Vanishing Act. Fern Michaels

in the big duffel. You rolled it up. Thanks.”

      “You hungry?”

      Harry thought about the question. “Yeah, I guess I am. I had an apple at Quantico, but I was nervous about the meeting at the bank, so I thought it would be better if I didn’t eat. Good thing, or I would have lost it.”

      Jack gripped his friend’s arm tightly when it looked like Harry was going to go into a trance. “Listen, we’re going to make this right. Think of this as a blip on the screen, a bump in the road. Let’s go downstairs. I cooked a pot roast the other night, and there’s a lot left over. No sprouts, but I have some of that shitty tea you like, and I know how to cook rice. C’mon, let’s go.”

      As an added enticement, he said, “I have a pecan pie one of the girls at the office baked for me yesterday. With ice cream to go on top.” But he wasn’t kidding himself—it was the shitty green tea that made Harry pick up his feet.

      Downstairs in the kitchen, Jack popped a beer and brewed tea for Harry. He bustled about the kitchen, slicing the leftover pot roast, adding it to the gravy. He set the oven timer for fifteen minutes. The rice cooker would offer up perfect rice in less than that. He slid the pecan pie into the oven, next to the meat.

      “Jack, the perfect host. When did you really learn to cook?” Harry asked. His tone said he didn’t care about the answer one way or the other, he was simply making conversation, doing his best to lift the pall that was settling over the kitchen.

      Jack chose to answer anyway. “When I took over this house. I used to spend all day Sunday cooking, then parceling it out for weeks. I made a lot of mistakes, but it was a lot cheaper than eating out every night. The money I saved I put into my 401k. Mine’s a little down right now, how is yours doing?”

      “It’s gone, Jack. The son of a bitch who did this to me cleaned that out, too.”

      “Oh, fuck! How much did you have in there?”

      “Almost two hundred grand. That includes my IRAs, too. The bastard took it all. I’ve been putting in the max and doing without because I wanted to make sure I had enough to take care of Yoko in our golden years—if it should happen that the girls get a pardon. I had another $78,000 in CDs that’s also gone. I had a small savings account with $8,300 to draw on for emergencies and $1,600 in my checking account. It wasn’t enough to steal all that; the bastard applied for credit cards and put me in hock for over a hundred grand. I used to have an 820 credit score. Now I’m homeless and penniless,” Harry said pitifully.

      Jack struggled to find comforting words, but none came. All he could do was put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeeze it.

      “What did Lizzie say when you called?” Harry asked.

      “Messages were going straight to voice mail, and I didn’t want to leave that kind of message. We’ll call her after dinner, and Maggie, too. After we hear what they have to say, I think we should call the mountain and ask for the vigilantes’ help.”

      Harry turned around in his chair and looked up at Jack. “I’m not sure I want to do that, Jack. What the hell is Yoko going to think?”

      “She’s going to think just the way I’m thinking. The same way anyone else who hears this is going to think. Identity theft is a big problem in this country. Just go on the Net, and you’ll see it’s actually rampant. As soon as institutions get plans in place, those bastards manage to get around them. I promise you one thing, Harry. If the girls get on this, that son of a bitch is toast, and you’ll get all your money back. Then if you want to…kill that son of a bitch, I don’t think anyone will stop you. But the flip side to that is you’ll go to jail and won’t be able to spend any of that money the girls get back for you. Then Yoko will start to hate you because you made her a widow even before you married her.”

      “Eat shit, Jack!”

      Ah, the Harry he knew and loved had finally emerged from the sad-sack imposter he had found sitting in front of the dojo.

      “Soup’s on. How come you didn’t set the table, Harry?”

      Harry clenched his teeth. “Because you didn’t tell me to set the damn table, that’s why. Furthermore, I’m a guest, and you’re supposed to wait on me hand and foot. That’s what a good host does.”

      “Yeah, well, don’t go pushing your luck, Harry. We divide everything up here. I cook, you clean up. You do your own laundry. I vacuum, and you dust. We take turns doing the shopping. Yeah, I know you don’t have any money, so I’ll pay for the groceries, but then if I do that, you should cook. None of that alfalfa shit you eat or those sprouts that grow other sprouts right under your eyes and make you poop green. Deal?”

      “I hate you, Jack,” Harry said, slamming a plate with purple flowers on it in front of Jack. “Where are the candles?”

      “Oh, dear God, mercy me, good heavens, how could I have been so stupid as to forget the candles? You’re an asshole, Harry,” Jack said as he reached into one of the cabinets for a fat yellow candle, which was supposed to smell like warm summer sunshine, and set it in the middle of the table.

      “It doesn’t go with the dishes, Jack. It should be lavender.”

      “Harry! Shut the fuck up and eat!”

      Lizzie clicked on her cell phone. There was a smile in her voice when she said, “Talk to me, Jack. I was in the shower when you called. Cosmo is taking me out to dinner. Why didn’t you leave a message?”

      “I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave this particular message. Listen, Lizzie, something terrible has happened to Harry, so that makes this a personal call. That’s why I didn’t want to leave a message. Someone managed to steal Harry’s identity. He’s been evicted. All his money, all his accounts…gone. He’s staying with me right now and has seventeen bucks to his name and his Ducati. And that’s it. I’m going to tell you now that I broke into the dojo and got his stuff, and, no, I didn’t leave fingerprints. There’s yellow CAUTION tape all around the dojo. One more thing, the person or persons who did this also applied for over a dozen credit cards and ran them up to the max. Harry has over two hundred grand now in credit card debt. He has two cards that he pays off every month. He rarely uses them but will buy something or charge a meal just to keep them active.”

      “I got it, Jack. I’ll be on the first plane out tomorrow. Tell Harry to sit tight, okay? Also tell him he’s not the only one this has happened to, and it might make him feel a little better. Forty million Americans get their identity stolen every year.”

      “Yeah, well, that isn’t going to make Harry or me feel any better to know that, Lizzie.”

      “I know. But it’s a fact that we have to recognize and deal with. Call the mountain, and I’ll call Maggie. We need to get on this ASAP. Now, relax. I’m going out to dinner with my husband. I’ll check in with you the minute I get back to D.C.”

      “Gotcha. Thanks, Lizzie.”

      Jack turned to Harry. “You ready for your pie now? Lizzie’s on it. She told me that forty million Americans have their identities stolen every year.”

      “Yeah, I’ll take the pie and the ice cream. More tea, too. I don’t want to be the forty million and first American who has his identity stolen.”

      “Look at it this way, Harry. Lizzie has that long flight back to D.C. to map out a strategy. Boy, I can almost feel sympathy for the president of that bank when he goes up against Lizzie. By the way, what’s the name of the bank?”

      “East Coast Savings.”

      “Shit! That’s where my accounts are,” Jack snarled. “Damn it, wouldn’t you know this would happen on a Friday, so we have to sweat the weekend? First thing Monday morning, I’m out of that bank, and my money is going into a sock under my mattress.” Jack knew he wouldn’t do anything that stupid, but he was going to do something. Getting out of the bank was the first thing he had to do. And he wouldn’t mince any words when he told them