“It’s me, honey. It’s not too late, is it? I didn’t wake you?”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I was just dreaming about my other girlfriend.”
“I bet. How was your day?”
“Pretty standard. Finished writing the final exam for my class. Spent the rest of the afternoon working on that paper I’ve got to give next month. Ate the leftover lasagna for supper. How’s your trip going so far?”
“Well, I met Nicole…”
He chuckled. “Tell all. What is she—twenty-three, twenty-four?”
“Actually, she doesn’t look that much younger than Mom.”
“Really? So what’s she like?”
“Hard to tell. She’s nice and all. Really pretty. She’s got Dad wrapped around her finger, but she doesn’t act like it. The crazy thing is that she and her partner, some guy named John, are scammers who go after criminals.”
“What?”
“While we were at dinner, a stranger accused her of having robbed him five years ago. He backed down after she threatened to call the police.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No. And that’s not even the crazy part. She had robbed the guy. The guy was stealing credit card information. They stole his money and got him arrested.”
“So your dad is having an affair with a beautiful, middle-aged career criminal. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Skip thinks I can just wave my magic wand, and Dad will dump her.” She shifted onto her side. “I wish you were here with me.”
“I wish you were here in bed with me, and I’m glad I’m not there. If your brother has a problem with what your dad is doing, he should talk to your dad himself instead of dumping the problem on you.”
“You just don’t get it. Dad really loved Mom. He was a wreck. He wouldn’t give up on her even when it was hopeless. You saw him. There’s just no way he’s in a place where he’s making good decisions.”
“Don’t get angry with me. That’s why I’m glad I’m not there. It’s your family. You guys have to work it out.”
“I don’t mean to snap at you. It’s just so frustrating.”
“You’ve got over two weeks to figure things out. Take your time. I’m sure you’ll have a better sense of things in a few days.”
2
Closing the Deal
On Monday, Molly was back at work at the offices of Neil Robertson, Attorney at Law. She’d spent the morning in the workroom, running copies and assembling packets for a complicated divorce case and keeping an eye on the door to Robertson’s private office. She’d expected him to slip into the workroom to chat her up and paw her, but he hadn’t appeared. Betty, the receptionist, a motherly middle-aged blonde who kept a jar of candy on her desk, poked her head in. “How’s it going?”
“Almost done.”
“I’m going to lunch.”
Molly placed the last documents into the packets. It was time for her to make her move. She was wearing a lacy pink bra and thong set under a tailored gray skirt and a cream-colored blouse that was tight across the bust. This was the first time she’d ever set up a mark when she was sober, but she couldn’t risk booze on her breath when she moved in close to him. She was just going to have to rely on her instinct. How hard could it be? Guys like Robertson were grabby even when they didn’t think they were. She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, picked up a document that needed his signature, and strolled into his office. Robertson looked up from his laptop, a quizzical expression on his face. He was a thin man with a shaved head and a round potbelly that stretched the front of his blue shirt. She didn’t say a word; she just came around his oak desk, leaned down beside him, and set the document in front of him. “This needs your signature.”
When Robertson turned to look up at her, he was looking straight into her cleavage. He leered up at her through his Van Dyke beard. “Betty gone to lunch?”
Molly tried to look coy. “She just left.”
He stood up and pushed her back onto the corner of his desk. Her hands were on the desk behind her. He leaned into her and kissed her. “You’re not teasing me anymore.” He started unbuttoning her blouse.
Molly glanced over her shoulder. “The door.” She slipped out of his grasp, sauntered to the door and locked it. “That’s better.”
She porn-star walked back to him, put her arms around his neck and kissed him slowly. He motioned toward the black leather sofa under the built-in bookshelves.
After he finished, he climbed off her, pulled up his boxer shorts and pants all together, and began buttoning his shirt. She sat up on the sofa and straightened her thong. That had been easier than she thought. She stood up and turned her back to him while she hooked her bra and tucked in her blouse. She was fumbling in her mind for something to say.
“That was fun,” Robertson said.
She looked over her shoulder and smiled. She’d never been with a man who finished so fast.
He grinned. “I hope this is the start of something good for both of us.”
“Me too.”
He sat back down behind his desk. “You need to go to lunch before Betty gets back and finds out you never left. She’s known my wife for years. We can’t have any gossip in the office.”
“Sure thing.” Molly unlocked the door and left if slightly ajar. She smiled to herself. There she was. One step closer to the safe-deposit box.
Robertson watched her ass wiggle as she walked out of the room. She was a tasty bit, soft and round in all the right places. How had it taken him a whole month to get her onto his sofa? Girls didn’t come any simpler than her. Thought she was seducing him. Now he’d be able to get more work out of her on the promise of advancing her career. Like that could ever happen. But at least he could have fun screwing her until she figured things out. And he’d be able to send her on little errands that he needed to keep on the down low. That fawning look in her eye told him everything he needed to know.
He picked up his desk phone and called home. “Honey? How’s your day? I’m going to be a little late for supper.”
Molly sat in a booth at the Chicos Verde Mexican restaurant across the street from Roberson’s offices, a half-eaten burrito in front of her, talking on the phone with John. The dining room was plastered to look like yellow adobe. A row of giant sombreros ran around the top of the walls and a red-and-green stripe accented the yellow paint. The dining room was full. The Mexican music, the clatter of dishes, and the cacophony of voices provided the perfect background for a discreet conversation.
“Did you get it done?” John asked.
“Yes.”
“Walk me through the details.”
She described what happened.
“Excellent. I knew you had it in you.”
“He’s just wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.”
“Less work for you.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How do you know that screwing him is the right play? Why won’t he just see right through it?”
“It doesn’t always work. The mark has to believe that he has the power, and that he deserves the sex. If he does, he’s less likely to be suspicious. Then most guys tend to feel closer to a woman they’re sleeping with—or at least think they have more control over her. Voila. Increased likelihood of intimacy, which in the workplace leads to trust.”
“So even though he’s cheating on his wife—”
“Emotionally he’s a clueless bastard, which is why this con works. Coming at him with a deal would get his mind working, which, in his case, would make the chance of success much lower.”
“He hasn’t put me on the safe-deposit-box list yet.”
“He will. We just have to wait him out. He’ll need to put something in the box, he won’t want to go, and he’ll send you. Anything else?”
“No.”
“Great job.”
She put away her phone. She felt like celebrating, bragging a little, but she c
ouldn’t tell Chad. He’d be jealous, maybe angry. She still had thirty minutes before she had to be back at the office. One drink wouldn’t hurt. She signaled to her server, a young Latino in a white shirt and new jeans. “A margarita, please.”
Nicole lay in her bikini on a chaise lounge on the deck by the pool, sunning herself and reading the current issue of The Atlantic magazine. Bell came out through the patio door in a sleeveless sundress. She looked off in the distance for a moment, and then down at Nicole as if she hadn’t noticed her before. “Have you seen my dad?”
Nicole lowered her magazine. “He’s at the golf course. There’s three guys in the neighborhood he plays with twice a week. They usually play first thing in the morning, but somebody had a conflict.” She looked at the clock on the face of her smart phone. “He should be back in about an hour.”
Bell dragged over a chair from the umbrella table and sat down. “Good. This gives us a chance to talk privately.”
Nicole adjusted her chaise lounge to a more upright position. “What’s on your mind?”
Bell rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but here goes. I don’t know you. It looks like you make my dad happy, but I’m telling you that I’m watching you. Dad’s in a fragile place right now. He had a hard time dealing with my mom’s cancer, and my brother and I want to make sure he isn’t hurt or taken advantage of.”
“I understand. Your father’s relationship with me must seem awfully sudden to you.”
“Sudden? That doesn’t begin to cover it.”
“Have I done anything that makes you uneasy?”
“That man last night, your explanation of your work—quite frankly, it scares the hell out of me.”
“Fair enough. But is there anything I’ve done so far concerning your father?”
“I wish there was. It would make everything easier.”
Nicole smiled. “Because absence of evidence isn’t evidence of absence.” She set her feet on the deck and leaned toward Bell. “Let me put my cards on the table, since that’s what we seem to be doing. Your dad is a great guy. I’ve never met anyone quite like him. Our time together is very special to me. I would never do anything to hurt him. And I hope you and your brother will eventually see that.”
“How much longer are you planning on staying?”
“Just like I said last night, I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. As long as John doesn’t need me, and James wants me around, I don’t have any plans. But I’m going to be honest with you. That man turning up last night could be a hiccup. If he shows up again, I may have to leave for a bit.”
“Because?”
“Because I don’t want anyone bothering your dad.”
At the Goldminer’s Club, Fred Stein’s friend Rudy Grissom, a blocky, gray-haired man with an acne-scarred face and a confident smile, sat at a small table with two of the bouncers he supervised. Kevin Johnson was a large black man with a one-inch Afro and pirate earrings, and Chris Billings was an amateur boxer with spiky blond hair and a permanent scowl. The club wasn’t open yet. The lights were up and a dark-haired dancer in red lingerie and an open turquoise robe was vacuuming in the back of the room. “You guys remember Fred?”
“Clueless white guy you know from prison?” Johnson asked.
“The very one. I think maybe he’s found us a score. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Thought he was going straight.”
“Yeah, so did he. But he’s broke. Can’t find a job.”
“What’s the score?” Billings asked.
“Not sure about the details yet. Might be ripping off a scam.”
“Really?”
“He wants to get back at the woman who sent him to jail.”
“How would that work?” Billings asked.
“She’s a player,” Grissom said. “She can’t go to the police. He thinks she’s on a job.”
“Cool,” Johnson said. “When will you know if there’s something in it for us?”
“Just have to wait and see. If this score comes together, I want him to think it’s his idea and I’m just his wingman.”
“So what’s the real plan?”
“If it pans out, we’ll stiff Fred and take all the money.”
“Count me in,” Billings said.
Johnson chuckled. “You’re a real bastard, Rudy.”
Grissom shrugged. “Some guys are just meant to get screwed, and Fred is one of them.”
Chad Wright pulled into the parking lot of the Budget Host Inn. He was driving his truck with his right hand, listening to a country station on the radio, and working a toothpick between his teeth with his left. As he drove by the office door, he thought he saw a car that looked familiar—a black Impala with a Georgia license plate. He craned his head for a second, but he didn’t stop. He drove down to the parking space in front of room 124 and pulled in. The Do Not Disturb sign was still on his door. The toothpick he’d slipped between the door and jamb below the lock was still in place. He glanced up and down the sidewalk nonchalantly; then he walked down to the office until he could see through the window. A heavy-set man in a tan suit and a white cowboy hat was standing at the counter. Damn.
Chad hurried back down to his room and grabbed the packed suitcase that he’d left on the bed. The Impala was still in front of the offices when he got back into his truck. He drove to the end of the lot, turned right into the alley behind the hotel, and then turned left into the Perkins Restaurant parking lot. The traffic light at the intersection was turning green as he bounced over the curb and onto the street. A block later, he turned into a residential neighborhood. No one was following him, but he randomly circled a few blocks, just in case, before he drove toward the beltway ramp. He got out his phone. “Molly? A detective tracked me to the motel.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. It was one of the guys that found me last time.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m on the interstate. They must be tracking this truck.”
“You need to trade it in.”
“We need to get out of here.”
“I can’t leave. The last piece of the puzzle fell into place today. Any day now, this deal is going to pop. Then we’ll leave here with more money than we’ve ever seen at one time. Those detectives will never be able to find us. Get rid of the truck, find another motel, and stay out of sight.”
“Why can’t I just stay at your place?”
“Because John will find out.”
“How? I’ll stay inside. Even your neighbors won’t know I’m there.”
“Trust me. He’ll know. The closer we get to the money, the more careful he’s become. God knows what he would do if he thought I fucked up the plan.”
“Who cares? He’s an old guy. I can take him.”
“Just get rid of the truck and find a new motel.”
Molly hung up her phone. She looked out the door of her office into the reception area. Betty wasn’t at her desk. Goddamn Randy Mitchell. She wished she’d never met him in that hotel bar and gone up to his room. He seemed like easy money. They’d taken his rings and watch and the cash from his wallet. There was no reason for Chad to beat him down. The guy hadn’t hurt her. She’d been drunk, of course. The scene was blurry in her mind. Chad crashed into the room just as she’d fallen down. Randy was standing over her, reaching down to help her up. She could never figure out if Chad had lost his temper or just made a mistake. The result was the same. Private detectives hunting them.
Up until that incident, she’d never questioned her relationship with Chad. Even if he was impulsive and could be overconfident, they’d always been good together. But after working with John, she saw her possibilities differently. He’d shown her how easy it was to fool a mark if your research was good. What more could she learn if she stuck with him? But leaving Chad was a big step. He definitely had her back. He’d proven it over and over again, even when there was no money on the table. John? She was his new girl. She felt
sure that he would be there for her if there was still a chance to score the cash, but there was no history between them for him to step up if the money was gone. Fucking him wasn’t going to make him sentimental. At least not in the beginning.
Molly watched Betty sit down at her desk and turn on her computer. She turned to her own computer screen. Should she play it safe or take a chance on something new? Would Chad come after her if she left with John? Probably. How would John react if that happened? Would he shoot first or turn on the charm? She’d feel bad if Chad got hurt, but how bad and for how long? As soon as she and John had the safe-deposit-box key, she was going to have to decide who she was going to leave with.
Later that evening Stein was sitting in his car in the half-empty parking lot of the Cup-N-Sup restaurant. Carrie hadn’t sounded too disappointed when he told her he got the form rejection email instead of the second interview, but that was because she thought he had another job lead. Why had he lied to her? He had to find a job with health insurance and retirement benefits. He had to make enough money to catch up the mortgage. But how could he make that happen? No one was hiring ex-cons to work around computers, and that was all he knew how to do. He watched an elderly couple totter out of the restaurant. It was all her fault. Fucking Sally Jones. He’d checked the property records. The house in Sandy Run Estates belonged to James Denison. He’d seen a picture of him on the Internet. He was definitely the guy with Sally in the parking lot. And he was rich. Didn’t even have a job. She had to be conning him. How much money was she taking him for? Stein watched the elderly couple get into an old Buick. Why shouldn’t Sally have to pay him back? His phone rang. It was Rudy Grissom. “What’s up?”
The Kidnap Victim Page 3