“Hey, honey.”
“Tony. How are you?”
“Never better. Got some work lined up.”
“Need any help?”
“Not worth a plane ticket. Missy Grey turned me on to it. Duke and a player to be chosen are going to carry me across the goal line.”
“You know you can’t trust her.”
“I’m not trusting her. I’m trusting my plan and my team.”
“Holler if you need anything.”
“You know I will. How are you?”
“Bored. The straight life—every day is the same. There’s nothing to do.”
“No shopping? No late lunches? No going out in the evening?”
“You know what I mean. No challenges. Every day blurs into the next. I hate to whine—I know that this is what lots of people hope for, but the money spends better when you have to steal it.”
“It takes a while to adjust.”
“I don’t know if I want to adjust.”
“It’s always easy to see the downside of your current situation. How many slobbery fat guys have you had to fuck lately? How many times have you been shot at? You’ve got to focus on the positive.”
“I may have made a new friend.”
“Really?”
“I snuck off to a hotel bar the other day to flirt some free drinks—you know, just to keep my hand in the game—and there she was, hustling two business dudes. She reminded me of me back in the day.”
“She was working alone?”
“Yeah. She’s just a kid, really—doesn’t even know she’s on the con. She’s just playing.”
“Well, have all the fun you want, but don’t start picking up strays. If she digs herself into a hole, walk away.”
“I’m a big girl. I know how to take care of myself.”
“Don’t we all. I’m just saying that you and Denison come first.”
“And what about you? You got this project sewn up?”
“Me? I’ve got Duke watching my back. I’ve never seen him hesitate when push comes to shove.”
“You’re going to make me jealous.”
“Please. Remember when that guy was going to stab me and you tackled him? He had you by a hundred pounds.”
“Didn’t make any difference. I got your back.”
“That’s right,” he said.
“I love you.”
“And I love you. Watch yourself.”
“You too.”
Paul Robertson stood at his desk. His briefcase was packed. His desktop was clear, and his desk was locked. Weekend getaway in the mountains. Regional quilt show and bluegrass convention. Phase one of his save-my-marriage program. The marriage counselor had said that with the kids out of the house, they needed to get back to basics. He couldn’t expect the kids to keep Martha company; it was up to him to work on their relationship, and that meant taking the time. Retirement was looming. He didn’t want to lose her, didn’t want to be that lonely guy eating cereal for lunch. If he could just do enough to keep her from leaving until he had the retirement money set. His extra cell phone buzzed in his pocket.
“Robertson?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s French. Can you talk?”
“I can listen.”
“Chen is planning on cheating us.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I’ve got him bugged. He’s having Clemens’s safe robbed.”
“He must think something crazy is about to happen. I’ll talk with him.”
“We’re past that.”
“Why?”
“If there was a problem, he should have called. He didn’t. He’s proved he can’t be trusted.”
Robertson lowered his voice. “You can’t just drop bodies on US soil.”
“Relax, I’m on my way to you. I’ll send some guys to deal with him.”
“This isn’t what we agreed.”
“There’s only a few loose ends left. I’m not letting them ruin the plan. Either a guy wants to play it straight and take his cut or he gets cut out. I’m not being cheated by anyone.”
“We don’t need to draw any attention right now.”
“Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of misdirection.”
“From your guys? I’m going down to Mitchellville to make sure everything stays quiet.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll be in touch.”
Robertson slipped his phone into his pocket. So much for the weekend getaway. Just look the other way for old times’ sake. Provide a little intel. Get the money you need to pad out your retirement. That’s what French had told him in the beginning. Every step of the way, the danger had increased. Now French was planning to kill Chen. In the US. What a clusterfuck. He was dancing in the middle. The dead guys in Kyrgyzstan didn’t matter. French and his mercenaries, Clemens, Chen, and he were playing musical chairs with the envelope containing the bank-account passcode. All that mattered was being in a chair when the music stopped. If Chen had the bank codes, that was fine. If French had them, no problem. But if French killed Chen and the cops discovered their plan, he’d lose his pension and wind up in prison. There’d be no way to finesse his way out of it. So he was going to have to run down to Mitchellville. Protect his investment. See if he could find a way to keep Chen from being killed. Nothing could be left to chance at this stage in their plan. He reached for his desk phone and called home.
“Martha?”
“Let me guess. You have to work this weekend.”
“I promise this is absolutely the last time.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“I’m doing everything I can. It’s not my fault when I draw the short straw.”
“I’m not going to be held hostage by your job. I’m going to the mountains. And I’m going to see if Meagan can go with me, so don’t bother to call me every day with your sad story about how you’re on your way in a few more hours.”
She hung up. Robertson tapped the phone handset against the edge of his desk. Six months until retirement. He’d get this deal done, get the money ferreted away, increase their mortgage payments, pay off the credit cards, and they would be set. He’d make it all up to her. They’d go on those cruises she always wanted to go on. Spend time with the grandkids. Go to Europe. In a few years, she’d forget all about how hard things were now.
2
The Windup
On Saturday, when Tony came into the Cup-N-Sup in Mitchellville, the place was full. It was breakfast all day, and the waitresses were scurrying back and forth with plates of pancakes and specialty omelets. Tony squeezed up through the line at the hostess station. Then he noticed Duke motioning to him from a booth at the back corner. Duke’s friend was sitting with his back to the wall. He was a skinny, freckled-faced guy wearing a shoulder rig that he wasn’t hiding in his jacket very well.
“Hey, Tony,” Duke said. He half-stood to shake hands. “This is Barker.” Barker didn’t shake. He just lifted a hand and nodded.
Tony slid into the booth next to Duke. “You guys been here long?”
“I got a friend here,” Barker said, “so we didn’t have to wait.” The kitchen door swung open and smacked into a cart of dirty dishes. Barker jumped.
“Don’t worry,” Duke said. “I’ve known Barker a long time. He’s not jumpy when he’s working. Damn good driver. Where’s your woman?”
“She’s not on this one.”
“I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
Their waitress, a sturdy middle-aged blonde whose hair needed a touch-up, appeared at the booth. She smiled. “What’s it going to be?”
Tony glanced at the others. “You going to eat?”
They shook their heads.
“Bring me some coffee,” he said. “And don’t you worry. We’re going to take care of you for using your space during the busy time.”
She slipped her pad into the pocket of her apron and turned away.
“So what gives?” Duke asked.
“This
is a little one-off deal. Break and enter. About fifteen thousand split three ways, maybe more.”
“Sounds good.”
“The hitch is this—”
He paused while the waitress set his coffee down in front of him.
“We’re stealing blackmail info, so there’s no cops if we get away clean, but there might be blowback. So if it’s not for you, now is the time to walk.”
Barker shook his head. “I need the money, bro.”
“You line up the job,” Duke said, “I’m always in.”
“Great. It’s a doorman building. Security cameras and the whole nine yards. Can you get us some sort of service van, uniforms—you know the deal—plus an extra car?”
“For Monday?”
“Yeah.”
“No problem.”
The waitress came by with the coffee pot. Tony waved his hand over his coffee and stuck out a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
That evening, Nicole and James Denison were in the bedroom of their condo in San Francisco. He was standing in the walk-in closet looking in the full-length mirror to tie his necktie. He was tall and thin with a neatly trimmed beard, in excellent condition for fifty-seven years old. She was sitting on the bed in yoga clothes, watching him. Ever since she’d gone to visit him at his Florida house, she’d been playing what she thought of as the honesty con, making him love her while only telling him the truth. It was a difficult con because true intimacy was an aphrodisiac that worked on both players in the game. It had been a long time since she had had to pretend that she loved him.
“You look great,” she said.
“Come to the fund-raiser. Everyone asks about you.”
“You know I can’t go anywhere where my picture could be taken.”
“Dye your hair. Change your makeup. No one will recognize you.”
“Until the cops come with the handcuffs or somebody looking for payback comes knocking at the door. And then you’re in the papers or shot as collateral damage. We’re not going through this again. Private groups only. At least for now.”
“We’re not done talking about this.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I’ll be back before midnight.”
“I hope the auction is a big success.”
“Thanks.”
She walked him downstairs to the front door. A rideshare Lincoln was sitting at the curb. They kissed. She watched him get into the car. As she shut the door to the condo, her phone pinged. It was a text message from her new friend, Lily. She opened it. Can you play? I’m at Tracy’s Piano Bar just north of the convention center.
She leaned back against the door. Tony was right. She needed to be careful. A chance encounter with an old mark in Cricket Bay had turned into a fiasco. Almost gotten Denison’s daughter, Bell, killed. But she couldn’t turn her world into a prison to avoid trouble. She’d been on the grift her entire life. Living involved risk. Staying out of the limelight was an obvious precaution. But some anonymous action in a dark bar? Caging some free drinks. Lifting a married man’s wallet. What was the harm? She texted back: On my way.
After Nicole changed into a clingy party dress, she took a cab to Tracy’s Piano Bar. A throng of conventioneers, many still sporting their name tags, filled the tables and crowded the space around the bar. She could barely hear the soft jazz emanating from the back. She scanned the faces, looking for Lily, when she felt a hand on her elbow.
“Glad you could make it,” Lily said. She was a twenty-four-year-old petite blonde with a dazzling smile. She wore a tiny frock that left little to the imagination.
Nicole leaned over to Lily’s ear. “How did you find this place?”
“I work at a travel agency. This is a nice, safe, business-professional bar.”
“A few of the women are probably working girls.”
“You mean prostitutes?”
Nicole nodded.
“How can you tell?”
“Because they’re dressed like us, and all the other women are dressed for success.”
“I never thought of that,” Lily said.
“We need to manage expectations. What’s our backstory?”
“You tell me.”
“We work at Kaiser in accounts payable. Boring. Don’t want to talk about it.”
“Got you. See those guys sitting in the comfy chairs by the wall?”
Five businessmen of various ages sat with drinks in their hands and envious looks on their faces as they watched the crowd. “The wolf wannabes?” Nicole asked.
“I’ve had my eyes on them for a while. They seem pretty safe.”
“Let’s get some free drinks.”
When Denison got back to the condo at 1:00 a.m., he found Nicole sitting in the den in her pajamas. A black-and-white movie was playing on the TV.
She smiled. “Hey, handsome.”
“What are you watching?”
“I’m not sure, really. I just turned it on.”
“I’m surprised you’re still up,” he said.
“I haven’t been home that long.”
“Where did you go?”
“I was out with Lily—you know, that girl I met a couple of weeks ago. We had some drinks.”
“Have fun?”
“Yeah. She always cracks me up.”
“You know, she’s one of the few people you’ve met since you came here. You should invite her over some time.” He untied his tie.
“How was the fund-raiser?”
“Too many people to talk to. But the auction went great. Samantha Hegland and Norma Roland were a big help.”
Nicole added a little purr to her voice. “I’m sure they were.”
“Nicole, really—”
“Jimmy, you’re by far the most eligible bachelor in your world. And you’re fun and good-looking. It would be surprising if there weren’t some women sniffing around.”
“I’m not interested in other women.”
“I’m just teasing, Jimmy. I know what kind of man you are.” She used the remote to turn off the TV. “Let’s go to bed.”
Sunday morning in Mitchellville, Robertson sat in a Ford Explorer on the street three houses down from the craftsman-style bungalow where the Chens lived. There was a For Sale sign in the yard of the two-story brick house he was parked in front of. Three of the houses on this block were still quiet. Two vehicles, a Suburban and a Toyota Sienna, had pulled out of driveways loaded with kids dressed for soccer. At three other houses, occupants had taken in newspapers off the lawns. Now a guy was starting to mow the lawn behind him. He slid down in his seat. He’d already placed transmitters in the Chens’ cars. As soon as they left, he’d place them in their living room and kitchen. Used to be easier in the old days, when you could just bug the landline phones, but those days were long gone.
After he got done with their house, he’d head over to Chen’s law office. Chen had admitted he was going to take the bank-account codes, but Robertson had to be sure there wasn’t more to his plan. Chen was definitely afraid that French planned to kill him, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t gotten greedy. There was a lot of money involved. And since French had Chen bugged, Robertson wanted to know what French knew as soon as he knew it, not when he decided to tell him. Because French and Chen were right about one thing—with the project winding down, no one could be trusted until the money was divided and the numbered bank account closed. And even if French was an old friend and definitely wouldn’t kill him, he was a loose cannon. His war-zone ethics were going to land them all in prison if Robertson couldn’t stop him from creating complications.
That afternoon in the San Francisco Bay Area, Nicole and Lily stood off to one side in an event room at the Bridgewater Club. A wedding reception was in progress. Guests were milling about, drinking champagne and eating hors d’oeuvres that were being served by the waitstaff. The bride and groom weren’t yet present, but the three-tier wedding cake sat on a covered table near the band, which was playing some innocuous pop music. Nicole set her empty glass on a sid
e table. What was she doing here? When she’d called Lily, it had all seemed so innocent: A few laughs, some free drinks, the pleasure of convincing some strangers that they knew her from somewhere. But now she heard the Sirens singing, and she couldn’t seem to resist. “Do you want to play a game?”
“What kind of game?” Lily asked.
“Have you ever lifted a man’s car keys?”
“That’s the game?”
“No. Guessing what the keys go to before you lift the keys, that’s the game.”
Lily got another glass of champagne from a passing tray. “Let me get this straight. We choose a guy. Guess what car he drives. Pickpocket his keys. Find out if we’re right.”
Nicole nodded. “So back to the first question. You ever lifted a man’s keys?”
Lily giggled. “How hard could it be?”
“You want me to go first?”
She shook her head. “Pick the guy.”
“See the guy in the seersucker?”
A potbellied, balding man wearing a seersucker suit was talking with a younger couple. The woman had a definite baby bump under her dress. “A Cadillac,” Lily said.
“Lexus. Cadillac isn’t flashy enough. Keys look to be in the front right pocket.”
Lily downed her drink, clutched the empty glass in both hands, and circled around to the other side of the group. Just as the woman turned, Lily staggered into Seersucker as if she was on part one of a lost weekend. The glass hit the floor. She gripped Seersucker’s jacket by the lapels. He stumbled backward. Her hands were all over his front as she tried to get to her feet. Finally, the young man got her shoulder and steadied her.
“You okay?” the pregnant woman asked.
“Never better,” Lily slurred.
She zigzagged off toward the ladies’ room. Nicole followed. Out in the hall, Lily dropped her act. She held up Seersucker’s keys and jingled them. “Got the car fob and the house keys.”
Nicole laughed. “You are insane.”
“It’s not a Cadillac or a Lexus.” She held up the fob.
“Porsche.”
They walked out of the club and into the parking lot. Lily clicked the fob as they walked along. The lights on a red Porsche Boxster flashed. “So what do we do now?” Lily asked.
The Murder Run Page 2