3. Vendetta

by Fern Michaels

  Charles filled oversize soup cups with the creamy hot chocolate, the marshmallows melting into a gooey white mess on top. They all laughed at their sticky white mustaches as they regaled Myra and Charles with describing their childish escapade in the snow.

  And then it was over and time to descend the stone steps to the tunnels. The laughter and camaraderie was left behind in the kitchen as they once again donned the black hooded robes. It was now time to do what they’d come here to do: time to exact Myra’s vengeance for the killing of her daughter.

  Nothing in the cell block of the tunnel had changed since Myra and Charles’s earlier visit. The rap music was still reverberating along the walls. The food on the platter was seriously depleted. John Chai was still screaming, hoarse now with the effort.

  Kathryn walked over to the cell. “Shut up. No one is interested in anything you have to say. Keep it up, and when it’s my turn with the bamboo cane, you’ll wish you had listened.”

  John Chai moved as far back in the cell as he could go. Fear and hatred shone from his eyes, but he was not above a little begging. He dropped to his knees, his hands outstretched. “Don’t do this! I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll do anything you want me to do. Caning is…Please don’t do that to me.”

  “You’re whining, Chinese boy. I have to tell you, it is not manly, nor is it becoming from someone of your family’s prominence,” Nikki snarled. “C’mon now, be a man and step forward. Or we’ll come in there and drag you out. We’ll be taking pictures as we do it. How’s that going to look back in China? You’ll be a joke to your people.”

  Chai looked from one woman to the other, hoping to see some reluctance on their part. All he could see past the hooded robes was stony confirmation that nothing he said would sway their decision to cane him within an inch of his life. If there had been anything in his stomach he would have retched at the sight of the bamboo cane that would take the skin right off his body. He started to shake as he cried and begged to deaf ears.

  Charles unlocked the heavy iron door. Kathryn and Nikki walked into the cell. Chai bounced up, literally leaping in the air, his legs kicking out in both directions, knocking both Kathryn and Nikki to the ground. With his arms straight out in front of him, he charged through the open cell door and used the fingers of his right hand to jab Myra in the throat in a lightning-quick motion while his left hand, fingers stiff as rods, stabbed at Charles’s nose. Alexis squealed as she threw the platter of food at him, while Julia ducked around and ran to Nikki and Kathryn, who were struggling to their feet. Yoko stripped off her robe and dropped to a crouch, her arms positioned the same as Chai’s.

  Yoko’s voice took on a sing-song lilt. “Let’s see how good you are, Mr. Chai. I know every move you know and then some. You learned your art to intimidate people. I learned mine to kill.”

  Charles, his eyes wide with horror, did his best to mop at the blood gushing from his nose, which he knew was broken, as Myra struggled to breathe. He prayed that Chai hadn’t crushed her larynx.

  “Are you perhaps waiting for a bus, Mr. Chai?” Yoko sing-songed. In the blink of an eye she was off the ground, twirling this way and that, her legs outstretched like those of a gymnast. Chai moved but still took the brunt of her foot in the middle of his stomach. He went down but was back on his feet in the time it took to take a breath, his own feet and hands lashing out. Yoko danced away, then, quicker than lightning, moved forward to jab Chai deep in the throat. He gagged, doubled over, but remained on his feet. She lashed out with her foot and then hooked him behind the knee. He went down and she was on his back, the collar of his shirt in both her hands. Without breaking a sweat, she bent his head forward and banged it against the earthen floor until he passed out.

  “Where in the damn hell did you learn to do that?” Kathryn gasped as she clutched at her tender stomach.

  “From my aunts, the women who raised me. We learn this art as soon as we can walk. It is mandatory. I excelled,” she said proudly. “I think we should tie him up now. To that beam over there. Is everyone all right?”

  Myra looked around at the girls. “I’m fine. What I mean is, I will be fine. Charles, is your nose broken?”

  “I’m afraid so, dear. I can’t believe…I was asleep at the switch. I’m beyond embarrassed. Let’s get Mr. Chai trussed up before he tries another go at us. Excellent work, Yoko. One day you will teach me some of those movements. Absolutely wonderful.”

  Yoko tried to look demure but she was having too good a time. “It will be my pleasure, Charles.”

  Myra looked from one to the other. “I think we should go upstairs for some tea. Tea always makes things better, don’t you agree, girls? We need to get Charles to a doctor.”

  “Myra, there’s nothing they can do for a broken nose. Julia is here. She can do whatever has to be done. Besides, how would a doctor get out here in all this snow? Tea is a wonderful idea. Are you sure you’re all right, my dear?”

  “Charles, I will survive. Come along, girls, we’re going upstairs for tea. Mr. Chai can wait. We have the rest of his life.”

  Fifteen

  Jack Emery pushed away from his desk and did his best to work the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. Sitting across from him, Mark did the same thing.

  “We’ve been at this for eight solid hours, Jack. I gave you my input; what are you putting on the table, if anything?”

  Jack rubbed at his temples. He had a throbbing headache that seemed to be getting worse by the hour. Maybe he needed glasses. He made a mental note to schedule an eye doctor appointment. He pointed to the sloppy-looking map he’d taped to the wall across from where he and Mark were sitting. “Every stinking, miserable detail is up there. It goes all the way back to the day Barbara Rutledge was killed. I didn’t leave a thing out. It’s all there, but I’m missing something. It’s there, Mark, right in front of us. What am I missing?”

  The ex-FBI agent shrugged. “I don’t know, Jack. I’m seeing what you’re seeing. I agree we’re missing something here, but what is it?”

  “The unlikely group of women. What’s that all about? I don’t know why but I think Nikki is the one who brought them all together. The black girl is an ex-con. Ask yourself why Myra would socialize with an ex-con. Her defense was that she was falsely accused. The Asian girl is another question. My background check on her didn’t bring up anything significant, so she remains a question mark. Myra has a gardener who now all of a sudden is helping out at the Asian girl’s nursery. I find that a little weird but explainable as there isn’t much for a gardener to do in the winter. Then there’s the architect who has been living at the poverty level since she was found guilty of vehicular homicide. She lost everything — her license, her home, her business. It could be that Myra feels sorry for her and, at Nikki’s request, is helping her. She did do some work at Pinewood last year. Her claim is she wasn’t driving the car the day of the accident. Falsely accused.

  “Which brings us to Dr. Julia Webster. She’s a real mystery in more ways than one. She resigned, retired, whatever, from her position at the hospital, supposedly to help her senator husband campaign for the Vice Presidency. Scandal erupts, then Senator Webster and Dr. Webster suddenly disappear off the face of the earth. They disappeared just the way Marie Lewellen and her family disappeared. Solid brick wall there.

  “Then we have the chick with the eighteen-wheeler. I hauled her ass into my office last year and Nikki was her lawyer. Think about that truck, Mark. She and her truck-driver buddies shut down the Interstate when the troopers tried to pull her in. In the end, she came willingly. Rock-solid alibi on the Lewellen snatch. She had an answer for everything. Nikki went to the wall for her. That’s what I mean, she’s tied to all these women somehow. Not just legally, either.

  “And, of course, there’s Myra and that pot of money she controls. And her guy Martin. We sure as hell know who he is and the connections he has.” Jack bounded off his chair and walked around to the poster on the wall. With a red grease pencil
he printed the words: Lucas/18-wheeler, Martin/connections. Underneath that he wrote: Myra, pots of money followed by: ex-con/architect/falsely accused. The last two names to be added with the red grease pencil were: Nikki/exceptionally sharp lawyer/myra’s adopted daughter/ Barbara’s sister and then: Asian girl?

  “The question mark means she doesn’t compute. Do you agree or disagree, Mark?”

  “Well, yeah, I do. What could the Asian girl bring to this particular party? Plants, flowers, shrubs? What?”

  Jack added another word: CHINESE. “The guy who killed Myra’s daughter was a Chinese diplomat’s son with diplomatic immunity. They whisked him out of the country in less than twenty-four hours. If he comes back here, it is my understanding that he can be arrested and prosecuted. He ain’t coming back, Mark. At least not willingly.”

  Mark’s eyes popped. “Martin, Nikki, the Asian girl and the ex-con flew to China for four or five days. They brought back a guest, an old guy who looked frail and sick.”

  Jack stomped his foot. “Key word here, Mark. Looked old and frail.” The grease pencil squealed on the paper as Jack scribbled.

  “Then an old lady shows up mid-afternoon. Old lady, old man. A switch? Why? What would be the purpose?”

  “Keep that train of thought. Old lady arrives. Old guy leaves. Everyone at Pinewood except Charles left that night. In separate vehicles. Except…except for Nikki, who drove the old guy. What we don’t know is where she took him. Think, Mark, where would she take him? A hospital? But you checked the database at all the local hospitals and no one matching his description was admitted that night. Clinics do not keep overnight patients. A relative? Possible, but doubtful. They returned in less than three hours so they couldn’t have gone too far. The ex-con picked up another guest, a woman who looked like a cowgirl, complete with Stetson and boots. Nikki dropped off the old guy somewhere and the ex-con picks up a cowgirl. How do we explain the cowgirl?”

  Mark started to pace. “Whatever it is, they planned it. Hey, Jack, did you ever consider the Chinese embassy? There’s three of them. Two are on Connecticut Avenue. I don’t know offhand where the other one is. That would make sense. Martin brings the old guy here because he needs medical help. Who better to help him than his own people at the Chinese embassy? I gotta tell you, the cowgirl has me stumped. I don’t think she’s part of all this. More than likely she’s a friend they invited for Thanksgiving. People do that, Jack, invite people who will be alone. That’s what Thanksgiving is all about.”

  “Nah, those women don’t do things like that. They’re all meaner than snakes. The cowgirl is important somehow. We just have to figure out the why of it…Hey, all this thinking is making me thirsty — want a beer?”

  “Yeah. Bring some munchies. I think better when I’m chewing.”

  Jack obliged, returning with two beers and a box of Ritz crackers.

  “I’m just thinking out loud here, Mark. There were seven women when this all began. Then Dr. Webster disappears, leaving just six women. Then, the day before Thanksgiving, an old lady arrives, the old guy splits and a cowgirl shows up. The cowgirl makes seven women. Think, Mark!”

  “Think what, Jack? Eight women if you count the old lady.”

  “You know what I think, Mark? I think the old guy is John Chai in disguise. I think the old lady is Dr. Webster, a.k.a. the cowgirl. They’re using disguises. One of them has to be pretty damn good at it. Get out that file on the ex-con. Something is tickling me about her.”

  “Ah, shit, Jack, that’s a stretch even for you,” Mark said as he dutifully pulled up Alexis Thorne’s profile on the computer. He printed it out.

  Jack swiveled in his chair to reach for the printout. “Aha! Read it and weep, ye of little faith! Read it out loud, buddy, and I already accept your apology.”

  “Blah, blah, blah. Subject had acting aspirations but no talent. Intense interest in Little Theater. Volunteer makeup artist. Excelled in costume design. She had a mentor who taught her everything he knew. But volunteer work didn’t pay, so with her degree in business she went to work for a small brokerage house and did quite well until she was arrested for securities fraud. She still volunteered nights and weekends at the Little Theater. It says here she travels with a red bag. A big red bag. That’s in addition to her purse and a suitcase when she goes to Pinewood. Nikki Quinn is her attorney.”

  Jack thumped his beer bottle on the desk. “Do you still think I’m nuts? Let’s come up with a story and call those three embassies. Depending on the information we get, if any, I’m going to call Nikki and arrange a meeting.”

  “Man, you do love living dangerously, don’t you, Jack? A word of advice. Keep remembering those gold shields.”

  “Oh, yeah, how could I forget those gold shields? Start thinking, Mark. We need to come up with a sympathetic story for the Chinese.”

  Julia peeled off her latex gloves and tossed them in the trash. “You have to keep the ice pack on for as long as you can stand it. Ideally twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off. Since you refused to go to the hospital, I did the best I could. If that monster had used the palm of his hand to push your nose in up to your brain, you’d be dead, Charles. Be grateful, if you can, that your nose is just broken. I’ll check the packing tomorrow. I have pain pills if you need them. For now, I’d take a couple of shots of whiskey. I know, I know, you want your wits about you. I just want you to know I have the pain pills if you need them.”

  “Thank you, Julia. I’m going to clean up and change my clothes. Make more tea, Myra.” This last was said to give Myra something to do so she wouldn’t blame herself for the incident in the tunnels.

  “I’ll do that, Charles. Tea is such a…a wonderful thing. Hot tea. Real tea. Sugar tea. I love tea. Charles loves tea. Everyone loves tea…I really don’t feel like making tea,” Myra said, sitting down with a thump. “That…that scurrilous man. We should break his legs, gouge his eyes out, pull out his tongue and…his toenails and fingernails, too. He could have killed Charles and seriously hurt you girls. What kind of person is that man?”

  Nikki’s voice was soothing. “Charles is fine. We’re all fine. We learned a lesson. And we’re all grateful to Yoko. Don’t worry about the tea. We’re up to here,” Nikki said, motioning to her throat, “with tea. You need to relax now or you won’t be any good to us. We need you. Charles is fine. Are you listening to me, Myra?”

  “Of course I’m listening. Thank you so much, girls. We do work well together, don’t we?”

  “We’re the best,” Kathryn said. She turned to Yoko. “Baby, you need to teach us how to do all that stuff you did down there. When you have time, that is.”

  “It will be my pleasure, Kathryn. Anyone can learn the movements. The real art is in cleansing your mind and being one with what you are doing. It is instinctive to a certain degree.”

  “I can do that,” Kathryn said. “Well, I think I can do that. I don’t know about the Buddhist part, though. The last time I looked, I was a Baptist.”

  “I will overlook that part,” Yoko said and giggled.

  Charles appeared in the doorway wearing a blue flannel shirt and khaki corduroy trousers. He looked madder than hell. The women sobered instantly as they rose to follow him to the tunnels.

  Last in line, Nikki felt her cellphone vibrate in her pocket. She motioned the others to go ahead of her when she saw the number of the caller. Jack Emery. She retraced her steps to the kitchen and sat down.

  “Hello, Jack.”

  “Hi, Nik. How are you?”

  “I’m well. How about you? Do you miss the DA’s office?”

  “At times. I’m just one of those people who doesn’t react well to coercion, cover-ups and the like. Anyway, that’s not why I called you. I figured it out. All of it. I’m giving you the courtesy of this call before I blow the whistle on your little operation.”

  Nikki grew so light-headed she had to hold on to the chair. “Jack, why are you doing this? You’re obsessed. You need to give it up and get on with yo
ur life.”

  “Tell me if I’m wrong about this. You brought John Chai back here to the States. You had him right there at Pinewood. Dr. Webster was an old lady and then she was a cowgirl. How’m I doing so far, Nik?”

  Nikki thought her heart was going to jump out of her chest. “Are you drunk, Jack?”

  “No, Nik, I’m not drunk. You guys use Lucas and her rig. I know all about the black girl and her red bag. This is just a heads up, Nik. Do you want to meet?”

  Nikki thought she was going to choke on her own saliva. Somehow, she managed to say, “OK, Jack, one more time. I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at Mulligan’s if you can afford breakfast. Eight o’clock.”

  “Good. Mulligan’s at eight. I’m flush enough for donuts and coffee.”

  Nikki blinked when the line went dead. She shoved the cellphone back into her pocket. She was shaking so badly she had to bend over to take deep breaths before she raced to the tunnels. Right now she didn’t have time to think about Jack and his threatening phone call. She’d think about all that later.

  The rap music was turned off but the lights were still blinding. No one questioned Nikki about her phone call. The women had donned their hooded robes and Nikki slipped into hers, not fully understanding the significance, but thinking that if it was what Myra wanted then she would do it. Maybe they used black robes in China for this sort of thing. She was still so light-headed after Jack’s phone call that she couldn’t think straight. How did Jack figure it all out? Was he guessing? Did he have proof? Would he really turn her and the others over to the authorities?

  “ There you are, dear. Is everything all right? You look pale. Mr Chai is securely trussed up, so don’t worry about him getting loose.”

  Nikki shivered inside the flimsy black robe. “ I’m all right, Myra. How are you holding up?”