Vanishing Act (10 page)

“Do you have the credit card numbers, honey?”

“I do.” Lizzie rattled them off. “Are you saying you can help, Cricket?”

“I’m going to try. Five will get you ten that some of those wheeler-dealers have a history here in Vegas. I’ll just have to find that history. Are you smiling, honey?”

“Cricket, I am grinning from ear to ear. How long will it take you before you know something?”

Cosmo countered with a question. “What time is your meeting at the bank?”

“I don’t have an appointment, Cricket. I was going to wing it. The surprise element, you know.”

“In that case, give me forty-five minutes to get to the office and another ninety minutes to see what I come up with. Will that work for you?”

“Yes, Cricket, that will absolutely work for me. I was planning on stopping at the
Post
to talk to Maggie first, anyway.”

“Elizabeth, how much money are we talking about in regard to Harry Wong?”

“At first we thought it was around $200,000, but when I did my final tally, it’s a few dollars shy of half a million. This is some really serious money, Cricket. Multiply that number by whatever number you pull out of your hat, and the amount is staggering. The
Post,
Maggie in particular, is working on it. She’s still totaling up the numbers other consumers have lost, then she’s going to go full bore, a big, black
WAR
headline to gain the readers’ attention. The timing is something we have to work on because we don’t want to alert the credit card ring before the girls can go after them. Did all that make sense, Cricket?”

“Perfect sense, Elizabeth. I’ll call you when I have something worth reporting.”

Lizzie didn’t feel silly at all when she made little kissing noises into the phone; nor did Cricket when he returned them.

The smile stayed with Lizzie as she made her way to the bathroom to apply makeup she didn’t need. Brush in hand, she did a few artful swirls with it, and the silvery fall of hair completed Lizzie’s
look
for the day.

The black leather suit was so soft, so buttery, so thin, it felt like a second skin. Lizzie whirled and twirled in front of the mirror a few times to make sure there were no flaws anywhere. There weren’t. Shoes. Shoes were always a problem. She had tons of shoes, loved, just loved, shoes. She wished she had a conveyor belt like Aaron Spelling had had in his house so she could press a button and all her shoes would circle around her until she found the pair that she wanted. She looked down at the shoe trees on the floor and the shoe bags hanging on the closet door until she finally decided on a pair of stilettos with pointy toes that made her legs look like those of a Vegas dancer.

Maggie Spritzer knew something was going on outside her office. Something other than the clacking computer keys and the muted sound of twenty different voices all talking at the same time. And then she smelled Lizzie Fox’s perfume, which, for some reason, always seemed to arrive before the lawyer appeared in person. It was a heady scent, unlike anything she’d ever smelled. When she’d asked Lizzie, the lawyer had replied that it was a mixture she’d had made up in Paris just for her. Lizzie had gone on to say she had powder, lotion, shampoo, and bath salts all with the same fragrance. “I call it ‘Me.’” Then she’d giggled and told Maggie that Cosmo Cricket claimed to get drunk on the intoxicating scent.

Maggie couldn’t help but wonder if Ted Robinson would ever say anything like that to her. As long as she smelled like anything flavored with vanilla, it worked for him. She sighed mightily as she got up to hug Lizzie.

“Good God, lady, where are you going? You look…I don’t know a word to describe you, and I’m a damn journalist. Like ten million bucks!”

“To East Coast Savings Bank to see Douglas Sooner. Listen, Maggie,” Lizzie said as she closed the door behind her, “I was on the phone with Cosmo a little while ago, and he seems to think some of the credit card officials might have a history of some kind in Vegas. What we do with that information is something I’m not sure about yet. Want to go to lunch?”

“Yes, yes, yes! A few weeks ago, a new restaurant opened up a block from here. I’ve been dying to try it out. I heard they deliver, too.”

Lizzie smiled. Maggie always had food on the brain. “Do they have a specialty?”

Maggie already had her handbag over her shoulder and was putting on her shoes. “Uh-huh. Goulash. My people tell me it’s like Mom’s home cooking. It’s called Sallie’s. Crusty homemade bread and every cobbler under the sun for dessert. Is there a reason you want to go out to lunch, Lizzie?” Maggie whispered as they stood by the elevator.

“More or less,” Lizzie said, unaware of the stir she was creating just by being herself.

Marveling at the way Lizzie tripped along in her spikes, Maggie cursed herself for wearing her high heels instead of her sneakers.

Sallie’s proved to be a small, quaint food emporium that didn’t serve alcohol, but the delectable aromas more than made up for the absence of a liquor license. It was still early into the lunch hour, so the two women were shown to a table immediately.

Once seated, Maggie looked around, and said, “I like it. It’s not too big, and it’s like eating in your mom’s kitchen. I really like it, and I sure hope the food lives up to the reviews I’ve heard. Guys for some reason know good food when they eat it. Small menu, that’s a plus, makes choosing something so much easier. What looks good to you, Lizzie?”

“Caesar salad, I guess, ice tea, and I might try the blackberry cobbler. What looks good to you, Maggie?” Lizzie twinkled.

“Everything.” Maggie sighed as she finally made her decision to go with a double order of goulash and gave her order to a pink-cheeked woman with curly white hair.

“Now, Lizzie,” Maggie said as she leaned across the table, “tell me why we’re here and what I can do to help whatever you have in mind.”

Lizzie leaned forward until the two women were almost nose to nose. “First things first, you have to call the mountain to okay this. Text me as soon as you get an okay. Now, tell me what you think of this…”

L
izzie Fox sashayed across the lobby of East Coast Savings to a small area that proclaimed it to be the bank’s information center. She held out her business card and handed it to the preppy-looking guy seated behind a desk whose nameplate said he was Gerald La Blanc. In the blink of an eye, Lizzie’s assessment was that he was a fussy little twit. She offered up a dazzling smile and remained standing even though the twit stood and motioned for her to take a seat. She remained standing, waiting to see what La Blanc would do. She knew the man’s dilemma immediately. Remain standing, and customers in the bank would see she towered over him. Man versus woman, and woman wins. If he sat down, she would still tower over him. First adversarial rule was to have the upper hand. Standing gave one an advantage, seated you were at the standee’s mercy.

La Blanc twittered a moment, his gaze sweeping the austere bank lobby. “How can I help you, Miss Fox?”

Lizzie felt her BlackBerry vibrate. She knew it was Maggie, she didn’t have to look. “I’d like to see Mr. Sooner and, no, unfortunately, I do not have an appointment. I represent Harry Wong.”

La Blanc suddenly had a limited-edition Visconti pen in his hand and was twirling it between his fingers. He’s either terribly overpaid or has a rich girlfriend, Lizzie thought.

“And Harry Wong would be…?”

Lizzie wagged her finger back and forth. “That’s all I’m comfortable saying at the moment, Mr. La Blanc. I really don’t have much time, so if you’ll show me to Mr. Sooner’s office, we can perhaps…take care of Mr. Wong’s business.”

La Blanc looked around again, and saw that six new customers had entered the bank since Lizzie Fox had walked to his desk. Everyone was looking at them. “Let me check with Mr. Sooner’s secretary. He was in a meeting a short while ago. I’ll just be a moment.”

Lizzie nodded but remained standing. The moment the young man’s back was turned, she whipped out her BlackBerry and read Maggie’s text message, which said simply, “Annie says okay.” A series of numbers followed the message. Lizzie smiled as she meandered around the small alcove. She was admiring a Jackson Pollock on the wall when La Blanc returned and motioned for her to follow him.

La Blanc opened a mahogany door and stepped aside. A pleasant-looking middle-aged woman rose and extended her hand. “Miss Fox, I’m Annette Bloom, Mr. Sooner’s secretary. I understand you’re here about Mr. Wong. That was such a terrible thing that happened to him.”

“Yes, it was a terrible thing. That’s why I’m here. I appreciate Mr. Sooner’s agreeing to see me without an appointment.”

“Just follow me,” Sooner’s secretary said.

The door closed discreetly behind Annette Bloom. Douglas Sooner rose and walked around his desk to shake Lizzie’s hand. He motioned for her to take a seat. This time she did. She knew what would follow. Sooner would walk back to his desk, grab the crease in his trousers, sit, then he’d shoot his cuffs, lean forward, and clasp his hands. He’d make eye contact, and say,
“Mr. La Blanc said you wanted to talk about one of the bank’s clients. How can I be of service to you today, Miss Fox?”

The Google profile of Douglas Sooner was on the money, Lizzie decided as she held the banker’s gaze. “I represent Harry Wong. This bank holds the mortgage on a building he owns. Unfortunately for Mr. Wong, his identity was stolen while he banked with you. His original mortgage is paid ahead by five months. Several days ago you foreclosed on Mr. Wong’s residence and evicted him from the premises. The way I see it, Mr. Wong is not responsible for your bank’s approving a fraudulent equity loan and second mortgage on said property. As far as Mr. Wong and I are concerned, Mr. Wong is current in his payments. I would like the keys to the property and all the paperwork completed to reinstate ownership.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Fox, but that is not how this bank works. We have rules and regulations we have to adhere to. I’m really sorry, but I can’t help you.”

Lizzie leaned back and crossed her legs. Then she smiled. She thought she saw a flicker of alarm in the banker’s eyes just as a discreet knock sounded. The door opened, and Annette Bloom walked over to Sooner’s desk and handed him a sheaf of papers. Lizzie knew what the papers were; her own Google profile with a short summary on a sticky note affixed to the first page for Sooner’s immediate reading pleasure.

“Oh, I think you can help me, Mr. Sooner. In fact, I know you can. Before I came here, I stopped at the
Post
and had a rather lengthy conference with the editor-in-chief, Maggie Spritzer. They’re planning an all-out exposé of identity thefts that have arisen out of the banks in the area, and your sixteen branches are at the top of the list. Now, I am prepared to work with you, as is Miss Spritzer, so that you and your sixteen branches will come off as saviors instead of a bunch of uncaring, hard-nosed bankers. Front-page coverage, top of the fold, Mr. Sooner. Personally speaking, Mr. Sooner, as a bank customer, nothing would give me more confidence than to know my bankers care about me and my deposits, as opposed to a…say, a run on your sixteen branches.”

Lizzie looked down at the diamond watch on her wrist and smiled. “Time is money, Mr. Sooner. My offer is on the table for exactly five minutes. After that…” She threw her hands in the air and shrugged.

“I need more than five minutes, Miss Fox. I have people I need to call.”

“Please, Mr. Sooner, don’t insult my intelligence. Read through those papers your secretary just gave you. I never say anything I don’t mean. You have full authority to do what I asked, and we both know it. It would be a wise man who comes in before the time expires. If you need an incentive, let me be the first to tell you that I heard from a very reliable source that the
Post
is going to be receiving some unorthodox help in the way of the vigilantes.”

Sooner flopped back into the depths of his burgundy Naugahyde chair, raised his eyes to the ceiling, and said, “Sweet Jesus! All right, Miss Fox, you win. I’ll bring our legal counsel in, and the two of you can work out the details.” He pressed a button and asked Ms. Bloom to come into the office. She poked her head in the door and waited for instructions. “Tell John Tyson to come to my office, then get the keys to Mr. Wong’s property out of the vault and bring them to me.”

“See,” Lizzie said brightly, “that wasn’t so hard, now, was it? And you’re doing the right thing, Mr. Sooner.” She offered up a wicked smile. “Let’s not kid each other, Mr. Sooner, you don’t want to go a few rounds with the notorious vigilantes. I can’t say that I blame you.”

Sooner was saved from a reply when a knock sounded and the door opened at the same time. A tall, handsome man walked into the room, and asked, “You wanted to see me, Douglas? Lizzie!”

“Hello, John,” Lizzie said as she gracefully rose out of her chair. She allowed herself to be air kissed, then extended her hand. “It’s been a long time,” she said, her voice breathless and intimate-sounding.

“Four years at least. So, tell me what’s going on.”

Douglas Sooner told him while Lizzie sat back down and crossed her legs. She waited while Tyson made a tepid argument that Sooner waved away.

“Just do it, John. The bank does not need any bad publicity or a run on any of our branches.”

Lizzie licked at her glistening lips and did her best not to smile when Tyson winked at her behind Sooner’s back.

“Let’s get to it, then. Come with me, Lizzie. I think we can wrap this up lickety-split.”

“To my satisfaction?”

“Always.” Tyson laughed.

Lizzie turned just as the secretary entered the office. In her hand she held a key ring. She looked at her boss, then at Tyson, and last at Lizzie. With a nod from both men, she handed the key ring to Lizzie.

Sooner walked around his desk, shot his cuffs, and extended his hand. “You’ll be in touch?”

“Absolutely.”

An hour later, Lizzie walked out of the bank into bright sunshine. In her briefcase were the papers that restored Harry Wong’s life. In addition, there was a check and a creative contract approving a loan for renovations to Harry’s
dojo
. And a special account had been set up with Tyson’s help so that Harry could bank online. As long as Harry didn’t get too curious, his life was now back on track, with Tyson promising to monitor the account and report to Lizzie on a monthly basis.