I planned to ask Faye later, but nothing Tiffany had just said made sense to me.
I said, “Gizmo? Flash thingie? All I got from Faye was her phone number.”
“That’s not what she told me, Hyland with an H.”
I killed a minute over a couple swallows of Beaujolais.
I said, “Maybe you misunderstood? What’s the big deal anyway?”
She dropped her smile, closed her eyes, and grunted, then announced to the room, “He’s going to make a game of this,” prompting a door to open behind me.
We were joined by the sleek silver-haired six-footer who’d approached me at the reception. The one who told me Faye’s name was Doreen Kyle, said she was Webster’s mistress, and was with her outside when I left.
He said, “Is that so, Mr. Hyland? If so, I would have to say that’s not the smartest decision you’ve ever made in your lifetime, which may be coming to a conclusion earlier than you’d ever have supposed.”
The three of us could have drowned in my sweat before he answered my Just what the hell is going on here? First, he squeezed his face into one of those looks people use to say a question is unnecessary or stupid or silly and dismissed it with a flick of the hand as he padded to the bar. He encouraged me to make note of the blue-barreled .22-caliber pistol Tiffany had pulled from somewhere and was pointing at my gut while he helped himself to a double pour of sixty-year-old Macallan, praising it as deservedly the world’s most expensive scotch en route to a spot beside her chair, where he proceeded to make a game of Tiffany’s ponytail.
“What’s going on here?” he said. “What does it sound like? You possess something that Doreen should not have given you, Mr. Hyland. We want it for ourselves.”
“Faye — Doreen, she said I had it? Where is she? She okay?”
“She played as ignorant as you, only with more flair, insisting yours was a casual conversation, no more, and she had no idea who you were or where or how to find you, unless you availed yourself of the phone number she provided.”
“All true.”
“You’re saying you’re not her partner in crime.”
“I’m saying I crashed the party, that’s all.”
“Then how fortuitous of you to phone when you did, but she was too quick to get rid of you, confirming our belief you now have the flash drive. We were equally quick in phoning back. Our Tiffany is an exceptional mimic, wouldn’t you say? Cheers!” He gave Tiffany’s ponytail a playful tug. “Hand the drive over, we’ll be gone from here, and you can live happily ever after.”
“And Faye?”
“What about Doreen? The name she was using when she worked her way into Mr. Webster’s company, then his bed, then this elaborate love nest he keeps for his mistresses of the moment — stealing his heart so she could steal the contents of the flash drive. Doreen Kyle.”
“You get the flash drive, she also gets to live happily ever after?”
“So you do have it.”
“Just asking. Does she?”
He didn’t have to think about his answer. “Doreen has been a naughty, naughty girl and will have to be punished. Isn’t that so, Tiffany?” Another tug at her ponytail.
“Knock it off, Barron.” She swatted away his hand. “We still don’t know if the doofus has it on him. What say, Doofus? A yes, a no, or a body search that’ll have you singing boy soprano in no time flat?”
I believed her, but as much as I wanted to get rid of the damned drive, I have this insatiable curiosity jones — it made me the highest-paid game-show researcher on network TV for eleven years before a ratings nosedive knocked Million-Dollar Money Machine into swift oblivion.
“How about a maybe?” I said.
This Barron guy frowned. “I don’t believe that Tiffany invited a negotiation, Mr. Hyland.”
Tiffany uncorked a laugh and rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Doofus thinks he’s Harrison Ford or Bruce Willis. Tom Cruise. Matt Damon. It don’t work like that in real life, Doofus.”
“Maybe first you explain what’s so important about the flash drive and then I tell you where it is?”
“Ah, progress of a kind,” Barron said. “But surely you already know the answer?”
“Humor me. Pretend it’s the real-estate round of Million-Dollar Money Machine.”
“I prefer Jeopardy myself.” He looked off, as though he was enjoying his own humor, but he was all business seconds later. “For all his outwardly sunny disposition, Noel Webster was a shady character on the international landscape. The information he accumulated through devious means, which was then covertly copied onto the flash drive by his wily mistress, is designed to bring down governments.”
“Jeopardy sucks. Whose government? Which?”
His head shifted left and right. “That makes it worth millions to certain parties — like the people she agreed to sell it to. Only, she got greedy.”
“The people. Would that be you and the man-eater?”
Tiffany showed me the length of her middle finger.
Barron said, “Didn’t Doreen tell you who when she brought you into her scheme?”
“Nice try.”
“We contacted her after she put the drive up for bid. The exchange was scheduled for the reception. Only, Doreen had a change of mind. I suspect she continued shopping and found a buyer willing to go higher. Yes, Mr. Hyland? That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Nice try.”
“All right, then. Doreen in trade for the flash drive, unless you’d rather have a cash reward.”
“Doreen will do.”
Barron held out his palm.
I said, “First Doreen.”
At once I had the feeling he’d run out of patience with me.
Barron shut his eyes and seemed to be counting to ten, then drew a .45 automatic from inside his suit jacket.
A hundred years later, he shrugged and said, “Why not?”
He marched from the room, returning a minute later with Faye. Even handcuffed, her face lacking makeup and flushed with distress, she was my kind of beautiful. Her robe was open, confirming a body built for centerfolds. I averted my eyes.
Barron held out his hand again. I dug into a pocket for the flash drive and pitched it to him. He made a one-handed catch, flipped it to Tiffany, led Faye to the sofa, and settled her next to me.
Tiffany rested the .22 on the coffee table while she examined the drive. “How do we know this is legit? This legit, Doofus?”
“Was your birth?”
She settled a sneer on me. “You’re not out of the woods yet, big mouth, so don’t press what’s left of your luck.”
“It’s the flash drive Doreen slipped me.”
Barron said, “Did you monitor it?”
“I tried. Curiosity. Only got as far as the command for a password.”
“The right answer... Make any copies?”
“What for? I was hoping Faye — Doreen — would explain it. Why I called her. Why I brought it with me.”
Barron said, “One last piece of business before I free Doreen and we leave you to your future. Your driver’s license, please, so we’ll know where to come visit you, should we discover the flash drive is other than represented.”
I fished the license from my wallet and tossed it onto the coffee table.
Tiffany leaned forward to retrieve it, putting the .22 momentarily out of her reach.
Faye dove onto the table and captured the gun. She rolled onto her side and got off a two-handed shot that smashed into Barron’s left eye. He went down as Faye hit the mile-high white pile carpeting on her back, Tiffany immediately on top of her.
A gunshot ended their battle before it began.