Tea Leafing: A Novel (17 page)

“That’s still helpful.
If you think of anything else please let one of us know. We’re gonna have to
try and track this guy down, and we’re having trouble figuring out where to
start. It looks like . . .” Sam hesitated, “Oh hell, it looks like he may have
spent the night with her before she died.”

“Do you think this Joe
may have had something to do with her murder?” Amanda sounded distressed,
though hopeful at the prospect of finding a suspect.

“At this point we don’t
know much. I just can’t believe Lena would have fallen for someone so
dangerously duplicitous. She had a way of reading people that would put most
intuitives to shame. The rest of us have dated our share of idiots, but not
Lena, her head and heart always seemed to work in tandem.”

“True. Well, take care
of yourself and keep me posted. I’ll let you know if anything comes up at this
end. I have to get back to the house before they notice I’ve gone.”

“Okay, take care babe.
We’ll be in touch.”

They disconnected. Sam
stood between the plastic windbreaks of the booth for a few moments while she
collected her thoughts.

CHAPTER 29

Mary Jane’s major at
Georgia Tech had been computer science, although she had taken a few advanced
placement courses typically reserved for master’s level students. She’d aced
Applied Cryptography and Information Security Strategies with the hope she’d be
able to complete her master’s degree in information security. Hacking into
systems had always been a matter of logic for her. Growing up a latchkey kid
with a keyboard and monitor for a babysitter left her plenty of time to hone
her skills. She’d gotten caught trying to break the code on a large banking enterprise
when she was fifteen, not because she needed the money but because she’d always
taken security measures as a personal test of her abilities.

Wearing a Laura
Ashley-esque smock from JC Penney’s and a forlorn look, she’d managed to talk
the authorities into believing it was an accidental breech. They gave her a
slap on the wrist and a stern warning that if she were caught again she
wouldn’t be so lucky. Her record was expunged when she turned eighteen and off
to college she went.

Grace and Birdie would
glaze over when she and Sam would cross swords in their never-ending Mac vs. PC
debate. Neither would concede to the other and neither would date outside her
platform, which was nice, because it meant they never fell for the same guy.

She depressed the button
on a remote-controlled keychain pinned to her bulletin board. The signal from
the small button activated a power strip, housing all the cables to her various
hard drives and peripherals. The hum of fans and motors that Mary Jane once
found so comforting, filled the room. The monitor coughed and sprang to life,
casting a cool blue light on Mary Jane’s face as she waited patiently for her
old friend to finish waking up.

Since her mother’s
death months ago, she had only been on the computer a handful of times.
 
Sitting in her Herman Miller desk
chair, she flashed to all the twilight evenings her mother had said “Take a
break from that and come sit with me a while.” She was always too busy,
thinking she’d sit with her mom later. Later, somehow, became never.

Always full of love and
encouragement, her mom had been her biggest fan. She never scolded Mary Jane
for long hours at the machine, but occasionally Mary Jane would catch a
fleeting glimpse of the hurt in her eyes. She’d proudly boast to her fellow church
members and friends back in Jacksonville about Mary Jane’s success at Tech. She
loved making her mom proud and wanted desperately to get a good job and make
enough so her mom could retire. It was easy for Mary Jane to earn high marks,
or write a clever program, but it was harder for her to give of herself. She
had become attached to the black and white world of computer science where
there’s no variable for gray areas like the fickle moods of humans.

After her mother’s
death, Mary Jane had tried to “get back in the ergonomic chair,” but she
couldn’t. She’d found herself unable to focus her attention. Her thoughts were
consumed with what she might be missing in life, and this finally caused her to
take leave from her course of study, at least temporarily. It wasn’t so much
her desire to engage, rather her desire to observe that lead her to the
mercurial world of the Pink Pussycat.

The hard drive pinged,
telling Mary Jane that it was ready for the binary conversation to begin. She
slid the paper napkin with the series of account numbers she’d scribbled on it
toward her, pulling it into the blue light of the monitor.

She took a deep breath
and began to type.

CHAPTER 30

On the drive to Mary
Jane’s apartment, Sam turned the thought of Joe over and over in her mind like
thumbs turn a worry stone. Lena never went out with men she met in the club and
she wasn’t a party girl.
The grocery store?
A
bookstore?
A coffee shop?
They were all plausible, but
Sam just couldn’t picture Lena meeting someone like that without telling the
group.

She turned into Mary
Jane’s driveway and pulled past the large Craftsman style house into the back,
parking in front of the steps to the apartment above the three-car garage. As
Sam alighted from her car, she could see the drapes in Mary Jane’s living room
had been pulled. She made her way up the wooden staircase, lightly touching the
vines that had wound themselves around the railing. The door was unlocked. She
let herself in.

The silhouette of Mary
Jane against the bright screen was almost eerie. She turned and smiled “Flip
that light on. No reason you should go blind too.”

Sam lit the room as
Mary Jane punched a button on her monitor to give it a respite. Sam collapsed
into the deep cushions of Mary Jane’s couch and pushed her shoes off. Mary Jane
strolled into the kitchen toward the smell of coffee brewing.

“Want some?”

“Please, I’m dead on my
feet. I talked to Amanda and she’s cool.” Sam tucked her feet under her and
continued her couch-nesting ritual, “Any luck?”

A few moments of silence
passed before Mary Jane reappeared with steaming mugs of coffee. She passed one
to Sam and focused her attention on one of the legs of the coffee table,
looking as if trying to choose her words carefully.

“What? That’s not a
happy look, Mary Jane.”

Mary Jane couldn’t hold
it in any longer.

“I have a plan.”

CHAPTER 31

Gio stretched his bulky
frame and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Lying next to him on a crush of
pillows he could see long blond curls mussed from sex and sleep. Slender, tan
legs wove their way in and out of the bed sheets. The sight woke him
completely. It was always a nice surprise when a girl still looked good in the
morning. He ran his fingertips down her spine and gently traced the outlines of
her hips, trying to rouse her. He pushed himself against her back and brushed
his stubbly face in the cupped skin where her shoulders met her collarbone. His
hands ran along the skin of her stomach feeling the downy soft fuzz.

Low moans muffled by
the pillows drifted from the blond mess. She began twisting into a sexy wake-up
squirm, extending her slender, firm arms into a stretch that found its way
around Gio’s broad shoulders. She turned her head and fixed her icy blue eyes
on him in a stare that could heat up hell.

Gio pushed himself on
top of her, enjoying the feeling of being dominant. He needed to feel like a
protector, a predator. His needs revolved around the base emotions and
particularly where sex was concerned those needs were primitive. Running his
tongue along his teeth he could feel the fur he hadn’t yet brushed away. It
would have to wait. Gio split her legs with his knee and pushed himself inside
her.

He stared down at her
as he paced his strokes, thinking it would be a very bad thing if Fedya ever
found out what he and Nikki were up to.

CHAPTER 32

“Najib,” Fedya greeted
the Central Asian man in a bear hug, speaking in accent-less Dari “Good to see
you my old friend.”

“Good to see you too,
Fedya. You are making me rich, and my enemies jealous!” Najib responded in
kind. “I want to tell you all about the expansion of the organization, but
perhaps we should talk in private?” The man’s Afghani bodyguards lowered their
eyes. Fedya’s American henchmen stared dumbly at Nikki, who was sprawled on the
couch, nonchalantly inspecting her nails.

“Please.” Fedya
motioned to the set of tall, wooden French doors leading to his library where
Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan sang his rhythmic chants through the speakers hidden
behind the richly paneled walls.

The two men first met
in Afghanistan. Even though they were in opposing camps politically, they had a
common interest — poppies. At the time, Najib was a mid-ranking soldier
in the opium syndicate operating in Kabul. After a bloody rise to power, he now
controlled a majority of the fields in northern Afghanistan. Fedya had
recognized the look in Najib’s eyes, so many years ago. He could tell Najib
would one day be as powerful as himself, almost. He’d chosen his friends wisely
over the years.

Nearly doubling the
amount of opium making its way across US borders in the last three years, Fedya
had definitely profited from their association. In addition to his prowess in
the drug trade, Fedya’s real talent was money laundering. This skill is what
kept the scales in their relationship balanced, since both men had something
the other wanted. Najib had been able to funnel large sums of money to his
favorite Islamic groups inside the United States. Fedya suspected they were
actually Islamic terrorist sleeper cells living comfortably in suburban America
on Najib’s dime. But his loyalties were with no one.
Certainly
not with the work-a-day American.

Gesturing toward an
overstuffed leather chair in front of the darkened privacy windows, Fedya
lifted a burl wood box from its place on the side table. He opened the humidor
and offered Najib one of the perfectly rolled cigars, lined up neatly in the
aromatic box.

Najib accepted with a
smile. “Even the Prophet would forgive a man’s weakness for such a fine Cuban.”

Fedya settled himself
into his own chair and turned the music up a few notches with a remote control.
“So where were we Najib? Oh yes, you were about to tell me all about your
ever-expanding empire.”

CHAPTER 33

Hip-hop thundered
through the room as Grace was finishing a table dance for two of her regular
customers. It had been a long time since she had been choosy about the music
she danced to. When she first started out in the business, she’d wait for a
song she liked to do a dance, but now if music
was
playing, she’d be dancing. Her regulars were a married couple who were in every
Thursday between 7:30 and 9:30. They had a standing time with their babysitter
and always went to dinner before coming to the club. Grace only danced for
Jennifer, the wife, while Barry, the husband, watched. They said it kept their
marriage “fresh” and they both enjoyed the getaway. Grace genuinely enjoyed
their company and looked forward to their visits. They knew the rules, never
crossed the line and tipped well. It was a two-hour chunk of her night that she
could lower her guard and
relax
.

Grace moved her face
close to Jennifer’s cheek and breathed in her perfume. Issey Miyaki tonight.
Jen had excellent taste. She brushed Jen’s hair back with her fingertips and looked
her in the eye. Grace found that the techniques for men and women were slightly
different. Women liked a lot of direct eye contact and a dance that was gentle
and seductive. In general, men appreciated the seduction, but were much more
interested in seeing the body move, the pure visual charade. Grace also knew that
generalizations were dangerous so she relied on her instincts to read each
person.

As the song ended,
Grace pulled her pink lace bra and panty set back on and smiled at Jen who sat
flushed and breathless. Barry pressed a bill into Jen’s hand
who
in turn offered the paper up to Grace like a timid child. She pulled her garter
out and accepted the twenty. Bussing Jen on the cheek, she thanked Barry before
plopping into the padded armchair next to Jen.

“So tell me all about
your week, young lovers.”

“Oh, business is only
constant in its change,” Barry smirked “There must be something more
interesting than banking for us to talk about?”

“Hmmmm, well, you could
be reading me the dictionary as long as you let me stare at your wife.” Grace
stayed in character.

Clearly pleased, Jen
grinned from ear to ear, “Why don’t you tell her about that conference on world
banking practices you just attended, Barry? They covered some really
interesting stuff.” She cut her eyes back to Grace, who nodded enthusiastically
and gracefully tipped her champagne flute back to drain the last few drops.

CHAPTER 34

Fedya was a regular at
Bones, one of the city’s top steak houses.

“Mr. Patrushev, welcome
Sir.” The maitre d’ flashed a congenial smile and ushered Fedya to his regular table
with Nikki in tow. Two of his guards were shown to an adjacent table by the
maître ‘d’s assistant.

“Jeffrey will be your
server, as requested. Is there anything I can get to start this evening?”

“Yes. Close the door.
Tonight we dine in privacy.”