Full Tilt

  "I think I misread it."

  In the backseat, Vito's wife, Mitzi, moaned aloud. "Lenny, you're such a dumbass."

  Vito gave his head a small shake. "Mitzi, how many times have I told you not to use that language? You sound like some kind of cheap slut when you talk like that." He looked at Lenny. "You can take a stripper out of a sleazy bar, but you can't take the sleazy bar out of the stripper."

  Mitzi smacked him on the head with her open palm. "Watch your mouth, Vito. I was an entertainer, and a damn good one. Which beats the hell out of having a rap sheet the length of the Jersey Turnpike like some people I know."

  "I've had just about enough of you," Vito said. "I knew I shouldn't have brought you along."

  "She gave you no choice, man," Lenny said.

  "Damn right," Mitzi snapped. "Vito has already screwed every woman from Maine to Spain. You think I'm about to let him go off on his own and spend the night humping somebody else?"

  Vito sighed. "Mitzi, I told you I made a mistake.

  Are you going to nag me over it for the rest of your life?"

  "That's the plan, Vito. You're going to regret the day you cheated on me."

  He shook his head. "A marriage made in hell, that's what this is. Lenny, hold the wheel so I can read the map."

  Mitzi laughed out loud. "Oh, that's a good one, Vito. Lenny probably snorted a yard of coke back there at the truck stop. You're going to let him steer the car?"

  "Shut up, Mitzi." He studied the map as Lenny tried to steer the car. "Shit, I guess we got to turn around," he said, slowing at the next exit.

  "Stop at a gas station while you're at it," Mitzi said. "I have to pee."

  Vito glanced at her from the rearview mirror. "You just peed, for Christ's sake."

  "Just do it, okay? It's bad enough I have to ride in this crap car with no air conditioner. I'm sticking to the seat, and I think I'm getting a heat rash on top of it. Or maybe it's hives. I'm getting a bad case of nerves sitting in this car."

  "Hey, I got something that'll calm you down," Lenny said.

  "Forget it. I'm not about to take anything from a low-life druggie. Besides, it's probably illegal as hell."

  Vito grunted. "This coming from an ex-stripper who used to give lap dances." Vito exited and pulled into a gas station, and Mitzi raced to the bathroom. Lenny pumped while Vito talked quietly. "I should have my head examined for marrying that woman. All she does is bitch. I'm beginning to miss prison."

  Lenny nodded. "Me too, dude. At least we had some peace and quiet. I haven't seen General Hospital since we got out. Hey, I could slip a couple of downers in Mitzi's soft drink. Knock her out cold."

  "Just what the hell are you carrying?" Vito demanded.

  "Dude, you name it and I got it. Uppers, downers, a couple of pounds of good Jamaican weed, a little coke."

  Vito glared at him. "You're carrying all that shit? What are you, crazy? We get stopped and we're both going back to the slammer."

  "You're worried about drugs when we've got an arsenal in the trunk?"

  "That can't be helped. You expect me to do a hit with a slingshot?"

  "Just drive the speed limit, dude, and we won't get stopped. We look respectable enough."

  "Yeah, right. I got an ex-stripper in the backseat who looks like she's been hustling on some street corner, and a guy in the passenger seat who hasn't bathed in a week. I could fry eggs in your hair, Lenny."

  "My hair has always been oily. I could wash it three times a day, and it would look this way."

  "You could have gotten a haircut, you know. I told you we were supposed to look like businessmen. How else are we going to get close to Holt?"

  Mitzi returned to the car and climbed into the backseat. "You feeling any better?" Vito asked, obviously trying to be nice. She muttered something under her breath, stretched out on the seat, and closed her eyes. Before long she was snoring. Vito and Lenny exchanged looks of relief.

  "I want to do the job tonight and get out of town right away," Vito whispered.

  "When do we collect?" Lenny asked.

  "Soon as Holt's obit shows up in the newspaper."

  * * * * *

  Max pulled into the parking lot of the Beaumont Gazette and cut the engine. He just sat there staring at the building.

  "Afraid to go in?" Muffin asked.

  "I'm thinking I should wear a bulletproof vest."

  "A vest won't do you any good. Jamie Swift is going to kill you with her bare hands when she realizes you kept your true identity a secret."

  "It seemed a good idea at the time. I figured she'd be uncomfortable if I'd told her who I was, and I really wanted to get to know her first."

  "That sounds real good, Max, but this is me you're talking to, remember? You wanted to nail her."

  "I don't nail women, and I certainly wouldn't have tried it with an engaged woman. I just wanted to spend some time with her." He sighed. "Wish me luck." He climbed from the car and started toward the front of the building, hesitating only a moment before going through the double doors.

  Max took one look at the room, and his jaw dropped open.

  Vera looked up from her work. Pens and pencils jutted from her beehive hairdo in every direction because she had a tendency to tuck them in and forget them when she got busy.

  Max stepped up to her desk. "I'm here to see Miss Swift."

  "Are you Mr. Holt?"

  He nodded. "And you are?"

  "Vera Bankhead. Miss Swift's administrative assistant. I sort of run the place."

  Max smiled. "I'll bet you're good at it, too."

  "Let's put it this way. I know everything that goes on around here."

  Max glanced around. "I smell fresh paint."

  "Yes, Miss Swift recently redecorated the place." She leaned closer and whispered. "I had nothing to do with it." She picked up the telephone. "I'll tell her you're here."

  "Thank you."

  Vera hung up the phone a moment later. "She'll be right with you."

  Max turned at the sound of a door opening. Jamie Swift stepped out, took one look, and gasped at the sight of him. "What are you doing here?"

  "Hello, Jamie."

  She simply stared back at him.

  Still wearing her most professional smile, Vera cut her eyes from Jamie to Max then back to Jamie. "Uh, Miss Swift, this is Mr. Holt. As in M. Holt."

  "Max Holt," he said, stepping forward and offering his hand.

  Jamie experienced a moment of total disorientation. "The Max Holt?"

  "Yeah."

  "Oh, Lordy," Vera said. "I don't believe it. We've got a celebrity in our office."

  Jamie stared at the man. "You can't be serious. Is this some kind of joke?"

  "Afraid not."

  Jamie's look turned from stunned disbelief to pure annoyance. "I don't believe it," she said. "You have some nerve coming into this office after lying to me about your true identity last night and allowing me to make a complete fool of myself. Just who do you think you are?"

  Vera gawked.

  "I'm sorry," Max said. "I should have told you the truth."

  "Sorry? That's it?

  "I don't know what more I can do than apologize. I never meant for it to turn out the way it did."

  "What in heaven's name is going on?" Vera asked.

  "This man is a dirty rotten liar, Vera. If I were a violent woman I'd—"

  "The least we can do is act civilized here," Max said. "After all, we have business to conduct."

  "I refuse to conduct business with you."

  "Jamie, have you lost your mind?" Vera said.

  Jamie realized she was trembling. "This man is an imposter. He tried to pass himself off as somebody else last night. He abducted me—"

  "You came with me of your own free will," Max reminded.

  "He scared me to death, then he made a fool of me."

  Vera tossed him a dark look. "You did all that?" When Max nodded sheepishly, she reached for her purse. "Let me shoot him, Jamie."

/>   Max put his hands over Vera's before she could reach inside her purse for her gun. "Before you shoot me, at least give me the chance to make it up to Miss Swift."

  Vera paused. "Okay, but this had better be good because I am definitely not having a good day and you just made it worse."

  Max looked at Jamie. "I really am sorry, Jamie. I had no right to do what I did."

  Vera waited. "That's the best you can do?"

  "I wanted to get to know you on a personal level," Max continued. "I knew you'd feel uncomfortable if I told you who I really was, what with me being an investor and all."

  Jamie refused to listen. Instead, she turned and strode into her office, slamming the door behind her.

  "I don't think she likes you," Vera said. "I think you'd better leave."

  "You have to help me," Max said.

  "And why should I do that?"

  "Jamie overreacted, Vera. For some reason she thought I had abducted her and was out to rape and kill her. I don't know if she's been watching too many cop shows or what, but she clearly panicked for no reason."

  Vera averted her eyes and shifted in her chair. It was obvious she felt guilty for having filled Jamie's head with so many terrible stories.

  "Well, Jamie has been under a lot of stress lately, but when push comes to shove I'm going to take her side. Besides, you had no right to pass yourself off as somebody else. I'm afraid I can't help you."

  "Tell you what, Vera. If you'll just help me this once, I promise I'll make it up to Jamie. Not only that, I'll have this place redecorated inside and out at my expense." He reached into his jacket for his wallet and pulled out a credit card. He offered it to her.

  "Do you think you can just buy your way out of everything, Mr. Holt?"

  "Not everything."

  Vera eyed him suspiciously. "Do I get a new desk?"

  "Everybody can have a new desk."

  "How about the computers? They're old."

  "Whatever you need. I don't care if you rebuild this place from the ground up."

  "What's the limit on this card?"

  "There is none."

  Vera stared at the card like a hungry mongrel would a large steak. "Well, in that case." She snatched the card from him and tucked it inside the bodice of her dress.

  Max arched one brow.

  "Don't worry, your credit card is safe." She patted her breast. "Nobody ever goes here." She stood and made for Jamie's office. "You'll have to give me a few minutes. This isn't going to be easy. Have a seat."

  Max glanced at the sofa. "I'll stand."

  When Vera came out of Jamie's office five minutes later, she nodded. "You can go in now. She's calm."

  "You're sure?"

  "I told you I run the show. I know how to talk to Miss Swift."

  Max took a deep breath, opened the door to Jamie's office, and walked in.

  Jamie had a lit cigarette in her mouth. "Close the door."

  "Sit," she said after the door shut.

  "I think I ought to stand in case I have to make a quick getaway."

  Jamie had no desire to talk to him, and the only reason she'd agreed to do it was because Vera had given her permission to smoke one cigarette. Just one. "What you did was bad."

  "Despicable," he said.

  "Worse. It was appalling, contemptible, loathsome, and vile."

  "Wow, you even managed to alphabetize the list. I'm impressed."

  "Truly, there are no words."

  "Sounds like you found pretty good substitutes."

  Jamie's phone rang. She snatched it up. "Mike? How's your mother?" She paused and listened. "A stroke? How bad is she?"

  Max took a chair in front of her desk and waited.

  "I told you not to worry about the newspaper," Jamie finally said. "You need to be with your family. I'll make the deadline." She tried to reassure him several times before she hung up.

  "I really don't have time to meet with you today, Mr. Holt," she said. "My managing editor had an emergency, and the paper has to go to print this evening. Perhaps some other time."

  "I can help you, Jamie," he said. "Don't forget, I know the newspaper business inside and out."

  "This is a weekly newspaper. Small potatoes compared to what you're used to."

  Max reached for her phone and dialed. "May I speak to Deedee?" He waited. "Hi, big sister. I just wanted to tell you not to wait dinner on me. I'm going to be tied up with business for a while."

  Jamie's eyes widened, but she waited until he hung up before saying anything. "Deedee, as in Deedee Fontana?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "She's your sister?"

  Max nodded.

  "So that explains how you got involved with my newspaper to begin with. Deedee told you all about my financial woes so you decided to take me on as a charity case."

  "I bought into the paper because I believe in the value of local press."

  Jamie stubbed her cigarette out in a potted plant. "I don't like people butting into my affairs, business or otherwise."

  "Face it, kiddo, you need me."

  He smiled that knockout smile, and Jamie knew she couldn't turn him down. "Okay, but just this once because I'm shorthanded. I'll show you what I have so far, and we can go from there."

  * * * * *

  Vito held the door open for Mitzi as she stepped into the cramped motel room. The double beds were draped in faded spreads that looked as though they'd seen far too many washdays, and the carpet was badly stained. Mitzi turned and planted her hands on her hips.

  "You're kidding, right? You don't really expect me to sleep in this room."

  "It's the best we could afford right now," he said. "It's not like we're going to find a Hyatt Regency in a town this size."

  "I am not believing this," she almost shouted. "I spend hours riding in a hot car, thinking how great it's going to be when I get to the hotel and I can take a nice long bubble bath." She peeked inside the bathroom and muttered a four-letter word. "I wouldn't bathe my dog in that nasty-looking tub."

  "So take a shower."

  "I need to soak in hot water. I have a bad back."

  "Probably from spending so many years working on it."

  "Bastard."

  "I did the best I could," Vito said. "It's either sleep here or in the backseat of the car."

  She pointed at Lenny. "Where is he supposed to sleep?"

  "On the other bed."

  "You're shittin' me, right? You expect me to share a room with a dirty druggie who would sell his own sister for a fix?"

  "I don't have a sister," Lenny said, "so you're safe with me."

  Mitzi and Vito just looked at him. Finally, Vito checked his wristwatch. "Listen, Mitzi, Lenny and me have to get some work done. We're here on business, remember?"

  "And that's another thing. I want to know what the hell you two are up to. I've asked you at least fifty times, and now I'm demanding an answer."

  Vito shrugged. "We're hit men, Mitzi. We're here to kill someone."

  "Oh, very funny. You're just a barrel of laughs, Vito. But I'm sure whatever it is, it's illegal, and if you end up in the slammer again, I'm outta here. You got that?"

  He looked at Lenny. "Almost makes it worth it, huh?"

  "I just wish the two of you would stop arguing," Lenny said.

  "Tell you what, Mitzi," Vito said. "I'll call the maid and have her scrub out the tub for you. You can take your bubble bath and read one of those magazines you bought for the trip. After that, you can watch TV."

  "They don't have HBO," she said between gritted teeth. She turned for the bathroom and slammed the door so hard it knocked a picture from the wall.

  Vito looked at Lenny. "I think I'm about to shoot the wrong person."

  * * * * *

  It was after midnight by the time the newspaper was ready to go to print. Jamie had to admit Max knew his stuff; he'd arranged the actual page layouts in half the time it usually took her. "I added some last-minute advertising Vera gave me," he told Jamie, once they'd ha
nded everything over to the pressroom staff.

  "Good. We can always use advertising." Her eyes ached from all the copy-editing and final proofing she'd done. She was bone tired and looked forward to some shut-eye. Max, on the other hand, looked fresh and ready to put in another day.

  "I'm pleased with the results," Max said, "but next time we'll do even better."

  "There's not going to be a next time, Max. You helped me out of a bind, and I appreciate it, but—"

  "What's the problem, Jamie? We worked very well together today."

  "I have an editor, Max."

  He looked amused. "You don't like me very much, do you, Swifty?"

  She looked at him. "Swifty?"

  "I thought it sounded like a cute nickname."

  Jamie rolled her eyes.

  "Back to my question."

  "I like you fine, Max, but it doesn't matter one way or the other. We're business partners, we don't have to be best friends."

  "But you're a little distant, don't you think?"

  "Meaning I don't fawn all over you like most women?"

  He smiled. "Well, that, too."

  "Do the words 'happily engaged' mean anything to you?"

  "Of course."

  "Even if I weren't engaged I would never get involved with a man like you."

  "A man like me?"

  "I've got your number, Max Holt. I read the newspapers. You go through women like a horse goes through oats, and you have an ego the size of Texas."

  "Other than that what do you think of me?"

  "Can't you be serious for five minutes?"

  "I am being serious. Okay, so I'm not perfect, but that doesn't mean I can't help you. You want this paper to succeed or you wouldn't push yourself so hard."

  Jamie felt uncomfortable with his dark eyes boring into hers. "Listen, you've seen what you came to see. My accountant will continue to send financial reports and whatever else you need, but our business is finished."

  "What's he like?"

  "Who?"

  "The man you're going to marry."

  "You're getting a little personal, aren't you?"

  "I'm curious."

  "Phillip is a very nice man. He's kind and loving, and he will make a wonderful husband and father. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go home and—"

  Max caught movement out of the corner of his eye and realized a car had passed by the front of the building where a large, plate-glass window looked out on Main Street. The blinds were partially closed, so he only caught a glimpse of headlights and nothing more. He turned back to Jamie but before he could say anything, he heard the rapid repetitive bursts of an automatic weapon. The plate-glass window exploded.