Short Straw

Forty-four

VITTORIO SLEPT UNTIL NEARLY NOON, THEN ROLLED OUT of bed and made himself scrambled eggs, bacon and a tortilla from the supplies left by the Apache woman who kept house for him. He was stiff and sore, and he needed exercise.

He changed into shorts and a T-shirt, buckled on a knife and scabbard underneath and put on sweat socks and running shoes. He stepped out of the house, a small adobe in the desert east of Santa Fe, pausing in his front yard to do some stretching exercises, then he began to run slowly through the widely spaced pinon trees, feeling the noonday sun on his head. After a mile or so, he stepped up the pace, circling back toward his property. By the time he reached the house he had run a good four miles.

He did a hundred push-ups and a hundred crunches, then chinned himself fifty times on a bar installed on his front porch. When he was finished and had showered and dressed, he felt better.

He reflected that he was going to have to find somebody to teach him to swim.

He went to his safe and took out the ten thousand dollars in traveler's checks Barbara had paid him, got into his car and drove into Santa Fe. He went to two banks where he did business, cashing half of the traveler's checks in each bank, to avoid filing the federal form for a transaction of more than five thousand dollars. After that he drove to Ed Eagle's office building where he had another ten thousand to collect.

He had to wait nearly an hour before Eagle was free, then he was shown in. Eagle shook his hand and sat him down.

"Are you all right?" Eagle asked. "I heard from Cupie you had some problems."

"I'm all right," Vittorio replied. "Did you receive the FedEx package I sent you?"

Eagle opened a desk drawer, removed a FedEx envelope and tossed it to him. "Look inside," he said.

Vittorio inspected the contents of the envelope and looked at Eagle, speechless.

"That's the way I received it," Eagle said.

"I can only apologize," Vittorio replied. "I had the signed sheets, and I thought they were what I sent you. There will be no further charge for my services."

"Thank you," Eagle said.

"I lost her after crossing the border last night. I thought she would go to the San Diego airport, and I went there, but she never showed up. Do you want me to continue looking for her?" He intended to continue looking for her, no matter what Eagle replied, but he'd rather be paid for it.

"Where would you look?"

Vittorio shook his head. "I don't know."

"I expect I'll hear from her or about her, one way or another," Eagle said. "When I do, I'll call you."

"Next time I find her, you won't be troubled by her again."

"I didn't hear that, Vittorio," Eagle said. "I do not want her killed, and I won't pay you to do it; is that perfectly clear?"

"Perfectly," Vittorio said. "You have my cell phone number." He remembered he had to buy another cell phone.

"Yes. I'll be in touch."

Vittorio shook the man's hand and left the building. He found a cell phone shop on Cerrillos Road and bought a new one, had his old number programmed into it, then he went home.

He switched on his computer and logged onto a website maintained by an organization of private detectives and bounty hunters. He went to a page called "Wanted," uploaded a photograph of Barbara that Eagle had given him and typed in a complete description, offering a one-thousand-dollar reward for her location. It was a long shot, but the website had paid off before. Now there would be a thousand sets of eyes on the lookout for her all over the country.

BARBARA WOODFIELD APPEARED at the La Reserve spa, on time for her massage. Birgit was a six-foot-tall Swede of striking good looks and strong hands. She had been a nurse in Sweden, then a model in New York, until her weight had increased to that of a normal person, then she had turned to massage therapy, learned in her youth, for her living. And she knew all sorts of therapy.

AFTER PERFUNCTORY GREETINGS, Birgit went to work on Barbara's body, working slowly and carefully. For an hour and a half she eased tension, worked away soreness and soothed every muscle. Then she dribbled a little oil into the crevice between Barbara's buttocks and lightly ran a finger up and down the area, caressing the anus and spreading the lubrication.

She turned Barbara over on her back and continued her ministrations, lightly massaging her nipples with one hand and her clitoris with the other. When she was wet, Birgit bent and spread the labia with her tongue, inducing a sharp intake of breath from her client.

For twenty minutes she did her work, bringing Barbara to orgasm a dozen times, with tongue, teeth and fingers. Finally she went lightly over her body once again, then stepped back. "Will there be anything else, Ms. Woodfield?" she asked.

"I cannot imagine what else there could possibly be," Barbara sighed.

"I have toys, if you would enjoy penetration," Birgit replied.

"Thank you, but I'm fine," Barbara said. With Birgit's help she sat up, and Birgit helped her into a light robe.

"Your lunch is waiting," she said.

AFTER LUNCH, Barbara had her manicure and pedicure, then presented herself to Eugene, who ran the beauty salon.

"So good to see you again, Ms. Woodfield," Eugene said smoothly, standing behind her and running his fingers through her long, dark hair.

"And you, Eugene."

"And what can we do for you today?"

"I want it shorter-to the shoulders would be good-and a new cut. Then I want to be a streaked blond again."

"You will be a beautiful blonde," Eugene said. "First we will have you shampooed, then we will go to work."

Barbara relaxed and submitted herself to the process.

FOUR HOURS LATER, she looked with approval at the new woman in the mirror, with her new hair color and her newly created makeup.

"It is astonishing how different you look," Eugene said, using his comb to perfect the hair, "and even more beautiful."

Barbara looked deeply into her own eyes, and she could not but agree. She tipped everyone lavishly, then left the spa and went to Mrs. Creighton's office.

"How may I help you?" Mrs. Creighton asked when she had seated Barbara.

"I want to consult a cosmetic surgeon for some minor work," Barbara said.

"Then may I recommend Dr. Felix Strange, whose offices are on our grounds? I think there is none better in Southern California." She took a card from a desk drawer and handed it to Barbara.

"You may indeed," Barbara said, accepting the card.

"May I make an appointment for you?"

"Yes, please, and as soon as possible."

Mrs. Creighton picked up a phone and dialed an extension, then spoke. She covered the phone with her hand. "Would you like to see him now?"

"Perfect," Barbara said. She got directions to Dr. Strange's cottage and walked quickly there. A receptionist showed her into his office without delay.

"Good afternoon," he said, waving her to a chair. "How may I be of service?"

"I wish to change my appearance but only slightly," Barbara said.

"What did you have in mind?" Strange asked.

"I thought I might shorten my nose a bit-I've always thought it too long-and perhaps enhance my chin."

"Come with me," Strange said. He led her into the next room where there was an examination chair and a video camera. He seated her and switched on some bright lights, then he stood at her side, raised the chair so that she was at eye level, and examined her profile. "Your judgment is very good," he said.

"Thank you."

"What I will do now is photograph you, then, through computer imaging, show you what your new profile will look like. It's quite accurate."

"Please do," she replied.

Strange manipulated the chair, took several shots from all sides, then removed the camera, switched off the bright lights and went to a computer, the display of which was a large, plasma flat screen hung on the wall. "Here is your current image," he said, hitting a few keys.

Barbara watched as her profile appeared on the screen.

"Now, let's shorten the nose a bit and strengthen the chin." He typed for a minute or so, and the image on the screen morphed into a new one.

"Fantastic!" she said. "It's perfect."

"No, you're perfect; you just need a little help."

"Can you rotate the image so that I can see my new face from the front?"

"Of course." He hit more keys and the image rotated slowly from one profile to the other, then back to center.

"Wonderful! How long will this take?" she asked.

"A couple of hours," he replied.

"And the recovery time?"

"Quite short. You won't have the black eyes that usually come with a rhinoplasty, since we're working only on the tip of your nose, and the incision for the chin implant will be made inside your lower lip. We can hurry the healing with anti-inflammatory drugs, and you should be entirely your new self in a week or so."

"If I'm photographed from the front tomorrow, will the image be markedly different from the new version?"

"Not markedly," he said. "May I schedule you for tomorrow afternoon?"

"That will be convenient."

"Come in at two o'clock. We'll take a history and give you a physical exam. You'll be on the table by four and in recovery by six. You'll have a nurse on duty in your cottage the first night, and after that you may do whatever you wish. I'll see that you are pain free, and I'll remove the stitches in your mouth after a few days."

Barbara thanked him and walked slowly back to her cottage. A week, and she would be free to carry out her plan. Back in her cottage, she called the front desk and ordered a car and driver for early the following morning.