The Darkness - Jason Pinter [21]
who couldn't pay their bills, and were looking for fresh
blood (and fuller bank accounts) to replenish the coffers.
We stopped at the security desk, and Jack said, "We're
here for Orchid Realty."
"Name of contact," the monotone voice came back.
"Mr. Orchid," Jack replied.
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The guard looked up, a bored sneer on his face, like
he knew Jack was screwing with him but didn't have the
time or inclination to care.
"Name of contact," he repeated.
"Call the front desk," Jack said. "Tell whoever answers
that we're here to talk to whoever's in charge of the 718
Enterprises account." He took out his identification, underlining the words New York Gazette with his thumb.
The guard looked at him, the apathy turning into confusion.
"This is my official ID," Jack continued. "Which
means I have the official authorization to have a news
crew down here in less time than it takes for you to put
on that cute tie in the morning. It also means you and your
friend here will have their friendly faces on our 'Community Outrage' Web site, as impeding an official news
investigation." He pointed at the phone. "One phone call.
All it takes."
The guard's eyes went wide, and he picked up the
phone and dialed three numbers. Jack was full of crap,
but news was about information, and that was information they didn't need to know.
The guard covered the phone's mouthpiece with his
hand, his eyes growing more animated as he spoke.
Clearly the person on the other line wasn't too keen on
us coming upstairs, but it looked like the guard wanted
as much to do with our Community Outrage Web site as
I did with bedbugs.
Finally the man hung up, pressed a button and printed
out two badges from his computer kiosk. Handing them
over, he said, "You promised, right? No cameras or news
crew? I don't want my son to see me on the Internet."
"We'll see how things go upstairs," Jack said. "Come on."
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63
I followed him to a bank of metal turnstiles, manned
by another security guard, this one looking much less
awake on the job than the guys at the front desk. We
showed him our badges, and he pressed a button that
swung the turnstiles. We passed through, made our way
to the elevator bank and headed up to the fourth floor.
Jack hummed a tune I couldn't recognize as we ascended,
and I felt slightly anxious, wondering just how far this
would take us. I was also somewhat concerned about
pulling my weight on this story. As much as I wanted to
find out just what the hell was going on with this shadow
corporation, earning the respect of Jack O'Donnell was
a close second.
The doors opened, and we followed a sterile beige
hallway to a pair of double glass doors with the words
Orchid Realty stenciled on them. I opened the door for
Jack, the glass swinging out effortlessly and without a
sound. A heavyset woman with curly reddish hair sat
behind an oak desk, a pair of old-fashioned headphones
resting on her ears that looked less Bluetooth than long
in the tooth. The nameplate read Iris Mahoney.
Iris was filing her nails, pausing every few moments
to blow nail dust from her hands and onto the floor.
As we approached, her eyes rose and a wide smile
crossed her lips. "You must be those boys from the newspaper," she said. "Welcome to Orchid."
"Hi," I said before Jack could open his mouth. "Miss
Mahoney, if it's not too much trouble we'd like to speak
to one of your property managers."
"Certainly, sir. Which of our managers would you like
to speak with?"
"Whoever handles the building which until recently
leased space to a company called 718 Enterprises."
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The receptionist pursed her lips, sucked in air and
squinted. "Hmm...that doesn't ring a bell. Let me check
our database."
She put down the nail file and began typing. Two
fingered. One finger at a time. Slow enough that I could
hear Jack breathing heavier as his frustration grew. Every
few moments the lady would mutter a pleasant "no"
under her breath and continue typing. After