of Aiden Fry and the other camera crew members. We rehearsed in the underground parking lot Victor had purchased.
Speaking of Victor, he always goes all out with these productions. I assured him that all we had to do was build a few soundproof cells in his parking garage. But he had this wild idea of building soundproofed Lucite containers, equipping them with vacuum pumps, and fitting them to flatbed trucks! He barely got the trucks finished in time, but I never doubted he would, having worked with him successfully several times in the past.
Then, with everyone and everything in place, we decided to give Sam a proper mind fuck.
The wild card was Rachel. We had no idea how she would react to being kidnapped. I was concerned about her, so Lou (the voice Sam and Rachel would hear in their cells) kept me constantly informed as to her physical and emotional state.
I had a bit of trepidation allowing Callie and me to be placed into the Lucite containers, so I had prearranged a number of safeguards with Lou Kelly, Callie, Sal Bonadello, and even Victor. You can never be certain about the people working a heist with you, but I figured with so much money to share, we’d be able to trust each other. Plus, we had a history of working together, and that counts for a lot.
From the moment Rachel and Sam were locked in Lucite, I was able to hear everything they said and heard. The only thing I didn’t get to see was Callie getting naked for Sam. I’ve known Callie a third of her life, and I can tell you, I’m jealous that Sam managed to bang my ultimate fantasy girl, something I’ve never managed to do.
Not that it matters, and it’s not even relative to the discussion, but Callie’s a lesbian. She has a wonderful live-in relationship with a female trapeze artist in Las Vegas, so I know it wasn’t easy for her to sneak away for three months and seduce Sam Case.
Actually, it wasn’t
I know I would.
Which brings us to the present, where Sam, Rachel, and I are in our containers, and Rachel has just chosen me to live and sentenced her husband to die. I’m dressed in a business suit, pretending to be Kevin Vaughn, and Sam is pretending he doesn’t know I’m Donovan Creed.
Chapter 37
I admit Rachel’s attitude toward Sam is giving me pause.
I’ve always said the way to really know a woman is to lock her in a cage and poke her with a stick. This isn’t quite the same, but it’s close. And what I’ve learned about my girlfriend, Rachel, during this short period of captivity is revealing and more than a little disturbing. Starting with the obvious, she doesn’t appear to be an overly compassionate person. Her colorful vocabulary could benefit from a makeover. The fact that she was entirely convincing when begging Sam to choose her over Karen tells me she’s not just a capable liar but probably a pathological one as well. Her ability to be completely sensual and loving one moment and capable of murdering her sister or husband the next suggests an undiagnosed schizophrenic personality disorder.
Then again, I kill people for a living, so which of us is perfect?
I’m crazy about Rachel. And while
Okay, so let me catch you up in real time: Lou Kelly (the voice) has just said, “Sorry for the delay. We’re good to go. Make your peace, Sam. I’ll give you ten seconds.” Sam said, “You get nine billion dollars, and I get ten seconds, huh?” Lou: “Doesn’t hardly seem fair, does it?” Sam: “When does the countdown begin?” Lou: “Now … unless anyone has a final comment … No? In that case—” I clear my throat and say, “Actually, if I may, I’d like to ask Sam a quick question.”
Sam looks up at me. So does Rachel. She looks worried and says, “Kevin, we’re so close. Please, hon, let’s just end this and go home.” Sam says to me, “What’s your question?” I answer, “Did you type my code last?” Rachel says, “What?” “It was all happening so fast,” Sam says, “but yes. I entered your code last, like we discussed.” “Good man.”
Rachel begins screaming incoherently, something about, “You know him? What the hell is going on here? What the fuck does this mean? Answer me! Answer me, you son of a bitch—” That sort of thing.
I turn to her, knowing what to look for. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about dating relationships, it’s that being able to predict your partner’s moods is of paramount importance. In Rachel’s case (pardon the play on words), her face is her barometer, so I am reassured to see her neck, ears, and face gaining color quickly. I’ve noticed her face only turns crimson when she’s furious or craving sex, and I’ve been teaching myself to know which is which. It’s these little things you learn about the people you’re dating that mean so much down the road. I let her yammer on awhile before focusing on her husband. “Sam,” I say, “There’s no way to dance around the issue. I’m in love with your wife.” Rachel immediately stops screaming. “What? Wait—did you just say you’re in love with me?” I smile. “I am. Hopelessly.”
She settles down and places her hand on the glass in a loving manner, while her face remains bright red. See what I mean? From furious to sensual in nothing flat—what a woman! Sam says, “I find that impossible to believe.” Rachel says, “Shut up, Sam. Shut up and die.” Like I said, Rachel ain’t perfect. Sam says, “Rachel, you might want to ask Kevin what his real name is.” I say, “Sam, with all due respect, that’s a matter between Rachel and me.” “Fuck you both,” he says. “Sam, I was hoping we could all leave here as friends.” He looks at me as if I come from another dimension, a place where we all look normal, but nothing we say makes sense. “Friends? You want to be friends?” I nod.
“Let’s see if I’ve got this right,” he says. “I agreed to protect your blood money. In return, you broke into my house, hacked into my computer, monitored my every move, fucked my wife, set me up with a hooker, drugged and kidnapped me twice, murdered my wife’s sister and at least one innocent man, kept me and my wife imprisoned for two days, nearly killing Rachel in the process, forced me to sentence Karen to die, stole more than nine billion dollars from my clients—which means even if you let me go, my life expectancy is now what, three days? Wait, don’t answer. I’m not finished. You put me out of business, put me through mental and physical anguish, forced me to learn my wife has been having a six-month affair with my own client, made me endure the humiliation of having my own wife sentence me to die, and now you tell me you’re in love with my wife and plan to take her away from me, but you want us to be friends?” “Yes, that’s it,” I say. “Except for the part about physical anguish. I think that’s a bit hyperbolic.” “You do,” he says. I nod. “But other than that?” “I’d say you have a good grasp on it. Except for one thing.” “What’s that?” “I’m going to give you a quarter billion of the take.” “Big deal. I’ll be dead within days.” “I’ll help you get a new face, new identity, and a new life.” “With Karen Vogel?” “Get real, son.” “Okay,” he says. “I’ll take it.” “Lou,” I say, “open the containers and let’s wrap things up. Rachel and I have a lot to talk about.” Nothing happens. “Lou?”
Chapter 38
Some time goes by. Too much time. Finally, Lou says, “Uh, Donovan? We never talked about Sam getting a quarter billion dollars.” “I’m giving it to him out of my part.
