03_Cornered Coyote (2 page)

"Oh my God!” Darya exclaimed.

“I can’t hear you. There’s too much traffic noise here at the airport. Can you speak up?”

Darya said in a very loud voice that Mahsa could barely hear, “I thought she'd been assured it was safe for her to return to the United States. She must be frantic. I'll make some calls and try and find out what’s going on. Go home. It's late. I'll see you in the morning."

* * * * *

As soon as Darya hung up, she called the one person she thought might be able to help Maria - Slade Kelly, the private investigator she’d used over the years.
If anyone can do something, Slade can,
she thought.

Slade looked at the screen on his phone and saw that it was Darya. "Hi Doll. Whatcha need? How was Mexico?"

"It was fine, but that's not why I'm calling. I need your help."

"Doll, whatever you need. I'm yours. What's up?" he asked, picturing her sitting  behind her desk, jet black hair brushed up in a chignon, wearing a tailored designer suit, and peek-a-boo Jimmy Choo shoes on her feet which were usually crossed at the ankle. He knew she’d be twirling a strand of her hair while she talked to him, an unconscious habit of hers when she was nervous. He found it utterly charming and feminine considering she was one of the most powerful female business executives in the country.

"A dear friend has run into a brick wall. Any chance you could meet me at my house about 5:00 this afternoon to talk about it?”

"Sure. Was getting ready to pour myself a cold one, but you usually have the good stuff, so I'll jes’ wait 'til I get there. See ya’ at 5:00."

CHAPTER 3

Slade stood for a moment in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his condominium. He looked down the steep cliff that began just a few feet off of his colorful plant-filled back patio and ended below at Pacific Coast Highway. Beachfront multi-million homes fronted PCH on one side and looked out at the smooth sandy beach on the other side.

It was just before twilight, the time of day when the sun began to set over the ocean, creating pink streaks in the sky, and then slowly turning into the blue of night. He could make out the lone figure of a woman throwing a stick for her dog as they walked along the surf line. When the weather was warmer the beach was filled with “hotties” in all types of skimpy bikinis. However, the longer he knew Darya, the more the “hotties” paled by comparison. He briefly thought about his ex-wives. Both of them definitely qualified as “hotties,” but neither had the ability or cared enough to find out about the man behind the street jive. The only things important to them were a place to call home, beer in the refrigerator, and plenty of sex. Women like them were far more interested in having someone appreciate their “store-bought” silicone breasts, which was what had originally attracted Slade to them in the first place.

No one but Brad, his number one man, knew about Slade’s expensive condominium in the gated Malibu community known as “Pacific Sun and Surf.” After he left his third wife, Slade made a vow never to marry again and preferred spending leisure time at his home which he’d made into a showcase for his treasured art and glass collections. He’d started acquiring them years earlier, but he didn’t want his ex-wives to know the extent of his assets, so he kept the collections in rented storage spaces under different names. Neither of them had been able to afford to hire a lawyer with enough smarts to go behind the façade Slade had created and find the secret collections.

When people thought of Slade Kelly they thought of a seedy looking gumshoe that probably lived in a run-down one bedroom apartment in West Covina. What they didn’t know was that Slade had a master’s degree in criminology as well as a law degree. Long ago he’d discovered that people judged one another by language, dress, and mannerisms. When they thought someone wasn’t too bright, they tended to let their guard down. He’d found it to be a very effective tool in his private investigation business.

Slade activated his state-of-the-art home security system and got in his battered old grey sedan, looking every bit like a down and out private investigator that could barely eke out a living. He glanced over at the red and black Porsche Boxster Spyder parked next to him, and thought how surprised people would be to know he owned such an expensive machine.

Darya lived a few miles south of him in the exclusive oceanfront Malibu colony. He’d only been to her home once before, the night she’d hired him because of threats being made against her life. He’d called one of his men, Lou, that very night to act as her bodyguard and make sure her house and cosmetic company were secure from potential attacks by Muslim terrorists. Although it had been several years ago, she still had Lou and his relief bodyguard, and she still received threats. There were a lot of people who took issue with a Muslim woman who didn’t wear a burkha, had a doctorate in chemistry, owned a multi-million dollar cosmetics company, and was the author of a bestselling book. The book dealt with the topic of female genitalia mutilation, still a common practice in some Muslim and African countries.

“Hi, Lou,” he said a few minutes later. He wore his sandy hair in a short-cropped military haircut. Lou looked like the guy next door, but he’d been a member of the Green Berets. After he’d left the military, he’d spent several years in the Far East perfecting his martial arts skills. The man was a walking killing machine.

“Take five. I got a little business with Doll. There’s a good Italian restaurant a coupla blocks north of here on the ocean. Why dontcha take yerself a little break? See ya’ later.”

“Thanks, Boss. I know the restaurant and while Pierre’s a great chef, sometimes I like plain old spaghetti and meatballs.”

When Darya employed Slade, he’d insisted she hire a personal chef so there would be no chance that her food could be poisoned, particularly when she traveled to Afghanistan. He’d suggested Pierre Yount, a chef who had worked in some of the finest restaurants throughout the world. Not only did Darya pay Pierre well, but every few months he was able to accompany her to France and visit his aging parents who lived there.           

He heard Darya’s stilettos clicking on the highly polished wooden floor as she walked down the hall towards him. “Hey, Doll, what’s so important that it can’t wait ‘til workin’ hours?”

Slade turned and looked at her as he closed the door behind Lou. Her form-fitting emerald green silk blouse and pants accented the large emerald and diamond earrings she wore. A tightly clasped Kelly green belt emphasized her full breasts and round hips. Slade took a deep breath and caught the scent of Amerige, Darya’s signature perfume that followed her like a wispy cloud, lightly permeating and staying in every room she’d entered. He struggled not to let any of it affect him. Slade was no stranger to beautiful women, but he still felt like a wide-eyed schoolboy in her presence.

He knew she was way out of his league, but he couldn’t help it. Every time he saw her his heart skipped a beat. Slade was simply in awe of her. He’d never let her know his mouth went dry whenever he was around her. He had all the material things a man could want, but the one thing he wanted more than anything else, he knew would never be his. His secret passion and sexual hunger for her was overwhelming. Just thinking about her caused a familiar stirring in that part of his anatomy located south of his belt buckle.

“Slade, I have some Cristobel in the refrigerator. I recall how much you enjoyed it the first night we met. I’m sure you’ve forgotten, but I remember.”

You are so wrong, Darya. I remember everything about you. I lived my life in a black and white world before I met you. Now it’s in full living color and you’re the center of it.

“Would you open it? I’ll get some champagne flutes for us.” Slade followed her into the kitchen with its magnificent view of the ocean. Beyond her he could see a few lights bobbing on boats brave enough to challenge the dark winter sea.

“Here’s to you, Slade. Thanks for coming over. Let’s go sit in the living room. I have a story to tell you.” He sat down on the large wraparound cream colored couch backed with pillows made from brightly woven Oriental throw rugs. Her home was decorated in shades of cream with bright accent pillows strategically placed on the oversized chairs and couch. Oriental rugs broke the expanse of oak flooring. A fire was burning in the fireplace and lit candles created a warm, intimate environment.

“This is a pretty dicey situation, Slade. I guess I better start at the beginning. Do you remember when you arranged, at my request, to have some Afghan orphans brought to the United States from France? You may recall I told you about a man and woman who had discovered the orphans living in a barn in France, the barn that’s owned by Pierre Yount’s elderly parents. The orphans were temporarily hiding out to escape detection from immigration authorities. It turned out that the man in question is an art theft detective with the LAPD and the woman was married to a scientist who was murdered in the California desert.”

“Vaguely, Doll. I was more concerned about how we was gonna’ get them little girls into the U.S. Why, what’s up?”

“Well, the last time I was at my cosmetic manufacturing plant in Marseille, I met with the woman. I wanted to thank her for giving money to Pierre’s parents and the little girls. It turns out she was a ‘person of interest’ in the murder of her husband. She’d changed her name to Elena Johnson to avoid being detected by the police. She told me she’d fallen in love with the detective and decided to return to California to be with him. Here’s the kicker. We developed an instant rapport. She confided in me that she shot her husband and killed him. She told me it was in self-defense.”

“Riigghhhtttt, Doll! Ever known anyone looking at a trip to the green room at San Quentin who said they offed someone jes’ for the hell of it? Nah, it’s always self-defense. Jes’ sayin’. Okay,” he said, spreading his hands. “I can see you bought whatever she was sellin’. Spill it. Ya’ got my ears.”

Darya was quiet for a moment, looking at her finger as it circled the rim of her champagne flute. The delicate pink of her French manicure matched the color of the champagne. The index finger and thumb of her other hand began to unconsciously twist a strand of her hair as she thought about Maria.

“Evidently her husband was a brilliant scientist for a major pharmaceutical laboratory where he developed an anti-aging hormone, but he got fired because he gave it to her, a violation of company policy and rules. He also developed a drug he called Freedom. It kept people from becoming depressed. He combined the two in the form of a pill. He told her he’d committed the formulas for the drugs to memory and there was no written record of them, however, she stumbled across them on the laptop she’d taken with her when she fled to Provence.

“Believe it or not, she was going to see if she could sell the laptop and wanted to make sure there wasn’t child porn or something like that on it. Slade, I wanted those formulas. I knew I could make millions from selling them. She and I shook hands and she gave them to me. In essence, we became business partners. I was able to follow the formulas and make the pills that combined Freedom and the anti-aging hormone at my plant in Mexico.”

“Doll,” he said, pouring another glass of champagne for himself and topping off Darya’s glass, “Whatcha need me for? Sounds like it’s all good.”

“Maria returned to California this morning. She’s been taken into custody by the police and charged with murdering her husband. Slade, you know I can’t have a partner who’s in jail. That would be a public relations nightmare. My competitors would love it. I can see it now: ‘Wife kills husband and sells his formulas to a cosmetics maker who gets rich from them.’ ”

She stopped talking and took a sip of her champagne. “I know you can do something. She’s a beautiful woman. I’m worried she’ll be raped or killed while she’s in jail. You’ve got to help me protect her while she’s there. Maria has to be kept safe and then be acquitted when she goes to trial. I know you’ve got ties to some less than savory people. Please, Slade, please help me. I’m desperate.”

Darya looked over at him beseechingly, her large brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. In the pregnant silence that followed, Slade noticed the seductive voice of Lionel Richie playing in the background.
I’ll be damned. That’s a side of Darya I haven’t seen before. Too bad. That’s “come fuck me” music.

“Jesus, Doll, do you know what you’re askin’? This is big time, a hell of a lot different than guarding your sweet ass.”

“Are you saying my ass isn’t big time?”

“Never, Doll, never,” he said, holding up his hands. “Your ass is definitely big time.”

“Thanks. I know this is a lot to ask, but I’ve got to make sure Maria stays safe. If I can sell those anti-depressant anti-aging pills, I’ll never have to worry again about how I’m going to find the money to get those little Afghan orphan girls into the United States. You know I made a deathbed promise to my aunt about protecting them. I can’t renege on it.”

Slade watched as her hand unconsciously went to her neck and fingered the fine gold necklace her aunt bequeathed her. He knew her hand would go there. It always did when she spoke about the little girls or her aunt. It tore his heart out each time she did it. Beneath all of her education and sophistication, Darya had a soft spot in her heart and the beneficiaries were the abused and often disfigured little girls who were cast out onto the streets of Kabul, usually by their own parents.

“Doll,” he said, standing up and getting ready to leave. “You know I’d do just about anything for you, but can’t help you on this one. You’re gonna have to take your chances and see what happens. Give me a call and let me know.”

She walked over to him as a single tear started to make its way down her cheek. Without thinking, she put her arms around him and whispered in his ear, her voice catching, “Please, Slade, please. You’re the only person I know who can help.”

His body had a mind of its own. He felt the warmth of her full breasts against his chest and instinctively he pulled her closer to him.