Hot Shot, page 11
“I saw an Arby’s about a mile down the road when we drove in here. Call Maggie and tell her to meet us there,” Ted said hoarsely as he threw the van into gear and peeled out of the parking lot onto the paved highway. He burned rubber, not caring if he got a ticket.
Exactly three minutes later, having gone ninety miles an hour, Ted steered the van to the drive-through window. He bellowed at the young guy in the open window, “Six bottles of ice-cold water right now! Hurry it up, dude, we’re dehydrating.”
Jack had Cyrus’s bowl in his hand and the icy bottle of water a second later. He poured, careful not to spill the lifesaving liquid. Cyrus fell to it and drank greedily, as did Jack and Ted. Jack opened the three remaining bottles and watched as Cyrus drank his fill. He pawed the car door to go out. “Two bottles of water will do that,” Jack mumbled as he waited for the big dog to do his thing. Cyrus woofed and scampered back into the van just as Maggie and Dennis pulled up behind him in the drive-through.
Jack leaned out the window and shouted that they would order, and for Maggie to find a parking spot for her rental, and they would all eat in the van. He watched as Maggie backed up her Toyota rental and drove to the corner of the lot, where a tree offered a little shade.
Ted placed a huge order, to the young guy’s delight. Twelve double-roast beef sandwiches with spicy brown mustard, five orders of fries, and five orders of onion rings. Five root beers loaded with ice and six more bottles of water along with four double-roast beef sandwiches, plain, for Cyrus.
It took a full twelve minutes for Ted’s order to be filled. Money changed hands before bag after bag was handed through the small window. It took another seven minutes before everyone was settled and chowing down on the fast food. Between mouthfuls of food, the four of them took turns muttering about the excessive heat and how they were all sweating like Trojans.
“Now I just want to go to sleep,” Maggie groaned as she finished the last of her sandwich and licked the mustard that had dripped onto her fingers. Cyrus barked to go out. Jack opened the door, and the big dog leaped down and sprinted off toward the back of the big tree, which looked as wilted as the rest of the straggly foliage surrounding the parking lot.
“Look, just make sure you all keep drinking. We have to stay hydrated. This kind of weather is not something any of us are used to, so pay attention to what your body is telling you. Before we leave here, we’ll go back through the take-out line for more water. Maybe if we pay the kid extra, he’ll fashion some kind of container with ice. Now, what’s next on our agenda? Are we done here at Happy Village, and are we heading back to Babylon?” Jack asked.
“Zack Meadows is still nowhere to be found. Charles and Fergus opted to go back to the hotel, so we could take a crack at seeing if he’s in his office. We are here, and he’s not located that far from where we are right now. There has to be someone there who knows something. I say we head there,” Ted said. The others agreed.
“We have to be back here by two-thirty. That guy Lionel finally answered my text, said he was in class and just got my text. He is willing for a meet-and-greet at that building they use as a clubhouse,” Dennis said.
“Then that’s the plan. Give us time to go through the drive-through and follow us when we leave. Who has the address for Meadows?”
“I do. I’ll program it into the GPS, so follow me when we leave.”
Ten minutes and a hundred dollars later, a Styrofoam cooler loaded with ice and water was sitting next to Cyrus on the backseat. Ted raced the van across the deserted lot and followed Maggie out to the highway.
“Since this is Vegas, and if you were a betting man, Jack, what are the odds Zack Meadows is going to be in his office? My opinion for whatever it’s worth is that the guy is avoiding us. The big question is, why? This whole thing is starting to smell more and more like a fish market. I don’t mean to blow my own horn here, but I am an investigative journalist, and by now, under normal circumstances, I’d have a feel for what’s going on. I don’t. And I know Maggie doesn’t either. Dennis, who has good instincts, hasn’t said boo, so he’s out there in left field with me and Maggie. What’s your gut telling you, Jack?”
Jack scrunched his face into a grimace. “I can’t read it either, Ted. About the best I can come up with is to say that something is off. I think we’ll know more once we see what we come up with regarding Zack Meadows. I don’t know why, but I think that guy is the key to what’s going on.”
“Are you . . . do you . . . are you thinking he wants to ace out Cosmo and take over, something like that?”
“Yeah, something like that. I could be really off base on that. For all we know, the guy might be out of the country or out of the state, but I don’t care who it is or how important he is or thinks he is. In this digital age, the guy would be checking his e-mail and phone for texts. That’s a given, don’t you agree? Especially for someone who not only works for but is actually the chair of the Gaming Commission. He’s got to be available twenty-four seven, I’m thinking. That means he has to check his messages. He’s chosen to ignore all of ours, and we must have left at least a dozen. It smells, that’s for sure,” Jack said.
“I couldn’t agree more. Did you check in with Espinosa? Anyone hear from Abner or Snowden?” Ted asked.
“I’m doing that now. Espinosa said Charles and Fergus are back in the penthouse. He hasn’t heard from Abner or Snowden, and neither has Charles. That’s it,” Jack said.
“Maggie is slowing down. Meadows must hang out in that brick building on the right. Lots of cars. Busy place, I guess. She’s turning so, yeah, this is it,” Ted said, turning on his signal light to make a right turn to follow Maggie.
Everyone got out and immediately started to fan themselves. “The front door is over there,” Maggie indicated, pointing to a green awning by a massive mahogany double door. Let’s do it!” she said, sprinting ahead with Cyrus on her heels. The others followed and stepped into a small, beautifully decorated lobby that was so icy cold, they all started to shiver.
There was no welcome desk, no one to ask for directions. But a monster bulletin board listed every office in the building. “We want 1102,” Dennis said. “Where are the elevators?”
“Around the corner,” Maggie said. “Looks like a ton of security. Get ready to shed everything but your undies.” She forged ahead and plopped her backpack on the conveyor belt but not before she was asked for her ID. The others followed suit. Cyrus was the last in line after Jack.
“Sorry, sir, no dogs allowed,” the guard said.
“He’s a service dog. He goes where I go. Cyrus!”
Cyrus stepped forward and offered up his paw with a short, soft bark.
The guard blinked and turned to his partner. “Did you see that, Sid? Now ain’t that somethin’? Well, okay then, big fella, you’re good to go.” Ham that he was, Cyrus barked again and dipped his head in acknowledgment.
The gang started off, Jack and Cyrus at the end of the line. Jack suddenly turned around and walked over to the guard. “Excuse me, but by any chance do you know Zack Meadows?”
“Well, I don’t know him personally, but yeah, I know who he is. Is that who you’re going to see?”
“I am. Do you happen to know if he’s in today, or has he gone out to lunch yet?”
“I saw him about an hour ago. He usually comes in early, just when I start my shift at six-thirty. He could have left by the back stairway or taken the elevator down to the lower level where the garage is. I usually see him just in the morning. I hardly ever see him later in the day. He’s not what you would call a friendly man. Doesn’t even say good morning.”
“Okay, thanks.” Not to be outdone, Cyrus let loose with a sharp bark and offered his paw again. He allowed the guard to ruffle his ears. He was doing his part.
The elevator was small and smelled like Brut and some kind of flowery perfume. Cyrus sneezed. When the elevator stopped on the eleventh floor, Cyrus was the first one out.
The little group looked around the lavish waiting area, their eyes wide, their jaws dropping. “Furnishings, paintings, carpeting, plus the mannequin behind the desk, three hundred thousand easy,” Maggie whispered. “And this is just the waiting room. Well, it is Vegas, so I guess money is no object. Let me handle this,” she hissed as she approached the shiny desk where a woman sat staring into space. Maggie summed her up in a heartbeat. Vegas showgirl gone to seed but fighting it every step of the way. Botoxed out the kazoo to the point that nothing moved on her face. There was nothing on the desk except a console phone and a computer that wasn’t turned on. A game show with a shrill, squealing audience was on the color TV that hung suspended from the ceiling. Maggie eyed the wild Dolly Parton wig the woman was wearing, the blood-red nails that were so long she understood why the computer was off—the talons would get stuck in the keyboard. She took a second to wonder how she wiped her rear end. She answered her own thought by assuming the woman had a bidet. Maggie shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Ma’am, can you please help us?” When the woman didn’t respond, Jack walked over to the free-hanging TV and pulled the plug.
“Ma’am?”
“It’s Crystal. Miss Crystal Shine,” the receptionist said, eyeing Jack, Ted, and Dennis.
“Of course it is,” Maggie drawled.
“We’re here to see Mr. Meadows.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
Maggie was about to say no, then changed that to “Absolutely we do. Otherwise, why would we be here? Just tell us where he is, and we’ll find our own way. That way you can get back to your game show.”
The woman thought about it for a few seconds. “Go through that door on the left, go down the hall to the end, and Mr. Meadows’s office is the last one. What did you say your name was?”
“Barbara Walters,” Maggie said with a straight face.
“Really! You look wonderful for your age,” Miss Crystal Shine said.
Jack developed a coughing fit that was so alarming, Ted had to clap him on the back. “Barbara Walters!” Jack gasped as he stumbled along behind Maggie and Cyrus.
“Obviously, she needs glasses,” Maggie said, and giggled. “Ah, okay, here we are. Oh, lookie here, tell me that isn’t a fancy-schmantzy nameplate. If you care to look around, this one is the biggest and the shiniest compared to the others. Guess that’s why he gets the last office with the wraparound windows. Does his job pay that well?” she whispered.
No one knew the answer, but Dennis ventured a guess. “I would assume it pays very well, and remember, he gets a cut of the rents from Happy Village. And who’s to say he paid for this pricey plaque himself?” When there was no comment, Dennis shrugged, and added, “I’m just saying.”
Maggie whirled around and asked if she should knock or just open the door.
“Just open the door already,” Ted said, irritation evident in his voice.
Cyrus growled low and deep in his throat.
Maggie opened the door. The four of them barreled through, Cyrus in the lead. The man sitting at the desk rose, a look of stark fear on his face. “What the hell . . .”
Everyone’s hands hit the air, palms outward to say, Whoa, whoa. “Miss Crystal Shine said it was all right for us to come back here because you weren’t busy and could spare a few moments. We’re here at Mrs. Cricket’s request.”
In the space of time it took Jack to offer up his spiel, the gang had the luxurious office cataloged and priced out. The Jackson Pollock artwork that adorned the walls was way, way up into the hundreds of thousands of dollars. The Persian carpet alone could feed a city for a full year. The sofas and chairs were so luxurious, they screamed to be sat upon—custom crafted, undoubtedly, with an impossible price tag. The coffee table shimmered from the subdued overhead lighting. The only thing on the table was a massive basket of white lilies, white tulips, and white roses, with fern nestled among the stems. The desk looked as if it came from the White House, like a replica of the president’s desk. The greenery, and there was plenty of it in the huge room, could have come straight out of a rain forest. Droplets of water could be seen on some of the leaves.
And then there was the man, who didn’t bother to get up to greet his unexpected guests. It was hard to tell if he was tall, medium, or short, since he was sitting down. He had a full head of sandy-colored hair that was a tad too thick and styled; it couldn’t be real. His nails were buffed and manicured. He wore a five-thousand-dollar Hugo Boss suit with a red power tie. His shirt was pristine white, with the cuffs monogrammed in the color of his suit.
Later, Dennis said any man who had to have his initials on his clothes had an identity problem of some kind.
“It’s customary to make an appointment. That’s how we do things here. All you have to do is call,” Meadows said.
“We tried that, over a dozen times,” Maggie said flatly. “You didn’t respond to any of our calls, and that’s why we’re here. As my colleague said, Mrs. Cricket asked us to look into the attempted murder of her husband. In other words, she wants to know what happened, and for some reason she thinks you are avoiding her, the police, and even us. Is that true, Mr. Meadows? By the way, excuse my atrocious manners. I’m Maggie Spritzer and this is Ted Robinson and Dennis West. We’re investigative journalists for the Post in Washington, DC. We just happened to be here when Mr. Cricket was shot. And this gentleman is Jack Emery, a former federal prosecutor and now a private attorney. Last but not least, this is Cyrus. We never go anywhere without him. He’s a valued member of our team.” Cyrus woofed softly to thank Maggie for his introduction.
“Your turn, Mr. Meadows,” Dennis said, stepping forward. “Well, blow me away and let me land on my feet. Would you look at that!”
Everyone in the room said, “What?” at the same time.
“Mr. Meadows is a connoisseur of fine tobacco. Very, very fine tobacco. Those are Davidoff Oro Blanco cigars. They come in their own wooden box. Ten cigars to a box, and the box costs five thousand dollars. Each cigar, individually boxed, is worth five hundred. We did an article on tobacco a while back, so I know what those cost,” Dennis chirped.
“I keep them on hand for the high rollers who come through here from time to time,” Meadows explained. His tone was defensive.
“Uh-huh,” was all Dennis said.
“Can we get on with this? I have to leave in a few minutes to attend a licensing meeting.” Meadows shot his monogrammed cuffs to look at his watch, which made Ted’s eyes almost bug out of his head at the sight of the Patek Philippe Swiss watch set in eighteen-karat gold with a perpetual calendar and sporting a genuine crocodile strap. If there was one thing Ted knew about in detail, it was watches. He’d been obsessed with them since he was a little kid and learning to tell time. He blinked, then blinked again, because he knew that the price tag on the bauble was $130,000.
Meadows got up from a chair that looked as if it would lull you to sleep the minute you sat down, and he came around to the front of the desk. Maggie looked down to see the distinctive boat-shaped Bettanin & Venturi loafers that were handmade in Italy for a thousand dollars a pop. She immediately calculated the cost of the apparel Zack Meadows was attired in and came up with the number $8,000. She felt as if she should let loose with a whistle but kept her cool. Serious money, for sure. They definitely needed Abner to look into this man’s finances.
“I can’t help you. And the reason I can’t help you is that I wasn’t here when Cosmo was shot. I was on my way to Reno. I’ve talked to the police ad nauseam. I call the hospital every day for an update, and they say the same thing—Cosmo is holding his own. I called Gentry Lomax the minute I heard. He manages Happy Village. Ironically, he wasn’t on-site that day either. Other than that, there is nothing more for me to tell you. I wish I could tell you something. I can offer a suggestion. Talk to Lionel, Cosmo’s version of security at Happy Village. He has an ear to the underground, and he might come up with something. Look, I really have to leave now. If you want to come back and talk at length, ask Crystal to make an appointment for you. It was nice meeting you all. I always enjoy meeting Cosmo’s friends. Please, give Elizabeth my regards.”
There was nothing the gang could do but follow Meadows to the door, where he quickly ushered them out. “I’ll be along in a minute. I have to gather up some paperwork to take to the meeting. Since you found your way here, I’m sure you can find your way back.”
And that was the end of that.
Chapter 8
A 1965 Mustang with more rust than paint on its chassis slid into a parking spot outside the clubhouse of Happy Village, its engine purring like a contented tabby cat. It was a totally rebuilt engine that Lionel Lewis and his friends in the Cavaliers had worked on for over a year, with the bulk of the parts coming from the graveyard of junked cars. It was unclear if the original paint job was red or blue, or possibly green. The reason Lionel left the ratty-looking exterior as it was was so that no one would want to steal the classic car.
Lionel Lewis stepped out from behind the wheel, his three best friends following from the back and passenger side. “Looks like we got here first,” Lionel said as he mopped at the perspiration building on his forehead. “Dom, go on in and turn on the A/C,” he said, addressing the friend who’d been sitting in the passenger seat. Lionel tossed him a set of keys. “Eddie, you and Nick stay right here until Mr. Cricket’s people arrive. I see Gentry Lomax heading this way, and I want to head him off before he does something stupid. Go!”
Lionel started to squint in the bright sun. He’d removed his dark sunglasses, knowing Lomax would have some snide comment about not looking him in the eye. There were days, and this was one of them, when he wanted to beat the stuffing out of the pompous, know-it-all manager. Wanting to do something and doing it, however, were two different things. Lionel knew he’d never act on his feelings, because he didn’t want Cosmo Cricket to ever think he’d made a mistake in hiring him and his friends. Instead, he conjured up as much respect as he could for the retired military man bearing down on him. He might defer to the man’s position, but he never kowtowed to the man. Showing respect was one thing; letting the man ride roughshod over him and his friends was a horse of a different color.
Exactly three minutes later, having gone ninety miles an hour, Ted steered the van to the drive-through window. He bellowed at the young guy in the open window, “Six bottles of ice-cold water right now! Hurry it up, dude, we’re dehydrating.”
Jack had Cyrus’s bowl in his hand and the icy bottle of water a second later. He poured, careful not to spill the lifesaving liquid. Cyrus fell to it and drank greedily, as did Jack and Ted. Jack opened the three remaining bottles and watched as Cyrus drank his fill. He pawed the car door to go out. “Two bottles of water will do that,” Jack mumbled as he waited for the big dog to do his thing. Cyrus woofed and scampered back into the van just as Maggie and Dennis pulled up behind him in the drive-through.
Jack leaned out the window and shouted that they would order, and for Maggie to find a parking spot for her rental, and they would all eat in the van. He watched as Maggie backed up her Toyota rental and drove to the corner of the lot, where a tree offered a little shade.
Ted placed a huge order, to the young guy’s delight. Twelve double-roast beef sandwiches with spicy brown mustard, five orders of fries, and five orders of onion rings. Five root beers loaded with ice and six more bottles of water along with four double-roast beef sandwiches, plain, for Cyrus.
It took a full twelve minutes for Ted’s order to be filled. Money changed hands before bag after bag was handed through the small window. It took another seven minutes before everyone was settled and chowing down on the fast food. Between mouthfuls of food, the four of them took turns muttering about the excessive heat and how they were all sweating like Trojans.
“Now I just want to go to sleep,” Maggie groaned as she finished the last of her sandwich and licked the mustard that had dripped onto her fingers. Cyrus barked to go out. Jack opened the door, and the big dog leaped down and sprinted off toward the back of the big tree, which looked as wilted as the rest of the straggly foliage surrounding the parking lot.
“Look, just make sure you all keep drinking. We have to stay hydrated. This kind of weather is not something any of us are used to, so pay attention to what your body is telling you. Before we leave here, we’ll go back through the take-out line for more water. Maybe if we pay the kid extra, he’ll fashion some kind of container with ice. Now, what’s next on our agenda? Are we done here at Happy Village, and are we heading back to Babylon?” Jack asked.
“Zack Meadows is still nowhere to be found. Charles and Fergus opted to go back to the hotel, so we could take a crack at seeing if he’s in his office. We are here, and he’s not located that far from where we are right now. There has to be someone there who knows something. I say we head there,” Ted said. The others agreed.
“We have to be back here by two-thirty. That guy Lionel finally answered my text, said he was in class and just got my text. He is willing for a meet-and-greet at that building they use as a clubhouse,” Dennis said.
“Then that’s the plan. Give us time to go through the drive-through and follow us when we leave. Who has the address for Meadows?”
“I do. I’ll program it into the GPS, so follow me when we leave.”
Ten minutes and a hundred dollars later, a Styrofoam cooler loaded with ice and water was sitting next to Cyrus on the backseat. Ted raced the van across the deserted lot and followed Maggie out to the highway.
“Since this is Vegas, and if you were a betting man, Jack, what are the odds Zack Meadows is going to be in his office? My opinion for whatever it’s worth is that the guy is avoiding us. The big question is, why? This whole thing is starting to smell more and more like a fish market. I don’t mean to blow my own horn here, but I am an investigative journalist, and by now, under normal circumstances, I’d have a feel for what’s going on. I don’t. And I know Maggie doesn’t either. Dennis, who has good instincts, hasn’t said boo, so he’s out there in left field with me and Maggie. What’s your gut telling you, Jack?”
Jack scrunched his face into a grimace. “I can’t read it either, Ted. About the best I can come up with is to say that something is off. I think we’ll know more once we see what we come up with regarding Zack Meadows. I don’t know why, but I think that guy is the key to what’s going on.”
“Are you . . . do you . . . are you thinking he wants to ace out Cosmo and take over, something like that?”
“Yeah, something like that. I could be really off base on that. For all we know, the guy might be out of the country or out of the state, but I don’t care who it is or how important he is or thinks he is. In this digital age, the guy would be checking his e-mail and phone for texts. That’s a given, don’t you agree? Especially for someone who not only works for but is actually the chair of the Gaming Commission. He’s got to be available twenty-four seven, I’m thinking. That means he has to check his messages. He’s chosen to ignore all of ours, and we must have left at least a dozen. It smells, that’s for sure,” Jack said.
“I couldn’t agree more. Did you check in with Espinosa? Anyone hear from Abner or Snowden?” Ted asked.
“I’m doing that now. Espinosa said Charles and Fergus are back in the penthouse. He hasn’t heard from Abner or Snowden, and neither has Charles. That’s it,” Jack said.
“Maggie is slowing down. Meadows must hang out in that brick building on the right. Lots of cars. Busy place, I guess. She’s turning so, yeah, this is it,” Ted said, turning on his signal light to make a right turn to follow Maggie.
Everyone got out and immediately started to fan themselves. “The front door is over there,” Maggie indicated, pointing to a green awning by a massive mahogany double door. Let’s do it!” she said, sprinting ahead with Cyrus on her heels. The others followed and stepped into a small, beautifully decorated lobby that was so icy cold, they all started to shiver.
There was no welcome desk, no one to ask for directions. But a monster bulletin board listed every office in the building. “We want 1102,” Dennis said. “Where are the elevators?”
“Around the corner,” Maggie said. “Looks like a ton of security. Get ready to shed everything but your undies.” She forged ahead and plopped her backpack on the conveyor belt but not before she was asked for her ID. The others followed suit. Cyrus was the last in line after Jack.
“Sorry, sir, no dogs allowed,” the guard said.
“He’s a service dog. He goes where I go. Cyrus!”
Cyrus stepped forward and offered up his paw with a short, soft bark.
The guard blinked and turned to his partner. “Did you see that, Sid? Now ain’t that somethin’? Well, okay then, big fella, you’re good to go.” Ham that he was, Cyrus barked again and dipped his head in acknowledgment.
The gang started off, Jack and Cyrus at the end of the line. Jack suddenly turned around and walked over to the guard. “Excuse me, but by any chance do you know Zack Meadows?”
“Well, I don’t know him personally, but yeah, I know who he is. Is that who you’re going to see?”
“I am. Do you happen to know if he’s in today, or has he gone out to lunch yet?”
“I saw him about an hour ago. He usually comes in early, just when I start my shift at six-thirty. He could have left by the back stairway or taken the elevator down to the lower level where the garage is. I usually see him just in the morning. I hardly ever see him later in the day. He’s not what you would call a friendly man. Doesn’t even say good morning.”
“Okay, thanks.” Not to be outdone, Cyrus let loose with a sharp bark and offered his paw again. He allowed the guard to ruffle his ears. He was doing his part.
The elevator was small and smelled like Brut and some kind of flowery perfume. Cyrus sneezed. When the elevator stopped on the eleventh floor, Cyrus was the first one out.
The little group looked around the lavish waiting area, their eyes wide, their jaws dropping. “Furnishings, paintings, carpeting, plus the mannequin behind the desk, three hundred thousand easy,” Maggie whispered. “And this is just the waiting room. Well, it is Vegas, so I guess money is no object. Let me handle this,” she hissed as she approached the shiny desk where a woman sat staring into space. Maggie summed her up in a heartbeat. Vegas showgirl gone to seed but fighting it every step of the way. Botoxed out the kazoo to the point that nothing moved on her face. There was nothing on the desk except a console phone and a computer that wasn’t turned on. A game show with a shrill, squealing audience was on the color TV that hung suspended from the ceiling. Maggie eyed the wild Dolly Parton wig the woman was wearing, the blood-red nails that were so long she understood why the computer was off—the talons would get stuck in the keyboard. She took a second to wonder how she wiped her rear end. She answered her own thought by assuming the woman had a bidet. Maggie shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Ma’am, can you please help us?” When the woman didn’t respond, Jack walked over to the free-hanging TV and pulled the plug.
“Ma’am?”
“It’s Crystal. Miss Crystal Shine,” the receptionist said, eyeing Jack, Ted, and Dennis.
“Of course it is,” Maggie drawled.
“We’re here to see Mr. Meadows.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
Maggie was about to say no, then changed that to “Absolutely we do. Otherwise, why would we be here? Just tell us where he is, and we’ll find our own way. That way you can get back to your game show.”
The woman thought about it for a few seconds. “Go through that door on the left, go down the hall to the end, and Mr. Meadows’s office is the last one. What did you say your name was?”
“Barbara Walters,” Maggie said with a straight face.
“Really! You look wonderful for your age,” Miss Crystal Shine said.
Jack developed a coughing fit that was so alarming, Ted had to clap him on the back. “Barbara Walters!” Jack gasped as he stumbled along behind Maggie and Cyrus.
“Obviously, she needs glasses,” Maggie said, and giggled. “Ah, okay, here we are. Oh, lookie here, tell me that isn’t a fancy-schmantzy nameplate. If you care to look around, this one is the biggest and the shiniest compared to the others. Guess that’s why he gets the last office with the wraparound windows. Does his job pay that well?” she whispered.
No one knew the answer, but Dennis ventured a guess. “I would assume it pays very well, and remember, he gets a cut of the rents from Happy Village. And who’s to say he paid for this pricey plaque himself?” When there was no comment, Dennis shrugged, and added, “I’m just saying.”
Maggie whirled around and asked if she should knock or just open the door.
“Just open the door already,” Ted said, irritation evident in his voice.
Cyrus growled low and deep in his throat.
Maggie opened the door. The four of them barreled through, Cyrus in the lead. The man sitting at the desk rose, a look of stark fear on his face. “What the hell . . .”
Everyone’s hands hit the air, palms outward to say, Whoa, whoa. “Miss Crystal Shine said it was all right for us to come back here because you weren’t busy and could spare a few moments. We’re here at Mrs. Cricket’s request.”
In the space of time it took Jack to offer up his spiel, the gang had the luxurious office cataloged and priced out. The Jackson Pollock artwork that adorned the walls was way, way up into the hundreds of thousands of dollars. The Persian carpet alone could feed a city for a full year. The sofas and chairs were so luxurious, they screamed to be sat upon—custom crafted, undoubtedly, with an impossible price tag. The coffee table shimmered from the subdued overhead lighting. The only thing on the table was a massive basket of white lilies, white tulips, and white roses, with fern nestled among the stems. The desk looked as if it came from the White House, like a replica of the president’s desk. The greenery, and there was plenty of it in the huge room, could have come straight out of a rain forest. Droplets of water could be seen on some of the leaves.
And then there was the man, who didn’t bother to get up to greet his unexpected guests. It was hard to tell if he was tall, medium, or short, since he was sitting down. He had a full head of sandy-colored hair that was a tad too thick and styled; it couldn’t be real. His nails were buffed and manicured. He wore a five-thousand-dollar Hugo Boss suit with a red power tie. His shirt was pristine white, with the cuffs monogrammed in the color of his suit.
Later, Dennis said any man who had to have his initials on his clothes had an identity problem of some kind.
“It’s customary to make an appointment. That’s how we do things here. All you have to do is call,” Meadows said.
“We tried that, over a dozen times,” Maggie said flatly. “You didn’t respond to any of our calls, and that’s why we’re here. As my colleague said, Mrs. Cricket asked us to look into the attempted murder of her husband. In other words, she wants to know what happened, and for some reason she thinks you are avoiding her, the police, and even us. Is that true, Mr. Meadows? By the way, excuse my atrocious manners. I’m Maggie Spritzer and this is Ted Robinson and Dennis West. We’re investigative journalists for the Post in Washington, DC. We just happened to be here when Mr. Cricket was shot. And this gentleman is Jack Emery, a former federal prosecutor and now a private attorney. Last but not least, this is Cyrus. We never go anywhere without him. He’s a valued member of our team.” Cyrus woofed softly to thank Maggie for his introduction.
“Your turn, Mr. Meadows,” Dennis said, stepping forward. “Well, blow me away and let me land on my feet. Would you look at that!”
Everyone in the room said, “What?” at the same time.
“Mr. Meadows is a connoisseur of fine tobacco. Very, very fine tobacco. Those are Davidoff Oro Blanco cigars. They come in their own wooden box. Ten cigars to a box, and the box costs five thousand dollars. Each cigar, individually boxed, is worth five hundred. We did an article on tobacco a while back, so I know what those cost,” Dennis chirped.
“I keep them on hand for the high rollers who come through here from time to time,” Meadows explained. His tone was defensive.
“Uh-huh,” was all Dennis said.
“Can we get on with this? I have to leave in a few minutes to attend a licensing meeting.” Meadows shot his monogrammed cuffs to look at his watch, which made Ted’s eyes almost bug out of his head at the sight of the Patek Philippe Swiss watch set in eighteen-karat gold with a perpetual calendar and sporting a genuine crocodile strap. If there was one thing Ted knew about in detail, it was watches. He’d been obsessed with them since he was a little kid and learning to tell time. He blinked, then blinked again, because he knew that the price tag on the bauble was $130,000.
Meadows got up from a chair that looked as if it would lull you to sleep the minute you sat down, and he came around to the front of the desk. Maggie looked down to see the distinctive boat-shaped Bettanin & Venturi loafers that were handmade in Italy for a thousand dollars a pop. She immediately calculated the cost of the apparel Zack Meadows was attired in and came up with the number $8,000. She felt as if she should let loose with a whistle but kept her cool. Serious money, for sure. They definitely needed Abner to look into this man’s finances.
“I can’t help you. And the reason I can’t help you is that I wasn’t here when Cosmo was shot. I was on my way to Reno. I’ve talked to the police ad nauseam. I call the hospital every day for an update, and they say the same thing—Cosmo is holding his own. I called Gentry Lomax the minute I heard. He manages Happy Village. Ironically, he wasn’t on-site that day either. Other than that, there is nothing more for me to tell you. I wish I could tell you something. I can offer a suggestion. Talk to Lionel, Cosmo’s version of security at Happy Village. He has an ear to the underground, and he might come up with something. Look, I really have to leave now. If you want to come back and talk at length, ask Crystal to make an appointment for you. It was nice meeting you all. I always enjoy meeting Cosmo’s friends. Please, give Elizabeth my regards.”
There was nothing the gang could do but follow Meadows to the door, where he quickly ushered them out. “I’ll be along in a minute. I have to gather up some paperwork to take to the meeting. Since you found your way here, I’m sure you can find your way back.”
And that was the end of that.
Chapter 8
A 1965 Mustang with more rust than paint on its chassis slid into a parking spot outside the clubhouse of Happy Village, its engine purring like a contented tabby cat. It was a totally rebuilt engine that Lionel Lewis and his friends in the Cavaliers had worked on for over a year, with the bulk of the parts coming from the graveyard of junked cars. It was unclear if the original paint job was red or blue, or possibly green. The reason Lionel left the ratty-looking exterior as it was was so that no one would want to steal the classic car.
Lionel Lewis stepped out from behind the wheel, his three best friends following from the back and passenger side. “Looks like we got here first,” Lionel said as he mopped at the perspiration building on his forehead. “Dom, go on in and turn on the A/C,” he said, addressing the friend who’d been sitting in the passenger seat. Lionel tossed him a set of keys. “Eddie, you and Nick stay right here until Mr. Cricket’s people arrive. I see Gentry Lomax heading this way, and I want to head him off before he does something stupid. Go!”
Lionel started to squint in the bright sun. He’d removed his dark sunglasses, knowing Lomax would have some snide comment about not looking him in the eye. There were days, and this was one of them, when he wanted to beat the stuffing out of the pompous, know-it-all manager. Wanting to do something and doing it, however, were two different things. Lionel knew he’d never act on his feelings, because he didn’t want Cosmo Cricket to ever think he’d made a mistake in hiring him and his friends. Instead, he conjured up as much respect as he could for the retired military man bearing down on him. He might defer to the man’s position, but he never kowtowed to the man. Showing respect was one thing; letting the man ride roughshod over him and his friends was a horse of a different color.
