Money Shot, N.J. Harlow [thriller novels to read txt] 📗

was probably being broadcast on live television.

She felt beads of sweatbegan to blossom on her forehead and tried in vain to uselogic.

I have proof. Sue me allyou want. I have proof and I'll be happy to show it toyou.

But that wasn't half theproblem and she knew it. Desmona Jackson, with deeper pockets thanGod, had apparently summoned the extreme right wing of the country,taken the bulls eye off Satan's back and painted it squarely onhers.

If hell hath no fury likea woman scorned, it couldn't hold a candle to a pissed off SnowWhite.

Roxanne turned off thefreeway and headed for the bank. She at least knew she wouldn'thave to fight her way through the media when she got there. Theyhad no idea where she was going.

But she knew they weren'tgoing to stop following her after she got there.

***

"It looks like she'sslowing down," said the Ken-Doll anchor from his side of the splitscreen. His smarmy grin reminded Desmona of a car salesman, whilehis sandy blonde hair looked like it wouldn't move in a categoryfive hurricane.

"She's definitely pullingover… looks like she's stopping at a bank," said the strikingbrunette co-anchor. Her caramel eyes danced as she tried to makelove to the screen. "Maybe she's hitting the ATM and getting out oftown."

"We'll soon see," said themale anchor. "For those of you who just tuned in, you're watchinglive coverage of the desperate run of Roxanne Rizzo, the paparazziwho sold those now famous photos of Desmona Jackson to theHollywood Grapevine."

"Oh, this is rich," saidNicole. "Check out the bottom of the screen."

There, in big, boldletters, were two words.

Roxanne's Run.

"You can run but you can'thide, sweetie," said Desmona. "How does it feel now, you littlebitch?" She cupped her hand over her mouth and her eyes grew wide,then realized the good Reverend was on the phone in another room.She took her hand out of the cookie jar and vowed to watch hermouth for the moment.

"What do you think she'sdoing at a bank?" asked Nicole.

"One of two things," saidDesmona. "Making a deposit or cleaning out her account. And ifshe's making a deposit, I know what it is."

"I'm not sure I care forthis vindictive side of you," said Nicole. "That's usually mydepartment. But I sure do like the results."

"And we're far from done,"said Desmona.

"True. You think she hasany idea what’s in store for her?"

"Not a clue."

***

Roxanne turned the key andthe teller turned his.

Just like locking down anuclear missile.

If only it were thateasy.

In this case the missilewould be disarmed, but it could still vaporize her at anyminute.

She breathed easierknowing her proof was safety tucked away behind fireproof steelwith her father's gold watch and mom's diamonds. Her heart finallydownshifted as she tried to exhale at least some of the tension.She left the safety deposit vault, headed for the front of the bankand saw a horde of media and paparazzi through the glass doorwaiting for her.

"You can go out the backif you like," said the young bank teller who couldn't have beenmore than twenty-two. The lanky kid with the ill-fitting suitdidn't look like he'd ever shaved.

"Thanks for the offer, butmy car's right out front," said Roxanne. "I just have to get thisover with."

"Where are youheaded?"

She started to tell himbut considered the consequences. He could be bought, might turnover some information for a few hundred bucks.

Dear God, have I become asparanoid as the people I chased?

Already?

Well, considering I'vebribed enough people in my day, uh, yeah.

She decided to cover hertracks. "San Diego. I'm going down there to stay with my sister onMission Bay."

"It's beautiful downthere," said the teller, who escorted her to the front door. "Well,good luck." The horde spotted her through the glass and beganjockeying for position.

Roxanne noticed the giantpair of shoulders disguised as a bank guard sitting in a chair nearthe door, staring into space. "Little help?" she asked, smiling forthe first time in an hour and batting her eyelashes.

The man looked up, smiledback at her, checked out the scene at the front door, andnodded.

Roxanne put her sunglasseson, forced her head up, and followed him out the door.

***

The Fixer got to the bankjust before closing time.

With abriefcase.

And not one dime init.

Opening a safety depositbox at five minutes till five would insure that no customers wouldbe in the building by the time he was finished.

The young female tellerrolled her eyes when he told her he needed a safe place to storesome valuables. She obviously didn't want to stay late, but thanksto some middle aged guy who had nothing better to do on a Fridaynight, she had to.

She filled out the properforms, took The Fixer's fifty-dollar bill, and led him to the steeldoor. She opened it, then pulled out a log book.

"You'll sign this eachtime you come in," she said. She wrote the number of the box andturned the book toward him.

"I'll need my glasses." Hepretended to search his pockets while scanning the signatures inthe book. He found the one he wanted.

Roxanne Rizzo.

And her boxnumber.

304.

The teller drummed herdark red fingernails on the counter as he continued his faux searchfor the glasses.

"Found 'em," he said. Heput them on and scribbled something unintelligible in thebook.

"Follow me," said theteller.

She led him down a row ofgray metal sentries. He passed the one that held the treasure andstopped at his own. She put her key in one side, he put his in theother and they both turned. She opened the door and pulled out thelong, slender brown box with a flip top hard plasticcover.

"You can use the roombehind you for privacy," she said. "I'll be at my desk when you'redone."

"Thank you. Just give meten minutes."

"Great," she saidsarcastically, then walked away.

He walked into the privacyroom. He was tall and slender and moved without making any noise.He opened his briefcase, took out the large battery, and connectedit to the powerful electromagnet, known as a laboratory degausser.He peeked out of the room, saw no one, then quickly moved in frontof box 304. He pressed the device against the front of the box,pressed a button, and heard a loud hum as it locked onto the metal.He held the button in for ten seconds, then released it. More thanenough