The Nosy Neighbor (18 page)

He’d chosen the Barb Wire because it was a dim and noisy bar where no one paid attention to anyone else. He kept reminding himself he was the one with the gun. Besides, he’d been a broker in training and could walk the walk and talk the talk. Which was exactly what he was going to do.

Leo looked at the slick little weasel sitting across from him. “Tell me how you’ll invest my $750,000 if I decide to go with your firm.”

Dollar signs flashed in Ligar’s eyes. “You look familiar, do I know you?”

Leo shrugged. “I do a lot of business with a lot of people. Anything is possible.” The weasel frowned.

“This place is just too crowded and noisy. Let’s take a walk up to the park. It’s a nice night. We can talk as we go along. If I like what you have to say, I’ll hand over a check on our way back,” Leo said.

“This certainly is a weird way of doing business, but okay. Every day is a learning experience,” the weasel said. He shrugged as much as to say, what the hell. “I have some good municipal bonds, a couple of triple A’s, and a good up-and-coming high-tech stock called Sotech.”

“That’s a dog. You’ll have to do better than that. Give me something that’s going to make me some money. I want to retire at an early age.”

“Where’d you get the seven-fifty? You transferring from another house?”

“No. It’s an inheritance, and I don’t want to lose it. My
real
portfolio is at Merrill Lynch.”

“You know what, you remind me of a guy who used to work at our firm. He was arrested for embezzling money out of dormant accounts.”

Leo laughed. “What happened to him?”

Ligar shrugged. “Don’t know. Police lost him after they arrested him. Hasn’t been seen since.”

It was Leo’s turn to shrug. “So, is that it, a few triple A’s and a few munis?”

“If you can give me a few more days, I might be able to come up with something. You have to admit this is pretty short notice.”

Leo looked up at the dark sky. Stars twinkled overhead. He was happy to see that the park was almost empty. Mothers were home with the kids; the old people were safe in their houses. A few runners and joggers and a stray bum were the only people he could see, and they were off in the distance. Perfect.

“Let’s sit down for a minute. I want to think about something,” Leo said, pointing to a park bench far enough off the path that no joggers or runners would bother them or, for that matter, even notice them, but close to a pay phone.

The weasel was antsy. “This park isn’t as safe as it looks. People get mugged and killed here on a weekly basis.”

“Uh-huh. Okay, Adam, hand it over.”

“Hand what over?” the broker squeaked, fear rattling his voice.

“Your wallet. I mean business. The cops never got me after I escaped, as you well know. I was innocent. You lousy creep, you set me up. You’re the one who embezzled the money. You were always logging on to my computer and my files. Stealing from the family is a no-no. C’mon, I don’t have all day.” The gun flashed in the sliver of moonlight that slid out from its cloud cover.

“You son of a bitch! I knew you looked familiar. Put that stupid gun away, Leo, before it goes off. I didn’t set you up.”

“I don’t think so. Oh, yeah, you set me up. I’ve had a whole year to do nothing but think. Give me your wallet and the keys to that fancy Mercedes. Do it now, Adam, or I’ll blow your damn head off.”

“Listen, Leo, let’s talk about this. We can work something out.” He sounded like a whiny little kid who had dropped his ice cream in the dirt.

Leo clicked off the safety. It sounded exceptionally loud. He loved it that his old colleague was whining and begging. The gun was all-powerful.

“Okay, okay.”

Leo eyed the little pile of personal effects, which included Adam’s passport, on the bench. You got an ATM card, Adam?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“I don’t. Thanks to you. What’s the pin number? Don’t even think about lying to me.” Adam rattled it off. Leo made a mental note of it.

“Now, we’re going over to that pay phone, where you’ll call your wife and tell her something came up and you’re going out of town for a few days. Tell her you’ll call her later. Make up one of those lies you’re so good at. What’s your home number?”

“It’s 207-2323.” Adam’s voice was even shakier by then, all sound of belligerence gone. Eyes wary, he watched Leo dial his home number. “What are you going to do? C’mon, Banks, let’s make a deal here.”

“Like that’s really going to happen. Stop whining. It’s not manly. Say what I told you to say.”

To make his point, Leo jabbed the gun into Adam’s side as he started to talk. “Dorothy, something’s come up, and I have to go to the Caymans. I think I’ll be gone for three days or so. I’ll call when I know more. Everything’s fine. It’s a guy who has a boatload of money he wants to invest. I sort of fell into it. You gotta strike while the iron’s hot in this business. That’s what your father told me when he hired me. Yeah, I love you, too.”

“Does Dorothy know about you hopping the blonde in payroll and that waitress at Starbucks?” Leo asked as he forced the hapless broker to return to the park bench.

Adam was openly sweating in the cool spring evening. “You know she doesn’t. What do you want, Banks? Look, if it’s money, my wife has plenty. I can get it for you. Leo, if you shoot me, you’ll go to jail for the rest of your life.”

“I want everything you’ve got. Everything you stole from me. What I don’t want is your wife’s money. How much money is in your wallet?”

“About five hundred dollars.”

“How much in the account with the ATM card?”

“Maybe forty-four hundred.”

“How much can you take in one day?”

“Two thousand.”

“What’s the limit on your credit cards?”

“They’re all maxed out except the Citi card. My limit is $7500. My wife likes to shop.” Sniveling, he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. His eyes were wet and pleading.

Backing away from the man who had changed his life, Leo Banks digested the information before squeezing the trigger and shooting Adam Ligar smack between the eyes. He looked around to see if anyone was within eyesight or earshot. No one. Being careful not to get any blood on his clothes, Leo took five minutes to roll Adam off the bench and into a deep grove of shrubbery, where he removed Adam’s jacket and shoes. He whipped off the broker’s Rolex and stuffed it in his pocket. Let the police think Ligar was just another homeless man until they made a proper ID. Leo laughed all the way back to the Barb Wire, where he picked up Adam’s Mercedes and drove off.

Leo spent the next two hours driving from one ATM machine to the next, taking out as much money as he could. When he hit the magic number of $2000, the maximum Adam’s bank allowed in one twenty-four-hour period, he tossed the ATM card in the nearest trash can. His next stop was an all-night drugstore, where he bought packages of underwear, socks, and shaving gear.

He registered at the Algonquin, where he showered, shaved, and ordered the biggest steak on the hotel’s menu. In the morning, he shopped until the stores called a halt and said his card was overdrawn. It was fair. The charges equaled out to the amount in his 401k. Then he found a less-than-scrupulous car dealership and sold Adam’s fancy Mercedes for seven thousand dollars, well under its twenty-thousand-dollar value. A bonus from Adam to him for the year he’d lived the life of a homeless bum. He left the dealership with a smile on his face as he trotted over to Citibank and cashed the check.

Then he visited the establishment of an “entrepreneur” he had come across in his year on the streets and had a photograph taken and carefully substituted for Adam Ligar’s photograph on Ligar’s passport. Then, to cover his tracks somewhat, he took a cab to Kennedy, where he took the shuttle to Washington. He had a cabbie take him to the nearest travel agency, where he booked a flight to London for later that day. At six-fifteen, Leo Banks boarded his flight.

When he set foot on British soil he became Jonathan St. Clair, Spiros Andreadis, Nathan Willowby, Dunston Craig, and a host of other identities.

Lucy woke slowly, savoring the warmth of the cocoon she was wrapped in. She sighed happily as she remembered where she was and what had transpired earlier. She reveled now in the warmth coming from the body next to her. A smile started to build on her lips. “Hmmm,” she murmured. “You feel
soooo
good.” She waited for a reply and when none was forthcoming, she frowned. Maybe Wylie was a sound sleeper. A
real
sound sleeper. She wiggled her leg, then her thigh and hip.

“Woof!”

Lucy bolted upright, her face registering a hundred different emotions all at the same time. “Coop! Sadie! Lulu!” And then, “Wylieeee!”

He came on the run, spatula in hand. She could tell he’d already showered because his hair was still wet, and he was dressed in jeans that hugged his lean frame and a muscle shirt that was tattered around the sleeves.
NOTRE DAME
was stenciled across the front. He even had shoes on, while she was buck-ass naked with three dogs curled alongside of her on top of the blanket. The fire was blazing, she could feel the heat.

“There’s nothing like the body warmth of a dog,” Wylie said happily. A sappy grin plastered itself on his face. Seeing the look of chagrin on Lucy’s face, he started to babble. “I had to get up early to make sure Mitch got off okay. I helped him put chains on his tires. That was a workout in itself. You know how I like to run every morning. Well, if you don’t know, I do. Since this snow I haven’t been able to run, and that makes me feel like I’m cheating my body. Why are you letting me babble like this?” He waved the spatula in the air as Coop tried to jump up to get a lick.

Lucy enjoyed his sudden discomfort. “Did…did Mitch see me sleeping here?” Lucy asked as she finally got her tongue in working order.

“Uh-huh. Jake saw you here, too, when he came downstairs. I don’t know this for a pure fact, but I don’t think they know I was sleeping there, too, by you, alongside of you.” He shook his head again, the spatula doing double time, as was Coop. “What I mean is I don’t think they have any idea we had sex. I can’t be sure, but I don’t think so.”

“I’m naked under this blanket, Wylie.”

Wylie hopped from one foot to the other. “Yeah, I know.” He lowered the spatula, and Coop grabbed it. The three dogs raced down the hall.

“Don’t make my eggs with that spatula,” Lucy said as she struggled to wrap the blanket around her. “I’m going to take a shower now. What time is breakfast?” she asked coldly.

“Okay, I see that you’re ticked off at me. Whatever it is I did, I’m sorry. Are you mad that Jake’s here? Listen, I can tell him in no uncertain terms that we did not have sex last night. I’ll do that if it’s what you want. Why would he even care, assuming he does know? He’s married, he can have all the sex he wants.”

Lucy shot him an evil grin as she got to her feet. She stormed off, muttering that men loved to brag about their sexual conquests.

“Not me. I’m not one of those men who brag about my sexual conquests.”

“Liar!” Jake said as he entered the room, demanding to know when breakfast was being served. “Morning, Lucy, did you sleep well?”

“Shut up, Jake!” Lucy snarled as she made her way up the steps, the blanket trailing behind her.

“So you two had sex last night, huh? How was it? Was it everything you thought it would be?” Jake asked gleefully.

“Shut up, Jake, and it’s none of your business if I had sex last night or not, and where the hell were you when it was time to put the chains on Mitch’s truck? You were sleeping, that’s where you were, because I could hear you snoring all night long. If I was doing that, how could I be having sex? Breakfast is right now. Don’t you ever think about anything but food?”

“Prickly this morning, aren’t we?” Jake smirked.

In the kitchen, Wylie turned to look at his friend, his face full of menace. “If you say one word, even intimate that you think we had sex, I am going to kick your ass out in the snow and let you freeze to death. Lucy is a sensitive person, and right now she’s going through a difficult time. Women don’t like it when men discuss what goes on between them. It’s supposed to be a secret.”

Jake stared at Wylie with keen interest. “You certainly are knowledgeable when it comes to women. You led me to believe you were a lost cause. You are an interesting case, Wylie. I might even decide to study you someday. C’mon, c’mon, I’m starving here. Four eggs and a load of that nice pink ham. I’ll make the toast.”

Upstairs, Lucy listened at the heating vent in the bathroom through which Wylie’s and Jake’s voices carried clearly. For the first time in days she giggled. With happiness. When was Jake leaving? She wished it was right then, so she could drag Wylie back to bed. Their night had been the most satisfying sex she’d ever had in her life. Wild, crazy, and wonderful.

As Lucy washed her hair, her womanly wiles surfaced. Maybe she could entice Wylie to go down to Nellie’s house or over to Rachel Muller’s house. Jake liked to take naps. A sterling idea. After all, there wasn’t really anything else to do on a day like this but watch television or read a book. Television, book, sex. Only a fool would choose the first two.

Life was suddenly looking good, but the smile left her face and her mood darkened. How could she be thinking about sex when her life was in danger? Maybe she was losing her mind. Or, more likely, she’d already lost it. Shower over, her hair wrapped in a turban, Lucy wrapped a towel around her body as she padded to the window to look outside. All she could see was a blanket of whiteness. It had to be the blizzard of the century. Maybe two centuries. One thing for certain, Wylie wouldn’t be going to the city. Probably not for the rest of the week. She crossed her fingers that the power wouldn’t go out.

Lucy dressed in the same clothes she’d worn the day before. Later, she’d go to her own house for fresh clothes.

Brushing out her wet hair, she strained to hear Jake and Wylie talking in the kitchen. She cautioned herself that eavesdroppers never heard anything good about themselves. She shrugged when she heard both men grousing about the snowstorm. Wylie’s terminology was extremely colorful, while Jake fretted that they might run out of food before the storm blew itself out.

As Lucy descended the stairs she tried to come up with a casual plan to pretend she hadn’t slept with Wylie the night before. Never having been in a situation quite like this where a guest was in residence the
morning after,
she was unprepared as to how to handle it. She was in for some ribbing, she could almost guarantee it.
Alleged
sex. Uh-huh. Always fall back on legalities.

She needn’t have worried. Jake did little more than nod because he was too busy eating and watching the weather report on the counter television. Wylie looked like a professional chef as he stirred, whipped, and flipped. A huge smile on his face, the kind men wear after a night of
alleged
rousing sex, he motioned her to sit down. She scowled.

“They’re calling this a blizzard,” Jake said, between mouthfuls of food. “Yesterday they said this was the worst storm in fifty years.” He pointed to the kitchen window with his fork to make his point. “This morning they’re saying it’s the worst storm in a century. I sure hope you guys have good, solid roofs on your houses. There’s gotta be at least a foot of snow on your house, Lucy. Yours, too, Wylie. Yep, this is definitely a blizzard.”

Wylie slid a plate across the table to Lucy. The scrambled eggs looked light and fluffy. The ham was pink and succulent. The toast was just the right color, and the butter was soft. Perfect!

“Sooner or later the power is going to go out. We’ve been lucky so far. How are you fixed for wood, Wylie?” Lucy asked.

“I have a good-sized stack on the deck,” Wylie said, sitting down across from Lucy. “Everything is shut down, the airports, the turnpike, the parkway. Even the post office and banks, and, of course, the schools. I think we’re looking at the rest of the week here. When it stops, it’s going to take days to dig out. It’s a bit of a reprieve for you, Lucy, as far as the feds go. I wish you’d call the FBI and tell them we suspect Jonathan was here yesterday. I know, I know, the footprints are gone. You need to document everything. Call and even if they pooh-pooh it away, it will make me feel better. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. It’s kind of sad when you think about it. Thanksgiving is when families are supposed to be together. I bet a lot of people whose travel plans fell through with the weather will be eating weenies and whatever is in their freezers. We’re the lucky ones, Lucy, we’re together with the dogs, and Jake is here. Personally, I’d like to see our table filled with friends and family, but if this is all we get, I’ll take it.”

Lucy nodded solemnly, pleased at how Wylie viewed the holiday she always considered so special.

“Now, Friday is normally part of that holiday, then the Christmas season kicks in. Marooned until next Monday. Woohoo! When are you leaving, Jake?” This all was said so happily, Lucy had to stifle the laugh that was bubbling up in her throat.

Lucy almost choked on the ham in her mouth. She could hardly wait to hear Jake’s answer.

“Well, it’s like this. The airports are going to be backed up for days. I think I’ll rent a car and drive back as soon as the roads open. Have I worn out my welcome already?”

Wylie didn’t look the least bit embarrassed. “Of course not. Stay as long as you like. I was just curious. So, gang, what should we do today?”

Jake pondered the question, his dark eyebrows knitting until they met in the center of his forehead. “I’m going to go online and see if I can find out a little more about Lucy’s predicament. I want to e-mail some colleagues. You know, just in case your power goes out. I hate wasting time. Not to worry, I’ll be out of your way. How about you guys?”

“I’m going to work out for a while. I’ve been thinking about taking out the snowblower to clear Rachel’s driveway.” Wylie turned to look at Lucy. “Nellie has that big deep freezer in her garage. What do you think the chances are there might be a turkey in there or at least a very big chicken?”

“A very good chance. Nellie belongs to a food service that delivers sides of beef all cut up and packaged, plus all kinds of food. I think Rachel may belong to it, too. Nellie loves to cook and feeds half the neighborhood. You know that. You’ve been one of her recipients many times. When Rachel Muller was sick this past spring, Nellie cooked for her and her husband for two full weeks because Gerhard can’t even boil water.”

“Good! I’ll use the snowblower on Nellie’s driveway, too. See,” Wylie said, waving his fork in the air, “now we have a plan. Jake, you clean up, I’m going to work out. How about you, Lucy?”

“What kind of equipment do you have in your workout room?”

“A treadmill, a cycle, a rowing machine, weight bench, a universal. Want to join me?”

“I’ll take the treadmill. My ankle feels good enough now. If I start out slow, it should be okay. Lead the way,” Lucy said, tossing her napkin on the table.

Wylie’s workout room was just that, a workout room. Aside from the carpeted floor and the exercise equipment, a television sitting on a bracketed shelf attached to the wall, and a pile of books and legal pads in the corner, there was nothing else in the room, not even a chair.

Wylie turned on the television with a remote. Martha Stewart was preparing a wild rice/chestnut dressing for the turkey she was about to cook.

Lucy climbed on the treadmill, hooked on the heart monitor, set the grade, and began by warming up. She walked, then jogged before she broke into a run at 4.5.

Forty minutes later, she looked down at the distance button and saw that she had already gone four miles. Her normal routine was a ten-mile run. When the numbers changed to read five miles, she felt the first twinge in her ankle. She slowed a little, but the twinge turned into a sharp pain. She stumbled and was about to yank out the safety key when Wylie caught her; otherwise, she would have fallen. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I overdid it. I should have quit at four miles. If you have an Ace bandage, I might be able to nip this in the bud.”

Wylie raced off and returned with an elastic foot brace. Lucy sat down on the treadmill while Wylie pulled off her Nike. She pulled on the foot brace, stood up with Wylie’s help, and tried putting pressure on her foot. She nodded. “It feels okay. I’ll just give it a rest while you work out, or I can make some coffee.”

Wylie smiled. “Stay, I like the company. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay. Listen, I’m sorry about my surly attitude earlier.”

“Yeah, me too. I don’t want you to feel embarrassed. We’re all adults here.”

Lucy nodded. “While I was taking a shower I was thinking we could either go to Rachel’s or Lucy’s house and…and…”

Wylie almost dropped the hundred-pound weight he was holding, onto his foot. His eyes took on a glazed look as sweat dripped down the front of the muscle shirt. “And…” he prodded.

Laughter bubbled up in Lucy’s throat. “And…we could look for a turkey in their respective freezers.”

“You’re a smart-ass, Lucy Baker,” Wylie said as he placed the weight on the end of the bar. “That’s not what you were thinking at all, and you know it. You know you want to ravage and plunder this finely muscled, sinewy body of mine. Admit it!”

This time Lucy let the laughter escape her lips. “And you’re a mind reader too. Keep pumping that iron. I like my men
hard.
Hey, what
are
those books over there in the corner? Are you researching something?”