Orchids to Die For (Jim Morgan Adventure Series) (8 page)

 Walking to the elevator she noticed a clear plastic laundry bag with a burgundy dress and a tan sports coat showing through the polyurethane. She went up the door and peeked at the laundry tag, James Morgan RM 3105, and she stood there, frozen in a want of disbelief. She looked up and down the hallway and considered taking their clothes to a trash bin, but then recalled the private detective. The word bastard formed on her lips but she contained herself and walked briskly away, then paused. She had lost her appetite. She thought about knocking on his door. And the thoughts of their engagement night three years earlier came flooding into her head. And this time she did say, out loud, “Bastard!” And then, with a sullen demeanor, returned to her elegant suite as she did have a lot of work to do.

* * *

Joseffie adamantly refused to go to Chicago. His arguments were indeed valid, but it pissed-off Margolova nonetheless. She scowled, “If you’re so worried about being caught, then you shouldn’t kill so many people.”

Joseffie cringed at her brow beating, “You go!” He screamed, “Go, kill them all – see how far you get.”

“I would walk right up to them in broad daylight and slit their throats. The Americans would all run away and hide.”

“Then go do it. Me? They would arrest me and send me to Alcatraz. Is that what you want? To have me get tortured?”

Margolova was steaming. She saw her Lugar sitting on the counter next to the toaster. It was her answer to every conflict she ever had – eliminate the antagonist. She went for the weapon with a blind fury.

Joseffie ran, knocking down a chair and ramming his shoulder so hard into the kitchen doorway that he fell to the floor. With survival instincts rushing right through his soul he kept his forward momentum continuing on all four in a mad scramble for the hallway leading to his room and the retaliatory pistol that he knew was resting on his bed.

Margolova fired off four quick rounds in his vacated direction. The bullets blasted wall tiles and splintered the wooden doorframe where Joseffie made his life saving escape. She moved determinately after him pushing the kitchen table aside like it was made out of balsa wood and charged into the living room where she fired three more rounds down the hallway where Joseffie continued his maddened scoot, like a distempered dog about to be gassed, he sensed his end approaching.

Joseffie reached the bed and his Colt .38 Special while sucking in oxygen from his panic effort. But that was as far as he went. Four more rounds flew across the space between Margo’s Lugar and Joseffie’s back. The first slug entered the nape of his neck killing him where he knelt. The other three slapped into his back with a pip, pip, pip that was never heard because of the echoing blasts from the, now empty, 9mm Lugar.

Abdul came out of his bedroom, “Allah! What happened?”

Margo looked him in the eye, “I want you to fly to America, to Chicago. Can you do this?”

Abdul looked at Joseffie and then back at his mentor, “Yes, I’d do anything for you. When should I go?”

“Now.”

“Okay.” And he looked back on Joseffie humped lifeless on the filthy bedroom floor, “What happened, couldn’t he get it up?” Abdul liked his dark sexual humor and let out a snide grin.

Margo smiled at his bravado. Then she stuck the Lugar sharply into his gut, “Let’s see if you can get it up, Abdul?” As she forced him back into his room all the way up to his bed where he plopped down still smirking at her and her sexually twisted smile. “Show me,” and she began removing her clothes.

Chapter Eleven

After eating a hearty breakfast of eggs benedict, fresh squeezed orange juice, bacon and toast, Catherine tossed aside the plush terry cloth hotel bathrobe and crawled back into bed.

Morgan went over to her and patted her gently through the covers. “I’ll wake you at noon, beautiful.”

Morgan turned out the lights and pulled closed the blackout curtains in an effort to make her sleep more comfortable. He sat down at the desk and turned on the reading lamp. He checked his cell calls and began returning them, holding Eunice’s call until last.

His call to Oscar Bradley was call forwarded to his downtown business office. Oscar answered, “You have some tails on you Mr. Morgan. One is definitely FBI -- his car has government license plates on it. The other one is an Arab kid, about twenty, he quit watching you while you were on the beach and left. We haven’t seen him since. I have a man in the lobby right now. The FBI is still with you. Can you give me your itinerary for the next few hours?”

Morgan asked, “Does the FBI know about the Arab?”

“Yes. I saw the FBI agent go up to the cab and talk to the Arab. I think he’s made me, too...when I stopped North, he was watching us.”

“Well, I don’t mind the FBI following me. But the Arab is another story.”

Morgan gave Oscar Bradley a fair guess of his plans, “When I pick up my car, I’m going home to bed. But things may change. Do you want me to call you?” Adding, “...When I know what I’m doing?”

Oscar laughed. “Yes. It does help.”

The second call went to Senator Alberquist’s home. When the message prompt activated, Morgan hung up without leaving a message.

He then called Eunice’s room via the hotel’s switchboard, “Hello Eunice, I’m returning your call from this morning.”

“Thanks, Jim. Have you had time to consider my offer?”

“I think there’s more going on with this trip than you’re telling me, Eun. I have the FBI and some Arabs following me, according to my bodyguard. Which, by the way, is costing me a small fortune. What’s really going on, Eunice?”

“Speaking of a small fortune how was that wine last night? Do you have a hangover this morning? And how’s your friend? She was quite lovely, did you get her home safe?”

“Yeah, yeah. So why is the FBI and the Arabs following me? I think you know, and I want some answers.”

“Okay. Here’s what I know. First of all, I know nothing about the FBI following you and that’s the truth. On the Arabs...I can only guess that it has something to do with...probably, Margolova. But I don’t know this, I’m just guessing.” Eunice paused, and Morgan was silent. “Are you there, Jim?”

“Yeah, I’m listening. Go on.” Morgan was mulling over her words, she sounded like she was telling the truth.

“The CIA is monitoring our trip, they want the orchids – if they exist, to be in our hands and not in some other enemy’s pocket, which makes perfect sense to me. But they aren’t sending any agents along, at least that I know about. John... Senator Alberquist suggested I get you to take my psychic girls down to Brazil.”

Morgan’s instincts were right-on about the Senator, “I tried calling John myself. I figured he was in cahoots with you. He hasn’t returned my calls. Why did he suggest me, Eun?”

“Well, he likes you. We both know that. I guess your name just came up. I don’t know.” Eunice was frustrated, she felt like she was blowing the chance to get him to hire on. And then she recalled the mind readers saying that one of the tickets was for James Morgan.

Morgan was more than apprehensive about going to Sao Paulo, but he found himself saying, “Okay, Eun. I’ll take them down for you. Only if Catherine agrees to tag along,” and added, “at your expense.”

Eunice was surprised and thought, why? But quickly said, “Great!” With an obvious enthusiasm, “I’ll expect you at the Institute tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes, then you leave on Saturday at nine in the morning, Eastern Standard Time. I want you to meet with the girls, and there are some maps you’ll need to study. Some work to do, if you will?”

“What’s your latest on Margolova, Eunice?”

“Nothing. The last I’ve heard... She’s holed up in Iran. John said she would be crazy to come after you, especially here...in America.”

“Yeah. Well, go downstairs and tell my Arab tail how tough Homeland Security is. Maybe he’ll stop following me, eh, Eun?”

Eunice didn’t like his flippancy, “I didn’t know, Jim.” She bit her lip to keep from antagonizing him. And she wasn’t about to tell him that he was being used as so much bait to get Margolova out in the open, where she would unceremoniously be terminated.

Eunice, with a genuine emotion, added, “I’m sorry that things turned out so badly, Jim,” and an extreme silence ensued between them.

Morgan’s thoughts, jiggled sporadically around in his head, he still had feelings for Eunice. And on the Margolova issue, he was still in a mindset that she had set him up to be killed in Madagascar. He also believed, that those thoughts were extremely irrational. “Okay Eun, apology accepted.”

Then, in a sense of fair play, he asked, “Will you pick up my expenses for the bodyguard?”

In her mind she screamed, Jesus Christ! And into the phone line she mused, “Okay. But, I want the bill to come from him...your bodyguard, not from you. Fair enough?”

“I haven’t talked with Catherine yet. But she said she’d like to go. She didn’t think you were serious.”

“Yes, I was serious. Hire her on as your private secretary, just be at the Institute by six tomorrow. I’ll have a dinner set up for you, to meet with the girls... I think you’ll like them.”

“Okay Eun. By the way, how much does a private secretary make these days?”

“Minimum wage I think (she lied). Just handle it. And use some common sense... I have to go now; I have a plane to catch. See you tomorrow. And... Thanks.”

“Okay. Have a nice trip, Eunice,” and he hung up the phone.

Eunice immediately called Senator Alberquist, “John? It’s Eunice. Morgan will be in Washington tomorrow; he’s agreed to take them. He’s bringing the blonde.”

“Thanks Eunice. He’s tried calling me. I’ve been waiting to hear from you before I returned his call.”

“He claims he’s being followed by Arabs and the FBI. He hired a bodyguard. Does he need that, John?”

Eunice heard her own sincere care of him come through with that simple question. And then the fact that he was down the hall sleeping with her new employee pissed her off.

“How much did you tell him, Eunice?”

“I told him about you...suggesting I hire him. I didn’t know anything about him being followed, and I told him so. He asked about Margolova. I told him I knew she was in Iran. I’m getting worried about this, John. I’m not very good with this intrigue. I want to be open and above board.” Eunice was biting her fingernail and she was oblivious of her own action.

John weighed her feelings, “I do understand Eunice,” and he made a decision, “I’ll talk with him. I want him to know what I’m planning. I think he’ll go along with it. I think it’s only fair.”

“Thank you, John. I’ve got to run. Call me after you talk with him. Can you make a seven o-clock dinner tomorrow night?”

“Where?”

“The Institute, my house. Casual. I’ll send a car for you, six-thirty, it’ll be Jimbo, his flame, and the three mind readers. Your wife’s in Iowa, isn’t she?”

“Yes. She’s running the farm through harvest. She’ll be back in October.”

Eunice was out her door and passing Morgan’s room while still talking with the Senator. As she looked at Morgan’s room number, she involuntarily stuck out her tongue toward the hidden occupants. “I’m sure it will be an interesting dinner, John.” And she had a passing thought that she wished it was her in Morgan’s room instead of, Miss Cutie Pie.

“I’m getting on the elevator, John. I’ll talk with you later, ta-ta.”

Morgan made three more calls, the first one went to the hotel desk clerk where he booked the suite for a second night and requested a noon wake up call. The second one was to room service where he ordered a pot of coffee, two toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste to be delivered at exactly twelve-ten, and clarified, “Ten minutes after twelve P.M., noon.”

The third call went back to Oscar Bradley, “Oscar, are you up for a trip to Brazil?”

“Yes. When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. We’ll fly to D.C., and spend two days at the Institute of Intuitive Thought. Then, we fly to Sao Paulo on Saturday morning. I’m guessing a week. Maybe two.”

“You got it, pal. I want a grand a day plus expenses. I’ll fly to D.C. tonight and meet your plane. Your back’s covered.”

They talked a few minutes on details and Morgan okayed a 25 large advance on his American Express card. They agreed to have a few drinks together when the trip was over.

He turned off his cell and the desk lamp and slipped quietly into the king-sized bed next to Catherine and fell asleep with her pleasant scent caressing his senses.

Chapter Twelve

Abdul prevailed the mad moment. His youth and tenacity allowed him to withstand the demands of the demented terrorist, Margolova. She used him like a prop in an illicit sexual sideshow, ordering him about with vicious demands and all the while she never let go of the empty Lugar. After satiating her foul need, she strode off to the shower leaving her clothes and Abdul behind like so many spent shell-casings after a shootout.

Abdul watched her exit the bedroom. She was no longer a fine piece of ass. Her breasts were sagging pathetically and the sweat odor that enveloped her was reminiscent of the garbage dump down the road from where he grew up. And he thought that he would rather touch a dead fish than to ever touch her aged flesh ever again.

When the bathroom door closed, he dressed hurriedly; his T-shirt was on inside out, as was one of his socks. He snuck into Joseffie’s room and pried the .38 Special from his friend’s dead fingers. He stuck the gun in his waistband and then took a wad of cash that sat loose on the bed and stuffed it in his pockets, some of it fell to the floor in his haste but he didn’t bother picking it up. He walked rapidly and as quietly as he could to the condo’s door and left the building -- with his life intact. Once out on the street he felt a deep consoling relief. Allah had indeed blessed his corrupted soul.

Abdul felt a sharp pain in his back and his body was propelled forward slightly in his escaping jog. And he lost his motor control and saw the ground rising up to his face as he stumbled and fell. And when he recovered his fall to a sitting position he looked back down the street at where he had escaped and saw a naked woman holding an AK-47 rifle aimed at his head. A tiny puff of smoke left the barrel of her weapon about the same time that the bullet causing the puff reached the middle of his forehead.