“No, nothing like that. I operate the cleanest, safest brothel in the state. My girls are the highest paid in the state. My problem is that some of my powerful, wealthy clients asked me to branch out for special occasions. They arranged all the details, a rustic atmosphere, right down to the summer camp theme I operate here. There was nothing in my name. I made sure of that. My girls are independent contractors and pay their taxes and everything that goes with it. As you know, there is no state income tax here in Nevada. I can give you an operations lesson later on. Right now word has filtered down to me that I’m likely to be arrested for my activities. Not here in Nevada but back East.”
Cosmo felt his stomach muscles tie themselves into a knot. “Where back East?”
“The nation’s capital. That’s where all the action went down for Happy Day Camp. The clients, or johns, if you prefer, were all politicians. After the election a few months ago, when our first female president was sworn in, things went south with the opposition and quite a few of the current members of the new administration. They’ve been trying to keep the lid on it all, but word leaked out. It always does.
“It wasn’t all that long ago that the woman they called the D.C. Madam supposedly killed herself. And just for the record, I don’t believe that for one minute, and neither does anyone else who is in this business.”
By then Cosmo felt like he had an army of ants squirming around in his stomach. “Why did you do it? You could operate safely here. Why go to a location like D.C. of all places?”
“Believe it or not, I didn’t want to. I called a meeting of my girls, laid it all out, and—like a fool—allowed them to make the decision. I can understand how none of them wanted to say no, the money they were offering was outrageous. A few of the girls planned to retire when they got back. We only did it twice. Once before the election and once again afterward. ‘Celebrations,’ for want of a better word.
“The minute word came down to me, I closed Happy Day Camp and sent the girls off to a safe place to await instructions from me. I traded in Crystal Clark and went back to being Lily Flowers five days ago. I put a sign up that said Happy Day Camp was closed for heavy-duty plumbing repairs. This is the fifth day, and my phone has been ringing constantly. People are looking for me. That’s why I’m Lily Flowers at the moment. I want to know if I should join my girls or stay and fight it out.”
Cosmo twirled the pencil in his hand. He licked at his dry lips and bit down on his bottom lip. “What do you want to do?”
“Anything but go to jail. The johns get off scot-free, and the women go to jail. Tell me where the justice is in that? Will they extradite me back to D.C.?”
“Yes. And I am not licensed to practice law in the District of Columbia.”
“I thought that’s what you were going to say. Okay, that means I have to take off and hope for the best. But I want to leave something with you for safekeeping. I’ll pay your retainer if you agree.”
Cosmo watched as Crystal again started digging around in the oversized bag. She finally came up with book after book, and plopped them on the desk, one on top of the other. “My check registers, my little black books. My business cell phones, all my records. And here,” she said, counting out bills from a stack of money in a brown envelope, “is your retainer. Do not let those books fall into the wrong hands. Will it be all right if I call you from time to time to see…you know…how things are going?”
“Look, Ms. Clark, I know quite a few very good attorneys in Washington, D.C. One in particular who is excellent. Any one of them can help you. You really should think about this before you make a rash decision.”
“I did think about it on the way here. No way am I going to let them come after me. Let them go after the johns. Why should they get off with no penalties? Do you really want to pick up the paper some morning and read that I killed myself? That’s what will happen if I go there and lawyer up. You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Cricket. Will it be all right for me to call you from time to time, and will you keep all these records safe until such time as I want them back?”
Every bone, every nerve in Cosmo’s body wanted to shout no, no, no. “Yes,” was his response. “Will you be okay?”
The woman of many names laughed. At least Cosmo thought it was a laugh. “I’ll be just fine. I knew this day might come, and I’ve prepared for it.”
Cosmo watched as she gathered up all her identity papers and shoved them into the bag, which now sagged together on the sides, then plopped it on top of Cosmo’s desk. “What about money?”
“It’s offshore. I’m not stupid, Mr. Cricket. Like I said, I prepared for this day a long time ago. And those records,” she said, pointing to the pile of black books and check registers teetering precariously on his desk, “are the originals. The phones are real, and I have no others. The duplicate books and records are in safe hands and being delivered to the intended recipients, that’s as in plural, as we speak.”
The woman of many names stood up. Cosmo thought she looked taller without the weight of the heavy bag on her shoulder. “Don’t you think you should tell me who has the copies? Just in case.” Christ, how lame did that sound?
The woman laughed. This time it was a delightful, wicked laugh. She winked at him and laughed again. She held up her index and middle finger in the sign of a V before she sashayed out of the office.
Was that a V? Damn straight it was a V. The only V he could relate to was the V in the word “Vigilante.” It couldn’t stand for “victory,” given her circumstances.
It was Cosmo’s turn to laugh, and laugh he did. He couldn’t wait to get home to call Elizabeth. He opened the huge safe behind the minibar by pressing a button. He started to secure the woman’s records when he noticed a piece of paper sticking out of the uppermost black book. Curious, he pulled it out and read a signed statement giving him permission to use the records as he saw fit to help bring the johns to justice. After he returned the paper to its place in the top book, he closed the safe and moved the minibar back into position. Waving to Mickey, Cosmo turned off the lights, locked the door, and departed. He was still laughing when he climbed into his Porsche for the long ride out to the desert. He hummed an old Fleetwood Mac ditty as he tooled along, marveling at what a small world it was.
Chapter 2
It wasn’t your ordinary retirement party, with laughter and balloons and bubbly gushing out of a fountain. Judges for some reason thought their parties should be bland, boring, and sedate. Perhaps it had something to do with this judge’s age, which was seventy-seven. Maybe Big Foot, as Judge Paul Leland was affectionately called in the cloakrooms, didn’t know how to have fun. Although, given his current wife, who was thirty years his junior, one wouldn’t have thought so. On the other hand, maybe the poor old dear was just worn-out, thanks to his social-climbing young consort.
Lizzie hated these command performances. Soggy canapés, less than satisfactory wine, not even champagne, and no music to speak of. She refused to acknowledge the violin player who circled the room doing his best to annoy people. She glanced down at her watch and wondered if it was late enough to make her excuses and head for home. Three hours of torture was her limit. It was coming up to ten o’clock, time for this party to end, for her at least. She looked around to see if anyone else was getting ready to leave. Maybe she could start a trend. She really wanted to get home so she could talk to Cosmo. All day she had looked forward to her glass of wine and the phone call. After talking to him, she’d fall into bed with a smile on her face. God, how she loved the man with the funny name.
All eyes were on Lizzie as she made her way through the crowd to reach the judge, who was surrounded by a sea of white hair and bald heads, men and women as old as he. A little while ago she’d seen the young wife guzzling wine with a tall, buff lawyer who was married but cheated like crazy. All the younger lawyers clustered together at the far end of the room, the not-so-old judges at the other end of the room waiting to be excused or for a bomb to drop so they cou
ld leave. She was surprised no one had pulled the fire alarm to clear the room.
The sea of white moved in tandem as the geriatric crowd parted for Lizzie to move closer to Judge Leland. Every eye was on the black sheath she wore like a second skin, on the stiletto heels that allowed her to tower over the man she was congratulating. No one missed the outrageous five-carat diamond Cosmo had slipped on her finger three months ago and which sparkled on her left hand; nor did they miss the three-carat diamonds winking and glimmering in each ear under the bright fluorescent lights, another present from Cosmo. The untamed mane of silvery hair tumbling down her back and around her shoulders looked like spun silver.
And then she was in front of the judge, every ear tuned to the conversation. “I’m so sorry, Judge Leland, but I have to leave this enchanting party because I need to double-check a motion I want to file in the morning. I hope you have a wonderful retirement and don’t miss all of us too much.”
The judge’s voice was raspy and yet frail-sounding when he said, “Ah, Miss Fox, I will sorely miss listening to your outstanding oratory in the courtroom. My wife always quizzed me on your fashionable attire when I got home. Thank you so much for coming this evening to help me celebrate my retirement. I’ll look forward to reading about your courtroom dramas in the days to come, as opposed to witnessing them firsthand.”
Lizzie laughed, that tinkling sound she was famous for. She bent down and, to the amazement of just about everyone in the room, kissed the judge soundly on the cheek. She smiled, and the room grew brighter as she waited for the sea of white heads to part once again. Two minutes later she was out of the room and headed for the checkroom to retrieve her cashmere coat. But maybe she needed to visit the restroom first.
Inside the elegant restroom, she met three colleagues she knew quite well. They were whispering among themselves. “Okay, ladies, it’s safe to leave. I paved the way for all of us to call it a night,” Lizzie said.
“There is a God,” one of the lawyers said dramatically. “Lizzie, have you heard?”
“Heard what?” Lizzie asked curiously as she headed to the far stall.
The three women as one moved down the length of the vanity and all of them started talking at once.
Lizzie exited the stall and started to wash her hands. She had trouble keeping up with what she was hearing.
“Biggest scandal since…God, I don’t know when.” “Practically the whole damn cabinet…even some of the Secret Service…try the vice prez…jeez, what’s this all going to do to Martine Connor’s new administration?” “Congress and the Senate…more than you can shake a stick at.”
Lizzie was about to weigh in with a dozen questions when the door opened and a gaggle of women entered the room. All conversation among the lawyers screeched to a halt. Lizzie rolled her eyes as she held the door for the others.
Lizzie retrieved her long white cashmere coat, slipped into it, and almost ran to the exit. She handed the valet her ticket and waited for her brand-new Porsche to be brought to where she was standing. Her head buzzed with what she’d heard and what she hadn’t heard. Imagination was a powerful thing.
Her car roared to a stop. For some reason, Porches driven by anyone other than their owners always seemed to roar. Lizzie slipped a ten-dollar bill into the valet’s hand and slid behind the wheel. The powerful car purred and growled to life as she raced down the circular road that would lead her to the main highway. Another scandal in Washington. What else was new? She didn’t want to think about scandals, she wanted to think about Cosmo Cricket and the coming weekend when she would fly out to see him.
Five hours later, Lizzie rolled over on her lavender-scented sheets as she struggled to figure out what had woken her. The phone, of course. She squinted at the clock on the nightstand. The large red numerals said it was 2:59. No one called her at this hour unless it was a dire emergency. Her first thought was Cosmo, but she discarded that thought immediately. He’d said he was going straight to bed when they hung up from their call, and she had done the same thing. One of the Sisters? Surely nothing was happening on the mountain that couldn’t wait till morning. The caller I.D. said PRIVATE CALLER. Did she even want to take the call? No. She rolled back over, sniffed her pillowcase, and settled down to go back to sleep when the phone rang again. Damn. She rolled back over and picked up the phone. “This better be really, really good because it’s three o’clock in the morning, and I was sound asleep.” Lizzie didn’t care who was listening to her tirade.
“Lizzie, it’s Martine Connor. I am sorry to wake you, truly I am, but I do not have a minute to myself these days. This is the only time I can call you. I need to talk to you, Lizzie.”
“Madam President,” Lizzie said, bolting upright and swinging her legs over the side of the bed at the same time. “Is this how we’re going to chat from time to time? Is something wrong?”
“First things first, cut out that ‘Madam President’ stuff. You only have to call me Madam President if the press is around. No, we are not going to chat in the middle of the night. No, I take that back, yes, that’s about the only time we can talk. I can’t sleep in this job. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I moved into this damn place. I used to sleep like a baby and, yes, something is wrong. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten wind of it all, even though they’re trying to put a lid on it. You know whenever they do that, an explosion always follows.”
Lizzie’s mind raced as she made her way out to the kitchen to make coffee. She knew there would be no more sleep for her that night. She thought about the conversation in the lavatory with her colleagues at the Hay-Adams a little while ago.
“I think you need to be a little more precise, Martine. I did hear something tonight at Judge Leland’s retirement party, but it was in the restroom. Lawyers talk, you know that. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the party room. I think I would have picked up on it. Every damn judge and lawyer in this town was there. Also, there were quite a few congressmen and senators present. Give it to me straight up. Martine, does anyone know you’re calling me? Aren’t there invisible eyes and ears on you?”
“I’m on that crazy phone you gave me. I carry it on me at all times. Yes, my dear, in my bra if I’m wearing clothes without pockets. I have it set on vibration mode. I’m also in bed. Alone. There are no eyes and ears here that I know of. There damn well better not be.”
Lizzie poured her coffee, added cream, then rummaged in the fridge for something to munch on. She reached for some chicken legs her day lady had left on a platter of southern-fried chicken along with a side bowl of potato salad. She poked at the other bowls and saw a salad and some fruit. With the phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder, she carried everything to the round wooden table. “Talk to me,” she mumbled.
“It’s that old devil sex. It’s reared its ugly head in my administration. This is worse than the scandal that erupted before I took office. You remember the D.C. Madam, don’t you?” Not bothering to wait for a reply, President Connor raced on. “This time around, half my staff attended that damn party. I’m told there were Secret Service there. I lost count of the federal judges and congressmen who attended that damn camp weekend. Not just once, but twice,” Connor screeched. “They had such a good time, they did an encore after I was sworn in. And don’t tell me ‘boys will be boys.’ I don’t want to hear it. I think every politician in this damn town was involved in one way or another. Do you know how this makes me look?” Again she didn’t bother to wait for a reply. “I have an administration of perverts. Say something, Lizzie.”
Lizzie for some reason enjoyed hearing Martine venting. Welcome to Washington was what she wanted to say. Instead, Lizzie said, “I heard there were quite a few senators who…uh, went to camp, and I also heard several of your fancy-dancy ambassadors and a few of their friends were also in attendance.” Lizzie licked at her fingers and reached for a second chicken leg. “I hope you aren’t calling me to ask me to represent any of those perverts because the answer is no,
Madam President. I have long believed that the johns should be the ones who are arrested and punished, not the working girls and madams. The men went to the summer, or winter, camp, whatever it was, of their own free will, and they were willing to pony up outrageous sums of money for the pleasure. No one twisted their arms. Then they walk off scot-free, and the women take the fall. What’s wrong with this picture? No, Madam President, I can’t help you.”
“Lizzie, you have to help me. Not directly, I realize that. I want you to get in touch with the Vigilantes and ask for their help. I can’t think of anything else. I guess you can see I’m desperate, or I wouldn’t be calling you.”
“Martine, no! They won’t help you! You’re already running a tab with the Vigilantes. You owe them a pardon that has not been forthcoming. I’m sure they’re on the same page I am when it comes to the johns. If you weren’t sitting in the office you won, you’d be on our page, too. You know that, Martine.”
“Lizzie, I could go down the tubes with what’s going on. I’ll be the laughingstock of the free world. The first female president, and I have an administration whose members can’t keep their pants zipped. This is going to be a circus. I have to try to do something.”
“Chop them all off at the knees right now. By them, I mean every man within spitting distance of what went on, those that attended that…uh, camp. Go back to all your short lists and work from there. Make everyone involved who is a part of your administration resign. Then move on. There’s no way you can contain this. You have to know that, Martine. We both know the media will be on this like fleas on a dog. You have to be aggressive. Whatever you do, don’t go giving speeches, or just slapping any of the ‘boys’ on the wrist, and don’t try to hide anything. That’s the best advice I can give you right at this precise moment.” Lizzie attacked the potato salad, eating right out of the bowl. She couldn’t believe this conversation. And she couldn’t believe she was eating cold fried chicken and potato salad at three o’clock in the morning. She refilled her coffee cup.
Under the Radar Page 21