The Nosy Neighbor

by Fern Michaels

  If she had been home and opened the door, he would have killed her. “Always pay attention to your gut warnings,” he muttered.

  The last thing he’d expected when he walked off the plane was snow. He’d left tons of snow, ice, and cold in Zurich. He’d expected temperatures in the high thirties. It was, after all, only November. He also hadn’t expected the phone call he’d received as he was going through customs. The moment he’d heard the voice on the other end of the line he knew what had happened. “The property was compromised several hours ago.” His eyes murderous, Jonathan, aka Spiros Andreadis, snapped the encrypted cell phone shut and jammed it in his pocket. His instincts were on the money. The only question was, who had compromised the house and property in Watchung, Lucy or the FBI?

  His original intention had been to go to the apartment he maintained in Manhattan. His second thought was to check into a New York hotel. Furious after the phone call, he’d rented a car and headed through the storm to New Jersey. It was a damn good thing he hadn’t gone to the house in Watchung, which had been his third choice.

  He had to fall back and regroup, something he’d never had to do in his line of business. It was not a pleasant thought.

  He was back at the window, his expression still murderous. Just how the hell much snow is out there anyway? According to the Weather Channel and the desk clerk, it was going to snow through the night. He supposed he should feel lucky because, according to the clerk, all the airports were shut down. With the airports closed, anyone following him would be stuck at one airport or another. By the same token, he wouldn’t be able to leave if the airports didn’t open up soon. “Lucky, my ass,” he muttered.

  Jonathan flipped open his cell phone again and dialed Lucy’s number. When her voice mail came on, he hung up. It was after midnight: where was she? He rang the number again and again, hanging up each time after the seventh ring. If she was sound asleep, the steady ringing should alert her or, at the very least, rouse the damn dog who slept on her bed.

  The startling blue eyes narrowed. Maybe she isn’t home. Where do people go in the middle of a snowstorm? Nowhere, that’s where.

  Jonathan continued to watch the falling snow. He wondered how the rental Lexus would do in all this snow. What he really needed was a powerful SUV, but the rental agency said none were available. He’d never driven a Lexus before that day. He didn’t even know if it had front-wheel drive. What if he got stuck in the snow? Maybe it would be better to wait till morning. He could pass the time by ordering drinks from room service and dialing Lucy’s number. Where the hell is the woman I’m supposed to be marrying?

  Angry beyond words, Jonathan hooked his foot under one of the chairs in the hotel room and dragged it closer to the window. He sat down and stretched out his legs so they rested on top of the heating unit.

  He’d made a mistake, and that mistake’s name was Lucille Baker. Down through history, he’d been told, women were men’s downfall. Sex, according to history, was the reason nothing went right in the world. A sound of pure misery escaped Jonathan’s lips. Sex had nothing to do with his predicament. He didn’t love Lucy Baker. She was just someone to use to help him set up his retirement and a new life. His original plan had been to get rid of her a year or so into the marriage. A divorce if she behaved herself and wouldn’t come back to haunt him. A nice clean kill à la Adam Ligar if she stepped out of line.

  Where had it all gone wrong? He knew that he hadn’t made a mistake because he was a perfectionist and an expert at covering his ass, so it had to be on Lucy’s end. Left to her own devices she would never, ever, have stumbled onto his affairs. Somehow or other he’d come up on either the CIA’s, or the FBI’s radar screen. He’d gone to extraordinary lengths to protect himself once he knew they were onto him. Knowing how the government agencies worked, they had probably paid Lucy a visit and threatened all kinds of things. That would surely account for the change in her attitude. Lucy was no actress; he’d picked up on her nervous tone immediately. She was probably scared out of her wits. Then there was that little tidbit about the Internal Revenue Service appointment. He’d seen through that immediately, too.

  Jonathan’s feet hit the floor with a thud. He got up, called room service, and ordered a bottle of Chivas Regal and a bucket of ice. He then dialed Lucy’s number again from his encrypted cell phone. Again he hung up on the seventh ring.

  He started to pace because he was furious and needed to do something to control his anger. He was angry because he knew Lucy was hiding out. It really infuriated him that she thought she was smarter than he was. He had to find her, and he had to find her soon. He closed his eyes—envisioning a net descending over him. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. He continued his frantic pacing until there was a knock on the door. He accepted the tray and handed the waiter a fifty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

  Three drinks later, the edge was off his panic, his breathing had returned to normal, and he was beginning to feel drowsy. He was back on the chair watching the snow slap against the windows as he tried to plot out the coming hours.

  Twenty minutes later, he sat up straight as the thought hit him like a thunderbolt. Nellie! The old lady Lucy worked for part-time. She went to Florida for the winter. Lucy had said there was a going-away dinner for her not too long ago. That meant Nellie’s house was empty. All he had to do was break in and watch and wait for Lucy to return home. Satisfied with his plan, Jonathan walked over to the king-size bed and pulled down the covers. His last conscious thought before sleep overtook him was, Get in my way and you get what you deserve.

  The dream was always the same, and that night it was no different. Usually it came just before he was due to wake up, enabling him to remember the details clearly…

  He was a vagrant, a bum in filthy clothes with rags tied around shoes that he’d stolen from someone else. He needed the rags because the shoes he was wearing were too big. He dragged his feet as he picked through garbage Dumpsters for aluminum cans and anything else he could sell or barter. He wanted to cry that he’d been reduced to picking through garbage to survive. Until a year ago, Leo Banks had had a good life, a nice apartment, a car, a pension plan, and a small amount of money in a savings account. Small because he liked fine things and didn’t deny himself. He knew the value of savings and set aside what he could so that he could still enjoy a good life. He was, after all, only twenty-five, with a goal of retiring at forty. He had plenty of time to save for retirement. To him, the savings account was more of an emergency fund.

  In his dream, he wondered what happened to the $2800.

  He was whistling as he rode the elevator to the seventeenth floor. He smiled and waved at the receptionist who, for some reason, was ignoring him on that fine spring morning. It didn’t matter. Then he noticed that no one else was greeting him or giving him high fives. Puzzled, he walked down the hall to his office and stopped short when he saw two men in dark suits waiting for him. He could feel his stomach start to flip-flop as he saw one of the men pull a set of handcuffs out of his pocket. His face draining of all color, he listened to the charges of embezzlement, then he was read his rights as he was led away, protesting that he hadn’t done anything wrong. The conversation on the ride to police headquarters consisted of two words from the men: “Shut up.”

  He walked up a pair of dirty steps, careful not to get his new suit dirty by brushing against the walls. His handcuffs were removed before he was shoved into a room and told to sit and wait.

  It was some kind of crazy mistake. He hadn’t embezzled any money from anyone. Obviously, he needed a lawyer. If ever there was a time to use his emergency fund, this was it. He hoped his $2800 was enough to cover the up-front money all lawyers charged when they agreed to take on a client.

  As he stewed and fretted, he heard a commotion outside the room. He likened the sounds to what he imagined a bomb scare would sound like. Walking to the door, he opened it to see cops, detectives, and office personnel running in all directions. He didn’t
stop to think but moved with lightning speed. It took him only a second to slide out the door and cross the room to the dirty steps and dingy walls. He never looked back.

  He half ran and half walked down the street till he found a long narrow alley that led to other darker, smellier alleys until he came to where a group of homeless people lived. The little community of vagrants stared at him, but no one stopped or questioned him. He found a wooden lettuce crate oozing rotted lettuce and sat down. He hugged his arms around his chest as he struggled to get his emotions in check. He tried to figure out what had happened to bring him there. He sat for hours, his new neighbors watching him. When he started to cry, a toothless old woman came over and started to croon to him. He cried harder as he sobbed out his story. The old woman motioned to the others, who gathered close with offers of scraps of food and some water. One old man even offered half a cigarette.

  “We won’t tell,” someone said. Frightened out of his wits he listened as his new best friends told him where he could get free food and a free bed for the night. Days, his friends said, were spent scavenging for things to sell and barter. The old lady told him to take off his fancy clothes and brought him a pile of rags to put on. She said she would wrap up his clothes and shoes, and put them away. He was so numb that he agreed.

  Days later when he came out of his stupor, he tested out his disguise by walking past the police station with a few of his new friends and generally hanging out until the two detectives who had arrested him showed up. He walked right past them, deliberately jostling them. Both looked right through him with no sign of recognition.

  Safe.

  This, then, was his new life. He knew if he tried to use his ATM card, he’d be picked up within minutes. He also knew he would never be able to go back to his apartment. His new car would be repossessed. He couldn’t risk calling any of his friends because they wouldn’t want to get involved. That he knew as surely as he knew he had to keep breathing in order to stay alive.

  Days passed, then weeks, and finally months. Almost a year to the day of his arrest, he looked into the backpack he’d found in someone’s trash can, and counted out his money. He had $647 dollars and a gun that was fully loaded. The gun was stolen, too. It was payback time. He’d had a whole year to figure out who set him up for the embezzlement charge—his manager’s son-in-law. With that knowledge under his belt, he spent three whole months with the help of his homeless friends tracking Adam Ligar and his every movement until he had his routine down pat.

  “Dolly!” he called to the old woman. “It’s time to get my suit cleaned and my shoes polished. D day!” The old crone cackled as she hurried off to get the suit and take it to the cleaners. An old man named Billy hauled out some rags and polished Jonathan’s shoes by spitting on them. It was a perfect shine.

  He cleaned up at a gas station and tied his hair back into a ponytail. His beard was on the scruffy side, but it would do.

  It was time.

  The meeting with Adam Ligar was at a steakhouse called the Barb Wire. He’d called earlier, arranged the appointment by saying he was interested in hiring a new broker and business manager and only had a few hours but a ton of money to invest. Ligar couldn’t agree fast enough.

  He’d chosen the Barb Wire because it was a dim and noisy bar where no one paid attention to anyone else. He kept reminding himself he was the one with the gun. Besides, he’d been a broker in training and could walk the walk and talk the talk. Which was exactly what he was going to do.

  Leo looked at the slick little weasel sitting across from him. “Tell me how you’ll invest my $750,000 if I decide to go with your firm.”

  Dollar signs flashed in Ligar’s eyes. “You look familiar, do I know you?”

  Leo shrugged. “I do a lot of business with a lot of people. Anything is possible.” The weasel frowned.

  “This place is just too crowded and noisy. Let’s take a walk up to the park. It’s a nice night. We can talk as we go along. If I like what you have to say, I’ll hand over a check on our way back,” Leo said.

  “This certainly is a weird way of doing business, but okay. Every day is a learning experience,” the weasel said. He shrugged as much as to say, what the hell. “I have some good municipal bonds, a couple of triple A’s, and a good up-and-coming high-tech stock called Sotech.”

  “That’s a dog. You’ll have to do better than that. Give me something that’s going to make me some money. I want to retire at an early age.”

  “Where’d you get the seven-fifty? You transferring from another house?”

  “No. It’s an inheritance, and I don’t want to lose it. My real portfolio is at Merrill Lynch.”

  “You know what, you remind me of a guy who used to work at our firm. He was arrested for embezzling money out of dormant accounts.”

  Leo laughed. “What happened to him?”

  Ligar shrugged. “Don’t know. Police lost him after they arrested him. Hasn’t been seen since.”

  It was Leo’s turn to shrug. “So, is that it, a few triple A’s and a few munis?”

  “If you can give me a few more days, I might be able to come up with something. You have to admit this is pretty short notice.”

  Leo looked up at the dark sky. Stars twinkled overhead. He was happy to see that the park was almost empty. Mothers were home with the kids; the old people were safe in their houses. A few runners and joggers and a stray bum were the only people he could see, and they were off in the distance. Perfect.

  “Let’s sit down for a minute. I want to think about something,” Leo said, pointing to a park bench far enough off the path that no joggers or runners would bother them or, for that matter, even notice them, but close to a pay phone.

  The weasel was antsy. “This park isn’t as safe as it looks. People get mugged and killed here on a weekly basis.”

  “Uh-huh. Okay, Adam, hand it over.”

  “Hand what over?” the broker squeaked, fear rattling his voice.

  “Your wallet. I mean business. The cops never got me after I escaped, as you well know. I was innocent. You lousy creep, you set me up. You’re the one who embezzled the money. You were always logging on to my computer and my files. Stealing from the family is a no-no. C’mon, I don’t have all day.” The gun flashed in the sliver of moonlight that slid out from its cloud cover.

  “You son of a bitch! I knew you looked familiar. Put that stupid gun away, Leo, before it goes off. I didn’t set you up.”

  “I don’t think so. Oh, yeah, you set me up. I’ve had a whole year to do nothing but think. Give me your wallet and the keys to that fancy Mercedes. Do it now, Adam, or I’ll blow your damn head off.”

  “Listen, Leo, let’s talk about this. We can work something out.” He sounded like a whiny little kid who had dropped his ice cream in the dirt.

  Leo clicked off the safety. It sounded exceptionally loud. He loved it that his old colleague was whining and begging. The gun was all-powerful.

  “Okay, okay.”

  Leo eyed the little pile of personal effects, which included Adam’s passport, on the bench. You got an ATM card, Adam?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “I don’t. Thanks to you. What’s the pin number? Don’t even think about lying to me.” Adam rattled it off. Leo made a mental note of it.

  “Now, we’re going over to that pay phone, where you’ll call your wife and tell her something came up and you’re going out of town for a few days. Tell her you’ll call her later. Make up one of those lies you’re so good at. What’s your home number?”

  “It’s 207-2323.” Adam’s voice was even shakier by then, all sound of belligerence gone. Eyes wary, he watched Leo dial his home number. “What are you going to do? C’mon, Banks, let’s make a deal here.”

  “Like that’s really going to happen. Stop whining. It’s not manly. Say what I told you to say.”

  To make his point, Leo jabbed the gun into Adam’s side as he started to talk. “Dorothy, something’s come up, and I hav
e to go to the Caymans. I think I’ll be gone for three days or so. I’ll call when I know more. Everything’s fine. It’s a guy who has a boatload of money he wants to invest. I sort of fell into it. You gotta strike while the iron’s hot in this business. That’s what your father told me when he hired me. Yeah, I love you, too.”

  “Does Dorothy know about you hopping the blonde in payroll and that waitress at Starbucks?” Leo asked as he forced the hapless broker to return to the park bench.

  Adam was openly sweating in the cool spring evening. “You know she doesn’t. What do you want, Banks? Look, if it’s money, my wife has plenty. I can get it for you. Leo, if you shoot me, you’ll go to jail for the rest of your life.”

  “I want everything you’ve got. Everything you stole from me. What I don’t want is your wife’s money. How much money is in your wallet?”

  “About five hundred dollars.”

  “How much in the account with the ATM card?”

  “Maybe forty-four hundred.”

  “How much can you take in one day?”

  “Two thousand.”

  “What’s the limit on your credit cards?”

  “They’re all maxed out except the Citi card. My limit is $7500. My wife likes to shop.” Sniveling, he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. His eyes were wet and pleading.