Deceptive Practices

by Simon Wood

  “What do I do? Can you help me?”

  Roy contained a smile. He liked it when they played into his hands. “You can run, of course. I can help you with that, but there are no guarantees. Besides, it’ll cost money to set you up with a new identity in a new location. Do you have any more money?”

  It was a cruel question on Roy’s part. They both knew the answer to that. All the money Townsend had in the world sat on the table between them. Townsend eyed his dirty cash. So close yet so out of reach. His gaze fell away, and he shook his head.

  “You can try running on your own. I doubt you’d get far. Living off the radar is damn near impossible.”

  “Stop. Just stop. You’ve made your point. I’ll turn myself in to the cops.”

  “You do have another option. It’s very doable and comes at no extra charge.”

  “What is it?”

  There was no hope in Townsend’s eyes. He’d surrendered. That was good. He was just where Roy wanted him.

  Roy reached inside his briefcase and produced a gun. The .38-caliber revolver was one of many unregistered weapons he had available to him. He put it on the table in front of Townsend.

  “I think if you’re truly honest with yourself, you know you won’t do well in prison. I don’t mean to be disparaging. Not many people do. That’s why there are so many law-abiding people.”

  “Is it loaded?” Townsend asked.

  “Yes.”

  Townsend picked up the weapon and examined it. Roy fought the urge to give instructions. They weren’t necessary. Townsend would figure it out all by himself.

  “This is my escape?” Townsend asked.

  “If you want it.”

  Townsend aimed the gun at Roy.

  Roy’s pulse remained steady. He’d had a lot of guns aimed at him over the years. Very few people were capable of murder. Townsend wasn’t one, or he would have taken care of his wife himself.

  “And what is your escape?” Townsend asked.

  “I just take my money and disappear.”

  “And what if I change that for you?”

  “You can, but you won’t. You want someone to blame. I get that. But remember, you came to me. You wanted this, and it didn’t work out for you the way you had hoped. Killing me won’t rid you of your guilt for your part in this.”

  “My wife is dead.”

  “I know.”

  “I didn’t want that.”

  “No one ever does.”

  Townsend’s grip tightened on the .38, but Roy saw no conviction in his eyes. “I should kill you.”

  “But you won’t.”

  Townsend let his arm go slack. “Get out. I’m tired of you and your theories.”

  Roy nodded. He piled the cash back into the briefcase and walked out. While he waited for the elevator to arrive, he listened to Townsend sob, spew self-incriminating rhetoric, and call out his wife’s name. Just as the elevator doors opened, the gun went off.

  Roy let the elevator go and returned to the office. He staged the scene a little better to make it more conducive to a suicide. He took everything he and Townsend had brought to the office building—the travel case, the binoculars—leaving only the incriminating evidence and the gun.

  On the ride down to the lobby, he called home.

  “Is it done?” Beth asked.

  “Yes. I have the money, and Townsend’s body will be discovered by security in the morning. Another piece of good news is that Olivia Shaw is ready to go. There’s a lot more mileage with her than with Townsend.”

  “Then make all the necessary arrangements.”

  “Already on it. See you tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Olivia listened to the prerecorded voice telling her to leave a message again. She threw the cell phone across the room. It hit the sofa and bounced onto the floor.

  “Goddamn you, Roy.”

  She hadn’t heard anything from Infidelity Limited since she’d paid them the two grand. Every time she tried to get in touch, she got the same message. Roy had assured her that she’d see results in a few days, and there’d been nothing. It had been two weeks. Infidelity Limited was a scam. She was convinced of it.

  In the meantime, she’d been forced to watch Richard carry on as normal. That was the worst part of this farce—the knowing. When she’d lived in ignorance, it was fine. But now, to know for sure that her husband was cheating and have to pretend she was as dumb as he believed her to be was excruciating.

  Since it was his Thursday night “squash game,” she grabbed her car keys and peeled out of the garage. If Infidelity Limited wasn’t going to do its job, then she would. She cut across town to her place.

  Her. She would like to know her name. It was one of those things that she hoped Infidelity Limited would find out for her. She was tired of thinking of her as that bitch, that slut, that tramp.

  She pulled up in front of the house. The place was in darkness, and Richard’s car wasn’t parked outside. Tonight’s festivities were happening elsewhere.

  She climbed from the car, leaving the engine running. A tingle ran through her when she set foot on the woman’s property. This was the source of her misery. She went up to the door and pressed the doorbell. When no one answered, she banged on the door and yelled Richard’s name. Still nothing.

  Wrong again, she thought. Wrong place. Wrong time. Tears welled up and spilled down her face. They burned a path across her flushed cheeks. She felt like kicking in the door, but what was the point? She returned to her car and got behind the wheel.

  She sat there for a moment, contemplating her next move. Go home. Richard would eventually return to her. He always did. It was so passive. And that was her problem. She had taken a backseat to her problems. She never used to, but somehow she’d fallen into lazy ways. What was she going to do now? She could trawl the streets for them, but she wouldn’t find them. If she couldn’t take her frustrations out on Richard and his slut, someone else would have to do, and she knew just the person—Clare. She’d put her in touch with Infidelity Limited. She had some explaining to do.

  She turned the car around and drove to Martinez. With her foot down, she made the journey in minutes. She turned the corner onto the narrow road where Clare’s trailer sat. A pickup blocked Clare’s aging Honda Civic in its carport. The pickup’s driver, a heavily built, balding guy, circled the trailer like a hungry animal with a whiff of prey in its nostrils.

  Olivia pulled up alongside the pickup.

  The driver circled back around to the front of the trailer and thumped on the door with a fist. “C’mon, Clare. I know you’re in there. Get your ass out here.”

  Olivia jumped from the car. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

  The guy jerked out a hand to stop her from coming any closer. “If you’re here to collect too, you get paid after I do. Okay?”

  Olivia groaned inside. Clare and money. Two things that failed to stay in each other’s company for more than a fleeting moment. She brushed the driver aside to get to the front door.

  “Clare, it’s me. Open up.”

  “Yeah, Clare, do as the lady says and bring cash.”

  She flashed the jerk a look of irritation.

  “What?” he said. “And don’t think you’re going to get my money out of her.”

  “I’m her sister, asshole. If you want your money, you’ll back off and let me deal with this.”

  The pickup driver frowned, but said nothing. Olivia knew she could push the guy without any fear of retaliation. If he wanted to leave with his money, he’d have to sit on his pride awhile.

  The lock on the trailer door snapped back, and Clare peeked out. The driver stepped forward, but Olivia stopped his advance with a look.

  “Can I come in?” Olivia asked her sister.

  Clare nodded.

  “You wait there,” Olivia told the pickup driver. “You’ll get your money.”

  Clare opened up the door, and Olivia slipped inside. Clare relatched the door, then
ushered Olivia into the living room.

  “What’s going on?” Olivia asked. “Who is that guy?”

  Clare dropped onto the sofa. “He’s a friend of a friend. I owe him money.”

  Friends of Clare’s friends were usually in the money-lending business. Olivia pictured some astronomical interest rate racking up by the minute.

  “What happened to the five hundred I gave you the other week?” Olivia asked.

  “What do you think, Liv? Food. Expenses.”

  “So how much do you owe this guy?”

  “Three grand or so.”

  “Three thousand? How can you get that far behind, Clare?”

  “Liv, don’t start. Bills are piling up. The Honda’s transmission needed fixing. I was behind on the rent. It all adds up.”

  “You’ve been gambling again, haven’t you?”

  “Jesus. I knew you’d say that. No, I haven’t been gambling.”

  Olivia knew her sister too well. Clare thought she could make money the easy way, by winning it instead of earning it. One lucky streak and she’d be living the good life. Olivia had helped her sister curb her gambling problem, but not kick it. The loan shark outside now made perfect sense.

  “Oh, Clare. Why do you always do this?”

  “Don’t give me that. It’s easy for you to make your money troubles go away with a snap of your fingers, but it doesn’t work that way for the rest of us.”

  Olivia didn’t bother telling her sister that her ability to pay her way came from constructing a lifestyle that could weather financial storms. It was an old argument between them that neither of them ever saw eye to eye on. She knew what was coming next in this familiar argument. She was the rich sister. She’d be asked to bail out her sibling with a loan that would never be repaid because she could afford to lose a few grand here and there. Family ties. Sometimes the knots really bound. She wasn’t about to go through the dog and pony show again and went to the door.

  “What are you doing?” Clare demanded.

  “Getting rid of this guy.”

  Olivia opened the door. The pickup owner was leaning against Clare’s Honda. He pushed himself off when she appeared.

  “How much do you need to go away?” she asked.

  “Thirty-one hundred.”

  Olivia pulled out her checkbook from her purse.

  “This is a cash-only transaction.”

  “You see that Audi next to your piece of crap? That’s mine. Does it look like I can’t cover thirty-one hundred?”

  “How do I know it’s not leased?”

  “You don’t, but that’s not the issue here. You get a check. You get my name and address. You know exactly where to find me if it doesn’t clear.”

  She let the pickup driver mull that one over for a minute.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll take a check, but I want any cash you have.”

  “I’ll give you the hundred in cash.”

  The guy frowned and held out his hand.

  Olivia wrote out the check, leaving the payee line blank, and held it out with the cash. When the pickup driver grabbed it, Olivia held on to her end. “If Clare runs up a debt, I don’t want to find you banging on her door. You come to me. Got it?”

  The pickup driver grinned and looked her up and down. “Sure thing. You must be the smart sister.”

  She released her grip on the check and slammed the trailer door in his face.

  Problem solved. She’d dealt with Clare’s problems effectively and efficiently. How come she couldn’t do the same for herself?

  Olivia had surprised herself with her display. She hadn’t shown her tough side in a long while. Maybe her current problems were bringing it out. Since she’d met Richard, life had been good to her, but it had made her soft. Richard’s cheating and Infidelity Limited’s ineffectiveness were helping her find some muscle memory.

  “Thanks, Liv.”

  “Do you still need cash?” she asked, because she knew the request would be coming.

  “Maybe another five hundred.”

  Olivia wrote a check for a thousand. Clare thanked her again and reached for it, but Olivia kept it just out of her reach. “I can’t keep doing this, Clare. You really need to sort out your finances.”

  “Did you want something, or did you come here to lecture?”

  Olivia saw them heading toward an argument she didn’t want. She sat down on the sofa across from Clare. “It’s about Infidelity Limited.”

  “Did they take care of Richard?”

  Olivia shook her head. “Nothing’s happened since I paid Roy. He never answers the phone or returns my messages, and I have no other way of getting in touch. Meanwhile, Richard is out there banging his tramp and I have to sit back and take it.”

  “I wouldn’t worry. Sometimes these things take time. They’ll do their job.”

  “Will they? How do I know this isn’t some scam and they haven’t made off with my money, never to be seen again?”

  “They helped me, didn’t they?”

  Did they? It suddenly occurred to Olivia that the Infidelity Limited scam could be of Clare’s devising. She always needed money, and Olivia always played the part of the surrogate ATM. Last year, Clare’s gambling debt had topped ten grand. Richard had cleared her debts with one proviso—no more bailouts. Other than the occasional handout here and there, Olivia had held strong. So Infidelity Limited could be Clare’s way of squeezing another couple of thousand out of her. Olivia dropped the thought as quickly as it had come. Clare had hustled her from time to time, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d invented something to get a few dollars out of her sister, but the interactions with Roy were far too convoluted and complex for this to be one of Clare’s schemes.

  “How long after you paid before they got to Nick?”

  “A few days.”

  “It’s been nearly two weeks and nothing.”

  “They have to be careful when it comes to Richard. Nick is a scumbag who hung around with scumbags. If someone got to him, no one cared. Richard is different. If he walks into the office with a broken nose, people are going to ask questions.”

  It was a good point. “I want to know what they’re doing. You got in touch with them before. Can you do it again?”

  “Sure. I guess.”

  “Can you give me the number?”

  “Let me talk to them first. They’re cagey. They don’t like it when people exchange information.”

  A nervous, sheepish tone had crept into Clare’s voice. Was she truly scared of Infidelity Limited’s retribution? Roy had told her not to talk to her sister or anyone else about their arrangement. She knew the man was capable of violence, but would he use it on his clients?

  “Okay. You do it.”

  Clare smiled. “Good. Now go home. Don’t worry. They’ll come through.”

  They’d better, she thought.

  Clare saw Olivia out to her car. They hugged, and Clare kissed Olivia on the cheek. “Just take it easy. I love you, Sis. I’ll call when I hear something.”

  Olivia drove home. When she arrived, the empty garage said Richard was still out banging his slut, but the sight of a dark-blue sedan parked out front distracted her from her ugly thoughts. She stopped her car inside the garage, and a man and a woman emerged from the vehicle. They didn’t look like a couple. He was in his fifties, rail thin and balding, with what hair he did have close-cropped. The woman was younger, midthirties, with an athletic figure that a tailored jacket over jeans helped accentuate. The gun she wore on her hip ruined the perfect flow of the jacket.

  Cops, Olivia thought. She knew it before the man produced his ID. She waited for them on the threshold of the garage.

  “Mrs. Shaw?” the man asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Detective Mike Finz, and this is Detective Madeleine Lyon. We’re from the Concord Police Department.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Could we go inside? It’s about your husband,” Finz said.

&n
bsp; This was Roy’s doing. She knew it without asking. He’d finally followed through on his promise, but police weren’t a good sign. This was supposed to be a private beating. Cops weren’t supposed to be part of the equation. Had Richard gone to them? He would know who was behind his assault. She had to play along for now.

  “Has something happened?” The note of panic in her voice was real.

  Olivia read something on the woman’s face. It was pity. Why would these cops pity her? It was just a beating, right? Beatings didn’t warrant the kind of sorrow this woman was showing.

  “Something’s happened, hasn’t it? Something bad. Please tell me.”

  “We really should take this inside,” Finz said.

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happened to my husband.”

  Finz exchanged a brief look with Lyon before she said, “I’m sorry to inform you that your husband has been killed.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Olivia hadn’t realized she was falling until she felt the sharp pain of her knees striking the concrete garage floor. Lyon and Finz caught her before she fell on her face. They spoke to her, but all she heard was white noise.

  “No, no, no, no,” she moaned.

  Richard was dead. That wasn’t meant to happen. It was just supposed to be a beating. Just a lesson to remind him he couldn’t cheat. How had it turned into this? What had Roy done? Worse, what had she done?

  Lyon and Finz gathered Olivia up and led her inside the house.

  “I’m going to be sick,” she said.

  The detectives got her to the guest bathroom. Olivia dropped in front of the toilet. She retched until intense dots of light burned in her vision, but failed to bring anything up. Every phantom hurl felt as if her internal organs were being crushed. It was a relief when the retching passed. She stayed hunched over the bowl, sucking in ragged breaths and inhaling the sharp scent of the toilet-bowl cleaner. She’d never liked that odor, but it helped bring her back to the real world.

  Lyon stroked Olivia’s back. “Just take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay.”