Domino by Chris Barnhart Page B

these things to the
Goodwill. They're clean but tattered. I think we can effectively
disguise you with some of this."
    "Disguise?" asked Clarissa
apprehensively.
    "Morgan's sphere of influence is far
reaching," Virginia explained as she unpacked the old clothes from
the box. "It's best if we change your appearance. Here. Try
this."
    Clarissa held up a man's denim sleeveless work
shirt with two fingers, holding it away from her as if it were bug
infested, then threw it back at Virginia in disgust.
    "This stuff is shit, Gin," she
spat.
    "This is all I can spare," Virginia replied
evenly as she handed Clarissa a man's faded olive green long
sleeved shirt that smelled strongly of stale body odor and cheap
after-shave. "These old jeans should fit you. Don't mind the paint
stains. The things have been washed."
    "I can't do this," Clarissa cried as she
started to get off the bed. Virginia grabbed her wrist and pulled
her back with a strength that surprised her.
    "You've got one shot," Virginia snapped, "at
staying alive long enough to get to your brother. Without me you're
dead. You do as I say. Or maybe you'd like me to call Marco
Camponello. Your choice."
    Clarissa froze. The venom in Virginia's eyes
was very real and very deadly. She felt the tightening of the web
around her, another trap springing shut. The bedroom door was open,
the front door visible beyond. Virginia's grip tightened on
Clarissa's wrist.
    "You wouldn't get far," she warned. "I'm
giving you a chance. Don't blow it."
    Resignation sunk like a weight to the pit of
Clarissa's stomach. She accepted the old clothes and started for
the bathroom to change.
    "Wait," Virginia eased herself off of the bed
panther-like and held her hand out to Clarissa. "Here, take this
black t-shirt, too. And take the necklace off. Your earrings and
rings also. They would be a dead giveaway. They wouldn't last five
minutes on you. And the watch. They'll be okay here. I have a wall
safe that Morgan knows nothing about."
    "I want to keep them with me," Clarissa
protested. "They're mine."
    "Morgan knows each and every stone," Virginia
countered. "All he has to do is report them stolen. You'd be
arrested and he'd have you. Do you want to take that kind of a risk
for a few stones? They aren't going to be any good to you
dead."
    The clasp opened with a definite finality and
Clarissa let the diamond necklace fall into her open hand. The
platinum setting felt soft as she ran her finger down the length of
the necklace and over the square-cut stones. For a brief moment the
stones caught the bedroom light and broke it into tiny rainbows.
Clarissa's dream. How shallow it seemed when weighed against
life.
    She slipped the diamond from her left hand and
unclasped the platinum and diamond watch. Her fist closed about
them defensively when Virginia gently took them from
her.
    "The earrings, too, Virginia reminded her."
Why don't you run yourself a hot shower before you change? You'll
feel stronger. We have a little time."
    As soon as the bathroom door was closed and
Virginia heard the water running in the shower, she put the jewelry
in her bureau drawer. Then she sat down on the bed and started
going through Clarissa's purse. There was a hundred and fifty
dollars in cash which Virginia put into the pocket of her robe, a
gold comb and lipstick case that she added to the collection of
jewelry, and a crystal angel with a broken wing in Clarissa's
make-up bag. Virginia remembered seeing the angel before. It had
not been broken then. Perhaps it had belonged to Clarissa but
usually none of Morgan's women received gifts that were not
purchased by Virginia.
    Virginia tossed the purse and its contents
into the plastic lined trash can by the bed. There was a reluctance
to toss the crystal angel in as well. It was not worth much, not
like the jewelry. Yet, its very existence perplexed Virginia. She
turned it over in her hand. Perhaps it had been Clarissa's before
she moved in to Morgan's home. No, she had seen it on