CON TEST: Double Life (30 page)

“
Sit back down,” Amir advised her. “We both wanted to disappear and start fresh. The dead body belonged to the biology lab at Villanova University. The night of the bank kidnapping we drove back to Philly and broke into the lab, narrowly missing campus security, and stole a body that had been dissected for his forensics class. The body was already unidentifiable, so it worked perfectly.”

“
You are both sick,” Lundin said, her anger building up again.

“
Lundin, you have no idea how hard it was for us back then. And right now we need to focus on getting Just, I mean William back!”

Lundin let everything that Amir said coat her mind. Out of curiosity, she asked, “So, what do we do? Because despite how pissed and fucked up I am, I want my husband back.”

Before he could reply, Lundin received a text message. She checked it and immediately dropped her phone. The sight of William crippled her.

SIXTY-FOUR

L
undin shivered with her arm wrapped around herself, as she listened to Amir’s non-fiction plot to comply with the kidnappers’ demands. He had her laboring under the illusion that she was completely innocent in William’s debauched reality tournament. Her teeth chattered and she had been injected with debility. He told her his marvelous idea. It was so impractical that she could not stomach the thought. Her disgust with William sweltered and inchoate murderous visions were so great that she could divorce him and forget about it easily No matter how beautiful William had treated her, she was pissed at him to the nth degree. Nevertheless she promised to love him unconditionally. She suppressed her anger and gathered a mindset to do what had to be done.

Amir participated in her staring contest and did not blink. She looked at his thoughts through the layer of epidermis. He knew that she did not want to detect uncertainty, fear or question. None of which he had. Despite the distance between him and William, the sagacious Harry Dijonette had come up with a plan to slap the keen Secret Service and the kidnappers in the face.

“
Lundin, I’ve mentally worked out the plan repeatedly and smelled it with the sharp nose of a hound. Just trust me.”

“
Amir, that is not easy. I asked would I have to commit a crime and you said no. Now you suggest that I follow the kidnapper’s instructions.”

“
Precisely, if you want to see your husband again.”

SIXTY-FIVE

“
W
e’ve lost him,” Delia reported to the Special Agent in Charge via cell phone. “Agent Williams and I have assembled a team. Some are conducting stakeouts at Justice’s office and his wife’s job. We are in the middle of searching Justice’s home now. We seem to have everything under control.” Delia was morbidly miffed that she had all negatives to report to her superior.

“
To my estimation you’ve lost control, Agent Williams,” SAC, Jean Lemieux said. He was a direct man normally, and that day was no different. “It seems that Justice has the leading score. Probably, he is already celebrating a repeat.”

“
Sir, I understand your grievance.”

“
Oh, I have no grievance.”

“
My partner and I are prepared to stay until the bastard is in custody,” Delia said, confidently. “We’ve discovered that he is actually living a double life, which is the title of his latest novel. He publishes as William Fortune.”

“
He must be sitting on millions,” Lemieux said matter-of-factly. “A bigger budget that yours, I presume.”

“
We have factored that in, sir. We are searching bank records to freeze them.”

“
Sounds good. I’m quite confident that you will surprise him with a late rally and win.”

“
I am sure, too, sir,” Delia said and hung up.

Delia stood dumbfounded and scanned the loft. She was obviously disturbed by Lemuex’s subtle chide. Her feminine urge to worry was manifesting through her eyes. Just when her confidence had been up and she enjoyed the chase, Lemieux had brought her back to reality. He had stripped her of a bevy of emotions: happy, joy, ecstatic, to name a few. As an agent, she knew that fine police work had the potential for a topsy-turvy investigation.

Delia turned to her partner and he looked defeated with hurt and anger in his frown.

“
It’s always a pleasure, Delia, to be chewed out by Lemieux,” Jared said, smiling. “Don’t worry. We’re going to get that ass.”

“
Another four years from now?” she scoffed.

Jared continued to sort through the contents that had been pulled from the desk. Despite the SAC call, nothing had changed for him. Their man was on the run before they arrived to LA. He and Delia had been deployed to conduct a man hunt and that was what they did.

Frustrated, Jared looked at the other agents lifting the fluffy mattress to search. A gun box was found, but no gun. No nude mags. They removed a Rembrandt and four other frescoes from the wall, too. No hidden safe. They tapped the walls lightly. No hollowness.

“
If this guy has a secret safe, it’s not here,” said Agent Gibson. He was from Philadelphia, but studied at Stanford University and joined the LA Secret Service Office. He wanted to send the Philadelphia agents home happy, so that he could get an easy recommendation to transfer back to his hometown. “Check those records for a safety deposit box or storage payment,” he suggested.

He then turned his attention to the walk-in closet. He searched through the clothes that neatly hung there. Nothing piqued his interest. Nothing was left in the pockets. He began to open shoe boxes. There were approximately 50 of them. He found nothing before, he claimed, “This guy has been squeaky clean!” His supposition was interrupted by the home telephone ringing.

Every agent rushed over to the phone and found that it had an answering machine attached. After the greeting they heard, “Pick up the phone, Secret Service Agent Williams. Either will suffice,” the caller said with a chuckle to show how hilarious the comment was.

No one in the room was prepared for that. The audacity. The nerve. The gall. The chutzpah. Justice Lorenzo was un-fucking-believable. The magical throwback had been manifold and included five novels, three free years, two block buster movies, and a partridge in a pear tree. That move was sure to catapult Justice to that class of criminals in the stratosphere reserved for masterminds. He did it without a wacky joint marketing scheme with KFC, too. He had single-handedly gone there on his own.

The agents listened to Justice breath
e, before he spoke again. “I’m sure it is not a simple move. It’s a decision. A choice that’s hard because the call won’t be traced and by the time you get through the AT&T red tape, I will be long gone. You have 25 seconds left to make a decision. The training you received prepared you for this sort of critical thinking. Twenty seconds. I promise not to keep you long. If you ignore me, your superiors chide would be placed in your furnace of worst high school memories. And as police, I am sure that the furnace is packed. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two.”

“
Mr. Lorenzo, this is Secret Service Agent Delia Williams,” she said, as if she had run to the phone.

Delia’s body quivered. Not because it was cold, either. Her partners and colleagues echoed her sentiment. Their brows furrowed, too. Heads shook and eyelids closed, as they envisioned that furnace. They were not cowards, just honest with themselves.

“
You sound breathless, Delia. Certainly, you’re not out of breath. Maybe my ferocious kick took your breath away,” the caller said and snickered.

“
Not hardly,” Agent Quadir Gibson said, and asserted his authority.

“
Which idiot is this?”

“
I am Special Secret Service Agent Quadir Gibson.”

“
Oh, hi. I’ll make a note of you,” the caller laughed. “I’d much rather match wits with a man. Thanks for stepping to the plate to get your head knocked off.”

“
What do you want, Mr. Lorenzo?”

“
First, you can stop insulting me by calling me that creep. I am William Fortune.”

“
Are you ready to turn yourself in? If not, why are you calling?” Agent Gibson asked.

“
Funny. You’re in my home, unwanted by the way, and asking why am I calling a phone that I pay the damn bill for? Some set of balls. I’m looking for a little
quid pro quo
.”

“
To bad, Mr. Lorenzo. I do not--”

“
Understand English. That’s what you don’t understand. Fortune! My fucking name is William Fortune. Make a mutha-fucking note of it, asshole Gibson!”

“
I do not bargain with wanted men. You can turn yourself in and we can tell the AUSA that you helped us substantially by preventing the dollars we have planned to track your ass down and saved us from going any further than a home search. Then you can take your three point reduction like everyone else and go on off to the pen.”

“
No dice.”

“
You’re a murderer.”

“
Your mother’s a murderer. I resent the name calling. You can barely make my fraud charges stick, but murder, now that’s laughable.”

“
Then where is your pal, Amir?” Delia asked.

“
That’s your job.”

“
Right, my job is to conduct a search of your home and you’re obstructing that right now. When you are ready to reach me, contact the LA Secret Service. You know the number and address. You have been there many times stealing our information.”

“
No, that was one of your own. I bought her. If I wanted, I could reach you right now! This second!”

Quadir took off running. “He’s in the area watching us,” he yelled, as he dashed down the loft stairs. He had drawn his handgun and emerged out on Robertson Boulevard and was met by the LAPD. They too had their guns drawn.

SIXTY-SIX

A
mir hung up on the agents and laughed hysterically as he watched them rush out the loft onto Robertson Boulevard. The trap was sinister. He had called the locals and informed them that a home was being burglarized by men posing as federal agents. The plan worked perfectly.
Shoot you sons of bitches
, he thought. He hoped that the Philadelphia agents were killed for disturbing him and Justice from living happily ever after.

* * *

Sergeant Harold Mott searched the men with his eyes. He then yelled to the agents, “Put you weapons down, now!”

The rich spectators that shopped on Robertson could not believe their eyes. Their early day of shopping had turned into a matinee. That had to be a television shoot.

Jared looked at the trap disbelievingly. He had no idea what had happened, but he would not lose his life at the hands of pretty Hollywood policemen. He looked at the helmets that covered the locals’ faces and imagined the cast of 90210 beneath them.

“
Hold your fire,” Jared yelled to his partners. He then told the LAPD, “Sir, we are Secret Service Agents and have a search warrant for this property. We informed your department and two police cruisers escorted us here.”

Both police forces kept their guns raised at each other. Both squads murmured entreaties to their Gods asking that they live through this. West Hollywood Station officers tried to avoid this type of drama by not joining the South Central division. Their West Hollywood beat was much smoother.

“
Put your goddamn weapons down!” Sergeant Mott yelled again. “We have information that you are impostors. Please place your weapons on the ground. If you are truly policemen then you will follow my command.”

No agent was in the mood for the emotional kick. Just when they thought Justice had done the unthinkable by calling them, he had handed them another blow, that one far more severe. A life could have been taken. This was better than any literary creation William Fortune had come up with. They had to catch Justice Lorenzo before any more time had passed. The agents felt that they were being lowered into a vat of superb and thoughtful doom.

Jared turned to his men. He hoped that he made the right move. He instructed his team to put their weapons on the ground. He would clear up this hoax and wreak equal havoc in Justice’s life pronto. He had no idea his current defeat was handed to him by the very man he believed Justice Lorenzo killed four years ago.

SIXTY-SEVEN

T
he federal search became naught when the search squad was placed on the wall and frisked like common thieves. The harshness of the LAPD had further infuriated the agents. Being patted, searched, and handcuffed made them more nauseous than Justice’s unexpected call. Jared was disoriented and utterly neglectful of coolness. His major characteristics dissolved as he awaited confirmation that he was in fact a veteran Secret Service agent. There was no way that any of the agents were not prepping to negotiate with each other how to cover up killing Justice Lorenzo. Especially after they spent one hour explaining their identities to shielded, helmet-wearing, rifle-toting LAPD.

As Jared drove toward Washington Mutual Bank, he could not control his thoughts of Justice. If Justice could have thought up a daunting act of playing two policing agencies to potentially slaughter each other and innocent bystanders, what could he pull next? That scene would have been a catastrophe and would have been to Justice’s benefit only. Out of desperation, Justice would attempt any grandiose stunt to overcome the overwhelming odds that favored the police. Albeit, the agents have a chance to put Justice away for life.