Razor Sharp (10 page)

It was all said in Spanish, and the old man nodded. Bert watched as the man walked back into the shed and came out with a metal box. He opened the lid and waited, the fear on his face a terrible thing to see. Bert looked down and mentally calculated, as he rifled through the money, that there was $50,000 in the box. He nodded and pointed to the shelf to indicate the man should put it back. He put his finger to his lips, a sign that in any language meant he wouldn’t say anything. “Take it home and hide it. Don’t leave it here.” He pointed to the main building and to the extra car in the parking lot.

The old man nodded.
“Sí.”

Bert held out his hand, and they shook.

They talked for a few more minutes. He found out the gardener had worked on the premises from the day the buildings were finished. Twelve years.

Bert offered up an airy wave before he walked back to his car. In his car he sent off a text message to Ted, telling him the first thing he needed to do was trace ownership of the Happy Day Camp and to try to find out where the money came from, since his own people were having such a hard time coming up with answers.

Lizzie held the bouquet of champagne-colored roses tightly in her hand. This was the first time she’d been anywhere near a crematorium, and she didn’t know what the protocol was. Cosmo looked like he didn’t either. The room they were told to wait in could have been a chapel, she wasn’t sure, but the three rows of pews pretty much confirmed it in her mind. There were arrangements of silk flowers on pedestals around the small room. There were no holy water fonts or religious statues, but there were two beautiful stained-glass windows of white doves in flight against sky blue glass.

“I don’t like this place, Cricket,” Lizzie whispered.

Cosmo reached across to take her hand in his. “I know. I hope we did the right thing, Elizabeth. I don’t want to regret having my client cremated.”

Lizzie squeezed his hand. “From everything you told me about your meeting with Lily Flowers, and from what I read, this was the only answer. I think you did what Lily would have wanted. She spent her whole life being anonymous, and she died the same way. It won’t take the FBI long to figure this all out. They plod along when they aren’t steamrolling forward, but in the end they manage to figure it out. When they do, you either hand over the ashes in the urn or we beat them to the punch and take them someplace and scatter them. Do you agree or disagree?”

Cosmo stared at the white doves on the window. His big head bobbed up and down. “I say we scatter the ashes in the desert. I don’t know why I say this, but I think Lily Flowers would like that.”

Thirty more minutes went by before a tall, stately gentleman walked into the room carrying a silver tray with a sealed ceramic urn nestled among fresh greenery. Lizzie had picked out the urn. It was cobalt blue, with a cluster of lilies on the front. The man, whose discreet name tag said he was Lionel Tynesdale, held out the silver tray. Cosmo’s hands, which were bigger than catcher’s mitts, reached for the urn. He didn’t know if it was his imagination or not, but the urn felt
warm
.

“Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

Cosmo wanted to say,
“Christ Almighty, no.”
Instead he just shook his head. He waited a moment, then said, “We’re both clear on the details, are we not?”

“Absolutely, sir. Everything has been taken care of. You have absolutely nothing to be concerned about. My staff and I are used to interrogations; this is, after all, Las Vegas, Mr. Cricket.”

The tray still in his hands, Tynesdale turned on his heel and left the room, Cosmo and Lizzie following him to the long, incense-scented hallway, then out to the foyer, which smelled the same way, to the front door. Once outside, both Cosmo and Lizzie took deep breaths, expelling the pent-up air in loud
swooshes
of sound. They literally ran to where Cosmo had parked his car.

Lizzie climbed in and leaned over to open the door for Cosmo, which meant she had to hold the urn in her lap. She thought it felt
warm
. She stifled the urge to scream. “This is not a pleasant experience, Cricket.”

“Tell me about it,” Cosmo said through clenched teeth. “Where to now, Elizabeth?”

“Hey, Cricket, this is your turf, I’m just a visitor. If I have to give you an opinion, it would be this…Let’s go to wherever Lily Flowers can be one with the universe. We scatter the roses along with the ashes, send the little card from her friends into the air, say a prayer, and be on our way. I don’t see…any other way…to…to send Ms. Flowers into eternity.”

Cosmo looked so relieved, Lizzie smiled. “That’ll work, Elizabeth. Then what?”

“Then we arrange to meet the director of the FBI and see what else is going on. I have to call Bert and apologize for cutting him so short. Since I don’t, as of this moment, know what’s going down with the local field office here in Vegas, I suggest we meet him at the Rabbit Hole. Now, the question is this, Cricket, do we send Ms. Flowers into eternity first or later, after our meeting with Bert? It’s your call.”

“I think that depends on how much you want him actually to know and see. Always remember, Elizabeth, he is the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. If you can honestly answer that his first loyalty is to the Vigilantes and us, then we can do it later or we can do it within the next fifteen minutes.”

“I don’t have to think about it. His first loyalty is to the Vigilantes, namely Kathryn, but also to the rest of us. We need him, Cricket, to keep us informed when his people here in Vegas start unearthing whatever they unearth. That’s how we stay ahead of the game. I think we should uh…do the deed…then tell him about it afterward if it comes up in conversation.”

“‘If it comes up in conversation?”
Is that what you said? Is he the kind of guy who is just going to suddenly say, ‘Hey, did you guys scatter some madam’s ashes out in the desert?’?”

In spite of herself, Lizzie laughed. The urn she was holding clutched between her thighs jiggled. She sobered immediately. “Let’s just do it, Cosmo.”

Cosmo.
Cosmo meant Lizzie was down to business. He nodded, the car picking up speed.

Ten minutes later, Cosmo turned onto a cutoff road and sailed up a winding, rutted lane, sagebrush and scrub lining both sides. The air was hot and dry when the car finally came to a stop. “We have to walk the rest of the way, it’s not far.”

Lizzie climbed out, the urn clutched tightly in her hands. Cosmo followed, the flowers and the little white card in his hands.

When they finally reached a small plateau that looked down on the desert, Lizzie looked down at the urn. “This is right, but it’s so wrong, Cricket. We’re strangers to Ms. Flowers. I know you met her that one time, but we’re really strangers. It’s sad and it’s wrong. She died alone. We’re sending her off alone. We need to find out who she was. I for one want to know.”

“That’s not going to happen, Elizabeth. For whatever her reasons, Lily Flowers, or whoever she was, wanted no ties to her real past. We have to respect her wishes and let it go at that.” A second later Cosmo had his pocketknife in his hands as he cut the seal covering the top of the urn. Both Cosmo and Lizzie blinked and looked at one another. “I…I didn’t expect the ashes to be in a plastic bag with a twist tie, did you, Elizabeth?” Lizzie swallowed hard and shook her head.

“Which way is the wind blowing? We don’t want to be downwind when…when you release the ashes.”

Cosmo whirled around one way, then the other way. His jaw grim, his huge body rigid, he reached for the plastic bag and released the plastic tie. He took a few steps forward, checked the slight breeze again, and then tossed the contents of the bag into the air, making sure he had a firm hold on the corners of the bag. They both watched the beige-gray ashes sail upward and disappear into the air. Lizzie bowed her head and offered up a prayer before she walked over to the edge of the little plateau where she stripped the petals from the roses and let them loose in the wind. “From your friends, Lily Flowers.
Requiescat in pace.”

When Lizzie turned around, she saw Cosmo on his knees digging a hole in the sand big enough to bury the urn and the plastic bag. She turned back to where she’d been standing. She hoped when she died that someone who cared about her would be there to say good-bye. A tear trickled down her cheek. She brushed at it. Life sometimes was just too sad for words.

T
he eatery-slash-diner also known as the Rabbit Hole was in downtown Las Vegas, a dingy place where no one paid attention to the customers who entered the establishment. The Hole was owned by a man named Peter Rabbit to the chagrin of his wife, Petra. Peter Rabbit had been a boxer before he was knocked silly in the ring. His wife did all the cooking, and Peter sat at the counter and talked to customers.

To say the Rabbit Hole was dismal would be an understatement. It had cracked linoleum on the floor, the tables listed, and there were chunks of cardboard under the legs to hold them steady. The vinyl on the chairs was covered with strips of gray electrical tape. The areas of the vinyl visible between the applications of tape might once have been turquoise. Dark green pull-down shades graced the windows. There were nine tables in all plus a long counter that could hold eleven people, twelve if Peter Rabbit wasn’t sitting on one of the frayed stools talking to anyone who would listen.

The Rabbit Hole had four things on the menu: Beef stew, chicken noodle soup that was loaded with actual chicken, fresh hot bread, and honest-to-God homemade apple pie that was served with ice cream, whether you wanted it or not. All three wanted it.

Introductions made, Lizzie sat back, an amused expression on her face as the two men sized each other up. Whatever they were seeing appeared to be spot-on because both men grinned and shook hands. A lively discussion on the Rabbit Hole’s food followed, with Cosmo telling Bert how much Lizzie could eat at one sitting.

The minute they finished their lunch and the scrumptious, honest-to-God-homemade apple pie with ice cream, the trio got down to business over steaming cups of coffee. Lizzie took the initiative. “What are your people telling you, Bert?”

Bert leaned in closer to the table, his voice low, “Nothing, Lizzie. It’s a dry hole. The madam fell off the face of the earth. They’re not going to be happy about this back home. ‘Home’ meaning Washington.”

It was an impossible feat for Cosmo to lean into the table, but he did try. “Why is that?” he asked. “No madam, no employees, no case, would be my way of thinking. But then I’m just a corporate lawyer making sure the casinos stay on the straight and narrow, although in many ways, we operate the same way you guys do.”

“You would think that normally, but when the high muckety-mucks in Alphabet City come front and center, they start looking for someone else to blame. We’re all adults here, we all know how it works. The madam takes the fall, and so do her girls. The clients, or johns, depending on what you want to call them, hide under their rocks for a while, then surface again at some point, and everyone kisses and makes up. Everything is more or less forgotten, except by the clients’ families, who are the ones who have to deal with the fallout from the whole mess. The ladies sit in the slammer and grow old wondering what the hell went wrong. Look, I’m no prude, no one is ever going to stop prostitution, and, no, I don’t approve of it, but that’s me. The Bureau frowns heavily on it, as does our current administration. If it were a fair horse race, I wouldn’t even be here, and by fair I mean
everyone
goes on trial.

“The Vegas madam knows how the system works, so she split. Can’t say I blame her either. The Sisters are raring to go the minute someone gives them the word.” Bert finished off the coffee in his cup, leaned back in his chair, and was astounded to see a short, fat little man filling his coffee cup. He nodded his thanks. “Your turn,” he said to Lizzie.

Lizzie opted to take the high road for the moment. “What would be the ideal solution where the FBI is concerned? Finding the madam or not finding her? What happens if she’s never found?”

“Then a manhunt like you’ve never seen will begin. There are some big names back there in D.C. You also have a president who wants someone’s blood for trying to drain hers. The lady is on a roll. More than anything, she’s concerned about her reputation around the world, and well she should be. The potshots they’ve been taking at her since she assumed office are nothing to what you’ll see if this blows wide-open. It is my job to make sure it doesn’t blow wide-open. Does that answer your question?”

“What if she’s dead?”

“Dead? She can’t be dead! Who the hell in their right mind would believe drivel like that? No one in Washington would believe it, and I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be the person who tells Washington she’s dead. But, the johns would heave a sigh of relief, assuming she left no telltale evidence behind. That’s just too ludicrous for words because there is always evidence. Those pesky little black books brothels seem so fond of keeping.”

Lizzie stayed on the high road. She gave an airy wave of her hand. “You’re probably right, Bert, it is ludicrous, but you have to admit, if nothing ever comes to light, it could mean she’s dead somewhere under an alias. Or, what if she fakes her death and goes on about her life and is never seen again?”

Bert leaned in toward the table again. “It doesn’t sound like you have too much faith in the FBI. We are slow sometimes, but slow translates to thorough, and in the end, we always get our man, or, in this case, woman. Do you know something I don’t know, Lizzie? If you do, now’s the time to tell me.”

“Bert! Bert! I just got here, and I got married yesterday. Technically, I’m on my honeymoon. What could I possibly know on such short notice? You’ve known for weeks that I was taking a long holiday, and by long I mean four days. I didn’t even hear you congratulate me.” She sniffed indignantly to show what she thought of that statement.

Bert almost jumped out of his chair. “You got married!” He jerked his head in Cosmo’s direction. “To Cosmo?”

“Yeah,” Lizzie drawled as she flashed her brand-new wedding ring.

“Lizzie, that’s great! Really great. Congratulations! Do the girls know?” Bert turned to Cosmo and held out his hand. “You got yourself a hell of a woman there, Cosmo.”

Cosmo grinned from ear to ear. His first congratulatory handshake. He liked the feeling.

Bert sat back in his chair again and stared at the newly married couple. He knew in his gut he’d just been snookered by a real pro. Just for a second, he allowed himself to be envious and wished it was Kathryn and he sitting there in the Rabbit Hole. He knew that Kathryn would have had some of everything on the menu, had seconds, and bragged about it for days. She did love to eat.

Lizzie continued to wave her hand for Bert’s benefit. “Cosmo is taking me around the world as soon as we can clear our schedules. An around-the-world honeymoon. It’s just too wonderful for words, don’t you think, Bert?”

“I think it’s great. What’s that going to take, a year, a little more?”

“Give or take,” Lizzie said airily.

Suddenly, as if some silent alarm went off in the room saying it was okay to
really
get down to business, Bert said, “Okay, cut the bullshit and give it to me straight.”

Lizzie drew in a deep breath. “She’s dead, Bert. An accident on the Cajon Pass. We know she was headed for San Bernardino because there was a hotel reservation in her wallet in the console of her car. She was Cosmo’s client. She got her girls out to safety. I don’t think she was your everyday, run-of-the-mill madam. She provided for her workers, she was fair and paid decent wages. She saw to their medical and dental, and ran a top-notch brothel, not that I know much about such things, but that’s what we’ve heard and read.”

Bert’s mind raced. How was he going to play this with the Bureau? “Where’s the body?”

Lizzie looked at Cosmo, who shrugged. “If you take the temperature into consideration and the winds, which are about ten to fifteen knots, I’d say parts of her are still over land and some out there over water.”

“Son of a bitch! You fried her?”

“That’s such an indelicate phrase, Bert. But, yes, she was cremated. There was no next of kin. Cosmo was her lawyer, and he did, with my help, what his client wanted done,” Lizzie said, stretching the truth a tad.

Bert, in his frenzy, started to crack his knuckles. The sound was so loud, the other diners looked over to see what he was doing. “No one is going to believe that story.”

Lizzie sighed. “I always did say that truth is stranger than fiction. It’s the truth, Bert. Ah, there is one little thing, though. The madam’s girls don’t think it was an accident. Cosmo and I agree with the girls, but we’re just lawyers. The case is closed and labeled an accident. Front tire exploded, and she was killed on impact. Not even one inch of space on page thirty-four. Check it out yourself. That’s if you want to make it public.”

“What’s the name on the death certificate?” Bert snapped.

“Lily Flowers,” Cosmo snapped back.

“An alias, of course?”

“Yes, one of several. She operated the Happy Day Camp under the name of Crystal Clark. That’s how she was known in these parts. When she left my office, she was Lily Flowers. That’s all I can tell you, the rest is covered by attorney-client privilege.”

Lizzie leaned forward. She was suddenly a different person. Her eyes were cold and bright, and she was in legal mode. “Are you going to let it play out, or are you going to let it wither and die on the vine, Bert?”

“You just put me between a rock and a hard place. I need some think time. My Special Agent in Charge out here is a bulldog. He’ll sniff it out sooner or later. If I shut it all down, I’m going to have to answer to the lady in the White House. She wants that woman brought to justice. If I can’t deliver, the stink remains on her administration.” Bert looked over at Cosmo, and asked, “Who else knows you’re the attorney of record?”

“The madam’s working girls, the local police, the ME, and the people at the crematorium.”

“Where are the…working girls?”

Lizzie shook her head. “They could be anywhere. The short answer is, I do not know.”

“Don’t know or won’t tell me?” Bert snarled.

Lizzie ignored the director’s sudden anger because she knew it wasn’t directed at her but at the circumstances. “I don’t know.”

“Are the girls on the mountain privy to all this?”

“Oh, yeah,” Lizzie drawled.

“Maggie Spritzer?”

Lizzie laughed, the sound like a musical bell. “Let’s just say she has ten days’ worth of headlines ready to go.” Lizzie looked down at the platinum watch on her wrist. “You better get moving, Bert. You’re supposed to be meeting Ted at the Elvis Chapel in thirty-five minutes. With Vegas traffic, it will take you that long to get there. Maggie text messaged me a few minutes ago. Ted was thirty minutes out, so the flight is right on schedule.”

“And you’re going to be doing…what?” Bert asked as he slapped some bills down on the table. “Consider this your honeymoon lunch on the Bureau.” He grinned to show there were no hard feelings concerning the show-and-tell they’d just gone through.

Lizzie reached across the table to take Cosmo’s big hand in hers. She made silly moon eyes at him that left him weak in the knees. “Silly boy, we’re going to continue with our honeymoon just as if there were no interruptions.”

Bert wondered how in the hell it was possible to take a dead body that had just been cremated, scatter it to the four winds, then get on with a honeymoon. He decided it wouldn’t be wise to ask that particular question. Instead, he stood up, bent down to kiss Lizzie’s cheek, then shook Cosmo’s hand, and left.

“I thought that went rather well, don’t you, Cricket?”

“Which part?”

Lizzie laughed as she stood up to leave the restaurant. “Come along, Sweetie, I have some wonderful plans for the two of us. Do you like chocolate lick-off cream?”

Cosmo’s canoe-sized feet stumbled, and he almost went down on his knees. Somehow or other he managed to croak that he “loved chocolate lick-off cream.”

Lizzie laughed all the way to the car.

When Bert pulled up to the curb outside the Elvis Chapel, he saw Ted sitting on the far curb punching away at his BlackBerry. Strains of “Love Me Tender” wafted across the street. The record sounded scratchy and tinny, but if there were any newlyweds, they probably couldn’t have cared less. A spray of water from the sprinkler system shot high in the air, missing Ted by a scant few inches. He appeared oblivious. Bert blew the horn, Ted looked up, then finished his message to Maggie before he loped over to the car.

“What’s up, Mr. Director?”

“All kinds of shit, Mr. Reporter. Any news?”

“Maggie’s working it. The girls on the mountain are waiting for orders. They’re in their mission-control stage, trying to come up with a plan. Jack and Harry are leaving in the morning. That’s it on my end unless you haven’t heard about the nuptials that took place here in Vegas.”

“I heard. I just had a late lunch with the newly married couple. Do you know anything about the madam?”

“Only that she’s dead and one with the universe. Where have you been, Navarro?”

“Shooting marbles with Elvis. I just got here myself. What’s the game plan?”

“I wish I knew. I’m waiting to hear. Maggie gave me some instructions, and you want me to check out where the funds came from to build the Happy Day Camp. That’s my agenda at the moment, pure and simple. If you don’t mind my asking, how are you going to handle all this with the Bureau guys here in Vegas? This is just a guess on my part, but I would think you are going to have to be extra careful and watch who you’re seen with. Since the madam is officially deceased, doesn’t this more or less end the investigation? If that’s not the case, then I’m not getting it.”

“That makes two of us. The bottom line is that no one is supposed to know the madam is deceased. She died under an alias. Right this second, I don’t know where that leaves us.”

“I’ll tell you where it leaves everyone, especially the Vigilantes. Now they have a clear shot at going after those jerks back in D.C. Poor bastards, they don’t know what’s coming at them,” Ted said cheerfully.

Bert took his eyes off the road for a mere second to stare at his gleeful passenger. Reporters had to be one of a kind. He made a mental note to call Elias Cummings, his mentor and the man he’d replaced as director of the FBI, as soon as he dropped Ted off at his hotel. Then, he was going to head for the nearest bar, order a drink, call Kathryn, Jack, and Harry, then order another drink or three. Eventually he would get shit-faced enough that he could make some sense out of what he was going to do and how he was going to do it. He grimaced to himself. Like that was going to happen. The last time he was shit-faced he’d been in college, and he’d sworn never to go that way again. He was strictly a one-beer kind of guy.