“Listen, you sleaze ball, no one’s gonna be around at two in the morning. You could sit there naked and jerk yourself off until you’re blue in the face, and no one would ever know. Now is it a deal or not?”
“How much did—”
“You’re takin’ a big chunk out of the pockets of the American people. Now if you don’t want to do this, tell me, and we’ll get somebody else.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, all right.”
“Remember,” the chilling voice whispered. “Two in the morning... Gardena Square... be there.”
The man looked up at the bright reflection and saw it turn and walk away. He shoved his phone in his pocket, then walked into the toy store and picked up the first mask he saw. As he took it toward the cash register and threw it down on the counter, he felt a shiver of fear when he realized he was looking into the sinister, sightless eyes of—Lee Harvey Oswald.
* * * *
A shadowy man who blended in with the dark Washington night stood at the entrance to Gardena Square. His expensive trench coat lay in smooth folds as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and then walked in. Looking to the left, he saw a man with a blindfold on beneath a mask sitting on a park bench. He strode toward him, hesitating only long enough to light the cigarette, then sat down beside him. With smoke escaping from his moving lips, he said, “You must be my contact, right?”
“How can you tell?” came the man’s sarcastic reply. “Look around, there must be dozens of people here with a blindfold and mask on. Seems a nice night for a werewolf.”
“All right, Gertrude, don’t be so damned bitchy.” He glanced around for onlookers. “I’m just lettin’ you know who I am. If we do this by the book, there’ll be no slipups.”
“Murder by the book... good one.”
The trench coat flipped his cigarette away and grabbed the masked man by the arm. “Come on, smart-ass,” he whispered, his eyes darting around nervously. “We gotta go.”
“Hey,” the mask said. “Careful what you’re grabbin’. I ain’t no rag doll you can throw around, ya know.”
“Get a move on, creep, the car is waitin’. If a cruiser comes by and sees it, there could be trouble.”
“So what?” the mask said, jerking himself out of the man’s grip. “I’m just trick or treatin’.”
“It ain’t Halloween.”
“So I’m a little late... or early... whatever.”
“Quit talkin’, you bum. I already learned two things about you. One, you come from the Eastern Seaboard, New Jersey, maybe. Two, you’re a major pain in the ass.”
“And you’re Sweet Georgia Brown, I suppose.”
“Put a sock in it, Gertrude.” After a stealthy look up the street and down, he put a hand on his partner’s head and shoved him into the back seat of the sedan. “All right, Josephine, let ‘er rip.”
“What is this habit you have of calling men by women’s names?”
“Code names. Don’t you know anything?”
“Code name, my ass. You’re a freakin’ fag.”
“What do I have to do to keep you quiet, you bum?”
“Bum? What happened to Gertrude?”
“She went up in smoke, just like you’re gonna do if you don’t shut up. Sheesh, what a pain.”
* * * *
The masked man silenced himself when he heard the car rev up, begin to hum, then come to life as it lurched into the street. No more talking. This was where he earned his money. The silence gave him the opportunity to concentrate on the turns, stops, slowdowns, the up hills, and down hills. “Why doesn’t he stop for a light?”
“They’re blinkers.”
Yeah, I guess they would be at two... or it must be two-thirty by now. He listened to sounds, felt the bumps in the road, smelled melting tar and late-night bars or restaurants. He heard steam hissing out of the street vents and a slight, faraway rumbling, which meant they were close to the Metro. He also knew they were close to the waterfront by the smell and lapping of the water. When they turned into a drive, he heard crunching gravel. They drove only a few seconds before the car stopped.
Without wasting a minute, the two men abruptly opened the car doors and got out. Their feet crunched on the gravel, then the door on his side opened. He immediately felt each man take an arm, pull him out and escort him into the building. He smelled the dust as it tickled his nostrils and felt the heavy grit under the soles of his feet. The men fastened their hands to his arm and led him until they turned him around so that he faced the other way. He stood there for a moment, hearing a rusty, stubborn panel being closed and then a loud humming noise as the room began to lift. When it finally jerked to a stop, he heard the scraping sound of the door opening. Then two strong arms led him out. They pushed him toward the left until they came to a door. He managed to rub his hand across the door and received pricks from peeling paint and splinters.
It’s an old building. Possibly abandoned. In use by those who needed a private place to do what? Plan a murder.
The door opened, and they shoved him in. The atmosphere immediately changed. He smelled the heavy smoke and sensed the heat of a light on him. It felt close, the light warming his skin.
A hanging light.
The trench coat placed him behind a large screen he’d felt on his way to the chair.
“It must be hot under there, so if you want you can take your mask and blindfold off, but whatever you do, don’t come out from behind that screen, got it?”
“Yeah, thanks.” He pulled up on his mask, then his blindfold, and wiped his sweaty face with it. He didn’t look around or try to see anything. He stared straight ahead, not moving his unfocused eyes.
The meeting began and careful plans were laid. They decided on the time, the place, and then discussed when during the evening the assassination would take place.
“That’s my decision,” the man behind the screen called out.
“Why do you say that?”
“It’ll depend on the circumstances. Noise in the room, position of the target, a lot of things.”
“Okay, okay.”
A worried voice came out of the darkness. “I don’t like it.”
“My god, Neil. None of us are here because we like it. It’s just something that has to be done.”
Neil? the man behind the screen thought. My god, he let a name slip. Is he aware of that?
He tried to keep up with the sound of the voices but couldn’t tell much when everyone talked at once until one voice lifted above the others.
“What kind of piece you got?”
“It’s a Plainfield M-1 Carbine.”
“Short barrel?”
“Yeah, easy to handle.”
“Good.”
“I don’t know,” came a different voice. “Is that powerful enough?”
“It don’t matter.” The voice sounded as if he thought he was talking to an idiot. “We just want to get the bum out of office, not make sausage out of him.”
“How much do I get up front?” the shadow said.
“You get paid when the job is done,” a voice answered.
“Hell no,” the shadow protested. “I want half now and half later.”
“Half is too damned much.”
“Forty percent, and not a penny less.”
“Do you take credit cards?” came one sarcastic reply.
“What in hell are you guys tryin’ to pull? You want a job done, but you’re not willing to pay for it. How about I walk out of here right now?”
There was silence. A voice finally spoke up. “Okay, but if this is botched up...”
“I’m a marksman, you know that.”
“We know that, but if the event is cancelled or if the president is suddenly called out of the country... anything could happen. We just want a guarantee that we’ll get our money back.”
“Hey bozo, that’s the chance you take. My time’s worth something. The only thing I’m willing to forfeit is the last half of the payment if something goe
s wrong.”
There was silence, then a muffled voice said, “We’re dealin’ with a goddamned con artist here.”
“Hey, speak up. No secrets or the deal’s off. And if there’s no deal, I might just go to the cops.”
“The cops? And do what? Tell them we’re makin’ plans to assassinate the president? You go to the cops, you’re in this alone. We don’t know each other, remember?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” the man mumbled.
“What do you mean by that?” came a wheezing voice that became as hard as nails as it dipped into a threat. “You bastard, if you want to stay alive, you’d better not be playin’ us for fools.”
“Settle down, Geraldine,” he said, remembering the group’s fondness for using women’s names. “Nothin’s wrong. I don’t know you. You don’t know me.”
“How the hell does he know what those names mean?”
“Stupid over there told him.”
Someone else spoke with a heavy whisper. “You dumbass, I oughta—”
“Come on, come on. What the hell is goin’ on out there?”
The same voice said, “Who the hell is this Geraldine? You some kind of pervert?”
“Code name. Means this meeting’s over with, so get me the hell out of here.”
“This meeting ain’t over, so settle down.”
He heard shuffling and chairs scraping, then the voices became harder to hear. “Somethin’ funny about this guy. I vote we get rid of him and start over.”
“Relax, he don’t know nothin’. Besides, we don’t have time. The fundraiser is only a few days away. I vote we go ahead unless one of us is prepared to take his place.”
* * * *
The frowning leader looked over at the shadowy figure behind the screen and felt unbalanced, not quite knowing what had happened. They’d been told Diego was a man with problems—someone they could order around, someone they could bend and twist to their will. What they expected was a cowering wimp, certainly not this abusive, sarcastic creep who refused to comply with their demands. Had they gotten themselves into something they might regret? It didn’t matter—their back was against the wall. They decided to put it to a vote, some wanting to call it off, but the majority voting to go on with it.
“All right, the decision’s been made. It’s time we adjourn, and get this show on the road.”
* * * *
With the meeting at an end, the man behind the screen heard nothing but murmurs, so he put the blindfold and mask on his face. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Had he slipped up? Said something he shouldn’t? Would he get out of there alive? He knew they were suspicious. Maybe he should have spoken with an accent, sounding a little more like Diego. They were both dark, about the same size, but they hadn’t seen his face, so how could they even suspect? A hand gripped his arm and pulled him up. With help, he made his way through the crowd, pretending to bump into them. He even managed to put his hands on several faces.
On the way back to the park, he could predict every turn, every slow down and every bump. He counted lights, remembered smells, sounds, and subway stations until they pulled up in front of the park and stopped. He was jerked from the car, put back on the park bench, and an envelope pushed into his hands. He sat quietly, hearing the scraping sound of the man’s shoes on the sidewalk. A short time later, a car door opened and closed, then came the sound of the engine, and the car left with the screeching of tires.
Breathing a sigh of relief, the man reached up, pulled the mask and the blindfold away, then pulled the cuff of his jacket back, and felt the face of his watch that was printed in Braille.
When everything was quiet, a dark man in a long, black coat stepped out from behind a tree. Taking a puff off his cigarette, he walked up to the blind man and spoke to him with the trace of a Spanish accent. “So, how did it go, my friend?”
A broad smile lit up Leo’s face. “Well, fancy meeting you here, Diego.” He began digging into his clothes. “Let’s just say I know who they are, where they meet, and I have the whole meeting recorded on this.” He held the little square black box in the middle of his palm and lifted it toward the voice.
“You’re the best, Leo,” Diego said as he reached down and took the box from the blind man’s hand. “The jerks,” he mumbled as he put the recorder away. “I thought for sure they’d search you. Hell, you could’ve been carrying a weapon.” He looked down at Leo and chuckled. “Wonder what they’d say if they knew a blind man was wearing a blindfold?”
“That reminds me, Diego. I messed up and forgot the accent, but they didn’t seem to notice. If they thought I was you, why didn’t they get suspicious when they heard me talk?”
“Probably because the whole thing was set up by one person. I never saw him. I only spoke to him over my cell phone. I guess he didn’t notice the accent, and none of the others ever talked to me. That way, it makes it easier for them to deny everything if things get hot.”
“Oh yeah, here’s something else,” Leo said, taking the envelope filled with money and pushing it forward. “They agreed to half now, and half later.”
“Thanks,” Diego said as he opened the envelope, pulled several of the large bills out, and pushed them into Leo’s pocket. “That nice hunk of change should make this night worthwhile.”
“It’s a pleasure doin’ business with you, Diego. So... what happens now?”
Diego lifted his foot and rested it on the bench, then took a deep drag off his cigarette. “Now my job is just beginning.”
“Do I sense a touch of anxiety in your voice? It couldn’t be because this job’s not like the rest, could it? More money, important figure. You’re taking a big chance, Diego.”
“Don’t ask questions, Leo. You know too much already.”
“I don’t have to ask questions, Diego. You hired me because of my unique perception, and with just a little effort, I could probably read your mind.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Diego flicked his cigarette away, pulled his collar up against the cold wind, and casually wandered away. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Yeah, sure,” Leo replied. Feeling his way over to where he’d left his cane, he turned, stood, and found his way out of the park. As he stepped carefully, the clattering of his walking stick made an ominous sound in the early morning darkness.
Chapter Seven
Sealed off from the rest of the world, Griff thought he might be going crazy.
What had started him daydreaming of Lorelei?
It’s this place. He looked around at the plush cage he occupied. He had no privacy. Secret Service agents were everywhere. He couldn’t even go to the bathroom without someone checking the commode for bombs.
God, what a life.
Griff tried to keep his mind on his work, but he couldn’t. He threw his pen down, got up, and began pacing. Why couldn’t he wipe his mind clean of Lorelei’s image? He wanted a woman so bad, and she was the only one around he dared touch. Like a cat after a goldfish, he had been watching her every move. His stubborn streak started to weaken. What the hell was happening to him? Everything about her seemed different. The way she walked, the way she talked, every little nuance, every mannerism. He couldn’t help but change his approach to her. No more icy stares, no insulting words. He found himself trying to draw her to him with a soft stroke, an arm around her waist, a whisper in her ear, a smile. The soft fragrance of her perfume slowly drove him crazy. At odd moments, he found himself focusing on her lips, their full, soft, shiny look so inviting. When her blouse allowed it, he probed the dark regions of her cleavage with his eyes to get any glimpse he could of her beautiful breasts. Now Lorelei’s red hair not only drew his eyes, but also made him tingle with a longing to bury his fingers within the soft strands.
His thoughts abruptly stopped when the door to his office opened and Lorelei came in with a beautiful sun-bleached blonde.
“Griff, I’d like you to meet Margine Moore. She’s come to us from Neiman Marcus in Dallas, Texas. She�
�s been assigned to work with me on the interior decoration of the private quarters.”
As soon as Griff laid eyes on her, he couldn’t seem to turn away. She looked fresh and cool, wearing a full cotton skirt and a simple scoop-necked blouse. Her long legs were scandalously bare, and she wore high-heeled sandals. Some women would call her trashy, but the only fault Griff could find with her was the color of the ribbon she wore around her head. Griff had never seen such blonde loveliness before, and when she extended her hand, he took it, seeing adoration trapped within her beautiful blue eyes.
“I’m so happy to meet you, Mr. President,” she drawled. “I just can’t believe I’m finally here helping your beautiful wife with this important project.”
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.”
“Margine,” Lorelei began. “I’ll leave you with Griff for the time being. I have something to take care of before we get started.”
“Oh... all right, Lorelei.” When the door closed softly behind her, Margine turned to Griff and looked at him invitingly. “My goodness, your wife surely is a trustin’ woman, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Griff answered with a smile. “Would you like to sit down?”
“Am I interruptin’ something?” she asked as she swished her skirt prettily and sat down. “Some very important work you were doin’ for the good of our li’l ol’ country, perhaps?”
Griff sat down beside her, feasting on her beauty. “There’s a fundraiser later, but...”
The words were barely out of his mouth when a shadow crossed his vision, and he entered her realm—her aura. It was as if a curtain had been drawn around them, shutting out the rest of the world. No longer did she have that innocent look of a Southern belle. Now her face was kindled with a passionate beauty that had seen many years. Her soft mouth curled in evil as she began to whisper and hiss in his ear. “Griff Nyle, you can’t resist me. I am Aphrodite, Venus, Helen of Troy all rolled into one. You may try, but when I am in your presence, you no longer have a will of your own. Now, make love to me.”
The Sweet Thief Page 5