Hollywood is an All Volunteer Army (49 page)

You must go deep, or surface, though, lovely limbo is just not meant to be.

I opened my eyes.

Lydia.

She smiled.

“Do you believe in angels?” she asked.

“I do now,” I said.

~ * ~

We had slept, thanks to Dr. Stone, for more than twenty-four hours, our wounds constantly being tended to by the nurses. In that time, all loose ends were wrapped up.

Once we were fully awake and fed and feeling as fine as circumstances permitted, we were taken by our nurses into the library in wheelchairs. It was, they said, at Dr. Stone's insistence, but I didn't believe them. I think it was just glorious maternal instinct.

As we were rolled into the library, our cast of characters greeted us with a round of applause.

There was the Captain, of course, and Mike. Petey was there as was Hamo Thronycroft, who had flown over from England with Sheila Barnes' boy and girl, who now sat close to their mother, who was keeping a tight hold on them.

And there was Lydia, looking gorgeous in a Bill Blass suit.

The nurses transferred us from wheelchairs to easy chairs, then excused themselves.

“First off,” I started, “Sheila Barnes, my sincere apology for putting you through a hell no parent should have to go through, but I think you will agree that it was necessary and, I assume, your children have reported that they were never mistreated.”

“Mistreated? They want me to adopt Mr. Thronycroft!”

There was laughter.

“Well, I can understand that. We have all wanted to adopt Hamo at one time or another, but I'm afraid the upkeep would be beyond your means.”

“Especially seeing how I'm out of a job, now.”

“Well, let's talk about that. I believe, though, the children would be better entertained in another room where I've had set up for them a video system for games and movies. They will also be fed.”

Hamo led the children out then quickly returned.

“Captain, please explain our arrangements for Sheila.”

“Sure.” In his blunt manner, the Captain laid it out. “You will need to testify against the other Rangers, all of whom we've captured. Not to mention the five—what should I call them...?”

“‘Industry types,' I think will suffice,” I said.

“Yeah, those five, and then there are the ‘Industry types' who were present when Bea Cherbourg was killed. You will have to testify against them.”

“Do I get immunity for this?”

“Immunity, a new identification, relocation for you and your children, the whole works,” the Captain said.

“Can I trust the government on this?”

“You don't have to,” I said. “I am arranging it and I will guarantee it.”

She looked to me. All questioning left her face. She accepted the situation.

 
“A job will be found for you,” I continued, “that fits your particular skills. On occasion, I may have freelance work for you. Private schools for your children, I think, to keep up the kind of education you've established for them. Also, if you wish, we can arrange someone for you to talk to about your somewhat out-of-control sexual needs. Mind you, I'm not opposed to the quantity of sex you may desire, but, rather, the quality of men which that desire, uncontrolled, leads to. If you don't agree with me that that is a problem, you are free to not accept the offer. However, if I ever discover that your children are suffering because of it—I will then take any measure I see fit to correct the situation. Is that understood?”

“Yes, but why are you helping me at all? I'm as guilty as the others.”

“Without you I could not have saved Lydia's life. I put a value on that.”

“I only did what I was instructed to do, and I did it under duress.”

“Yet you did it, and a life I very consciously put in jeopardy was saved. I will explain no more.”

“Except maybe—could you explain how you did it?”

“Petey?”

“Well, it was very simple, actually,” Petey began, “we knew the electrocution happened by contact with the lips. That was obvious from the autopsy report on Bea Cherbourg, and from the Fixxer's observation of Don Gulden showing off his burnt lips at Larry Lapham's party. So I simply prepared a lipstick compound for Lydia that had within it thousands of near microscopic glass beads. Glass, of course, will not conduct electricity. So, as long as she allowed only her lips to make contact with the hot item—in this case, one hot ass—”

“Petey,” I admonished.

“Sorry. In this case, a gold-colored, electrified Mylar pair of panties covering the buttocks of one Sara Hutton—then she was perfectly safe. As an added protection, though, just in case the altar had been electrified, I provided Lydia with a pair of stockings made out of a sheer, super-thin rubber.”

“They were extremely uncomfortable,” Lydia said. “I would have been willing to die just to get out of them.”

“Yes, well, rubber, you see, doesn't breathe,” Petey explained.

“You're telling me. I was sweating like a Turk!”

“Lydia!” I admonished.

“What? Oh. Sweating like a
turkey
, then. On the night before Thanksgiving. Passive, American PC enough for you?”

“For all except the poultry lobby.”

“Well,” Sheila Barnes said, not quite appreciating our banter, “she sure acted like she'd been electrocuted.”

“‘Acted' is the key word,” I said. “She plays Medea next week.”

Sheila didn't really understand this, but Lydia smiled.

“Thank you. I had a good director.”

“But—but her hair...?”

“Oh, just a little electromagnetic device,” Petey explained, “in the form of a hair pin. Hit the remote control switch and it really frizzes out the hair. Roee had the switch in his pocket. Get the timing right, and who's to know?”

“Well, it was really convincing.”

“But it wouldn't have been upon close scrutiny of—of the remains,” I said. “That's where we needed you, and you did an admirable job.”

“As I said, I just did what I was told to do. I got to her first, before the other Rangers and just dragged her off, behind the screen. Max and Sara were more concerned with calming everybody down and with you guys. Then I just told them I had everything under control as far as getting the body ready for shipment to Alaska. They didn't particularly want to pay their last respects.”

“She's being modest,” Lydia said. Once she got me behind the screen, she checked to make sure I was alive, made sure I was comfortable, and kept a very diligent eye out for others. Then she hid me in a safe place in one of the guesthouses. You will always have my deep gratitude, Sheila.”

“What did you replace Lydia with?” asked Roee. “You had to deliver something to the Alaska-bound plane.”

“A calf from one of the local ranches. Dislocate its limbs in the right way, and, in a bag, it's just another body.”

“You stole it, I take it?” I asked.

“Well....”

“Roee, get the name of the ranch. We'll make a reimbursement. Sheila, I think you can now join your children for lunch. Later on the Captain will come and fetch you and take care of everything from there.”

Sheila nodded, and left the room.

I turned to Lydia. “I can't tell you how relieved I was when you gave me the code words.”

“I was thinking of not doing it. Just to see if you would cry.”

“Oh, I would have cried.”

“What code words!?” Petey demanded to know.

“Lydia and I arranged for her to have a, ‘Dying statement.' If it included the words, ‘Self-help book,' then I would know she was all right.”

“Wait a minute!” Petey exclaimed. “What did you need that for!? Didn't you think my stuff would work!?”

“Petey, I always have full confidence in you, it was just—well, call it an emotional need for reassurance. Truly a character fault of my own, and I apologize for it.”

“Oh, that's okay! Actually, I wasn't sure it was going to work!”

“What!?” Lydia turned to Petey.

“Well, theoretically, but how often do you have to protect someone from kissing an electrified golden ass!?”

“Which brings up the question, Fixxer,” the Captain said. “How did you know they would try to kill Lydia? Especially in this way?”

“I knew that although our cover had not been penetrated, our sincerity had. Maxwellton James knew we were enemies of some sort, he didn't know what sort. He was the kind of personality who would have to know. That's why I also allowed him to overhear our plans with the briefcases. They were too intriguing for him not to want to get his hands on them. I was sure he was also sufficiently egoistic to want to have the candid, historical record of his actions they would record. So I knew he would let them operate to the very last moment.”

“Like Nixon keeping the tapes?”

“I suppose. Well, the only way to satisfy all his needs was to invite us in. Once in, he couldn't let us out. So murder was always in his plans. As to knowing they would use the Golden Arse as the murder weapon for Lydia? It's perverse. So were Max and Sara. It fit.”

It was time to move on.

“Captain, you got wonderful cooperation from the State.”

“You bet. Once I explained how Max and State Senator Joe Skinner had duped them. It was going to be embarrassing for them, no matter what. Only a full out effort to support us could take the focus off that embarrassment.”

“And Joe Skinner is...?”

“In custody.”

“Ouch!” It was Roee, suddenly unbuttoning his shirt and clawing at his breasts. “Petey, didn't anybody remove these nipplephones?”

“Nope! Sorry! Forgot!”

“What the hell is a nipplephone?” the Captain asked.

Roee, painfully, peeled off then handed the two fake nipples over to the Captain as he scratched at his own, apologizing for the rudeness, but feeling much better.

“Miniature microphone-transmitter applications in the form of human male nipples,” Petey proudly declared.

The Captain stared at the two nipples in his hand. Then sudden disgust caused him to dropped them. “Petey, you're one sick puppy, do you know that?”

“Yeah. Break those and it costs you ten grand per nipple.”

“Sick puppy he may be, Captain, but a brilliant sick puppy.”

“Ah—Fixxer!”

“The improvements you made to the satellite are amazing, but the fact that you could track us so precisely in the middle of storm clouds....”

“Easy, once I got a lock on the individual heat signatures of the planes, but did you really think he would go to this trouble to kill you? I mean, he could have just killed you on the ground.”

“No, again, not perverse and grand enough for his type. When Mike got back with the report that he had found ammo in the San Simeon hanger, it was obvious that Max was using it somewhere. If there was still a war going on in Central America, and he was still involved, that might have been the answer, but with no war, what's a warped bastard to do? War games with live ammo. We've known of such things before. Bea being found in Alaska—especially on the frozen Bering Sea—gave me another clue. Such war games have to be played in very remote places. It was not much of a leap to figure somewhere in eastern Russia was a likely place. Why else would he have an airfield in Nome? He wasn't in the business of giving tourist flights. He needed a private refueling station on the way there.

“So, knowing armed air battles were his pleasure, we gave him every opportunity to come up with the idea as a fun way to get rid of us. Simple human psychology took over from there.

“But on to other things. Hamo, have you and Lydia had time to review the tapes?”

“Yes, everything worked fine. Lydia has plenty of material. It will make quite a brilliant exposé.”

“And at any time, is either Roee or myself recognizable on the tapes?”

“Only twice. Once when Max covered you with the camera himself. That part we have, of course, erased. The other time was when George kicked you. He kicked your face into a full frontal view.”

“Not such an easy section to erase,” I said.

“That's not a problem. We can easily replace your face digitally with the face of the cop who's standing in for you.”

“Yes, those police officers will come in for quite a bit of glory. I hope you'll play them up, Lydia.”

“Are you kidding? Where's the glory for me if I do that? No, I think I'll just portray them as competent undercover cops. That's in the journalism, of course. In the movie version, I've got to have some hot sex scenes with the cop taking your role, so I'll have to expand it a little bit.”