1. Weekend Warriors

by Fern Michaels

  “By any chance do you mean asshole Emery?” Nikki asked coldly. “You bugged my goddamn car, Jack. I want to know why.”

  Jack clenched his teeth so hard he thought he heard his jaw crack. “Because you’re up to your neck in Lewellen’s disappearance, that’s why, and we both know it. Don’t take that as an admission of guilt, Nik. I’m going to find her. Then I’m going to prove you and Myra are responsible. Yeah, old Myra said the words but she doesn’t care about losing the mil. All she wanted to do that day was to get me the hell out of her house. Do you two think I just fell off the water-melon truck?”

  “I’m going to fry your ass for this, Jack.”

  Jack looked around his messy apartment, trying to compare it to Nikki’s bright airy apartment that was neat as a pin. It even smelled clean and good, like Nikki herself. His apartment was shabby, dreary and messy with beer bottles, pizza cartons, dirty socks and smelly sneakers all over the place. He closed his eyes. “Not if I fry yours first. Is that what you called to tell me?”

  “Myra asked me to file a lawsuit against your department. She said you were supposed to be guarding Marie Lewellen and you let her get away. She’s suing for the full million and she wants another million for the angst and fear she’s going through. I’ll file the suit on Monday. You want to settle now?”

  “Up yours.”

  “Better tell your boss. I’ll hand deliver the subpoena. Hey, look at it this way, you bastard, you’ll get your picture in the paper. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

  Jack slammed the phone back into the cradle, his face murderous. She’d do it, too. Christ, now what was he supposed to do?

  In less than thirty minutes he was storming into his office, the same murderous look still riding his features. He sat down at the computer and started to bang at the keys.

  The scrap of paper torn from his notebook was alongside the computer. He typed in the license plate number of the eighteen-wheeler parked at Myra Rutledge’s house. They could have spirited the Lewellens away in the truck in the middle of the storm and no one would have been the wiser.

  Alan Stephen Lucas. Born August 3, 1958. Address, P.O. Box 206, Vienna, Virginia. He stared down at the social security number and wrote it on a yellow pad of paper. He tapped in more numbers using the department code to allow him access to social security files. He blinked and then knuckled his eyes. Deceased. The guy was dead! He cleared the screen and typed in the number again. Alan Stephen Lucas was just as dead as he was a minute ago.

  Did the guy sell the truck? Was it part of his estate? Why was someone still driving the truck and using Lucas’s license plates? He scanned the screen to see the date of death. Not quite five weeks ago. Time enough to take care of details like selling the truck or changing the plates. Lucas wasn’t old, so that had to mean there was a widow someplace. Then again, maybe the guy was divorced.

  Jack yanked at his desk drawer and pulled out a well-thumbed booklet with access codes to the different government agencies. He typed in Bureau of Vital Statistics and then the name Alan Stephen Lucas and waited while the screen processed his request to be faxed a copy of Lucas’s death certificate. He cursed ripely when he realized he would have to wait for Monday for the fax. He typed the words in capital letters, RUSH, TOP PRIORITY.

  Did truckers belong to unions? He didn’t know. He tapped and punched for the next hour until he came up with Local 233 in Roanoke, Virginia. Even if he sent an e-mail he’d probably have to wait until Monday for a response. Instead he copied down the telephone number and called it. He waited through eleven rings before a gruff voice came on the line and said, “Yeah, what’s your poison?”

  Must be trucker lingo. Jack identified himself and said, “I’m trying to locate Alan Lucas. Do you know how I can reach him or his wife?”

  “Alan died a while back. I don’t know where his wife is. She’s probably on the road somewhere. She’s the one that drives the rig. Alan was disabled. Why do you want him?”

  Jack ignored the question and asked one of his own. “Do you know how I can reach his wife?”

  “Do I sound like a private secretary, mister? Send her a letter.”

  “Yeah, thanks for your help.” Wiseass.

  It wasn’t such a ridiculous idea. He cleared the screen, brought up Word, and typed a message saying it was imperative Kathryn get in touch with him as soon as possible. He filed the message in his personal file folder but not before he printed it out. He scribbled the address on the official stationery, ran it through the postage meter and dropped it in the mail basket.

  He flexed his fingers. He was on to something. He could feel it. His nose twitched like a rabbit’s. “Let’s try the Bentley next,” he muttered.

  Jack stripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. What the hell, with Nikki temporarily out of the picture, he didn’t have anything better to do on a Saturday afternoon.

  Winston Bugle frowned as he hung up the phone. He didn’t have any use for cops or district attorneys. He reached for the CB and said, “This is Bugle Beagle out here. Anyone listening? I need to get a message to Big Sis. All you ears pay attention now, you hear. Tell her some D.A. called from the District asking questions. Saw on the I.D. he was calling from D.C. Keep trying Big Sis until she responds. Have her call me. Over an’ out.”

  Myra made no pretense of not listening to Nikki’s conversation with Jack Emery. The moment she hung up the phone she said, “Was that wise, Nikki? Won’t that just fuel things with Jack?”

  “It’s called CYA. Covering your ass. I know Jack. From time to time he has to be reined in. I told you he’s sharp. He’s one of the best and for that I can’t fault him. He has that old prosecutor instinct. I respect that. He really does hate injustice. He hates defense attorneys, of which I am one. He says they catch the bad guys and people like me make sure they walk away clean. We had a lot of fights about it. He’ll shave a corner here or there to get the job done. His instinct has always been right on the money. He knows in his gut we had something to do with Marie’s disappearance. He just can’t prove it. Yet.

  “I’ll bet you fifty dollars, if I call him at the office, he’ll answer. The minute he hung up from me he hightailed it there. He’ll stay there all day, through the night and all day tomorrow if he’s on to something. All I did was throw a bone he now has to deal with. It was just to throw him off stride a little. The man has a single-minded purpose in life. Shit, Myra, I can’t even hold that against him. He came off the streets in New York. He worked his way through college and law school. No one helped him. He’s where he is because he earned his way.

  “Yes, he’s power hungry. He likes being on the news and he likes getting his picture taken with the mayor and the police commissioner. So do a lot of other guys. He just made it happen for himself. He’s pretty much going by the book and we’re the ones that threw the book out.”

  “That was a sterling testimonial, Nikki. That tells me you are still very much in love with Jack Emery.”

  “I’ll get over it.”

  “What do you think he’ll do next, dear?”

  Nikki threw her hands in the air. “My guess would be the first thing he’ll do is change his underwear. The word lawsuit against the office is a really dirty word. He’s going to have to call the D.A., the mayor and then the police commissioner. Then he’s going to go to the office and run those license plates if he did take them down. Jack has a mind like a steel trap. There is one good thing about Jack in regard to his career and his profession, though. He keeps everything to himself, you know, close to his vest. Part of it is that wild ambition of his and it’s also part of the thoroughness of him. What that means, Myra, is he gets all his ducks in a row first and then he pounces.”

  Myra sat down with a thump. She longed for Charles as she struggled for the right words. “Dear, does that mean we’ll have to…take him out?”

  Nikki doubled over laughing at the expression on Myra’s face. She sobered almost instantly. “It just might come to that, M
yra.”

  “Last minute check, sisters,” Alexis said as she jammed her canvas bags in the trunk of her car. “Yoko, you’re driving my car and I’m riding with Kathryn. That’s in keeping with what Kathryn told Miz Slick, that you were just going as far as San Francisco.”

  “Is everything wiped clean?” Julia asked.

  Yoko adjusted the blue bandanna wrapped around her forehead, allowing her long silky hair to cascade down her back. “I wiped everything twice,” she said, peeling off the latex gloves. “With alcohol from Julia’s bag,” she added as an afterthought.

  “We all checked out using the automatic room check-out. That’s all taken care of. Yoko, did you clean off the remote controls?”

  “Yes, I did, Kathryn. We’re leaving the rooms cleaner than they were when we checked in.”

  Kathryn looked at the Dag watch on her wrist. It did everything but talk to her. “Time to rock and roll, sisters.” Yoko giggled. “Stay close behind me and whatever you do, don’t speed or call attention to yourself. We’re driving straight through, so there won’t be any stops. Anyone have to use the bathroom?”

  “No, Mother,” Julia grinned.

  “Let’s go. We’re only forty-five minutes behind schedule. Jeez, wait a minute! Did someone remember to go to Home Depot to pick up the folding table? We do need an operating table.”

  “That was my job. I picked it up on my way in. It’s in the trunk. I took it out of the box, so my fingerprints are all over it. If we leave it somewhere, remind me to wipe it clean,” Julia said.

  “I’ll remember, Julia,” Yoko said. She slid into the car. The moment she put the key in the ignition, she let out a yelp. “This is a stick shift! I do not know how to drive with gears.”

  “Oh shit!” Alexis said. “It was the only one left. Okay, okay, crash five-minute course. See this, it’s in the shape of an H. Middle is neutral. Low, straight up is second, down to neutral, top of the H is reverse and then down again to third which is high and you cruise in high. You need to use both feet. At the same time, Yoko. You ease up on the clutch, feed a little gas and shift, low to second to third. Each time you have to use the clutch. For each gear, Yoko. You got that? Now, if you hit a hill, you have to be careful or you’ll slide backward. Julia, you drive behind her in case that happens. That way she’ll only slide into you. Try it, Yoko, once around the parking lot. If you get stuck, drive in first. We’ll keep an eye on you.”

  “I’d say this is a glitch. That’s two so far. Three, if you actually count the surgery,” Kathryn said grimly. She watched with the others as the Ford Taurus bucked and chugged forward, then backward and came to a dead stop a foot from them. The car bucked and stalled.

  “I think I got it. I’m ready. I can do this, Kathryn.”

  “I know you can, kiddo. Think wagon train, sisters,” Kathryn said, hoisting herself up into the cab. She started to sing, “Rolling, rolling, rolling…”

  They were ninety minutes out of Los Angeles when Kathryn’s personal cell phone rang.

  “You can’t answer it, Kathryn. You’re supposed to be in Bermuda,” Alexis said.

  “I know. It’s a Nextel. It takes messages. When it stops ringing, I’ll walk you through the process to retrieve the message.”

  “I have the same phone. I know how to do it. It’s Sam Slick.” Alexis said, raising her eyebrows. “She said Bugle Beagle wants you to call him. Some district attorney wants to talk to you ASAP. She said you have his number. The call is out to all truckers to give you the message. She said if you need her to call any time of the day or night. That’s it,” Alexis said, hitting the power button to turn off the cell phone.

  “Glitch number four. Call Myra on the cell phone Charles gave you. Repeat the conversation verbatim. I’m sure the D.A. is the one that came to the house. He ran a check on the license plate. I knew it. I had a bad feeling the day he came to Myra’s house. Easy, Murphy, easy. It’s okay,” she said to the big dog who had picked up on the anxiousness in her voice.

  Five minutes later, Alexis looked across at Kathryn as she absentmindedly scratched Murphy’s head. The big dog did everything but purr. “Nikki answered and she said to stick to the plan and to call the D.A. when you get back from Bermuda. I think Isabelle’s flight gets in around eleven Monday morning. I’d say call him around twelve-thirty. Time for you to pick up the truck and your load of produce.”

  “Is this glitch four or is it five?”

  “Four with a hangnail. It’s okay, Kathryn. I like this dog of yours. The truth is, I like everyone involved in this little venture. Yoko is growing on me. I saw Julia smile and once she actually laughed out loud. That has to be hard with a death sentence hanging over your head. Nikki is the one I feel sorry for. Isabelle is so sweet and so very tired. Myra and Charles are just loves. You’re okay, too, Kathryn. Being in prison had to be a piece of cake compared to what you lived through.”

  “What was it like, Alexis?”

  “It was bad. The worst thing of all was when the doors clanged shut. The word clang is so perfect. Every damn time they shut, I wanted to jump out of my skin. I never close doors where I live now. Even the bathroom door stays open. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over that feeling. Everything smelled like Clorox. The food was inedible. The bed was hard as a rock. Roaches were everywhere. Everything was on a schedule. I made a lot of friends after I learned how to play the game. The whole time I was in there I didn’t have one visitor, nor did I get one piece of mail. Most days I didn’t know what day it was unless someone told me.

  “The worst thing, though, was the nightmares. I lived with the trial and the outcome every day since I was convicted. I spent a year in prison so those slimeballs could cheat old people and fatten up their bank accounts. One of them even has a yacht now. I swear it’s as big as an ocean liner.

  “My real name is Ann Marie Wilkinson, not Alexis Thorne, and I damn well want it back. I was born with it and it belongs to me.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. Murphy reared up and licked them away.

  “We’ll get your name back. Don’t you worry about that,” Kathryn said, with such vehemence Alexis bolted upright. “And I’m going to see to it that you get the ocean liner, providing you take me and Murphy on a cruise.”

  “You sound like my champion, Kathryn. Thank you for that.”

  “We’re all in this together.”

  “You know what I think, Kathryn. I think we make one kick-ass team. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to go up against us. Would you? Are you anxious about tonight?”

  “A little. I was pretty calm when Julia did her number back there in the motel. He should be waking up just about the time we get to Lone Pine.”

  “What’d you do with his nuts?”

  “They’re swishing around back there in Alan’s old lunchbox. It’s in the back by his wheel-chair.”

  Alexis burst out laughing. “How did you feel, Kathryn?”

  “Angry. Bitter. Numb. It was all so surreal. I knew it was happening and I knew I was watching and being a part of it but only half of me was there. The other half of me was back there in the parking lot of the Starlite Cafe where it happened. He was the one that sodomized me. If his nuts hadn’t been in that Snapple bottle, I would have jammed that bottle up his butt.”

  “Spoken like a true woman. One down, two to go. By midnight or thereabouts, you will be vindicated. Don’t for one minute think you’re going to magically find closure, Kathryn, because it ain’t gonna happen. People always say they’re looking for closure for this or that. It doesn’t happen. You can’t erase the memory. It will always be with you. The best you can hope for is some kind of vindication,” Alexis said as she settled herself more comfortably in the seat. “Just knowing there are three men out there walking around without their balls is going to please me no end.”

  “Yeah, me, too. Do you suppose they’ll walk differently, kind of duck-like?”

  Alexis went off into a peal of laughter. “They won’t have to worry about which side to put them on
anymore. I heard Tom Jones the singer used to pad his pants onstage so people would think he had a big set. I wonder if that was true.”

  Kathryn laughed until her sides hurt.

  An hour later, Alexis said, “Kathryn, do you see what I see?”

  “It’s the bikers. Oh, God, there’s Charles in the lead. What should I do? Pass them or stay behind?” Kathryn dithered. “Shit, they’re straightening out, that means they want me to pass them. Don’t look at them, Alexis.”

  “Hey chickee baby,” one of the bikers shouted as Kathryn pressed down on the gas pedal.

  Alexis hung her head out the window and looked at Charles as Kathryn roared past the trail of motorcycles. “Yo dude!” she shouted. Charles waved, a wicked grin on his face.

  “You had to do that, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Alexis laughed. I’ve been called a lot of things in my time but no one ever called me chickee baby before. They must have stopped for food or something. They had at least a fifty-minute head start on us. Before you can ask, I think there’s thirty-seven of them. That’s counting Charles.”

  “How far from ground zero?”

  “Three hours, maybe a little less.”

  “I’m counting the minutes,” Alexis said as she snuggled with Murphy.

  Jack Emery rubbed at his tired eyes before he picked up the stack of papers he’d printed out. They could just be papers or they could be something else. He leaned back in his swivel chair as he scanned the sheets in his hand. Why would women in their late 30s and early 40s be playing bridge with an old lady like Myra Rutledge? Just by scanning the sheets he’d say they were more likely to belong to the same gym as Nikki. But they were at Myra’s.

  A prominent plastic surgeon married to a United States senator might conceivably travel in the same circles as mega-rich Myra Rutledge. He’d seen the power couple’s picture in the paper at least once a week but never with Myra Rutledge. The name Isabelle Flanders tickled his brain but he couldn’t remember where he’d heard it before. Alexis Thorne and Yoko Akia. And of course Nikki. Myra said Nikki wasn’t there the day he’d walked through the ruptured gates. He frowned. Were the others in the house that day? If they were, he hadn’t seen them. But that didn’t have to mean anything. They could have been in the sunroom or the dining room. So what? People like Myra Rutledge played cards in the middle of the day and served little finger sandwiches to the cardplayers.