Finally, the server got their change, and started back. But first she stopped at another table and chatted with a man wearing a toupee that looked like he had a flying squirrel on his head. Helen tried to lunge around the bouncer, but he held out an arm big as a bumper. “Just hold on, little lady,” he said.
Little lady? Helen was neither little nor a lady. She was afraid for Phil. He was gone.
“Ooooooh,” Margery moaned, like the ghost of Christmas past. “Please, sir, I just need to go outside.”
The other customers were starting to stare, and Mr. Box Truck looked uneasy. “Okay, there’s your server. Jennifer, was the bill okay?”
“No problem,” she said, smiling.
“Keep the change,” Helen said again, and the server’s smile widened. Helen’s sickly aunt made an amazing recovery. Margery and Helen sprinted for the door like it was the last lap of the Olympics. Outside, Helen handed her ticket and a fifty to the valet and said, “My aunt’s not feeling well. I need my car quickly, please.” The Igloo arrived so fast, Helen thought it had been teleported.
Helen produced another fifty and held it out to the valet. “The red Ferrari that just left, was it driven by a man or a woman?”
“A very hot blonde,” the valet said, reaching for the fifty. Helen snapped it back. “Which way did they go on A1A, right or left?”
“Left,” the valet said.
“Thanks,” Helen said, and handed him the bill.
“The Ritz Carlton is down that way,” Helen told Margery. “That’s where Phil said he was staying.”
“Can we catch them?”
“In this heavy traffic?” Helen said. “I doubt if they’ve gone more than a block or two.”
A1A, the ocean drive, was covered with cars. Drunk tourists wandered into the street. Drunk kids drove rental cars. And a frightened Helen tried to find Phil in his Ferrari.
“Easy,” Margery said, pointing to a motorcycle cop by a beer joint. “Police are everywhere. If you have an accident you’ll never save him. Mind if I smoke?”
“Yes!” Helen shouted, then took a deep breath. Shouting at Margery wouldn’t help. “I’m sorry, Margery. Would you please get my cell out of my purse and text Broker. He’s the cop who’s helping us with this. Tell him there’s been a change of plans, but Phil’s okay.”
“So far,” Margery said, reaching for Helen’s purse with the big fat flower.
Those two words were an ice pick in Helen’s stomach. She whipped the Igloo around a bronze rental Chevy and narrowly missed two college kids who saluted her with middle fingers.
“Helen!” Margery said. “Be careful. I’m texting him now.”
“I see the Ferrari!” Helen said. “Up there, past that black Lexus. Donna’s in the left lane, so she can turn into the Ritz. I’m going to force her into the dead-end alley.”
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll hit her?” Margery asked.
“The last thing Donna wants is the police.” Helen gunned the Igloo’s pathetic engine, and swerved around a gray Dodge convertible.
“You’re lucky that carful of tourists was looking at the ocean,” Margery said.
Now Helen was next to the Ferrari. She could see Phil slumped against the passenger window, his face milk-white. He wasn’t talking or moving. Her heart banged against her ribs. She had to save him.
A solid line of cars was in front of them, and the Dumpster alley was to their left. The Cadillac in front of Helen moved forward, so did the Mercedes in front of the Ferrari.
“Hold on, Margery,” Helen said. “I’m going to cut her off.”
She jerked the Igloo sharply to the left. Donna looked over, wrenched the Ferrari’s wheel, and wound up in the alley. She pulled up a car length. Helen followed, trapping her in the dead-end alley.
“Are you drunk?” Donna shouted. “You almost hit me! Move your car!”
Margery produced a canister of pepper spray from her purse, jumped out, and pointed it at Donna’s while she gripped Donna’s arm. “Can it. I videoed you at the bar drugging Phil. I’m packing pepper spray and I don’t want to hear your lies.” She held the canister inches from Donna’s eyes. “As soon as Helen makes sure Phil is okay, we’re going to have a discussion.”
Helen opened the passenger door, and Phil nearly fell out. “Feeling dizzy?” she asked him. He managed a nod. “Can’t feel my legs,” he mumbled, and she helped him out of the car. He was moving. He was talking. He was alive.
Margery kept her grip on Donna. Helen felt a stab of fear as Phil’s head lolled on his shoulders, but he seemed to be breathing okay. She seat-belted him into the Igloo’s front seat, then went to help Margery.
“Get out,” Margery said, her grip on Donna’s arm tight enough to bruise. “You’re going for a ride.” As Donna climbed out, Helen swiped Donna’s black satin evening bag. She and Margery pushed Donna into the back seat of the Igloo and slammed the back door. Margery got into the back seat on the other side, and kept the pepper spray aimed at Donna’s eyes.
Donna started to say something, but Margery cut her off. The alley smelled like rotten food, and the tall buildings shut off the view of the starlight and silver ocean.
Helen pulled out her pepper spray and opened the back door just enough to squeeze in next to Donna, who tried to scoot away. Margery and her pepper spray stopped her.
“Where’s Will Drickens’s furniture?” Helen asked.
“I don’t know,” Donna said. Helen thought it was a good sign that she didn’t say “what furniture?” Donna was trembling, and up close, her dark eyes were hard and blank. She looked like a beautiful adding machine.
Margery moved the canister of pepper spray closer to Donna’s eyes. Her captive tried frantically to look away, but Helen had her spray next to Donna’s face on the other side. Donna gulped, and Helen could smell the woman’s fear over the light touch of Chanel No. 5. “When this pepper spray hits your eyes,” Helen said, “they’ll slam shut. You’ll have uncontrollable tears, swelling, and temporary blindness. Plus, this hurts like hell. It will be a while before you’ll be pretty enough to sucker rich idiots. I won’t hesitate to shoot. Tell me where you took Will’s furniture.”
“I really don’t know.” Donna was crying now. “It’s not in Lauderdale.”
Helen took a wild guess and said, “Then give me the key to the PODS padlock.”
Donna’s tears stopped. “How did you know?”
Bingo! She’d guessed right.
Margery gave a lunatic grin and said, “Because we’re good at persuading people to talk.”
Donna still said nothing. Phil’s snores in the front seat fueled Helen’s fear — and her anger. “Your choice, Donna,” she said, her voice stone hard. “Where’s the key? Tell us and we won’t turn you over to Will Drickens.”
“Willie Boy’s real upset,” Margery said. “He’d love to get his hands on you, but not the same way he did eight months ago.” Her cackling laugh was straight from a horror movie.
Donna stayed silent. Phil snored.
“That’s it!” Helen slid out of the back seat, slammed the door, and sat in the driver’s seat. “Will’s house is five minutes from here, straight down A1A. We’ll drop you off and let him get the information from you. No one will hear you scream behind his high walls.”
She started the car, and Donna cried, “Wait! The key’s in my purse.”
Margery held up Donna’s black clutch, while Helen pointed her pepper spray at the woman. “Snakeskin,” Helen said. “How appropriate. I wonder which fool you skinned for this fifteen-hundred-dollar evening bag.”