Razor Sharp Page 5

  Cosmo closed and locked his office door, but not before he told his secretary not to bother him and to cancel a meeting he’d scheduled for ten o’clock. “And don’t put any calls through either until I open this door,” was the parting shot over his shoulder.

  Cosmo opened the safe and carried everything Lily Flowers had given him to his desk. Did he really think there would be a clue among the books and ledgers that would give him some indication as to who she really was and where she was going to start a new life? He convinced himself that she would go wherever her money was or at least in close proximity to it. Of course, she wasn’t planning on ending up dead, so maybe she hadn’t left any clues for him. He winced at the thought.

  Cosmo sat down and started going through the pile of books. He was still at it at noon when his stomach started to rumble. He leaned back in his custom-crafted rocking chair, removed his glasses, and rubbed at his eyes. He was three checkbooks and one little black book down, and he hadn’t even made a dent in what needed to be done. There were no brokerage statements, which surprised him. One thing he knew for certain was that Lily Flowers, or whoever she was, had been a hell of a businesswoman. Her business accounts tallied to the penny. Her personal checking accounts under all her various aliases also tallied. Expenditures, nothing more. Everything looked normal. She paid her bills on time. She ordinarily didn’t use credit cards even though she had several. Every so often a charge would appear, along with a bill, just to keep the accounts activated. Apparel stores, drugstores, and, once in a while, she charged a restaurant tab. Every bill was current and up-to-date. A record of utilities being canceled under all her identities was stapled into a neat packet. Two apartment leases had been canceled and paid to date under the names of Crystal Clark and Ann Marie Anders. The two houses in the names of Lily Flowers and Caroline Summers were owned free and clear, the utilities cut off. Property taxes had been paid ahead for five years on both properties. Did she do all this herself or did she use an accounting firm?

  Cosmo shook his head. The lady had it going on. She walked away, believing she’d tied up all her loose ends. But, she’d had the good sense to come to him and leave all her records. He wondered if she had a suspicion something would happen to her. That alone had to mean she trusted him as her lawyer to do whatever would have to be done if something did occur. And now she was dead.

  Just how wealthy was Lily Flowers?

  What was it his mother used to say in instances like this? Oh, yes. “This is a fine kettle of fish.” His father would have said, “Grab that bull by the horns and wrestle him to the ground.” What fish or a bull had to do with anything was beyond Cosmo’s comprehension.

  Cosmo reached for his glasses and went back to work. Over and over he mumbled, “Who were you, Lily Flowers?”

  It was one o’clock, almost time to break for lunch, when he carried one stack of check registers and books back to the safe. When he returned to his desk he shifted the remaining pile of black leather books, and that’s when he saw that what he’d thought was another book was actually a case with a laptop inside. “Ahhh,” he said happily.

  Twenty-four hundred miles away in the nation’s capital, Jack Emery parked in front of Harry Wong’s dojo. Harry and Bert were waiting for him at the curb, small duffel bags at their feet. One look at Harry told Jack the martial arts expert was pissed that they weren’t taking his Ducati. “Forget it, Harry. Get your ass in here and enjoy the scenery. Obviously, three people cannot ride on one motorcycle. You just sit there and plot my death, that will give you something to do while Bert and I talk about normal things like women, baseball, women, money or our lack of it, women and women.”

  “Your mistake, Jack, was putting me in the backseat. All I have to do is lean forward, extend my index finger, and you are toast. Before Bert can lean over to try to help you, his head will explode. So, sit back, drive, and enjoy the ride,” Harry snarled good-naturedly.

  “Harry, you are one ugly, cantankerous, evil, did I mention ugly, ungrateful son of a bitch! I’m the brother you never had, the brother you love with all your heart and soul, the brother you would die for. Where is all this negativity coming from? I’m doing you a tremendous favor by driving you to the mountain so you can see the love of your life. You will arrive looking like the avenging saint that you are, not some bedraggled, homeless derelict riding a motorcycle. Women don’t care if it’s a Ducati or not. They only want you to smell nice, be well groomed, and not be barefooted. I’m saving you from disgrace. Please apologize for your bad behavior.” Jack risked a glance in the rearview mirror. It looked like Harry was going into a trance. He wondered what it meant.

  “I think he said for you to kiss his ass,” Bert cackled.

  “Some other time,” Jack said.

  “I do have a bit of gossip if anyone cares to hear about it,” Bert said.

  “Shame on you! Since when have we been reduced to listening to gossip?” Jack asked. “As the director of the FBI, you should be above such…such shenanigans. What? Don’t leave anything out. Harry thrives on gossip.”

  “What is it?” Harry demanded, coming out of his trance. He had to admit he did love juicy gossip, especially if it involved someone he knew. More so if it was someone he disliked.

  “Alexis and Joe Espinosa text each other all the time!” When there was no noticeable reaction to this information, Bert carried on. “And Isabelle is mooning over that guy she socked in the eye in Vegas last year. Maggie Spritzer told Ted who told Espinosa who then told me that Isabelle asked Maggie to ask her hacker friend Abner Tookus to try and get a handle on the guy who went to the Caymans. She even has a name, not that the schmuck would be using his real name. She even went so far as to ask Maggie if she could hire a private dick to track him down. What do you think of that?”

  “If that’s the best you can do, I’m dumping you out of this car right now. Harry and I know all that, don’t we, bro? Well, to be honest here, we didn’t know the part about Isabelle and the dick or Abner.”

  “Nobody likes a smart-ass,” Bert said.

  “I was hoping for like…you know, news. Are you telling me the FBI is suddenly buttoned-up? What’s coming out of the rumor mill?”

  At last they were down to male talk. “Shit like you wouldn’t believe. The whole damn town is hunkering down. Big stuff going on, but no one is talking out loud. Lots and lots of whispers. Hell, I made seven trips to the White House this week. Ain’t good, boys.” Bert’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper even though there was no one in the car to hear him but Jack and Harry. “I heard in the White House several staffers whispering, and since I have such keen hearing, I didn’t have to try too hard to listen. The scuttlebutt is one of two things. The dumb-ass money seems to be on the Vigilantes coming to town as per someone’s request and the smart money is on the Vigilantes coming to town of their own accord, which means a red alert is going out.

  “And, are you ready for this? I’ve heard resignations are flooding the president’s office, but I can’t confirm who and why. If I did know and told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  “That’s pretty funny,” Harry said from his perch in the backseat. “I don’t doubt for a minute that you could take Jack on, but you’d be dead before you could lay a finger on me.”

  Bert knew it was true, so he didn’t belabor the point.

  “So why were you at the White House seven times this week?”

  It took Bert so long to respond, Jack had to prod him.

  “Something kind of strange. Seems there is this woman in Las Vegas named Crystal Clark who runs a cathouse out there. It’s legal, as you know. The Las Vegas Field Office was getting ready to put a tail on her, but she up and disappeared. My guy out there said she did it like magic. One minute she was there, then poof, she was gone. The…employees are all gone. Even the maintenance and groundskeepers—gone, with the exception of one old guy. He said he was paid through the end of the month, and he didn’t take money for no work. No trace whatsoever. Now, h
ere’s where it gets a little…sticky. Somehow or other Cosmo Cricket’s name came up at the White House.”

  Harry unbuckled his seat belt and leaned forward. “Are you telling us this woman’s disappearance is tied in to our visit to the mountain and your visits to the White House? Lizzie is not going to like Cricket’s name coming up on this coast, especially at the White House. Jesus, you aren’t telling us Cricket was that woman’s attorney, are you?”

  Bert’s silence was all the confirmation Harry and Jack needed.

  “Buckle up, Harry,” Jack told him. For once, Harry didn’t argue. He leaned back, buckled up, and closed his eyes as he tried to make sense out of what Bert had just said.

  Keeping his eyes on the road, Jack chewed on his lower lip. Ten minutes later he finally had his thoughts in some kind of order. “Did you warn Lizzie or Cricket?”

  “Not yet. But I have to go to Vegas tomorrow. Don’t worry, you two don’t have to leave with me. You have the whole weekend. Lucky stiffs. I already made arrangements for a car to be left at the Shell station down the road from our drop-off point. In fact, it should be in place when we get there. I’m going to want to check that out before I go up the mountain.”

  “Can you keep a lid on the Vegas part, Bert?” Jack asked.

  “I can try, but you know I can’t really interfere. It’s all got to look on the up-and-up. My guys out there are sharp. I mean like razor-sharp. They’re all seasoned pros.”

  “C’mon, Bert, Vegas is buttoned-up, FBI or not. Cricket’s got the inside track, and those people out there are not going to open up to anyone, not even the FBI.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Bert growled. “That guy Cricket is something else.”

  Harry chirped up from the backseat. “Put him together with Lizzie, and you have a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse. As you well know, they are now as one.”

  “You just had to say that, didn’t you, Harry?” Bert growled again.

  “Forewarned is forearmed,” Harry said smugly.

  Jack took his eyes off the road for a second to look at Harry via the rearview mirror. His stomach crunched into a knot at his friend’s serene expression. Harry was up to something, but Jack knew he’d never know what that something was until Harry wanted him to know.

  “Maybe we need to get off all this serious shit and have a little sing-along,” Jack said. “When we were kids, my mother made us sing so we’d shut up and not fight in the backseat. It never worked, though.”

  “Then why did you bring it up?” Harry murmured.

  “To have something to say because you are scaring the shit out of me, that’s why,” Jack said. “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing. My mind is a total blank. I’m traveling cosmically to other parts of the universe, and the universe has no place for bullshit. Now, shut the hell up and drive.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack said, saluting smartly.

  Bert hunkered down in his seat and clamped his lips shut.

  For the next three hours no one said a word. When he couldn’t take the silence any longer, Jack slipped an Eric Clapton CD into the player and, like Harry, transported himself someplace else until they arrived at their destination at the Shell gas station.

  Jack watched from the car as Bert checked out the dull gray Ford sitting at the far end of the station. He watched as Bert reached up under the left rear fender and withdrew a key in a metal magnetic box. He shoved it in the pocket of his jacket, then loped back to Jack’s car.

  “Aren’t you going to park this buggy?” Bert asked. “I thought the plan was to park here and make our way to the base of the mountain.”

  “No. We’re driving to the base. I know where to…stash this buggy. It’s too damn cold to hike from here to there. Get in. Harry, call Yoko and tell her to send the cable car down. By the time we get there all we have to do is step in and, voilà, we’re among friends.”

  Harry was speaking into his cell before Jack could finish what he was saying.

  A satisfied look could be seen on Harry’s face. “Yoko said they have a ton of snow on the mountain. She said they are looking for three strong backs to man the shovels.” He cackled at the expressions on Jack’s and Bert’s faces.

  After they hid the car, Bert started grousing about how much he hated the cable car. “I don’t like dangling thousands of feet in midair. In daylight, you feel like you have a fighting chance should something go wrong, but at times like this, you’re at the night’s mercy. Hell, we won’t even know if something is wrong till it’s all over. That’s if we don’t plummet down and aren’t dead.”

  “Shut up, Bert. Nothing is going to happen. Don’t jinx us,” Jack said as he flapped his arms for warmth. “C’mon, let’s go,” he said, jogging in place.

  Fifteen minutes later the three friends stepped from the cable car to a rousing welcome. Flashlights skittered about as the women waved them for additional illumination. A light snow was starting to fall.

  Laughs, kisses, and hugs were the order of the day, with Isabelle announcing the late-dinner menu as they all trooped through the knee-high snow. They all stomped their feet on the wide plank porch, then removed their shoes and boots. All three men sniffed appreciatively as Annie held open the door.

  Two hours later, when dinner was over, Myra and Annie offered to do the cleanup so the “young people” could go off and do whatever they were going to do.

  “Think of it as a free night,” Myra said. “We’ll meet here for breakfast at six sharp since Bert has to leave.”

  “The youngsters,” as Annie called the little group, bundled up, and, with a lot of laughing and shouting, ran outdoors into the new-falling snow.

  Left alone, Annie and Myra looked at one another. “I think, Myra, the two of us should have a…little snort. I’m not saying we should get schnockered or anything like that. I’m just saying we should have a little libation. What say you?”

  “I say yes,” Myra replied, getting out two squat cut-crystal glasses that felt like they weighed a pound each. “Let’s get right to it, Annie. Skip the ice, the club soda, or whatever you were going to dilute this fine liquor with. Fine whiskey should be consumed the way it comes out of the bottle.”

  Myra looked so adamant, Annie could feel her eyebrows shoot upward.

  “This…uh, very fine whiskey is 100 proof. Are you sure, Myra? One glass of this very fine whiskey could very well land us on our very fine respective asses.”

  “And this concerns you, Annie?” Myra asked as she poured generously into the crystal tumblers.

  Annie looked hard at the amber liquid that threatened to spill over the top of the tumbler. “Maybe we should clean up before we start to…uh…party.”

  “I’m thinking maybe we shouldn’t. I hate cleaning up. You don’t like it either, Annie. It’s a messy job and a few hours later you have to do it all over again. I think we should requisition those hard plastic plates and throwaway utensils. Why aren’t you sampling this fine liquor, Annie?” Myra asked as she took a long gulp from her glass.

  Annie pretended not to see the tears rolling down Myra’s cheeks.

  “This is quite smooth,” Annie gasped as she took a robust drink. “Do we have any cigarettes?”

  “We don’t smoke, Annie. Charles smokes once in a while, so there might be some in one of these drawers. I suppose we could smoke one if we didn’t inhale. Smoking is not good for you. The surgeon general says so. Ah, here are some,” Myra said as she triumphantly held up a crumpled package of cigarettes from one of the kitchen drawers. “Since we don’t smoke, we won’t know if they’re stale or not. Fire up, Annie.”

  Annie marched into the dining room and returned with a lighter that was used to fire up the kindling in the fireplace. She clicked it on and almost set Myra’s nose on fire.

  “Whoa! The cigarette, Annie, not my nose.”

  Annie puffed furiously on the cigarette in her mouth. She wiggled it from side to side. “Did ya see that, Myra? I saw Clark Gable do that in a movie once. S
ee if you can do it.”

  “First, fill ’er up,” Myra said as she struggled to talk around the cigarette in her mouth. The cigarette fell on the floor. Myra bent down to pick it up. She looked at the glowing tip and stuck the other end back in her mouth. “I don’t want to learn that trick. You know what else, Annie, I don’t want to look at that messy dining room table.” Gingerly, she lowered herself to the floor and stretched out her legs. “Now we don’t have to look at the mess. And if we pass out from all this fine liquor, we won’t have far to fall.”

  “That really makes a lot of sense, Myra. Sometimes you hit it just right. I wish you weren’t so sad. Charles will come back at some point. You know that,” Annie said as she waved the whiskey bottle back and forth.

  “I don’t care to discuss Charles. Now or ever. Are we clear on that, Annie?”

  “Crystal, my dear friend, absolutely crystal.”

  Myra burst into tears.

  Annie’s solution was to refill her glass. “Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do,” she muttered to herself. A good drunk never hurt anyone as long as it didn’t become a habit.

  Chapter 6

  Lizzie Fox looked down at her watch when her cell phone rang. She frowned until she realized she hadn’t set her watch back to Vegas time. Cosmo looked at her, his eyes full of unasked questions. “There’s only one person who calls me at three o’clock in the morning. I have to take this call, Cosmo.”