Fast and Loose

by Fern Michaels

  Charles walked the FBI director to the door and locked it once he closed it. He turned to Fergus. “He’s right, Fergus. Something isn’t right here in regard to Dixson Kelly. Thankfully, Maggie and the boys will be on him twenty-four /seven starting in the morning. They will keep him so busy, he won’t have time to worry about us.”

  Fergus threw his hands in the air. Another way of saying, “What will be will be.”

  Charles laughed. Yes, indeedy, what will be will be.

  * * *

  Avery Snowden steered the stolen SUV into the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour supermarket on the outskirts of Gilbert, Arizona. Next to the fancy-looking supermarket was a mom-and-pop café that said it served breakfast and lunch.

  “Here’s the plan. We have breakfast first, because it’s just seven thirty. We hit the supermarket, buy some flowers and balloons, then head to Mary Alice Farmer’s house on Primrose Drive. That should be around a quarter to nine or so, if we don’t mess around. I’ll sign the card ‘TRIPLEM,’ and with any luck, that will get us into her house. From that point on, we wing it.”

  Everyone agreed.

  “What if she doesn’t open the door, or worse, what if she isn’t home?” one of the operatives asked.

  “Then we’re screwed. Once she looks out her window, sees an SUV and me with a bunch of flowers and balloons, she won’t be able to resist opening the door if she’s home. If she isn’t home, we break in. Women are like that,” Snowden said flatly.

  The operatives looked at Snowden skeptically but decided it didn’t pay to argue with the boss. The group headed for the café, sat at a table for five, and ordered breakfast, which they gobbled down, and they were back outside and headed for the supermarket within forty-five minutes. The selection was easy: the flowers were already wrapped in green florist wrap and stuck in a clear vase that called for water. Snowden grabbed two bunches of roses mixed with multicolored tulips, then moved over to the clusters of balloons that were tied to a stick with sparkly sandbags at the end to weigh them down. He picked three bunches and handed them to one of his female operatives. He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the classy-looking lady ahead of him to pay for a bunch of ferns wrapped in green tissue paper.

  He sighed when the cashier said, “It’s nice to see you again, Claudeen. Bet you’re having a dinner party tonight, and the ferns are for your flower arrangement.”

  Claudeen laughed, waved good-bye without giving Snowden so much as a glance, her thoughts obviously on the dinner party she was planning.

  Snowden stepped forward. He handed over a fifty-dollar bill and pocketed the sixteen cents in change the cashier handed him.

  At seven minutes past nine, Avery Snowden walked up the path to Mary Alice Farmer’s house and rang the bell. The others watched from the SUV as they all waited to see if the front door would open. It did after Snowden hit the doorbell a second time.

  Tookus was right. Mary Alice Farmer was on the plain side, but she had a spark in her eyes and a lopsided grin. She looked at Snowden and said, “I think you are probably at the wrong house. No one ever sends me flowers and balloons. I’m thinking you might want the house two doors down. A young airline stewardess lives there, and she gets a lot of flower-and-balloon deliveries.” She made a move to shut the door.

  “Is your name Mary Alice Farmer? That’s who this delivery is for. From someone named TRIPLEM. Does that ring a bell?”

  “Ah . . . I . . . Let me see that card.” Snowden tilted his head to the bouquet and the small white card nestled among the flowers. He was pleased to see the instant recognition as the woman stepped aside for him to enter.

  “Where do you want these? The balloons are tied to bags of sand. The vase needs to be filled with water.”

  “In the kitchen, I guess. If you wait just a minute, I’ll tip you.”

  “No tips are allowed. Are you upset, ma’am? You sound . . . upset.”

  “Yes. No. I . . . just wasn’t expecting . . . I don’t under . . .” Oh, God, how did TRIPLEM find me. How?

  A chime could be heard coming from the front of the house, an indication that Mary Alice Farmer had a security system that alerted her when the door opened.

  “Oh, my God, someone just came in my house!”

  “It’s okay. They’re with me,” Snowden said.

  “What do you mean, they’re with you? Who are you?” Fear was written all over Mary Alice’s features as she hugged her arms to her chest.

  “Names aren’t important right now. I apologize for my trickery, but we weren’t sure if you would open the door to a stranger based on . . . your . . . uh, profession.”

  “Selling organic seeds?” Mary Alice shrilled.

  “No. Your hacking. Look, let’s cut to the chase here. TRIPLEM sent us. He’s in some trouble, and he wants us to take you to him. He thinks you can help him. Now, think about it, young lady. How would I know your pal TRIPLEM if he didn’t send me? You need to pack a bag and come with us.”

  “Well . . . I . . . I don’t think so. I can’t leave here. Tell . . . tell TRIPLEM to text or e-mail me. No. I’m not going.”

  “Trip did tell us that you would say that. He said to tell you that RCHood is onto you and him. He said you would understand what that meant. Do you?”

  Snowden didn’t think the young woman’s face could get any whiter. She swallowed and nodded.

  “Good. One of these ladies will help you pack a bag. Be quick about it. Now, as to all those computers I saw on the way to the kitchen . . . I am assuming you might want to take the hard drives with you?” It was a question.

  “Who . . . who are you?”

  Snowden didn’t bother replying as he and the other three operatives set about removing the hard drives from Mary Alice Farmer’s computers.

  Sixteen minutes later, they were settled in the SUV and headed for Vegas.

  Six hours later, Snowden drove into the underground garage at The Venetian.

  “We made good time. Those three hundred twenty miles really zipped by,” Snowden said, just to hear himself talk. “You guys go on up to the room. I need to . . . uh . . . return our wheels and let the others know we’re back. Don’t do anything but watch TV until I knock on the door.”

  “You’re spooks, aren’t you?” Mary Alice said. They were the first words she’d spoken since being abducted.

  “That depends on your definition of the word spook. Make sure you all have everything and are not leaving anything behind.”

  Snowden waited in the SUV until he saw the elevator door open. He watched as his people formed a cordon around their charge. The moment the elevator door closed, Snowden turned on the ignition.

  Snowden parked the SUV exactly where it had been parked previously. He checked again to make sure nothing was left behind, then wiped the vehicle down with Clorox wipes from his backpack to make sure no fingerprints remained inside or out. Satisfied that all was well, he peeled off five hundred-dollar bills and placed them in the glove box. He’d filled the tank right before pulling into The Venetian. The only thing he couldn’t fix was the 650 or so miles he’d put on the SUV. His best hope was that eighty-five–year-old John Masters, the owner of the SUV, wouldn’t notice the change in mileage.

  Phone in hand, Snowden sent off a text to Charles, reporting that he was on his way up to the concierge floor. The words MISSION ACCOMPLISHED were typed in capital letters.

  Chapter 8

  Jack was so antsy, he thought he’d explode as he paced the confines of the sitting room between Charles’s and Fergus’s suites. Cyrus had given up trailing him and sat by the door, waiting to see if his master’s furious pacing would lead to a walk with some food at the end. “I have to get out of here. I have cabin fever. I’m getting tired of asking what the plan is. Bert has sent six texts asking what we’re doing. We need to come up with something and fast.”

  “Look, Jack,” Snowden said, “tell Bert to hang on to his britches. There’s a right way and a wrong way of doing things, and s
imply because he has his knickers in a knot at the moment doesn’t mean we can or should move any faster—and, might I say, safer—than we are. We have PIP in a secure location. We can head on over there and start to grill her, but that means we have to pull Espinosa off the Post detail with Maggie. That might, I say might, raise a red flag with Kelly.

  “We need Espinosa to do a sketch if PIP can remember what RCHood looks like. Abner said she has a pixel-sharp photographic memory, so right now Espinosa is our best bet,” Snowden explained, his eyes on Charles to see if he agreed with his assessment of the situation.

  Charles nodded.

  “What did you think of PIP?” Abner asked Snowden.

  “You mean Mary Alice. There wasn’t a peep out of her on the ride here. She was quiet, stubbornly so, for the whole six hours. She put up a token resistance at the beginning, nothing we couldn’t handle. She’s fearful. You were right, Abner, when you said she has a fill-in-the-blanks personality. You’re her peer. I’m sure she’ll open up to you. Make no mistake. We cannot let her go until this mess is over and done with. We can’t have her out there, floundering around and getting in touch with your head guru. You’re good with that, her being a friend and all, right?”

  Abner sucked on his lower lip and nodded. “I’m good with everything. Mary Alice is the one you have to worry about. She’s active, and I’m on the sidelines. Make no mistake. Her loyalty is to RC. I just keep my hand in the pot so I can keep up with the latest . . . um . . . you know, tricks.”

  Fergus held up his special phone, on which a text was showing. “Espinosa will meet us at The Venetian. Since he is the photographer, he said he left something behind back home for his camera and has to head out to a camera shop to buy a new part. Once he gets to The Venetian, if Miss PIP cooperates, he can get us a workable sketch in less than half an hour. My advice is to scatter, and we’ll meet up there as we get there. Go in pairs, since that should mean less scrutiny.”

  Jack, Harry, and Cyrus were out the door in a nanosecond. The others followed at ten-minute intervals.

  Sparrow and Abner were the last to leave the suite, talking as they walked.

  “Something is bothering you, Sparrow. I can see it on your face. Want to talk about it or . . .”

  “I can’t put my finger on it, Tookus. Something’s off. I’d like to get inside Kelly’s apartment for a look around. Even I know I can’t do that, but Snowden should be able to pull it off. When the hair on the back of my neck moves, I know something isn’t right. I have good instincts. All those years in the field, when the only thing I could depend on was my instincts, and they never once failed me, are at work. I don’t expect you to understand that.”

  “Oh, but I do. My left eye twitches when something’s wrong or trouble is brewing. I understand fully. You have any ideas?”

  “I really think Kelly is a straight arrow. Otherwise, Bert wouldn’t have hired him in the first place. Annie likes him. She’s a shrewd judge of character. If he is involved in whatever is going down, I do not think he is aware of it, at least not yet. I think he’s like us, trying to figure it out and wondering why Bert hasn’t included him in the loop. Is that your take on things, Tookus?”

  “It is. I think Jack and Harry agree. When we get to The Venetian, we can share your concerns with Snowden and have him do a little B and E. I heard Jack say—I think it was yesterday—that Kelly had a condo in town. He just moved into Bert’s apartment at Babylon when Bert left for China. He works long hours and is on call around the clock, so it makes sense for him to be on the premises. He also keeps a room here, which is off-limits to everyone. The guy has it going on. That’s for sure. So our bottom line here is we think he’s clean and is just like us, trying to figure out what’s going on.”

  “That’s my take. Okay, we’re here. How do you want to do this? We splinter off? You go your way, I go mine, and we meet up in room four-twelve?” Sparrow asked.

  Abner nodded and headed left, to a bank of slot machines that were ringing so loud, his ears hurt. He didn’t look over his shoulder to see where Sparrow was going. Looking over one’s shoulders was for the real spooks, like Sparrow, Jack, Harry, and the others. He was just a geeky nerd who could hack his heart out. No one ever paid attention to people like him. Big mistake, he thought grimly as he shoved a twenty-dollar bill into a slot machine and pressed the red button. He almost jumped out of his shoes when a dazzling bright light started to spin over his machine. And then the bells and whistles started shrieking. So much for being an anonymous geek.

  Other players gathered around his stool to see what he’d won. He was curious himself, as an attendant with a false smile slapped a form in front of him to sign for the IRS. “What did I win?” Abner asked as he scrawled his name on the form after showing the man his driver’s license and a credit card. The attendant in the crimson jacket compared the signatures and handed them back.

  “Eleven grand, mister. It’s my job to tell you to gamble wisely. There, I told you. You can cash out at the cage to your right.”

  Abner trotted over to the cage, presented his chit, and watched the elderly woman count out hundred-dollar bills and then stuff them in an envelope. She handed it over with a flourish and a warning. “That’s a lot of money to be carrying around, son, so be careful.”

  Abner nodded. He wished there was a way to contact Isabelle so he could tell her that he’d won eleven grand. She’d laugh and say she needed a new pair of Jimmy Choo shoes or a new Chanel bag, or else she’d say something silly, like “Let’s put it in the bank for a rainy day.”

  Before he knew it, he was standing in front of room 412. He knocked loudly. Snowden opened the door and locked it immediately once it closed behind Abner.

  “Abner! That’s your real name! Well, I’m going to make you wish you were never born, Abner! Just as soon as I finish with these people! What do you have to say for yourself, Abner Tookus?” Mary Alice, aka PIP, screeched at the top of her lungs.

  Cyrus reared up and growled deep in his throat, a menacing sound that PIP ignored. No damn hairy dog was going to intimidate her. Cyrus growled again to let her know he wasn’t intimidated by her, either.

  Abner threw his hands in the air. “Whoa! Whoa! I’m sorry. No! Actually, damn it, I am not sorry at all. Listen, PIP, don’t go all nuclear on me. You need to help these people. And stop being such a hard-ass. I know you’re afraid of RC and worried you’re going to end up behind bars. Just listen, okay? We’re your safe port in this storm.”

  “What?” Mary Alice screeched again. “Did you forget what he said he’d do if we ever tried to put a face to him? Well, I didn’t forget. I have a bloodline, a long bloodline. And I want to keep that bloodline alive and well. Do you hear me?” Her voice was so shrill that Abner had to cover his ears.

  Cyrus decided to take matters into his own hands. His ears went flat against his head as he tucked his tail between his legs. He bared his teeth as he advanced toward the screaming woman. This time, PIP took a good look at the snarling dog and clamped her lips tight as she sat down. Cyrus squatted right in front of her.

  Harry reached over and tweaked his ear. She went quiet, her eyes suddenly glassy. Cyrus moved off after he nudged Harry’s leg and was rewarded with a hard tickle behind his ears.

  “You need to lower your voice, young woman. We do not want to disturb the other guests in the hotel. Now, in case you are thinking about telling my colleague and our resident sketch artist something other than the truth in regard to Mr. RC, don’t. If you do, I will permanently relocate your nose to right under your left eye. Can you visualize how you would look if that were to happen?” Harry asked quietly. “Good, good. I see you are following me here. Please be accurate in your description.”

  Mary Alice’s head bobbed up and down. “Who . . . who are you? All of you, who are you?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

  “No one you want to take home to meet your mother,” Jack said so quietly, PIP had to strain to hear the words. “We’re counting on th
at pixel-sharp photographic memory that Abner said you had. I know you don’t want to disappoint us.” Jack turned his back on her and winked at Abner. Women were so predictable. He gave Cyrus a thumbs-up. Cyrus woofed softly.

  “Are you sure about those ears? They look too big,” Espinosa muttered as he stared at the picture he was sketching.

  “I’m sure. I told you RC is a very large man. That means his head is big, and so are his ears. Everything matches up to his size. I know what I saw and what I remember. Show it to that Benedict Arnold over there,” PIP said, tilting her head to where Abner was standing, “to see if that’s how he remembers him.”

  Espinosa waved the picture under Abner’s nose. Other than having a little more detail, Mary Alice’s memory of RC was almost a duplicate of the sketch Espinosa had made based on Abner’s recollection.

  Charles intervened. “Had you ever seen the man before that particular convention?”

  “No. I’ve never seen him since, either. All of our contact is via e-mails and texts. He’s never gone to another convention, to my knowledge, and I did ask around. I was just as curious as your pal over there. RC doesn’t have to go to those things. He’s the head guru.”

  “You did a remarkable job of describing the man to my colleague here. Is there anything else you remember about his person? I know it’s a lot to ask, but it is vitally important. Please think. What, if anything, do you remember?” Charles said in his most complimentary voice.

  “He was like a giant. Think Jack and the Beanstalk. Not just big. Really big. He dwarfed the room. Took it over. He was the eight-hundred-pound gorilla that day, and we were all so in awe of him. I was very jealous when he singled out Tookus over there, because he was just a green kid. I think he would have to special order his clothes. That’s how big he was.