Harrison pointed out, figuring that explaining his thoughts to his own officer would help him get them in focus enough to explain to the feds, "that the Centre is a weird place that only God knows what goes on there. We have an execution-style murder take place on their very property, just about the time somebody - probably our DB - takes a whole shit load of C-4 to the administration building..."
"Chief," the intercom crackled with the voice of the dispatch girl, "Agent Gillespie."
"Good." Harrison grabbed for the phone. "Gillespie, sorry to interrupt..."
Gillespie accepted a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee from another shirt-sleeved agent and settled down in front of the white board with all sorts of crime-scene photographs from the Centre incidents. "Not a problem, Chief. What can I do for you this early in the morning?"
"Something one of my officers here said got me to thinking. Have you looked into any possible mob connections here to identify our John Doe?"
The FBI agent carefully laid down the faxed translation of the report on the suicide attempt's yellow sheet from Japan. "I've just begun thinking along those lines myself," he admitted. "I got some information on one of our survivors and a couple of our victims this morning. Seems like there was a small contingent of Yakuza at the Centre yesterday."
"Christ!" Harrison shook his head. "This just keeps getting better..."
"Tell me - what is it that got you thinking this way?"
The Police Chief sat back, not having expected that kind of confirmation so quickly. "My officer called our John Doe's murder “execution-style.” We don't see that kind of stuff where there's no mob or organized crime involved."
Gillespie sipped from his white cup carefully. "You have a point, Chief. Where were you thinking of taking it?"
"Actually, I was hoping YOU would be able to do that better than me," the Chief rubbed his eyes tiredly. "You don't suppose if we put that picture of our DB on the law enforcement net, we might hear from SOMEbody who knows him, do you?"
"Anyplace specific you want me to try?"
Harrison smiled. "New York, Miami, Dallas, San Francisco, Los Angeles... Places where the mob has a sizeable presence..."
"Las Vegas, Atlantic City?"
"Couldn't hurt." Harrison sighed and took up his own coffee mug again. "Good to know we're on the same page, even when we're NOT consulting constantly."
Gillespie nodded and motioned to the agent that had brought him the coffee. "I'll let you know if I get any response, Chief - and we're still on for that meeting tomorrow, right?"
"You got it." The Chief looked up at Donaldson in triumph. "See you tomorrow." He hung up the phone. "Seems our FBI guy was just starting to come to the same conclusion - evidently there was a wad of Yakuza heavies in amongst the ones caught when the Tower went."
"Gotta love it when the evidence starts suggesting we're right," Donaldson nodded his head with a knowing, dipping motion.
~~~~~~~~
Jarod watched out the little porthole as the clouds just seemed to slide by beneath him. The little Centre jet was a comfortable ride compared to the days-long drive he'd made across the country weeks before. Miss Parker had assured him that there would be a town car to pick him up at the airport at Monterey and drive him the rest of the way to his home in Pacific Grove. He had debated whether or not to call his mother to tell her he was on his way or not. He didn't have the same qualms about calling Ethan. He looked down at his watch - still set to East Coast time - and decided his half-brother was probably awake by now. He drew out his cell phone and brought up one of the programmed numbers and waited.
"Hello?" Sounded as if he caught his brother either going into or out of the shower.
"Hey there! You running late today?" Jarod put a smile in his voice.
"Hey there yourself, big brother!" Ethan pulled the towel just a little tighter around his still-damp waist and settled on the edge of his bed. "What's the occasion?"
"I'm about two hours out from Monterey," the Pretender announced casually. "I should be back in Pacific Grove about a half-hour after that."
Ethan was silent a moment. "Does Mom know?" he asked finally.
"Not yet. You should probably warn her, though. Parker's got me booked into a Centre town car dropping me off at the house - and the sight of one of those could be enough to..."
Ethan put up a restraining hand, even though his brother couldn't see it. "Say no more! I'll stop by her place on my way to the office and give her the news." He paused again. "What made you decide to come back after all?"
Jarod sighed and landed his chin on one folded fist to peer out the porthole again. "I promised her I would," he said quietly. "I keep my promises." He closed his eyes as his son's and fiancé's faces. "I promised Parker and Davy I'd come back to them too."
"Somehow, I'm not surprised," the younger Russell responded. "How is my sister?"
"She has her hands full with the Centre, I tell you! But she's handling it. You shoulda seen it when she came up from the sublevels - all the people that she'd gotten organized gathered around her, and then she talked to them. She REALLY talked to them, the poor slobs who slaved away for the Centre underground, and she had them eating out of her hand!" Jarod remembered that moment when he'd been so proud of her and known for certain for the first time that she'd made the right decision.
"How'd she take your decision to come back here?" It wasn't taking much work to open up those inner channels and feel his sister's sorrow. "She's not happy is she." That wasn't a question.
Jarod sighed. "No, she wasn't happy about it at all, but she understood. Sydney understood too - he was the one that convinced me that I should get it over with. Davy, on the other hand..."
"Unhappy?"
"Very much so." The memory of putting his son to bed the previous night could still bring a lump to his throat.
"Well, look. You're going to be here soon enough, and we can talk then. Lemme get going here, and let Mom know what's what - maybe even call Em and see if she and Mom can coordinate and welcome-home supper." He rose and began walking back toward the bathroom.
"What did I do, catch you on your way into the shower?"
"On the way out, as a matter of fact," Ethan chuckled, "and it's getting damned cold sitting here still dripping."
That made Jarod laugh out loud for the first time that day. "Go get yourself decent, little brother - I'll probably drop by the office a little more toward closing time."
"You're so kind." Ethan's dry tone still had the smile behind it. "Talk to you in a bit."
Jarod disconnected, then absently dropped the little device into the breast pocket of his sports coat and returned to watching the clouds slide evenly past beneath him.
~~~~~~~~
Siskele opened the heavy case that held much of the Triumverate's Centre-related files and found the one Ngawe had requested, then handed it to the man in the bed. The elderly African opened the folder and flipped quickly through the pages one by one until he found the one he was looking for. "It seems that much of the Centre's contact with the Japanese has come through Los Angeles lately, if not through Mr. Lyle specifically." He looked up at his aide. "We want you to send three of our best men to Los Angeles to find out all they can about any holdings, properties and personnel the Yakuza controls outright here in the States."
"Everything?" Siskele wanted to clarify the scope of the investigation. "Do you want us to include even the more marginal associates like drug runners and pushers, protection rackets and the police officers involved, and that sort too?"
"Absolutely." The older man's voice was like the echo of Doom. "We want to know the sum and substance of Yakuza business here in the US - because THAT is going to be the price they pay for doing harm to us."
Siskele nodded his bald head and hid a shudder. "Are you sure that you want to take them on in out-and-out war, sir?" he asked with less than a confident tone. "Tanaka's dead, and so are all who helped plan the attack on the Centre..."
"Except for that yellow dog now under the protection of the Americans, that is," Ngawe corrected his young nephew curtly. "We have Tanaka's father nicely penned for us in an East Coast prison - we want HIM dead. Now." Ngawe smiled sweetly, a smile that Siskele could feel freezing him all the way to the floor. "Let THAT be the first token “shot” fired in this war that we WILL win."
"Miss Parker is going to be livid..."
"Miss Parker's likes and dislikes will play no further part in this," the older man snarled, and he closed the folder and threw it down forcefully toward the foot of the bed. "The priorities of the Centre are moving out of sync with those of the Triumverate. Given the marked loss of revenue the Centre has constituted for us over the past few years, we will give her reasonable and generous latitude to reimburse us for our investments - with interest - as she brings her organization under her control." The old man settled back into his pillows thoughtfully. "Of course, if she DOESN'T get a handle on the Centre in a reasonable amount of time, we MAY find it necessary to intercede again..."
Siskele began to smile a little more comfortably. "And then we WOULD have Centre participation and resources at hand."
"Indeed." Ngawe nodded. "But we will give her enough time to genuinely sink or swim as Chairman on her own first. She has been a loyal associate to us, however reluctant her work for the previous Centre administrations through the years may have been. We have every reason to believe that she's capable of doing her job well. We will give her the chance she deserves."
Siskele moved to exit the room so he could begin coordinating the team to go to Los Angeles. "Yes, indeed," Ngawe muttered to himself as he finally had a moment's privacy, "we will give her her chance. For now."
~~~~~~~~
Miss Parker rose from her desk and went to where the thermal carafe could refill her coffee mug. Outside her window, the sounds of jackhammers could be heard as the full-scale cleanup efforts got underway, and something told her that sound would be both a comfort and an irritant to her as the days and weeks progressed.
"Miss Parker?" The soft Chinese-accented voice came over the intercom.
She stepped back to her desk and pushed the button. "What is it?"
"There is a Mr. Mayeda from Los Angeles on line three for you, ma'am."
She sighed. Mayeda - that was the name Sam had given her for one of the associates in that photo with Berringer and Flores. Yakuza. Christ - what the hell did HE want with her? "I've got it, thanks," she sighed and moved around the corner of her desk and sat down again, pulling her fingers through her hair in a habitual, nervous gesture. She took a deep breath and then picked up the receiver and pushed the blinking button. "Mr. Mayeda."
"Miss Parker." Mayeda's voice held only the slightest hint of accent, and was very smooth. "I am calling you on behalf of Ueda Kyoshi-sama, who has assumed control of the Yakuza branch formerly run by the Tanaka family."
"I had a pretty good idea who you are," she informed him in fluent and unaccented Japanese, her voice tight and cold. "I'm very busy, as you can imagine, so best you get to your point quickly. What do you want?"
"Ueda-sama asked me to discuss with you a telephone call I received from one of your Centre associates yesterday - a Gilbert Flores."
"Yes?" Her voice slipped into a wary and guarded neutral tone. "Does he call you often?"
Mayeda shook his head. "No, Miss Parker, he does not - at least, not for the reasons he called yesterday. It seems that Mr. Flores is quite... upset... with the direction your new administration is intending to take the Centre. He wanted my help in destabilizing your organization to the point that he, or one of his confederates, could take the Chairmanship from you."
She settled back into her chair, her eyes narrowed. "He said so in so many word?"
"Hai." The Yakuza liaison ran his fingers over his carefully-manicured moustache. "Of course, I informed Mr. Flores that Tokyo has given me a very strict set of instructions that I am not to undertake or in any way cooperate in ANY action that might be counter to the welfare of the Centre."
"Do you actually HAVE such a directive?"
Mayeda had to admire her for having the courage to ask such a question - it put him in the position that if he lied, and the Yakuza DID eventually move against the Centre, there would be considerable loss of face if those actions worked out badly in the end. Then again, he reasoned, she had spent several years in Japan - she understood the concept of face better than most gai-jin. "Yes, Miss Parker. Such a directive IS in place."
She swiveled in her chair and looked out her rather spartan window and across at the pile of noisy rubble that had once been the Tower. "And you are saying that there is a new dynasty running your organization now?"
"Hai. Ueda-sama has... the support of the other branches of the Yakuza."
She bent forward and pulled a blank legal pad toward her. "Tell me, Mr. Mayeda, are there a large number of contracts with my Los Angeles affiliate still in effect?"
"Hai - there are. We have financed a number of cooperative efforts that center around shipping and receiving of goods." Mayeda narrowed his eyes. "Is there a problem with them?"
"Are those contracts long-term?"
"Not necessarily. Most of them are negotiated as the situations arise."
She started to nod. "Very good. Then you will understand if I tell you that the business our two organizations has been doing with each other will cease through attrition. We will honor all our outstanding contracts, as agreed - but you can consider this as notice that the Centre will not be interested in renewing contracts or writing new ones. My organization will be moving to legalize all its activities, and frankly," she reached for her coffee mug, "that means no longer doing business with your people."
"Understood, Miss Parker." Mayeda thought quickly. "What about existing information about our organization that has been necessary for yours to fulfill your contracts? Will you be turning that over to your law enforcement?"
"Not necessarily. Our face would suffer in having to explain HOW we learned such things and had not shared earlier." She sipped from her coffee. "But it would probably be wise, at this point, for you to assess how much information the Centre has and make any necessary adjustments."
"Yes," he agreed, "it probably would. I will relay your suggestion to Tokyo at the next opportunity."
"And I thank you for your warning, Mayeda-san."
"Good luck in your endeavors, Miss Parker, and in dealing with your Mr. Flores."
She smiled coldly. "Thank you, Mayeda-san. My people will be handling Mr. Flores, you can be assured on that fact." She sat forward suddenly. "If there's nothing else..."
"Not at this time. Good day to you." The Yakuza liaison disconnected the call.
Miss Parker thought for a moment, the receiver still in her hand, and then she replaced it and punched at her intercom. "Have Sam and Tyler come to my office as soon as possible."
~~~~~~~~
"Leave me ALONE!"
Sydney looked up from his review of the project summaries to see his grandson storm into the kitchen and then out through the arcadia doors into his backyard - heading for the tree house that the two of them had built the previous summer. The psychiatrist turned back to a very confused and hurt looking Kevin, standing in the door to the den as if completely abandoned.
"What did I do?" the young man asked with wide and confounded blue eyes. "I thought he LIKED that video game..."
"Davy's taking Jarod's leaving very hard," Sydney told the young Pretender, "and he's taking it out on everybody - you, me, his mother..."
"I don't understand," Kevin shook his sandy head. "You'd think that he'd want to hold the rest of his family even closer."
Sydney smiled. "Once he gets over being angry, he will. But right now he feels betrayed. He had started to feel stable with a father AND a mother in his life - and now he has to get used to going back to it just being his mom and him in the house."
"But Jarod said he was coming back..."
"I know that. And Davy wants to believe it too. But Jarod will have to leave and come back again before Davy may allow himself to believe it." Sydney glanced over his shoulder and out the arcadia glass at the tree house again. "Just give him a little space and time to stew. I told Parker that I'd talk to him today - I'll probably let him work on it himself until after lunch, when Deb's back and you aren't feeling left at loose ends."
Kevin sat down heavily in one of the other kitchen chairs. "Are families always this chaotic, Sydney?"
The older man chuckled and put the summary he had been reading down at last. "Sometimes," he admitted, "although this one had been pretty calm and peaceful before Jarod came back."
"Do you think I'll ever be able to find my real family?"
Sydney gazed at the young man compassionately. It was so easy to think of him as if he'd always been a part of this cobbled-together clan rather than a complete newcomer to social interaction as a whole. If there had been one saving grace of all that chaos that had arisen after Jarod came back, it was that Kevin's entrance into their lives had been so seamless, so effortless. Still, it was no wonder that the young man would wonder about his real family.
"I honestly don't know," Sydney replied gently, wishing he could tell him otherwise. "I'm hoping that once we get into those archives in the Centre sublevel, somewhere in there will be a clue as to where to start looking."
"Do you think they got angry at me for leaving?" Kevin asked next, his voice thoughtful and a bit hesitant.
"No," Sydney assured him firmly. "I'm sure that if anything, they were frantic to get you back - just as Jarod's family was. They probably never have stopped looking for you."
"Really?"
"Really."
"But, what if I'm not what they hoped I'd be?" The young man played with the crack in the kitchen table where the extension leaf would fit. "What if I'm a disappointment?"
"Why do you think you'd be a disappointment to them?" Sydney asked quietly.
Kevin's shoulders shrugged dejectedly. "I don't know - maybe because I don't know how to act right, or because I didn't turn out..."
"Look," Sydney sat forward. "If you were my son, and I'd just found you again, I wouldn't be very judgmental - I'd just be thrilled to have you back in my life again, safe and sound. It would take an awful lot to make me disappointed - I might have trouble exchanging my expectations with reality, but I'd work at it and adjust."
"Really?" The voice was even smaller.
"When I discovered I did have a son that I never knew about, it took us a long time to feel out the boundaries of our relationship." Sydney remembered some of the painful first encounters with Nicholas, and his face grew thoughtful. "Nicholas grew up thinking another man was his father - so he had a hard time accepting the truth. He even spent some time very angry at both his mother and me - his mother for never telling him the truth, and me for never being around."
"Is he still angry?" Kevin's eyes were wide - this was a side of Jarod's mentor that he'd never expected.
Sydney smiled and shook his head. "Not at all. I get along with Nicholas quite well now - I even spent some time with him and his wife this past Spring Break."
"And you love him - even though he wasn't what you thought he'd be?"
"I didn't know he existed for most of his life," Sydney corrected him. "I had no expectations to adjust, except for those that told me that we'd become closer than we ended up being. Yes, I love him - and I know he loves me in his own way."
Kevin thought about what he'd been told. "What if I never find them?" he finally asked. "What if I end up alone?"
Sydney nodded and sat back in his chair to look at the young Pretender evenly. "That's what you're afraid of, isn't it? Ending up alone?" Kevin nodded, his face reflecting his unhappiness at the mere idea. Sydney leaned forward suddenly, mindful not to bend himself over the table where it would hit his wound, and put a hand on the young man's arm. "Can't happen, Kevin. You'll always belong here, even if you can't discover your real family."
Blue eyes looked piercingly into warm chestnut. "Do you mean that?"
"I don't make a habit of saying things like that when I don't mean it," Sydney assured him gently. "But if you want reassurance, talk to Parker or Debbie or Sam."
"And Davy?"
Sydney glanced over his shoulder again, and saw the boy's two legs dangling over the edge of the platform in his old oak tree and swinging back and forth. "Davy too, eventually. Give him time."
~~~~~~~~
The combination of palm trees and pine trees that lined the lane to his seaside home never failed to bring a smile to Jarod's face. There was nothing more contradictory than those two pieces of flora growing side by side, and nothing more fitting to frame the approach to his home. The Spanish-style home was at the end of the lane - the gate marking an end to public access on that road. Jarod leaned forward and thanked the silent sweeper who had driven him these final few miles, then climbed from the black town car and watched as it backed carefully down the lane until the road was wide enough for it to turn around in.
Jarod looked over his shoulder up the lane, to the end of the driveway that was the entrance to his parents' home - his mother's home now - and then pushed the buttons on the security box that caused the gates to move inward on silent hinges and wheels. It was a strange feeling, coming back to a place he'd called “home” for three years now and yet feeling out of place. He walked down the asphalted drive, past the two stately live oaks that had stood guard over that plot of land for hundreds of years, and up through the wrought-iron gate to his front door.
"It's about time you got here!" Margaret exclaimed, bursting through the door and throwing her arms around her son's neck. Jarod dropped his duffel bag and set his laptop case down carefully and then put his arms around his mother, hugging her tightly and picking her off her feet a bit. He could feel that she'd lost some weight since he'd left - something he'd have to take up with Em and Ethan about later on.
"Now THAT'S what I call a welcome!" he grinned at her after he set her back down on the ground.
"Where's your car?" she demanded, looking beyond him and not seeing his beloved red bomb parked in it's customary place on the asphalt.
"Still in Delaware, I'm afraid," he replied, bending over to pick up his luggage and head into the house past her. "I'll be needing it when I get back home."
"THIS is home, Jarod," Margaret tossed her auburn and silver head. "Your sister and brothers are HERE."
Jarod only shook his head and moved toward the hallway. "I know they are. My son is in Delaware. I'm needed there."
"You're needed HERE too."
He halted, sighed, then turned around to face her. His eyes ran over her beloved features, now clouded over with frustration and worry, and wondered at the change time could make in him. Eight years ago, he'd have given everything he was and everything he owned to lay eyes on her. Now...
"Mom, I'm not asking permission. I'm telling you. I have a son - an eight year old boy whom I love very much. I love you too, but you have Ethan and Jay and Em..." Margaret's blue eyes filled with tears, and Jarod sighed and put his luggage down. He walked back to his mother and held her close gently. "Let's not fight about this the minute I get home, OK?" he asked softly into the hair above her ear. "Let me enjoy seeing you again for a bit first."
"I just..."
"Mom..." He released her with his dark brows bent warningly over implacable chocolate eyes. "Not now."
He walked away again, grabbing his duffel bag and laptop on the way to his bedroom. Some homecoming, he thought to himself regretfully.
~~~~~~~~
Flores groaned as the jangling of the telephone set off a four-alarm headache. He raised his head from his pillow only with great difficulty, his dark eyes bloodshot with the consequences of trying to climb out the bottom of a bottle of tequila, and his hand flopped aimlessly at the nightstand until it finally hit the phone receiver by accident. A second swat allowed him to get his hand actually around the receiver and drag it to his ear. "MMmmgwhat! This better be pretty damned good, or..."
"Christ!" the voice on the other end of the phone was frantic and frustrated. "Don't tell me you polished off that bottle last night?"
"Who the hell is this?" Flores groaned, rolling onto his side and reaching with shaking hand for his wristwatch.
"It's me, Stu - who the hell ELSE would it be?" Berringer growled into his ear. "Wake up, Gil - fast."
"S...Stu?" Flores tried to roll up into a sitting position, but settled back into his pillow with a pitiful groan. "What the he..."
"Your meet with Santini is set - two hours from now, in the hotel restaurant." Berringer dropped the appointment on his confederate without preamble. "You owe me huge."
"T..TWO hours!" Flores made another mammoth effort and managed to get himself sitting upright. "That was quick!"
Berringer sounded incredibly pleased with himself. "I told you, you owe me huge. I'll meet you in the lobby in an hour and half so that we can put together some kind of proposal."
Flores was rubbing his eyes madly, trying to rid both them and his brain of the post-alcoholic fog. "I thought you wanted to stay in the background on this," he complained, hoping he was remembering the long discussion correctly.
"I've changed my mind," the Nevadan bit off the words. "You haven't looked at your email for the day yet, have you?"
"Of course not. You woke me up!"
"Then you don't know that your private interview with Miss Parker has probably been rescheduled, like mine was, for almost a week from today." Berringer sounded thoroughly disgusted.
"WHAT?!" Flores' ire rose quickly as well. "I have business to take care of in LA..."
"AND we've been ordered to remain here in Delaware until those interviews are finished."
The Hispanic rubbed his face and chin. "Do you think she knows?"
"Christ, Gil - think! This IS a Parker we're dealing with here," Berringer reminded his associate angrily. "God only knows what she knows, much less how she found it out."
"Hell!"
"Wake up and get your ass down here," Berringer insisted, his voice low and threatening. "We have work to do before Santini gets here."
~~~~~~~~
Deb gave a short wave to the nameless and silent man who had watched patiently over her from the back of Oggie's store. Oggie had been a little taken aback when she had explained what the man was and what he was doing coming to work with her. But once he'd heard her out, he'd declined the invitation to call in to Miss Parker and simply pointed out the corner from which the man could keep his vigil without bothering the customers very much. The day had gone well - she'd been working for Oggie off and on for most of her high school years, so she knew what he expected of her.
Her guardian had followed her home, keeping a safe and discrete distance between her little Nova and his massive black town car. He maneuvered the car into a U-turn that put him in direct line of sight with the front door of the house and waved back as the girl walked from her car to the door.
Deb pushed the door open and frowned a bit, for a moment debating calling her bodyguard. The house was unusually quiet for a day that had both Davy and Kevin in residence - normally the two of them were boisterously competing at the racing video game that had been the current favorite. "Hello?" she called carefully as she closed the front door behind her.
"Back here," she heard her grandfather's voice, and she followed it to find Sydney sitting at the kitchen table with a number of folders bearing the Centre's logo in front of him.
She went to him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek to prevent him from rising to greet her. "Don't get up - what are YOU up to today?"
"Paperwork," the older man grumbled as he folded his current reading material closed to give her his complete attention. "How did it go?"
She shrugged. "Same as always. I don't think Oggie changes his store around EVER, and I've been working that cash register since I was fourteen."
"Any problem with having Curt with you?" Sydney's face showed his curiosity.
"Nope," she shook her head. "Oggie didn't even call Miss P - just pointed him out to a nice corner that looks out over practically the whole store. It was like having our own private cop on duty - made me feel very safe." She looked around herself and gave a listen in the direction of the den. "Where are the boys?"
"Kevin's working at your father's computer - doing some investigation on the Internet, I think. Davy's out back in the tree house." Sydney shrugged. "Have to admit, its nice not to have the droning of those race cars leaking out of the den for hours on end."
Deb frowned. "What's Davy doing in the tree house?"
"Moping about Jarod's leaving."
"Oh, for pity's sake!" Deb breathed in exasperation. "That kid needs to get a clue." She moved as if to go past Sydney through the arcadia doors when her grandfather grabbed her arm and prevented her from continuing.
"Leave him be. I'll talk to him after lunch."
Deb sighed, then nodded. "Spoiled little brat," she mumbled under her breath.
"Deb!"
"I mean it! Wouldn't even finish his cake last night." She sighed again, then turned. "Alright! So how about I rustle us up some of that lunch you're mentioning. That oughta keep me out of trouble for a while..."
"Let me help," Sydney said and stood, stretching carefully. "I've been sitting and reading for long enough for a while. It feels good to stand and move around."
"Did I hear the word lunch?" Kevin stuck his head around the corner of the den door, then grinned at Deb. "Hey there! How was your work?"
"Same-old, same-old," Deb tossed off casually. "Say, you want to ride into Dover with me this afternoon? I'm thinking that maybe we could catch a movie after I check up on Dad?"
Kevin blinked. "You mean, watch television somewhere else?"
Sydney chuckled as Deb gaped at the young Pretender for a moment this time. "Uh, no - I mean go to a movie theatre, Kev. I wanna see something on the BIG screen for a change. Ever heard of that?"
"Yeah," he backpedaled carefully, "I... guess..."
"You'll like it, trust me." Deb sounded very sure of herself.
Kevin shot a glance at his mentor and saw that Sydney was just nodding agreement with Deb's last statement. "If you say so..." he hedged.
She turned to face him. "Look. You liked swings, didn't you?"
"Yeah..."
"Then trust me."
When she put it THAT way...
~~~~~~~~
Miss Parker waited patiently until Tyler had seated himself in the chair on the other side of her desk. "Sam will be here as soon as he can - it's just you and me for now. So talk to me. You can start with that sixth man in the photo Sam showed me yesterday."
Tyler opened a folder about midway through the several he was carrying and pulled out another photograph and slid it across the desk to her. "Andrew Duncan - Flores' right-hand man. Spent 10 years as a cleaner under Berringer before moving to Los Angeles. Before that, spent 2 years in prison for assault. He has gang connections in LA and San Bernardino counties that he's used off and on to back up Centre-related efforts."
"Sounds like we REALLY need to clean house in Southern California," she sighed, tossing the photo back down on her desk after studying the man's face closely. "Any idea how much of cesspool that place is yet?"
"Flores has done quite a bit of recruitment on his own, it seems," Tyler moved to another folder and extracted a stapled report and handed that across the desk next. "He's created a sweeper force that has never seen the inside of this place at all - using ex-gang associates of this Duncan and borrowing some of his friend Rodriguez' heavies."
"And Rodriguez is..."
"Mexican mob." Tyler looked at his boss. "And most of the contracts with the Yakuza and other criminal elements were never run through this office either - seems Mr. Raines and Mr. Parker before him basically let Flores manage the whole West Coast operation. He's even “requisitioned” manpower and resources from the San Francisco office from time to time, and has been handed whatever he wanted on a platter."
"Well," Miss Parker settled back in her chair, "now we know why he was so displeased at the idea that I was going to take the Centre legit."
"Yup."
"What about Berringer?"
"I thought y'all'd ask about him, so I dug around a little. That one's a REAL piece of work. Mr. Raines recruited him straight out of the Torzulo family ranks - and worked a sweetheart deal with the Don to get his way. Berringer was an enforcer and assassin for the Torzulos, and has the Centre operations there mostly involved in gambling technology and providing muscle for protection schemes."
"Damn! Here and I thought what was going on here in Delaware was bad enough!"
"Yes, ma'am." Tyler watched his boss process the information he'd presented.
Suddenly she waved a pointed finger at the rest of the folders he had put on the desk. "What's in the rest?"
He handed her another stapled report. "Here are the personnel tallies you asked for - using the phone numbers both from the sign-out sheet at the bomb site and the data from Broots' computer, we've calculated the number of dead and missing. Forty-two known dead so far, thirteen still missing. All the dead or missing were either Tower employees or maintenance staff."
"Did we get the bonus checks cut for the folks who were stuck down below with us yet?"
"Yes, ma'am! They went out in the mail day before yesterday," Tyler assured her, "along with their regular forty-hour paychecks."
Miss Parker nodded. "Good. I don't like to make promises and not keep them." She heard Jarod's voice saying the same thing to them the previous evening and her face clouded for a moment.
"Ma'am? You OK?" Tyler had seen that momentary lapse.
"I'm fine." She waved her hand dismissively. "It's just... Never mind..." She looked up as a knock sounded on her door and Sam walked in. "Oh, good. You're just in time. Tyler has been giving me the low-down on the situation in Los Angeles and Las Vegas." She watched her burly security Chief drag a second chair from next to the wall and park himself next to Tyler. "So... Anything new from our two mutineers?"
"I got the call a minute ago," Sam said somberly. "Berringer called Flores to tell him of a meet between them and Santini in about an hour."
"Your tails have eavesdropping equipment on them, don't they?" Tyler asked, beating Miss Parker to the same question.
Sam nodded, but his face was serious. "But this time it's going to take more work to listen in. They're meeting at Pakor Frozen Foods."
"That damned place!" Miss Parker growled. "Somebody should have burned that establishment down years ago!" She glowered up at Sam. "So that means we're stuck having to wait to SEE what they plan?"
"No," the ex-sweeper shook his head, "I just said that it would be take more work, not be impossible. Pakor is Centre-owned and operated - no doubt that's WHY Berringer chose it: ease of access and the fact that such a meeting would be SOP under the old Centre regime. But..." and here the sweeper's eyes started to twinkle, "the management is loyal to whoever's in the Chair - and I've already been in touch on your behalf, Miss Parker. He'll have a couple of my best surveillance teams nicely in place by the time the group gets there, and we'll have a full transcript of the meeting."
"Provided Santini's security people don't neutralize OURS," Tyler piped up. "Someone with that much mob clout doesn't run around all by his lonesome..."
Sam smiled, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. "That's why I've dispatched TWO teams. With luck, we get transcripts from both - but the odds are that if one team is discovered, Santini's people will feel they've eliminated all threat of discovery. Redundant effort can be a very effective strategy." He looked over the desk as Miss Parker. "I hate to put so much of our resources at risk here, but this is important!"
"No, no, I concur entirely!" She was quick to reinforce his idea. "These are very dangerous people we're dealing with here - we're going to have to be really on our toes to come out on top in the end. Any thoughts about what it will take to take back our LA and Vegas operations from these clowns?"
"I have one, but it's risky." Sam set his wad of folders down on the desk next to Tyler's.
"Well?" She steepled her fingers beneath her nose in a gesture she'd learned from Sydney years ago and prepared to hear him out.
"Simply put, we cooperate with the federal and state law enforcement agencies and let THEM clean house for us."
That brought Miss Parker bolt upright in her seat. "What?!"
Sam had been expecting that reaction ever since he'd received his bolt of inspiration. "It would nothing more or less than telling the truth, Miss Parker, and it sure as hell would send a message. We can make the case that you've just taken over after the bombing, and have decided to clean house. In the midst of all that, you discovered this overtly and blatantly criminal element operating out of those two satellite offices. We hand over all the info we have on these bozos, their resources, their contracts, everything - and then..." Sam sat back with a contented look on his face, "all the fireworks would be on the heads of those we'd want to get rid of anyway. You'd come out smelling like a rose, the Centre would gain reputation as an organization that no longer tolerates criminal behavior, and the feds take the heat for any collateral damage."
Miss Parker looked at Tyler, who merely looked back at her with an openly questioning look on his face, then began to smile - a smile that died quickly. "I just told the Yakuza liaison from Los Angeles that we'd honor our contracts with them - and that we'd keep all information we have about them from ending up in the wrong hands."
"Call them back. Warn them what you're dealing with and HOW you intend to do it," Sam suggested. "Refund all their deposit monies on the outstanding contracts in full, no questions asked and regardless of whether Flores made them or Raines did - and tell them to get busy and make themselves disappear. Let them know that you're doing your best to keep them out of it, and giving them as much warning as essentially you've had - but that any information on hand in the LA office might as well be considered compromised when the feds move in." Sam's expression was somber. "I'm sure they know how much they've told Flores over the years."
"We wouldn't have to call the feds immediately," Tyler offered, sitting forward himself. "We can continue to collect intelligence on people I'm sure the feds have been after for a while themselves, meanwhile giving the Yakuza time to do whatever they need to."
"You know," Sam said suddenly, "considering that the Triumverate is going to want a piece of the Yakuza fairly soon, this move on our part is going to piss THEM off too - especially considering that we'd be aiding the Yakuza and not at the same time giving information to THEM. If there's any paranoia in Africa, we'll be painting ourselves as renegades and traitors."
"Perhaps, but that might not be such a dire situation as you're fearing." Miss Parker was sitting back in her chair, her fingers steepled again. "We just got through spending a GREAT deal of time digging into Triumvirate dealings, did we not?"
"Yeah, but..."
"But nothing, Sam. We hold their American dealings by the short-shorts. That was part of the reason WHY Jarod had us keep digging even after they swooped in on Raines, you know..."
"Now, just hold on here. I know I'm just the new kid on the block," Tyler drawled out, looking carefully back and forth between Miss Parker and Sam, "but maybe y'all could help out this country boy a bit. Just who the hell is this “Tri-um-whatever” and why the hell would they be pissed at us?"
Miss Parker looked at Sam, and he simply sat back in his chair again. "You started this," he pointed out bluntly. "You hired him. YOU explain it to him. He deserves to have the whole picture - and directly from you, dontcha think?"
She looked at Tyler, then looked down at her watch, then up at him again and sighed. "You didn't have any lunch plans, did you? This may take a while..."
Tyler shook his head, not at all comforted by the expression on his boss' face. Just what the hell had he gotten himself involved with here after all?
~~~~~~~~
Sydney could hear Deb's little Nova firing up and then backing away from his garage door. He looked over at the kitchen table, cleared of its file folders and now cleared of all but one place setting. Davy's lunch of sandwich and chips and milk sat untouched - he had refused to come in when called for lunch. The three adults had eaten without him then, Sydney joining Deb and Kevin in discussing which movie they were going to see that afternoon, enjoying watching Kevin's sense of anticipation of the afternoon's activity slowly grow until his blue eyes were sparkling.
But now that he and Davy were alone, with nobody to interrupt or distract them, it was time for him to take charge of helping his grandson cope with the sudden disappearance of his father. "Davy," he stuck his head out the arcadia door again, "come in here, please."
"I'm not hungry," he heard in an obstinate tone that sounded very much like his mother's.
"David Thomas Parker, get down out of that tree before I have to come out and pull you out of it." Sydney didn't like using such an authoritative voice very often, and almost never loudly enough to carry far, which made his projected voice into a whip that snapped in the boy's ear. He moved completely out the door and waited with a full scowl on his face. "You don't want me telling your mother that I had to climb the tree myself to get you, do you?"
A hand suddenly parted the leaves, although the face stayed hidden. "You're hurt," Davy announced with a startled grumble. "You're just out of the hospital. You'll hurt yourself."
Sydney started walking across the lawn. "Do you honestly think that will stop me?" He halted at the base of the tree, one hand on a wooden rung at about eye level and one foot on the very bottom rung. "Well? Are you coming down, or am I coming up?" A dark head peeked over the edge of the access hole in the middle of the tree house floor, blue eyes wide and astonished at his grandfather's persistence. When the head made no move that looked like concession, Sydney raised his other hand for the next rung up and began to pull himself onto the cobbled ladder up the side of the oak tree. "Alright - move over, here I come."
"No!" Davy shouted, knowing that he REALLY didn't want to have to face his mother and explain why he forced his grandfather to climb a tree, and he finally moved. "OK, OK, I'm coming down."
Sydney sighed in relief - the climb would have been more than would be wise for him to attempt at the moment, but his bluff had worked. He released the rungs once his feet were firmly on the ground again, and he stood waiting for his grandson with his hands on his hips. "Into the house. Now!" he ordered, once more using a softer but no less authoritative voice the moment the boy was standing on the ground next to him.
Davy didn't look at him, but did as directed, his posture slouched and slightly rebellious nevertheless as he walked in front of his grandfather across the yard, up onto the patio slab and through the arcadia doors. "Sit down." The command was inflexible, and Davy flopped into the chair where his lunch sat waiting for him. Sydney moved to put some water on to boil for tea and watched out of the corner of his eye as Davy stared at his food for a long moment, then snagged a chip and popped it in his mouth while he thought his grandfather wasn't looking.
Sydney took his time preparing his tea silently, knowing that doing so would keep Davy off-balance enough that when he did sit down, he stood a good chance of getting through to the boy. How often had he had to use these tactics on the boy's father, after all. Sydney smiled inwardly, glad that his back was still turned to the table, thinking how apropos it was that he had to deal with a second generation of Pretender and need the same tactics. Carefully schooling his expression back to a professional neutral, however, he took up his tea mug and carried it back to the table. He took his time sitting down and then arranging his hands on the table ahead of him before finally letting his eyes meet those of his grandson.
Were it not for grey eyes that looked so very much like his mother's, Davy could have been a carbon copy of Jarod at that age. Sydney found himself wondering that he could have looked into this child's face and not known the truth about his heritage for all those years. He shook himself inwardly from his reverie and faced the matter at hand. "Just what do you think you're going to accomplish, behaving like this?" The grey gaze dropped to the food in front of him as the boy realized he had no ready answer to give. "Answer me." The voice was soft, inflexible, and nothing less than a demand.
"I dunno," Davy finally allowed in a disgusted tone and with a defeated shrug. He had never had his doting grandpa pull rank on him before like this, so he knew he'd finally gone too far. He knew Grandpa Sydney's temper was one thing even his mother feared - and he'd never once seen it himself. His mother had alluded to the one time Grandpa had gotten really angry at her and chewed her out. She had put the experience in terms that clearly communicated her true reluctance to ever do anything to cause him to get angry at her again - and so while he sat quietly at the table and projected frustrated compliance, he was feeling far from secure.
"That's not an answer I can accept." The grey eyes flitted up to meet the unusually stony chestnut gaze of his elder, and then dropped back to watch his fingers pushing the sandwich back and forth on the plate. Mommy was right - Grandpa Sydney in this kind of mood was scary. The voice stayed soft, demanding. "Try again, and think through your answer this time."
The longer the boy thought about it, the more he realized that he had not only had no idea what he'd hoped to accomplish by being angry at everyone, but that his actions had no possible justification. There wasn't a single redeeming argument in his defense that he could give to this stern man who wore the face of his beloved grandfather, but wore it without any sign of the love and acceptance that had always made the man so approachable. "N... nothing," he finally admitted, his composure completely in tatters now. "I'm sorry, Grandpa..."
"This is not the time for apologies," that firm, unbending voice stated softly. "Now is the time for you to understand what you did, why you did it, and why your behavior is completely unacceptable." Sydney took a long sip of his tea, knowing from his experience with Davy's mother years ago the power of silence to undermine confidence. "Explain yourself," was the next demand.
"I can't." Davy was shaking inside and now thoroughly miserable. A tear started down his cheek. "I miss my Daddy," he blurted out in a heartbroken tone.
"Do you think that your mother and I don't miss him because we aren't running around looking and acting miserable?" Sydney put away the stern voice, but kept it soft and neutral still. It wouldn't do to demolish the boy completely, and Davy, like his mother before him, was proving very vulnerable to this kind of discipline.
Davy shook his head, another tear falling - and then another. "Then do you think making us miserable just because YOU feel miserable is an appropriate thing to do?" Sydney persisted. The boy shook his head again, the tears running steadily down his face now. "And what about Deb - she makes you lunch, a nice dessert, and you treat her like dirt. How do you think that makes her feel, when she's trying not to worry so much about her own father?"
Davy raised streaming and tragic eyes to his grandfather. "I'm s...so s...sorry, Grandpa..." he sobbed and then looked down in utter shame and choked on his tears.
"Come here, Davy."
The boy looked up again. Where the stern man had occupied his grandfather before, his loving Grandpa Sydney had magically returned - and was holding out a hand to him. With another sob, the boy flung himself from his chair and up into his grandpa's arms, wrapping his arms around the man's neck tightly and sobbing bitterly. Sydney winced at the rough movement but hugged the boy close, murmuring soft and comforting sounds in his ear until the sobbing slowly ebbed, leaving the boy spent and limp in his arms.
"I forgive you," Sydney told the boy gently, still holding him very tightly, "but I'm not the only person you owe apologies to. You're going to have to talk to your mother, and Deb, and even Kevin - you were downright rude to him this morning, and he didn't understand what he'd done wrong."
"I'm sorry," Davy repeated again and burrowed deep into his grandfather's embrace. "I just want..."
"I know," Sydney shushed at him gently. "But your Daddy has things he has to take care of first - and then he WILL be home. He's promised us, and he's told us he never makes promises he can't keep."
"But he's going to be away for a long time..."
"But he's coming back, Davy," Sydney repeated. "That's the important thing - that he didn't just LEAVE, but he left and promised to be back as soon as he could. Every day that goes by takes us one day closer to the day he gets home."
"You won't leave too, will you?" Davy's question was asked very softly.
"Of course not!" Sydney kissed the lad on the top of the head and held him just that much tighter. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."
"I love you, Grandpa, and I'm sorry I made you so angry..."
"I love you too, Davy," Sydney hushed at the boy gently, feeling him curl up in his arms needfully and snuggle as close as he could get. "It will be OK. I'm not angry anymore."
He closed his eyes and kissed the top of the head leaning into his chest once more. God, Jarod, don't be too long, he thought. Your son needs you desperately!
~~~~~~~~
Tyler stared at his boss as if she'd grown a horn in the middle of her forehead. Never, in all the time he'd worked for the Centre, had he thought that THIS was what the organization was all about. He glanced to his side and saw that Sam had taken in the narrative with little reaction - he's known this all along, Tyler realized with a jolt.
"So..." he started, leaning forward, "let me see if I've got this straight now. Y'all are saying that the Centre has been just as active criminally all this time as the Yakuza or mob?"
"Tell me, 'Tyler-ma'am', how many think-tanks have in-house morgues handling gun shot victims?" Miss Parker answered his question with her own, followed by a deep sigh.
Tyler's eyes opened wide at that question. To be honest, since the very first days of his employment, he'd not asked himself that question. Now he suspected that the answer would have had him running away screaming before.
"And what you're suggesting is to completely transform this place into something that is virtually the opposite of what it has been - that your crack yesterday about being out of the terrorism business wasn't just a joke?"
"Give the Texan a cigar," Sam commented dryly.
"Sam..." Miss Parker scowled at her security Chief and then turned her gaze back to Tyler. "That's right."
"And you're saying that while you won't help or hinder the Triumverate's action against the Yakuza, and while you KNOW the Yakuza are responsible for the bombing, you're still gonna give them advanced warning of this plan to turn state's evidence so they can get their action under wraps?" She nodded again. "Even though you know that this is going to piss off the Triumverate - and they're the ones who gave you the job in the first place?"
"Mm-hmmm." She nodded again. "And I'm going to refund the money the Yakuza paid to have us do things - to the penny. The Centre will take care of Centre business - and right now, that means backing away from doing business with the Yakuza in what THEY will consider an honorable fashion. What the Triumverate wants from them is their business to arrange."
Tyler shook his head and settled back in his chair. "Well, ma'am, if you hadn't told this to me yourself, I wouldn't have bought it for a dollar. You sure ain't hopin' for much, are you?"
"Are you still in?" she asked pointedly in response. "Now that you know what's what and what's possible, you still feel up to this challenge? Or do you want out?" She and Sam shared a concerned look - Tyler had proven very efficient and effective as an assistant, especially in Broots' absence. Losing his participation would make life quite difficult in the days and weeks ahead.
Slowly his head shook back and forth and he sat forward again. "Hell, no. I'm still in." His dark eyes looked up into hers and danced, and he made his drawl thick again. "Y'all are doin' something that needs doin', and y'all can use all the help you can get in your corner. So long as you keep me clued in on who's a player and on which side, and what you want me to do, I'm your man, Lobsang. The Tyler clan don't wear no yellow stripe."
Sam looked at the younger man in confusion, then glanced up to see Miss Parker's amused smirk quickly hidden behind a mask of professional decorum. "Lobsang?" he asked her quietly.
But Miss Parker was satisfied. "Then let's get to it, shall we? Sam, you keep me updated on any surveillance info - Tyler, you keep probing the LA and Vegas operations. I want to know all their current projects, who's assigned to what, everything. If somebody farts in either office, I want to know who and what they ate the night before. Got it?"
"Yep!" "Yes, ma'am!" The two male voices were almost in unison.
"Good!" She rose to her feet. "It's past one, I'm starved, and I'm buying. You boys hungry?"
