Chapter 11 #2
Warmth flowed through me like a flood of melted chocolate, sweet and satisfying. I wanted to kiss Wade again, touch him, but I’d have to wait, so I said, “You ever think how lucky it is that we werewolves aren’t poisoned by chocolate like one-form canines are?”
Wade blinked. “That was kind of a leap of topic.”
You’re better than chocolate. “I’ll buy you some of the good stuff when we’re done.”
“We’ve never bought each other presents.”
“Yeah. I plan to change that.” The sound of an approaching car made me freeze, but the vehicle drove around the circle and back out, fading into the background traffic.
Still, the interruption emphasized that this wasn’t the time and place for flirting.
“For now, leave the slide on number one and hunker out of sight. It’ll be good if you chime in with a word or two, now and then, once we get started.
I want Rosswurn to know he’s outnumbered and can’t get out of this by force. ”
“Got it.”
“I’m going to control the lights, so the projector’s the only source.
If you stay behind it, you’re hard to make out.
” I disconnected the little lamp and headed to the entry, slapping a piece of duct tape over each light switch along the way, cursing under my breath at handling tape with cotton gloves.
Then I waited, standing by the door. I wanted it ajar, but not until Rosswurn was near.
Cops on patrol might check out an open door in an unoccupied building.
“You think he’ll come?” Wade asked after a couple of silent minutes.
“Yeah. I forged the note in his mistress’s handwriting. He’ll be here.”
Another ten minutes went by.
“Your job is boring,” Wade noted.
“Coming from the guy who waited crouched in the bushes for six hours to get a beaver.”
“It chewed down my favorite tree. And it was tasty.”
The sound of another car approaching cut us off. I listened carefully as the tires slowed and the vehicle turned in at the driveway. “Showtime,” I whispered to Wade, unlocking the door and pushing it slightly ajar. Then I retreated into the dining room.
The car door creaked, slammed shut, footsteps scuffed up the walk, climbed the steps. The door creaked wider slowly, and Rosswurn stepped inside, calling, “Sheila? What the hell is going on? Are you here?” and reaching for the light switch. He muttered “Huh?” as his fingers slid on the duct tape.
I raised the voice changer to my lips. “Two.”
Wade hit the button, and the blank numeral on the living room wall changed to a photo of Rosswurn and his mistress in a lip-locked clinch, her dress off, his pants hanging on his hips.
Rosswurn probably couldn’t see the image yet from where he stood, but my odd voice and the change in lighting made him freeze.
I said, “Look at that. Harvey Rosswurn and a woman who is not his wife. Ooh, they sure look like they’re having fun with no clothes on.”
“Who are you?” Rosswurn stared around wildly. “Where’s Sheila?”
“I’m the guy who can go to your wife and spill the beans, if you don’t walk ten feet forward and listen to what I say.”
Rosswurn half turned, his hand on the doorknob.
I added, “I wonder what Mrs. Irene Rosswurn will think of Sheila’s boobs. Are they bigger than hers? Look at that.” I lowered my tone, though the robot changer minimized the difference. “Take ten steps, face the screen, and watch.”
“Or what?” he demanded belligerently, but even as he snarled the words, he obeyed. Rosswurn reached the living room, saw the image, and flinched with a gasp.
“Three! Four.” I ordered. Wade clicked through more sex shots, framed by the angle of the gap in the hotel blinds. “Five. In case you thought you could explain one away.”
“What do you want?”
“Six.” This was a document, not a porn shoot. The map of the road-widening plans, the new version that switched sides to cut off the curve. “Wow, now that demolition appears sketchy to me. Does it seem sketchy to you, my other half?”
Wade said, “Very.” He’d remembered his voice changer, too.
Rosswurn jumped, throwing a glance his direction. “I don’t recognize that map.”
“Really? And yet, you and Greg Quentin are all over this, planning to make a mint on the city buying your properties. Seven!” That image contained the true tax valuation for his buildings. “Eight.” Wade switched to the valuation for Quentin’s.
“Are you from Quentin? Does he want a bigger cut?”
I laughed, which the changer did really fun things to.
Yeah, I sounded like a serial killer clown.
Perfect. “No, we’re not from Quentin. He, Underwood, and the mayor are getting copies of these documents in the mail tomorrow.
We’re the Justice League. We keep unscrupulous developers from ripping off the public taxpayers of Illinois. ” I hoped Wade liked the sound of that.
“I… Justice League? What are you going to do to me?” His tone had lost much of its self-assurance.
“If you drop this project, let the expansion continue on the empty lots on the west side, and don’t rip off the city? Maybe nothing. Keep trying to push this revision through? A crusading reporter will get these documents, and your wife will get the photos.”
“You can’t do that!”
“How do you think you’ll stop us? We’re not the only Justice League members. You could kill us right now, and your downfall would only be worse.”
“You broke in. This is illegal.”
“Go ahead and call the police. Every one of those slides becomes evidence, public record.”
Rosswurn turned in a circle, peering around as if trying to see us. He could possibly make out my shape, standing in the shadows, but I was confident he’d never recognize me. “What do I have to do? I can give you money.”
“We don’t want your money. Give up this corrupt roadway project. Treat your tenants right, do repairs when needed, and you can keep the rest of your fortune intact. But don’t think you can sell those buildings and vanish from our sight.” I told Wade, “Nine.”
A list appeared in the next slide, some of the properties Rosswurn owned, sold, traded.
“We can find you.”
Rosswurn slumped. “Okay. All right. You win. Will you give me those slides now?”
I laughed into the voice changer. “We have the negatives, and lots more. No, you’ll have to go on with your life knowing we hold the key. You can even keep fucking Sheila. As long as you stay within the law. Your morals are your own problem.”
“Fuck you!” Rosswurn glared in my direction. “All right, but fuck you.”
“Leave now. Go home to your wife’s house, bought with her millions. Enjoy your life, but remember, the Justice League is watching.”
Wade repeated, “Go!” and Rosswurn jumped, glanced over his shoulder, then stomped out.
We waited while listening to his steps, the car door, the engine revving. The sound of his car retreated down the road and was lost to even my sharp ears. I waited thirty seconds, a minute, but he didn’t return.
“Come on,” I urged Wade. “Get the projector. I’ll get the rest. Let’s hustle.”
“You think he might call the cops?”
I ripped the tape off a light switch and turned it on to help us pack.
“Probably not, but he’s angry and humiliated.
He might let that overcome his common sense.
He might figure he can buy the cops. Or he might call Quentin, who has more resources, to send someone after us. Either way, I’d rather not be here.”
“Makes sense.” Wade yanked the projector plug and packed up the case, then helped remove the last tape strips while I pulled down the blackout drapes and stuffed everything into my bag.
I hefted the duffel, took a quick look around, and ushered Wade out, turning off the light behind us.
Despite the urgency, I paused to relock the front door.
If Rosswurn did call the cops, I wanted zero evidence anything had happened.
Side by side, we strode off down the poorly lit sidewalk with our bags at a businesslike clip.
My car sat where I’d left it, apparently untouched. We shoved the duffel and projector into the back seat, jumped in, and sped away.
“Gonna take a winding route,” I told Wade. “Make sure he isn’t way more prepared than I think.” I drove several blocks, making left and right turns on the dark residential streets. I stopped at a light, then whipped through an illegal U-turn and headed the other way. No one followed.
At a small suburban park I’d picked, I turned in to the parking area and stopped under the trees in the darkest corner. There, I jumped out, leaving the car running.
“What?” Wade asked.
“Plates.” I bent and untaped the borrowed plates I’d stuck over my own.
“I steal some from wrecking yards every couple of years, and cover mine when I’m on an op.
If he was sharp enough to cruise around first and spot my ride, the license number will be a dead end.
” I tossed the used plates in the park’s trash barrel and got back in, peeling off my gloves. “You can unglove now.”
“Wow.” Wade tugged the cotton down his wrists and off his fingers. “You weren’t kidding about being prepared.”
“The survival of our species, or at least the secrecy, which we think may be the same thing, depends on Fixers. ‘Be prepared’ is our motto.”
“Also the Boy Scouts’.”
“They share with us. They just don’t know it.” I backed out of the parking spot and headed off down the road.
“So…” Wade mused. “Justice League? Isn’t that legally copyrighted by some comic book?”
I laughed and couldn’t stop, till I had to pull over to wipe my eyes. “Yeah. Probably. They don’t know they’re sharing with us either.”
Wade slid over across the seat and kissed me, there on the dark street. His mouth was hot and real and I sank into that kiss.
When we parted, he smiled at me, his eyes shining in the dim light. “I like working on the part of justice,” he said. “Now you can show me your bed.”