[all-xf] NEW: The Whole Catastrophe Chapter 4
alvarado2004
Chapter Four - Penthouse Suite
By Diehard and Dryad
They could see the north end of Lincoln Park as they
rode in the glass-walled elevator, dotted with the red
orange stands of trees saluting the peak of Midwest autumn.
Directly across from them, Lake Michigan shimmered
burnished gold as the edges of the sun's fading western
light dappled its waves. Looking down, Alexander Hamiliton's
bronze countenance pointed the way toward the running path,
with its after-work joggers, and the black, wrought-iron
entrance to the zoo was just visible at the far end.
Cardenas was waiting for them in her 26th floor penthouse.
It was Scully who spoke first, "Well, I'd say you won that
pissing match." There was a slight smirk caressing her
lovely face.
He was rocking back and forth on his heels, feeling flush
with victory. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."
Neither one of them looked at each other, but they could
see their wavering images in the glass.
"You know damn well what I mean. I realize that our
thick-necked friend at the desk was being a tad too gung-ho
in his zealousness to protect the tenants."
"Extremely rude, I thought."
"OK. But when he asked you what our business was, I
believe your response, 'F. B. I. Business. Business that
doesn't concern you', accompanied by brandishing your badge
close enough to his face to give him whiplash,...That was
very... Alpha male of you."
"Well, I suppose I could've been silent and just let you
shoot him. You do seem to be able to fire on a man in order
to make a point."
"And I can do it again, don't forget."
"So you admit I'm not the only one with aggressive
tendencies, eh, Scully?" He turned and leaned in
toward her.
She tilted her head in his general direction, "You know,
Mulder, other couples seem to be able to flirt with each
other without mentioning gunplay. One of us seems to always
bring it up."
"That's what makes us special, Scully. By the way, is that
what we're doing here, flirting? I thought you were
reproaching me for unseemly conduct. We're still on
the clock, partner..."
As the elevator slowed and stopped, the doors opened just
in time to save him from her retort.
The first things they saw were a small hallway with mauve
colored walls, a gilt framed oil of what Mulder recognized
as Old Habana in its heyday, and an enormous ginko in a
planter. Walking toward them with her outstretched right
hand was tall, elegant figure of Dr. Alejandra Ruiz-
Cardenas. Her other hand was kept behind her back.
She was what used to be his type, tall, with a curvy
figure beneath white jeans and a loose white sweater.
She wore no jewelry, save an expensive wristwatch---
nothing gilded her heavy-on-the-cream cafe-au-lait skin.
"Agent Mulder? Elliot told me you were on your way up.
I'm Alex." She'd given him the full wattage of her
perfect smile. Even, white, beautiful teeth. It would've
been lovely except Mulder couldn't help but notice
that her smile never reached her eyes.
Looking at his companion with something less than
delight, she drawled, "And this must be your...
assistant?"
"I'm Special Agent Mulder," he dryly replied as they
shook hands, "and this is my partner, Special Agent
Scully." He made sure there was just a hint of extra
emphasis on the word 'partner.'
"Ah, I see..." Turning to the other woman, Cardenas
made a show of seeming apologetic. "Please forgive
me, Agent." Again, the outretched hand.
"We appreciate you making time to see us." Scully replied,
her smile now just as dazzling. Interestingly, her smile
never made it to her eyes either. The handshake was
phenomenally lukewarm.
Alex eased her hand away and looked at the two of them,
"Where are my manners? Please come into my home, we can
talk there." She turned on her heels and walked back
into the open door just a small distance away. As she did,
both agents noticed her left hand was wrapped
in a bandage.
Mulder and Scully's eyes were set on scan as they followed
Gonzales' former girlfriend into the huge suite, as she
led down a long foyer. Almost simultaneously, they noticed
an oil painting of St. Peter next to the door, which Mulder
would guess was 17th century Spanish. Otherwise devoid
of decor, the only other items were a small marble-topped
table that held a faience vase of Bird of Paradise.
By contrast, the painting was glaringly out of place with
its ornate, colonial-style gold leaf frame.
The foyer opened up into the living room and the rest of
the penthouse. It too, was starkly furnished, very
Bauhaus, white rugs, black leather and shades of gray
as accents, chrome tables and lamps. One whole side was
wall to ceiling glass, with a spectacular view of
the lake. An oil portrait of Our Lady of Mercy, in an
elaborate wrought iron frame hung in counterpoint to all
the simplicity on the far wall. The bedroom, kitchen,
and study all clearly visible, coming off the main room
like the spokes of a wheel. The living room was by far
the largest room, but the others were by no means small.
Alex turned to her guests, "Please feel free to look around.
Let me make you both un cafecito. I'll just be a moment."
Scully replied, "Really it's not necessary."
"Oh, but it is, Agent Scully." Alex pulled her jet black
hair to one side, draping it over her shoulder. "I'd never
live with myself if I didn't offer you something." With that,
she moved into the kitchen. In a few seconds they could hear
the hiss of an espresso machine. Cardenas' back was to them
as she busied herself at a workstation.
The rest of the suite was furnished in the same spartan
elegance. Black lacquer funiture in the bedroom, chrome
in the study. Luxurious and simple at the same time, but
there was something cold about it. Virtually no personal
effects to be seen, save photos in the living room of
Alex and what both agents assumed were her parents,
and one of Cardenas and Gonzales apparently on vacation,
which rested on a nightstand near the bed. Judging from
the first photo, the attire of two older adults and the
sumptuous surroundings would indicate that Alex came
from a wealthy family. How Alejandra Ruiz-Cardenas
was able to afford an apartment overlooking Lake Michigan
on a professor's salary was beginning to make sense to both
of them.
They continued their self-conducted tour as the hissing
of the espresso machine grew louder, accompanied by the
sporadic clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen.
"Rich girl." Mulder said over his shoulder.
"Very rich girl from the looks of things." Scully opined.
"Very rich girl with old money form Cuba, who would seem
to be a little bit of a control freak." Mulder drew close
enough to whisper in Scully's ear.
"You think?"
Even the study was ordered to the extreme, even though it
held a huge amount of artifacts. They were all neatly
labeled and placed on stands or display tables. Mulder
noticed though no strictly religious or ceremonial
artifacts, only those that held functional value or were
objects of personal adornment. There was also a small, rough
looking chest with a padlock and with an oblong cedarwood
box resting on top. It didn't go with the rest of the room.
Scully winced a little as they looked over the perfectly
organized work area, files, computer station. Mulder caught
her pained expression.
"What?"
"Was I that bad, Mulder?"
"I think that's one of those questions like 'Does this make
me look fat?' "
"Thanks." Her lips quirked in a grin.
"Don't mention it." He brought the tips of his fingers to
the small of her back for just a second, and what about to
say soomething else, when a oil paintng of St. Teresa in
a bronze die-cast frame stopped them both in their tracks.
Mulder moved away to more closely inspect the piece.
Touching his elbow, Scully caught his eye and his solemn
nod told her he'd made some connection.
Now the kitchen noise had been replaced with music.
It was clearly Latin, melodic and slowly rhythmic.
Ruiz-Cardenas emerged from the far side of modern kitchen,
and strode leisurely back toward the living room, passing
gray granite worktops, a professional grade stove, and a huge
stainless steel Sub-Zero refrigerator. She reminded herself
she'd have to start interviewing someone to do the cooking
soon, the last girl was a nightmare.
Mulder strolled to the window, ostensibly to check out the
twilight skyline and the boats on the water, but really
he wanted to watch Ruiz-Cardenas' reflection unobserved.
From what Jorgensen had initially told them Nat Gonzales
was a good man, intelligent, a hard worker, but not someone
who moved it the same circles as his girlfriend. Personally,
he figured that anyone who gained the respect of someone
like Hector Dean Shinoda had to fall on the extra side of
ordinary. He had some idea why this woman would be attracted
to a man so far outside her universe.
The two women were at the breakfast bar, which was situated
just outside the main work area of the kitchen, bracketing
the main layout of the living room. Scully was on a stool
on one side, and Alex on the other, laying out an expesso
pot, demitasses, cream, sugar.
Scully said, "Professor Cardenas..."
"Alex, please." Her tone just barely avoided being
patronizing. It was the way one might invite a long-term
employee to useyour first name.
"Alex, I'm really sorry we have to ask you all these
questions again."
"Don't concern yourself. I know it's necessary in order
to arrest Naftali's murderer."
Her expression was one of detachment, an odd one for the
still grieiving lover, Mulder noted, as he turned and walked
toward them, taking a seat next to Scully.
Ruiz-Cardenas gave a close-lipped smile, pulling a leather
covered stool around with her unbandaged hand and easing
herself down. "Allow me a small boast," she requested
as she poured, "Cafe cubano. The only way to drink coffee."
He didn't respond.
"Thank you, for all this effort...especially when you've
been injured." Scully said. Now she was the one with
the slight tone in her voice. It was the voice of Dr.Scully,
and Mulder always enjoyed watching her zero in. "What
happened to your hand?"
Ruiz-Cardenas turned away from them and reached down
into the bar. Jet black hair now spilled down her back,
evenly cut right beneath her shoulderblades. She pulled
out some demitasse spoons and set the on the counter.
"Yes...well it's somewhat embarrassing...when I heard
what had happened. I lost it...threw a glass against the
wall...and cut myself trying to clean it up." Mulder
watched her intently, her expression didn't match what
she was saying. She didn't seem all that embarrassed
to be telling two strangers a story of an supposed
emotional outburst. As a matter of fact, she seemed calm,
too calm, she could've been reviewing her syllabus with
some graduate students.
"So, that was about two weeks ago?"
"Yes, ridiculous thing to do, wasn't it?
"Grief can make someone do things they wouldn't do
ordinarily." It was Mulder's voice now.
"Yes. Yes it can." A momentary shift, in which both
Mulder and Scully could see something a little wild
in Alex's eyes, something that quickly was banished
and replaced with smooth calm and a practiced diffidence.
She poured them all cofee, very deliberate
in what she did, with great economy of movement. Mulder
guessed that being a cultural anthropologist would make a
person hyperaware of what they were doing at all times.
The point was to observe, not be observed. In a way,
psychology was the same thing, only on the micro-linear
scale. And it was his turn to observe Cardenas, observe
and draw the right conclusions.
"But you need me to tell you about that night, don't you?"
Alex was clearly giving the signal that the line of
questioning about her hand was over. "I was already
waiting at the restaurant. I was early. The guest lecturer
for one of my classes cancelled due to illness, so I popped
home and told Naftali I'd meet him there. Our table is right
next to the front window. We like to watch people as
we eat," she smiled briefly. "I had a glass of white
wine. . .spied him stepping off the curb, walking towards
me with that big grin that always means he's had a good day.
A car slowed to let him cross, and I see the window rolling
down, which I thought was odd, because although it's not
winter yet, it was a cold day. There was a flash of light
from the car window, but not from the window itself.
I think it was light from the restaurant glinting off
of the gun. Anyway, the next thing I see is a bright
flash, then he's on the pavement."
Scully hadn't touched her espresso. Ruiz-Cardenas went
into her solititous host routine, "Our cafecitos are an
acquired taste. Perhaps you'd prefer some tea, Agent
Scully...I know how the Irish love their 'tay.'
Mulder finished his and fought a grin as he imagined
the look on Scully's face. No eyebrow, not even a twitch
of the lip, just a straight-on, dead glare that said
'And the horse you rode in on, too'. Ruiz-Cardenas would
learn.
"You didn't recognize the car or the driver?" asked Scully,
icily ignoring that cultural swipe.
"No. All my attention was on Naftali. I could have cared less
what the driver looked like. But I've already told the
police all of this, is it really necessary to go back over
it again and again and again?"
"Well, Professor Cardenas, should this go to trial, you'll
certainly be expected to do so again, yes." Her words hung
in the air.
Ah, there it was. Scully's bright head turned towards
him in their traditional 'jump in any time, Mulder'
interview stance. Ruiz-Cardenas looked at him too, her
face losing its let's-be-pleasant-about-this expression
for a moment. It returned when he went on, "You have a
lovely home, Professor. I'm surprised to see there aren't
any objects of veneration displayed in your collection."
"I beg your pardon, Agent Mulder? "
"I found it fascinating that you only seem to have objects
of everyday use or adornment on public view ," he replied.
"You must respect other cultures in order to be respected,
Agent Mulder. What about you, Agent Scully, would you mind
if your family bible was torn up and sold as an nothing more
than an item of curiosity? Surely your devout Irish clan
would be beside themselves.'
Scully said nothing, but started sipping delicately
at her espresso.
Mulder jumped on the opportunity. "Point taken, but tell me,
Alex, why would you display evidence of your devotion to
Ellegua, Obatala, and Oya? That's the significance of
those wonderful oils you have, if I'm not mistaken."
The bullet hit the target. Cardenas' cool dissolved and
both agents were treated to a look of shock and anger.
She was however, able to rally quickly. "Agent Mulder,
I didn't realize you were familiar with the Seven Powers.
But I'm hardly a devotee. What would make you say that?"
"The placement of the pictures. Only a devotee would make
sure each image repressenting a god would be placed in its
sacred delegation in the home."
"You flatter me. I'm afraid my attention to detail is
my interest in maintaining cultural sensitivity and a
certain historical accuracy. The paintings were from
an estate in Cuba, pre-revolution. The owners were
important Santeristas, unusual in that they were of the
educated class." A pause, and then a full display of
those beautiful teeth again, "It's a gesture of scholarly
respect, Agents, nothing more. She glanced at the Chanel
watch on her left wrist, "Speaking of scholarly things,
I have office hours tonight, and I'm afraid I'll have to
be on my way soon. Please forgive me for cutting our
discussion short. But feel free to come again, should you
think I could be of any further help."
"Well, actually, there was just one more thing, Alex."
Mulder wanted to cast one more line. "I noticed what
seemed to be a locked chest and a cigar humidor in your
study...those are yours?"
Ruiz-Cardenas looked at him long and hard before
answering. "No, they're just a way to keep Naftali near.
You can't blame me for doing that, can you?"
~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X
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