Vanishing Act. Fern Michaels

was getting really concerned because Harry always answered his phone. Always. And the fine hairs on the back of Jack’s neck had started to prickle. Somewhere, something was wrong.

      Jack sorted, sifted, and collated the papers in his briefcase before he bellowed for his secretary and the two assistant DAs. “Court’s dark tomorrow. I’ll see you when I see you. Be sure to get those papers to Judge Avalone before five-thirty. Chop-chop, guys. You, too, Melinda.” He got snorts of disgust and grimaces that he ignored. “It’s all about delegating, guys. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” A roll of rubber bands in the shape of a ball hit him squarely in the back of the head.

      Jack laughed as he made his way back to the elevator, his jacket slung over his shoulder, his tie trailing out of a side pocket.

      In the parking lot, he popped the trunk and tossed in both his jacket and briefcase.

      The inside of his car was like a sauna. He turned on the AC to HIGH and then slipped in a favorite Harry Connick, Jr. CD. Sweat dripped down Jack’s face. He swiped at it with the sleeve of his shirt. He tooled along, his eyes on the road, hoping to see Harry on his Ducati, but it didn’t happen.

      Traffic was surprisingly light for a Friday afternoon, when usually a lot of people headed out of the city to cooler pastures, so Jack made decent time to Harry’s dojo just as the AC kicked in, and he started to shiver.

      Jack turned the corner and slowed, his eyes almost bugging out of his head at the sight of the yellow CAUTION tape stretched across the dojo’s front door. What made him slam on his brakes was the sight of Harry sitting on the curb in his Armani suit, barefooted. His shoes were next to him there alongside the Ducati. He didn’t even look up at the sound of Jack’s squealing brakes. Jack slammed out of the car the moment he swerved the curb. He looked around for a sign of smoke that would mean the CAUTION tape was up because of a fire. No smoke. Christ, maybe Harry finally killed someone. Nah, he’d be in jail if he’d done that, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting on the curb in his Armani suit.

      “Harry! What the hell is going on? Harry, look at me! Goddamn it, what the hell is going on? Why are you sitting here all duded up in that fancy suit? Are you going to answer me, or do I have to knock you on your ass?” Jack yelled, his heart beating trip-hammer fast. When there was no smart-ass response, Jack dropped to his haunches and poked at Harry’s chest. “At least you’re not dead. You had me worried there for a minute. Talk to me, Harry. It’s me, Jack. Come on, buddy, let’s hear it.”

      Harry finally looked at Jack, his face a mask of pain, his eyes glazed over.

      Jack cupped Harry’s face in his two hands. “What, Harry? Are you sick? If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help you. Jesus Christ, Harry, will you please tell me what’s going on here?”

      Harry licked his dry lips and then looked square at Jack. “Someone stole my dojo, Jack. The bank foreclosed. They came this morning and kicked me out. Then they stretched the tape, and I’m not allowed to go in. They put new locks on the doors.”

      “What?” Jack’s screech could be heard for blocks.

      “I went to the bank this morning about the loan to remodel the dojo, and that’s when I found out. The bottom line is that my identity was stolen, and the person who did it ran up all kinds of bills, ruined my credit, took out two equity loans they didn’t pay on. They cleaned out my bank accounts, savings and checking. I have seventeen bucks in my pocket, Jack. I’m homeless. They don’t know about the Ducati. If they did, they’d come and take it. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just left the bank. I’ve been sitting here for hours. I can’t even go inside to get my stuff. That’s why I’m still wearing this stupid suit.”

      Jack lowered himself to the curb and put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Listen to me, Harry. We’re going to make this right. We are. I’m going to call the mountain, and the girls will be on this like white on rice. By the way, Charles is back. That’s why I came here. I knew something was wrong when you didn’t call and stood me up for lunch. Why the hell didn’t you call me, Harry? Give me one reason why. Just one, Harry.”

      Harry hung his head. “I was ashamed.”

      “Bullshit! If that happened to me, you would be the first person I’d call.”

      “It’s hard to make phone calls when you’re crying and can’t talk. Yeah, I bawled my eyes out. My whole life is gone, Jack. Gone!”

      “Only for the moment. We’ll make it right, Harry. I need you to believe that. Now, let’s go around back and break into the dojo and get your stuff. You’re moving in with me till we can get a handle on all of this.”

      “They told me not to go near the building, or they’d lock me up. I wouldn’t do well in jail, Jack.”

      “Okay, you sit here, and I’ll do the breaking and entering. No one told me I couldn’t go near the building. My stuff is in there, and I damn well want it. Tell me what you want, what you can’t live without.”

      Harry flapped his hands in the air. “My personal stuff. There isn’t that much.”

      “We need Lizzie!” Jack said as he scooted under the CAUTION tape and raced around to the back door. He eyed the padlock with disdain before he gave the door a kick that sent it flying off the hinges. He walked in and headed straight for Harry’s apartment on the second floor. He looked around. The word “spartan” came to mind. He got to work quickly, shoving clothes into a bag he found in the closet. He picked up two pictures of Yoko and added them to the pile. He cleaned out the dresser drawers and collected Harry’s bathroom gear. When he was finished he had three bags filled to overflowing. “Not much, my ass,” he muttered.

      Jack tossed the soft-sided athletic bags down the rickety steps. He followed, then raced outside with the bags and dumped them in the trunk of his Honda. He ran back in and cut off all the circuit breakers. No reason for Harry to be saddled with an electric bill he couldn’t pay. He was on his way back to the door when he spotted the huge cardboard carton where Harry tossed his mail. His eyes narrowed. He bent down, hefted the box to his shoulders, and carried it outside. He set it down and propped up the back door. It still looked like it had been kicked in. Oh, well.

      The box went into the backseat of his car.

      “C’mon, Harry, time to head for your new digs. We’re going to hit rush hour, so here’s the house key. You’ll get there before I will. Just go in and make yourself at home. I’ll call Lizzie and Maggie. Harry, look at me, buddy. We’re going to make this right. Trust me. Don’t kill yourself on the way, you hear me?”

      This was where Harry should shoot off some smart-ass response, but all he said was, “Thanks, Jack.”

      Oh, shit. He liked Harry better when he was snarly and hostile. This new Harry was never going to work. So the girls, and Lizzie, and whoever else, would just have to get done whatever was needed so the old Harry would be back in place in the dojo again. Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when he thought about what was likely to happen to the identity thief.

      Chapter 4

      It was almost seven o’clock when Harry, with Jack’s help, finished settling into the guest bedroom. It was a pretty room, Jack thought, with the lavender spread that matched the wisteria on the wallpaper in the room. Crispy white curtains fluttered in the early-evening breeze. A woman’s room because this was Nikki’s house, which she’d deeded to Jack when she and the other vigilantes had to run for their lives. Jack’s house now, with the understanding that if things ever worked out for her and the vigilantes, and she was able to return to society, he could deed it back to her.

      Harry looked around, his toes wiggling in the pale lavender carpet. His eyes still looked glazed, and his shoulders slumped. The Armani suit had been tossed on the bed, along with the silk shirt and tie. The offending shoes, which he hated, were under the bed. He now wore thong sandals and an outfit that resembled hospital scrubs. “It’s a nice room, Jack. Yoko would love it. Lavender is her favorite color. The bed looks comfortable.”