Chapter 34
34
5:31 p.m. Monday, November 4
“ D r. Dilbert, I presume,” Nick said after the gasps and screams had died down.
The man was sporting a dark tan and had distinguished gray hair swept back from his face. He was dressed in black joggers and a fitted long-sleeve shirt that accented lean muscle. He had accessorized with a Kimber Stainless LW pointed at Nick and Ingram.
It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than it being pointed at most of the other reasonably innocent people in the room, Nick thought.
“Get in line, buddy. I think I’ve earned the right to murder the world’s smallest colossal prick,” Ingram said, drawing the newcomer’s attention.
Riley eased up behind Nick. “Hey, quick question. Is this part of your plan?”
“Eh, not exactly. I think we’re just going to have to roll with it.”
“Should we start panicking?” she wondered.
“Not yet,” he assured her.
“I’m bored. Can I start throwing knives?” Josie asked.
“Maybe. Gimme a minute,” Nick said before turning his attention back to the new guy. “You look pretty good without fake facial hair.”
Riley snapped her fingers in excitement. “You’re Stick Figure Guy!”
“A.k.a. Dr. Byron Dilbert, missing and presumed dead New York plastic surgeon to the mob,” Nick announced, giving his girlfriend a smug half smile.
The gunman scoffed at him. “You’re not actually humble- bragging about seeing through my disguises when I’m the one who got the drop on you, are you?”
“You’d be amazed what I can brag about,” Nick offered.
“I can assure you, your time to boast is ticking down. Once I’m done disposing of Mr. Gentry, it’s your turn, Mr. Santiago.”
A fresh round of whimpers and murmurs went around the room.
Chupacabra half rose from her chair, hand raised. “Before you start murdering people, I gotta ask. What do you bench?”
“Three reps at two hundred twenty-five pounds, but most of my workouts are agility. I compete in a parkour league on the weekends,” Byron said modestly. “It’s how I was able to scale the wall and climb in through a second-floor window.”
“Well, you look great,” Chupacabra said, giving him a thumbs-up. “Also please don’t kill me. I have a big title fight this weekend.”
“And we have babies at home,” Tyra added, pointing between her and her wife.
“And I have a very high-maintenance new jewelry client who could single-handedly save the business Griffin Gentry almost bankrupted,” Wilfred said, peeking out from behind Chupacabra’s broad shoulders.
Ingram drew himself up to his full height. “You’re certainly not murdering me. I’m very rich and important.”
“You sound just like Griffin,” Josie pointed out.
“Relax. I’m only here to kill Misters Gentry and Santiago…and anyone else who gets in my way,” the not-so-good doctor explained. “Now, if one of you would be so kind as to direct me to the former.”
“You know, I always get former and latter confused,” Nick said, stalling for time. Take my gun , he shouted in his head, praying his psychic girlfriend was listening. Immediately, he felt her hands at the small of his back. You’re so hot , he added.
She gave him a warning pinch on the ass.
“This is ridiculous. I’m putting an end to all our misery,” Ingram announced. “You’ll find Gentry in the?—”
Nick swung hard, landing a perfectly placed jab to Ingram’s jaw. The man crumpled to the floor. Kiki started a slow clap that no one else was brave enough to follow.
The gun swung back to Nick. “Now that wasn’t very nice,” complained the doctor.
“Trust me, you would have ended up doing it and messing up those nice surgeon hands of yours,” he said.
“So, Nicky,” Brian called from the back of the room. “Maybe now’s a good time to officially introduce us to your friend?”
“Great idea, Bri. Ladies and gentlemen, meet our wannabe murderer, the late Dr. Byron Dilbert.” Nick snapped his fingers and pointed to the screen, where a news article with a large photo of the man in question appeared.
“A slide deck? Are you serious? You promised us justice, not a second chance to sit through junior high,” Kiki complained.
Nick ignored the murmured agreement. “Dr. Dilbert had quite the career as the Buffalo-based cosmetic surgeon for the mob. Until he messed up Jimmy the Nose’s tummy tuck.”
“That’s definitely not good,” Betty whispered to Tyra.
“I warned him there was a chance of blood clots if he kept smoking after the surgery. But mobsters never listen,” Byron complained.
“They never do,” Nick agreed. “You disappeared shortly thereafter—rumor has it a butt load of mob money went missing around the same time—and everyone assumed your employers had put you in cement shoes.” He pointed to the TV where an obituary for the doctor appeared.
“They hardly ever do that anymore. Most of them own crematoriums. It’s more convenient and lucrative,” Byron explained.
“Interesting,” Claudia mused. “I don’t suppose you’d have time to sit down with me for an exclusive interview after you’re done shooting Griffin?”
“Please hold your interview requests for the end,” Nick said, turning around to face his audience.
Riley had the gun hidden behind her back and looked more than a little nervous. Josie was holding two blades, one in each hand, and grinning. He gave them a reassuring wink, then nodded at Brian in the corner.
“But you were ready to run and took advantage of an open door ,” he continued pointedly as if he were addressing a class. “So you faked your own death and ran off to South America, where you eventually got bored drinking banana daiquiris on the beach and decided to get back in business under the assumed identity. Thanks to the stolen mob start-up fund, Dr. Dil quickly became one of Colombia’s top private cosmetic surgeons.”
The slide on the TV dissolved. Dr. Dil’s website homepage spiraled onto the screen, showcasing beautiful smiling people with thin thighs and large breasts.
Brian inched his wheelchair closer to the patio doors. The other still-conscious former suspects exchanged nervous glances.
“It was a good gig,” Nick continued. “You were making more money than ever, enough to buy yourself a private plane. You had a mansion on the beach and two Ferraris. You’d even devised a way to ensure that every single one of your clients paid.”
“Yes, well, you’d be amazed to know just how often the hedge fund manager from Boca is going to try to fly home and stick you with the bill for his liposuction,” Byron explained to the audience.
Nick turned back to face his quarry. “You took out life insurance policies on each of your clients with you as the beneficiary. That way, if you thought one of your newly pretty patients was getting ready to run out on the bill, you made sure they didn’t live long enough to enjoy their fancy new body parts.”
“Who can blame me? The audacity of these people. I’m an artist. And they think they can take up my time and talent and then not pay me what I’m worth?” Byron was gesturing the gun at himself now. “People like Griffin Gentry are entitled little pricks.”
“Ah, but he wasn’t such a ‘little’ prick when you were done with his calf extensions.”
The crowd gasped.
“Ohhh. That explains a lot ,” Riley said.
“You had hit men on your payroll who took care of problems like Griffin Gentry for you,” Nick said, gauging the distance between them.
“Hit men and women. I’m an equal opportunity employer of international professional killers. I would have sent my number one, Svetlana, but she was on her honeymoon.”
“So you accompanied the B team to the U.S. to babysit them and then had to stand by while they killed the wrong guy and got themselves caught,” Nick filled in.
Byron shrugged affably. “You know the old saying. If your best assassin is on her honeymoon and you want the job done right, you’ve got to do it yourself. Now, let’s see about getting on with it.”
“But I’m not finished yet. For future reference, in case you do get lucky and manage to escape this room, you should rent a less conspicuous getaway vehicle next time. Everyone’s going to remember a shiny black Escalade leaving the scene of a crime,” Nick said, pointing to the screen where a grainy traffic cam photo of the SUV cruising down Front Street appeared. Next to it was another shot, this one from a doorbell cam. It was of the same Escalade parked on Griffin’s cul-de-sac.
“I’ll take that into consideration next time,” Byron snapped irritably. “Now tell me where Gentry is. I’ve got a hip bone reduction tomorrow at four and parkour club at seven.”
“But I’m just getting started. You tried to take Griffin out by making it look like an accident,” Nick said, stalling for time.
Byron rolled his eyes. “Life insurance tends to pay out faster with an accident than with a suspicious death.”
“You disguised yourself as a crew member from the studio and sliced through the support cable on the studio light that just missed crushing Gentry.” He pointed at the TV where footage showed a goateed Byron climbing the ladder on set before the interview with wire cutters in hand.
“I told you it wasn’t me!” Henry said, pumping his fist into the air in a short-lived victory. Byron swung the gun at him, and the assistant hit the floor. “Sorry. I got excited for a second. Forget I’m here.”
The doctor turned his attention back to Nick, and Brian used the opportunity to unlock the sliding door to the patio.
“The real criminal here is you, Mr. Santiago, and that interfering girlfriend of yours. I would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for you two imbeciles bumbling into my path.”
Josie leaned in and murmured, “Can someone say Scooby-Doo villain?”
“This is all your fault. My men would have solved my problem with that shove down the stairs at the gala if you hadn’t gotten everyone’s attention. They tried to rectify the situation by staging a road rage incident, but once again, you were there to foil my plans. The light wouldn’t have missed Griffin if it not for you and your girlfriend playing tackle football on live television,” Byron snarled. He pointed to the ridiculous oil painting of Griffin hanging on the wall. “You’re the reason this man is still walking around and enjoying the extra inch of height I gave him.”
“Hey, there’s no need to rub it in,” Nick said, rolling to the balls of his feet and imperceptibly beginning to lower his hands. The doctor was cracking. It was now or never. Nick just needed a small distraction…
The powder room door flew open behind Byron, and a newly moussed Griffin appeared in the doorway. “I need someone to make me a snack,” Gentry announced.
Byron’s eyes lit with a vengeful fire as he turned toward his quarry.
It was as good a distraction as Nick was going to get. He sprang into action, grabbing Griffin’s portrait off the wall and swinging as hard as he could just as Byron raised his gun.
“Now!” Nick yelled as the portrait smashed down over Byron’s head at the exact second the gun went off. A knife whistled past his head. Four more gunshots rang out, raining down chunks of drywall from the ceiling.
People screamed and bolted through the open patio door.
“Dr. Dil? What are you doing on my floor? Is it time for my follow-up already?” Griffin asked, oblivious to the chaos.
Nick dove for the doctor, who, despite the knife through his right hand and the portrait around his neck like a collar, was crawling for the exit.
Glass shattered all over the house, and Nick heard a loud whump that sounded a lot like the front door falling off its hinges. “Police! Nobody move!” someone shouted as eight cops, armed to the teeth, stormed into the room.
“You couldn’t have come in, like, a minute earlier?” Nick complained to Weber as he wrestled the surgeon’s hands behind his back.
Weber, in full tactical gear, slapped the cuffs on Byron. “We lost sight of him when he went around the side of the house. We thought we’d have him in the backyard, but the son of a bitch shimmied up a drainpipe to the second floor, and your wire kept cutting out.”
“Parkour,” Byron groaned into the carpet.
“I can’t believe you missed my whodunit PowerPoint,” Nick said, sitting back on his haunches and looking for Riley.
He spotted her in Gentry’s kitchen, dumping ice into a food storage bag. She had his gun tucked into the waistband of her jeans, the bandage still on her forehead, and drywall dust mixed with sweat in her hair. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. His heart kicked up another notch as he headed for her.
“Thorn.”
She looked up at him, her pretty brown eyes relieved and maybe even a little amused. “Santiago.”
He had so much he wanted to say to her, but all the words just got tangled up in his throat. “What’s the ice for?”
“Your hand.”
He looked down at his already bruising knuckles, then back at Ingram, who was still unconscious on the floor.
“Thanks,” he said as she wrapped the bag in a dish towel with Griffin’s face on it. “We need to talk.”
“If this is about the damage to your parents’ plumbing, I already called your cousin,” Riley said.
He shook his head. “Not about plumbing.”
“Santiago,” Weber called.
“In a minute,” Nick said without looking away from Riley.
“Everybody freeze! Santiago Investigations is taking over this crime scene,” Mrs. Penny bellowed through her bullhorn as she tromped into the room with Gabe and Bella behind her.
“I thought you hid that from her?” Riley said as Nick hooked a finger through her belt loop and tugged her closer.
“I’ll get a better hiding place. Pay attention to me.”
“Oh no! Griffy! Why is that man wearing your portrait?” Bella crooned behind them.
“Marry me,” Nick said to Riley.
The bag of ice fell to the floor. She looked up at him with wide-eyed shock. “I’m sorry. My ears are ringing from all the gunfire and screaming. Could you repeat that?”
“Marry me,” he repeated earnestly.
“Did you get hit in the head when I shot up the ceiling?”
“I don’t have head trauma, and I’m not overreacting to yet another criminal fiasco. I want you as my wife. My partner. You’re it for me. And I know I should have found a better way to do this, like with champagne and flowers and maybe a fucking violin. But this is us. Messy. Complicated. Slightly injured. Standing in the middle of yet another crime scene together after saving the day. So say yes. Marry me.”
She stood motionless, barely breathing, and Nick started to sweat.
Then he remembered the deal-sealer. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the ring. Riley gaped at him as if he’d just produced a mackerel from his jeans. But instead of a live fish, it was a sparkly-as-fuck cushion-cut diamond surrounded by other smaller but equally shiny diamonds.
She blew out a breath and put a hand to her heart. “That’s an engagement ring, and we’re broke.”
“Wilfred is a big fan of mine, what with saving his business and thwarting an armed robbery,” Nick explained. “Plus Penny raised our rates on this case we just solved.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“You’re stalling, Thorn. Say it.”
She bit her lip and looked up at him, eyes sparkling with a mixture of tears and happiness. “You managed to surprise a psychic. That’s impressive.”
“I had a little help from a friend,” Nick said, glancing in Gabe’s direction. The man was clutching a box of tissues to his massive chest and watching them from the breakfast nook with teary eyes.
“I’m telling Gabe you called him your friend.”
“If you do that, my first act as your fiancé will be to call you a dirty liar. Now say it so we can run away together and start a new life under assumed identities.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” he confirmed.
She nodded. “Yes, I’ll marry you. I’m not sure about the running away part. But yes to the marriage thing.”
Nick didn’t give her a chance to say anything else or change her mind. He slid the ring onto her finger, bent her backward, and kissed the hell out of his fiancée.
Dimly, in the back of his mind, the celebratory whoops and applause registered. But all that mattered was the woman in his arms.
The red tape and departmental bullshit took an unnecessarily long time, as usual.
Nick was just getting ready to tell the officer who was taking his statement in the kitchen where he could shove his notebook when Weber strolled up.
“I think we’re done here. If we have any more questions, we know where to find you,” Weber said.
“About damn time,” Nick complained, stripping off the faulty wire he wore and slapping it into Weber’s hand. Griffin and Bella were in conversation with Griffin’s lawyer, Rebecca, who was drinking straight vodka and looked like she was making a list of all the people she planned to sue.
“I see she said yes,” Weber said, nodding toward Riley through one of the few unbroken windows in the room. She was showing off her ring to Brian, Josie, and Gabe on the patio. Gabe looked up and gave Nick a toothy grin and a thumbs-up.
“I didn’t give her a chance to come up with another answer. Now I just have to keep her busy from now until the wedding so she doesn’t have time to come to her senses.”
Weber gripped Nick’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you. Really. Try not to fuck it up.”
“Thanks.” Nick’s throat started to tighten again. “Oh, and thanks for showing up late and endangering the lives of a bunch of mostly innocent people.”
“Fuck you,” Weber said without any real heat behind the words. “I told you, if you had given me more of a heads-up, I would have had more officers on scene. And what did I say about the wire?”
“‘Don’t fucking move around because the wires are loose,’” they said together.
Nick smirked. “How was I supposed to know don’t move around much means stop breathing and turn to stone or else the cops won’t know when the bad guy slips past them ?”
“Get out of here, Nicky. Your face is annoying me.”
“I’m going. Beer tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Hey, Henry,” Nick said, spotting Griffin’s assistant sitting glumly on a kitchen barstool. “Got a minute?”
Nick joined his team on Gentry’s patio. Dusk had fallen, and someone had thought to ward off the autumn chill by starting a fire in the firepit. It looked as though the fuel for the blaze was a large stack of Griffin’s signed headshots.
“Congratulations, coz,” Brian said. “Dibs on planning the bachelor party.”
“I am very pleased for you both,” Gabe said.
Nick wrapped his arms around Riley from behind. “Thanks, guys. And thank you for helping me keep it a surprise,” he said to Gabe.
“How did you manage that with a psychic girlfriend?” Josie asked.
“I just followed Gabe’s advice and didn’t plan anything. The spirit guides weren’t going to blow the surprise if I didn’t know I was proposing,” he said with pride.
Riley snickered against him. “You know that’s not how it works, right?”
“Seriously?” Nick looked at Gabe, who returned his glare with a grin.
“There is no real way to predict what messages the spirit world chooses to pass along. But it seemed like something you wanted very much, so I gave you incorrect advice.”
“Remind me to ruin your life later, Undertaker.”
Josie and Brian frowned. Gabe cocked his head. Riley tilted hers back to look up at him.
“You know, the Undertaker wrestler from WWE. Big tall scary guy?” Nick prompted.
Brian shook his head.
“Weak,” Josie decided.
“You try coming up with dozens of size-related insults,” Nick complained.
“You make it look effortless,” Gabe said.
“He’s being sarcastic again, isn’t he?”
“Oh yeah,” Riley agreed.
Nick gave her a squeeze. “Did you know?”
“Have I been having visions of happy sparkles? Yes. Did I think you were going to demand that I marry you in the middle of a crime scene at my ex-husband’s house after you saved the day? No,” she admitted.
Nick lifted her hand to admire the ring he’d put on it. “This was a damn good day,” he said with satisfaction.
“By the way, thank you for doing this at Griffin’s house and not ours,” Riley said.
“It was a pain in the ass moving all the chairs, but I figured the potential property damage would make it worthwhile.”
“Speaking of potential property damage…” Josie said, nodding as Griffin, Bella, and their attorney stepped outside.
“Hey, Griffin buddy. Case is closed. We’ll take that check now,” Nick called.
“Gosh. I don’t think I have my checkbook with me,” Griffin said, patting his pockets.
“I had a feeling you’d say that,” Nick said. “Henry!”
Griffin’s assistant appeared in the doorway. “Yes, boss? Did you want some coffee or a goat cheese omelet? Maybe I should schedule a massage for you?”
“No,” Nick said with a sly grin. “I mean, maybe on the goat-cheese-omelet thing and definitely on the massage. I need you to get me on Hector’s calendar at the Hershey Spa. But first I need your ex-boss’s checkbook.”
“I thought your name was Staff. And what do you mean ex -boss?” Griffin demanded, looking wounded.
“I’m interning for Santiago Investigations now,” Henry said, whipping out a leather checkbook cover embossed with what looked like Griffin’s profile. “If I’m going to work for free, I’d rather work for someone who doesn’t suck.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Griffin said.
“There’s your checkbook and your itemized bill,” Nick said, slapping a printout into the man’s tiny hands.
“Well, I can’t sign a check without my favorite pen?—”
Henry produced a fancy-looking pen with a gold cap and lacquered body from his back pocket.
“This kid’s good,” Nick said to Riley.
“I don’t understand,” Griffin whined. “People don’t make me pay for things. I say I’ll pay for them, but then they let me not pay for them because I’m so likable.”
“My client has been traumatized enough by today’s happenings. He will review your baseless claims at a later date,” Rebecca the lawyer said in a clipped, professional tone.
“Hold your horses,” Mrs. Penny said into her bullhorn from the open doorway.
Everyone winced at the electronic screech as the eighty-year-old all but skipped toward them.
“Case is closed, right? We caught the bad guy, didn’t we?” she asked Griffin.
“Well, yes. But I don’t think I should have to pay for that. I’m famous.”
“Are you refusing to pay the cashola owed?” Mrs. Penny demanded.
“It’s not so much a refusal as I’m just not going to do it,” Griffin clarified with a winning smile.
Mrs. Penny smugly reached behind her back and pulled a stack of papers from the elastic waistband of her slacks. “I think your lawyer lady will find our engagement contract quite enlightening.”
The lawyer snatched the contract away from Mrs. Penny and began a haughty skimming of the document. She only got a few paragraphs in before her expression changed. She flipped to the last page and grimaced. “What did I tell you about signing documents without me reading them first?” she demanded.
Griffin frowned in concentration. “I wanna say you told me to always do that?”
“Never. I said never do that.”
Mrs. Penny held up a stopwatch. “Time’s a tickin’.”
“What are you up to, Penny?” Nick asked.
The woman smirked. “I had a feeling this weasel would try to dine and dash, so I had my creepy smart great-nephew lawyer Billy make a few changes to our standard client contract. You’ve got twenty-two seconds left to write that check, Gentry, or you’ll be writing an even bigger one.”
Rebecca cleared her throat. “It appears that you agreed to an accelerated balloon payment clause.”
“What are accelerated balloon payment clowns?” Griffin squeaked.
“Once payment is requested and refused, the client has one minute to make payment for the amount due plus $10,000 for annoyance. If the client does not provide valid payment in that minute, the cost goes up by $10,000 every minute.”
“Oops. Minute’s up,” Mrs. Penny said, holding up the stopwatch in triumph. “You owe us forty thousand smackeronis. If you don’t wanna make it fifty, I’d get busy writing that check if I were you.”
“Fix it, lawyer lady!” Griffin wailed.
The attorney pursed her red lips. “While I would love to be billing you for the hours and hours that would absolutely earn me that ski chalet in Lake Tahoe, this is a legally binding document that you willingly signed.”
“Look at that. There’s another minute. Time sure flies when you’re refusing payment,” Mrs. Penny announced.
With a panicked yelp, Griffin grabbed his checkbook, then stared blankly at it. “Someone tell me how to write a check!”
“How does someone so stupid survive for so long?” Nick asked.
“Pretty people are protected by the less-pretty people. It’s science,” Bella explained patiently.
“Question. Do we still have to be nice to them now that they’re no longer clients?” Josie asked Nick.
“Hell no.”
“In that case,” Josie said, turning back to Bella, “I’m going to science your face if you don’t get out of mine.”
“Okey-dokey. Bye!” Unconcerned with being threatened, Bella waved and wandered back into the house.
“Damn, that felt good,” Josie said. “I need a snack.”
“I too would like a snack,” Gabe admitted.
Mrs. Penny poked Nick with her cane. “Happy hour debriefing?”
“For fifty grand? You deserve happy-hour-steak-night-debriefing,” he said, giving his business partner a one-armed hug.