Infinite Loop - Chapter 23

Where’s Your Badge?

The countess quickly left the room, closing the doors behind her and leaving an uncomfortable silence that permeated the heavy air.

“So, no tea for me?” He asked to see the reaction. The woman responded with a glare. Warren smiled again.

“Why were you using that gossip queen follow me? I thought a private eye is better suited for your needs. Or you might have just asked me.”

“That would seem obvious,” she replied. “You would lie to me again. We Baker’s can’t afford to splurge with money, no matter what you may think. When you asked me to have Doctor Morris introduce you to the museum director in Havana, somehow I knew you were up to no good again. I know you, Warren. You have not been to a museum willingly since you were a child.”

“I see,” he replied. “Your suspicion about me stems from my failure to meet your standards. How come you picked on the countess?”

“Helene was already in Cuba,” Florence replied. “I simply asked her to monitor you. She wired me, saying you were dealing with the same wretched people who caused so much trouble with the authorities before you left.”

“And what did she tell you? That I had an argument with Krupin, and he ended up dead. That does not make me a murderer,” Warren responded bitterly.

Florence remained silent as she put her tea down and straightened the folds of her black dress. One of the frozen figures in the cemetery was as stiff as the old lady who sat on the couch. The proper dress and tea told him she was Boston blue blood, with a severe and unrepentant attachment to proper order and decorum.

“By the silence, either you don’t care, or you don’t believe me,” he said with a shake of his head. “Boy, you’re a character. No wonder your son is such a screw-up. You’re more worried about the image your family name represents. You don’t care about whether your child is innocent.”

“As my only son, you must admit, you have not represented the family well.”

She grasped her hands together. She refused to look at him, staring down into her lap. Warren just shook his head.

“Fine, I get it. One last question before I go. Did you speak with Gerald Lane about me?” he asked.

She looked at him, her white face screwed up with revulsion as if she just witnessed him take a pee on the floor.

“Of course you would think such a thing, to use the family name to save my unfortunate son from his own doing,” Florence replied bitterly. “You forget what I always told you, you make your bed, and you must lie on it. It is up to you to fix the problem. But to answer your question, no Baker would lower themselves to ask for such favors.”

Warren stood at her comment, walking to the entrance.

“Since you’re talking with idioms, here’s one for you,” he sneered. “The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies.”

He pulled open the twin doors and walked out of the room.