I do. “So?”
“So I’m in Virginia. Remember?”
“Well, I’ve never met Virginia. But if you’re in her, I’m sure she’s special.”
“Funny.”
“This controller thing you mentioned. Would it fit in a Pocket Rocket?”
“What’s a pocket rocket?”
“A woman’s vibrator. A sex toy.”
“Donovan, I’m an old man. Maybe you should just shoot me and get it over with.”
“Maybe I will.”
He sighs. “I don’t know the dimensions of your sex toy or the controller device. I don’t even know if there is a controller device. Why don’t you take the thing apart and see?”
“I’ve got sort of a germ thing if I don’t know the person.”
“Can I go back to bed now?”
I hang up. Five minutes later, the Pocket Rocket is in pieces on Phyllis’s bathroom counter. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but there doesn’t seem to be anything on the counter that could liquefy my brains. After three attempts, I give up trying to put it back together. I take the pieces back to her pajama drawer and toss them in. Then I go to Phyllis’s computer, call Lou Kelly, and give him access to Phyllis’s computer so his geeks can make a remote copy of everything that’s on it. That done, I tell Lou to run an exhaustive search on Jim “Lucky” Peters. Then I remove the hard drive and put it on the kitchen counter so I won’t forget to take it with me in the morning.
After inspecting Phyllis’s house and garage from top to bottom, I check her refrigerator and pantry for something to cook. She’s poorly stocked, but I find some Kalamata olive halves, walnuts, bow tie pasta, and parmesan cheese. While the salted water for the pasta heats up, I stir-fry the olives and walnuts in olive oil, grind some pepper into it, and let it simmer on low. When the water reaches a boil, I pour in the pasta, stir it, then put a lid on the pan and remove it from the heat for 11 minutes, like the package says. Then I drain it, put it back in the pan, and stir in the olive mixture, and grate some parmesan cheese over it.
I could have done something fancier, but this hit the spot, and anyway, I’ve got an early day tomorrow.
Just before falling asleep in Phyllis’s bed, I think about everything I’ve seen and found in her house. And that gives me an idea. I don’t know why this seems like a good idea, but something in my head tells me what I’m about to do could come in handy.
I get up and remove a single condom from Phyllis’s condom drawer, and put it in the little box with the cufflinks she planned to give Lucky. Then I re-wrap the present, and put it on the kitchen counter next to the hard drive.
5.
Monday morning, seven-thirty.
I’ve been at PhySpa, Phyllis’s day spa and plastic surgery center for more than two hours, but couldn’t find the device. I’m disappointed Phyllis hasn’t arrived yet. I hear someone unlock the front door, so I sneak out the back and head for the nearest coffee shop. I don’t know who entered, but it wasn’t Phyllis, because her name is on the only parking space behind the building, and she would have used that entrance.
After a coffee and bathroom stop, it’s eight a.m., and I’m surprised to see several cars parked in front of PhySpa. When I enter the waiting room, the receptionist asks if she can help me.
The sign on the front desk tells me her name.
“Hi Shelby.”
“Hello,” she says, brightly.
I lean in close and say, “I wonder if I could speak to Dr. Willis for a quick minute about something personal.”
She frowns. He doesn’t look like a salesman, Shelby’s thinking. But she’s not sure.
“Your name, please?”
“Connor Payne.”
“I’ll check.”
When she does, something in Shelby’s facial expression gives me the distinct impression Phyllis Willis is less than thrilled I’m in her lobby. Shelby says, “Yes, certainly,” and places the phone carefully in its cradle before saying, “I’m sorry, Mr. Payne, but Dr. Willis is in the middle of a procedure.”
I smile sweetly and say, “Shelby.”
“Yes sir?”
“Call her again. Tell her if she’s not out here in two minutes, I’m coming for her.”
She looks like she’s about to say something, but changes her mind and repeats my message to Phyllis. I wait a minute, then feel a buzzing in my brain that tells me someone in the office—probably Phyllis—is trying to enter the kill code. The buzzing hurts ten times worse than the one I felt on Saturday night.
Son of a bitch!
I grab both sides of my head and stagger backward.
