Quiver And Shake

"I've only been his assistant for two weeks." The CIA has me in a
safe room.
"Eva, just tell us how it happened, and who was there." The agent was
getting frustrated, I'm amazed he doesn't crush the polystyrene cup in
his hand as per the clich?. He shows restraint and puts it in the
bin.
"What was your name again? Jameson right?" He nods
"Just get on with it, all we want to know is who was there, or we'll
toss you back into the tittie bar where we found you?"
"Sure, but you do know that there's more to it than who was in the
penthouse, right?" I try and explain and look about the large, hotel
room. There is another agent on the door and another operating the tape
machine. I'm reclining on a large leather sofa in my towelling
robe.
"I imagine there is Eva, but why don't you just tell us about the
penthouse to start with?" The agent takes a seat. Stories are so
impersonal when you're dealing with the CIA, it's always tell us, never
tell me, like there is some greater good, when everyone knows there are
only lots of little evils.
"Okay, it began up in the penthouse of the Marriot in Chicago. I arrive
with Mr Waldorf and we go up to the room. His hands are trembling
faintly opens the door. I guess he's nervous about this whole thing and
I'm surprised because I'd heard that Mr Waldorf was not one for leaving
things to chance. Some article I'd read the week before in Time
magazine called him cool as ice."
"I read that," interjects McIntyre.
"So when I pour him a large malt, he doesn't touch it and when I light
him a cigarette, he puts it out and sits at this large desk at the end
of the room and drums his fingers like this." I tap my fingers on the
arm of the sofa repeatedly.
"He didn't tell you why he might be worried?"
"No, like I said, if the trouble was big enough to worry Mr Waldorf,
then that was a big, big trouble he wasn't gonna trouble me with. So
there's a knock at the door soon afterwards and I walk the down the
length of the penthouse to meet his guests, who arrive, greet me, greet
him, wish him luck, then all light cigarettes and stand around. This
goes on for about ten minutes as more and more people arrive. No one is
ever late for Mr Waldorf.
"Go on Eva," Agent Jameson passes me a lit cigarette, which I
accept.
"Before too long the phone rings and I walk back across the thick smoke
and thin carpet to the desk on the other side of the open plan room to
answer it. This whole party is there for some news, which Mr Waldorf is
about to get. I pick up, It's the District Attorney for you, I say and
pass the phone to him, despite it being right in front of him.
"Now this is important Eva. Was it the District Attorney himself or did
the caller say District Attorney's Office?" Jameson is looking me right
in the eye now.
"You know agent, I think he said office, a Mr Bell from the District
Attorney's office, unless Mr Bell is the District Attorney?"
"And what time was this call?"
"One o'clock exactly, that was when it was scheduled for." Jameson,
summoned the agent by the door and whispered what I presumed were
instructions to check the phone records.
"Okay carry on Eva."
"So Mr Waldorf is on this call, I look up and it's like a fucking
bridal shower waiting to catch the bouquet, they're all so eager, as
eager as you are right now to give you all those names. There is this
Michael, Mr Waldorf's best friend and partner. Everyone knows they are
best friends, they act like best friends, they tell everyone they are
best friends and yet Michael is fucking Waldorf's wife.
"This is Michael Santini right? How could you know that?" A voice comes
from the over near the tape recorder.
"For the tape, Agent McIntyre asked Miss Parsons how she could possibly
know Mrs Juliet Waldorf was sleeping with Michael Santini, Stephen
Waldorf's business partner."
"Waldorf's wife, Juliet, a real curvy lady, out of your league Jameson,
you know what I mean? A while back now I was working out of the Grande,
you know some high-class work. Anyway as I'm leaving down the main
stairs who should walk through the lobby but Julie James. We used to
turn tricks together down in Atlanta when we didn't know any better,
she's obviously shocked, I mean it's been eight years and I figure
she's still up to her old tricks. So rather than ignore me, which was
always her more style, she introduces me to her husband Stephen."
"So where does Michael come into all of this?" McIntyre jumps in.
"Three weeks later I get a call from some woman at an employment
agency, she says she's got some good work for me at the Waldorf
Corporation and says I need to meet this guy. This guy buys me lunch
downtown, I recognise him from the Grande, straight away, but since I'm
not all dressed up he doesn't know me. He gives me his business card,
leaves a $200 tip, which I take and then I leave to buy a new
suit."
"And the name on the business card?" Jameson perks up.
"Michael Santini," I reply.
"So who did you meet for lunch? Waldorf or Santini?"
"Santini."
"Santini, hired you on behalf of Waldorf?" McIntyre questions me.
"Yes, so I knew when I started work on Monday for Mr Waldorf that
Juliet was fucking Michael."
"Nice guy, did Stephen Waldorf know?"
"You think he wouldn't? Waldorf made it his business to know."
"So what you're saying is that in the penthouse were Stephen Waldorf
and his wife Juliet, and Michael Santini?" The agent operating the tape
machine looks up.
I nod and continue.
"Waldorf still has the receiver to his ear and standing next to Michael
and Juliet are his foster parents. Waldorf hated them by the way,
really resented them and suspected them I guess."
"What did he suspect them of?" Jameson probed.
"Property fraud mainly and raiding his personal files to get tips on
some of his forthcoming acquisitions."
"Insider dealing? Didn't he provide well enough for them?" Jameson was
puzzled but McIntyre piped up.
"According to that Time article, poverty was pretty much a theme
throughout Waldorf's childhood, largely because of his foster father's
secret gambling habit and lousy business sense. He was pretty open
about it. Eva did he ever talk about his foster mother?"
"Last week he referred to her as "The woman who calls me son". Anyway,
whilst he's on the phone, she's rocking on her heels, clasping her
hands as if she is waiting for a horse to come in at 15/1. I can only
think that he hated them both."
"So what do we have here, a business partner who's fucking his wife and
some step parents who want to screw you for everything you've got,
seems to be a good enough motive for me," Jameson summarised, "What
happened next?"
"Waldorf puts down the receiver and smiles at the guests and they rush
towards him waving hands for him to shake. He hugs them all warmly and
announces that he's off to organise some champagne. He signals to me to
help him. Once out of the room, he locks the door behind him and tells
me to keep quiet. In the elevator descending to the lobby, he changes
into an FBI field jacket and sunglasses. It was now clear that the
phone call was a hoax and it would be ringing again shortly. Michael
would be answering the call from the District Attorney's office which
will inform him that Waldorf was due to be prosecuted for accounting
irregularities within my corporation. In the penthouse, Waldorf tells
me later, there is a spare suit on the chair, inside which are two
pints of his own blood and a tooth.
"He was faking his own death?" Jameson concludes.
"Yes, I guess you found his wallet and other personal effects?"
"Yeah even the tooth," says McIntyre.
"Anyway, I step out of the elevator, into the lobby and out of the
building. I look back and there is glass and debris all over the lobby
that's come down from the penthouse as it explodes. We turn the corner
where there is a waiting BMW, he gives me four grand in cash, wishes me
luck and tells me to disappear.
"Why did he choose to save you?"
"I guess he had nothing against me, he knew I needed the money? He knew
I couldn't touch him or no one would ever find him where he was going?
Agent Jameson, I have no idea."
"So you have no idea where is he now?"
"You tell me? Is that all you got gentlemen? I've told you all I
know."
"That's it Eva, get dressed and get out of here, don't leave town and
don't go home." Jameson suggested.

I took the CIA's advice, well I got dressed and got out of there and
into the waiting car.
"How did it go?"
"Fine, honey, I think we can make our way to Mexico now."
"The quicker we can get you into a bikini the better."
"Michael Santini, you are a bad man."