Double Doublecross (21 page)

“Say it gets lost in the mail?”

“It won't—I assure you,” he said with a confident air. “You should have a more positive attitude towards the U.S. Postal Service.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Have a good time. I borrowed a few bills from the stack. I'm sure they won't miss a few hundred here and there. Let's go to the front desk. I want to ask the concierge if he's had anyone ask about the Tourister bag or one like it.”

Rick took the bag over to the front desk where a short, plump man was sitting.

“I've found this bag outside the elevator. Somebody must have left it there,” he said to the round individual. “Can I
hand it in here?”

“No problem, sir. Leave it with me. I'll hand it over to the lost and found department.”

“Thanks,” said Rick.

“What did you do that for?” Sara asked.

“To see if anyone claims it. Now, let's go and get some lunch. It's on our
invisible
benefactor,” Rick said with a grin.

C
arl Regis and Phil Speed sat looking at each other in the Golden Buttercup restaurant. They were seated at a corner table at the back of the room where they could see the rest of the patrons.

“Here comes my disciple. Follows me everywhere,” said Phil Speed. “He doesn't bother me, but it's pissing me off. I wonder when they'll take us off of the suspect list. Maybe I'll go over and ask the bastard.”

“Better not, Phil. You might get a knuckle sandwich for lunch.”

“I think I could take him out without any problem.”

“And then they would take you out. It's not worth it, pal. Not if you enjoy breathing this wonderful smoggy, damp air,” Carl said with a grimace.

“I guess you're right. I've still got some of the bruises from our last waltz, and I don't want any more.”

“Here comes
my
disciple. They're sitting at different tables. He's uglier than yours, Phil.”

“They're all ugly as far as I'm concerned. Now, what do you want to talk about?”

“I was wondering how we can restore their confidence in us for more carries. Maybe we should discuss the situation over the phone in our apartments and paint them a picture of our obvious innocence and loyalty.”

“I'm not sure that will work. They've obviously got a burr up their rear end about the theft—and everyone's on the suspect list.”

“Of course, they have,” said Carl. “Wouldn't you? But I think we could at least try.”

“Let's order and think it over. As you say, we've got nothing to lose.”

They ordered their meals and two beers. Glancing across at the shadows, Phil said with a sneer, “I hope the bastards choke.”

As they were leaving the restaurant, Phil stopped, looked at Carl and said, “I've got to do this, Carl. I won't be a minute.”

He walked over to the first shadow and sat at the table opposite him.

“I don't know what your daily schedule is, but you're wasting your time on me. Why don't you come up and have a couple of beers? We can sit back and relax. Maybe talk about last night's hockey game. I mean it. No joke.”

The man just looked at him with a cold stare and said nothing.

“Well, don't say I didn't try. See you later—from a distance, of course.”

Sara told Rick that she didn't feel like skiing as it was nearly two o'clock and the best part of the day had passed. They decided to spend the rest of the day driving around Lake Tahoe sight-seeing.

Although the roads had been cleared for traffic, the snow had started to fall again and the clouds looked ominously dark and threatening once again. Looking for an excuse to call Carl and give him an update, Sara suggested they go back to the hotel, wash up and then gamble in the casinos. Rick couldn't argue with that. He liked to gamble, especially at the blackjack tables.

They showered and took the elevator to the lobby.

“You go on to a casino and I'll look around at the shops. I'll join you later for dinner,” Sara suggested.

“Good idea,” Rick agreed.

Sara waited until Rick had disappeared in the crowd and made her way to a secluded area of the hotel lobby.

Looking around to make certain she was out of earshot of others, she dialed the call code. Eventually Carl Regis picked up the phone.

“I'm in the lobby. What's the latest?” he said in a dry, gravelly voice.

“He says he's put the money in the mail addressed to himself at his office. I don't know when it will get there, but I think he'll let me know when it happens.”

“Okay, but be careful. We don't need any more slip-ups.”

“What will you do when it arrives?” Sara asked.

“Don't know,” rasped Carl. “Just keep your goddamn eyes open and give me a nod when it happens. Also, let me know if he puts it in a safe—and let me know the make of the safe.”

With that, Carl switched his phone off and gave a groan of despair realizing it would not be easy to lay his hands on the money after all. He knew Rick couldn't bank a sum of money that big. Therefore, he assumed he would put it in an office
safe provided that the safe was big enough.

Once Carl had the money in his possession, he could easily find a way of laundering it using the same methods as the cartel, but he would have to be careful he did not use any of their nationwide contacts. Carl thought he might clean the money up using jewelers, real estate or even art investments, and of course there was always the stock market. Feeling more confident about the whole venture, Carl sat back in his chair and dreamed of a prosperous future.

It was now Monday morning, and as far as Rick was concerned, the whole weekend with Sara had been a great success. They had slept together and made love, although at times he thought she had been preoccupied with something else. Overall he was happy with the situation.

The money was the biggest puzzle at the moment. He knew he had to take a trip to Lake Tahoe to retrieve it. After that he had to figure out what to do with it when he brought it back to his house or office.

He considered his options. Keeping it in the house was out of the question. The same went for the office. The size of the whole package posed a big problem. Splitting it up seemed like a good idea at first, but now he wasn't so sure. He was at a total impasse as to what to do.

It was no good picking up the money if he couldn't find a solution for storing it. He thought about where the money was now, in the self-storage unit at the lake. Giving it some thought, he came up with the idea of keeping it in the several packages and placing them in multiple storage units and money depositories. Perhaps he could keep a few thousand in his floor safe too. He suddenly realized he was thinking of keeping the money for himself. He knew he needed it.

“My! My! We are in a different world this morning,” Pat James said as she brought him down to earth. “We must have had a successful weekend, one way or another.”

“Yep, pretty good,” Rick said with a grin.

“You're still up there, aren't you? Well, you'd better come down to our level and concentrate on the Hughes deal.”

“No problem. They're buying my house so everything is under control.”

Rick knew that this was not true. He was still a few thousand short if he wanted to pay his mortgages on the house and the apartment complex.

In the privacy of his office, Rick called the hotel where they had stayed that weekend.

“Hi! This is Rick Jacobs. I left a Tourister bag at your hotel this weekend. Did anyone hand it in?” he said, hoping it wasn't the same person as before.

“Just a minute. I'll check for you.”

Rick waited a couple of minutes then the clerk came on the line.

“You're in luck, Mr. Jacobs. It was handed in. We can forward it to you if you want.”

“No, that's okay. I'll pick it up myself in a day or so. Just hang onto it for me.”

Rick felt a surge of elation. Nobody had claimed the bag so the money was now virtually his. Now what was he going to do about Sara? He would handle her later. Right now his first concern was how to get the bag back home—and where did he go from there? He would have to come up with an excuse for Stan in order to drive to Tahoe and back. Then he'd have to find a place to store the money in a safe place away from his office and house.

Rick thought for a while for a good excuse to tell Stan.
Finally, he came up with one he thought would work.

“Stan,” he said coming out of his office. “I've done a stupid thing. I left my credit cards at the hotel and they're holding them for me. I'm going to have to buzz on up there and get them back. I'll be as fast as I can.”

“Okay, Rick. Drive safely. The roads are still pretty tricky up there,” Stan said, always looking out for him.

Rick started off for Lake Tahoe with a thoughtful look on his face. This was the first chance he had to give the current situation about the money some careful consideration. Where had the money come from? Most of it was in hundred dollar bills. A large quantity was in hundred dollar bills that were no longer being printed, but were still legal tender. Who would be carrying around such a large quantity of money—and for what purpose? He couldn't answer these questions, but he was sure the answer would surface sooner or later.

He was approaching Truckee, and a few snowflakes were dancing and twisting their way through the air but not posing any serious threat to driving conditions.

The sky was colored a battleship gray with a few white clouds scurrying across the mountains. The temperature was around freezing point but did not deter Rick. He liked this kind of weather, and it was a welcome break from the searing heat that gripped the Sacramento area during the summer months.

Finally he reached the storage unit where he had stowed away the money. He unlocked the overhead door and slowly lifted it up. It was still there in the boxes.

‘This
isn't
a dream,' he said to himself. ‘It really happened.'

Carefully he loaded the boxes into the trunk and went to the clerk to collect his hundred dollar deposit.

“That was a short rental time,” the clerk said. “It was hardly worth the trouble.”

“Thanks a bundle for your help. It was worth a million bucks to me,” Rick said with a smile. ‘If you only knew how true that statement was,' Rick thought.

His next stop was the hotel to pick up the Tourister bag. Entering the lobby, he noticed that the hotel clerk was different from the one that he had handed the bag over to.

“There you are, sir,” the clerk said. “Here's your bag. We don't see many of these around.”

“Is that so,” Rick said with a pensive look on his face. “Have you seen a bag like this in the last few days?”

“No, sir. Only the one you have there. But I do remember seeing one that was delivered to a room on the third floor, I think it was. I know it was within the last few days.”

“Did you see another bag like this on that day?”

“No, Mr. Jacobs. As I said, we rarely see a bag like that.”

“Okay, thanks,” Rick said, looking around him to see if anyone was interested in the bag. Nobody was.

Rick slipped into the driver's seat and began the trip home. He began to think about the conversation he had with the clerk in the hotel lobby. He had seen a Tourister bag being sent to their room, but had not seen a similar bag since then. ‘Very odd,' thought Rick.

As far as he could remember, Sara's bag had never left their vision, but on the other hand, it must have. Sara's luggage had yellow ribbons tied to their handles and the bag that was delivered to their room was without the yellow ribbon.

Rick decided that was now history. His biggest problem was to find a place or places to keep the money in. He'd
divide up the cash and put it in several boxes and keep them in different storage units locally. Maybe he would keep a few thousand in the floor safe in his study.

With this plan in mind, he drove home at high speed as he intended to disperse the goods that day into the units. He knew several places locally and was positive he could reach them before they shut down for the night.

Rick arrived back in his area in time to make several stops and rent seven units in various locations. He now had seven keys that he labeled and put them on a separate key chain. Feeling pleased with himself but a little insecure, he made his way to the office just in time to meet Stan as he was closing up for the night.

“Get things done?” Stan said. “All credit cards safe and sound I hope. Nothing lost or stolen?”

“Everything's okay, Stan. They're practically maxed out in any case. Thanks for handling things for me. You're a great pal and I appreciate it.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Arriving home, Rick could smell something cooking but couldn't tell what it was.

“Hi!” he said as he came through the garage door, “what's cooking? It smells good.”

“It's just a Mexican dish that I used to cook when I was younger. I hope you like it because that's all there is.”

“What is it?”

“Fajitas,” she said.

“Good. I'll wash up and get changed out of this suit. Then I'll join you,” Rick said.

After a few minutes he appeared just as Sara was serving up the dinner.

“Did you have a good day?” she inquired.

“Yes, not bad,” he said.

“I tried to reach you several times but all I got was your answering service. That's all I seem to get these days. ‘Press one if you want to speak to a sales representative. Press two if you want the accounts department. Press three if you want to go to the bathroom and press four if you want an interview with God—however, I must warn you that he's usually very busy, so stay on the line if you want to speak to a disciple.' What's up with this world? Have all the real people disappeared?” she said vehemently.