Golden Buddha (Oregon Files 1)

Murphy walked closer and let the smoke waft over the chairman.

“It’s the little things,” he said with a grin, “that makes the Corporation successful.”

“The real band was sober,” Cabrillo noted.

“But Ho doesn’t know that.”

Cabrillo nodded. “Listen up. Dick Truitt has managed to get three more operatives inside. The men will be dressed as security guards. I’ll have the company name shortly. Be careful, because there might be other guards Ho already hired. Don’t slip up and mistake ours for them.”

Just then, Cabrillo’s telephone rang. He listened then disconnected.

“Redman Security is the name on our guys’ uniforms,” he said to the group.

A moment later Julia Huxley walked into the room.

“Wow,” Kasim said.

Huxley was dressed in a pair of form-fitting leather pants that laced up the side and showed two panels of leg from foot to hip. Her top was a metal-studded vest that barely covered her ample bosom. Around her neck was a strap of leather with a D-shaped hook, and one of her arms was decorated with a flowing tattoo of barbed wire and flower vines. Her hair was teased and coated with hair spray in a wild fashion and her makeup was bold and thickly applied. Five-inch pumps and a dusting of glitter on her exposed skin completed the picture.

“Slutty enough for you boys?” she asked.

“I didn’t know the Magic Shop had such costumes in stock,” Halpert said.

Huxley walked over to Halpert and rubbed herself along his side. As the lead singer, he, of course, was the one who got the girl.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “This is from my own collection.”

Huxley was lying, of course—but then this entire operation was a façade.

“Now, who would argue,” Kasim said, “that America’s not the greatest country in the world?”

18

ROSS was checking the smoke machines when Ho walked out onto the lawn.

“Miss Iselda,” he said as he walked over, “I have a new piece of artwork I’ve decided I want to display out here on the lawn.”

Ross watched Ho carefully. The man was gesturing toward one side of the tent. He looked back at her expectantly. There was no hint he found anything amiss.

“Is it a painting?” Ross asked.

“No, it’s a statue,” Ho said.

Two workers were waiting alongside the colored lights near the smoke machine.

“Take a break for a few moments,” Ross said.

The men walked into the shade of the tent.

“Describe it to me,” Ross asked.

“Six foot tall and made of gold,” Ho said.

Ross quickly thought. “Perhaps we could place the object there”—she pointed a few feet away—“at the end of the red carpet leading into the tent. As sort of a sentinel.”

Ho and Ross walked over to the spot.

“I could light it with blue and red spotlights,” she said.