stick around for dessert." Steve snapped the phone shut and looked at his Dad. "That was Lacey McClure. She wants to talk."
"She's coming here?"
"She's afraid if I show up at her place, the reporters camped outside will get the wrong idea," Steve said. "So I guess she isn't coming to confess."
"Isn't she afraid they'll follow her here?"
"She's got three cars," Steve said. "She and her staff are gonna drive all three out of her compound at once and go in three different directions. When the press goes off to follow them, she'll slip out the back on foot and borrow her neighbor's car."
"Very resourceful," Mark said. "She's given this some thought."
"She watches her own movies," Steve said. "Her security-consultant character ran the same scam in Body Armor ."
A half-hour later, a dark-haired woman wearing impenetrable sunglasses, an oversized, well-worn UCLA sweatshirt and faded blue jeans walked into BBQ Bob's carrying a heavy gym bag.
Mark was surprised just how effective a simple wig, a pair of sunglasses, and unremarkable clothes could be as a disguise. Anyone expecting to see Lacey McClure would have recognized her, but with the exception of Mark and Steve, no one eating in BBQ Bob's had that expectation. She came in unrecognized and strode directly to the booth in the back, where Mark and Steve were eating thick slices of pecan pie.
Mark slipped the wiretap transcript into his jacket pocket as she approached. Lacey dropped the gym bag on the floor at the edge of the table and slid into the booth beside him so she could face Steve.
"Care for a piece of pecan pie?" Mark asked. "It's quite good here."
"No thank you," Lacey McClure said.
"You'll regret it," Steve said. "This is the best grub in LA."
Lacey gave the restaurant a quick, appraising glance, taking in its scraped linoleum floor, cracked red-vinyl booths, red-and-white checked tablecloths, and vintage, rusted-tin soft drink placards nailed to the faded, paneled walls.
"You eat in this dump a lot?" she asked.
"I own this dump," Steve said. "Want to autograph an 8x 10 for the wall? If you don't have one on you, maybe you can sign your mug shot for me later."
Lacey slid the gym bag over to Steve with her foot. "There's $300,000 in cash in that bag."
"Is that a bribe?" Steve asked.
"It's not for you," Lacey said. "Unless you were the man who called me an hour ago on my private line, offering to sell me evidence that would keep me out of jail."
"It wasn't me," Steve said. "What kind of evidence did he say he had?"
"He didn't. All he told me was that it would cost $300,000," Lacey said. "That seems to be the going rate for a shakedown these days."
"So why not just pay him? Why come to me?"
"Because I don't pay extortion. That's why I left Cleve. This money is bait; I want it back," she said. "And if this guy really has evidence that clears me, I want it to go directly to the police so there's no question about where it came from."
"You had $300,000 in cash just lying around your house?" Mark asked.
"I toss my spare change in a jar every night," she said. "Don't you?"
"How many people have your private number?" Steve asked.
"Just my agent, my manager, and Cleve," she said. "Until today, nobody else ever called me on it."
Steve lifted up the bag and unzipped it just enough to peek inside. It was filled with neatly wrapped bundles of hundred-dollar bills. "Where and when is the meet?"
"The Santa Monica Pier." She glanced at her watch. "In forty minutes."
"That barely gives us time to get there," Steve said, "and no time to put a wire on you or mount a proper surveillance."
"He knew what he was doing," Mark said, then glanced at Lacey. "Is he expecting you to deliver the money yourself?"
She nodded. "He told me to wear this sweatshirt."
Mark frowned. "He knows your private number and that you own a UCLA sweatshirt? He's either someone close to you or he's been watching you for some time."
"I know," she said. "And it creeps me out."
"Let's
"She's coming here?"
"She's afraid if I show up at her place, the reporters camped outside will get the wrong idea," Steve said. "So I guess she isn't coming to confess."
"Isn't she afraid they'll follow her here?"
"She's got three cars," Steve said. "She and her staff are gonna drive all three out of her compound at once and go in three different directions. When the press goes off to follow them, she'll slip out the back on foot and borrow her neighbor's car."
"Very resourceful," Mark said. "She's given this some thought."
"She watches her own movies," Steve said. "Her security-consultant character ran the same scam in Body Armor ."
A half-hour later, a dark-haired woman wearing impenetrable sunglasses, an oversized, well-worn UCLA sweatshirt and faded blue jeans walked into BBQ Bob's carrying a heavy gym bag.
Mark was surprised just how effective a simple wig, a pair of sunglasses, and unremarkable clothes could be as a disguise. Anyone expecting to see Lacey McClure would have recognized her, but with the exception of Mark and Steve, no one eating in BBQ Bob's had that expectation. She came in unrecognized and strode directly to the booth in the back, where Mark and Steve were eating thick slices of pecan pie.
Mark slipped the wiretap transcript into his jacket pocket as she approached. Lacey dropped the gym bag on the floor at the edge of the table and slid into the booth beside him so she could face Steve.
"Care for a piece of pecan pie?" Mark asked. "It's quite good here."
"No thank you," Lacey McClure said.
"You'll regret it," Steve said. "This is the best grub in LA."
Lacey gave the restaurant a quick, appraising glance, taking in its scraped linoleum floor, cracked red-vinyl booths, red-and-white checked tablecloths, and vintage, rusted-tin soft drink placards nailed to the faded, paneled walls.
"You eat in this dump a lot?" she asked.
"I own this dump," Steve said. "Want to autograph an 8x 10 for the wall? If you don't have one on you, maybe you can sign your mug shot for me later."
Lacey slid the gym bag over to Steve with her foot. "There's $300,000 in cash in that bag."
"Is that a bribe?" Steve asked.
"It's not for you," Lacey said. "Unless you were the man who called me an hour ago on my private line, offering to sell me evidence that would keep me out of jail."
"It wasn't me," Steve said. "What kind of evidence did he say he had?"
"He didn't. All he told me was that it would cost $300,000," Lacey said. "That seems to be the going rate for a shakedown these days."
"So why not just pay him? Why come to me?"
"Because I don't pay extortion. That's why I left Cleve. This money is bait; I want it back," she said. "And if this guy really has evidence that clears me, I want it to go directly to the police so there's no question about where it came from."
"You had $300,000 in cash just lying around your house?" Mark asked.
"I toss my spare change in a jar every night," she said. "Don't you?"
"How many people have your private number?" Steve asked.
"Just my agent, my manager, and Cleve," she said. "Until today, nobody else ever called me on it."
Steve lifted up the bag and unzipped it just enough to peek inside. It was filled with neatly wrapped bundles of hundred-dollar bills. "Where and when is the meet?"
"The Santa Monica Pier." She glanced at her watch. "In forty minutes."
"That barely gives us time to get there," Steve said, "and no time to put a wire on you or mount a proper surveillance."
"He knew what he was doing," Mark said, then glanced at Lacey. "Is he expecting you to deliver the money yourself?"
She nodded. "He told me to wear this sweatshirt."
Mark frowned. "He knows your private number and that you own a UCLA sweatshirt? He's either someone close to you or he's been watching you for some time."
"I know," she said. "And it creeps me out."
"Let's
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