Collateral Damage (10 page)

“I’m sorry about this. Please, allow me to apologize. This task force is just starting up, and some of my agents got a little overzealous. You’re all free to go, but I’d like it if you’d agree to come in and talk when we get a little more organized. An informal Q&A.”

“Elias, this is nonsense,” Nellie said. “I have nothing to say that I haven’t told you several times already. You need to move to higher ground, get some fresh ideas. We’re the old guard, been there, done that. Speaking strictly for myself, I have had no contact with the women you call the vigilantes. I heard the case in court. That’s the sum total of my involvement. Aside from what I told your predecessor, who tried to do me in with that dossier he compiled, there is nothing I can tell you. Can’t we please leave it at that so I can get on with my retirement?”

“Of course, Nellie,” the director said agreeably. “To show there are no hard feelings, allow me to take you to breakfast. I insist, Nellie.”

“Well, since you put it that way, I guess I am hungry.”

“Wonderful.”

The director looked at Jack and Lizzie and extended the invitation. Both declined.

“You taking this all down, Lizzie?” he asked, his folksy voice ringing in the large empty room.

Lizzie pointed to her head to indicate she had it all stored in her brain. She made a production of standing up then and almost blew the director’s socks off when she leaned over and kissed his cheek. Jack, cell phone in hand, clicked once, then twice, and the picture was stored. Nellie, seeing the little byplay, almost laughed out loud.

“Shall we?” the director asked, standing aside so his guests could exit the door.

“I’ll just be a minute, Nellie. I want to get my jacket.”

“Take your time, Elias. I’m retired and have all the time in the world.”

“Nice seeing you again, Your Honor,” Jack said as he cupped Lizzie’s elbow in his hand to usher her out the door.

Neither spoke until they were outside in the brisk air. “What the hell is going on, Jack? What was that dog-and-pony show all about?” Lizzie demanded as she waved to Ted Robinson. He waved back.

“When I find out, I’ll let you know. See ya,” Jack said, heading to the curb to hail a cab.

He looked back once to see Ted Robinson glaring at him. He shivered in the crisp air as he climbed into the cab. He barked out the address of the courthouse, then leaned back to think about what had just happened inside 935 Pennsylvania Avenue.

A
fter leaving her office just before noon, Lizzie Fox had the driver of the town car take her back to her home in the pricey neighborhood above Dupont Circle. She signed the credit card form, added a generous tip, and slid out of the car, thanking the driver.

Key in hand, she opened the solid oak door, then closed it behind her as she kicked off her spiked heels. They sailed across the room, landing with a plop next to a luxurious white sofa. Her antenna went up almost immediately. Someone was in the house, even though it was deathly silent. She tiptoed over to the sofa and picked up one of the stilettos. Carrying it like a weapon, she moved cautiously through the house. She stopped long enough in the dining room to slide open one of the drawers, where she kept a fully loaded gun. Shoe in one hand, gun in the other, she slowly inched open the swinging door that led into the kitchen. Her jaw dropped and her eyes bulged when she saw Judge Cornelia Easter sitting at her kitchen table.

“Damn, Nellie, I could have shot you and asked questions later. How’d you get in here?”

Nellie offered up a tight little smile. “While I was sitting on the bench, over the years many people stood before me on trial. One gentleman enlightened us in great detail about how to break and enter without getting caught. Believe it or not, I took notes in case anyone else came before me and tried to snow me.”

“I guess he wasn’t such an expert if he got caught,” Lizzie said, snapping the safety on the gun in her hand and stuffing it into a kitchen drawer.

“Oh, he didn’t get caught breaking and entering. He wanted to convince me he retired from such nefarious doings by explaining his résumé to me. He was charged with highjacking an eighteen-wheeler full of designer shoes that he had family members selling at a flea market in Alexandria. His smart-ass lawyer got him off by convincing the jury his client was at the wrong place at the right time. I could use a good cup of coffee right now. Tell me, dear, what’s going on and what do we have to do?”

Lizzie removed her suit jacket and hung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs before she set about grinding beans and filling the coffeemaker with water. She set out cups and saucers, cream and sugar. “I’m not sure, Nellie. We lucked out this morning, with Elias showing up the way he did. Coincidence? I don’t believe in coincidences, Nellie. Never have. Was it all a setup to make us nervous? Possibly a warning of things to come.”

“Did something happen out of the norm? Myra told me the girls are getting ready to take on something, but she was vague on details. Do you think it’s just the bad press the FBI is getting from the media? They have become a laughingstock on the 24-hour cable news channels.”

“I think that’s part of it. I’ve interacted with the agents assigned to this special task force on occasion. However, today was the first time I met Erin Powell. How she got up to bat on this gig is beyond me. All female fibs want to make a name for themselves. I have no reason to think Powell is any different. The best thing we have going for us right now is that Bert is on the inside, but there’s a problem there, too. Powell followed Bert last night when he gave Jack a ride home, then spent the night, since he had to be in the office by five thirty. He managed to text message me about it as I was riding down in the elevator. So he’s on Powell’s radar screen. He said she believes there’s a mole in the FBI who helps the vigilantes. Don’t worry about Bert, he knows how to cover his ass.”

Nellie wondered what exactly
interacting with the agents on occasion
really meant, but she’d bite off her tongue before she asked. So she just nodded and waited for whatever Lizzie was going to say next. With Lizzie it was always a bombshell a minute.

“Well, it’s my opinion that something somewhere is going down for Elias to form this special task force. It’s got to be more than the bad press. Every organization gets bad press and lives to fight another day. I’m thinking, and again, this is just my opinion, but I think it’s all a setup to trap the vigilantes somehow,” Nellie said.

Lizzie got up to pour the coffee. She patted Nellie’s bony shoulder on the way. “It’s funny, Nellie, that you should say that because I’ve been thinking exactly the same thing. At least we’re on the same page. All we have to do is wait to see how it all shakes out. With Bert on the inside, I’m thinking we won’t have long to wait.

“Listen, Nellie, I want to change my clothes. I made a lunch date with Ted Robinson. He’s going to meet me at the Squire’s Pub. I’m going to try to turn him.” At the judge’s startled look, Lizzie laughed. “I admit it’s a daunting task but not impossible. Enjoy the coffee. I won’t be long.”

Nellie blinked. And it only took her not quite five minutes to dump the bombshell. In spite of herself, Nellie burst out laughing. She didn’t have a doubt in the world that Lizzie could turn Robinson but at what cost?

Nellie finished her coffee and was calling her driver to pick her up when Lizzie appeared in the doorway. Nellie’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. The statuesque lawyer sported skintight black leather pants, scarlet knee-high leather boots with spike heels, and a short, candy-apple red bomber jacket. To Nellie’s practiced eye it didn’t look like she was wearing
anything
under the jacket. She was still sporting the headlight diamond on her left hand. The wild mane of silvery hair shimmered in the kitchen’s fluorescent light. “Oh, my,” was all Nellie could muster in the way of words.

Lizzie did a perfect pirouette. “Sex makes the world go round. I have a meeting at two with Annie’s lawyers and the ones representing the owners of the
Post.
”

“Oh, my,” Nellie said again.

“You know that old saying, Nellie, ‘First you bullshit them, then you dazzle them, and when they’re gasping for breath, you either hand them a pen or call an ambulance.’ Works every time.”

“No, I can’t say I ever heard that before. I just know about catching more flies with honey than vinegar. I guess that makes me sound old.”

Lizzie laughed as she rinsed the coffeemaker and pulled the plug. “I’m not trying to catch flies, Nellie. I’m trying to outswim the sharks. Not to worry, I have a lock on it.”

“Well, in that case I won’t worry. You look…You look…spectacular.”

Lizzie laughed again because she knew Nellie meant every word. “I’m outta here. The door will lock behind you. Stay as long as you like. I’ll call you later this afternoon. Check in with me if you hear from Jack or Bert, okay?”

“Is it okay if I smoke while I wait for my driver?”

“No problem. There are some cigarettes in the kitchen drawer. There’s an ashtray in there, too. I puff on one now and then when my stress level hits a high note.”

Nellie couldn’t imagine Lizzie Fox ever getting stressed out. She was the cockiest, the most confident, arrogant female she’d ever met. Of course, it could all be a façade for all Nellie knew. She waved to Lizzie’s retreating back. She didn’t light her cigarette until she heard the front door close behind the lawyer.

Nellie blew a perfect smoke ring before she closed her eyes. Where was all of this headed and what was the outcome going to be? She wished she was psychic.

The Squire’s Pub was a watering hole for government lawyers, White House personnel, and assorted white-collar bureaucrats with designer briefcases. It was a place to be
seen
. The pub was huge, and always, no matter the hour of the day or night, filled to overflowing. The bar was long, solid mahogany, with matching walls and stained glass windows. Politicians vied and cajoled to have their pictures mounted on those walls. It was a known fact that some of the more aggressive Washingtonians went so far as to try bribing the owner, a Brit named Graham Abernathy.

Abernathy loved women. Adored women. Lusted after women. One in particular: Lizzie Fox. And she traded on that love, adoration, and lust. Translation…Abernathy was Lizzie’s informant, her source, her snitch, her stool pigeon, and she’d go to jail before she ever revealed his name.

When the plate glass door with the ornate grillwork on the inside opened, the whole room stopped what they were doing to stare at the ravishing creature about to grace the room with her presence. Abernathy saw her first and leaped over the bar with the agility of a ballet dancer. The crowd parted as he swung the lawyer high in the air until she was breathless. “I’ve missed you, luv!”

“Wow!” Lizzie laughed as she brushed at her hair. “I need to come here more often.”

“How about helping me out for the next hour or so?” the big, burly man with the twinkling eyes asked.

“Love to,” Lizzie said. It wouldn’t be the first time she stepped behind the bar to mix and hand out drinks for Abernathy. One time she’d worked an hour and made three hundred dollars in tips, which she donated to the local SPCA. Her feet left the floor, and in the blink of an eye, she was behind the bar and taking her first order.

“That rock on your hand is new. Talk to me, luv,” Abernathy said over the clinking of glassware and the chatter at the bar.

Lizzie laughed. “Keeps the wolves at bay. It’s one of those fancy new synthetics,” she hissed in his ear.

“So I still have a chance, eh?”

“You darling man, you’ve always had a chance. To be my best friend. I love your wife and kids. Besides, what would that lovely wife of yours say if we took off and canoodled behind the bar? She’d damn well kill you, that’s what she would do.”

“That she would, luv. She says it’s okay to look, but I mustn’t touch.”

“Katy is a wise woman, and I’d be first in line to help her kill you if you ever stray. Tell me,” she said out of the corner of her mouth as she shook up a martini, “what’s going on? I’ve been on a sabbatical, so I’m not up on the latest. I’m meeting a reporter from the
Post
in a bit, so I can’t stay here long. You got anything worth hanging around for?”

“I do, luv. It’s meaty. I thought about you when I heard it, but you weren’t answering your cell phone.”

“No cell phone usage where I was. Listen, Graham, I have a meeting after I ditch the reporter. If things go off on schedule, I can be back here at four. That will give us an hour before the cocktail crowd shows up. Will that work for you?”

“It will, luv, it will.” He grinned when he watched Lizzie stick a five-dollar bill into her cleavage.

Lizzie worked quickly, uncapping longnecks, pouring white wine, and shaking up cocktails, all the while keeping up a chirpy banter with the men three deep at the bar.

On more than one occasion Graham had called her at the courthouse to tell her that her opposing counsel was drowning his sorrows at the bar. More times than she cared to admit, her adversaries returned to court after the lunch break in a sluggish mood, their eyes glazed, thanks to Graham’s heavy hand with the bottle. Sure it was dirty pool, sure it was a shade unethical, but Lizzie Fox played to win. There was no place in the courtroom for losers except maybe as the defendant or the plaintiff.

It was 12:50 when Lizzie looked up to see Ted Robinson at the bar. “Find a green table, and I’ll join you.”

Green tables were always reserved for Graham’s special guests. Lizzie had no problem trading on the
special guest
part. She slapped down a cocktail napkin and a Corona with a wedge of lime stuck in the opening in front of a bald-headed judge in a Savile Row suit. She winked at the judge, who winked back. She slid the ten-dollar bill to Graham, wiped her hands on the bar towel before she walked out from behind the bar. Carrying a Diet Coke and a Bud longneck, she fought her way through the crowd of admiring men and envious women without spilling a drop.

“On the house, Robinson, but you get to leave the tip.”

Ted nodded as he upended the bottle. “What’s up, Lizzie? You okay with me recording our conversation?”

“No, I’m not comfortable with that. We’re off the record here, okay?”

“I’m easy. Okay by me.”

“The fibs are looking for you. They want to sweat you on the vigilantes. You seem to be the only one in this town with knowledge of them. I am well aware of your…ah…passion, to bring the ladies to justice. How am I doing so far?”

Ted shrugged. “Go on.”

“So what are you going to say when they haul you in and hold you for seventy-two hours?”

“And you need to know this…why? You soliciting business, Lizzie?”

Lizzie managed to look outraged. “Sweetie, I have prospective clients lined up from here to Baltimore. I can pick and choose. You don’t look like you could pay my retainer, much less my hourly rate—which, by the way, is seven hundred dollars.”

“You’re right about that, I can’t afford it. Are you telling me in a roundabout way that I need a lawyer? The
Post
has lawyers that are at my disposal.”

“Not anymore they don’t. All those buttoned-up guys got their walking papers. Didn’t you hear? There are new owners in town who are bringing in their own people.”

Ted’s stomach started to rumble. He stared at the woman sitting across from him and decided she was telling him the truth. “Okay, I’m going to need a lawyer. You take time payments?”

Lizzie winced. “What would you say to a trade-off?”

Ted thumped his bottle down on the table. “What kind of trade-off?”

“Keep your lip zipped when you’re hauled in. All you say is you’re obsessed with the vigilantes. Deniability will take you a long way. You did hear about that new task force Cummings started up, right? Call me and I’ll represent you. For free.”

“Why are you being so damn generous all of a sudden, Lizzie? You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“No,” Lizzie lied with a straight face. “I’m still pissed that they jumped their bond and left me holding the bag. Don’t try to spin it any other way, Ted.”

“Wait just a damn fucking minute. You just threatened me. Either I play ball with you, for whatever your reasons are, or…What’s the
or,
Lizzie?”

Lizzie leaned back in the green-upholstered chair and folded her hands on the table in front of her. “I never threaten. I make promises.”