Janet Evanovich - Full Tilt

Jamie groaned. "Oh, Phillip."

"I know, I know. She's driving me up the wall, too. Don't think you're in this alone." He chuckled. "That's what we get for agreeing to let her plan this whole thing."

"I need to get this newspaper out first," Jamie said, knowing Annabelle would keep her on the phone for hours if she called.

Jamie's headache had worsened. Too much stress in her life, she thought. The newspaper consumed every waking moment. She was annoyed with Phillip the night before for being late, but how many times had she been forced to break a date at the last minute? And poor Annabelle. She had taken on all the responsibility of planning the wedding, talking to caterers, dressmakers, florists, and Jamie couldn't even decide on a china pattern. September had seemed so far away. Jamie hadn't realized the work and planning that went into a wedding, especially the kind of wedding Annabelle planned.

Right now, though, Jamie had a newspaper to publish. She had struggled too hard to keep it going. Not only had she sold most of her office furniture, she'd sold her grandmother's jewelry and antiques and everything else she could think of in order to keep the bills paid. She couldn't afford to drop the ball now.

Jamie glanced at the clock. Still no sign of Mr. Holt. She was beginning to feel desperate and panicky, just as she had the night before in Max's car. Max and his talking computer. She wondered where he was now, wondered if he was already on his way back to Virginia. She hoped that was the case. She never wanted to lay eyes on him again and remember how she literally flipped out.

Dang, her palms were wet. Jamie swiped them across her skirt. What was wrong with her? She had always been the calm one, the one who took charge when the pressure was on. She wished she could cancel the appointment with Mr. Holt. Of all times to have to face her partner.

* * * * *

"Hey, dude, I think we passed it."

Vito Puccini finished off a slice of cold pizza, wiped his mouth on his arm, and looked at the man in the passenger seat. "What the hell you mean we passed it? You said we were supposed to take exit eighty-eight. The last exit was eighty-three."

"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."