12. Final Justice

by Fern Michaels

  Owens decided to take the initiative. "What do you want from me, Cricket? The cameras were down. It happens, we both know that. You parked the damn car yourself, we have you on video. You buy a car like that, you buy enough insurance to cover it. And you took up two fucking spaces! Jealous crackpots abound. We both know that, too. I just don't see where our liability is. Lansing said you need to fight it out with your insurance company." It all sounded real good to Owens's ears, but he knew that in the end the Babylon was going to pay something to the man sitting across from him. That was another one of Winters's cockamamie rules—step up to the plate and take responsibility. "That's Lansing's opinion and mine as well." The lie didn't bother him one little bit.

  Cricket leaned back and crossed his legs. "You see, Hank, that's a problem. Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one. Pony up, or I'm going to have a chat with Homer. I bet you thought I didn't know he was in town. Well, I do know. So, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Just send the check to my office. Thanks for the coffee." At the door, he turned, an amused expression on his face. "Have you met Elizabeth Fox yet? No? You're in for a treat, then."

  Hank Owens's eyes narrowed to slits as he listened to the big man's laughter wafting back into his office. His gut instinct kicked into high gear as he heaved himself out of his chair. He marched down to Alvin Lansing's office, which was screamingly neat, just like the wimpy man sitting behind the polished desk. Lansing was a Homer Winters's appointee; otherwise, Hank would have gotten rid of him a long time ago, Harvard Law School or not.

  "I want everything you have on Elizabeth Fox, Alvin, and I want it right now." Even though he was speaking to Lansing, his gaze swept to the left, to a marble table where two leather check registers rested. His gut churned at the control the man sitting behind the desk had.

  Alvin Lansing leaned over and plucked a folder that was at least an inch thick from a pile of color-coded documents on the corner of his overly neat desk. He handed it over.

  Lansing absolutely detested the man standing over him. "Read it and weep." He wanted to add the word asshole, but he wouldn't lower himself to Owens's level. He would have the last laugh when he wrote out the check to Cosmo Cricket, knowing the million dollars would come off the top of Owens's bonus at the end of every month for the next ten months. Owens and his little posse of thugs would be going through some serious dollar withdrawals in the months to come. If Lansing had been a boisterous kind of guy, he would have gotten up and danced a jig.

  He was looking forward to his luncheon date with Homer Winters, the man who had plucked him from his graduating class and given him, a skinny kid from the wrong side of the tracks, a job. He owed everything to Homer Winters and the way the old man had set him up for life. He could walk away right now, right this minute, and would never have to worry about money ever again. Even his four children and their children would never have to worry about money. All he owed Hank Owens was a good swift kick to his posterior. Maybe when he related the current events as he saw them to his boss, Homer would tell him why he kept Owens on the payroll. Then again, knowing Homer, it might not happen.

  Maybe it was time to put a bug in Homer's ear, time to get out, time to let the sharks and barracudas do each other in. Time for him to let go and enjoy his remaining years in the bosom of his family.

  Lansing looked around the office that his wife had decorated for him. It was a restful suite of rooms, and he had his own sparkling-clean bathroom complete with shower and a small dressing room. The two-office suite was done in soft earth tones, with just splatters of color on the walls and a few cushions. The green plants were healthy and glossy, plants he himself watered twice a week. The small fish tank built into the wall, filled with colorful fish, was so mesmerizing it often lulled him to sleep. The long sofa was made of down and easy on the eye besides being comfortable. The armchairs were just as lush. On the bookshelf behind his chair was an array of his own family pictures and a like number of Homer and his family.

  In his own way, Lansing knew he was insidious when it came to Hank Owens. Because he was, he kept two large leather-bound checkbooks strategically placed on an inlaid marble table to the left of his desk, containing checks only he could make out and sign. Each time Hank Owens came into his office, his eyes invariably went to the marble table and the checkbooks. Lansing always enjoyed the naked envy in the man's eyes.

  One of Hank's favorite sayings was, "There are more ways to skin a cat than the one staring you in the eye."

  Alvin Lansing got up and closed the door to his office. He walked back to his chair and sat down. Then he started to laugh. The sound was squeaky but so full of mirth he couldn't stop as he envisioned Owens reading the contents of Elizabeth Fox's folder.

  Chapter 17

  Jack Emery looped the strap of his carry-on over his shoulder and followed Harry Wong off the plane. Harry was muttering and mumbling to himself as he strode along. "We're not dressed right."

  Jack looked around at the Stetsons and cowboy boots everyone seemed to be wearing. Even here in the airport, slot machines were ringing and chiming, at some times deafening, as customers won a handful of nickels or quarters. "What gave you your first clue?" Jack snapped. "This is like Hollywood, land of make-believe and shattered dreams. Everyone wants to be Western. It's the new buzzword."

  Harry continued to gallop along. "Eat shit, Jack."

  Harry could be so surly sometimes. "Ah, that's the Harry I know and love. I bet you ten bucks if you showed up in cowboy boots and a Stetson, Yoko would scream and drag you off to her lair, assuming, of course, she's been able to set up a lair here.

  "Listen, Harry, remember what I told you. This town is known for its eavesdroppers. Either we talk in code or we don't talk. Always assume we are going to be watched and spied on. Charles told me this whole damn town is wired, and there is no such thing as privacy." Jack decided to jerk Harry's chain. "Which shouldn't be a problem for you since you are so tight-lipped and only grunt. What the hell Yoko sees in you is beyond me. You need to lighten up and have some fun. All you do is worry and stew and fret. That's no way to live."

  Harry stopped in midstep. Jack bumped into him. "You do know I could kill you with my little finger, right? I could do it right here in this damn airport. Or I could stick my other finger in your ear, and you'd just topple over, and I'd say you bumped into me and dropped dead. Oh, well, too bad, too sad, boo-hoo. How's that for conversation?"

  "Well, it wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but I am getting your point. We really have to stop having these little love fests in public, or people are going to start to talk."

  In spite of himself, Harry burst out laughing. "Do we know where the girls are staying?"

  "Someplace out in the desert. As soon as we get settled in at the Babylon, I want to go out there. Hold on, Harry! Wait, wait! I want to get a paper."

  Jack literally dragged Harry over to a gift shop that had newspapers piled high on a counter. He looked them over until he found the Post. He slapped a bill down on the counter and moved off. "Holy shit, Harry, look at this! I wonder if we're part of the 'mass exodus' out of Washington." He looked up at Harry and grinned. "This is pure genius," he said, pointing to the headline. "Good old Maggie."

  The two men gave each other a high five as they continued their trek through the airport. Even Harry's step seemed a little lighter.

  "You worried about Ted Robinson, Jack?"

  "No, I'm not. Ted's an okay guy. Down deep he's really decent. He stepped off the road there for a while, but that was because of Maggie. Guys do crazy shit when their women screw them over. We should have brought him in earlier, and our lives would have been a lot easier. He was a good friend for a lot of years. We'll take it one step at a time. Maggie will keep him in line. Does that make you feel better?"

  "Yes and no. We had our issues. Well, if he goes off the straight and narrow, I'll just kill him."

  "And Ted knows that. Ah, look, there's the Babylon guy with his little sign. And th
at's your name on the card he's holding up, Harry Wong. Guess he's got our wheels."

  "Wiseass," Harry said, as he lined up the limo driver in his sights and waved his hand. "I'm Harry Wong," he called out.

  "Welcome to Las Vegas, Mr. Wong." He ignored Jack and offered to take Harry's bag but Harry declined the offer.

  Jack almost laughed. One of these days he was going to take a peek in Harry's bag to see what the hell he was lugging around. Probably secret ninja shit like his disappearing capsules and a hundred power bars and that crappy tea he drank by the gallon. But not the morning stars that he tossed with such deadly accuracy. Not with the security procedures in place at airports these days.

  Outside, just as Harry was sliding into the backseat of their stretch limo, Jack's cell phone rang. He stepped away from the car and brought the phone to his ear. "Talk to me, Charles, and tell me where the girls are." Jack listened carefully, then said, "We just bought a copy of the paper. Tell Maggie she's a genius. Yeah, I know she knows it, but tell her anyway." He continued to listen as Charles rattled on. "Tell me you're making that up, Charles. No one in their right minds would agree to pay out that kind of money. Well, I understand it's easier to pay it out now than risk losing ten times that much. Okay, okay, they write it off. You want me to. . .what? Yes, Charles, I heard you. Okay, okay, I'll do my best." Jack powered down and stepped into the limo. He looked over at Harry and gave him the high sign to keep quiet but at the same time letting him know he had news.

  Harry started to jabber in several different languages, to Jack's amusement and the driver's chagrin. Somewhere in Vegas he was sure there was an interpreter who would try to dissect Harry's verbiage. Jack tried not to laugh because Harry made up words as he went along when he wanted to be ornery. Jack knew just enough Cantonese and a smattering of Japanese to grunt a few words in reply. Wouldn't that interpreter be surprised to find out they were talking about manure and topsoil. At least that's what Jack thought they were talking about.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence, both men stretched out, their eyes closed. They looked like two weary visitors who didn't have a care in the world.

  While Jack and Harry were pretending to snooze, the vigilantes were pacing the confines of what at one time had been a nursing home. Now it was just an empty building out in the desert. On the long ride from the airport, the only things they could see for miles were a few straggly trees and some unhealthy cactus even taller than the trees. The driver had pointed out an oasis a mile before he brought the car to a stop at the empty building.

  "Some Indian named Little Fish owns that spread. It's like the marvel in marvelous. All that green grass. A couple acres of it. The owner has an ongoing war going on with the Strip. The Babylon in particular. No one knows exactly what it's about, but it must have some weight and some teeth to it because none of the owners have ever bounced him. Every so often he will mosey into town with his posse and take the Strip by storm. I read somewhere that his property is mined. To keep people out," he added, as though the women might not know what mined meant.

  "He's also very rich, and he got that way by playing poker. These days he plays just to get enough money to buy water that he trucks in from Arizona to water all that grass. The casinos go crazy when he comes to town. That might be more than you need to know, but Charles did say I was to apprise you of any and all details. Just to be certain we're all on the same page, we will be leaving one of these vans for you. There are assorted decals in the back along with four different license plates."

  Then they were alone staring at one another.

  "I knew it! Just crackers and cheese and bottled water," Kathryn said.

  "Are we just supposed to sit here and wait?" Alexis grumbled.

  "This is the most depressing place we've ever been in," Isabelle said.

  Nikki stared at Annie, and said, "Do not even think about suggesting we play word games. This place gives me the creeps. I can't believe Charles had us dumped here with no plan of action."

  "I'm sure Charles has his reasons, dear. As you know, and as you point out to us on a regular basis, the devil is in the details."

  Nikki flounced over to where there stood a long line of hard blue plastic chairs stacked up against the wall. She yanked at one and sat down. "Will someone please open the door so we can get some fresh air in here before we all die of suffocation?"

  Yoko ran to the door and opened it. She hated it, absolutely hated it, when any of the Sisters was unhappy. Not that she was exactly happy, she wasn't. But they'd always worked together to overcome discomfort. She turned around when Annie started to bellow.

  "Little Fish! Ladies, we are slipping, and that is not a good thing! Am I the only one who knows who our neighbor is? Charles told us before we left about a man Rena told Lizzie about in case we. . .uh. . .needed help. Rena even gave Lizzie his phone number."

  The women looked at Annie as though she'd sprouted a second head, each of them running Charles's last words over in her mind.

  "Annie's right. We are slipping. How did that get by us?" Kathryn demanded.

  No one answered.

  Nikki was off the chair a moment later. "I hear a car. A car means we have company. Scatter, ladies!"

  "Myra and I will stay here, dear. Go, hurry, and stay out of sight."

  "Is the car stopping?" someone shouted.

  "Yes, and whoever it is knows we're here since the door is wide-open. It's a man, and he's walking up to the door. Everyone relax, I can handle this," Annie said, confidence ringing in her voice.

  Annie walked to the door and stood in the center, her eyes bright and curious. Myra stood to her side, both hands on her pearls.

  Annie stared at the tall man, who had skin like worn shoe leather. His eyes were piercing blue, and they looked angry. His hair was iron gray, at least at the sides. Some sort of old army hat was crunched down on his head. He wore old, comfortable clothes that looked like they might have been army issue at one time, and stout combat boots encased his feet.

  This was indeed a man. She almost smacked her lips in glee at the possibilities she now might have in regard to her sadly lacking social life.

  A sun-bronzed hand snaked out. "Fish."

  "Ah, no thanks. We won't be here that long. Fish goes bad rather quickly." She used both hands to grasp his. It was a rough hand full of callouses. The nails were cut short and clean. She absolutely loved the holstered gun at his waist. Annie almost swooned.

  The man standing in front of her looked disgusted. "It's my name." When Annie just stared at him he said, "Little Fish. It's an Indian name. What's your name? Why are you here? It isn't safe out here in the desert for a woman. I don't have time to be watching out for a gaggle of females."

  Annie threw her hands up in the air. "Well, Mr. Fish, I don't recall asking for your help or your opinion. I'm more than capable of taking care of myself, and what gaggle of females are you talking about? And, what's it to you what my name is? It's none of your business why I'm here. Your turn. Just for the record, I can shoot a snake's eyes out from five hundred feet."

  Myra let go of her pearls to hang on to the door frame. She wondered if anyone but her knew this was Annie's version of flirting.

  "And you expect me to believe that?"

  There was such outrage in the man's voice, Myra found herself smiling.

  Annie bristled. "Obviously, Mr. Fish, you have me confused with someone you think cares what you think. Read my lips. I can shoot a snake's eyes out at five hundred feet, and that's the end of it unless you want to bring it to a test."

  Fish stepped back for a better look at the woman who was giving him what he called what for. She had spunk.

  "In case you don't know it, Miss No Name, that building you're standing in is full of rattlesnake nests. The desert is full of them, so I hope for your sake that you aren't lying about your marksmanship, and I also hope you have a gun. There's no electricity in that building. It's doubtful the plumbing works. It gets pretty cold out here at ni
ght."

  Myra's gaze skittered around as she looked to see if anything was slithering across the floor. She knew the others would be doing the same thing.

  "I'll be leaving soon. Before it gets dark. Not that it's any of your concern."

  "Lady With No Name, I just came by to warn you about this building. They've been trying to sell it for ten years. And I don't want you trespassing on my property and getting yourself blown up."

  Annie decided to show this person she did indeed have some spunk. "You flatter yourself that I would trespass on your property. You, on the other hand, are a nosy old grouch who wants to know what's going on close to that mined property of yours, which then brings the question, what are you hiding over there with all that green grass?"

  Fish blustered a bit, and said, "Women like to run barefoot through grass."

  Annie drew herself up to her full height and glared at him. Then she laughed. "And ruin a fifty-dollar pedicure? You don't know much about women, do you?"

  The man turned defensive. "I know enough. Well, I tried to warn you. Don't show up at my door with a snakebite."

  "Don't you worry about me, Mr. Fish. I'll be sure to tell Rena Gold you said that."

  Then she slammed the door so hard one of the front windows cracked down the middle.

  The knock on the door made Annie smile. Myra was just shaking her head. She opened the door.

  "What did you say?"

  "I said go away." Annie slammed the door a second time.

  A second knock sounded. Annie opened the door again. "What? Do you need me to escort you to your vehicle? Go home and trip through your land mines." She slammed the door shut again.

  "Annie, I don't think that's any way to snare a man. I might be a little rusty, but I'm thinking a few kind words would maybe get you. . ."

  "Is that what you think, Myra? You think I was flirting?"