Stand Up

I said, stand up if you ever been there
Stand up, identify
Stand up, tell us all about it
Stand up, testify

 

“Expense reports,” Mitsy said suddenly. “Dang it! That should've been one of the first things I looked at!”

Charlie looked over at her and frowned. He'd refused to leave her alone at Kingston, instead opting to do what work he could from her office. “What about expense reports?”

“Ever since I started here, I've been trying to find where all the money at Kingston is going. Now that I'm settling the last checks for Tim and Tinsley, I've been reconciling their expense accounts. First, there's way too many expenditures flowing through their expense accounts, and second, what's on there just doesn't add up. Especially for two people who are never in the office.”

Charlie frowned. “Are we talking embezzlement?”

“Maybe,” she replied slowly. “But I'm just not sure. It could be two people who found a gravy train to ride and took full advantage of the family connections.” She looked up at him. “How much of this do I have to pay them?”

He snorted. “Don't pay them a damn dime. Hire a good forensic accountant to go through all their accounts. If they make any complaints, give them the choice to walk away if they'll sign a release. Otherwise, let them know you're going after them. That little shit! I should've punched him when I had the chance.”

Mitsy managed to hide a smile under a cough. “Good idea.” She continued looking through the files without further comment. In less than an hour, she completed her review. She leaned back in her chair. “That takes care of that. You ready for a break?”

He looked up. “More than ready, what do you have in mind?”

 

 

Clink ... clink ... clink. The sound of the ice cubes rattling in his now-empty glass were the signal. The bartender brought the bottle over and looked at him hard. “You sure you need another?”

“I'm not driving,” Ben replied. “I'm not obnoxious. I'm not disturbing the other patrons of this delightful establishment. I'm quite positive that I not only need another, I want one. Is it a problem?”

The bartender shrugged and poured another two fingers of whiskey in the glass. “It's your funeral,” he muttered as he walked away. “But it's not even noon.”

“No kidding,” Ben muttered. While drowning his latest litany of sorrows and woes in booze was not going to fix any of his problems, it was the only thing to do at this point. There was only person he actually felt like he could talk to, but Uncle Matthew was in Sleepyside until tomorrow's fundraiser. He didn't want to lay all this on him. Besides, he had a sinking feeling that what he really needed right now was his own lawyer. He hated his job. It had been a mistake to try to please his father by becoming a lawyer— just look where it landed him.

“Need company?” the familiar sultry voice asked as its owner slid on the bar stool next to him.

Ben turned and looked the attractive brunette up and down. “What brings you to a dive like this, Buffy?”

She looked around at the elegant furnishings, the polished oak of the antique bar, and the crystal chandelier, and the historical furnishings all combined to make this bar one of the most respected in the city. It could have been a movie set, the arrangement was so perfect— not to mention the martinis were widely acknowledged as the best in the state. “I might ask you the same thing, Benjamin. What's a nice guy like you, doing in a place like this, especially at this time of day?”

“I'm doing my damn best to get good and drunk,” he said, tossing down the last of the rare, aged brown liquor and signaling for another. “More of this, and whatever the lady is drinking,” he advised.

“Bloody Mary,” Buffy offered as she placed her handbag on the bar. It was much too early for anything else. “Why are we drinking before lunch? Are we trying to get drunk?”

Ben laughed as the bartender filled his glass again. “Buffy, sweetheart, we are not getting drunk. I'm getting drunk. There is no way you can get drunk with a cocktail that is composed primarily of vegetables.” He lifted his glass in a toast. “But feel free to try.”

Buffy said nothing until the bartender had left her the requested drink. “It's not like champagne is in order. It's easy to get drunk on champagne. It tastes so good and before you know it, you've had a couple of bottles and everything in life is good. “

“You should order champagne for the next round,” Ben decreed. “We'll celebrate our miseries. But I'm telling you, nothing that's happened to you can possibly top my problems.”

“Really?” Buffy drained her glass. “You think that having yet another fiancée dump me is reason to celebrate? You think not having a job is something to celebrate? You think sitting in a bar, drinking and talking to a friend about your problems before lunch time is something to celebrate? Right. Hey Bartender!” She signaled to the man who arrived immediately.

“Need the check?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she replied with a smiled. “I need a bottle of your best champagne. My friend here and I, we're going to celebrate.”

Ben looked at her with a grin. “Let's celebrate!”

 

 

“He's not home,” Honey was clearly dismayed. “What do we do now?”

Trixie felt stymied. She was close, so close she could taste it, but time was not on her side.

“Do you have a key?” she finally asked. “Or do you have some way to get in?”

Honey shook her head. “I could ask the doorman; see if he would let me in.” She chewed her lip. “I could leave the phone thingie with him. Ask him to give it to Ben with a message to call. What do you think?”

“What about his parents?” she speculated. “Would they have a key?”

“Get real, Trixie,” Honey replied after an inelegant snort. There's no way Ben would give Aunt Caroline and Uncle Sir a key. Mother or Daddy would receive a key before Ben would even consider giving his parents access to his apartment. He never even moved back home after college, but straight to this apartment.”

“Uncle Sir?” Trixie giggled. “Gleeps, but I love you call him that!”

“Yeah, just don’t let my mother hear you say it. She’ll read you the riot act. Even Daddy’s learned not to call him that in front of her. He doesn’t have much use for Uncle Sir either. He thinks he’s a complete and total prick.” She groaned again and her hand flew to cover he mouth. “Gleeps,” she muttered as her face pinked in embarrassment. “One of these days I'm going to say that to the wrong person.”

“Honey, your Uncle was an associate attorney general of the United States, and yet you mock him?” Trixie couldn’t keep the grin off her face. “And now you expect me not to call him by your beloved moniker in front of your mother. There’s no way I’m going to ever be able to pull that off!”

“Uh, Trixie … we have a problem here. Bigger than what Mother is going to say about Uncle Sir.”

“Okay,” “Okay,” Trixie tried to stop grinning, but just when she thought she’d subdued her features, her lips quirked in a new burst of mirth. “Business … I can’t find Uncle Sir’s son, Ben, anywhere,” Trixie remarked. “Where do you think he could be?”

“I have no idea,” Honey completely ignored the reference to Ben’s father. When Trixie got something in her head, it was the only way to keep going. “Let me try and call him.”

 

 

Buffy and Ben had no more than finished their toast when Ben's phone sounded a chirp indicating he was receiving a call. “Ahhhh ...” he grinned at Buffy. “The golden girl calls.”

“Who's the golden girl?” she asked. “Your girlfriend?”

“Not hardly,” he snorted. “It’s my cousin, Madeline Wheeler, actually Madeline G. Wheeler. The one person I know who always manages never to do anything wrong, ever. I should hate her on principle, but alas, I find that I cannot.”

“Aren't you going to answer the phone?”

“Not on your life,” he said. “Not today. If someone wants to talk to me today, they'll have to show up here. Hopefully, this kind bartender is going to let me stay all afternoon. No point in going home and getting sober. I'll just have to go through all this again if I do.”

“Sir,” the bartender replied. “You need to think about calling it a day.” He looked at Buffy. “Are you a friend of his?”

“Of sorts,” she replied. “Don't worry; I'll make sure he makes it home safely.” She shot a sideways look at Ben. “Unless his girlfriend calls.”

Ben snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I need more trouble.” He held his empty glass towards her. “More please. I'd like to propose a toast.”

Buffy obliged, being careful to fill her glass half way. He was drunk enough not to notice and she held up her own glass in preparation for Ben's toast.

“Here's to the floor, which will hold you when no one else will.

“Here, here ...” their glasses clinked and they drink. “My turn now,” Buffy said. “ A toast to those who wish me well, all the rest can go to hell.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Ben replied, once again clinking the glasses and then draining his. He held it out for more.

“Not fair,” Buffy teased. “I ordered the champagne and you're way ahead of me.”

“Well catch up, my good woman,” Ben said, slapping her on the back. “Catch up.”

Buffy once again filled his glass to the top and her own half-way. “We're a sad pair, wouldn't you say?”

“Yeah, and if I don't show up at the stupid fundraiser for my cousin tomorrow, I can guarantee you the family will never speak to me again,” Ben complained. “I don't suppose you're going?”

“I was planning to go, but now I don't have a date,” she sighed. “I don't suppose you're available to take me?”

“Nope,” he shook his head. “Got a date, all by myself for once, no one from the office had to arrange it.”

“Maybe I'll see you there. I don't know, though. I might just skip it altogether. It's hardly worth scrounging around for a date and I detest going to those things alone.”

“You could always ask your other former fiancée,” Ben said. “He'll be there.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “You know better,” she chided.

“How do you do it, Buff?” he asked, his tone serious.

“Do what?”

“How do you keep racking up former fiancées? Is there a problem about you that I'm not aware of?”

“More problems than you can begin to imagine, Riker,” she replied, with a sip of her champagne. “But remember, you were here first. Why are you drowning your sorrows in a bottle of whiskey?”

“It's not whiskey,” he reminded her. “We switched to champagne because we're celebrating!” He gave her an exaggerated wink and tapped his glass to hers. “I'm celebrating a day off. This is the only way to do it. All those tight-ass attorneys at Connors and Company can just bite me.”

Buffy smiled, wondering if it were at all possible to get her hands on Ben’s phone. Maybe the direct route. “Ben, can I borrow your phone?” she asked. She held her own up. “My battery died.”

He happily handed over his phone. “Sure,” he said. “Anything to repay the favor.”

“Favor?” she asked. “What favor?”

“At the Junior League Fundraiser, remember? You loaned me your phone to make a call. I’ll never forget it because that’s when I saw the song.”

“But I didn't loan you ...” she stopped. He was clearly confused, but he mentioned he saw a song. Buffy suddenly had a sinking feeling in her stomach. She knew exactly who Ben escorted to the Junior League Fundraiser. She’d attended herself with Jared Somer.

Fortunately, without any prompting he began to sing. “I overlooked an orchid while searching for a rose …” It was terribly off-key but that fact didn’t stop him from singing for all he was worth. “The orchid that I overlooked was you.”

Buffy placed a hand on his arm. “Where on earth did you learn that song?”

“You probably don't know this about me, Buff, but I'm actually quite the connoisseur of country and western music. That is an old country song, sung by none other than the great urban cowboy and artist, Mr. Mickey Gilley.” He resumed his singing. “The rose has lost its color, but the orchid stays the same and I'm alone to face these lonely years.” He paused only long enough to tip his glass toward her and continued singing.

The bartender spoke quietly. “Look, if anyone else comes in here, he's going to have to leave.”

“Don't worry, I'll take care of it,” she said slipping him a bill. “He's had a bad week.”

“Haven't we all?” He unobtrusively slid the bill into his pocket. “But still, you just need to be prepared if it happens.”

She nodded and then turned toward Ben, placing her hand on his arm. “You were going to loan me your phone,” she reminded him with a smile.

“Yeah, right, except I lost my phone.” He picked up his glass and once again drained the contents. “You just got a call from your cousin,” she reminded him. “Can't I borrow that phone?”

“Oh, that phone! Sure, no problem. It works. Not as good as my other phone, the one I lost. Did you know,” he leaned toward her. “That phone even worked in the subway!” he gave her a wink. “Lots of people want a phone like that!”

She gave him a reassuring smile and a pat on his arm. “I'll bet! Where did you get it?”

“Can't tell you,” he replied smugly, once again giving the over-the-top wink. “It's a see-crud. A big see-crud.” He placed his finger over his mouth with a shushing sound. “Can't talk about it with anyone, cuz you see, I'm helping with a see-crud mission, only no one knows about it but me.”

“The person who gave you the phone might know about it,” she prodded with a fake giggle. “Can you get me one, Benjamin? I'd love a phone that works in the subway.”

“You and everyone else,” he replied happily. “Nope, sorry Buff, but you have to be on the government payroll to get a phone like that!”

“Now that sounds exciting, are you some kind of Secret Agent Man.” She started humming the song, trying to encourage additional disclosures. “What made you decide to do that? Who gave you the phone?”

“I dunno …,”he replied sullenly. Despite his current inebriated condition the feelings of an interrogation taking place were getting through to him.

“Ben,” she said urgently. “Tell me who gave you the phone.”

He pulled the champagne bottle closer and turned it up, dismayed to find it empty. “We’re going to need another bottle.”

“Okay,” she answered. “You order another bottle. I’m going to the ladies’.”

“You better leave my phone,” he said holding out his hand. “I’m ’specting to get a call.” His words were slurred.

Dismayed, she handed it back. She’d planned to clone the phone with her own unit once she was in the wash room but she didn’t want to push back right now. “Be right back,” she informed him.

She started dialing her own phone the minute she was out of his sight.

“Belden,” she said softly into the phone.

“Buff --- Beth?” Beatrix replied in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“It’s Riker,” she said quietly. “He’s here with me, he's quite drunk. I found out how he got the code.”

“Ben’s with you?”

“Yeah, listen. He saw the code on someone's phone at the Junior League Fundraiser back in January. I have a pretty good idea who, but he says he lost his other phone, a government phone.”

“We have it,” she informed her. “Honey took it from his office. I've already copied everything off it. Honey plans to leave it here with the doorman, and we'll track anything that happens.” She paused. “He shouldn’t automatically jump to the conclusion that Honey told me about the phone.”

“Good plan and it's most likely going to work like a charm.”

“Oh, what makes you say that?”

“Because he’s drunk,” Elizabeth replied matter-of-factly. “Drunk as a skunk. Listen, I’m going to keep trying but it's like we suspected, there's a mole in the CIB.”

“Understood. Just hang on, I’ll be right there.”

“Don’t bother, I’ve got this,” she answered.

“I said -- I’ll be right there.”

Buffy Patterson stared at the phone in dismay. She didn’t blame Beatrix; she’d have done the same thing in her place. Sighing, she finished up in the wash room and returned to the bar. Ben was nowhere in sight. She signaled the bartender. “Did my friend go to use the men’s room?” she asked.

“Nope. The gentlemen settled the bill, paid for your champagne, and his drinks. Then he left.”

“Left?” she asked.

“Yep, he said there was someone he needed to talk to and left.”

Buffy sighed. How was she going to explain this mess to Agent Belden?