wondering if she could leave, even though Morton was still speaking. A blond, medium-sized man stood near the door, intently watching the commissioner. Was that Bremmer, the overheated boyfriend who’d shot at her? It sure looked like him. What was he doing here? Was he keeping an eye on his lover… or had he followed her and asked about her at the hotel?
Lara jumped from her seat and strode toward the man, thinking she would drag him out of the room and confront him. He saw her coming and a look of recognition flashed on his face. The man bolted as Lara heard her named called again and had to turn back.
Chapter 7
Six and a half months earlier: Tues, Nov. 15
Paul woke from a heart-pounding dream, realized today was the money drop, and broke into a sweat. He’d never experienced this kind of anxiety before. His sedate, predictable life had disappeared.
Determined to calm his escalating pulse, Paul emptied his mind and began his morning routine. While he brewed a pot of jasmine green tea, he took Lilly out for her morning pee. When he got back, he carried his mug and his Dock to the chair by the big window and read selective sections of the Wall Street Journal. Usually he would search the internet for a new charity, but today he felt impatient, so he went to the Transitions website and quickly donated ten dollars. He’d begun the daily routine of contributing when he landed his federal job. He knew he was lucky, and starting his day by sharing with those less fortunate kept him from feeling guilty when he read the news.
He set his Dock on the table by the door, plugged his VEx device into his NetCom, and positioned himself on the area rug for his morning workout. He pulled the VEx cap over his head, set the timer for twenty minutes, then began a series of movements that somehow managed to make his heart rate escalate without him breaking a sweat. The best thing anyone had ever invented.
Afterward, he forced himself to complete fifty stomach crunches, hating every single one. Lilly watched and gave an occasional sympathetic whimper as he grunted his way through them. They hurt a little less today, but it was only because he was distracted by the events ahead.
After work he would pick up ten grand in cash from Alan Rathmore. Paul had planned the exchange carefully so they would not meet face to face, but he was keenly aware that things could still go wrong. He did twenty pushups, a new addition to his workout, then showered and ate his usual oatmeal and fruit for breakfast.
He’d loaded his backpack the night before with jogging pants, a t-shirt, a fake mustache, and a wig with collar-length blond hair. He always wore black athletic shoes, so they would serve him for both work and the mission afterward. He grabbed his Dock, slipped it into the outer pocket of the backpack, and hurried downstairs to catch the bus.
The morning went quickly as Paul immersed himself in writing code to fix a glitch in the federal compensation software. But the afternoon dragged, and Paul found himself watching the clock and thinking of
leaving early for the first time since the flu outbreak in 2019.
A knock on his door brought welcome relief. “Come in.”
Camille stepped into his office, every curve in her body accentuated by a tight-fitting, one-piece pantsuit. The black and blonde combo nearly gave him an erection.
“Hey, Paul. I can’t get into the pay-grade file and I need your help.”
Paul popped out of his chair, excited to show off his sleeker stomach. “Of course.”
He followed Camille to her workspace, enjoying the view of her lush butt, but wondering about what her personal visit meant. In the past, she would have simply sent him a message and he would have dealt with her issue remotely. A little burst of joy filled his heart as he realized that Camille coming into his office for such a small thing meant she wanted to spend time with him. He couldn’t wait to get his new nose. As soon as he had the first half of the money, he would schedule his procedure. He’d already visited the Surgical Arts Center for a consultation.
As he checked her login access path, Camille stood close by and he could feel her presence like a warm caress. After a moment, she said, “Thaddeus Morton is speaking at the Hyatt Regency next Thursday night to raise money for Transitions. Will you be there?”
Paul turned, surprised. “I hadn’t planned to attend. Why?” He rarely participated in social events because he was embarrassed to always go alone.
Camille shrugged. “I knew you were involved with the charity and thought you might be interested.”
Was she hinting that he ask her to go? Had she noticed his weight loss? Paul’s nerves jumped with uncertainty. If he asked and she said no, he’d die of shame. If she wanted to be his date and he didn’t ask, he’d kill himself for being so cowardly. “I am interested. I love the work Transitions does with older foster kids. Were you planning to attend?” Paul watched her face carefully, desperate to get a read from her.
“The ticket is too expensive for me.” She smiled warmly, her big blue eyes pulling him in. “I thought if you were going, you might mention me to the employment commissioner.”
Paul worked up his courage. “I’d love to take you as my guest.” He could hardly afford one ticket, let alone two, but she was worth it.
Camille’s eyes registered a hint of surprise. “I’d like that too, Paul, but I’ve already made other plans.” She smiled again and touched his shoulder. “We can meet for a drink in the lounge before the banquet.”
Paul’s heart fluttered at her touch, then lurched at her offer. “I’d love to. Should we meet at six?”
“Six-thirty would work better for me.”
That would only give them half an hour. “Okay. Six-thirty at the Hyatt Regency lounge next Thursday.” Paul resisted the urge to say, It’s a date.
Emboldened by his earlier success with Camille, Paul got off the bus and strode toward Garfield Park. He’d picked this location because it was small enough for him to keep watch over and had easy access to the bus line. The day was warmer and he noticed a few joggers in addition to a small homeless camp in the park. Perfect.
He entered a restroom at a nearby fast-food restaurant and moved quickly into one of the stalls. The urinal smell was intense and Paul held his breath while he pulled off his slacks and shirt and stuffed them into his backpack. The near public nudity unnerved him, and he quickly pulled on the athletic pants and t-shirt, an outfit he’d never worn in public before. He dug into the bottom of the backpack for the wig and wig cap. The white nylon wig cap went on easily. He’d already tightened the clips on the wig to fit his head and had practiced putting on both pieces several times. As he turned the artificial hair in his hands to find the center, someone rushed into the restroom and slammed open the other stall door. Paul jumped at the sound and dropped the wig in the toilet. Damn! He fished it out in a flash, but not before the ends got wet. Oh dear God, how could he put that on his head now?
It’s only water, he told himself. And it wouldn’t actually touch his head. Cringing, he pulled on the wig, straightened it as best he could for the moment, and checked his iCom: 5:46 p.m. He still had plenty of time. He secured his thin, fake mustache in place, picked up his backpack, and stepped out of the stall. After studying himself in the mirror to make sure everything looked right, he headed out into the fading evening sun. The wind had picked up and weather reports warned of possible tornadoes from the temperature shifts.
Paul jogged to the park and saw that a few more people were passing through. Good. He wanted to be one of a small crowd. He’d made a trip to the area before contacting Rathmore and scoped out his vantage point-a picnic table from which he could observe the rendezvous bench to his left. Paul stood near the table and stretched the way he’d seen runners do. He was a little early and hoped Rathmore would be too. He was glad to be conducting his mission in the fall, despite the unpredictable weather. Had it been July, they would have had to meet indoors.
After six long minutes of stretching, jogging in place, and keeping an eye on the darkening sky, Paul saw a tall Caucasian man with a gray crew cut approach the bench. He wore a dark blue suit and carried a briefcase, along with a white paper bag. Paul had instructed Rathmore to bring the cash in a plain sack. His thinking was that if the container looked valuable, someone might grab it before he got there. A small paper bag would likely be ignored. Either way, Paul intended to move in and take possession as soon as Rathmore was far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to double back and confront him.
