I needed to ask Julius if he’d found Tim and the canister. That thing was a dangerous time bomb waiting to explode.
Finishing my tortilla, I settled down with my new toy computer. The tablet would be lousy for word processing, but it had built-in Internet access, which I assumed Acme was paying for. And it was fast, far faster than my cheap netbook. The tablet still had power, and Boris had left a message saying he was delivering a charger to Chesty’s.
I could probably go over and usurp Andre’s computers now that I knew how to get into them, but I liked keeping my mail and Facebook private. My page is under Mary Clancy, so people who don’t know me really well can’t find it.
I opened my e-mail, hoping to find answers to my requests regarding body dumping. One of my correspondents was a doctor who worked with a hospital in Massachusetts. He said he could admit a comatose patient for a limited time, but after that they’d go to a state-run nursing home.
As if to exacerbate my worries, I thought I felt the ground shake. I froze, but I didn’t feel it again. Someone really needed to get back inside Acme and find that damned machinery and turn it off. I was a lawyer, not a rocket scientist. I had limits.
I needed to talk to Andre. The Zone needed his leadership. Things went seriously wrong when I took up the reins, as I’d learned the hard way. I was a loner, not a leader. Besides, I had to go to work in the morning.
Could we drop Nancy Rose off at a local hospital and have someone ship one of the old guys to Massachusetts? Would it be safe now that Gloria was out of the picture? Could I believe she was the only force of evil at Acme?
I glanced at my computer clock, but the digits weren’t changing any faster. Antsy and worried, I called Jane the reporter to see if she’d learned anything interesting about the gas.
“No story,” she told me with disappointment. “I earned brownie points for breaking the news, but Acme’s press release merely says a worker cleaning a tank accidentally released some chlorine, causing a few residents with asthma to go to the hospital. I haven’t located any of those residents, so I assume they’ve all gone home.”
“Hogwash,” I said wearily. “They didn’t have asthma, it wasn’t chlorine, and Acme hid anyone who keeled over at the plant, not the hospital.” I didn’t mention the ones we’d rescued. Jane has an overdeveloped sense of curiosity. “But none of it probably matters now. Gloria Vanderventer died today. I assume new management will be stepping in.”
At the back of my mind, I’d been wondering who that new management would be. Paddy? He was her son, so that would make sense, except everyone thought he was crazy.
“Gloria Vanderventer?” Jane asked, obviously taking notes. “The senator’s mother?”
“I’m sure it’s all over the news by now. I’ll let you know what I can, but I’m still waiting for calls.”
I signed off. Jane and her son weren’t Zonies, so I needed to keep them outside the information loop. The Baltimore Edition was one of those cheap online deals, but if I wanted to work the media, she was eager.
I’d resisted as long as I could. After hanging up on Jane, I dialed Andre’s cell.
He actually answered. I guessed that meant he hadn’t been locked up yet.
“Just checking to see if you need a lawyer,” I said carelessly.
“Not yet, but soon,” he agreed. “The goons have decided to take me down rather than take the blame.”
No surprise there. I’d had enough experience to see that coming. Always being the new kid in school, I’d dealt with my share of bullies over the years. They always threw the blame elsewhere. “Well, you have to admit, you squirted her,” I said without sympathy. “They’re only guilty of getting in her face and letting her have a gun. Where are you? If I need to swing bail, where do I get it?”
His voice, when he answered, sounded relieved. He probably hadn’t been certain that I could actually be a friend when needed. “Checkbook in my office at Bill’s. I’m at the Towson precinct. Ask my father to call one of his lawyer pals to try to keep costs down.”
Andre had given me a car when I needed it, then fixed it up when he’d seen what a junker it was. He’d helped me in so many ways lately that I had to pay back some of what I owed. “I’ll call Judge Snooty-pants. That’s his bailiwick. I’ll tell him I’m your lawyer. He’ll get a snort out of that.”
“Not if you call him ‘Snootypants,’ ” Andre said with half a laugh. “Thanks, Clancy.”
Andre suspected I could send the lying goons to another planet if I wanted. But he wasn’t nagging me to do so. He respected my choices. I liked that in a man. We hung up, and I cranked the whirling gears of my mind.
I suspected Dane/Max as Senator Vanderventer was the reason Snotty Snootypants had hired me. I wasn’t exactly the Ivy League sort the judge obviously preferred. Despite my joking promise to Andre, I couldn’t persuade Judge Snodgrass to so much as answer a phone for a lowly clerk, even if he could be reached on a Sunday. It wasn’t as if I had his cell phone number.
I didn’t think Max would help me out once he learned Andre had killed Granny Gloria. Max had a serious self-righteous streak to balance Dane’s evil, and he disliked Andre. Maybe Julius should talk to the judge, persuade him that Andre wasn’t dangerous so he could bond out if charged.
No, it really needed to be Max the Senator. The whole world thought Gloria was his grandmother. If Gloria’s grandson spoke up for Andre, whoever ended up with Andre’s arraignment would listen.
I didn’t think I could make that argument with a telephone call.
It was Sunday evening. Bill’s bar would be closed. I called the bartender who was working in Bill’s place and asked him if he could open up so I could get at Andre’s checkbook. He’d been listening to the news and agreed with alacrity.
If I meant to vamp Max into doing me favors he didn’t want to do, I’d have to dress the part. That was my biker Max inside the good senator’s tailored suit. Max had never been into pearls and kitten heels. I showered and blow-dried my thick new hair. I hated mirrors, but I forced myself to glare into the steamy bathroom one to apply a bit of color. My mother couldn’t afford braces when I was a kid, so I’d learned to live with my imperfect teeth. Men were more into breasts and ass, and I had enough of those to get by.
I could have sworn the mirror wavered strangely, and I stepped back, recalling the days Max had flickered in there. I really didn’t want to see Dane or Gloria over my sink. Grimacing, I faced my ridiculous fears, applied lipstick and mascara, and made it to my closet without breaking glass. If I meant to arrive without resembling a two-bit messenger, I’d have to take my car and not the bike. So I didn’t have to wear leather.
I wiggled into black spandex capris that showed off my nifty new leg. If I was going to hell for accepting gifts from the devil, then I’d get the most out of them here on earth. I completed the outfit with a matching microfiber tank top that painted itself to my curves. I topped it all off with a peekaboo tiger-striped gauze tunic that said, Look, but don’t touch.
“Want to visit Max?” I asked Milo when I was done. He’d been watching the process from his post by the sliding doors to my deck. He kneaded his bed of dirty laundry on the floor, curled up, and closed his eyes. I took that as a good sign that he didn’t think I needed his protection. He’d had a long day and deserved a kitty nap.
Apparently there was no rest for daughters of Saturn.
I stopped by the bar and picked up Andre’s checkbook before hitting the freeway. Bill’s bar was a sad place without Bill’s big bulk behind the counter. I left more determined than ever to right what Acme had done wrong.
I preferred the solid Harley to my plastic Miata, but I had to admit, sporty red convertibles had more panache for driving up to million-dollar condos. Jaw set, I flashed my license, and the guard at the gate let me through. Max was thoughtful that way. Of course, he’d probably have my name stricken from the register after tonight.