Crimes Most Merry and Albright

by Larissa Reinhart

  "I think you'll want to come with us. I have a little extra work for you. All this dilly-dallying on your part has forced us to change our plans." Gentz waved at the parking lot.

  My heart sank. Remi. They'd taken her. Where was Nash? The police were on their way to watch Ms. Wonderly. If I could stall, the police could take down Gentz and his men.

  "Fire," I screamed. "Help, fire."

  The party drowned out my words.

  "Really," sighed Gentz. "You're constantly forcing our hand. It's tiresome."

  Oddjob grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the vestibule. I tried to plant my feet, but my boots glided across the tiles. The doors whisked open. Heat blew up from grates and my hair whirled around my face. I continued to scream but now the doors had sealed my fate.

  Quite literally it seemed. They did a good job of keeping out the cold air.

  "There's no camera in the vestibule," Gentz glanced behind him. "Grant, if you would…"

  Grant. Oddjob's name was Grant? That wasn't very henchman-like. I glanced over my shoulder. Grant held a black leather strap. Above my head. Then slammed it against my head.

  And I stopped thinking about Grant at all.

  Twenty-One

  #Alteregoism

  A jostling and shaking roused me, and for a moment I thought I was back in California, woken by an earthquake. I cracked my eyelids. It was dark and my head ached. Had I gone to a party? Lights flashed, and I widened my eyes. I wasn't in California at all. I was in Black Pine, traveling in a car. And my head hurt. I stiffened, then jerked from my slump against the seat. Turning from the window, I found Gentz sitting next to me.

  "Good evening," said Gentz.

  The whole arch-villain-pleasantries-made-to-sound-sinister-thing had grown super stale. But I wasn't going to tell Gentz. He'd probably enjoy it. He had Remi, after all.

  At least, I thought he did.

  I pinched the base of my thumb to stop my tears. Assistant private investigators shouldn't cry. They needed to keep a cool head. Even if it was aching due to a kiboshing. I sought my inner Julia Pinkerton. The snarky teenage detective never cried. Except in Season Two Episode Nine, when her dog died saving a group of high school students in a flood. Julia was hard, but she wasn't a robot.

  "Where are we going?" I snarled. "Back to the Dukem? You really missed out on a great party by not staying at the Black Pine Lodge."

  He rasped his dry chuckle. "No, when we discovered you'd left the Dukem Inn, we thought it best to leave. Poor Brian had to be rescued from his shackles. I'm sure his head is still aching from that fire extinguisher."

  Gentz tsked, and I glared at him. "Maybe we should've used a billy club like Grant did on my head?"

  "Anyway," Gentz waved his hand. "We've set up in a new location. We're going home."

  "By the rules of my probation, I'm not allowed to leave Georgia. And if you cross state boundaries, the FBI will be after you, too, not just local police."

  "So kind of you to worry about me. Don't worry. I have very good legal counsel." Gentz smiled.

  The man smiled entirely too much.

  "Here we are," he said.

  I glanced out the window and realized we weren't headed to California — or wherever Gentz lived. Transylvania, possibly? — but sped through the gates and up the drive to the cabin. My home. Near the front door, a van had been parked. At our approach, JJ slid out and walked to the car.

  "Escape is futile," said Gentz. "You've seen what we're capable of."

  I wanted to roll my eyes at his phrasing, but he really had a point.

  JJ opened my door. "Maizie, thanks for joining us."

  "Are you for real?" I clambered out, rubbing the back of my head. "Why am I constantly being thanked for things you're forcing me to do?"

  "It's called politeness?" Millennial sarcasm laced her voice. "We're running really late. Come on."

  "Where's my sister?"

  "Not my department."

  Grant opened the passenger door. I hurried past him to follow JJ inside. In the foyer, the French doors stood open and in the living room, Brian set up computer equipment on our console table. Equipment boxes stood open and the furniture had been moved. Thick cords trailed from the living room, through the foyer, and out the front door.

  "What's going on?" I said. "What are you doing to the cabin?"

  Grant shoved me after JJ, who hurried past the living room and into the back hall that led to Daddy's study. Book and gun cases lined the wood-paneled walls. Daddy's desk was a mess of paperwork, samples, and camo-print cloth swatches. Nothing looked out of place. That I could tell. ”Where's Remi?"

  "We're out of time," said JJ. "The necklace, Maizie."

  The door to the study opened. Gentz shoved Remi through the door and shook her slingshot at us. She stumbled, righted herself, and tossed him an angry glance over her shoulder.

  I bounded across the room and caught her against me. "Remi, did they hurt you?"

  "No. Big bullies." She hugged me and tried to push away, but I hung on.

  Snapping the slingshot in half, Gentz threw it on the floor. “JJ, you're not focused. Miss Albright should be ready by now.” Gentz folded his arms, then turned to me. “The death necklace?”

  "You're squeezing too tight, Maizie," said Remi's muffled voice against my chest.

  "How dare you take my sister. You're facing serious prison time." I grappled Remi, ignored her squirming, and kept my eyes on Gentz.

  "Your sister found us." Gentz smirked. "Had her own list of demands. Unfortunately, we weren't able to meet them."

  "I'll get you, Grinch," Remi's tinny voice rose, high but fierce. "I'm gonna make your heart grow two sizes."

  "My heart is already the right size, missy," shouted Gentz. Collecting himself, he turned to face the cabinets. “Your father has quite the gun collection, too. Where does he keep the keys?”

  “On hisself,” said Remi. “He took them to Brunswick. Nobody’s allowed to touch them over his dead body. Even then, he says he’ll haunt me.”

  Gentz strolled to the desk and grabbed a wooden duck decoy.

  "Daddy ain't going to like this," whispered Remi. "That's antique. We're not allowed to play with it."

  Walking to a cabinet filled with rifles, Gentz bounded forward, smashing the duck against the glass. The duck bounced off and he tripped backward, falling against a leather settee. “What is this cabinet made of?”

  “Steel?” I said.

  “Bulletproof glass, too,” said Remi. "You can't shoot it, neither."

  “Whatever. I’ve got my own gun. I'm not going to steal your father's. I'm not a thief.” He yanked a pistol from his belt holster. “See? Get the necklace. Now.”

  Shaking, I walked to a gun cabinet, opened a drawer beneath the locked glass, and pulled out a box of shotgun cartridges. “Here.”

  “Hidden in plain sight. How wonderful.” Opening the box, his breath shuddered ecstatically, and I felt myself flinch.

  “Put away your weapon.” I pulled Remi against my side. She backed against my hip, folding her arms, her angry eyes on Gentz.

  He holstered his gun but turned his attention to JJ. “Warhead Girl needs to dress. The Supreme Commander's waiting for her."

  "Wait, what?" I clasped Remi against me.

  "And JJ. Have Brian do something with the child.”

  “You didn’t say it would be like this.” JJ crossed the room to touch Gentz's arm. "That's a little girl."

  Gentz's brow furrowed. “Do you want to accompany the child, JJ?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Then shut up and do your job,” he screamed, and shuttered his features. "Excuse me. I'm sorry to lose my temper."

  She shuddered.

  “Haven’t I treated you very well? I realize I have my eccentricities, but you’ve not minded in the past. You’ve been at my side all along. You’ve met sultans and CEOs. Celebrities and the best programmers. Do I not pay enough?”

  “It’s not the money…�
� she murmured.

  "I think it's the money," whispered Remi. "She looks 'xpensive."

  Remi was right, but my thoughts had crashed on a different shore. "Holy shiz, you're HG. Gentz is a…what? Alter ego? This isn't the Maltese Falcon. It's Batman."

  "Spiderman's better," said Remi.

  “Shut up,” screamed Gentz-HG. He beamed at JJ, then frowned and studied his gauze-wrapped hand. “You’re not just an employee to me, JJ. But I’m wondering if you can really handle the job. I promised you a seat in the first rocket, maybe I was rash.”

  “No, no. I really want to go to Mars—"

  “Brian, can you escort JJ?”

  She opened her mouth to protest but held up her hands before Brian could touch her. "Fine. I'll check on the satellite broadcast."

  HG watched them leave. “Damn it. JJ was supposed to help Miss Albright dress."

  “Maizie's already dressed,” said Remi. "She knows how."

  Ignoring us, HG leaned into the hall. "Grant? Bring in the costume.”

  "Costume?" I said. "You have the death necklace. You can let us go now."

  "I had another idea for the necklace." HG smiled, an echo of Gentz's smirk but more cunning. "You've caused me quite a delay today, but now you can help me."

  I said a little prayer that he didn’t plan to cut off my head like the Supreme Commander wanted in the Warhead Girl graphic novel. But I didn't feel very hopeful.

  “Warhead Girl and the new Supreme Commander will appear tonight. A marketing blitz," said HG. “Originally, I hadn't planned on Warhead Girl, but now that we have all the authentic pieces, why not? At midnight tonight, I'd planned for the world to meet the Supreme Commander with Warhead Girls' trophies. Instead, the Supreme Commander will have Warhead Girl as a trophy.”

  "I don't get it," whispered Remi.

  I fingered my neck and squeezed her against me.

  HG walked to the door. "Grant? Where are you?"

  “Remi,” I whisper. “We need to get out of here. How did you get to the cabin?”

  “The back of Nash’s truck. I’ve been riding in it the whole time. You never found me. Daddy and Momma never let me ride in the bed. It's so much fun. A little cold, though.”

  I moaned. “Wait. Nash’s truck is here?”

  A deep baritone called from the hallway. “Gentz? I'll give you the necklace. Let Maizie go and you can have it.”

  HG laughed, and I internally groaned.

  "Mr. Nash doesn't realize how late he's arrived at this party." HG pursed his lips. "Brian had best do a better job of securing him this time."

  "Give me the stupid costume," I said. "I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt them.

  Twenty-Two

  #I’mReadyForMyCloseup

  At times, I'd thought my Hollywood life was stranger than fiction. I'd spent past New Year's Eves partying with rock stars, models, and athletes. I'd met Dick Clark and Ryan Seacrest. I'd counted down the seconds to midnight from the back of an elephant. I'd been on a stage in Times Square and found myself kissing a boy band at midnight. All six members. I'd sang "Auld Lang Syne" on the stage of the Hollywood Bowl with Ozzy Osborne, Janet Jackson, and the cast of Glee.

  Nothing topped strange like this New Year's Eve. But then, my past had brought me here. It would have to be my past that would get us out of this predicament. I wasn't going to rely on Nash to save me. I would save him and Remi, even if it killed me.

  Which I really hoped it didn’t.

  I had a plan. A plan based on a movie. But at least it was a better movie than the really stupid movie that had gotten me into this mess.

  Dressed as Warhead Girl, I peeked around the corner to the living room. A camera faced a portable green screen. JJ sat at the console table, typing into a computer. In the video monitor next to her, the backdrop on the green screen appeared to look like a mountainous desert. The setting from the final scene in Warhead Girl, where I faced the Supreme Commander. Before the screen, a wooden pole had been mounted. More for heretics than strippers. This was the wooden stake meant for ending Warhead Girl in a fiery death, an Easter egg tribute to Joan of Arc, from whom the graphic novelist had derived Warhead Girl. Loosely.

  Very loosely. But I could work with loosely.

  Regardless, I took heart in that HG was basing the scene on the film and not the graphic novel. I'd rather burn at the stake than face an executioner's block. My chances felt greater. Plus Warhead Girl had escaped the burning by catching her guard's head between her thighs when he bent to light the fire. That might take some work without the help of wires and a stunt double, but I had a greater incentive. I'd take the heat for Remi and Nash. Literally.

  Out of synch with the setting was a table set before the screen. On the table lay a black box, decorated with a big gold bow and lit up with green, yellow, and red lights. Like a Christmas gift that the world maybe didn't want.

  But who knew? For a better internet, maybe they didn't care if an ex-actress and the people she loved most in the world were being held hostage for a PR stunt.

  Speaking of my people, where were they? My heart fluttered. Sidling forward, I spotted the decorative holiday pillows tossed on the floor in a pile before Remi’s My Little Pony tree. The loveseat had been pushed from the fireplace across the room, on the other side of the green screen, near the patio door. Brian and his gun stood next to the sofa. Tied back-to-back, Remi and Nash sat on the loveseat. Awkwardly.

  Looking more excited than scared, Remi jerked her little body back and forth, trying to see the proceedings. Cursing to himself, Nash's shoulders shifted, his arms clamped to his side, pinned by Remi's body tied to his. His fingers fumbled trying to reach the knots tied to his wrists.

  Before I could rush to them, Grant placed a large hand on my bare shoulder and held me back. "Where do you want her?" said Grant.

  HG turned from checking the camera angle to face me. He wore the Supreme Commander's white and gold uniform. And he'd taken off the bandage on his hand. "Excellent." HG's eyes moved over me. "Although I don't remember the costume fitting exactly like that."

  "When I last wore it, I was nineteen," I snapped.

  At my voice, Nash glanced up. Beneath his fedora, his eyes widened, face flushed, and jaw slackened. "Maizie."

  "Maizie?" said Remi, trying to look over her shoulder. "I can't see around Nash’s hat."

  For my part, I wore Timberland boots, a flesh-colored sports bra, and cutoff shorts that would have embarrassed Daisy Duke. My hair had been knotted high on my head in two tiny buns that allowed a cascade of wisps to fall free. A bandolier of bullets was looped over my sports bra and the necklace of shotgun cartridges hung around my neck. I was missing my rocket launcher. Although, that was not an oversight on HG's part. It leaned against the table.

  “You don’t have to do this,” the words tumbled out of Nash's mouth. He cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t do this. You’ll violate the terms of your probation if they think it’s an entertainment stunt.”

  “Oh, I know. I could go to jail. But I don’t think HG cares much about that.”

  “It’s true. I don’t care." HG shrugged, making the fringe on his shoulder epaulets flutter. "We’re making history tonight. Nothing else matters. When I flip the switch, the internet will no longer be a globally distributed computer network. Everything will run through the Supreme Commander." He patted the black box on the table and adjusted the gold bow.

  I wasn't sure if I should be glad the Supreme Commander was the internet and not HG. Naming the World Wide Web after a violent dictator seemed even nuttier. Not to mention creepier.

  "That's how you're saving the world?" My lip curled. "Controlling cyberspace?"

  "The Supreme Commander will do a better job of policing all the current social difficulties, like cyberbullying and crime. Imagine the next time someone talks about school shootings, arranges human trafficking, uploads child porn, or sends spam to your email, the Supreme Commander will know and report it immediately.”


  “Kind of ironic, don’t you think, that you’re using violence to stop violence?”

  “I'm fighting fire with fire.” HG lifted his chin and smiled.

  That was also ironic. Or perhaps literal, considering the stake.

  “I want to see what you’re wearing,” called Remi. "But I'm facing the wrong way."

  "I don't want you to see me." The humiliation I was about to face felt too much to bear. Plus, I had a bad feeling about that stake. "Just show me my marks, HG. Then let them leave."

  "I think not," said HG. "They should witness history in the making."

  “Dammit Gentz,” said Nash. “Don’t make her do this for a publicity stunt.”

  “Do what?” said Remi. “Why can't I see?”

  HG took my hand, kissed it, and led me to a spot before the screen. “When you get your cue, cross stage right. I’ll disarm you and place you on the burning stake. Then I’ll talk about the Supreme Commander for a few minutes. All its capabilities and features. On the screen behind us, visual graphics will show how SC will end crime, violence, and bullying on the internet forever. Plus show its awesome speed and search proficiency."

  "Are you going to place the firewood right on the tiles?" I said, more concerned with the burning stake than the Supreme Commander's unveil. I'd been counting on a pile of wood. I had a bottle of gun oil and a lighter tucked into my bra. Hopefully hidden well enough behind the necklace and bandolier.

  "Of course not." Taking my hand again, he led me away from the stake. "Then I’ll release you. You'll jump, clap, and cheer, declaring how Warhead Girl can now resign from vigilantism thanks to the Supreme Commander. We’ll embrace and the countdown to midnight will begin. I’ll pretend to flip the switch — they actually do that at my office in the valley — and the Supreme Commander will take it from there.”

  “Lord help me,” muttered Nash, gritting his teeth. “I really want to kill this man.”

  “That’s all?” Jumping up and down in a sports bra and shorts on camera was never a good idea, but it was much better than burning at the stake. "And then you'll leave?"