Going For Broke Read online

  He waited for a reply, and got none. Mike really had no idea as to how instant messaging worked. Clark appeared out of nowhere, and perched on the side of his desk. Mike watched Clark’s cufflinks as he talked. He had to be the only guy in the office with cufflinks.

  “Chicago, huh? Aren’t you from Chicago?” Clark fished.

  “Philadelphia,” Mike wasn’t offering any more information than necessary.

  “Oh.” Clark seemed thoughtful. “You’ll like Chicago. It’s great this time of year.”

  Chicago? There was no way Mike was going to Chicago! “You’ve got to be kidding? What good will I be there? There is no fucking way Trip Asshole Vernon is going to head back to his Mother In Law’s house!” Mike was screaming now, and the other agents tried to look away and still listen at the same time.

  Clark got a serious look on his face. “Trip ‘Asshole’ Vernon is going to go where his wife and children are. So that’s where Mike ‘Shithead’ Towner is headed as well.”

  Mike couldn’t believe he was talking to Clark. He kind of liked him like this.

  “I really appreciate this Mike. Thank you,” he said holding out his cuff-linked arm.

  Oh, Clark, you had to ruin our moment, thought Mike.

  ###

  Mike took his time packing up his standard-issue FBI black Escalade. He had to follow the errant Mrs. Vernon, and without an electronic trail it would be harder to find her, but Mike wasn’t worried. He figured she’d take the easiest path. Women like her always did. Besides, he knew exactly where she was going.

  He had stocked up for the drive - his trusty cooler filled with sandwiches, sodas, potato chips, tortilla chips, beef jerky, peanuts and Snickers bars. He was hardcore and ready to make the drive straight through. Driving the Escalade, though, forced him to stop for gas at regular intervals. He had almost made it to the Ohio state line when the red light on the gas tank popped on. Again. Jesus, he thought as he pulled off at the next exit for yet another refill, the FBI should think about investing in a Prius or two.

  The town, if you could call it that, consisted of a no-name gas station and a Denny’s restaurant. Mike had to laugh - it would have been better if the gas station had a name and the restaurant didn’t. Good thing he was loaded up with sandwiches and could take a pass on the Grand Slam breakfast for dinner.

  He pulled past the lot and noticed a large U-haul truck in the parking lot with New York plates. Victoria Vernon at a Denny’s? What were the odds? He did a quick u-turn and headed into the restaurant. This was something he had to see.

  He walked in and sat in an empty booth. There was the usual assortment of truckers, a few older couples, a mother with a toddler on one side of her and a newborn on the other, and one random punk rocker with a blue mohawk. Nobody paid any attention to the guy with the mohawk. They were all focused on Victoria.

  When Mike walked in, Victoria was in a heated confrontation with what appeared to be a pair of local cops. Everyone in the restaurant had stopped talking and was watching the show. Mike found an orange leatherette stool at the counter and grabbed a front-row seat.

  “What’s going on?” He asked the trucker sitting next to him, who was also riveted on Victoria and the police.

  “Crazy lady tried to walk out on her bill. They called the cops,” he answered, not taking his eyes off the scene before him.

  “She tried to sneak out?”

  “Oh, no, she just refused to pay. Said the food was so bad, it wasn’t worth what they were charging.”

  Mike had to laugh and shook his head. He had to say he agreed with her. He watched as Victoria stood her ground. The local sheriff must have been sent from central casting. Mid-fifties with a waistline to match, he probably thought he could take down the little lady with the two cute kids and be back at his desk playing computer solitaire in less than fifteen minutes. He had no idea what he was getting into, Mike thought.

  “Would you want to eat this?” Victoria held her still-full plate up to the sheriff’s nose. He stepped back to avoid having her eggs shoved into his face. “No, I didn’t think so. If there’s a crime here, it’s that they wanted to take my money for this...this slop.”

  Mike could see that Victoria Vernon wasn’t what the sheriff was expecting, and he had to give the sheriff credit: He wasn’t about to back down, from a woman. He started tapping his billy club, trying on his menacing face.

  “Ma’am, either you pay the bill, or we’re going to have to take you in,” he said.

  “I will not pay,” Victoria said, head held high. “Arrest me.” She held out her hands. Her engagement ring, one of the things the FBI did not collect, caught the midmorning light. No one in the restaurant missed it.

  The manager of the Denny’s stepped in. “It’s all right Carl --”

  “No, it’s not all right. We can’t have fancy folks coming in and not paying their bill. Hell, if I didn’t pay every time I got a bad meal I’d be a rich man today. Okay little lady, you asked for it.” He grabbed the handcuffs off his belt.

  “Carl, no. You don’t need to,” the manager protested.

  “I don’t care. Take me down Andy Griffith.”

  “Mommy!” The little girl cried out. Even a six year old could see where this was going.

  Mike felt like he had to end this game of chicken now. He got up and approached the cop. If Victoria recognized him from her apartment, it didn’t she didn’t show it.

  “Sheriff, I’m sure there’s a better way to handle this,” Mike tried to give it his best regular guy voice.

  The sheriff whipped around. “Who the hell are you, boy? Stay out of this.”

  Mike didn’t want to have to show his badge, yet thought it was the quickest way to end this scene. He motioned the sheriff over toward the register so he could speak to him quietly.

  “Mike Towner. FBI. I’m, um, she’s a -- she’s under surveillance.” That should do it, Mike thought.

  “FBI. CIA. I don’t give a damn. This here girl has broke the law and she’s got to pay for it one way or another. That’s how it runs on my watch.”

  Victoria stood strong, waiting for her fate. Who the hell was the guy with the sheriff? He was good looking - was he an actor? He looked familiar. Though anyone she would know would never be caught dead in this hellhole.

  “Stay the hell out of this,” the sheriff exploded at Mike. He turned back to Victoria. “Come on little lady. We’re going to go for a ride.”

  “Oh, Christ,” it was Mike’s turn to explode. He pulled out his wallet and threw two twenties on Victoria’s table. “We’re good?” he asked the sheriff.

  The manager scurried and grabbed the money. “I’ll get your change,” he whispered.

  The sheriff laughed. He had had his fun. “Well, that is darned nice of your boyfriend here. You sure are lucky lady. Ben, keep things quiet around here!” he yelled to the manager as he walked off, laughing.

  Victoria turned to Mike, more angry with him than she had been with the sheriff.

  “Why did you do that?” she snapped.

  “To keep you out of jail,” he answered. “Trust me, you wouldn’t like it.”

  “I didn’t need your money. I could have paid for the damn food. It was the principle of the thing.”

  Mike was a little taken aback. He didn’t expect tears of gratitude, but a thank you at the very least. “I’ve found when people say it’s the principle, it’s the money.”

  “I think I could have handled --” she stopped short. “I do know you. How?” She was searching his face for something.

  “The Hamptons? Maybe the club? Wait - didn’t we meet at your place?” He was toying with her and she didn’t like it. She’d rather go to jail.

  “As if I’d let someone like you in my house,” she muttered.

  “Let’s see, there’s Pieter the doorman, and your maid - Lucia is it?”

  This stopped her cold. Who the hell was this guy? There was something about him, but she couldn’t name it. Where did she know h
im from?

  “I really should be going,” he said as he doffed an imaginary hat. “See you around.”

  CHAPTER 6

  As Victoria went past the churning steel mills of Gary, Indiana and over the Skyway into Chicago, she had a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach. She hadn’t been back to Chicago since the day she left for Boston College, and had never wanted to come back. She never even came home for Christmas in college - she always spent it with friends. She was surprised, then, when she first caught sight of the city skyline. It was a brilliant blue sky day and Lake Michigan sparkled. The city stood tall, like a beacon welcoming her home. She almost got a little teary, and fought back the emotion.

  “Is that where Grandmother lives?” Posey asked. Her adorable outfit of three days ago had morphed into a pair of leggings and one of Parker’s lacrosse t-shirts. Her face was filthy and she had spilled a chocolate milkshake down her arm and across her lap. Victoria had given up trying to feed her children any semblance of a healthy meal before she got out of Pennsylvania. Fast food was the rule, not the exception, now, and her kids inhaled it as if they had never eaten before.

  “No, she lives on the other side of the city,” Victoria replied.

  “Where are the cows?” Parker asked.

  “Cows?” Victoria repeated.

  “Yeah. Rutledge said that the only thing in Illinois were cows and crooked politicians,” Parker answered.

  “That’s about right,” Victoria said.

  “That looks like a big city,” Parker said.

  “It is. The biggest city for miles. Where grandmother lives is a much smaller town,” Victoria answered.

  “With cows?” asked Posey.

  “You never know,” Victoria said.

  ###

  Victoria had never been to Barbara and Bud’s house before, though she knew exactly where it was. It was a step up from the Chicken Shack for Barbara, but not much. It was on a busy road right across from the elementary school, and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the little houses up and down the street. It was a square white box, and the Home Depot flowerpots didn’t hide the fact that it could use a coat of paint and a new roof. The kid’s playhouse at their house in Connecticut was bigger than this house. And probably better built.

  Even before her father had died, the Patterson's had always lived in the ‘have-not’ side of town. Tenaqua, an old Indian name that Victoria had always been convinced meant ‘snobby’, was a town built on strong shoulders and old money. It didn’t have the great estates of Lake Forest, which was 20 miles farther north, yet it had plenty of pedigree all its own. There were gracious houses built all through the 20s, 30s and 40s that still had an elegant presence today. Tudors, Georgians and Colonials stood side-by-side on neatly landscaped lots, with tall trees forming a canopy over the streets.

  Growing up, Victoria always felt she was lacking. Lacking a big house, domestic help of any kind, even trips to Florida seemed exotic. Other families had hordes of children, and often they were all dressed in identical outfits, like the Von Traps, the girls sporting enormous red bows atop their towheaded pig tales. Their mothers drove them around in their Country Squire wood-paneled station wagons and spent their days playing golf and tennis at the club. Her mother worked, and Victoria took the bus. Now here she was driving a rental van with everything she owned inside. She had come full circle, back in full force to the ‘have-not’ side of town.

  She had thought about calling when they crossed into Illinois, and couldn’t find a single pay phone. Not only had the FBI frozen her assets, they had sentenced her to a life of non-communication. Pay phones just didn’t exist anymore. Even the homeless had cell phones! So with a fair sense of dread, she rang the doorbell. Her stepfather, Bud Brewster, answered the door with delight.

  “Vicky! How wonderful to have you here,” Bud grabbed her in a big bear hug. “Come in! Come in!” He ushered them into the tiny living room. “You must be Posey. Nice to meet you. I’m Bud.”

  Bud Brewster was a genial 70-something retired insurance agent who had lived in Tenaqua his entire life. He had been married and raised two boys in town, and then after his wife died, he met Barbara and they married within a year. He wasn’t rich, although he was the perfect antidote for Barbara. Victoria remembered his boys who were a few years older than her at high school. They were champion swimmers, and the Brewsters were your basic Preppy Presbyterian Perfect family.

  “Hello young man. You must be Parker,” Bud formally put his hand out for Parker to shake. Victoria had always been relentless with the kids about their “company manners”, and even though they looked like they just walked out of a trailer park, she was gratified that they held steady on the manners front. Parker shook his hand with a firm grip and looked him in the eye as he answered him. “Wow, that’s some grip you’ve got there!” Bud said with good cheer.

  Victoria looked around. “Where’s mom?” She asked.

  “Oh, she had to run a few errands. We didn’t know when you’d get here,” he said. If that statement had come out of her mother’s mouth it would have sounded like an attack. From Bud, it was just a fact. “She should be back any minute. Let’s get you settled.” Then he noticed that they didn’t have any bags. “Boy, you sure travel light!”

  Victoria just wanted a hot shower and a cold martini. Couldn’t they get someone else to empty the damn truck? Bud was being so accommodating, though she was sure that he was halfway to a heart attack if he even carried in a bag of groceries. “I’m parked around the corner - it can wait.”

  “Do you guys want to get washed up?” Bud asked diplomatically. She knew they looked like a train wreck. Even her pants were wrinkled and there was a splotch of ketchup on her sleeve. Somewhere along the Indiana Toll Road she should have thought about what she’d look like to her mother when she arrived on her door.

  “Give us a minute - we’ll be right back,” she said as she ushered the kids out the door.

  Victoria opened the back of the truck and started looking though the boxes for something decent to wear. She didn’t think to pack an overnight bag, which was unlike her. Every time she took a private jet ride she’d deplane in a different outfit than she boarded in. They didn’t have a large number of boxes, not one of them was labeled. Didn’t the movers usually do that? The kids were tearing through boxes, dragging out every sort of toy or book that they didn’t need. Finally, they found the box with clothes.

  “Take off your pants, honey. Let’s put on this pretty dress,” Victoria told Posey.

  “Mommy, I can’t be naked!” She looked at the door open to the street. “We’re outside.”

  “Oh, nobody will see you - I’ll hold up this scarf.” Victoria grabbed an Hermes scarf which was almost large enough to cover her entire child. “Hurry. Parker, have you found your clothes yet?”

  Parker had found a handheld game and was engrossed in playing it. He didn’t respond.

  “Parker Vernon!” Victoria shrieked. “Put that thing down and get dressed! Posey, take off your clothes!”

  It was just then that a little head popped into the back of the truck. “Well there you all are!” It was Barbara.

  Victoria stopped just long enough to assess the scene that her mother was taking in. She was in a U-Haul truck, with a half-naked child, another child zoned out playing video games surrounded by almost everything she now owned strewn around the back of the truck. One hell of a homecoming.

  “Mom!” It was more of an exclamation.

  “Bud told me you were parked just around the corner. I couldn’t miss you,” she said, knocking on the side of the truck. “No one could.”

  Victoria gave up. She was too tired, too emotionally beat up to even try to put on a good face with her mother. “Hey guys, say hello to your grandmother.”

  ###

  They got the bulk of her stuff in the house, although most of it had to go in the garage. Victoria and Posey got the guest room, and Parker was in the “den” which was a first floor bedroom
with Bud’s old desk from the insurance agency, a plaid fold-out couch and a 13” TV with six-foot long large rabbit ears. Parker thought the sofa bed was the coolest thing he had ever seen, and spent about twenty minutes opening and closing the bed. He’d get over that after one night, Victoria thought. There was no place for his clothes, so he had to keep them in Victoria and Posey’s room, which was cramped as it was.

  To make matters even more dismal for Victoria, there was the issue of her mother’s new “baby”. Her mother and Bud had gotten a little daschund, which they named Fritz. When she first walked into the house, Victoria almost stepped on the dog, and more than once nearly kicked it across the room. Almost always on accident. Of course, the kids adored the dog. Victoria refused to get a dog in Manhattan, even though so many of her friends had little malti-poos, schnoodles and puggles. She didn’t know what annoyed her more, the fact that they spoke the dogs in the most insipid baby voices, that they dressed them like little people, or that they took the dogs everywhere they went. Everywhere. Out to lunch, to the salon, Lanie Scott even showed up at a Friends of the Library meeting with an overstuffed Chihuahua peeking out of her bag. Of course they had the labs at the Connecticut house, but they slept in the stables. Where they belonged.

  Thankfully, Barbara and Bud addressed Fritz in adult voices, though that was as far as the reasonable behavior went. He was like their tiny tot. They had to microwave his dinner because he didn’t like cold dog food, and they served dinner to him at the same time every night so they could all dine together. They let the dog on the sofa. They brought him in the car on errands. They even slept with the dog in the bed. Between them. With his own pillow.

  The entire time they were getting settled, Barbara never once asked about Trip. Victoria didn’t know if she was being sensitive, or just wanted to avoid any unpleasant conversation. Probably the latter. After they got the kids to sleep, Victoria finally got the hot shower she had been craving. No martini though. Bud didn’t believe in keeping alcohol in the house.