by Tim Tigner
Approaching the camouflaged door to the left of the stage, Luther asked himself if he really wanted to go through with this. He could still back out. He could drive to LAX and fly off to a new life. Once he knocked on that door, however, once he let the Killer Whale into his world, there would be no turning back. Like a shark smelling blood, Orca’s primitive instincts would take over the instant he sensed a possible kill.
Before Luther’s knuckles even tapped the door, a steroid-stuffed security guard opened it and said, “This area is private.” The black-clad teenager appeared to be nearly as wide as he was tall. Looking over fireplug’s shoulder, Luther caught sight of Zero and looked into his lifeless eyes.
“It’s okay,” Zero said to Fireplug. “Mister Kanasis here is a friend of the boss.” Then, addressing Luther he said, “You’re in luck; the boss is in.”
Luther would not necessarily have called that luck, but it was efficient. “Lead the way.”
“I’m going to have to search you first,” Zero said.
Luther held out his arms once the door closed behind him. Sixty seconds later, he entered Orca’s office. He had been there before, but the stark contrast to the rest of Lisa’s Place still caught his eye. Rather than being dim and plush, Orca’s environment was bright and harsh—kind of like a shark tank, Luther mused. Halogen lights beamed down onto glass shelves, while a black granite desk with matching coffee table and bar stood like oases on the thick, sand colored carpet. Orca looked up, surprise registering on his face. “Luther, I half expected you to be in Rio by now. Glad to see that you’re not so stupid. Did you bring my money?”
Luther ignored the question. He wanted to take control of the conversation, and going on the defensive right off the bat was not going to help him accomplish that. “Lisa’s Place. You never did tell me where you got the name.”
“The clientele we target don’t want Pussy Palace appearing on their AmEx bills.”
“Good point, but who is Lisa?”
Orca smiled. “There is no Lisa. The original owner was from Moscow. Before he died, he told me that Lisa means fox in Russian. He thought it was a nice pun. I don’t care about puns, but I saw no reason to mess with a good thing.”
Orca looked down at his watch. “You still got seventy-two hours to come up with my money, so that can’t be why you’re here. What is it, now that the maid and gardener are gone, you looking to get laid? I thought you still had the cook. What’s her name by the way? Great legs.”
“I came here because I want to pay you what I owe you.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Just don’t be asking me for an extension. My offer from Chicago is going to expire, and I’d rather put my balls in a blender than miss that deadline.” Orca paused to scratch his sack. “Well, maybe not my balls, but certainly your balls.”
“You won’t have to bother with anyone’s balls.”
“Good.”
“All you have to do is provide me with a little bit of help.”
Orca shook his head. “All I have to do is point Zero in your direction.”
“I may be a lawyer, but I don’t bleed money.”
“That remains to be seen. In any case, I bet he can extract the deeds to your house and yacht in less time than it takes to say twenty-six million.”
“I’m sure he could. But they won’t help you with Chicago. They’re mortgaged for all that they’re worth. Don’t you think I’d have sold them already if that was an option, rather than paying you fifty-two percent?”
“I thought maybe you was emotionally attached. People get that way. So tell me, counselor, what was this little bit of help you had in mind?”
“I need you to connect me—or rather a colleague of mine—with nine soldiers on the East Coast. I need top guys, ex-CIA or Special Forces, James Bond types. Guys who can do a sophisticated job with absolute discretion.”
Orca nodded appreciatively. “And this is going to get me my money?”
“As long as they’re the right kind of guys.”
“What’s the job?”
Luther shook his head. “All you need to know is that with their help, you get your money. You get Jimmy Choke’s franchise. Without them, you don’t.”
“How long you need them for?”
“About two weeks.”
“Starting when?”
“In forty-eight hours.”
“What you going to pay them?”
“Enough.”
“I need to be able to tell them what to expect.”
“Tell them that they’ll be well paid.”
Orca cracked his neck, first on the right, then on the left. “And when do I get my money?”
“You get me the names today, I get you your money as requested.”
Orca moved on to his knuckles. “Anything else?” He asked.
“Yes, one thing. No one besides you and I are to know of my involvement. No one besides you and I are to know that nine people are involved. Each man is to think that he’s working alone.” Luther handed Orca nine slips of paper. “Those are the times and places for nine meetings on Sunday. Have one man show up at each. That’s all they need to know. Each man will get ten grand just for showing up—and taking a vow of silence.”
“Very interesting, counselor.”
“Do we have an agreement, then?”
“Yes,” Orca said, his eyes alight with the glow of greed, “we do.”
Chapter 69
Emmy looked over her shoulder at Troy as she approached Luther’s gate. “Wish me luck.”
“You sure you want to do this?”
“With all we’ve been through, do you really need to ask?”
“Well, I—”
“You just keep your ears open and your eyes on the screen so you can come to my rescue if anything happens.”
“Of course, but—”
“Don’t worry; I’m going to run like hell the moment I sense that he’s suspicious.”
“With all due respect to your senses, we know they failed us at least once before.”
Emmy crossed her arms across her chest. “Do we now?”
“Farkas caught us.”
“Huh. Well, I guess that just makes your role all the more important.”
“I guess it does,” Troy said, climbing over the Odyssey’s third row bench seat. Once settled in on the carpeted floor, he popped an earbud in his right ear and checked the screen on his Blackberry as Emmy whispered, “Testing. Testing.”
“Loud and clear.”
“How’s the picture?” Emmy asked, placing a large sun hat on her head.
“With the phone clipped to your belt, all I see is the underside of the steering wheel, but the image is clear.” They had rigged a cell phone to send streaming video clandestinely so Troy could see and hear everything Emmy did.
Emmy pulled the Honda into Luther’s driveway and pressed the intercom button. Luther’s voice came on a couple minutes later. “Yes.”
“Mister Kanasis?”
“Yes.”
“This is Vicky Dixon. The employment agency sent me over to fill the maid position.” She looked ahead rather than into the camera. It was important that she be able to look into Luther’s eyes the instant he got his first good look at her face.
“It’s about time,” Luther said, buzzing her in.
Emmy pulled in as the gate swung open and parked so that the minivan was facing the gate, just in case she needed to make a quick exit. To that end, she had decided to leave the keys with Troy as well.
“Good luck,” Troy whispered as she tossed the keys over the back seat.
Stepping out, she removed her sun hat and placed it behind the driver’s seat. It had done its job. She hoped the rest of her outfit would perform as well. Emmy had chosen to wear white shorts and a green shirt that offered a peak at cleavage and added flare to her eyes.
Luther answered the door just seconds after her knock. “Hello Vicky, I’m Luther Kanasis. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Emmy studied Luther’s face for the slightest flash of recognition—flaring irises, contracting lids, increased blood flow to the cheeks. Nothing pinged her radar. The only suppressed emotion she detected was a hint of lust. “Likewise.”
“Please, come in,” he said, stepping back and pulling the arched door open wide.
“Your home is beautiful,” she said, thinking, “so are you.” Luther had a charismatic presence that gripped you right away—a powerful aura, people in her business would say. If she did not hate the man with every fiber in her being, she might well have been attracted to him. As it was, she found it hard not to spit.
“Thank you. Let me show you around. What did Fernando tell you about the position?”
“He said you needed live-in housekeeping for an unspecified duration.”
“That’s right. Anything else?”
“He said it was the best deal in town, and I was lucky to have qualified. Judging by the numbers he quoted, I’m inclined to agree.”
Leading her up the sweeping semicircular staircase, Luther asked, “And did he tell you what those qualifications were?”
Giselle had primed Emmy to expect this question. “Of course there was the standard reference to diligence and hard work, but the real emphasis was on discretion. He told me that you demanded absolute discretion and rewarded blind loyalty.”
“That’s right. Does it bother you?”
“That depends on why it’s an issue. Are you involved in anything illegal?”
Luther forced a chuckle that sent a chill up Emmy’s spine. “Well, I suppose that depends on your definition of involved.”
Emmy stopped walking and turned to face Luther. “How so?”
“I’m a criminal defense attorney. On rare occasion, the people I represent are convicted of illegal acts.”
“I’m okay with that. But why the great need for secrecy?”
“Lives depend upon my discretion, and I must pass that requirement on to all around me. You are never to mention a word about your work here to anyone, nothing you see, nothing you hear. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“No griping to friends, not even an I-love-my-job. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Luther’s serious visage vanished in a millisecond and he was all charm again. “No need for sir. Please call me Luther. Any questions?”
“Just one.”
Luther nodded.
“What happened to the last girl? I mean, if I may be blunt, I can’t imagine anyone giving up a job like this.”
Luther shrugged. “I had to let her go. She was good at the day-to-day routine, but in a crunch, she wasn’t willing to go the extra mile. Her devotion was not absolute, not congruent with the paycheck. You would be wise to keep that in mind, Vicky. We’ve only just met, but I already have high expectations for you …”
Chapter 70
“You figured it out,” Arlen said, stepping off the elevator into Luther’s office. “I knew you would.”
“Good morning to you too,” Luther said, just finishing up behind the espresso machine. He motioned his guest toward the suite of chairs before picking up the two piping-hot beverages. “You bring your checkbook?”
Arlen nodded in appreciation of Luther’s directness. “As promised. Let’s hope I’m impressed enough to open it.”
As the two titans took their seats, Arlen looked around the room as if searching for something. Luther understood immediately, but chose to enjoy his first sip of espresso before commenting. When Arlen returned his gaze to his host, Luther said, “Expecting PowerPoint or flip charts?”
Arlen nodded. “Corporate habit.”
“In my businesses—both my legal practice and my ancillary services—I’m well advised to commit as little as possible to paper. I have also found that juries are more likely to believe an attorney who speaks extemporaneously than one who constantly refers to notes.” This was a ploy, of course, and a fairly clever one Luther thought. He had concocted it to help ensure that the bluff he was about to attempt would fly. Studying the skeptical reaction on Arlen’s face, he felt a rumble of doubt.
“In my business, I’m well advised to always get promises on paper.” Arlen paused, inviting Luther’s comment.
Luther made none.
Finally Arlen said, “But I see your point.” He settled back into the leather and added, “Do be advised that my checkbook and I will walk out of here at the first sign of smoke and mirrors.”
“Fair enough,” Luther said, resisting the urge to stand as he began his performance. Placing far more certainty in his voice than he currently felt, he said, “The wiping will occur Monday Morning, September twenty-ninth, at the press conference preceding the annual opening conference. I trust you agree that the timing is ideally suited to create maximum chaos?”
“It’s perfect,” Arlen said, sliding forward in his chair. “And less than three weeks away.” He was trying to play the role of the cool senior executive but he couldn’t hide his excitement. Luther’s news was worth tens of billions of dollars. “It will take months for congress even to figure out where to start when the entire court is found to be mentally unstable. By the time the President nominates replacements and congress approves them, they’ll almost certainly lose the entire court year. Once sound minds are eventually in place on the bench, they’ll have an additional year’s backlog to deal with. My experts concur that our case will slip at least one additional year back in the queue if it isn’t removed all together.” Arlen rubbed his hands together subconsciously. “How, exactly, are you going to do it?”
“The activation itself is the easy part. That’s how I can be so confident about the date. I’ll get a man into the press conference with the necessary equipment. It’s the implantation that will take real guile. To accomplish that, I’ve assigned a top man to each of the nine justices. They have spent the last few days studying their assigned target’s routines, and have mapped out an implantation strategy accordingly.”
“It only took a few days?” Arlen asked.
Luther nodded confidently as he spoke. “My men are pros at infiltration. It wasn’t hard for them to get their hands on the justices calendars. All of them are men of habit, creatures of routine. The older ones are all pretty domestic, but each has regular outings. The younger guys, the heptagenarians, both jog on a regular basis. They will be particularly easy pickings.
“Let me tell you what I’ve learned about the routines of each justice,” Luther continued, preparing to let loose a long list of memorized bullshit. “We’ve got primary and backup plans for each, taking all foreseeable contingencies into account.”
“Please,” Arlen prompted.
And so Luther rattled off detailed plans of attack that resembled what he expected Farkas and Orca’s men to compile in the coming days. He did it all without notes, drawing on skills developed during his courtroom days. Studying Arlen’s features, he could tell by the time he got to the second name that the CEO was sold. Nonetheless, Luther continued with the same confident enthusiasm and attention to detail through all nine.
Arlen remained silent once Luther had finished, giving the appearance of one who was deliberating on the words he had just heard. Luther remained calm, trusting in his instincts and minding the old maxim to shut up once a person was sold.
Finally, without a word, Arlen reached into his pocket, withdrew his cell phone, and speed-dialed a number. “Make the transfer.”
Luther waited in silence, very aware of the beat of his own heart.
Arlen smiled, closed his phone, and said, “It’s done. Two-hundred-fifty-million dollars has been transferred to your account.”
Luther found himself unable to speak. A quarter of a billion dollars. He held out his hand.
Arlen grabbed it and pulled Luther close. He whispered in Luther’s ear, his voice cold as death. “I’ve got ten times this amount in my war chest, Luther. If you run, I will track you down.”
Luther backed away as
Arlen released his grip, acutely aware that he was exchanging one mafia boss for another. Orca was old school, Arlen new, but they were equally deadly. After a long silence, Luther found his voice. “I’m doing this exactly because I want to live the rest of my life in peace, rather than looking over my shoulder. You have nothing to worry about, Arlen. Our interests are aligned.”
Arlen nodded, his cordial mask back in place. “I trust you haven’t forgotten our agreement that all your colleagues are to share the justices’ fate?”
“I’m a details man, Arlen. I haven’t forgotten a thing.” Actually it was not the thought of additional wipings that was grating across Luther’s mind. It was the impending murder.
With just one more deposit on the horizon, it would soon be time to close Kostas Kanasis’s account.
Chapter 71
Using a mirror to keep an eye on the estate’s front gate, Troy tried to get inside his enemy’s head. Now that he had seen Luther’s face, house, car, clothes, office and servants, he had a good framework from which to extrapolate.
While this exercise might pay dividends later on, he was really just killing time. Crouched behind the third row of seats in the Honda Odyssey Emmy had parked in Luther’s drive, his options were limited. Meanwhile his need for distraction was severe. Emmy’s video cell phone had run out of juice four hours earlier, leaving him in the dark. She had a regular cell phone as backup in her purse, but had yet to call.
As he checked his Nokia’s battery level and signal strength for the tenth time, it finally began to vibrate. “Are your okay?” he asked.
