Runner-up 3

Palmieri eased back in his seat and tried to get comfortable. He knew it was a luxury to fly first class for such a short hop, but he did everything first class, and a limo just wouldn’t be fast enough.

His hand grew damp from the condensation on his glass. Palmieri gazed at the ice cubes in his bourbon, not really seeing them, as he thought. How could this all have gone so wrong?

He knew he was dealing with amateurs, but this was ridiculous. Carmen had to be bluffing with her little backup plan, but . . . she had managed to somehow evade that lurching thug Hans. Maybe there was more to her than met the eye. All the better that he was going to take care of everything tonight himself, then.

Suddenly, Palmieri felt eyes on him. He glanced to his left, where an attractive woman in a business suit was gazing in his direction from across the aisle. Her long blond hair was up in a loose bun, and she had on just the right amount of makeup.

“Do I know you?” she asked him.

“I think I’d remember a face like yours,” Palmieri replied with a wink.

“I’m Karen,” she reached a perfectly manicured hand across to shake his.

“Roberto,” he answered, using the name on his faked credentials.

“What brings you to Los Angeles?” she asked.

“Business, always business. And you?”

“The same . . . you know, Roberto, I could swear I know you. Would you care to join me for a late dinner when the plane lands? Maybe we could explore how I might find you so . . . familiar.” Karen uncrossed and recrossed her legs seductively, licked her lips just slightly, and gazed at him expectantly.

“I’m sorry, but I have a . . . previous engagement this evening. Maybe we could get together in a couple days, when my business is complete.”

“Perhaps . . .” Karen sighed and reached for her SkyMall catalog. She did not look over at him again.

As the plane descended into LAX, Palmieri considered his next move. His boys in the BMW said it was gearing up to be a three-ring circus over at Falco’s. While there was no way he could trust any of them to handle the whole thing for him, he was feeling a bit uneasy at the firepower building up at the mansion . . . not to mention how little of it would be under his control. It might be time to call in a little insurance policy of his own.

Palmieri grabbed his carry-on bag and took the three steps to the plane’s door. As he stepped out of the jet way, he was surprised to see several uniformed officers waiting. He pretended as though he had forgotten something on the plane and turned to escape.

Right behind him was Karen, and she didn’t look nearly as pretty when she was holding a badge in his face.

“Drop the bag and put your hands on your head, Palmieri. You’re under arrest.”

Carolee Eubanks writes fiction for fun and technical documents for money.