Chapter Twenty-two
Four o’clock at the Pink Pelican was happy hour. But then most of the guests said every hour was happy hour, especially at the tiki salad bars up and down the beach. The boys were gathered at little tables. It was hard for an observer to tell if they were all together or they were just being friendly in a relaxed atmosphere. Every table in the bar was full, and every table held dishes of salad, chips, and salsa, along with exotic-looking drinks with little umbrellas and longneck beer bottles. Chatter was loud and lively. No one paid attention to anyone else, or so it seemed.
“The Sanders woman arrived earlier, and this might surprise you, but she changed hotels. She is now staying at the Ritz-Carlton. The dancers are staying at the Mandarin Oriental, where the pageant is being held. The guys arrived around two and are in their hotel rooms, or at least somewhere on the premises. Avery said that Mia is with Toby.
“Hana, who was surveilling Ms. Sanders, said a ruckus went down in the garage, and the police were called. Three cars in total. They took her watchdog out in handcuffs. She said she saw it with her own eyes. Somehow, she managed to outwit the thug, then took a flight to here. Originally, she was supposed to drive the van with all the gear. Abner hacked into her phone and computer and found out what she was up to. Her business manager, Carlie Fisher, is now en route to Miami with all the costumes and gear. She will also be staying at the Mandarin Oriental.”
“That’s it?” Ted said.
“Anything on Mr. Sanders?” Jack asked.
“Not a thing.”
“That’s it? A dry well?” Jack persisted.
“Pretty much. The only other point of interest is every salad bar on this stretch of the beach received their salad deliveries. Double orders, I’m told. I can see why they do such a brisk business. These vegetables are so crisp and crunchy, they feel like firecrackers in your mouth. That salsa is also the best I’ve ever eaten anywhere, and I have been everywhere.”
“I don’t think anyone has given any of us a second look since we’ve been here. What do you want us to do going forward, Avery?”
“Nothing. Just be vigilant. I’m expecting some fireworks when Delgado meets up with Ms. Sanders. I’m still trying to figure out what she’s up to. That was a pretty gutsy stunt she pulled in the garage back in D.C. Locked him in a vehicle that has childproof doors. It pains me to say this, but I don’t think I would have come up with that even on my best day. And the woman doesn’t even have kids. Like I said, gutsy. The idiot shot his way out, but the cops got there in time.
“He’s under lock and key. He might try to cut a deal and give up his boss, but I doubt it. Still, Delgado has to be worried about that. We all need to be extra alert. I’ve put more men on him and his people. It’s a veritable parade whenever he makes a move.”
“Where is he right now? Do you know?” Charles asked.
“My people tell me he is trying to find Ms. Sanders. He’s been at the Mandarin Oriental, talking to the dancers. They are all clueless, so they have nothing to give up.”
“Sounds to me like the Sanders woman is taking charge. Something must have happened. I’m wondering if somehow her husband has gotten in touch and she feels emboldened somehow. Or she got sick and tired of being told what to do by Delgado, and that thug who moved in with her might have taken a toll on her. Her payback in regard to him almost confirms it,” Charles said.
Harry suddenly stood up. Dennis right behind him. Customers moved quickly as a group of men in garish beachwear entered the seating area. Delgado and his people. No one looked at anyone as they left money on the table and headed toward the beach. Dennis was the only one to stay behind. While he wasn’t exactly bilingual, he understood and could converse in Spanish comfortably. He held his longneck Bud up for a refill and settled down to peck at his cell phone by sending text messages to himself. When he realized how stupid that was, he sent off a text message to Toby to let him know what was going on and to ask if he had any information. There was no immediate response, so Dennis continued to fiddle with his cell phone. He sent off messages to Maggie and to Bert Navarro, just to stay in touch.
He knew he was hitting all the wrong keys because he was concentrating on what the men were saying. Eight men, plus Delgado, who was trying to reassure them that even though Santos had been arrested, he would not give them up. The others cursed and called him a fool for believing such crap. Someone wanted to know where the woman was. Delgado said he didn’t know. More curses and more name-calling. What kind of leader was he that he couldn’t control one woman? Someone snapped. All of a sudden, Dennis felt like all the oxygen in the area had been sucked away. Delgado was on his feet as the men at the table continued to babble about how this would never have happened under Dito Chilo, who always controlled the trade and would never let a gringa get the upper hand.
Dennis started to get nervous as he wondered if the brouhaha would lead to gunplay. He wanted to leave but knew he couldn’t. Instead, he gulped at the contents of the longneck beer bottle. Then, to show his complete indifference to what was going on around him, he pulled one of the chairs closer and propped up his feet. He continued to peck away at his cell phone.
“Decide now. In or out. I have no time for this stupidity.”
“Me either,” Dennis wanted to say, but his vote didn’t count. Hardly daring to breathe, he waited to see what the outcome would be.
When all nine men got up and walked out without paying their bill, Dennis knew that greed had won out. But none of them had touched the food they’d ordered. He waited ten minutes until he felt that it was safe to leave. He literally ran down the beach to the next tiki bar, where he knew the others would be. He was breathless when he repeated what he’d overheard. “He doesn’t know where Ms. Sanders is. He’s hopping mad, too. You don’t think he’ll hurt her, do you?”
“He needs her,” Charles said. “She knows that. That’s why she’s gotten so bold. I can’t be certain, but I think before long, once she gets her ducks in a row, she’ll be calling him.”
“What do we do now?” Espinosa asked.
“Find a way to meet up with Toby so as not to draw attention to ourselves. Dennis, see what you can do. He’s got Mia with him, so we can pretend we know her rather than Toby. Some bar later tonight where no one pays attention to anyone else. That kind of place. We should split up now. Maybe a swim, then to our rooms for a nap. That’s what people on vacation do,” Ted said.
A whirlwind of activity followed as everyone hurried to do what Ted had suggested. Dennis just walked away and headed toward his room. A nap sounded really good.
He was almost asleep when his phone chirped. He read Toby’s text. Pilar is on her way here for a meeting with all of us. She sounds . . . different. More later.
Well, there was different, and there was different. Dennis rolled over and went to sleep.
It was eight o’clock when Dennis woke to his phone chirping and a loud knocking on his door. He ran to the door to see Ted and Espinosa. He ushered them into the room, where they sat down on the bed. He read off the incoming text message from Toby. “Meet us at the Dipsey Doodle. It’s right around the corner from the Pink Pelican. Nine o’clock. Something crazy is going on.”
Dennis showed the message to Ted and Espinosa, then forwarded it to the rest of the team. He flapped his arms in the air. “What should we do?”
“We do what he says. We meet up at the Dipsey Doodle. We’ll go now and get a table for all of us,” Ted said.
“I’ll meet you there. I need to take a shower and change. Do you think it’s wise for all of us to be seated together?”
“Probably not, but we’re going to do it, anyway,” Ted said. “Take your time. You have a whole hour, and he said it’s just around the corner.”
Later, as Dennis lathered up in the shower, his journalistic mind wondered why Delgado was heading north with the drugs instead of to Key West and open water. If he was a drug dealer, that was what he would do. But since he wasn’t a drug dealer, the point was moot.
He exited the shower, dressed in a pair of yellow plaid shorts with a white Izod T-shirt. He slipped his feet into flip-flops and was out the door twenty minutes behind Ted and Espinosa.
The team trickled in, one after the other, with Toby and Mia the last to arrive.
“We were not followed. I made sure. We’re clean,” Mia said. “But we need to get down to business right away, and then Toby and I are going back to party at the hotel with the other dancers, per Ms. Sanders’s orders. Ten o’clock is our witching hour.”
“What happened?” Charles asked.
“First of all, Pilar met with me one-on-one,” Toby said. “She gave me my check for being crowned Mr. December and told me to deposit it first thing in the morning. I said okay. Then she sat me down and told me how proud of me she’s always been, how she always tried to do right by all the dancers. I just listened. She handed me an envelope, and in it was the printed-out itinerary for all our airline flights. For tomorrow afternoon, after our rehearsal. I asked her what was going on, but she wouldn’t tell me. Then I asked her where Gabe was. She said he’d left her, and the reasons were not important. She said she was trying to make things right. She would not elaborate. She was trying not to cry.”
“So there’s no contest?” Jack said.
Toby grimaced. “If we’re all on a plane to wherever the hell she booked us, then I think it’s safe to say there will not be a pageant. Oh, one other thing. She gave me checks for each of the guys. Fifteen thousand dollars each.”
“Toby misspoke,” Mia said. “When he asked her if the pageant was off, she more or less did say yes, but then she said that after the rehearsal, they always hold a contest for wannabe dancers. She said she thought this would be a good chance for the wannabes to see if they could cut it up on a stage. She said it was a sold-out house, and she had to give the ticket holders their money’s worth.”
“I assume you haven’t told the others yet, right?” Charles said.
“We’re all going out to dinner. Pilar arranged it. I’ll do it then. By the way, she is not staying at our hotel. She’s at the Ritz-Carlton. In case you don’t know,” Toby said.
He went on. “Listen, we have to get back. I know this probably won’t mean anything to any of you, but she hugged me before she left and wished me luck. She hugged Mia, too, and told her she made a good choice when she picked me. Then she winked at me and said she forgives me. So I took that to mean she’s known all along that she was being watched. See you all tomorrow at the rehearsal. I can’t wait to see you guys perform.” And then they were gone.
“Whoa. Hold on here. What did he mean when he said he can’t wait to see us perform? Perform what?” Harry bellowed.
“Oh, you know, a little dance routine, a little jiggle here or there,” Jack said, then ran for his life out of the Dipsey Doodle, Cyrus on his heels, Harry leaping over tables and jostling people out of the way. Once they hit the beach, it was a standoff.
“I can’t dance,” Harry said.
“I can’t, either,” Jack said.
Cyrus whined and yelped. Both men ignored him.
“Do you want to know what we’re going to wear?” Jack asked craftily.
“Yeah.”
“Ninja outfits!” Jack said dramatically. “We get to carry those spike things that throw off smoke. The suits are rip-off Velcro. You rip between the legs, at the crotch, and the whole damn thing just comes apart. It’s like magic, Harry.”
“Uh-huh.”
Jack ran for his life.
* * *
The doors to the rehearsal room were locked, but the chatter and the sound of shuffling feet could be heard clearly as Pilar’s dancers went through their last routine. There were only two people seated where the audience sat, Pilar Sanders and Zuma Delgado. Pilar looked serene, and Zuma looked like a black thundercloud. When the dancers wound down and walked off the stage, Pilar turned to her drug-dealing partner.
“Satisfied? Everything is in place, so stop following me around and tell me when I’m going to get my money,” she said.
“I don’t trust you. You don’t do what you’re told. Is that why your husband left you?”
“Stay out of my personal business. Now you need to get out of here, so we can hold our auditions. This is important. We have to keep things moving and not make waves. You keep wanting to do things your way, and your way is going to bring trouble. I am not going to tell you again. Now, when do I get my money?”
“When the prizes are handed out. Your money will be in a basket of flowers. At the bottom. And I hope I never lay eyes on you again.”
Pilar laughed just as the doors opened to admit the horde of young men who wanted to be the next Mr. December. Harry and Jack led the pack but took seats in the back because they had no intention of trying out a dance routine. They watched as Delgado slunk out of the room.
An hour into the rehearsal was all Jack and the others needed. He signaled that they were to leave. Outside, in the great hallway, he groaned. “That was too painful to watch one minute longer.”
“My stomach is in a knot,” Dennis said.
“Cyrus can dance better than most of those guys,” Ted observed.
“I don’t know how I kept from laughing out loud,” Abner added.
They were outside the five-star hotel, looking at one another. “What now?” Jack asked, looking over at Charles.
“I guess this is what one calls free time. We do whatever we want and count down the hours till tomorrow. An early dinner would work wonders for me. I say we go back to the Pink Pelican and check out what they call fine dining around here. Avery has it all covered, so we’re good for the evening.”
* * *
Morning rolled around soon enough for the gang. They met up for breakfast, chatting with one another as they watched the numbers on their watches. The banks opened at eight, as opposed to nine up north. Toby would be at the bank promptly at eight. From there, he and Mia would head to the airport for the first leg of their trip. None of them knew where any of the dancers were going, not even Avery. All he would say was that Mia had resigned, had thanked him for the opportunity to work for him, but she was staying with Toby, who was happier than a pig in a mudslide, according to Dennis.
The Ritz-Carlton was just coming alive when Pilar Sanders stepped out of the elevator, dressed in blue jeans, sneakers, and a bright pink T-shirt that said THE DEVIL IS IN THE DETAILS. She carried an oversize straw beach bag with a bright bold sunflower embroidered on both sides. The bag had a zipper. She wore no makeup, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Under her arm, she carried a straw hat that matched the beach bag. She stopped at one of the seating areas and leaned over to speak to Zuma Delgado.
“Don’t you get tired following me around? I’m going shopping. I’ll be back in two hours to get ready for tonight. I do this at each pageant, so it is nothing new. It’s how I unwind. In wild anticipation of the money you’re going to be paying me. Can I bring anything back for you? Chocolate, some of that shitty aftershave that you bathe in? Well, what’s it going to be?”
“Two hours. If you aren’t back, I’ll send my people after you.”
“Of course you will. Good-bye, Mr. Delgado. You have a nice day now, you hear?”
“Bitch!”
“I heard that. Bastard,” Pilar called over her shoulder.
Pilar walked away from the hotel and hailed a cab. “The airport, please. The private part.”
Seventy-two minutes later, Pilar leaned back in her seat and looked around the plane’s interior. She was the only passenger, and she had been promised eggs Benedict when she hired the private plane to fly her to San Francisco.
“Here I come, Gabe, like it or not. I’ll find you. I know I will,” she whispered.
What Pilar Sanders didn’t know was that when the plane landed in San Francisco, one of Avery Snowden’s associates would be waiting for her. And where she was going, she would never again see Gabriel.
Zuma Delgado was a bundle of nerves as one text message after another pinged on his phone. His people were wired up, and his supplier was about to have a stroke in anticipation of what was going to go down in just a few hours. With nothing to do but answer the text messages and incoming calls, he set out to walk to the Mandarin Oriental. Watching the last rehearsal was better than sitting around here, stewing and worrying. The Sanders woman had said that the rehearsal was scheduled for ten and would run three hours. It was a little past nine thirty now. “So, I’ll walk slow,” he muttered to himself.
At 10:20 p.m., the fine hairs on the back of Delgado’s neck started to twang. Where were the dancers? Did he make a mistake on the time? He never made mistakes. He called his people at the Pink Pelican and was told the dancers left the hotel a little before eight and had not returned.
“Who followed them?” he asked.
“No one. You did not give the order to do that. You said to wait here.”
Yes, he did make mistakes. “Check their rooms.” Delgado knew even as the words left his mouth that the dancers were gone. He felt the blood freeze in his veins. Sanders was gone, too. While he didn’t know all that much about women, he did know enough to know they didn’t go out in public without makeup, and the Sanders woman wore enough to warrant a car wash to remove it.
“Son of a bitch!”
All it took was an hour to bribe the housekeeping staff and gain entrance to the dancers’ rooms, as well as Pilar Sanders’s at the Ritz-Carlton. To the naked eye, it appeared that all of them would be returning. But Delgado knew otherwise.
If he hadn’t been standing outside the rehearsal room, he would have missed the gang of men who shouldered him out of the way.
“Move it, buddy,” Jack said. “We have a rehearsal to get under way. Hey, weren’t you here yesterday for the auditions? We won! We’re going to be the opening act for the real dancers. What a break, huh? Okay, one of you guys turn up the music and let’s go to town. We want to make that nice lady proud of us. She said we’re all going to get a prize.”
“Wait a minute here. You men are dancing tonight?”
“Yeah,” Jack drawled. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m the guy that hands out the prizes. You okay with that?”
“Well, yeah, I guess so. Are you the guy who also pays us the thousand bucks? That’s, like, each, dude.”
“No, I’m not that guy. I just do the gifts.”
“We gotta start practicing, dude.”
“Um, yes. All right. I guess I’ll see you this evening.”
Charles scurried over to where Jack and the others were standing, all flustered. “I just got a text message from one of those dancers. He said all the dancers are in the hospital because they got food poisoning early this morning. He said to tell all of you that Ms. Sanders said you will be dancing in prime time tonight. In other words, you guys are it.”
Zuma Delgado took a deep breath and wanted to howl his rage. Instead, he backed away and bumped into Charles. Now what the hell am I supposed to do? “Who are you, old man?”
Charles bristled with indignation. He straightened his portly body and let loose with his best British-accented dialogue. “My partner and I represent these young men in their theatrical endeavors. Ms. Sanders has promised the contract before this evening’s performance.”
Delgado absorbed what he was hearing. Maybe he was wrong. He looked around. It certainly looked to him like the show was going forward. Women were crazy when it came to spending money and shopping. Every man in the world knew that. So the dancers got food poisoning. It happened. It had happened to him once, and he’d never forgotten it. To this day, he would not eat clams. He felt more upbeat as he stomped from the rehearsal hall.
“I don’t think the guy is going to kill anyone just yet. We need to play some music for a few minutes, then get out of here, so they can set up the seats for tonight’s show,” Ted said, looking around at the stacks and stacks of chairs waiting to be set up.
“Screw the music. The guy is gone. Let’s get out of here. Where is Avery?” Jack said.
“He said he was on his way to San Francisco, California, but he got a call and sent someone else. I don’t know where he is right now,” Fergus said.
“Uh-oh, company,” Dennis said when the huge double doors opened.
A young, harried woman pushing a dolly stopped in her tracks and looked around. “Who are you people? What are you doing here?”
Jack knew immediately who she was—Pilar Sanders’s right hand. And the right hand didn’t appear to have a clue as to what was going on. “You must be Carlie Fisher, Ms. Sanders’s assistant. We’re tonight’s lineup. These two gentlemen,” he said, pointing to Fergus and Charles, “are our agents. I don’t suppose you have our contracts and our checks, do you?”
“I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” She motioned to the men behind her to move forward with their piled-high dollies. “Take them to the dressing room and set it up. It’s behind the stage, on the right.”
“Well, here’s the thing. Your dancers are all in the hospital with food poisoning, and Ms. Sanders is temporarily unavailable. In other words, we’re dancing tonight. We were under the impression we were to do just one performance, but now with your men in the hospital, it looks like three performances. We want to be paid for three, not one. We need to see it in writing, like, now, or we’re outta here. We know how show business works,” Jack smirked.
“But I . . . I can’t. . . . I have to talk . . . no authority. . .” Carlie Fisher sputtered.
“Well, young lady, you better get it in a hurry or else shut down tonight’s performance,” Charles said.
“But I . . . all right, all right. I can write checks on the business account, but I do not have any contracts. This show has to go on,” Fisher said, in full panic mode.
“I can draw something up that will cover the situation temporarily. I’m sure the front desk will be glad to help us out. While I’m doing that, you can write out six checks for three thousand dollars each. To expedite things, just leave the names blank. We can fill them in ourselves,” Charles said.
“Fine, fine. I do not believe this. I absolutely do not believe this. Talk about a cluster . . . Where is Ms. Sanders?” she all but screamed as she continued to babble, all the while rummaging in her fat briefcase for the business checkbook. She scribbled, turned around, but the room was empty. She shook her head as she tried to make sense out of what was happening. She searched for her phone to call Pilar. She tried three times, and all three times the calls went straight to voice mail. “I should quit,” she wailed. Instead, she sat down on the dolly and cried.
When Charles returned, waving a sheet of paper in the air, Fisher wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt, reached for the one-page contract, read it, then signed her name. She handed over the checks.
“Thank you, young lady. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Fisher shook her head. “Just show up tonight with plenty of time. You do know what to do, don’t you? Ms. Sanders likes things to run like clockwork.”
“Not to worry, Miss Fisher. We’ll see you later.”
The gang rushed up to Charles the moment he walked through the door, and they peppered him with questions. “We’re dealing with dumb and dumber here, boys. There’s a branch bank one street over. I suggest you all cash these checks now, but be sure to fill in your names. I didn’t see any reason to expound on that. The contract only has first names. She didn’t even notice, or if she did, she doesn’t care. I wager she will be terminating her employment by the end of the evening,” he said.
Dennis clapped his hands in glee as he fell into line for the trek to the bank. He was being paid to dance on a stage. “How cool is that?” he muttered to himself.
Their banking business finished, Charles signaled they should all split up and head back to the Pink Pelican to rest up for their performance. Dennis was the only one who was excited. Even Cyrus was glum.
On their arrival, it was obvious that happy hour was in full swing. It was wall-to-wall tourists, laughing and drinking. The scent of suntan lotion was everywhere and so intense that Jack broke away, saying he was going to take Cyrus for a run on the beach. Harry joined them. The run on the beach turned into Cyrus running off by himself while Jack and Harry plopped down on the sand.
“It’s a hot mess, Harry.”
Harry grinned. “What was your first clue, Jack?”
“Do you think we can pull this off? The truth, Harry.”
“The truth, Jack? Too many variables.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s my thinking, too. I hate saying this, but I’d feel a lot better if Snowden was here. He definitely has a feel for this kind of caper. Look around. His people could be anywhere, and we don’t even know it. He keeps saying he has our backs. I hope so. By the way, what do you think about Toby and Mia going off together?”
Harry laughed. “I saw that one coming. Riding off into the sunset, or in this case the sunrise, is for the young.”
“Wow, Harry. That was profound.”
Harry was on his feet just as Cyrus bounded up the beach, barking his head off.
The threesome headed back to the Pelican to get ready for their evening’s adventure.
* * *
Jack’s watch said it was 6:47 p.m. The great ballroom was filled to capacity. Music was playing, but not loud. That would change soon. A sold-out performance. “I didn’t know that Fisher was the emcee.”
“I don’t think she knew it, either. With no one else to do it, she stepped up to the plate. You see those presents, prizes, if you prefer. Ready to go. And Delgado has a ringside seat, front row center. It’s easy to pick out his goons since the audience is all female. They stick out like tits on a bull,” Ted said.
“Time to saddle up,” Jack said. “This is where I give you all a pep talk that you don’t need. We’re oiled and bronzed. We’re dancers tonight, boys. We have checks to prove it. Remember, the ninja suits rip off from the crotch, and you need both hands to do it. You fling them behind you. Then you toss that round circle upward, and a cloud of smoke circles overhead. The drumbeat kicks in, and then we . . . dance. Did I miss anything?”
“Not a thing,” Dennis said. “We just wait for our cue. She goes offstage, the lights go down, and when they come back up, we’re on the stage, under some blinding white lights. This room will feel like an earthquake hit it once the music kicks in.” He paused. “Okay, she’s winding down, get ready, boys. On the count of three, take your places. One. Two. Three! Hit it, guys!”
The drumbeat was deafening; the women in the audience screamed, shouted, and stomped their feet. Clad in black from head to toe, the line of dancers looked menacing. They stood, legs spread and firmly planted. On cue, they all tossed the circles into the air. Smoke circled upward just as the dancers reached down to release the Velcro. Ninja suits flew upward into the haze.
Game on.
The women screamed their delight as Harry moved forward, then leaped in the air. He twisted, he flew, and he gyrated to the throbbing music, showing off every martial-arts move he’d ever learned. His almost naked body shimmered under the bright lights. He did a bump and grind that almost set the room on fire. Jack and the others played backup, their moves, while not as stellar, were still earth-shattering. The women didn’t even bother to wait for the end; they started tossing money onto the stage.
The following thirty minutes passed in a blur of ear-deafening sound. When the lights went down and the music stopped, the boys rushed back to the dressing room to get ready for the awards part of the pageant.
“Holy shit, Harry! I didn’t know you had it in you!” Jack roared with laughter as the others clapped Harry on the back, praising his moves.
“The videos go for a hundred bucks a pop. Cash only. I ordered a dozen,” Dennis chortled.
The others just stared at him.
“What videos?” Harry asked.
“The videos of our performance. The women buy them, and then they can play them over and over when they go home. Right now, there is someone out there raking in the cash in a bushel basket. Not to worry. I ordered a whole dozen. When we get old, we can look at them and laugh,” Dennis said.
Jack watched Harry out of the corner of his eye. He was about to erupt any second now, and he would have, but Carlie Fisher poked her head in the door and said, “Onstage, every-one.”
Jack pushed Harry forward. They lined up as the women whistled and shouted at Fisher’s little speech assuring them the show would continue after the awards were given out. She again apologized for the absence of the regular dancers and got a few boo hoos from the women when she said they all were suffering from food poisoning. “And I’m sorry that Ms. Sanders isn’t here, but it seems that on her way, there was a car accident, and she’s being held up. But the show must go on, so without further adieu, let me introduce you to Ms. Sanders’s assistant, Mr. Zuma, who will present the prizes for tonight’s brief but electric performance. You understand, of course, that the dancers on the stage are accepting the awards for the dancers who aren’t here.”
Delgado appeared out of nowhere. He didn’t say anything but reached over to the table and picked up the boot-sized box and handed it to Harry, who was first in line. Drumroll. And on down the line he went until all the gift boxes were off the table and only the basket of flowers remained. Delgado looked uncertain, until Charles walked onto the stage and said he was accepting the flowers for Ms. Sanders.
Immediately following that declaration, every light in the ballroom came on. Blue-jacketed men and women dressed in windbreakers with the letters DEA or FBI were everywhere. Guns were everywhere. The audience, not understanding what was going on, hooted and clapped and yelled for more, more, more, knowing they were getting their money’s worth from the night’s event.
“Where’s Fergus?” Jack asked.
“I do believe he might be outside with Avery, securing the money from Mr. Delgado’s vehicle. As you know, Ms. Sanders’s cut is in the bottom of this basket of flowers. I . . . ah . . . removed her portion and handed it off to Fergus the minute I got backstage,” Charles whispered, so that only Jack could hear him.
“I’ll take those flowers, sir,” a DEA agent said.
“Of course you will, my dear. They’re almost as pretty as you are,” Charles said gallantly. The agent scowled at him and walked off, carrying the basket of flowers.
“Well, from the looks of things, our work here is finished. Oh, there are Fergus and Avery. They look quite happy, so I assume our coffers are once again robust,” Charles said.
“How about calling the airport so we can be wheels up as soon as the officials cut us loose?” Jack said. “Where is Harry?”
“The last time I saw him, he was trying to negotiate a deal to buy all the videos and not having much luck.”
Jack looked around at his dance companions. All wore happy smiles. He mouthed the words, “We did good, guys. Real good.”
Cyrus threw back his head and howled.
“I know, I know. Okay, the guy in the handcuffs. Go on. Bite his ass and get right back here,” Jack said.
Cyrus always followed orders.