Slashing Mona Lisa

by D. M. Barr

  Once inside, she triple-locked the apartment door and dropped down onto the living room couch. Time to start formulating her strategy. The main things she needed were the time to figure out the identity of the Invisible Woman, and the privacy to carry out her plan. She had the time: IW’s deadline was three days away. Now she needed to find someone The Collective wasn’t monitoring, someone who could be her feet on the ground. The question was who? She walked over to the desk and pulled out a notepad—something unhackable.

  An hour later, DeAndre emerged from his bedroom, bare-chested and clad in a pair of white boxer shorts. He stopped short when he noticed her sitting on the couch.

  “You get fired or something? I still might consider hiring you, but you’re going to have to ask real nice and make dinner for a month.”

  “Nope, I have a job. But what we have is a problem. A major one. Come sit down so we can talk.”

  She started at the beginning and recounted the whole story, from Leticia Regan’s death in Chicago up until, and including, the threat made against his life a few hours ago, although she was a little sketchy about what exactly happened in Mangel’s trailer. And why mention that anyway, since she was absolutely positive that she was incapable of assault? DeAndre leaned forward, elbows on knees, listening intently, nodding from time to time, but offering no emotion or commentary.

  Finally, she wrapped up. “What’s most important is that we keep you and your family out of danger without anyone catching on that I’ve let you in on the plot. She said if I didn’t kill you, somebody else would. We can’t risk her making her move before Friday.”

  “Agreed,” he said, hitting his clasped hands against his chin. She could see the wheels turning. “It makes no sense. You work at Trend. That’s where she could create the most damage with the least amount of effort. Why target Drift?”

  “No idea. Maybe after a murder, the police would suspect insiders first, like disgruntled employees? No point in speculating. She’s laid down the rules, and now we have to plan our defense.”

  DeAndre rocked back and forth, deep in thought for a few minutes longer, before he broke the silence. “Obviously, we can’t use our own cellphones or computers if we’re being hacked. What we need is a way to get a security team into the magazine without anyone catching on. That shouldn’t be too hard. My parents have tons of folks walking in and out of their office all the time. And Drift has its own commissary, a shower, and a lot of couches. They could stay there as long as necessary. But my aunt and uncle need to get the kids out of town. These people can’t have an army of spies watching my extended family all the time, can they?”

  Camarin shrugged. “No idea how wide a net they are casting. She said they’re everywhere. But I think we can assume that the farther removed the relative, the safer they are. Your plan has one glaring omission though—who’s going to protect you?”

  “Not too concerned. Martial arts black belt, remember?”

  “Didn’t know that a black belt could stop a bullet.”

  “You forget, Cam. I’ve got instincts like a jungle cat. If enemies are nearby, I’ll sense them.”

  “Oh, brother,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’ll sense them? Maybe if you ‘common sensed’ them, you’d get one of those security people to stand guard here.”

  He paused, considering. “I’m sure a few of those security companies have a babe or two. It could be fun, as long as Rachel doesn’t find out.”

  “Oh God, you cannot breathe one word to her. That girl is like a human billboard. If she gets wind of any of this, we’re dead.”

  “No problem. Lips sealed. Figure if my parents and I are safe, that just leaves you.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got to get out of here without anyone noticing. Go into hiding, do some research. Once those pictures hit, The Collective won’t be the only ones after me. I bet the police will have a few questions as well.”

  “Do we even know if Mangel’s still alive?”

  “No idea.”

  “Hang on.” He stood up, grabbed something out of the top desk drawer, and left the apartment.

  She frowned, hoping that wherever he’d wandered off to, he was still in the building where no one could see. She made herself a cup of oolong and was still dunking her tea bag when he returned, smiling.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I went over to Hassan’s place. Luckily, he was home, so I didn’t have to use the spare key. I looked up the number for Mangel Enterprises on his smartphone. Then I called and asked if there were any tickets left for the Charlotte event next Friday.”

  “Smart move. What did they say?”

  “Exactly what you’d expect. They expected a sellout crowd and remaining tickets were dwindling, so would I like to order one of the last remaining pairs right now? I politely said I had to check with the missus and hung up.”

  “Sounds like things are proceeding as advertised. Unless they’re going to have one of his staff take over to deliver the sermon. Did you ask if Mangel himself would be speaking?”

  “Of course. I said I’d seen the news reports and wanted to know Terry’s condition. They said they were hopeful, but even if he wasn’t there, I would get my money’s worth.”

  “Propagating hope while fleecing the customer. Sounds about right.”

  “Anyway, Cam, from what you explained earlier, wouldn’t a substitute speaker cause some kind of riot?”

  “No doubt. So, whether Mangel is alive or dead, they’re still selling tickets, and come Saturday, I’m a possible murder suspect. What next, Sherlock?”

  “I used his computer and ordered a bunch of burner phones on his Amazon account so they can’t be traced back to us. One for you, one for me, a couple for my parents. They’ll be delivered to his apartment tomorrow. Told him I’d pay him cash when the bill came in.”

  She nodded as she brought her teacup to the couch. He walked over and sat beside her.

  “Perfect. I doubt they’re watching Hassan’s cell or his Amazon account.”

  “Exactly. So, Cam—here’s what I’m thinking. Tell me if you think this is doable.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Business as usual tomorrow and Thursday. You go to Trend during the day, Benji’s at night. I’ll follow my regular evening routine, but skip my afternoon hours at Drift, so anyone watching won’t suspect that I’ve been warned and conveyed the message. Instead, I’ll use my burner to call Xavier’s cellphone and tell him about the danger my parents are in. He’ll instruct them on what we suggest they do. I doubt their butler is on the Invisible Woman’s radar.”

  “So far, so good. Thank God you’re blessed with domestic help.”

  “Then Thursday…remember James Byrom, that British guy who played at the bar last year?”

  “The good-looking one? Yeah, how could I forget?”

  “Down, girl. Well, if you recall, the guy’s such a fucking prima donna, he always travels with his own baby grand.”

  “Dee, when you’re that hot, it’s not called being a prima donna—it’s called being a perfectionist. Like crazy people with money. They’re not bonkers, they’re eccentric.”

  “Whatever. You’re missing the point. When Byrom imports his piano, it comes in a large case. It’s big enough for—”

  “A body.”

  “Exactly. Once unloaded, they roll the case onto the loading dock for storage. That dock, I believe, is also shared by the Laidlaw.”

  “So, if I’m catching your drift, so to speak, I hide in the case, they wheel me out, and if I haven’t suffocated, I walk back into the hotel lobby. How is that going to help me? If someone’s waiting outside, they’re still going to see me.”

  “One sec. Wait right there.”

  DeAndre held up one finger and ran off to his bedroom. She could hear him rummaging through his closet.

  “There’s a convention in town next week,” he yelled so she could hear.

  “Rachel mentioned something about it,” she called back. “Said the club would be
deserted because of some group of Muslims.”

  He walked back in, holding a black burqa.

  “Wow, what is that doing here?”

  “Remember Ruqayya?”

  “Ms. Off-with-the-Cloak-and-on-with-the-Clubwear?”

  “The very one. When she dumped me, she left this behind. I figured it would come in handy one day, though I was thinking Halloween. Anyway, we’ll hide this at Benji’s, and you’ll take it into the bathroom and put it on during a break. Then we’ll load you into the piano case. When you exit the loading dock into the lobby, you’ll be just another convention attendee. You’ll hail yourself a cab and take off to a safe house somewhere until all the hubbub dies down.”

  “That’s fucking brilliant.” She walked over and hugged him tight. “How did you come up with all that?”

  “You’re not the only one who took Fiction Writing 203, you know.”

  “You evidently got more out of it than I did. I’m nonfiction all the way. One question though.”

  “And that is?”

  “Where do I hide out? Whoever’s trailing me probably has hacked into my Facebook account and knows everyone I’ve ever been friends with.”

  “I was thinking about that too. When I call the X-Man, I’m going to ask him if he knows of anyone who can put you up. Someone far enough removed from our usual circle of acquaintances to keep you safe until we figure out who’s behind all this.”

  “It all sounds so doable. If we can pull this off, it would be amazing.”

  Her cellphone started vibrating in her pocket, causing every nerve ending to jump to attention. Was IW going to start calling her here too?

  “I keep the ringer turned off at work, so I don’t disturb anyone,” she explained, voice quivering, as she pulled it out. The caller ID read Trend Magazine. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Hello?”

  “Camarita, Hans called to tell me what happened. Are you all right?”

  She had never heard Fletcher sound worried or unsure until now. It was endearing how his voice trembled ever so slightly, and she realized how much she wished he was there by her side, cradling her, whispering assurances into her ear. Could this be what love felt like?

  “It was probably just something I ate. I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you going to be up for dinner tonight?”

  How she longed to say yes, to start at some swanky restaurant and then end up at his place, dining on each other until sunrise. There was something so satisfying about evoking that tiny groan of surrender when he came. But without knowing how closely she was being observed, she couldn’t endanger his life along with hers.

  “I hate to do this, but I think I have to beg off for tonight. Get a good night’s undisturbed sleep. Come to work and give it my all tomorrow.”

  Her gung-ho response, directed more toward work than play, provoked a long silence on the other end of the phone.

  “If there was something wrong, you’d tell me, right? Something I’d done or should have done?”

  “Oh no, no…I mean yes. If there was anything you’d done, I’d tell you. I hate to sound like a cliché, but in this case, it’s not you, it’s me.”

  “I could come by, bring you chicken soup or whatever they say cures all ills.”

  “You are a darling man, and I truly appreciate your concern. Please don’t misconstrue this as a brush-off, but I think I’m better off tonight on my own.”

  “Understood, Ms. Torres. The thing is, I’m flying out to San Francisco tomorrow. I won’t be back until the weekend. Can we put Saturday night down on the calendar, preferably in indelible ink? I’ll make reservations at One if by Land. Ever been there?”

  She squeezed her eyes together, trying to hold back a groan. Everyone knew that One if by Land was the most romantic restaurant in New York, but by Saturday he, along with every other person in the free world, would mistakenly believe that she had attacked Mangel, left him for dead. Being seen with her, in public or otherwise, might be the last thing Fletcher would ever want. At least being in California for the next few days would keep him out of harm’s way while her plan took shape. Unless the enemy was listening in on their conversation.

  “No, never. I’ve heard it’s fabulous. It’s a date,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I have to go. Until Saturday.”

  She disconnected the call and threw the phone onto the couch, angrily wiping a tear from her cheek. She was at risk of losing her job, her reputation, her freedom, and the man of her dreams. All because of some deranged serial murderer with a hard-on for body shamers.

  Camarin knew what she had to do. Find the Invisible Woman. Unmask her. Then make sure she was the one to pay.

  Chapter 35

  For the next two days, Camarin and DeAndre precisely followed their plan, each carrying their new burner phones should they need to communicate privately. She went into work, kidded around with Rachel as if nothing was wrong, copyedited the articles Wynan sent to her in-box. Fletcher must have spoken to him because he hadn’t uttered another word about having her interview vulnerable celebrities.

  What she didn’t do was try to google the Invisible Woman, The Collective, or any other clues tied to Mangel or the BBG murders, lest some hacker was monitoring her office computer and was tracking her online searches. She didn’t even search CNN or Philly.com for any additional information regarding last week’s attack. Instead, she researched topics like poisons, so if IW was watching, she’d believe Cam was following through on her directives.

  In the evenings, she bartended as usual at Benji’s, the only difference being that she arrived wearing two sets of clothes. She’d peel both off in the bathroom shortly after entering and store the bottom layer in an empty liquor box in the storeroom. Couldn’t go into seclusion without several changes of clothing, after all.

  Hassan came in on Wednesday night, wearing a backpack that was one burqa lighter when he departed later that evening. DeAndre said he’d hid it for her in the back of one of the food cabinets that was less frequently used. Best not to risk hiding all the getaway gear in the same spot.

  When Thursday rolled around, one day prior to her murder assignment, she felt totally at the mercy of the unknown, terrified of anything that might spoil their carefully crafted plan. Everything was on target, though, starting with her iPhone. She’d transferred her important files, memos, and phone numbers onto her burner phone, and then shut the hacked one off and hid it in her dresser. It was one sure way to keep her true location safely off the grid.

  Xavier had warned Carl and Diana to remain at work from Thursday night forward, accompanied by the ‘IRS auditors,’ who were part of a private undercover protection squad hired to provide maximum protection. Diana’s sister and brother-in-law would pull Carter, Jamal, and Kit out of school after dismissal for a surprise trip to Disney World.

  DeAndre had even banned Rachel from Thursday’s performance, telling her Benji had threatened to fire him unless he avoided her constant distractions. It was the only way to keep her safe, while ensuring she didn’t say or do anything to impede their plans. He’d held off on informing her that dinner with his folks was canceled, just so nothing would be revealed before absolutely necessary.

  Camarin entered Benji’s that evening at six o’clock, but five minutes in, things had already started to unravel. James Byrom was there, smiling and sexy as always, but his signature piano, and more critically, its shipping case, were nowhere to be seen.

  “Too many people were calling me a prima donna. I got tired of it. Your subpar piano will have to do,” he explained.

  Camarin shot DeAndre an imploring look. “What do we do now?”

  “I was kidding, folks,” said Byrom. “I’m sure your old clunker will do just fine.”

  “It’s not that,” Dee said. “It’s that…please keep it to yourself, but we need to sneak someone out of the club and into the hotel lobby, and we were hoping to use your piano case as a hiding place.”

  Byrom took a swig of his secon
d fireball and set it down on the top of the Steinway. “I see. Said person can’t be seen going in-between? Is that it?”

  The two conspirators nodded.

  “So why not just use the freight elevator? If this club is like every other hotel-based club I’ve ever played in, all elevators lead down to a common basement, or at worst, an underground parking area. That’s where the deliveries are made, the moving vans come to transport furniture, and so forth. You know, all the activities there’s no room for on the streets.”

  DeAndre and Camarin looked at each other in shock, a virtual slap on the forehead. What morons they were! Of course that would work.

  “Thanks, James,” said DeAndre, shaking the Englishman’s hand and pulling Camarin behind the stage where there was more privacy. “New plan. About halfway through your shift, you go to the kitchen, grab your burqa and your changes of clothes, put everything on in the ladies’ room, and then head down the freight elevator. I think it’s behind the door at the back of the kitchen.”

  “Sounds good,” she whispered back, trying to sound positive despite their previous miscalculation.

  “If Benji says anything, I’ll tell him you went home sick and to feel free to dock your pay. I doubt he’s going to say anything anyway. It’s so quiet, he might even go home early himself, like he did last night.”

  She pulled back the curtain and peered out into the crowd. There were about twenty people spread out in the audience, all regulars. The convention had really killed their business for the week, a strong reminder that Benji shouldn’t rely so heavily on hotel guests as his sole source of revenue. The few people that were there seemed ready to party though. Annalise was already at the bar, waiting for Cam to come out and fill some orders. Time to get to work and pray this new plan went off without any further snags.

  Unfortunately, for Camarin anyway, word of James Byrom’s appearance attracted more horny women than they had anticipated, and by ten, the place was as packed and rollicking as normal for a Thursday night. After filling an order of seven tequila shots, she knew her window of opportunity was closing fast. She tried to catch DeAndre’s eye during the pianists’ rousing rendition of Uptown Funk, but he was too preoccupied to notice.