His watch told him it was 3:00 am, his body told him it was tired and desperately needed to get some sleep. But Larry couldn’t sleep; it was pointless him even trying to. His best friend and business partner had been missing for the past eighteen hours.
The last call he made to Gregg’s cell phone hadn’t eased his anxiety any. Something was wrong, and he just couldn’t wait around and do nothing about it. Taking out his cell phone one more time, he retrieved another number from its memory.
‘Hello?’ questioned a sleepy voice.
‘Hi, Bren, I’m calling to tell you not to go into the office in the morning.’
‘Larry …? Do you know what time it is?’
‘Yes I do, and I’m really sorry for waking you so early, but I’m driving out to Lynchburg first thing and thought you should know.’
‘Still no word from Gregg?’
Larry shook his head. ‘Nada, zip, I called him about an hour ago, either he switched off on me, or someone else has his cell phone. So I’m going out there.’
‘But, Larry, you said you didn’t even know where there was.’
‘Yeah, that’s the other reason for my call,’ he said, feeling sure she’d understand.
‘You called me because you want a map printing off, right?’
‘Do you mind?’
‘Do I mind what, Larry? Printing off a map for you, or that you actually woke me to ask?’
‘Sorry, Bren, but-’
‘Yeah I know, you think Gregg’s in some kind of trouble.’
‘Yes, so if it’s okay with you I’ll be there in about forty minutes or so?’
‘Yeah sure,’ she said, and then hung up.
Larry put his cell phone on the small table by the side of the sofa and went upstairs to his bathroom. Once there, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. Exhausted, unkempt, and to a greater or lesser degree, although he couldn’t decide which, even pitiful. And they were the good points. His eyes were puffy and dark, the lines on his face looked more exaggerated than they did when he’d last looked, and his greying stubble was way too visible.
Three minutes later, the ice cold water hitting his face for a third time, took away the sting of shaving, but left him with a numb feeling. He lifted a towel from off a warming rack, and after a few vigorous rubs, and a palm-full of Christian Dior’s “Fahrenheit”, he felt his old self again. He pulled on a pair of grey khakis, a white T-shirt, and a dark green zip-up jacket, and after lighting a cigarette and picking up his cell phone, he left for Brenda’s place.
Brenda flopped back on her soft white pillow and sighed. She’d had no more than one hour of sleep, and thought Larry probably hadn’t had any. The previous day was a long one. Too long in fact, and the way this day just started, it was probably going to be even longer. Good morning America.
Sliding from under the single white sheet, Brenda went into the bathroom for a quick shower. Her bathroom was sandwiched between the two bedrooms of her apartment, and with the second bedroom being as small as it was; Brenda only used it as a walk-in wardrobe.
Her living room on the other hand was quite spacious, consisting of a large white leather sofa and two matching chairs facing a fake open fireplace, a glass table nestled neatly in the centre, and two large windows looked out over East Nine Mile road, toward Richmond International Airport. Her kitchen lay beneath one of those windows in one corner of the living room, with only a breakfast bar defining the border between the two. On that breakfast bar, and facing into the living room, was her computer.
Thirty minutes after Brenda climbed from her bed, the map to get Larry to Lynchburg had been printed off, and another map of the town itself, with the Brontrose house circled in red.
Brenda heard the buzzer for the main front door and pressed her intercom button. ‘Come up, Larry, top floor, number 36. I’ll leave the latch off,’ she said, then returned to the kitchen to finish making their coffees.
A full five minutes later, the front door opened, she looked to see Larry stood there leaning against the post. ‘Whoo,’ he said, breathless. ‘Now that, was a hell-o-fa-climb.’
Brenda went over to greet him. ‘Ah, I forgot to mention,’ she said, grimacing. ‘The elevator’s out!’
Larry held up a hand, still panting. ‘S’okay … I needed the exercise anyway.’
‘Judging by the way you’re breathing, Larry, what you need is to pack in those fags.’
‘What ... and give up my only vice? Never!’
‘Oh my dear Lord, what have I said?’
Larry just rolled his eyes and walked in letting Brenda close the door after him. As she led him further into her apartment, he couldn’t help but breathe in her sweet, floral scent. Shampoo or perfume? He couldn’t decide which. He followed her to the breakfast bar, taking in her attire en route.
She wore a pair of black, slip-on shoes, with narrow three-inch spikes masquerading as heels, of which, only the most dexterous of women would attempt to walk on. Larry surmised: If understanding the complex rules of baseball amounted to a man’s sixth sense, then balancing on stilettos, had to be a woman’s.
Above the shoes, she wore a pair of light-blue, tight-fitting, Armani jeans. So tight in fact, Larry wondered who the lucky tattooist could be.
Her ensemble finished off with a white, button-down blouse, which, and he couldn’t help but notice, but tried his best not to stare at, was practically see-through. He thought she looked great, sexy even, but didn’t say so.
When they reached the breakfast bar, she handed him his coffee and slid the maps across to him, which he briefly glanced at after saying thanks.
‘Nice place, Bren,’ he said, looking around.
‘Eighteen months, Larry, and this is the first time you’ve been up here,’ she said, leaning her back on the breakfast bar.
Again, Larry hadn’t been up there because he didn’t want to become involved with anyone at this particular moment in his life, especially anyone he worked with. Which is why Brenda’s invites for late-night coffee had been turned down so many times. He can’t deny he finds her attractive, any man would. But Larry likes his world the way it is right now, and that, as selfish as it might sound, means only looking out for himself. Not counting Gregg Pieroni, of course.
‘Well then,’ he said, in reply. ‘Perhaps you should invite me up here more often.’
Brenda had to smile. ‘You’re irredeemable, Larry Kessler, you really are.’
Larry took another mouthful of his coffee then looked at his watch; the time was 3.50 am ‘Well, if I set off now, I should be there for six-thirty to seven O’clock,’ he said, picking up the maps.
‘What? You think I got out of bed at three in the morning, and after only one hour of sleep, just to print off some maps?’
He can’t say he’d noticed it before, but Brenda looked even prettier when angered. ‘Okay, get your coat. But I’m doing all the driving.’
Brenda put on a light-grey, knee-length Mac, which she tied across the middle with the belt. And before leaving the apartment, she picked up a Thermos of coffee she’d already prepared for the journey, then they both left for Lynchburg.
