by A A Bavar
Patricia reached up and gently touched Paul’s cheek. “Thank you, I know you will,” she said, her eyes searching his. “Now, kiss me, you fool, before I change my mind.” Patricia smiled sheepishly and closed the gap between them.
“Shit!” Ray shook his head and looked towards where Samantha was hiding in the shadows behind the column. “This is really gonna fuck things up.” But what he saw didn’t make any sense. A pair of thin, red, cat-like eyes turned from Paul and Patricia and stared back at him, then suddenly disappeared. “What the hell?” Ray stepped out from behind the column and ran to where he had last seen Samantha. Nothing. There was nobody there. He quickly searched behind the only two cars parked there, even crouched and looked underneath them, but found nothing. “Damn, she’s good,” mumbled Ray to himself, and turned back, but before he could do anything else, Paul and Patricia drove out in the Veneno. “Not smart, Paul. Not smart.” Ray took out his phone. What are you doing? Didn’t you get my message? he typed, tapped send, and added, Anyway, she saw you with Fowler in the garage, so you need to keep eyes on your girlfriend until I find out what your better half is up to. Will keep you posted. Are you getting these?
Ray quickly walked back to the garage door, looked up at the security camera, and motioned for whoever was watching to open it. He was still holding his phone and kept glancing at it, willing it to come to life, but there was no message from Paul. He scratched his nose with the back of his hand and stared down at the screen, his thumb hovering over the call button. Paul had explicitly told him no calls, but things were about to get really messy, and there were always exceptions to the rule. He exhaled deeply and was about to press the call button when his phone buzzed notifying him of a received message. Ray flicked open the message screen and without looking up, using his other hand, waved at the camera again. With a clank, the garage door started to open as he read, Got it. Do have to visit someone unexpected, but will definitely take care of her. Keep me posted and watch your back.
“What could be more important?” Ray shook his head and hurried out.
Once in his car, Ray checked the tracking software on his phone, another nifty perk from his FBI days. Sure, there were tons of commercial tracking apps available for download, but this one had features other PIs could only dream of like cell phone jamming and ECU remote control, among others. Ray smiled confidently as a satellite map popped up, but immediately frowned. Instead of the live locational data he expected to see, there was a red “x” over the icon of a blinking car.
“What the fuck? What now?” he grumbled, tapping the screen to refresh the data. Nothing, the same red “x” appeared with the text connection lost. Ray frowned. “I know the damn thing was working… she’s good. Very good. Damn! But experience counts, and I bet I know what you’re up to, Missy.”
Ray pulled out and floored the gas pedal. The car lurched forward with a screech and headed north. Ray had no doubt, Wendy’s smartest move would be to go home and wait, pretend she doesn’t know anything, and plan her attack. And his intuition wasn’t wrong. As he gunned the 240 horse power engine of his Crown Victoria east on Lincoln Highway toward El Dorado Blvd., he spotted Samantha’s distinctive blue Porsche speeding ahead. He slowed down, keeping his distance, and followed her home, parking in the same spot he had earlier that morning.
She’s home. I’ll wait til you get back, he messaged Paul. Will let you know if she leaves, but don’t think she will.
At 8:38 p.m., Ray pulled out as Paul turned into his driveway and waited for the gate to open. He flicked his high beams on and off as he passed Paul, who nodded in response.
Ray walked into his apartment, flicked on the light, tossed his keys and wallet on the shelf by the door, took a sip from the Café Royal cup he was holding, and walked into the living room. The apartment was definitely a bachelor pad, set up with minimum decoration and maximum efficiency. There was a flat screen T.V. on the wall facing a worn out couch and two loveseats, a small rectangular coffee table with a couple of books and magazines on it, and a low shelf with a stereo next to a sliding door that opened to a small balcony. In a small alcove left of the kitchen counter, there was a neatly organized desk with two monitors, a mouse, a keyboard, and a chair. To the left of that, there was a short hall leading to the bathroom and bedroom.
Ray walked into the kitchen, put his holster with his Glock 22 down on the counter, and paused for a moment to look at a picture of an attractive woman holding a baby girl that was carefully placed on top of the microwave. He reached over and touched the woman’s face, then the little girl’s.
“Miss you baby boo,” he whispered with a sigh, turned, and opened the fridge still holding the coffee. “Nothing like leftover pizza. Those Italians knew what they were doing,” he said, and took out a cardboard box from Al’s Pizza. “Hot or cold, still damn good.”
Ray took another sip of coffee, put the cup and pizza box on the counter, grabbed a beer, and closed the fridge. “Okay, Wendy, time to figure out what you’re really about.” He took a slice of pizza and his beer, walked to his desk, and sat down, nudging the mouse with his elbow. The screens came to life, the cursor blinking in the password field against a blue background with curvy abstract lines running across it, waiting for input. Ray put the beer on the desk, put the pizza in his mouth, typed the password, and hit enter. Then, he took out his phone, connected it to the USB dock by his keyboard, and started copying the photos he had taken earlier that day to his computer.
While the yellow progress bar sped forward, Ray wolfed down the piece of pizza and finished the beer, not bothering to chew much. “Maximum efficiency,” he mumbled through a mouthful just as the computer dinged, and clicked on one of the close-up photos of Samantha.
After looking through several pictures, Ray finally found what he was looking for. He leaned back in his office chair and stared at the zoomed in image of the Hope Diamond around Samantha’s neck on the main monitor. A second monitor, positioned at an angle to his right, showed the results of his last search: famous large diamonds. He clicked on the first link, The World’s Ten Most Famous and Infamous Diamonds and their Histories.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, as his eyes settled on the third image from the top. Beside it, written in bold, blue letters was, The Hope Diamond. Ray clicked the link and let his eyes skim the text, scrolling down to the bottom of the screen. But what he was looking for wasn’t there. He went back to the browser and typed, where is the Hope Diamond now, and hit enter. Almost immediately, he smirked, the results confirming what he already suspected.
“Wendy, you little fiend. You’ve been up to no good,” Ray exclaimed, and clicked on the headline from the Washington Post.
… the Smithsonian Institute, along with the FBI’s special Art Crime Team (ACT) task force, released a statement today regarding the alarm triggered at the Hope Diamond exhibit on Tuesday afternoon. Although there was no sign of a robbery, any kind of tampering with the famed diamond’s casing, or forced entry, after meticulous inspection of the Hope Diamond that was on display, it has come to their attention that the said piece is indeed a fake… FBI ACT Director, Beth Schnurr, believes this to be the expert work of the individual they have code named the Phantom, who is also suspected of being behind the robbery of the Federal Reserve armored truck seven years ago, a heist totaling over twenty million, and a series of other artifact robberies from private collections… Below is a picture of the Phantom captured by the institute’s security system in her latest disguise as Marie Antoinette. If you have seen this person, or know anything that may help locate the stolen Hope Diamond, please call the FBI at…
Ray stared at the photo, zooming in on the face. “Well, you sure ain’t Wendy, but why do I get a feeling you might as well be?” he said, and picked up his phone. He scrolled through his contact list, tapped Eric McKeown’s name, and texted, Eric, I think I stumbled on something. Definitely a PI in your diamond case. Her name is Wendy Jewett. I’ve attached a photo, you’ll see why. S
end me what you got on her, and you can thank me later. Thanks, bud.
Almost immediately, Ray did another search, this time for thefts of famous precious stones in the past fifteen years. Apart for the Hope Diamond, nothing really significant caught his eye, so he changed gears and searched for recent thefts of famous valuable items. “What the fuck?” he blurted, his eyes round in shock, the headshot of the Joker holding the Hope Diamond looking back at him, the headline reading, The Joker Steals Famous Van Gogh Valued at $58 Million.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, as he sent another message. We need to talk! It’s urgent! Make sure you’re alone. He then tossed his phone on the desk and continued reading. “Who the hell are you, lady?”
Almost immediately, Ray’s phone dinged. He grabbed it and looked at his inbox. No new messages. “What the hell—”
“You asked for a private meeting?” said a beguiling, feminine voice from behind him. “As for the second question… well, why don’t you turn around and find out for yourself?”
Ray locked his phone and slowly swiveled around in his chair. Samantha was standing in the frame of the open sliding door to the balcony, her long hair loose and blowing in the gentle breeze. She was wearing a white, flowing chiffon dress with a dark red belt and heels. “Look what the cat dragged in. Quite an alluring view, I have to admit, and I see you’re wearing your favorite stone. Adds a nice bling to the whole image. How’d you find me?”
Samantha half smiled, her eyes hard, and waved her had dismissively. “Finding you was the easy part. I didn’t even have to use… my special abilities. Remember that little, black box you so kindly slipped under my car?” she said matter-of-factly. “Two can play that game.”
“Nice… I think I would have liked to know you in a different life. You’d make the perfect Mata Hari. Sexy, devious, and definitely dangerous,” said Ray with a smirk. “How’d you get in? I know it wasn’t through the front door. I have my, let’s say, secret defenses.”
“Does it really matter?” said Samantha, and stepped into the living room. “Curiosity did kill the cat, not that me telling you how I got in would change anything.”
Ray leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “Wendy… may I call you Wendy? Or do you prefer Marie? Or better yet, the Joker?”
“Call me whatever you like,” said Samantha with a wicked smile. “Soon, it won’t matter. But which one do you prefer? I can be whoever you want… sort of like a last fantasy meal for your eyes before the execution.”
“Execution? That’s a heavy word,” said Ray with a chuckle, his eyes quickly glancing at his Glock on the kitchen counter. “Ironic that Mata Hari was caught and executed by the French for being a spy, and you… I’m sort of drawing a parallel here, see? Not that we execute thieves, but the FBI already knows about you – thanks to yours truly – and from what Paul was telling me, there may be a couple of murders added to your portfolio. That can be a bit problematic for anyone who wants to keep breathing. By the way, Paul knows about you and your escapades today. Seems to me, you’ve reached the end of the line.”
Samantha gently rubbed the Hope Diamond, causing it to momentarily glow a deep purple. “You mean these messages?” she said, and held up the screen of her phone. “My dear and naïve Paul has no clue. All his messages are being redirected to me. Don’t you just love technology?” Samantha laughed, then suddenly stopped and stared at Ray, her eyes full of hatred. “I gave that bitch a chance, warned her, tried to be nice, but she just couldn’t keep her grubby, disgusting hands off of my Paul. Even after I told her he’s mine, she was all over him today. The cunt. But that’s okay, because once she’s dead – and this time there won’t be a warning – he’ll come running to me. He has nowhere to go. I’ll console him, make him love me again.”
“I don’t see that happening, Wendy. I know about you. The FBI knows about you. There’s no way you can get away with this, unless you kill us all—”
“And why do you think I’m here?” interrupted Samantha with a sneer. “That bitch would’ve already been dead if it wasn’t for you. As for the FBI, you did me a favor. My sister can take all the blame, and I’ll be free again. I can be myself again with Paul.”
“Did you a favor? How?” asked Ray, lifting his eyebrows. “And why would Paul ever want to be with you, let alone love you, if he knows you killed Patricia? Actually, from what I know he’s never loved you. You had a deal, a business deal, that’s all.”
“You’re right, he would never love Wendy. But he loved me… and when he realizes what’s happened, the injustice of it all, he’ll beg for my forgiveness and love me again,” said Samantha.
“This makes no sense,” exhaled Ray. “Aren’t you Wendy? Or am I missing something here? Do you have a wicked twin sister I don’t know about?” he said sarcastically.
Samantha flashed a cold smile. “You think I’m crazy. That’s always been the problem with ignorant people jumping to conclusions. You know nothing, and yet believe you know everything. That you’re above everyone else, smarter than everyone else, better than everyone else. Well, you’re not,” she said, and started to remove the Hope Diamond necklace. “As for a twin sister? No, not twins, just wicked! And the FBI has everything it needs to close the case against her and set me free, thanks to you.”
The transformation was quick. A deep, red glow encompassed Samantha as her features morphed from Wendy into her own image. She stood there, the necklace dangling from her left hand, and laughed hysterically. “How do you like me now?”
Ray sprang from his chair towards the kitchen counter, his focus solely on the Glock. He was about to grab it when there was a loud explosion and something hit him hard in the back of the head. He lost his balance and crashed full force against the counter with his right shoulder, falling to the ground with a loud grunt, practically unconscious. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead.
“Nice try, but way too obvious,” said Samantha, walked over, and stood over him. She looked down and shook her head in disgust. “I was expecting more from you. I was almost sorry to kill you.”
Suddenly, Ray rolled to his left and lunged at Samantha, his shoulder crashing into her stomach, sending her reeling back toward the couch. She screamed in surprise as she tried to regain her balance, Ray scrambling to grab the Glock.
There was a muffled crack, and a red light streaked past Ray’s head. It smashed into the refrigerator door, violently flung it open, and sent its contents flying across the kitchen. Ray grabbed the Glock and dove to his left, rolling over and over on the ground while yanking the gun from its holster, and pointing it at Samantha.
“Lady, I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you, or how the hell you did… whatever the hell it was that you did, but if you move a muscle I’ll blow your head off!” Ray shouted breathlessly.
Samantha sneered and leaned back against the couch, half-sitting on the arm. “Okay, what now?”
Blood from the cut on his head was running down the side of his nose. Ray wiped it with the back of his left hand and squinted. “For starters, how did you do that? And who are you?”
Samantha opened her mouth to say something, stopped, shook her head, and said, “I’ve been very rude. I didn’t even ask your name.”
“It’s Ray,” replied Ray, the impatience obvious in his voice. “And?”
“Like I told you, Ray, I’m Wendy’s sister,” Samantha said, and crossed her arms. “You’ve probably heard of me. I’m Samantha.”
“You mean Samantha from the hospital? The same one Paul and Wendy had committed?” asked Ray, and wiped the blood again.
“The one and only,” said Samantha. “The crazy bitch in the loony bin.”
Ray ignored the last remark and motioned to the kitchen with his head. “And all this crazy illusionist, magic, voodoo stuff? Everyone’s seen the movie Now You See Me, so cut the crap and just tell me pure and simple what the hell going on.”
For the first time, Samantha genuinely smiled. “For starters, it
’s not an illusion,” she said, and pushed off the couch. Slowly, deliberate step after deliberate step, she walked towards Ray. “We’re an ancient people, Wendy and I. What you call witches… and we have magic.” Samantha squinted and her eyes turned red.
Ray took a step back, his eyes betraying fear. “Stop walking. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if I have to.”
Samantha sneered and continued her slow approach, her eyes now glowing.
“I said stop!” shouted Ray, his finger trembling slightly on the trigger. He took another step backwards.
Samantha didn’t say a word. Instead, she bared her teeth, showing her unusually long and sharp canines, and hissed. “Come on, shoot!” she screeched, and feigned an attack.
Ray’s years of training took over and in a split-second he fired three shots, all perfectly dead center and on mark; Samantha’s forehead.
Samantha didn’t budge, but she also didn’t fall to the ground dead. Instead, she stood there staring at the three lead bullets suspended in the air less than an inch from her head. “How primitive,” she said with utter contempt.
“What the fuck?” Paul looked from the bullets to his Glock and back, his eyes falling on Samantha.
Samantha shrugged, pointed at the bullets, moved her index finger in a tight circle as if winding something, then suddenly pointed at Ray. The bullets flipped around and shot back, exploding one after the other into Ray’s chest. Ray flew back, slammed against the counter, and fell to the ground.
“Sorry, honey,” Samantha said with a sardonic smile, walked to the microwave, picked up the picture of the woman and the baby, and placed it in Ray’s empty, dead hand. “Suicide’s a bitch.”
McKeown walked into FBI Director Beth Schnurr’s office, stopped in front of her desk, and held out a red folder. It was exactly 8:00 a.m. “Guess who decided we needed help with the Phantom case,” he said amused.