John Locke - Maybe

Miles follows the posters to the party location, turns into the long driveway, parks by the other cars in the circle. He pops the trunk, removes a giant, double-stuffed cookie cake, and carries it to the front door.

He balances the giant cake in his left hand, while pressing the door bell with his right.

A bored teenager opens the door and directs him through the house to the backyard. As the children recognize the brightly-colored box, they rush to surround Miles. Two of the moms clear off a space on the poolside table to accommodate the cookie cake.

Miles’s eyes follow the movements of one of the moms, a pretty redhead, who looks up in time to catch him staring down her blouse. She gives him a disgusted look that shows what she thinks of a delivery man who’s crass enough to attempt a down-blouse while surrounded by children at a kids’ birthday party.

Miles smiles broadly and says, “Happy Birthday!” then leaves. No one thinks to ask if there’s a bill to pay. No one offers him a tip, or escorts him back through the house. As he stands in the kitchen, looking around, he considers sneaking through the house. He probably has time to do some truly dastardly things.

But why push his luck?

He works his way to the foyer, opens the front door, gets in his car, and backs out the driveway.

Miles purchased the pre-made cookie cake in a busy mall in Indianapolis two days ago. It’ll be slightly stale, but the kids won’t notice. They also won’t notice the miniscule amount of ricin poison Miles dusted over the top of the filling. It was a bitch getting the top layer of cookie off the cake and back on again, and it didn’t turn out quite as pretty as it was when purchased, but again, the kids won’t care.

Miles hopes the pretty redhead mom with the pale pink bra samples the cookie cake.

Donovan Creed.

I’VE ONLY BEEN in Vegas a few weeks, but I’ve already made an investment. I purchased a plastic surgery center and day spa I plan to open when the police release the building to me. They’re still investigating a mass murder that took place on the premises. I’ll start fresh with a whole new staff headed by Dr. Eamon Petrovsky, the world’s greatest plastic surgeon. Dr. Petrovsky (I call him Dr. P.) headed the team of surgeons that gave me the new face I’m wearing.

Earlier today I called Dr. P. and told him to pack some clothes for our trip.

“What trip?” he said.

“We’re flying to Louisville, Kentucky.”

“Why?”

“What do you care? Until our license is granted, you’re unemployed.”

I told him I’d swing by his place at three and give him a ride to the private airfield. Then I went for a run, worked out in Callie’s gym a half hour, then took a shower. After packing an overnight bag, I found the women glued to the TV in the den.

“What’s happened?” I ask.

“Remember Mindy Renee Whittaker?” Callie says.

I think a minute. “The kid who got kidnapped years ago?”

Callie nods.

“What about her?”

“She’s been in witness relo. But someone just blew her cover!”

“What kind of asshole would do that?”

“They’re not saying. But ten to one it’s her husband.”

“She’s married? How’s that possible? She’s just a kid.”

“Time flies. Believe it or not, she’s twenty-four now.”

I scoot onto the couch next to Maybe and watch the drama unfold. It’s so weird, calling my daughter Maybe, but it’s something I need to get used to.

The photo they’re showing of Dani Ripper’s a good one, designed to build ratings.

She’s hot.

“WHY ARE WE flying to Louisville?” Dr. P. asks.

We’re at his place. I’m carrying his luggage.

“Where’s your medical bag?”

“You didn’t mention bringing it.”

“I shouldn’t have to! You’re a doctor! What if I get shot or something?”

“Relax, Donovan. It’s only a matter of retrieving it from the den.”

He leaves to fetch it.

An hour later we’re airborne, thanks to Bob Koltech, who owns and operates a fleet of six jets. Bob and I have a great relationship. In return for giving me instant service and personally flying me wherever I wish to go, no questions asked, I pay Bob twice his normal fees.

Dr. P. says, “Did you hear they found Mindy Renee?”

“She’s Dani Ripper now. It’s all over the news.”

Indeed, it’s a compelling story. Even Callie’s hooked. One network promised around-the-clock coverage as the story develops, so Callie and the others are having a Dani party tonight, complete with pizza and cheese bread! Such fare is no big deal for me, but these ladies are extremely calorie conscious.

At ten forty-five local time we land at General Aviation, near Standiford Field in Louisville. Bob has a limo waiting for us, and within twenty minutes Dr. P. and I are strolling through the lobby of the Seelbach Hotel.

We check in, grab a drink together, and go to our respective rooms. While getting comfortable I turn on the TV to catch the latest on Dani Ripper.

Like Callie said, Mindy Renee Whittaker’s all grown up now. At twenty-four, she’s blossomed into one of the prettiest women I’ve ever seen, assuming the photos are authentic. They say she’s a private investigator, working out of Cincinnati. Changed her name to Dani Ripper nine years ago.

Dani Ripper? As in Jack the Ripper? Odd name for a girl to make up.

But I like it.

And I like her.

I find myself wondering if a gorgeous private eye like Dani Ripper might be interested in working with me. I fire up my laptop to see what the internet says about her.

More photos.

Stunning. Not as sexy as Gwen, but prettier.

Not as beautiful as Callie, but close.

And there’s this: she’s married.

That’s her husband on TV, holding a press conference in front of their house.

Ben Davis. But Dani goes by Ripper, not Davis. I wonder why.

I also wonder why Dani’s not with Ben at the press conference. Then I think about it and decide she’s probably inside, hiding. Ben says she’s staying at a friend’s house, but that’s probably untrue.

If she is staying with a friend, that’s a hell of a lucky friend!

I listen a few minutes, and…wait. Is he actually trying to pitch a book deal ? I wonder if maybe Dani and her husband wrote a book and then leaked the story themselves.

Clever.

I like the fact she’s married. Means she likes men.

I catch myself, and laugh.

What is it about men? Why do we always visualize ourselves dating or sleeping with the woman we’re thinking about at any given minute?

I laugh again, forced to admit that’s what I was thinking just now. About how Dani, like Callie, is breathtakingly beautiful, and how I’d give anything to have sex with Callie, but Callie prefers women, which takes me out of the game. And I was thinking how Dani Ripper’s as close to Callie as a man is likely to find on this earth, and that led me to think, well, Dani’s married, so she likes men, which means I have a chance!

I might be more insane than Rachel.

But now that I’m all worked up, a powerful urge comes over me. There are two or three women I could call to satisfy that urge, and one is local. But for some reason I can’t explain, only one woman will do on this particular night.

Miranda Rodriguez.