UnderCover

by David R Lewis

  “I can do that.”

  “They got one scooter on the floor that is way cool, though, man.”

  “Oh?”

  “No shit. A Guzzi Norge. Freakin’ beautiful, Crockett. Helluva sled, man.”

  “Am I to assume that you like this particular motorcycle?”

  Stitch grinned. “I’d marry the fucker, man. I’d even sign a pre-nup.”

  Crockett chuckled. “That good, huh?”

  “Better.”

  “If I’m gonna pick you up, will the cars be here that soon?”

  “Yeah. The rides should be here tomorrow. That way you can slide by in the Bird with a chick or two the next day to get me an’ sorta establish yourself. Dig?”

  “Good idea.”

  “I already told ‘em I worked for this dude that just came in from the left coast that’s got some heavy bread and solid connections. The word’ll get back to the Leoni guy that you’re a tall hog. He’ll be curious. You show up with a couple a creamers and a righteous ride, you’ll make an impression.”

  “I hate this kinda shit, Stitch.”

  “I know it. You’d rather drop a piano on somebody than show ‘em the sheet music, huh?”

  Crockett smiled. “Couldn’t have put it better myself,” he said.

  Stitch spent the rest of the afternoon settling in to his new location. After a nap, Crockett phoned Satin at the cabin.

  “I just called to see how the little people were holding up,” he said.

  “You ever clean out your cabinet under the kitchen sink, Crockett?”

  “I’m a guy. Whatta you think?”

  “You got mice. The evidence is everywhere under there.”

  “That’s why I never clean it out. I don’t wanna know the truth.”

  “Men! Jesus. I’ll take care of it.”

  “I love you, honey.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Is there a specific reason for this call, or did you just want to interrupt my day?”

  “Since you asked, yes there is. I need you to take your kid and her friend Whisper and spend some time and money getting them limited wardrobes for our upcoming deception.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Some clothing that is, of course, terribly sexy but not overly trashy. You know, the type of image you might have projected in your youth, had you been an expensive companion as opposed to a run-of-the-mill floozy.”

  “You do realize, don’t you, that you’re not scoring a lot of points here?”

  “I, or rather Big Sur Imports, will reimburse your expenses forthwith.”

  “I see.”

  “This errand I have charged you with should be completed upon the morrow so that the two young women may take up residence at my new manse with me that very evening. Please pass the word to your lovely daughter so she may advise Whisper of the schedule.”

  “That’s all you want, huh?”

  “For the time being. I did, however, contemplate dropping by for a visit a little later.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yes, dear, if you’re not too busy, sweetie.”

  “I’ll try to work you into my schedule.”

  “That very kind of you, my love.”

  “Gimme an hour, and bring your A-game,” Satin said, and disconnected.

  Crockett sat on the couch and smiled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY- FOUR

  The cars arrived late the next morning, complete with California plates and Big Sur Imports insurance and registration. The carrier driver, a young man named Lou, was carefully curious about delivering six figures worth of autos to an old guy with a thinning ponytail and an aged hippie out in the middle of nowhere, but asked no questions. Crockett tipped him fifty bucks, and the deal was done. After the truck departed, Stitch moved both cars into the garage and went to work on them with a microfiber dust cloth.

  “Gotta keep these rides pristine, man,” he explained. “Show ‘em, like, the proper fucking respect, ya know?”

  Crockett, who washed his truck twice a year whether it needed it or not, went inside and made some iced tea. When he arrived in the garage with libation, Stitch was just finishing the Thunderbird.

  “This sled ain’t original, dude,” Stitch said, accepting his glass of tea.

  Crockett, somewhat less than an automotive motorhead, raised an eyebrow. “It’s not?” he asked

  “Naw. Somebody tricked it out. Got big-assed disc brakes on all four corners, beefed up suspension and anti-sway bars, even run-flat tires. The motor’s still, like, a 390, but they fuel injected it an’ shit. Got a couple a scoops to get extra air to the mix, too. No way to know the horsepower, but I bet, since they did all the other shit, it’s a lot more than stock. Way past four-hundred probably.”

  “Take it for a drive.”

  “Me?”

  Crockett smiled. “Yes, you. Christ, Stitch! You make a helo dance the tango. You outa be able to successfully come to terms with a freakin’ Ford.”

  “Thanks, man,” Stitch replied, and launched himself inside the car.

  Crockett watched as Stitch lowered the top and rumbled away down the drive. The throaty gallop of the exhaust was music to his ears. Three-quarter cam, he thought. Probably blue printed and balanced, too. Damn!

  Before he went inside, he checked out the Mercedes. Damn again.

  Crockett had just finished making his version of tuna salad for a late lunch when Stitch breezed in and swiped a finger-full out of the bowl for a taste test.

  “Oh, wow! Too much relish, man. And no eggs, either. Ya gotta put a little hard-boiled egg in tuna salad, dude. This is tuna salad, ain’t it?”

  “If I wasn’t sure what it was,” Crockett said, “I wouldn’t eat it.”

  “Me either, man. Got any Frosted Flakes or somethin’ like that?”

  “How was the T-Bird,” Crockett said, trying to remain insulted.

  “That fucker is way more than a old ‘Bird, dude,” Stitch replied, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. “I took it over to St. Joe, then back through Liberty an’ shit, then home. Top end, that sumbitch’ll fuckin’ run, Crockett. Balls to the wall, man. Like a raped ape! I don’t know how fast. That stock speedo only goes to one-twenty. Acceleration’s a little tricky. Keeps breakin’ loose and smokin’ the tires. Old fucker scared the shit outa me ‘til I got used to it. Gotta treat it kinda gentle, or it’ll bite ya!”

  “No shit?”

  “Negative feces, dude. That stuff you made all we got to eat?”

  “The fridge is stocked if you wanna cook something. Got some frozen dinners, too.”

  “Naw. I think I’ll profile over to Smithville and grab a Big Mac or somethin’. Maybe cruise the lake. Wanna come along?”

  “Thanks, no. I’m not up for a ride. I need to stay close to home.”

  “Suit yourself, man. See ya.”

  As Crockett secured a box of crackers from the cabinet and a Coke from the fridge, he heard Stitch motor off down the drive on his old Guzzi and smiled.

  An hour or so later, as Crockett finished carrying four lawn chairs to the rooftop observation platform and was admiring the view of the distant lake, he noticed a small white car approaching the drive. He hustled down to ground level in time to intercept Danni on the front deck. She was wearing sandals, cut-off jeans, an electric yellow tank top, and a smile.

  “Rascal,” he said. “Good to see you.”

  “You, too, Dan,” Danielle replied, remembering their identities. She turned and looked behind her. “This is Whisper. Whisper, this is Dan.”

  Whisper was shorter than Danni’s 5’6” by at least four inches. With too-blond hair well past her shoulders under a white sequined ball cap, she was wearing extreme heels mostly hidden by laundered and pressed hip-hugger stonewashed blue jeans with a slight bell, a black tube top under an oversized man’s white dress shirt, French nails, light makeup, lavender eyes that could have only come from contacts, and a chest that could only have come from an expensive procedure. When she smiled, her teeth were alarm
ingly white. The kid couldn’t have weighed a hundred pounds, but her presence went at least twice that.

  “Hi, Dan,” she said, in a voice much lower than Crockett expected, and held out her hand. “Rascal has told me almost nothing about you.”

  “That’s exactly what she was asked to do, Whisper,” Crockett said, taking the offered appendage. Her touch was warm and dry. “Good of you to come. She’s told me very little about you, also.”

  “We’ll have to fix that,” Whisper went on. “I hate to be rude, but I need a restroom.”

  Crockett slid open a door. “Just past the kitchen area, on your left.”

  When Whisper disappeared inside the house, Danni hit Crockett with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “How’d I do?” she asked.

  “Great. She only knows me as Dan?”

  “Daniel Beckett. We got almost the same first name, huh?”

  Crockett smiled. “Almost, Champ. You ready for this?”

  “Sure. Whatdaya think of Whisper?”

  “That depends on if you’re gonna tell your mom or not.”

  “My lips are sealed,” Danni said, unsuccessfully stifling a grin.

  “Woof.”

  “Mom thinks it’s a hoot.”

  “What?”

  “The three of us were out buying clothes and shit all morning. She thinks you trying to deal with ol’ Whisper is funny as hell.”

  “She does, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah. She’s not worried about anything, don’t get me wrong. She just thinks that havin’ Whisper around is gonna be a frustrating experience for you.”

  “Hell, Danni, having you around is a frustrating experience for me.”

  “Aw,” Danni purred, shifting her stance and attitude. “Don’t you just say the sweetest things?”

  “That shit is for public consumption only,” Crockett said. “Stop it. If I can handle you, I can handle Whisper.”

  Danni chuckled. “Even you, Crockett,” she said.

  “Even me, what?”

  She ran a finger down his sternum and looked up at him. “Even you, Daddy, can be such a guy.”

  “That’s what you think, is it?”

  “Testosterone is testosterone,” Danni went on. “It’s a good thing, though. Mom says all this frustration can only work to her advantage.”

  “Shit,” Crockett said.

  “C’mon, Daddy,” Danni said, bouncing away. “Let’s get the stuff outa the car.”

  Feeling slightly sorry for himself and very old, Crockett followed her onto the drive.

  The girls had just gotten settled in their rooms, both pleased by the private baths, the cable TV’s, and the small refrigerators, when Stitch came motoring up the drive. Danni scooted outside to greet him.

  “That the old guy Rascal’s hanging’ with?” Whisper asked.

  “Yeah. Stitch. He’s the best there is.”

  “You and him go back a ways, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “What, war buddies or somethin’?”

  “No. I wasn’t in Viet Nam.”

  “Why not?”

  “They wouldn’t let gays serve in the military way back then.”

  Whisper’s giggle sounded like she was twelve years old. “You’re not gay,” she said.

  “I’m not?”

  “Nope. My gaydar is real good. You don’t even move the needle.”

  “I hide it well.”

  “Can’t hide your eyes, man.”

  Crockett smiled. “Are you gonna be trouble, girlfriend?”

  “Maybe. Maybe I just like screwin’ around. But if that’s part of the deal, it’s okay with me. Is that part of the deal?”

  “No. Didn’t Rascal tell you that?”

  “Nope. She just said you were a good guy, had money, and wanted some companionship. I needed a vacation, so here I am.”

  “She was supposed to let you know about the situation,” Crockett said.

  Whisper smiled. “Relax, big guy. She did, I’m just fuckin’ with ya. God, you’re easy.”

  Slightly embarrassed, Crockett shook his head. “My only fault,” he said.

  “Mine, too,” Whisper said, getting to her feet as Stitch and Danni entered the room. “Especially if there’s money involved.”

  After a late dinner of soft scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese, diced ham, and mushrooms, everybody drifted away and Crockett was left to his own devices. He cleaned up the kitchen, poured a short scotch, grabbed a Macanudo, and went up to the observation deck. He’d just settled in when Whisper arrived. Her hair was down and wet, she was bundled in a large terry robe, and she was barefoot.

  “This is beautiful,” she said, standing a little in front of Crockett and looking over the countryside. “The moonlight on the lake, the breeze, God I love this shit. Great way to dry off after a shower.”

  Crockett watched as the girl opened her robe to the night. Slowly she turned to face him. She was wearing a t-shirt and athletic shorts.

  “See ya tomorrow, Dan,” she said, and headed back down the stairs.

  Disappointed and relieved, Crockett chuckled and took a sip of scotch.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Early the next morning, Crockett, in a seizure of consideration for the female breakfast palate, chopped cold cantaloupe and honeydew melon and put the chunks on the counter to get closer to room temperature. That was followed by putting croissants out of a can in the oven and slicing mild cheddar cheese onto a platter. After the cheese was artfully arranged, he dumped some frozen hash browns into a skillet, some bacon in the microcave to thaw, and four eggs in a bowl to mix with cream after they warmed up a little. He lit his first Sherman of the day and was pouring his second cup of coffee, a dark roast Kenyan he got on-line, when Stitch, his hair loose, lurched in and shambled up to the counter.

  Crockett looked him over. “That girl is gonna kill you, old man.”

  Stitch peered at the counter. “Melon? You fixed melon?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and heading for the coffee pot.

  “Relax. Bacon, hash browns, and eggs, too.”

  Stitch grinned. “The cheese is lovely,” he said. “All that sensitive shit is for the chicks, huh?”

  “The young ladies, yes.”

  “Where’s them tricked-out folded napkins?”

  “I’m not finished yet.”

  “And the vase with a rose?”

  “As soon as I prepare the napkins.”

  “Feelin’ all manly an’ shit today, Crockett?”

  “I’m just allowing my softer side to show.”

  “’Bout time, dude.”

  “I even confessed to Whisper that I’m gay.”

  Stitch stopped in mid-pour for a moment and smiled. “How’d that, like, work out for ya?” he asked.

  “I don’t think she believed me.”

  “Well, she’s young, man. Probably don’t know much about that kinda thing.”

  “Probably not,” Crockett said.

  “You know, all innocent and shit.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, then began to chuckle. Danni walked in through the front door.

  “Morning, Rascal,” Crockett said. “You been running around outside already?”

  “It’s shorter than coming all the way through the house from Stitch’s room,” she replied, approaching Crockett and kissing him on the cheek. “How are you today, Danny dear?”

  “Fine. The melon’s warmed up a bit. The cheese is cheddar, and the croissants’ll be up in another minute or so.”

  Danni eyeballed the counter. “This all we got?” she asked.

  “Uh, no. The bacon’s almost ready to fry. Also hash browns, and scrambled eggs.”

  “No gravy?”

  “No.”

  “The eggs left over from last night?”

  “No, they’re fresh.”

  “Okay,” the girl replied, picking up a chunk of melon. “This’ll do ‘til the real food is ready.”

  Stitch looked at Crockett. �
��Like, the best laid plans, man,” he said.

  Breakfast finished, Danni and Stitch headed out to clean up Stitch’s Guzzi before he took it to Leoni’s Cycles, and Whisper, wearing a red t-shirt, white shorts, and sandals with two-inch soles and six-inch heels, wandered in.

  “Hi, Dan,” she said.

  “Personal question,” Crockett said, looking her up and down. “How tall are you?”

  “Five-one.”

  “Hence the heels.”

  “Yep.”

  “Whatdaya weigh?”

  Whisper looked down at herself. “Ninety-seven pounds,” she said. “Two-oh-five if you include the silicone and saline.”

  Crockett laughed. “I had to know,” he said.

  “Breakfast over?” Whisper asked.

  “Not if you’re hungry.”

  “Oooh, melon,” the girl replied, taking a seat at the counter. “And cheese. This is great.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Got any tea?”

  “Green. Iced?”

  “Hot.”

  “Comin’ up,” Crockett replied, filling a cup with water for the microwave. When he turned around, Whisper was looking at him askance. “Something the matter?” he asked.

  “What are you up to?”

  “Me? Why do you ask?”

  “This whole set-up is wrong. What’s going on?”

  Crockett fished a tea bag out of a canister by the stove. “Why do you think this is wrong?” he asked.

  Whisper nibbled a piece of cheese, then stared at him. “You’re not rich,” she said. “You’re throwin’ money around like it’s falling outa the trees, but can’t be your money. I know a lot of guys that have money. They’re proud of it. They wear it like a body stocking. You can smell it on ‘em. I don’t smell it on you.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  Crockett smiled, and put the bag and a cup of hot water in the counter in front of her. “Thanks,” he said. “I think.”