Weekend Warriors (Sisterhood #1)(18)
Kathryn rolled her eyes. “Now, why did I know you were going to say that? When in Rome…”
Myra stood up in the hope of warding off another verbal confrontation between Yoko and Kathryn. “I’d like you to meet my ancestors,” she said, pointing to the various old-fashioned sepia-toned pictures in heavy gilt frames “This is my mother and father. On the far wall are my grandparents and next to them, their parents. The other family members, and there are many, are on the wall going up the staircase. This is my daughter Barbara when she was six. It was her first pony,” Myra said, pointing to a modern painting over the sideboard. You might not recognize her, but the picture next to Barbara on her first pony is our Nikki. They were both such sturdy little girls,” she said with a catch in her voice.
“Our ninety minutes are about up, Myra. We both know Charles doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I can clear up things here and join you when I’m finished if that’s all right with you,” Nikki said in an effort to drive away the stricken look on Myra’s face.
“Of course, dear. We can fill you in when you join us,” Myra said, leading the parade out of the dining room and down the hall to the living room. Within minutes they were all seated at the round table, their faces expectant as Charles waved a sheaf of papers.
Charles walked around the table much the way a teacher does when giving a test.
“This is what I was able to retrieve. The computers are still working and these things take time. There are motorcycle groups and organizations in every one of our fifty states. There are as many as ninety such organizations in some states while others may only have three or four. I have here eight thousand clubs. I was able to whittle that number down to forty-seven when I asked the computer to flush out just Indian motor-bikes. In addition to the forty-seven organizations, there are splinter groups that I was able to track down. Sometimes they spring up overnight, so the count is not as accurate as I would like. I further condensed the number when I asked for just Weekend Warriors. The computer tells me there are twenty-nine Weekend Warrior groups. From those twenty-nine groups, nine cells have splintered off and are now calling themselves Road Warriors. A total of eleven groups that meet our criteria are located in California.
“I filled out an application to join both the Weekend Warriors as well as the Road Warriors. My application arrived while we were having breakfast. I faxed it back moments ago. When you’re accepted, you’re given a handbook with the rules and regulations, dates and times of meetings, proposed road trips, a calendar of events as well as a list of all the members along with their addresses and phone numbers. This only happens after you pay your dues, which is quite hefty: $900 a year. You have to send them a scanned picture of yourself, which I did. I gave them my credit card number. As soon as it clears, I have the choice of having them overnight the materials or I will be given a password and I can download said material. I’m electing to download. The faxes should be coming through any minute now and Kathryn can see if her attackers still belong to either group.”
“Way to go, Charles,” Kathryn chortled. He preened for her benefit. The others clapped their hands in glee.
“What’d I miss, What’d I miss?” Nikki said, taking her seat at the table. “By the way, the power went out again.”
Myra shrugged. “We’ll fill you in later, dear. Just listen to Charles for now. He is absolutely amazing.”
“I then checked the Department of Motor Vehicles and managed to secure the license plates for the Indian motorcycles in those nine groups.” Charles took a deep breath and stared straight at Kathryn. “I found one plate with the same three numbers you gave us. I now have the full license plate number. It belongs to Dr. Clark Wagstaff. He’s an oral surgeon in Los Angeles. I ran a D&B on him and the report just came back. Dr. Wagstaff owns the medical building he practices in. His net worth, excluding the medical building, is around nine million. He takes in over a million dollars a year after taxes. I’m checking his income tax records. That might take a little longer but I will have answers for you by the end of the day. Possibly sooner.”
Kathryn’s clenched fists shot upward. “Yessss. What about the one they called Lee? Were you able to pull up anything on him?”
“I won’t know about Lee until the rest of the faxes come through. I tend to think he’s a colleague or possibly a business partner. I think it’s safe to say the third man is either a relative or another colleague.”
The phone on the fax machine rang. Charles smiled. The women sat back, their eyes glued to the machine next to Charles.
Twenty minutes later Charles stacked the faxed sheets into the printer and made copies for each woman. He handed them out. “My job for the moment is done. What you have to do now is come up with a plan to bring these three men together. I’m going to see if I can catch an hour or so of sleep. Which one of you really knows your way around a computer? Nikki?”
“I’m pretty good at it. Why?”
“Let me show you. When Kathryn identifies the three men, I want you to log on to this particular computer and type in the name. Send it as an e-mail to this address,” he said pointing to an e-mail address on a yellow pad next to the computer bank. “In an hour’s time you will have a report on each man from the day they were born. Can you handle it, Nikki?”
“Yes. Charles, who does this e-mail address belong to?” Nikki hissed as a vision of the FBI, the CIA and Washington D.C.’s District Attorney, Jack Emery, pounding on Myra’s front door flashed in front of her eyes.