Tea Leafing: A Novel (22 page)

“So you said you’re
looking into organized crime. Is that what all this is about?” Grace had
annihilated the plastic straw and was wringing her hands.

“He’s a major player in
one of the Russian mob rings. He has a special talent for money laundering that
keeps him doing business with organized crime on a global scale. I’m racing the
clock right now because I want to nail this sonofabitch before Homeland
Security wakes up. They’ve started sniffing around but haven’t mobilized their
troops yet.”

Sam studied Joe in
profile while he delivered the same speech to Birdie he’d given her and Grace
twenty minutes prior. He’d gotten to his feet as a courtesy when the two
arrived although Sam had trouble gauging heights while in platforms. Joe’s
shoulders were broad and round enough to suggest defined musculature
lay
beneath his pressed cotton button down. Soft looking
dark brown curls peeked just over his collar, although it looked as if his
haircut had recently grown out from a shorter, close cropped military style. He
had a dusting of stubble that appeared to be genuine rather than the carefully
planned and seriously tired Miami Vice scruff. Sam thought he looked as if he
rose early and worked hard. There was a sad tiredness in his eyes that Sam
suspected was from restless nights since Lena had been killed. That is, if what
he’d told them was true. His eyes were dark, nestled under heavy brows, with
thick lashes that stood like soldiers guarding the secrets that lay behind.

“So, Boy-o is a
kingpin, huh?”

“Yup. Looks that way.”

Clearing her throat,
Sam decided to try and save Joe from Birdie’s interrogation, “So where does
that leave us?”

“Just watch your backs.
From everything we can tell, Fedya’s planning something and I don’t want you
four caught in the cross fire.”

“That’s it?” Grace
stared at the outline of his developed pecs the way some men stare at boobs.

Sam nudged her, “Eye
contact.”

Grace’s attention
snapped back to Joe’s face and a smile curved the corner of his mouth.

“Yup. Just keep your
heads down. I don’t know if there’s much you can do at this point other than be
careful.” Joe removed a ballpoint pen from his breast pocket and began
scribbling numbers on a bev nap in front of him. Wadding it up, he handed it in
the direction of Sam and Grace. Sam took the scrap, folded it and placed it at
the center of the money in her garter, hidden from view.

“Well,” Joe said
slapping his knees, “I guess that’s enough for one night, huh ladies?”

Questions raced through
their minds. They didn’t want Joe to leave but the jumbled words failed to fall
into coherent sentences.

“Uh, um, what if we
need you . . . or you need us?” Sam stammered like a fourth-grader with a
crush.

“You’ve got the number.
I’ll be around.”

With that Joe rose to
his feet and peeled some bills from his money clip, dropping them on the table.

“Thanks again, ladies.”
He turned to leave and paused, “Oh yeah, and the guys say thanks for the coffee
and doughnuts, Birdie.”

For the first time
since their introduction, Joe flashed his
thousand watt
smile at the trio. His eyes seemed to light up and deep, manly dimples creased
his face, from cheeks to jaw. He turned and disappeared through the doorway
into the club.

A few moments passed
without a word.

“Damn, he’s hot.”

“He is pretty sexy.”
Grace stared through the doorway as if willing him to return. “I need to get
rid of Kyle and get laid.”

CHAPTER 45

“I guess it’s
considered bad form in some circles to be paying for your boyfriend’s sex
change operation.” Tanya paused for dramatic effect and moved her delicate hand
to her bosom. “I feel that it’s a gentlemanly thing to do, free me from my
current imprisoned state, that is.”

“So tell us about Shug,”
Mary Jane said, pushing her cleaned plate forward making room for her elbows.

Screwing up her face as
if in thought Tanya said, “ he’s an old white man. That’s why I call him Shug
— cuz’ he’s white as sugar and can be just as sweet when he’s got a mind
to. Old money, and I do mean old. If I said his name, which I nevah will, you
wouldn’t believe me. That ol’ boy’s tough as whit leather and queer as a three
dollar bill, although you’d be hard pressed to tell by talkin’ to him. He’s
very top, which is somethin’ I’ve never had any interest in being. I’m bottom
all the way and lovin’ it. So, we’re a perfect pair.
Interracial,
homosexual couple with an age gap in the double digits.
He’ll die before
he sees me get saggy.”

“Never thought about it
in exactly those terms but I guess you’re right.” Sam nodded.

“Are you getting
excited about the surgery?” Grace beamed over her cheese grits.

“Not particularly
excited
, child, but I’m definitely ready
for the results.”
Tanya’s eyes flicked in their usual dance
around the restaurant.
“I’ll be gone for a couple weeks minimum. They
say
three,
I say two so we’ll see who’s right. Never
know, maybe I’ll just fall in love with Bangkok and become a bar girl.”

“I looked up the
procedures on the Internet and found some pictures . .
. ,
”
Mary Jane said, leaning her head back.

“LORD NO! Do
not
tell me about that! Just because I’m
havin’ it done doesn’t mean I want to know anything about it! Man goes to
sleep. Woman wakes up. That’s all I need to know. Well, that and what cup size
ya’ll think I should be.”

“C.”

“C+.”

“C.”

“Bloody hell, if she’s
gonna get em’ done, no sense in goin’ off half cocked,” Birdie glanced at
Tanya, “Sorry, you know what I mean. I say get double E’s.”

“Tell ya what
Bird-brain, I’ll get double E’s right after you do.”

“Don’t be stroppy, you
know that’s ridiculous since I’m built like a small lad. Bristols that size would
make me look cheap.”

“Bristols?” Grace
looked at Sam.

“Cheap?” Tanya looked
at Birdie.

“Bristol City is rhyme
slang for ‘Titties.’ In the purest form ya always drop the second half and just
call it by the first word.”

Mary Jane was roaring,
“You’re not worried about looking obscene? It’s
cheap
that you’re worried about?”

Tanya was rolling her
eyes around in their sockets, “Ya’ll are crazy as hell! You’re gonna corrupt me
and muss my lady-like image.”

“So, the slang is
always two words?” Grace was getting into it.

“Yeah. I read up on it.
It’s how prisoners would communicate without letting the guards know what
they’re talking about. For example, ‘dog and bone’ is phone. ‘Trouble and
strife’ is wife. ‘Tea Leaf’ is thief, get it?”

“So Tanya, why’d you
steer us away from our usual booth?”

“Shit, I almost forgot
to tell
ya’ll
! The mid-shift has detail cleaning
duties this month. You know, they
hafta
’ wipe down
every inch of the place? Anyway, looks like someone left ya’ll a little present
on the underside of the table.”

“What the . .
. ?
”

“Looks like a listening
device to me, but I’m no expert. Couldn’t have been there too long because
she’s been cleaning all around that area and today’s the first she saw of it.
We left it there so nobody’d get suspicious. Do what you will about it, but be
careful what you say over there. I didn’t wan’chall launchin’ into some big
detailed thing where you’re spillin’ all your private business.” Tanya arched a
perfectly plucked brow. “Ya’ll know what yer’ doin’?”

“Yes ma’am and thanks
for the information, Ms. Tanya.” Mary Jane swallowed hard. “We owe you.”

She shook her head,
“Ya’ll don’t owe me shit. Careful now, hear?” She headed off with a slight
squishing noise and a bounce from her crepe soles.

CHAPTER 46

Grace crouched under
the warm light of the swing arm-lamp and used her jeweler’s files —
narrow sticks of varying shapes, sizes, and grits — to gently work away
the rough edges of the silver key she had cast from the plastic master. She had
painstakingly added a thin layer of extra wax to the side flattened by Kyle at
the putty stage. Subtractive was much easier than additive when working with
metal. Filing a little, comparing it to various keys on her key ring for
thickness and filing some more, she was bringing it as near to perfection as
possible. Holding the silver key up to the light, she scrutinized every edge
and plane surface. Once she was satisfied with the shape and thickness she
carried it to a motorized buffing wheel and worked off the remaining silver
dust.

She was grateful to be
able to find a full jewelry workshop, which she could rent by the hour, at a
local arts center. She knew the final hurdle would be trying to find a key
smith that could cut a key into steel from her silver template. It was
something of a crapshoot. Hopefully, it would work.

* * * *

Running her fingers
along the orange-peel texture of the cardstock with her left hand, she closed
her eyes and touched the cover of her passport with her right. The two matched
in texture. She’d alter the color to match too. Several trips to paper
wholesalers, which she knew from her design work, had been necessary. In the
end, she was able to find everything she needed to produce passable forgeries.

Sam had scanned her
passport cover to cover and had set up a master file in Photoshop with a
gridded system of guides, ensuring everything was accurate to the millimeter.
Pushing herself back in her office chair, she grabbed her coffee mug by its
warm body and raised it to her lips. What would seem like a cluttered nest of
cellulose to the untrained eye was a complicated system of stacks to Sam. Even
she found it odd that her house had to be in such rigidly organized order for
her to find anything, yet her projects always spilled across her workspace like
an overflowing river. She tapped required materials with a pencil eraser as she
inventoried her desk, preparing for the next step.

* * * *

Mary Jane lay on the
soft flokati rug next to her desk. Feet propped on the edge of the desktop,
they wobbled lazily back and forth in time with the ambient music from her mp3
player. She glanced at the glowing monitor. Her screen saver floated serenely
by. If she’d had the energy or inclination to jiggle her mouse, it would have
revealed the series of codes racing up her screen like obedient ones and zeros,
marching in formation.

Her powerful computer
was erasing the mind of the smaller drive Mary Jane had introduced it to. Once
accomplished, it would begin teaching the smaller drive new information, which
it would need to complete its task. The two hummed happily together as if
singing a familiar song — a nice backup for her louder, Thievery
Corporation. She felt it was an appropriate selection for the task at hand.

* * * *

Birdie parked in the
guest lot of an apartment complex adjacent to the Pink Pussycat. Locking her
car and shuffling the keys into her purse, she headed off along the side street
that led to Piedmont Road. She watched for sidewalks along the way, making
mental notes about which side of the street had deeper cracks and blocks
without paved walkways. She turned right on Piedmont and continued her walk
along the main road for three quarters of a mile until she reached the
self-storage facility on the far side of the street. Jogging across the four
lanes of light traffic, she ducked into the shaded office.

Emerging twenty minutes
later and two hundred fifty dollars lighter, she tucked the small Masterlock
key into her coin purse. Turning left out of the parking lot and heading east
for another couple of blocks. Her promenade continued until she reached
Denny’s.

Sliding into their
regular booth, she ordered a lemonade and sandwich from an unfamiliar waitress.
She rummaged through her purse, scooting it closer to the edge of the bench and
finally onto the floor.

“Bollocks!” Birdie
feigned frustration as she wedged her torso under the table in an effort to
retrieve her bag and its scattered contents. She picked her phone up first,
flipped it open and snapped a photo of the small, round transmitter, attached
to the underside of the table.

CHAPTER 47

Sam nudged Birdie and
nodded toward the main entrance where Fedya and his entourage had just
appeared. Glancing back, Birdie gave a single nod and turned her attention back
to the main stage where Ursula was in the middle of her second show of the
evening. Birdie clutched a twenty in her hand and waved it over her head in
time with the music.

Sam was staring at the
door when Birdie’s feet whistled by, cutting through the air inches from her
face. Ursula pulled Birdie on stage and was directing her into a chair with her
back to the pole.

“Almost hit me.” Sam mumbled
under her breath, absentmindedly checking her hair with her fingers.

Pulling a necktie from
a businessman near the stage, Ursula tied Birdie’s hands behind her back and
proceeded to climb onto her shoulders, gripping the pole with both hands. With
her legs on Birdie’s shoulders, face-forward, she began rocking back and forth.

“A little X-Rated
see-saw!” The DJ boomed commentary like an announcer at a ballgame.

Ursula climbed the pole
with her arms, lifting herself from her sitting position and flipped her body
vertically, heading back down the pole in a slow crawl until she was
face to face
Birdie.