Shimmy Bang Sparkle(91)
Roxie sat cross-legged on his desk, eating none other than the cheese curls. She looked like a professional dominatrix taking a quick snack break between sessions. She poked the screen to advance the playlist in the Texan’s ears. It was loud enough to hear from where we stood, and I’d have recognized “Back in the Saddle Again” even if I hadn’t put it on the phone myself. As I’d expected, he loved it, and he sprawled in his chair like a sunning fat walrus as Roxie occasionally teased him with a cheese curl or her satiny fingertips.
Ruth got straight to work on the safe, sitting down with one leg tucked under her and her booted leg out, and put on her latex gloves. I slipped off my mittens and put on gloves too, then considered the security camera setup that the Texan had in the far corner. Three flat-screens, and cameras that recorded continuously onto memory cards. The first and second cameras were no problem, but the third one was pointed squarely at the back door. I rewound and hit play. Roxie was talking to the Texan, laughing and touching him on his fleshy shoulder. Her mouth made the words, I’m here to apply for a job, and she unzipped her hoodie to reveal all her Domme Roxie glory. The Texan opened the door and let her in. For a few moments nothing happened at all, until the door cracked open and the riding crop emerged. I pressed fast-forward and saw Ruth and me at the door.
That card, the one that showed all of us, I ejected and replaced with one that was full to the tippy top with kitten videos and GIFs. I locked the overwrite safety on the side of the card and put it in the reader; the status light next to it lit up red, to say it was out of memory.
A single click from the safe made me turn to check on Ruth. She nodded at me to say we were in business. I crouched down beside her and slipped off my sweatshirt, which I used to muffle the sound of the safe latch opening. Before I actually opened it, though, I signaled to Roxie. I pointed to my ears and made a thumbs-up gesture. She nodded, and Patsy Cline got a bit louder.
And then I took a deep breath, said a little prayer to Johnny Cash, and turned the handle on the safe.
The Man in Black was with us. He definitely was.
Inside, there were stacks of saran-wrapped bills—more than I ever imagined there would be. Ruth peeled back the plastic on one of the stacks, looked back over her shoulder, and mouthed, “Clean hundreds.”
By the volume, I knew it was at least a million. A million easy. And next to that I saw half a dozen notebooks and a ledger.
Ruth placed stack after stack of the cash in two reusable shopping bags we’d brought, while I thumbed through the betting books and the paperwork. I knew that if anybody upstanding got ahold of these books and these documents, things would suddenly get very difficult for the Texan. If the cops found this stuff, he’d be facing money laundering charges, embezzlement, evasion, and a whole slew of other very, very inconvenient things. Fraud. Racketeering. Predatory lending. Bookmaking. Things that would add up. Things that would bring him down.
But behind the ledgers, I noticed something unexpected in the safe.
Three cans of cheese curls.
It made no sense at all—he had a wall lined with the things, but here were three spares behind his cash and accounts. It reminded me immediately of my trick with the bottle of glitter and the dog poop, except I suspected they were hiding something a lot more intriguing than homemade fake IDs or a spare key. I picked up one of the containers and found I was exactly right. The bottom had been cut out, and underneath the cardboard can was a gold bar, sitting upright. I gasped and heard Ruth inhale sharply next to me. I lifted the other two cardboard cylinders. Three gold bars. Four hundred troy ounces. Half a million apiece.
Oh. My. God.
Ruth pressed her knuckle to her mouth and stared at me. I turned and looked at Roxie, who popped another cheese curl in her mouth and beamed.
I placed one of the bars in my purse, one in Ruth’s backpack, and one in Roxie’s bag. I offered my hand to help Ruth to her feet and hoisted my purse over my shoulder. Roxie slid off the desk, still with the cheese curls in hand, and grabbed the riding crop from where I’d put it beside her. Ruth and I moved into the darkened hallway, and I watched Roxie take the earbuds out of the Texan’s ears. As her fingertips touched his cheek, he kissed the air, a series of blind, searching smooches that turned my stomach. Roxie was unflappable; she didn’t flinch and didn’t step back, but said into his ear—loudly enough for us to hear—“Give me just one sec. OK, baby?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, his voice honey-thick with desire.
“I’ve got a treat for you. Just you wait.”
And then she turned and made her way down the hallway, with the second bag of cash in hand. Her heels didn’t clack even once. We slipped out of the back door and got in the Jeep without a word. Not a sigh of relief. Not a giggle. Not even a snort. We were $2.5 million richer, but we weren’t done yet. The Shimmy Shimmy Bangs had one more thing to do, and we were heading to Santa Fe to do it.
For as long as I’d had my eye on him, I had known that the sheikh’s second-favorite place, next to the Ritz in Laguna Niguel, was a Japanese spa just outside Santa Fe called Ten Thousand Waves. It was absolutely the only thing I agreed with the sheikh about. Because Ten Thousand Waves was indisputably, undeniably fabulous. He went there every year in mid-February to celebrate Valentine’s Day with his current squeeze. And we’d followed him there.
Roxie, Ruth, and I left the women’s dressing room wearing the soft, complimentary kimonos that had been waiting for us in our lockers. They smelled like fresh laundry, and the fabric felt crisp and cool against my skin. We had reserved the Waterfall Pool, but first we had a stop to make. At the men’s changing room.