Page 23 of Spiders in the Grove

“OK.”

“The one million I gave you; I didn’t put that money into the account—it was put into your personal account. How in the hell did you pay them?”

“I told them I was…well, that I’d get them the money tomorrow.”

“How did you plan to do that—write a fuckin’ check with your real name and address at the top of it?”

“I don’t know! I just did and said what I had to! You figure it out!”

Don’t lose your head, Niklas, don’t lose your head, becomes my mantra.

“All right,” I say calmly, “I’m going to transfer that money into the other account—make sure you pay them tomorrow, exactly when you said you would, or they’ll kill you before you ever leave your hotel.”

“OK,” she says.

After a moment she asks, “How much?”

“How much what?”

“You said you were gonna put more money into the account so I can save more girls.”

She’s more than interested—hell, she’s out the door already; she’s in the damn limo; she’s at the mansion entrance banging on the glass to be let in!

“Five million dollars,” I say, and Jackie gasps. “That should be enough to get you in the door on the last night, and to buy a few more girls.” Four or five at the most, but I better not tell Jackie that.

“But what about tomorrow night?” she asks.

Oh, now she wants to go to all three! Make up your damn mind, woman!

“I need you there on the final night,” I explain. “And if you go on night two, you’ll end up spending the whole five million and have nothing left for night three.”

“But—”

“No,” I cut her off this time, “you do it my way, or you don’t buy anymore girls.”

“Save,” she corrects me icily.

“Save anymore girls,” I correct myself just to make her happy. “And don’t be so judgmental of Izabel; she’s playing a role just like you. You just keep an eye on her for me; report everything back to me: who you see her with, what she does, anything that happens to her.”

“OK,” Jackie agrees, pauses and then adds, “But now what do I do with these girls?”

I laugh shortly. “You’ll have to take them with you,” I tell her. “Can’t leave them alone because they could blow your cover. Can’t set them free right now, or it’ll look suspicious. How are they taking it? The girls—how do they feel about you?” Please don’t say you told them you rescued them.

“I told them I was saving them,” she answers, and I shake my head. “Most are taking it well—they’re hopeful, and ready to go home.”

I let out a long, deep breath; the fingers of my free hand rub in a circular motion against my temple, trying to tame a growing headache.

“Jackie, listen to me”—I point my finger sternly, as if she can see it—“you have to take the girls with you, and hope like hell none of them freak out by being forced to go back there, and end up blowing your cover.”

“Why can’t I just leave them with Schwarzenegger and Stallone in the hotel?”

“Because then who’s going to look after you?”

She sighs.

“I think I can handle it myself,” she says. “I made quite a show—it was actually kinda fun, the acting part—and nobody threatened me, or dragged me away; honestly, I think they enjoyed it.”

“What kind of show?” I’m afraid to know.

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