When I opened the door, I saw a strange woman standing there. She was about my age, dressed in khaki colored shorts and sleeveless top. She offered her hand with an effusive “Hi. I’m Rose White, your new neighbor.”
Reluctantly, I invited her in. “Welcome,” I said. “I didn’t know any homes had changed hands in the neighborhood.”
“It was a quiet sale. We bought the house directly from some friends of friends.”
We went into the living and Rose sat in my favorite armchair, running her hand through her short brown hair.
“Your home is lovely. I like your colors. That soft shade of green against the cream is very calming. Country French is one of my favorites. You get wonderful sunlight in here. Is that your family?” Rose pointed to my collection of photos on the sofa table.
I nodded and found myself hesitating.
She continued, “I’m originally from New Jersey, but I’ve been down here for five years.”
I’m from New Jersey. Is this a trick or a trap? I decided not to open that door. I wasn’t in the mood for small talk and she was coming at me full throttle. All I could think of were bugs… listening devices planted by Archer’s minions.
“Can I trouble you for a glass of water?” Rose said.
“Excuse me. That was thoughtless of me. I should have offered. Would you like coffee?”
“Water’s fine. I just thought I would stop in for a minute to introduce myself,” she said.
Feeling like a clod, I apologized again and went into the kitchen to get the water.
When I returned Rose was standing, looking at my framed photos and memorabilia. “Nice looking family,” she said. “How old is the baby?”
I paused, not wanting to tell her anything about my family. The hairs on my neck stood at attention. Had it come to my not being able to trust my neighbors? I deflected her question by asking if she had a family.
Rose White glanced at her watch, handed me the glass and said, “Oops. Forgot my kids get out early today. Got to run. We’ll chat later.” She raced to the door and I was left with an overwhelming feeling of paranoia.
I stomped around the house, furious. Who were Leslie and Sunglasses to make me feel insecure in my own home? This “bugging” thing was bugging me. I began to search again. This time I found what I feared.
On the credenza, just behind a framed black and white photo of my grandmother, I spotted a small metal wire about two inches long with a tiny blue bulb on the tip. Rose White.
I lay the wire down with shaking hands and called Ron.
He took my info in his calm stride. “How about putting it in a glass of water? That might defuse or confuse it.”
I grabbed a coffee cup, filled it with water, inserted the wire and placed it on the kitchen counter.
Every chance I got, I walked by and examined it. It just sat there.
I hoped I had ruined Leslie’s evening of listening.
11:15 p.m. The wire was the only listening device I found after a day of tearing my house apart. I had worked myself into a minor frenzy.
As I went through my bedtime preparations I realized I was out of toothpaste. I went into the guest bath for an extra tube. Reaching in the drawer, I saw something very familiar. More wires with little blue tips. There were dozens of them… all attached and ready to listen to my private conversations. The embarrassing part was they all stemmed from Gem’s cat hairbrush. I was falling apart.
It was time to press Nigel into action. I needed to visit his world to see if it offered escape. I fell into bed in complete exhaustion and dreamed Leslie was behind bars using his razor teeth to eat through the steel.
~ Thursday January 14
Alice was not much surprised at this,
she was getting so well used to queer things happening.
Noon. On my way to Dana’s for lunch, I gave her a call and told her I was going to stop at a church, first. “Don’t worry, I’m not terminal,” I told her. Not being very religious, I hadn’t thought of prayer. But I was willing to try anything.
A little old-fashioned church sat midway between my house and Dana’s. When I got there I was annoyed to find a mid-day service in full swing. My intention was to sit alone for few minutes and ask a higher being for some direction. There were about two dozen people in the pews. I settled down and tried to tune in.
Seconds after I sat, a tall, muscular man took a seat in front and to my left. He looked back over his shoulder and gave me a smeary smile. His jaw clenched and unclenched during the service. I figured he had a big problem on his mind.
I got an uneasy vibe and decided God wanted me to split. Getting up, I silently stepped out of the pew and walked slowly backwards until I reached the front door. I pulled open the heavy panels and stepped out into the sunlight, making a dash for my car.
As I was getting in, my head was yanked by the hair and I was pulled back and into a standing position next to the church guy. More angry than scared, I said, “Only my mother has ever pulled my hair and she’s dead. Let me go.”
His eyes were colorless, cold. He had huge jaws, probably from all those clenching workouts. His skin was tinged with ancient acne and chain-smoking. I could pick him out of any line-up.
“You didn’t call. Mr. Hare’s not happy. He sent me to get you.”
The message on my voice mail. “I’m sorry. I forgot.” I tried to wriggle free. I thought about screaming, but it was too late. With one scoop he had me in a car and down on the floor. He threw a scratchy blanket over me and within minutes I was being dumped into Sunglasses limo which was parked in what looked like a construction site.
Eye to eye with Sunglasses, I could see why he wore shades. His eyes were yellow-red and spun as he spoke, “Don’t push your luck with me, lady.” He said. “When you get a call from me you come running.”
I wished I were in England.
“My kid brother was slaughtered like a pig. I know it was Archer, but I wanna know how it played out. Then Archer and me can rest in peace — each in our own way.” Those spinning scarlet eyes were driven by pure revenge.
“Mr. Hare, Leslie doesn’t share his information with anyone. I have no idea what he’s up to. He forms and un-forms businesses twenty-four hours a day. There’s no way I can watch him all the time.”
“When Archer’s sucking his last breath I want to be standing over him holding everything he ever cared about. By this time next year there will be no Archer Resorts and no Leslie Archer. The best thing you can do for you and me is to get me Archer’s confession on tape. I wanna hear him say it. I’ll take it from there.”
Before I could object, “Jaws” grabbed me with ham-hands. He forced me to scrunch down on the seat for the return trip to my car. Being a middle-man is not my favorite position, especially in a circle of beheadings.
Once back in my own car I took a minute to quiet my nerves, called Dana and canceled.
I didn’t want to carry the taint of gangsters to my daughter’s house and desperately needed time to think. Bruises were forming on my arms where Jaws had grabbed me. I did the only thing a woman can do when faced with a temporarily unsolvable situation, I made a nail appointment.
1:15 p.m. Kit fit me into his schedule. I was desperate with shredded cuticles and nerves to match. The smell of chemicals stung my nose. He grabbed my hand firmly and layered on shiny pink polish. Kit’s a six foot four inch nail genius by day and a Miami drag queen by night. He has a gift for understanding the human animal and enough quirky stories to launch his own sitcom.
“Internet, huh?” he said without looking up. I could see a grin spread across his handsome face.
“Ok, what are you thinking?” I asked, squirming in my seat.
“It’s all the rage. Everybody’s linking up on line. What do you know about him?” He asked and stopped lacquering a second to stretch.
“He’s British,” I said, “and that’s all that matters right now.”
Kit laughed. “That’s right. You’ve got that anglop
hile thing going on. Where does that come from?”
“Childhood, I guess. Every joyful kids’ book or movie takes place in England — Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, Mary Poppins, Bed Knobs and Broomsticks.”
“And this guy you met on line, he’s really in England? Not Idaho and faking it?”
“Oh, no. He’s the real deal. He mesmerizes me with his words. He’s kind and considerate and he listens to me.”
I watched the concentration on Kit’s face. His large blue eyes zeroed in on my fingers. While he painted on a second coat he spoke, “He’s getting your mind off something, isn’t he?” He looked up, brushed a clump of thick blonde hair from his eyes and grinned. “That jerk you work for is still giving you a hard time. I told you before; he’s what they call a narcissist. He needs to dominate and control and to be more special than anyone else. If you start mooning over some guy in England, the jerk will try to derail whatever plans you make. That’s what narcissists do.”
“The English guy’s name is Nigel. I’d like to get to know him better and maybe create a life with him. But if he feels my life is too complicated, I might lose him. You think I have a chance of making a success of an Internet romance?”
“Honey, I’m a drag nail tech not a psychic, my clients are mostly successful women and they can be very naïve, it must have to do with being distracted by business. I know it’s nice to have a man you don’t have to worry about, but be careful. Before you get in too deep let me give you a number for a private investigator. I’ve recommended him before.” He dug around in the drawers of his manicure station and came up with a battered card. “His name’s Richard Dick.”
“Dick?” I laughed. I was about to hire my first private dick.
4:00 p.m. I realized I’d been sitting in my car in Kit’s parking lot for over an hour, talking to myself. It was time to act. I would get a recorded murder confession from Leslie and give it to Sunglasses. Then I was off to Europe. It sounded like a simple plan… to me.
I dialed Archer Resorts. Salli picked up. “Tell Leslie to meet me at Alfredo’s in thirty minutes,” I said.
She put me on hold. “He wants to know why.”
The truth was I knew Salli would be gone by the time I got to the office and I didn’t want to meet him alone. We needed a quiet public place if I was going get a clear recording.
Leslie was a regular at Alfredo’s. I figured he’d relax his guard there.
“Tell him we need to talk. I’ll buy the drinks. Alfredo’s upstairs in the club room at five.” I hung up quickly before Leslie had a chance to change the setting. I knew he’d come. He couldn’t resist the opportunity to be alone with me.
I checked my recorder. It had the ability to be voice activated, but you had to have your lips on it for that feature to work. I pushed up the volume and set it in my right jacket pocket.
5:10 p.m. I parked in the lot and walked to the entrance. A black Lamborghini sat on the curb, its hood almost touching the front door; I had to squeeze past it to get into the restaurant. The place was deathly quiet; it didn’t officially open until six.
I went upstairs to the club room. Leslie was sitting in a darkened corner. I walked to the table, discreetly clicking on the recorder. A waiter held a chair for me. I sat down and locked eyes with Leslie. The server made the mistake of asking if we needed anything. Leslie glared at him. “If I want anything, I know how to ask for it.” He spoke in his snake-whisper voice.
Archer was wearing tan slacks, a light blue business shirt and an obnoxiously large Rolex on his right wrist. By the level of tension in the air, I guessed his mind was operating on animal instinct. He smelled my fear.
He placed a small black case on the table between us. It was slightly bigger than a key case and didn’t look like his usual silver recorder, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I wouldn’t get a confession out of him, if he were recording. “Leslie,” I said, “I don’t want our conversation recorded. This is just between us.”
He shuffled the case, “I’m not recording.”
“Put it away.”
“I told you, I’m not recording… it’s just keys to my new car,” he said and flicked the case with his hand, dismissing it.
“The one blocking the door?” I asked.
He smirked. “You know I bought another plane? A larger jet,” he said, ignoring my question and trying instead to impress me.
He kept his keys that were surely a recorder on the table between us. I kept my hand in my pocket and on the button of my recorder. We were two techie gunfighters ready for a duel.
“Leslie, why’ve you pulled this Lizard Links stunt? What gives?”
He stared at me, his eyes lit with a strange inner glow. “You signed to be director of that Bahamian Corporation, Red Queen when you first came to work for me. Since then, you’ve done some nasty things in the name of Red Queen.”
I clicked on my recorder. “You tricked me.”
He moved his recorder closer to me. “You were a willing participant,” he said in a loud voice. He smiled and shifted in his seat. His eyes darted around the room then came back to rest on me.
“Why have you set that worm, Dallas Little, on me?” I asked figuring he’d shut off his recorder to answer.
He clicked off his “keys.” I positioned my pocket and eased my chair closer to his. Leslie gave me a peculiar look. “My attorneys are having a ball playing with you. Lawyers are like the fish in my tank. You starve ‘em and they are willing to eat their young to survive,” he laughed.
I inched closer easing my pocket open and removing my hand.
“Dallas Little will do anything I tell him to do. I keep him so busy he has no time for anyone else but me. When I say jump he wets himself.”
“But why do this to me?”
“Because I can, and because people like you will always drink the Kool-Aid.”
I grit my teeth. “Since you’re not recording, tell me about that guy, that young contractor who was found beheaded. You had something to do with that, didn’t you?”
His eyes spit fire at me. “You’re recording this!”
I started to stand up. Leslie reached over and pressed my hand down catching it in a painful mash against the table.
“I’m not done with you. Have you spoken to Hare? I take it by your expression, you have.”
I sat back down, placing half my butt on the chair ready to run.
“Don’t think for a second that I won’t take you down with me. You’re the point person for Red Queen. I can ruin your credibility in less than a heart beat. When I get done with your reputation you can yell fire in a burning building and no one will believe you.”
Screw you. I twisted, putting my recording pocket closer to him. “So Red Queen is the key to Jug Hare’s murder… how?”
He smiled and clicked his keys. “As I recall, you have a deathly fear of courts? I’m going to set you up and knock you down. No matter what it costs me.”
“But what good does all this do for you?” I asked.
“It’s better than sex.”
I sat pinned to my chair stunned, but unwilling to show it. Leslie watched my eyes, waiting for tears. I didn’t think I had enough on tape for Sunglasses.
“Leslie, stop these stupid games.”
He stood up again. Gripping the key case, he thrust it under my nose and clicked off. “I will destroy you.” he lisped. And then he strutted away down to his expensive sports car.
Once back in my Jeep, I pulled out my recorder and hit rewind. I played back the muffled sounds of nothing. Not only did I not get a confession, you couldn’t even tell if there were human voices on the tape.
~ Friday January 15
Oh dear, what nonsense I’m talking.
6:00 a.m. I was inspecting the bruises on my arms, a full set of Jaw’s fingerprints on both my biceps, when the phone rang.
It would be Nigel. For two weeks he had called me every morning and every afternoon. I would lose myself in his silly talk and temp
orarily forget about Sunglasses and even Leslie. He was planning our romantic meeting while I was dealing with thugs and scheming to skip the country.
Wrapped in my blue robe, I sat out on the patio, enjoying Nigel’s nonsense conversation. It was a lovely morning.
“Nigel, there are two herons chasing each other in the sky. They are diving and twisting in an air ballet.”
“You know, we have this problem in England with herons eating all the goldfish.” Nigel spoke in his pretend-authority voice. “Goldfish ponds are a feature of most English homes. My friend lost two thousand goldfish to one heron. He sat up all night with a shotgun waiting for the heron.”
I laughed. It was absurd.
“Nigel? How do you stop a fish from smelling?” I asked.
“My dearest, I have no idea. How do you stop a fish from smelling?” He chuckled.
“Cut off his nose,” I answered and laughed.
“I will send you an email confirming our conversation.”
10:00 a.m. When I got to the office, Salli was the only one there. I nodded to her, slipped into my room, and closed the door. I stuffed a few files into my briefcase. A list of client particulars could come from my laptop at home, but there were bits and bobs that had to be given directly to Ron.
There was an email in my personal account. It was from Nigel. I must note it in my diary as it was terribly funny.
Subj: Response to your query
From: Nchanning
To: AliceUSA
Dear Madam,
In response to your question as to “how to stop a fish from smelling?”
We at the Channing Research Institute are happy to inform you that a fish is a water living animal that takes in water through its mouth and expels it minus the oxygen through its gills and as such does not breathe or smell as we know it. Accordingly, your problem is solved, because you never really had one in the first place. Unfortunately, we have had to make our usual scale charge for this advice, which are two hugs and a kiss, although as you are a new customer, we are prepared to extend 20 days credit.
Instead of clearing out my files and getting out of the office, I stopped to script a witty response —
Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories Page 54