by Leanna Sain
“The way I see it,” I continued, hoping she couldn’t hear how gruff my voice sounded. “Going undercover is the only way to get this guy.”
“Jonas, I—”
“No, let me finish. You have to admit that we need to get on the inside of this operation. Am I right?”
“Yes, but—”
“And since—besides those two guys who had Raymond in their trunk tonight—we’re the only other people who have figured out that Spencer uses homeless guys. Right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“And he’ll be looking for another homeless guy to replace Raymond now that he’s out of the picture, right?”
Her sigh was loud and exasperated. She snatched her hand away, crossing her arms, and glared at me.
There was my answer.
“I’m going to be that guy, Cleo. Don’t worry. I have no intention of getting dumped in the river. I can stay one step ahead of them because I have an advantage those other men didn’t. I know what’s going on. I’ll get Lily to help me find the right clothes so I’ll look the part, but that’s where the similarities will stop. I’m not like them. Homeless folks tend to be a little desperate; willing to do almost anything—legal or otherwise—to make money. I’m not trying to be a hero. All I’m after is shutting Mark Spencer down.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What about your story?”
I dropped my gaze, feeling a little sheepish. “Well…yeah, there’s that, too.”
She let that slide, not commenting any further.
She might not like it, but I was right, and she knew it. She’d probably die before admitting it, though. In the eyes of the citizens of Savannah, the name “Mark Spencer” was synonymous with “police.” He was trusted to uphold the law—to do what was right—and he was abusing that trust. He’d keep abusing it, too, unless someone did something. Someone like me.
Unless we attacked from the inside, there was really no way to stop this mess. The counterfeiting would continue and so would the killing.
“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“I’d be wasting my breath if I tried, right?”
“Yep.”
“There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”
Her question sent my heart pounding again, my blood heating in my veins. “Hmmm…I like the sound of that. I’d be willing for you to try.”
Her cheeks stained pink, but she ignored my offer. “Would you promise me something?” she finally asked.
I nodded, and she whispered, “Please, be careful.”
I reached over and recaptured her hand, releasing another wave of invisible sparks, before giving it a squeeze. “That, I can do. You got it.”
Chapter Sixteen
Cleo
“What do you think?” Jonas asked, hamming it up, doing a sort of Vanna White-meets-runway model sort of pantomime, comically showing off his new look. He wore a pair of ragged, loose-fitting workpants that had a strip of worn duct tape acting as a patch over a hole in one of the knees. On his feet, were a pair of scuffed boots, almost identical to Lily’s, though one of his laces was a piece of twine. A nappy, quilted jacket was layered over a faded red t-shirt; the words, “Run, Forrest. Run.” were just visible above a couple of large blotches where someone had obviously spilled bleach on it, back in the decade when it had actually been washed. To complete the ensemble, he wore a ball cap that was so filthy and grease-stained that I couldn’t even read what it was advertising. It made my head itch just to look at it. I shuddered, trying to avoid wondering about the hat’s previous owner. Jonas grinned like he knew what I was thinking.
I don’t know how it happened so quickly. Jonas was ready to go. It had taken some finagling on his part, but he’d been able to drag Lily away from Raymond’s side for a couple of hours in order to gather the right costume, as well as getting a few names and possible locations of some good street connections. I’m pretty sure there were two things that made her agree to do it. One…she wanted to stop Mark Spencer so badly she was willing to take a chance with Jonas’ life, especially after what Spencer had done to her friend. And two…Raymond was still so out of it, he’d never realize she wasn’t glued to his bedside.
At any rate, she and Jonas had obviously hit the mother-lode in the “homeless menswear department.” Looking at him now, no one would ever suspect he was anything other than another of Savannah’s bona fide down-and-outers—her words, not mine. Jonas would blend in effortlessly, and Spencer would be none-the-wiser. Now, was that a good or a bad thing? I wasn’t sure.
Rolling my eyes, I said, “Okay, the first thing you need to remember is, whatever you do…don’t smile. Teeth like yours will give you away in a heartbeat. People will know you’re a fake. They’re just too darned perfect.” They match the rest of you, I silently added.
It was true. Even in this dumpster-worthy outfit; even with the scruff of a day-old beard beginning to shadow his face; even in that disgustingly filthy hat…he looked amazing.
His grin widened and he performed a clumsy pirouette, making sure I was able to see his outfit from all angles. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. So, what’s the verdict? Do I pass?”
“Umm…” The question had to be rhetorical. I doubted he really wanted to know what I thought. If I believed, for an instant, that my opinion could possibly change his mind, then I’d let him have it with both barrels. What I thought was that even a blind person, and certainly anyone with even mediocre vision would know immediately that he was a fake; that this was all an act. But then, that was the opinion of someone who thought Jonas would look just as amazing if he were wearing a lawn and leaf bag. I took a deep breath and tried again, concentrating on seeing him through eyes unclouded by personal prejudice, and something else I wasn’t ready to admit yet.
It was no use. It just wasn’t possible for me to be unprejudiced where he was concerned. I hoped it was just me…that it wouldn’t be so obvious to someone less smitten with him than I was. The idea of Spencer or his goons figuring out what Jonas was up to was too frightening to contemplate. But bringing that up right now wouldn’t make any difference. No matter what I said, it wouldn’t change Jonas’ mind, so why bother arguing the point? “I think you and Lily did a good job with the clothing choices,” I finished lamely. I couldn’t seem to inject any enthusiasm into my words.
His grin slowly faded and was replaced by a look of utter seriousness. He stepped toward me and placed his hands on my shoulders, stooping down in order for his eyes to be level with mine. “It’s going to be okay, Cleo.”
“How can you say that? How can you be so sure?” I was desperate to believe him.
“Trust me. I know these things.”
I gave him a derisive snort that was definitely unladylike. “Yeah? Well, I want to go on record as saying I voted against this idea.”
“Have you come up with a better one, yet?” He waited a beat or two. “No? Well, then…it looks like those in favor of me disguising myself as a homeless man in order to nab Mark Spencer, wins.”
“What do you mean those in favor? There’s only us…me and you…two people. One, for and one, against. Lily doesn’t count. All she’s interested in is stopping Spencer. She’s not thinking about the risks.”
“Nope. I count three people who are for the plan…me, myself and I.” He counted off the names on his fingers.
“Stop joking about it, Jonas. This is serious!”
“I know it is, but I believe it’ll work. I believe it’s the only way that will work. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be doing it. Remember? I’m the seat-belt guy.”
“I know…I know. I get it. Thank you for trying to make me feel better about this. I know I should be the one encouraging you, not the other way around. Here you are, willing to put your life on the line so we can catch these guys, and I’m acting like a prophet of doom. I’m sorry. It’s just that…” I shrugged his hands off my shoulders and started pacing,
hands gesturing wildly. “You’re sort of sailing into unknown territory, Jonas. No one can predict what will happen. These guys are playing for keeps. I didn’t want to believe it before—I kept telling myself there was another explanation, but after what happened tonight, I can’t lie to myself anymore. They’re killers. They’ve killed before and they’ll do it again.” I stopped in front of him and grabbed his arms. Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away. “I’m scared,” I admitted, then drew in a shaky breath. “I just wish there was another way.” One that doesn’t risk your life, I silently added.
He reached for my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Try not to worry, okay?”
Yeah, right. That was like turning on the faucet and then telling the water not to come out. I nodded once and muttered, “I’ll try.”
“Good girl.”
Since Lily was otherwise occupied with Raymond and wasn’t willing or able to help me with my art project, and Minnie was still giving me the silent treatment, I was on my own. Though Minnie had accepted, and even embraced, my decision to hang around with Lily, bringing a homeless man into the house in order to hide him from the cops was something altogether different; sort of like living out a real-life episode of Law & Order, a show she watched regularly and enjoyed. Apparently, living it—rather than merely watching it—were two altogether different things, in her eyes. The latter just wasn’t her cup of tea. But then to her credit, she didn’t know that the cop in question was the bad guy. Minnie’s feathers had been severely ruffled, and I was paying for my transgression. I wondered just how long the cold shoulder would last this time.
****
After some half-hearted work on the sketches I’d already done, I was nearly frantic to get out of the house. I had to find something to occupy my mind or I’d go crazy. Grabbing my laptop and stuffing it into a messenger bag, I headed to the public library. I needed to do some research.
The library didn’t have much on the subject of counterfeiting; a couple of dated tomes that droned on and on about such things as: optically variable inks, watermarks, holograms, and micro printing. I hated to sound crude, but the best way I could describe it was to use one of Minnie’s colorful expressions: it was as boring as gray, dull as oatmeal, and dry as a popcorn fart.
Since I was about to nod off, I decided to fire up my laptop, typing “counterfeiting money” in the search box.
I was amazed at the pages of information I netted. One of the sites actually gave step-by-step instructions of how to do it! Unbelievable!
I learned that most modern currencies have anti-copy features…tiny designs that have the word “void” or “fake” embedded in them in such a way that they’re visible if someone is dumb enough to try to use a copy machine to print money.
Along the same line, manufacturers of color copiers have implemented special features to keep people from using their equipment in counterfeiting. Most of the machines imbed a unique code, invisible in ordinary light, which can be traced back to a specific machine. They’ve also come up with the technology that will actually cause the machine to shut down if it detects the design elements of currency. I think it’s a pretty sad state of affairs when companies have to spend big money in their R&D department just to stay ahead of the bad guys. I guess that’s part of the reason those products cost so much.
I was surprised to discover that my scanty knowledge of counterfeiting wasn’t how they did it anymore. You know the one I’m talking about…like from the Andy Griffith show and old black and white gangster movies. The heavy, Gutenberg-style press with the metal plate delicately carved out by some old craftsman was a thing of the past. Now, it involved producing a computer generated film negative. They burn the negatives onto a series of photosensitized aluminum plates; with each one showing different details from the bill. Those plates are then used on an offset printing press, so that each set of details are layered on top of the others, using different inks. Most successful counterfeiters opt for purchasing high-quality negatives rather than trying to make their own, since no matter how good the paper is, the finished product is useless if the photographic negative is shoddy. From the conversation we’d overheard in the alley, that was the option Spencer had chosen. Start up fees for something like that are pretty high, though. Those fancy negatives are expensive. A contracted set could cost over $2000, with the plates costing nearly that much, as well.
I sat back in my chair, staring at the computer screen, but not really seeing it. Mark Spencer had coughed up the big money so he could buy professional negatives and plates. Anything less couldn’t have produced bills that looked and felt as real as the ones Lily had found in the trash. Aside from that slight misalignment, those hundreds had been perfect, and the tiny glitch was sure to have been remedied by now. Spencer would’ve seen to it. Since there’d been no rumblings in the news about counterfeit bills popping up in the Savannah area, I must not be the only one thinking they were real.
So…yeah, the start-up costs were pretty high, but when you’re printing off hundred dollar bills by the sheet, it doesn’t take long to recoup any losses. It was hard for me to wrap my head around the kind of money Mark Spencer was raking in. No wonder he seemed willing to do anything to keep the operation going. Even killing people…no matter how many it took.
Jonas was right. Spencer had to be stopped.
I just wished there was another way to do it.
****
In spite of being so tired I was nearly shaking, I couldn’t relax enough to go to sleep. I sat up and turned my pillow over—again—punching it with much more force than was necessary. A beam of light streamed in from the street lamp outside, spotlighting Tut. He was staring at me with reproachful eyes.
“What?” I snapped. “My pillow was flat. You know I hate it when that happens.”
I could tell by his look that he didn’t buy my explanation. “Okay, you’re right, that’s not the real problem, although it is true. I do hate it when my pillow is flat.”
Tut blinked patiently, waiting.
I rolled over to face him and sighed. “I can’t sleep. I’m too worried about Jonas. He’s planning to do something really stupid and really dangerous and he won’t listen to reason! Yeah, I know Mark Spencer has got to be stopped, and I know we can’t depend on the cops to help, but there’s got to be a better way! Ugh! Why are guys so hardheaded? Oops, sorry,” I apologized when he narrowed his eyes and flattened his ears. “Not you…and maybe not even most guys. Actually, there’s only one man I’m sure about, the only one who really matters—present company excluded, of course—but he holds the title for the most stubborn of them all.”
I reached out to rub my cat’s head, and then moaned, “How’d he get to be so important to me so quickly, Tut? Am I really so pathetic that I fall head over heels for the first guy I ever really talked to? I’ve never felt this way until now…never! And frankly, I’m not sure I even like it. Caring about someone like this? I don’t know…” I shook my head sadly. “It’s like giving someone permission to reach in and rip your heart out. I’ve opened myself up to a world of pain…one that never existed for me before Jonas. What makes it even worse is this Jill person.”
Tut’s eyes widened at the mention of her name.
“Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel. Who is she to Jonas? Somebody important? He hasn’t said anything about her, but then again, we haven’t had a real date—not in the normal sense of the word—so it’s not like we know a great deal about each other. He knows a lot more about me than I know about him, but still…”
I sighed and scratched under Tut’s chin, his familiar purr a comforting sound. “You know, I probably would’ve never even met him if not for Lily. Okay…I did run into him…literally, but I never would’ve talked to him. I’d have just blushed furiously, ducked my head down, and concentrated on walking away without tripping over my own feet.”
He stopped purring and gave me a reproachful stare again. “That’s the truth, and you know it!” I insisted. “Bu
t now I have met him and I think he likes me, but even if he doesn’t, I’ve fallen for him, hook, line, and sinker, and I don’t want to lose him. He’s trying to catch a bad guy and I admire him for it, but if something happens to him, I’ll—No! I can’t let myself think about that. If I dwell on all the things that could go wrong, I’ll never get any sleep. What am I going to do?”
Sometimes I wished Tut could talk; now was one of those times. As I stared into his eyes, I found myself thinking about children’s church back when I was a little girl, before my parents died. The teacher, Miss Wendy, had assured the class regularly that God loved them and knew all about them—every little thing—even the number of hairs on their heads! I could remember giggling, thinking that it would be a lot easier for God to keep track of that number with someone like Miss Wendy’s husband, who was almost bald. The class had also been encouraged to pray, which she explained was another word for talking to God. All they needed to do was bring any requests to Him, because nothing was too big or too hard for Him to accomplish. Nothing was impossible. She’d even taught the class a song about that…“My God is So Big.” The melody returned, unbidden, and I found myself humming a tune I didn’t remember knowing.
Where on earth had that come from? My wondering gaze met Tut’s owlish one. His eyes were big and round…and wise. “You think I should pray? I know Miss Wendy told us that God wants his children to talk to him, no matter how big or small the problem is, and technically, I’m his child, even though I’ve kind of shut him out of my life for a while. What do you think?”
He just stared at me.
“Right. It couldn’t hurt, and if that song is true, it could help. I’m going to try it.”
I took a deep breath and paused. It’d been a long time since I’d done this, and I wasn’t quite sure how to start. The thought made me feel guilty. “God, it’s me, Cleo. Yeah, I know it’s been a long, long time and I’m sorry about that. I know all churches aren’t like Aunt Patricia’s. The one I attended in North Carolina with my parents is proof of that. I was wrong to turn my back on you and I hope you can forgive me.