Fast and Loose

by Fern Michaels

  Charles’s expression was one of alarm. “I don’t know if that’s wise, Maggie. I could see you going if you had backup, but going cold, that’s another story altogether. We need to discuss this, young lady.”

  “I’ll be fine, Charles. I can handle myself. Besides, they bought my tale of woe, and they’re ready to step up for the kill. I can feel it, sense it in every bone in my body. I also know who the ringleader is.” Maggie sat back and waited for comments, which came immediately.

  “What? They announced themselves?”

  “Are you guessing?”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know because I am a woman, and I pay attention. The ringleader is someone named Lena Adams. She’s the oldest of the group. I’d put her at around thirty-five or so, way too old to be in a chorus line. She’s been Botoxed into submission. The others have Botox, too, but not to the extent Lena has it. The other girls are midtwenties, with Kitty Passion being the youngest at twenty-three. She told me how old she was, so that’s how I know. They asked me my age, and I said thirty-nine, and they looked at me like I had sprouted a second head. What that means to you is that Dixson Kelly only likes them young, and they couldn’t figure out what he saw in me. And I am not showgirl material. No one mentioned Kelly’s name except for me, and I pretended to let it slip in the restroom. When Hana went out to get the others, I’m sure she mentioned my slip of the tongue. The name never came up again, which I found very strange. I’m onto something. I feel it. I just don’t know what it is.”

  “Do you think you’ll find out tonight?” Sparrow asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Maggie drawled. “Those women are out for blood. Look, they’re all looking for love, as the song goes. Some want a sugar daddy. Others just want security. Dixson knows all that, and he played them all. But it’s Lena who is leading the march here. That tells me she was hurt the most. That she truly did love him. Probably still does. But now she wants vengeance, and what better way than whatever it is they’re planning? I do not have a clue what that is yet, but I know it will be the end of Kelly if they pull it off.”

  “And you have no clue what that something might be?” Jack said.

  “At the moment, no. When I get back here tomorrow morning, I expect I will have the answer.”

  “Do you think that whatever it is, it has something to do with why we’re here? Where’s your gut or your reporter’s instinct on that?” Sparrow asked.

  “Right now, out in left field somewhere. If you absolutely need an answer right now, then I’d have to say yes and no.”

  “Tell us your observations on the women,” Fergus said, pad and pen in hand so he could jot down notes.

  “Like I said, Lena is Miss Botox herself. Also the oldest. Kitty, who likes to say meow a lot, is the youngest and, in my opinion, is awesomely beautiful. With the exception of Kitty, they are all surgically enhanced. Kitty is just plain perfect. A guy’s wet dream, if I can be so crude.”

  At the guys’ puzzled looks, she said, “They all have boob jobs. Showgirls need big boobs. And long legs. These women have it going on. Oh, one other thing. None of them work here at Babylon. Lena did back in the day, but she left and didn’t say why. She works at MGM now. She’s their lead dancer.”

  Maggie eyed the group and worried at their silence. “Okay, I had my say. So what did you guys learn while I was doing my gig?”

  Charles grimaced. “Abner and Miss PIP have come up dry. Both of them are disgruntled, especially Miss PIP. They can’t help us at the moment. Right now we are at a standstill. And mind me now, that fact alone is the only reason I am allowing you to go out to that ranch this evening. Just on the off chance that somehow, someway, you can tie the women into what Bert is worried about.”

  Maggie nodded. “Any word from Ted and Dennis? How’s that all going?”

  Charles grinned. “Not well. Mr. Kelly is tired of being photographed and making nice to the customers. Today he was supposed to explain how they transport the casino’s money to the bank. Armored cars, of course, but they have a foolproof system in play here. The nightmare of every casino owner is a robbery like in Ocean’s Eleven. Remember that movie? Young Dennis was eagerly awaiting that particular part of the interview. Ted simply said he was goddamned tired of babysitting Dixson Kelly. End of story.”

  “I know the feeling. The guy is a total bore. Or else he is one damn fine actor. Okay, people, I am off to get ready for my next adventure. You’ll see me when you see me.”

  “Maggie, wait. Are you presenting yourself as yourself, as Maggie Spritzer, star reporter for the Post? Or are you going in as someone else, you know, a fake name, a legend Charles created for you? What are you carrying with you, in case one of those women decides to go through your things?” Jack asked.

  “I’m going as me. Easier that way, and I won’t trip myself up. As Annie likes to say, this is not my first rodeo, guys. I’m not taking anything with me but my jammies and toothbrush. My ID, of course, but that’s it. You’re all suddenly looking like a bunch of mother hens. Relax. I know what I’m doing.”

  “What about the special gold shield and the encrypted phone? You are leaving those behind, right?” Sparrow queried. Maggie gave him such a disgusted look, Sparrow blanched. “Just asking. You can never be too careful. Sometimes you think you did something, and that’s it. You just thought you did, when, in reality, you didn’t do it at all.”

  Maggie showed the FBI director another disgusted look and left.

  “Guess we know where that leaves you on Maggie’s list,” Harry guffawed.

  The room went suddenly quiet when the door opened to admit Snowden, his two operatives, and the three new people he’d requested. All three of the new operatives were women. Introductions were made; then everyone took a seat.

  “I passed Maggie in the hallway. I’m sure she updated you all. I waited till all the women had left before I removed the bugs.” Snowden held out the little squares to Fergus.

  Fergus then took them to the other room, where Abner and PIP were still snapping and snarling at one another. He handed them over. He wagged a finger under both their noses and said, “You two need to give this up already and work together. You’re both acting like six-year-olds. Stop it right now!”

  Cyrus barked his approval of the order as his ears went flat against his head, his eyes on PIP.

  “He’s right, Abner,” Mary Alice said wearily. “I’m too tired to keep fighting with you. I just plain old give up. I don’t care what you do. I really don’t. At least we now know neither one of us will ever be as smart as RC. See, that’s why I don’t care anymore. It was always my goal to be better than him. It ain’t gonna happen. I know that now. Not now, not ever.” She swiped at her eyes with her shirtsleeve.

  “That was your goal?” Abner said in stupefied amazement. “Really?”

  “Really?” Mary Alice snapped. “Are you saying that wasn’t your goal?”

  “Hell no! My goal was and still is to never get caught.”

  “RC always said you and I were the best. If the two of us can’t crack him, then no one can. That doesn’t say much for you, Tookus, or me, either. I never wanted to find that out, and you people pushed my face in it. Now I have nothing to strive for. Nothing!” she cried pitifully.

  In spite of himself, Abner laughed. “Hey, PIP, you still have all those organic seeds you sell online. And you earn a living at it and file taxes like the rest of the world. That has to mean something.”

  “Yeah, well, you tell me what it means, Tookus. It means squat to me now. Oh, I get it. My new goal should be trying to be better than you, right?” She laughed, an ugly sound that Cyrus did not like. He moved forward. Mary Alice leaned backward. “Listen, dog, I was just giving my opinion here. No harm, no foul. Be a good doggy and go back to sleep.”

  Cyrus threw his head back and let loose with a howl that made the hair on the back of Abner’s neck stand on end. Everyone knew Cyrus did not like to be referred to as doggy. Abner explained this in gr
eat detail to PIP out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Okay, okay, I get it. Listen, Cyrus, I didn’t know. It was a slip of the tongue. I apologize.”

  Abner grinned as the big shepherd tilted his head to the side and stared at PIP, as though he was trying to decide if she was telling the truth. He made a snorting noise deep in his throat and went back on duty, sitting on his haunches as he eyeballed the female hacker.

  “Abner, tell me the truth here. Why are we doing this? What did RC do that has the FBI onto him, as well as that martial arts expert? I mean, what the hell? We’re hackers. You do it. I do it. We make money doing illegal hacking. Why aren’t they after us? What makes RC so different from us? Come on. What did he do?”

  “I can’t tell you that, Mary Alice. I would if I could, because I respect you and your talent. I like to think you and me and the others are smart enough to know how far to go, how to cover our tracks and not cross that invisible line. That’s how we’ve all survived so far. RC crossed it because he thought he was infallible. Personally speaking, I think he knows we’re onto him. Either he’s on the run, or he’s getting ready to wipe out our entire bloodlines. Right this moment, I think it’s the latter. These people I’m with . . . They’re the best of the best. Believe me when I tell you that. For now, you’re safe. Accept it, and you will have a life to go back to.”

  Mary Alice Farmer broke into tears as she tried to figure out where all this was going. Abner felt his own eyes beginning to burn and sting as he envisioned losing his opportunity to hack and having to live a life of leisure on the millions he had accumulated over the years. The vision was so depressing, he feared that he’d shoot himself in a week.

  In his and Mary Alice’s world, failure was never an option.

  * * *

  Upstairs in the penthouse, Philonias paced as he socked one big fist against the other. He muttered and mumbled as his pace picked up. He stopped in the middle of the dining room and looked around. He’d always thought of this space as his personal nest, which no one could invade. A fortress of sorts. He was comfortable and safe here. Safe being the operative word. He’d never felt anything his entire life other than safe and happy. Even as a child, he’d always felt safe. Perhaps his size had something to do with the feeling. He could understand, almost, how the kids, then the teenagers, and finally his college mates could be intimidated by his sheer size, and yet he’d never presented—at least he didn’t think so—a threatening attitude to anyone.

  He realized that he no longer felt safe. At least that was what he thought he was feeling. He was unsure, since he’d never felt emotions like what he was now experiencing.

  Philonias started to pace again. So maybe they were onto him. So what? They couldn’t prove a thing. Computer-wise, he was safe. There was no person walking the face of the earth who could pin anything on him. They could try. They would try. And while they were doing that, what would he be doing? Probably sitting in a cell that he could barely turn around in. Should he alert his lawyers? And tell them what? His worries, his suspicions? If he did that, it would make them, the attorneys, look at him with suspicion. Better to wait until they arrested him, if it came to that. But first they had to find him before they could arrest him, and that was not going to happen.

  Philonias stopped pacing again. He was in his sunroom, which had wraparound windows that offered him a view of the town he loved. At night, with the lights on and the stars shining, it was like his own magic wonderland. If he had to leave here, he would wither away and die. He was too young to die. Way too young.

  Maybe he was looking at this all wrong. Instead of hiding, instead of being such a recluse, maybe he needed to put himself out there more, actually become visible. But if he did that, wouldn’t people start to wonder why, since that was not his MO?

  Talk about being between a rock and a hard place.

  Philonias found himself standing in the doorway to the state-of-the-art kitchen he’d designed himself. He loved all the push buttons. Not that he was too lazy to do certain things. More like he enjoyed simply pushing a button and watching things unfold.

  Coffee sounded good, the flavored kind that he liked so much. Maybe the caffeine would create some kind of clarity and would help him decide what to do.

  He started the coffeemaker and sat down on an oversize bar stool, mesmerized as the water dripped ever so slowly into the pot. One plop at a time. Like his life to a certain extent. He needed to form a plan, a course of action. He needed to think outside the box and stop doing things the way he’d always done them.

  He thought about TRIPLEM and PIP. He knew deep in his gut that they could both give an accurate description of what RCHood looked like. What one missed in a detail, the other would pick up on until they had a clear picture of what he looked like. Then they would go the facial recognition route. There was no doubt in his mind that PIP, who was actually Mary Alice Farmer, was already in their clutches. Not one iota of doubt. TRIPLEM, Abner Tookus, was already here in Vegas, at Babylon. If whoever was after him, meaning Navarro and his people caught up with TRIPLEM, the first thing they’d do if they had any brains was have a sketch artist do a rendering of him from the details the two hackers offered up. From there, they’d run it through facial recognition, and bam! But they hadn’t done that. Yet. He knew because he’d hacked the program. But they had run PIP’s picture and come up with her identity. Not so Abner Tookus. Of course not. He was right here, front and center and part of whatever was happening. Why hadn’t they run his sketch? Sloppy work on their part. Or was it something else? If it was, he couldn’t figure it out.

  Philonias stared at the coffeepot. Funny, he thought, how the last plop always sounds different, the alert that the coffee is ready to pour. Man, he needed to get with the program here and stop thinking about plopping drops of water in a coffeepot.

  He carried his coffee cup, which was as big as a quart pot, back to his computer room. This time he set it down carefully and waited for the coffee to cool. He looked at the computers that graced every wall in the room. He knew that if every computer expert in the entire world walked into this room and sat down at any one of the computers, they wouldn’t be able to open a thing. An army of experts could disassemble each and every computer with the same results. He, of course, would be leaning up against the wall, laughing silently at what they were doing, knowing exactly what the outcome would be. Of course, the computers would all be ruined. Little did they know, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell them, that he’d worked diligently for over six months to set up this exact room in one of his many rental properties.

  Years ago, he’d bought a block of condos that were under construction. There were twelve in all. No one lived in any of them, because he didn’t want anyone seeing him coming and going. He paid the taxes and utilities on time. Each unit had a name attached to the title. Mail, mostly junk, was put through a slot on the main doors. He even went so far as to park cars in the designated parking spots, and he moved them every so often. And the condos were far enough out in the desert so that he didn’t have to worry about having neighbors wonder what was going on. He thought of it as a retreat of sorts.

  If nothing else, Philonias Needlemeyer was a thorough, dedicated man, true to his profession and to his creed of never being caught doing what he did. “Always have a backup plan” was his mantra. Until this moment in time, he thought of the condo complex as a safe harbor, never believing for a minute that he would need to avail himself of its safety. “Which just goes to prove that nothing lasts forever,” he muttered to himself.

  Philonias stared at his computer as he waited for it to boot up. He had one thing to do, and now was as good a time as any. With a few quick taps to the keys, he brought up TRIPLEM’s e-mail address. He started to type, his fingers as fast as his thoughts. Then he sent a duplicate text to Abner’s phone.

  Dear Abner,

  Yes, I know your real name. I know where you live, who your friends are, who you do work for. I know everything ther
e is to know about you. And about PIP, as well. I also know that you are at Babylon and that Mary Alice Farmer is with you. I had hoped never to have to write what I am now writing. I say that because I trusted you both. I helped you both 24/7 and never asked for a thing in return except your loyalty. You both failed me. Betrayal is such an ugly word, and yet that is what you did. You betrayed my trust in you. This may sound dramatic to you, but they, whoever they are, could have threatened to burn me at the stake, and I would never have divulged your true identities. Never.

  I miscalculated, misjudged you both, so I have to own it. You both have destroyed my trust. For what? What are you gaining from helping those people to find me? Money? I find that hard to believe since I made you both richer than you could ever have possibly imagined. I’ve asked myself a hundred times why you both would do this to me, your mentor. I can’t even begin to conceive the answer.

  This e-mail will be our last contact. Five minutes from now, RCHood ceases to exist. You and your people can try from now to the end of time to find RC, but all traces that he ever existed will be gone. A massive feat to handle, but I know that you both know I can do that. I am now dead to you and Mary Alice.

  As Mary Alice is with you, please relay this message to her since she has no access to her own computer network at this moment in time.

  Good-bye, TRIPLEM.

  Good-bye, PIP.

  Philonias sipped at his coffee, which was now almost cold. His eyes felt suspiciously moist, meaning tears were about to sting his eyes. His mother’s childhood words rang in his ears. Do not be a crybaby, Philonias. You are too big to cry, and it is not manly. How could he have been manly at the age of six? He’d read somewhere that crying was cathartic. Since he couldn’t remember ever crying, he didn’t know if it was true or false.