Trotter raced back out to the Fontaine Estate. “Very convincing,” he praised Amber.
“She hasn’t moved at all since you left. I kept checking for a pulse and her breathing. Everything is fine. Maybe I’m just being too paranoid,” Amber said.
“She’ll be alright. Like I said, the drug is just a guarantee she won’t wake up at the wrong time. She consumed at least one whole bottle of gin. That alone will keep her out for a good sixteen hours,” Trotter said in his never-ending attempt to keep Amber reassured. “I’ll carry her to the squad car. You do have that hypo, right?”
Amber patted her pocket and shook her head yes.
After placing Amy in the back of the cruiser, Trotter put her seat belt on and they all left for the police station. A block from the station, Trotter pulled down a dark alley and gave Amy her final dose of Propofol. Upon arriving at the station, Trotter carried Amy into Lock Up; with Amber, dressed as Fontaine right down to the mole, following right behind.
“Open a cell, Gary,” Trotter instructed Miles. He obediently followed his idol’s instructions. Trotter lay Amy down on the cot, and made sure the wig caught his arm when he stood up, yanking it off, exposing her short black hair.
“Well I’ll be damned. Even her blonde hair is fake,” Amber said. Miles glanced at Amber, and then spoke to Trotter, “Grecik called down to warn me you might be bringing a real nut case in.”
He then addressed Amber, “You’re…Fontaine! I can’t believe this! My daughter adores you. She won’t believe you were here. She went to your concert tonight. Could I…”
“Have my autograph?” Amber finished his sentence for him. “Only if you can guarantee me that you’ll keep this psychotic bitch away from me.”
Trotter interrupted, “Gary, in all the confusion at her estate, I did not have a chance to check for any weapons or drug paraphernalia on this imposter.”
A search found no ID or weapons, but Miles smiled when he found the planted eight ball of coke in her pocket. “I can make that guarantee now, Miss Fontaine.”
Amber spoke, “I knew she was flying high on something. I’m telling you…this crack whore actually thinks she’s me. Look how she even mutilated her cheek. Is that supposed to be a beauty mark? Like mine?” She pointed to hers. “Looks to me like she burned herself. Probably with a cigarette.”
Officer Miles, overwhelmed that he had a celebrity in his jail, especially one as pretty and popular as Fontaine, looked at Amy’s cheek and agreed this girl was indeed sick. “I think you’re right; it looks like cigarette ashes stuck in her cheek. My thirteen year old admires you, and yes, she even dresses like you, but she would never do something as outrageous as this. Christ! I bet her family tree has Norman Bates at the top limb.”
As Trotter instructed Amber beforehand, she laughed at his comments.
Trotter spoke again, “Sounds like you’re going to have your hands full when her buzz wears off. She smells like she was drinking some cheap gin, so she’ll probably be out for quite some time. Fontaine’s security told me she was as drunk as a monkey, insisted she was Fontaine, and fought with everybody. And then she just passed out.”
Amber spoke up, “I came down to press charges on this Looney tune. This isn’t the first time she’s pulled this crap. Three concerts now, she’s jumped up on to the stage and tried to sing into the mic, but she never went this far. I want her locked up for good. Once she wakes up, you’ll see why. What papers do I have to fill out?”
“I’m sorry Miss Fontaine, but you’ll have to come back Monday morning to file charges,” Miles stated very apologetically. “The state of California will be filing charges for possession of an illegal substance on her also. Don’t worry. She won’t be going anywhere for the next couple of weeks. That is, unless somebody posts her bail money, or she transfers to the psyche ward. If she’s as nuts as you say, that’s where she’ll probably end up.”
“Thank you, Officer. I feel so relieved now. What do you want me to autograph? I should be getting back to my party.”
Again, Trotter interrupted, “I got an idea. How about if we use the lineup camera and I’ll take a picture of you two together. That way your daughter will believe Fontaine was actually here. I’ll even take an extra one for you to keep here at the precinct, Gary.”
Miles looked at Amber with begging eyes, and Amber said, “Anything for a fan.”
Trotter snapped two Polaroid photos, and Amber signed them both, “Love, Fontaine.”
“Wait till my little Annie Mae sees this!” He thanked Fontaine repeatedly, and then he assured her, “Don’t worry about this nut job, Miss Fontaine. I might even misplace the paperwork for a while, and keep her here for entertainment.”
To keep everything looking official, Trotter took Amber home in the LTD. Then he drove back, punched out, and drove his Mustang back to Amber’s apartment. She had a glass of Chardonnay ready for Trotter and herself.
“What did I tell you about Miles? You had him right in the palm of your hand,” Trotter praised his accomplice. Then he laughed, and Amber looked at him, puzzled. “Wait till Amy sees you with Miles in that Polaroid!” Trotter explained.
Then Amber laughed, but stopped, and sadly said, “I can’t believe what we did to her. Removing her mole might have been going too far.” Trotter knew afterthoughts would undoubtedly hit her hard. With a shaky hand, Amber took a big swallow of wine to calm her nerves.
Trotter cupped his hands around her face. “It’s just a tiny burn. The mole will probably grow back. I did not like doing that either, but it had to be done or our plan would have never worked. She deserves a lot worse for the way she treated you all these years, Amber. And you know that’s the gospel truth,” he spoke soothingly.
“I know what you say is true. But I’m not a mean person.”
“The worst case scenario is that she’ll have a tiny scar that any plastic surgeon can fix in one office visit. Maybe this will teach her a lesson. You did not see or hear how she treated her guests tonight. And she referred to you as her ‘parasite twin.’”
Trotter gave her a small kiss. “If it makes you feel any better…I am the one who cut it off, not you. I take full responsibility.” Then he lifted his shirt, exposing the scar left from Micky’s switchblade. “Her scar won’t be this big, or this permanent. Amy did not do the actual cutting, I know, but this was her fault. I’m scarred for life.”
“I forgot all about that. I guess in a way you simply evened the score,” Amber said, trying to convince herself what they did was justifiable.
He finished his wine. “Let’s get some sleep. I have to roust two drunken girls in a few hours and send them on their way. Then I get murdered tonight.”
“Don’t talk like that, Jack. God! When you said it like that, the thought of me being alone, without you in my life, sent a cold shiver down my spine.” Then she hugged him tighter than ever before.
He hugged back. “I promised you a long time ago I would never leave you, and I meant just that. In three more days, Baby, we will be living our dream.”
A big yawn escaped from Trotter’s mouth as he set the alarm for eight. That would give him less than three hours sleep. They crawled under the blankets, but neither of them got any decent sleep. Trotter was up on his own at seven thirty and made sure to wear the same clothes he had on last night. He kissed Amber goodbye and left.
Melissa and Joyce were still snoring, and in the same places they were in when he left them last night. He was just about to see what goodies were on the buffet table when he heard a car door shut. Looking out the window, he saw Nancy heading to the front door. Quickly, he took his seat on the sofa.
When she closed the door, he sat up, and forced a yawn while stretching. “Good morning, sleepy head,” Nancy said.
“Good morning,” he said in a sleepy tone, and then asked, “What are you doing here so early?” He asked, looking at his watch.
“I just stopped over to make sure everybody’s alive, and to clean up a little. Lo
ok at all that food going to waste,” she said while pointing to the buffet table. Trotter walked over and saw the shrimp still had a few small ice cubes floating in the water. He peeled one, dipped it in the cocktail sauce and ate the soggy shrimp while Nancy watched in disbelief. “How can you eat shrimp for breakfast?”
“I can eat seafood any time of the day. If you’re going to throw out the shrimp, I’ll take it home. It’s still good.”
“Take whatever you want. I’m tossing everything in the trash. Why don’t you wake those two drunks and I’ll put a pot of coffee on to sober them up.”
“I’ll try, but when I woke up at four thirty to use the bathroom, they were still going strong,” he said, pointing to the card table. Three empty shot glasses, a razor blade, a rolled up bill, an over flowing ashtray and a nearly empty bottle of Tanqueray sat idled from last night.
“One of these days Amy is going to get busted for her blatant drug usage,” Nancy said as she put the blade in the ashtray and shoved the bill in her pocket. “I’ll consider that as my tip.” She smiled at Trotter and took the ashtray with her into the kitchen.
Trotter shook the girls. Joyce sat right up and rubbed her eyes, but Melissa mumbled, “Leave me alone.”
Trotter then shook her much harder and hollered, loudly, “Get your ass…Up!” Her eyes opened wide and she sat up. Startled. Nancy returned with two cups of black coffee for Amy’s drunken friends.
“That smells pretty good, Nancy. I’ll get myself a cup and help you clean this mess.”
Trotter pulled the garbage can on wheels along as Nancy threw everything, except for the shrimp of course, in the trash. “Amy’s not the only one taking a much needed vacation,” she told Trotter, “Jeff and I are taking a seven day cruise around the Bahamas. Our plane leaves at two this afternoon.”
“You’ll like that. I took a cruise on my honeymoon to Jamaica,” Trotter told a little white lie, but he was relieved to know she would not be around when Amy woke up.
Thirty minutes later, they had the place cleaned. The garbage went out and Nancy had wiped the cocaine residue from the table. Two wide-awake drunk girls were getting in Joyce’s car when Nancy made sure the front door had locked behind her and Trotter.
Nancy offered her hand to Trotter. “Thanks for the help with the cleanup. I sure am going to miss working with you.”
Trotter’s jaw fell. Nancy realized she had apparently let the cat out of the bag. “She didn’t tell you yet, did she?”
Trotter shook his head no. “Tell me what?”
“I’m sorry, Jack. She had me take you off payroll, starting today.”
* * * *
For the third time, Trotter told Amber what Nancy had said as he poured blueberry syrup on his pancakes. They were enjoying a late breakfast at IHOP. Amber said, “We both figured you would be terminated after she retired, Jack. I don’t know why you’re so upset.”
“Because she did not have the courtesy to tell me,” he answered as he shoved a heaping fork full of pancakes in his mouth. Then he continued talking with a mouthful, chewing at the same time. “How long was she going to keep me in limbo? That’s just another example of how rude and inconsiderate your twin is.” He washed his pancakes down with a whole glass of orange juice.
“As usual, you make a good point. Slow down.” She teased Trotter while watching another heaping portion go into his wide-open mouth. “Nobody’s going to take your pancakes.”
“I’m hungry,” he responded with bulging cheeks, “All I ate today was one shrimp.”
Amber wrinkled her face and shook her head. “You ate a shrimp? For breakfast? Lord help you, Jack! Maybe while he’s at it…he’d better help me, too. We are both going to burn in Hell. I still can’t believe what we did last night. Now that it’s over, the whole thing seems like a dream. And a very bad one at that.” She hung her head.
Trotter shrugged his shoulders and kept shoveling in the pancakes. “Yeah, last night does not seem real right now.”
They finished; he left a tip, paid the bill, and then drove to her apartment, which was in a gated complex, and much more luxurious than Trotter’s. She had a double car garage attached to her apartment; they pulled both cars in and shut the doors. From all the spent adrenaline, lack of sleep, and a big breakfast, they both fell into a deep sleep.
They awoke late afternoon, and after Trotter was fully awake, he then spent an hour vacuuming and wiping Amber’s fingerprints from the Mustang. In addition, ridding the trunk of last night’s evidence. He knew come morning, that the forensics team would be climbing all over his car with a fine-toothed comb.
Later that evening, around nine, Trotter called his captain. He thanked God when Palmer’s answering machine kicked on. “Frank, Trotter here. One of my top snitches just told me something big is going down tonight at the docks. I’ll fill you in with all the details in the morning.”
Amber followed Trotter to the docks. He parked his car, but left it running with the driver’s side door hanging open. Using the hypodermic, which he had thoroughly sterilized and then filled with blood from his arm before leaving Amber’s townhouse, he made a couple of small puddles by the car door. He then jumped in her Porsche and she sped off. To Jimmie’s Crab Shack. For the last meal, they would ever eat there.
* * * *
Nine thirty the next morning, Trotter waited in the Porsche as Amber went into the bank. He wore one of Amber’s short black wigs, a Charger’s ball cap and sunglasses.
The manager’s jaw dropped when Fontaine informed her she wanted forty-one million dollars transferred to the Cayman Islands bank. “Is there a problem with me wanting some of my money transferred?” Amber asked in a threatening and pissed off tone. “As of right now, I’m only asking for…half!”
“No, no, none what so ever.” Miss Castiglioni answered. Apparently Amy had went ape shit on her in the past and she knew the singer’s temper. “I’ll see to this immediately.”
Amber smiled, and said, “I’m going to have a real nice, long vacation. Thank you very much Miss Castiglioni. And I also need twenty-five thousand for petty cash and payroll.”
Amber got in the passenger side and handed Trotter the envelope of cash. “Wow! What’s all this for?” he asked, puzzled. They did not discuss any matter of her returning with cash.
“Your severance pay!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“I’ve got two tickets to paradise. Won’t you pack your bags, we’ll leave tonight.”
Eddy Money
Three hours later, Amber and Trotter were six miles high over the Pacific Ocean, traveling at seven hundred miles an hour, sipping Chardonnay in the first class section of a jumbo jet, dining on caviar and port wine cheese. “Life doesn’t get any better than this,” he told Amber as he licked a small spattering of the cheese from his thumb.
Sixteen hours later, Amber and Trotter were sitting on the sun deck of their private villa, enjoying vegemite on crackers, watching the lazy waves roll gently in and then back out, as the sun slowly sank beyond the horizon. The entire visual experience offered a brilliant buffet for the eyes. The splendid multitude of colors in the sky with all the hues of pinks and blues, the sun’s rays piercing through the clouds, the foamy waves reflecting the colors, and silhouettes of sea birds passing by the remaining half of the huge orange ball, all combined majestically to be one of those stunning picturesque scenes that inspire artists to paint their masterpiece.
“Well, matey, what do you think of the shanty?” Amber asked.
“Aye, Sheila, ya done real good. I be proud of ya!” Trotter replied. “Reckon we’ll see any kangaroos?”
“Nah, ya hafta takes a walkabout in da bush if ya be wantin’ to see any roos, mate,” she replied then laughed heartily, releasing the tension from the long flight to The Gold Coast of Australia, a very beautiful and modern city with a pleasant subtropical climate. The beaches here were among the finest in the world, understandably, this locale boasts the reputation of being the World’s Pl
ayground for the wealthy.
Trotter let out a good hearty laugh, too. “You speak pretty good Australian for a tourist.”
“I’ve been practicing, Limey. And if we like living down under, we’ll become permanent tourists. Shall we wet our toes in the surf?”
Trotter extended his hand. “Excellent idea.”
The two lovers walked hand in hand in the water up to their knees. A gentle ocean breeze tousled Amber’s long, beautiful, blonde hair. Trotter stopped and embraced her. “God, are you ever beautiful. I really hated when you had to wear a disguise all the time back in California.”
“Me, too. I think I’m going to like being me for once. It’s a shame we had to do what we did, to get what we have; but the more I think about it, Amy never would’ve been as successful as she was without me. I wrote her only number one hit. I did that concert in Seattle when she was too drunk to walk, let alone sing. I pretty much kept her in line for the other concerts except for the last two. She was right when she said we were a team, and you were right that I deserved half. She had no right to fire me, or kill my last song…which by the way…guess what?”
She thought Trotter looked so cute, in the manner a little boy does, the way he shrugged his shoulders and said, “I dunno, what?”
“The Beach Queens signed ‘Won’t Ya Be My Lover Boy!’ she said very excitedly. “But with two stipulations I put in the contract. The first one is I won’t be receiving any royalties from the song; rather, any money payable to me is to be donated to St. Jude’s Hospital, seeing as I couldn’t leave a paper trail anyways. Secondly, they couldn’t air the song until Sunday. I didn’t want Amy to know I got into her safe, which may have messed up our little plan.”
“That’s fantastic! And a very noble gesture on your part. I heard St. Jude’s does a great job for kids. Palmer has a nephew that went there for leukemia treatments, and he’s in remission now.”
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