MOONLIGHT ON DIAMONDS (14 page)

“Why, I’d be just
thrilled to help you out,” said the old woman, clapping her hands in delight,
but then a little frown formed a mass of wrinkles along her blue-veined
forehead, “only…”

“Only what?” Nancy
began to panic. “We’ll do anything. Just please help us!”

“Oh, it’s only that
I’m very particular about how my sweets are arranged,” the old lady smiled
modestly. “You see, I put so much love into the things I bake. I just like to
personally make sure they get the showing they deserve.”

“Oh, that’s fine!”
said Nancy, relieved. “You can come to the event and lay everything out as you
like.”

The old lady beamed.
“Oh now, isn’t that nice of you?”

“Then you’ll do it?”

“I’d be very pleased
to help you; just tell me what time and where you need me.”

After getting the
information for the next evening, she left Fabulous Food with a smile on her
face.
Delores Pigeon, you did
beautifully.
Of course she did feel badly about spiking poor chef Armand’s
tea. She just hated to think of how he must be feeling right now, but she
consoled herself with the knowledge that his colon was getting a good thorough
cleaning and that would keep him healthy for years to come. With a sigh, she
pulled her plaid shawl a little closer around her and headed down Prospect
Street.

****

By the time lunch rolled
around, John couldn’t take the suspense any longer. He headed for Veronica’s
room. Maybe she’d want to get a bite to eat.

As he rounded the
corner, she was just stepping out. She wore a beautifully cut, pale blue suit
with a short skirt that showed off her long legs. A white scarf was tied around
her hair and the Jackie O’s were perched on her WASPy little nose. Diamonds
shimmered at her throat and wrists.

John was about to
call out to her, when something in her manner made him pause and then duck back
around the corner. He’d seen that body language before. It was stealthy and
secretive. She was going somewhere she didn’t want it to be known she was
going. He could feel it in his gut, the way you got to feeling things when
you’d chased criminals around for most of your adult life. You learned to trust
that inner radar because very often your life depended on it.

He heard the soft
sound of expensive shoe leather crinkling as she quickly made her way down the
hall. When he felt the moment was right, he stepped out just in time to see her
disappear into the stairwell. He hurried to the door and, quietly pushing it
open, listened to her footsteps echo on the cement stairs. She went down two
stories and then swung open the door to enter the second floor.

John took off his
shoes and bolted down the stairs after her. When he reached the second floor,
he pushed the door ajar, just enough to see Veronica slip into room 211.

John went down to the
first floor, slipping his shoes back on before he entered the elegant lobby. He
made his way to the polished wood concierge desk. An older gentleman in a neat
gray uniform with a good-natured fat face smiled at John as he approached.

“Can I help you,
sir?” asked the concierge.

“Yes,” said John. “I
wonder if you could tell me if a Nicholas Bezuhov is staying here? I thought I
saw him in the lobby last night and I didn’t get a chance to say hi.” John
flashed a bright smile.

“Oh, do you mean the
prince?” asked the concierge.

John suppressed a
smirk. “Yes, that’s him.”

“We’re not supposed
to give out room numbers, but…” The concierge stood waiting expectantly.

John shook his head.
Could the guy be any more obvious? He pulled out his wallet and slid a twenty
dollar bill across the front desk

The concierge’s
chubby fingers closed around the cash. “The prince is in room…let me see,” he
punched a few buttons on his computer, “room 211. Would you like me to call up
and let him know you’re here?”

“No, that’s all
right,” said John, “I’ll stop and see him later. Thank you.”

The concierge smiled.
“You’re welcome, sir.”

Now what?
John headed toward the elevator bank.
Elaborate schemes of commandeering the room above the White Russian’s and
bugging his suite, or a dozen other crazy things he might have done if he were
still in the FBI danced in John’s head. But he wasn’t in the FBI anymore and
Veronica Rossmore wasn’t a criminal. At least, he didn’t think she was.

He decided to go back
to his room, pick up his sunglasses, and go for a walk. But when he got on the
elevator, his finger pushed
two
as if
it had a will of its own. When the doors slid open on the second floor, he
stepped out and walked to room 211.

He put his ear to the
door and listened.

All he could hear
were Veronica’s cries of pleasure.

The warm, honey tones
of Veronica’s thrilled gasp were a familiar sound. John had heard it the night
before when he’d traced her throbbing flesh with the tip of his tongue.

His face flushed and
he had to squeeze his hand into a fist to keep from grabbing the doorknob and
busting in on them. He exhaled long and deep, and before he did something
stupid, bolted up the stairs to his own room.

As soon as the door
closed behind him, he went straight for the phone and dialed. He paced the room
as the phone rang. It seemed to ring on into eternity until at last Simon
picked up.

“Hello?” John could
hear the ball game on TV in the background.

“It’s John.”

“Well, good to hear
from you, John,” said his sponsor, turning down the television.

“I’m fucking furious,
Simon, and I don’t know what to do.”

Simon chuckled.
“Congratulations, you’re an alcoholic.”

Smug old bastard.
“Listen, I’m in a situation and I don’t know
how to handle it. I got a job as a bodyguard for this rich woman. She has a lot
of expensive jewels and I’m supposed to be watching out for them. We’re down in
DC for this big charity ball. Anyway, I slept with her last night…”

“That was your first
mistake.”

Here we go
.

“Never ever shit
where you eat, John.”

“I know it’s not a
good idea,” John admitted. “But I’m only working for her for a few days and
she
came onto me…”

“I see, so you had no
choice in the matter. She tied you to the bed and forced you.”

John just shook his
head. “Can I tell you the part that’s screwing me up?”

“Go ahead.”

John took a deep
breath and tried to calm down. “The part I’m having trouble dealing with
is…well, you remember how I used to track jewel thieves?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well one of
the thieves, this jerk called the White Russian, is staying here in the same
hotel and I caught him trying to get into Veronica’s room this morning…”

“He was breaking in?”
asked the old man.

“Well, no,” said
John. “He was just walking in. He said he was a friend of hers.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, later on
today, I caught her sneaking into his room and then I heard her having sex with
him.”

“You want to tell me
what’s wrong with what you just told me?” asked the old man like he was talking
to a five-year-old.

“Yeah, she’s running
around with a notorious jewel thief behind my back. She’s not being honest,
she’s…”

“I’m not interested
in what
she’s
doing,” interrupted
Simon. “Let’s take a look at what
you’re
doing. First, you sleep with your employer. Then you stalk her and listen at
the door. What’s this woman’s name again?”

“Veronica.”

“Okay, I want you to
get this and get it good. Veronica is an adult and she gets to do what she
wants. You were hired to do a job and you need to start showing up for it like
a professional person. What Veronica does is Veronica’s business and nobody
else’s.”

“No, but seriously,
Simon,” objected John. “Last night she’s coming onto me and today she’s
sleeping with this jerk.”

“I don’t care if she
screws every inmate in Sing Sing, she’s not the one trying to stay sober.
You
are. Now, listen to me,” ordered
Simon. “Tell me what Step Two is.”

John sighed heavily.
“Came to believe a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.”

“Right! You get that
you are insane right now?”

John hesitated. “You
know, I don’t know that, I mean anyone…”

“I see.” Simon was
amused. “You’re a serene picture of contentment and balanced thinking.”

“Fine, I get your
point,” John conceded.

“The good news is
that we can be restored to sanity if we’re willing to ask God for help and take
a few right actions.”

Here come the instructions
.

“I want you to go to
a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous and find the most hopeless-looking case in
the room. Take him out for coffee and try to help him. Then when you see this
Veronica, you are to be polite and professional.”

“Okay,” John bounced
his fist against his thigh, “okay, Simon.”

“Call me tomorrow and
let me know how it goes,” advised the old man.

“I will,” said John.
“Thanks.”

After hanging up, but
before he could think himself out of it, John picked up the phone again and
called the central office for Alcoholics Anonymous. He got the location of a
meeting starting in half an hour and dashed out the door.

****

Dornal Zagen slid a
little lower in the seat of the stolen BMW as he watched John Monroe enter St.
Peter’s Cathedral. He glanced over at the UMP submachine gun lying on the floor
next to him. He was tempted to pick the ex-fed off right there on the steps of
the church, but Dornal prided himself on doing things just right. Even though
his gun had a silencer and he had a fast getaway car, the conditions were not
quite perfect.

With the Hope in
sight he didn’t want to make a single mistake. Before the weekend was through,
he’d have his revenge
and
the most
coveted jewel in the world. It was worth the wait. He pulled a pack of
cigarettes out of the glove compartment and settled in.

****

As John entered the
meeting, which was held in the vestry room of St. Peter’s, the fluorescent
lights and circle of chatting people seated on metal folding chairs informed
him he was in the right place. It was the usual crowd. Bankers in suits on
lunch break, crack whores in tube tops with wild hair and wilder eyes, trust
fund babies in their designer duds, tattooed convicts in jeans and
wife-beaters, punk rockers with dyed hair and clothes pinned together with
safety pins, wholesome-looking blonde trophy wives with perfect bodies encased
in expensive casual clothing all sharing the same space. The speaker was a
frail-looking woman with long, black hair and pale skin, who spoke passionately
about her relationship with God and how AA had changed her life.

God came easily to
some alcoholics once they made the decision to open themselves up to divine
intervention, but John still had his doubts. He believed this fiery young woman
had all kinds of guardian angels watching over her at any given moment, leading
her to the right career, the right man, the most primo parking spot. But he
couldn’t quite believe he was getting the same treatment from the Almighty.

When the meeting
ended, John scanned the room for the most messed-up-looking newcomer he could
find. He saw a kid in faded jeans and a dirty
Linkin Park
T-shirt with limp hair hanging in his face and dark,
haunted eyes. He had chipped black nail polish and a skull ring on his index
finger. He was two sizes too thin and his skin had a yellowish cast to it. He
would have been a good-looking guy if it weren’t for the inner decay that had
worked its way out to the surface.

John headed the kid’s
way and smiled. “Hey, I’m John. Are you new?”

“Yeah,” mumbled the
kid shyly. “I have two days.”

“Congratulations,”
said John, trying to sound encouraging.

“It’s not much,” said
the kid to his scuffed-up sneakers.

“Hey, this is where
it starts,” said John. “I remember when I had two days. I never thought I could
make it to one year.”

“Yeah?” The boy
looked up, hope, despair, and a world of doubt in his dark eyes. “How did you
do it?”

“If you want to go
get a cup of coffee, I could tell you about it,” offered John.

But the kid shook his
greasy head and looked down again. “No thanks, man. I gotta be somewhere.”

“Okay,” said John
unperturbed, “but if you need someone to talk to, here’s my number.” He fished
a pen out of his pocket and scribbled awkwardly on a receipt from the
Monticello drug store where he had stopped to pick up a pack of gum before his
date with Veronica.

The kid took the
number without even looking at it and slipped it into his jeans’ pocket.
“Thanks, man.”