I shook my head while watching them file out of the room. Their obvious relief was discomforting. Damn, I hadn’t been that bad, had I?
Alan, the assistant I’d been given for the class, finished straightening the chairs and brought leftover handouts to me. “Here you go, Mister Baker. Sorry about the bunch of zombies for your last class with us. Not your fault, though.” He made another ineffective swipe at his bangs.
“Thanks, Alan.” I took the stack of papers and slipped them in my briefcase. “Guess I’d be ticked if I had to give up one of my days off to attend a class.”
Alan shrugged. “In this case, they were extra ticked. They’d just had a similar class over the internet two months ago.” He chuckled at my disgusted look. “Yeah, bureaucracy strikes again. That’s what happens when two different people do scheduling for our yearly training. At least it was only one class that got screwed up.”
“Just my luck it was this one.” I smiled at his look of discomfort. “Don’t worry about it. I got paid pretty well. Can’t complain too much.” I glanced around the room. “On a lighter note, the room’s nice. Don’t think I’ve had a class with furniture and carpet this plush.” The padded chairs looked like solid oak, and the carpet felt exquisite.
“Smartest move the bank’s made,” he said. “The entire third floor was renovated so that all the conference rooms are like this. Doubled their usage since they did it.” He shook my hand. “Been good working with you, Mister Baker. Don’t worry about cleaning up here, I’ll take care of it.”
“Appreciate it, man. All right if I leave my briefcase here for a second? Gotta visit the men’s room before I take off.”
“No problem. I’ll be a few more minutes.”
I was still in a funk when I washed my hands. After putting on training where the applause was deafening, it was a real let-down to have the last class be a dud, even if it wasn’t my fault.
Loud voices from the room next door brought my head up. Sudden thuds and bangings were punctuated by screams. Before my brain caught up with me, I was slamming through the door into the women’s room. Three men swung around from a middle-aged woman who collapsed to the floor. The left one reached for a gun. I piled into him before he could bring it to bear. His pistol skittered away when he crashed into the wall, breath whooshing out of him. I spun towards the second man, catching him with a kick to the chest as he moved in. He flew backwards, head smashing into the sink with a loud Crack.
By the time I finished my turn the third guy was scurrying out the door after delivering a vicious kick to the head of the woman. I knelt by her, giving a quick scan of her injuries. Head swollen and leaking blood, plus holding her right side. “You all right, Ma’am?”
Her unfocused eyes slowly turned towards me. “Who…”
“I’m Francis. I heard the racket and came quick as I could.” On closer examination, the head injury looked worse than I’d thought. “Don’t move, I’ll get some help.”
Her eyes sharpened, recognition dawning in them. “You–I’ve seen you with Hilyard.”
Surprise robbed words from my mouth. What the…
She lurched forward, grabbing the front of my shirt. “Tell the FBI—tell them–Lenny’s in trouble.” Her eyes closed and she sagged to the floor, unconscious.
I gently pried her hands loose from my shirt. Well, hell. What had I gotten into now?
* * *
I gave a long look around Hilyard’s office and whistled admiringly. “Pretty fancy for a lowly agent.”
He chuckled and sat behind his desk. “Thanks. Only problem is, they don’t let me spend much time here.”
“By the way, I appreciate your helping me escape from the city cops. Their questions were getting monotonous.”
“You’re welcome. When they were on their third cycle through the same stuff, my boss and I thought it was time to drag you away and ask some of our own.”
I slumped in my chair, emitting a groan. “Damn. And here I thought you liked me.”
“Heh. Since when did an FBI agent like anyone?” He leaned his elbows on the desktop. “We’ve only got a few, but wanted to ask them in private. Soon as Ernie–Supervisory Special Agent Finley–gets here, we can get started. You want any water or coffee?”
I shook my head just as Finley walked in, bald head glistening. Wonder how long he spent polishing it each morning?
“Mister Baker, sorry to drag you over here, but we had a couple more questions. Hope you don’t mind.” He perched on the edge of Hilyard’s desk, an earnest expression on his face. “Want to thank you again for what you did for our agent. Those perps would’ve killed her if you hadn’t interrupted them.”
“My pleasure,” I said, shifting around to face him. “Any word on how she’s doing?”
“Right now she’s in a medically induced coma. Looks as if they’ll have to operate to relieve pressure that’s building up on her brain,” Hilyard said.
Finley held up a hand. “And before you ask, the man you dented the wall with was able to get away while you were busy with our agent.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How about the other one, the guy in the hospital?”
“Fractured skull but he’ll probably survive,” Finley said. “His identity helped clear up some of our more pressing questions, though. He works for a man named Franks, William Franks. You ever heard of him?”
The way he leaned forward when asking the name brought me to full alert. “No, can’t say I have. Who is he?”
“A small fish in a big pond trying to move up the ladder,” Hilyard said. “We’ve been trying to catch him for some time. Been too tricky so far.”
A
