Kiss and Tell (22 page)

E
manuel Macklin dressed nattily in an outdated polyester suit, with a collarless gray shirt that was actually white, along with a spot-stained Target tie, and exited a run-down building where he leased a one-bedroom, one-bath apartment that he rarely stayed in. Rarely because he hated the ugliness of it. He liked fine things, expensive things, but the apartment and its location was all part of the persona he had cultivated, as well as the game he had spent years playing, and he was the only one who knew the rules. It worked for him. He carried a briefcase that looked to be as old as the barren shade trees that lined the streets. One side of the case was held together with gray electrical tape that was curling loose at the edges. Something to indicate that the case got a lot of use. Again, the briefcase was part of his persona and the game.

Back at Olympic Ridge, he had a ten-thousand-dollar ostrich briefcase he used when he was dealing with billionaires. Or when he went abroad and wanted to make an impression. He'd packed the inside of the worn and battered case with everything he would need to seal the deal with Dennis West's quirky aunts.

Macklin looked down at his feet, at the old-fashioned galoshes that he'd found in a secondhand store years ago. They were ugly and patched with noticeable rubber squares, but he had to admit they did keep his feet dry. All part of his persona. And also part of the game.

He trudged to the curb, the heavy rubber boots weighing him down, and hailed a cab to take him to Adam's office, where he was to meet his daughter, Ava. He looked up at the gunmetal gray clouds scudding across the sky, at the flurrying snow that never seemed to end, as he settled himself in the cab and fastened his seat belt against his wide girth. He sighed.

Something wasn't right—he could feel it in his bones—and it wasn't just Adam thumbing his nose at him. He was thinking more than he should about his ex-wife, Adam and Ava's mother, which then turned his thoughts to Marie and Sally. As always, he wondered where they were and what they were doing since he had left their lives so many years ago. He always felt sad, guilty, and unhappy when he thought of his two best friends from childhood. He warned himself not to go down that road again. Instead, he stared out the window at the snowflakes swirling about. He knew that if he stared at them long enough, he would zone out and fall asleep. He gave himself a hearty shake to bring himself back to the here and now. He needed to be wide eyed and bushy tailed.

Fifteen minutes later, the cab pulled as close as it could to the piled-up snow at the curb. Macklin handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill for the $18.50 cab ride and told him to keep the change. A big tipper he was not.

Macklin looked down at the Timex watch with the black plastic band he'd bought in a Rite Aid drugstore years ago. Back at Olympic Ridge, he had a custom-crafted hundred-thousand-dollar Rolex encrusted with diamonds that he only wore when he carried the ostrich briefcase. He decided that he had time for coffee before heading up to the office to go head to head again with his greedy, mouthy, disrespectful daughter and still have a few minutes left over before it was time to meet Dennis West outside the building. He looked around and saw a diner that he considered a greasy spoon and headed that way.

While Macklin was ordering his coffee, Ava Macklin was spewing hatred at her brother over her cell phone. “You bastard! Tell me you didn't do that! Tell me you're just yanking my chain! Did our mother put you up to that to get even with Daddy? Damn you, Adam, do you realize what you've done? Well, are you going to say something or not? Daddy's on his way here right now.”

Ava cringed when she heard her brother's laughter on the other end of the phone. “If you shut that mouth of yours long enough for me to answer, I will be happy to address your questions. By your standards, I suppose I am a bastard. I did do
that.
At 9:00 this morning to be precise. No, I am not yanking your chain. No,
our
mother did not put me up to anything. As far as Pop is concerned, he's just someone Mom used to know. Of course I realize what I've done. Now I can sleep at night. Now I can take a deep breath and not worry about the FBI or the SEC dragging me off and slamming me in prison. In case you aren't getting what I'm saying, Ava, I blew the whistle on all of us and cut my own deal. You know how it goes: I told them where all the bodies are buried. At least the ones I know about. I told them you and Pop could fill in the rest of the blanks. I asked you if you wanted to go with me yesterday, and you took off like a scalded cat. I really could not care less anymore what happens to you and Pop. I really, truly, absolutely do not. So, if we're done here, I'm hanging up. Oh, one more thing for you to think about. All those reports Pop showed us about hiring a private eye to track down Mom. Well, that never happened. Do you hear me, Ava? He lied to us: That never happened. He filled out all those bogus reports himself. Pop never tried to find Mom because he could not have cared less about her walking out. As long as she did not want any of his precious money, he was obviously glad to get rid of her. The only downside to her leaving, according to him, was that he had to hire a housekeeper. He admitted all this to me—to my face. Chew on that, little sister.”

“You son of a bitch! How dare you—” The rest of whatever Ava was going to say in her tirade was cut off when she realized she was spewing her venom to dead air.

Ava bounced out of Adam's rickety chair and started pacing the dusty office. What the hell was she doing here anyway? She needed to leave, to breathe some fresh air so she could
think.
She really needed to think. She knew her brother well enough to know he'd done exactly what he said he'd done. He was looking out for himself. Selfish bastard. She couldn't even begin to imagine what her father was going to say when she told him what Adam had done. For sure, he'd go nuclear. More to the point, what was
she
going to do? Get her own house in order, of course. Hire the best attorney money could buy. Money. She knew how it worked. The first thing they'd do would be to freeze all her bank accounts. Then where would she get the money to pay a top-dollar lawyer? Her friends, if they were actually friends and not merely hangers-on, would shun her. They wouldn't let her in the tony health club anymore. Her hairdresser and masseuse would refuse to deal with her because they wouldn't want the exposure. Facials would be something to dream about in the future. She'd be shunned everywhere. They'd take her cars, her furs, her jewelry. She'd be left with dark roots showing, straggly eyebrows, and zits on her face.

Ava started to cry. This couldn't be happening. It was all a bad dream, and she was going to wake up any second now. She pinched her arm. It hurt, and she yelped. This was no dream, and she was wide awake. The word
nightmare
came to mind.

Suddenly, Ava couldn't breathe. She struggled, knowing she was in the midst of a full-blown panic attack. The same kind of attacks she'd had when her mother had left so many years ago. She bolted from the office, ran down the steps, and literally crashed through the grimy lobby door. She took a deep breath and sucked in snowflakes. They felt good on her parched throat. That's when she realized it was snowing again. She'd had plans to go to St. Barts this weekend on the company's private jet. She'd invited six friends, and now she was going to have to cancel the trip and concoct some lie to her friends. Friends who would no longer be her friends once her world came tumbling down around her. She had to get back to New York so she could clean out her bank accounts and take all her jewelry out of the safe-deposit box. And put it where?

“I hate you, Adam, for doing this to me. I hope you rot in hell. Forever and ever, you selfish bastard.” She was sobbing. People on the street were looking at her, but she didn't care. She saw her father then, walking toward her. He looked like such a mess, but he always looked like a mess. She wondered what her mother looked like these days. Probably a lot better than her father, but her father was filthy rich, so it didn't matter what he looked like. Her thoughts were like a runaway train she couldn't control, and she was standing right on the tracks.
Splat!

“What's wrong, Ava? Why are you standing out here in the cold crying? Isn't the heat working?”

“You want to know what's wrong? Well, Daddy dearest, let me tell you what your son just did. Then you'll know why I'm crying. I'm not even crying, I'm bawling. There's a difference. Not that you care.”

“Not here, Ava. Let's go up to the office. You know better than to act like this in public. Not another word until we're behind closed doors. I won't tell you again. Turn around and go through the door.” The ring of steel in her father's voice told Ava she would be wise to follow his instructions.

Once they were in Adam's office, with the door closed and bolted, she let loose. She enjoyed the look of horror on her father's face. “Okay, now you know as much as I know. I'm outta here. I'm going back to New York to try to salvage something, so I'm not living on a park bench.”

“Ever the drama queen. You'll do no such thing. In fact, I'm taking you to dinner to clinch a megadeal. I'm sure our hostesses won't mind another table setting. Meat loaf is a meal that can be stretched.” Macklin looked at the Timex on his wrist. “We have ten minutes until my soon-tobe client picks us up. Go into the bathroom and wash your face. That's an order, Ava, not a suggestion.”

Ava turned around and walked into an ugly bathroom with a hundred pipes hanging from the peeling walls. She splashed cold water on her face and looked around for a towel or paper towels, but there were none. She used toilet paper and gagged as she did it. She thought about her own beautiful tile bathroom with the monogrammed, thick, thirsty, pristine white towels back in New York.

Once again in Adam's office, she stared at her father. “Did you understand what I just told you, Daddy?” Her voice was calmer now, almost resigned.

“Yes. My son, your brother, is a traitor. I refuse to give Adam another thought. We'll deal with any fallout when it happens. It's not like we haven't been investigated before. We have, and our attorneys have always handled the matters satisfactorily. This time is no different. If your brother is so desperate to go to prison, let him. Now, let's get downstairs, so young Dennis West can take us out to McLean to finalize the megadeal I was telling you about earlier.

“I want you to act sweet and demure. Do not mouth off the way you usually do. I want you to be complimentary on the food, polite and effusive about the ladies' culinary endeavors. You can speak when I ask you a direct question. The ladies might like seeing a knowledgeable female dealing with large sums of money. More than anything, be respectful. Do you understand me, Ava?”

“Fine, but the minute we get back, I want to be dropped off at the airport. I don't care if I have to sit there all night to wait for a flight. Do you understand that,
DAD?”

Right then, Ava would have agreed to anything just to get out of Adam's office. A dinner was just a dinner. And then she could go back to New York and make her own plans. As smart as she knew her father was, he was also stupid, in her opinion. There was no doubt in her mind that if it benefited him, he'd kick her under the bus. The deal, the con, was a way of life for him and took precedence over anything else. Just the way he wasn't giving Adam another thought because he'd already moved on to the con he was going to execute with two old ladies and some dumb young guy who had inherited close to a billion dollars, with a B. She didn't need to hear the words spoken aloud; what wasn't said was more meaningful, which was that it was every man for himself. Or in her case, every woman.

Outside, in the gray gloomy day, it was colder than it had been a short while ago. The temperature must have dropped at least ten degrees. Ava could hardly believe that her father was discussing the weather given what she'd just told him. She wished she was a child again, so she could run to her room; grab Mitzi, her old rag doll; and burrow under the covers, all the while sucking her thumb. She'd been safe back then. Now she was teetering on a precipice, if what Adam had told her was true, and there was no reason to think Adam would lie to her.
Do-gooder
Adam was what she and her father had both called him. She felt sick and wondered how she would be able to eat a dinner she knew she wouldn't like.

A large white van with the words
WASHINGTON POST
in bright red letters on the side panel pulled to a stop in front of the building. Dennis hopped out and walked around to the front, shook Macklin's hand, then waited to be introduced to Ava. Then he shook her hand, too. “Is she coming with us?” he asked bluntly. “If so,” he said, worry etching his features, “I need to call my aunts to set another plate. They don't . . . ah . . . like to be surprised.”

“No problem, young man. Go ahead and call. If it's inconvenient, Ava can take a cab to the airport. She lives in New York. I just thought it would be good to have another female in attendance, one who knows the business. Women relate to other women,” Macklin said in his sweet, syrupy voice.

Macklin and his daughter stood shivering on the curb while Dennis pressed numbers on his cell phone. He turned his back when he started speaking. When he turned around he said, “They said it's okay. More than okay, actually. They are really looking forward to meeting your daughter. My aunts do not have any nieces, only nephews. You have no idea how many times they have spoken about how nice it would be to have a niece.” As usual, Dennis was babbling again to cover his nervousness.

Macklin beamed his pleasure. Ava scowled as she climbed into the back of the van. Her father sat up front with the young reporter.

Dennis waited for a break in traffic and pulled out slowly. His wipers whipped across the windshield in a frenzy as they battled the swirling snow. He wondered if there would be any kind of serious accumulation. He didn't like driving in snow. And he didn't like driving this big van either. But he had his instructions from Annie, and he was wise enough to know you didn't ever argue with your boss. His thoughts were so scattered that he didn't see the black Lincoln Navigator belonging to Joe Espinosa two cars behind him.