Naked Frame (6 page)

He looked at the hostess, "Is my table
ready, Cindy?"

"Always, Sir."

Wiley winked at Rebecca. The hostess led
them into the restaurant and over to Wiley's table in the center of
the room.

He ordered two glasses of expensive wine.
Rebecca didn't like wine. It was just as well, since she had no
intention of consuming any more alcohol tonight.

"So, what's your name, Honey?"

Rebecca went blank. What had she planned to
call herself? She blurted out, "Julie."

"Julie what?"

"Jones. Julie Jones."

"That's okay. You don't have to tell me your
real name."

"That
is
my real name."

"Okay. Sorry. It sounds fake. I'm sure you
get that a lot."

She smiled and nodded.

"Well, my name is Wiley Smotherburn. Of
course, you probably already knew who I was."

"Glad to meet you Wiley." She extended her
hand. He took it in both of his hands and rubbed it gently. "Soft
skin."

Rebecca nearly laughed out
loud. Her hands were
not
soft. He must have already had a drink or two, she
thought. The alcohol was deadening his sense of touch. She could
only imagine how that would affect him in the bedroom. Although it
didn't matter, since she would not be joining him in any bedrooms.
"Thanks." She withdrew her hand.

"Yeah, my dad owns this place." He looked
around. "It'll be mine one day soon."

Not if Joey Ketrousie had his way, thought
Rebecca. Obviously, Wiley didn't know his father was dead.

"And I'm going to make some changes. Big
changes."

"Like what? Do away with the nudity?"

"Hell, no. I want
even
more
nudity.
If topless can bring in
this
kind of business, imagine what
total
nudity would do."

Rebecca looked around at the waitresses. She
could barely stand to eat in this room as it was. Total nudity?
Barf.

"And I'll add a cover charge. Thirty bucks
to get in the door."

The waitress brought the wine bottle and
filled their glasses.

Wiley gulped his down immediately and
motioned for the waitress to refill it.

Rebecca pretended to take a sip of hers.

"Are you hungry?" He sucked down his second
glass of wine.

"No, not really."

He put his hand on her arm and leaned in.
"Want to go to my place? I just bought a house." He grinned.

"Uh, sure."

He staggered out of the restaurant, hanging
onto her for support. Rebecca decided he must have already had
several drinks before she got there. "I'll drive."

"What? No, I'm fine."

"I'm not going with you unless you let me
drive."

"Oh, alright." He took the keys out of his
pocket and handed them to her.

His address was programmed into his car's
GPS system. It was a good thing, since he was in no condition to
give directions.

"You're a very beautiful woman, Judy."

"Julie."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, Julie. You're a very
beautiful woman, Julie. Did anybody ever tell you that?"

"A couple of times."

"I love your long, long..." He seemed to get
stuck on the word. "...long, long...legs...Julie." He reached over
to put his hand on her right thigh.

"Take it easy, Big Boy," she said. "I'm
trying to drive."

"Oh, sure. Sorry."

"Are you and your dad close?"

"Huh? Oh. Not really."

"I mean, how often to you see him?"

"Usually just at the office. Or sometimes at
the café."

"So, did you see him today? Or talk to
him?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so. Yeah, I saw him at
the office today."

Rebecca drove in silence.

"Why do you ask, Julie? Are you looking for
a job? Do you want me to put in a word for you with my dad?"

"Yeah. Maybe." She pulled into the driveway,
as instructed by the woman's voice in the GPS. "Well, here we
are."

Rebecca helped Wiley make it up the steps
and into the house. "This is a nice place you've got." She was
surprised at how neat it looked.

"Thanks." Wiley plopped down on the
couch.

Rebecca noticed the pictures on the mantle.
"Is this your dad?"

"Yeah." He got up and joined her. "And
that's my stepmother, Kimberly." He stepped in close to the
picture, his nose two inches from the glass. "Die, Bitch!"

"So, you and your stepmom don't get
along."

"You could say that." Wiley was beginning to
sway.

Rebecca took his arm. "Maybe you'd better
sit back down." She led him to the couch.

He fell onto the couch, pulling Rebecca down
with him.

"I think you've had way too much to
drink."

He had already passed out.

"Maybe I'd better go."

He began to snore.

She took a few seconds to look around the
house, but didn't see anything of interest. So, she walked outside
and called for a cab. She was gone within ten minutes.

**********

Once the cab had driven away, Wiley stood up
and took out his phone.

"Hey. We may have trouble. Rebecca Ranghorn
showed up at the club...I don't know. I did my drunk
act...yeah...totally fooled her...no, don't worry...I've got it
under control."

CHAPTER 8 - Tuesday, 1:16 a.m.

Rebecca paid the cabbie and got out. As she
walked to the front door, she saw Gabby unlocking it from the
inside.

She heard something whizz by her head. Then
a pop. In the split second it took for her to realize somebody was
shooting at her, another bullet hit the doorframe.

Gabby opened the door and Rebecca ran
inside. As he closed and locked the door, the window shattered.

They ran for the back stairs, and flew up to
the third floor.

"What the hell, Becca?"

"Kill the lights."

Gabby flipped the switch.

"We pushed
somebody's
buttons," said
Rebecca.

"What did you tell Wiley?"

"Nothing. And it couldn't be him. He was
passed out on the couch."

They heard more glass breaking
downstairs.

Rebecca crouched down and scurried to the
front window.

"Get back. They'll shoot you."

"They can't see me in the dark."

Gabby joined her at the window. "They're
inside. See. They turned the lights on." The glow from the shop lit
up the sidewalk and street, and began to flicker. "Wait—is that
fire?"

"I'm afraid so."

"My beautiful dresses." He bolted for the
stairs.

"Gabby, stop. They may be waiting for us
down there."

He ran down the stairs anyway. Rebecca ran
after him.

By the time he reached the bottom of the
stairwell it was filled with smoke.

"It's too late." Rebecca grabbed his arm.
"I'm sorry. We've got to go back up."

When they were back on the third floor,
Gabby took out his phone and called 911 to report the fire. When he
had ended the call, he said, "Becca, we can't stay here. By the
time the fire trucks come we'll be dead from the smoke. We've got
to go up to the roof. We can go over to the next building and climb
down the fire escape."

"No. We can't go up there, Gabby. The
shooter may be trying to smoke us out. He'll pick us off as soon as
we step out the door."

Gabby thought for a moment. "I have an
idea." He felt his way over to the wall.

Rebecca followed him.

"There's a door here. The guy who used to
own these buildings wanted to be able to go back and forth easily,
so he cut a passageway."

"Can you still get through?"

"I think it's just nailed."

"What about the door on the other side?"

"I don't know."

"If can get through, we'll hide out in the
other building. The shooter will think we died in the fire. You got
any tools?"

"A few." Gabby fumbled around in the
darkness until he found his toolbox. He located the flashlight. It
was small but the batteries were still good. He picked up the
toolbox and carried it over to the door. "We've got two hammers and
a big screwdriver."

"Great." Rebecca took the flashlight and
shined it at the door. "Look at this. They didn't nail the side
with the hinges. We'll pop the pins and pry it open."

Gabby held the flashlight while Rebecca
removed the pins with the screwdriver and hammer. Then she drove
the screwdriver in between the door and the frame and began to pry
with it. Once it opened slightly, she jammed the claw of her hammer
into the crack. "While I hold this, see if you can get the claw of
the other hammer in here, so you can help me pry the door
open."

Gabby put the end of the flashlight into his
mouth. He picked up the other hammer and forced its claw into the
narrow opening.

They worked their hammers from the top to
the bottom of the door. One by one, the nails began to give way.
Finally, they were able to swing the door to one side.

Gabby shined the light into what he expected
to be a short hallway. Instead he saw a white wall. "What is
that?"

"Foam insulation. They must have sprayed it
into the gap between the doors to absorb the sound."

Gabby turned around and shined the light
toward the stairwell. The smoke was flowing up the staircase into
the room. "We've got to get out of here fast."

Rebecca swung her hammer into the foam, claw
first. She yanked it backwards, ripping out a small chunk of the
foam.

Gabby joined in. They chomped away at the
foam like a couple of beavers.

By the time they hit the other door, they
were soaking wet with sweat, and beginning to cough.

"How are going to get this door off? The
hinges are on the other side."

Rebecca thought for a moment. "Do you have
anything we can ram it with? Some heavy piece of equipment or
furniture?"

"No, I don't have—wait. Yes, I do. Come with
me."

Rebecca followed Gabby into his office. He
opened his closet door.

"I bought this weight set a while back."

"Perfect."

They tore into the boxes, put the weights on
the ends of the bar and locked them in place.

"That's 130 pounds," said Gabby.

"I hope it's enough."

They picked up the bar at the ends, and
Rebecca led them through the work room, into the passageway between
the doors. "Okay," she said. "We'll swing back on three and forward
on four."

"Got it."

After three rams, the door had still not
budged.

"It's not going to work," mumbled Gabby. He
took the flashlight out of his mouth to cough. "Maybe we should
take our chances on the roof."

"No. It
has
to work. We've got to hit it
harder."

"I'll try." He put the flashlight back into
his mouth.

"One, two three, four! Did you feel that,
Gabby?"

"Yeah."

"One, two, three, four! Hell, yeah,
Baby!"

"We're gonna make it." Gabby coughed hard,
and the flashlight flew out of his mouth. He picked it up from the
floor and shined it toward Rebecca. He could barely see her through
the smoke, even though she was standing right in front of him.

"Hang in there. One more time."

They both knew this might be their last
chance—before collapsing into a smoky grave. They slung the barbell
with all their might. The door swung open a full foot. They lost
control of the barbell and it fell to the floor.

Gabby took the flashlight out of his mouth.
"You okay?"

"Yeah. Come on." She squeezed through the
opening.

Gabby followed her. "We made it. I can't
believe we did it."

Rebecca heard the sirens. "The fire trucks
are here. If the shooter is still out there, he's watching for us
on the roof. He has to know that if we don't come out soon, we're
dead from the smoke. So, let's hurry downstairs and slip out to the
alley."

Gabby shined the flashlight back toward his
shop.

"I'm sorry, Gabby."

"I'm just glad I didn't let my insurance
coverage lapse."

They watched the smoke billowing in through
the partially opened door.

"Good thing this side is vacant," said
Gabby.

She put her hand on Gabby's arm. "Why don't
we go find another motel and crash for the night?"

"Why get a different one? We're still
checked in."

"Did you use your real name? How did you
pay?"

"I used my credit card. Oh."

"Yeah. We need to go find an ATM and get
some cash. Then we can give a fake name at another motel. We don't
want to make it too easy for somebody to find us."

"Right." Gabby shined the flashlight in
front of them to locate the stairs, and they went down to the first
floor.

They slipped out into the alley, got into
Gabby's car, and drove away.

Rebecca took out her phone.

"Who are you calling at this hour?"

"Carly. I need to tell her Big Bill is
dead."

"Can't it wait until morning?"

"She'd want to know now. She works until
midnight. Never goes to sleep before two."

"Lousy schedule."

"She's not answering."

"Leave her a voice mail."

Rebecca thought for a moment. "No. This is
not good. Something's wrong. I need to get over there."

CHAPTER 9 - Tuesday, 1:37 a.m.

Mandibul slipped into the lab. As nimble as
a jaguar, the 6-foot-5 black man moved slowly along the wall toward
Phillipa's office. His firearm was holstered. With hands the size
of an NFL quarterback, he rarely needed a gun.

Her office was empty.

He spotted her, standing at a workbench—in a
state of high vulnerability. His timing could not have been better.
The steady hiss of her acetylene torch would mask any inadvertent
scuff of his boots on the tile floor. He stayed low to avoid any
reflection in her welding goggles.