My girls are independent contractors and pay their taxes and everything that goes with it. As you know, there is no state income tax here in Nevada. I can give you an operations lesson later on. Right now word has filtered down to me that I’m likely to be arrested for my activities. Not here in Nevada but back East.”
Cosmo felt his stomach muscles tie themselves into a knot. “Where back East?”
“The nation’s capital. That’s where all the action went down for Happy Day Camp. The clients, or johns, if you prefer, were all politicians. After the election a few months ago, when our first female president was sworn in, things went south with the opposition and quite a few of the current members of the new administration. They’ve been trying to keep the lid on it all, but word leaked out. It always does.
“It wasn’t all that long ago that the woman they called the D.C. Madam supposedly killed herself. And just for the record, I don’t believe that for one minute, and neither does anyone else who is in this business.”
By then Cosmo felt like he had an army of ants squirming around in his stomach. “Why did you do it? You could operate safely here. Why go to a place like D.C. of all places?”
“Believe it or not, I didn’t want to. I called a meeting of my girls, laid it all out, and—like a fool—allowed them to make the decision. I can understand how none of them wanted to say no—the money the clients were offering was outrageous. A few of the girls planned to retire when they got back. We only did it twice. Once before the election and once again afterward. ‘Celebrations,’ for want of a better word.
“The minute word came down to me, I closed Happy Day Camp and sent the girls off to a safe place to await instructions from me. I traded in Crystal Clark and went back to being Lily Flowers five days ago. I put a sign up that said Happy Day Camp was closed for heavy-duty plumbing repairs. This is the fifth day, and my phone has been ringing constantly. People are looking for me. That’s why I’m Lily Flowers at the moment. I want to know if I should join my girls or stay and fight it out.”
Cosmo twirled the pencil in his hand. He licked at his dry lips and bit down on his bottom lip. “What do you want to do?”
“Anything but go to jail. The johns get off scot-free, and the women go to jail. Tell me where the justice is in that? Will they extradite me back to D.C.?”
“Yes. And I am not licensed to practice law in the District of Columbia.”
“I thought that’s what you were going to say. Okay, that means I have to take off and hope for the best. But I want to leave something with you for safekeeping. I’ll pay your retainer if you agree.”
Cosmo watched as Crystal again started digging around in the oversize bag. She finally came up with book after book, and plopped them on the desk, one on top of the other. “My check registers, my little black books. My business cell phones, all my records. And here,” she said, counting out bills from a stack of money in a brown envelope, “is your retainer. Do not let those books fall into the wrong hands. Will it be all right if I call you from time to time to see…you know…how things are going?”
“Look, Ms. Clark, I know quite a few very good attorneys in Washington, D.C. One in particular who is excellent. Any one of them can help you. You really should think about this before you make a rash decision.”
“I did think about it on the way here. No way am I going to let them come after me. Let them go after the johns. Why should they get off with no penalties? Do you really want to pick up the paper some morning to read that I killed myself? That’s what will happen if I go there and lawyer up. You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Cricket. Will it be all right for me to call you from time to time, and will you keep all these records safe until such time as I want them back?”
Every bone, every nerve in Cosmo’s body wanted to shout no, no, no. “Yes,” was his response. “Will you be okay?”
The woman of many names laughed. At least Cosmo thought it was a laugh. “I’ll be just fine. I knew this day might come, and I’ve prepared for it.”
Cosmo watched as she gathered up all her identity papers and shoved them into the bag, which now sagged together on the sides, then plopped it on top of Cosmo’s desk. “What about money?”
“It’s offshore. I’m not stupid, Mr. Cricket. Like I said, I prepared for this day a long time ago. And those records,” she said, pointing to the pile of black books and check registers teetering precariously on his desk, “are the originals. The phones are real, and I have no others. The duplicate books and records are in safe hands and being delivered to the intended recipients, that’s as in plural, as we speak.”
The woman of many names stood up. Cosmo thought she looked taller without the weight of the heavy bag on her shoulder. “Don’t you think you should tell me who has the copies? Just in case.” Christ, how lame did that sound?
The woman laughed. This time it was a delightful, wicked laugh. She winked at him and laughed again. She held up her index and middle finger in the sign of a V before she sashayed out of the office.
Was that a V? Damn straight it was a V. The only V he could relate to was the V in the word “Vigilante.” It couldn’t stand for “victory,” given her circumstances.
It was Cosmo’s turn to laugh, and laugh he did. He couldn’t wait to get home to call Elizabeth. He opened the huge safe behind the minibar by pressing a button. He started to secure the woman’s records when he noticed a piece of paper sticking out of the uppermost black book. Curious, he pulled it out and read a signed statement giving him permission to use the records as he saw fit to help bring the johns to justice. After he returned the paper to its place in the top book, he closed the safe and moved the minibar back into position. Waving to Mickey, Cosmo turned off the lights, locked the door, and departed. He was still laughing when he climbed into his Porsche for the long ride out to the desert. He hummed an old Fleetwood Mac ditty as he tooled along, marveling at what a small world it was.
Chapter 2
It wasn’t your ordinary retirement party, with laughter and balloons and bubbly gushing out of a fountain. Judges for some reason thought their parties should be bland, boring, and sedate. Perhaps it had something to do with this judge’s age, which was seventy-seven. Maybe Big Foot, as Judge Paul Leland was affectionately called in the cloakrooms, didn’t know how to have fun. Although, given his current wife, who was thirty years his junior, one wouldn’t have thought so. On the other hand, maybe the poor old dear was just worn-out, thanks to his social-climbing young consort.
Lizzie hated these command performances. Soggy canapés, less than satisfactory wine, not even champagne, and no music to speak of. She refused to acknowledge the violin player who circled the room doing his best to annoy people. She glanced down at her watch and wondered if it was late enough to make her excuses and head for home. Three hours of torture was her limit. It was coming up to ten o’clock, time for this party to end, for her at least. She looked around to see if anyone else was getting ready to leave. Maybe she could start a trend. She really wanted to get home so she could talk to Cosmo. All day she had looked forward to her glass of wine and the phone call. After talking to him, she’d fall into bed with a smile on her face. God, how she loved the man with the funny name.
All eyes were on Lizzie as she made her way through the crowd to reach the judge, who was surrounded by a sea of white hair and bald heads, men and women as old as he. A little while ago she’d seen the young wife guzzling wine with a tall, buff lawyer who was married but cheated like crazy. All the younger lawyers clustered together at the far end of the room, the not-so-old judges at the other end of the room waiting to be excused or for a bomb to drop so they could leave. She was surprised no one had pulled the fire alarm to clear the room.
The sea of white moved in tandem as the geriatric crowd parted for Lizzie to move closer to Judge Leland. Every eye was on the black sheath she wore like a second skin, on the stiletto heels that allowed her to tower over the man she was congratulating. No one missed the outrageous five-carat diamond Cosmo had slipped on her finger three months ago and which