Stuart Woods - Short Straw

"How may I help you?" Mrs. Creighton asked when she had seated Barbara.

"I want to consult a cosmetic surgeon for some minor work," Barbara said.

"Then may I recommend Dr. Felix Strange, whose offices are on our grounds? I think there is none better in Southern California." She took a card from a desk drawer and handed it to Barbara.

"You may indeed," Barbara said, accepting the card.

"May I make an appointment for you?"

"Yes, please, and as soon as possible."

Mrs. Creighton picked up a phone and dialed an extension, then spoke. She covered the phone with her hand. "Would you like to see him now?"

"Perfect," Barbara said. She got directions to Dr. Strange's cottage and walked quickly there. A receptionist showed her into his office without delay.

"Good afternoon," he said, waving her to a chair. "How may I be of service?"

"I wish to change my appearance but only slightly," Barbara said.

"What did you have in mind?" Strange asked.

"I thought I might shorten my nose a bit-I've always thought it too long-and perhaps enhance my chin."

"Come with me," Strange said. He led her into the next room where there was an examination chair and a video camera. He seated her and switched on some bright lights, then he stood at her side, raised the chair so that she was at eye level, and examined her profile. "Your judgment is very good," he said.

"Thank you."

"What I will do now is photograph you, then, through computer imaging, show you what your new profile will look like. It's quite accurate."

"Please do," she replied.

Strange manipulated the chair, took several shots from all sides, then removed the camera, switched off the bright lights and went to a computer, the display of which was a large, plasma flat screen hung on the wall. "Here is your current image," he said, hitting a few keys.

Barbara watched as her profile appeared on the screen.

"Now, let's shorten the nose a bit and strengthen the chin." He typed for a minute or so, and the image on the screen morphed into a new one.

"Fantastic!" she said. "It's perfect."

"No, you're perfect; you just need a little help."

"Can you rotate the image so that I can see my new face from the front?"

"Of course." He hit more keys and the image rotated slowly from one profile to the other, then back to center.

"Wonderful! How long will this take?" she asked.

"A couple of hours," he replied.

"And the recovery time?"

"Quite short. You won't have the black eyes that usually come with a rhinoplasty, since we're working only on the tip of your nose, and the incision for the chin implant will be made inside your lower lip. We can hurry the healing with anti-inflammatory drugs, and you should be entirely your new self in a week or so."

"If I'm photographed from the front tomorrow, will the image be markedly different from the new version?"

"Not markedly," he said. "May I schedule you for tomorrow afternoon?"

"That will be convenient."

"Come in at two o'clock. We'll take a history and give you a physical exam. You'll be on the table by four and in recovery by six. You'll have a nurse on duty in your cottage the first night, and after that you may do whatever you wish. I'll see that you are pain free, and I'll remove the stitches in your mouth after a few days."

Barbara thanked him and walked slowly back to her cottage. A week, and she would be free to carry out her plan. Back in her cottage, she called the front desk and ordered a car and driver for early the following morning.

THE SUN WAS RISING AS BARBARA STEPPED INTO THE BLACK Lincoln Town Car. "We're going to L.A.," she said to the chauffeur.

SHE DIRECTED THE DRIVER to get off the interstate at Venice Boulevard, then stopped him a block short of the beach. "Park here and wait for me," she said. "I'll be less than an hour."

She got out of the car and walked to the beach, then strolled along the promenade until she found an instant photo shop. She stood in front of a white background and was photographed by an electronic camera, which spat out a sheet of six passport pictures and six smaller shots, the size of California driver's license photos. She put them into her purse and left the shop, walking south. As she walked, she wrapped her head in a silk scarf and put on her sunglasses.

After a five-minute walk she came to a photographer's shop, with wedding pictures and portraits displayed in the window. She went inside and found a young girl behind the counter.

"May I help you?"

"I'd like to see Dan," Barbara said.

"Who shall I say?"

"Just tell him an old friend."

The girl disappeared for a moment, and Barbara looked up into the video camera over the counter and smiled broadly. The girl came back and motioned her through a curtain and into a hallway. "All the way to the back," she said.

Barbara found Dan sitting behind his desk in the rear office, looking at a contact sheet through a loupe. "Are you still using those old-fashioned film cameras, Danny?"

He put down the loupe and peered at her. "I can't quite place the face," he said.

"That's the idea," she replied. "But we've met before. For purposes of this visit, my name is Barbara Woodfield. I need some paper."

He said nothing but reached into a desk drawer and came out with a black box the size of a pack of cigarettes and extended an antenna from it, then he got up and went over her body with the antenna. Finally he moved it around her purse. "Cell phone?" he asked.

Barbara took Cupie's cell phone from her purse and handed it to him. "I'll make you a gift of it."

Dan put the phone in his pocket and went over her purse again, then he sat down. "What kind of paper?"

"U.S. passport, dated before they started putting in the electronic strips, California driver's license, social security card, birth certificate."

"California birth certificate?" he asked, making notes on a pad.

"Would that be easiest?"

"I can get you the real thing, if you want to be born in Long Beach before nineteen seventy-five. Any name you like."

"Sounds good. How much?"

"Five thousand each for the passport and driver's license, seven thousand for the birth certificate. The driver's license will be the real thing, on file with the DMV. You won't have to worry about traffic stops. I'll throw in the social security card for free, but don't use it for anything but I.D."

"Your prices have gone up," she said.

"You obviously know my work; if you think you can do better somewhere else, feel free."

"Agreed."

"Then let's take some photographs," he said.

She held up a hand to stop him. "I'll bring you photographs when I come to pick up the paper," she said, "and I'll watch you attach them."

"You're afraid I'll make copies?"

"I'll just be sure you don't."

"Whatever you say. You'll have to sit around for a couple of hours while I finish up."

"That's fine. When can you be ready for me?"

"Can you give me a week?"

"A week today," she said. She counted out ten thousand dollars in hundreds. "The rest, in cash, on the day."

"That will be satisfactory," he said, scooping up the cash. "You'll owe me seven thousand."

She nodded.

"There's one more thing you might like. It's expensive, but you'll need it, if you ever want to do any financial transactions involving identity or credit."

"What's that?"

"I can create a credit history for you and hack it into the mainframes of all three credit-reporting agencies."

"How much?"

"Ten grand, and you'll be able to access it from any computer with an Internet connection."

"Done." She counted out another five thousand.

"All right," he said, ripping a page off his pad. "Now we have to create a history for you-date and place of birth, work record, credit cards and charge accounts you've had-the works."