Mean Woman Blues

transformation. No one could.
    He got up and paced. The problem was this: How to recruit people to kill the Devil-Spawn? It was hard to recruit when you had a reputation as a multiple murderer. Thus, he couldn’t. His ragtag army would have to consist only of those who already knew him (working far behind the scenes) and those money could buy.
    He stopped in his tracks, hit between the eyes with a strange idea. Would money buy Langdon?
    No. Hell, no. The thing was personal between them. If he didn’t kill her first, she’d bring him down no matter what it cost her.
    He wished it weren’t so damn hard to get good help, what with his son and his trusted lieutenants in prison, nobody was left to run things except Bettina. Bettina was as loyal as a poodle, but she also had the brains of one.
    David had to really, really think about Bettina, ask himself a hard question: Could she be trusted to head up a mercenary army?
    Joan of Arc she ain’t
, he thought, and the vision of her in armor, riding a horse to victory was so funny be had to laugh.
    Hell, she had organizational skills. She’d run two or three of the programs back in the church— a children’s soup kitchen and a sort of labor pool the church had for people down on their luck, folks who needed temporary jobs. She’d even run an event for a campaign once or twice. She just didn’t have a lot of imagination. She couldn’t think on her feet or, for that matter, at all. She had to be given direct orders.
    But here was his problem: Except for a couple of contacts in California, she was all he had. And she was certainly the only soldier he had whose loyalty couldn’t be questioned. So she was it— general of the army, chief of staff, and head latrine digger. There wasn’t a choice.
    He took a big puff of his cigar, inhaling even though he knew you weren’t supposed to. Maybe it was the sudden lightheadedness, or maybe he was just inspired. Because his mind hared off in a whole new direction.
    Maybe there was another way to get Langdon. If he couldn’t kill her, maybe he could disable her. Bring her down big time. There was sure as hell more than one way to skin a cat.
    * * *
    These days, as May got hotter and hotter, Terri’s life was all about the show, all about her vindication and the new life she was about to lead as a crusader for the rights of innocent citizens beset by evil banks.
    She’d even said those very words ironically to Isaac, who had laughed at her. Okay, it was a fantasy— she was having a lot of those these days— but it was something to live for, something to get her mind off her court case. She’d called up Tiffie and run
Mr. Right
by her.
    “You’re what?” Tiffie’s voice was scathing, as if Terri’d just announced a detailed plan to kill her grandmother. “You’re going to be on
television
?” Like a TV studio was an opium den.
    Terri tried not to let it bother her. She bubbled on like some merry little fountain. “Yeah, it’s this great show about… uh… righting wrongs. I know it sounds corny, I mean, kind of unbelievable, but that’s what they actually do. See, they had this woman…”
    “Terri, I really can’t continue to represent you if you do that.”
    Terri didn’t even hesitate. “Oh. Well, okay then. Thanks for everything, Tiffie.” And she hung up before Tiffie could say another word. That was the way she fired her lawyer— as if she wasn’t doing it at all. She didn’t look back, either. She might need another lawyer, but she wasn’t going to think about that for a while. She was feeling better, and she didn’t want anything bumming her out.
    She was still smoking, but that was by choice. She’d quit stuffing her face with junk food, and now she had to take off the five pounds she’d gained— fast before her TV debut. Cigarettes would help with that.
    She wanted to look a certain way; this was show biz, and she was going to treat it as such. Innocent was how she wanted to come across. She had it all planned out.
    Justin, her hairstylist, had a hissy fit. “Honey, get a wig,” he sniffed. “I don’t
do
innocent.”
    “What if I were an actress? Think Judy Garland as Dorothy.”
    “
Brown
? You want to go brown?” Like she’d said give her antlers.
    “No, I just want to go Kansas.”
    So he gave her light brown hair with blonde highlights and styled it smooth and straight in a little schoolgirl thing. She couldn’t believe it when she looked in the mirror. “Omigod! I just