Ringer (30 page)

“I like it!” Grant particularly liked it for his own reasons. “The timing is crucial, though. We’d better say we’re going on an after-dinner boat ride in the speedboat, and that’s how I’ll transport you to the beach at the Ramparts. That way I’ll be able to get back to the yacht quickly and get her ready to go.”

Grant quickly imagines a scene in the yacht bedroom, Gina naked and straddling him. The door opens, and Dixie rages into the room with a gun. Cut to a newspaper spinning out toward our audience, and when it stops the
Daily Post
headline reads:
GRANT MURDERED IN BOATY LOVE MEX-NEST
.
Skip Baker, reporting from Mexico
. There is a picture of Dixie on the cover being led away in handcuffs by Mexican Federal Police.

“How long do you think all this will take?” Grant asked.

“I think from the time you drop me off maybe an hour? Purity is often late, as we know.”

“An hour should do it.”

“Do what?”

“Hm? Oh, should do it to warm up the yacht’s diesel engine. You know how it stalls.”

“Brilliant, sugar pie!”

Track the camera back in the customs line to a medium close-up of Gina and me. Men in the background crane their necks to sneak a look at Gina.

“I’ve got it, Morty.”

“Hm? What is it you have?”

“Shrinkage.”

“Shrinkage?”

“A man’s package. In cold water, it shrinks.”

I knit my brow. Penis abuse in any form is an instant affront to all men. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Well, if I were to lure Grant into some cold water, his package would shrink. The Li’l Guy goes
schwermp
.” Gina illustrated with her fingers. “Don’t the testicles also run for the hills, bunch back up into the body?”

I shifted uncomfortably.
“Schwermp?”

“Exactly! Then the ring will fall off. I scoop it up and drop the fake in its place. That way I don’t have to get close to his Li’l Guy. I mean, let’s face it, if he thinks he’s going to actually screw me he’s got another thing coming, and there’s a line I won’t cross to get that thing out from under his nut sack.”

“I am glad to hear you say that,
querida,
because I would not ask you to do such a thing and would think less of you if you would.”

“Well, if the roles were reversed, and the ring were up inside Dixie’s kitten, would you do whatever was necessary to get it?”

Women’s capacity to ask men questions they must lie to answer never ceases to astound me.

“If you are clever and play upon someone’s appetite and charm them, it is usually sufficient to gain whatever advantage you seek.”

“So you think if you were going to boink her she’d pull it out in advance.”

“Precisely so. Which is why you must arrange for this shrinkage to be a surprise, so that he does not have time to remove the ring.”

“You don’t think he’d be tempted to mambo with the ring tied around his nut sack?”

I shifted uncomfortably again. “Having not tried a stunt such as that, I can only speculate that it would indeed be possible to achieve. However, constricting the package at the place where it attaches like that might have unintended consequences.”

Gina raised an eyebrow. “Do tell?”

“As I said, I have not attempted this stunt, so I do not know. Restricting blood flow in that region at critical junctures could prolong, delay, or even defer the culmination.”

“Really?”

I eyed her suspiciously and directed the conversation elsewhere. “In any case, yes, I like your plan. Surely he is so smitten with you that you could lure him into a vat of molten lava, much less arctic waters.”

“And you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” Gina shifted her weight to one marvelously curved hip and squirmed seductively. A man behind her lost his balance and fell down.

I returned her gesture with smoldering eyes and a jaunty jut of my jaw. “I would add Tabasco to the lava, and icebergs to the icy water.”

“See, this is why I like you so much.” She smiled. “Unlike any man I have ever met, you’re
not
smitten. You’re just unbelievably charming, and unlike most men, you lie and flatter like you really mean it. Women really like that in a man. And you’re from
Brooklyn
?”

“
East
Brooklyn.”

Track the camera back in the customs line to a medium close-up of Purity, who glances in the direction of Gina and me and mumbles, “Get a room.”

Her attention returns to her phone, where her thumbs peck away like angry chickens.

I guess we must write the text of what she is texting and scroll it down the screen. Can you imagine if you made a movie entirely about the youth of today? The entire dialogue of the movie would have to be scrolled down the screen, because I honestly do not think they speak directly with one another at all anymore, except for the intermittent “awesome” or “dude.”

Skip: arrive 2nite

Purity: 2day!

Skip: no r-lier flts

Purity: time?

Skip: 6

Purity: Better hurry or u miss the show

Skip: show?

Purity: FYSBIGTBABN

Better put the translation on the screen, because even the most ardent and jaded texters may not know that one:
Fasten your seat belts it’s going to be a bumpy night.

CHAPTER

FORTY-SIX

CABO SAN LUCAS IS MANHATTAN
to La Paz’s Brooklyn. Both are worthy seaside towns, yet people mostly visit one rather than the other. True, the terrains are similar: dry coastal town on a gentle slope leading to a wide bay, mountains in the background. Yet unlike La Paz, Cabo’s downtown marina and the ocean beaches are mostly glitzy hotels and resorts. At the southern end of the town is a thin peninsula called Land’s End that angles into the Pacific Ocean from the southern tip of Baja Sur. One finds various small beaches on this peninsula with a natural rock arch near the very end. People whale watch, Jet Ski, parasail, shop, eat, drink, and basically vacation in Cabo. So maybe we should do a montage like on the opening credits of the hit TV show
Hawaii Five-O
or possibly
Baywatch.
We show all the local attractions quickly so we can turn the camera across the bay to Grant’s Italian villa on a cliff east of town.

Man, this place had it all. Three pools were built into the cliff in front and to one side, each cascading into the next with waterfalls. Stairs cut into the side of the cliff spiraled down to a protected cove and a private marina just big enough for Grant’s vintage motor yacht and a slick red speedboat. There was a sauna, steam bath, and gym; the whole place was wired for surround sound. Why anybody would want to work there I have no idea, but it had a business center conference room. Servants’ quarters and a four-car garage were landside. As if that were not enough, it was of course, an Italian villa with five bedrooms, all of which had balconies with awesome views of the Pacific and Cabo itself. The sun set beyond Land’s End. The living room had a huge teak bar that opened up to a large veranda with a fire pit and a Jacuzzi next to the pool and a trap range for shooting clay pigeons out over the ocean. Believe me, this place kicked butt, and would be the kind of spread anybody with Grant’s money would be crazy
not
to own. All it needed was an airport, though I suppose the private helipad and sleek helicopter across the street sufficed.

He had named this place Villa del Destino Ganado, and these words were carved into the bleached stone arch of the villa’s entryway. I stood looking up at the arch as the Mexican caretaker carted our luggage into the villa.

“That is most interesting.” I pointed at the words. Gina stepped up next to me with a shopping bag. She’d shopped in the airport for clothes. Most women take a day to buy a simple blouse that makes them look fat. In ten minutes Gina threw together a wardrobe of tourist beach crap that on her looked like a million bucks.

“OK, so why is that interesting, Morty?”

“
Destino Ganado
is written in my family’s crest. It is carved into the fountain that is in my villa in La Paz. It means—”

“Earn Destiny.”

“I must ask Grant about that.”

“Where did he go?”

“He and Dixie said they had some errands in town and that they would see us back here for dinner. I suppose that gives us time to freshen up. Those lines at customs are brutal.”

“Think they put us in rooms near each other?” Gina grinned and began to walk backward into the villa.

I grinned back at her. “Could it be far enough?”

“Far enough?”

“To keep me from coming by to check for spiders?”

“Uno más?”

The camera looks down from a balcony and captures me pursuing Gina into the villa. The shot widens to capture Purity on the villa balcony, spying on us. Gina and I had our mischief, Purity had hers.

“That takes care of them for a while,” she whispered and pivoted back into the villa.

Let us do a traveling shot and follow Purity as she jogs her way through the villa. The screenwriting manual says this can be done with a Steadicam, which allows the cameraman to jog directly behind her and follow her wherever she goes without making the audience feel like there is an earthquake. The use of a Steadicam will allow us a delightful view of Purity jogging from behind, those pigtails bouncing and her compact shape swaying splendidly. It might also be an excellent way to relate all the information above on the opulence of the villa without a
Hawaii Five-O
montage.

Purity jogged down the upstairs hall, through a beaded curtain, and down the steep and narrow back stairs, into a pantry. She opened the refrigerator and removed a large fish from a platter. Purity turned through a side door and went around a garden path and past a bespectacled gardener, down some rock stairs next to a waterfall, and around the base of one swimming pool. The blue Pacific was spread out to the right, rays of late-day sun streaming in behind her. On the left, she passed the entrance to the sauna and steam bath, both built in under the upper pool. Beyond was an intersection with a stairway going down and a promontory containing the trap range hut and shooting stations. Down the stair she went, steeply, the frothy ocean crashing on the rocks below and to her right.

Curving left around the cliff face, she came to a rock landing, the protected cove, and the top of a long aluminum staircase down to the private marina. Below, the vintage motor yacht and slick red speedboat bobbed gently at the dock. Purity stopped and looked up to the left, as does the camera. Mounted on a bracket bolted to the cliff face was a security camera pointed down at the boats below.

Purity took the large fish and speared it onto the bracket under the camera, but without letting the camera see her.

A flock of terns mobbed the fish, and their feasting obscured the camera’s lens.

Purity jogged down the stairs, sunlight dappling the far wall of the cove.

Jumping down the last few steps onto the dock, she stopped to look behind her, sweat staining her shirt, her breath coming fast as much from the jog as from excitement. Satisfied the birds were still blocking the camera and that nobody had followed her, she turned and hopped aboard the wooden motor yacht.

Purity ducked into a passageway and then immediately went down some steep stairs into the bowels of the yacht. She hit a light switch and followed a series of caged bulbs that illuminated a low paneled passage. Past a stainless steel galley and vented teak doors, and at the end of the passage, was a door bearing the brass plaque
ENGINE ROOM
.

Opening the engine room door, she flicked the light on. The room gently gurgled to the sound of the bilge pump. Dimly glimmering in the center of the narrow room was an engine the size of a coffin. Various pipes and conduits ascended from the coffin to the ceiling on a column.

Let’s go to a series of close-ups.

Her hand coursed the length of a small aluminum pipe as it twisted along the ceiling and down the column until it turned away from the column and came to a gap in the pipe bridged by a black rubber hose. Purity twisted the hose until one end slid off its aluminum counterpart. Gasoline spurted from the detached hose but trickled to a stop.

Next: Purity’s hand plucked an ignition wire from the top of a spark plug and tucked it next to the engine block.

Next: Purity’s hands held a gasoline can and poured gallons of fuel onto the floor around the engine and where the ignition wire was tucked next to the engine block.

Next: Her finger shut off the switch on the wall labeled
BILGE PUMP
. The gurgling stopped.

Next: Her fingers shoved rags into the door vent.

Next: Purity’s hand on the brass knob gently closed the door to the engine room.

Cut to Purity on deck, where she entered the bridge and removed her dangling diamond earrings. A St. Christopher’s medal hung from an electronic compass next to the ship’s wheel, and she hooked her earrings onto the chain.

Jumping down from the boat onto the dock, she jogged to the stairs but stopped to look back. Flash fantasy time, a quickie.

We see Grant in full yachting togs and white captain’s hat at the helm of the boat, Dixie by his side, lovebirds cooing at each other. Grant’s hand turns the boat’s ignition switch.

Cut to the engine room half filled with water, a gasoline slick on the surface, and then a close-up of the ignition wire tucked next to the engine block. A bright blue spark fires from the spark plug to the engine block.

Cut to a shot of the yacht from above as it erupts in flame, splinters of wood, and the white captain’s hat cast high into the air as the boat is destroyed by the fireball.

Back to Purity’s wild, excited eyes as she imagines this great moment. She turned and charged back up the stairs to the villa, the birds still flocking around the camera.

CHAPTER

FORTY-SEVEN

IN TIME LAPSE, WE SEE
the sun sink low over Land’s End from the veranda at Villa del Destino Ganado. Cabo San Lucas is in purple shadow, the festive lights of the resorts beginning to twinkle.