Chapter Eight
After a couple of drinks and Clifford’s considerate questions, Jean only had another half hour to kill before their luxury ride to one of the plushest restaurants in all of California. “You know something,” she said, massaging her jaw. “I thought that tonight would be awkward, but you’re a lot easier to talk to than I’d expected.”
Clifford placed his hand on her knee. “What can I say? I like all people. Rich. Poor. Black. White. Everybody has good qualities, including you. You’re a fascinating woman.” He gently rubbed her lower thigh.
She smoothly added her palm to the back of his hand, mostly to prevent it from wandering further north. It wasn’t that she was prudish. She’d long ago shed the silly “wait until the third date” notion. But she and Clifford were peas from different pods. He’d tasted wild meat in caves and drunk award-winning wine in castles, all with some very interesting people. There was so much more to discuss that any intimacy they might share could wait.
A familiar and well-timed whimper came from the back door. Good. Dogg could provide a final topic of conversation before they embarked on the evening’s activities.
“Sounds like somebody wants in,” Clifford said, pointing his chin toward the noise.
“He wants to be with us, but it’s not a good idea.” She scrunched up her nose. “His ears are smelly because I can’t afford his meds until my next payday. Do you have a dog?”
“Oh, yeah. Two fine red-haired Irish Setters. Well trained. Good hunters.”
Dogg persisted and Jean rubbed her jaw, wishing she’d slept a little better the night before. “The only way he’ll quiet down,” she said, hoping Clifford didn’t notice her near-yawn, “is to let him in for a few minutes. He’ll get bored and want to go back outside.”
“Well, if that’s the only thing that’ll quiet him down, I say let him in for a few minutes.”
Her drink running low, Jean washed down a cold perk-me-up swallow, then looked over the rim. “Are you sure, cause his ears aren’t very pleasant.”
“Like you said, it’ll make him feel better and quiet him down.”
“How impressive,” she said, nodding her head and raising her glass in the air. “The all-powerful Clifford Clifton has a soft spot for dogs.” She rose and turned toward the back door. “Just a few minutes. I promise.” Jean blinked hard, plucked an ice cube from her glass and flipped it in her mouth. A moment later Dogg, tail flopping from side to side and whimpering from excitement, said his happy hellos to both Jean and the new guy.
“I see what you mean,” Clifford said, waving his hand in front of his nose. “It’s stronger than I expected.”
Jean’s tongue shifted what was left of her ice cube to the side of her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I’ll put him back out in a minute.”
“What did you do, before you went to work at the law firm?” Cliff asked, while scratching Dogg’s back.
Nice of him to tolerate both the doggie stench and her fast-blinking eyes. “Oh, not much. I grew up in Wisconsin. Hated it. Too cold. Then I accidentally got pregnant and was forced to grow up real fast.”
“Accidentally? Why not get an abortion?”
Jean didn’t like to lie to people, but she had developed an alternate story to that part of her life. “The father wanted me to, but I couldn’t imagine such a thing. After that, he quickly disappeared and I didn’t have the funds to find him or the desire to fight him for child support, so Stump and I hung around near my family until he was almost eight.” She rubbed her eyes. “Sorry.”
Dogg took another sniff between Cliff’s legs and Cliff pinched his knees together.
“Damn it, Dogg. Leave him alone.” She clenched her jaw to fight off another sudden urge to yawn. “I’ll let him out and finish my story in a minute.”
After Dogg was out, the door slammed shut and Jean heard something fall off the crowded shelves in the laundry room. Later, she’d remind Stump he was supposed to clean out the mess. She rejoined Clifford. “Now, where was I?”
Clifford smiled and raised his eyebrows. “Stump was about eight.”
“Oh yeah. By then, my sister got married and moved to the next subdivision over. The nice one.”
“Must be comforting to have her so close by.”
“Comfortable. Yeah that’s what it is.” Her words were coming slower. “Comfortable.”
“A lot of women in your situation would be stressed out, maybe eat too much from nerves, but you’re looking real nice. In good shape.”
Jean felt a strong urge to lie down and close her eyes. “Whoa. I must not have gotten enough sleep last night,” she murmured.
“No problem,” Clifford said calmly, while lightly placing his hand on one of her breasts. She would have pushed him away, but she was too weak, and limp. She realized she’d been drugged as her head eased backwards and settled on the back of the couch.
“I know you can still hear me, you stupid bitch.”
True. Her body was nonresponsive, but her mind remained vaguely aware of what was going on.
Clifford slid one hand behind her back and the other under her legs, lifting her up. “Pity you won’t be able to move, because we’re going to get extremely familiar with each other. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt much and it’ll all be over before you know it.”
A few steps and his foot pushed open the bedroom door. “This will do just fine. Oh yes, there’s another thing you’ll want to know,” he said as he laid her gently on her back. “It would be most imprudent of you to say anything to anybody about our little get together, tonight. I can get to that tree-stealing son of yours anytime I want to.” As he laid her on her back, Jean knew that she should be horrified, but she really wasn’t, or was she? Her mind felt so muddled she couldn’t really tell.
Clifford undid the top button of her blouse. “By the way, you don’t deserve a dog.”
Chapter Nine
“Run or walk?” Willie asked.
With the swiftness of someone who just got bit in the butt, Stump leapt from Aunt Gerry’s front step to the grass. “Last one to the corner eats donkey turds.”
As expected, the head start was enough. Even though Stump was fifteen pounds heavier, he reached the first intersection before Willie. He turned. “I hope you like that, donkey turd,” he said, pretending he wasn’t winded.
“You cheated, asshole,” Willie said, sucking slightly at the air. “I’ll get you after the next block ‘cause I’m in better shape than you.”
“No way. I’ll outfox you.”
Neither of them could recall how they came up with the run-a-block, walk-a-block idea, but it came in pretty handy around the neighborhood. “I gotta admit one thing,” Stump said, huffing. “This idea about finding my dad is exciting. I’ve thought about it before, but you’ve got me to thinking I deserve a dad too.”
“’Course you do, Dude. Dads can be cool. If you had to guess, what do you suppose happened to him?”
Stump shrugged. “Don’t know. Could be anything. Maybe he’s a spy, or in the witness protection program, or building hospitals in Africa.”
“Yeah, but he might be a loser. Maybe a doper or a drunk. Your mom knows guys who drink. He could have picked her up in a bar, screwed her and disappeared without ever knowing you were born.”
If some other guy had spoken of his mom in that way Stump would have jumped in his face, but Stump and Willie could talk to each other in ways that strangers couldn’t. “Naw, my mom wouldn’t have done that. I think he’s doing something important.”
“If nothing else, we might be able to find out his last name,” Willie said.
“I’ll bet it’s not ‘slowpoke,’” Stump said with a shit-eating grin on his face as he took off running again.
“You buttlicker. Wait for me.”
Two more cycles of the run-and-walk method brought them to the elevated highway that separated their subdivisions. They were both breathing more heavily but not completely out of wind. On the lower l
evel, where the sidewalk was and the traffic noise was reduced, a group of cars was backed up behind a stalled Toyota. “Check that out,” Stump said between breaths and pointing to the license plate: 1TZA383.
“Huh? That again? I’m too lazy to figure it out.”
“Dude. Just look at your cell and change the last three numbers to the letters on a phone pad.”
Willie had observed dozens of Stump’s number conversions. He looked again and thought about it. “Oh, yeah. I get it. ‘Itz a dud.’”
“C’mon, Dude. You gotta admit that’s pretty ironic. The car that breaks down has plates that say ‘itz a dud.’”
“I guess so, but that’s not exactly what it says.”
“Sure it is.” Stump turned to double check the characters and explain why that particular grouping of numerals and letters represented exactly what he had claimed.
“Sucker.”
Dammit. Willie already had an insurmountable lead.
After several more run/walk cycles the boys made it well into the less-desirable neighborhood, where Stump lived and where the foliage was mature, and the homes were smaller, older and much more likely to have been neglected. With a half-mile to go, it was time to walk another block.
“You know something?” Stump said, breathing harder and with sweat beads forming on his forehead. “If I don’t find out who my dad is today, I think I’m gonna get firm with Mom, force her to tell me about him. I deserve the same rights as everybody else.”
“Makes sense to me,” Willie said as they passed a massive trellis full of red roses. “Your luck, he’ll turn out to be on a chain gang, or a sex slave to a tribe of pygmy women.”
Stump smiled. “That wouldn’t be so bad. But I still think he’s something cool like a submarine commander or a brain surgeon. Why else would he avoid Mom and me?”
“Who knows, but either way you still deserve to find out what the story is.”
Willie won the last run session and they could walk the final block and a half. They rounded the last corner where Stump’s house came into view. “Hey, look at that,” Stump said, trying hard not to sound too winded. “A Mercedes in our driveway. It looks like Mom’s still home.”
“Good. We can ask her if your birth certificate is in that box.”
“Nah. Might cause another fight. I’d rather wait until they leave, then we can find the key and figure it out on our own.”
They’d nearly regained their breath by the time they came to the next-door neighbor’s home. Dogg was in Stump’s backyard barking, probably at a squirrel. “It’s a Mercedes, alright.” Stump said as they walked up his driveway. “A nice one, too.”
“Maybe it’s your dad,” Willie said, sarcastically.
Stump smirked and opened the front door to see an unfamiliar, half-naked man, shirt draped over his arm, shoes and socks in hand, come from the hallway into the living room. The man appeared to be somewhat startled, but not overly concerned. He stuffed what looked like a pair of red lace panties into his pocket, then reached for his zipper. Stump was old enough to know that his mom sometimes did adult things, but he’d never walked in on her. “I’m Stump. Who are you?”
“None of your business. You’re not supposed to be here.” The guy shot a glance at Willie and then back in Stump’s direction. “You fellows better go outside and play with your toys or whatever you do.”
“Where’s my mom?”
The man dropped his shoes, cramming his socks in his pants pocket. “Right where she belongs. On her back, in the bedroom.” He jammed his bare feet into his shoes.
Stump’s widened eyes shot a glance at the closed bedroom door. “She better be okay.”
The guy quickly threw his arms in his shirt and wrapped it around him. “You tell her to keep her mouth shut or I’ll see to it that she ends up worse off than she is now.” He reached for the front door. “If that’s even possible.”
Freaked out, the boys bolted toward Jean’s bedroom where Stump slapped at the door. “Mom? You okay?” No answer. The knob was locked. He made a fist and tomahawked the damn door again. “Mom? Mom? You okay?” Desperate, he backed up, yelling, “I’m breaking down the door.” He lowered his shoulder and thrust himself past the latch and the now-shattered frame.
The room was a mess. His eyes raced toward the bed. Just like the guy said, his mom was naked on her back and apparently passed out. Her face and stomach were smeared with bright red lipstick. Her underwear drawer had been pulled from the dresser, and the contents strewn on the bed and floor.
Instinctively, he pulled the sheet over her body. “Mom? Mom? Talk to me. Are you okay?” He thought he heard her moan.
“Dude,” Willie said, nervously, “I’m gonna call 911.”
“Get an ambulance. Hurry.”
Outside, the Mercedes screeched away.
Stump grabbed his mother’s hand and dropped his head to her belly. “Hang on, Mom,” he begged, fighting off a sob. “Please hang on.”
Chapter Ten
Two weeks had passed and Miranda was escorted to a table in the visitor’s room where Officer Jackson delivered Don to her. She smiled at Don, sending him a clue that she had good news. As usual, they held hands above the table. “Did you find him?” Don anxiously probed the second Jackson was out of range.
Miranda leaned toward him and whispered. “Except for his mustache and a large scar on his knuckles I could’ve sworn he was you.” Mac was also slightly more chiseled, probably because Don didn’t get much exercise. “I hung around a booth with some guys who did custom paint jobs. I recognized him instantly. All I had to do was smile. Within minutes, we were yakking about his Harley.”
Don squeezed her hand. “Named Annie, I bet?”
Miranda’s eyebrows bumped upwards. “How’d you know that?”
“He’s always been obsessed with Annie Oakley. Dork even named a Big-Wheel after her. His first bicycle too—and two big bikes that I know of.”
“This one is number five. It’s indigo. He was impressed because I knew it was one of the colors in the rainbow.”
Don made a gagging gesture with his finger. “Our mother taught us that. ROY G. BIV. Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo and Violet. Always in the exact order. Blah. Blah Blah.”
“I learned it in art class,” Miranda said, wrinkling her nose. “I saw what you meant, though. He’s a charmer at first. We had a hotdog and talked about the irony of each of us having a twin brother. I told him about Mickey, but he was more interested in talking about his bike than anything else.”
“Trust me, that ‘nice guy’ bit won’t last forever.”
“He asked me if I’d like to meet her. It took me a moment to realize he was speaking about his bike, like it was a real person.”
“See what I mean? He’s a moron.”
“He was right about the paint job though. It was stunning. He even had ‘Annie’ painted on the tank.”
“D’you go for a ride?”
She shook her head. “I still wasn’t sure about him, so I said I’d do it later, when I had more time. Then he suggested dinner.”
“You agreed, didn’t you?”
She sighed. “Yes. It’s tonight. When I leave here, I’m taking a friggin’ four-hour flight back to New York. I lose another three hours for the time zones. He’s supposed to pick me up at my hotel around eight, but I’m not sure I want to go anywhere with that guy.”
Don squeezed her hands. “You got to, Baby. I know he’s disgusting, but you gotta do whatever is necessary to get him back here.”
“Are you sure we can’t just tell him what we’re up to and split the money with him? That would be a lot easier.”
“No way. That’s our money. I’d rather kill the SOB.” He glanced at the guard’s table, then lowered his voice. “Look, we need him—for Mickey.”
“I’d call this whole deal off if it weren’t for Mickey. But right now, I can’t even imagine going for a ride on that bike, let alone going to bed with him.”
“Just take it one step at a time.”
“I don’t know, Donnie. He creeps me out.”
“That’s why we should wipe him out when we’re done with him. The prick deserves it.”
“I can’t do that either,” she said, rubbing her temples. “I’m no good at any of this.”
“Trust me on this one. For now, all you gotta do is get him out here. Okay?”
She took a deep breath. “I’ll try.”
Don’s head bobbed up and down. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” His eyes flashed over her shoulders. “I gotta go. You know what you have to do. Right?”
She sighed. “And you remember that I get the last word. Right?”
* * *
Following a tedious, doubt-filled flight, Miranda landed in New York. At best, she was confused as hell. She loved Don, and remained intrigued by his blueprint for Mickey. If it could be pulled off, and still leave Rachel with plenty of other money, all three of them would escape the perpetual financial problems that always hovered over them. At worst, she’d use her “get out of jail free” card to call off the whole con.
For the time being, all she had to do was meet Mac for dinner and determine if she could stomach the idea of developing a relationship with him. Like Don said, there would be no real emotions in it.
Her tight red slacks, dressy pink sweater and new white tennis shoes made a sexier impression than she would have ordinarily liked. As she reached for a dainty gold chain with a single pearl on it, the phone by her bed rang. Exactly eight o’clock.
Mac wore a classic black leather jacket, a light-blue button-down shirt and tasteful dress slacks. “I’m not surprised,” he said, “but you look spectacular.”
She reminded herself not to get side-tracked by his glitter and b.s. “Thank you. You look nice, too.”
“You ready?”
Miranda swallowed hard. “You’ll take it easy, won’t you? I’ve only been on a couple bikes.”
He showed her the scar on his knuckles again. “This taught me not to drive like a crazy person.”
Two matching indigo helmets were attached to Annie’s roll bar. Miranda pulled hers in place and assumed she’d look pretty cool in the bitch seat.
Mac mounted the bike and she wiggled between him and the roll bar. She mouthed a silent prayer and grabbed his belt. After a click of his foot, they headed toward the harbor.
Three Deadly Twins Page 5