Chapter Seventeen
While Pilar Sanders schemed and plotted, Jack Emery and the gang said good-bye to Maggie and Toby, then piled into the Post van and headed for Connecticut Avenue, where Joseph Espinosa and Alexis Thorne lived. Ted, who was driving the van, took the corner literally on two wheels as he headed down the long driveway that led to Alexis’s studio at the back end of the property, where their transformation was to take place.
The mood was sullen, cranky, just downright short of hostile, with only Espinosa being upbeat and cheerful.
“I didn’t know you guys had a studio,” Jack said tightly as he eyed Harry out of the corner of his eye. “Did you guys buy this property together, or does it belong to Alexis? You never said. What I mean is, you guys aren’t married but are commingling.”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to report in to you, Jack. But no offense taken,” Espinosa said. “Yes, we bought it together. We did all the legal work to protect ourselves in case our relationship goes south. You know, like Bert and Kathryn’s. With our romantic track record of on again, off again, it seemed like the wise thing to do. At least for the time being. It may change in time, and then again, it may not. We live in what we call the big house, and it’s a work in progress. What that means is we work on it weekends, painting, repairing, laying carpet, stripping wallpaper, that kind of thing. I take classes at night at Home Depot and Lowe’s so I don’t screw up.”
He went on. “Originally, we were going to rent out the studio to help with the mortgage payment, but Alexis wanted a studio. She likes to volunteer for several little theater groups, and this was perfect for all of that. As I told you, she practices on me, and I’ve paid close attention. I can transform anyone into someone so they are totally unrecognizable. Okay, everyone out!”
Harry rolled his eyes for Jack’s benefit.
Dennis hopped out and looked around. “I like this. I can see why Alexis would want this place as a studio. Who did the pumpkins and straw? Good eye. It looks . . . you know, down home, homey. Halloweenish.”
Espinosa flushed. “I did it as a surprise for Alexis last weekend. She loved it. Okay, come on in. I’ll turn up the heat and put the coffee on.”
“How big is this studio?” Fergus asked.
“A little shy of three thousand square feet. It doesn’t look that big from the front, because it goes all the way to the back end of the property. It’s really nice here in the spring and summer, with the big trees. Make yourself at home, guys, while I get things set up. Coffee first. Since we missed lunch, we can order in. There are magnets for local eateries with phone numbers on them on the mini-fridge. Take your pick.”
The boys did exactly that as Espinosa banged around in the tiny kitchen. They marveled at the plaques attached to each door.
“Wig room. Wow! Look at all those wigs,” Dennis said as he pointed to shelves that lined three walls of the room, which was full of every imaginable kind of wig, with the third wall totally mirrored and with a long counter running underneath it. Three beautician’s chairs faced the mirrors. All manner of combs and brushes were lined up on the counter.
The next room was the makeup room, where the gang stood staring at the array of pots, jars, and bottles of stuff that women needed to be beautiful. There were sponges and cleansing pots, all with delicate little signs attached. One wall held different-colored nail polishes with matching lipsticks. Underneath those shelves were perfumes and lotions, along with bronzing tubes of all sizes and shapes. The third shelf was dedicated to eye treatments. Boxes and boxes of false eyelashes were stacked one on top of the other. The last section of the wall was dedicated to a Peg-Board, where jewelry winked and sparkled under the bright lights. The room literally glittered. The men looked around, marveling at the shiny labels and, in some cases, instructions covered in plastic and attached to a colorful string.
“There’s more product here than in a department store,” Charles said as he tried to take it all in. He eyed the three beautician’s chairs as he tried to calculate the cost just as Espinosa entered the room.
“What do you think?” their host asked, pride ringing in his voice.
“I think it’s safe to say we’re all very impressed. It must have cost a fortune to outfit all of this,” Jack said, waving his arms around.
Espinosa burst out laughing. “Remember that bonus the firm paid out from the class-action suit we kind of helped the girls with several years ago? Alexis used every cent of it to set this up. Each time she gets a bonus, she adds to the studio. You haven’t even seen the wardrobe room. That alone takes up the whole back end of the studio,” Espinosa said, much like a new father extolling his firstborn’s attributes. “By the way, what did you all decide for lunch? The coffee is ready. Who wants to go first?” Espinosa asked, rubbing his hands gleefully as he eyed the unwilling volunteers.
“We didn’t. What will it be, folks?” Charles asked.
A heated discussion followed, with the end result being Chinese. Dennis ordered online. They then followed his lead and headed to the kitchen for coffee.
“So who is going first?” Espinosa asked again.
Charles waved his arms about. “Since Fergus and I are just here for moral support, take your pick.” He took a sip of the scalding brew in his cup and winced.
“Where did you get an idea like that, Charles? You and Fergus are not sitting this one out. You are going to be transformed just like the rest of us. This is a team effort and project,” Espinosa said. “Since you guys are so fearless . . . not, let’s go with Dennis as the first transformee. Now, there is something you all need to know. This works in stages. First, the latex on each of you, and then we go to the next step. Total makeup time is a little over three hours. It’s like an assembly line, and you cannot hurry the process. I’ll also be working on myself in between. We are going to be taking it right down to the wire. Let’s go to the studio, Dennis.”
Dennis hopped to it, grinning from ear to ear.
“Who do you want to look like, kid?” Espinosa asked.
“Jennifer Aniston,” Dennis shot back smartly. “I saw a wig back there that I absolutely fell in love with.” He clapped Espinosa on the back to show he was going with the flow by being a good sport and enjoying every minute of it.
“Good choice, kid, really good choice. When I’m done with you, Aniston’s husband will think he married twins if he gets a gander at you and my handiwork.”
Back in the kitchen, the gang sputtered and mumbled to themselves at what they had agreed to do.
“Okay, okay,” Jack said after whistling sharply for their attention. “We agreed to do this, so let’s stop complaining. Shame on you, Charles, for thinking you and Fergus could skip out on us. We’re supposed to be a working team, so either join up or go back to the farm. What’s it going to be, Charles?”
“Of course, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. My apologies, mates. I’m with the team one hundred percent, and I think I speak for Fergus, as well.”
Fergus nodded.
“I wonder how Maggie is doing,” Ted muttered to no one in particular. “Is anyone but me surprised that she isn’t here to oversee us?”
“I, for one, am not the least bit surprised. We all know Maggie marches to her own drummer,” Abner said. “I overheard her talking earlier to either Annie or Myra. I’m not sure which one, since I heard only Maggie’s end of the conversation. She’s supposed to meet up with them after she tucks Toby in for the afternoon. I can’t be sure, but I think I heard her say something about Jack Sparrow joining them.”
“That’s interesting. I wonder why she didn’t share that with us. By the way, has your guy Zack checked in yet today? We need to know what he’s up to. I’d hate to be blindsided this evening, when we’re at the Supper Club,” Jack said.
“I’m texting him now, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to get back to us right away. He’s probably tailing Delgado or his goons somewhere. Anything from Avery on the Sanders woman?” Ted said.
“The Sanders woman is still in her condo. Avery has his people spread all over. Oh, I spoke too soon. I have an incoming text from him. Oh, dear, this is not good. Oh my! This is definitely not good,” Charles said.
“For God’s sake, what is he saying?” Jack said, exploding.
Charles looked up from the text he was reading and looked at the gang. “Avery isn’t sure, because he said Tom Fazio isn’t sure, but they think Gabriel Sanders’s plane went down over the Pacific. Right now, Mr. Fazio is in Bora-Bora. Search parties are active.”
“How does he know this? It’s not like he was tailing the guy in a car. How do you tail an airplane?” Harry asked.
“ ‘A distress call,’ is all Avery is saying. Mayday call. Perhaps Mr. Fazio heard it himself. He said he would get back to me. He did ask what we want Mr. Fazio to do. Stay or return.”
“I’m not buying that,” Jack said, his eyes narrowed to slits. “This is just too damn convenient, to my way of thinking. If the guy had a plan, he could have planned for this, had a built-in extraction. All he had to do was call ahead to an accomplice. I bet if we wanted to spend the time and effort backtracking this guy, we’d find out he took classes in jumping out of airplanes. I’m not saying I’m right, but give some thought to the possibility that I’m on the money.
“Think about it. Obviously, Tahiti was Sanders’s final destination. Or he wants anyone who gets suspicious to think that. His plane goes down just as he’s about to reach his final destination. Nah, it’s way too pat. We don’t know for sure if he has false identities, but I think it’s a good bet he does. A good scenario is that his accomplice takes him to one of the islands, like Taha’a, Huahine, or Mo’orea, where he lies low until he thinks it’s safe to surface. I read somewhere in his dossier that Gabriel Sanders speaks fluent French, because he had a French mother and learned the language from the time he was a baby. He can blend right in. And the reason I know about the islands around Tahiti is that Nikki and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary there. Just for the record, it’s beautiful, peaceful, and the people are just plain nice.
“The guy really did think this through, and if I’m right, he covered all his bases to be sure. Since he has no idea we’re onto him, he probably thinks he’s safe. At least for now. For all we know, this might not be the end of his journey. Without expert surveillance around the clock, I don’t see how Avery’s man can nail him. And with a new identity, plus a totally new look, I’d say it’s almost impossible, especially if he’s lying low in some little village, soaking up coconut milk and lazing around on the beach. His skin will be bronzed, his hair bleached, and he will either shed weight or put on more to further disguise himself. In short, gentlemen, it’s a crapshoot. Either we call Avery’s man back or put him on twenty-four-hour surveillance, which means he will have to hire locals, and we all know how that works out in the end.”
Ted had been busy typing away on his iPad. “Tahiti has a population of only one hundred twenty-seven thousand people. It’s in the Society Islands. Roughly eighty-three percent of the population is Polynesian. Beautiful place. Modern. Lots of artisans there selling shells, flower leis, and shell necklaces. Hell, the guy could pose as one of those vendors, as tourists abound in that neck of the woods. He could stay anonymous forever. Personally, I can’t think of a better place to go undercover and hide out for the rest of your life. And he obviously has the money to do it.”
“I think we should let this all sit for a bit and not rush into any kind of decision where Mr. Sanders is concerned. For all we know, he could be a thousand miles away from Tahiti, and we’d never know it, and the plane crash is just another ploy or delaying tactic. Knowing what we now know, we should also give some credence to the possibility that Mr. Sanders is on his way back here, and his little excursion was a dry run for when he and the missus decide to make it final. Meaning, of course, after one more payoff with the Mr. December contest,” Charles said.
“All valid points, Charles, and we should consider all of them.” Whatever Jack was going to say next was cut short when Espinosa called out.
“You’re up, Jack!”
Startled, Jack stood up and headed to what Espinosa called the “setting room.” Harry tried his best not to laugh.
“You just wait until it’s your turn!” Jack sniped.
“Hold on, everyone. Maggie is sending me a text. Well, damn! You guys are not going to believe this,” Ted said. “Well, yeah, you are, because Director Sparrow gave us fair warning. He just got handed his walking papers by the president because he wouldn’t stand down. Sparrow had his resignation in his pocket when the president delivered the coup de grace, along with those of his six top lieutenants. He and the former upper echelon of the FBI are, as we speak, on their way to meet with Annie, Myra, and Maggie.”
Ted went on. “I guess he knew it was going to go down that way, so he had his guys pack up his office. He no longer works at the J. Edgar Hoover Building. He is a free agent. Was a free agent. Annie and Myra snapped him up. Annie wants to run a special edition, so Maggie is in charge of that. And the rest of us are missing it so we can get duded up for an all-guy dance routine. What’s wrong with this picture?”
“What’s wrong with it is you’re jealous,” Harry said, laughing.
“Damn straight I am. Somehow, Maggie will find a way to turn this into a Pulitzer for herself.”
“I thought you loved Maggie,” Abner said. “How can you be jealous of someone you love?”
“It’s easy when it comes to a coveted Pulitzer. I do love Maggie, but I also love Pulitzers. It’s different. You can’t possibly understand unless you have printer’s ink running in your veins. Crap!” Ted bellowed so loud, he could be heard all over the studio.
* * *
Maggie Spritzer was thinking the same thing as she climbed out of the cab she’d kept after dropping Toby off at his “frat house” residence. She looked up at the huge building that Annie and Myra had purchased for the veterans. Coming around the corner was ex-Director Sparrow and six tall, buff-looking men who you just knew were in law enforcement. Maggie thought they all looked happy, because they were smiling. Introductions were made.
“That was quick, Mr. Sparrow. How did POTUS take it?”
“I hate to say this about the leader of the free world, but the man is an imbecile. He’s so worried about his reputation, he can’t think straight. Or act straight, either. His chief of staff tried to rein him in, but Mr. President kicked him out of the office, but not before I handed over my resignation before he could fire me. He thought he had me by the short hairs—oops, sorry about that, Maggie—when he said that I was not to step foot inside the Hoover Building again and that my belongings would be boxed up and sent to my home. I told him not to worry, that my things were already out of the office. And then I handed him the six other resignations I was carrying with me. The guy loves to talk, as everyone in the country knows, but that time he was totally speechless, so I just left. I have no idea what kind of spin the White House is going to spin in regard to seven sudden resignations out of the blue, then all seven of us going on Annie’s payroll.”
Maggie’s face darkened. “Whatever it is, I will outspin them. You can take that to the bank. Annie wants me to get a special edition ready for the morning. Big, bold banner headline, head shots of all seven of you defectors. That’s above the fold. Smaller pictures of Annie and Myra, along with what you will be doing for other centers that are in the process of being set up. Under the fold, pictures of the doctors at this facility, crowd shots of the vets being treated. Special stories on the vets, their families, even their service dogs. Inside, on page three, will be you guys and your service records and a few quotes, so we need to get this show on the road, guys. Please tell me, Mr. Sparrow, that you don’t have any regrets.”
“Only one, and that is that the guy who will probably replace me is going to be a real thorn in your side. He’s going to start digging and won’t come up for air until he finds something to latch onto. I’m feeling kind of like I’m letting you all swing in the wind by leaving.”
Maggie laughed. “If you were a betting man, Mr. Sparrow, who would you put your money on? The new director or Annie and Myra?” She laughed again at the expression on Sparrow’s face.
“Hustle, boys. Annie and Myra do not like to be kept waiting, and I have a special edition to get out.” With a wide flourish, Jack Sparrow opened the door, gave a sweeping bow, and waited for Maggie to sail through the door like she was the queen of something or other.
“Welcome to our new world, boys!” Jack Sparrow said as the huge plate-glass door closed behind him.