A Quiet Man (Victor Book 9)

by Tom Wood

‘No, the other one. Did the guy deserve it?’

  ‘Most assuredly,’ Victor said.

  ‘That’s what I like to hear.’ The man offered his hand. ‘Call me Garrett.’

  Victor shook it. ‘Wilson Murdoch.’

  He could feel the strength in Garrett’s hand, in the thick fingers and dense bones connected to ropey muscle all the way up his arm. Useful, practical strength. Garrett could have a crushing grip if he so chose. Instead, his handshake was firm but nothing more. He didn’t feel the need to prove anything.

  Only the weak felt the need to prove their strength.

  ‘Anything I should know?’

  ‘About what?’

  Garrett shrugged. ‘The town, the motel. Maybe you can offer some insight. You’ve been here a while.’

  Victor resisted saying How do you know? because that would mark him as a man who cared why, and he didn’t want Garrett to know that particular fact. There were any number of reasons Garrett might know: no keys in Victor’s hands meant he hadn’t come into the office to check in, so he hadn’t just arrived like them; the motel manager might have mentioned Victor in passing, perhaps as a warning. We have a difficult guest you should stay clear of …

  ‘Just a few days,’ Victor said. ‘The bar a mile west has good beer on draught.’

  ‘That’s my kind of insight.’

  Victor added, ‘Not much beyond that. It’s a quiet place.’

  ‘Except the brawl.’

  ‘Except that.’

  Garrett smiled and then glanced at Victor’s truck. ‘That’s a decent model you got there. A workhorse. You’ll never get stuck in a ditch.’

  ‘But a bad ignition switch,’ Victor said. ‘Had to get a new one fitted. If you need an auto shop, ask for Gino. He’s young but he knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘Thanks, but no need.’

  ‘Escalades are as reliable as sunrise.’

  ‘More so,’ Garrett said. ‘Not even a chance of cloud cover. But should a sudden hurricane unexpectedly arise we do our own grease monkey work.’

  Victor recognised but hadn’t heard the term ‘grease monkey’ for a long time. He thought he hid any sign of recognition because he always did, yet somehow Garrett noticed.

  He said, ‘Let me guess: Marines.’

  Lying would only have drawn more attention so Victor was honest: ‘Army.’

  There was a pause before Garrett said, ‘That’s it? No elaboration? Usually a vet can’t wait to talk units, ranks. Theatres, tours. Stuff like that. Then they take a guess on me. Maybe swap a war story or two that’s usually unsuitable for general sensibilities.’

  ‘I don’t need to guess,’ Victor said. ‘Anchor tat on your forearm. I don’t picture you loading torpedoes, so I’ll say frogman.’

  Garrett rubbed at the skin midway between his left elbow and wrist. ‘That little guy is over twenty years old and so faded even I can barely see it.’

  ‘I like carrots.’

  ‘You know where that came from, don’t you?’

  Victor said, ‘World War Two. The RAF claimed their pilots had better vision at night thanks to eating carrots.’

  Garrett nodded. ‘To hide the development of radar. I’m guessing you’re up here to hunt.’

  ‘Up here?’

  ‘You’re from south of the border, right? Somewhere east of the Rockies.’

  Victor nodded. ‘But I’m here to fish, not hunt.’

  ‘Out on the lake?’

  Victor nodded again.

  ‘Bet it’s beautiful.’

  ‘Peaceful.’

  Garrett smiled. ‘Even better.’

  ‘You guys are hunters.’

  ‘That wasn’t even a question. We that obvious?’

  ‘No one’s going to stink up brand-new Cadillacs with bait or fish guts.’

  Garrett laughed. ‘Ain’t that the truth?’

  ‘What are you hunting?’

  ‘Moose. Elk. Maybe a bear.’

  ‘You cast a wide net.’

  Garrett nodded. ‘A fisherman would know all about that.’

  ‘So would a frogman,’ Victor said. ‘Good luck out in the woods.’

  ‘I don’t believe in luck.’

  Victor said, ‘Neither do I. But I was being polite.’

  ‘Do you often say things you don’t mean, to be polite?’

  ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

  Garrett pursed his lips. Thought. Shrugged. ‘Tell you what, I’ll see you later and we can continue the discussion. I can let you know how lucky we got over one of those good beers.’

  ‘I’ll have to wonder,’ Victor said. ‘I’m making a move.’

  ‘What’s the hurry?’

  ‘No hurry.’

  ‘You’re throwing money away. It’s nearer midnight than noon so you must have paid for the night too, thinking you were staying. Something unexpected must have come up and rocked your plans. Hope it’s not too serious.’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Victor said. ‘Needs must.’

  ‘Don’t they always?’ Garrett said. Glanced at Victor’s knuckles. ‘Not running from the law, are you?’

  Victor stepped to one side, to pass Garrett. ‘Happy hunting.’

  ‘I was wondering if you were ever going to continue on your way.’

  ‘Funny, I’ve been wondering the exact same thing about you.’

  ‘Guess I was testing you while you were testing me right back.’

  ‘Habit,’ Victor admitted.

  ‘Likewise,’ Garrett said. ‘First impressions can tell you everything about a person if you’ll let them. I wanted to see how long it took for you to excuse yourself from the conversation, and there you were doing the exact same thing. You’re right, it is funny. But what does it mean that you backed down first?’

  ‘That’s where you’re mistaken,’ Victor said. ‘I wasn’t testing to see if you would leave first. I was testing to see if you wanted me to do so.’

  ‘Huh,’ Garrett said. ‘Then that leaves me with a question unanswered. Did I pass your test?’

  ‘Did I pass yours?’

  Garrett didn’t answer.

  Neither did Victor.

  FIFTY-ONE

  The motel manager was neither a brave man nor was he a stupid one. He had his instructions from McAllan and had delivered them as instructed. Only Wilson Murdoch, the fisherman, didn’t seem to care. That had put the manager in a difficult position because he neither wanted to tell McAllan that he had failed in his simple task nor did he want to tangle with Murdoch over the issue.

  There had been no nineteen new bookings, as he had told him last night, of course. Although those hunters from south of the border had taken up four rooms. The manager had told McAllan at the time that such a claim would not fly but McAllan hadn’t cared.

  ‘If we kick him out,’ McAllan had told him, ‘he has no choice but to go.’

  Great in theory, but who was going to kick him out?

  Thankfully, it wasn’t going to come to that because Murdoch was going of his own accord. The manager could breathe a little easier because he never wanted to see the man ever again. The manager’s throat was still a little raw. He was already bored with eating only soft foods.

  McAllan hadn’t told the manager why he wanted the fisherman gone at all and the manager had asked only enough questions to know he shouldn’t be asking any.

  What was going on?

  Michelle had never been so much as a minute late before; now she hadn’t shown up for two days straight and there was a crazed fisherman looking for her, and the motel owner and rumoured criminal was putting pressure on the manager to get rid of the fisherman.

  Almost certainly it was best not to know what was going on, but he was starting to worry about Michelle and her boy. He found he missed Michelle’s company and missed Joshua getting under his feet. He really was sorry for calling the boy the r-word.

  Something occurred to the manager.

  He set about looking under the check-in desk for where he h
ad put it. He still wasn’t used to Michelle’s system and had made a mess of her paperwork organisation.

  It took him a few minutes to find the business card.

  Still stiff, still pristine. Thick white stock and distinct black lettering. A company name. An Illinois area code. Email address. Cell phone. No logo.

  The manager used the desk phone to dial the cell number.

  The answering voice said, ‘Jennifer Welch.’

  The manager introduced himself and said, ‘I know it’s late, but you said to call any time.’

  ‘I did. It’s fine. What can I do for you?’

  ‘You told me to let you know if your friend stuck around,’ the manager said. ‘And he has. He’s still at the motel. But he’s leaving in the morning. So he says this time, anyway.’

  ‘So he says this time?’

  ‘Last night his exact words were: “I’m not going anywhere.” Who knows what he will say in the morning. Like you told me: he has issues.’

  ‘He’s a complicated individual,’ Welch said. ‘Those issues run deep. They mean he can act in ways that are definitely not in his best interests. Thank you for letting me know.’

  ‘No problem. I said I would and I’m a man of my word. Will you be coming back? Will you need another room?’

  The manager was hopeful but tried not to sound like it.

  ‘We will be coming back,’ Welch said. ‘But we won’t be staying long.’

  FIFTY-TWO

  Garrett and his guys were all inside their rooms by the time Victor left his own. Both Escalades were still parked in the lot. Big vehicles. Expensive. A team of eight to twelve. Exmilitary. A serious operation, but no suggestion they had any interest in him.

  Hunters, Garrett had told him.

  There was a sliver of truth in the statement, Victor knew. He started his truck and left the parking lot, pulling on to the highway. He headed towards town. Not sure of his next move.

  He called Linette. She answered the phone with a sleepy tone.

  ‘I’m sorry for waking you,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be. I fell asleep on the sofa. You just saved me a stiff back all day tomorrow.’

  ‘I think I met the husband,’ Victor said. ‘At the motel. Garrett. He has a crew with him. Claim to be on a hunting trip but they’re lying.’

  ‘Wrong guy,’ Linette said with a yawn. ‘Michelle’s married to a guy named Bellarmien Robidoux, remember?’

  ‘He wouldn’t use his real name.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why would he?’

  ‘You say that like it’s the most normal thing in the world to go by another name.’

  Victor remained silent.

  Linette said, ‘Tell me about this Garrett. And what do you mean by a crew?’

  ‘Eight to twelve guys including Garrett,’ Victor said. ‘Two high-end SUVs. They’re serious. He wants them back and he’s not taking no for an answer.’

  ‘You don’t need twelve guys to kidnap a single mother and her kid.’

  ‘He expects resistance.’

  ‘The boyfriend.’

  ‘He’s armed. He lives somewhere isolated. Garrett knows this, knows the boyfriend isn’t going to give them up without a fight.’

  ‘Shit,’ Linette said. ‘Shit.’

  He frowned.

  She couldn’t see this, but she remembered. ‘In the circumstances, I’m thinking that’s warranted. But yeah, sorry. If you’re right I have a possible kidnap being planned that includes a possible gunfight and the very realistic possibility of a casualty. This is a sleepy town. Nothing like this happens here.’

  ‘It won’t happen here,’ Victor said. ‘The boyfriend must live deep in the forest. That’s why there’ve been no signs of Joshua or Michelle. They’re off the grid.’

  ‘There’s a lot of trees out there, a lot of isolated homes. Could be World War Three going on right now in those trees and we wouldn’t hear it.’

  ‘Can you get a list of such homes? Cross-reference them with men who work at the quarry?’

  ‘Sure, it will take a couple of days.’

  ‘This thing will be over by then,’ Victor said. ‘Garrett didn’t show up with his crew to sit around twiddling their thumbs. They already have their plan. Now it’s time to put it into action.’

  Linette exhaled. Victor imagined her staring into space for answers that didn’t materialise. ‘Unless Garrett has committed a crime, there’s nothing I can do. There’s not even probable cause to search his vehicles on the off chance there’s an unregistered firearm. All I have to go on is your guesswork.’

  Victor didn’t correct her. He didn’t tell her that it wasn’t guesswork, that it was deduction based on years and years of experience, of spending almost his entire life observing everything around him for threats, of constantly analysing and evaluating in order to remain breathing one more day, one more second.

  By her own admission, Linette could do nothing.

  Which meant he needed her further away, not closer.

  He said, ‘Maybe I’m wrong.’

  She yawned and said, ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I’m probably paranoid,’ he lied. ‘What do I know? I’m thinking the worst. I’m putting two and two together and coming up with five.’

  ‘Dude, don’t be putting the fear of God into me and then telling me you’re thinking the worst.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, trying to sound it.

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ she told him. ‘You’re worried about them. Human nature says we think the worst. Totally understandable. And I’m glad you’re paranoid because it means there won’t be any kidnapping, any gunfight, and certainly no casualties.’

  I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Victor didn’t say.

  Linette said, ‘I’m going to bed now,’ and hung up.

  Victor drove, staring at the road ahead, thinking of plans, options. Going through potential scenarios and their consequences. He thought about Abe and Castel and the Nameless. He thought about McAllan. He thought about Garrett and his team. He thought about Michelle, and most of all he thought about Joshua.

  Maybe that was why it took him a little longer than it should have to spot the tail. A black SUV. Not Sal following him on Fendy’s behalf again, even in a different vehicle. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

  Then he watched as red and blue lights flashed from the SUV’s grille and inside the vehicle attached to its rear-view mirror.

  An unmarked police vehicle.

  Victor pulled over and stopped on the side of the highway. He kept the engine running.

  The black SUV stopped behind him.

  In the dark, Victor could see a man in the driver’s seat and one in the passenger seat but no real features. He waited, knowing that waiting was part of the process.

  After a minute, the passenger door opened and a man climbed out. Now visible in the truck’s tail lights, Victor could see he wore a suit and an overcoat. As he approached, Victor saw the man was in his mid-thirties and had a shaved head. He made his way to the driver’s side of Victor’s truck.

  ‘Wilson Murdoch?’ the man asked, standing close but not too close.

  ‘That’s me.’

  He flipped open a leather wallet to flash a badge and its accompanying ID. ‘I’m Detective Wall, I’d like to ask you some questions if I may.’

  ‘Sure,’ Victor said.

  ‘At the station.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I think that’s best answered there.’

  Victor thought, weighing up his options. He’d already seen a glimpse of a handgun beneath Wall’s jacket as he put his ID away.

  ‘Okay,’ he said after a moment.

  ‘You need to come with me,’ Wall said.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘We’ll take you to the station.’

  ‘What about my truck?’

  ‘We’ll bring you back afterwards.’

  Victor said nothing.

  Wall said, ‘Do
n’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be.’

  FIFTY-THREE

  Victor climbed into the back of the black SUV. Wall guided the door shut from outside, rounded the rear of the vehicle, opened up the opposite rear door and climbed into the back.

  He heaved the door shut and it slammed.

  ‘All set?’ the driver said.

  He didn’t wait for an answer and pulled away.

  Wall sat with his knees spread and his hands in his lap. His gaze was focused out of the window at the grey world beyond the rain.

  Victor had his knees directly over his ankles, only his lower spine supported by the backrest, his head over his hips – how he always sat, kinetic chain braced and ready. His hands rested on his thighs.

  The driver drove with one hand on the wheel and the other playing with the radio. Talk shows and adverts and music interchanged in a rapid, disjointed melody. Outrage and pop stars and jingles overlapped.

  He settled on opera.

  Verdi.

  Victor approved.

  In the back, Wall moved his face closer to the window so he could see better through the downpour. Victor had an idea what he was looking for but wasn’t going to help out.

  They listened to the aria for a few minutes. No one spoke. Victor did his best not to translate the lyrics in his mind. He spoke Italian, as he did many languages, but preferred to enjoy the melody in as much ignorance as possible. The sound alone moved him in ways that words could not.

  In the backseat, Wall rubbed his palms together and then brushed them on his trousers.

  When the aria ended and a disc jockey announced what would come up next after a short advertisement break, Victor said: ‘What’s wrong with the seat?’

  Wall frowned, and the driver adjusted the rear view to look Victor in the eye.

  ‘Say again?’ the driver asked.

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ Victor repeated, gesturing to the empty passenger seat.

  The driver said, ‘Nothing’s wrong with it.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Victor said.

  Wall sat a little more upright.

  ‘Do you get travel sick?’ Victor asked him.

  Wall gave a hesitant shrug, then shook his head.

  ‘You’re a big man,’ Victor said. ‘More leg room in the front.’