Weekend Warriors (12 page)

“I think you do know someone who has a BMW. I want you to think about it when we hang up. Sit back and relax. Eventually it will come to you. I assume, then, you had no problems with your flight or check-in?”

“None at all. It’s very hot here. Oh, I said that, didn’t I?”

“Yes. Everything is fine here. Enjoy your vacation. . . Kathryn.”

Isabelle walked over to the mini-bar and reached for one of the small bottles of Dewars. She replenished her glass and headed back to the lanai.

She leaned back and closed her eyes. Whom did she know with a BMW? No one. BR or, before Rosemary, she knew several clients who tooled around town in BMWs. Somehow she didn’t think that was what Myra meant. Then what did she mean? She brought a mental picture of the parked cars in Myra’s oversized, circular driveway to the forefront of her mind. Pricey cars. The truck. The square black car, what was it. A BMW. Whose? The Jag belonged to Alexis and was leased. The Bentley was Julia’s. The Benz belonged to Yoko and her husband. The Honda Civic was hers. Who did that leave? Nikki! Nikki drove a BMW. Okay, who was the man and what was he doing with a black marble?

Maybe it wasn’t a black marble at all. Maybe it just looked like a black marble. As hard as she tried, nothing else would surface. Maybe after a few more drinks she’d be relaxed enough that she might remember something else.

Dusk settled quickly and before she knew it, the world outside her villa turned midnight black. She looked around as little lights sprang to life on the lanai, casting everything in a dim yellowish light that was not unpleasing.

She probably should think about ordering something from the kitchen. She’d only had a bagel at the airport, but that was over twelve hours ago. Maybe some popcorn shrimp, a garden salad, a slice of cake and then she could go to sleep. In the morning she could think about BMWs, black marbles, and Rosemary.

 

 

Back in Virginia, Myra paced up and down her bedroom as she tried to figure out what Isabelle’s vision really meant. She longed for Charles, who would undoubtedly have the answer. What did black marbles have to do with Nikki’s car? Was someone putting them in her gas tank? Someone!
My foot, someone. More than likely that someone was Jack Emery.
Would he do something that stupid and hope Nikki would call him for a ride or ask him to pick her up? Myra shook her head. That scenario was too ridiculous for words.

She wished now that she had paid more attention to all the spy shows Charles was so addicted to, particularly the reruns of
I Spy
and
Mission Impossible.
That had been Charles’s world for so long. A wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. He was certainly in his element now with everything he’d conjured up.

Myra looked at the little clock on her nightstand. Nikki would probably still be awake. Should she call her or shouldn’t she? If anything happened to Nikki, she would never forgive herself. She didn’t stop to think. She picked up the phone and punched out the numbers to Nikki’s unlisted number. She would be so relieved when Nikki moved back to the farm tomorrow.

“Hello, darling, how are you? I just called to say good night. Did you finish everything you wanted to get done? I would like it very much if you’d do me a favor, Nikki. Ever since that ugly storm my car has been acting up. I was wondering if you’d lease a car and drive it out here tomorrow. It doesn’t matter what kind of car you get. Either Charles or I will drive you back to the city to get your own car. By the way, dear, do you remember my friend, the one who ‘sees’ things? She called earlier and said she had a vision. I don’t believe in things like that, do you? I feel just plain old silly even mentioning it. She always makes me nervous when she brings things like that up. Sleep tight, dear. I appreciate you doing this for me.”

Myra stared down at the phone. Was she being silly? Would Nikki pick up on her subtle warning? Of course she would, Nikki was smart. She sat down on the edge of the bed. She thought about the conversation she’d just had with Nikki. It sounded like something out of a bad spy novel. And yet, Charles had seemed more than a little worried about Jack Emery. His words were, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Now that she was here alone in her bedroom, the house silent, she could give way to her fears with no one the wiser. She wondered what she would look like in an orange jumpsuit with shackles on her wrists and ankles. She flinched at the thought. On visiting days, Nikki would cry and Charles would wring his hands. She’d probably cry herself and say something noble like, if I had it to do over again, I’d still do it.

Charles said everything he’d done was foolproof. Nikki backed him up. And yet, things had a way of going wrong at the last moment. A dog could upset a foolproof plan, a stranger could appear out of nowhere and screw things up. The human element was one thing impossible to foresee.

If she kept this up, she was going to go out of her mind. She needed to do something and she needed to do it now. What? She looked around as though searching for her answer. She saw it in the pile of comforters on the chaise longue in the corner of the room. She didn’t stop to think. She gathered them up and in the hall she tossed them to the foot of the steps. She peered over the bannister to see if they had fallen on top of one another. They had. A second later she was sliding down the staircase, whooping in glee. She hit bottom none the worse for wear. She might do it again later on or in the morning. She smacked her hands together in satisfaction.

She rubbed at her rump as she made her way into the living room. Earlier, she’d closed the heavy draperies. Now all she had to do was close the pocket doors leading into the dining room and she could enter the War Room. Charles had scared the bejesus out of her by saying there were high-powered binoculars that allowed a person to see almost a mile away. Then he’d gone on to tell her about the night vision goggles. “Keep the damn drapes and doors closed, Myra,” were his exact words.

She certainly was getting an education. It was exhilarating and scary at the same time.

The panel closed silently. Myra walked around the room, marveling at the high-tech world that was now part of the old farmhouse. She looked up at one wall and saw Chris Matthews talking to Mike Barnacle on MSNBC. She looked across the room to see Larry King talking to a psychic named John Edward.

She walked up the two steps that led to the platform where the bank of computers rested under the big screen closed-circuit monitor. She counted down, three, four, five, six. All had little envelopes twirling about signifying that there was incoming e-mail. They were probably from Charles’s people. That’s how she thought of them, Charles’s people. Without those people working in the background, she wouldn’t be standing here now, nor would she be obstructing justice and breaking the law.

Myra sat down at the round table and thought about King Arthur. “We’re sort of like that,” she muttered. Her hands started to shake so she sat on them as she watched Larry King and John Edward. He was so young to be a psychic, but then Isabelle was young, too. Isabelle just saw things and didn’t know what they meant. John Edward seemed to know what everything meant. She wondered what would happen if she called in to the show. Damn, why not?

She was out of the War Room in a flash and in the kitchen dialing the number of the show. She waited while she was put on hold. Her hands started twitching again so she tilted the phone on her shoulder and ear and sat on her hands. She almost fainted when she heard Larry King say, “Go ahead, McLean, Virginia.”

Go ahead. What did that mean? Talk. Yes, she was supposed to say something. “Good evening Mr. King and Mr. Edward. I was wondering if you could tell anything by just my voice. You know, pick up on what’s going on in my life. I’m not sure I believe in things like this but I like to keep an open mind.”

“Can you tell anything by talking to this woman, John?” King asked.

“I see a high-impact hit-and-run accident. Did this happen in China? I see Chinese lettering of some kind. I see turmoil and a lot of activity surrounding you. I also see danger. You have to be careful. You like chocolate eclairs. I see you eating three at one time. I see you surrounded by motorcycles. Does that have any special meaning to you?”

Myra slammed down the phone so hard it bounced off the kitchen counter. She put her head between her legs until her head cleared and she could breathe normally. She was off the chair a second later, opening the refrigerator. She reached for Charles’s vodka and took a healthy gulp. Then she took a second one. She debated about a third swallow and put the bottle back on the top shelf.

If she told Charles, he would say she was on the phone long enough for someone to analyze her voice. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Well, she wouldn’t tell Charles. Maybe she should tell Nikki. God, no! She could ask her tomorrow if Jack Emery ever watched Larry King. Probably not on a Friday night. Young, good-looking, power-hungry men like Jack Emery didn’t sit home on Friday night watching Larry King. Did they? She would have to be careful when she quizzed Nikki in the morning.

There was no way she was going to be able to sleep now. Charles could always buy another bottle of vodka. Right now she needed it more. Maybe she could just stick a straw in the bottle and drink it that way so she could sit on her shaking hands.

“There’s no fool like an old fool,” she muttered over and over as she guzzled from the bottle because she didn’t have any straws.

Charles said she was to stay alert in case he needed her. Her shoulders slumped. She wondered when she’d gotten two of everything in the kitchen.

“Some CIC I am,” she muttered as she tottered to the living room, the portable phone in her hand. The Cat In Charge slumped down on the sofa and was out like a light in two seconds flat.

Kathryn Lucas looked around at the sleazy surroundings of the motel room she shared with Yoko. It was so depressing she wanted to bolt outside to where the air was clean and fresh. Alexis, Julia and Charles had registered earlier and were three doors down from her room. She sat down and sipped at the cold coffee in the Styrofoam cup she’d gotten earlier in the coffee shop. The harried waitress at the register hadn’t bothered to even look at her when she paid for the coffee and a tea for Yoko.

Sometime during the night, Charles had attached a decal to both sides of the truck. A green and yellow sign that said in bold hunter green letters, TSOJ Manufacturing. Pictures of different types of scales dotted the long banner. Kathryn found herself giggling at what the sign represented. The scales of justice. On the sliding door in the back, he’d added another sign in bright red letters that said, How’s My Driving? Underneath was a toll-free number to call should anyone have a complaint. The truck also now sported a Colorado license plate.

Just an hour ago, Charles had said in his best spy voice, “All systems are a go.” She would have preferred him to say, “Time to rock and roll, kids.” She blinked at the thought. That would have been movie dialogue. This was the
real thing.
She shivered inside her lightweight jacket.

“How much longer, Kathryn?” Yoko asked.

“Not long. Alexis is making the others up. She’s going to do me first and then I’m off to see Dr. Clark Wagstaff to have him check my receding gums. From there I’m going to see the CPA Samuel La Fond. Then it’s on to Sidney Lee to buy some insurance. I should be back here no later than eleven-thirty. The run doesn’t kick off till one o’clock. We’re okay time-wise.”

“Are you sure, Kathryn, this is a wise thing you’re doing by going to see those three men?”

Kathryn shrugged. “Wise or not, I’m doing it. I want to look into their eyes. I might have one bad moment when Wagstaff sticks his fingers in my mouth, but I’ll think of more pleasant things while he’s doing that. Just knowing that tomorrow he will be minus his balls will give me a rosy glow.”

It was Yoko’s turn to shrug. “Don’t forget your street map.”

There was no knock on the door, no indication anyone was near. Kathryn looked up to see Alexis opening a huge travel case. “You’re first, Kathryn. Drag that chair into the bathroom where the light is better. Why do all motels think their customers like orange and brown drapes and spreads?” she grumbled as she opened pots and jars.

Twenty minutes later she stood back to view her handiwork. She clapped her hands in approval. “You look like an older version of Britney Spears, Kathryn.”

Kathryn looked in the mirror. Alexis was right. She laughed aloud.

“Hey, I could have made you look like Madeleine Albright or Janet Reno. Just don’t stand under any bright lights. This will hold up for about ten hours. We’ll need to do a patch job when we get to Lone Pine. Change into that yellow suit and you’re good to go, girl.

“Yoko, let’s get started on your boob job. So, what size do you want to be?”

“I want breasts like grapefruits,” Yoko said smartly.

“You’re too small-boned. How about big oranges?”

“Big oranges are good,” Yoko giggled.

“Then let’s get started.”

Minutes later, Kathryn cleared her throat. “What do you think?”

“My God, Kathryn, you look beautiful,” Alexis said in awe. “That suit fits you like a glove. Nice shape, girl. I like those shoes, too. Ah, a Chanel bag. I like that, too. You should get dressed up more often. Here are the keys to my rental car,” she said, tossing the keys. Kathryn reached up and caught them in mid-air.

“Thank Myra. She bought everything. I always liked yellow. It’s . . . never mind. I’ll see you when I see you. I have the map, Yoko. Stop worrying. Good luck with the boob job.”

 

 

Being the first appointment of the day guaranteed Kathryn an early departure to keep her other two appointments on time. She looked around the waiting room that was just like all dentists’ waiting rooms. The paintings on the wall were imitation Chagal but not unpleasing to the eye. The magazines were crisp and clean, the plants thick and luxurious. The burgundy leather chairs were actually comfortable, the lighting just right.

She zipped through the form attached to a clipboard and scribbled a name at the bottom. She handed it to the receptionist just as a dental assistant called her name.

“Dr. Wagstaff will see you now, Miss Lowenstein.” Kathryn followed the young woman down the hallway to a room with a large number three attached to the door. “Doctor is reviewing your chart. It will be just a few minutes.”

She was young. They were always young. Either the doctor favored young blood or young, fresh-out-of-school girls didn’t demand high salaries. She settled herself in the chair, allowed the sweet young thing to attach a paper bib around her neck. She crossed her ankles and stared at the tips of her Bruno Magli shoes.

She knew he was in the room even though the door had opened silently. She had one brief moment of blind panic when he came to stand next to the chair. His scent was all too familiar, so familiar she wanted to bolt out of the chair. She gripped the arms so tight her knuckles grew white.

“A little tense, are we, Miss Lowenstein? I don’t bite. That was a joke. You were supposed to laugh, Miss Lowenstein. Do you mind if I call you Monica?”

Kathryn shook her head as she stared up at him. He was handsome, there was no doubt about that. And he had perfect teeth that he liked to show off.
All the better to bite with, you son of a bitch.
She stared up into his eyes, wondering what he was thinking. She saw absolutely no recognition. She smiled.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched him pull on latex gloves. To protect himself from her. She almost lost it then. He was afraid of her mouth but he hadn’t been afraid to stick his dick in her without a condom. Hatred bubbled within.

“Do you have a fear of dentists, Monica?”

Kathryn struggled to take a deep breath. “Yes.”

“I’ll make this as painless as possible. I promise,” he said in a reassuring voice. He flashed his pearly whites for her benefit. Kathryn almost gagged.

I promise you pain like you can’t imagine,
Kathryn thought to herself.

“Did I miss something here? One minute you’re petrified and the next minute you’re smiling. Share with me.”

“My mother always said to think about something pleasant and wonderful in the dentist’s chair. I was trying to do that.”

“I see.” Clearly he didn’t see at all. “Open wide and say ahhhh.” Kathryn obliged.

“I don’t see a problem, Monica,” Wagstaff said, poking and picking at her gums and tooth line. “I would recommend using a water pic if you aren’t already using one, and flossing regularly. Your gums look sound and healthy to me. I’d like to see you in a year.” He stepped back and allowed his assistant to tilt the chair into its upright position.

The doctor stripped off his gloves and handed them to his assistant, but not before he patted her rear end. Kathryn watched as she swished her way to the waste container, a smile on her face.

As she was ripping at the paper bib she noticed a framed newspaper article on the wall. She stared at it for long seconds. Dr. Wagstaff astride his Indian, his feet planted firmly on the ground, staring straight into the camera. She pointed to the picture. “Do you ride, Doctor?”

“A bit. I organized a bike run for a local group here to raise money for underprivileged children. I’m proud to say we raised close to fifty thousand dollars. A lot of children benefitted from that run with dental and medical care. As a matter of fact, this afternoon I’m doing a benefit ride to aid a battered women’s group. Do you ride?”

Kathryn flipped her Britney Spears hairdo and said, “Goodness no. I don’t even ride a bicycle.”

“Now that I see you standing up, you remind me of someone.”

Kathryn waved her hand. “People say that to me all the time. Just this morning someone told me I look like Britney Spears’s older sister,” Kathryn said, forcing a laugh.

Wagstaff shrugged. “See my receptionist and we can make an appointment for you in, let’s say, ten months or you can call us around that time. It’s up to you.”

“That’s fine. Thanks. I feel a lot better knowing my gums aren’t receding.”

“It happens to the best of us,” the doctor said over his shoulder as he walked out of the room.

“Isn’t he wonderful?” the young assistant gushed. “He’s always doing something for someone. He’s very civic-minded. He usually makes the newspapers once a month at the very least. It was nice meeting you, Miss Lowenstein.”

“Likewise,” Kathryn said as she opened her wallet to pay for the visit. She raised her eyes at the hundred-and-fifty-dollar office visit. She plunked down three fifty dollar bills and waited for her receipt. “I’ll call when it’s time for an appointment. I travel a lot and I’m not sure where I’ll be in ten months.” She stuck the receipt into the pocket of her yellow jacket and left the office.

Outside in the fresh, spring air, Kathryn took deep gulping breaths until she felt calm enough to head for the parking lot and Alexis’s rental car, where she shed the yellow jacket in favor of a green one. She replaced the Britney Spears wig with an Orphan Annie one. Next stop, Samuel La Fond, CPA.

According to Charles’s map, La Fond had a suite of offices two blocks west. She looked at her watch. She might be a tad early, but so what.

Kathryn stepped into the CPA’s offices and fought with herself not to turn around and leave. On display, between the coffee table and two dark blue chairs, was an Indian motorcycle with a sign on it that said,
DO NOT TOUCH. DO NOT CLIMB ON THIS MOTORCYCLE.
The walls were peppered with framed pictures and newspaper articles attesting to Samuel La Fond’s prowess on cycles. The only magazines on the table were biker magazines and biker catalogs. She wondered if he would set his pickled balls on one of the shelves when they arrived in the mail. She felt chagrined to see that there wasn’t a lifesize wax figure of Samuel La Fond. She asked the receptionist.

“Mr. La Fond thought that would be a bit much. Mr. La Fond is free now. Walk through the door on the right.”

He was a big man. Real big. He lumbered when he got up from behind his desk to walk around it to shake her hand. He’d put on a good twelve pounds, maybe fifteen, since that night in the parking lot of the Starlite Cafe. He had big hands. Those same hands had squeezed her breasts so hard the bruises stayed with her a full month.

“I need a good accountant for my business. A friend recommended you. I didn’t bring anything with me on this trip but if you are taking on new clients, I would be happy to schedule a second appointment. I have an S Corporation and my corporate year ends the end of September. We have plenty of time, the way I see it.”

“What type of business are you in, Miss Walley?”

“Bottle caps,” Kathryn said, looking around at the pictures of La Fond in various poses on different motorcycles. The room was like a shrine. To himself.

“Bottle caps?” La Fond echoed.

“Bottle caps. All bottles need caps. It started as a hobby. You know, collecting all kinds of caps. Then one day I got this idea and voilà! The company was born. We grossed twenty-three million last year and we’re still in the embryo stage.”

La Fond sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes greedy. “I can always find the time to take on a budding enterprise. Why don’t we schedule you for, let’s see,” he said scanning his appointment book, “a month from today. How does ten-thirty sound?”

“That sounds just fine.” She ran her fingers through her Orphan Annie wig and smiled.
A month from now, you bastard, you won’t even remember this office exists. You’ll be too sore to even look at those pictures on the wall.
She was up and off her chair with her hand on the doorknob before he could plough his way across the room. She noticed for the first time that his belly hung over his belt. There was no way she was shaking hands with this grotesque man. She walked through the doorway. “Is there a charge for this visit?”

“No. I’ll bill you when you come in the next time. Have my secretary write out an appointment card for you. Actually, my secretary is my wife. I don’t have to pay her a salary!” He laughed to show how smart he thought that was.

“Really,” Kathryn said as she eyeballed the woman behind the desk. Myra would know to the penny what the woman had paid for her outfit. Straight off Rodeo Drive, if she was any judge.
No shortage of money here,
she thought. She stared at the woman’s cleavage as she accepted the appointment card she handed her.

Two down and one to go.

In the car, she removed the green jacket and slipped into a long burnt orange lightweight coat. She looked around the parking lot to see if anyone was watching before she peeled off the Orphan Annie wig and plopped on a Tina Turner job. She adjusted the spiky, strawlike hair in the rearview mirror. She actually looked good in it. She hummed the words to “Proud Mary” as she turned on the ignition. Before she drove out of the parking lot, she scanned the map in her lap.

She had to backtrack and then head north for one mile, where she was supposed to make a left at the third traffic light. She closed her eyes, memorized the route and the landmarks. “Okay, Mr. Sidney Lee, you’re next.”

Thirty five minutes later she was seated across from Sidney Lee. It was hard to tell what he was, other than a fast-talking insurance salesman. Swanky offices with rich paneling, good furniture, Berber carpeting, trophies out the kazoo and a clear polished desk. She couldn’t make up her mind what nationality he was. He could have passed for Greek, Italian, or maybe even Jewish. But there was a cast to his eyes that said he had some kind of oriental blood in him. He went by the name Lee instead of Sid or Sidney. Strange.