Adieu warm sunshine, p.13
Adieu Warm Sunshine, page 13
"Uh..."
Pamela was going to take the train, her old beater having finally died. That was a lot of work. A lot of effort.
"When you get to the door, he'll give you a thousand dollars."
"What?"
"I'm serious. There's stuff in it he really needs, and you know I don't have a car."
Pamela blinked but slowly nodded.
"I know you're going to need cash up there."
"But that's, too much."
But greed took over, made her hungry for the money, made her dismiss a lot of suspicions.
"Nah, it's fine. It's a long trip, and you've helped me out so much, this is my way of paying you back."
She had helped Sasha a lot over the years. She did deserve this money.
"Wait, have you been getting paid every time you make me haul around your bag?"
Sasha had the grace to blush. "A lot of times, yeah. I mean, I did pay for your gas a few times."
She had paid for gas a few times...
"But this would be, like, one big way to pay you back. For everything."
"What's in it?" Pamela asked.
"Don't look in the bag, Pam," Sasha said, her smile easy, her eyes bright with amusement, not fear, not worry. "Pretend you're a spy."
"I'm just a dancer."
"You will be. Once you get to New York."
"I'll be something."
Sasha smiled brightly.
Pamela hauled the bag onto the train and then off the train and through the Manhattan streets to a brownstone in Gramercy Park. A glimpse inside the home, past the big, vaguely Asian guy in black combat pants and a tight shirt, showed opulence and wealth.
She handed over the bag and was given an envelope with $1000 in cash.
And then the man asked, "Would you like to do this again?"
"I don't know if I'll get home very often..."
He gave her an odd look. "Okay. Maybe around town?"
"Sure."
She gave him her cell phone number.
He called about twice a year. She didn't store him in her contacts because he never called her by the same number. Just texted her to say, "Hey, it's Uncle Sasha, call me back." And she would call, and she would transport a bag from Manhattan to the Bronx or from Harlem to Tribeca or once all the way to Jersey City.
She would always make a thousand dollars. She hadn't put much thought into it because she'd never looked in the bags, and they hardly ever called. It helped her, though, to stay in New York when she was waitressing, not dancing, and she was grateful.
"Oh hell," she said.
She didn't have Uncle Sasha's texts, but she knew where his homes were.
She still had Sasha's email address buried in her account.
She knew something. She wasn't innocent.
"I have to talk to Julien," she said out loud, wondering if the cameras were still on her, just like the safe house. It had worked before.
Her roommate thumped the bottom of her bed. "Shut up and go to sleep."
"Julien," she mouthed.
No lightning came from the ceiling to claim her.
She turned on her side and let her thoughts drift from Julien to Sunflower. Just a banker. She didn't know any of this. Even in her mind, she was a refuge, and Pamela went to her.
#
The missing persons case had remained open. There were a few anonymous IP inquiries, but no updating of records or closures by anyone but Vash. His Lieutenant didn't come down on him. No mysterious strangers asked him questions.
So Sunflower finally visited IT with him, and they studied Pamela Costis' prison record on the screen.
"We don't officially have access," the tech, Leo, reminded them. "This is a friendly back door cooperation sort of thing."
"I understand," Sunny said a low voice.
Vash nodded.
"It should be timely, though. This is a live connection, and they're pretty good about keeping their records up to date. Usually. Unless they want someone to go missing. But she's right here."
Except her name was Brandy Costis, and there was no mug shot of her.
"What's she charged with?" Sunflower asked.
"Possession with intent to distribute."
"That's all?"
"Looks like."
"Why is she in prison, then?"
"No lawyer? We already talked about this," Vash said. "It is still a crime."
"Especially since it's heroin, not pot. There's no happy High Times brigade trying to help her out," Leo said.
"So, can we just... go get her?" Sunflower asked.
Leo covered his ears.
Vash shrugged. "I mean, we can go visit her."
"I want to walk out with her."
Vash folded his arms. "Is there a bond? Could we get a bail hearing?"
Leo, who'd clearly heard them, dropped his hands and typed until the record showed an accounting screen.
"Nope. There was no hearing. She was just arrested."
"Well, that's Constitutionally negligent," Sunflower said.
"You sound angry," Vash said.
Sunflower glowered. "So she's just in the system. But she appeared there. No beginning."
"Right."
Leo offered his opinion. "Easiest way to get her out would be to get the charges dropped. Talk to the prosecutor."
"Who's that?"
Leo squinted at the name. "Taylor Randford."
"Let's go talk to him," Sunflower said.
"And say what? You have our missing person in jail?"
"Sure, why not?"
Vash got up and nudged Sunflower to go with him, waving goodbye to Leo. "We're going to have to do a lot of lying."
"I'm really good at lying."
"Why did I go ahead and assume that. You'll have to do all the talking."
"Do you even want to come?" Sunflower said.
"Hey," Vash said with a sudden smile. "It's my case, after all."
They left the basement room with its glowing computer screens and loud fans and icy cold and climbed back into the squad room. Sunflower threw herself into her chair.
"I don't get it," she said.
"Does it really matter if we get it? If we accomplish our goal?"
"Yes. Because we know that Pamela is a..." She looked around. "...Big 'T', and whoever went after her may go after her again. Or, what if her 'T-bag friends' go after her instead?"
"So, prison may be the safest place for her."
"Yes. No. I don't know. I feel like she's not the same person I met."
"Two weeks ago? Come on, Sunny. It's not like you're the same person she met, either."
#
The prosecutor's office was tiny. There was a desk and four chairs, and a box of tissues. No pictures on the wall. No framed pictures on the desk. Just one calendar filled with puppies.
Taylor, it turned out, was a woman, and one that recognized Sunny.
"Sunny, how nice it is to see you!" Taylor threw her arms around Sunny, held her too close for too long.
Shit.
"You too, Taylor." Sunny smiled and then pinched Vash, hoping he'd be quiet.
"Taylor, this is Vash, my—he's a policeman. I'm helping him out on a case. You know, forensically." She leaned forward. "It's kind of exciting."
Taylor beamed at her. "I thought you were coming to have your parking tickets fixed or something."
They all laughed.
Then Sunny said, "Vash, this is Taylor. She knows me from the bank."
"Oh don't worry about confidentiality. Sunny Kim here handles all my investments, and she does a fantastic job. State pension, you know. A drag."
"These words," Vash said. "I don't know what you're saying." He sent Sunny a wary look.
"He's not a banker," Sunny said apologetically.
"That's exactly why we need you." Taylor laughed. "I was so intrigued when you called me for an appointment." She waved them into chairs.
"Yes," Vash hissed. "Intriguing."
Sunny hit him again.
"So," Taylor folded her hands. "A case."
Sunny thought her the most cheerful prosecutor she'd ever met. She'd been cheerful at the bank, too. And visited too often. And was too flirty.
"We only met two months ago," Taylor said to Vash. "I've already made three percent."
"Amazing."
Sunny cleared her throat. "It's a missing persons case. Vash came to me to look at her accounts. With a warrant, of course. It turned out I knew her mother, too. You know how I can get personally involved."
Taylor pursed her lips and winked at Sunny.
"Anyway," Vash said, laying a sheet of paper on the desk. "We tracked her to a women's penitentiary. They're holding her without bond."
"That's very unusual, pre-trial. Not jail?"
"No ma'am," Vash said.
"What are the charges?"
"Possession with intent to distribute," Vash said.
"How much possession?"
"Two ounces. Black tar."
Taylor nodded. "Very unusual. Poor girl."
"We think she just got swept up into the system and didn't have the means for a lawyer."
"That happens so often. Tragic. Have you gotten her one now?"
"We only found this information this morning. And when I saw your name on the file..." Sunny said, smiling.
"Of course. Do you have her sheet?"
Vash handed over another piece of paper.
"No arrests. She have a job?"
"She's a dancer at Lodoïska."
"I saw that," Taylor said. "It was horrible."
Vash nodded.
"So, she got popped for possession, maybe a stop and frisk, and someone got pissed and hit her with distribution. Who's the arresting officer?"
"We don't know," Vash said.
"You don't know?"
"We don't have the arrest paperwork. She just hit our BOLO when she ended up filed into the prison."
"So what's bail?"
"She hasn't had a hearing yet."
"Ah, right. And you're sure she has no other arrests?"
"She's not a drug kingpin, if that's what you mean."
"Is she wanted for terroristic activities?"
Vash squirmed and glanced at Sunny. "Doesn't say so."
"And what does her bank account say? I know I technically shouldn't ask until discovery, but..."
Sunny opened her briefcase and pulled out sheets. "She gets paid every two weeks. There's a deduction for healthcare, rent, cell phone. She grocery shops, parties."
"No other deposits?"
"She's been on the Lodoïska payroll for over a year. Before that, deposits came from various restaurants."
And $2000 a year in untraceable cash deposits, Sunny didn't say. It wasn't very much money. That's what she told herself.
"A miscarriage of justice," Taylor said. "I'll see that it gets righted. Officer, what do you need from me?" she asked Vash.
Detective. "We'll be happy to escort her back to her family if you let me know when she'll be released."
She took his card. "I'll call you after I file and call the prison. Should be by the end of the day." She leaned forward. "I always return my calls."
"Thank you, ma'am," he said.
"Oh please, just Taylor." They both stood up and shook hands.
"If Sunny doesn't have anywhere to be, can I talk to her for a moment?" Taylor asked, all charm.
Vash glanced at Sunny.
Sunny nodded. "I'm fine. I'll catch the train back to Brooklyn."
"Excellent. I look forward to hearing from you," Vash said.
"By five," Taylor assured him.
He left.
Taylor sat back down and smiled brightly at Sunny. "You've done so much for me, and here I am doing you a favor. That's the way the world works, isn't it?"
"Apparently so," Sunny said.
"So, let me take you to dinner."
"What?"
"I'm doing you this favor. You do me the favor of coming out with me tonight. You can't see—" Taylor glanced at the paper Vash had left. "—Brandy anyway. Do you have to go back to the bank?"
"Not today. I'm working at a Midtown branch." Sunny forced a smile.
"Excellent. So, I'll get all this settled, and then I get off about 7 o'clock?"
"Sure. Where would you like to go?"
"Oh. Anywhere. My treat."
"Then aren't you still doing me a favor?" Sunny asked.
"Oh, well, in a way I suppose I am. I guess you'll have to thank me later." Taylor winked.
Sunny's stomach turned.
It was something she rarely had to do, even in deeper undercover. But they had trained her to do it.
They had held her down and stripped her to say, "See, it isn't so bad."
With Taylor, it probably wouldn't be.
She nodded and offered a bigger smile. "Whatever you want."
Taylor Randford was used to getting whatever she wanted.
#
The call came at 4:32. "Hi Detective, this is Taylor Randford."
"Ma'am, it's good to hear from you."
"I like to take a personal interest in my cases. Although, I admit this one had been sitting on my desk for a few days. I found the original paperwork. Nothing untoward. I have filed a motion to drop the charges, and it should process overnight, for release at 6:00 A.M. tomorrow morning. In my experience they'll have her ready to go closer to 8:30 A.M."
"Thank you so much," Vash said
"Oh, don't thank me. You were good to follow up on a missing persons report that looked much more like an adult runaway."
"Well, thank you, ma'am."
"And I did owe quite a few favors to Sunny Kim."
"She seemed very fond of you," Vash said.
"Yes, I assure you the feeling is mutual. We're going to spend tonight catching up on old times. Do you know any of her preferences?"
"Preferences?"
"Not sexual preferences, I certainly know those, the little minx. But food? Wine?"
"She uh, doesn't drink. At all."
"Religious? A shame."
"More... in Recovery. A philosophical thing."
"I see. Well, I certainly support that. We'll have a grand time anyway. Thank you, Vash."
"You too, ma'am."
They hung up. Vash tapped the phone against his chin. This was the least sinister break they'd had in the case, and yet Vash felt, for the first time, a little dirty.
There was a lot of paperwork involved in getting an innocent person out of jail, so Vash went back to work. He occasionally wondered what they were going to do with the ballerina terrorist—his headline idea—once they had her. But that was for figuring out tomorrow.
Maybe Sunny already knew what they were going to do.
#
Taylor had chosen a restaurant right by her apartment in Hoboken and insisted Sunny walk her home. For protection.
"Although I guess a banker can't save a prosecutor from an unhappy suspect. Have you ever had to transport diamonds anywhere?"
She held onto Sunny's arm, stumbling close to her. She'd gotten wine, and Sunny had poured half a glass, smiled, but never touched it, and Taylor had finished off the bottle. No use putting good wine to waste.
She went out with clients or friends or relatives of suspects at least once a week, so this was nothing new.
Nor was the resistance that poured off of Sunny in waves.
Taylor liked to conquer. She liked the power. But she liked justice, too, and helping people, so she funneled her aggression here, into legal coercion, as she liked to call it, and scratched her itch, and in return, she could stand up to the pressures of the district attorney for more prosecutions and do good.
She was doing good.
She was helping Sunny's little junkie friend out. It made a difference.
Certainly it did to Sunny, who was cooperating despite her unhappiness and her sobriety—alcohol made it so much easier. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a sober houseguest. It was too bad she was anti-drug; that would have helped, too.
But drugs were what landed innocent dancers in state prisons.
Surely Sunny understood.
They entered her apartment, immaculately interior decorated. A kitchenette, a demure TV over an actual, working fireplace, original brickwork, and a four poster bed.
She loved that bed.
Sunny had already taken off her jacket and was unlacing her boots.
"Oh, let me," Taylor said.
Those boots were amazing. Heeled, and polished leather, they made Sunny look tall and strong. Very tall and strong for an investment manager at a bank. Taylor wondered what she would find if she went through Sunny's purse. Made a note to check when Sunny was asleep.
Sunny was definitely the type to leave in the middle of the night, though.
Her hands traced the laces as Sunny sat on a barstool at her kitchen island, her foot on the rung of another. Taylor unplucked them one by one. Smelled the leather as she got closed to it. Nothing else. Sunny had showered right before the restaurant, apparently.
Sunny was ready.
It was almost disappointing to find someone who knew how to play the game like she did.
She also wondered why, if Sunny knew what she was doing, she hadn't demanded the same of her when she started her investments. After all, Sunny had made her a modest amount of money.
"You really know your numbers," Taylor said. She'd de-shod Sunny, and now draped arms over her shoulders. She stood, Sunny sat. It was perfect.
"I know when my number is up," Sunny said, and offered a smile.
Their eyes met. Taylor smiled back and then leaned in and kissed Sunny. Sunny's lips were closed but warm and pliant as Taylor pressed them. She leaned back and considered Sunny's closed expression.
"This is just for tonight, right? I'm not in a place to—"
"Oh, yes. Just for tonight. We won't tell anyone."
She caressed Sunny's pink cheeks and then tapped her on the chin. "I promise."
"And Brandy is free?"
So disdainful to talk about work in the sanctuary of her home. "I called your friend, Officer Dash."
Sunny's expression melted. She smiled. "Thank you, Taylor."
"It's good to have powerful friends, isn't it? Mm?"
When she leaned into Sunny for another kiss there was no resistance, only an opening, a welcoming, matched by Sunny's hands running up and down her sides. Warm. Sexy. Taylor purred into the kiss, then broke it.
