Huddled Masses (JP Warner Book 2)

by Derek Ciccone

  I nodded that I understood.

  “I will take you to Gwen, but then I will return to the safe confines of Rockfield, and try to explain myself to Dolly,” he said.

  “Take me to Gwen? She’s right inside.”

  “She’s going somewhere tonight—nobody buys a dress to stay home.”

  Right on cue, Gwen stepped out of the front door, and even though I was at a distance, I could tell that Mary Rothschild was on the mark about the dress. I wouldn’t normally be able to pull my stare from such a sight, but my eyes went to the person on her arm.

  It was a fit-looking man in a suit, sporting a trim beard, and holding Gwen’s hand. What the hell? They didn’t go to the Audi as I suspected, but a well-timed limo pulled up in front of the brownstone, and the man helped her inside. While patience might be the key to understanding, I thought my fists could help get to the bottom of things much quicker.

  Murray followed the limo, three cars back, until it stopped in front of the NoMad Hotel, and Gwen and Beard got out. The last time I was here for Byron’s fundraiser I’d made a spectacle of myself, and Gwen sent me away for reflection. I would have to fight my every urge not to let history repeat itself. Murray wished me luck, and began his journey back to Connecticut.

  I followed them on foot as they entered the main dining room, where they met another man. Another good-looking guy, also in an expensive suit, probably in his early thirties.

  I was seated at a table across the room, where I could watch them. I was unable to eavesdrop on their conversation, but it certainly didn’t appear to be strained or tense.

  My jealousies switched from Beard to the other guy, as he missed no opportunity to touch Gwen—her arm, her hand, her shoulder. Gwen was so offended by this that she laughed at all his attempts at humor like he was some comedian. Drinks were served, and they turned even more festive. It looked like … gulp … a date.

  Their main course hadn’t even arrived when Gwen and the man rose from their seats. He clenched her hand, and they began walking away. But not toward the street entrance—they were going in the direction of the hotel rooms. My stomach dropped.

  Beard threw down a wad of cash to cover the dinner they never received, and he made his way out a side exit.

  I had no idea what was going on, but my patience had run out.

  Chapter 54

  Her “date” leaned against a French mahogany writing desk, which sat in front of a large bay window with a view of the Empire State Building. He removed his sports coat and tossed it on the bed. Gwen swore it sounded like a thud when it hit.

  He studied her intently from head to heels, and proved her wrong—it was possible to be more creeped out. “As you know, Hugo Whitley YPA will be picking up the bill for my services,” she said, referring to her thousand dollar an hour fee, which was actually quite flattering.

  He nodded knowingly. “And what exactly will those services include?”

  “BBFS and BBBJ,” she replied, feeling sick when she said it. She had a general understanding of escort lingo from a story she did back when she wrote for the Globe. She hoped that the language hadn’t changed.

  His look of anticipation told her that it hadn’t. “Why are you so far away from me … do I smell?”

  “I’m sorry—I’m just a little nervous.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the girl I heard about. Why is that?”

  “Him—why is he here?” she pointed at the bodyguard, a Middle Eastern-looking man holding a large gun. There were two more of them stationed outside the door of the suite.

  “I thought you liked to perform in front of an audience.”

  “Not a heavily armed one.”

  He ordered the bodyguard into the bathroom. The guard followed his boss’s orders, shutting the door behind him. What a gentleman.

  Gwen was relieved he was out of sight, but now she was out of excuses. Unlike when she’d pretended to be Kyle Jones’ girlfriend—she always knew he would back down in intimate situations—this man expected action. And if she didn’t do something quick, the bodyguard would make a return visit.

  She walked up to him, feeling like her stilettos were weighted down by cement. She ran her hand through his hair and went to kiss him.

  He pushed her away.

  “I thought I made it clear that I’m not interested in the girlfriend experience,” he said, and grabbed her by the chin and squished her mouth into a fish face. “If you try to kiss me again, I’ll rip your lips off, understand?”

  He wouldn’t have to worry about that. The fact that she got that close made her want to amputate her lips. She hoped Allison could appreciate the lengths she was going.

  Just to make sure there were no hard feelings, he presented her with a gift. “It’s an outfit I want you to put on,” he said, handing her the decorated box.

  “But I thought you specifically requested this dress?”

  “That was for dinner … this is for dessert.”

  She made her way to the bathroom, where she was reunited with the bodyguard. She asked him if he’d step outside so she could change, but he made it clear he had no plans to leave her alone.

  It was a large European-style bathroom with a walk-in shower, which she wanted to use to wash the stench off. The bodyguard was perched on the edge of a clawfoot bathtub, probably to let her know that’s where they planned to drown her when the deed was done.

  She could feel his beady eyes on her as she opened the box. But when she saw what was inside, she almost laughed out loud.

  It was the metallic foil, halter mini dress that Elizabeth Hurley wore in the first Austin Powers movie, playing the role of Vanessa Kensington. It also came with a gun, but unlike the bodyguard’s, this one was a prop.

  Instead of returning to Rockfield last night, Gwen made a detour to Manhattan. More specifically, she went to Cliff Sutcliffe’s Midtown apartment. He seemed surprised to see her on his doorstep at that hour, as did the blonde woman who strolled into the room, in only a towel, and said, “Clifford—who is knocking at this hour? How rude of them.”

  Lauren tried to play off her presence as a business meeting. And if that were the case, then it was like the business meeting Gwen was about to partake in. But she had much more important issues to discuss with Clifford.

  Gwen implored him to immediately start promoting a Lauren Bowden exclusive, which included inside information on her own shooting, and the aftermath, courtesy of the recorder she hid in her bulletproof vest. Basically, the story that Jovana had nipped in the bud. In return, Gwen offered to convince JP to turn over the details of his Nora Reign interview.

  Lauren was all for it, and Cliff wasn’t in the best negotiating position, so within a half hour, the promos were up and running. Who says a 24-hour news cycle is a waste of airtime?

  Whether Jovana was still stationed in New York, or she arrived via spaceship, she was at Cliff’s apartment within minutes, threatening to remove his head from his neck. Mission accomplished—there was no need to find Jovana if Gwen could get her to come to her.

  After filling her in on the most recent developments, they worked into the early morning hours on their plan of attack. Stopping an international terrorist sure did make for strange partners, she thought.

  Gwen returned to Rockfield first thing in the morning, where she and Murray had their usual weekly meeting. She then stopped by to visit with JP’s mother, and check on Gracie and Chase. Once she knew they were safe, she went to Dr. MacDougal’s office. As JP’s primary care physician, he could call into the hospital and get an update on his condition. They reported that he was being treated for smoke inhalation, was expected to make a full recovery, but would have to stay in the hospital for the next few days. Gwen had her doubts about the last part.

  At the same time Jovana arrived at Hugo Whitley YPA, and informed Dennis Whitley that she was taking over for Allison Cooper, who would be on an extended leave of absence. And that she would now be heading up the General Washington Carpet Cleani
ng account, whether he liked it or not. Her first order of business was to put a call into David Tully to introduce herself—under her assumed name of Joey Draznok—and suggest a meeting.

  No surprise, she was told that Tully wasn’t available. So Joey asked to talk to David Tully Jr., and this time she was surprised, when Junior took the call. Joey explained what services would now be made available to clients, ones that Allison didn’t offer, and he was suddenly willing to make the trek from Valley Forge to New York to meet with them that evening.

  The CIA was able to research Tully Jr., and create a profile—meaning, they hacked the phone he took the call on. The one he’d switched to so that they could “keep things private.”

  There were no grand Al Muttahedah secrets on the phone, but they were able to gather evidence of Junior’s extensive use of a certain escort service during his travels. Since the service was headquartered in New York, Joey paid them a visit, and set up a date for him tonight with a “new girl” who met his criteria—it seemed Junior had an Elizabeth Hurley fetish. When Gwen finished her makeover, her photo and stage name was added to the database for the escort service, along with a “top rating” and made-up customer reviews.

  She could feel the bodyguard peering right through her as she removed the dress. With Jovana’s help, it had been altered to look like the plunging Versace dress, held together by oversized gold safety pins, which helped rocket Hurley to fame. Gwen changed into the metallic mini dress with matching boots. She felt like she’d just arrived from outer space.

  Before returning to the bedroom, she noticed that a bottle of champagne had been left for her. She opened it, swigged right from the bottle, and then exited the bathroom with the bottle in one hand, and two champagne flutes in the other.

  She stood in the bathroom doorway, striking her sexiest pose. “Are you horny, baby,” she said in a bad Austin Powers imitation.

  “Nobody is paying you for comedy,” he said, his eyes drawn to the silver dress. She walked to him, mumbling to herself, “C’mon, Jovana … where are you?”

  When she reached him, he tried to push her to her knees, but she resisted. She held up the champagne bottle. “I like to have a drink first to celebrate … and then the party starts,” she purred. She poured a glass and handed it to him.

  His eyes bulged with anger. “Nobody’s interested in what you like!” He grabbed the bottle out of her hand and began to swing it at her like a tennis racket. She closed her eyes and recoiled, but he stopped, thinking better of it—a dead whore would cause big headaches. He tossed the bottle on the floor and it began to spill out. He then threw his glass against the wall, shattering it. “You’re going to lick this room clean when we’re done, glass and all.”

  He pushed her down again, and unzipped. She then surprised him with a different kind of head than he was hoping for—sending a head butt into his crotch area.

  The pain transformed him into a raging bull, and pulled her to her feet by her hair. “You like to play rough … I play rougher,” he said, and jammed her up against the bay window face first, so hard she thought he would shove her right through.

  Gwen screamed as loud as she could.

  And like a magic genie, Jovana appeared. “Put it away, Junior, or I’ll shoot it right off.”

  Gwen felt relief.

  Until another man burst into the room and tackled Jovana from behind.

  Chapter 55

  “JP—what are you doing?” Gwen shouted out.

  “I could ask you the same.”

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Having just saved her life, and being completely willing to overlook her “other life” as a prostitute, you would think I would have received a more appreciative greeting. But then I started to understand what was going down.

  A Middle Eastern-looking goon came out of the bathroom with weapon in hand. And to add to his arsenal, he picked up the gun dropped by the bearded man I’d just tackled.

  This annoyed Beard, who spit at the goon, before turning his anger to me. And in a much more feminine voice than I expected, said, “Way to go, Warner. Bravo.”

  The goon ripped off Beard’s beard, and then pulled the wig from his head, revealing dark hair pinned up underneath. “Jovana?”

  I had to hand it to the CIA makeup artists—she really did look like a dude. But now she just looked angry. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I thought you were coming to kill Gwen.”

  I’d followed Beard out of the hotel, and then back inside through a freight entrance. He, or rather, she, made her way up a back stairwell to this suite on the fifth floor, which wasn’t easy for me with my numerous maladies. I watched as she overwhelmed the armed guards who were manning the hallway in front of the suite. When she pulled her gun and entered, all I could think of was that Gwen was in that room, and I needed to save her from this crazed gunman. So I did what came natural … which was to screw up a perfectly good plan.

  Gwen’s “date” clutched around her neck from behind, like he was imitating one of Carter’s wrestling moves. He didn’t look like a killer to me—I got the feeling he didn’t get his hands dirty that often—but he also looked scared, and scared people can do irrational things.

  With his free hand, he grabbed a glass of champagne and smashed it against a writing desk. He then held the jagged edge to Gwen’s neck. “One false move and she dies!” He didn’t sound convincing, but that wouldn’t make Gwen any less dead if he decided to dig that sharp edge into her carotid artery.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  “It’s David Tully Jr.,” Jovana spoke for him.

  With closer examination, I recognized him from the website. And since we were making introductions, I informed him that I was JP Warner, he had his hands around my girlfriend’s neck, and it would be in his best interest to step away.

  He seemed less than impressed, and ordered Jovana and me to our feet. It was starting to remind me of Syria.

  “The only one here who’s going to kill anyone is me … unless you let the woman go,” Jovana stated.

  “You don’t seem to be in a position to be making those threats.”

  “That’s what Qwaui said, just before I shot six holes in his chest. Do you want to be next, Junior? It’s your decision.”

  All her bravado did was back him further into a corner. I needed to do something before she got Gwen killed.

  “You won’t hurt her,” I called out.

  He looked confused. “And who’s going to stop me?”

  “The universe. It won’t let you do it … it brought us together for a reason, and it wasn’t so that it would end like this.”

  “In that case, the universe better get here really fast.”

  Jovana removed her jacket, and tossed it on the bed. She then undid her tie and began unbuttoning her dress shirt. “If she’s worth a thousand an hour, then I must be worth risking your life,” she said.

  “Do you think I’m stupid? Stop whatever you’re doing!”

  “What’s wrong, Junior? Are you disappointed I’m not wearing that dress with the gold safety pins? It’s in the bathroom, I can slip it on for you if you’d like.”

  Her eyes subtly shifted to Gwen, who returned a look of understanding. It was quick and brilliant, and you’d have to be looking for it to notice. Junior and his goons weren’t.

  Gwen’s arm thrust toward her attacker’s neck, jamming one of the safety pins into it as hard as she could. They had planned for all possibilities.

  When Junior screamed out, Jovana made her move, successfully knocking away the gun from the guard. But he was able to recover, and pulled the spare on them.

  The window crashed in, startling everyone—Jovana tackled me to the ground. Another Middle Eastern-looking goon swung in like a one-man SWAT team. He covered Junior, and fired off an erratic round in our direction with a sub-machine gun.

  The bodyguard didn’t get down fast enough. He was riddled with bullets and slumped to the floor,
as did his gun. Jovana reached for it, and was ready to return fire. But the mission was to get his boss out of danger, not get into a shootout in a New York hotel. The round in our direction was about clearing the way for a clean escape. He loaded Junior onto his rope, and they swung out the window, disappearing into the night.

  I ran to the window, just in time to see them reach the ground. They whisked him into a black SUV, and took off.

  “They’re getting away,” I shouted to Jovana.

  “No they’re not,” she said, seemingly disinterested.

  “Shouldn’t we go after them?” Gwen asked with urgency.

  “Not yet. First we need to find out where they’re going.”

  Part Four –

  Carpet Baggers

  Chapter 56

  Charleston, South Carolina

  April 12

  The ferry docked, and members of the party were assisted to dry land by a group of park rangers. They led the guests through the sally-port entrance and into Fort Sumter.

  Byron Jasper, the man of the hour, led the way, being pushed in his wheelchair by his assistant, Lamar Thompson. Right behind him was his fiancée, Tonya, followed by Mama Jasper.

  The next wave was made up of esteemed guests and dignitaries, including the mayor of Charleston, the head of the Charleston Hall of Fame, Rex Denson, along with numerous others who had shaped Byron’s life. This included his third grade teacher, his college football coach, his doctors, and the key members of his foundation.

  Carter took up the rear, with his two best girls on his arms—Christina, who appeared uncomfortable in her fancy dress, and Kate, who seemed strangely comfortable in the June Cleaver number she was wearing. Carter wore his usual sleeveless denim jacket and wraparound sunglasses, even though nightfall had arrived.

  The day began with a luncheon at Mama Jasper’s restaurant, followed by a ceremony on the battery, in which the mayor gave Byron the key to the city. Carter hoped it worked at Frankly My Dear’s, his favorite strip club in town.