Lawndale, California, Central Neighborhood

 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Rachel said with her chin resting on Sam’s chest. Sam’s eyes were closed but Rachel knew he was awake. Sam grunted.

“Ready to get that quick paper?”

Sam grunted again but more feebly this time. Rachel grabbed a pinch-full of skin on his chest and twisted. “What’s this, the ‘I’m still asleep con’? Don’t bullshit me, babe. I know you’re awake.”

Sam lay on his back with hands behind his head. He smiled, opened his eyes and tilted his head down to kiss Rachel gently on the lips. “Yes, dear, I’m ready. I’ll let you shower first since you’ve got to put on the superhero uniform.”

Rachel gave him a deep kiss and tossed her side of the comforter off and hopped out of bed. She knew Sam was admiring her ass as she walked to the bathroom. He’d certainly be fully awake now.

“Hey, don’t get too dolled up. Remember, he’s supposed to want the girls not you,” Sam called.

Rachel turned and put on a sexy pose in the narrow-framed bathroom doorway.

“Too dolled up? Who me?”

“Maybe you should come back to bed…”

“Focus on the money, babe, not the money shot,” she said, blowing her man a kiss and prancing into the bathroom. Rachel turned on the water and waited for it to warm up. She also counted off seconds in her head. She knew the way Sam looked at her he’d be joining her momentarily. Satisfied with the temperature, she grabbed the soap and washed her face. By this time she rinsed the soap, she felt Sam’s strong embrace from behind.

“Oh, what a pleasant surprise,” she said. She turned around as if they were dance partners and gave him a deep kiss.

“Surprise, my ass,” Sam said as he pulled away. “You knew what you were doing.”

“I’m glad I’ve still got it.”

“Still got it? Ha, you’re getting better by the day, babe.” Sam said.

After fulfilling shower sex, Rachel kicked Sam out so she could finish washing her hair. When she came out in a towel, Sam was dressed and loading up his pockets: car keys, money clip, cell phone and his good luck zippo. With items tucked away she watched him look around the room with a look like he’d just eaten a bitter lemon.

“This motel blows,” he said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rachel said. “I think the shower’s more than adequate.”

He grinned. “Can’t argue that.”

 

 

Hawthorne, California, East Side

 

Sam waited in the rental, a cherry red 2019 Porsche Macan. He sat in the parking lot in clear view of the Naughty Girls tiny office—the phony business he and Rachel set up. The space was previously an H&R Block. The day before Sam spoke with the two-person Latina cleaning crew as they cleaned the office. It was obvious to Sam the older one, Minerva, ran the show. With carefully worded questions in his best Spanglish and just the right amount of flattery Sam learned Minerva’s Cleaners was given the weekend to clean the space. Monday the landlord would swing by and slap a For Lease sign on the building.

When Sam pulled the wad of hundreds from his pocket Benjamin Franklin’s face folded over three times before Minerva’s grin reached capacity and her plump, weathered hand closed around the bills.

“I suppose I can bring over mis ninos on Domingo to help finish clean.” She smiled, folded the bills in half and slid them beneath her bra strap. Once that was locked, Sam’s job was to head to the local copy place and get signage for Naughty Girls: Bachelor Parties, Private Events, Fantasies Guaranteed!

Rachel was already inside sitting at one of the old tax prep desks, which she and Sam rearranged the night before. She wore tight white pants that flowed into a slight bellbottom and Jimmy Choo knockoffs. Her deep fuchsia top was nearly as snug as the pants. With the neckline plunging low and push-up bra doing its job she was bordering on being “too dolled up” according to Sam. She welcomed the compliment.

Twenty-four by thirty-six-inch laminated posters of hot girls lifted from the internet dotted the plain white walls. Sam even printed up cheesy italicized phrases like Whatever You Desire And We Turn Fantasies Into Reality.

When Rachel rolled her eyes at the effort, Sam said, “Trust me, it’s the perfect amount of cheese for a dumb college kid with a trust fund.”

With the help of Maya, Rachel’s longtime friend and expert computer hacker adding final touches, Rachel built a website in two hours stacked with stock internet photos of sexy girls all over the two-page site. Rachel got a kick out of writing up erotic bios and fake names for the girls.

As she tweaked the site, she heard Colt’s late model Corvette Stingray pull up to the building. Of course he had a ’Vette, Rachael thought thinking back to the night she met Colt at the bar. Colt and his bro Brian aka Biff—where do they get these names?—were pre-celebrating the end of Biff’s life of freedom. “The dumb shit’s getting married,” Colt would holler after each tequila shot. These guys were beyond ripe for the picking. Rachel introduced herself as Julia and barely broke a sweat roping in Colt, the best man.

A couple rounds of drinks in, Rachel had Colt begging her for her company’s services because so far he hadn’t planned shit for the bachelor party and it was two weeks away.

“That’s what I’m here for, my friend. Relax, get drunk and call me day after tomorrow,” Rachel purred.

“Aw, man, you’re a fuckin’ lifesaver, honey. But wait,” he said fighting to focus his eyes. “Are the bitches, sorry, la—ladies hot like you, and can I get any kind o’ girls?”

“Colt, my man, I’ve got white girls, black girls, Asians and more. I can get you big tits, small tits, real tits and fake ones. Naughty Girls has petit girls all the way up to plus- size. When you come in for a meeting we’ll go through the roster,” she said using a sports phrase she thought the sophomore jock would appreciate. “You won’t be disappointed, my friend.”

Colt swayed on his feet then stumbled in and gave Rachel a rib-crushing bear hug. She felt sorry for Colt’s opponents on the football field. Rachel slithered out of his grasp before the big dolt thought he had a shot with her. Later, when she met Sam in the bar’s lot she gave her head a shake at seeing the ’Vette with the vanity plate: CLT DAWG.

“Geez, I wonder whose car that is?” she said.

“Now let’s not go jumping to conclusions,” Sam said with a facetious grin. The Porsche door opened by him merely touching the door handle since the key was in his pocket.

“I could get used to this car,” Sam said climbing in.

“That day is around the corner, babe,” Rachel said, and slid into the passenger seat.

 

 

“Good morning,” Rachel said, rising from her seat. The burly college kid’s hair was disheveled. Cheap sunglasses covered his eyes. A giant coffee cup trembled slightly in his large hand.

“Oh dear, feeling a bit rough today, Colt?”

“You could say that. I swear this whole wedding is bullshit,” he said, plopping down heavily into the chair opposite Rachel’s. “I don’t know if it’s day three or four on this friggin’ bender. We’ve been balls to the wall twenty-four-sev’.”

“Well you’re here so let me brighten your day. If your coffee runs dry, I’ve got more in the back.”

“Thanks, Julia.”

“You got it,” Rachel said. She pulled up the fake Naughty Girls website and spun the laptop around for Colt to see. He took off his sunglasses, revealing deep red bloodshot watery eyes.

“Everything you could ever ask for,” Rachel said. “Take your time.”

Colt barely lasted ten seconds before asking for a bathroom. Rachel led him to it and immediately heard vomiting behind the door. She hoped he didn’t make too big a mess for Minerva and her ninos to clean up. When he returned, he whined again that he and Biff had been partying their asses off non-stop getting primed for the wedding. And for the life of him he couldn’t understand why Biff would want to walk away from the party life. Rachel strongly agreed and lied that she’d tried marriage once and would never do it again.

Colt sped through the site and picked eight girls.

“You’re in luck, Colt. These girls are all…oh hang on—” she paused. “Okay, Tiffany and let’s see, Brittney are booked on another event. So that means six of your girls are good to go but you’ll need to grab two others. Here—” she spun the laptop back around for the client. Colt quickly found two substitutes claiming they were hot enough—he supposed. Rachel complimented his choices and pressed on.

“And you wanted the three-hour booze cruise, yes?”

Rachel used her phone calculator to tally up the phony bill. For a moment Colt looked around the office with a knitted brow. “Didn’t you say you was in business for like six years or some shit? This place looks kinda—”

“We just opened this location,” she said. “Our fifteenth in the U.S., actually. Sorry about the mess.”

“No shit,” he said with eyebrows raised. He frowned into his coffee cup then knocked back the rest of the drink and followed it with a loud burp.

Rachel was done a minute later. “Okay, we’ve got the cruise at twenty-five hundred. The booze will require a thousand-dollar deposit and you’ll be billed if you go over. Let’s see, eight girls at three hundred each is another twenty-four hundred and—”

“The boat seems kinda cheap,” Colt said, looking a little green. “I’m not renting a piece of shit tugboat for the Biff-man.”

Ooh this kid is funded…

“Well that’s because I haven’t added in the captain, crew and caterers,” she said thinking quickly on her feet.

“What’s that shit run?”

Rachel fake calculated on her phone while pulling the math from her head.

“Thirty-eight hundred,” she said finally.

“So what am I looking at all in? I need to get outta here. No offensive but I feel like shit.”

No offensive, but you look like it, too. Rachel thought fast. “We’re at ninety-seven hundred.”

“Deposit is—”

“And my fifteen percent puts you at eleven thousand one hundred and fifty-five.”

Why not push it?

“I like you, Colt. Let’s call it eleven grand even. With sixty percent down that’s sixty-six hundred. Okay, for sixty-five hundred cash now you can go enjoy the sunshine.” Rachel smiled, leaning close so he could drink in her perfume.

“Fuck the sunshine, I’m going back to bed.” He hauled out a fat roll of bills, smacked the money on the desk, and stood.

Rachel said, “Great, I just need an email address so I can send you the contract and receipt.”

With a heavy sigh, Colt spewed, “Coltdawgmoney69 and that’s a gmail account,” he said. “Oh and by the way dog is spelled d-a-w-g.”

“Like your sweet license plate,” Rachel said.

“You’re friggin’ sweet,” Colt beamed, shook Rachel’s hand and hurried out.

 

 

Rachel climbed into the Porsche and spanked the dash with the stack of hundreds. Sam gave her a big smile and a kiss.

“Let’s blow this joint, babe!” Rachel said. “We got our travel money.”

 

 

Trinity County: 1 mile south of Bullion, California

 

Sam maneuvered the luxury rental through the hilly region of Trinity County with ease. Rachel sat with her bare feet up on the dash and the window down. During the short stop in San Francisco she bought a bottle from a pharmacy and dyed her hair from auburn to blonde. She let the wind toss her thick locks all over the place as she scrolled through her phone. Sam’s numerous sideways glances told her he appreciated the change.

“We are all set on the place. The owners have rented a villa in Sicily and won’t be back for six weeks. That’ll give us plenty of time,” Rachel said. “My God, this town is so cute. They’re calling it the new Carmel of California and sometimes Carmel North.”

“How fitting for us that the city’s called Bullion. Was it named by some old forty-niner gold rush dude?” Sam asked.

“They’d like tourists to think so. No, it was just some developer came along in the eighties and thought what better way to attract the money class?”

“Are we talking eighteen eighties?” Sam asked.

“Hardy har har. Nope, nineteen eighties.”

Sam slowed at a turn then pushed the accelerator hard coming out of the corner.

“Well,” he said. “I think his plan worked. I read the median home price is—”

“Nine hundred thousand,” Rachel finished for him. They exchanged a gentle fist bump. “And rising.”

 

 

Sam eased the Porsche over the interlocking paver stones. The stones were enhanced with a high gloss finish, giving them a wet look. A woman in a form fitting floral dress with deep blues, greens and reds with a tiny keyhole opening below the neck stood at the bottom of the front steps. She was slightly knock-kneed with over-developed calves. Rachel clocked her teal Louboutin’s at nine hundred dollars minimum.

“This must be our fearless rental concierge,” Rachel said, adopting a giant practiced smile. Rachel got out to meet the concierge as Sam shut the vehicle down.

“Welcome, welcome you must be Julia Sawkins,” she said.

“I am indeed and you must be Jennifer Boyers,” Rachel said.

“Guilty,” she laughed, accepting Rachel’s warm hug.

“This is my brother Steve,” Rachel said, waving toward Sam. Sam put the bags down and gave Jennifer a hug of his own and told her what a pleasure it was to finally meet her.

“What a beautiful home,” Rachel said. “You just never know with Airbnb. Sometimes the photos don’t tell the real picture.”

“Oh, I know,” Jennifer said. “But you needn’t worry around these parts. We’re a really close community with practically no crime or fraud whatsoever. People that use Airbnb in Bullion are as honest as the day is long.”

“You don’t say? How lovely for you.” Rachel sneaked a wink at Sam.

Sam and Rachel followed Jennifer through the massive oak door and stopped inside the large foyer.

“My God, so much glass,” Rachel beamed. “So much natural light.”

“It’s pretty much glass and American black steel,” Jennifer said. “I don’t know if you realize but this was designed by famed architect Reginald Roy. He died about three years ago. This was one of his favorites.”

“I’m a huge fan of Mr. Roy,” Sam lied. “He was originally from…”

“San Jose, until he moved here,” Jennifer said.

“That’s right, I recall it now,” Sam smiled.

Jennifer gave the faux siblings a slow detailed tour of the house, boasting all of its attributes and accouterments. Rachel made a point of gushing when appropriate. She could tell that Jennifer liked her and would probably want to be girlfriends if Julia were to move to Bullion. The poor thing had no idea what she and Sam were about to pull.

Jennifer ended the tour out back by the oval shaped pool.

“So that’s about it. My number is on the brochure, and if you lose that my card’s on the dining room table. Feel free to call with any questions.”

“What a lovely home,” Rachel said. “We really need the R and R. This is perfect. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Jennifer.” Rachel then moved close and spoke low and conspiratorially, “by the way, I absolutely love your dress.”

“Oh this?” Jennifer blushed. “A woman in town makes them. Gina’s, you’ll see it. If you buy one we’ll have to make sure we don’t wear them on the same day.” Jennifer laughed and gave Rachel a gentle hug.

Girlfriends for sure…

Sam and Rachel walked her out and thanked her again. Rachel closed the door and pressed her back to it.

“Okay, that’s done. We can still make those auctions but we’ve got to go separate. Let me get my phone and pull up the addresses.”

“Let’s do it,” Sam said.

 

 

The home auctions weren’t far apart, which was one of the benefits of working a con in a small town. Sam and Rachel were hunting for the perfect mark. More than likely he’d be male, rich and possess an ego the size of Trinity County. Because Bullion was fast becoming the new Carmel, investors and big-time house flippers were moving in like locusts and scooping up homes. Sellers looking for quick cash or banks looking to dump repossessed houses held auctions. As Sam wound the Porsche through Bullion’s winding roads he thought back to the moment Rachel pitched the scam to him.

“We find the guy, I show him my wares,” she’d began, and then paused to specify. “Some of my wares, that is. And I get him on the hook.”

“Okay,” Sam had replied. “So the horny rich real estate baron is on the hook, now what do you do with him?”

“I’m getting to that, babe,” she said. “We have drinks, dinner whatever it takes until finally I tell him that I work for a big-wig, highly confidential client as a buyer—maybe a few buyers. Naturally this competitive narcissist will want to know what I know, what homes I’ve got a line on and so on.”

“He’ll probably want to steal you away from your alleged boss as well,” Sam said.

“Bingo. But he can’t ’cause I’m too loyal. However, I might let him in on a deal that my boss doesn’t know about.”

“And his greedy competitive side will jump at the chance to one-up your boss and impress you, the loyal assistant.”

“Right on, Daddy-o!” Rachel smiled.

“I like it,” Sam said, “but one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re gonna need a house to sell this guy and last time I checked we—”

But, of course, Rachel had an answer for that, too.

 

 

“Okay, I’ll check this one out and meet you in town. We’ll grab a drink and a bite.”

“You don’t want me to pick you up?” Sam asked. “I should be done first cause I’m just observing. You might find the guy and it’ll be game on.”

“I’ll text you if that’s the case. Otherwise, I think I’ll walk—check out the lay of this utopia.”

Sam leaned across the seat and kissed Rachel goodbye then motored down the road.

Rachel was the last to arrive. A group of six investors gathered around a slender man in a dark Hugo Boss suit. His teeth were Hollywood bleached white and his thinning dark hair was brushed forward in an attempt to rescue the receding hair line.

“Some familiar faces and some unfamiliar. I’m sure you all know the rules so I’ll just touch on the main points. If you purchase this home today it is yours with a bona fide cashier’s check. Obviously, from a bank we’ve heard of,” he added garnering a few chuckles. “You will have twenty-four hours to get all your inspections and what-not done before the house is no longer returnable. But as I’m sure you’re all aware if your inspector is at the ready, any inspector worth his salt—”

“Or hers,” Rachel piped.

“Or hers,” the man added, “thank you. Any inspector worth their salt can clear this place in five, six hours tops. So without further delay let’s get started.”

It didn’t take Rachel long to recognize the type of mark she was looking for wasn’t there. Still, she wanted to hang around and witness how the whole process went down.

 

 

Sam pulled up to the three bedroom, three bathroom ranch-style and shut the car down. A sign out front claimed the auction was to take place on the front lawn just on the other side of the twelve-foot -high hedge. Sam let himself through the gate and joined the others. He barely got ten feet across the artificial turf before he knew he’d found the perfect mark.

We should have flipped auctions.

Sam immediately assigned the nickname Tony Montana, the name of the character Al Pacino played in the 1983 movie Scarface, to the investor in the full white suit. He had Mediterranean olive skin that was enhanced by weekly trips to the tanning spa. He puffed on an oversized cigar and shouted out his numbers as opposed to raising his hand like the other bidders. Sam was actually entertained by this guy who was straight out of central casting. He had a girl on his arm but she looked rented. Sam had no doubt that the locals would frown upon this behavior, probably frown upon the guy all together.

For his blustering and bloviating he was nearly outbid by some weasel looking dude in an ill-fitting suit from J.C. Penny. The weasel sniffled a lot and wiped his coat sleeve across his nose after every bid. Sam knew the type immediately: coke user.

Tony Montana was not happy at having to pay far over his number to get the house—ego all the way. The weasel laughed and jittered his way off the property. As the other bidders left Sam walked out to the car and texted Rachel, letting her know he’d found the dupe…unless she was doing better. He also told her he’d sit on the guy and see where he was staying and then meet up with her. For now, he waited while Tony Montana did a quick walk-through of his new purchase.

 

 

Illiana Tolenti turned up the A.C. of the rented Audi S4 and pulled her thick black hair up into a bun. She watched the son of a bitch Sam leave the auction house and climb into his Porsche. She could tell by the plate it was a rental, which meant he and Rachel were trying to look a certain part for a grift. That’s what they did. And their little pastime cost her favorite uncle, Rocco, his life. It was the grifters’ fault and Illiana planned to make them pay. She noticed Sam didn’t drive off right away so she took the time to dig out her phone and listen back to a voicemail from her cousin Massimo who was mere days away from being a made wiseguy with the Philly mob.

“Listen, cugina, it’s complicated. I talked to the boys up top. As you know there is an open bounty on those fucks but you ain’t exactly a sanctioned hitter so…look, just be careful. If any heat from the cops comes back to them or us, well…just make sure it’s done clean and by the way you didn’t hear shit from me. I don’t mind tellin’ you I don’t like you doin’ this on your own but…Jesus, listen to me carrying on like a chick. I gotta go. Love ya.”

Illiana felt a tear roll down her cheek. But it wasn’t sadness. She hadn’t cried for her uncle and wouldn’t until the job was done. It was a tear of rage. She didn’t care either way about the mob’s approval but she knew they’d do right by her when Sam and Rachel were in the ground. A bounty’s a bounty after all. And Little Vincent, whose number one go-to guy used to be Rocco, would be especially grateful. He was far from being over the loss of Rocco.

She wiped away the tear and watched Sam, who was staking out some dipshit in a white suit. When the dipshit left the premises Sam fired up his rental and tailed him. Illiana powered up the Audi and followed Sam.

 

 

Sam tailed the white suit and his girl to a boutique hotel called The Hibiscus. Giving the couple a moment to valet their vehicle and walk inside Sam entered the cozy lobby after them.

“Hello, are you a guest here?” the twenty-something woman asked Sam. He gave a warm smile and said it was a possibility and that so far he liked what he saw.

“Great, have a look around if you like and I’m here if you have any questions.”

Sam took a quick peek on the main floor and was pleased to see the place although small, had a decent sized bar.

“The place is beautiful,” Sam said. “What would a guy be looking at say, for a suite in high season?”

“Well of course it varies but our suites start at around four fifty.”

“Sounds like a bargain. Have a lovely day.”

Sam grabbed a brochure and made his exit. On his way to the car, he called Rachel who told him to meet her at a cute little Mexican taqueria called La Flor. A giant-sized margarita was waiting for him when he sat down. He hoisted the goblet and toasted Rachel.

“So, tell me about him,” Rachel said.

“I’m calling him Tony Montana,” Sam said. He downed half the drink while filling Rachel in on the white-suited man she was going to get on the hook.

“I figure you could hang around the bar in your stepping out clothes and work your magic.”

“What about his hired help, the girl you mentioned?”

“I think this guy is cheap. So if he lands you, he won’t have to pay her.”

“That it?” Rachel asked raising an eyebrow.

“That and you’re way hotter than her—not that I was looking. So, ya flirt with him then miraculously show up at the next auction he’s at, because I know the type. This guy’s gonna try to scoop up more properties, I can feel it.”

Rachel raised her drink. “Then I guess we’re at the point where we can occasionally be seen together but no public displays of affection…dear brother.”

“Sad but true,” Sam said. “Unless we want to make it creepy,” he teased.

Rachel crinkled up her nose and called him a weirdo. “Are you all good on the deed, the LLC, banking and so on?”

“What isn’t handled will be,” Sam said. “What do you think about Gerald the banking guy?”

“I’m confident in him. Porter trained him.”

Sam glanced down at his margarita, focusing on the salty rim. “I’m wondering if that is such a great metric for us to use anymore. After…”

Rachel touched his hand. “What else do we have?”

Sam didn’t answer.

“Anyway,” she added, “if Porter were still with us, he’d vouch for the Gerald.”

Sam took a drink and forced his thoughts to the task at hand. “He’s going to have to do some financial acrobatics to bounce our money around before it hits our account.”

“You’re being obvious babe. Is this nerves or caution?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just miss Porter.” Sam’s eyes misted. “I always figured him to be the ultimate stand-up guy.”

Rachel reached a hand across the table and covered Sam’s. “I miss him too, Sam. But everyone has a price, babe. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered. “I know.”

“Gerald was his guy,” Rachel said, “and that means Gerald is now our new stand-up guy, as you say.”

“You’re right. I just needed to hear your confidence.” They shared a momentary smile before Sam broke the silence. “Anyway, I’ll be doing the clerical work while you have all the fun.”

“I promise to not have too much fun.”

 

 

Later that night Sam searched the home’s study from top to bottom. He rummaged through a stack of papers he pulled from the desk’s top drawer.

“Nothing here but—ah ha,” he said aloud.

The bottom drawer to the desk was locked. Sam located a letter opener and had the drawer open in ten seconds flat.

“You’re slowing down, pal,” he said to himself.

He sorted through a stack of letters until he found what he was looking for: a document with the homeowner’s signature. He placed the rest back in the drawer and took the signature letter with him to the kitchen’s giant island. He considered pouring himself a glass of cab-franc but decided to hold off until his work was done. Climbing onto a counter stool, he began working on forging the signature. Sam couldn’t help but think back to his high school art teacher Ms. Perkins who suggested Sam focus on subjects…other than art. The teacher had a point, but Sam had managed to become a competent forger over time. Still, the signature would take some doing because this guy did a strange thing with his double r’s. What felt like five minutes turned out to be an hour and ten minutes before the work was completed. He put the signatures side by side and was convinced only an expert could tell them apart…maybe.

“Now that’s what I call art, Ms. Perkins,” he said. Earlier he’d downloaded a Transfer of Deed form from the Bullion City Registrar website. He pulled out his fake I.D. with the Steve Sawkins signature and signed with careful dexterity. The deed of the home owned by Terrence Clarke now belonged to Steve Sawkins. He pulled his lucky zippo and lit the two candles that sat on the island instead of flipping on the giant overhead fixture. Then with a smile he poured himself a large glass of the cab-franc. He’d earned it.

“And so the honey-do list grows shorter.”

 

 

Rachel wore a long vermillion red dress with slits on both sides that rode up to the hipbones. No matter which way Rachel folded her long legs, her stems were on display for all to see. For footwear she went with her black Anne Klein’s with the pointed toe and the kitten heel pumps. She almost felt sorry for the baby-faced millennial bartender who blushed every time Rachel so much as glanced his way. When he poured the lemon drop mixture from the shaker to the glass his hand had a slight tremor to it and Rachel knew the kid was far too young for Parkinson’s. For earrings she went with a simple glass tear drops accented by a slender silver choker and thin bracelet. Her fingers were ring-free.

Rachel didn’t need an F.B.I. data site to profile the man Sam referred to as Tony Montana. She heard his approach before she laid eyes on him. His voice bounced off the lobby walls as he admonished his partner for how slow she moved in her stilettos. Rachel disliked him immediately.

All the more fun to take him down…

The couple took up a spot at the end of the bar. The bartender approached. Rachel could tell his smile was manufactured.

“Couple o’ bourbons, kid,” the investor said without looking at the bartender. Then Tony Montana began a conversation with his date that was more of a monologue. He carried on about being tired of waiting for her all the time. That “time was money” and a half dozen other clichés as they seemed to pop into his head. Rachel watched the whole thing out of the corner of her eye. The first moment the investor looked her way, Rachel turned her head and smiled demurely. It was enough to stop the investor’s diatribe.

“Where was I?” he said to his date. “Oh yeah, you need to respect my time better, honey…”

Rachel half listened a while longer then timed another glance perfectly. This time she held his look a full five seconds. She dropped the demure and put a hint of playful into the smile. Again, the investor lost his train of thought. Rachel was going for a hat trick. The next time the investor checked her out, Rachel hoisted her glass high and chased the remnants of the drink around with her tongue.

That was all the show Tony Montana needed. He told his date to sit tight, and walked straight up to Rachel.

“I been here three days and nothing as beautiful as you has sat in this bar.”

Rachel fed him a confident smile then slowly turned back so she faced the bartender.

“Have dinner with me,” he said not put off by Rachel’s attempt to ignore him. “Please,” he added leaning in.

“Don’t you have a date?” Rachel said eyeing the redhead seated at the end of the bar. The puffed-up investor made no attempt to hide the slow sweep of his eyes over Rachel’s body. In fact, he wanted her to know his full intentions.

Finally, “Wait here,” he said.

He pulled the redhead gently by the biceps deeper into the corner of the bar and failed miserably at speaking in a whisper. Rachel caught every word.

“Take tonight off, I got something going. I’ll call you tomorrow—maybe.”

With a quick backward glance at Rachel the man pulled four large bills from a gold money clip. The woman accepted the cash with bored eyes. Clearly she’d been in this movie with him before. Shoving the money into a plain white clutch she said “good luck” as she moved past Rachel to exit the bar. The millennial bartender seemed fascinated by the whole scene.

“Voila,” the big man said. “Just like that my schedule’s opened up. What are we drinking?”

“The world’s greatest lemon drop built by Bullion’s cutest bartender,” Rachel said smiling at the mixologist.

The real estate investor scowled at the bartender. “He ain’t that cute,” he said. “Gimme what she’s having, will ya, kid?” He turned to Rachel. “Francisco Glanis, mother was Spanish and father Greek. Friends call me Cisco or Sco,” he beamed.

“But never Fran? or Franny?”

“Fra—what? Fuck no, never.”

Sensitive fucker, aren’t you…

“Nice to meet you Cisco. I’m Julia Sawkins,” Rachel stuck with the name she’d given the home concierge. She shook the big hand Cisco extended and was not surprised he hung on a little too long.

“I gotta tell ya, sweetheart, that’s one dynamite dress.”

Rachel said nothing and sipped her martini as Cisco’s eyes took another pass over her body.

Cisco remained seated sideways to take in the Rachel show. “So what brings you to this quaint little town?”

“I’m here on business,” Rachel said.

“Really? Most people come here to relax,” he said, running a hand over his slicked back hair. “I’m here on business too—real estate. I buy it, sell it, remodel it, build it, flip it, demolish it, everything. If it’s got square footage, I’m all over it.” He leered at her. Rachel pretended to like it.

Cisco carried on for another five minutes about project after project including a little rancher he acquired that very day where he took down some real estate runt he despised. Rachel was happy to let him talk. It was all downloadable intel in her line of work.

They had another round of drinks. Cisco seemed impressed with himself based on the fact that the knockout in the red dress sat, listened and smiled at the appropriate times. Rachel grinned to herself. From the opening moment when she said she was in business, Cisco never once asked what that business was. Sam was right—they had their guy. An old adage came to mind.

The bigger the ego, the more pliable the mark…

 

 

Illiana Tolenti sat outside the house of glass and steel. It would be difficult to creep the place with so many windows and abundance of outdoor lighting. She had no doubt the place had motion detectors as well. It didn’t concern her too much because once she got the chance to take them both, she’d do it simple: knock on the front door and tap whoever answered square in the forehead. Then she’d find the other one and do the same. The neighbors wouldn’t hear a thing thanks to the suppressor fixed to the barrel. Her body temperature ticked up just thinking about it.

But for now she watched from the driver’s seat of the Audi S4. Only Sam was home. She was unsure where the bitch Rachel was but she’d be back. And then…

Illiana waited another forty-five minutes then fired up the Audi. As she rolled away she decided she’d rather cap them in broad daylight where she could get a crystal-clear look at the fear in their dying eyes.

 

 

The conversation between Cisco and Rachel continued until Cisco was about to order another round of drinks but Rachel shut the party down.

“Sorry, friend, I’ve got an early up-and-at-’em,” she said double snapping her fingers.

Cisco worked a look of disappointment on his face but Rachel knew it was an act, a shitty one at that.

“Hold that thought, I got to pee so badly it’s coming out my eyes,” he laughed at what Rachel knew was a well-worn go-to joke of his. Cisco rose and headed to the rest room. He left his phone and thickly packed money clip on the bar. It was either a test to see if the gal in the red dress was trustworthy or he wanted her to “ooh” and “ah” at the fat stack of paper in the clip. The moment he was out of sight Rachel snatched his phone and found it unlocked. When the smitten bartender standing two feet from her noticed the move, Rachel put a finger to her lips and winked at him. He smiled shyly then went back to polishing glasses that were already sparkling clean. Her secret was safe with him so long as she continued paying him attention.

Cisco’s phone calendar revealed two houses with times and locations he’d be attending the following day. Rachel committed the information to memory then replaced the phone. Cisco hadn’t returned so she took the opportunity to enter the auction info into her phone notes. She then paid the tab as a chess move, establishing control. Cisco would no doubt want to make a big deal of peeling off bills and letting them float to the bar’s surface. Rachel, just stole that moment, which would make Cisco want to reclaim the upper hand—control.

As Cisco walked past the row of barstools a frown came over his face. “What’s this?” he said sliding onto the barstool and picking up the paid bill. “You don’t pay the bill, Cisco pays the tab.”

Cisco. Third person…naturally.

“It’s all right. Listen this has been fun but I’ve got to put this head on my pillow,” Rachel said rising. “Thank you again.”

“Aw, come on, you’re killing me here. I got another spot picked out for a nightcap. You’re gonna love it. What do ya say?”

Rachel extended a hand with an I’m-sorry smile. Cisco reluctantly grabbed the hand then turned it over and kissed it. In her peripheral Rachel saw the bartender roll his eyes.

“Can I get a number or something? I mean that dress—”

“You’ll see me again, Mr. Glanis.” And with that Rachel did a cute swivel move on the ball of her Anne Klein and walked out of the bar putting a hefty portion size of motion in her hips. And for good measure she threw a final wink at the millennial bartender.

She might need him later.

 

 

Rachel and Sam sat by the pool, clinked glasses of chardonnay together and soaked up the view of the valley all lit up.

“My Uber driver was an interesting guy. He’s an ex-Navy Seal retired and enjoying life with his wife and two daughters.”

“What’s the interesting part?” Sam asked.

“He was hot.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “As hot as Tony Montana?”

“That’s Cisco Glanis to you, mister.”

“Oh, excuse me.”

Rachel clasped her hands behind her back and stretched her shoulders and back until she heard a crack. “We’ve got a nine a.m. tomorrow in a neighborhood called Tulip Grove,” Rachel said.

“And I’ll have the deed officially registered in the name of Steve Sawkins by the time you’re back.”

They slowly eased through the rest of the bottle sitting quietly like teammates the night before the championship game; each going over his and her tasks in their mind’s eye. When they made love later, it was slow and gentle for a single round, before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

 

 

Showered with her hair still wet, Rachel chose a yellow blazer with a two-button top. Beneath that she picked out a sexy white lace camisole. The bottom button of the jacket would be done-up, while the top open showing off the cami and her breasts. She went with a light cotton pant that was also yellow and flowy and had thin light brown pinstripes.

“Cisco doesn’t have a chance,” Sam said sliding an arm around her waist from behind and kissing her gently on the neck. She turned to face him and gave him a light kiss on the lips.

“Now, don’t try and distract me.” She shoved Sam away. “There’s money in them there streets.”

An hour later Rachel was at the house up for auction standing with a dozen other potential buyers. Cisco walked in with his hired friend. His eyes nearly left their sockets when he saw Rachel there.

“Whoa, hey, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m working, what about you?”

He almost fell over himself rushing to shake her hand. He blocked out his gal pal all together. Rachel leaned around Cisco.

“Nice to see you again. I’m Julia Sawkins,” she said, extending a hand to Cisco’s friend.

“Deja vu all freakin’ over again,” she said. “I’m Leila.”

“Oh yeah right. Leila, Julia, Julia—whatever,” Cisco said by way of pathetic introduction. “So why are you here?”

“Shopping for a client,” Rachel said.

Cisco’s eyebrows went up, “Why didn’t you tell me you were in the business?”

“My guess is Cisco didn’t ask,” Leila said, clearly bored.

Cisco shot her a scowl, which she ignored. Rachel could tell Cisco had a dozen more questions but the home sales auctioneer commenced with the bidding. While he tossed numbers around Rachel took photos with her tablet and bid a few times at the opening prices. Cisco and another gentlemen immediately raised her. When she was content to tap out, she hauled out her phone and faked a call to her client. As Cisco and the other gentleman continued sparring Rachel moved away from the group and stared up at the roofline specifically at the peak. She took a photo, went back to the call and shook her head. The two bidders seemed more than slightly concerned as if the hot girl in the pantsuit saw something they hadn’t. She killed the call with a headshake and came and stood beside Leila.

“You’re fucking with them,” Leila whispered. “Now I really like you.” She nudged Rachel with her shoulder and strolled away.

Rachel didn’t say anything and tried to hide her smile. Working girls, as streetwise as any grifter.

Rachel had to look away as Cisco was clearly annoyed with over-paying for the house his opponent pushed him to. She remembered Sam mentioned the same thing happened the day prior. She walked to Cisco and congratulated him. He brushed it away and instead asked her to lunch after his next auction. Rachel agreed. She had a feeling Leila wouldn’t be joining them.

 

 

Sam’s first stop was Blaylock Notary, est. 2002. The business was a converted cottage with a cedar shake roof. A door chimed as Sam entered. A woman in her early thirties with nutmeg colored hair smiled at Sam from behind a tiny mahogany veneered desk.

“Welcome to Blaylock,” she said. “How can we help you today?”

“I have a dumb question. Everyone in Bullion is so friendly. What’s your secret?”

“Must be something in the water,” she laughed.

“Then I’ll being stopping by the grocer for a case of water after this,” Sam said. He remained standing and rested his hands on the chair-back that sat opposite the brunette. “I need an affidavit. Do I need to set up an appointment or…”

“Oh no, Mr. Wainwright is free and he’ll be happy to help. One moment.” she got up from her desk. As she passed Sam, she gave him a friendly smile mixed with a little something else. When she returned, she said Mr. Wainwright would see him now. As Sam squeezed past her, he took in her vanilla perfume.

The notary was medium build. Sam put him at around forty-five. His black hair was graying at the temples and over the ears. He owned the Bullion hospitality gene until he went over Sam’s paperwork.

“You know, Mr. Sawkins, the signature is a match but I really need Mr. Clarke to witness this.”

Sam had expected this objection. “Actually, under California state law CX90 section 15, the signature and affidavit combined with a witness signature, perhaps the lovely woman who greeted me at the door, will render the document as legally solid as the Redwoods surrounding this very town.”

Sam was positive the guy wouldn’t check the state law. If he did, Sam would have to do some quick dancing.

“I’m not so sure, there’s—”

“Did I mention your filing fee?” Sam said. “The one in addition to the notary cost?” he said laying two hundred dollars on the desk. With the notary fee at a mere thirty-five dollars Sam wasn’t surprised the notary clawed at the cash and jammed it messily into his front pocket. With the money secured he called Alice, his assistant in from the other room to witness the document. Sam noticed she’d reapplied lipstick in the time he stepped into the office until now.

 

 

Stop number two was the county court registry. A short man with male pattern baldness and thick lens wire-rimmed glasses popped his head above his cubicle wall and called “next.” Sam stepped forward.

“Good morning. I’m Steve Sawkins and here’s my paperwork,” he said shoveling the pages across to the city worker. He asked him how his day was going but the man didn’t answer.

“Deed huh, okay everything seems—hmm, that’s odd?”

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

“I hadn’t heard that the Clarkes were selling.”

The ills of the small-town con…

“Yup, lucky for me. Turns out they fell in love with Tuscany. We’ve had several nice chats. Apparently the people, wine, food and vistas were just too much to leave behind.”

Sam could read the clerk had a suspicious nature. He hoped the timbre of his voice together with his friendly and easy mannerisms would put the civic worker at ease. This was far from his first rodeo.

“Honestly,” he added, “I feel like the lucky one. Bullion is absolutely gorgeous. You’ve got a great little town here, sir.”

Flatter the man like he had something to do with the town’s greatness.

The clerk looked at him for a few seconds longer through his thick lenses. Then, with a heavy sigh, he had Sam sign and initial where necessary before eventually plunking down three different stamps. Sam thanked him and shook his hand. Steve Sawkins was now the proud owner of their rental Airbnb, barring anyone probing too deep.

Once out on the sidewalk Sam hauled his phone out and text Rachel: I (we) own a million-dollar home.

 

 

Rachel sat in a cozy coffee shop called Mother’s Favorite Vase. She read Sam’s text then put the phone down as Cisco approached.

“So how did it go?” she asked.

“It was a piece of shit so I legged it outta there.” He sat opposite Rachel with a smile that was forced. Obviously losing the bid stung.

“No Leila?” Rachel asked.

Cisco gave Rachel a dismissive wave. “Look, tell me what you—who’s your client?”

“Clients, plural, and they are very private, Mr. Glanis.”

“Nuts to that and call me Cisco like you did yesterday.”

“But never Fran.” She smiled coyly.

“You’re cheeky. It works for you, though, not like most chicks.” He waved his hand around obnoxiously until he got the counter girl’s attention. “I don’t imagine you have any booze in this place?” Cisco asked her.

“As a matter of fact, we do. But only beer and wine.”

“Ha, this day’s looking up. A glass of your best red and one for the lady, too.”

Rachel didn’t want wine but she had to give Cisco some amount of control and perhaps the hope that if she got tipsy he might have a shot with her.

“Another dynamite outfit, I see,” he said, giving her the slow body appraisal.

“Thank you, you look nice as well.”

His suit was the same brand and cut as the previous day only this one was steel gray with a pressed white dress shirt beneath. Sam would look good in it, she thought.

The server came by with the wine and let Cisco sample a splash. He gave her a short nod and put his eyes back on Rachel. When the server was out of earshot, he picked up the dialog.

“How does it work and how can I become a client?”

“I work freelance with an emphasis on free as in my freedom. When I consider a client, I vet them first. This takes time, as I’m sure you can appreciate.”

“No, not at all. You want to see some financials. I can get that to you quick but a long vetting period—no chance, not with me.”

Rachel held Cisco’s look. People generally don’t like uncomfortable silences, even bullies. Rachel dragged it out as far as she could.

Finally, “I’m sorry, Cisco. Maybe this is not such a good idea. I have my business, you have yours and—”

“All right, all right,” he said running a hand over his slick hair. “Forget the vetting thing for now. How many clients ya got now?”

Rachel went back to silence.

“What, ya can’t give me that? How am I supposed to—what’s in it for me?”

“I make your life easy, Cisco. And all for a reasonable commission.”

“You always this friggin’ vague?”

Rachel leaned forward and put a slight angry timber to her voice, “This isn’t a pitch fest, Cisco. I’m not here to sell you anything, understood?”

She sat back and crossed her arms.

She could see Cisco’s mind working. He’s a man accustomed to hearing the word yes. His eyes became slits. “You saw something at that house this morning, the roof. What didn’t you like?”

“Well, the soffits showed early signs of rot. Some of the shingles showed wear on the southern exposure and the peak—” she leaned in to whisper, “—isn’t symmetrical. Shoddy construction, my friend. We’re talking new roof to start.”

Cisco sat back and regarded her with awe, admiration and lust all wrapped into one.

Finally, he sputtered, “I saw all that, too. I just…it was…so you really think it needs a new roof? Maybe just a patch job would do.”

Rachel dropped the anger act. “The client I had on the phone, who shall remain nameless, had a prior issue with a roof on another property. I was just doing my due diligence.” She paused. “And I’ve just said more than I should. You’re a bad influence.” She intentionally did a poor job of hiding a smile.

“Okay, no more games,” the investor said with a loud handclap. “Show me a contract or something. I want in. Fast track me on the vetting thing and I’ll be your next client. And if it goes well, I’ll give you something those other guys won’t, I promise you.”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

“A partnership.”

“Wow, you move fast, Cisco.”

“Damn right I do, so what do ya say?”

Rachel dragged out the act of sipping her wine and slowly placing the glass back on the table. She sat back with and slowly crossed her legs.

“Give me a day or two to consider.”

Cisco leaned his forearms on the table. Rachel could tell he was fighting to control his temper. “Cisco doesn’t wait two days. Especially when I’m bringing so much heat to the deal.”

He was a bully but a simpleton, Rachel thought.

“I get it. We’re all busy. I’ll give you my answer tomorrow. I have a small and unique stable of clients who mean a great deal to me so I need to check my schedule because they deserve full attention as will you if I take you on.” She paused to kill the rest of her wine. “Be patient because if we do this you won’t be disappointed. I may even have something for you right away.” She stood and extended a hand. “Thank you for the wine and for your interest, Cisco Glanis.”

Cisco stood and kissed her hand as the night before.

“So now do I get a phone number, for business purposes at least?”

Julia smiled and eased close to the big man. She let her warm breath tickle his ear. “You’ll hear from me tomorrow. Have a nice day.”

This time as she walked away she heard him mumble, “fuck me.”

 

 

Illiana Tolenti’s heart was nearly beating out of her chest. It was no easy task being in such close proximity to the soon-to-be-dead grifter. Illiana sat at the breakfast bar of Mother’s Favorite Vase and stared at her coffee cup, which was half empty. She pulled a silver flask from her purse and dumped a finger and a half of Maker’s Mark whisky into the black liquid. The counter girl gave her the evil eye and was about to say something but stopped when Illiana’s look froze her out.

The bitch Rachel, who was calling herself Julia this time around, left first and then the douchebag Cisco left a minute later. From her vantage point Illiana only heard snippets of the conversation but she could tell without a doubt the big doofus had it bad for Rachel. Too bad he’d never experience shit with her because the grifter bitch and her boyfriend’s days were numbered—three days max, to be exact.

She killed her spiked coffee and drove back to her hotel. The view from her tiny balcony wasn’t too bad. In fact, it was beautiful but she couldn’t enjoy it. She wouldn’t enjoy such pleasantries until the happy grifters were in pine boxes. Better yet, in a hole somewhere, covered in lime.

She knew where the couple was staying and the town was small enough she didn’t feel the need to sit on them twenty-four-seven. Plus it was obvious they had a game going and would be sticking around awhile.

She took the time to maintain her ordinance, specifically the suppressor. She’d cleaned the 9mm Glock the night before while watching bullshit television. The suppressor wouldn’t totally silence the gun; no suppressor does that. It was a joke that people called them silencers. However, the suppressor would knock off about thirty-five decibels of sound. And although the killing floor would be in a glass house, which would amplify sound, the neighboring houses were far enough apart that the shots would be quieter than party balloons popping.

As Illiana worked the gun oil in and around the suppressor with a rag she envisioned how she’d kill the con artists. Initially it was going to be two quick taps followed by a hasty exit assassination style. But the more she shadowed the pair her hatred for them grew to the point she wanted to add an element of torture. Maybe torture one while the other one watched. She checked in daily with her cousin. The mob boys were still looking the other way. Illiana knew that once the killing was done and the cops were left with no traces or witnesses the boys out in Philly would not only pay the bounty, they’d respect her play. Vengeance done right always has been a real point getter with the mob especially the older made guys.

Illiana toyed with the idea of working for the Philly guys once this was done. Freelance, of course. No way did she want to sit around, take orders and fight punk-ass wannabe-wiseguys for scraps dropped from the boys up top. No, she’d give them a way to contact her when they needed hits done when they needed great distance from the murder—when it was imperative that everybody’s alibi was coffin tight. She’d pull those hits clean and the fuckers upstairs will pay her amply for it.

When the suppressor was clean, she fitted it to the Glock’s barrel and looked down the site.

It won’t be long now…

 

 

Sam pulled into the garage of his new home and carried the groceries he bought from the garage into the large kitchen. He loaded the food into the fridge and pantry then poured himself a decent sized glass of wine. He opened up his laptop and double-checked the rules of earnest money in California. According to his research he and Rachel could demand at least one percent down from Cisco. According to online property calculators the house he sat in would be worth one point three five million. But developers never pay full price so at one point one mill, for example, with one percent down the grifters were looking at an earnest check for eleven thousand dollars. With Rachel’s phony company and phony escrow company, the cashier’s check would clear in a day maybe two, all thanks to Gerald, Porter’s former protégé. After that with an auction style fast escrow, closing the deal would be wrapped up in three to four days at the outside. This was huge. He and Rachel stole plenty in their time but never a house!

Sam savored the wine moving down the throat to his belly. He thought about Rachel and appreciated everything about her. He was truly lucky to have her. This would be their biggest score in a long time. Maybe this was the start of something new, no more small-time cons and they could find a place to lay low for a long while. He knew Philadelphia wasn’t finished looking for them. If anything, he figured Rocco Tolenti’s failure only magnified Little Vincent’s rage.

One point two equaled a long, safe layoff, he thought.

 

 

Rachel sat in the same seat as the day before at Mother’s Favorite Vase. It turned out the counter girl’s name was Sheena and she was the manager. Rachel found her quite pleasant. She could see Sam and her settling in a place like this. Obviously not Bullion specifically but there were plenty of other gems out there, some established and some on the come-up. Her smile turned from one of fantasy to the business of Julia Sawkins as she spotted Cisco walking in.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he said, plopping down in the chair opposite Rachel. He got Sheena’s attention and asked for a better wine than the day before, one that wouldn’t give him a headache.

“Okay, let’s go, gimme the good news and no theatrics.” He leaned in with forearms on his thighs. Rachel figured he got a deal on his suits. Today’s was the same as the others only periwinkle blue with a dark blue dress shirt.

“We’re on,” she said. “But you need to understand and respect that you’re not my only client.”

Cisco nodded.

“And this is a trial basis, seeing as I’ve just begun to vet you. As far as a partnership in the future that’s highly unlikely. I make too much money and I savor my freedom. That,” she said, “I’m sure you can relate to.”

Rachel wore a crisp blue and white pin stripped blouse by Donna Karen. The top three buttons were left undone for the mark’s pleasure. Her thick hair was back-combed a touch more than usual. Her dark blue pencil skirt fit snug and the dark tights weren’t quite exotic dancer fishnets but the pattern certainly said up for fun. For footwear a simple black Santa Fe pump from Banana Republic did the trick. Cisco’s gaze drank it in and smiled approval. Sheena poured a sample of their best merlot and waited for Cisco’s response. Rachel clocked her ridged posture and lips in a tight line of dislike.

I can’t stand him either, sister…

Cisco nodded affirmative then shooed Sheena away as if she was a housefly.

“Julia, I’m pleased, really pleased. Thank you.” He gulped half the glass and sat back, resting his right foot on his left knee. “Yesterday you mentioned you might have something for me. Ya gotta a place for me?”

“It just so happens I do.”

This time Rachel leaned into the conversation. “In my business I have the privilege of dealing with a lot of inventory. Sometimes I hear of deals before the seller knows they even want to sell.” She allowed a hint of a brag to creep into her tone.

Cisco seemed to approve. He beamed like a kid on a game show. “Let me guess, sometimes you make your own purchases.”

Rachel nodded. “That being said, I have a real peach right here in Bullion.”

Cisco dropped his foot to the floor, leaned forward and rubbed his hands together.

Rachel continued. “Now initially I snatched the place for a different client I had in mind. He knows I’m out here on business but he doesn’t know that I’ve bought this particular place.”

“I wanna see it. Right now. Let’s go. He’s not here, I am.”

“Steady, Cisco. You’re looking desperate.”

“Cisco’s never desperate.”

Julia ignored the statement. “I’ve got a few fires to put out today but—”

“Nope, I’m not gonna sit here and watch that nice ass get up and drift away again. I’m over that. We do this now. What do you need from me?”

Julia over dramatized her angst until she finally said, “The house is worth one point four million. I’d need an earnest check, cashier’s of course, for one percent, which is—”

“I ain’t payin’ full price, never do. I’ll pay one point one.”

Rachel gave him a smirk. “Cisco, please. We both know that’s low.”

“Fine. I’ll go one point two and that’s final. And you’ll have the check today—twelve grand.” He paused. “’Cause I trust ya,” he added.

“I—I wasn’t expecting this,” she lied. “And you’ll do that sight unseen? Because I can’t show it until tomorrow and that is if I get my ducks in a—”

“How do you think an auction works? Sight unseen.”

Rachel realized she played that one badly. It was time to use the wares. She leaned forward and finished Cisco’s wine. He stared at her mouth as she drank. She considered an exaggerated lip lick but that might be too much, even for Cisco. She pulled a business card from her purse that Sam made up and slid it across the table. On it was the fake LLC she and Sam had created.

“Please make the check out to my business.”

Cisco rubbed the card between his fingers and frowned at the card.

“Why Honeybee LLC?”

“I love honey, it’s sweet and sticky,” she said, rising. “Besides, who doesn’t love honeybees, Cisco? They’re endangered you know.”

Once again Cisco stood and kissed her hand and again she felt him watch her ass sashay out the door.

 

 

Sam got a call from Rachel saying that things were moving fast and it was time for the next phase. He powered up the Porsche and headed to a side street three blocks east of the main downtown drag. Rachel hopped in before the car came to a full stop. Sam took back streets where he could push the accelerator to the Airbnb home. They needed to pack their gear and stage the home in the style a realtor would. They’d hole up in the Bullion Biltmore Hotel until the next day when Rachel would show the place to Cisco. By then Rachel would already have the earnest money. With the help of Gerald, the money would bounce and ping through the electronic wire system and land in their private account. Sam and Rachel barely spoke during the pack up, which was done in under twenty minutes. The need for staging was minimal seeing as the real homeowners kept the Airbnb in a move-in-ready state. The odd repositioning of a few end tables and knickknacks was all that was needed.

Thirty-two minutes later Sam and Rachel checked into the Biltmore. Sam emptied his pockets and put the contents on the bedside table as was custom. His keys, phone, money clip were all there…except his lucky zippo lighter.

“Shit,” he said.

“What’s up? Rachel asked.

“It’s my lighter. I must have put it my other pants,” he said, only partially convinced.

They got in a quick romp, which was more frenzied than last session, almost certainly due to the thrill of the pending funds. Sam let Rachel shower first. When she got out, he watched her ease into form fitting faded jeans, a plain white T and a black suede jacket. She mentioned she could go casual seeing as she’d told Cisco she’d be a woman getting ducks in a row—Sam was cool with that. He also felt comfort that the black suede Justin boots she wore were perfect for stashing her Gerber Winchester hunting knife with the four-inch blade. Neither of them ever set out to use violence on their jobs but Cisco insisted the hand off of the check be done in his hotel suite. Sam’s face moved into a grin as he thought back to her words. “If the guy gets hands-y or worse, cold steel pressed to the throat outta put him in check.”

“That’s my girl,” he’d said to her.

Sam parked a block and a half from the boutique hotel. Rachel gave him a quick kiss then walked toward the entrance. As she disappeared down the street Sam drifted back to their love making session.

Sex and money—hell of a combination…

 

 

Illiana found a spot beneath an overgrown manzanita shrub that gave her a semi-hidden vantage point. Rachel walked to the hotel but Sam stayed in the vehicle. What were those two fucks up to? Her phone buzzed and she recognized the number.

“What’s up, cugino?”

“You sittin’ down?” Massimo said. “’Cause you ain’t gonna like it.”

Illiana sighed. “I’m in my ride with assholes in sight. Go ’head.”

“The boys figure if you’re getting close maybe you need some back-up. They’re gonna send a guy to assist.”

This was exactly what Illiana wanted to avoid. Things were shifting as she expected, only faster than she’d hoped.

“If that’s what they want,” she said, fighting to control her anger.

“I knew you’d get it. Like I said before, I’ll sleep better knowing you got help.”

Translation—the Philly guys wanted a man to do the hit. It would look better to the other families as well as the rivals. She needed to assure her cousin.

“Suits me. I just want the fuckers dead. I’ll be honest, the bounty woulda been nice but fuck it, I just want the assholes gone. I don’t care who does it.”

Her act was good. She almost believed the bullshit she was shoveling him.

“I feel good about this, Illy. I can rest easy now.”

“Me, too.” She wanted off the phone but had a thought. “Hey, text me a photo of the guy they’re sending. I don’t wanna cap one of our own on accident.” She forced a chuckle.

“Yeah right, good idea. Will do. You, ah, you be careful.”

“Last thing Massimo, when’s the hitter gettin’ here?”

“You got about three days. I’d rather you sit tight and let the guy do his job but I know you so…”

That part he had dead on.

“I’ll consider it. Just send me that text when you know.”

“You got it. Look, I gotta go. Luv ya.”

Illiana killed the call for fear she’d rip him a new one. She could hear the beginnings of Massimo’s voice breaking—the guilty fuck. This was goodbye and they both knew it. Illiana may not be a made guy but she wasn’t born yesterday. The Philly guys were sending a hitter to clip the cons and Illiana, as well. They don’t like loose ends. Her cousin sold her out and when he said she had three days that meant two. Which for Illiana meant a day, day and a half tops. She was no fool. This was a man’s mob and she was a woman on the fringes. She’d cap the cons and ghost. She cracked a tiny smile at a thought. Maybe lay low for year then double back and take out her back-stabbing cugino Massimo. She fucking hated being called Illy.

 

 

 

Leila, Cisco’s employee, was seated in a turquoise leather armchair in the lobby when Rachel walked in.

“Leila.”

“Julia,” Leila said checking out Rachel’s garb. “Casual Friday?”

Rachel let it hang and followed Leila to the wide staircase. Two floors up Leila knocked twice on the door to suit A and entered without waiting for a response. Cisco walked to the door wearing the same suit from the afternoon sans jacket. He didn’t kiss Rachel’s hand this time. Instead, he handed her a martini glass.

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Did my boyfriend downstairs make this lemon drop?”

“He did indeed.”

The clinked glasses and sipped. Rachel was surprised Leila wasn’t dismissed. She obviously had a bigger role than Rachel had originally thought. Without pretense, Cisco handed Rachel an envelope.

“Check it out. I wanna make sure the bank spelled Honeybee correctly.”

Rachel gave the check a quick glance. The spelling and amount was as agreed. She thanked Cisco then sat down on the edge of a plush beige ottoman. She wanted her seating choice to relay that she was out the door once the martini glass was dry. Cisco sat in the center of a large cream sofa. A high-top bar with two barstools was where Leila posted up with an expression that said something was funny and you’d never guess what it was.

“So what time tomorrow?” Cisco asked.

“Nine a.m. work for you?”

“Nine’s fine,” Cisco said.

Something got Rachel’s radar going. For the most part Cisco was his usual self but something about Leila wasn’t right. First, she was still in the room with them but there was something else. It was the smug look on her face. Like she knew an inside joke that clearly amused her but she would never share. Rachel shifted her boot to the side, feeling for the confidence her blade gave her. Rachel was fast and could skin the blade in a second if she needed to. But if they pulled a gun on her she was screwed.

Stop it, she told herself. Why would they? What could they have found out?

Still, something was wrong.

Small talk took up the remainder of the time it took for the lemon drop to be downed. That was odd as well. Small talk with no come-ons from Cisco? Not a single comment about her tight white T? And Leila barely contributed but wore various looks of someone downloading information…the way she and Sam usually do.

Rachel didn’t like it.

 

 

“You’ve been the quarterback on this one, the one spending time with the guy. What’s your gut say?” Sam asked as they drove back to the hotel.

“I wanna say we’re good.” Rachel tried to sound confident. “I always knew there was more to Leila and that Cisco probably has a habit of shoving her aside when he meets a new conquest. And maybe Cisco’s pulled back on the flirtation until the deal goes through. I mean the guy claims his ultimate goal is to partner up.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “So is that really the gut or are you making the narrative fit because this could be the job that keeps our toes in the sand and cocktails in our hands for a good long while?”

“I don’t know. Shit, all of the above.” She ran her hands through her hair. “Look, let’s move ahead with hyper-vigilance and the minute the racecar heads for the wall we bail.”

Sam gave her a doubtful look. “That’s cutting it close. By the time the car is headed for the wall, all that’s left to do is crash.”

Rachel waved his criticism away. “So it’s a bad analogy. How about when the plane looks like it’s going to crash, we jump out and pop our parachutes?”

“Golden ones?” Sam asked, smiling.

She didn’t return the smile. “Hopefully.”

“Look,” Sam said, “this isn’t about being hyper-vigilant. When have we ever operated at less than one hundred percent on that count? We can’t be more aware of things, we can only be more careful in how we respond. And if we don’t like what we see, then being careful means cutting and running.” He gave her a pointed look. “Before the car is headed toward the wall.”

Rachel sighed. She knew he was right. There was only one question that they needed to answer. “Is it worth the stretch?” she asked.

Sam thought about it for a while. Then he nodded slowly. “It is.” He pointed to the vertical scar next to his left eye. “Between this and the limp, it’s not going to get any easier for us. This score gives us a cushion. It buys us time. So yeah, I believe it’s worth the stretch.”

Rachel leaned in and kissed the scar softly. “All right,” she whispered. “Let’s do it.”

 

 

 

The next morning Rachel pulled out all of the stops. She wore a bright white vest with several white cloth buttons up the front. The push-up bra put her breasts where they needed to be. She’d always had nice, toned arms and today she showed them off, which is why there was no blouse under the vest. Because her waist was slim she could pull off the high-waisted cobalt blue flare bottom stretch trouser. The front section had four light brown buttons, two on one side, two on the other, sailor pant style, which gave the look of two buttons to open the flap and you’re in-it-to win-it.

Rachel put the hair up, applied slightly more makeup than usual and donned clear lens non-prescription hot librarian style glasses. Cisco would not only want the house he’d want her along with it. If not, then something was really bogus in Bullion. At eight-thirty a.m. Rachel stepped out of the hotel bathroom and gave Sam a twirl.

“Wow, if Cisco doesn’t try and jump you on the spot he’s either gay or the sting is mega blown. As your brother who cares deeply for you, I think I need to be there.”

“No chance, brother,” Rachel said using air quotes. She held Sam’s face in her hands and kissed him on the lips. “Let’s go, I have a feeling this guy’s gonna be early today.”

Sam opened the door and stood aside for Rachel to exit first but she didn’t move or say anything.

“Cisco. Leila. What are you two doing here?”

“We need to talk,” Cisco said, pushing past Rachel without waiting for an invitation.

 

 

“Fuck,” Illiana said, pounding the Audi steering wheel. She unscrewed the suppressor from the Glock and put it and the piece back in the small black gym bag. The set-up was perfect. The cons were alone and Philly’s guy hadn’t arrived yet. She could have capped them in the hotel room and had a day’s lead on whichever goon they sent. But then Cisco, the Miami Vice wannabe looking fool, and his skank drop by for a visit. She grabbed her phone and started to text her cousin Massimo to ask for the photo of the guy they were sending but decided against it. Her cousin should have sent it by now and that could mean only one thing: the hitter was on route and Massimo chose not to give her a heads up. Her fine young cousin made a choice between Illiana and the mob and she came up on the short end.

I get it, cugino. Money, or the possibility of death versus your distant cousin bent on homicide. But fuck you just the same Massimo…fuck you!

 

 

Sam let Leila and Cisco into the room and closed the door but didn’t shut it all the way. Cisco made himself comfortable in the room’s high-back wing chair.

“Folks, I realize I’m loud, brash and some might even say I’m obnoxious. Maybe they’re right because I really don’t care. Now, Leila there, she’s easy on the eyes and looks as though she’s for hire. Well,” he paused. “She is, but she works for me and only me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about and why are you here Cisco?” Rachel demanded. “We have an appointment at the house.”

Cisco ignored the question, “Together Leila and I make a good team. She ain’t a whore and I’m not just some dumb loudmouth. Ya see, we aren’t what we seem.” He worked his face into a sneer. “And neither are you.” He pointed a meaty finger at Rachel. “You ain’t Julia Sawkins and boy-handsome over there ain’t Steve. I’ll go even further and guess you aren’t brother and sister like you been playin’ at in this town.”

Rachel had on a different pair of boots than the day before. They didn’t ride as high but were still high enough to house the blade. She shifted feeling its comfort against the inside of her shin and ankle. Sam caught what she was doing.

“What’s the play here, Cisco?” Rachel asked.

“First you’re going to fix me a drink, then Leila’s going to take over the discussion.”

Rachel noticed Sam’s jaw and forearm muscles tense up. She gave him stand down, not yet eyes.

“We got Macallan eighteen year,” Rachel said moving to the minibar.

Cisco frowned. “Huh, I’d think a high roller like you would have twenty-five year at least. Oh yeah, that was that fake Julia Sawkins bitch I met. Eighteen year, it is, I guess.”

Sam took a slow step forward then dropped his shoulders taking it down a notch.

“Look let’s everyone relax,” Cisco said. “The gig is up, as they used to say in old movies. But all is not lost.”

Rachel handed drinks around the room and gave Sam we got this eyes. Cisco took a long pull on the scotch.

“Not bad swill for eighteen year. Okay, Leila, let ’er rip.”

Leila donned the same smug look Rachel had seen the day before. She spoke without the aid of notes or her phone.

“It was simple, really. I dug around a little and found the house you’re selling on Airbnb. After that it took one phone call to the actual owners the Clarkes. Did you know they’re having a wonderful time in Tuscany? They seem like such a lovely couple how could you do such a horrible thing to those kind folk?”

“Maybe you could make your point,” Sam said.

Leila gave him a flat smile. “You can breathe easy. I didn’t rat you guys out. I’m assuming you filed a new deed and all that? Anyway, we—”

“I got it from here, sweetheart,” Cisco said. “You two fucks are going to repeat what you almost did to me to someone else. And I’ve got just the guy who’ll bite harder and faster at that house than I would. We work out a split and then we go our separate ways.”

“How’d you find us here at the hotel?” Rachel asked.

“Check the sleeves of a couple of those sexy blazers.” Cisco grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “You might think the romantic hand kiss by the sexy investor was all romance and it was in part but…well, go ’head and check.”

Rachel played along and found a mini transmitter the size of a 3-volt battery stuck up inside the sleeve of her blazer.

“Not bad,” Rachel said, forcing a smile.

“Yup, even as I watched that sweet ass of yours walk away each day I always knew where you were.”

“Are you always this paranoid?” Rachel asked.

“Actually no. Leila’s usually the skittish one but this time it was me. You were just too good to be true. Sexy, rich, kicking around in my playground. And now,” he said, spreading his hands wide, “here we are.”

Rachel tried to think fast and make the next move. Sam must have known her mind was racing and bought her time.

“Clearly you two are impressed with yourselves. You found our hotel and figured out we aren’t the Sawkins. But as stimulating as it is watching you play Hercule Poirot, what is it you want?”

Leila took over. “Mr. Glanis has already stated what he wants. Same gig, different sucker.”

“She’s right,” Cisco said and downed his scotch. “So what’s it gonna be?”

 

 

Sam and Rachel sat side by side on the two-seater with shoulders touching. The mark and his sidekick left five minutes earlier. Cisco had asked for a second scotch but Sam turned him down. The grifters needed a conference, alone. For now, the team had grown by two and the grift would go ahead as planned but with a new mark provided by Cisco, Jim McShane. As soon as he heard the man’s description, Sam realized McShane had been at the auction Sam attended on their first day in Bullion. He was the skinny weasel Cisco took down and was a long-time petty rival of Cisco’s.

“No way are we going through with this,” Rachel said.

“Obviously, Rachel, but what are—”

“Don’t snap at me. You were just as blindsided as me on this one.”

“You’re right, you’re right—” he sighed running his hands over his face. “Too much money, too fucking close.”

“Fuck me,” Rachel said, shaking her head. “He said I was too good to be true when all the while he was too good to be true.”

She shoved to get up but Sam held her in place.

“Wait,” he said pulling her into an embrace. “What do we know? We fucked up and that’s behind us. We’re not going through with the Cisco-Leila shit show. Let’s contact our guy Gerald on the earnest money. Cisco said he put a stop payment on the cashier’s check but maybe the money’s been bounced far enough away from the initial bank. If we’ve got it, I say we blow—head north to Oregon. Or screw it, we blow through Washington state and hit Canada. I hear Vancouver’s nice. Full of money and friendly trusting Canadians—a grifter’s paradise.” Sam kissed her head. “Okay, your turn, go.”

Rachel considered. Then she said, “Option two is go all the way with Cisco. Sell the house and double cross him before the finish line. He’ll expect it but we’re the professionals and Cisco’s just an egomaniacal investor. We put our big brains together,” she said. “And we win.”

They sat together, shaking off the shock, rage, and frustration. Within fifteen minutes, they hatched plan B, a total revision.

“It’s crude, not really our wheelhouse, but I like it,” Rachel said. As they bumped fists both of their phones buzzed. They checked simultaneously.

“The earnest money made it through,” Sam smiled.

This time she smiled back. “Down, but not out, babe. Never out. Let’s go.”

 

 

Illiana Tolenti watched the Miami Vice wannabe and his skank leave the grifter’s hotel. They had smiles on their faces. Something went down, maybe some kind of partnership or maybe they fucked the cons over. Wouldn’t that be nice: screwed over by the marks and then murdered by a Tolenti. Talk about poetic justice. Rocco would have appreciated it.

She watched the couple climb into a Range Rover and drive away. As she was about to get out of the car, a Prevost tour bus pulled up.

‘Shit,” Illiana said as she watched fifty or so female old timers in fancy hats get off the bus and enter the hotel. She then saw a sign out front reading Welcome SoCal White Hat Seniors Society.

“Are you effing kidding me?” Illiana mumbled. That was that, too many witnesses. Back to plan A—take out the grifters at night.

An hour and a half later Sam and Rachel came out and drove toward the downtown area. They parked a block off Main Street and vaulted the steps of a posh boutique bed and breakfast called the Empress, which was sandwiched between an Italian bakery and a vintage looking men’s haberdashery. Illiana parked and watched the front.

 

 

“Thank you for agreeing to see us, Mr. McShane. I’m Julia Sawkins and this is my brother Steve.”

Both Sam and Rachel noticed the man’s bloodshot eyes, white gunk at the corners of his mouth and his constant sniffling. Making it even more obvious that Sam had pegged him right was the powder remnants and rolled up Benjamin on the desk in front of him. As Sam thought about it, the weasel ran his shirtsleeve across his nose and sniffled.

“You said you had some shit on that asshole whose name shall remain nameless.”

“We want to ruin Cisco Glanis’ day.”

“Please don’t mention that spray tanned fuck’s name in my presence.”

“No problem,” Sam said, raising his hands, placating. “How soon can you get a couple o’ grams of that snow?”

“Are you assholes cops?” McShane asked.

“We’re neither assholes nor cops,” Sam said.

“Hmm, to be honest, I just take a bump now and again,” he said. “Ya know, when the stress of these auctions ’n escrows ’n shit get me down.”

“Let me take you through what we’ve got,” Sam said. “I was at the auction the day you and Cisco had your little sparring match. You don’t like the guy and we don’t either.”

At this point Sam went on a fabricated riff. “A few years ago, Cisco did my aunt dirty on a deal. She and her family were homeless for six months until they got back on their feet. My aunt isn’t the type to go after a guy like Cisco but Julia and I are.” He paused. “With your help.”

Sam noticed McShane’s eyes grow wide. The bait was fully in his mouth.

“Our plan was to sell him a stolen home. We’d take him for the money then he’d have to battle it out with the true owners. Stay with me here ’cause I’m gonna make this long story short.” Sam said and sat on the corner of the desk. “We have the house and all the paperwork done. He thinks we’re going to take you down but we’re going to take him down.” Sam leaned forward, “With your cocaine.”

“That is, if you have more than a bump here and there,” Rachel added.

“Why didn’t you fucking say so?” McShane said and pounded his desk with a big grin on his face. “I’ve got half an ounce here with me right now.”

“We thought as much,” Rachel said.

 

 

Sam and Rachel drove to the Hibiscus, Cisco’s boutique hotel. Rachel had a script prepared should she bump into Cisco or his slick assistant Leila. But she was in luck both in that she didn’t see Cisco or Leila, and her favorite millennial bartender was on shift.

“Hello you,” Rachel said as she slid onto a barstool.

“Hi,” the bartender said, blushing as before. “Lemon drop?”

“It’s a bit early but you make them so good.”

“Great, and this one’s on me,” he said getting down to business.

“You know I feel bad I never got your name.” She extended her hand. “I’m Julia.”

“Teddy,” he said, wiping his hand on his apron before shaking her’s. Then he went back to mixing the martini.

“You know,” Rachel said, tracing the bar in front of her with a tapered fingernail, “it’s true what I said the other night.”

“What’s that?”

“About you being the cutest bartender in town.” She let a hint of a smile touch her lips. “I’ve been here three days and had a drink in just about every bar and well, it’s true.”

The shaker slipped from Teddy’s hands and onto the steel counter. It bounced once then he caught it before it went to the ground.

“Ooh, quick reflexes.”

“Sorry I’m such a—you kinda make me nervous, to be honest.”

“No need to apologize, Teddy. I was young once.”

“I’m not that young,” he said. “And you’re not old. Older than me but…not too old.”

He poured the lemon drop into the martini glass and slid it across to Rachel.

“Thank you,” she said, and lay a hundred-dollar bill on the bar.

“Cheers,” Teddy reached for the money. “Your change is coming right up.”

“Wait,” Rachel said. “I wonder if you could do me a favor?”

 

 

Illiana grew tired of waiting for nightfall. And with each tick of the clock she was becoming increasingly concerned about the arrival of the Philly hitman. As she’d given it more thought, she realized that more than likely, the guy had orders to take over the score, if possible, get the money and kill the Tolenti girl. The men up top barely rate women a half notch above cockroach on the mob’s food chain. Wives, mistresses, and whores were the only roles of any value that they saw them having. Out of desperation, she texted her cousin, Massimo an hour ago. He hadn’t responded yet, which confirmed her earlier suspicion: she was dead to her dear cousin.

Meanwhile, the Rachel bitch was still in the boutique hotel doing God knows what. She eyed the bag that had the Glock in it. Nighttime couldn’t arrive soon enough.

 

 

Sam sat in the Porsche, watching his phone for the text from Rachel. He didn’t have to wait long. It took about the length of time for a lemon drop and some dialog. He threw the black backpack with the “stuff” in it over his shoulder, got out and walked to the hotel lobby. Rachel handed him a car key fob.

“Any problems?” he asked.

“Smooth sailing so far,” Rachel, said. “They park them in the alley behind the hotel. Good luck.”

Sam walked to the end of the block and made a left turn. At the alley, he poked his head around the building. A row of Audis, Teslas, Beamers and other high-end vehicles were lined up tight against the hotel building. A valet parker ran to a Jaguar E Pace SE, climbed in and eased it off the wall, and drove toward Sam. Sam hauled his phone out and pretended to make a call. When the vehicle passed him, he jogged to Cisco’s Range Rover Velar. He tried the key fob and the cars yellow lights blinked. The left side of Sam’s face rose up in a half grin.

 

 

Rachel finished her drink. Teddy the bartender smiled as if he’d won the lottery. Rachel could tell he was tickled pink that Julia, the hot patron let him keep the change on a hundred just for smuggling her a set of keys from the valet cupboard. Her phone buzzed with a text from Sam: good to go!

Rachel thanked Teddy and laid on the flirtation with thickness. She walked to the front desk and asked to speak to the manager.

“Hello, miss, how can I help?” the Latino man with the Jorge nametag said.

“Is there someplace we can talk in private, Jorge? It’s quite urgent.”

“Si, si, my office. Right this way, Miss?—”

“Sawkins.”

“Yes, Miss Sawkins, come this way.”

The manager’s office was smaller than the broom closet at the Airbnb Rachel and Sam acquired. Rachel sat in an uncomfortable chair opposite Jorge.

“Sir, it’s about one of your guests,” Rachel said. “A man by the name Cisco Glanis.”

 

 

Sam took the long way around the back of the building and came up on the valet station.

“Can I help you, sir?” a blond-haired kid with pock marks on his face asked.

“I was out for a jog this morning and found this key fob in the back alley. I’m sure it belongs to one the guests here.” Sam handed the youngster the fob.

“Thanks, mister,” the kid said and accepted the keys with a confused look on his face.

 

 

As Rachel left the manager’s office, she bumped into Cisco and Leila at the front desk.

“What the hell are you doing here? We shouldn’t be hearing from you until after the auction,” Cisco said.

“We’re good at what we do, Cisco.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Cisco asked.

“It means we’ve already made contact and the wheels are turning.”

Leila gave Rachel a sideways look. “That was quick.”

“Were you not listening? I said we’re good at what we do. Sam’s already got McShane eating out of his palm. This is going to happen. Just trust the process.”

“You still haven’t said what you’re doing here.” Cisco stepped close to Rachel, which was meant to intimidate her.

“I came here to give you the update,” she said rapidly snapping her fingers in front of his face. “And now you’ve been updated. Try and keep up.”

She headed for the exit.

“Where are you going now?” Leila asked. Two plain clothed cops entered the lobby and asked the concierge for the manager. As Rachel saw Jorge come out from his office, he gave Rachel a quick nod. Rachel made tracks.

“Officers,” she murmured as she walked past the two cops. They nodded hello and gave her body a surreptitious once over. As she walked out, she spotted Sam leaning against a faux Greek column with arms folded across his chest and one foot crossed in front of the other.

“The pins and tumblers of the lock are lining up,” Rachel said.

“Glad to hear it,” Sam said as they walked away from the hotel. “But we gotta swing by the Airbnb.”

“What? Why?”

With a sigh, Sam said, “I left my zippo back there. You know I usually use the bedside table but I remember lighting that damn candle in the kitchen when I worked up the forgery so I must have…”

“Oh God, you’re like Linus with his damn blanket,” she said. But she didn’t bother arguing that he should leave it behind. Anything else in the world, but not that.

As they walked toward the Porsche they heard Cisco’s booming voice shouting at the police. “Do you know who I am?” he bellowed.

They do know, you bastard, Rachel thought.

When Sam and Rachel rode past the alley behind the hotel, she noticed two black and white cop cars parked at forty-five-degree angles to the Range Rover. The car’s doors and hatch were wide open.

 

 

Sam pulled onto the shiny pavers of the Airbnb rental house for what would be the last time.

“I’m coming in with you,” Rachel said, popping her door open.

“You don’t need to. I’ll just be a minute.”

“I like this house. I wanna see it one more time. You know, do a walkthrough and gather some ideas for when we settle into a joint like this.”

Sam unlocked the door and they headed to the kitchen.

Rachel ran a hand along the island as she admired the ceiling fixture. Sam checked up and down the island and on the floor.

“Huh, nothing,” he said. “I’m gonna check the master, start at the beginning.”

“Sure, but hurry we need to be on the road.”

Sam checked the bedside table and found it clean. He looked around at the bureau and was about the look in the ensuite bathroom when he got down on his knees and poked around the bedside table.

“Bingo,” he said when he found it tucked behind one of the table legs. He flicked it on and off a few times as he made his way back though the house. He joined Rachel at the massive island in the kitchen and put an arm around her.

After a quiet moment, Sam said, “Why don’t we check out the view one last time?”

“Yeah, why don’t we?” a voice said from the great room.

Sam and Rachel spun to see a dark-haired woman with a Glock in her hand. The barrel had a suppressor attached to it, its dark opening aimed right at them.

“Who are you?” Sam asked, and slid to his left.

“Don’t move,” she said. “I’m enjoying the look of fear on your faces.”

“Okay, this is fear. Now, why not tell us who you are?” Although Sam had an educated guess based on her strong Italian features. He wondered if they’d ever be free from the mob…that was, if they came out of this jam alive.

“I suppose you should know who shot you as you slowly bleed out. I’m Illiana Tolenti. Rocco’s niece.” she added, taking a lengthy pause. “Ah, there it is—recognition. Now that you’re all caught up—”

Without another word and with the quickness of a cat, she fired a shot a foot to the left of Sam, shattering a glass coffee pot. Rachel flinched and slid two feet to her right. Sam knew the move was to prevent the Tolenti girl from having two easy targets. Sam was able to gain a few more inches before the gun was back on him.

“That was to demonstrate that this suppressor muffles any sound that might be heard by a neighbor, and that’s good for me because this Glock has seventeen more rounds in it.” She flicked the barrel toward the hole in the kitchen wall. “Which doesn’t include the previously chambered round now in the backsplash behind that coffee pot.”

“What happened to your uncle wasn’t our fault, Illiana,” Sam said.

“No? Someone else burned him up in an SUV? That wasn’t you?”

Sam didn’t reply.

“That’s right, you piece of shit!” Illiana shouted. Sam noticed the woman’s eyes begin to fill with water and that she fought to control her breathing. “It’s time to pay for that shit!”

Romantic couples often talk about finishing each other’s sentences. With Sam and Rachel, they knew each other’s instinct for survival. Sam counted on that when he made his move.

Rachel shouted, “Hey!” It was enough to pull the mob woman’s attention off Sam.

Sam lunged forward to grab a wooden knife block that held six butcher knives of varying size and hurled the entire block at the gunwoman. The block connected with the gun then continued on and smacked Illiana in the face. A round tore into the giant glass fixture over the island. Broken glass rained down on Sam and Rachel. The gun hit the floor and slid toward Sam. He dove for it but the crazed Tolenti girl was after it as well. Sam heard Rachel cry out behind him to his right.

Sam was at the gun a second before Illiana but she was quick. She grabbed a butcher knife from the floor and slashed Sam’s forearm. He dropped the gun and instinctively pulled his arm toward his chest. She scrambled for the gun but Sam punched her hard in the ribs with his left, causing her to lose her grip on the Glock and push it further away. She spun back around, regained the knife and lunged toward Sam. Propped on one knee, she faked a slice for Sam’s face, redirected and sliced his thigh. He let out a sharp grunting sound. She pulled the knife back and went for a stab to the stomach this time. Sam blocked the blow with his forearm at her wrist. With his free hand, he grabbed a knife from the floor. As she tried to reposition for another strike Sam got her with a deep slice near the floating rib. She screamed. Sam fell on her. They wrestled like gators, each trying to end each other. Sam was surprised by her wiry strength. He could hear his labored breath as much as hers.

“Move your ass, Sam!” Rachel shouted. Sam managed to rear backward a split second before Rachel’s raised foot slammed down from above and kicked Illiana unconscious causing her knife to skid across the floor.

“Dumb bitch!” Rachel said as she staggered down the island and hauled a bunch of dishtowels and duct tape from a drawer. Sam noticed blood leaking from her neck. It wasn’t gushing, which was a good sign. At least the carotid hadn’t been severed. He watched as she wrapped a rag around her neck like a kerchief then moved to Sam. She did her best tourniquet jobs on his arm and thigh.

As she moved to get up, Sam grabbed her arm. “Hang on. I wanna see your neck.” He gently peeled the cloth down and saw a two-inch long slice. He knitted up his brow.

“From the falling glass,” she said. “Took a shard to the neck.”

She helped Sam to his feet then grabbed the duct tape and gagged and bound Illiana.

“We need to get the hell outta Dodge,” Sam said.

“Uh huh, We’ll call Gerald on the way. He might know a Doc somewhere between here and Oregon who can stitch you up. That cut to the thigh is deep.”

“I won’t say no to that,” Sam said.

“I’m gonna scrub our prints of this place. The Sawkins siblings were never here.”

While Rachel wiped down the place, Sam bent and retrieved the Glock. He then elevated his leg and attempted to make himself comfortable. When he heard Rachel approach he got to his feet and stood over Rocco’s niece with the Glock in his hand. Rachel came and stood beside Sam and put her eyes on the woman who nearly killed them.

Illiana came-to and screamed all sorts of hell into her gag Sam took a deep breath then slowly let the air out. Rachel placed a hand to his shoulder. Sam peered down the sight and put a bullet into Illiana’s kneecap. She howled into the gag and rolled onto her side. She’d be screaming for a while, Sam thought. But just like the suppressed round, no one would hear her. Rachel rubbed his back then walked toward the front door. Sam ejected the magazine and cleared the chamber then wiped the gun down. He looked at the place one last time then placed the gun and clip on the island. He ignored Illiana’s wailing as he walked out.

With the bullet to the Tolenti girl’s knee she’d be looking at months of rehab before she would be mobile. And who knows where Sam and Rachel would be by then? They’d call a paramedic bus for her once they were a couple hundred miles out of Bullion…or maybe they wouldn’t.

 

 

Siskiyou County, South Central

 

Bullion was sixty miles behind Sam and Rachel when Rachel finally got hold of Gerald.

“Hey, thanks for getting back to me,” Rachel said, putting him on speaker.

“Sounded urgent but I got a guy for you. He’s about fifteen miles south of the Cali-Oregon border.”

“Great. What are we looking at a Veterinarian? Dentist? Any chance of a real doctor?”

“This guys a doctor. Well, he was until the state took his license away,” he said.

“For what?” Sam asked.

“He ran some kinda pill mill or some shit—allegedly.”

“Wonderful,” Rachel said.

“Look, it ain’t brain surgery. I’m sure the guy’s capable enough to do a patch job.”

“That is if he’s not a junkie by now,” Sam mumbled.

“Listen,” Gerald said. “He was one of Porter’s guys so…ya want him or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rachel said. “Text me the details.”

“You got it.”

“And thanks, Gerald,” Rachel said then clicked off.

“We’re nearly sixty-five miles out of Bullion.”

“Uh huh, so?”

“So should we call the paramedics for the Tolenti chick?” Sam asked.

“Maybe she’s already worked herself free,” Rachel suggested.

Sam gave her a doubtful look.

“Let’s do it this way,” she said. A half mile up the road, she pulled into a gas station. She went inside and came out with water, snacks and a burner phone. Sam shot her a questioning look at seeing the phone. She dialed a number then held up a one moment finger to Sam.

“Bullion Police Department, this is Officer Brady.”

“Yes, you arrested a Cisco Glanis today for cocaine possession.”

“I cannot confirm that we—”

“There’s a girl that’s been shot at 640 California Poppy Lane, the Clarke’s residence. Do you know the house?”

“Of course I know it but—”

“Listen, Officer, Cisco cut this girl up then shot her. She’s there now bleeding out.”

“Ma’am, please state your name,” the officer barked.

“Get over there now!” Rachel shouted making her voice shaky like a woman on the brink of tears. Casually, she wiped the phone down, snapped in two and tossed it out the window.

Sam looked over at Rachel, “You’re a dark horse, babe.”

“Obviously it won’t stick but it’ll make Cisco’s shitty day even shittier,” she smiled.

They drove another five miles in silence. Finally, Sam said, “Shame we didn’t get the one point two mil. I had some serious fantasies working over here.”

“You and me both,” Rachel said. “But it wasn’t a total loss.”

“How so?”

“At least we got us some travel money.”

 

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