10. Fast Track

by Fern Michaels

  Myra clapped her hands in approval. “I couldn’t have said it better, Annie.” The others looked sheepish.

  In the end, when the women sat down at the table with their salads, the words flowed like wine. When they were finished, Myra summed it up succinctly by saying, “So, it’s a combination of cabin fever, being fugitives, suddenly becoming guns for hire, and missing life in the fast lane that is bothering everyone. Correct me if I’m wrong.” There was a bite to Myra’s voice the others had never heard before.

  “You’re not wrong, Myra. It’s just…What I mean is…No matter how I say this, it’s going to come out wrong. So, speaking strictly for myself, it’s easier to blame someone else rather than own up to my own shortcomings. I don’t know what we were trying to prove the other night. Maybe that we’re equals? I just don’t know. I’m over it now. Charles is the boss as far as I’m concerned. I trust him with my life.” Kathryn looked around at the others to see if they agreed with her. When she saw them nod she smiled. “Okay, we’re back on track. We’ll kick ass and take names later.”

  Annie put her fingers under her tongue and whistled the way Kathryn taught her. “I so love it when we’re all on the same page. Now, let’s get down to business.”

  “After we eat,” Kathryn said as she slipped Murphy a strip of chicken from her salad. “You know Charles; we don’t discuss business while we eat.”

  “Amen,” Annie said.

  Chapter 7

  “Damn it, Harry, if you don’t stop that crazy pacing, I’m going to deck you. It’s too early to be in such a frenzy. The girls won’t be here till around midnight, so cool it,” Jack Emery said as he finished his early-morning workout.

  “Easy for you to say. Admit it, Jack, you thrive on this shit, and we both know it. The crazier the scheme, the more dangerous, the better you like it. I come from a peaceful, gentle nation of people who don’t do this kind of stuff.”

  Jack wiped at his brow with a snow-white towel. “You’re screwing with me, right, Harry? You, who can kill with one finger. You, who breaks bones the way other people break pretzels. And you damn well fucking get paid for doing it by the police department. I think you need a refresher course in that Zen crap you practice every day. Kick back and relax. Listen, I have to get to work. I need to be in court at nine o’clock for a hearing. Some asshole from the Prizzi law firm has filed a motion to dismiss the case against his client on the grounds that said client was not properly Mirandized. If you have time, see if you can find out anything on Ted and his friends. Call me on my cell if anything pops up. And, if you feel like checking out the Fast Track, give it a go.”

  “Yeah, sure. You want me to pick up your dry cleaning or maybe do your grocery shopping while I’m at it?”

  “Wiseass!” Jack threw the towel at him as he marched off to the shower. He was just as antsy as Harry, but he’d never let him know it. What the hell was Charles thinking to take on the World Bank? There was daring, and then there was daring. Thumbing one’s nose at the FBI and every other law enforcement agency in Alphabet City, also known as the Nation’s Capital, could only wreak havoc. His stomach continued to churn as he stepped out of the shower and dressed for the day.

  As he shaved, Jack stared at himself in the mirror. He didn’t like the worry he was seeing in his eyes. All those other times he’d been nervous but confident the Sisters could pull off their gig with him, Harry, and the others working in the background. This deal was no different, people, things, were in place, according to Charles. So what makes this time so different? he asked himself. Was it because he had finally asked Nikki to marry him, and she’d said yes? Was he afraid something was going to wreck those plans? Or was it the deep hatred he’d seen in Ted Robinson’s eyes? Probably all of the above.

  Jack wiped his face clean, then patted on some aftershave, a gift from Nikki, who said the scent made her think of wild, wicked things. Oh, yeah.

  Harry poked his head into the lavatory, and said, “The newspeople are really running with that rumor you planted. Sullivan is protesting all over the place saying rival papers started the rumor. He’s looking worse and worse with each interview he gives. And it’s not even twenty-four hours since you started it. You have no idea how impressed I am with your abilities.”

  Jack patted his cheeks again to take the sting out. “You know this town, it feeds on stuff like this. Do you think Robinson went underground? If so, he should be poking that ugly head of his up pretty soon to sniff the air. We need to give him another jolt. Think of something, Harry. I gotta go.”

  “Think of something, Harry,” Harry mimicked his friend. “Up yours, Jack,” he said, stomping off.

  Jack laughed as he walked out of the dojo to the curb to hail a cab.

  With no martial-arts training class with the new police recruits until ten thirty, Harry gathered his gear and locked up the dojo. He fired up the Ducati and streaked out to the road, where he headed for the Post.

  Twenty minutes later, Harry parked his motorcycle and walked into the Post building. Normally, he called in his ads for the dojo, but sometimes, if he was in the neighborhood, he stopped to do it in person. He looked around to see if maybe he’d get lucky and see either Robinson or Espinosa. No such luck, so he took the elevator to the fifth floor and headed for the classified desk.

  A fresh young thing with hair down to her buttocks looked up and waited expectantly.

  “It’s almost time to renew my ad, which, by the way, is a full half page for the coming year. I heard on the news that the Post is being sold, so I’m a little apprehensive about renewing. Thirty thousand dollars is a lot of money, and if you’re being sold, I might want to rethink my options here.”

  The fresh young thing bristled. “It simply isn’t true. I don’t know how rumors like that get started. Tons of people have been calling in saying the same thing. It’s shameless the way people do things these days. It’s so unfair.” She twinkled at Harry to make her point.

  “Well, if that’s true, why are your star reporters sending out résumés? I was in the Squire’s Pub and overheard two of your people saying they had sent out résumés to every paper within a two-hundred-mile radius. That doesn’t sound like a rumor. Listen, you have to understand, thirty thousand dollars is a fortune to me.”

  “Who?” the young thing yelped. “Who did you overhear saying they were sending out résumés? Mr. Sullivan is going to be livid. He’s doing his best with damage control, but the media won’t leave it alone. Read my lips, sir, the Post-is-not-being-sold.”

  “Your turn. Read my lips. You’re at the bottom of the totem pole. You will be one of the first to get a pink slip. No one, me included, is going to advertise in this paper. I’ll take my thirty thousand dollars somewhere else.” Harry liked the way his tone was just a tad more belligerent than the young girl’s.

  “Who? Just tell me who is sending out résumés.” The young thing all but stamped her foot in frustration.

  “Okay, okay, but you didn’t hear it from me. Robinson and Espinosa are the ones. They said Maggie Spritzer saw the handwriting on the wall, excuse the cliché, and bailed out months ago. They also mentioned a guy named Sal Logan. I think he does the sports. I still have two months to go on my subscription, so I think I’ll wait it out. You really should turn on your TV if you have one and see for yourself what they’re saying in regard to the paper. People who protest too much are usually lying.” Trying to look disgusted, Harry muttered something about not trusting anyone these days.

  The young thing finally stamped her foot as she whirled around to speak with a coworker who had been watching them and listening to their dialogue.

  Harry dusted his hands together as he rode down in the elevator. “My work here is done,” he said to no one in particular. He knew Jack would be more than pleased when he reported in on his visit to the Post.

  Harry looked at his watch and listened to his stomach for a moment. Time for breakfast. He looked around, noticed a coffee shop on the ground floor that
said they served two eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee for $3.99. He hopped to it and was just being served when he felt someone jar his elbow. He looked up, his expression bland. “Good morning, Mr. Robinson. Care to join me?”

  “I’d sooner eat with the Devil. You’re a long way from that house of evil you hang out in. This is my turf you’re invading. What the hell are you doing here, Wong?”

  Harry looked around to see how much of a ruckus it would cause if he laid Robinson out cold. He nixed the idea when he saw a group of people walk into the empty coffee shop. “Well, I was going to have some breakfast, but now that I’ve seen you, my gastric juices are curdling. Keep your ink dry, Kemosabe. I don’t even want to breathe the same air you do.” He pushed his plate away and slapped some bills down on the table.

  “Asshole!” Ted said, his middle finger shooting up in the air. Harry laughed as he made his way to the door.

  The minute Harry Wong was out the door, Ted opened his cell phone. “Joe, guess who was just here in the coffee shop?” Not bothering to wait for his colleague to respond, he said, “Harry Wong. How do I know what that jerk was doing here? He was in the coffee shop in the lobby. Yeah, yeah, that’s where I am now. I just stopped in for a bagel and coffee. You been watching the news?” Ted listened for a few minutes. “You know what? I’ve known Sullivan for years, and he looked guilty as shit when he gave the latest interview. He looked to me like he was lying. That’s just my opinion. What the hell can we do? We have to wait it out. Right now I have to figure out what Wong was doing here. The Post is not exactly around the corner from his place. It’s not like he walked out his door to get some breakfast. He had to come all the way here, so that has to mean something. Yeah, yeah, when I figure it out, I’ll let you know.” He listened again, then said, “Something’s up, that’s for sure.”

  Ted snapped his cell phone shut, paid for his bagel and coffee, and loped over to the elevator. He wished to hell he knew what was going on.

  Jack walked out of the courthouse, then backed up. It was pouring rain, and here he was with no umbrella and wearing his best suit. Not to mention his new shoes. Maybe it was just a summer shower, and he could wait it out. He fired up a cigarette, aware that he was not the requisite twenty feet from the entrance. Like he cared. He didn’t give a shit about anything.

  A voice behind him said, almost in his ear, “I thought guys like you were always prepared. You know, for rain, sleet, snow, that kind of crap. By the way, just for the record, I could arrest you for smoking this close to the entrance,” Bert Navarro said as he fired up a cigarette of his own.

  Jack whirled around and stepped away. “Bert!” He looked around, right to left to see if anyone was listening to their conversation. “I was hoping you were in on this gig. You want to share info? Assuming there’s info to share.”

  “Sure, but not here. Let’s grab a cab.”

  “What are you, some kind of comedian? You can’t get a cab in this city in the rain. This is my best suit, and I love these shoes.”

  “Watch this!”

  Jack watched the FBI agent walk to the curb holding an umbrella. He held out something in his hand and a cab rolled to the curb. He opened the door, then walked back to where Jack was standing and motioned him under the umbrella. Jack started to laugh and couldn’t stop. He loved this guy. Loved his chutzpah and the shield he carried. Loved the way he stepped up to the plate and used his shield and didn’t think twice about looking the other way so the Sisters could mete out their own brand of justice. Yessiree, he loved this guy, and he sure as hell loved his umbrella.

  Bert got right to the point the minute he settled himself and Jack gave the driver his address in Georgetown. “So, tell me stuff about Kathryn.”

  Jack eyed the cab driver but responded anyway. “You getting all warm and fuzzy thinking about her?”

  “Hell, no. I’m getting hot and bothered thinking about her. I break out in a cold sweat every time she pops into my mind, which is all the time.”

  Jack smothered a laugh. “Did you tell her that?”

  “You insane, Jack? Aren’t you the one who said to play it cool? If I play it any cooler, I’m going to freeze my nuts off, and where will that leave me? Come on, has she said anything about me?”

  An evil devil perched itself on Jack’s shoulder. Time to have some fun with old Bert. “My girl,” he said, opting not to use Nikki’s name since the cab driver looked like he was all ears, “said that she moons about you. That means she’s a daydreamer. She’s been asking for advice from the girls. So, scratch whatever I told you. You don’t have a prayer if the others are feeding her advice. Just roll with it and hope for the best. I’ll say one thing, that one is all woman. Maybe more than you can handle, Bert,” Jack said slyly.

  The handsome agent looked over at Jack. He let loose with a crooked grin and laughed outright. “In your dreams, Jack. Did you ever hear of a special agent that couldn’t handle any situation thrown at him?”

  It was Jack’s turn to laugh. “The manual doesn’t say anything about a posse of women giving advice in the amour department.”

  “So, you think I might have a problem?” the agent asked fretfully.

  Jack laughed again. “Yeah, a big problem.”

  Both men drew into themselves and watched the driving rain out the side windows. When the cab pulled to the curb outside Jack’s Georgetown house, Bert paid, got out first, and opened the umbrella. Both men raced across the sidewalk and up the steps. Minutes later they were inside. They removed their jackets and hung them up. Jack headed for the kitchen, where he popped two longnecks of Budweiser and handed one to Bert.

  They walked into the living room and sat down. “Okay, tell me what you know, Bert, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “I know that there was a problem with the Suburbans. They were one short, but Charles said Myra and Annie would double up. Personally speaking, I think that’s a good idea anyway. We managed to get government plates that haven’t been previously issued. There are two spare sets that will be changed at different times. We’re good to go on that.”

  “They’re leaving at sundown and will drive through the evening,” Jack replied. “Charles said their departures would be staggered. I’m waiting for him to get back to me with their final destination. I’m assuming it’s a safe house somewhere in the District, but I’m not sure. For all I know it could be this very house. Charles’s theory at times is if you put it out there in someone’s face, they don’t see it because it’s too obvious. This is Nikki’s house, in case you don’t know. When…when they got caught, she did a quit claim deed. One of the women in her old law firm backdated it, so it all worked out.”

  “They should be here around midnight then, right?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Unless something goes wrong. Nikki called yesterday and wanted me to start the rumor that the Post was going to be bought up by some nameless person. I did it, and it’s been the lead story on every news channel.”

  “Why?” Bert asked.

  Jack shrugged. “Red herring I guess. My old buddy, Mark Lane, you know him, called me yesterday and said Robinson and Espinosa hired Tick Fields. We don’t know why. But ask yourself why two Post reporters would pool their money and hire a private dick like Tick Fields. What are they up to? Does it involve the girls? Is he privy to something we don’t know about? You know this whole gig this time around involves the World Bank. Wong and I went to this watering hole called the Fast Track, which is right next to the World Bank, to grab a bite to eat and to check it out. And who else is there but Robinson, Espinosa, and Fields? My antenna went up, and so did Wong’s. I know there are no leaks on our end. Reporters have sources, as you know. Robinson could have blundered onto something without realizing the Sisters set it up as their next mission. Coincidental? Your guess is as good as mine.”

  The doorbell took that moment to ring. Jack and Bert looked at one another.

  “You expecting company, Jack?” Bert asked, his hand reaching around back to
where he kept his gun.

  “No. Stay out of sight but close, okay?” Jack asked as he peered out the peephole in the front door. “It’s Harry!” He opened the door and waited while his friend shed his rain gear and removed his sodden sandals.

  “I wouldn’t be standing here soaking wet if you’d answer your damn cell phone,” Harry snarled.

  “Ah, shit, Harry, I’m sorry. I have to turn my cell off in court. When I was leaving, I met up with Bert and forgot to turn it back on. Come on in. If you strip down, I’ll put your clothes in the dryer. Want a beer?”

  “Hell yes, I want a beer. I’m okay clotheswise. The slicker covered me. What’s going on?”

  Jack briefed him, with Bert adding what he knew. Then it was Harry’s turn, and he explained about his meeting with Robinson and the story he’d planted with the young thing in the classified office.

  Jack turned his cell phone on while Bert offered to get beer refills. Two missed calls. One from Nikki and one from Charles. He listened to the one from Nikki that was purely social, saying she was counting the hours and minutes until she saw him. He saved the message so he could play it over and over at a later time. The call from Charles on the encrypted phone simply gave an address that Jack scribbled on the palm of his hand. When he clicked off the phone, he held up his palm so Bert and Harry could see what he’d written. “It rings a bell. You guys familiar with it?”