High Stakes by Fern Michaels (19)

Alexis Thorne’s studio was alive with chatter as the boys waited their turn to go to the “setting room,” with Dennis in the next room, waiting for his latex to settle, and Jack getting his first taste of how he was going to look as a female. To say Jack was surly was an understatement. Cyrus, not understanding what was going on, whined and whimpered and refused Jack’s offered treats.

“Do you really have to sing while you’re doing this, Espinosa? I think that’s what is upsetting Cyrus,” Jack growled.

“I do my best work when I’m singing. Alexis hums, so live with it, okay? Just sit there and be quiet, or this is going to turn out to be a mess.”

“Then sing in English. Cyrus doesn’t understand Spanish.”

“You want a big, old honking nose, keep it up, Jack,” Espinosa said ominously.

Jack recognized the threat and clamped his lips shut. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts go to Pilar Sanders and the night that loomed ahead for all of them. He wished he was a seer so he could see into the future. He asked himself again, for the one hundredth time, why someone like Pilar Sanders would get involved in drug running.

* * *

Across town, Pilar Sanders was asking herself the very same thing. Tears dripped down her cheeks as she stared at the check the consignment shop had left for her. The snobbish lady had looked down on her as her helpers carried the last of her treasured designer outfits, handbags, and shoes out the door. She had taken a big hit money-wise but hadn’t argued over the amount with the woman. She had voiced her reaction to the amount by saying it was a tenth of what she’d paid for what she was parting with. The snobbish woman had smirked, knowing she was making the deal of a lifetime, as she calculated the amount she could mark up the merchandise.

“I know,” was all she had said. Pilar had wanted to slap her, but she’d used every ounce of willpower remaining to keep her hands at her sides. She’d cried when she closed the door behind the woman.

In the kitchen, Pilar filled out a bank deposit slip for the second check. She winced at the mere one hundred eighty thousand dollars she had received for her last transaction. While she wasn’t happy with the amount, she was smart enough to know it was better than walking away and leaving everything behind. Her plan was to drop the deposit in the FedEx envelope, with the four million dollars for her brokerage account, in the box in the lobby and the money bag with the smaller check in the night deposit on her way to the supper club. That was when the thought finally hit her that her car wasn’t in the garage. She would have to take a taxi. She hated the smelly, dirty vehicles and the drivers who didn’t speak English. She supposed she could call a car service, but it was late, and she needed to be on time. A taxi was her best bet. She’d just have to live with the possibility that someone she knew would see her in one of those hateful yellow monstrosities.

Pilar finished what she was doing. She looked over at the counter to see her one and only Chanel bag. She’d paid forty-three hundred dollars for it, and she was really going to have to crunch the money bag into it. It wouldn’t work, and she knew it. A dressy handbag with the signature gold braided chain was what she was looking at. A little more than a flat envelope in size. No room for anything.

She felt a groan escape her lips. What had she been thinking when she parted with all her handbags? She should have at least kept one of the quilted totes so she could carry things like the manila envelope in the safe. A second groan of dismay escaped her lips. She’d have to use one of her cloth beach bags when she walked away for the last time. How tacky was that?

Pilar eyed the digital clock on the range. She had less than an hour to get dressed, call for a taxi, stop in the lobby, and head to the club, with one stop at the bank to make the night deposit. Tomorrow, the moment the checks cleared, she would instruct the bank and her brokerage firm to wire the new deposits to the Antilles, where Gabe’s favorite offshore bank was located.

Pilar looked around, half expecting a lightning bolt to strike the tile floor. When nothing happened, she swiped at her tear-filled eyes and shuffled off to her bedroom to get ready for what she knew was going to be one of the worst nights of her life.

* * *

Back across town, with a little more than ninety minutes to go, Espinosa quickened his pace as he worked on transforming the boys, with Charles and Fergus the last to head for the “setting room.” He’d saved them for last because, to his mind’s eye, they would be the easiest to transform.

“I’m not looking forward to this evening, Charles. Are you?” Fergus asked.

“Not by a long shot, mate. Not by a long shot. I’m thinking we’re either too early on this deal or we’re too late. It’s six weeks till the Mr. December contest or pageant or whatever we’re calling it. Six weeks is a long time to sit around twiddling our thumbs, don’t you agree? So much can go wrong in that amount of time.” Charles looked down at an incoming text. Avery Snowden.

“Anything interesting?” Fergus queried.

“Yes and no. The Sanders woman is still inside. Avery can’t get in to set up his listening devices until she leaves. His operative says there is a lot of traffic in and out of the building, but she has no way of knowing where anyone is going. Some use the garage, and some park on the street and walk around to the entrance. Deliveries are made up front, she thinks. She saw three women with two SUVs loading up what she thought were tons of shoe boxes and other boxes with designer labels. A refrigerator was delivered, but the truck was too big to go under the overhang leading into the garage, so they had to dolly the appliance to the front entrance. Lots of people walking dogs are using the front entrance. That’s it—”

“I just thought of something, Charles,” Fergus said, interrupting whatever he was about to say next. “Avery’s person is watching the wrong entrance. The husband drove her home last night. When he left, he took the car. She hasn’t left the building since. She is either going to call a car service or take a taxi, which means she’ll be leaving by the front door, not the garage. You see it that way, don’t you? You need to tell Avery to reposition his operative right away.”

“Good catch, Ferg. I totally missed that, and obviously, Avery did, too.” Charles quickly sent off a text to the old spy. “Sometimes, Ferg, I think we’re getting too old for all of this. We should have caught that early on. And another thing . . . I much prefer the old way of disguise—different hairstyle, sunglasses, ball cap or fishing hat, reversible jackets. And, of course, colored contact lenses. All of this,” Charles said, waving his arms about, “puts air in my knickers.”

“If you recall, Alexis said that works only in the movies. Old movies. What they were using back in the day, as she put it, couldn’t hold up under klieg lights. The stuff would start to melt. She also said that masks, even when they were applied by an expert, could not beat biometric tools that can measure retinal pigmentation, which cannot be changed. That’s why she’s outside the box with whatever it is she’s doing now. Joseph seems to have a good handle on it all. I guess we have to look at it as progress in that field. Everything else changes with time, so it’s natural to assume that inroads would be made in that profession also. At least Alexis stays up on it all.”

“I guess,” Charles grumbled. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Okay, you two are up. You won’t take long, since I’m just doing a patch job on both of you. Because of your age. No one will be looking at you two, so do not take that the wrong way. You are to be chaperones to the young crowd. The wigs and accessories will suffice,” Espinosa called out cheerily.

Charles looked at Fergus. Fergus looked at Charles.

“I think we’re trying to decide if we should be insulted or not at your implication,” Charles said tightly.

“Can you decide that later? We’re pressed for time, and you still have to get your toenails and nails polished. It has to dry, or it smudges. Women are very sensitive to their nails and toes. And I told you to pick out your earrings. Did you do that? No, you didn’t, because I do not see any earrings. Why are you doing this? Even Harry didn’t give me this much trouble,” Espinosa said tartly.

“What trouble?” Fergus huffed. Toenail polish! Dear God!

“Never mind. Come on and don’t dillydally.”

“Yes, Ferg, do not dillydally,” Charles sniped as he trailed behind Espinosa, Fergus dragging his feet behind him. All three men pretended they didn’t hear the squabble going on in the makeup room as Espinosa pushed them forward.

“You do mine, and I’ll do yours,” Jack said.

“I am not painting your goddamn toenails, Jack Emery. Get that through your head. And just for the record, you have ugly feet,” Harry snarled.

“You’re just mad because I picked the Cherry Berry polish, and you had to settle for that sick-looking Purple Passion. Admit it, Harry!”

“Eat me, Jack!” Harry bellowed.

“You have to be really careful that you don’t smear your toes. If you do, you need a Q-tip dipped in this stuff,” Ted said, motioning to a bottle of nail polish remover. “It smells like turpentine. I picked Crimson Fire. And the lipstick is a perfect match. See!” Ted said, then puckered up for everyone to see his luscious lips. “I used a darker shade for the outline. Espinosa said it will last longer.”

Harry banged his head on the wall. No one paid any attention.

“I never had hairless legs before,” Abner said, stretching out his legs. “I think I kind of like it. They feel like silk. I think Isabelle is going to like how they feel. And before you can ask, I picked Suicide Red for my polish. Whatcha think, guys? And the lipstick is too perfect. So creamy. I already licked it off twice. I am so glad I blew off the CIA today to participate in this . . . ah . . . event. Yes, sirree, this lipstick is as sweet as honey,” he trilled.

Harry banged his head on the wall again.

It was Dennis’s turn to chirp up. “I think I got the best color of all. Red Ruby Blood. Abner is right. The lipstick is to die for. I’m going with the gladiator sandals. What are you guys wearing?”

Harry put his fist through the wall when Jack handed him a pair of vibrant purple slingback flats.

“You have to match your outfit to the sandals, Harry. Since you are being so damn ornery, I’ll pick out something for you. Listen, you need to get cracking and get those toes and nails done. Dennis, help him,” Jack said.

“Touch my feet, and they’ll be picking up your remains in Canada.”

“Can’t. I have to pick out my outfit and wig. Abner, you’re done. Help Harry.”

“Can’t,” Abner said as he literally flew out of the room.

Jack looked at Ted, who simply shook his head.

“Okay, Harry. That leaves me. You want it the hard way or the easy way?” Jack asked.

Harry smiled. “Have at it, buddy. It will give me great pleasure to see you painting my toes and fingers.”

“You crafty son of a bitch!” Jack roared. “That was your game plan all along, wasn’t it?”

“Be careful now. I don’t want to see any smears and smudges. I think I can put on my own lipstick. Of course I’ll want to test it out to see if it’s really kiss proof, like the label said. I’ll try it out on you, you crafty son of a bitch!”

Jack eyeballed Harry for a good long minute before he doubled over laughing. Harry joined in. Cyrus leaned forward to lick at Harry’s lips. He laughed harder.

“Keep laughing, and I will smear this shit. Damn, Harry, I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“I have an idea. When we’re done tonight, let’s figure out whose idea this was and kill the son of a bitch!” Harry said.

“Works for me. I gotta say,” Jack said, leaning back to view his handiwork, “this color looks good on you.”

“Ya think, Jack? You’re not teasing me now, are you?”

“Never!” Jack guffawed. “Ya know, I think you are going to pull this off. We all are. I gotta say, Espinosa knows his business. We need to ease up on him, so he doesn’t get a complex. He’s just doing what he has to do to get this show on the road. Let’s pick out our outfits. I have no clue what a woman would wear to something like what we are going to. Do any of you?”

“Semi-dressy would be my guess. These things are usually a girl’s night out, meaning they get together after work, meet up, and have dinner and see the show, so I think it’s a good bet that they’re in semi-business attire, which can be fashioned up or down with jewelry or a scarf, something like that,” Dennis said.

The others stopped to look at the young reporter.

“And you know this, how?” Abner asked.

“Espinosa told me. I don’t know anything about women. Is he right, Jack? You’re supposed to know everything there is to know about women.”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s right. I remember Nikki saying something like that when we would meet up for dinner after work, and I would say she looked different from when she left to go to work in the morning. C’mon. Let’s get to it.”

The treasure trove that was the wardrobe room proved to be a mini-nightmare.

“What size are we in women’s clothes?” Ted grumbled. “Are we going long to our ankles, short to our bony knees, or baggy?” He looked helplessly at Jack, who just shrugged. “Are you sure we have to match the outfit to the sandals?”

“Yes!” Dennis shouted as he pawed through the racks. He yanked out a turquoise-blue mandarin sheath and tossed it to Harry.

Harry shot the young reporter a killer look. “It’s ripped. Look!”

“It’s not ripped. That’s a slit up the leg. Good thing you Chinese guys are hairless,” Dennis shot back.

“I’m not wearing this,” Harry said, exploding.

“Then find your own damn dress, Harry.”

“Yeah, Harry, find your own damn dress.” Jack cackled as he pulled out a lemon-yellow high-necked dress with long sleeves that came with a short jacket. “What’s this puckered stuff on the front?”

“It’s smocking or ruching,” Ted said. “Maggie has a dress like that.”

“I do not believe this,” Harry said over and over as he fingered the silky material. “These false eyelashes are killing me. They itch, and I can hardly see.”

A ripe discussion followed on the length and the curl of their lashes. It was followed by considerable cursing, mostly from Harry.

Cyrus pawed the carpet and howled.

Ten minutes later, everyone had an outfit in hand.

“Next is jewelry and perfume. Let’s go, boys,” Jack said, leading the way to the room that held all they needed. “Take your pick, boys. Studs, dangling, hoops. The object is to sparkle. There are fifty-three bottles of perfume here, so unless you all want to sample the lot, I suggest we pick one, and we all get to smell alike. What’s it gonna be?”

“Let’s go with this one called Wild Ginger,” Ted said, and before anyone could yea or nay it, he was spraying the air. Cyrus ran to the door, barking like he had been mortally wounded.

“That’s going to give me a headache,” Harry said.

“Get over yourself, Harry. Perfume fades in time,” Jack said. “By the time we get to the club, you’ll hardly be able to smell it. Nikki told me that, so it must be true. Get your earrings, so we can dude up. It’s almost time to leave.”

They did a snatch and grab before they beelined out of the room to the dressing room, where they stripped down to their Jockeys and one set of boxers. No one looked at anyone else as they pulled on their outfits. When they were finished, they looked around at each other just as Espinosa said, “Say cheese, girls! You all look lovely.” He opened a closet door to reveal a full-length mirror. No one oohed or aahed. But Cyrus did bark. Loudly.

Charles and Fergus appeared out of nowhere, dressed in their new finery. Cyrus was so upset, he ran and hid, barking the whole time.

“We brought these wraps, stoles, or extra-long scarves, whatever you want to call them. It’s crisp outside, and unless you want to wear bulky coats, I suggest you all wrap your shoulders under these. They’re neutral in color, so they’ll match your . . . ah . . . outfits,” Charles said. “In case you wonder how I know this, I pay attention when Myra gets dressed for the evening. You know, house to car, car to wherever, and no coat necessary. That kind of thing. We should be on our way. In my opinion, no one would ever guess you are men under all that . . . stuff.”

“You two don’t look so bad, either,” Ted said as he whipped his wrap around his shoulders with a wild flourish. “I do like these little sparkly things on the fringe.”

“Yeah, yeah, a little pizzazz,” Dennis said as he fingered the sparkling little circlets sewn onto the fringe. “I think we’re as ready as can be. Are we coming back here later?”

“Yeah. We’re not taking Cyrus with us, so of course, we’re coming back,” Jack said.

The gang headed for the door as Cyrus cowered in the tiny kitchen area. He whined.

“Look, pal, this is a onetime thing. Don’t sweat it, okay? We’ll be back before you know it. In the meantime, watch over my gear and don’t bite anyone’s ass while I’m gone. We good, Cyrus?”

Cyrus barked twice, but he didn’t move.

The gang trooped outside. The side of the Post’s van now bore huge decals saying it belonged to the Lynsdale Dance Academy. Espinosa, dressed in a bright red two-piece pantsuit, climbed behind the wheel. “Listen up, everybody. When we get to the club, remember to keep your legs together, like girls do. And no scratching, either. Women do not scratch, because they do not itch like guys do. Remember that. Think female every minute you’re inside.”

“Why don’t you just give us a handbook?” Harry snarled as he fidgeted with his shoulder wrap.

“Are we having fun yet? You having fun, Abner?” Dennis asked.

“For sure. I really like this lipstick. I think it must have some kind of narcotic in it, because my lips are numb. I’m going to get a case of it for Isabelle.”

“Shut up!” Harry bellowed.

The rest of the ride to Supper Club One was made in silence. The time was 7:02 p.m. when Espinosa parked in the lot, which was almost full.

Charles squirmed in his seat as he struggled to turn around to face the others. “See if any texts came in before we go inside. No business and no phone usage while we’re inside. Is that understood?”

“Maggie said she’s going to make the deadline for the special edition,” Ted said.

“Mr. Sparrow said he and his men made the right choice, and he can’t wait for the special edition in the morning,” Fergus said.

“Avery said his operative moved in the nick of time and was able to follow Ms. Sanders to the bank, then here to the club. I don’t think this will come as a surprise, but she said she was not the only one following Ms. Sanders. A swarthy-looking man in an Avis rental was right behind the taxi. She said he’s here in the parking lot, and she gave me his license plate. She herself is parked in row G, and she’s the fourth car in. The tail is parked in row J and is five cars in. He is still in his car, and she is in hers,” Charles said.

“No updates on Mr. Sanders and his perils at sea?” Espinosa asked.

“No, nothing. Perhaps later. Be mindful of the time difference,” Charles said.

Ted looked over at Dennis. “Anything from Toby?”

“Only that he’s here, and so is Mia. He’s probably, as we speak, in discussions with Ms. Sanders.”

“If that’s it, then perhaps it’s time to head indoors to our dinner. Toby did reserve a table for us, didn’t he?” Jack said.

“Yes. He said he wasn’t sure if Mia would be joining us, as if we’re friends of hers, or if she was going to sit alone. I guess we’ll find out when we get inside.”

“Let’s do it, boys!” Ted said. He was the first one out of the van. The others, holding up their dresses and trying to hold on to their wraps and purses, were a sight to behold.

“I think we should all say a prayer that we’re happy we are not wearing high-heeled shoes,” Jack said, tongue in cheek, as he looked at Harry, who gave him the evil eye. “Oh no!” Jack said, his eyes wide with horror.

“What?” everyone shouted as they stopped in their tracks at Jack’s tone.

“What! What! That’s what,” Jack said, pointing to Harry. “Oh my God! Now what?”

The others gasped in horror.

“Harry, your eyelash is coming off,” Dennis cried dramatically.

“Relax, people. Stand still, Harry. I’ll have it fixed in a second.” Espinosa spit on his finger, dabbed the false eyelash, and held it in place for the count of ten. “See? All fixed!” Espinosa gurgled happily. “Remember now, we’re just a bunch of girls out for an evening of fun with our dowager aunts. Meaning Charles and Fergus. By the way, who has the money?”

“What money?” Abner asked.

“The money for us to slip into the guys’ G-strings,” Jack said.

“I have it,” Charles said. “Three one-hundred-dollar bills and five ten-dollar bills for a stellar performance. I’ll divvy it up over dinner. I also have the cover charge, which I think is over the top, but I will pay for all of us.”

The boys tripped around the walkway that led to the main entrance. They laughed and giggled and poked at one another as they followed Charles and Fergus. As Charles paid the cover charge and gave the name of Ruby Rose for the reservation, the hostess looked up and said, “Nice perfume. What’s the name of it?”

Before anyone could blink or say the wrong thing, Dennis trilled, “It’s called Wild Ginger, but it has a hint of jasmine in it.” The hostess winked at him as she smiled.

“Follow me,” said the hostess, whose nameplate said her name was Margie. “We have a full house tonight, with three specially reserved tables. Normally, we do not take reservations, but when it’s Ms. Sanders who requests them, then, of course, we have to do what she says. Here you go, ladies. Enjoy your dinner and the show. You are perfectly ringside. It doesn’t get any better than that.” She smiled again, showing a mouth full of beautiful pearl-white teeth. She winked again at Dennis, who was making a mental note to come back sometime soon looking like himself to see if he could chat her up.

“Forget it, kid. I think she’s a lesbian. Toby said all the hostesses are,” Jack said.

“I knew that!” Dennis said defensively. It really was true. Jack knew everything there was to know about women, even if his knowledge was secondhand. He knew how to put it all together so it made sense. How could I be so stupid?

A waiter dressed in a bow tie and a pair of skintight shorts appeared at their table. “Can I take you lovely ladies’ drink orders? Just as a reminder, the cover charge does not include alcohol.”

“Bourbon on the rocks, all around,” Charles said.

When the drinks came, Charles once again gave their order. “Filets all around, all medium rare, ranch dressing, and the twice-baked potatoes. Go!”

Everyone started to talk at once.

“I don’t like bourbon, and I like my steak rare.”

“We aren’t here to eat and drink, but to observe. When everything is the same, it counts down on the time. Let’s make a toast to a successful evening.” The boys clinked their glasses, but only Fergus and Charles drank.

“Nice place,” Abner said.

“Cloth tablecloths and napkins,” Ted said. “Maggie always said that is a sign of a good restaurant. This place is five star as far as the food goes.”

“Look around, boys, but do it casually. Tell me if you see anything that doesn’t quite seem to fit in,” Charles said. “Try not to be obvious. A trip to the ladies’ room might be required at some point.”

“I see Mia. She’s with some other young women, a table for four,” Dennis said under his breath.

“I see Ms. Sanders at a table with five . . . ah . . . dark-skinned–looking men,” Ted said. “My cell is vibrating, Charles. I think it might be Zack. Should I take it or not?”

“I say take the text. Just don’t be obvious,” Jack said, countermanding Charles’s orders. “I’d say Ms. Sanders looks a tad uncomfortable, and the men look stone-faced and just as uncomfortable,” Jack said.

“Now what?” Espinosa asked.

“Now we wait,” Charles responded. He lowered his voice and asked Ted what the text said.

Ted dropped his voice to match Charles’s and said, “He said he tailed the men all day. They bought cheap clothes at Target. They ate at a fast-food joint. They started out as six, three to a car, but along the way another six men met up with them at one of the fast-food places. He followed Zuma after that. The guy kept going from fast-food joint to coffeehouse, and back and forth, and he was on his cell the whole time. He’s here, inside this restaurant, right now, and so is Zack. He doesn’t know we’re, uh . . . who we are, so if we want to talk, we’ll have to find him.”

Charles simply nodded, because their food arrived just then.

Waiting was the name of the game.