If They Let Me Write 24bymysterwriter©
IThe following takes place between 10:00 AM and 12:00 AM on a day of no particular importance.
The phone in the Bauer household rang. Kim Bauer picked it up on the third ring, expecting to hear the voice of Miguel, her boyfriend. She was more than slightly taken aback when her father, Jack, (who rarely called at this hour) greeted her with “Hi honey.”
“What’s wrong,” Kim asked immediately.
“Nothing’s wrong. I need for you to do me a favor. Go into my office and see if my laptop is there.”
“Hold on,” Kim said as she scurried into the room adjoining the master bedroom in the modest Bauer home. “Yes, it’s here, Dad.”
“Good. Please turn it on.”
“Now I’ll need for you to logon and e-mail me a document.”
“Is that okay?” Kim asked disbelievingly. Most of her father’s work was ultra-classified. Her father seldom ever even discussed what he was working on, let alone have Kim review it.
“It is for now. I’ll have to change all my passwords when I get home. In the meantime, make sure you only look at what I tell you to look at.”
“Okay. It’s on.”
“Press the down arrow key, that’ll bring up my username.”
Kim found the keypad on the laptop and pressed the down arrow key. A long number popped up in the required field.
“Now tab over to the password and type in kimberly5.”
In spite of herself, Kim smiled. “Okay, I’m in.”
“Open my e-mail. The password is teriforever.”
How sweet, Kim thought. “You have 27 new messages, Dad.”
“Ignore them. Create a message to Tony.”
“What’s his address?”
“Just type his name and hit return. He’s saved in my address book.”
Sure enough, firstname.lastname@example.org popped up.
“Now create an attachment. It’s an icon with a paper clip.”
“I know how to attach a document in e-mail, Dad,” Kim sighed.
“Sorry honey. Go into the hard drive and look in my travel folder.”
“Subfolder expense account.”
“There should be an expense account report dated last week.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Anything else?” Kim asked.
“No, honey, just e-mail that file to Tony and we’ll be able to eat dinner for another two weeks.”
“That’s always a good thing,” Kim answered her father’s rare display of humor. “It’s on its way.”
“Thank you, Kim.”
“What time will you be home?”
“Very late, I’m sure. We’ve got a break on the person who killed your mother.”
“You mean Nina Myers?”
Now it was Jack’s turn for a surprise. He’d kept Nina’s betrayal secret from his daughter. “Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter, Dad. It was someone who knew how much I needed to know who killed Mom.”
“We’ll deal with this later. Anyway, we have a link to whatever group was behind her and I’m not leaving until I have him wrapped up in a nice, neat little package.”
“I won’t wait up.”
“Thanks a million, sweetheart. I love you.”
“Me too, Daddy.”
Kim was about to power off the laptop when she noticed one of the messages in her father’s inbox was from Tony Almeida. She would have ignored it completely save for the subject: Nina Myers. She’d long suspected Nina was behind the brutal slaying of her mother but she hadn’t been able to confirm it until just now. She knew it was wrong; she knew it might be a breach of national security but she couldn’t help herself. She opened the message.
FROM: “Tony Almeida” 2-Mar-03, 0929 PDT
SUBJECT: Nina Myers
The banker who funneled the money into Nina’s account is Charles Robert “Chas” Ostermeyer of Ostermeyer Consulting in Beverly Hills. He’s clean as a whistle. Not even a parking violation on this guy. The only thing we know is that four of the last five girls he’s dated have been pretty, young and voluptuous blondes. I’ve got a call in to District for an agent who’ll fit the bill (since none of our girls do).
Kim read and re-read the message at least ten times. She memorized it and then shut the laptop off immediately. A pretty, young, voluptuous blonde is what they needed to get to this guy. And they didn’t have anyone immediately available. She could do it, she knew it. She could invent an excuse to meet this guy, have him fall all over himself trying to impress her, let him pick her up, let him take her home, excuse herself to go to the bathroom, check out the house…
No, what is she, crazy?
But the plan kept forming in her head.
Excuse myself to go the bathroom. Bypass the bathroom and head straight to his private study. He won’t notice for five minutes, easily. He’ll be too busy smelling my perfume on his shirt and remembering how my ass moved in whatever tight thing I’ll wear or how he never saw a panty line. Even if he caught me snooping in his private stuff, I could lie my way out of it easy. “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I went left when I should have gone right.” Giggle. Prop myself up against the table, thrust my breasts out at him, and smile innocently. Get his attention back on the curves. Men are so easy. Remember, this guy killed Mom. Maybe he didn’t pull the trigger, but the person he paid did. And whoever paid Mr. C. R. “Chas” Ostermeyer is who’s ultimately responsible. This isn’t about revenge. This is about justice. How many more mothers will he have killed?
Kim turned on her computer and looked up C. R. Ostermeyer. No residential listings. Well, no, he’s not that stupid. But Ostermeyer Consulting was listed. She picked up the phone. And then thought for a minute and put it back down. What’s she going to do, call his office and ask for his unlisted home address? Her mind was working quickly. If she’s calling his office, it needs to be business related. How about a delivery? She picked up the phone and called Miguel. No answer. She called his work number.
“This is Miguel.”
“Baby, it’s me.”
“Can’t talk now.”
“So’s this session.”
“You’re not sleeping with the musicians from the session.”
“But they’re paying for the present I’m going to buy you.”
“I can give you something money can’t buy.”
“Make it quick.”
“I need you to call Ostermeyer Consulting in Beverly Hills. Pretend you’re a UPS delivery guy trying to deliver a package to Charles Ostermeyer…”
“Wait, I need to get a pen.”
“’Oscar Meyer,’ you said?”
“Ostermeyer with a T. 555-2112. Tell the secretary that you’re trying to deliver a package to Mr. Charles Ostermeyer and the address is wrong.”
“How would they know that?”
“Tell them the guy who answered the door said so.”
“UPS doesn’t require a signature. FEDEX does.”
“Like she’s going to know that, Miguel? Whatever. Say you’re FEDEX. Just get his home address.”
“You know they won’t give out his home phone number.”
“I don’t need his number. I need to know where he lives.”
“Because it’s important. Just do it, okay, baby? And call me back right away.”
“What’s my reward?”
“There won’t be any reward if you don’t get the info, okay? The sooner you come through, the sooner I’ll come through.” Kim smiled. “Figuratively and literally.”
“Okay.” Miguel was smiling, too.
“Call me back.”
Not five minutes later, the phone rang. “Did you get it?” she asked immediately in lieu of a greeting.
“Do you have a pen?” asked Miguel rather smugly.
“Ready and waiting.”
“What’s my reward going to be?”
It’s just amazing what a little incentive does for a person’s performance, noted Kim. “What’s the address?”
“This was not an easy address to get. She asked me a ton of questions. She ran it by her supervisor.”
Kim arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really? I find that hard to believe since her supervisor would know perfectly well there was no delivery scheduled for his house for today. Plus, you’re calling me back less than five minutes later. I couldn’t have been that hard.”
The only thing hard is me, thought Miguel. “Well, it was too hard for you to do,” he retorted.
“I’m not saying you didn’t do me a big favor. Give me the address. Please. If it turns out to be genuine, I’ll give you the best reward you’ve ever had.”
“Maybe a threesome with another girl?”
My God, thought Kim. The male obsession with a ménage-a-trois. When will he grow out of this? “Not a chance, Don Juan.”
Kim shuddered. Why does it have to be something gross or painful? “Don’t be disgusting.”
“Will you swallow?”
Kim rolled her eyes but tried not to sound like it. “Yes, baby, I’ll swallow every last drop.”
Which was exactly what Miguel had been anticipating, anyway.
“120 Rocky Point Road, Palos Verdes Estates. Take PCH to Palos Verdes Boulevard to Vista Del Mar. Rocky Point Road is on your right. It’s on a bluff overlooking the ocean.”
My God, he even got directions. The boy was good. “You’re the best, baby. Can’t wait to pay you back tomorrow night.”
“What about tonight?”
“You just told me where I’m going to be tonight. Got to go, baby. Love you. Getting wet just thinking about you”
And she hung up. Poor Miguel. He’d be fighting his erection all through the session. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any girls there.
Her college classes finished, Kim was now ready to spring her plan into action. True enough, her father wasn’t home. She showered and rinsed herself with a body spray. She used scented shampoo and conditioner. She shaved. She put on a lacy pink bra and a lavender thong. She selected a silk pink blouse with a low neckline and a tight black leather miniskirt. She put on black fishnet stockings and two inch black leather high heels. After appraising herself in the mirror, she added a gold necklace and bracelets to complete the ensemble. Perfect. Her breasts, both round and firm, were clearly visible in the blouse and the pumps lifted and firmed her butt. She sprayed her hair and doused her whole upper body in perfume. She wanted the sight and smell to attack. The less time Charles Ostermeyer had to think, the better.
The drive to Rocky Point Road took an agonizing thirty minutes. Her nerves became slightly unsettled as she exited Pacific Coast Highway and turned onto Palos Verdes Boulevard. Was she really going to be able to do this? What if she got caught? What if she got killed? Just like her mother had been killed. Kim found that remembering her mother, especially how she looked lying in state at the service, steeled her resolve and settled her nervousness. She was the only one who could do this and it needed to be done now.
Rocky Point Road was a narrow, short ovular road with a magnificent ocean view behind it. Not a single house on it retailed for less than $5 million. Kim cruised around a little bit, looking for the one piece of the puzzle she needed to sell her little fabricated story. After passing Rocky Point Road, she turned left onto Yarmouth and began cruising the side streets, looking for a party. She struck out on Chelsea Road, but hit jackpot on Thorley. She found a parking spot at the end of Thorley, facing the high school. Leaving her purse in the car, she began the four block walk to 120 Rocky Point Road. The lights were on. Good. She hoped he didn’t have any big plans for the evening. The house next to his was completely dark. She noticed the motion detector on the garage door of the neighbor’s and triggered it without hesitation. No backing out now. The floodlights illuminated the pathway between Ostermeyer’s house and his neighbor. A four foot high wooden fence separated the two lavish properties. Kim removed her troublesome high heels and found a gas barbeque grill that was about two feet high. She wheeled it over next to the fence, and scaled it. As she climbed onto the fence, the floodlights extinguished and Kim was in total darkness. She had been concentrating so much on getting onto the property that she failed to take the landscape into account. As she dropped the four feet onto Ostermeyer’s backyard, her stocking feet hit slick ice plant on a slope and she immediately slid down the hill, crashing into a lawn chair and toppling the fragile eating table next to it. As the glass covering shattered, it created a racket loud enough to awaken every dog within two blocks. Ostermeyer had motion detectors front and back and now the back yard was fully illuminated with a dirty and bruised Kim Bauer on center stage. The screen door opened immediately and a man Kim could only presume was Ostermeyer thundered outside.
“Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing in my back yard?” bellowed the silhouetted figure.
“Please, sir, I’m sorry,” stammered Kim. “I didn’t mean to…”
“Didn’t mean to what? Didn’t mean to sneak into my back yard? Didn’t mean to wreck my table?”
“No, I didn’t. Ow, my leg hurts.” It was no act. Kim had a nasty cut on her left shin.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” he repeated.
“My name is Kim. Kim Stone,” she said, quickly spying the rock behind the swimming pool. “I was at a party a few blocks down with my boyfriend and we had a fight. I was trying to get away from him, just find a place to hide until he took off.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“I was going to hide next door. I could see your lights were on; I didn’t want to be visible. But the next door neighbors’ floodlights went on and I didn’t want to be seen. So I thought I’d hide in your yard. When I dropped down from the fence, I started sliding and I couldn’t stop.”
“Well, not even a thief would do anything that stupid.”
“I’m not a thief.”
“Your boyfriend must be a real asshole for you to go to through all this.”
Kim sighed, “You have no idea.”
“Look, give me your hand. Let’s get you inside and clean that cut and then think about how to get you home.”
Kim smiled. “Thanks a million, sir. I can’t thank you enough.”
Actually, the cut looked worse than it was. After stopping the bleeding, it only took two band-aids to cover. Kim wouldn’t need stitches.
“Where do you live, you said your name was Kim?”
“Yes, Kim Stone. I live in Ontario.” Which was a lie. The Bauer household was in the San Fernando Valley, not the San Gabriel Valley. But it was also an extra half hour through awful traffic even at this hour of the night, making her circumstances even more dire.
“Is there anyone else at that party who can take you home?”
“No, sir, there isn’t.”
“My name is Ostermeyer. My friends call me Chas.”
“No, Chas, there isn’t.”
“Call me Mr. Ostermeyer. Can you call anyone in Ontario?”
“I can try my friends but I’m sure they’re all busy on a Friday night at 8:00.”
“How about your parents?”
“My Mom is dead. And I’d rather not call my Dad.”
“Why is that?”
“He doesn’t think I’m at this party. He thinks I’m studying with a girlfriend.” Kim smirked.
“So girls still use that lie on their fathers.”
“Mr. Ostermeyer? Could I have something to drink? I’m really thirsty.”
“Yeah, sure. Is water okay?”
“You don’t have anything a little stronger?”
“I have everything a little stronger. What do you have in mind?”
“A nice glass of wine would do wonders.”
Ostermeyer walked over to a cabinet and retrieved a bottle of red wine. He poured a glass both for Kim and for himself and returned. Kim nearly downed the whole glass in one swig.
“I think you need another,” Ostermeyer noted and handed her his glass. Kim drank it more slowly but finished it, nevertheless.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Well, Ms. Stone, I’d love to sit here and chat with you while you drink my wine all night but I’m expecting company in twenty minutes.”
“You’ve been more than generous. Let me just clean up a little and I’ll be on my way.”
“Are you sure your boyfriend has left?”
“No, I’m not. But I can’t impose upon you anymore, Mr. Ostermeyer.”
“If you’re willing to wait, this meeting shouldn’t take more than an hour. After that, I can drive you home.”
Kim perked up. “That is so unbelievably nice of you!”
“If you’re up to it, go through the doors there and turn left. There is a spiral staircase. At the top, go left again and at the end of the hall is the master bedroom. If you’ll leave your blouse and skirt on the bed, I’ll wash them while you’re in the shower. I’ll also give you another glass of wine. You can use one of the robes in the bathroom while your clothes are drying. There’s an office next to the bedroom with a computer and a TV. You’re welcome to either one while I have my meeting. By the time I’m finished, your clothes should be dry, your boyfriend should have given up on finding you and we can drive you home.”
Kim beamed. “You’re a savior, Mr. Ostermeyer.” Savior? He was an idiot! He was handing her an excuse to spend forty-five minutes alone in his office.
“Call me Chas. By the way, where’s your purse?”
“In my boyfriend’s car. Along with my cell phone. But I’ll deal with that tomorrow. I don’t need my driver’s license or money if you’re taking me home.”
“Off you go.”
With a big smile of gratitude on her face, Kim sprung up and pranced through the doors. What a great spy I make, she thought. I did in twenty minutes what my father and his whole team couldn’t do in a day. I’m just a natural. Everything was as Ostermeyer described. Kim could not believe the opulence. The floors were marble, the staircase was iron the ceiling soared and real paintings adorned the walls. The carpet was thick and soft on her stocking feet and the furnishings were ornate and immaculate. The house had probably been as expensive to furnish as their house was to buy. She stripped and laid all her clothes on the massive circular waterbed. When she emerged from the shower, the clothes were gone and a glass of wine was on one of the two nightstands flanking the bed. Sipping the wine, she stole into the office and turned on the TV. She couldn’t decide between the Laker game and another re-run of The Joy Luck Club. The house was so big and so well-designed that she couldn’t hear Chas and his mysterious guest. So much the better, she thought. He’ll never hear me rummaging through his files and papers. Needless to say, she was given a start when a soft knock came on the office door.
“Is your meeting done?” she asked.
“No, my guest is a little delayed. I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Just fine, thanks,” she gushed.
“Not feeling at all dizzy? That’s three glasses of wine and no food for you.”
Now that he mentioned it, she was somewhat dizzy. “I guess I do need to eat something.”
“Well, come on downstairs and I’ll fix you a late dinner.”
Kim rose and immediately began teetering. She could not get her balance and the room was beginning to spin. “I don’t feel so good, Chas,” she slurred and collapsed onto the floor, quickly losing feeling in her limbs. Her feelings of alarm were overtaken by a rapidly spreading numbness that fogged her thinking.
“Don’t worry, Kim,” Ostermeyer breathed as he stooped down to collect her. “Your night is just beginning.”
And then Kim passed out; finally succumbing to the drugged wine.