had gaping holes in it.
“How did I get involved in all this? You told me he was a suspect
in a murder.”
“I know. We figured Harry’s phone was tapped, so we had him call
his parents weekly and talk about Lulu. Through Dango, my buddy with the L.A.P.D.
whom you met just recently”—I rolled my eyes—”we created a cover story of Harrison
getting friendly with a call girl and going A.W.O.L. when he was implicated in
the murder. To make his disappearance look and feel legit we had Raymond call
you to report him missing. We actually have Harry stashed away in a motel.”
That explained the strange vibes I’d gotten from the Grants. It had
all been an act. I knew it!
Tank continued. “That way when I showed up to nose around it wouldn’t
look suspicious, given our history.”
While I digested this information, I replayed everything that had
transpired over the past couple of days. “I went to L.A., searched Harrison’s
condo and it was all for nothing...the hooker outfit...the call girls—” I
stopped midsentence. “The call girls. I talked to some hookers. They knew Lulu
and Harry. How can that be?”
“I overheard you tell Polly you were going to find some hookers on
the street so I had to rustle up some ‘girls’ for you to talk to. I owe huge favors
to a couple of our female agents. The cars driving by were other agents making
sure you believed them.” He pushed to his feet and paced like a caged animal. “I
don’t know why I haven’t heard anything yet.”
My eyes widened as a realization hit me. “If I intercepted a coded
confirmation would I understand the message?”
He stopped pacing. “Probably not. Why?”
“Well, this morning, while you were in the shower, I answered your
phone by mistake. The message was, enter a four digit code from your computer or something like that. I forgot to tell you in all the excitement.”
He looked grim as he pulled out his laptop and placed it on the
kitchen table. He waited, impatiently tapping the sides as it booted up. I watched
as he opened file after file, entering codes and scanning information as it
flashed across the screen. He pulled out his phone and entered some numbers,
then went back to his laptop. Fixated on the various emotions crossing his
face, I knew exactly when he reached the ‘ah ha’ moment.
Then his brow furrowed again.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
His gaze remained vacant for a long moment and then he smiled. I
knew in my bones he did that to reassure me. He shut the computer down and
asked, “Do you want pizza?”
“Pizza?” I stammered.
“Yeah, I’m starved.” Tank grabbed his jacket and threw it on.
Shoving his laptop back into his leather saddlebag, he tossed the strap over
his shoulder and headed down the hall to the front door.
One minute we’re talking about spies, secret information,
undercover operatives and he wants to go for pizza?
He called out. “I’ll be back in about thirty minutes, forty-five
tops. Do you want everything on it?”
From the kitchen I yelled back, “Yes, no, wait... No anchovies.” I
hated anchovies. Too salty and they made me bloat. I heard Tank roar off on his
motorcycle and idly wondered how he’d carry the pizza home. I started to put
the empty beer bottles in the recycling, then stopped abruptly.
He wasn’t going for pizza. He was going to meet someone.
Geez, Tank. When will you trust me?
I grabbed the keys and ran out to my car but the empty driveway
reminded me that I didn’t have a car anymore. It had been towed. Stomping my
foot in frustration I watched the tail lights of his bike turn the corner.
He’d be miles away before I could get Aunt Tillie’s 1964
Austen-Healy Sprite started. Shoving the keys into my pocket I turned to go
back into the house. Tank better have a good explanation when he got home. A
glint in the waning sunlight caught my attention. I paused when I saw, to my
left, what looked like a copper wire snaking across my driveway leading
“How did I get involved in all this? You told me he was a suspect
in a murder.”
“I know. We figured Harry’s phone was tapped, so we had him call
his parents weekly and talk about Lulu. Through Dango, my buddy with the L.A.P.D.
whom you met just recently”—I rolled my eyes—”we created a cover story of Harrison
getting friendly with a call girl and going A.W.O.L. when he was implicated in
the murder. To make his disappearance look and feel legit we had Raymond call
you to report him missing. We actually have Harry stashed away in a motel.”
That explained the strange vibes I’d gotten from the Grants. It had
all been an act. I knew it!
Tank continued. “That way when I showed up to nose around it wouldn’t
look suspicious, given our history.”
While I digested this information, I replayed everything that had
transpired over the past couple of days. “I went to L.A., searched Harrison’s
condo and it was all for nothing...the hooker outfit...the call girls—” I
stopped midsentence. “The call girls. I talked to some hookers. They knew Lulu
and Harry. How can that be?”
“I overheard you tell Polly you were going to find some hookers on
the street so I had to rustle up some ‘girls’ for you to talk to. I owe huge favors
to a couple of our female agents. The cars driving by were other agents making
sure you believed them.” He pushed to his feet and paced like a caged animal. “I
don’t know why I haven’t heard anything yet.”
My eyes widened as a realization hit me. “If I intercepted a coded
confirmation would I understand the message?”
He stopped pacing. “Probably not. Why?”
“Well, this morning, while you were in the shower, I answered your
phone by mistake. The message was, enter a four digit code from your computer or something like that. I forgot to tell you in all the excitement.”
He looked grim as he pulled out his laptop and placed it on the
kitchen table. He waited, impatiently tapping the sides as it booted up. I watched
as he opened file after file, entering codes and scanning information as it
flashed across the screen. He pulled out his phone and entered some numbers,
then went back to his laptop. Fixated on the various emotions crossing his
face, I knew exactly when he reached the ‘ah ha’ moment.
Then his brow furrowed again.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
His gaze remained vacant for a long moment and then he smiled. I
knew in my bones he did that to reassure me. He shut the computer down and
asked, “Do you want pizza?”
“Pizza?” I stammered.
“Yeah, I’m starved.” Tank grabbed his jacket and threw it on.
Shoving his laptop back into his leather saddlebag, he tossed the strap over
his shoulder and headed down the hall to the front door.
One minute we’re talking about spies, secret information,
undercover operatives and he wants to go for pizza?
He called out. “I’ll be back in about thirty minutes, forty-five
tops. Do you want everything on it?”
From the kitchen I yelled back, “Yes, no, wait... No anchovies.” I
hated anchovies. Too salty and they made me bloat. I heard Tank roar off on his
motorcycle and idly wondered how he’d carry the pizza home. I started to put
the empty beer bottles in the recycling, then stopped abruptly.
He wasn’t going for pizza. He was going to meet someone.
Geez, Tank. When will you trust me?
I grabbed the keys and ran out to my car but the empty driveway
reminded me that I didn’t have a car anymore. It had been towed. Stomping my
foot in frustration I watched the tail lights of his bike turn the corner.
He’d be miles away before I could get Aunt Tillie’s 1964
Austen-Healy Sprite started. Shoving the keys into my pocket I turned to go
back into the house. Tank better have a good explanation when he got home. A
glint in the waning sunlight caught my attention. I paused when I saw, to my
left, what looked like a copper wire snaking across my driveway leading
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