Razor Sharp

by Fern Michaels

  Lizzie’s laugh tinkled around the office as Cosmo turned off his computer and the lights. Being the last one out, he locked the door and followed his dinner companions to the elevator. He felt lower than a snake’s belly when he stepped into the elevator. Maybe Bert was right. Maybe.

  Jack Emery walked out of the courthouse. He broke into a full sprint to get to the lot where his car was parked. By the time he got to his car, he was soaked to the skin. Only then did he realize that the headache, which had plagued him all day, was gone. It was already late, 4:50, according to his watch and the clock in the car. No point in going back to the office. He could go in a half hour early in the morning and do what he had to do. He debated all of two minutes as to whether he should go home or stop at Harry’s dojo. For some reason he always felt better when he was with good old Harry. Someday he was going to take the time to try to figure it out. He kept a change of casual clothes in his locker there, so that was another reason to stop by. The dojo was a good place to play catch-up on the day’s events. For all he knew, all kinds of things that he wasn’t privy to might have gone on while he was in court.

  With the rush hour traffic and the rain, it took fifty minutes to get to Harry’s place. He swung into the narrow alley that led to one of the four parking spots allotted to the dojo. The small lot was empty except for Harry’s motorcycle with its plastic cover. Harry babied his wheels the way a mother protected a newborn.

  Jack was drenched to the skin a second time even though he ran at the speed of light to the back door of the dojo. He fished around in his wet pocket for the key Harry had given him a long time ago. To his knowledge, he was the only one other than Harry who had a key. He remembered how honored he’d felt at the time, how choked up he was. Then Harry had called him a shithead, and the warm, cozy feeling was gone. Harry was never comfortable when other people said nice things to him or about him. Jack knew if Harry ever needed an organ transplant, he’d be first in line to donate one of his, assuming he had two of whatever Harry needed.

  Jack opened the door. His jaw dropped, then he squeezed his eyes shut, blinked, and blinked again. His voice was so shocked, he couldn’t believe it was his own when he said, “Harry! Is that you? Holy shit, talk to me, Harry! Who died?” he asked desperately.

  “Eat shit, Jack. It’s me. You know it’s me.”

  “Harry! You’re wearing a suit! You don’t own a suit! And it’s an Armani!”

  “No one died. I bought it. I have a personal shopper at Nordstrom who picked it out. What do you think? He said this is a power tie. Is it a power tie, Jack? The shirt is raw silk.”

  “Hell, yes! Raw silk? What the hell is raw silk? I think you’re lying to me. Someone must have died. How much did that outfit cost?”

  “I told you, no one died. It cost…none of your damn business. Why do you care anyway?”

  “I care because…because I care. Are you planning on getting married? What’s with the fancy duds! By the way, you planning on wearing that getup on your motorcycle?”

  Harry was already ripping at his power tie and raw silk shirt. “Not that it’s any of your business, but next week I have an appointment at the bank to apply for a loan to remodel this place. You happy now that you know my business?”

  “Yeah. Put me down for a character reference. I’ll do you proud, buddy. I bet you could use Maggie, too. And Judge Easter and Elias Cummings. See what a ray of sunshine I am on this miserable, wet day? Anything else going on?”

  Harry’s voice was muffled as he undressed behind a rice paper screen. It sounded to Jack like he said that nothing was going on.

  “I see you didn’t get around to opening this box of mail. Guess you were too busy shopping.” Jack guffawed. “Let’s call Maggie and have her and the Post buy us some dinner. If anything went on today, she’ll have the latest. We’ll go in my car, though. And we need umbrellas.”

  Harry walked around from behind the screen. “You plan on wearing those wet clothes or what?”

  “Nah, you just took my breath away in all of those fancy duds. Whatever is wrong with me? I bet you could pose for GQ. I feel the need to tell you that your suit calls for shoes, not open-toed sandals. No one will give you a loan if you don’t wear shoes. Shoes, Harry!”

  “I have shoes, Jack. Look! Nine hundred bucks. Bally shoes.”

  Jack pulled on a sweatshirt that said GEORGETOWN on the back. “Did you try them on, Harry?”

  “No. The guy just picked them out.”

  “You never wear shoes, Harry. That means you are going to get blisters if they don’t fit right, and I don’t give a shit how much you paid for them. You have to wear socks, too. How much did that personal shopper charge you?”

  Harry had an ugly look on his face when he looked down at the shoes in the box he was holding. “Nothing, the service was free. They hand-delivered it. That was free, too.”

  “My ass, it’s free. Nothing in this life is free. They build that service into the cost of what you buy. You could have hired me, and I would have gotten you the same thing. Okay, I’m ready. Are you calling Maggie, or am I?”

  The ugly look was still on Harry’s face when he closed the shoe box and threw it across the room. “You call.”

  Not liking the look on Harry’s face, Jack yanked out his cell phone and keyed in Maggie’s cell phone number.

  “She said okay. Squire’s Pub. She’s buying. Hey, Harry, look at it this way, that suit will last you forever. If a funeral pops up, you’re good to go. If you decide to marry Yoko, you got a classy suit unless she wants you to wear a tux, at which point you’ll have to find a personal renter.”

  “You are just too stupid for me to admit I know you,” Harry said as they walked out. “I’m going to sit in the backseat so no one will see me with you.”

  “Oh, get over yourself. Put your ass in the car and shut up. I have a funny feeling in my stomach that something happened today, or else something is going to happen.”

  “I hate it when you get those feelings, Jack.”

  “You can’t hate it more than I do, Harry.” Jack turned on the ignition, then the windshield wipers, but he didn’t shift gears. Harry looked at him expectantly.

  “I need to tell you something, Harry. I don’t want to, but…I need to say it out loud to…someone.”

  “What? Are you saying I’m good enough to tell or not good enough to tell? Or am I the only one you would consider telling whatever the hell that is eating you?” Harry asked, his tone surly.

  Jack pondered the question as the wipers slashed back and forth across the windshield. “Yes. No. Hell, I don’t know. Will you just listen?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Harry turned sideways, as did Jack, so they were facing each other.

  “Look, maybe it’s more of a confession. Don’t say anything, just let me spit this out since I’m finally getting up the nerve to say it out loud. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when I heard the Vegas madam was dead. No, don’t misunderstand. I don’t mean I wanted her dead, I just wanted her gone. Because if Lizzie represented her, that would mean I’d have to prosecute. Lizzie is the best of the best. She’s a legend in her own time. Me and every prosecutor in the office…We’re afraid of her. The minute she walks into a courtroom, she fucking owns the place. None of us have ever won a case she defended. One time I…Christ, I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but one time I actually, honest-to-God faked a ruptured appendix to get out of a case she was defending. The case was then assigned to Josh Maddox. That was seven years ago, and the guy has never spoken to me since. He lost. Lizzie not only chewed him up, she spit him out. I love Lizzie like a sister, and I know she feels the same way about me, but when she gets in the courtroom, she’s like no one you’ve ever seen. We aren’t brother and sister then. They don’t come any better than Lizzie. Yeah, I’m jealous.”

  Harry cocked his head to the side and looked at Jack. “So, let me get this straight. You’re saying Lizzie can out-lawyer you? You, Jack Emery, you of the silver tongue, y
ou who knows everything? You’re afraid of a lady lawyer.”

  Jack looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, Harry, that’s what I’m saying.”

  Harry unbuckled his seat belt, got out of the car, then opened the back door, climbed in, and buckled up.

  Jack turned around. “Why are you sitting back there?”

  “You dumb shit, now I definitely don’t want anyone to see me with you.”

  Jack’s shoulders slumped. He shifted gears and started to back out of the small lot. His foot slammed on the brake when he felt a hand on his shoulder. A firm but gentle hand. A comforting hand. Harry’s cockamamie way of saying he understood and it was okay.

  Chapter 20

  Myra clicked off her cell phone and turned to Annie and the girls. “That was Maggie, and she had a startling piece of information to share with us.” Seeing that she had everyone’s attention, she continued. “Cosmo Cricket received a phone call a while ago from the Vegas madam, one Crystal Clark. She is alive, safe, and well, and supposedly out of the country. She told Cosmo she logged on to the Internet, and, I would assume, the Nevada papers online, and read about her own demise in a car accident. It seems she stopped to say good-bye to a friend before she left Vegas and while she was visiting with the friend her car was stolen. The friend rented a car for her under the friend’s name and Ms. Flowers, as we know her, continued with her journey to the safe place where she is now residing.

  “Bert was there in the office with Lizzie when the call came through. He stopped only to tell them he was closing the case at the request of the White House. Lizzie called Maggie to give her a phone number for one of Crystal Clark’s…working girls, and then said her work is done and she’s going on a short honeymoon with her new husband.

  “Bert will take a seven o’clock flight back to D.C. Maggie is meeting up with Jack and Harry as we speak to share this new news. I find this all beyond bizarre.”

  “What does it mean, Myra—is our mission off or on?” Isabelle asked.

  “The mission is on. We were never concerning ourselves with the madam, only her clients. I guess the question is, are we clear on everything? Should we go over it one more time before we leave the mountain?”

  The Sisters looked at one another and shrugged.

  “It won’t hurt to go over it one more time,” Alexis said.

  Annie stepped forward. “From the moment we arrive at our target area, our window of time is two hours and thirty minutes. That time is carved in stone via Lizzie and POTUS. Don’t confuse our thirty minutes of prep time with the actual mission time.

  “As we speak a heavy-duty Dumpster is being delivered to Paula Woodley’s house. Within the next hour, even though it is night, a delivery of roof shingles is also being delivered. Earlier in the afternoon a tree truck arrived. The tree people left their truck with the cherry picker and wood chipper. Around five thirty a FOR SALE sign was posted in Paula’s front yard, with an extender that says there will be a two-and-a-half-hour open house tomorrow. And all the renovations and price reductions will be discussed at that time in order to boost the sale of the house. Those neighbors who haven’t seen the Dumpster, the sign, the tree truck, and the shingles will see them first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Myra looked down at her notes. “Four, possibly five, White House cars will be picking up the neighbors for the Middle America Main Street luncheon that President Connor is hosting. It’s been played up big on the news all day today. The pickup is scheduled for eleven o’clock. A half-hour ride to the White House will get the neighbors there at eleven thirty, give or take a few minutes. There will be a photo op with POTUS that will take anywhere from thirty to forty-five minutes. Possibly an hour. Then a two-hour lunch, with a short speech by President Connor, some more handshaking, a little personal conversation, then the neighbors will be taken back to their homes, each of them carrying a personal White House memento signed by the president. Hopefully, if all goes well, we’ll be in and out by then and on our way back to the mountain.”

  “An open house and all those fake home repairs! We might have boxed ourselves into a real mess,” Nikki said. “Our…uh…guests might be a little shy about being seen at that house with so much activity going on.”

  “But they’ll be afraid not to show,” Alexis said. “Are we still going to do half and half?”

  “Yes,” Kathryn said. “Half will come through the kitchen and half will come through the front door. It’s going to be interesting to see how many show up. We’ll round them all up and work out of that huge family room. The boys will be watching our backs. Ted and Espinosa will just be themselves, human interest in the neighborhood that got picked to be the first of many to be invited to Main Street luncheons at the White House.”

  “And where will Avery Snowden’s people be?” Yoko asked.

  “Inside in one of the bedrooms. Supposedly they’re the tree and roof people,” Nikki said.

  Their orders understood, everyone left the room.

  Ahead of the girls, Myra and Annie huddled, whispering to each other.

  “They’re up to something,” Kathryn said as she pointed to Annie and Myra and whispered to Nikki, “I can feel it.”

  “I know,” Nikki whispered in return.

  Kathryn leaned closer to Nikki so her voice wouldn’t carry. “Do you really think the vice president is going to be able to ditch his security detail and come to Kalorama under his own power?”

  “Yeah, I do. If we’re right—that this was his plan all along to destroy Martine Connor—he’ll be there. Being a heartbeat away from becoming the president is all the impetus he needs to meet up with the madam to try and keep her quiet. He hasn’t, at least I don’t think he has, considered that the other campers are going to be in attendance. He’s toast,” Nikki said.

  “Do you think he knows the real madam is still alive?”

  “No, Kathryn, I don’t think he does. Isn’t he going to be surprised? At this time yesterday, he thought he was just a hair away from having Martine Connor stepping aside. I would guess that he thinks he’s ready to step right into her shoes without missing a beat. Well, maybe not today literally but as soon as he can leak or anonymously call the media and mention names, and then the tsunami begins.”

  “Mr. Snowden is on board?” Yoko asked.

  “He’s one of the uh…roofers,” Annie said. “Jack and Harry, properly attired, will be Realtors and will be driving a van with a fictitious logo on the side. Ted and Joe Espinosa will be just who they are, Post reporter and photographer. Keeping the reading public informed.”

  “What if people show up for the open house?” Kathryn asked.

  “I don’t see that happening, but if it does, Mr. Snowden’s people will divert them.”

  “I don’t know if I am one hundred percent comfortable using Paula Woodley’s house a second time. In my opinion, that’s just inviting trouble,” Isabelle said.

  “I can see why you would think that, but nothing will happen,” Kathryn said. “No one will expect us to return to the same place a second time. We can’t allow ourselves to think along those lines. It’s too late to have second thoughts. We’re on, so to speak.”

  “And the johns, or the clients, whatever you want to call them—what if they don’t show?” Nikki asked.

  “That is also being taken care of as we speak. Just about now Maggie should be,” Annie said, looking down at her watch, “calling Miss Brandy, who will then have the other working girls call all of their clients, thanks to Martine Connor giving Lizzie the Happy Campers’ personal cell phone numbers. Lizzie even gave me the president’s private cell in case something goes awry. That was so generous of her. Each of Lily’s girls will explain about the real estate open house, mentioning the roofing people to prove to them they’re serious about a meeting. They’re going to tell the campers to show up or they’ll go to the media. A diversion as well as a command performance for their safety and security, so to speak. I think we can be certain attendance will be a hundred percent.”


  “And the vp’s arrival? That might prove a little tricky,” Kathryn said.

  “Maggie is making that particular call herself. Not as Maggie Spritzer, of course, but as Crystal Clark’s very good friend,” Myra said.

  The Sisters looked at one another, then shrugged as one.

  “Then I guess we’re good to go,” Nikki said.

  “I hear the cable car,” Yoko said. She strained to see out the window. “It’s two of Mr. Snowden’s men.”

  “With everything going at breakneck speed, I guess I forgot to tell you I had Avery send two of his people to see to the dogs and to guard the mountain while we’re away. I do believe they are the same two who took care of the mountain and the dogs when we left for Utah,” Annie said briskly. “Alexis, you have your Red Bag?”

  “I’m good to go, Mom.”

  Annie laughed. She absolutely loved it when the girls called her that.

  The Sisters trooped out to the cable car. The two men saluted smartly as they strode past the departing women. Murphy and Grady, knowing the drill, turned and followed the two men. Myra held open the gate to the cable car while Annie and the girls stepped inside.

  A minibus with lettering that said it belonged to the Northeastern Fellowship Federation, which didn’t exist, would be at the bottom of the mountain. It would carry the women to Washington, with Kathryn doing the driving.

  “We should get to D.C. about two in the morning,” Yoko said. “We park, we sleep till the sun comes up, then we ride around and hope we don’t get caught until it’s time to go to Paula Woodley’s house. Do I have that right?”

  Annie and Myra listened indulgently to the girls’ grumbling as the cable car descended. Neither Myra nor Annie liked the idea of sleeping on the bus either, but kept their opinions to themselves.

  “You do have it right, dear,” Myra said cheerfully as she hopped into the bus and took her seat.

  “I’m excited,” Annie said just as cheerfully as she climbed in beside Myra.