Dear Delilah West

Chapter Six

Two days pass, with nothing happening. I discovered that Missy has a ping pong table in her third lounge room, but that’s all. I didn’t go outside once. Missy did, though – but I have a sneaking suspicion that she asked the man in the brown suit to keep an eye on me. They seem like friends. But that doesn't bother me; I have no intention of going anywhere without Missy. But I have a strong urge to keep searching for clues about Delilah’s death. I feel like we need to hurry. That doesn't make sense -  I was too late for Delilah. All the hurrying in the world wouldn’t save her now.

On the third day, I hear Missy coming through the door. She never tells me where she goes.

She walks into the lounge room, where I am sitting, playing with one of those mini racquets with the ping pong ball attached with a string.

“Sam,” she says. I look up.

“I think I have an idea.” She doesn't wait for a response from me, just launches into an explanation.

“An old friend of mine, Regina,” she says, “lives a few blocks away. She is…well informed. Her husband was locked up by Authority ten and a half years ago, and she has been in the Authority building many times to try to rescue him. Every attempt has failed, and nearly got Regina locked up herself. She would have been, if she was not so quick on her feet. So she knows the buildings well. I think we should ask her about them. See which ones are important.”

I nod slowly. “Okay.”

We go right away, because there is no reason to wait, really. The man in the brown suit (either he always wears the same one, or he has about ten of  the exact same suits, I have no idea), nods to us as we pass him in the lobby, eyes twinkling, as usual. He seems so friendly. I wonder how he knows someone like Missy.

I push open the hotel doors behind Missy, and we emerge onto the Strip. We turn left, and I wonder where we are going, because there sure as hell aren’t any houses up that way. That’s where the start of Vegas is – I can see the ‘welcome to Vegas’ sign, not far away. Maybe Regina lives in a hotel, like Missy.

It turns out she doesn't. We walk that way for about fifty metres, until we reach the end of the Sphinx Hotel, and then turn left, through a small gate on the side of it. Oh – a garage. Missy pulls a key out of her pocket and unlocks the gate.

I follow her through to the garage. Surprisingly, there is only twenty or so cars in  there. Missy walks straight to what is easily the best car in the garage – a flashy Porsche – and I climb in the passenger side while she starts it.

We drive through the Strip at an alarming speed. I am clinging onto the seat for dear life. Missy seems very calm, completely unfazed by the speed. In fact, I think I see a twinkle in those grey eyes of hers. Huh. Never would have picked her out as a speedaholic.

We turn off the Strip, and through a couple of streets. She stops with a screech in front of a small, but nice little house.

The door opens when Missy knocks on it. A nice-looking woman, around thirty, with a blonde ponytail and an apron stands there, smiling. Quite the opposite of what I expected a friend of Missy’s to look like.

“Missy!” she says. “Long time no see. And who is this?” Her eyes appraise me for a second, then go back to Missy.

“A friend of a friend,” says Missy. “Sam, this is Regina.”

I nod politely, and Regina smiles warmly back. She seems very kind, and sweet. Kind of motherly. I wonder if she has kids.

She invites us inside, and leads us to a small kitchen. It is painted a nice, pretty yellow. Missy looks very out of place here, in this bright, warm, homey place. I almost laugh.

We sit at the table, and Regina bustles around for a few minutes, making tea. Then she sits down with us, looking at Missy expectantly.

Missy is not one to fool around with mindless chatter. “We need your help,” she says, getting straight to the point.

Regina does not bat an eye in her response. “Okay,” is all she says.

“We are looking for clues,” Missy explains. “Clues to lead us to the truth of a death. A young woman committed suicide a few months ago, and we suspect that Authority is behind it.”

Regina considers this for a moment, and then turns to me. “I used to work for Authority,” she tells me. “But then I met my husband, who worked against them, and I fell in love. I turned to the good side, too. So I know a fair bit about how Authority works.”

“So….can you help us?” I ask.

She nods slowly. “I think so.”

“What do you propose we do?” asks Missy. “I suppose we could pretend we work for Authority, talk to a few members-“

“No,” Regina cuts her off. “That wouldn’t work. Members of Authority have a tattoo of the Authority symbol on their wrist, so they can identify one another.”

She pulls up her sleeve, revealing a small blue ink drawing of a dragon tattooed into her skin.

“In each state, there is a massive Authority building,” says Regina. “There are, of course, other buildings, but there is only one main one in every state. The Nevada one is in Vegas – and that is their main headquarters. It is quite conspicuous, but no one ever goes in there, unless they are members of Authority. My husband is imprisoned there.”

“Why?” I ask. It doesn't occur to me until the words are out of my mouth that maybe I shouldn’t have asked the question. But since Delilah died, I have been almost oblivious to all pain that is not my own. This woman that I barely even know, who is so bright and kind – I didn’t even recognise her pain at all until I asked that. I know see it flicker across her face momentarily before she clears her throat and speaks.

“He was caught trying to plant a microphone in a very important Authority figure’s house,” Regina says. “He was put straight into a prison.”  

“I’m…sorry.” I really don't know what else to say.

She nods courteously. “I think that you should speak to him,” she tells Missy. “My husband. He is in the Vegas headquarters, luckily enough. Third floor underground. Try going through the small window on the east wall, ground level, which will take you into the basement. If you go at night, the only people down there will be the guards. If you can get past them, he is in cell 173B. Ask him if he has had any news of your friend. He hears a lot down there.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

Regina laughs. “A spy is sent into the building twice a month to talk to him and receive information he has gathered.”

“And if we can’t get to him that way?” asks Missy.

“If you manage to get out of there alive, you could try one of the back doors. There are four. You want the one second from the left. It will take you into a storeroom. Stand on something to reach the roof. Remove the cover of the air vent. Crawl through this way.”

She gets a piece of paper and pen, and draws a rough map of the pipes. She is very well informed. Missy takes it and puts it into her pocket.

“Try the other way first, though,” Regina warns us. “It is much, much easier, and more efficient. Crawling through pipes in the middle of the night, without making noise, is very difficult. Make one sound, and you’re dead.”

Missy turns to me. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” she asks. “This is serious stuff. You don't want to mess with these people. If we get caught, we die. They will kill us, with no hesitation. It isn’t a game.”

I glare at her. “I don't care. I need to know this. I need to know what happened.”

Missy sighs. “In that case,” she says, “we leave tonight.”