Slashing Mona Lisa

by D. M. Barr

  “You shut up, you fucking bitch.” It was Maria, still brandishing the gun at her hostages but obviously rattled by Camarin’s tirade. “He’s a good man. He loves us. You’re the problem here, snooping around, wanting to hurt Terry with your article, portray him as a sham. You’re going to watch while we kill these three. Then it’s your turn.”

  Knowing time was running out, Camarin had to think quickly. “Maria, listen to me. I might be a dead woman, but you can still save yourself from a life of misery.”

  “You’re crazy. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

  “You’re blind. He’s been using you.”

  Maria turned and faced her accuser, leaving the trio unguarded for a second before turning back.

  “You’re lying. You’re just saying that, trying to buy time. But it isn’t going to work.” She cocked the trigger and pointed it right at Cam’s mother’s head. The older woman started groaning under her gag, tears running down her cheeks. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

  Mangel gave Maria a kiss on the cheek and walked to the other side of the room. “Ladies, Make it quick. You know how I dislike violence.”

  Seeing her mother with only seconds to live, the gravity of the situation hit Camarin hard. First, she’d caused Monaeka’s suicide and now she was going to be the reason her mother died as well. Then she remembered her fanny pack. “Maria, wait!” she screamed. “He’s been cheating on you with April Lowery.”

  “Liar!”

  “I can prove it.”

  “Really? How?” Her incredulity was palpable, but Camarin had clearly piqued her suspicions.

  “Grace, go into my fanny pack. Pull out my phone.”

  Grace looked at Mangel, confused as to whom she should be obeying. For the first time since Camarin had entered the room, the evangelist seemed less self-satisfied, a hint of panic seeping into his eyes. Maria, too curious to endure her colleague’s hesitation, reached inside the fanny pack herself and pulled out the phone, never taking her eyes or the gun off Cam’s mother.

  “Maria, what are you doing? Get on with it,” Mangel ordered, his voice shaking.

  By now Maria was clearly agitated and determined to remove any doubts as to Mangel’s true affection. But she was also unwilling to take her sights off her target. She held out the phone to Grace. “Do what she says. Do it now, or I’ll shoot you too.”

  Grace walked over and took the phone from Maria’s outstretched hand.

  “Go to the memos app,” Camarin said, a quaver finally making its way into her voice. “Listen to the one labeled April. It’s an interview I did with her during the revival. You have to know the truth before you make another giant mistake.”

  “Maria, she’s trying to distract you,” yelled Mangel, his voice two octaves too high to sound innocent. “Get on with what we came for.”

  “Quiet!” Maria, wielding her weapon, was clearly in charge now.

  She motioned for Grace to continue. Her comrade clicked on the app and turned up the volume. April’s recorded voice filled the hotel room.

  “That’s just gravy. I mean, now that I’m happy, I don’t feel compelled to stuff myself all the time, but Terry didn’t tell me to diet.”

  “Fast forward,” said Camarin. “It’s toward the end.”

  Grace moved the recording ahead.

  “And I’ve always been good with people and…wow, this is so amazing. No one ever asks about my story, and you seem so easy to talk to. Could I share something with you, off the record?”

  There was sound of movement, and then the recording became more muffled but still loud and clear enough to understand. Camarin watched Maria’s eyes grow wide as she listened.

  “Don’t tell anyone—this can’t go anywhere beyond this room—but during that week? We fell in love. Terry said he never wanted to travel anywhere without me again. And look! We’re engaged! We don’t talk about it because, well, you know how tongues wag in confined spaces. Terry doesn’t want to put people’s noses out of joint or have them think I get preferential treatment.”

  “It’s beautiful. When’s the big day?”

  “We haven’t set an exact date yet. I just hope it’s soon. Sometimes, I’m so scared the weight might come back on and…well, I have my heart set on a size-four wedding gown.”

  “Would it make a difference? Gaining the weight back? I mean, if you’re happy and love yourself no matter what…”

  “I don’t think…I don’t think he’d still marry me.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s this thing he said. We were in San Francisco, shopping for dresses. I found this gorgeous Vera Wang and modeled it for him—I couldn’t believe how stunning it looked on me—and I joked to the salesgirl, ‘I’d better buy it now, before I gain back any weight’—and he said…”

  “Don’t leave me hanging. What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘Don’t do that. It would be like slashing the Mona Lisa.’”

  “Turn it off. Now.”

  Camarin could see the glistening in Maria’s eyes as she fought back the sobs. As usual, Grace did as she was told.

  “Maria, it’s a fake. I don’t know how she did it, but that recording is—”

  “Silence!” Maria pointed the gun directly at Mangel, who froze in sudden terror. “I got fired once. I have no intention of it ever happening again. Not from an engagement. And certainly not by a two-faced weasel like you.”

  The sound of the gunshot was muffled, but the scent of sulfur filled the air, blending with the sweet, coppery smell of the blood pouring from Mangel’s chest as he fell to the floor. His face bore a pained yet stunned expression as he collapsed into a pool of red. Camarin wondered which surprised him the most: that Maria had pulled the trigger, or that his charisma had finally failed him. In any case, she was satisfied that the blood was authentic this time.

  Maria stumbled back from the force of the recoil, obviously unused to firearms. Camarin seized the moment and sprang for the hand holding the gun. The two struggled, Camarin, at a hundred pounds thinner, the more physically disadvantaged of the two. Their four hands clamored for the weapon, which waved wildly back and forth. Two shots fired, the bullets ricocheting off the ceiling. Maria pulled her hand down and elbowed her opponent hard in the chest and then pushed her to the floor.

  “They say don’t shoot the messenger,” she said, aiming the gun at Camarin’s head, pure hatred emanating from her eyes, “but I’m tired of taking orders.”

  Camarin crawled backward slowly, knowing it was a lost cause. “Nana, Lyle, I’m so sorry for everything. I love you. Goodbye,” she cried, squeezing her eyes closed and waiting for the inevitable, the pain that would rip her chest apart and send her into eternal oblivion.

  She heard the explosion, but the pain never came. She opened her eyes to witness Maria falling backward, hitting what was left of her skull on the television before collapsing next to her betrothed. Then Camarin swung her head around to where the shot had emanated. A brawny man in his thirties with a crew cut and a muscle shirt held a smoking pistol, which he now pointed at Grace. Beside him stood another just like him, with DeAndre, holding a keycard, standing between them.

  “Tweedledee, I presume?” she asked.

  “I knew it. I knew it. I knew it,” said Dee, walking over and helping her to her feet. “You said you weren’t coming here, but I knew you couldn’t help yourself. Fantastic job, little Ms. I-Can-Take-Care-of-Myself.”

  She hugged her roommate tightly as she heard Tweedledum call out, “Someone call 911. Man down.”

  She turned toward the bed and saw Fletcher, who was lying flat on his back, still bound and gagged, a red, circular stain near the shoulder of his button-down shirt spreading quickly in diameter. “Oh my God, Lyle,” she screamed, running to his side. “Someone get me a knife or scissors or something.” She pulled the bandana from his mouth. “Can you hear me? Can you speak?”

  “No need to shout, Ms. Torres. I’m wounded, not deaf. And, y
es, I think I’ll be fine. As long as you promise not to run off and start fighting crime again without me by your side.”

  “I promise,” she said, feeling a tap on her shoulder, “but right now I do have to leave you, so these nice men can unbind you and take you to the ER.”

  Camarin’s head started spinning as the room turned into a teeming bustle of activity. The two bruisers cut off Fletcher’s bindings while several police officers filed in, cuffing Grace, untying and ungagging Wynan and Camarin’s mother. Two medics wheeled in a gurney to transport Fletcher to the hospital. Others raced over to Mangel and Maria to see if there was still any life left in them to save.

  A young, anemic-looking man with plastic-rimmed glasses and a cheap brown suit introduced himself as the hotel manager. He was quick to grab some credit for the rescue. “We had reports of terrorists and a wanted fugitive. Turned out both led to the same place. So glad we were able to get up here in time.”

  When a trio of policemen tried to arrest Camarin, it all became too much for her to bear. She fell to her knees, begging for everyone to leave her alone. Wynan knelt beside her to her left, her mother on her right.

  “Don’t worry, Camarin. Both Lyle and I know the city’s best attorneys. Mangel clearly survived the faked attack in Philadelphia, and we have three witnesses here who can testify to that. We’ll get the whole thing cleared up in no time.”

  She nodded gratefully, trying to control her sobbing as they helped her to her feet.

  “Not me,” said DeAndre, who was standing nearby. “You all go to the police station, but me, I’m going back to the office. This is one scoop that Drift is going to get on the stands long before Trend has a chance to turn on their computers.”

  Chapter 42

  Fletcher sat opposite Camarin at One if by Land’s most private corner table, noting how her dark eyes reflected the flickering of the candle flame. It had been a long week. Between assuring the police of her innocence and convincing Ana that she could return to LA, secure in the knowledge that her daughter could handle the big city on her own, things were finally starting to calm down. His girl deserved an evening out of the spotlight, one shared with only him.

  The waiter brought the bottle of Gavi di Gavi he’d ordered and drizzled a smidgen for Fletcher to sample before filling their glasses with the dry, white wine. Fletcher held up his glass and clinked it against Camarin’s, inviting her to join him in a toast. It hurt to lift his arm too high, with his left shoulder still bandaged and healing from the gunshot wound.

  “To a lifetime of sharing everything, my darling. Here’s to no more secrets.”

  She eyed him suspiciously and took a long sip. “Are you referring to anything in particular, or is that just a blanket statement?”

  The waiter arrived at the table with their individual beef Wellingtons, a house specialty. “Let’s talk about it after they serve the entrée.”

  Once they were enjoying their dinner, she brought the subject up again.

  “It’s the thing I said at the revival, right? About Monaeka. You’re upset I didn’t tell you about my sister?”

  He knew this was a delicate conversation, and if he didn’t handle it right, it could scar her for life. He’d been debating how to handle it and had consulted with two psychiatrists who specialized in split personalities and trauma recovery.

  “It was a surprise, I’ll admit,” he said, running his finger down the hand she was using to hold her fork. “You were so expressive, but I could sense your pain. It must have been very difficult for you.”

  “It was. Hard to live through and even harder to talk about.”

  “I understand. I was thinking, I know a very good psychologist. She helped me when I was getting over Margaret’s death. You see, like you, I also blamed myself. If only I’d hired better lawyers to defend her. Stood up to the Lehming Brothers on her behalf. Given her better advice. Never left her side, given her the opportunity…” His voice drifted lower. “Anyway, I know how you feel, and I know how much Dr. Joan Eisenstodt helped me. Maybe you’d like to spend some time talking to her. Take as many sessions as you need. My treat.”

  “I don’t know if I can accept that. It’s very generous. Almost too much so.”

  “I insist. Whatever I have, you have.”

  “Well, I tell you what. I’ll agree to see Dr. Eisenstodt if you answer a couple of questions of mine. You know, reporter-type stuff.”

  “Happy to. I’m an open book.”

  “Are you completely over Margaret’s death?”

  She gave him a beseeching look, as if to ask if there was enough room in his heart for both her and the memory of his former wife. He had to be honest. There was no other way to start the type of relationship he wanted them to embark on together.

  “In some ways, yes. In other ways, I’m haunted by it.” He looked past her, his shame making it impossible for him to stare her in the eye. “When I said no secrets, I also meant none that I would keep from you. There’s something I must confess. It’s been weighing on me for a while. I just hope that once you know, you’ll still feel the same way about me.”

  Her expression reflected great concern. “You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m scared too, but I know we can’t move forward unless I share this with you.” He felt the sweat beads forming on his forehead. “When Margaret passed, I was overcome with grief. And I blamed Lehming Brothers, the people who’d fired her for totally undeserved, cosmetic reasons. I was determined to punish them for that decision, even if it took every penny I had.”

  Camarin nodded. “I know a little something about Lehming Brothers and their connection to the murders. At one point, I actually thought you might be involved. Crazy, I know.”

  “Not so crazy. During my attorney days, I worked with a lot of not-so-innocent, white-collar criminals. Corporate espionage, that sort of thing. It gave me some ideas about decimating Lehming Brothers from within. I analyzed all of their holdings and then met with each of their strongest competitors. The plan was that I would recruit competent workers at all corporate levels, from the mailroom to IT to accounting, and convince them to apply for jobs at Lehming Brothers–owned firms. They’d ask for less-than-average salaries so they’d definitely get hired. Once inside, the workers would uncover the companies’ weaknesses, so the competition could exploit those issues however they chose. It’s why I was out on the road so much, supposedly fundraising. I was out making new deals, increasing my army of spies.”

  Camarin remained silent, merely nodding as she listened.

  “I bought Trend mostly as a vehicle for those rival companies to buy overpriced ads. I used the excess to make up the difference in the workers’ pay.”

  “So that’s why the ad pages were increasing but the magazine’s finances were still shaky?” Camarin asked.

  “Exactly. I even hired Wynan to make the whole thing look legit. And it was all working beautifully. Lehming Brothers companies were having labor problems, bad publicity, all instigated by my spies. Ironically, those were probably the money issues that launched Mangel’s own plot of revenge against the conglomerate, so I guess, in some way, I am partially responsible for those poor people’s deaths. For that, I will be eternally remorseful.”

  “How could you have known, Lyle?” Her eyes were filled with sympathy, and he wondered how he could have been so lucky to find her.

  “That’s what happens when your actions are tainted by bad intent. In the end, it all came back to bite me. The infiltrators started getting greedy, asking for more money. I had to borrow from the magazine’s meager profits, even sell my own properties to make up the difference. But with my goal so close in sight, I wasn’t thinking clearly. All I could see was revenge. When the murders started, I celebrated that the companies I was targeting were experiencing even more troubles. I doubt if Lehming Brothers ever connected the dots between the deaths. I mean, with thousands of holdings, each ruled by different divisional vice presidents, a few losses here and there wouldn’
t have raised an eyebrow.”

  “If that’s true, it’s so terribly sad.”

  “That’s unfortunately the essence of big business. In any case, then you came along, and everything changed. Your lofty ideals made me realize that if I transformed Trend into a legitimate, more serious publication, I could defeat Lehming Brothers at their own game by driving their publication Drift out of business. I mean, no offense to your friend DeAndre and his family, I’m sure they’re very nice, but this was an opportunity for legitimate competition. How could I have known you were the roommate of the owners’ son?”

  Camarin fidgeted but said nothing. Despite her silence, Fletcher knew he couldn’t stop until he had completely cleared his conscience.

  “I am ashamed to confess this, but revenge has been a toxic, driving force in my life for the last three years. The other day, after seeing how it destroyed Maria, what it drove her to do, I realized that there’s not enough room in my life for both love and hate.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “It means I am extricating myself from the recruitment business. I’m finished with operating from a place of loathing. And if you can see your way to looking past this blemish in my character, I’d like to choose love. A lifetime of love with you.” He tentatively broke into a smile.