Vanishing Act

by Fern Michaels

  Maggie started to laugh when he shook his head. “We could fill the bathtub with warm water.”

  “Yeah, let’s do that,” Maggie said, scampering out of the water, Ted hot on her heels.

  Back in Washington, Jack jammed the cell phone into his pocket and started to jog his way back to the office. He hated running or jogging in leather shoes, but his sneakers were at Harry’s dojo. He was dripping wet with sweat when he blasted through the lobby and jogged in place for a moment before he made his way to the elevator.

  In his office, he ripped off his jacket and tie and sat down. Slightly winded, he let loose with a mighty sigh as he unpacked his briefcase, his thoughts on Nikki, the mountain, Charles, and wondering where the hell Harry was. He’d been text messaging and calling him every chance he got, all day, with no response. He knew Harry had a midmorning training class at Quantico, and they were to meet up at the Drop Zone for lunch. But Harry hadn’t shown for lunch. Jack was getting really concerned because Harry always answered his phone. Always. And the fine hairs on the back of Jack’s neck had started to prickle. Somewhere, something was wrong.

  Jack sorted, sifted, and collated the papers in his briefcase before he bellowed for his secretary and the two assistant DAs. “Court’s dark tomorrow. I’ll see you when I see you. Be sure to get those papers to Judge Avalone before five-thirty. Chop-chop, guys. You, too, Melinda.” He got snorts of disgust and grimaces that he ignored. “It’s all about delegating, guys. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” A roll of rubber bands in the shape of a ball hit him squarely in the back of the head.

  Jack laughed as he made his way back to the elevator, his jacket slung over his shoulder, his tie trailing out of a side pocket.

  In the parking lot, he popped the trunk and tossed in both his jacket and briefcase.

  The inside of his car was like a sauna. He turned on the AC to HIGH and then slipped in a favorite Harry Connick, Jr. CD. Sweat dripped down Jack’s face. He swiped at it with the sleeve of his shirt. He tooled along, his eyes on the road, hoping to see Harry on his Ducati, but it didn’t happen.

  Traffic was surprisingly light for a Friday afternoon, when usually a lot of people headed out of the city to cooler pastures, so Jack made decent time to Harry’s dojo just as the AC kicked in, and he started to shiver.

  Jack turned the corner and slowed, his eyes almost bugging out of his head at the sight of the yellow CAUTION tape stretched across the dojo’s front door. What made him slam on his brakes was the sight of Harry sitting on the curb in his Armani suit, barefooted. His shoes were next to him there alongside the Ducati. He didn’t even look up at the sound of Jack’s squealing brakes. Jack slammed out of the car the moment he swerved the curb. He looked around for a sign of smoke that would mean the CAUTION tape was up because of a fire. No smoke. Christ, maybe Harry finally killed someone. Nah, he’d be in jail if he’d done that, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting on the curb in his Armani suit.

  “Harry! What the hell is going on? Harry, look at me! Goddamn it, what the hell is going on? Why are you sitting here all duded up in that fancy suit? Are you going to answer me, or do I have to knock you on your ass?” Jack yelled, his heart beating trip-hammer fast. When there was no smart-ass response, Jack dropped to his haunches and poked at Harry’s chest. “At least you’re not dead. You had me worried there for a minute. Talk to me, Harry. It’s me, Jack. Come on, buddy, let’s hear it.”

  Harry finally looked at Jack, his face a mask of pain, his eyes glazed over.

  Jack cupped Harry’s face in his two hands. “What, Harry? Are you sick? If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help you. Jesus Christ, Harry, will you please tell me what’s going on here?”

  Harry licked his dry lips and then looked square at Jack. “Someone stole my dojo, Jack. The bank foreclosed. They came this morning and kicked me out. Then they stretched the tape, and I’m not allowed to go in. They put new locks on the doors.”

  “What?” Jack’s screech could be heard for blocks.

  “I went to the bank this morning about the loan to remodel the dojo, and that’s when I found out. The bottom line is that my identity was stolen, and the person who did it ran up all kinds of bills, ruined my credit, took out two equity loans they didn’t pay on. They cleaned out my bank accounts, savings and checking. I have seventeen bucks in my pocket, Jack. I’m homeless. They don’t know about the Ducati. If they did, they’d come and take it. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just left the bank. I’ve been sitting here for hours. I can’t even go inside to get my stuff. That’s why I’m still wearing this stupid suit.”

  Jack lowered himself to the curb and put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Listen to me, Harry. We’re going to make this right. We are. I’m going to call the mountain, and the girls will be on this like white on rice. By the way, Charles is back. That’s why I came here. I knew something was wrong when you didn’t call and stood me up for lunch. Why the hell didn’t you call me, Harry? Give me one reason why. Just one, Harry.”

  Harry hung his head. “I was ashamed.”

  “Bullshit! If that happened to me, you would be the first person I’d call.”

  “It’s hard to make phone calls when you’re crying and can’t talk. Yeah, I bawled my eyes out. My whole life is gone, Jack. Gone!”

  “Only for the moment. We’ll make it right, Harry. I need you to believe that. Now, let’s go around back and break into the dojo and get your stuff. You’re moving in with me till we can get a handle on all of this.”

  “They told me not to go near the building, or they’d lock me up. I wouldn’t do well in jail, Jack.”

  “Okay, you sit here, and I’ll do the breaking and entering. No one told me I couldn’t go near the building. My stuff is in there, and I damn well want it. Tell me what you want, what you can’t live without.”

  Harry flapped his hands in the air. “My personal stuff. There isn’t that much.”

  “We need Lizzie!” Jack said as he scooted under the CAUTION tape and raced around to the back door. He eyed the padlock with disdain before he gave the door a kick that sent it flying off the hinges. He walked in and headed straight for Harry’s apartment on the second floor. He looked around. The word “spartan” came to mind. He got to work quickly, shoving clothes into a bag he found in the closet. He picked up two pictures of Yoko and added them to the pile. He cleaned out the dresser drawers and collected Harry’s bathroom gear. When he was finished he had three bags filled to overflowing. “Not much, my ass,” he muttered.

  Jack tossed the soft-sided athletic bags down the rickety steps. He followed, then raced outside with the bags and dumped them in the trunk of his Honda. He ran back in and cut off all the circuit breakers. No reason for Harry to be saddled with an electric bill he couldn’t pay. He was on his way back to the door when he spotted the huge cardboard carton where Harry tossed his mail. His eyes narrowed. He bent down, hefted the box to his shoulders, and carried it outside. He set it down and propped up the back door. It still looked like it had been kicked in. Oh, well.

  The box went into the backseat of his car.

  “C’mon, Harry, time to head for your new digs. We’re going to hit rush hour, so here’s the house key. You’ll get there before I will. Just go in and make yourself at home. I’ll call Lizzie and Maggie. Harry, look at me, buddy. We’re going to make this right. Trust me. Don’t kill yourself on the way, you hear me?”

  This was where Harry should shoot off some smart-ass response, but all he said was, “Thanks, Jack.”

  Oh, shit. He liked Harry better when he was snarly and hostile. This new Harry was never going to work. So the girls, and Lizzie, and whoever else, would just have to get done whatever was needed so the old Harry would be back in place in the dojo again. Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when he thought about what was likely to happen to the identity thief.

  Chapter 4

  It was almost seven o’clock when Harry, with Jack’s help
, finished settling into the guest bedroom. It was a pretty room, Jack thought, with the lavender spread that matched the wisteria on the wallpaper in the room. Crispy white curtains fluttered in the early-evening breeze. A woman’s room because this was Nikki’s house, which she’d deeded to Jack when she and the other vigilantes had to run for their lives. Jack’s house now, with the understanding that if things ever worked out for her and the vigilantes, and she was able to return to society, he could deed it back to her.

  Harry looked around, his toes wiggling in the pale lavender carpet. His eyes still looked glazed, and his shoulders slumped. The Armani suit had been tossed on the bed, along with the silk shirt and tie. The offending shoes, which he hated, were under the bed. He now wore thong sandals and an outfit that resembled hospital scrubs. “It’s a nice room, Jack. Yoko would love it. Lavender is her favorite color. The bed looks comfortable.”

  Jack knew that most nights when he was alone, Harry slept on a mat on the floor. For the life of him he couldn’t remember if he’d brought the mat or not. He asked.

  “Yeah, it was in the big duffel. You rolled it up. Thanks.”

  “You hungry?”

  Harry thought about the question. “Yeah, I guess I am. I had an apple at Quantico, but I was nervous about the meeting at the bank, so I thought it would be better if I didn’t eat. Good thing, or I would have lost it.”

  Jack gripped his friend’s arm tightly when it looked like Harry was going to go into a trance. “Listen, we’re going to make this right. Think of this as a blip on the screen, a bump in the road. Let’s go downstairs. I cooked a pot roast the other night, and there’s a lot left over. No sprouts, but I have some of that shitty tea you like, and I know how to cook rice. C’mon, let’s go.”

  As an added enticement, he said, “I have a pecan pie one of the girls at the office baked for me yesterday. With ice cream to go on top.” But he wasn’t kidding himself—it was the shitty green tea that made Harry pick up his feet.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Jack popped a beer and brewed tea for Harry. He bustled about the kitchen, slicing the leftover pot roast, adding it to the gravy. He set the oven timer for fifteen minutes. The rice cooker would offer up perfect rice in less than that. He slid the pecan pie into the oven, next to the meat.

  “Jack, the perfect host. When did you really learn to cook?” Harry asked. His tone said he didn’t care about the answer one way or the other, he was simply making conversation, doing his best to lift the pall that was settling over the kitchen.

  Jack chose to answer anyway. “When I took over this house. I used to spend all day Sunday cooking, then parceling it out for weeks. I made a lot of mistakes, but it was a lot cheaper than eating out every night. The money I saved I put into my 401k. Mine’s a little down right now, how is yours doing?”

  “It’s gone, Jack. The son of a bitch who did this to me cleaned that out, too.”

  “Oh, fuck! How much did you have in there?”

  “Almost two hundred grand. That includes my IRAs, too. The bastard took it all. I’ve been putting in the max and doing without because I wanted to make sure I had enough to take care of Yoko in our golden years—if it should happen that the girls get a pardon. I had another $78,000 in CDs that’s also gone. I had a small savings account with $8,300 to draw on for emergencies and $1,600 in my checking account. It wasn’t enough to steal all that; the bastard applied for credit cards and put me in hock for over a hundred grand. I used to have an 820 credit score. Now I’m homeless and penniless,” Harry said pitifully.

  Jack struggled to find comforting words, but none came. All he could do was put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeeze it.

  “What did Lizzie say when you called?” Harry asked.

  “Messages were going straight to voice mail, and I didn’t want to leave that kind of message. We’ll call her after dinner, and Maggie, too. After we hear what they have to say, I think we should call the mountain and ask for the vigilantes’ help.”

  Harry turned around in his chair and looked up at Jack. “I’m not sure I want to do that, Jack. What the hell is Yoko going to think?”

  “She’s going to think just the way I’m thinking. The same way anyone else who hears this is going to think. Identity theft is a big problem in this country. Just go on the Net, and you’ll see it’s actually rampant. As soon as institutions get plans in place, those bastards manage to get around them. I promise you one thing, Harry. If the girls get on this, that son of a bitch is toast, and you’ll get all your money back. Then if you want to…kill that son of a bitch, I don’t think anyone will stop you. But the flip side to that is you’ll go to jail and won’t be able to spend any of that money the girls get back for you. Then Yoko will start to hate you because you made her a widow even before you married her.”

  “Eat shit, Jack!”

  Ah, the Harry he knew and loved had finally emerged from the sad-sack imposter he had found sitting in front of the dojo.

  “Soup’s on. How come you didn’t set the table, Harry?”

  Harry clenched his teeth. “Because you didn’t tell me to set the damn table, that’s why. Furthermore, I’m a guest, and you’re supposed to wait on me hand and foot. That’s what a good host does.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t go pushing your luck, Harry. We divide everything up here. I cook, you clean up. You do your own laundry. I vacuum, and you dust. We take turns doing the shopping. Yeah, I know you don’t have any money, so I’ll pay for the groceries, but then if I do that, you should cook. None of that alfalfa shit you eat or those sprouts that grow other sprouts right under your eyes and make you poop green. Deal?”

  “I hate you, Jack,” Harry said, slamming a plate with purple flowers on it in front of Jack. “Where are the candles?”

  “Oh, dear God, mercy me, good heavens, how could I have been so stupid as to forget the candles? You’re an asshole, Harry,” Jack said as he reached into one of the cabinets for a fat yellow candle, which was supposed to smell like warm summer sunshine, and set it in the middle of the table.

  “It doesn’t go with the dishes, Jack. It should be lavender.”

  “Harry! Shut the fuck up and eat!”

  Lizzie clicked on her cell phone. There was a smile in her voice when she said, “Talk to me, Jack. I was in the shower when you called. Cosmo is taking me out to dinner. Why didn’t you leave a message?”

  “I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave this particular message. Listen, Lizzie, something terrible has happened to Harry, so that makes this a personal call. That’s why I didn’t want to leave a message. Someone managed to steal Harry’s identity. He’s been evicted. All his money, all his accounts…gone. He’s staying with me right now and has seventeen bucks to his name and his Ducati. And that’s it. I’m going to tell you now that I broke into the dojo and got his stuff, and, no, I didn’t leave fingerprints. There’s yellow CAUTION tape all around the dojo. One more thing, the person or persons who did this also applied for over a dozen credit cards and ran them up to the max. Harry has over two hundred grand now in credit card debt. He has two cards that he pays off every month. He rarely uses them but will buy something or charge a meal just to keep them active.”

  “I got it, Jack. I’ll be on the first plane out tomorrow. Tell Harry to sit tight, okay? Also tell him he’s not the only one this has happened to, and it might make him feel a little better. Forty million Americans get their identity stolen every year.”

  “Yeah, well, that isn’t going to make Harry or me feel any better to know that, Lizzie.”

  “I know. But it’s a fact that we have to recognize and deal with. Call the mountain, and I’ll call Maggie. We need to get on this ASAP. Now, relax. I’m going out to dinner with my husband. I’ll check in with you the minute I get back to D.C.”

  “Gotcha. Thanks, Lizzie.”

  Jack turned to Harry. “You ready for your pie now? Lizzie’s on it. She told me that forty million Americans have their identities stolen every year.”

>   “Yeah, I’ll take the pie and the ice cream. More tea, too. I don’t want to be the forty million and first American who has his identity stolen.”

  “Look at it this way, Harry. Lizzie has that long flight back to D.C. to map out a strategy. Boy, I can almost feel sympathy for the president of that bank when he goes up against Lizzie. By the way, what’s the name of the bank?”

  “East Coast Savings.”

  “Shit! That’s where my accounts are,” Jack snarled. “Damn it, wouldn’t you know this would happen on a Friday, so we have to sweat the weekend? First thing Monday morning, I’m out of that bank, and my money is going into a sock under my mattress.” Jack knew he wouldn’t do anything that stupid, but he was going to do something. Getting out of the bank was the first thing he had to do. And he wouldn’t mince any words when he told them why he was moving his funds.

  Harry got up and opened the refrigerator. He popped two beers and handed one to Jack. He clinked his bottle against Jack’s, and said, “Here’s to the bastard that stole my identity and his imminent death, preceded by total dismemberment and anything else the girls can come up with.”

  “Now you’re clicking, Harry. I think we should just cripple him, make him pee through a straw and poop into a bag. After we break every bone in his body. We could treat ourselves to his misery and go visit him in whatever nuthouse they put him in after we’re done with him.”

  Harry’s almond-shaped eyes almost widened. “You’d help me do that, Jack?”

  “Hell, yes.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  “You’re the best, Jack. Listen, I don’t understand any of this. Every January, I pay all my bills ahead for a full year because I don’t want to be late on a payment. I even leave a small cushion in case I make a mistake. Like an extra hundred in each account. You know how I hate getting bills. This is just the beginning of July. If I had known, had a clue, I would have done something.”