151

 

9:45 A.M.

Ange Wilkie checked her reflection in the mirrored elevator. Agent chic, she liked to think of it. The sleek trouser suit, part wool, part lycra, body-conscious and fluid enough to let her wrestle, to let her run if she needed to; the MBT shoes. She wouldn’t need to run, though, she reckoned.

She turned to Rac Rodgers. “You ready?”

“Oh yeah!”

“Let’s goooo!”

*   *   *

She loved the looks of naked curiosity, the rows of swiveling heads, the halted conversations as they strode across the floor accompanied by two of the bank’s security men: the human equivalent of a siren and a flashing blue light. The security guys thrummed with excitement despite their poker faces. Ange could feel it. Schadenfreude met the thirst for justice. Who didn’t love to see the bad guy go down, especially when that bad guy earned near on a hundred times what you did? Plus, it enlivened their day, broke the monotony. They were keener than keen to help.

Ronald Glass was in his office, Master of the Universe, leaning back in his padded leather chair, feet draped on his desk. He eyed them narrowly as they approached, scowling first, then the scowl faded and the first flicker of fear showed. As Ange had known he would, he pushed it down, turned on the outrage as she and Rac walked into his office, bypassing Romula. Failing to knock, failing to wait.

Glass got his feet off his desk, jumped up. “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, eyes flicking to the security men standing sentry outside his door.

“Just call us Nemesis, Ronnie,” declared Ange, blocking his exit, hands on hips, smiling.

She read him his rights, the smile never leaving her face. Glass cursed her out.

“What the fuck are you doing? What’s this about? You cannot storm in here and arrest an innocent man, you fuckers! I’ve done nothing! You’ve got nothing on me!”

Ange held up her hand, stopping the traffic of his words.

“Oh, Ronnie, or should I call you Stud, that is where you are so, so wrong.”

She nodded to Rac. “Cuff him.”

If he’d played nice, no swearing, no outrage, she would have spared him the cuffs, the walk of shame as they escorted him across the floor, the long way to the elevators. But as she had predicted, Ronnie Glass had not played nice.

She winked at Rac as the elevator doors closed, shutting out the crowds who gathered with the speed of hyenas at a kill. Job done.

*   *   *

A simultaneous operation in Reno resulted in the arrest of Mandy Hoopman. Within the hour, she was offering up Ronnie Glass on a plate.