Catch & Neutralize (11 page)

Chapter 19

With the Spyder’s top down, Tiffany’s curls and Angie’s slats whipped at the air like angry snakes attacking their own. Aside from road construction causing a bottleneck and fifteen-minute slowdown, the ride to Krafty Kate’s kept the two ladies in pleasant moods. The sun beamed majestically with a background landscape of the Sandia Mountains. Flocks of birds flying in formation called out while heading south.

Angie pulled into Roadrunner Plaza. The sudden absence of wind caused the radio’s high volume to sound like a blaring foghorn.

“An unusually early snow storm headed southwest from…” Angie cut the convertible’s engine.

“Hey,” Tiffany pointed exiting the car, “there’s a discount shoe store. You want to see if they have anything you like?”

A patron of high-end boutiques, Angie wanted to shake her head but thought better of it. Her feet were aching. Heels this high were made for sitting. She’d worn them far too long between yesterday and today.

It didn’t take long. Angie found a pair of slip-ons, sporty black. She told Tiffany: “I’ll meet you in Krafty Kate’s. Just going to toss these death heels in the car.”

Angie trotted to the Spyder, feeling comfy in her new flats. Sneaker-ballets were the bomb, especially after wearing stilettos two days in a row. She tossed the heels inside the trunk and pulled the compact from her purse. After sneaking a peak around the parking lot, Angie opened the secret compartment with her thumbprint.

A new message flashed:
Stay with Dr. Bell. Sending Two Targets to Bell Manor.

Chapter 20

Tiffany texted Scott for the umpteenth time and still hadn’t gotten a response. She tossed the phone back inside her handbag and adjusted her glasses.

You better have a damn good reason for the holdup, Scott. I’m going to make you very sorry for screwing me around like this.

The door chimed musically as Tiffany entered. The store smelled faintly of rosewater and lavender soap.

An elderly woman called out from somewhere in the back, “Welcome to Kate’s!”

She came into view seconds later, white bristly hair and bright pink lipstick matching her Art Deco patterned dress. She looked impossibly thin, a life filled skeleton.

“Can I help you find anything?”

“Are you Kate?” Tiffany asked.

“I am!” Kate’s lips parted upwards, showing perfectly polished dentures that glowed against her flashy lipstick. “What can I do for ya?”

Tiffany looked towards the door. No sign of Angie. She asked, “Do you have any jars that are for holding money? Not a piggy bank, but one of those jars that say ‘Vacation Fund’ or something like that?”

“Oh my, yes we do!” Kate screeched through her plastered-on smile. “They’re on the last aisle to your right about midway down.” She pointed with a pale witchlike finger, florescent orange polish on a long, thick talon.

Tiffany checked the door again. “How much are they? I want to pay you right now and let my friend pick one out.”

“Oh yes, that’s so sweet. You’re such a sweet girl, aren’t ya?” Kate said nodding. “Do you want a small or large? Only comes in two sizes. Let’s see, small is forty-five and large is sixty-five.”

Tiffany dug in her purse and pulled out a change pouch. “I’ll take a large one. Here’s eighty dollars. Don’t say anything to my friend when she chooses a jar, please.” She handed the old lady 4 twenty-dollar bills. “Keep the change, okay? Just don’t say anything. She is desperately shy and sometimes has panic attacks when strangers speak to her.”

Kate’s faced clouded, wrinkles deepening. “If you say so, sweetie.” She floated a zipper motion over her coated lips. Tiffany noticed lipstick had seeped into the lines around her mouth.

“Thank you so much, Kate. This is a birthday present for my friend. Thanks for being so understanding about the silence.”

Kate shuffled over to the cash register calling over her shoulder, “No trouble at all, sweet girl. You should get that blister examined. It’s a bad one.”

Tiffany shot the old woman’s back a lopsided frown and then examined her finger. The blister didn’t look any worse than yesterday, maybe slightly larger, nothing major.

Musical chimes sounded from the door as Angie entered. Tiffany waved her over.

“Come look over here.”

Angie met Tiffany in the middle and whispered, “You shouldn’t attract so much attention. I’m here to steal something.”

“You’re right. Sorry,” Tiffany’s voice lowered significantly. “Jars are this way. You get whichever one you want. I’m going to wait outside, watching. Don’t stop at the cash register for anything or your challenge will be considered a failure. Got it?”

“Got it.” Angie turned in the direction of the jar aisle.

Tiffany winked at Kate and held her finger up in the
shhh
position. From the window, she watched Angie slink around the store, looking suspicious. Tiffany laughed her way to a snort. Stealing was obviously not Angie’s strongest talent.

She checked her cell phone again for messages and was pissed to find nothing waiting.

Scott, you little twerp. Why didn’t you show last night as planned?

He also hadn’t called or returned any of her texts.

Chapter 21

Handwritten note cards were stuck on wooden shelves with pushpins: Small Jar - $45, Large Jar - $65. Angie turned her back to the windows pretending to inspect jars. She dug a crisp hundred dollar bill from her wallet and crumpled it into her palm. Passing the cash register, she tossed the bill on the counter without stopping.

The door scraped against the sidewalk as Angie burst out, a large pottery jar cradled under one arm. An ice cream truck drove by slowly, the high-pitched tune of
Pop Goes the Weasel
attracting nearby children.

Angie looked back to find the shopkeeper smiling and waving. “Happy birthday,” she called after Angie.

She hurried to the car, tires squealing as they hustled from the parking lot. Angie laughing, mouth open and head held high. “Crazy old lady,” Angie yelled, more laughing with the thrill of getting away with faking thievery. “That was so fun. Best challenge ever!”

“Yeah, fun stuff!” Tiffany clapped. “Great job! Now, let’s see the jar.”

She lifted it from Angie’s lap and rested it in her own, studying it. The multicolored jar half pink, half blue. White curlicue indentations represented party ribbon, dots of paint indicated confetti. The stenciled words proclaimed:
Party Girl Fund
.

“Good choice,” Tiffany said.

“Thanks.” Angie handed her cell phone to Tiffany. “Will you type Macaroons into the GPS? Not sure the fastest way from here.”

~

Google Maps directed over paved roads separating open fields and gated horses. Highway 55, an hour’s drive to their destination. Angie checked her phone to verify she’d not passed a turnoff.

Tiffany broke the silence. “So this guy, Scott? He’s been after you for a while?”

Angie shrugged. “I haven’t a clue.” She fingered wide circles around her temple. “He’s cuckoo. That’s all I know.”

“I’ve been thinking about how to get his phone.” Tiffany removed her glasses wiping the lenses with the bottom of her cardigan. “If he’s after you for sex, maybe we could lure him by hinting at a threesome.” Replacing her glasses, she went on: “I mean, we could be sexual towards each other and when it’s all panting and hot, one of us slips a hand and takes his phone. Do you know where he keeps it? Pants pocket maybe?”

Angie tilted her head, the conversation tiresome. She blinked and sat up straight. “No idea. Most keep it in a back pocket, but who knows?”

“That’s okay. It doesn’t matter right now. I’m just trying to formulate a plan. Like I said before, we’ll play it by ear.”

Angie glanced at Tiffany. “What’re we going to do if he doesn’t fall for the threesome thingy?”

Tiffany laughed. “Oh, he will. Trust me. I’ve got a Ph.D. in how the mind works. A young adult male being offered sexual favors by two gorgeous females like us…”

“All right. I see your point.”

“If not,” Tiffany said, “remember ear.”

Angie perked up. “That’s your next challenge.”

“What is?”

“For a thousand dollars, if Scott doesn’t give us the phone, then you’ll have to remove one of his ears.” Angie squealed in delight.

Tiffany gave her a side stare. “Really? I meant play-it-by-ear, not cut off an ear. You’re seriously going to make me chop off some dude’s ear or pay a thousand dollars?”

No way, dumbass, but I’ve got your attention.

“Yep. It’s a thousand, not a million.” Angie stuck out her tongue, mischievously wiggling it while giggling. The gesture was more obscene than rude. “If you get the phone easily, you don’t have to cut off his ear. You’re free. No owing, your challenge complete.”

“Right. What if he didn’t bring the phone? If he doesn’t have it with him, then what?” Tiffany leaned forward, fiddling with the seatbelt.

“I guess you’ll have to remove his repulsive little hearing apparatus.”

“Or put a thousand bucks into the
Party Girl Fund
.”

“Stop stressing. He’ll have it. And then
I’ll
have to put a grand in the jar.”

Tiffany nodded but didn’t appear convinced. “Okay.” She looked away, staring ahead. “I’ll accept your challenge.”

“Awesome. Maybe we should wear masks. I have a few in the backseat still in the bag. Got them on clearance, Marti Gras leftovers or something. Might be a good idea to wear them. If you have to cut off his ear, maybe we should make it fun. And, even if you don’t, it’ll probably scare the crap out of him. After what he’s trying to do to me, experiencing a little fear will be good for him.”

Tiffany didn’t respond.

“You driving him back would be genius,” Angie said. “I don’t think he’s been eyeballing and drooling over you. He’ll never know who’s taken him.”

Tiffany leaned her head against the seat, eyes closed. She ran a hand to the back of her neck, massaging gently.

“What I’m saying is,” Angie tried recovering from her unintentional insult, “I’m pretty sure Scott doesn’t memorize the cars and license plates of every person at Macaroons. I’ll direct him to your car and get him inside. You drive away. I’ll follow you back to your house.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Tiffany leaned closer to the passenger door, looking out the window.

“Oh, don’t be like that. I didn’t mean anything. I have a hard time keeping my words in order. Say what you mean, right?”

“Exactly.” Tiffany huffed. “Have you ever cut yourself?”

Angie shot a look of surprise. “Cut myself? Are you kidding? Who does that?”

“I meant plastic surgery. You’ve had a boob job?”

“Oh.” Angie laughed. “I thought you were asking if I cut myself with razors or knives or something.” She scanned the open road. “Yes, I’ve had a breast enlargement, lip plumping injections, and some Botox. Nothing crazy.”

“So you’re not thinking about more plastic surgery? Didn’t you mention a nose job?”

“I might, not sure yet. My nose could use some thinning, I think.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way or felt you needed to do any of it. You’re perfect naturally.”

Angie drove without replying.

Tiffany peered out the window.

Silence hung in the air like the thick mixture of scents surrounding a perfume kiosk. Ten minutes passed without words.

A dilapidated two-story house crept into view. The single structure rested left of center in an overgrown field of wheat colored grass. Hundreds of acres of yellow-gold swayed in the gentle gusts. Both ladies stared wide-eyed at the ghostly building.

“We should stop for pictures.” Mesmerized wonder passed though Angie’s soft tone. “Want to?”

Tiffany nodded, eyes wandering over the decrepit structure. “I’ve never seen a house this unusual.” She studied it as they crept closer. “After my ear challenge, I’ve got the perfect one lined up for you.”

“Can’t wait.” Angie pulled her car towards a rusty, barbed wire fence.

The
Party Girl Fund
lid clicked and clanked against its jar while the car bumped along the terrain, sounding like a warning through Morse code.

Angie parked and reached into the backseat grabbing the bag of masks. The first sequined, hot pink and gold. The second, black with an assortment of multicolored feathers. The last had a scroll pattern, glittery green.

“Let’s take a few pics wearing masks.” Angie laughed. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Angie slid on the pink and gold sequined. It gleamed and sparkled against the sun’s glare.

Tiffany looked at her feet, pushed up her glasses. She took the black mask and slipped it on. “This
is
kind of fun.” Tiffany adjusted the mask. “Next time I’ll have to wear contacts.” She held her prescription glasses over the mask’s eyeholes by one arm, looking like an opera spectator with fancy binoculars.

Two signs hung on the old fence surrounding the property. No Trespassing appeared to be the newer one. The second, a sun-faded For Sale sign, gave only a weatherworn, barely legible phone number.

Angie snapped a few shots with her cell phone. After stepping closer to Tiffany, she switched the photo settings and snapped some of the two together with the house looming in the background.

Sliding through the pictures, Angie said: “Our selfies look crazy-good. Here,” she passed her phone to Tiffany. “What do you think?”

“They do, almost look like paintings.” Tiffany handed the phone back. “You might want to consider submitting one of those photos to a magazine. There’s one called
Haunted Attraction Magazine
.”

“You think so?”

“Couldn’t hurt to try. I’d be surprised if they didn’t publish it. You got some really spooky shots.”

“Thanks. I think I might.” Angie turned, inspecting the decaying structure. Its weathered wooden bones adorned with cracked paint, most chipped off and carried away by breezes from long ago. “It does look haunted, even more so with the overcast skies rolling in. Looks like snow headed our way.”

“Great day to find a place like this.”

Angie rubbed her arms and checked the time on her cell. “Temperature’s dropping and I don’t want to be late. We should get going.”

They drove without seeing another person or passing vehicles.

Fifty minutes later, Angie pulled into Macaroons. The parking lot close to full capacity.

“Which one is yours?”

“Gray Mazda over there.” Tiffany pointed.

“All right, wait in your car with the passenger door unlocked. I’ll have Scott out here faster than you can run a pair of stockings with freshly manicured nails.”

Tiffany covered a laugh. “I bet you will. Just be sure to follow. I don’t want to be left alone with this loser.”

Walking through the dusty lot, Angie felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Scott Dovy’s large smile shining too close to her face.

“Jeez, don’t sneak up on people like that.” Angie’s mood soured. She had more pressing things than this idiot to focus on, like keeping an eye on Tiffany. “Did you bring your cell? That’s the main part of this deal.”

Scott pulled the top part of the phone from the front pocket of his jeans. “Right here, but that’s not the main part of the deal for me, sugar lips. Did you bring the cash?”

Angie nodded. She neither had fifty thousand dollars on her person nor planned to give a dime to this dimwitted, piece-of-shit con artist.

She wondered why they’d been dubbed con
artists
and not con
headaches
or con
pains-in-the-asses
. The term artist implied something magnificent like makeup
artist
or performance
artist
. This con artist, this con headache, would never get one over on her. Angie would make sure of that. She smiled at Scott with a flirty purr and slowly ran a hand down his chest. Hidden fury tightened her scalp.

“Good.” Scott cocked an eyebrow and winked. “Plus, we’ve got a date.”

Rage bubbled in Angie’s gut.
This guy is something else.
“Let’s get going.”

“I’m guessing the money’s in your car? Do you want to get it and take mine?”

“No, I brought a friend with me.” She mocked Scott’s brow movement and wink. “Thought maybe you’d like to have some
real
fun.”

“Hmmm.” Scott rubbed his chin as if contemplating the secrets of the universe. His face looked as smooth and soft as a newborn’s rump. “I knew you were a thinker.”

You’ve got that right, Bozo, and I think you’re about to be annihilated.

“You ride with my sexy girlfriend. I’ll be right behind.” Angie started towards Tiffany’s Mazda. “Her name’s Tiffany,” she said over her shoulder, “and she lives in a mansion.”

Scott strutted behind. Jeans ripped at the knees, a piece flapping with each step. “Cool. It’s that chick you left with last night, isn’t it?”

Angie turned around, walking backwards. She nodded and blew a kiss in his direction before turning back.

Weaving through parked vehicles, gravel crunched and dust clouded around their shoes. The recent rainfall hadn’t reached this area.

Angie opened the passenger door for Scott, the perfect lady-gentleman. “Be nice to Tiffany, Scott. I’ll be right behind you. No funny stuff without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of starting any funny stuff without you, Mrs. Carter.” Scott gave another wink, making Angie’s skin crawl. Without warning, she slammed the door knowing Scott’s fingers were in the way.

“Almost got me,” he said lowering the window. “Glad I was paying attention.”

Angie sighed, and then shook her head smiling. “Whatever.”

She headed back to the Spyder. With her back turned, fury covered her features like a snarling werewolf. Her nose wrinkled, teeth gritted, lips bowing down in contempt.

Scott’s eyes followed her the entire time. When he whistled at her backside, Angie shot him the middle finger without turning around.

She grumbled into the afternoon sky. “Watch it, you conceited twit. I’m not above killing you even if it is against The Institute’s rules.”