Chapter 17

The logistics of the move weren't simple. Some of my paintings were wet, which meant they had to be moved with care, and I guess I was acting like a mother hen about them because, completely exasperated, Mary finally said, "Brent, leave everything here for now. We need to leave. Rubin will arrange to move your paintings later."

"But..."

"Now, Brent! Bell knows where you are. If he knows, Captain Giles knows. I'm surprised the police haven't swooped down on you with that arrest warrant already."

"She's right, Brent," Rubin said.

I threw my hands in the air. "Okay, let's go."

I was still wearing the shoulder holster with the XD-9, so I grabbed my sword. Mary picked up her shotgun, and we drove away in the pickup. As we were leaving the area, I noticed a police cruiser headed toward the studio. They didn't notice us. We'd left in the knick of time.

The safe house was luxurious compared to the loft apartment. The air-conditioned garage was adequate as a studio — barely. I didn't complain. I was alive and free. I could also work, and I'd arranged a safe place for Mary.

Newt called and told me that arrest warrants had been issued for both Mary and me, but Giles had made a mistake. The warrants weren't the no-knock variety, which meant the police officers sent to the studio to arrest Mary and me didn't breakdown the door. The moving van arrived after the police left, and the moving men loaded up my paintings, painting supplies and paraphernalia, as well as Mary's and my personal belongings, including the new plasma TV. They didn't bring everything directly to the safe house. They took the items to a storage facility. The next day a different moving crew brought everything to the safe house, and Rubin made sure that the moving van wasn't followed.

While the initial moving van was being loaded at the studio, Rubin's electronic specialist also moved in and removed the video cameras he'd installed around the exterior of the studio, and then he carted off the cameras, monitors, and the videotapes. Yes, videotapes. One tape captured the man planting the bomb. Another showed Rubin removing the bomb. I didn't know the video feeds were being taped, but the tapes proved valuable later.

Also because James's outfit took care of their own, the electronics security company credited me for the cost of the equipment, charging me only for the labor for installation and removal. I sure couldn't complain about how James's company was treating me financially, either.

The safe house was wired for cable, so the plasma TV worked perfectly, and we were able to watch the news for the first time since my house was invaded. Mary and I didn't like what we saw and heard. Bell had obviously spent some of his money to make sure he looked like a good guy, and with Giles's public announcement regarding the arrest warrants, we were starting to look like bad guys.

What really bothered me was the fact that Barbara Campbell appeared to be leading the pack of media vultures trying to make Mary and me bad guys.

"There goes that media source," I grumbled.

I called Newt. "I need some help with the media."

He chuckled. "That's my take on the matter."

"I can't use Barbara Campbell. Bell got to her."

"That's not a recent development."

"Any suggestions?"

"The company retains a public relations gal. She's not cheap."

"Can she be trusted enough to come to me here at the safe house?"

"Sure. When would you like to meet with her?"

"As soon as possible anytime. I'm not going anywhere."

"All right." He chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

"You're having way to much fun at my expense, Newt."

"Yes, I am, having fun, that is. I'd apologize but... Brent, I've yearned for years for a client who would meet Walter Bell head on and not flinch, so yes, I'm enjoying myself, but not at your expense. I'm proud to represent you. You don't go off half-cocked. You listen and learn, but you remain steadfast. You also surprise me. You recognized you needed P.R. help and asked for it. What's more, you're willing to pay for it. Whether you know it, or not, that's unusual."

"Yeah, well I appreciate you, too, Newt. I appreciate everyone I've met connected with James. To change the subject, what did the police say when you told them about the car bomb?"

"I didn't tell them about the bomb. I thought Rubin would tell them."

"He's my protector, Newt. He can't leave me."

"Please hand the phone to him."

"Hang on."

I found Rubin in the office he used as a security station and handed him the phone. "Newt wants to talk with you."

I sat in the chair in front of the desk and waited.

"I turned that chore over to Gary," Rubin said. Seconds later, he said, "I don't know. I haven't heard back from him." Rubin grinned and winked at me. "All right. He's sitting in front of me." Rubin held out the phone.

I took it and said, "I take it someone named Gary reported the car bomb."

"That's correct."

"I brought up the issue because it occurred to me that we have an opportunity to help Giles shoot himself in the foot. What would he do if Gary handed him the bomb but didn't mention the videotapes that recorded the bomb being planted and removed?"

Newt chuckled. "I don't know, but it might be fun to find out. I'll call Gary and get back with you."

After I hung up, Rubin said, "I don't think Gary knew about the videotapes. What do you have in mind?"

I told him.

"Do it," he said with an evil grin.

A grandmother. If Elsa Twining wasn't someone's grandmother, she was missing a hell of an opportunity. Gray hair, short, softly curled. Light blue eyes that shined with contentment and kindness. Dimples, deep and long. Her wrinkles came more from smiling than frowning. She wore a gray business suit, with pants, not a skirt. Black, flat shoes. No high heels for Elsa, I figured. Comfort first would be her motto.

"I'm Newt's P.R. gal," she said, a low, throaty voice, not as low as Agnes's. Elsa's voice had aged well, like the rest of her.

Mary had brought her to the garage where I was painting and introduced us.

"You're an artist. Newt didn't tell me that you were an artist." She walked from one unfinished painting to the next, stopping in front of the one painting I'd finished. She turned back to me and gave me a deep-dimpled smile that made me feel cherished. "Dr. Crane wrote an article about you and your art," she said. "He referred to you as a prodigy."

"Yes," I said.

"That'll help. You're not a complete unknown."

Her eyes moved up and down my body. I don't believe I'd ever been examined so thoroughly. I felt like I'd just been scanned by an alien space ship.

"You're handsome, tall and muscled, but lean. You'll clean up nicely." She frowned, but only briefly, and then flashed the cherishing smile again. "I'd seen you before and couldn't remember where. Then I remembered. Barbara Campbell interviewed you. Something about your parents and the FBI."

"That's correct."

She looked inward, mentally reviewing the interview, I assumed. "You handled yourself well during that interview. At the time, I thought that you were very mature for a teenager. We'll use Barbara again to help you with your current problem."

"She's an opponent, not a friend," I said.

"If you're referring to the fact that she's on Walter Bell's payroll, yes, she's an opponent. That's why we'll use her. She'll try too hard to make you look bad, and the viewing audience, the milling masses out there being entertained by TV news, will pick up on her bias and turn it against her. You're the underdog, a boy, being attacked by a powerful, rich man." She laughed softly. "You're my idea of a perfect client: a handsome lad, a prodigy in the arts, well spoken, brave and dangerous, but on the right side of right and wrong. And there's pathos. An orphan at the age of sixteen, but mature enough that the courts decreed you an adult. I referred to you as a boy a moment ago. We won't use the word 'boy' in context with you in our campaigns."

"What will you use? Young man?"

"No. We'll make no reference to your age. We'll let the other side bring up your age. Our side will refer to you as a man without an age qualifier. You lopped off two heads, Brent. A man defending himself can do this. A boy can't. A boy decapitating a man is too much like an accident, like a child playing with a loaded gun."

"That makes sense, Brent," Mary said.

Elsa looked at Mary, and then looked at me. "You're lovers?"

"Yes," Mary said.

Elsa shook her head. "I don't know how that will play."

Mary's eyes danced with anger.

"Stay calm," I said to her in Cantonese. "She doesn't know your story. Tell her."

"What did you say to her?" Elsa said.

"What do you know about Mary?" I asked, ignoring her question.

"That she's a single mother. That she blew one of the assailants away with a shotgun while defending her daughter. You didn't answer my question."

"I told her not to get her panties in a twist until she told you her story."

Mary chortled. "He told me to stay calm, Elsa. He didn't mention my panties, twisted or otherwise."

While we'd been talking, I'd cleaned up my brushes and hands. I took off my painting smock. "Let's take this conversation inside the house. I'm thirsty."

Mary told her story, ending with, "There's nothing about Brent that is boyish in my eyes. He's my man, Elsa. You might not know how that will play to the public, but that's the way it is, so I suggest you figure out a way to make our relationship positive to the 'milling masses out there being entertained by TV news.'"

Elsa looked at me and smiled. "She does have her panties in a twist."

I laughed heartily. Mary tried not to laugh, but failed.

Elsa said, "Mary, you're an independent translator for the courts, which indicates to me that you learned Cantonese and Mandarin on your mother's lap." Elsa turned to me. "But it appears you also speak those languages. From whom and when did you learn them?"

"Berlitz," I said with a grin. "Not on my mother's lap."

"Yeah, right," Elsa said cynically.

"If I told you the truth, you wouldn't believe me, so let's leave it at that. I'm also a master of Kung Fu, expert with wushu weapons, the saber being one of them, and for what it's worth, I'm a fair to middling blacksmith. If you asked me how I came by those abilities, I'd come up with an answer similar to Berlitz language tapes as my explanation for proficiency in Cantonese and Mandarin."

She shook her gray head. "Not good enough. The other side will dig and dig and dig until they know everything about you. To do the job you want me to do, I need to know, too. Surprises can be lethal to our campaigns."

"I learned the languages, my art, Kung Fu, and how to forge iron during my past lives," I said.

She laughed. "Yeah, right."

I shrugged. "I told you if I told you the truth that you wouldn't believe me."

"He's telling you the truth," Mary said. "His Cantonese and Mandarin are old-fashioned because he learned those languages during the 19^th Century when he lived as a Chinese man."

Her eyes flashed from Mary to me, and back to Mary.

"So," I said, "if the other side digs and digs and digs, that's what they'll find, but they won't use it. No one would believe them. That's why we won't use it, either." I sighed. "Newt told me you're services weren't cheap. If you're willing, I'm willing. I want to hire you, but I don't know if I can afford your services."

She named an hourly fee, told me that expenses were in addition to her fee, and stipulated a retainer. I hired her.

Elsa, Mary and I spent the next two hours discussing strategies. The arrest warrants limited Mary and my movements, as well as with whom we could meet and where. For instance, I couldn't immediately meet Barbara Campbell for an interview. Captain Giles would show up at that meeting and serve the warrants. I brought Rubin into the discussion.

"If we're to turn the public's attitude in my favor, a number of meetings are warranted with various individuals, Rubin. Any suggestions?" I said.

He was opposed to any meetings but understood the need. To insure my safety and Mary's, more personnel were needed, he told me. I agreed to pay for the extra help, and we set up our first meeting, a social worker from Child Protective Services. We stipulated a meeting place, but that's not where we met. The social worker, a woman named Penny Lawson, was met at the agreed upon meeting place, and then brought to Mary and me at a different place. Two security specialists (protectors in training) made sure Ms. Lawson wasn't followed.

We met with Ms. Lawson so Mary and I could detail our first contact with Walter Bell and his stepdaughter, Lydia, and inform the social worker what Lydia had told us at my home. We'd started with the social worker to put Bell on notice that he was being watched, hoping that would be enough to protect Lydia. As we'd planned regarding all of our meetings, the meeting was videotaped.

Ms. Lawson promised to follow up our allegations with an investigation.

The next meeting was with a crime reporter named Grant Reed from the Arizona Republic & Gazette. Elsa gave him a press release that detailed our encounter with Bell in the restaurant, what his stepdaughter had told us that same afternoon, and the reasons we were reluctant to allow Captain Giles to serve the material witness arrest warrants. Then we sat and answered his questions.

"Are you saying that Captain Giles is dirty?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I'm saying it's possible that Walter Bell has influenced him in some way. Wouldn't you agree that the arrest warrants are suspect?"

He didn't agree or disagree.

"Mr. Reed, four armed men broke into my house and tried to kill me. Later, two men planted a bomb in my pickup. Someone..."

"Captain Giles is on record saying that he believes the bomb turned into him was a put-up job on your part," Reed said.

I wanted to kiss him. This was related to the plan I'd told Rubin about that would help Giles shoot himself in the foot.

"Oh, how so?"

"He said there was no evidence, other than the say-so of the man who handed over the bomb, that it was anywhere near your pickup."

"Which means he isn't investigating that attempt on my life."

"That would be my take on the matter," Reed said.

"Is he investigating the initial attempt on my life by trying to find out who hired the men who broke into my house and tried to kill Mary and me?"

Reed shrugged.

"Shouldn't the media be pressing him on this issue? I find it astonishing that because Mary and I defended ourselves that somehow we've become the bad guys in this sordid mess. What would you do with information that proved the bomb was placed in my pickup? Would you push Giles to investigate, not only the bomb but also the break-in and attempted murder at my house?"

He grinned. "Sure."

I nodded at the tech videotaping the meeting. He put a tape in the VCR and the television came alive. We watched together as a man planted a bomb in the engine compartment of my pickup, and then crawled under the vehicle to plant the tracking device.

"My people have identified that man, Mr. Reed. His name is Frank Dayton. We haven't been able to identify the driver of the van, not yet, but we're working on it. Now watch as my protector, Rubin Perez, removes the bomb and tracking device." I nodded and the second tape followed. "Those tapes were delivered to Captain Giles this morning, along with the identity of the bad guy. Has Captain Giles announced any progress on the investigation into the second attempt on my life? Has Frank Dayton been arrested? You don't need to answer. The answer to both questions is no. The media needs to ask some questions, Mr. Reed. For instance, has Giles interviewed Walter Bell regarding Bell's possible involvement in these crimes? How about asking Giles why the arrest warrants were issued? Material witness arrest warrants are related to grand jury testimonies. What grand jury? Besides Mary and me, what does Captain Giles have to take to a grand jury? You asked me if Giles was dirty. I say if it quacks like a duck, walks like a duck, then it's dirty. You're an investigative crime reporter. Do your fucking job. Investigate Walter Bell. Investigate Captain Giles."

I paused and smiled. "Mr. Reed, we chose you for this meeting because we believe you are an honest man and you are very, very good at what you do."

"May I have a copy of those tapes?"

I wanted to kiss him again. "Sure."

Mary walked into the garage carrying a seat cushion from one of the kitchen chairs, which surprised me. It was late. I wasn't sleepy, so I was painting.