Razor Sharp (12 page)

I
t was late in the day, almost everyone was gone, even Maggie’s secretary. Espinosa had just dropped off a ton of papers, profiles of just about every politico in the Connor administration. Maggie eyed the pile with a jaundiced eye. Then she looked over at a red folder labeled
SENATORS
and a yellow folder labeled
CONGRESSMEN
. Her reading for the evening. Oh, joy!

The big problem was, did she really want to lug this mountain of paperwork home, then lug it back in the morning? Maybe what she should do was go out to get something to eat or order something in and stay to work her way through the profiles to see what she actually had to work with. After five minutes of serious thought, takeout food and staying at the office won out. She hadn’t had Chinese in two days, Italian in three days, a mishmash of every junk food known to man yesterday. Maybe ribs and some fries. She heard her arteries snapping shut at the thought. The deli around the corner was open till ten. She could order a vegetable salad, a fruit salad, some chocolate cake, a slice of apple pie, a loaded baked potato, and some hot garlic bread. That should tide her over till she got home and could eat some
real
food. Then she remembered her larder was bare. She needed to give some serious thought to hiring someone to do her shopping and maybe even preparing some meals once in a while. She made a mental note to call Alexis, as she used to be a personal shopper when she got out of prison. Alexis would know how all that worked.

Maggie was about to pick up the phone to call the deli when she saw a shadow pass her window and move toward her door. There stood Lizzie Fox Cricket in the flesh.

As always, Maggie moaned that even on her best day she could never come anywhere near to looking like the Silver Fox. Just hours ago Lizzie had been a newlywed in Las Vegas. Now, here she was looking like she’d just stepped out of a bandbox. Her makeup was so flawless, it looked like she wasn’t wearing any. Her silvery hair actually glistened under the fluorescent lights. She was dressed in a dove-gray suit with an emerald tank top underneath that just barely peeked through the neckline of the jacket, but even a glimpse complemented the emerald earrings dangling from Lizzie’s ears. Maggie knew she could retire on what those babies cost. Gray ostrich-skin shoes and bag completed the picture. “The lady in silver” was how Maggie later described Lizzie to Ted.

Maggie grinned now and bolted off the chair to run to Lizzie and hug her. “I can’t believe you got married! What are you doing here? Something’s wrong, right? Oh, Lizzie, I am so happy for you!”

“I came to take you to a late dinner. I already called Jack and Harry. They’re going to meet us at Squire’s Pub. Grab your purse and jacket, and let’s go or we’ll be late, and, yes, something is wrong. I’d rather tell all of you at the same time.”

Squire’s Pub! Hmmm.
Carnivorous by nature, all Maggie could think of was the five-pound Porterhouse the pub was known for, a fully loaded baked potato, a few beers, and maybe a salad, with chocolate thunder cake for dessert. Something was always wrong, so why get her panties in a wad until she heard whatever it was that had brought Lizzie back to D.C. in the middle of her honeymoon?

The Squire’s Pub was exactly what the name implied, a British saloon. It had been closed for almost a year while the new owners renovated what was perfectly fine before the renovations began. The only difference to the eye was that the brass was a little brighter, and the prints on the wall were different—mostly celebrities rather than the old pictures of hunting dogs and polo ponies. The sawdust on the floors was fresh, and there was no stale smell of beer or ale. All in all a pleasant place after the rush hour crowd of federal workers departed for the suburbs.

Jack and Harry were already in a back booth, their old-time favorite, which had been re-covered in a deep burgundy leather. The tables were long and shellacked to a high gloss. The guys made an attempt to stand up, but Lizzie waved them back down. Both women slid in opposite Jack and Harry. A waiter in a ruffled white shirt, knickers, and leggings bore down on the table. Jack pointed to the pitcher of beer, which was almost empty. Another pitcher and two more glasses appeared as if by magic. Jack poured generously into the frosty mugs. Harry made the toast to Mrs. Cosmo Cricket. They clinked glasses, and Lizzie’s face went all soft and melting. Jack nodded and winked at her. Love was a wondrous thing.

They waited another minute before they gave their order: steaks and loaded baked potatoes all around, garden salad, dressing on the side, garlic bread, heavy on the garlic, and double chocolate thunder cake and coffee for dessert.

“Okay, Miz Cricket, what’s up?” Jack asked, as soon as the waiter scurried off with their order.

Harry was left to stare at the leggings, a bemused expression on his face. He shook his head when he couldn’t figure out why a grown man would put up with an outfit like the waiter was wearing, and he said so.

“House rules, Harry. I guess waiters dress this way in the pubs in England, or the current owner thinks that’s how waiters dress across the pond. Don’t worry about it. Just for the record, female waitresses are called barmaids, and they wear aprons with ruffles. End of story. Okay, Lizzie, you’re on.”

Lizzie looked first at Maggie, and said, “I’m sorry I’m the one with the news. Ted got it, but I warned him not to call or text it to you. I just thought it would be safer if you were all told in person. Ted went out to see Little Fish. He not only got the information we need verbally, but he also got hard proof in writing. All kinds of sources, Maggie, so you will be in the clear.

“And”—Lizzie paused to take a swig of her beer—“the madam is dead. She had a car accident several days ago on the Cajon Pass. So far, Cosmo, Ted, Bert, and I are the only ones who know that the person identified as Lily Flowers, the name the deceased was using when she died, was the madam. Cosmo had her cremated, and we…what we did was scatter her ashes in the desert. No one, not even Cosmo, knows her real name. She had various aliases along with credentials that backed up each identity. Yesterday morning, Cosmo received a packet sent by messenger. It was Ms. Flowers’s will, and she gave Cosmo her power of attorney, which was over and above the authorization she had already given him to go after the johns. That’s why he went ahead and had her cremated.”

“What’s it all mean?” Harry asked.

Then Jack and Maggie also bombarded Lizzie with questions that she didn’t have answers for.

“So where does all this leave us?” Maggie asked. “No body, no Vegas madam, no case? What?”

“Flowers’s girls are safe and sound for the moment. Financially, they’re sound, and I doubt they will be returning to Vegas anytime soon, if ever. They’re too afraid. They don’t think it was an accident. Cosmo and I don’t think it was an accident either. But the troopers who investigated the incident are convinced that it was. A tire blew. At this moment, I don’t know which way Bert is leaning. He’s got a crackerjack agent out there who, according to him, is like a bulldog. The agent might sniff this all out eventually, but then again, maybe not. The madam had a well-thought-out plan, and she acted on it. But, she did end up dead.”

“But, Lizzie, where does that leave us? Do we have a mission, or don’t we? If the madam is dead, doesn’t that leave the Washington bad boys off the hook?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, our little group is the only one who knows she’s dead. They’ll keep looking for her. In the meantime, it would be my guess that politics goes on as usual until something more concrete comes up. I’m going to go up to the mountain tomorrow morning.”

“So, what’s the big news that had to be delivered in person?” Maggie asked.

Lizzie shot Maggie a warning glance when two waiters approached with their food. Maggie almost salivated at the array of meat on her plate. A five-pound Porterhouse steak was right up her alley.

They all ate with gusto, chatting about nothing and everything. Maggie wanted to know what Lizzie had worn to her wedding. Jack asked if Cosmo had been nervous, and Harry wanted to know if Elvis had sung at the ceremony. Lizzie got all soft and dewy-eyed again as she recounted her nuptials in detail.

When the dishes were cleared away and coffee served, Lizzie dug around in her briefcase and drew out a thick sheaf of papers. “Just turn to the last page, and you’ll see who the madam’s financial backer was.”

Jack’s eyes popped.

Harry’s jaw dropped.

Maggie blinked, and said, “Hot damn!”

Lizzie leaned back in her chair, her thoughts a couple thousand miles away as she wondered what her brand-new husband was doing. She hoped he was sitting in one of his beloved rocking chairs thinking about her the way she was thinking about him.

The truth was, Cosmo Cricket was talking about Lizzie to Bert Navarro over drinks at the Babylon casino. Neutral ground, so to speak, was the way he had explained it to Bert when Cosmo called him at Lizzie’s insistence before she left.

It started out being an easy conversation because Bert adored Lizzie, and Cosmo loved her. They talked about his new bride for a while with Bert regaling Cosmo with some of Lizzie’s spectacular courtroom victories. Cosmo’s chest puffed out with pride.

“I have to be honest with you, Cosmo. Lizzie was the kind of woman I thought would never marry because she loves her career so much. Consider yourself one lucky son of a bitch. How’s that gonna work, you here and her there?”

“We’ve worked it out for now, but for the long run it’s still a work in progress. I’ve never met Kathryn Lucas, but I feel like I know her because Lizzie talks about her all the time. Good luck.”

“Well, it’s not going to go anywhere unless the president gives them a pardon. It eats at me but there’s not much I can do about it. For now all I can do is help in whatever way the women want. Which brings me to my next question. What’s up with your deceased client? You going to lie low on it, pretend you don’t know who she is, attorney-client privilege and all that? If they find out who she really is, some of these boys might want to charge you with obstruction of justice.”

Cosmo laughed. Bert winced. “You’re the boss, Bert. Have you given any thought to derailing the investigation? You have that power.”

“There’s power, and then there’s power. But, to answer your question, it’s all I have been thinking about. I have to let it play out for a few more days. To yank it now will look suspicious. I’m on it.” Bert started to dig in his pocket for his wallet but Cosmo held up his hand. “It’s on the house. Just a little perk.”

“Damn, Cricket, I need to think about moving out here. My ass is whipped right now, so if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll call it a night.”

“How about if you wait just a minute. I see someone headed our way that you might want to meet. One of the new soon-to-be-owners of this fine establishment we’re sitting in. Name’s Little Fish.”

“Who’s the other owner? Bet this baby went for some serious bucks.”

Cosmo laughed, the chair he was sitting on shaking with his mirth. “Annie de Silva is going to be the other owner. Lizzie and I handled the details. Old Homer decided he wanted more time to play with his grandkids, and his own kids wouldn’t have anything to do with him while he owned this place. Ergo, it went up for sale.”

“Jesus, she owns the
Post
and now this. How much money does that woman have?”

“Now, mind you, I don’t know this for a fact, but I’d say she might have a tad more than Little Fish. High rollers, the two of them.”

The grizzled Little Fish stopped at their table and held out his hand to Cosmo. “Nice seeing you again, Counselor. You here on business or just taking in the sights?”

“Fish, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Bert Navarro, director of the FBI.”

Fish studied the director for a full minute before he extended his hand. “Mighty nice to meet you, young fella. That makes two young ones I met today. Must be my lucky day.”

“Sit down and have a drink, Fish. Haven’t seen you in town for a while. What brings you here at”—Cosmo looked at his watch—“the witching hour?”

“Checking out my investment, as is my right. I am a bit thirsty. I think I’ll have a glass of chocolate milk and maybe some peanut-butter cookies.”

“This is a bar, Fish. I’m not sure…”

Fish snapped his fingers, and a slinky blonde wearing slut shoes made her way to the table. “Fish, honey, long time no see. Bet you want a glass of chocolate milk and four peanut-butter cookies, right?”

“That would be so nice, Elaine. The kids doing okay? What about that bum husband of yours?”

“Tommy is at Duke and made the dean’s list. Pammy will graduate law school in a few months. And Sasha got accepted to NYU for the fall semester. As to that bum I was dumb enough to marry, the last thing I heard was he was panhandling out on the Strip. I don’t know if that’s true or not. Couldn’t have made it without you, Fish. I’ll just fetch your milk and cookies now.”

“Nice lady,” Fish said once she’d left. “Waitressing is hard work. Kids needed a little help is all. We don’t need to talk about this.”

Cosmo smiled. He turned to Bert, and said, “Fish has sent just about every needy kid in this town to college. Listen, I have to head out to the desert, time to go home since my new bride might be calling to wish me a good night’s sleep. I wouldn’t want to miss that call. Nice seeing you again, Fish. By the way, thanks for talking with Ted Robinson. I owe you one for that.”

The waitress was back with Fish’s chocolate milk and cookies. Fish tried to give her a folded bill, but she waved off his hand. “No! We have a deal. You help my kids, and I help you. I’m doing okay. As long as I can pay my bills, eat, and buy a new pair of shoes every so often, I’m good.” She leaned over and gave the old man a soft kiss on the cheek. Only Bert saw the hundred-dollar bill going into the pocket of her skimpy apron.

“Let’s talk, Mr. Director of the FBI.”

I
n a daze, the foursome walked out of Squire’s Pub and stood at the curb so Jack could smoke a cigarette. He smoked these days only when he was rattled and at that moment he was so damn rattled he couldn’t think straight. He puffed furiously on his cigarette as he ran Lizzie’s news over and over in his mind. He could hardly wait to get home to call Nikki and get her spin on the news. Shit! Nikki didn’t know the news because Lizzie was taking that news to the mountain in the morning. They were all under strict orders not to discuss anything on their cells even though they were encrypted. He supposed it made sense in some cockamamie way, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. Encryption meant encryption. What was the point in having it if it didn’t work? Not that Lizzie said it didn’t work, she was just being cautious. So, he’d call Nikki and talk about other things. His heart kicked up an extra beat at the thought.

“You done damaging your lungs, Jack?” Harry shouted.

“Not yet,” Jack shouted back. “It’s not like you have anywhere special to go, Harry. You don’t have anyone to tuck in. You sleep on a damn mat, so you don’t have any covers or pillows to fluff up. What the hell is your problem?”

“You’re my problem. I told you to quit smoking. Now you’re going to stink up my motorcycle. I hate you, Jack.”

“I smoke two cigarettes a day, and I am not going to stink up that death machine you fly around on. Stop acting like my mother,” Jack snapped, then backpedaled slightly, his tone changing because he knew Harry was more than capable of going over a speed bump and dumping him off the Ducati. “Okay, okay, I promise to quit.

“One of these days,” he added, mumbling under his breath. He tossed his cigarette on the ground, stepped on it, then—under Harry’s watchful eye—because Harry was hell on wheels when it came to littering, stuck the remains of the cigarette in his pocket.

Erroneously thinking he’d won that round, Harry clapped Jack on the back and motioned to the Ducati parked at the curb. Everyone hugged, then separated. Lizzie going one way, Maggie going the other way back to the
Post.
Harry bounded over to the cycle, pulled on his helmet, and fired up the engine. Jack hopped on the back, pulled on his own helmet, and off they went, the wind and drizzle that started to fall hitting them full in the face.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry roared into the back of his
dojo
and secured his cycle with a length of chain that looked like it came off the anchor of the USS
Constitution.
He opened all of the seven locks on the back door and stood aside for Jack to enter.

“I should start keeping half my wardrobe here. But first you have to update this place. Jesus, Harry, are you
ever
going to open your mail?” Jack asked, pointing to a cardboard box big enough to hold a television set. Harry had a thing about getting mail and the possibility of bad news. Since he had no family to write him, and no one had it in for him, Jack couldn’t understand his paranoia. “You really should update this place. The mats stink, and the floors sag. The windows are drafty, and I don’t think there’s any insulation anywhere. The kitchen, or that place where you make that shitty tea, could stand an overhaul. Isabelle is an architect, so I bet she could work you up something, for free, Harry, and you could put this place on the map. And then I wouldn’t be ashamed to leave my belongings here.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, believe it or not. You want a beer, Jack?”

Jack blinked. “Yeah, sure, one for the road. Are you jerking my chain, or are you really thinking about it?”

“Yeah, I am. I even talked it over with Yoko. I own this building free and clear. But, you’re right, it needs work, and the longer I put it off, the worse it’s going to get. I need a new heating unit, too.” He looked over at the huge box of unopened mail. “I’m going to get to that, too. I guess it’s the fact that I’ll have to move out while the work is being done. In this business, you snooze, you lose.”

“Get off it, Harry. You just hate change. Your people will follow you wherever you go. I know damn well the cops will let you use their gym, and so will the fibs out at Quantico. The kiddies will go to the Y if you make arrangements. Just do it, for God’s sake, then put it behind you.” Jack’s tone turned sly. “You need to give Isabelle free rein to redo that rattrap you live in upstairs. Let her pretty it up for Yoko. Make it what she wants. You know, curtains and a big mirror with lots of lights. Some fancy carpets that hug your ankles, that kind of thing. Yoko has good taste, like Nikki and the others. You suck when it comes to décor, Harry. You really have to do something about that mail, though. I bet those census people are going to come after you for not filling out their form.”

“Eat shit, Jack. What census form?”

Jack smirked. He loved one-upping Harry.

“The one where they want to know how many people occupy this building, etc., etc. If you don’t fill it out, they come and haul your ass off to jail.” Seeing the look on Harry’s face, Jack warmed up to his story. “They don’t give you any warning either. They just swoop in, and they swoop you out. In handcuffs, for the whole world to see. It’s beyond humiliating. Even Lizzie won’t take on the census police. I know that because Nikki is a lawyer, and she told me no lawyer wants to take them on. Even though you’re a U.S. citizen, you are still a foreigner to those census police. What’s Yoko going to think about
that
?”

“I hate you more than I did before, Jack.” Harry eyed the box of mail, then gave it a kick. The box, which had to weigh at least twenty pounds if not more, sailed across the room. All with one flick of Harry’s big toe.

“See you tomorrow, Harry. That was some news Lizzie had, huh?” Jack grabbed his garment bag and his duffel. “Hey, if those census police come after you, call me. I think I read somewhere that they give you one call.” Jack was already in the alley behind the
dojo
when Harry shouted to him.

“What can you do that Lizzie can’t do?”

Did I hear right? Had the great Harry Wong, the number two martial arts expert in the world, actually asked me a question that implied he might avail himself of my legal expertise? Nah, I must have heard wrong.
He called back over his shoulder, and said, “I can say ‘I told you so’!” Jack laughed himself silly as he locked his car doors, gunned the engine, and backed out of the narrow alleyway. He laughed all the way home because he loved Harry as if he were his own brother.

While Jack was driving home, Big Pine Mountain was bustling with activity even though it was close to midnight. When the girls were on a roll, they rolled.

“Where did Annie go?” Myra asked as she poured hot chocolate into heavy mugs.

“She went over to the Big House for an extra sweater. She said she feels like she’s coming down with a cold,” Yoko said.

Myra sniffed. “Annie never gets a cold. She’s forever taking vitamin C and those Airborne tablets to ward off germs. And she never feels cold either.” Myra lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think she’s up to something.”

“And you’re just figuring that out, Myra?” Nikki teased. “I think, and this is just my opinion, but I think she’s been in contact with one Little Fish. I think she has the hots for him. I also think he has the hots for her.”

Myra’s fingers went to the pearls on her neck.

“But, if I was a betting woman, I’d bet when she comes back here, with her sweater, she’s all smiles. And she won’t be wearing the sweater either. The sweater is a prop.” Nikki giggled.

“Oh, dear. Well, if it makes her happy to speak with that cantankerous curmudgeon, let her do it,” Myra said.

“Love is in the air.” Isabelle laughed.

“It’s getting late, girls. Let’s finish up here so we can go to bed. We want to be fresh and alert tomorrow when Lizzie gets here, and I want us to have a game plan that will work for all of us,” Myra said.

Kathryn leaned across the table, her hands flat. Her expression looked fierce. “I have a question. Maybe it’s not actually a question but more of a statement. Have any of you given any thought to Annie and Little Fish buying that casino from Homer Winters? I realize I’m no business major or financial guru, but don’t you think it’s a little strange, aside from the cost? When Annie bought the
Post
, we all understood that because it helped us. Maggie took it over and made it work. Again, for us. Ted Robinson and Joe Espinosa are now on board. Flash-forward to the Babylon casino. Why? Annie certainly doesn’t need the money. So, it comes back to why?

“Am I the only one who is wondering what that means to all of us? Are we going to be relocating to Vegas? With Charles out of the picture, at least for the moment, I suppose it would make sense. I say when Annie gets back, we grill her. If she’s buying it as an investment…then I’ll not mention it again. Right now it just doesn’t make sense to me. And, ask yourself, if I’m right, how could we be
safe
in Las Vegas?”

The other Sisters looked at one another, and, as one, they shrugged to show they knew nothing more than Kathryn did; but now that she’d brought it to their attention, they needed to discuss the situation.

Myra caressed the pearls at her neck. “You make it sound like Charles has abandoned us for good, and we have to find an alternative…I’m not sure I understand what you’re all worried about.”

“Oh, Myra, no, we aren’t saying Charles will never come back,” Alexis said. “I think he will, I just don’t know when. This hiatus, for want of a better word, has to be dealt with by us right now. I personally don’t want to relocate, especially for someplace as visible as Las Vegas. We’re safe here, so why put that safety in jeopardy? I think it’s just a business deal.”

“Alexis, we aren’t exactly safe right now. The current administration, the president in particular, and some members of the Secret Service know
exactly
where we are. They could fly overhead and pick us off like clay pigeons,” Kathryn said. “With everything Lizzie has said to date about her and the president, and the fact that she cut her honeymoon short to come up here has to mean something. Maybe we
should
give some thought to relocating. At least we need to be open to the possibility and prepare to leave at a moment’s notice. First thing in the morning, we need to contact Avery Snowden and apprise him of our current situation. Do we all agree?”

“We’re making decisions here without Annie,” Yoko pointed out.

“Did I hear my name mentioned?” Annie asked, slamming the door behind her. “In case anyone is interested, it stopped raining, but the wind is horrendous. I think we might lose a few trees at some point. What were you talking about?” They all noticed she was carrying a bulky sweater.

“You did, dear heart,” Myra said. “We were discussing you and Mr. Fish buying the Babylon casino from Homer Winters. The girls, me included, are wondering if we might have to leave the mountain and possibly relocate to the desert. What did Mr. Fish have to say, Annie?”

Annie flushed a bright pink. “What makes you think I was talking to Little Fish?”

“Because you look guilty,” Kathryn said.

Annie bit down on her lower lip. “I guess I’m not very good at subterfuge, am I?” Without bothering to wait for a reply Annie pushed on. “So, yes, I called him, and we talked. He said that he spoke to Ted Robinson and to Lizzie, but he wouldn’t discuss what they talked about over the phone. He doesn’t trust all that high-tech stuff. He’s a boots-on-the-ground kind of person and does everything the old-fashioned way. He did say that he could keep us all safe if we ever want to venture to Vegas. Actually, he said he and his people could keep us safe. He said he’s worried about us, me in particular. There, I said it. Now, are you all happy that I’m embarrassed?” She tossed the bulky sweater onto an empty chair, then eyed it malevolently like it was the sweater’s fault that she was in the position she suddenly found herself in.

“Uh-huh,” Myra said. “Serves you right for trying to hide something from us.”

“All right, Myra. I lost my head there for a minute. I spoke to Fish just…just because I wanted to see if he was really interested in me as a person or because we are doing a business deal. I know the way I wanted it to go, but I didn’t want to be humiliated in front of all of you in case I was wrong.”

“Wow, Annie! We would have found a way to go out to Vegas and kill him if he was trifling with your affections. Didn’t you know that?” Kathryn demanded.

Annie blanched, then she started to laugh. The others joined in at Annie’s expense, even Myra, who wiped at her eyes. Finally, Annie managed to gasp, “I want this to be all about me.”

The girls whooped.

“Absolutely it has to be all about you,” Yoko said happily. “We can make that happen if you let us. How soon do you need our help in working out a plan for you?”

Annie gasped. “How soon? Good Lord, I don’t know. I’m looking at this as…as
foreplay.”

The girls whooped again.

“Foreplay, is it? Now you’re getting it!” Nikki grinned.

“Enough, girls. We can work on Annie and her seduction later. We have issues to discuss, problems to solve, and plans to make,” Myra said.

The women settled down in a nanosecond. They waited for Myra to speak.

Maggie Spritzer leaned back in her chair. Her eyes felt like they were full of grit. The heavy dinner she’d consumed hours ago was just a memory. She felt hungry. She tried to ignore her rumbling stomach. She closed her eyes for a moment as she tried to ignore her hunger and concentrate on the news Lizzie had shared with her, Jack, and Harry. Just hours ago, she’d had a plan. In her mind she had ten days’ worth of headlines. Now that was all shot to hell with Lizzie’s new information, and she had to go down another road. It boggled the mind. Not that she couldn’t come up with bigger, bolder headlines; she could but…But what? No buts. She was going to pack up and go home and sleep in her own bed. She’d earned that right. Tomorrow was another day. She’d be fresh and well fed in the morning and ready to take on the world.

Thirty-five minutes later, the cab dropped Maggie off at her door. Maggie paid him and climbed out of the cab. She didn’t know why, but she looked three doors down to where Jack Emery lived and was surprised to see that every light in the house was on. She frowned as she trotted down the street and up the steps to ring the doorbell. It was twelve thirty.