A Chat With Gerald McGeorge
1941 Words
Damien's eyebrows rose behind his sunglasses. He c****d his head with a slight jerk. "Naturally." He pulled into the driveway of a parking garage, giving her a sidelong glance of disbelief. "A f*****g parking garage? Seriously?"
Gabrielle let out a laugh. "Now, that is a disaster waiting to happen!"
The parking enclosure was down a small ramp under the building. Cool, dimly lit and close. Gabrielle found the whole place rather claustrophobic. "Good grief!" she mumbled. At the far end of the enclosure, opposite to the ramp entrance was a large, glass -- really? -- automatic door that led into a lobby of sorts. "This guy must have an affinity for glass!"
Damien parked the Ram near the automatic door. "I don't think it's about what he likes. I think it's more about how f*****g impressive he can be." He set the vehicle in park and shut the engine off.
"Well," she said when they both got out of the truck. "I'm not impressed."
Pushing the button on his key fob, the truck locked. "Yeah," he chuckled. "Me neither."
Once inside, a pair of guards manned the security desk. One man stood up, pointed at Damien's holstered SIG. "No weapons in the building," he said flatly.
Stopping Damien from being irate with the guard, Gabrielle pulled out her SKULL ID. "We're with SKULL, and we have permits to carry. We work with law enforcement."
The guard's lips thinned as he scrutinized their ID cards, eyes trying to assess the two standing before him. Next to him, his partner was calling someone. "One moment," he said at last.
Damien turned away from the desk "This is bullshit," he mumbled.
"They are doing their job," she said, "Just as we are."
He looked at her, brows knitted together. Something passed over his face, made those blue eyes darken and sparkle. She wondered at the emotion playing in those eyes and found herself looking at his lips.
"Okay," the guard finally said, handing back their IDs. "What can we help you with, Ms. Armijo, Mr. Shea?"
Gabrielle tore her eyes away from Damien's. "We are here to speak with Mr. McGeorge."
Again, the other guard picked up the phone receiver. "Regarding?"
"Regarding Charles Van Ness," Damien said gruffly.
Both guards gaped at them. "Oh... okay," the one standing said, while the other spoke into the phone. After he put the receiver down, he nodded. "He'll see you now. Penthouse floor."
"Elevators are that way," the other man said. He pointed to a large area with two glass elevators. "The one on the left takes you to the penthouse."
"Great," Damien said, raising his eyebrows. "Thank you." He turned and followed Gabrielle to the round glass elevator. "Penthouse, naturally. And a f*****g glass elevator! Who does he think he is Willy Wonka?"
"Told you he has an affinity for glass," Gabrielle snickered. She stepped in watching Damien's tall frame move with cat-like grace as he hit the button for the penthouse floor.
"Twenty-five f*****g floors," he grumbled in disbelief. "Twenty-fifth being the penthouse floor. f**k me."
Gabrielle was laughing when she suddenly realized the damned elevator was allowing them to see just how high that silly lift was climbing. Heights were not her strong suit. Being in an enclosed elevator was one thing -- she couldn't see how high she was going -- but, this? Uh-uh. No way. In combat training it was all she could do to make herself jump out of helicopters or planes so that she could manage it on missions overseas.
Oh... God....
She let out a small audible gasp and automatically grabbed Damien's hand, squeezing hard. Too high... The lift climbed slowly and once on penthouse floor, she had managed to turn Damien's hand a lovely shade of purple and marks where her nails had embedded themselves. He was still flexing his fingers, massaging the palm, when they entered the penthouse.
"s**t, Gabs..." he mumbled.
She didn't care at the moment, she just wanted to be off that elevator. A small foyer housed the elevator, and, for a brief moment she was relieved she didn't have to see anything. Then, a suited man appeared and directed them into the apartment proper. And, wonder of wonders, the outer walls were glass. Basically, the penthouse was one big glass house. Oh, yay.... Honestly, couldn't the man have an enclosed building? One not made of glass? Okay, if she stayed in the middle of the room, she'd be able to cope. Not well, but she'd cope.
The suited man directed them into a large office area where Gerald McGeorge sat behind a very large, antique oak desk looking like the lord of the manor, and just humoring his subjects. Behind him, on the wall, was a large painting that seemed to frame his head and shoulders.
"Are you f*****g kidding me?" Damien muttered under his breath.
Gabrielle jabbed him with her elbow. "Shh!" She smiled at the man behind the desk. "Mr. McGeorge, I'm Gabrielle Armijo, this is my partner, Damien Shea. We're with SKULL."
Gerald McGeorge eyed them with something bordering on contempt and boredom. "Ah, yes... the SKULL... people," he sniffed, raising an eyebrow. "What is it that I can do for you?" He didn't play the gracious host or ask them to sit.
Which Gabrielle knew Damien noticed as well. He just sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, easing back into the chair as if it were his own. He gave McGeorge a rather cocky grin. "Well, we'd like to ask you a few questions, to gather information." He fixed those blue eyes on the other man. "I mean, if it's not too much of a bother." That last remark was a jab at McGeorge's rudeness.
McGeorge looked up at Gabrielle as if she were Damien's keeper and was expected to scold him. She just raised her eyebrows at him, a smile on her lips. He looked back at Damien when she did nothing. "Of what sort?" he asked sourly.
Gabrielle c****d her head to the side, eyed him. "About a business associate," she said, noticing Damien still staring at the man, eyes hard. "We need to find him."
Gerald McGeorge sniffed loudly. "Ms. Armijo, whomever I do business with is a private matter and my business."
Gabrielle raised an eyebrow and glared at him. Why the pompous....
Apparently, Damien didn't take kindly to the man's comment, either. "What if that business associate is breaking the law?" he asked, watching McGeorge's face. "Like stalking, kidnapping and killing women?"
McGeorge blinked, as a look passed over his face: the thought of a lawbreaker in his midst annoyed him. Gabrielle almost laughed at that look on the man's face. "And who is this... miscreant?"
Gabrielle really wanted to laugh then. Miscreant? Who uses that word nowadays? "Charles Van Ness," she replied, giving Damien a pinch.
Gerald McGeorge pursed his lips together in an almost comical expression. He let out an angry sigh. "If you are going to ask me where the bastard is, don't. I have no idea, but if you do find him, I'd be extremely grateful."
Gabrielle and Damien looked at each other. Okay... that was unexpected. She looked at McGeorge, confused. "Uhm.... okay."
"The asshole milked me out of half a million!" He thrust his chin out and sniffed again.
"Oh," Damien commented with a sneer. "Must have been awful for you."
McGeorge eyed Damien with scorn. "You dislike wealth, Mr. Shea?" He gave Damien a scant once over, as if he were a scruffy stray roaming the street. "You look like a rough and tumble sort," he patronized. "Yes," he smirked. "You strike me as a man who has had a bit of a hard life. What was it that made you get into this line of work? Grow up in a bad neighborhood? Relatives get killed? Decided to "make a difference"?"
Gabrielle knew that something bad had happened to his parents and brother. So, she knew that one remark hit a nerve. She watched as Damien's jaw tensed up, his eyes narrowed, and she knew what was coming next.
Damien unfolded his six foot two frame up out of the chair and took the two steps toward the desk. He slammed his hands down on the oak and loomed over the other man. "Look, pal. I am not here to talk about me." He looked down at McGeorge. "But if you must know, I grew up in Rio Rancho, got excellent grades in school, and, at eighteen, I joined the United States Marine Corps." He glared at the man. "I don't hate wealth, as long as it is used wisely. What I do hate are the fuckers, who have all that money, think they are better than me. That's what really pisses me off."
McGeorge had the where-with-all to look suitably chastised. He stared at Damien, blinking at last. "Forgive me," he finally said, gulping at the angry, looming Marine. "I meant no--"
Gabrielle stepped forward, stopping the next wave of anger. "So, you've not seen Van Ness?"
His eyes went to her. "No."
Damien, meanwhile, sat back in the chair, still frowning.
"Did you report the incident?" Gabrielle asked.
McGeorge scoffed with contempt. "Well, of course I did!" He glared at Damien, who still glared at him. "Naturally, the police didn't take it seriously," he said, putting on airs.
Gabrielle raised her eyes to the ceiling, which, thankfully, was not glass. Gerald McGeorge would think that. After all, his problems were much more important than, say, a homicide. Oh, sure, his missing money was nothing to sneeze at. But to him, the Albuquerque Police Department had failed to do anything to help. "You know," she smiled none-too-nicely. "The APD does have other cases more urgent than missing money."
"I fail to see how," he pouted. Just like the spoiled rich bastard he was.
Damien swore under his breath. "So the fact that Van Ness is stalking and killing women means not a f*****g thing to you?" he snarled.
McGeorge looked like he was about to say something, but clamped his mouth shut.
Damien gave a tilt of his head, jaw muscle tensing tight, as his eyes shot daggers at McGeorge. "You don't seem too upset over losing that half million," he said disdainfully. "Otherwise, you'd have used your influence to get the police to investigate."
McGeorge just looked down his nose at the former Marine. "You would think so, wouldn't you. But, then, the police told me Van Ness doesn't exist. So they dropped it."
Gabrielle sniffed. "Oh, I doubt that. They probably handed it over to the FBI's Fraud Division. After all, a person who has no known address, personal identification, or, for that matter, a social security number, tends to raise a few red flags." She very calmly sat on the edge of his oak desk, earning her an expression of contempt. "But, they didn't drop it, did they? More like, you lied just now, and didn't report the theft at all."
McGeorge just frowned and pouted more.
"Yeah..." She gave him a tired smile. "I agree with my partner. You aren't worried about your money." She crossed her arms over her chest.
He suddenly stood. "Why is SKULL interested in a fraud case?"
Gabrielle got in McGeorge's face. "Because, you selfish i***t, Van Ness is after my sister!" She leaned in close enough to see the sweat pop out of his pores. "And I aim to stop him from hurting her, or any other woman, again, ever."
McGeorge's eyes popped out of his skull when he got the brunt of her fierceness. In fact he stumbled backward into his chair. He just blinked at her.
"Your f*****g money is not the problem," Damien growled. "The fact that he is stalking and killing women is the problem."
McGeorge snorted. "Those women are no concern to me."
Gabrielle's eyes narrowed dangerously. Oh, he did not just say that!
- Writer
