A/N: This is a sequel to my first Cover Up Fan-Fic, 'Cover Up: The City of lost Freedom.' There will be brief non-canon/OC references here that go back to my first one. The premise of this 1984-1985 television series can be found in Chapter one of the first story. Enjoy!
Dallas, Texas: The 'W' Hotel bar
Millionaire Roland Beery sipped his wine and fiddled with a gold lighter trenched between his chubby fingers. It was past midnight and at his late–middle age, sleep was beckoning. However, being the richest man in the State of Texas often kept him up nights and in a constant state of panic. He pulled out a black notebook from the breast pocket of his sharkskin suit jacket. First thing tomorrow morning he had to call the banks and make sure this week's deposits went through. The grungy black book was like his personal bible, and he took his comforts in all the major bank account numbers and the slew of lady friends and business associates, rather than the Psalms. He rubbed his paunchy stomach with a quick glance at his ruby ring.
"This here baby needs a good polish!" He decided.
Roland was in the habit of sending off his jewelry collection to be cleaned every other month. He snacked on a few pretzels, and his lazy, gray eyes wandered around the posh barroom until they landed on a group of young women in the far left corner. they were giggling and pointing at him.
"I'd like to show them a good time!" He murmured.
Roland was also in the habit of showing off his immense wealth. He thought of his harried wife, Sabrina. She was probably still at the charity party. Sabrina was always seen at every important social function in the State, doing her best to save face for the rowdy antics of her philandering husband. He noticed one of the girls wink at him and wave her finger. That was the cue he needed. He hoisted himself off the tiny stool with his drink and strutted to their table.
The girls straightened up and controlled their laughter. The tycoon was most interested in the blonde with the mole above her lip, the same one who winked. She scooted over and nodded to her friends. They attempted to leave the table, but Roland stopped them.
"Hey ladies! Where y'all goin'? I was hoping y'all would stay for the party!" He announced.
A black-haired woman in a short red dress smiled demurely. "So sorry, Mr. Beery, but we don't want to spoil all the fun for our girlfriend. She spotted you first, you hunk! You two have a swell evening!"
"Oh well! Maybe next time!" Roland watched them leave with a sly smile and then shrugged. He turned his attention back to the blonde; she promptly dropped her hands under the table.
"So, what brings you to this hotel? You know, I have a mansion in Highland Park." He boasted. "It has over fifteen rooms, why should you have to pay to stay here for the night?"
The young woman was staring intently at his wine glass, and then looked up and grinned shyly. "Oooh, Highland Park is very exclusive!" She gushed about its splendor and then playfully pulled off his cowboy hat. "Say, don't the villains always wear black? You should be wearing the white one, you're a Texan hero."
Roland laughed obnoxiously. "Oh, I like black for the evenings. I have one in every shade. So what about my offer, young lady? I'm a very busy man; you should feel so privileged I asked you out of all the beauties in here! What's your name anyway?"
"Uhmm, Angie Pierce." She replied falsely, placing the hat back on his graying head. "I don't know, I'm not really in the habit of going off with strangers, even though you are rich and famous."
"PSHAW! Roland Beery is a stranger to no one! Especially a cute trick like you! I can give you everything your heart desires."
Angie noticed as he said this, he lightly tapped his right breast, the exact spot of his black book. She slid closer to him. "I'm very sure you could, Mr. Beery. Are you parked outside?"
"Yesiree! And please, call me, Rollie!"
"Okay, Rollie." She kissed his cheek. "I like that, it's so cute and cuddly! Just like you are!"
"Whoopee! Let's get going then! Yee haw!"
"Wait! Finish your drink, Rollie." She clutched his arm and pushed his glass closer.
"Aww, heck, I paid for it, I might as well." He gulped down the last of the wine, oblivious to the new and almost bitter taste. Angie smirked and he grabbed her hand excitably. He escorted her into his white Cadillac after the valet pulled up.
"Oooh! I love the red leather, Rollie!" She squealed. "It looks like everything is made to order here."
"Yesiree! I had this car built from scratch to suit me! Look at the back seating, large enough to fit five people, or…" He raised his bushy, black eyebrows up and down at her and she giggled, swatting him.
"You are such a card! I can't wait to see the mansion! Maybe we can even go swimming." She leaned over and nibbled his ear.
Roland whooped aloud again, ignoring the sudden dizziness that overtook him and he speedily drove off into the darkness.
The intense summer heat blasted against his back and Roland Beery raised his head with a deep moan of pain. He looked into the studded rear-view mirror and saw a huge black and blue lump forming on his forehead. The pungent aroma of bleach struck him and he looked to the seat beside him, it was discolored to a bright orange. The entire car had been wiped clean and lying by his feet like a dead cat, was a blonde wig.
"Why that little trollop! Oh my Lordy!" He felt for his pocket, realizing his jacket was gone.
"Aww no! She didn't! No, no, no! I'm ruined!" He shouted
Roland slammed the steering wheel and staggered out of his vehicle. His jacket and suit had been thrown off in the mud and he was stripped down to his boxers and undershirt. His car had been left off the side of a road in a muddy ditch somewhere out of the City. Everything was gone–his wallet, his credit cards, jewelry, the cold, five thousand he carried and most importantly, his black book. He fell to his knees and wept. Why didn't he put two and two together? Didn't he read about this kind of thing in the papers just last week? Nobody took stuff like that seriously. He hurried back into the Cadillac and picked up his car phone. This wasn't just a random theft and he was definitely not going to take this to the authorities. His wife would kill him and he would be the laughingstock of his entire circle, if not the whole State. He needed secret help, good, old, Outrider assistance.
"Hello, New York Embassy? This is Roland Beery speaking. That's right, I run the Oil wells. I need to speak to Henry Towler. I don't care about a meeting! You tell him it's urgent!"