Death Glitch (12 page)

Lila usually tooled around town in a flashy 1966 E Type Jag. She loved her little Darth Vadar black XKE. It was showroom perfect, would do a hundred and fifty without batting an eye, and it was a convertible. But when she was working, she used a bland Crown Vic, the same car preferred by police departments nationwide. It had a big trunk and was reliable and nondescript. The car was, of course, black.

It was 4:00 AM straight up. The sky was overcast and it was cold. A breeze was blowing from the north, promising even more cold to come. Lila loved Reno in the summer, but not so much in the winter. She was well off and usually took long winter vacations to the islands, both the Caribbean and the Hawaiian, but this year she’d stayed home, as Manny was worried about Tucker, afraid his son wasn’t thinking clearly, afraid he was making bad decisions. In short, Manny had been afraid he’d need Lila to clean up after his son.

She’d tried to reassure him that Tucker was a big boy, that he’d had his head screwed on straight. But Manny had insisted she stay close and she owed him, so no tropical sun for her this winter. She’d thought Manny was erring on the side of paranoia, but as it turned out it was caution, not paranoia that Manny was erring on the side of.

She got out of the car, slung her backpack over her shoulder, went to the front door, like she belonged. She was a pro with the picks and the lock surrendered to her expertise in seconds, but even though the doorknob turned, it didn’t open as the door had been bolted shut.

She saw a side gate, used it and at the back door she again tried her picks and again the lock gave up to her and again the door had been bolted from the inside. Damn. People were just a touch too security conscious these days.

Nothing for it but to use a window. But she soon discovered they were barred. Motherfuck. Now what?

The garage. She went to the side door and would wonders never cease, it was unlocked. She stepped inside, saw there was a bolt on the door, but someone had forgotten to throw it. The door had been left unlocked, unbolted. Big mistake.

She eased the door closed after herself, smiled when she saw Amy Eisenhower’s VW and Dr. Eisenhower’s Dodge Raider. Jackpot. She turned her eyes to a red Beemer sports car. Those weren’t cheap. She wondered what the person who owned it did for a living. She also wondered if he or she had just moved in, because there was a ton of stuff stored in new looking cardboard boxes.

Taking her eyes away from the cars and boxes, she saw the door to the house, was afraid for a second it might be locked and bolted, but it wasn’t. The door led into a well appointed kitchen and Lila gasped. Whoever lived here had her stove. The Grand Palais made by La Cornue. Two ovens, one gas, one electric, both with airtight seamless doors. The ovens cooked with radiant heat, Lila knew, because she was a gourmet chef when she wasn’t out killing people. The stove cost over forty thousand dollars. Only a true gourmet would have one. A gourmet with plenty of discretionary cash. This stove was yellow, which matched the kitchen, Lila’s was, of course, black.

Lila decided she had to know whoever owned this stove, man or woman. Like Lila, this person had taste. She hoped Mansfield Wayne wasn’t going to harm this woman. She had to be a woman, Lila decided and she wondered if she had brown eyes, if she was the brown-eyed version of Amy Eisenhower, Manny was so interested in.

With her eyes still on the yellow stove, Lila set her backpack on the kitchen counter by the sink. The sinks were granite and they looked like they were molded into the counter. This lady had class, easily as much as Lila herself, much more than the Waynes, Mansfield and Tucker.

With the backpack open, Lila took out the dart gun, almost regretting what she was about to do. That wasn’t like her. She had no feelings; that’s what made her so good at what she did.

But before she sought out the bedrooms, Lila wanted to learn a little more about this woman. She opened the kitchen cabinets, found Japanese style dishes. In the silverware drawer she found expensive, but tasteful, flatware and several sets of chopsticks. Pots and pans were All-Clad, about the best you could get. Lila was impressed. This was an ideal kitchen.

She was stalling and she knew it. Time to go to work. She went up the stairs. The first bedroom turned out to be a home office, the second was made into a gym with a pretty impressive treadmill. How they’d fit in the room, Lila didn’t know, unless they’d taken it apart and reassembled it. The treadmill faced a wall mounted flat screen. Lila imagined a runner who didn’t like running in the cold, so she ran inside during the winter.

In the third bedroom, she found an unmade bed and that made no sense, because the woman who lived here didn’t seem the type to leave it that way. So why was the bed unmade? She got her answer when she checked the fourth and last bedroom. Two women were asleep in the same bed. Apparently the lady of the unmade bed got a little lonely during the night.

Cousins, that didn’t seem right, but it wasn’t Lila’s job to judge. She was here for a reason. She pulled back the covers without waking the women, found they were both wearing flannel pajamas. She stepped back and shot one of them in the ass. The girl moaned, jerked then lay still. The gun was virtually silent, making not much more noise than popping the top of a Coke can.

Lila reloaded the dart gun, moved around to the other side of the bed, shot the other woman in the rump. She jerked too, but this one stayed silent, didn’t moan.

With the girls drugged, Lila went downstairs. She needed one of the cars in the garage out and hers in. In the kitchen she found a key hook under a cork board. There were two sets of keys on them. One of the sets had an old VW key on it.

In the garage, she found the switch for the electric door and she moved Amy Eisenhower’s Volkswagen to the street. The spot remaining looked a little tight for her Crown Vic, because of all the boxes. The other set of keys were for the Beemer and she parked it on the street as well.

She got out of the Beemer, thinking how modern it was, even though it seemed to be trying to look like a classic. Give her the real deal any day. She pocketed the keys, studied the neighborhood. It was quiet, quieter than she would have expected, considering the fact that mostly students lived in it.

Good for her though. She didn’t want any prying eyes.

She backed the Crown Vic into the garage, then closed the door. She smiled to herself as she opened the trunk. Considering her line of work, one might have expected that she’d had a body or two in it in the past, but she hadn’t. This was going to be a first. Well, not bodies, not really; they weren’t dead.

And that gave Lila pause. She was being paid a bundle not to think, but she couldn’t help it. Manny wanted these girls alive. But why drugged? Then it hit her like a hammer upside the head. He didn’t want them talking to her. He was afraid of what they might say, of what she might learn. He didn’t trust her.

She slitted her eyes, fought fisting her hands as she felt the anger bubbling up. What could those girls possibly know that Mansfield didn’t trust her with? She’d pulled Tucker’s fat ass out of the fire more times than she cared to count. She’d killed for Mansfield, killed for Tucker, too. If Manny couldn’t trust her, who could he trust?

Stupid question.

There was nobody he could trust, except maybe Tucker and until right now, her. He was paying a small fortune to keep whatever these girls knew from Lila. Why?

It had to be more than money, because she’d handled more money for the Waynes than most people make in a lifetime, in a dozen lifetimes. So what could it be? Lila wanted to know, but unfortunately she’d already tranked the girls.

That was too bad.

Nothing for it now, but to load them up and deliver them to Manny. But she’d keep her ears open, because there was something weird going on.

Upstairs, she grabbed Amy Eisenhower in a fireman’s carry, took her downstairs and gently laid her in the trunk. Just a few minutes ago, she’d’ve tossed the girl in like a sack of meat, not caring how many bones got broken. But now, now she wanted to know what was going on.

She had a place in Virginia City the Waynes didn’t know about, maybe she’d take the girls there, find out what the big secret is. Manny could wait a day or two. Who knows, if it was big enough, maybe she’d do the girls and bury them out in the desert. She could always tell Manny she’d couldn’t find them, that they’d blown town, disappeared.

Back up in the bedroom, she pulled the other woman to her, then stopped. This woman was supposed to be Amy Eisenhower’s double, except for the eyes, but she didn’t look a bit like Eisenhower, so who was she?

And where was the brown-eyed double?

“
The other bed,” she said aloud. The double had been sleeping in the other bed, but she was gone now. Where?

* * *

Izzy ran past the black and white, with Hunter leading the way. He turned right at the corner and made for the park. She was on his flank. He was taking it easy, so she could keep up. Izzy knew this to be true, because he could’ve easily left her behind.

He turned away from the lit ranger station, led her to a copse of trees, then stopped. She was panting to beat the band. He was quiet, hardly breathing at all.

“
Good job, Hunter,” she said and the dog wagged his tail. He had saved her life, but Shaffer had died in the process. Still, Hunter hadn’t killed him. But if he were ever identified as the animal that brought Shaffer down, they’d probably put him to sleep. Heck, who was she kidding? If they caught her, they’d probably put her to sleep as well.

She heard more sirens off in the distance. Then the sound of a helicopter. More cops were coming. She needed to be on her way, because they’d be searching the park. Her breath caught, she started down the park road that led behind her house and the homes on Putnam Drive.

Those cops, they’d disappeared. Vanished. Went away before her eyes. How could that have happened? And she’d killed. How could she have done such a thing?

A car screamed into the park, turning off Sierra, coming toward her. The gate was open now. She stepped off the road, but the dog did not. She moved behind a tree as the lights caught Hunter. The dog turned, ran back the way they’d come, then turned into the park as the black and white chased after him. Hunter was leading them away from her, giving her a chance to escape. He was one smart dog.

She ran toward the gate and Sierra. All of a sudden she remembered the gun in her hand as another black and white approached, lights on, siren silent. Without thinking, she tossed the gun off to her left onto the dark grass.

The black and white slowed as it approached the open gate, stopped.

“
Can I help you?” she said as a young officer rolled down the passenger window. She tried a smile, hoped she was projecting sincerity, if not that, innocence.

“
We’re looking for a woman with a big dog, maybe a German Shepherd,” a young officer said. “You see them?”

“
Yeah.” She pointed into the park. “They blew by me running like bats outta Hell.” She widened her smile, showed some teeth. “But you guys are gonna have to hurry, because there were two men in a car just like yours hot on their asses.”

“
She have a gun?” the officer said.

“
I didn’t see a gun.”

“
Come on!” the driver said. “We gotta go.”

“
You boys be careful,” Izzy said.

“
Always,” he said. Then the driver hit the gas and they took off into the park. She didn’t know how long it would take them to figure it out, but she was guessing they would and when they did, they’d be coming right back after her, but she intended to be back at Alicia’s and safely tucked into bed before it hit them that they’d been pretty doggone stupid.

She retrieved the gun, then ran down Sierra to College, made a quick right, then a left onto Ralston, where she slowed to catch her breath. At Alicia’s, she started for the back gate and the side entrance to the garage, but came to an abrupt stop when she saw Amy’s vintage Beetle. And parked in front of it, Alicia’s Beemer. This wasn’t right, why would the girls take their cars out of the garage?

And if they were up, how come the lights weren’t on.

Something was wrong.

Izzy tightened her grip around the gun in her left hand. The last thing she wanted to do was to kill anybody else, but she would if she had to. She hoped there was a logical explanation for those cars being out front, but try as she might, she couldn’t think of one.

At the side gate, she stopped, listened, but the house was quiet. Had she not seen the cars parked in front, she’d’ve walked right in, but walked right into what? She pulled back on the latch and even though she eased it back, it clicked on release, not loud, but the sound seemed to reverberate through her.

She would have left the gate open, but she was afraid the wind would blow it closed and the last thing she wanted was the sound of the slamming gate advertising her presence, so she eased it shut after herself and again she felt the sound was unnaturally loud. She hadn’t thought of it as loud when she’d left, but she did now. She hoped, if there was an intruder inside, that they hadn’t heard, because she wanted the advantage of surprise.

At the side door, she found it unlocked, like she’d left it. She eased it open and it too sounded horribly loud, but Izzy knew it wasn’t. Were her ears more sensitive to noise? Was that part of this age reversal thing that was going on with her?