Weekend Warriors (19 page)

 

Myra Rutledge sat alone at the kitchen table in her McLean, Virginia, farmhouse. The dogs were sleeping at her feet, giving her a comfortable feeling, to be sure. Her husband, Charles, was down below in the dungeons of the old house in what they called the War Room.

A pile of mail she’d just gone out to the road to pick up sat in front of her. Outside, it was raining the proverbial cats and dogs. A good day to be indoors and play catch-up on her weekly “to do” list. Reading mail was definitely not one of her favorite pastimes. Not many things these days were favorites of anything at all. When enough time had gone by, she attacked the mail with a vengeance. First, she separated the catalogs from the throwaway flyers, after which the “Occupant” and “Resident” mail went into another pile. Bills found their way into still another pile; then, finally, her personal mail, which was slim to none these days, went into the last pile. A good thing, too, she thought, because she had just run out of table space. Charles would handle the bills, so she moved them to the kitchen counter. One of these days, he said, he was going to start paying online, an idea that Myra nixed the moment the words were out of his mouth. She dumped the throwaway flyers, along with the “Resident” and “Occupant” mail, into the trash compactor and turned on the switch. The catalogs she added to the pile of catalogs already gracing the side of the fireplace. The stack was already almost two feet high. She either needed to look at them or toss them. Tomorrow would be time enough to think about that. She shrugged.

She was now down to the miniscule amount of personal mail. Three pieces. Two looked like invitations. She opened them and realized she’d gotten it right. One was an invitation to the wedding of the daughter of someone she barely knew. The second was a thank-you note from a charity to which she’d made a handsome donation. That left the long legal-size letter with a return address in Rosemont, Alabama. Myra frowned. She didn’t know a soul in Alabama, much less Rosemont. She ripped at the letter, being careful to preserve the return address. The frown stayed on her face. It wasn’t just a short letter; there were enclosures.

Myra reached for her glasses, but they weren’t where she’d left them. They were on top of her head. She finally put them on and read the letter, then the enclosures. There were tear splatters on her glasses when she removed them. She got up, walked over to the old-fashioned phone attached to the wall, and called Annie. “I know it’s raining hard, Annie, but do you think you could come over? I got something in the mail I’d like you to see. We can have lunch. Will that work for you?” Myra listened, then said, “Okay, how does tuna on rye sound? Hurry, Annie. This is really important. I think you’ll agree when I show you what came in the mail today.”

Myra swiped at her eyes as she opened the refrigerator. The tuna, thanks to Charles, was already made. All she had to do was slice the rye bread Charles had picked up earlier in the morning, peel off some lettuce leaves, slice a tomato that Charles had picked from the garden the night before, and lunch would be served.

Ten minutes later, the dogs were up and barking. Myra looked at the video feed above the door and saw Annie driving through the gates. Her luncheon guest had arrived.

The two women made a production out of hugging one another even before Annie could shrug out of her slicker and rain hat. She kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot to the table. Myra poured and handed Annie a cup of coffee. “It’s actually kind of chilly outside,” Annie said as she picked up Myra’s reading glasses and perched them on her nose. “Now, is this what you want me to read?”

Myra, tomato in one hand, a wicked-looking knife in her other, just nodded. The tomato and knife were forgotten as she watched her friend read what had come in the mail. She waited until Annie was finished. She watched as Annie removed the glasses and looked across at Myra. “This is . . . beyond sad. We have to do something for this lady. That’s why you called me over, right?” Annie brushed at her own eyes, her lips set in a grim tight line.

“She said she wrote to me before . . . when . . . shortly after it happened. She said I didn’t respond. Of course I didn’t respond because I never got the letter. We were on the run then, hiding out. I never did find out where the mail went or . . . it doesn’t matter now. We can explain to her, and hopefully, she’ll understand.”

“We could call her,” Annie said. “She included her phone number.”

“Or we could go to Rosemont, Alabama, and explain why we never got in touch with her. You know, personal, face-to-face. Had I gotten this letter earlier, I would have moved whatever missions we had to the back burner and concentrated on her. Do you agree, Annie?”

“I do, Myra, one hundred percent. I think we should investigate this on our own before we call the others in.

“Now, are you
ever
going to make that sandwich? I think better when I eat, so get cracking, Myra.”

Myra got cracking while Annie made a fresh pot of coffee. When lunch was ready, both women looked at one another and burst into tears. “I know
exactly
how she feels,” Myra said as she reached for a paper towel to wipe at her eyes.” She handed another towel to Annie.

“We could have helped her, Myra. We should have been there for her, and we didn’t even know about what had happened. And now look at what she’s facing. I say we call her after lunch. If I’m not mistaken, I think there’s a one-hour time difference between Alabama and here. Not that time matters. You don’t think she’ll hang up on us if we call her after all this time, do you?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it, Annie,” Myra said, chomping down on the tuna sandwich she didn’t even want. She did hate to waste food, though, so she would finish it even if it killed her. Annie ate just as fast as Myra, and they both finished at the same time.

“Who’s going to make the call?” Myra asked fretfully.

“Well, the letter was addressed to you here at the farm, so I guess it’s up to you to do the honors,” Annie said.

Myra was reaching behind her for the phone just as Charles appeared in the kitchen. “I see lunch is ready. Did you forget about me? Nice to see you on such a rainy, miserable day, Annie.”

“You, too, Charles,” Annie mumbled.

“Am I interrupting something?” Charles asked as he eyed what he considered two guilty-looking women.

“No,” Annie mumbled again.

“Yes,” Myra said forcefully.

“Well then,” Charles huffed, “I’ll just make my own sandwich and take it back downstairs with me.”

“That’s fine, Charles, but would you hurry it up?”

Charles slapped together a sandwich and poured coffee into a thermal container, gave a sloppy salute, and was gone within minutes.

The two women looked at one another, and both shrugged at the same time. The shrug meant they didn’t give two hoots if they had ruffled Charles’s feathers or not.

“Well, what are you waiting for, Myra, a bus?”

“No, dear, for you to read me the number. I’m not a mind reader.”

“Oh, okay.” Annie rattled off the number, and Myra punched them in. She listened as the phone rang six times before it skipped over to an answering machine. She left what she hoped was a comforting message and ended by leaving her unlisted phone number for a return call.

What Myra didn’t know was that, at the very moment she left the message on Julie Wyatt’s answering machine, lightning struck a transformer in front of Julie’s house, and all power and phones went out. There were no messages on Julie’s phone when she checked it after the power came back on.

“How long do you think it will take her to call us back, Annie?”

Annie started to make a fresh pot of coffee since Charles had emptied it. “I think it might depend on how pissed off she is that we ignored her for five long years. If I were standing in her shoes, I’d be pissed to the teeth, wouldn’t you, Myra?”

“Absolutely. Well then, let’s plan a trip to Rosemont, Alabama, so we can plead our case if she doesn’t return our call. Let’s take your plane, Annie. That way we can leave on the spur of the moment and not have to worry about reservations. Fergus won’t be a problem, will he?”

“Just as much of a problem as Charles will be. That means no problem,” Annie said, picking up one of the articles that had come in Myra’s letter. “You know what, Myra? I have the perfect punishment for that bitch.” She leaned across the table and whispered her suggestion.

Myra’s eyes popped wide. “Oh, Annie, I do like the way you think. That’s just lovely. I can see it now, playing out right in front of our eyes. Do you think the others will have a problem with this? It will be the first mission of the second string. I know you and I are up to it, but the others . . . they haven’t been around when we go into action.”

“Are you kidding? They’re going to love it. And no, I don’t think any of them will have a problem. But first we have to lay all the groundwork. How long are we going to give Julie Wyatt to call us back?”

“Tonight, eleven o’clock. No one ever calls anyone after that for fear of scaring them. It will be midnight our time if they are an hour behind us.”

“If we don’t hear by tonight, then I think we should plan on heading south late tomorrow afternoon. Earlier if you can make it. Do they have to do any maintenance on the plane before we take off? Check that out, Annie.”

Annie huffed. “My people always have the plane at the ready, so no, it will not be a problem. Bear in mind that this is summertime, Myra. There’s every possibility Ms. Wyatt could be on vacation. Have you thought of that?”

“No, I didn’t think about that. It won’t matter; we’ll be able to find out where she is vacationing, and we’ll just go there. We can’t let that poor woman think we won’t help her one minute longer than necessary. I’m certainly up for it, Annie. I can stay as long as it takes. How about you?”

“I’m with you, Myra. As long as it takes.”

“Let’s go into Charles’s office and do some Googling. We need as much information as we can get before we head to Rosemont, Alabama.”

Walking down the hall, Myra called over her shoulder, “Do you really think that punishment will work?”

“Well, if it doesn’t, I’ll just plain old shoot the damned bitch,” Annie drawled.

Myra laughed, knowing full well that Annie meant every word she had just uttered. She was still laughing when she booted up Charles’s special computer.

“By the way, Annie, how are your
hacking
classes with Abner Tookus coming?”

“Abner said that maybe in twenty years, I might be as good as Dwight something or other. I told you about him, he’s Abner’s star pupil, and he looks like he was just hatched out of an egg.”

“Should I be impressed, Annie?”

“Hell no, Myra, but I am getting there. One of these days, I will be just as good as Abner himself. And then think of all the money I’ll save us. I work for free. If you have any doubts, think about that pole that I mastered.”

Myra started to laugh and couldn’t stop. She just loved Annie de Silva.

 

In Manhattan, Mace Carlisle stepped out of the door of the Dakota, where he lived, and looked at the new day. A perfect early-summer day, the temperature just right, he thought. Perhaps not at six o’clock in the morning but certainly by nine o’clock, just three short hours away, the day would be bright and sunny, with marshmallow clouds moving lazily across the sky. The trees in Central Park would whisper and do their dance for all the tourists, dog walkers, and joggers trying to take advantage of the golden day.

Mace stood a few minutes more to savor the early-morning air before he walked to the curb and hailed a taxi. He could have driven, but today was a secretive kind of day, a day when he didn’t want to be followed or watched. A Mace Carlisle day.

He was headed to the office of his lawyer, Oliver Goldfeld. Oliver was the only other person he knew who arrived at his office at six thirty, just the way he, Mace, did. For over twenty years, the two men had convened for coffee and Danish at Oliver’s office two days a week to discuss Mace’s affairs. It was something Mace looked forward to because he always seemed to have a good day after meeting with Oliver.

Oliver and Mace weren’t just lawyer and client. They were friends in the true sense of the word. While Mace wasn’t Oliver’s only client, he was his biggest and richest client. In fact, most of Oliver’s clients had signed on with Oliver because of Mace’s endorsement of the lawyer. Goldfeld and Associates was an eight-man law firm whose specialty was corporate law.

It was six twenty-five when Mace stepped out of the elevator and walked to the plate-glass doors he knew would be open. No one else would be in the offices yet, so they would have the place to themselves.

The reception room was neither lavish nor shabby. There were shiny green plants and a lot of mahogany, the lighting was subdued and the carpeting soft. Once, years ago, Mace had told his friend that he needed to “slick up the place,” and this was the result.

Mace looked up at the sound of footsteps coming down one of the halls. He fixed a smile he wasn’t feeling onto his face and moved forward.

Some people meeting both men for the first time might take them for brothers, or at least close relatives. Both men were tall, six-two and - three respectively. Both weighed in at one-seventy or thereabouts. Both liked to dress in custom-cut Savile Row suits. Both had gray hair, and both had summer blue eyes even at their age, which was, in both cases, sixty. Both had hawkish noses and strong chins. They had been bachelors until three years ago, when Mace had gone off the rails and married his masseuse, a marriage he had regretted the moment he returned from his Hawaiian honeymoon.

Oliver led the way to his private conference room, where he already had two containers of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee and a bag of sugary donuts sitting on the table. “Your turn next week, Mace,” he said as he handed over napkins and paper plates.

“Shouldn’t you be serving this on fine china with all the money I pay you?” Mace grumbled.

Oliver laughed, a great, booming sound. “Mace, you say that every time we picnic here in the conference room. One of these days, I’m going to surprise you and haul in some
fine china
just for you. Spit it out, buddy. You look like hell by the way.”

“I feel like hell. Where’s Andrew? I thought you said he wanted to sit in this morning, so he could do a hatchet job on me.” Andrew was the firm’s CPA and a lawyer in his own right.

“It’s his turn to carpool this morning. I don’t know what more he can say except to say it in person. I faxed his report to your office. You need to get rid of her, Mace, before she does a number on you from which you cannot recover. Wall Street is already rumbling, but then you know that. I have the divorce papers drawn up; they just have to be filed and served on her. I did the restraining orders for her and her son. You hired that weasel, and he’s biting you big-time. The eviction notice is prepared and ready to be served. The thing is, I want you out of here, far away, when all this goes down. Tell me you understand, Mace?”

“I understand. Did she really divert $27 million to her own bank? I almost lost my lunch when I read that. Yes, yes, I know I never should have put her son in charge of the legal department. Look, I was stupid, okay. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I admit to being the biggest fool to walk the face of the Earth. What more do you want me to say, Oliver?”

Oliver massaged his chin as he stared at his friend. “Do not worry about the money. We can freeze the money. I have a very good man who excels at such things. But I want her out of your apartment before I do that. At the proper moment, her credit cards will be canceled, right along with everything else. The minute she walks out of the building, it will get done. Everything has to be synchronized, and you have to be
gone.
The weasel will also be escorted from your corporate offices by your security. I need you to tell me you are okay with all of this, Mace.”

“What about the prenup?” Mace asked.

“Ten million dollars if the marriage lasts five years. It’s cut-and-dried. When I draw up a prenup, I draw up a prenup. No way on this Earth can it be broken. She gets nothing other than what you’ve given her in the way of jewelry and her own personal bank account, which, by the way, has over $800,000 in it. That, plus what you paid her son for doing nothing and screwing up your legal department, is more than fair for three years of marriage. I also took the liberty of canceling the lease on his apartment in Trump Towers that you’re on the hook for. What I mean is, it will be canceled the moment your security walks him out of the building.”

“Should I worry about any of this, Oliver?”

“Hell, yes, you should worry. Your wife is a greedy, vindictive woman. She’s already saying you’re over the edge and doing insane things to the detriment of the company. Your shareholders are not going to like that. As I said, the boys on the street are making rumbling noises. No matter how you look at it, Mace, it’s a mess. Now, when are you planning on leaving?”

“As soon as I walk out of here. I can’t go back to that place. The minute she’s out, put it up for sale and be sure to get the locks changed. You have someone who can handle all of that, right? Oh, and have someone pack up my things and put them in storage. In the meantime, I can buy what I need when I get to where I’m going.”

“Where
are
you going, Mace?”

“I don’t know. When I arrive, I’ll let you know. Here,” he said, tossing his cell phone across the conference table. “I bought a new one. When I call you, you’ll be able to see the number. Here are my credit cards. I’ve seen enough spy movies about people going on the run and the good guys tracking them by their cell phones and credit cards.”

“Take mine, Mace. At least take my passport. The picture is bad enough that no one will look twice. We could pass for each other anytime, anyplace. You need cash, too.”

“Yes, I know, but I didn’t want to risk going to the bank and taking money out. I didn’t want to tip my hand. Give me some cash out of one of my escrow funds. One last thing; I want you to have my power of attorney, Oliver.”

“Not necessary, the old one is still good, Mace. How much cash do you want?”

Mace grimaced. “A wad. I can always call you if I run out. Okay, now what is my cover story?”

Oliver blinked. “You’re asking me? You’re the one taking it on the lam. I thought you had a plan.”

“Well, if getting in the car and driving somewhere is a plan, then I have a plan. I’ll just drive till I run out of gas, and that’s where I’ll end up. Can you come up with something better?”

Oliver shook his head. “No, actually, I can’t. What car are you planning on driving, Mace?”

Mace slapped at his forehead. “Crap! My car will stand out like a daisy in a manure field. How about I take one of yours?”

“Mine are just as noticeable as yours. In case you forgot, we bought our cars at the same time. So take your own and don’t worry about it. When whoever it is gets around to me, I will have all the answers. You better get going, Mace; it’s almost seven o’clock. No matter which way you’re going to go, you are going to hit rush-hour traffic. Let me get the cash for you, then you need to go. Check in from time to time, okay?”

“I will. So, from this moment on, I am going to be Oliver Goldfeld, right?”

“Just don’t go practicing law and giving out advice. I don’t relish being hauled before the bar.”

“What about her and the kid’s cars?”

“Take them,” Mace snapped.

“And . . . ?”

“Sell them to the highest bidder. I really don’t care what you do. Just get rid of them.”

“I have this vision of the mother and son riding the subway. Now, there’s something I would pay money to see.”

In spite of himself, Mace laughed.

Five minutes later, Mace had a manila envelope full of cash.

Five minutes after that, the two old friends gave each other a manly hug.

“This is going to turn out okay, isn’t it, Oliver?”

“Well, if it doesn’t, it won’t be for lack of trying. Everything is set to go. She won’t even know you’re missing until you fail to show up this evening. That puts you in a good position. Keep a low profile, and I’ll take care of this end.”

“Oliver, why hasn’t either one of us used her name? We refer to her as her or she. We don’t even call the boy by name.”

“First of all, he isn’t a boy, he’s thirty-three years old. His name is Eli. Her name is Eileen. There, does that make you feel better?”

“Not one bit. See ya when I see ya, Oliver.”

“Go on, you big lug, get out of here before I go all mushy on you. Hey, on your way out, why don’t you go to the SPCA and pick up a dog. Pick the ugliest one they have, the one no one else wants, and that dog will love you forever. You have enough time to do it.”

“You know what, Oliver, that’s the best advice you’ve given me since I got here. Do me a favor; call them and tell them I’ll be by to pick her or him up in an hour. I’m going to do it. Thanks for the suggestion. Man and his dog. I like that. I really do.”

When the door closed behind Mace Carlisle, Oliver Goldfeld picked up the phone to call the SPCA. While he waited for the call to go through, he muttered, “Good luck, Mace.”

 

 

 

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