Russell Andrews - Aphrodite

"How in the world did you put this together so fast?" Jonathan Westwood asked.

"Well," Mallone said, "your name carries a lot of weight and I bandied it about like a son of a bitch. I had financial analysts faxing, scanning, and e-mailing materials all night long, I had Green and Bayer pulling things off the computer at the office, and since you said price was no object-"

"I don't recall saying that," Jonathan said.

"Well, you implied it. So I paid off someone I know at the IRS up here. He was extremely helpful."

"And how much did you have to pay him?" Jonathan asked.

"We can discuss that later," Mallone answered, then decided it might be a good idea to lay on a "sir," so he did. He turned to Justin. "I've been going over everything, trying to organize it and make it as understandable as possible. I'll tell you one thing, this guy doesn't have a dummy corporation, a tax dodge, a shell, a project, an employee, a goddamn dog that's not listed somewhere in all this. Can I have that coffee now?" Deena was upstairs with Kendall and Lizbeth. She knelt in front of her daughter.

"We're going to go now, Ken. But I want to make sure you're okay with this."

"I'm okay," Kendall said.

"Jay doesn't think we'll be away for long. And I'll call you every day."

"Okay."

"Kenny, it's okay to be upset. And it's okay to be scared. You don't have to pretend."

"I'm not upset, Mom. And I'm not scared. Lizbeth said she's gonna take me shopping. And did you see the pool out back? She said I can swim every day. And they have a cook. We don't even have to go out for french fries-she said Annabelle can make french fries. I didn't even know real people could make french fries-I thought they were only in restaurants." She stopped suddenly. "I mean, not that I'm gonna eat french fries, Mom, because I'm gonna eat really healthy, you know, like normal."

Deena leaned over and kissed her eight-year-old. "When I come back, try to pretend you're happy to see me, okay?"

"Of course she's going to be happy," Lizbeth said. "Aren't you, Kenny?"

Kendall cocked her head at her mother and grinned. "Can we get a cook when we go home, Mom?"

"No, we cannot," Deena said.

"Well, I'll still probably be glad to see you."

Deena gave her one more kiss and another hug for good measure.

"She'll be fine," Lizbeth said.

"I know," Deena told her.

"And so will you," Lizbeth added softly.

Deena shrugged, then effortlessly rose to her feet in one fluid motion. "That one I'm not so sure about," she said. Roger Mallone had pulled his black Mercedes off to the side of the Westwood house, leaving it in the twelve-car parking area that had been added on several years ago. He strolled over there, got in the driver's seat, closed the door behind him. After one more solid yawn, he turned the key and started the engine. When the car got to the gate, he stopped, waited for the automatic doors to swing open, then cautiously pulled out onto the street. There was a silver Ford parked a quarter of a block away. The driver, a powerful-looking guy, had the aura of an ex-football player or a boxer. He was sipping coffee from a tall foam cup. Roger waved to the guy, a friendly good-morning wave, as he passed by, but the coffee drinker didn't wave back. Roger drove three blocks away, turned the corner, waited a few minutes, then got out of the car and opened the trunk.

Roger leaned in, stuck his hands inside the trunk, and helped Deena Harper step out. When she was standing, he extended his hand toward Justin, who made it out, too, although a little less gracefully than Deena had. Justin reached back in and took the two large briefcases that Roger had brought over half an hour earlier.

"You were right about the house being watched." He described the man drinking coffee in the car.

"Rollins," Justin said.

"Do you think Wanda told him?" Deena asked.

"It's possible. But if she did, I don't think he would be waiting outside. He'd know for a fact we were inside and he would have come in."

"To arrest you?" Roger said.

"I have a feeling this guy's not here to make arrests," Justin told him.

"Oh," Roger said. Then he realized the implication of Justin's words and repeated it, with emphasis. "Oh…well…the key's in the ignition. Maybe you should-you know-get the hell out of here."

"One more thing."

"What?"

"You have a cell phone?"

"Sure."

"Can I take it? I'm sure they're not only tracking mine, they're tapping it. I can't risk it."

"They can do that?" Roger asked. "They can tap cell phones?"

"They can," Justin told him.

Roger reached into his pocket, pulled out a small phone. "It's all yours."

"I can't thank you enough."

"Don't even think about it. There's got to be a promotion in this for me somewhere. And don't even worry about screwing up the car. If anything happens to it, I'll make your dad buy me a new one."

They shook hands. Roger gave Deena an awkward hug. Then he wished them both luck, stepped back onto the sidewalk, and watched as Justin got behind the wheel of the Mercedes and drove away.

"They can really tap cell phones?" Deena asked.

Justin nodded. "There's a device called a Trigger Fish. About the size of a briefcase. It can not only tap in so they can listen to conversations, they can triangulate off satellite sites so they can get a fix on our location. That's what I'm really worried about. Rhode Island's small enough to hide in without helping them out."

"Come on. They can tell exactly where we are?"

"Maybe not exactly. But within about a block. And if they get that close, we wouldn't be too hard to find."

"I don't think I like the twenty-first century."

For the next half hour they rode in silence. Then Deena mentioned that she had never driven a Mercedes before and she asked if she could give it a shot. Justin said, "Why not?" He pulled over and, as they were switching seats, she said, "Oh, damn. I forgot. Your father told me to give you something after we left." She reached into her bag, pulled out an envelope. She watched as he opened it, saw his lips curl up in the faintest of smiles.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Something we need," he told her. "Something I guess he didn't think I'd take from him directly." He held the envelope out for her to see. It held about ten thousand dollars in cash.

"I'm starting to like your father," she said.

Deena drove the rest of the way into Newport. When they were approaching the city, Justin pulled out Mallone's phone and made a call to Billy DiPezio.

"Did you get it?" he said into the phone. Then he listened for a minute, said, "Okay, thanks," and hung up. Deena glanced at him quizzically, but all he said was, "A little favor from Billy. Nothing essential."

She was hurt by his evasive answer, but she didn't want to say so. Too petty, she decided. But she sulked for the rest of the drive. Justin didn't seem to notice, though; he was lost in thought. Deena could practically hear the wheels spinning in his head as he tried to put the pieces of the inexplicable puzzle together.

She forgot all about her hurt when they arrived in Newport. She was too stunned to sulk anymore. This was a town that reeked of money. Money, snobbery, and faded grandeur. As they drove past manor after manor, the sea air misting over the city, she felt as though she were stepping back into a Gatsby-like past that never really existed and yet still managed to dominate the present. She felt as though everyone on the street should be wearing smoking jackets and sipping tea out of china cups.

Justin directed her toward the waterfront; she pulled up in front of the gates of a mansion and he hopped out of the car. Deena was proud of herself that she didn't gape or go, "Oh my God!" because this house dwarfed the Westwood home in Providence. She didn't know houses came in this size.