Ginger snaps, p.22
Ginger Snaps, page 22
time ago, he asked Alex about me, but Alex told him I wouldn’t play
the games he liked. Thank God.”
I felt quite sure I didn’t want to know what she was talking about.
She continued, “When I went to court the other day, I recognized
him. He might have recognized me, I don’t know. I knew I had to
tell you that Dub was a customer, but Alex has an absolute rule about
confidentiality. If I talked about his customers, he’d have no choice
but to kill me.”
I was learning more than I wanted to know about a world to which
I couldn’t begin to relate. Honor among thieves was hardly an apt
analogy. But I understood. I gave it a little thought, and then spoke
to Novak.
“Debbie called to tell you I was alive, that Moira was responsible,
and that I thought it was related to Dr. Stewart’s case. You put two
and two together. You think maybe Dub’s in the thick of this business.
That’s why we’re here. But you need to be sure I won’t talk out of
school.”
“Debbie told me you’d catch on fast.” Novak almost smiled.
“If Dub’s involved, he’s got to be on somebody’s payroll. Who’s
behind all this?”
“I don’t know, I really don’t. otherwise I would have taken care
of them myself. But I know it’s not about a hundred or so marijuana
plants.”
“For sure. But I can’t even speak with Doug Stewart, and he’s the
only one who can give me answers.”
“I thought a man had a right to a lawyer here in the States. Maybe
it’s all rigged after all,” Novak mused to no one in particular.
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I slammed my hand down on the table, scaring Debbie and causing
Novak to rise in alarm. “Damn, why didn’t I think of that? I’m sorry, sit
down, it’s okay.” Novak didn’t realize it but the word “rig” had pushed
a button in my antitrust mind.
“Think of what?” Debbie slurred a bit—too much wine. Novak sat
down, but I noticed he kept his right hand under the table.
My right hand ran through my hair. I wanted to be precise, to be
clearly understood. And I wanted Debbie to hear me loud and clear.
“Alex, thank you for helping Debbie find me. I owe you my life.
But I need to ask you one more favor. In return, I promise you I’ll do
everything in my power to expose whoever is responsible for framing
you. I’ll do my best to protect Debbie, and I’ll never reveal my source.”
“Go ahead,” he said, eyes narrowing.
“leave Debbie alone, for good. Don’t even think about trying to
get her back.” My face had turned to stone. “I want your word.”
Novak looked grim, almost insulted, but he gave in gracefully.
“You have my word. I’m happy she is free from drugs and is once
again a beautiful young woman. I am a ruthless and heartless bas-
tard, but I keep my promises. Debbie and your precious Micki have
nothing to fear from me or anyone in my organization. You have my
word. Now I think it is time for us to part.”
He offered his hand again, and I shook it firmly.
I pulled back Debbie’s chair and took her arm—she wobbled a bit
on her heels. We walked carefully out of the restaurant. I don’t know
who looked more relieved, Clovis or Yuri.
As we parted, Novak said, “Be careful, Jack Patterson. You face for-
midable adversaries who are not happy that you’re still alive.”
“Thanks for the warning. I plan to stay that way.”
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37
D
I was tempted to quiz Debbie, but she’d had too much wine and
stress, and before we were a mile down the road she’d fallen asleep.
Clovis had some good news: Micki was improving, again out of ICU,
and Martin had arrived in little Rock with reinforcements. While
Maggie and I met with liz in Memphis, Clovis would meet with her
security team to make sure they were as “top-shelf” as Maggie had said.
He raised skeptical eyebrows when I told him Novak had given his
word he’d leave Micki and Debbie alone. His job was to be skeptical.
His brow lowered to a frown when he heard Novak’s prediction that
Moira would be back.
Clovis carried Debbie onto the plane, and she curled up in the
back seat, fast asleep. After we’d gotten settled in, Maggie told me
that the judge had given notice that his rulings would come down
tomorrow in open court at ten AM.
Tomorrow was a Saturday. The judge was a hard worker.
“Maggie, when we land, I want you to call Janis Harold—see if she
can join us in court. We’re going to need all the help we can get. I also
need to see Sam tomorrow, preferably after we get the court’s decision.”
“I’ll see to it.”
“one last thing. You and I need to go back home for a few days. Is
the plane still at our disposal? At some point, doesn’t Walter want his
plane back?”
“It’s not a problem. Walter’s checking out the latest Falcon, looking
for a new toy,” Maggie replied, without a glimmer of approval.
“Will he be available when we get back?”
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“Sure. What have you got up your sleeve?”
“Maggie, we need to find out what liz knows. She holds the final
piece to the puzzle, whether she know it or not. If I’m right, you’ll see
it right away.”
“okay, but it seems to me that you’re simply jumping from one
crisis to another.”
The flight from Dallas to Memphis took less than an hour. We left
Debbie asleep in the back of the plane—I knew she’d be safe with
Walter’s pilot. Clovis rode in the lead car so he could talk to the head
of liz’s security. Maggie and I followed in an explorer driven by a guy
who looked like he was a pro wrestler in his spare time. Before long
we pulled into a circular driveway in east Memphis.
liz threw open the door. She was back to the wild hair, exercise
pants, and a sloppy grey sweatshirt. Maggie couldn’t control her eye-
brows, but did manage to keep the rest of her face straight.
on the way to the “solarium” liz whispered, “Jack, I know Maggie
doesn’t approve of my hair or these clothes, but they drive my step-
mother crazy. I can’t resist.”
I chuckled and was introduced to the perfect Town and Country
couple. They were adorned in matching white pants, and Drew wore a
polo shirt with a sweater draped over his shoulders. Cindy wore a flow-
ered silk blouse, scarf, and lots of gold jewelry. Her hair was pulled
back and tucked under, all perfectly in place. Tall glasses of iced tea
waited on a tray in front of them, but I saw him swirling a martini and
she was sipping straight bourbon over shaved ice.
After we spent an appropriate length of time introducing ourselves
and playing “who do you know,” I asked if I might have some time alone
with liz , and we left them happily chatting with Maggie. liz asked
the maid to bring drinks to her father’s library. Most of the house was
bright and airy, but here cypress-paneled walls enclosed a large, well-
worn desk surrounded by brimming bookshelves and leather wing-
backs. Not the sort of room you see too often today. Most men seem to
want their private space to be equipped with a 52-inch Tv screen and
a beer fridge. liz gestured to the sofa and took up the seat at the other
end, sitting on her legs so she could face me.
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“I heard you were almost killed by my former bodyguard. A bit off-
putting. Are you okay?”
I gave her a truthful but understated version of recent events and
explained that one of the reasons we had come was to assess her secu-
rity. I told her I was still very concerned for her safety. She didn’t bat an
eyelash. I gave her a much longer version of my brief visit with Doug.
“I know Doug would do anything for me, but remember you prom-
ised not to make that deal for my immunity without consulting him. A
few minutes in oklahoma doesn’t cut it. Doug’s research is important,
and I’m not sure he should agree so quickly.”
“We may not have a choice. I won’t play that card unless I absolutely
have to, but the law isn’t on our side when it comes to forfeitures. But
civil forfeiture isn’t the only reason I’m here. liz, as your lawyer, you
can tell me anything in complete confidence. Sometimes when the
lawyer is a friend, you’re reluctant to tell him everything, but I need
you to tell me the truth. No holding back, okay?”
“of course, silly. What else would I do?” Her eyes were very wide.
“No, I mean it. Not just about what you think is important, but
everything.”
“Jack, I’ll tell you about my sex life if you want, although right now
it’s piss-poor. My bodyguards are starting to look hot.” She smiled.
“Dammit, liz, I’m not a fucking idiot! enough of the act. Micki is
lying in a hospital fighting death. I was almost tortured and thrown
into a dumpster. Your husband is likely to be locked away for life with
a bunch of rapists and murderers, and you’re holding out. If I have
any chance to get him off, I need you to quit pretending to be an air-
head. I need the Dr. liz Stewart who is as smart as her husband and
much more street savvy. What in the hell were you two doing with a
garden full of marijuana? What are you hiding?”
She toyed with her drink for a minute, and then answered in the
same blasé manner.
“Jack, I’m not holding out on you. I promise I’ve told you and Micki
everything. I just made some ginger snaps for my friend.”
“okay. Then tell me when you had your mastectomy.” My voice was
matter-of-fact, no smiles this time. Her face dropped, and her well-
formed chest jutted out in reaction.
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“How did you know? Did Doug tell Angie? He swore he never told
a soul, but with what she was going through, I can see him telling
her. There’s no way you can tell. Dr. French is the world’s best.” She
proceeded to show them off through her sweatshirt, arching her back.
I took hold of her arms and returned them to the couch, clasping
my hands firmly over hers. “liz, I don’t know if he told Angie or
not, and you certainly can’t tell from looking. I actually know Dr.
French—he has a well-earned reputation. I guessed because of the
marijuana and the ginger snaps. But, liz, none of this is about your
perfect breasts. You’ve got to come clean. Do you really think whoever
is behind this is going to let Doug or you live, if they’re willing to kill
your lawyers? Get real.”
“You guessed. You had me showing you my boobs because you
guessed. I should make you do a hands-on inspection for that bit of
trickery, Jack Patterson.”
Shaking my head, I succumbed to her thousand-watt grin. “Well it
was an educated guess. From the way you described your friend who
had breast cancer, the way you knew exactly how to handle the plants
and mix them with the ingredients, and because of how proud you are
of your body, which you should be. Yes, I guessed. I also guessed that
the friend you described isn’t the first person who’s benefited from
your ginger snaps.”
liz threw down her bourbon, got up from the couch, and poured
herself another. She bit her lip and spoke with a liz voice I had never
heard.
“No, Jack, she’s not, and I guess the reason you’re asking is because
you want to know if the recipe is Doug’s.”
“That and a whole lot more.”
“I’ll give you his formula, but you’ve got to promise to keep it to
yourself. Doug made me promise not to share it with a soul.”
I promised, and she slowly told me about learning she had cancer.
The radiation left her weak and exhausted, and the chemo destroyed
her hair as well as the cancer. “losing your hair is so unfair. I mean,
here you are, trying to fight this horrible disease with some sense of
privacy and dignity, and then your hair falls out. Bald men are ‘in,’
bald women are not. It’s like your body is screaming to the world, ‘I
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have cancer.’ I know my hair looks wild, but now that it’s back, I just
want to let it be.
“I went days without being able to hold anything down. Doug
couldn’t bear seeing me like that, so one night he made me a batch of
ginger snaps. I didn’t think I could manage even one down, but I did.
The first batch was more than a little strong, and the trip was pretty
wild, but over time Doug modified the recipe until he had it down
to perfection. Without those cookies, I’m not sure I’d have made it.”
“Did he teach you how to make your own?”
“Not at first. Not until I was fully recovered. We had a mutual friend
who was going through a similar hell, and I begged him to let me
make her a batch. He finally relented. They’re not that much dif-
ferent from regular ginger snaps.”
“So, exactly how many have you made?”
“I couldn’t tell you. I always keep some in the freezer for friends in
need. Do you have any idea how many women my age get cancer? But
Doug watches me like a hawk. He wants to be sure he knows exactly
where they’re going. That’s why he’s going to be so mad at me for
giving some to Sheila. This time I forgot to ask.”
“liz, don’t start again. I need candor, not bullshit. He was growing
hundreds of plants—how could he possibly know when you snipped a
few for cookies?” I asked.
“He controlled the spice.”
“The what?”
“That’s what he calls it. Besides the marijuana, the recipe calls for
a level tablespoon of ‘spice,’ no more, no less. He keeps it locked in
a safe in the basement. Whenever I make cookies, he gets it out and
gives me a level tablespoon. I don’t mind. It takes a lot of work on his
part to make the spice, and it’s what makes the cookies taste so good.”
I gave her a look. “liz, the truth, remember? I’m not somebody you
play bridge with.”
“That’s for sure. Doug says the spice helps with the actual cancer, not
just the wasting and the pain. He made me promise not to tell a soul.”
“Does it?”
“Well, the truth is, I don’t know. I only know what it did for me.
Doug tells me not to read anything into it, calls it an uncontrolled
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environment. But it did help, and my friends have said the same
thing. They’re very grateful.”
“So that’s why you don’t want to give his research to the Feds, and
maybe that’s why Doug told me it’s not about the marijuana.”
“That’s what I think.”
“Did the Feds remove the spice from the safe?”
“No, I was lucky. I told him I was going to make a batch the night
before the raid. He got it out and made me promise to only use a
tablespoon. I forgot to give it back, just put it with the regular kitchen
spices, and when they raided our home that was one of the few things
they didn’t take. Go figure. That’s why I was so anxious to get back
into the house, but I couldn’t tell Micki. It’s now in Daddy’s safe. He
has no idea what it is. Do you want it?”
“No. It’s probably safer here with you than it would be with me. liz,
why didn’t you tell Micki any of this?”
“Doug made me promise. Six months ago, he and I had a ‘come-
to-Jesus’ talk. Usually it’s about me spending too much money or my
flirting. He worried about people talking and the cops finding out
what was in my cookies—you know how people talk. But he knew how
much they could help people, so . . . we agreed that if anyone asked
about the cookies, I would play dumb in general and for sure not
mention any special ingredient. He said if push came to shove, he had
a plan, and that it included you. That was it. That was all he told me.”
“Why was he was so worried all of a sudden?”
“I don’t know—maybe because I had three or four sick friends with
