You hadn't even made it to the highway, the final deadline before deciding between going home and Mrs. Hearst, before your cell phone rings loudly. A glance at the screen tells you it's Ms. Jackson, to which you answer.
"Where are you?" She says as soon as you answer, the tone in her voice expression bits of anger and frustration.
"On the road, deciding between going home or visiting Mrs. Hearst. Why?"
"Go directly home, and don't leave."
"What's going on?"
"What's going on? This whole venture is falling apart! Did you really punch a client?" She practically shouts.
"Yes I did. After she demanded I take her with me, declared herself irresistible to all men when I turned her down, and began clawing it me. Did you know her husband wanted to watch?" You reply with honesty.
"We were told he was going to an overnight visit a medical specialist. Damn it all!" She responds, her anger at least not being directed at you anymore.
"What do we do?"
"You go straight home and lay low. My contacts tell me that Mr. LePoitier is dead and police are on their way to their estate. Beyond that we're not sure what's going on. Please tell me you wore a mask like the client requested."
"I did, It's in the passenger seat beside me." you assure her.
"Small favors I guess. Alright, the best thing you can do is go home and lie low- I'll call you with news as it happens, but there's a very real chance our whole deal is going to go up in smoke."
With those words a feeling of numb horror sinks in. Friday's last chance at a normal life may be evaporating in front of you, and there's so little you can do.
"But my daughter--" you begin to plead.
"Just go home Dr. Heiss. I'll call you." She says, hanging up before you get to finish.
------------
The next 24 hours are an exercise in misery and anxious waiting by the phone. Your thoughts flash back and forth between Friday's wheelchair and a jail cell. Friday's prison, her broken body, takes the forefront but you can't help but wonder what Mrs. LePoitier did, in what form this woman scorned will bring about her fury.
Your cell phone ring has you jump out of your skin like a gun went off, Ms. Jackson once again which brings out it's own sigh of relief.
"Turn on your TV, channel 6."
From your past marriage to a newscaster you know that channel quite well, and cringe at what this could mean. The image you see before you would be funny if not so depressing. Ingrid Goode, the beautiful ex-wife, speaks to the camera while in a box above her head the image of a mansion taped off with the worlds 'SERIAL RAPIST' in large block letters behind her.
". . .-to police the rapist's victims have all been married, upper-class women attacked in their own homes, usually when they were home alone. Investigators believe this may mean the rapist stalks his victims before he attacks. Women that fall into this category are advised to lock all doors and windows, minimize time spent alone in their homes, and take security measures such as updating their break-in alarms and taking self-defense lessons. More on this story as it develops, Tom?"
"Woo. Scary, in lighter news. . ." another newscaster drones on, to which you answer with pressing the mute button.
"The police think. . ."
"That you are a real serial rapist, yes." She finishes your thought, "I coached Mrs. Mendez and Mrs. Nguyen before the police got to them, thank god. Mrs. LePoitier leaked what she could to the press and she's the one that called the real police, breaking her contract with us and if she did any more she'd be making her already uphill legal battle with her murder charge next to impossible."
"So what do we do?" you ask, this deal sounding worse by the minute.
"It's up to you really. The deal can still stand if you want it. You do have to know that if you do continue, this adds a whole extra degree of complications. There will be a real police file, with real press coverage. To anyone but our group and our clients, you will be known as a real rapist if you are caught. If you are arrested, we can eventually help you get out of any real amount of jail time but it will have been too late for your reputation or the press. Do you understand?"
You think about it long and hard, but in the end thoughts of Friday's breathing tube and wheelchair make the decision for you.
"I'm still in."
"Good," she remarks- a bit uneasy but pleased overall, "Take the next weekend off while I pull some strings."
Then she hangs up without another word. Most of you forces a nervous sweat from your pores, wondering what you've done. However, in the back of your mind, there's a little part of you that cant help but chuckle a little.
"Well, at least this means I have plenty of time for Friday's Birthday." |