Fast Track. Fern Michaels
Grady at their heels.
When they were out of earshot of the others, Annie turned to Myra. “I find this a bit…frightening.”
Myra looked at her old friend in stunned surprise. “Frightening? Is that what you said? And you didn’t think getting up on a stage wearing a G-string and pasties frightening at our age?”
“That was fun, Myra. Well, it was until our latex started to melt. Taking on the World Bank is a Federal thing. That means a Federal prison if things get out of hand.”
“Annie, Annie, Annie! The last issue of Forbes that I read had you listed as the richest woman in the world, richer than Bill Gates. That means you have more money than the World Bank. Which in turn means you could take over the World Bank if you wanted to,” Myra said, her thoughts all over the map.
Annie’s jaw dropped. “Do you think?”
“Absolutely.”
“Will I be broke then? Destitute?”
“Except for maybe twenty billion or so.”
“Oh, okay. I didn’t know you kept such a sharp eye on my finances, Myra.”
“Not me, Forbes. I just read about it. You know Charles, Forbes and the Wall Street Journal are required reading.”
“Whatever would I do without you, Myra?”
“God only knows,” Myra responded as she wondered if He would punish her for egging her old friend on but, as Charles always said, “if you don’t take risks you’ll never know.”
Chapter 3
Liam Sullivan, editor in chief of the Post and Ted Robinson’s boss, stood over his employee’s cubicle watching the reporter sleep. He whistled sharply and was pleased to see Ted jump to attention.
“Since when do I pay you to sleep on the job, Robinson? You’re on shaky ground as it is. You’re back one week, and already you’re taxing my patience. I can send you to the unemployment line in a heartbeat if that’s what you want,” Sullivan snarled.
“No, that’s not what I want. Look, boss, I’ve been kicked to the curb, kidnapped because of those damn vigilantes; my girl bailed out on me; you give me the shit detail; my cats won’t come near me; and I’m not sleeping at night. I know that’s no excuse, but that’s the way it is. Can’t you cut me a little slack here?”
“Your problem is you’re obsessed with those vigilantes. You need to forget about them. You’re making this paper a laughingstock in the industry. If it’s any consolation to you, I miss Maggie, too. Being as smart as you are, you should realize women are fickle. By the way, I want you to go over to the Post’s apartment and pack up her things. I owe her that much. One of these days she’ll come back and want her belongings.”
“I can’t do that, boss.”
“Ted, I wasn’t asking you to do it, I was telling you to do it. In other words, it was an order. I am your boss. I make sure your paycheck gets signed every week.”
Ted sighed. “What do you want me to do with her things?”
“Put them in storage. Take them home. Just clear out her things. We have a guest arriving tomorrow whom the Post needs to accommodate.” His demeanor softened a little. “Didn’t she send a note or say good-bye?”
Ted turned off his computer and rolled down his shirtsleeves. “No. She just fell off the face of the earth. Her cell phone just rings and rings. She had a second cell phone. I told you all about that. I never saw anything like it. Look, I know you don’t believe me, but she hooked up with the vigilantes. I know it as sure as I’m standing here. She was last seen with Lizzie Fox, who, ironically, disappeared at exactly the same time Maggie did. High-dollar Lizzie, lawyer to the rich and famous, and she just packs it in. I-don’t-think-so. Judge Easter is involved, too, and so are those cruds Jack Emery and Harry Wong. It’s all one goddamn big conspiracy. Another thing, Chief, don’t you find it a little strange that Chief Justice Barnes suddenly retired? And where’s that live-in lover of hers? Everyone suddenly disappears. Even that dandy ex–son-in-law of hers resigned from the think tank where he worked. The guy was set for life, high bucks, and he blows it off just like Pearl Barnes. She was set for life, too. It smells.”
Ted’s voice turned desperate when he said, “Think about it, Chief, all of a sudden five people drop off the face of the earth. All five are connected in some way.”
“All those people are of an age where they can do what they want. No missing person reports have been filed. That means the story is dead. D-e-a-d! Now, I want you out there pounding the pavement. I want some news. I want some credible stories. This is Washington, D.C., where things happen on an hourly basis. I know it’s summer, and things slow down, but there’s news out there. So go find it so I can print it, but first, get Maggie’s stuff and store it away.”
Ted almost exploded. “What? You want me to write gossip? That’s crap, and you know it. Shirley is good at that. Tyson loves it,” he said, referring to his colleagues. “Why me?”
“Because they’re busy, and all you do is sleep on the job. I want my money’s worth, Robinson, so get your ass out of here and get to work.”
“Wait! Wait! How about I do a series on the disappearance of those five people? Whet people’s appetites. I might come across something that leads to something else. C’mon, Chief, give me a break here. I can hire a few dicks, trail along, and write a short column, titled…something like, ‘Where are they now?’ You know how this town loves a good mystery. You’re right, it’s summer, it’s slow. We might pick up some new readership.”
Sullivan rocked back on his heels. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure up what Ted’s column would look like. “Okay.” He turned on his heel and marched back to his office. Ted let out a sigh so loud he startled himself.
He needed a plan. He definitely needed a plan. Not only did he need a plan, he needed a Plan B, a Plan C, and maybe even a Plan D. Hell, he might have to use up the whole damn alphabet. As he packed up his gear, his thoughts were all over the map. He needed to check out his bank balance. Maybe he could con his pal Espinosa, a sometime writing partner, into joining forces, and then he could tap Espinosa’s bank account as well. Private dicks these days wanted retainers for sitting on their asses and hacking into shit no one else could get near. But first he needed to follow through on Sullivan’s orders and pick up Maggie’s things.
Ted’s step was buoyant as he made his way to the lobby. Outside, he hailed a cab and directed the driver to the address where the Post kept an apartment for visiting flacks and people who were willing to sell a story for money. It always came down to money. Always.
Jack Emery stepped out of the shower, threw on a clean pair of sweats, and walked out to the main floor of Harry Wong’s dojo. Harry was bowing low to show his class of police officers they were dismissed. He looked over at Jack and winced. He knew that look.
Jack sat down on a pile of mats and tied his sneakers. From time to time he looked over at Harry, who was staring at him. “What?”
“You know something, and you’ve been waiting for the right time to tell me. It’s probably something I’m not going to like because from the expression on your face you don’t like it, either. Tell me, or before your heart beats again, I’ll break both your arms.”
“Ooh, ooh, I’m scared. What the hell do you think I’ll be doing while you’re breaking my arms?”
“Howling in agony,” Harry snarled.
“You excite me when you snarl. I go all atwitter. You know what, Harry, I keep worrying that this place is bugged. I know you said you sweep it every day, but those cruds at the FBI could plant something between sweeps. Soon as the class leaves, let’s take it outside, where we can really talk. Better yet, I haven’t had any dinner. Want to try that new watering hole on H Street?”
“The