purred her thanks by settling herself in his lap. He stroked the soft yellow fur, hoping he would calm down the way the cat had.
Elias forgot about the delectable breakfast sitting in front of him as he watched Nellie close the phone and shove it in the pocket of her smock, something she’d started wearing of late.
“That was Lizzie Fox. She’s in Las Vegas doing…well what she’s doing…is…”
Elias laughed. “You can say it, Nellie. I know what the two of them were/are doing. Cricket’s a great guy. I hope that marriage comes off. From what I can see, the two of them are great together. Almost as good as you and I.” He laughed.
Nellie’s face flamed because down deep she was a prude, something she always denied vehemently.
“It seems Pearl has gotten herself into a bucket of trouble out there in Utah someplace. Through no fault of her own,” she added hastily. “Pearl always travels during the middle of the night doing her…her underground railroad thing. And she always tries to use back roads with the people who help her. She came across a bus that had broken down with a load of pregnant teenagers. She needs the Sisterhood. But…according to Annie something else is going on—something with Myra and Charles; they’ve left—and she really wouldn’t talk about it. What all that means, Elias, is, the girls don’t know what to do. I imagine they are trying to figure out how to make everything work without Charles at the helm. I’m thinking we might want to take a trip to the mountain. To help. The more heads the better. What’s your feeling about that?” Nellie’s tone and words were jittery-sounding, the way they always were when her special phone rang.
Elias let his hands flap in the air to show he was okay with a trip to the mountain. Miss Patty arched her back, hissed, and leaped to the ground to show her total disdain for anything other than her own feline pleasure.
“I’m also thinking we should make a stop at the Post and have a little talk with Maggie. Will that work for you, Elias? Because you’d be doing the driving, and I know how you hate to drive in the District.”
“That will work,” Elias said as he heaved up from the table. “I guess you want me to shower, dress, and pack for us while you…uh…make some more phone calls.” He wouldn’t admit it for the world, but he always got perked up when Nellie’s special phone rang. Retirement was beyond boring.
Nellie nodded as she cleared the table and stacked the dishwasher. Then she waited until she heard her husband’s footsteps on the wide plank stairs that led to the second floor of the farmhouse. She picked up her phone and hit the speed dial, and within seconds heard Maggie Spitzer’s voice coming through loud and clear.
“I’m on it, Nellie,” Maggie said before the judge could utter a word. “Annie okayed the use of her Gulfstream, and it’s being readied as we speak. I’m sending Ted. The plane will set down in Vegas to pick up Lizzie. I’ll work the desk. Get up to the mountain as soon as you can.” She listened for a moment. “No, no, don’t waste time coming here, just hit the interstate. I’ll call Nikki now and tell her you’re on the way. Just off the top of your head, do you know how far it is from Utah to Montana?”
“I don’t have a clue. Google it, dear,” Nellie said before she hung up. She looked around the kitchen to make sure she was leaving it neat and tidy. She filled the cats’ water bowls and food bowls. She’d changed all their litter boxes when she first got up that morning. Her cats would survive for four days without her. If her stay on the mountain was longer, she’d simply call Pritzy Alouette, her cleaning lady, who would come to check on things and take care of the cats.
As she climbed the stairs to the second floor, Nellie mumbled and muttered to herself about retired Supreme Court justices who didn’t know how to stay out of trouble. “I’m getting way too old for these shenanigans,” she mumbled. But, like Elias’s heart, hers always kicked up a couple of beats when word came through on the encrypted phone that her help was needed.
If she could just figure out what was awry with Charles and Myra to make them leave the mountain. In a British helicopter, no less.
Less than forty miles away, Jack Emery waited his turn to be called up to the front of Harry Wong’s dojo to receive his coveted black belt. He thought of all the years of training, all the bruises, the sore muscles—not to mention a few fractures—he’d endured since enrolling in Harry’s martial arts classes. He’d religiously followed every instruction and even managed to pick up a smattering of Harry’s language. The words always sounded ominous and deadly, so he thought he should memorize them. On occasion he’d utter one or the other of them, and Harry would laugh like hell, which probably meant Jack had said “manure” in six different ways.
Bert Navarro nudged Jack’s arm. “Bet you thought old Harry was never going to give you that belt, huh?”
Jack nodded. “He passed me over twice because I wasn’t ready. Even I knew I wasn’t ready, so it was okay. This time I just told him I’d beat the living shit out of him if he didn’t come through.”
Bert grinned. “What’d he say?”
Jack laughed out loud. “He told me to ‘sit on a pointy stick and spin.’ Then I told him I was going to tell Nikki to tell Yoko to tell him she’d beat the living shit out of him and, voilà, here comes my black belt. As we all know, our fearless leader, also known as Harry Wong, the second-best martial arts expert in the land, is only afraid of one thing: Yoko.” Jack laughed at his own wit, then sobered when Harry fixed his steely, slant-eyed gaze on him.
“This is a ceremony, gentlemen, even though it is only a ceremony of three. Rituals and rules apply. That means no laughter, no jokes, and no cell phones ringing. Since you think you can ignore my rules, Mr. Emery, drop and give me two hundred push-ups. Like now. Director Navarro, since I saw you instigate that little scene that just transpired, drop and do the same. Now!”
“Eat shit, Harry. I did a hundred when I got here,” Jack said. “Give me a break.”
“Yeah, eat shit, Harry,” Bert said.
Harry offered up what he called his Number 6 Evil Grin and dangled a brown belt that was to go to Bert, along with Jack’s black belt, back and forth. He reached behind him to pull out a pair of pink scissors that Yoko had given him for his ribbon-cutting ceremonies. He opened the scissors and prepared to slice at the two belts in his hand. “Last chance.”
Jack and Bert almost killed each other as they raced to the middle of the sweat-soaked mat in the center of the floor.
“Now, repeat after me, gentlemen. Harry Wong is the Master of his dojo. The Master of his dojo is to be respected and obeyed. Unconditionally. Say it in between each push-up.”
“Fuck you, Harry,” Jack huffed as he struggled to do the Master’s bidding.
“Yeah, Harry, fuck you,” Bert groaned.
“Count! Shout out loud so I can hear you. Do it in synch,” Harry said, the Number 6 Evil Grin still in place.
The black and brown belts hung just an inch from both men’s noses as they did their best to comply with Harry’s dire instructions.
Both men were on their eighty-seventh push-up when the door of the dojo burst open and Maggie Spitzer stormed into the room. She matched Harry’s evil grin with one of her own. “Get up!” she commanded. “Harry, sit down and listen to me. Stop with this…macho bullshit and listen up. And turn your cell phones on.” She turned to face Harry,
