I flashed my very best smile. “Hey, partner!”
The art of persuasion is only about 80 percent actual persuasion, what you say and do. The other 20 percent is about making sure you have a captive audience.
I told the limo driver only one thing ahead of time. After you open the door for her, get your tail back behind the wheel as fast as possible and drive!
Which is not to say that it was beyond Elizabeth to do a tuck and roll from a moving vehicle. But I liked my odds. She would at least stick around and hear me out, although not without getting a little miffed at me first.
“What the hell’s going on?” she asked. “I could kill you right now.”
Perhaps miffed was being way too kind.
I’ve noticed over the years that Elizabeth’s eyebrows tend to scrunch up when she’s ticked off. The more ticked off, the more scrunched. They were pretty damn scrunched.
“Sorry,” I said. “This was the only way.”
“The only way for what?”
“That’s what I’m about to explain.”
“Wait. Did Deacon put you up to this? Whatever this is?”
“Actually it’s more like the other way around. I did once save his life, after all. He’s doing me a favor because I need you to do me a favor.”
I thought it was a pretty good segue. Surely she would want to know the favor.
Nope. Not yet. “Why are we in a limo?” she asked.
“That was in case Pritchard happened to be watching.”
“He’s not in on this?”
“Pritchard? Hell no.”
“So, in other words, you lied to my boss. That’s what you’re telling me?”
“Technically, it was the mayor doing the lying,” I said. “But, hey, the good news is you don’t have to deal with Deacon. He’s not involved with this, either.” I caught myself. “Well, he’s not involved beyond getting clearance from Pritchard to borrow you, and then letting me borrow his personal limo.”
“Great. So instead of being pissed just at the mayor I get to be pissed at both of you,” she said. “And where are we going right now? It feels like I’m being kidnapped.”
“Funny you should mention kidnapped,” I said. She was about to say something more when I cut her off. I was running out of segues. “Can I please just tell you what’s going on?”
For the next twenty blocks or so I explained everything leading up to my pulling in front of her building in a limo. There was no editing, no minor sins of omission. And certainly no protecting the privacy of a multibillionaire. Everything Mathias von Oehson had told me, from Carter and his prostitute to his use of peachy keen in his Instagram post to the painting stolen from the Hungarians and possibly their stealing it back, I told Elizabeth.
You either trust your partner or you don’t.
“I really need your help,” I said.
She didn’t doubt my sincerity. Just my sanity. “You’re crazy,” she said. “Do you know that? What if Pritchard finds out?”
“He won’t.”
“The guy’s like a Jedi Master. He can find out anything,” she said. “He even knows all about my sex life, or lack thereof.”
I shot her a look. Who’s the crazy one now? “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Never mind.”
“The mayor was very clear to Pritchard. Under no circumstances can he force you to tell him what you’re needed for,” I said. “Of course, knowing Pritchard, he already asked you this morning if you knew anything.”
“He did.”
“And you didn’t have to lie.”
“Is that really supposed to make me feel better?”
I slouched in my seat. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe this was a mistake,” I said. “The more I think about it, it’s not as if I really can’t do this on my own.”
“Seriously? A psychology professor using reverse psychology?”
“Yeah. Is it working?”
“No, not even a little,” she said. “But remind me again how much von Oehson is donating to Harlem Legal House.”
“Two million dollars.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly. That was working much better for her. “Yeah. That’s a lot of money,” she said.
“Does that mean you’re in?”
“It means I haven’t said no yet.”
“So you’re a maybe.”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“For instance, you still haven’t told me where we’re going. Where does this genius plan of yours begin?” she asked.
“Where else, but at the beginning. The day Carter von Oehson disappeared, so did his girlfriend for hire,” I said.
“You mean, the prostitute.”
“I was trying to be politically correct.”
“So says the man who just kidnapped me.”
“Fine. That’s where we’re going,” I said. “You and I are off to see a prostitute.”
“Great,” said Elizabeth. “My morning keeps getting better and better.”