14. Razor Sharp

by Fern Michaels

  “What’s up, Mr. Director?”

  “All kinds of shit, Mr. Reporter. Any news?”

  “Maggie’s working it. The girls on the mountain are waiting for orders. They’re in their mission-control stage, trying to come up with a plan. Jack and Harry are leaving in the morning. That’s it on my end unless you haven’t heard about the nuptials that took place here in Vegas.”

  “I heard. I just had a late lunch with the newly married couple. Do you know anything about the madam?”

  “Only that she’s dead and one with the universe. Where have you been, Navarro?”

  “Shooting marbles with Elvis. I just got here myself. What’s the game plan?”

  “I wish I knew. I’m waiting to hear. Maggie gave me some instructions, and you want me to check out where the funds came from to build the Happy Day Camp. That’s my agenda at the moment, pure and simple. If you don’t mind my asking, how are you going to handle all this with the Bureau guys here in Vegas? This is just a guess on my part, but I would think you are going to have to be extra careful and watch who you’re seen with. Since the madam is officially deceased, doesn’t this more or less end the investigation? If that’s not the case, then I’m not getting it.”

  “That makes two of us. The bottom line is that no one is supposed to know the madam is deceased. She died under an alias. Right this second, I don’t know where that leaves us.”

  “I’ll tell you where it leaves everyone, especially the Vigilantes. Now they have a clear shot at going after those jerks back in D.C. Poor bastards, they don’t know what’s coming at them,” Ted said cheerfully.

  Bert took his eyes off the road for a mere second to stare at his gleeful passenger. Reporters had to be one of a kind. He made a mental note to call Elias Cummings, his mentor and the man he’d replaced as director of the FBI, as soon as he dropped Ted off at his hotel. Then, he was going to head for the nearest bar, order a drink, call Kathryn, Jack, and Harry, then order another drink or three. Eventually he would get shit-faced enough that he could make some sense out of what he was going to do and how he was going to do it. He grimaced to himself. Like that was going to happen. The last time he was shit-faced he’d been in college, and he’d sworn never to go that way again. He was strictly a one-beer kind of guy.

  Chapter 11

  “Young love is a wonderful thing, isn’t it, Myra?” Annie whispered as she stapled the reports Maggie Spritzer had just sent her. She continued to whisper. “I don’t think we’re supposed to know this—not that it’s exactly a secret,” she added hastily, “but I think Alexis and Joseph Espinosa have a thing going on. That means they’re communicating.”

  “And your point is?” Myra asked, distributing the reports around the table.

  “Well, if it’s true, it’s a good thing. I guess. That means only Isabelle is left unattached with no one in her life but you and me. And you don’t even really count, Myra, because Charles will come back at some point. Lizzie got married. Nellie got married. Maggie has Ted Robinson. I know I’m not young anymore, so why would somebody even be interested in me? So, it’s just Isabelle and me who are…manless, for want of a better term. I’m not sure I like the feeling. It’s like no one wants us. How sad is that?”

  Myra stopped what she was doing and stared at her old friend to see if she was serious or just being cranky. She decided Annie was serious. She struggled for just the right words to take the stricken look off Annie’s face. “Annie, it’s not like you’re out there in the social scene, where you can make contact with the opposite sex. We’re cloistered here on the mountain, with few if any visitors. And do I have to remind you of that gentleman in Las Vegas named Little Fish who wanted you so bad he could taste it? You flirted with him, and he flirted back. Never mind that you almost shot him to death; he overlooked that little caper. I know you have his telephone number, so why don’t you just call him on the secure phone? Or, text him. The girls taught you how to text message.”

  Annie perked up and raised her eyebrows. “Do you think, Myra, that it could be that simple?”

  Myra didn’t know if it was that simple or not, but she said, “I do.”

  “I’ll give it some thought. Something else is bothering me, Myra. Do you realize how many new…members we have? I know I came on the scene late, but in the beginning there were just seven women plus Charles. No one knew our secrets. Think about how many people now know about us. I have bad dreams where we’re all concerned.” Annie got agitated all over again. “There’s Lizzie, Jack, Maggie, Ted, Joseph, Harry, Bert, Cosmo Cricket, Elias Cummings, Nellie Easter, Pearl Barnes, Paula Woodley, Rena Gold, Little Fish, and of course Avery and all those other people who are on Charles’s payroll. And for God’s sake, let’s not forget the president of the United States, who just threatened Lizzie and Cosmo. We’ve become a regular little army here.”

  “How else can we operate safely, Annie?” Not for the world would she admit to Annie that she had the same fears and the same reason for countless sleepless nights.

  “I don’t know, Myra, I’m just saying that I’m worried. I don’t think any of them will turn on us, but it does make me nervous that so many people know our business and how we operate, not to mention knowing people who know other people so they can get in touch with us. Did I say that right? If not, you know what I’m talking about.”

  Myra tried for a soothing tone but didn’t succeed because now Annie had piled worries on top of her own private worry because what she said made too much sense. “I do know what you’re talking about, but, except for Avery, none of the outsiders know where we are, Annie.”

  “The president knows! She stopped by for a little visit, or were you asleep when that happened? She knows, Myra. She promised us a pardon that has not come through. Now she’s angry with Lizzie and Cosmo as well. We could be asleep in our beds, and, boom, this mountain could be surrounded by Black Hawk helicopters and we’d…we’d just disappear. The world would simply think the Vigilantes had retired.”

  Myra fingered the pearls around her neck. Annie was making even more sense than before. “How did we go from romance to Black Hawk helicopters?”

  “Because aside from feeling left out, I can’t sleep. That’s why we’re discussing helicopters. If I’m going to be miserable and worried, so are you. You’re the one who brought me here and promised me all kinds of rainbows.”

  Myra huffed and puffed as she almost strangled herself with her pearls. “I did no such thing, Annie. I saved your life is what I did. You were sitting there watching the Weather Channel dressed like some guru twenty-four/seven. I gave you back your life.”

  Annie’s eyes filled. “Yes, you did, Myra. I’m sorry. It’s not myself so much that I’m worried about, it’s the girls. Maybe I’m just horny.”

  Myra started to sputter and then laughed so hard her sides ached. “That’s a wee bit more than I needed to know, Annie.”

  Both women were startled when the front door blew open and the girls trooped over to the war room where all business was conducted.

  “It’s raining!” Kathryn announced. “By tonight I think all the snow will be gone and we’ll be left with a giant mud puddle.”

  “We might have to slide down the mountain.” Yoko laughed.

  Nikki walked over to the huge fireplace and added a few logs, poked at them, then warmed her hands, her back to the others. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw Barbara dancing in the flames. She blinked, and the vision was gone. She turned to the others and grinned. Real or not, Nikki knew Barbara was nearby, at least in spirit. Barbara wouldn’t let anything go wrong. “Let’s see what we’re up against this time, girls.”

  Across the country, Ted Robinson swigged coffee from a Styrofoam cup as he drove down the boulevard. Five o’clock in the morning, and there was as much traffic as if it was rush hour, whatever the hell rush hour time was in Vegas, assuming there even was one. He grunted something obscene because even a fool knew rush hour was twenty-four hours a day in most urban a
reas. He was meeting for donuts and coffee with a reporter he’d made contact with on his last visit to Nevada. He had no great hopes of learning anything he couldn’t find out on his own, but he was never one to miss any bets because of laziness on his part only to regret it later. He hated going through land records but, that’s what he was going to do as soon as the building that housed them opened—assuming Lancaster turned out to be a dry hole when it came to information.

  Ted rolled into the parking lot of Krispy Kreme, parked, walked into the shop, and ordered a dozen jelly donuts to go and four coffees. Two extra as refills. Toby Lancaster was a tubby man who didn’t believe in exercise and loved sweets to the exclusion of all else. He was a good reporter, though. Ted had figured that out when he first met him. The rotund little guy had sharp eyes, a sharp wit, and he hated what he called “Vegas’s bullshit machine,” which never stopped.

  Ted paid for his purchases and used his shoulder to open the heavy plate glass door just in time to see Lancaster roar into a parking space in his battered Toyota, which obviously needed a new muffler.

  The two reporters shook hands and settled themselves in Ted’s rental car. Ted waited patiently for Toby to inhale four donuts before he even spoke.

  “What are you up to on my turf this time around, Robinson?” Toby asked as he adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses more firmly on his nose. “It’s pretty damn early even here in Vegas.”

  “I need to find out who paid for the property and construction of the Happy Day Camp. The brothel out there in Podunk or wherever the hell it is. Do you know it?”

  “Pahrump. Only by reputation. Pretty high-class. Top-of-the-line for such establishments. Waiting list of clients. That info came to me about a year ago, and nothing else has popped up since. If something was going on, I would have heard. I have snitches I keep on retainer just the way you guys do back East. Did you try checking online? Records are open to the public.”

  “Drew a blank. It’s buried deep. Holding companies, shell companies, corporations. Ownership might not be U.S.”

  “Why do you want this information? What’s in it for me, Robinson?”

  “I’ll share the byline. Can’t hurt your résumé to see your name in the Washington Post. Did I say above the fold? I never write anything that doesn’t go above the fold,” Ted boasted.

  “You’re not telling me why. I need to know why, Robinson.”

  “Well, you’ll need to know for a while longer, then. The minute my boss okays me telling you, the story is half yours. You have to take my word. Hey, man, didn’t I just buy you donuts and coffee? I don’t do that for just anyone,” Ted said virtuously.

  “You want to bribe me, you’re gonna have to do more than buy me donuts and coffee. Try again.”

  “How much?”

  “Nah, I was just jerking your chain to see if you were leveling with me. Forget the land records—if it’s buried, it’s buried. There’s this guy out in the desert who has all this green grass. You gotta admire green grass in the desert. If anyone would know, it’s him.”

  Something clicked in Ted’s head. “You mean that crazy-ass mercenary who has his property laced with claymore mines? I heard about him when I was here the last time.” He wisely omitted mentioning that Little Fish was a friend of the Vigilantes.

  Lancaster screwed up his face into something that passed for disbelief. “You know Little Fish?”

  “Yeah, you could say that. Sort of. Kind of. I know this lady who almost shot his dick off. Some mercenary.” Ted guffawed.

  Lancaster didn’t laugh. “If that happened, Fish allowed it to happen. No one takes him. He’s like an encyclopedia of our fair state. A one-man army. He’s one guy you don’t want to piss off. He’s got a damn platoon of ex-something-or-others who watch his back. There’s nothing he doesn’t know about Las Vegas. There’s only one problem: he doesn’t see people. That means he doesn’t talk to people either. He doesn’t make appointments. No one I know has his phone number.”

  “You really think he might know something?” Ted asked.

  Lancaster stuffed his seventh donut in his mouth. He frowned to show his second coffee cup was empty.

  “You want more, get it yourself. I asked you a question,” Ted snapped.

  “Rumor has it the guy knows everything that goes on. Nothing gets past him. All I’m saying is he might know. Might know. Doesn’t mean he’s going to tell a reporter from back East what he knows, and, think about it, why should he? What’s he going to get out of talking? Not talking is his stock-in-trade. So what else can I help you with?”

  “How do we get out there?”

  “Wh…What?” Lancaster sputtered. “You want me to take you out there? I-don’t-think-so, Robinson. Are you forgetting the part about the claymores booby-trapping the guy’s property?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. I don’t remember asking you to go with me. Well, okay, maybe I did, but I wasn’t serious. Reporters are not supposed to be wusses. We’re supposed to be intrepid. You need to be intrepid to work as a reporter in D.C. You’d never make it back East.”

  “Yeah, well, if that guy shoots your ass off, don’t call me. And, just for the record, you couldn’t pay me to go east and work and live in that fishbowl you swim around in. I’m going back home to bed. Listen, Robinson, that guy Fish is for real, okay? Call me if you make it back alive. I’ll do whatever I can. I’ll nose around when I wake up.”

  “Yeah, okay, but I need directions to this Fish. Hey, wait a minute, do most people know about Fish? I’m asking because the FBI is here. What are the chances of someone talking about him to the feds?”

  Lancaster scratched at the stubble on his chubby cheeks. “You didn’t say anything about the FBI. I have to draw a line if the fibbies are in on this. Those guys kick ass and take names later. I don’t want them kicking mine for a maybe byline. So, my answer would be not likely. But what the hell do I know? Fish minds his own business, so there’s no reason for the fibs to check him out. But maybe they’re as intrepid as you are,” he said slyly. “If so, watch your back.”

  “Lancaster, the directions!”

  “Oh, yeah. Okay, this is what you do.” He rattled off a full paragraph of twists and turns, then said, “Just type it into your GPS and you’re good to go.”

  “I-knew-that,” Ted muttered as he slid behind the wheel. Before he turned the key in the ignition he sent off a text to Maggie that said he was going into the uncharted territory of a former mercenary—some guy named Fish—whose property was booby-trapped with claymore mines, and if she didn’t hear from him in two hours, it meant he was dead. Hoping for some sympathy or further instructions, he was disappointed when she returned the text that simply said:

  I hope your will is updated.

  What Ted didn’t know was that Maggie did flinch at the text. So she called Annie, who then had a legitimate reason to get in touch with one Little Fish, who sounded delighted to hear from her. Delight went to ecstatic when she explained what she wanted.

  Chapter 12

  Annie used the excuse that she was going to go out to the kitchen to make fresh coffee while the girls looked through the profiles she and Myra had stapled together for their viewing benefit.

  In the kitchen, she did prepare the coffeepot, then pulled out her special phone. She scrolled down till she found the number she wanted. She drew her lips inward as she tried to calm her jumpy nerves. She was acting like some giddy teenager instead of the sixty-year-old woman she was. She released her bottom lip, then bit down on it as she sucked in her breath a second time before she pushed the button that would connect her to the man known as Little Fish.

  “Articulate,” came the response.

  “What kind of greeting is that, Mr. Fish?” Annie sputtered.

  “The kind of greeting one gets when their name doesn’t come up on my caller I.D. I haven’t heard from you in so long I thought you forgot about me, young lady.”

  Young lady. All riiiight. They were on the same page. “I…uh…I�
��ve been rather busy lately. I find myself in need of a favor, Mr. Fish.”

  “Ask and you shall receive, young lady.”

  Annie almost swooned as she watched the water drip into the coffeepot.

  “There’s a young man, a reporter, who…uh, works for me, in a manner of speaking. He would like to converse with you. I’d appreciate it if you would share your extensive knowledge with him.”

  “You would, eh? What’s in it for me, young lady? Are you trying to butter me up? Do you think I’m so easy that when a pretty lady asks me to do something, I’ll do it?”

  “Well, yes. That’s the short answer.” Pretty lady. Oh, be still my heart. “By the way, my people are still working on our…little business deal to buy the Babylon. My people tell me your people are a little slow out of the gate. I hope you aren’t going to tell me you ran out of money.”

  “Does Fort Knox run out of money? My people are just being thorough. My money is nesting in escrow along with yours, dear lady. I’d love to continue this conversation, but I see a rather strange-looking man sitting out on the road in front of my house.

  “Why don’t we arrange a time for me to call you when we can really talk? A personal conversation. Is there a specific time that works for you, young lady?”

  Annie’s knees threatened to buckle. A personal conversation. What would Kathryn and Nikki say to such a question? They’d probably tell her to play hard to get. Well, she didn’t want to play hard to get. She wanted to be available. Who cared what Nikki and Kathryn would say?

  “Why don’t we say after dinner my time. Before dinner for you. I have to go now, the girls are waiting for me.” Annie snapped the phone shut and slid it into her pocket. She wondered if her legs would hold her upright if she stood. This had to be her little secret. She could go into the bathroom after dinner to wait for the call. She had to keep the phone call a secret, or the others would tease her unmercifully. Yes, she knew how to keep a secret. When she was satisfied that her legs would indeed hold her upright, Annie barreled through the doorway and out to the war room, where she bellowed, “Girls, you are never going to believe this!” Only teenagers kept secrets. She was no fool. She needed advice. Big-time.