The Housewife Assassin's Deadly Dossier (19 page)

Detective Concha:

Yeah, I guess they figure it will give them a reputation as a cold-hearted bitch or something.

McGinnis:

I wouldn’t know myself, since I was always an outcast in high school. I would have taken any pussy that came my way, even from a mean girl.
 

Detective Concha:

For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me. So, then what happened?

McGinnis:

I wanted the boy to watch, but the idiot passed out. The girl, though, she was something else! She said, “Don’t mind him. We don’t need an audience. Come and get it.” Just like that, as if we were playing a game or something! No one had ever done that to me before—you know, come on to me. She smiled at me and waved me over, as if she’d been waiting for me all her life…Hey, that look on your face right now can’t be any more surprised than what I felt.
 

Detective Concha:

I doubt that. What did you do then?

McGinnis:

What the hell do you think? Of course, I went over to her. Before I could say anything, she came up real close, and started unbuckling my belt. I was so surprised that I just…I just stood there. “Thank God there’s finally a real man in my life,” she said. “I’m tired of all those little boys.” Then she’s pulling down my zipper, real slow and sexy like. Not at all scared like the others. As if she’s enjoying it...and I was, too. “Wow,” she said, “You’re so big!” No one had ever called me that. So I look down for just a second. The next thing I know, she’s slammed my hand against the car, and the gun goes flying. Then her knee comes up, popping me in the groin. When I buckled over, she punched me in the Adam’s apple. While I was gasping for air and down for the count, she saunters over to where the gun was, picks it up, and aims for my genitals. “Someone should neuter you,” she tells me. “I guess I’m elected.” I’m still doubled over in pain, and scared shitless. “This is going to hurt,” she says. “And there will be a lot of pain and blood. You won’t die, but you’ll live the rest of your life knowing you can’t hurt another human being. At least, not with that itty-bitty thing of yours.”
 

[Sound of suspect sobbing.]
 

When she did it, I must have passed out. But those kids must have called it in because I woke up in a hospital bed. The nurse said I must have tried to kill myself, and that they’d confiscated my gun. I’m ruined down there. But the girl was right. I never hurt anyone, ever again.

Detective Concha:

Wow. I’ve been on the force for thirty-three years, and I’ve never heard something like this. You wouldn’t happen to know her name, would you?

McGinnis:

It’s burned into my brain. When the boy was yanked out of the car, he called her
 
‘Donna.’

Detective Concha:

If she was, what, fifteen or sixteen then, that would make her around thirty now. Ha! Well, what do you know!

McGinnis:

I’ll tell you what I know! Now that I’m going to see my Maker, I pray I’ll never meet her again—either on this earth, or in the Hell that’s waiting for me in the great beyond. Every time I hear that name—Donna—I get chills up my spine.
 

Detective Concha:

Donna
. Donna, Donna, Donna.

[Sound of Suspect, sobbing.]

Detective Concha to Prison Guard:

I got what I need. Get him the hell out of here.

Chapter 14
Naked

A spy acting without a cover, or backup, is said to be naked.

A person not wearing clothes is said to be naked.

A spy who has no cover, and doesn’t bother to cover up, is looking for all sorts of trouble, and will probably find it.

Jack was glad that Ryan had kept his promise to him—to have an asset on twenty-four hour surveillance in the house Acme rented across from the Stone residence.
 

“In fact, since you’re charged with Donna’s vetting, you should move back in,” Ryan suggested.

“That would make things easier,” Jack acknowledged. “I won’t be cramping the surveillance op’s style, will I?”

Ryan roared with laughter at the question, to the point that he teared up. Finally, after he collected himself, he sputtered, “Trust me, not in a million years. With the schedule you’ll both be keeping, you’ll barely run into each other.”
 

Jack wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn Ryan added, under his breath,
If you know what’s good for you.

“Did…did you say something?” Jack asked.

Ryan looked up, surprised. “Me? No!” He dismissed Jack with a wave of his hand.

He heard Ryan laughing again as he closed the door.

The place hadn’t changed much since he’d taken up residence there last, except for the fact that the once-beige clapboard siding was now painted a bright canary yellow. The Acme asset living there must have had a green thumb. A riot of pink tea roses now draped the white picket fence that circled the yard.

As in most
covert-ops organizations, Acme’s operatives and assets came in all ages, shapes, and sizes. Since Acme didn’t know if and when the Quorum would come knocking on Donna’s door, this agent’s long-term mission was to keep watch over the Stones until it was determined that they were out of danger, and to be their first line of defense in case trouble did come calling.
 

Although Jack’s host would be expecting him, there was to be a code word used, to ascertain he was the legitimate shadow: “I’m here to clean your pipes.”

The garage was to be left open, so that he could park his vehicle—in this case, a white cargo van marked
Perfect Plumbing
. As per his instructions, he shut the rolling garage door afterward, so that no one could see a second car from the street. Then he grabbed his duffel bag and walked around to the back, so that he couldn’t be observed by anyone else as he entered.
 

Like all the backyards in Hilldale, the one for this home was expansive. In fact, it was large enough for a pool and an outdoor terrace.
 

So, this is what it’s like to score a babysitting mission, thought Jack. Sweet set-up, and on Acme’s dime, no less. Maybe I should consider something like this for my dotage—that is, if I don’t go out, guns blazing.
 

All Jack was told about his host was to expect a single female. He presumed she was middle-aged, and one of those quiet types you never gave a second glance, since her mission called for her to be a nondescript, unobtrusive neighbor and keep to herself.
 

As per his instructions, he knocked on the back door.

And waited.

Then waited some more.

He noticed a buzzer to his right and rang it. Then he rang it again.
 

Maybe she was older than he was led to believe. Had she forgotten to put in her hearing aid? He envisioned the elderly woman in some commercial he’d seen during one of his agonizingly long waits in some airport terminal. She’d fallen, and her feeble shouts, “Help me, I can’t get up...” weren’t heard by anyone, aptly bringing home the message that the purchase of an emergency alert bracelet was inevitable.
 

Jack was struck with the vision of having to help some old lady in and out of her Barcalounger when he should be making his case as to why Donna should never put herself in danger.

Hell, this is my nightmare, he thought.
 

Just then the door opened.
 

The blonde standing in front of him was tall enough that she didn’t have to be wearing the five-inch pink stilettos strapped to her feet, and certainly too young, and too drop-dead gorgeous to be living on some cul-de-sac in suburbia.

And she was definitely too naked to be answering the door to a stranger’s knock on her back door.
 

Granted, she was in the process of draping herself in a sheer gauzy pink robe, but it did nothing to cover up her perfectly sculpted curves, let alone her very large breasts, which at eye level seemed to defy gravity like twin zeppelins flying side by side.

To break the spell they cast on him, she snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. “Hey, up here.”

Jack blinked, then murmured, “Um…I’m here to clean your pipes.”

Her eyes narrowed as she gave him the once-over. Finally, she smiled. “I like a man with a plan. Come on in.”

As he followed her in, he thought, I owe Ryan big time for this assignment.

She didn’t stop until they reached the living room, which was painted indigo blue and held a semicircular-tufted white leather couch that faced the window overlooking the pool. One wall was devoted to a mirrored wet bar with rows of liquors rivaling any he’d seen in the world’s best hotels.

As she bent over to pick up a martini glass from the coffee table, her robe rose just enough for a peek-a-boo view of what lay beneath. This time, before she was upright and had turned around toward him, he’d forced his eyes out the window, toward the glare of the undulating pool. She tilted her head to one side. “Coffee? Tea? Or maybe…” She let this tantalizing proposal linger in the air long enough that it atomized any variety of fantasies, then added “a martini?”

Jack cleared his throat. “Scotch. Thanks.” He hesitated, then held out his hand. “I’m Jack Craig.”

She shook it. “Yes, I know. Your reputation precedes you.” She headed to the other side of the bar. Scanning the shelves, she saw what she was looking for—a bottle of Glenlivit XXV. She poured a full tumbler of it and handed it to him. “Nola Janoff.”

Your reputation precedes you, too, he thought. No wonder Ryan conveniently forgot to mention who’d be hosting me.

He tried to remember the last he’d heard about Acme’s infamous honeypot.
 

As if reading his mind, Nola murmured, “It was the Rio incident.” She shrugged.

“Yeah, right, a few months back.” Jack nodded. “There was something about you getting the goods on Juan Domingo Cámpora, the head of Argentina’s covert-op agency,
Central de Reunión de Inteligencia Militar.
Wasn’t there also some scandal involving our client—his boss in the
Secretaría de Inteligencia?”
 

Nola sighed.
“José Félix Vidal. Dreamy blue eyes. He claimed he inherited them from his great-grandfather, Joseph Mengele. Considering his bedside manner, I could believe it.” She downed her martini, then poured another out of the shaker. “Turns out both men were selling Argentina’s state secrets to the Venezuelans. They had other things in common as well—a love for fine French wines, Cuban cigars, their country’s thoroughbred racehorses—not to mention a passion for sex acts requiring the skills of a contortionist.” She winked at Jack.

 
“I heard you almost didn’t make it out. So, here’s to the fickle finger of fate.” He tapped his glass with hers.

“Yes, well, Acme passed along my intel to the Argentinean president, via POTUS. Scored a few brownie points for the home team, right?” She shrugged. “But my boy toys weren’t so happy to find out I’d squealed on them. Too bad. That’s what happens when you trust a pretty face.” She batted her eyes in mock innocence. “Yeah, it was a tight situation, but I escaped thanks to a very handsome ship’s purser on a Crystal Cruise Line ship. Ever wonder why so many cruisers fall overboard? I can tell you firsthand. It’s a little game called ‘Walk the Plank,” which is played with a bottle of tequila, an eye patch, and something that should be as long as a cutlass, but always comes up short, if you catch my drift.” She winked at him. “You’d think Ryan would have merited that as worthy enough for a little vacation. No such luck. I guess it’s why I’m stuck out here in suburgatory, babysitting the widow Stone”—she plucked the toothpick holding an olive out of her glass, and sucked on it—“with you, of all people. So, what’s your story? I presume Pope Ryan also assigned you to this mission as some sort of penance. Am I right?”

“I guess you could say that.” Jack winced at the thought. “Her husband, Carl, was blown sky high, and it may have been because of something he was couriering for me to Ryan. The item in question is still missing. From the chatter Acme has picked up, we have some reason to believe it didn’t disintegrate with him.”

She frowned. “Good old Carl. May he rest in peace.” Her prayer gave her another excuse to make a toast—and down her drink accordingly.
 

“So, you knew him?”
 

She snickered. “Not in the Biblical sense, no. Only by reputation—and from what I hear, I missed out on something…
big
.” She laughed as she held her hands almost a foot apart. “The way he went at it, he was sure to get someone mad at him—if not another shooter or some pissed off dictator, then a jealous mistress or a pissed-off husband.”

Jack turned toward the other side of the room, where the picture window faced the Stone residence. “So much for an untarnished legacy.”

“Hey, I’m no saint either, and I’ll admit it. It’s probably why this job is cut out for me.” She slid onto a barstool. “On the other hand, you’re a regular knight in shining armor. The wife must be quite a lady.”

“She is…was.” He frowned. “We’re no longer an item. My job—it got to her, too.” Time to change the topic, he thought. “I’ve been away from this particular surveillance gig for a year. What can you tell me about her? Any patterns?”