The Sweet Thief

by Temple Madison

  “I don’t like him. He’s too damned pretty. If you ask me, he’s probably AC and DC.”

  The senator snickered. “You couldn’t be more wrong, Cap. His sexual preference does not extend to men.” A mischievous spark urged him on, and he added naughtily, “So if you were thinking of making a play for him...”

  “Quit jokin’, Orval. You know I don’t go in for that.”

  “Yeah? I seem to remember a young sailor that got your attention one time.”

  “So I experimented. You can relax. The only fascination I have for this one is finding out how he got himself in such a mess, and how he gets his hair to do that... curly thing.”

  “Cap—”

  “His teeth are real, all right,” Cap said thoughtfully. “But what about shoulder pads? I couldn’t feel around on him, he might think I...”

  “Cap, will you stop this? The man is real... all over.”

  “He can’t be. Nobody that perfect walks around on this earth. No scratches, no birthmarks... not even any friggin’ dirt underneath his fingernails.”

  “So he’s clean! Cap, you’re investigating the wrong person. Remember the picture of that beauty with the bite marks that came from those perfect teeth? That’s your target. I thought maybe a beautiful face might get you all shook up, but dear god, I never thought Griff Nyle would send you into a tailspin. Now get serious, for god’s sake, and try to cooperate with him.”

  Cap had a brooding look on his face. “I’m keepin’ my eye on that one,” he whispered “I’ll bet my granny’s douche bag I’ll find something.”

  “Keep your granny’s douche bag out of this, and remember who you’re investigating, for god’s sake. And whatever you do, don’t make him mad.”

  When the two men finally turned and walked back up to Griff, he abruptly turned and, without saying anything, began leading them to his office. As they were walking, Griff and Cap sized each other up from the corner of their eyes, each appearing unhappy with the other.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It had been weeks of waiting, pacing, weeks of sweating, and weeks of visits to Gabrielle where a wine drink was constantly being pushed in Griff’s face. Something about those drinks had him floating on a hazy cloud of lust followed by shadows, soft voices and stinging pricks in his arm. He would begin to mumble mindless things he knew not to be true because somewhere deep in his psyche he had a room of secrets—a dark room that no one knew about except him. He’d had it since he was a child. Odd little secrets he could never share, filled with everything from Superman’s real identity to the name of a funny-looking traveling salesman who made him laugh. When he was a child, it looked like a Wells Fargo Stagecoach, but today it was a looming multicolumned White House with a presidential seal on it.

  Griff ushered the senator and Cap into his office. They’d finally come up with information that made Cap’s folder bulge.

  When everyone got settled in Griff’s office, Cap gave him an earful. They’d all known the so-called Margine Moore was really Gabrielle—now they knew she’d been employed by Neiman Marcus as part of their maintenance team.

  “You mean she emptied trash cans and cleaned toilets?”

  “Exactly. She worked the graveyard shift cleanin’ up around the place,” Cap said as he lit up a cigarette.

  Griff saw him, jumped up, peered around his office door and then quickly closed it. Turning to the senator, he said, “If they find out I’ve been letting someone smoke in here, my ass’ll go up in flames. I hope you know that.”

  “Cap is appreciative.” He looked over at Cap. “Aren’t you?”

  “Huh?” he said, and then looked down at the lighted wand in his hand. “Oh, yeah, sure.”

  “You were saying?” Griff said impatiently, frowning at one, then the other.

  Clearing his throat, the detective shuffled a few papers around while taking a few hungry draws from his cigarette. “The buyer... uh, Ms. Moore... told me that the letter she’d received from the White House just mysteriously disappeared, and she didn’t know if it had become lost or stolen. Apparently, the girl got her hands on it one night as she was emptying out the wastebaskets and answered it herself. She called in sick after that until one day she stopped calling and they never heard from her again. A few days later, she shows up in Washington, telling everyone that she’s Margine Moore, an interior designer from Neiman Marcus.”

  Griff looked at the senator. “Wait a minute. Didn’t our security team check her out then?”

  “Sure,” the senator replied. “But they checked out the real interior designer, Margine Moore. This Valdez woman didn’t...”

  “No, no, it’s Valdis, not Valdez. You see, you’re falling into the same trap I did. I kept thinking Valdez until I got a hold of her birth certificate and learned that her name is Valdis, a name that comes from either Germany or Sweden, I’m not sure which. She was declared criminally insane at the age of fourteen and put in a mental home a few miles outside of Dallas, where she stayed until she was twenty-five.”

  “How in hell did she ever—”

  “I’m comin’ to that.” He turned to Griff, talking with hands that held a cigarette in each one. “Anyway, I was able to question a few of the orderlies there. They said when you were elected to office, she used to watch you on TV all the time. Became real infatuated, in fact, maybe even obsessed. One of them—”

  “My god, Cap, you’ve got two cigarettes lit. Put one of ’em out.”

  Cap looked down. “Oh, yeah.” He walked over to the coiled snake ashtray and ground out the tiny butt. “Bottom line is the woman’s got a thing for you and refuses to let go.”

  Griff looked down at the mess of papers strewn all over his desk, and then up at Cap. “I’ve got to admit, Mr.—”

  “Cap... the name’s Cap.”

  “Mr. Cap.”

  “No.” The detective leaned toward him. “Just Cap, no mister.”

  “Oh...” Griff nodded indulgently. “Well... uh... Cap, you’ve done a good job.”

  “Are you kidding? That’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

  Griff looked at him. “There’s more?”

  “Well, sure. What I gave you is only half the story. Now things really start hoppin’. After she got fired off your account, she didn’t go back to Dallas like everyone thought. She got a job as a cocktail waitress down at the Golden Eagle. Worked there for a while, but seemed to attract the wrong type... causing fights, shootin’ off her mouth... that kind of thing, so they fired her. Anyway, after that, she started shackin’ up with different guys letting them take care of her. That’s when this real sweetheart of a guy named Sidney Wilde steps in.”

  “Sidney Wilde,” Griff groused, then looked over at the senator. “It’s that sleazy reporter, Senator. Damn, I should have known he’d be part of this.”

  Cap looked over at Orval. “What’s this?”

  The senator made a swipe with his hand and said, “Nothing, Cap. It was something that happened a long time ago. It has nothing to do with this.”

  “Don’t be so sure. After further investigation, I found out you were right, Orval. This is a gang, and Gabrielle is the bait.” He put a hand out toward Griff. “Meet the fish.”

  “All right, all right, get on with it,” Griff complained.

  “Anyway, Wilde and Gabrielle got involved, and when he found out she’d slept with you, he worked out this little plan. That’s when she started contacting you for money, saying if she didn’t get it, she would go to the press. Actually, none of these clowns wanted publicity any more than you did.”

  “You mean it could have stopped right there?”

  “No, I don’t think so. You see, Gabrielle played along with Sidney because you were involved. Each one had their own reasons for taking you down that the other didn’t know about. This caused a lot of friction. The money Sidney knew he could get for the information he pumped out of you was just gravy. His main goal is revenge. Gabrielle, on the other hand, was fighting her own battle. You
weren’t falling under her spell as expected, and she began feeding you aphrodisiacs along with a strong amount of the same chemicals that prepared you for Sidney’s visit. Man, you had enough chemicals in your blood to kill off an army. How the hell you survived, I don’t know.”

  “Mr... . uh, Cap,” Griff began. “That’s absolutely impossible. I think you’re getting just a little melodramatic here.”

  “Oh yeah?” Cap turned to him. “Are you in the habit of passin’ out on two friggin’ drinks and gettin’ so horny you’d fuck anything that moved? And how about one more little tidbit? It seems when Gabrielle gets tired of her lovers, like the ever-lovin’ black widow, she kills them. Your days were numbered pal. How’s that for melodrama? She has a friggin’ history of it.”

  “What? What kind of history is that?”

  “For your information, this loony bin she was in had two cases of missing persons and a third body that was found slashed to ribbons down in the basement. They found the body stuffed in back of the furnace. They were men. Who knows how many more there are?”

  “My god,” Griff said.

  “That ain’t even the end of the story. Did you know that this little lady practices the art of black magic? She believes she’s been reincarnated, her past lives being such dolls as Lucretia Borgia, Circe, Mina Harker, Jezebel, and a whole slew of others I can’t even remember. Now if that ain’t a recipe for madness, I don’t know what the hell is. Take my word for it, Mr. President. Knowin’ this gal’s history, I’d say it was only a matter of time until this little whore got out her kitchen knife again.”

  “But some of this stuff... how could you know that?”

  “I don’t tell my secrets. That’s why I’m the best damned detective you’ll ever see in your lifetime.”

  “My god,” Griff repeated in a mumble.

  “My god is right,” Cap agreed.

  “What do we do now? Call in the authorities?”

  “All in good time, but I want you to see her one more time.”

  “No,” Griff said emphatically. “I don’t care how horny I get, I couldn’t go back there. Not after the last time.”

  “It won’t be like that. This time you stay sober,” he said, as he pushed a bottle of clear liquid at him.

  Griff looked down at the bottle. “You want me to stay sober on straight gin?”

  “It’s water. She’ll never know the difference. Just act drunk. You can act, can’t you?”

  Griff sneered as he slid his gaze over at Cap. “I’m the freakin’ president of the United States. I put on an act every day of my goddamned life.”

  “Then, this should be easy,” Cap said through teeth that clenched a cigarette. “When the time is right, pretend to pass out, but keep your eyes open.” He grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth. “You know, like if she makes any phone calls, someone comes to her door or whatever.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Griff said, turning to the senator. “You go and get this goddamned detective who looks and sounds like he just walked out of a dime-store novel, and all of a sudden, there’s a spy ring. All I asked you to do was get her out of my hair. Why in hell couldn’t you just do what I asked?”

  “Because I’ve got one hell of a hunch,” the guttural voice said from behind him.

  Griff whirled around. “Mr. Robertson...”

  “Cap,” the detective said, holding his smoking cigarette up between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Mr. Robertson,” Griff repeated with emphasis. “Hunches are fine for Mickey Spillane or Sherlock Holmes, but this is real life, and I’m just not buying it.”

  “Griff,” the senator said. “I know it sounds bizarre, but after what Cap has found out, we can’t just sit back and do nothing. If there’s the slightest chance, it would be a sin to look the other way.”

  Griff had a slight reaction when the senator said the word sin. Sin made him think of hell, and hell made him think of Gabrielle, a dim apartment, moving shadows, hands, drinks, and orgasms that made his eyeballs roll back in his head. He remembered sounds coming out of him that sounded savage. No, he’d committed so many sins, there wasn’t enough holy water in the church, rain in Heaven, or blood of the crucified Christ to save him now. Thinking he was a lost man without hope, he looked at the senator, who was still talking.

  “You heard Cap say that there was a gang at work here, and we need as much good hard evidence as we can get. We’ve got the place bugged from top to bottom. Video cameras are set up and everything.”

  “How the hell did you manage that?”

  “Cap got a couple of hoods in to do it while she was away.”

  “My god, Senator, that’s breaking and entering.”

  “Don’t get excited. The police are working with us.”

  Griff slammed his hands down on the desk. “How the hell could you bring the police in on this when you’re not even sure? Word will get out... everyone will know!”

  “This is a team of special forces that Cap has worked with before. They’re sworn to secrecy. Besides, you’ve got to admit, these thugs are up to something. We’re just gonna find out what and how bad. That’s why we need you to get in there again to see what’s going on. If everything goes the way we think, this’ll be the sting of the century.”

  “We’ve got photographs. That should be enough.”

  “That incriminates you, not her. All it says is that you’re a horny son of a bitch that can’t stay away from a beautiful woman. All of Washington knows that already.”

  “Why the hell can’t you do this without me? You’ve got all the dope, just go out and arrest her.”

  “Because you’re in this all the way up to your eyeballs. What the hell’s the matter with you, anyway? Why don’t you want to put that little whore away? I still say it’s love.”

  “Hell yes, it’s love!” Griff yelled. “Love for my wife, my home, my unborn child. I don’t want to drag them into this mess. This whole damned thing has mushroomed into one giant, sordid predicament, and she’s gonna find out everything. And when she does, I’ll never see her or my unborn child again. It’s a nightmare that I wish would just go away.”

  “I know, son, I know,” the senator said, his voice softening. “But, Griff, there’s a bigger issue here. You’re protecting your country, and in protecting it, you’re protecting Lorelei and the baby. This is not something that can be swept under the rug and forgotten like all the others. How can you come this far, then walk away? We need names and faces that only you can identify.”

  “But I didn’t see—”

  “Of course, you did. Maybe you were half out of your head with treated drinks, drugs, or whatever, but I promise you—you saw them—you heard them. Griff, if they’ve learned any government secrets, we need to break up this little nest before they sell them. We don’t only want her, we want the whole goddamned bunch and all their contacts. You just tell us when, and we’ll contact the authorities and have the place surrounded.”

  “I guess this is it, Mr. French. Mr. Bernard French. Goodbye,” Griff whispered softly. He didn’t realize he was saying his name out loud until the senator spoke up.

  “Who the hell is Bernard French?”

  “Nobody,” Griff said, looking at him sadly. “Just someone I used to know... or almost knew,” he added silently.

  “Speaking of newborns...”

  Griff looked around. “Did anyone say anything about newborns?”

  “You mentioned your unborn child.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Griff said.

  Cap pushed a paper toward him. “If nothing else’ll make you want to get this woman, maybe this will.” Cap pushed a sheet of paper toward him. “Gabrielle’s mother was a member of a witch’s coven. The sad part is, this girl, and hundreds like her are brain washed from the moment they’re born. That’s probably how she wound up in an asylum.”

  Griff looked at it and read about the evil of witches and their covens—the blood, the sex, the sacrifices. He read about those who were brought into
the coven to bear children. If it was a boy, they would kill it, but if it was a girl, they would sacrifice it to Satan. Finally, he lowered his head into his hand and pushed the paper away. “My god, how could anyone do that to a child?”

  “It makes me wonder how many other suckers...” He looked at Griff. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “I know, I know. But it’s true isn’t it? I was a sucker and I know it.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Cap said, looking at the photos. “She’s what mythology would call a siren or a vamp. A woman in the business of leading men to their doom.” He looked over at Griff. “Being a sea captain, I’m well acquainted with the myth about Lorelei...”

  Griff turned and frowned. “Lorelei?”

  “Yeah, you know, the little water sprite that lured men to their doom. Her name was Lorelei... you know, like your wife.”

  Griff closed his eyes. “This is too much.”

  “You need to tell us, Griff,” the senator spoke up. “We need to take that one final step that’ll put the noose around the neck of this goddamned Mata Hari.”

  Griff snickered. “Mata Hari?” He looked up at the senator’s anxious face. “My god, Senator, you’re really into this, aren’t you?” Realizing he couldn’t avoid the inevitable, he reached up, snatched the cigarette out of Cap’s mouth, and took a drag.

  When he tried to give it back, Cap said, “Keep it. I’ve got another.”

  Looking with surprise at the lighted cigarette Cap magically produced, Griff began laughing insanely. “My god, I’m surrounded by crazy people.” Quickly dropping his smile, he said to the senator with a look of dread, “Why not just get it over with? I’ll lose my home, my wife, my unborn child and probably be booted out of office, but hell, I probably deserve it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Griff was nervous. He hadn’t had to wait long for Gabrielle to contact him, and now, tonight, Cap Robertson was in his face with his ever-present cigarette hanging out of his mouth that moved up and down every time he spoke.