Razor Sharp. Fern Michaels
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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, here’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