Kisser (2010)

Rita said, pointing at the door, “you get out of that garb right now and put on the uniform I gave you. This is not a French farce.”
    “I don’t know about that,” Stone said, watching her go.
    The phone rang, and Mitzi picked it up. “Send him up,” she said, then hung up. “It’s Sharpe. He’s half an hour early.”
    “Rita,” Stone said, “get that money into the safe and make sure that Mitzi knows how to open it—then get to your room.” The two women ran out of the kitchen.
    Emma came back wearing a more prosaic maid’s uniform.
    “Emma,” Stone said, “as soon as Rita is back in her room, let Sharpe in, show him to the study, and get back here. You, Tom, and I will be drinking coffee together, should he decide to have a look around.”
    “Got it,” Emma said.
    “Okay!” Rita yelled from down the hall just as the doorbell rang.
    “You’re on,” Stone said to Emma, and she started down the hall.
     
     
     
    MITZI SAT DOWN at the desk in the study and began writing a letter to her father on Rita’s creamy stationery. She heard Emma go to the front door, and a moment later there was a knock on the study door. “Come in,” Mitzi said.
    Emma opened the door and stepped inside. “Miss Reynolds, Mr. Sharpe is here.” She let him in, backed out, and closed the door.
    Sharpe stood by the door holding a large briefcase and looking nervous. “You didn’t tell me the maid would be here.”
    “She’s here every day,” Mitzi said.
    “Who else is in the apartment?”
    “Just the maid and Stone. He’s down the hall in the kitchen having breakfast.”
    “I don’t think you understand how sensitive this transaction is,” Sharpe said.
    “I don’t think you understand that nobody in the kitchen cares what you and I are doing in here,” Mitzi said. She stood, slid back a shelf of fake book spines, and started opening the safe. “I’m glad you’re early,” she said. “I’ve got things to do this morning. Did you bring the drugs?”
    “Do you have the money?”
    Mitzi opened the safe, removed a brown envelope, and took out several bundles of bills. “There you are,” she said. “Count it, and let’s get this done.” She left the safe open and kept the desk between them.
    Sharpe set his briefcase on the desk, picked up some bills, and began counting them. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said, “but my supplier would take offense if I didn’t show up with the correct amount.”
    “I understand,” Mitzi said, sitting down again.
    Sharpe continued to count. “So you and Stone are an item, huh?”
    “You’ve seen us together before. I like him a lot.”
    “Didn’t he used to be a cop?”
    “He retired years ago, I believe; now he’s a lawyer.”
    “So he’s not going to come in here and bust me?”
    Mitzi laughed. “No, he is not.”
    Sharpe finished counting the money. He opened his briefcase and put the bills inside, then closed it.
    “And where are the goods?” Mitzi asked.
    “You’ll get them as soon as I deliver the money,” Sharpe said.
    “Our deal was cash on delivery,” Mitzi said. “You’ve got the cash, now deliver.”
    “I’ll be back in an hour.”
    “I won’t be here in an hour,” Mitzi said. “The deal’s off; leave the money on the desk and go.”
    “Now you listen to me . . .” Sharpe began.
    The phone rang, and Mitzi picked it up. “Hello?”
    “Everything all right?” Stone asked.
    “Yes,” she replied. “Send him up, please.” She hung up. “My driver is on the way up,” she said to Sharpe. “And you’re not leaving here with my money.”
    Sharpe opened the briefcase again and extracted two packages wrapped in opaque plastic and sealed with tape. “I was only joking,” he said. “Here are your goods. I’ll be going.”
    “Just a minute,” Mitzi said, picking up the large pair of brass scissors on the desk. She began working on the tape of the larger package.
    “I thought you were in a hurry,” Sharpe said nervously.
    “I am, but I just want to see this stuff.” She got the package open and smelled it. “That smells like marijuana,” she said.
    “The finest stuff, I promise you,” Sharpe said.
    Mitzi began working on the other package.
    There was a knock on the door. “Ms. Reynolds?”
    Sharpe looked like a trapped rabbit.
    “Tom, please wait in the kitchen,” Mitzi called back. “I’ll be ready in a minute.” She continued to work on the smaller package and finally got it open.