Page 41 of The Alibi Club

Holly would do nicely. More than, really.

Her own bonus level, unlocked.

Four down, two to go.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Hypothetically Speaking

CLIFF

Jamie.

That was her name. The enchanting woman who smelled liked honeysuckle, had an attack dog the size of a Snickers bar, and the ability to make him forget his name while suspended in the gaze of her blue-green eyes. He hadn’t felt this dizzying mixture of curiosity and desire overtake him in years, or maybe ever. It was exhilarating.

That was why, when he heard the man Jamie Frisco was meeting with snarl at her and grab her wrist before she was able to wrench herself away, he felt compelled by his deep need to protect, to step in and put things back in balance. Nothing too gnarly, just a friendly reminder that the aggressor could be met with a violent accident wherein his neck might be broken and his body found washed up on the beaches of this quaint coastal town. Cliff destroyed both his cell phones for good measure, and to avoid being reported knowing that an altercation where a death threat was delivered might skirt the edges of accepted parolee behavior.

Cliff stared out at the ocean from the street bench and wondered if Jamie Frisco liked pink roses, or maybe peonies were more her style.

“Working out how to break into the bank across the street?”

Cliff looked up to find Parole Officer Dez Wheeler clad in purple and white workout gear complete with a Lakers visor.

“Oh, ye of little faith. Actually, I was thinking about what kind of flowers to buy a woman I met,” Cliff said.

“Is she incarcerated? If so, don’t send flowers, send packets of tuna. Better to barter with. Come on, we’re going for a walk. I gotta get my cardio on. Tahiti is looming.”

This would explain Dez’s text earlier that morning directing him to wear “something you can sweat in” and to meet at this bench in Manhattan Beach, which was directly across the street from Great Western Bank, Branch 13. Funny though, he hadn’t even realized it was a bank. Maybe he was changing. Cliff stood up while Dez stretched her hamstrings on the sidewalk. “I’m happy to report she is a civilian and while I have no proof, I do not believe she’s a criminal.”

“Punching above your weight. I like it, Weston. Come on.” Dez waved Cliff to follow her down to The Strand as their work out walk commenced. “Status?”

“I think she’s single. I didn’t see a ring on her finger, and—”

“Not the woman, Weston, you. What’s up with you?”

“Right. I’m here to report that you are power walking with a bona fide businessman. I have secured not one, but two new clients for my commercial and residential security business at Weston Security. My slogan is that I build security systems that even I can’t break into.”

Dez shook her head and let out a good long laugh. “Ah, I love it. A thief who thwarts other thieves. That’s one way to scratch that itch.”

The itch Dez referred to was one Cliff knew well. The thing about heist jobs was that each one was inherently exciting. Intricate puzzles that demanded commitment, top-notch team assembly, detailed planning, and perfect timing. The more exotic or difficult the job, the bigger the charge. He’d seen it many times: Guys would say they just wanted that one last big score, but time and time again they’d realize that the mistress they were really chasing wasn’t exactly the money, although the money was its own aphrodisiac. It was the thrill. Planning, executing, and escaping. There was nothing like it. He imagined it’s what a quarterback felt as he walked into every game. Only, highly illegal. Which also added to the thrill. Stakes were higher. Cliff answered her. “It’s working so far.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it. We’re going to run for ninety seconds then walk again.”

“We are?”

“It’s an app called From the Couch to a 5K, and I’m committed, which means you’re committed. Pick it up.”

Cliff kept himself in shape with his new hobby of surfing at dawn and light weights, so he assumed he could run for ninety seconds. He was wrong. Through huffing breaths he said, “Can I ask you a hypothetical question?”

Dez, who was not winded in the slightest and looked like a gazelle gliding down The Strand answered, “By hypothetical do you mean you want to hypothetically ask me something that would hypothetically otherwise get you into trouble?”

“Hypothetically, yes.”

“Proceed.”

“Hypothetically speaking, if a newly paroled ex-con was being contacted by someone still in the joint about a favor the new parolee might still owe him, what is the best course of action?”

Mercifully, Dez stopped running and resumed walking. Cliff slowed with her and was trying to catch his breath.