The Stories: Part 2

Chapters 11 through 20

Laura finishes up another cup of coffee and stares at the phone, pleading silently with it not to ring. She then lights a cigarette and inhales deeply, savoring it, allowing herself to calm down as much as possible. Dion then walks in and looks at her very disapprovingly.
"Laura, what the hell are you doing? Now honey, you know how hard it was for me to quit, but I did it and it was only by a strong will that I did. Honestly, you women always have to have something to run to when things get tough."
"Mmmmmm...you're so right, sweetheart. Thank God I have you to keep me grounded. Maybe it's not all women, Dion. Maybe it's just your wife who's weak. Maybe I'm just no good under pressure. Jesus, Dion, you're a damn mess! I'm weak? How much coke did you have with your coffee this morning?"
"You are paranoid, my dear," he laughs condescendingly. "Honestly, Laura, where do you get your ideas? Did David tell you that? There's a good reference point! he junkie tells the ex-whore something and you believe him."

// don't even flinch. don't even acknowledge it. no...get him later. you know how to make him crumble. it will be so much sweeter later. //

She smiles wholeheartedly hatefully and giggles at him, then speaks in a calm and chocolatey voice in between puffs.
"You're so predictable, Dion. I mean, really. I barely ever speak to David. You know that." She gets up and stands next to him, stroking his arm. "You sound jealous, lover. Why don't you be a good boy and go help Albert, okay? I'm sure he could use you to take some notes for him or something. I need my office to myself and you look like you need another pick-me-up. I have work to do," she says, opening the door, scooting the transfixed Dion out. "I'll make us a very special dinner and we can talk after I put Em to bed." She waves as though to a little kid: "Bye-bye, Dion. Bye-bye!"
She shuts the door.

Misirlou

INT DARK ROOM - Night
A man is sitting at a chair in front of a roaring log cabin fireplace. His back is to us and the fire creates a silhouette of his body. The window to his left is open, and tall green trees are swaying in the dim moonlight. Several birds can be heard chirping, and ironically there are no owls tonight. There is an immense scraping sound that is growing louder by the minute.

ECU [Extreme Close-Up]
The glint of metal on a small silhouette white object. The metal, now recognized as a small pocket knife, strikes the object. Back and forth. The fire continues to roar, the trees continue to sway. A pile of shavings is slowly collecting on the floor.

The man stands up and kicks the shavings into the fireplace where they melt. He slowly turns around and we begin to recognize his hair...then his eyes...then his teeth... and his face.

ECU
Windom Earle places the knife and lump object, now shaped like a potato, on the table.

WINDOM
"The night is long and dreams are calling."

Windom turns his back to us once again and exits to the right.

A fierce wind rips through the trees and the curtains, flickering in the firelight, blow wildly through the room.

FADE TO BLACK

MikeLOGtp

"Albert, go get some take-out, will ya?"
"Thought Laura was making a big 'family bonding' dinner tonight."
"Yeah, but I want some Chinese now."
"Pushing the boundaries of a healthy relationship all the time, eh, Spencer?" Albert looked way too cocky for his own good. "But seriously, we gotta finish wrapping up whatever loose ends we can about this morning's fiasco. I've already been here twelve hours and it looks like I'll be here another eight analyzing whatever forensic clues will give us any info."
"Okay, where do we start now?"
"How did the burglar gain access?"
"I have no clue, Albert."
"Nor do I; there are no traces of picked locks, broken windows, anything. This is one of the cleanest break-ins I've ever witnessed in my career."
"Who's good enough to get in without a trace?"
"Only a handful of the world's best, especially in this place. Christ, this is the FBI--we don't leave the doors unlocked too often! The only way to comfortably get the kind of access that was offered here would be to have your own set of keys."
"David..."
"That's my guess offhand, but we shouldn't rule anything else out either. Anyone could have gotten a key off of anyone who works in this section."
"How many people is that?"
"Twenty, maybe thirty. I'm never sure who the front desk is giving keys nowadays--some of the temps even get them."
"It is thoroughly conceivable that David could have taken my keys for an hour, copied the ones that looked official, then slipped them back to me. I don't think he has enough gall to pull off the break-in, though."
"David's not that good, either, Dion. There wasn't a fingerprint in this place. Also, whoever did the job hit the files with surgical precision. The rest of the chaos was smokescreen."
"What makes you think so?"
"Why would someone break into an FBI office with unclassified files and take only two? There's a lot juicier stuff right down the hall. Whoever came in here did so with a definite intent."
"What?"
"I don't have a clue. But there's got to be some connection between those John Does. And where Windom Earle fits into this, I don't know. But it makes my skin crawl more than just a bit when I think what he might be up to."
"Want me to bug David's phone?"
"Get a warrant."
"No prob--I'll do that tomorrow. And I'll tell Meg to keep an ear out for anything odd. Meanwhile, I'm gonna go home and eat. Not Chinese, but hell, I'll live."
"I'll call there if anything turns up."
"Goodbye, Albert."
The engine revved after a long day of stress, crime, intrigue, adultery and cocaine. Today has seen many vices I wish it didn't have to. For now off to a night of relative peace which will surely be punctuated by the fights with Laura, bouts of her nicotine and my coke. Ah, one happy family again...

JArgent

Albert has returned to his office at the Bureau; most of the others have gone home. He sits at his desk and pulls out a legal pad to make notes on the case. After pouring himself a cup of coffee, he scribbles:

John Does: unidentified--correlation?

Albert buzzes his secretary on the intercom. "Hey, is there anything on those John Does I told you to look up?"
She replies, "Not yet, sir. We know they're murder victims, but they were never identified." He notes this. "Anything else?" she asks.
"Yeah. How about some food in here?"
"Yes, sir." The intercom goes silent.
He continues to jot down notes.

Windom working alone? Not likely; who is agent?
David Spencer, Dion Spencer, Laura Spencer possible?
Motivation: David-drugs, Dion-money? drugs?, Laura-??

He leans back in his chair and takes a good, strong gulp of coffee. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a young man and woman, the man apparently grasping the woman's wrist, walk quickly past the open office door. Albert frowns, and gets on the intercom again.
"Hey, who was that? Hello?" He taps the TALK button repeatedly, much as someone would flick a burnt light bulb on and off in the hopes of regenerating the filament. "She's getting my dinner," he mutters. "She's actually getting my dinner. Hot damn. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner."
Albert writes some more, continuously watching his door. Sure enough, the young couple breezes by again, this time in the opposite direction.
Albert slams the pencil and pad down on his desk and jogs to the door. He sticks his head out after the two and says, irritably, "Hey! Where do you think you're going? This is federal government property, you know. You can't just run up and down these hallowed halls as if it were a track course, for God's sake!"
The two immediately stop and turn around, as if drawn by Albert's voice. An extraordinarily attractive young man with a Nordic air about him approaches Albert's door with a sense of purpose, more or less dragging the young woman with him. She is extraordinarily attractive as well, and one can see the family resemblance.
"Doctor Agent Albert Rosenfield," the man says with a smile. "How nice to see you. May we come in?"
Albert doesn't recognize either of them, and eyes the young man warily. "Do you have a pass?"
"Certainly." The man produces one from the breast pocket of his down jacket and shows it to Albert, who nods his approval and grudgingly beckons the two inside.

"May we take a seat?" the young man smiles.
"Sure, go ahead," Albert says, indicating a couple of utilitarian chairs in the corner. The male visitor drags them in front of Albert's desk, turns to the woman, and says, "Business time, dear. Please busy yourself for a while. I'll be out shortly, I hope." He kisses her cheek, whispers something into her ear, and leads her pointedly to the door. She obediently exits into the hallway, and the young man closes the door behind her.
Albert is very suspicious. "What's going on? Do I know you?"
The man doesn't answer immediately. He moves one of the chairs back to the corner, saying, "We don't need that anymore." Then he turns to Albert. "Yes, I believe you do know me. I doubt we've ever really officially met, however. I'm Anders Nilsson--a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." He holds his hand out to shake.
Albert doesn't reciprocate the action. "What the hell are you doing here? Get out immediately." He springs from his seat and begins to move toward the door.
Anders heads him off at the pass and forcibly restrains him with strong hands on Albert's shoulders. "Relax, Doctor Agent Rosenfield, you're in no danger. Please, have a seat." He gestures toward Albert's plush office chair, and Albert carefully sits down.
"May I call you Albert?" Anders asks with an ever-so-subtle tilt of the head.
"I suppose it would save time," Albert replies sarcastically.
"Very well. I suppose you know why I'm here. It concerns your...your account, let's call it." He pulls a scrap of paper from his pocket and writes a number on it. He folds this scrap in two and carefully places it on Albert's desk, sliding it toward the agent as he does so.
Albert looks at Anders, then at the paper. He picks up the paper and unfolds it. His eyes go wide. "What the hell is this? Is this how much I owe you?"
"Yes, sir."
"It's quite a bit of money, isn't it?"
Anders laughs softly. "Well, you use quite a bit of cocaine."
Albert glares at him, seething. "What about this?" he asks, indicating some miscellaneous charges.
Anders cranes his neck to see what Albert is pointing at. "Oh, I'm so sorry--did you want itemized billing?" he remarks dryly. He snatches the paper from Albert's hands and fills in descriptions of the charges, then hands it back to Albert, who examines it critically.
"Labor? Travel expenses? What the hell...?"
"It's a pity you didn't pay your bill earlier. I had a very hard time trying to track you down; of course, I had to tack onto your bill the expenses incurred during said tracking down. It's only fair."
"I can't pay this." Albert nervously gulps his coffee, his eyes on the slip of paper.
"Then you'd better start taking very, very small sips of coffee," Anders says quietly. "You'll get no more cocaine until you pay. It's in the rules. And being the shrewd businessman I am, well...money and the prompt delivery of it is quite important to me--I believe you have this same feeling toward cocaine; am I correct?"
Albert looks panicked. "Let me get back to you. Will you give me a week?"
"Tell you what," Anders suggests, leaning across the desk, "I'll visit you again within a week or two. I strongly recommend having the money by then, Albert. I can't overemphasize that point. Meanwhile...take your time. Your supply can't last forever; we both know that."
He stands up. "It was nice speaking to you, Albert. I have faith in our business relationship." Anders smiles a smile that somehow strikes terror into Albert's heart. "See you later, then?"
"Yeah, later," Albert mutters, and clenches the paper in his hand as Anders saunters out the door.

It's 8:00 PM, and David lays Emily down to sleep. He smiles at her angelic expression, and returns to the computer. He runs his fingers through his hair, stares at the screen, and begins to write some more.
There's a knock at the door. David immediately looks at Emily to make sure she's asleep; she is. He opens the door a hand's width to find Anders on his stoop.
"Mr. Spencer. Good evening. May I come in?" he smiles.
"Um...I really wish you wouldn't. My niece is asleep, and I'd hate to wake her."
Anders grins. "Oh, I love babies!" he gushes, with a hint of sarcasm. "May I see her?" He edges in the door, past David, who watches him helplessly. As David closes the door, he sees Anders's red Miata in the driveway; in the passenger's seat is a woman who must surely be a model. She takes a drink from an Evian bottle, then catches David's eye.

help me

David is startled, and looks around to see who might have spoken. There is no one. He shakes his head and closes the door.

Anders is looking Emily over critically. "She's a very beautiful baby. Your niece, you say?"
David gently picks Em up. "Yes--my brother's daughter."
Anders nods. "I see. You're not married, are you?"
"No...no, I'm not."
"Yes, well, we're young; there's still time for marriage, right?" Anders sits down and lights a cigarette. David frowns and shifts Emily to his other shoulder.
"Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" Anders says. "I'm sure you know why I'm here." He blows a perfect smoke ring straight up into the air.
"Yes, yes, I do," David replies. "Let me get your money."
"I'd appreciate it."
David takes Emily to his bedroom. He opens the drawer containing his drug supply and paraphernalia, and scans it for money. There is none. David begins to sweat.
"How about a check?" David asks as he walks back into the living room where Anders is making himself comfortable.
"Ooh...bit sticky, aren't they? Eminently traceable. I'd rather not."
"I have no cash...please, I can pay you. Let me make it out to Cash. And if you come into any trouble because of it, I'll take the blame." He bites his lip and waits for a response.
Anders considers this offer. "Yes...okay. I suppose that's fair."
David whips out his checkbook and makes out a check for the amount Anders dictates. He rips it out of the book.
"Here you go. Thanks for being so understanding."
"Oh, no problem," Anders replies, taking the check. "Pleased to have done business with you." He smiles. "And you have a wonderful niece." He pinches her foot, not too hard, but enough to wake her up.
Emily whines, then turns to look at Anders. She begins to bawl.
"Hmm...maybe I take that back," Anders laughs. "Later, Mr. Spencer." He backs out the door. A moment later, the Miata fires up and tears away.
David carefully bounces his niece and whispers, "Shh, baby, it's okay...Emmie, your daddy's gonna come for you soon..."
Emily cries even louder. David sighs.

The Miata speeds into the darkness of the night. Rebekka finally gets up the courage to speak: "Anders, where are we going?"
Anders replies, his eyes on the road as they go ever faster, "Lydia's hotel." He glances at his sister. "New girl."
"Oh," Rebekka says simply, and looks out her window.

They pull into the parking lot of a midclass hotel. Anders turns off the car, gets out, and slams the door. He heads for the hotel entryway without even waiting for his sister to catch up--which she eventually does, choking for breath.
The twins breeze into the lobby. A short-haired brunette is at the front desk, and she looks up as they enter. "Anders," she says. "I've been waiting for you." She stands up and walks languorously toward him.
"Lydia," Anders smiles almost sincerely, and wraps his arm lithely around her waist as she cozies up to him. "I've been waiting for you." They kiss. Rebekka shifts uncomfortably and scans the pictures on the walls.
"Lyds," Anders continues, "book."
"Excuse me?" she says. "Book?"
"Yeah," he says sarcastically, "one of those squarish things, you know, with these really thin papers all piled up between a couple heavy sheets of cardboard? A book."
"I know what a book is, asshole," Lydia replies. "There're some in the little library area off to the side there."
"Fan-damn-tastic," Anders mutters, and walks swiftly to the library. Lydia and Rebekka follow him.
Once in the library, Anders carefully selects a hardbound book, one with no jacket. He puts it flat on a writing desk in the corner, and pulls out a small Ziploc bag of cocaine, which he proceeds to empty onto the book's cover. Lydia turns to Rebekka. "So," she asks, "how've you been?"
"Oh, fine, thank you," she lies. "And you?"
"Not bad...the hotel business is going pretty well," Lydia replies. She turns to Anders, who is carefully cutting the cocaine into lines with a razor blade. "You're here to speak with the new girl?"
"Mmm-hmm," Anders says, distracted. "An interview, of sorts." He begins to snort his neat lines with a tightly-rolled bill.
"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised," Lydia adds. She turns to Rebekka. "He always uses a book? Not a mirror? How strange."
"Well, he doesn't like the sound...you know, the sound of a blade on glass." Rebekka bites her lip nervously. "May we talk about something else?"
Lydia smiles. "There's really not that much to talk about, sweetie. Just relax."
Anders picks his head up, sniffs a couple times, and carefully wipes any residue off his nose. "Bekkers, you stay down here. I'm going up to see her." He stands up. "Lydia, you can clean up." He gestures vaguely toward the desk.
"Clean up after your own damn self. I'm not a maid," Lydia says bitingly.
"I'll do it," Rebekka interjects. Anders glances at her. "Fine, fine, great, super. I'll see both of you later." He heads for the elevator.
"I'll be at the front desk if you need me, Bekkers," Lydia offers, and puts an almost reassuring hand on Rebekka's shoulder. She heads off to the lobby, leaving Rebekka to tidy up after her brother.
As she dutifully dusts off the book and replaces it in its slot on the shelf, pockets the tiny bag and finally runs her hand over the surface of the desk, she thinks, My God, look at me, look what I've become. She falls into the desk chair and begins to weep.

Anders knocks confidently on the door to room 233. After a couple seconds, a youngish girl, perhaps 26, opens it. She has almost shoulder-length wavy dark brown hair and is dressed in a sensual gown; she looks tired and lost. Anders smiles and walks in.
"Hello again," he says. "How are you tonight?"
"I'm okay, I guess," the girl answers nervously. She's still standing by the door, not quite sure what to do with herself.
Anders gestures toward the bed. "Please, sit down. Would you like some ice water?" He walks over to the cold, sweating carafe of water on the dresser. The girl nods, and Anders pours a glass for her.
As he hands it to her, he says, "I can tell you're a little nervous. There's no reason for that. Relax. This is just a little interview." He smiles and picks up a clipboard from the dresser. "Are we ready?" he asks, and pulls up a chair across from her. He sits in it backwards and looks at her expectantly. She takes a sip from her glass and nods, unsure.
"Well, then--let's get started. You're from where, now?" Anders asks.
"Washington state. Twin Peaks."
He notes this. "Can't say I've ever heard of it."
"It's kind of a small town...that's partly why I left."
"Understandable." He writes down a few more things, then looks up from the clipboard. "Why are you doing this?" he asks.
"I...I need the money." She swallows hard.
"But surely there are other means of making money," Anders points out.
The girl smiles wryly. "Not this kind of money."
Anders nods. "Good point. Okay, now, have you done this kind of thing before?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"One-Eyed Jack's. It's in Canada."
"I see." He sniffs and writes this down. "You were a 'hostess'?"
"Yes."
Anders smiles softly to himself. "Would you..." He leans in to whisper in the girl's ear, a lewd half-smile on his face. The girl blushes and says, "Yeah, I guess so."
"Really? Hmm. Good." He makes a few more notes, examines the sum total of his interview notes, then writes down three figures and shows them to the girl. "This," he says, indicating the first number, "is what you could charge. This," pointing to the second, "is what I'd receive. "And this is your share." He circles the final number and hands the clipboard to the girl.
Her eyes go wide. Anders smiles and takes back the notes. "So, do we have a deal?" he asks.
"Yeah, I think we do." The girl looks up at him happily.
"Great. We won't regret this," Anders promises. He stands up to leave. At the door he turns around and says, "Oh, one more thing. What was your name again?"
"Oh," the girl says, "it's Ronette. Just Ronette."
"Ronette," Anders repeats. "I'll be seeing you later, Ronette." He leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

Anders bounds out of the elevator and over to Lydia. "Hey, where's Bekkers?" he asks.
"She's outside--said she needed some air," Lydia replies. "So when are we going to have another date?" She bats her eyelashes at Anders.
He laughs, stoned. "One of these days, Lyds. I promise." He puts on his lecherous smile again and leans in for a kiss.
Lydia forcibly pushes him away. "Get away from me, Nilsson, you libidinous jerk," she says half-jokingly. Anders backs off and laughs, running his hand through his hair. "I'll see you later, Lyds--and that's a promise. Or a threat." He bows extravagantly and giggles, hysterical, as he heads out the front door to his sister.

Rebekka is shivering on the front step, hugging herself for warmth. She's smoking a cigarette, which Anders pulls from her lips and throws to the pavement. "Nasty habit, Bekkers," he chides, tsking her.
She turns to face him and looks straight into his eyes. "Why did you drag me along with you tonight?" she demands. "Did you think I would be even remotely interested in the next whore for your collection? Or did you want me around just to clean up after your 'nasty habit'?" Her blue eyes flash with the anger she's never expressed. "Lydia's not exactly my friend, either," she continues, "and I was forced to make small talk with her for ages while you pulled in yet another unsuspecting girl, am I right? And you're so stoned--"
Anders nonchalantly produces a handgun from his pocket. Rebekka immediately focuses on it and puts up her hands as if to shield herself. "No, no, Anders," she whimpers. "Don't hurt me. Don't shoot me, Anders. No, please...don't kill me..." She backs up against the wall and closes her eyes.
He puts the gun against her heart. "Open your eyes, you silly bitch," he says. Rebekka takes one look at the gun and begins to sob. "Oh, relax, I'm not going to kill you," Anders says, exasperated. He watches her cry for a few seconds, then grabs her hair and pulls her head back. He whispers violently into her ear: "I don't care if you're my family. I don't care if you're my sister--my twin sister. It all boils down to the fact that I own you, just like I own all the other girls. Remember that. Never forget it."
He lets go of her long hair and slowly puts the gun away. Rebekka slides down the wall, heaving huge, wrenching sobs. Anders regards her curiously, then pulls her up by her already-bruised wrist and walks calmly to the car. He throws his sister into her seat and drives home.

Why does he always take so damned long to get to the door? I rang the bell for the fifth time, and finally I could hear a response other than Emily crying in the kitchen. A toilet flushed and David stumbled out into the hall, or so it sounded from outside. "David, open the door, will ya?"
The lock clicked swiftly and David hunched back away from the door. I waited a second and then entered. Emily's bawling was amplified by the acoustics inside. My entrance failed to soothe her. She could always smell the stuff on me. David had hunched into a corner, looking pretty sick. From the smell of it, he'd just vomited all over the bathroom. "What happened to you?"
"Just go away, take Em and go home."
"No--what the hell happened here?" I looked down at his inner elbow and saw what I didn't want to see, a fresh track mark. "Jesus, David, with Emily in the room!?! My God..."
"You don't understand, I--"
"The hell I don't. I leave my daughter with you and you go shoot up in front of her? Really damn slick." David just slumped down in the corner. He had no explanation and offered none. His checkbook was lying out beneath the lamp and it looked freshly written in. Next to it was a crumpled-up check. No amount had been written, but the name read "Anders Nil-" and then was crossed out. For some unknown reason this rang a bell, but I wasn't sure why. David had by now officially passed out in the corner, an impressive feat with young Em crying in the corner. Thinking that if nothing else, now would be a good time to check and see if David was involved with Windom Earle at all, I began quickly searching through whatever papers and notes were lying around. David wasn't exactly the filing cabinet type, and it was not unlikely that I would find something incriminating lying on the coffee table.
A moment of searching revealed nothing, and from behind me, Meg let herself in. "Hi. David's passed out on smack over there if you want to check him out." She gasped and ran to his side. I think she dialed 911, but I was too far away to tell and too close to Em to hear. Deciding that there wasn't much more I could accomplish here, and realizing that tonight was probably not the best of nights to be late for dinner with Laura, I grabbed Em, much to her displeasure, and bolted out the door.

JArgent

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Last edited on 4 June 2001 by N. S. Heath.
E-mail nora@heathens.co.nz.
Portions of the CYOA copyright © 1994-2000 by their respective authors.
Border background by N. S. Heath; may be used with permission.