Scary Modsters... and Creepy Freaks: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection)

by Diane Rinella

  Her head cocks to the side, and her grey-blue eyes narrow. She's summing me up. Her eyes then widen and get a little bit of a gleam. "You have my attention. Please, carry on." Before she can blink, a copy of the affidavit is slid under her nose with all of the key points highlighted. "Harriet Mills? I always wondered what happened to her." Her eyes float back and forth several times before she flips to the last page and sees that it is unsigned. After a beat of thought her head pops up for our eyes to meet. "You must take me for a fool. This can't possibly be real." Her glare at me intensifies. I remain expressionless. Her eyes dart back to the first page, and she resumes her reading.

  "The signed version of the affidavit is notarized. Also, here is a recorded confession stating all of the information is true." I pull out my phone along with a headset and play a video of Ms. Mills boldly revealing everything.

  Mrs. Stoddard's features appear to have locked. Her mouth barely moves as she speaks. "My God, that is Harriet. She was such a fantastic secretary. I knew when my asshole husband let her go something was up." Mrs. Stoddard's eyes rise to mine, her features softened in respectful disbelief. "And she never cashed that check? That would have been a fortune to her." Her harsh expression returns. "What do you want in exchange for the signed copy?"

  "Normally, my fee would be five hundred dollars, plus travel time, airfare and accommodations. To make a legitimate business deal I only need to charge for the affidavit. However, I have to ask you for an additional five hundred and seventy-eight thousand, eight hundred and twenty-three pounds in cash."

  The paper gets tossed down and her defenses go back on the rise. "That is one very odd, and surprisingly low, number given my husband's wealth. What is the significance, and what are the hidden requirements?"

  I pull up my sleeves and the backs of my hands hit the table. My palms open in an expression of showing there is nothing hidden. "Two things." I raise an index finger. "It is believed your husband made some deals that had negative impacts on my friend's life. Though he's entitled to far more, that sum would be enough to recover from a major loss. I seek that sum and not a penny more." Frankly, I don't care about the money. It's a bargaining chip, and that odd number is getting the attention I intended.

  Mrs. Stoddard's fire is quelled by my straightforwardness. Still she gives nothing away. "Who is your friend?"

  I try to out poker face her. "It is for the estate of Peter Lane."

  Her eyes tick open just enough for me to register her shock. Clearly she knows the story. "Yes," she says, hesitantly. "My husband definitely did know Mr. Lane. His untimely death was tragic." Remorse rings in her voice. She seems to be confessing on her husband's behalf.

  "Lastly," I say, adding a second finger to stress my two points, "you need to get Mr. Stoddard to confess being involved in Mr. Lane's murder while I record it. You will immediately receive the only copy."

  Mrs. Stoddard laughs so hard it draws attention. "And how do you propose I do that? My husband may be somewhat vocal about his business dealings, but he would never confess, let alone allow you to record it, unless there's a gun to his head. You'd better pull the trigger because he'd never let you get away with it."

  I keep my poker face on, which is difficult because I am far from fearless, and I'm about to get really ballsy. "In order to tap into your home surveillance system all I need is for you to slip me an IP address, the type of software used, and the password. Unless the data is being backed up to a cloud, I can easily be in and out without detection. The recording will go straight to a flash drive, which is yours to sit on or use to strike a deal with the government. You can give them the recording in exchange for immunity."

  "It would never hold up in court."

  I hold my ground with the addition of giving a devilish grin. "How is you accessing your own surveillance system not legal? Even if it got dismissed, it will make Mr. Stoddard's life hell. Isn't that actually better?"

  Her little grin shows it sounds appealing, but she's tapping her foot. Nerves are kicking in. "How do I know you won't keep a copy and turn it in before I can?"

  "You don't, except for the fact I'm acting under a code of ethics. The small amount of money I am requesting reflects it. It goes to a deserving person and the drive goes to you. Besides, I suggest you just mention Peter. Your husband's ego will probably take care of the rest. Can Mr. Stoddard prove that you know he's responsible for the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Lane?"

  "He's never let me anywhere near anything to do with his business. He probably assumes I'm too stupid to connect the dots, but frankly, I'm not sure the payoff is worth the risk. Young man, you have no idea who you are dealing with—who I am dealing with. Besides, my life is rather cozy. If you'll excuse me …"

  She stands to leave. Time to whip out the insurance policy. "What if I showed you just how cozy his life is?" I slide a picture of Stoddard and a girl nearly fifty years younger right under her nose. "Mrs. Stoddard, meet Natasha Borskev, twenty-seven years old, five-foot-ten, one hundred and—"

  Her butt hits the chair. "Stop! I especially don't need to know the last part. Why that little snake! We have a granddaughter that age!"

  She stares at the girl in the photo who is snuggled up to Stoddard as they step into a cab. An umbrella in his hand shelters her from the elements. "He used to do that for me. I've spent the last forty years waiting for it to happen again while he's paraded around town as if I don't exist. I never wanted my life to be a game of cat and mouse. As much as I needed the money I did once love him. Love can only survive so much, and his deceit broke us." Her eyes hide behind hooded lids. "So Harriet gets nothing out of this?"

  "All she wants is for you to break free like she did."

  "If I were strong enough to break free like she did I wouldn't need her affidavit, and I certainly would not have signed a document supposedly only to help my husband maintain the image of a rock and roll lifestyle."

  Yep, stay cool and calm and the slam dunk always follows. "Off the record, Mrs. Stoddard. I suggest you settle your divorce before going public with the recording, if you so choose. This way if his assets are frozen, you're already in the clear."

  Mrs. Stoddard laughs. "Now wouldn't that be a double whammy. Actually, let's take these negotiations a little further and make it a triple." Under the table, a foot slides up my leg and into my most private of areas. She's kidding, right?

  As if she could hear my thoughts, her eyes give me a good once over—twice—while licking her lips. Her painted-on eyebrows cock, showing me that she is serious. I just about gulp my tongue down my throat. "But what about your prenup?"

  "What about it? To Ben it's just a game to make me work harder. The only thing that prenup does is keep this ring glued onto my finger and my personal bank account dry. You came prepared, so I am betting that you are desperate. We can either finalize this deal elsewhere, or we can part ways right now. What shall it be?"

  Oh, dear God.

  This Wheel's on Fire

  In my efforts to become normal I have done a lot of stupid things. One time I read about a guy who was so tired of being lonely he took a razor blade to his arm. He said when he saw the blood he realized that he loved life, so I put in a couple of gashes to see if it would wake me up inside.

  It didn't.

  What I am about to do now may be less dangerous, but it's about as ridiculous. Mrs. Stoddard slinks out of the bathroom and eyes me like I'm dessert with a double helping of chocolate sauce. Her updo has been let down, revealing long, blonde locks that obscure much of her face, thus making her not half bad … for pushing seventy.

  Not half-bad? Niles, are you crazy?

  I hand her a glass of champagne and toast to her health, leaving out the part we are doing it because I fear she'll soon have a heart attack and our vile fling will make the papers. I sip along with her, then turn my back and down the glass while reaching for a refill. Mrs. Stoddard takes a seat on the bed and pats the spot next to her. I gulp more bubbly to push down the sick.


  Maybe it'll help if I stop thinking of her as Mrs. Stoddard. I was on to something with the hair. Who else has hair that color? Courtney Stodden? No, she's too plastic, which makes her kind of gross. What non-gross actress does Mrs. Stoddard look like? Glenn Close? No-ho-ho-ho-ho, still not gonna do that.

  I loosen my noose of a tie, down the second glass of champagne, and take a seat next to her while forcing a smile and trying to hide the wince that accompanies it. Okay, try again, and make her British in case she talks, else the illusion will be broken.

  A blonde, British actress who's a little older … Joanna Lumley from Absolutely Fabulous. I can handle Joanna Lumley, especially if we are talking about when she was in Sapphire & Steel with the fake Russian dude from Man From U.N.C.L.E. Okay, look only at her hair and think she's Joanna Lumley, circa nineteen seventy-nine.

  Joanna Lumley grabs me by the collar and yanks me down on top of her. She wraps her legs around my waist and slams her crotch against mine with a growl. My eyes widen in fear as my tie gets ripped off without shame or pretense, nearly strangling me in the fervor. With lightning-fast movements she rips at my shirt, sending its buttons flying. One steals my attention as it pings off of the wall. Her fingers claw at my chest, and I'm reminded of a woman jumping into a lake after she hasn't bathed for months.

  Dear Lord, help me!

  Joanna reaches around the back of my head and yanks so our lips smack together. I'm grateful that I sprung for the swanky hotel because she tastes of mouthwash from the little samples they leave in the bathroom. Mercifully, she releases some of the pressure and her lips soften. Her tongue finds mine in a surprisingly sensual kiss.

  You know, this situation could be a lot worse. If she keeps this up …

  Maybe I am looking at this the wrong way. Maybe I can learn something from this woman. Okay, this is a training mission with Joanna Lumley, nineteen seventy-nine, who tastes of mouthwash and kisses like a goddess.

  With a surprising amount of force she rolls me onto my back and straddles me, pressing her crotch against mine with strokes that are long and carnal. She's already moaning. I hate to admit it, but if this really were Joanna Lumley, nineteen seventy-nine, it would be hot as Hell.

  Joanna's lips leave. As she pushes herself off of my chest I get a good look at Mrs. Stoddard, and reality slips down my stomach and churns it. Her long, pink nails claw at my skin, leaving a trail of red. She goes for my belt as if she's in a race against her own mortality. The way the light hits her face tells mortality may be winning. What kind of hell have I gotten myself into?

  What will I tell Rosalyn when she asks what we did to take care of Stoddard? What if leaving out the part about banging a fake Joanna Lumley, nineteen seventy-nine, comes back to haunt me? Rosalyn may be going out with Shane now, but damn it, I feel like I'm cheating on her. I'm so capable of guilt that I should turn Catholic.

  With a swift unzip Joanna's hands go for my underwear. She's not concerned I still have pants on. Dear God, please help!

  Kisses hit my navel, followed by a tongue that slinks down the trail that leads to my—oh God, she's already got her hand on my crotch! It's nineteen seventy-nine and Joanna Lumley has her hand on my crotch. It's nineteen seventy-nine and Joanna Lumley is yanking down my pants. It's nineteen seventy-nine and Joanna Lumley is cupping my balls. It's nineteen seventy-nine and Joanna Lumley's lips are about to—

  Wetness touches my manhood, and everything inside me silently screams, "Gah!"

  Click.

  "Hello, Annie. Missed me?" Joanna Lumley looks up, and I'm barely able to cup my hand over her mouth in time to stop her from screaming at Peter who hovers above while holding my phone. "Well, isn't this quite the ghastly sight? I thought a pesky little prenup would prevent this from happening."

  Joanna Lumley jumps up from the bed and grabs her blouse that I didn't even realize she had ripped off. She holds it against her chest, suddenly very embarrassed while Peter types on the phone and the swoosh of an email being sent rings through the air. I wipe the spit off of me and smear it onto my pants. I zip them so quickly my boxers get caught. Joanna Lumley, nineteen seventy-nine, makes for the door.

  "Please," Peter says, "don't let me interrupt your business deal. I believe the two of you were about ready to reach," he clears his throat, "an agreement. In fact, I am certain you were just about to tell my friend here that you would be absolutely delighted to assist him in his needs."

  Peter's pathetic efforts at rubbing this in have my lips pursing and my fists tightening in a desire to let him have it. It's pretty impressive. No one has ever gotten my feathers ruffled.

  "Let me out of here!" She reaches for the doorknob.

  "Aw, don't break up the party on my account, Annie. Then again, I'm sure we'll see each other very, very soon."

  "We most certainly will not!"

  "I wouldn't count on that. Oh, how I love the technology of this modern world. You see, the snap I just took on this little device was sent off for safe keeping. Since I'm kind of stuck on this side of the rainbow until your assistance comes through, while my friend is deciding what to do next with the photograph, I'll just keep paying you visits at the most unsightly of times until you either assist him or he turns that photo public. Stoddard will have no choice than leave you behind without a pence."

  As much as I kind of want to smack Peter with every drop of that five percent of our anger I have I'm pretty damned grateful for what he's done. I just wish he had arrived a few minutes sooner. I hand Mrs. Stoddard the address and room number of the hotel where we're staying. "Within twenty-four hours, drop all of the information along with the time that you will have Mr. Stoddard in his office to get the confession. After that's done, simply pick up the drive and the signed affidavit. I'll delete all copies of the picture, and you will never hear from us again."

  "And if he fails to talk?"

  I shrug, oh so innocently. "A picture is worth a thousand words, or several million pounds, depending how you look at it."

  Mrs. Stoddard rips the card with the information out of my hand and flees toward the door. She stops shy of turning the knob, adjusts her skirt, holds her head high and gives her hair a shake before heading off and shutting the door with dignity.

  "Gah!" I cringe all over, repeatedly stomping my foot to shake off the heebee jeebies. "Where were you? I want to rip off my clothes and burn them while soaking my body in alcohol!"

  Peter flings the phone at me. I catch it as it smacks into my gut. "Since it was clear you were failing miserably I went back to Stoddard's place to see if I could mess with the system. I figured I could try to spook the information out of him by doing a little of the old, now you see me, now you don't, but I didn't have any luck. I'd no choice but to return and watch that disgusting display until you, or rather, she finally sucked it up."

  "You were here the whole time?" I squirm again. With how my arms are flailing I must look like a six-year-old girl. "Couldn't you have taken that photo when she first kissed me?"

  "Why, yes, I could have. Are we leaving now or are you staying to dream of what romance may have bloomed?"

  Swiping the bottle of champagne, I guzzle while heading for the elevator.

  Now we wait.

  Tired of Waiting for You

  Aren't we supposed to find peace when we die? I've spent the last few decades completely on edge and wondering when everything will come to fruition. Today that feeling has reached the highest of highs.

  My thumbs twiddle, my feet pace, and then my arse bounces on the bed. I'm doing anything I can to pass the time. Niles continues to shoot me silent glares, implying I've put him on the verge of madness. Yet he just lies there reading a book on some electronic doodad. Every now and again he mumbles something at it like, "I can't believe you did that!" or "What the hell is wrong with you?"

  "Dear God, man. What is it you're reading?"

  "Out Of The Box." His eyes stay intently on the thing.

  "Is that one of those silly, self-help books?"<
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  "No, it's a romance novel."

  "A what? Like the ladies read?"

  He nods without giving himself the trouble of looking up at me. "I always read romance novels."

  "That's just blooming crazy."

  "Not at all. The guys in these things are always screwing up, thus showing me how not to act. Romance novels have saved my ass many a time."

  "Not recently they haven't."

  A big, red 3 A.M. glows on the nightstand's clock. Someone is bound to show soon. Annie Stoddard wouldn't be stupid enough to send the information to Niles's phone, would she? Apparently it's "traceable." I've half a mind to nab it and check myself.

  "You know, we have scarcely three days until the weekend. Rosalyn's been talking of moving forward and probably has another date. Maybe I should do something to—"

  "Stop reminding me, Peter. I'm concerned about that date she had with Shane, too. Girls like Rosalyn don't often give second chances. If I'm going to persuade her to forgive me, I've got to go in armed for battle. Disregard your emotions else we may fail. Just ask my opponents in court who can't hold it together."

  I really blew it with this guy when I kept most of the anxiety. I thought that would play out in my favor so I'd never waste time. Little did I know it would chap my bum.

  Finally, the light that shines through the bottom crack of the door is obstructed and an envelope is slid underneath. I jump for it, but Niles puts out a hand and shhs me silent.

  Feet rush down the hallway. With the envelope in hand I resume my position on the bed. Since the delivery guy wanted to get away quickly I grant him a respectful moment to do so. Meanwhile, Peter stands so close to me that personal space is nonexistent.

  Mrs. Stoddard came through with every piece of information requested. They're using StarFire Security's well-known program. IP address 160.13.245.98. Username is Emily. Passcode is WOT121067. Below that is the time of 10 A.M., Friday—as in more than twenty-four hours from now.