Fast and Loose

by Fern Michaels

  “Except for burner phone number nine, which is allocated to one Miss Kitty Passion. She does a lot of purring on the phone, and she also does a lot of ‘meowing.’ She is not yet a conquest, but Kelly is working on it with all deliberate speed. In other words, they have not as yet slept together. She seems to be playing hard to get, but Kelly is not taking no for an answer. As you will see when you read through all that is in front of you, the man has sent Miss Passion some very provocative messages.

  “I listened and was going to finish up, but somehow, for some reason, I just knew that I had to hack into Miss Passion’s phone. And let me tell you, I almost fell off my chair when I heard some of the conversations she had with her friends, who are collectively referred to as the Dixson Kelly Alumnae Club.”

  “I’ll knock you off that chair if you don’t spit it out, Tookus,” Harry said.

  Abner yawned again before he smacked his hands together to show he was about to get into it. “Okay, okay. Miss Meow is a shill. You all know what a shill is, right? Of course you do. You’re in the spook business. These women—and there are a lot of them, thirty or so—they’re all showgirls here in Vegas. All of them have had a relationship with Dixson Kelly. Except Miss Kitty Passion, also known as Meow. She’s new to Vegas, has only been here for a little over two years. One of the girls at MGM recruited her, and she’s all for it.

  “As I said, these women refer to themselves as the Dixson Kelly Alumnae. They are banding together to do . . . something to him. What, I don’t know. I went back and hacked into all their phones, but while they talked around it, up and down it, they never came outright and said what nefarious deed it is that they’re going to try to pull off.

  “One of the women—Kitty, I think—arranged a meeting in town, at a place called the Cat & Cradle, for Friday at noon. That was their original plan, but two of the women called and said they couldn’t get off their day jobs, so the meeting was moved up to today at noon. You all might want to think about attending.” Abner yawned again, barely able to keep his eyes open.

  “Did you get any sense of what this dastardly deed is that the women are planning?” Jack asked.

  “Yes and no,” Abner said, his eyes drooping.

  “Whatever it is, they said he would go to prison, and when and if he got out of prison, his dick would be the size of . . . I can’t remember the word they used, but it made me laugh out loud. These women are vicious. Can I go to bed now? Everything is there for your reading pleasure.” He tapped the tabletop to make his point before he stumbled out of the room.

  As one, those in the group looked at each other. Clearly, none of what Abner had told them was anything any of them had expected.

  “This might be the thread that does link Mr. Kelly to what Bert is worried about. Obviously, some of us need to attend this particular luncheon. I suggest Harry and Jack. But Cyrus has to stay behind on this one. Avery, I want you to put your two operatives on this,” Charles said, pointing to Abner’s report on the nine burner phones. “Sift through those messages and texts. Something might jump out at you. There might be something that Abner was too tired to pick up on. But only when you get back from the Cat & Cradle. You three need to be Harry and Jack’s backup at the restaurant.”

  Maggie jumped to her feet. “Charles, did you just say what I think you said? You’re sending men to do this, without a woman in tow! I can’t believe you would do that! What are you thinking? We either need to give Kelly the day off or just have the guys babysit him. I need to go to the Cat & Cradle. I can come up with a story and maybe get invited to join up since I already know the backstory. If they’re determined to burn Kelly, I might be able to add some fuel to the fire. By now, you all should know it pays to have someone on the inside, and I am obviously that someone.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Jack said. “Harry, what do you think?”

  Always a man of few words, Harry simply nodded and said, “Yeah.”

  “Then I guess that settles that,” Charles said. He looked at Maggie and smiled. “I don’t know what I was thinking, my dear. Forgive me. You are absolutely right. Now, is there anything else we need to discuss?”

  Sparrow spoke for the first time. “Abner mentioned that it might help if we could convince PIP to join the cause. While I am not a computer wizard, I do understand what he is talking about. Two sets of fingers tapping and hacking are better than one set. How about if I meander over to The Venetian and escort PIP back here, along with Mr. Snowden’s two operatives? I think we can smuggle her in.”

  Charles tapped the spook on the arm. “Are you in agreement, Avery?”

  Without taking his eyes off his reading material, Snowden nodded.

  “All right, then, let’s sit here and plan Miss PIP’s extraction,” Fergus said.

  “Hold on. Hold on. Should we inform Bert? We don’t know for sure that this little side venture has anything to do with why we’re here. He might not want us wasting our time on a gaggle of women wanting revenge on the man because they were scorned,” Jack said.

  “Let’s not tell him till after the luncheon. If it’s nothing of concern, all we’ve done is waste an hour or so,” Maggie said. “But if it will make you feel better, we can vote on it. Raise your hand if you’re in favor of holding off on informing Bert.” Every hand in the room went in the air. “Well, I guess that settles that!”

  Maggie was so gleeful, Jack cringed. Maggie could be the proverbial bull in a china shop. He relaxed almost immediately when he thought about the reporter’s uncanny ability to ferret out what needed to be ferreted out and make it seem natural.

  The group scattered to get ready for whatever the rest of the day held in store for them.

  * * *

  Philonias Needlemeyer stepped out onto his skinny terrace, coffee cup in hand, to view the new day. He loved spring. Hated summer because he sweated like a Trojan. He could take or leave winter. With nothing on his agenda, he might throw caution to the winds and take a walk, go to a park, feed pigeons, contemplate his navel, and think about the luncheon that he planned to attend tomorrow at the Cat & Cradle.

  Philonias finished his coffee, looked around at the new day from his lofty penthouse perch, then entered his apartment. He never bothered to lock his French doors. The only way anyone could enter the penthouse was by dropping from the sky. The thought always amused him.

  He looked down at his watch. Ten thirty. He’d slept in this morning, something he never did, unless he had a cold or the flu. But he hadn’t gone to bed until six o’clock, because he’d been up all night hacking into Bert’s, Kelly’s, and Pete Justice’s text messages. In the end, there had been nothing to alert him to anything of concern.

  It was eleven thirty when Philonias, showered, shaved, and coiffed, took his seat in his computer room. Half the day was already gone. He hated that. Now his whole day was ruined; his routine shattered. He might as well chalk it up to a wasted day and sit down and read a good book. But something perverse in him made him take his computer out of sleep mode and do something. He recalled his parents telling him as a child that one had to do something, no matter what it was, each and every day, or the day would hold no meaning. He still, to this day, subscribed to that old adage.

  Very little had happened in the early hours of the morning. If something had happened here at Babylon, a warning alert would have shown up the moment he brought his computer out of its sleep mode. That had not happened. Those four hours of sleep from six to ten had been an uneventful time. So, what should he do? He finally decided to check on Miss Kitty Passion to see if any other showgirls were going to attend the luncheon tomorrow besides the ones she had personally called herself. The Dixson Kelly Alumnae Club. He chuckled at the thought. If Kelly only knew.

  Philonias tapped the keys, then stared at what he was seeing. No! He blinked and then blinked again. “Damn it to hell! They changed the date!” The words exploded out of his mouth like gunshots. He forced himself to look at his watch. Eleven fifty. There was no way in
hell he could make it to town, even if he sprouted wings. Traffic in Vegas was horrendous no matter the hour of the day. In order to be on time for anything, especially in town, you had to allow for an extra hour traveling. Plain and simple, he was not going to the meeting of the Dixson Kelly Alumnae Club at the Cat & Cradle. Not tomorrow, not today, not ever.

  Fluent in five languages, Philonias cursed in all of them as he stomped his feet in frustration. He spent all of ten seconds wondering if there was some way he could still make it, even if he got there late. Lunches where women were concerned usually ran to ninety minutes, ditto for businessmen. He wasn’t stupid. Even if by some miracle he managed to get to town, he would have to enter the café and have everyone in the room stare at him, which then meant they would remember the big man. Not an option. He cursed again, this time more loudly.

  He was beaten, and he knew it.

  Angry and frustrated, he marched to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. While he heated it in the microwave, he munched on an apple. His day was truly ruined.

  All he could do was check his own phone texts, his e-mails, and when he was done with that, read some sappy novel that never should have been published in the first place. He had no idea what had happened to the publishing industry in the years since he came of age, but it seemed as if the bulk of what was published these days was either about vampires running around in fancy cars or heroines from the Regency period hooking up with some duke or earl who was either penniless or worth more than the queen of England.

  Maybe one of these days, he’d write a book. A book that would send people scurrying for cover for their blatant stupidity. Someday.

  Cup in hand, Philonias made his way back to his computer room. He took a gulp of coffee and yelped at his burned tongue. “Son of a bitch!” He plopped the cup down on the desk with such force, the hot coffee spilled and trickled down his pant leg. He cursed again.

  He knew in every pore in his body that things were closing in on him. He could feel it, and he could smell his own fear. The urge to cry was so great, he squeezed his eyes shut to ward off the burning feeling. When he finally opened them, he took deep breaths to calm himself down. Clicking the keyboard was hypnotic for him. Always was, always would be. Other people needed Xanax. All he needed was a computer keyboard to bring his world into focus and calm down.

  He tapped now to check his e-mails. He had hundreds, most of them meaningless. He would get to them eventually; he always did. What he didn’t see were any e-mails from TRIPLEM or PIP. He’d sent out two to each of them, and neither had been answered. In the past, he’d always gotten an instant response from his two star pupils. Philonias could feel his heartbeat escalate. He hacked into their phones. Dormant. No calls out in over twenty-four hours on either phone. PIP had a few incoming calls and texts. He read them. Nothing to send up a red flag. PIP’s calls concerned her organic seed business, she had a few personal texts about taking in a movie with a girlfriend, and the post office had called to say she had a package to pick up. Nothing there. He went on to TRIPLEM, only to see absolutely nothing.

  Nothing was worse than something. Alarm bells started ringing in his head. And then Philonias started to shake.

  Philonias looked around his lair. He’d lived here a long time. It was home. He loved it. The thought of possibly losing it brought tears to his eyes.

  He needed to get out of here, even if it was just for ten minutes. He remembered the promise he’d made to himself earlier, that he’d go for a walk to the park to feed the pigeons.

  And that was exactly what he was going to do. Right now, right this minute.

  Chapter 10

  Jack opened the door to the Cat & Cradle at precisely ten minutes to eleven, with Harry and Maggie behind him. He sniffed appreciatively. The smell of cheese and garlic permeated the air in the cozy old restaurant, which was a Las Vegas fixture. At least that was what the brochure at the hotel attested to.

  The Cat & Cradle was owned by a fourth-generation Italian couple: Stella and Tony Cor-dello. The place was nestled between two ricky-ticky casinos that were just as old as the Cat & Cradle itself. Over the years, the Cordellos, along with the owners of the two ricky-ticky casinos, had been offered millions for their little slices of real estate. Much to the chagrin of those making the offers, and renewing the offers at least once a year, the owners always turned them down. The response to the offers was always an impeccably polite “No thank you. We are quite happy with the way things are.” And despite attempts to get the city of Las Vegas to exercise its right of eminent domain and sell the property to those making the offers, the restaurant had such strong support in the city that no politician would go anywhere by taking it away from the Cordellos. Which protected the two casinos, as well.

  The eatery was overseen by the elder Cordellos, but they did little more than schmooze with the customers. The day-to-day operation was handled by two sons, two daughters, and assorted grandchildren, who milled about, filling water glasses, handing out extra napkins, helping with the to-go bags, which every customer left with. As the elder Cordellos said, the youngsters were learning to handle the practical side of the operation, which would one day be their own.

  When they first opened the place, the original owners, the first generation of Cordellos to own and operate a restaurant, had decided to serve only breakfast and lunch. Lunch would run to four o’clock, and then the place would be shut down and cleaned from one end to the other. The great-great-grandfather of the clan had said that money was more easily made by selling eggs, pancakes, and waffles than by serving a steak at night. His family had followed his tradition, and they all went home to their families at night, because that was where families belonged—at home. The kids, too, because they had to be up at four in the morning to start serving breakfast at six o’clock to the long line of customers waiting outside the doors.

  The decor was simple, comfortable, and homey, so much so, in fact, that the diners had to be prodded to leave once the bill was paid, so the others in line could take their place. Black-and-white-checkered curtains hung on the windows and were washed and starched once a week. The windows were also washed once a week and sparkled in the spring sunlight. The tables were round, solid oak, old, and scarred, full of character, with red-and-white place mats, which matched the cushions on the comfortable captain’s chairs that graced every table.

  The main dining area had eighteen tables, and off to the side was a special room for extra-large parties, called the Reservation Room. Off to the left and down a short hallway was the ladies’ room, and to the right and down an identical short hallway was the men’s room.

  Maggie took it all in at a glance, and she knew exactly where she wanted to be seated once she noticed that the long table in the Reservation Room, which could easily seat at least twenty people, was already set up. She immediately knew the table had been set up for the Dixson Kelly Alumnae Club.

  She locked eyeballs with a young, rosy-cheeked woman with merry eyes and a fat, curly ponytail running down her back. The girl smiled and asked how many were in their party.

  “Just three. We’d like to sit over there,” Maggie said, pointing to the table closest to the Reservation Room.

  The young woman, whose name tag said she was Emily, smiled and led the way to the table. Maggie looked at her watch. Eleven fifteen. Forty-five minutes to settle in and wait for the club members to arrive. She looked around and saw that the main dining room was already filled to capacity, so that meant they wouldn’t be booted out too quickly. She was allowing a full ninety minutes before the pert little hostess would show them the door.

  “What’s the plan?” Jack asked, looking around.

  “I’ll let you know when I figure it out. Truthfully, guys, I don’t think there is going to be a plan. I think I’ll just wing it. Don’t look at me like that, Harry. I’m pretty darn good at flying by the seat of my pants. I’ve found over the years that an opportunity invariably presents itself if you’re patient. You just have t
o be ready to seize the moment—you know, carpe diem—when you see it. A suggestion here . . . When our waitress comes to take our orders, say you need more time because everything looks so good, and you can’t decide. That will give us at least an extra ten minutes, not a minute more.”

  A little boy around seven or so carried one glass of water at a time, using both hands so he wouldn’t spill it, to their table. He grinned, showing his missing front teeth. He lisped when he spoke to welcome them to the Cat & Cradle.

  “I think this is going to work,” Maggie said. “As you can see, they’re really busy. They haven’t taken our drink order yet. When they come to do that, they usually ask if you’re ready to order. That’s when you say no and pretend to study the menu to gain time. If my calculations are right, we should be placing our food order just about the time that the members of the so-called club start to arrive. I think this place is the kind of place where, if you are not on time, they give your table to those who are waiting in line. I can see a long line outside from here.”

  “You look nervous, Maggie. You need to kick back here, or you’re going to blow it,” Jack warned, not liking how tense she looked.

  “I know. I know. I guess because my gut is telling me this is really important and has to do with what Bert is worried about. It’s my gut, so that could or could not mean something.”

  “I think so, too,” Harry said, surprising both Jack and Maggie that he had even been paying attention. Sometimes, Harry Wong was a mystery.

  “Here comes the girl to take our drink order. Play it up, boys.”

  All three ordered iced tea and begged for a few minutes. Maggie did her best to engage the young waitress in conversation by asking what the specials were and what the Cat & Cradle was best known for. The girl, who looked a bit frazzled, said everything on the menu was delicious and cooked from scratch, even the bread. She said she would be back in a few minutes. And that was the end of that.