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

time to scramble everything on a memory card, even throughheavy gauge steel.

He looked out thedoor.

Still, no one waswatching.

He moved back to theprivacy room and returned the device to the briefcase. He placedhis box back into the slot, then walked out to find the teller textmessaging on her phone.

"All done," said TheFixer. "Everything's safe and sound now."

***

Roxanne sat down at theconference room table across from her attorney, holding on to theenvelope like grim death.

A.C. Jensen, well-knownCalifornia defender of the paparazzi and the first amendment took aseat opposite her. Jensen looked crusty for his forty-five years,but sunbathing on the George Hamilton SPF plan will do that to you.A hairy, overweight lawn gnome with Coke-bottle glasses followedhim, carrying a laptop. The geek set up the laptop on the table andextended his hand to Roxanne. "Hi. Eddie Crews."

"Eddie used to work forthe FBI," said Jensen, stretching his neck so that his turkeywaddle had plenty of room. He's one of the foremostexperts—

"The foremost expert," said Eddie,raising one finger.

"Sorry,the foremost expert inthe digital photography field. He'll prove the photos you took areunaltered."

"I already know that,"said Roxanne.

"Then you have nothing toworry about," said Jensen.

"Yeah, legally," saidRoxanne. "You're not the one who's a prisoner in her own home.Don't these people with the picket signs have jobs?"

"Yeah," said the lawyer."Stalking you for the religious right."

"I assume that's the HolyGrail?" asked Eddie, nodding toward the envelope.

Roxanne opened theenvelope and gently took out the stick containing the photos. She'dwritten a big green dollar sign on it so there would be no mistake."Careful. My life is on there."

"Did you make acopy?"

"No. I sold it withinhours."

Eddie took the stick andslowly inserted it into a reader connected to hislaptop.

Roxanne turned toward herlawyer. "This should do it, right? I mean, once he proves thepictures aren't fakes."

The lawyer shrugged."Well, you know they're going to put up an expert that says it's afake. But Eddie is pretty convincing to a jury. Besides, you don'thave a police record, and you've never had any kind of altercationwith an actor, which is extremely rare for a 'razzi. They may allhate you, but you've never actually made anyone's personal shitlist."

"I try to be polite when Iruin people's lives," said Roxanne. "Is there any—

"You sure this is theright stick?" asked Eddie.

Roxanne's head whippedaround toward him. "Yeah, why?"

"Nothing onit."

Roxanne jumped up and ranaround the table so she could look over his shoulder at…

A bunch of wavylines.

"No!" She shook her head."That's the stick. I'm sureof it. I brought it to the Grapevine myself andnever let it out of my sight. That's the one. Load itagain."

She drummed her fingers onthe table as Eddie removed the stick and then re-loadedit.

Same result.

The blood drained out ofher face.

Can this get anyworse?

Eddie clicked his mouse afew times and brought up what looked like a ghost of an image thatwas close to the one on the Grapevine cover. "Wait a minute.There was animage on this memory card at one time…"

"What do you mean… was?"asked the attorney.

He turned to face them."This thing has been fried. Demagnetized."

Roxanne shook her head."No. That's not possible. I know digital cameras. Household magnetscan't do any damage. These are solid state."

"Yeah, but this has comein contact with a really powerful electromagnet."

"I haven't been nearanything like that."

"This memory stick has.I'd stake my career on it."

Roxanne slumped into thenearest chair and buried her head in her hands. "I… I don'tunderstand. How could this happen? It's been in the safety depositbox."

"Well, somehow, someonemanaged to get a very strong magnet close enough to scramble theimages." Eddie clicked the mouse and whipped through more faintimages of Desmona Jackson and Nicole Wine. None were usable asevidence.

"Someone at the banktalked," she said. "Everyone knows I stopped there when the TVstations did their little O.J. Simpson number on me."

"We've got biggerproblems," said the attorney. He turned toward Eddie. "The bigquestion is… can you fix it?"

"Unfortunately, no. Youcan't just hit undo and bring your images back to life. These are goneforever."

Roxanne leaned back in herchair and looked at the ceiling. "I'm toast. My life isover."

***

The two a-m phone callwould have normally jolted her out of a deep sleep… had Roxanneactually been able to get to that point.

She looked at the screenof her cell phone, which, thankfully, the media hadn't discovered.She hoped for a clue, but it offered words instead of aname.

Private Number

She slid the phone open."Hello?"

"You know, Miss Rizzo,someone might say you have a bit of an… image problem."

The voice was strong andfemale but Roxanne didn't recognize it. Becareful what you say on the phone, herlawyer had told her. "Who is this?"

"Someone who can make yourproblems go away, Roxanne. Kind of like pictures being deleted, youknow? Press a button and everything disappears. Press anotherbutton and you get your life back."

Now she was wide awake."Okay, you've got my attention. Who are you and what do youwant?"

"We need to meet inprivate before this goes to trial, Roxanne. Right now. Especiallysince your Exhibit A is no longer admissible in court and you'vegot shit for a defense."

"Perhaps you should callmy lawyer—"

"I don't deal withambulance chasers like Jensen. What do you think A.C. stands for?No, we meet with you and only you. Right now."

"I can’t exactly goanywhere without being followed. How will I—"

"Look out your living roomwindow, Roxanne."

"Huh?"

"Look out the window. Goahead, I'll wait."

Roxanne got up and walkedfrom the bedroom, down the short hallway and out toward the livingroom. She didn't turn the lights on as a little moonlight wasfiltering through a skylight and lit her way. She gently pulledback the curtains to look out into the street.

And sawnothing.

No satellite trucks, noBible thumpers. No 'razzi.

Just a quiet street in themiddle of the night.

She put the phone back toher ear. "How did you dothat?"

"You have no idea whoyou're dealing with, Roxanne. Now get dressed, get in your car, anddrive to the Exeter Hotel. Register under the name Kelly Harris.Your room is already paid for. Come to room 1401. If you are notthere in the next hour, we will bury you in court and those happyconservatives will be back bright and early for the rest of yourlife. Clear?"

"You've made yourpoint."

"You now have fifty