“And we should care about this . . . why?” Charles asked. His heart was beating so fast inside his chest, he thought he would black out. One quick look at Fergus told him he, too, was having a hard time holding it together.
“You still didn’t tell us what the explosion was,” Fergus said.
“My employer killed nine of my detail”—Jellicoe snapped his fingers—“just like that.”
“So that means your . . . um . . . detail is down by nine men. Is that what you’re saying?” Charles asked.
“Ten. One of my men in New York bailed on me because of the outrageous demands my employer was making on us. I have four left. Well, I have one other, but he’s useless, so, yes, six in all. Mr. Spyder’s elite goon squad numbers twenty. Do you see my dilemma here?”
Charles tossed his hands in the air. “Why are you telling us this? What do you want us to do? As you pointed out on many occasions over the past year and a half, we are over the hill.”
Jellicoe got up and looked down at the two sitting men. “I’m sorry I interrupted your game, gentlemen. Remember, you are not to leave the house. My men have orders to shoot if you do.”
“Point taken, Mr. Jellicoe,” Charles said as he turned to stare down at the chessboard in front of him. When the door closed behind Jellicoe, Charles turned to Fergus. “Lord love a duck, mate. What the bloody hell was that all about?”
Fergus laughed.
Off in the distance, both men heard a thunderous roar. They looked at each other and laughed hard and long as they forgot about their game and raced to the French doors that led out onto a wide veranda. They watched as cycle after cycle roared into the compound. Their arms pumped high in the air when they spotted the sparkling tiara on Annie’s head.
“I love that woman,” Fergus said between clenched teeth.
“Then you should have told her that instead of hightailing it back to Scotland,” Charles said.
“I was afraid she’d say no if I asked her to marry me. I’m just a working sod. Got nothing to offer the likes of her. By the way, I gave away all my winnings. I did tell you that, didn’t I?”
“You sold her short, Fergus.”
“I know, and for that I will be sorry for the rest of my days.”
Chapter 18
The driveway leading to Hank Jellicoe’s house took on a life of its own as Myra and the gang roared up to the front entrance. Off in the distance, on the beach, Angus Spyder’s security likened the cavalcade to the annual Myrtle Beach Bike Week back in the States. They took off on the run, slogging through the thick sand.
No one made a move to get off their respective Harley. They just sat, balancing the cycles as they revved their engines. Annie was the first to dismount. She patted down her star-studded leathers, settled her tiara more firmly on her head, and marched up to the front door. She leaned on the bell as she looked around. For one wild moment, she forgot everything but the thought that Fergus and Charles were inside and there was nothing she could do about it. She had to get back into character and fast. She risked a glance behind her before she gave the doorbell another jab. Her crew offered a thumbs-up, and then she saw Nikki point to the stampede from the beach.
Annie whirled around just in time to see a bald-headed, tatted-up thug in a muscle shirt approaching Myra. It was hard to ignore the rifle slung over his shoulder. “Do you live here?” Annie trilled as she watched Myra take a slug from her flask. The rubies on the cap sparkled in the bright sunshine.
“No, ma’am. The owner isn’t home right now.”
“That would be, ‘No, Countess. The owner isn’t home right now.’ I am not a ma’am, as you can see.” The girls revved their cycles to make Annie’s point.
“Huh?”
Annie rolled her eyes. “Never mind. Who lives here?”
Baldy looked over at his colleagues, debating if he should give up the information. After a nod from an equally tatted-up guard, he snapped, “Chuck Diamond. He heads up Mr. Spyder’s security.”
“Well, we just stopped by to invite him, and all of you,” Annie said, waving her arms, “to a barbecue this evening at seven. Will you kindly extend the invitation?” Annie was thoroughly enjoying the role she was playing. “Normally,” she said in a haughty tone, “I send out personal engraved invitations, but since this is a casual affair, it really isn’t necessary. Plus, I extended myself by coming in person. I never do that. My press secretary does all that.” Annie stifled a laugh. She’d lost him at asking him to extend the invitation.
“But it is casual attire,” she repeated. “Tell everyone, please. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we have to be on our way over to Mr. Spyder’s home so I can personally invite him and his family to join us. I do promise a fun-filled evening. I so love jocularity when it comes to a party. I do hope you all like country and western. We’re featuring Willie Nelson tonight.”
“Huh?”
The girls/guys stomped down on the pedals and waited for Annie to peel out, which she did with a roar. Myra twirled her scarf in the air with one hand and bellowed, “Let’s rumble, boys!”
Myra deftly maneuvered her Harley until she was abreast of Annie. “Oh, Annie, I am having so much fun. Thank you. They are in there. I could feel it. Did you?”
“I did. Stick with me, kid. The best is yet to come,” Annie said out of the corner of her mouth. “Did ya get it, Myra? My best Humphrey Bogart impersonation.”
Myra giggled. “I did, but I don’t think anyone else would. That dates us, Annie.”
Annie held her arm out to indicate she was going to slow down and make a turn. The others followed suit.
“The property is posted,” Kathryn yelled. “No trespassing!”
“That certainly does not apply to me,” Annie shot back. “I’m here to extend an invitation to a party. Just stay on my six and follow my lead.”
Nikki took that moment to shout to the others, “Look up! Four media helicopters. Everyone, look pretty now!”
Kathryn and Isabelle waved wildly, while Alexis blew kisses in the air.
Kathryn screamed into the air, “Get our good sides. We want to look chiseled. I’m so glad I shaved this morning.”
“I am just love, love, loving this,” Myra chortled as she took another swig from her flask, which was almost empty by then.
Inside the Spyder mansion, Angus Spyder was apoplectic as he watched six of his men spread out across the shale driveway. Where in the hell was that goddamn Jellicoe? He looked to the doorway and saw his wife and daughter. “Do something!” he screamed.
“What would you have me do, Angus?” Felicia said in a soft, gentle voice. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. You created this mess. Now, clean it up yourself.”
“Whatever you want done, do it yourself,” Gretchen said, echoing her mother’s advice before she turned her chair around and sped down the hall to an outside door that would give her a full view of what was going on in the driveway. Her mother joined her.
“I don’t know what this means, but I know it means something,” Felicia whispered. “This looks like a standoff to me. And it also looks like those helicopters are here to stay or will be here as long as the countess is out there. “She’s lovely, isn’t she?”
“I never saw a real, live countess before. Look at that tiara! It’s gorgeous.”
“Shhh, Gretchen. We need to listen. Oh, I so wish I could read lips. With the noise from the helicopters and the motorcycles, I can’t hear a thing.”
“Where’s Hank?” Gretchen asked.
“I was wondering the same thing. I suspect there is something going on between Angus and Hank. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Angus in such a rage before,” Felicia said as calmly as if she were reporting on the weather. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he has a stroke.”
“Mother, we could not get that lucky. Besides, I don’t think frogs have strokes, at least not fatal ones, the only kind that would do us any good.”
In spite of herself, Felicia laughed out loud. She s
obered almost immediately. “Do you know the first thing I’m going to do if we’re ever set free?”
Gretchen looked up at her mother. “What?”
“I’m going to sell off all my jewelry and buy a ticket back to Russia, to see if I can find my family. The family Angus promised to take care of. He has said all these years that he kept his promise. I don’t know if I believe it or not. I don’t even know if they are alive or dead. What will you do, dear?”
“Get my operation, then see if I can find . . . someone very dear to me.”
Felicia reached for her daughter’s hand and squeezed it.
Back in the driveway, the girls/guys were still waving and blowing kisses to the occupants of the helicopters. Myra was gurgling from her flask, and Annie was being haughty and arrogant as she once again extended her invitation to her evening barbecue.
The line of security didn’t budge, but they did flex their muscles, until Annie whipped out her gun from the small of her back. In the blink of an eye she fired off six shots, nipping the toe of each man’s boot. Then she brought the gun up and aimed for center mass of the man in the middle. “Well, see if I ever invite any of you again,” she sniffed. “You can tell Mr. Spyder he isn’t fit to shine my boots.” She looked up at the helicopters, waved her gun for effect, and laughed out loud, but not before she gave her tiara a good tug.
“I think we’re ready to rumble again, Myra. Let’s put some juice in our takeoff this time.” In the blink of an eye, Annie straddled the Harley, revved the engine longer than necessary, and peeled away, the others right on her tail.
The six guards spread across the driveway looked at one another. “Man, we are so deep in shit, we might as well quit now. What in the damn hell was that all about?” the bald, tatted guard said.
“An invitation to a barbecue is what I got out of it,” one of the guards said as he looked down at his boots. “The lady—excuse me, the countess—has a mighty fine eye, if you want my opinion. She looks like she was born on that beast she was driving, and she’s one hell of a gunslinger.”
Six cell phones pinged to life. The helicopters were still hovering, the whump, whump sound deafening.
The guards trotted off, the helicopters having left to follow the countess and her crew. The beach was now patrolled only by Avery Snowden and his operatives.
Off to the right, Felicia pushed her daughter’s chair down the walkway and up to the boardwalk. “I think this calls for an ice-cream cone, don’t you, dear?”
“Peach this time.” Gretchen laughed.
“Oh, darling, this is the first time I’ve heard you laugh since you returned to the island.”
Gretchen laughed again, a sound of pure joy, as she held up her hand for her mother to take in hers.
Back at the de Silva compound, as the women called it, they parked the Harleys and ran into the house to be met by the rest of the gang. They reported breathlessly on what had happened. Questions were asked and answered, and a lot of high fives, along with some backslapping, ensued.
“Now what?” Sparrow asked.
“Now we wait. The next move is Spyder’s,” Myra said as she fluffed out her wig, then decided that since she was indoors, she didn’t need it. She tossed it onto a chair.
“What’s that I smell?” shouted Kathryn, their food critic.
Annie made a face. “Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
“Nope! Shrimp scampi!” Dennis bellowed from the kitchen. “Come and get it!”
They did, and they ate till they couldn’t eat any more. Dennis beamed his pleasure at all the accolades coming his way.
“We’re having a barbecue this evening. We might or might not have a few guests,” Annie said cheerfully. “If no one shows up, oh, well, more for us. Now, who is going to be doing the barbecuing?”
Ted, Espinosa, Sparrow, and Greg Albright volunteered.
“Then you better check the freezer and take out what you need now,” Annie suggested.
“Let’s hit the lanai,” Jack said as he reached out to grab a pitcher of iced tea. Harry reached for a second one, and Yoko carried the plastic glasses. “We all need to talk now.”
Angus Spyder, his face cherry red, stared down his men. Spittle and drool dripped from his lips and down his shirt because he didn’t have a neck for it to roll onto. He cursed, using every vile, ugly word in his extensive vocabulary of vile and ugly words. Then he said it all over again in every language he knew. Jellicoe entered the room on the tail end of the tirade.
“All they were doing was inviting you and the guards to a barbecue. I have to admit, their approach was a little over the top, but you need to remember who you are dealing with. People like the countess thrive on publicity. You, Angus, can’t afford any publicity. Be prepared to be looked at, scrutinized, and crucified. Your reputation is nowhere near what the countess’s is. Now the media has it all on film. You couldn’t leave it alone, could you, Angus? I warned you, and now what are you going to do?”
The little frog-like man hopped from one place to the other, still screaming the vile curses, which everyone was trying to tune out. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Yet. Is that what you want me to say? Well, I said it. This is not about some goddamn barbecue, and we both know it. Something is going on. I damn well want to know what it is.”
“Then go to the goddamn barbecue and find out what it is,” Jellicoe said quietly. “Just out of curiosity, what do you think this is all about?”
“I’ll tell you what I think, you son of a bitch. It’s about my daughter and the twins that she gave up for adoption. My heirs. My heirs, whom you swore you would find and bring to me. You failed. You bastard, you failed me! I do not tolerate failure. I told you that when I agreed to allow you to come to the island. And the other thing is those two men you have locked up at your house. Scotland Yard, MI6. Even if they’re retired, they have more inside their heads than you will ever have. Somehow, someway, they got word out. If you think for one minute that gun-toting, tiara-sporting, motorcycle-riding countess came here by chance, you are a bigger fool than I thought. This is all a setup to take me down. I want them off my island. Right now. Now!” Spyder screamed, spraying everyone with his spittle.
Jellicoe sighed as he watched Spyder’s men inch their way toward the door. “Well, Angus, short of shooting the countess and all her people, I don’t see how that’s going to happen. We do not have AK-47s and Uzis in our arsenal. Your men are piss-poor shots, and that countess can shoot better than I can. Thanks to you, I’m down ten men. As for your heirs, that’s never going to happen. So you might as well give up on that pipe dream right now. That’s another way of saying that you lost. If you want some advice, I’d be happy to offer some up. For free.”
Spyder cast his evil, hooded eyes on his security head and waited. He gave a slight dip of his head to indicate that Jellicoe should continue.
“Leave,” was the one-word piece of advice Jellicoe offered up, which was met with disdain. “And that’s exactly what I’m going to do right now. When you’re ready to talk sense, call me. Oh, one other thing, I quit!” Jellicoe stalked out of the room. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Felicia and Gretchen Spyder were in the hallway, probably listening to everything that had been said. He decided that was a good thing and pretended not to see them.
Angus Spyder looked around and, for the first time, realized he was alone. But then, he was always alone, at least in his mind. Not that he would ever subject himself to a roomful of people. He would never do that, because of his appearance. Here in his hideaway, with only servants and guards, it didn’t matter.
Drenched in sweat, Spyder could smell his own stink. He hated the smell. It reminded him of scummy pond water rife with green algae, where frogs were hatched and bred.
He made his way to his luxurious bathroom, which was bigger than some people’s entire home in terms of square footage. The room was done in all-natural earth stones, with luxurious velvet green moss growing between the stones. A
trickle of water sliding down the stones was a soothing sound to luxuriate in when bathing. The only problem was that no one ever bathed in the deep tub with the gold faucets. Angus preferred the massive shower, which was almost as good as walking through a rain forest, with its 127 jets pummeling his shrunken body.
Angus never looked at his body, so there were no mirrors in the huge bathroom, only art hanging on the walls. He didn’t need to look into a mirror to shave, since he was basically hairless. And he used an electric razor when he did shave.
A wide shelf above the sink held every exfoliating cream on the market, creams that he used three times a day because he felt the need to shower that much in case scales of some sort started to form on his swarthy skin. Sometimes he rubbed himself raw, but he didn’t care.
Before he stepped into the shower, he pressed a button that flooded the room with soft, mellow music. He was partial to Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. As he listened to his favorite tunes, Angus wondered what it would be like to dance with a woman to the music on a moonlit night. Dreams and fantasies.
When Angus got tired of dreaming about dancing and the soft, mellow music, he recalled his life and how he’d gotten to this point in time. He thought about all the people he’d ruined, stepped on, killed, plowed under to garner the wealth that sat in many banks around the world. The one thing he was most proud of was the slick deal he’d pulled off in England, right under the queen’s nose, with her new age city. He actually laughed out loud, choking and sputtering when the spray of water went into his nose and mouth. When it was finally finished by the end of the year, he would make billions and billions of dollars. So much for the queen and her MI6 and MI5, Sir Charles Martin and his buddy from Scotland Yard, Fergus Duffy. Over-the-hill action players. He laughed again, but this time he closed his mouth.
Eyes Only Page 18