The Academy Affair

“Of course, Taffy. By the way, I washed your jeans. They’re on the bed. I tried to mend the hoodie, but it was a lost cause.'

I thought about that. Some shopping, however limited, was definitely in my future.

“Thanks.”

“How about I take you shopping?” he asked.

See why I have this guy on a leash?

“Thanks. I’d like that.”

“After dinner. I’m still not going to let you fade away.”

“OK.”

+

“Oops,” Vlad said, stopping at the stairway door in the garage. “I forgot something in the car. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

Purse in one hand, shopping bags in the other, I trudged up through the spiraling concrete walls, found the key he’d given me and went into his apartment, discarding my load and that itchy, irritating wig on a sofa by the door. I came out of the toilet two minutes later, deep in thought.

The sound of a knife snapping open can be louder than a gunshot.

I spun around as a tall figure stepped out from behind the curtains. The long raven hair had been braided behind her and she wore no makeup now, but there was nothing schoolgirlish about Natasha, not with a six-inch blade in her hand. Her eyes were hate-filled slits.

I looked behind her at my purse where I’d discarded it.

“Why?” I asked, my eyes looking around for something, anything to catch the blade, give me a moment to strike back.

“You kill Boris, you bitch!” Her Slavic accent might have been funny when facing a cartoon moose or squirrel, but I wasn’t laughing. Clearly, she’d really loved that porcine little pug.

“I didn’t kill him. the Academy did.”

“Don’t be stupid. Boris worked for Jack!”

Boris worked for Jack?

Stunned, it was hard to push that aside to focus on the knife in her hand.

My sensei's words came back to me. The blade is the weapon. Focus on the blade.  I tried to summon up some chi,  but didn't get very far.

The knifepoint waved slowly in front of me like the head of a cobra. She grinned now, her smile a death's-head promise.

“Jack thinks using police to kill you is simpler. I think not, so he offers money, too.”

Ahh!

“So, it was you who shot at me?””

She gave a wry smile.

“You move too fast.”

“Jack killed Alexandr, Marina.” I was careful to use their proper names.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Alexandr ruined one of the Academy’s girls. You know it’s true.”

I could see that concept running around inside her mind, watched reality come head-to-head with pride and love.

Reality is always a poor bet.

“Lies!” she screamed. She lunged, the knife heading for my throat.

The sound of a handgun is surprisingly loud if you aren’t prepared for it. It’s doubly so inside a small apartment. And bullets, despite Hollywood, don’t pick up full-grown adults and throw them across the room. Natasha merely spun a bit as she fell, her face a red ruin. The stench of propellant filled the room.

I turned to see Vladimir, arms extended in a solid Weaver stance, Glock swallowed in those large hands.

“Are you all right?” he demanded, his pistol still pointed at the thing on the floor.

I nodded.

“How in hell did she get in here?” he demanded, then noticed the balcony drapes swaying slightly in the breeze from outside. Of course – it was only the third floor and balcony doors generally have flimsy locks.

He looked around, kicked the door shut and pulled me into a deep hug, his hands locked on my back.

“You sure you’re OK?”.

About six more hours of those big hands stroking my head and shoulders was precisely what I needed, but I could already hear the first siren far in the distance outside.

“Yes. Thanks to you, but I have to go.”

“I know.” He looked at what was left of Natasha. “What about her?”

“Tell the truth. She thought I’d killed Boris and came looking for me.”

“Were you here?”

“Hell no, Vlad!” I snapped, scooping up Taffy-stuff into my purse, grabbing the shopping bags. “You haven’t seen me. Now go make the bed, change the towels – hurry. Then pour yourself a stiff one. I’m taking your aunt’s car.”

“Where?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

I snatched a swift kiss, pulled away, looked at the form on the floor.

“That was Natasha,  Vlad. Cops all know Natasha. You won’t have to work too hard to convince them.”

With that, I was out the door, pounding down the stairway, hoping I'd been right. I passed the first black-and-white, siren blaring, two blocks away.

+

I sat in the car, sipping too-cold coffee in a cardboard cup, trying to make sense of it.

It boiled down to the old threesome of 'Motive, Means and Opportunity'.

If — if — Penny had been deliberately taken out, either kidnapped or killed, who would have benefited? The only obvious person I could think of was Jack Tendle. His control of the trust fund was about to end, leaving him poorer and possibly vulnerable to fraud charges. And he certainly seemed to have no love for the girl.

OK, go with that. How about means?

There were enough of the old grudge-laden crew left in Homicide to make a fake charge possible, one which could hold together at least over the short term, and ‘shot while resisting arrest’ was frighteningly plausible. I figured Tendle might have enough clout to make that happen.

Did he have the hired muscle to make Penny disappear? Probably.

I frowned. I was overlooking something.

Boris and Natasha!

Natasha had explicitly linked the couple to Jack Tendle, had said in effect that Jack was  the Academy. That certainly gave him the means.

I took another sip of coffee.

Last item on the agenda was opportunity. How could he know where Penny would be? I was almost certain Penny had called Jack, including twice the day she’d disappeared. Might she have told him that she was coming back to town? I tried to remember the phone bill. The third time she’d called – had it been before or after she’d arrived at…

…the bus station.

Back to Boris and Natasha.

Putting it together, I had motive, means and opportunity, solid as a bundle of lead pipes.

What I didn’t have was proof for any of it.

+

It probably wasn’t the best plan, but I didn’t think I’d live through trying to take my suspicions to the cops and even the DA’s face routinely turned sour when my name was mentioned. Taking it to the papers would take too long. In the McFitch vs Jack Tendle card game, Taffy didn’t even have openers. Maybe it was time to slip a wild card into the deck.

I turned on my phone’s voice recorder outside the The Havens' gleaming front entrance, then dropped it into my purse. I blew past the gorgon in the office, leaving her flapping in indignation.

She followed me, squawking with rage, as I straight-armed my way into Tendle’s office.

He was alone, but didn’t seem all the surprised to see me.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Tendle. I’ll call Security…”

He waved his hand.

“It’s OK, Mary. I’ll deal with this.” His voice was gentle, but commanding.

She left, her wrathful stare leaving my cadaver smouldering.

“You again,” he said as the door closed behind her. His voice was very low. I tried to rattle him, get him talking.

“Natasha’s dead, Jack. Care to know how and why?”

He grinned. “If that were true, why would I care?”

Bingo!  I thought to myself. How many country club secretaries would even know somebody like Natasha?

“She had some interesting things to say about you before she died.” I tried to grin as I said it, but doubt I pulled it off.

“Who would ever believe Natasha?” he replied.

“She wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, in any case,” he added. The grin faded, just a little. “A bit pushy.”

“Getting false charges filed is more your style?” I smirked.

Looking back, I should have been a lot  more careful, but I was on my own. I figured I could get Tendle to give me something on tape, something I could use later - assuming I could get out of there in one piece. I thought I could. This was, after all, The Havens., not some seedy dive in a bad neighborhood.

“Oddly enough,” he smiled, “there are a lot of cops who spit every time the name McFitch gets mentioned. It wasn’t hard.”

That he was doing exactly what I’d been hoping for, that he was openly agreeing with my accusations, should’ve had me diving for cover. I didn’t catch it, let my anger take charge.

“What’d Penny want?” I countered.

“She was becoming a nuisance,” he said, waving a hand dismissively, a trivial concern.

“About to become a very rich nuisance.” I snapped. “What happened? Did she catch you with your fingers in the till?”

His face flushed. I figured I’d been close to the mark with that guess.

He stared at me, silent.

“So, you sold your daughter to a pimp,” I hissed. Another guess, but it made sense.

He surged to his feet and my hand slid to the back of my purse, half an inch from the PPK.

“My wife’s daughter.” he corrected, falling back into his chair. I noticed he hadn’t bothered to deny it.

“You know the cops have a link between this place and Boris,” I said.

“I rather doubt it.”

I was hoping my phone had caught his words. I’d got — I hoped — what I needed. It was time to leave.

There must have been a button under his desk; I heard a soft chuff of air as a door behind me opened. I was half-way out of the chair when hands like catcher’s mitts closed around my biceps. My head flipped back and forth at the two massive goons as they lifted me, holding me on my tiptoes.

I wiggled, tried to kick, but I was outweighed by a factor of four and they dodged the blows.

“Max, Derrick,” Tendle said, rising from behind the desk. “Just hold her a moment.”

He walked around the desk, stood in front of me. I tried to bite his hand as he grabbed my chin, turning my head back and forth in open appraisal. His eyes dropped to my boobs, back up to my face.

“She’s a bit old,” he mused, “but why the hell not? Take her upstairs, get her started. I’ll let them know you’re coming. When you’ve handed her over, find her car and drop it off somewhere with the keys in it. Before you leave, tell them I’ll be along in a minute or two.”

They nodded, started to turn.

“Wait,” Tendle said. He hauled off and slapped me, a full-arm swing. It rocked my head back, felt like he’d knocked a couple of teeth loose. My head filled with stars and it was hard to hear his next words.

“That’s for your sass, slut!” he smiled. “You’ll be a lot more polite in future, I assure you.”

He looked around, saw my purse and dropped its strap over my head. He nodded to the other two.

“Get her out of here.”

They lifted me, still reeling, dragged me out into the service passage, my feet barely touching the ground.

+

Yeah, I’m a toughie. I’ve been around. I’ll have my dan in a couple of months. But these two must’ve come from the pro leagues like their boss. Short of a baseball bat, I wasn’t going anywhere but where they wanted me to.

That got my mind racing to what was waiting for me ‘upstairs’.

It was obvious that the shadowy Academy was actually somewhere in the rambling old maze housing The Havens. Unwittingly, I’d hit a bullseye, but that’s not always the best outcome.

And the Academy would be an ivy-league mind control theme park. Once inside, I doubted even Wonder Woman could resist. They’d have had years of very practical experience dealing with desperate women fighting back or attempting to escape. There’d be solid doors, barred windows and serious muscle with, if needed, equally serious, calculated, educational pain.

And drugs. Enough carefully-formulated happy pills to keep any woman — me included — complacent and obedient. The special mix Andrea had described would have Taffy McFitch under their control, mind, body and soul. With carefully-metered supplies, I’d even be high functional.

And compliant. Eagerly obedient, utterly docile. Anything to keep the tap open. A mile of broken glass... I shivered, felt like vomiting.

Our footsteps echoed as we wheeled around a corner. Ahead of us was a pair of heavy institutional doors with a keypad on the wall and large letters spelling out the words DANGER, COOLING AND HEATING, ENTRY STRICTLY FORBIDDEN.

I really didn’t want to go through those doors.

My mind was clearing from the slap. My purse slapping against my stomach made me realize that Jack and his goons had made one mistake.

It was now or never.

I lifted one foot, drove it down on the Derrick’s instep. I didn’t have the freedom of movement to make it a telling blow, but the surprise and pain got me enough wiggle room that I could get my hand around the PPK in its holster in back of the purse.

The first round went through Derrick’s knee and down into his foot. He screamed and, in his surprise, Max shoved me against the wall. My second shot took him between the eyes. I aimed the third shot for Derrick’s other knee, but he suddenly bent forward as the gun went off and the bullet went in the top of his head.

I can’t say I was overly sorry.

Even with my ears ringing from the gunshots, I could hear footsteps thudding towards us beyond the big doors. My eyes fell on a fire alarm pull station on the wall. Shaking my head, I dragged myself to my feet and yanked the handle. Even knowing it was coming, the bells were painfully loud. There’d been a fire exit a few yards back and I headed for it, half-deafened by the alarm.

I’d no more than turned the corner when I ran head-first into a massive form, felt a football-size hand close around my throat.

Tendle lifted me up with one arm, slammed me back into the wall. His enraged eyes stared into mine from inches away.

“You are so dead, bitch!” Tendle yelled. He looked behind me, shouted through the clamoring bells. “Derrick! Max! Where the fuck are you?”

He had obviously overlooked the PPK still in my hand.

Unable to breathe, my eyes popping, I lifted the pistol, rammed the barrel into his crotch. My finger started tightening, then I paused.

I waited him to see it coming. I wanted him to know it was from me. I wanted Jack Tendle to remember his mistake for the rest of his shitbag life.

His eyes dropped. I saw them grow very wide, flip back up to mine.

I pulled the trigger.

.
Gasping and choking, I burst through the fire exit door, pounded down two flights of outside steel stairs and staggered into the trees surrounding the building.

Birds were bursting out of bushes and trees at the sound of the bells. From somewhere I heard dogs barking. Through a gap in the trees, I could see guests pouring out into the parking lot from the front of the resort.

I could hear sirens in the distance and smiled. Fire alarm systems for big, important places like schools, hospitals, old folks’ homes – and high-end resorts – are almost always connected directly to the Fire Department’s dispatch office. Dispatch might call The Havens to confirm, but the trucks would already be rolling.

Fumbling, my hands shaking, I found a phone in my purse.

“Homicide, Lieutenant Cotton.” Her voice sounded uneven to me, but maybe it was my panting.

“Sarah, it’s Taffy. I found them.”

“The hell, McFitch?”  She sounded righteously pissed. I suppose she had reason. ”Found who?”

“The floaters, Sarah. Where they came from. It’s The Havens.”

“Bullshit, Taffy! The Mayor  belongs to The Havens!”

“I know, I know. But there’s one wing nobody ever sees without a real special introduction. It’s called ‘the Academy’ and it’s high-end Pimp Central.”

“Are you from another planet? You can’t just come out with some crazy accusation and expect me to raid The Havens without a warrant.”

“I just shot my way out, Sarah.”

“What?”

“They had me, Sarah. And the fire alarm’s going now. You can confirm that with the Fire Department.”

She was silent now.

“Sarah, the fire alarm’s been tripped. and I can see women inside beating on the windows, trying to get out. And I’m reporting a shooting – three of them. Don’t you think a warrant is kinda unnecessary at this point?”

I could picture her face with that special Sarah Cotton frown. I heard her shout to somebody in her office to call Fire Department Dispatch and confirm if there was a fire reported at The Havens. Yes, for fucks sake, The Havens!

It took about 10 seconds.

Twenty minutes later, there were enough flashing lights in the parking lot to do a Blues Brothers remake. I waited for Sarah to show up, hung back, saw her talk to the fire captain. She, a squad of blue suits and two burly firemen with Halligan forced-entry tools headed into the building. Three minutes later, I saw ambulance crews start sprinting in with stretchers, followed by more cops, then more ambulance teams with more stretchers.

I gave it five minutes, called Sarah again, this time from my own phone.

“McFitch.” She didn’t say anything else and I didn’t like her tone.

“Believe me now?”

“Of course I believe you and you’re under arrest and where are you?”

“I’ll be waiting for you by your car.” With that, I hung up.

I thought of leaving the PPK in Tara’s car, but realized the forensics team would need it. Instead, I unloaded it as I waited, watching a line of blanket-wrapped young women being helped from the building towards a pack of arriving ambulances. Some of them were on stretchers, some were on their feet, most were crying.

One of them was Penelope, being helped along by Sarah’s hand on her arm.

I called Shelly, got her voice mail, left a simple message: “Penny’s safe.” Then I headed over to get handcuffed by my best friend.

+

Sarah had see-sawed back and forth between volcanic fury and profound gratitude, finally turning me loose after about six hours. She might have been influenced by Shelly’s Doberman-sleek lawyer or just by the state of the young women behind the doors once the firefighters had broken in. Treatment for their addictions would be painful, lengthy and — hopefully — successful.

Along with seven captives, Sarah had found info on several dozen more ‘outworkers’. Phone calls had been made, nationally and internationally, liaisons established. There were going to be some seriously embarrassed billionaires, politicians, movers-and-shakers when people next opened their news feeds.

Here in town, perfectly respectable golfers were practising their most sincere expressions of scandalized astonishment and horror. The Havens’ board of directors had been interviewed and were shocked - shocked, I tell you!

Lawyers not yet born were going to get rich off the case.

As for me, my head was resting on Vlad’s bare chest. I smiled gently as his long, comforting fingers stroked my head and shoulders, serenity in each touch.

“How’s the city’s most famous P.I. doing?” he asked.

“Better.”

I was, too. After Vlad had picked me up from the police station, a long, shared shower had helped rinse away the stale stink of the interrogation room and the horrors in those girls’ eyes.

“Thanks, Vlad.”

“You’re welcome.” His hand drifted softly over my boob. It wasn’t erotic, not yet, just soothing, a pleasant, friendly touch. Vlad was proving to be as empathetic as he was handsome. Even in the shower, our hands on each other had been reassurance, not foreplay.

Knowing how lucky I was, I smiled to myself. Vladimir had said he had wanted tender and, feeling the tension and worry and frustration slowly drain away, I was entirely up for some of that myself. Soon…

“How’re you doing, Vlad? I’m sorry; it’s been a tough time for you, too.”

“Meh. It’s what you pay me for, Boss.”

“I doubt it. Bodyguard, masseur, gourmet chef – I don’t recall any of those being in your job description.”