He went back to McCoy and asked him for the names and addresses for the rest of the robbery crew. The deadness in his eyes and the coldness of his tone were enough to let McCoy know he wasn’t someone to be fucked with right then. In a defeated voice, McCoy gave him three names and addresses. Luce wrote it all down, and then asked his prisoner again and got the same information, McCoy’s expression showing how he was betraying his fellow criminals. Still Luce told him that he had the license plate of the Malibu sedan that McCoy and the rest of them were in earlier.
“I followed the car when all of you drove away from your dead friend’s house. I watched them drop you off first, and I saw that there were three others in the car, so it’s good for you that you gave me three names. When I get to my laptop, I’m going to be checking that license plate’s registration with the names you gave me and there better be a match.”
Luce was lying. He didn’t bother getting the license plate of the Malibu. It wouldn’t have done him any good since he wouldn’t be able to get the registration information without alerting his boss at The Factory. There was little chance, though, that his prisoner would know he was lying.
“The Malibu had a stolen plate on it,” McCoy insisted. “So the registration’s not going to match.”
There was no shiftiness in his prisoner’s demeanor, just anger. Luce decided McCoy was telling him the truth, and he left again for the kitchen. Once there, he rummaged through drawers until he found a butcher’s knife, which he brought with him to the bedroom. It was going to be his first killing that wasn’t sanctioned by either the army or The Factory, but when he was done he found that he didn’t feel any different about this one. While he didn’t get any enjoyment or satisfaction from it, stabbing the girl to death while she lay unconscious didn’t matter to him either. He brought the bloody knife to the living room making sure blood dripped onto the carpet as he did so, and when McCoy saw it he squeezed his eyes shut.
“It’s not your time yet,” Luce said, and instead of stabbing McCoy also, he forced McCoy to grip the knife handle in his right hand so he’d get a solid set of prints on it, then forced the knife out of his hand and onto the floor. Luce had been wearing gloves ever since he had entered the house so he didn’t have to worry about his own prints. He needed to put McCoy out again, and he had only brought one dose of etorphine hydrochloride with him, so he used the Taser on McCoy. Twice.
Chapter 8
Around five thirty, truckers and other early commuters started trickling into the diner. During all that, Willis and Bowser maintained their vigil. At six o’clock, the sour blonde waitress was replaced by a gray-haired grandmotherly type. By then, the diner had gotten more crowded with the counter space taken up and most of the booths occupied. The new waitress gave both Willis and Bowser a tentative smile and asked if he needed anything more or whether she could bring him his check, which meant she’d been filled in about him camping out at the booth since twenty past four.
“Sure,” Willis said. “I’ll have another refill of coffee and a slice of apple pie if you’ve got any. Bring a slice also for the dog.”
She hesitated, her smile growing weaker. She was a stout woman with plump arms and thick legs, her gray hair pulled up into a steel wool-type ball.
“Dear, I’m afraid it’s against health code violations for your dog to be here. Maybe it might be best for you to settle the bill?”
“Not yet,” Willis said, and he looked away from her. Five minutes later, she came over with a coffee pot and two slices of apple pie. Eight minutes after that Hanley called back.
“It was damn harder getting that information than I would’ve thought,” Hanley said gruffly, his voice showing that he still held some resentment for Willis telling him to shut up earlier. “And it cost you some money. Two grand, which I’m not getting a dime of.”
“Okay.”
Hanley gave him the addresses of the two Factory supervisors, and the address of a home in Winthrop he could use. “The place is scheduled to be torn down for new construction, but that ain’t happening for another two weeks, and it’s only eight miles from one of those guy’s homes, the one with the Somerville address. I was promised this house is isolated enough where you’ll have all the privacy you need.”
“Is that it?”
“Yeah, that’s it. You can settle up on these costs next time you see me. And don’t worry about those two guys. Do whatever you need. If they disappear, it won’t get back to me or you from asking about them. The guy I bought the information from is solid.”
Hanley disconnected the call on his end. Willis waved over the waitress and settled the check, then left the diner with Bowser following close behind. Once he was back in his car, he called Charlie Hendrick’s disposable cell phone using the disposable he’d been given. When Hendrick answered, Willis gave him the name and address of The Factory supervisor he wanted Hendrick to abduct, and the address to take him to once he had him.
“Take your buddies Gannier and McCoy with you,” Willis said. “The three of you figure out how to grab him quietly. I’m heading off now to grab the other guy, and I’ll meet all of you at that Winthrop address. We need to all move now and see if we can get those two men before they head off to work. If we miss them we won’t have another chance until later tonight.”
“Okay. Jared’s with me now and the two of us are ready to roll. I’ll give Bud a call. Are you sure you don’t need one of us to help you with your guy?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Just don’t screw this up. If we don’t nab them this morning, we’ve got to wait until tonight. If you make a play for him and your man escapes, it will get tougher as there will be more security next time.”
“Don’t sweat it. If it’s possible for us to take him, we’ll do it.”
Willis had given Hendrick the one living in Somerville. His target had a Waltham address. He knew he was cutting it close. Maybe by seven o’clock he’d be in position to try for an abduction, and he just had to hope his man wouldn’t be leaving for work any earlier than that. Willis knew where the Boston office was located—he’d been there once before when he abducted his handler; a deranged fanatic named Tom Barron who truly believed he was saving the country with what The Factory was doing—and he knew there wasn’t any way of gaining access to the building without a Factory badge. So it was either grab these two men while they were at home or wait until much later and lose valuable hours. Ten minutes after he’d ended his call with Hendrick, his cell phone rang again as Hendrick was calling him back.
“There’s a problem with Bud,” Hendrick said, his voice hollow and tinny as if he were stunned and couldn’t quite believe what had happened. “He wasn’t answering his cell so I swung over there with Jared.” His voice dropped off for a moment, then, “It’s bad. Bud’s gone and his girlfriend’s on the bed stabbed to death. It wasn’t Bud who did it. No way he did that, not Bud. But whoever it was made it bloody.” Another hesitation, then, “It’s got to be the guy we’re hunting.”
Willis grimaced, as he could see then what must’ve happened. “He must’ve followed us from Howlitz’s house to where we dropped off McCoy.”
There was more silence from Hendrick, then with a desperation edging into his voice, he asked, “Why’d he go after Bud? He doesn’t know about you. He doesn’t know we know who he works for and can track him down. So why’d he have to go after Bud like this?”
“He’s cleaning up loose ends. He’s afraid if anyone involved in the robbery gets picked up by the police, his Factory bosses might find out that Howlitz was involved also and start thinking that their man took the robbery money after finishing up with the hit, which they wouldn’t like. Where are you now?”
“In the car heading to Somerville. Jared’s with me.” There was more hesitation, then, “The bastard left the knife in the middle of the living room. I’m sure it was left as a frame and has Bud’s prints on it. I took it with me so I can dump it. I’m hoping Bud’s still alive, and fuck, I need to get back th
ere later and get rid of the body and clean up in case Bud ends up surviving this. I just hope that fucker doesn’t send the police over there before I can do that.” More silence, then, “I’ve never done anything like that before, and I’m assuming you have. I could use the help. I’ll pay you.”
“We’ll work something out. Are you okay to grab your guy? You sound shook up.”
“I’ll be okay.” Hendrick’s voice dropped lower. “I never expected this shit to come down on us. Bud and Cam have been buddies of mine and Jared since fifth grade. I want this fucker badly. When we catch up to him and get our money back, I want to spend a long time with him before I kill him. Someplace quiet where I can spend days with him.”
The last was said with a forced bravado, and it had Willis almost deciding then to cut his losses, but he had seen how well Hendrick and the rest of his team had performed during the robbery, and the steel that Hendrick had shown then, especially when he was sizing Willis up trying to decide whether he could get away with killing him. Hendrick had taken a shock to the system and Willis had to hope he’d get it together soon. He hated the idea of giving up on the hundred and ten thousand dollars he was owed. More, since it was going to be either a three-way or four-way split.
Willis said, “Just remember, we know he’s chasing us, he doesn’t know we’re chasing him.”
“Yeah, okay, I don’t need any fucking pep talks. I’ll be fine. So will Jared. You do your job and we’ll do ours.”
Hendrick disconnected the call from his end. Willis smiled thinly over hearing that touch of steel once again in Hendrick’s voice. He just had to hope it would stay there.
Chapter 9
For the next two hours, Luce was kept busy. First, he needed to use McCoy’s car to drive back to where he had left his own car so he could transport his unconscious prisoner from one car trunk to the other. Then, while McCoy was still out cold he drove to the small ocean-front cottage that he’d been given as Burke’s address while at the same time arranging to have McCoy’s car picked up and disposed of in a way so that there would be nothing left to be found. He needed to do that outside of The Factory, but he knew someone, who, for a reasonable fee, would pick up the car within the hour and by noon have it chopped up for scrap metal and parts.
When Luce was a mile away from Burke’s address, he pulled over and brought up Google Earth on his laptop so he could figure out his approach to the cottage. Nothing was any good. There was no cover. However he tried approaching the cottage he’d be out in the open, so he’d have to try going in fast through the front door and try to catch Burke by surprise if he was there. The one break he caught was since it was off-season the other cottages were probably empty so there wouldn’t be any neighbors around to see him busting his way in. Luce pulled back onto the road and continued on. Five minutes later, he pulled into the driveway of a cottage four addresses away from Burke’s. He attached a silencer to a 38-caliber pistol that he earlier had kept in his trunk, and then was out of his car moving swiftly to where he was hoping Burke would be.
He felt a tightening in his chest as he ran crouched over to keep his body as low as he could. Burke was the one he was anxious to eliminate. He’d be the most dangerous for several reasons—he’d be the toughest of them to kill after his Factory training and the one who could cause him the most problems with The Factory. The other two would be fairly routine, especially if they were anything like their friend who he had bound and gagged in his trunk, or their other buddy he killed earlier.
When he got within fifty feet of the cottage, he saw that the blinds for a side window were partially up. Instead of kicking down the front door as he had planned, he instead made his way to the window. The cottage looked empty and there was no sound from inside. He stayed crouched there for three minutes without seeing or hearing anything. There no longer seemed any reason for a quick entrance. Instead of busting down the front door, he used a lock pick and moved swiftly through the rooms of the cottage. If Burke had ever been there, he had since packed up. Luce spotted drops of blood on the floor in several places and in the front hallway the plaster was cracked as if someone had thrown a bowling ball into it. He also found the wall damaged in the back of the cottage.
Luce had to rush things. He couldn’t risk the police stumbling onto McCoy stored away in his car trunk. Even though the man was bound and gagged, he’d still be able to bang against the inside of the trunk. Luce would come back later after he had McCoy stored away someplace safe and private, and then more thoroughly search the cottage for anything Burke might’ve left behind.
When he returned to his car, he headed to Plymouth, which was twenty-three miles south of where he was. His previous assignment before Howlitz had his target living in Plymouth and he had access to an empty house a few doors away from his target that he used for surveillance. The house should still be empty and he planned to put McCoy on ice there. Things would be easier if he could simply kill him and be done with him, but he needed to keep him alive for the time being. While Luce believed his prisoner had been truthful with the address he gave for Burke, he wasn’t so sure about the other two. It was obvious that McCoy had a closer relationship with those two, and he could’ve been trying to protect them. If that turned out to be the case, Luce would do what was necessary to get the information out of him. Luce might also need to use McCoy to lure the others, the way you hunt a tiger with a staked goat. In any case, he needed to store McCoy someplace safe until he was ready to deal with him. When the time was right, he’d have to make sure McCoy disappeared completely. He couldn’t allow for someone inside The Factory to get wind of McCoy’s death—as well as any of the others he was going to be killing—that person might end up connecting them to Howlitz and get suspicious about why they were being killed, and Luce wasn’t going to let that happen. At least not until he took off to parts unknown.
While the house Luce drove to was going to be empty, it wasn’t completely safe for him to use it. With McCoy in the trunk, Luce was going to have to drive into the attached garage, and it was possible a neighbor might see him. The house was set back on the property and had a dense set of trees bordering the neighbor to its right, but he’d still be exposed to several houses if anyone was watching. Most likely if anyone saw him, they’d think he was from the bank that foreclosed on the house, and wouldn’t bother interfering. He’d just have to take his chances. If the police were called, he’d deal with them.
It was a quarter to seven when Luce approached the street the house was on. It was a more middleclass neighborhood than where most of his targets had lived. While the houses were all small capes or modest colonials, the area was less seedy, less rundown. Luce felt exposed as he pulled into the house’s driveway and used a Factory-issued gizmo to open the automatic garage door. While the house had been foreclosed on, the bank kept the electricity on. Luce wondered whether The Factory was responsible for the bank doing that. He also wondered about the assortment of devices The Factory had given him. The one he had used was supposed to be able to override any commercial security system as well as open a standard garage door, and so far it had worked like a charm whenever Luce had needed to use it. The Factory could’ve built the device by hacking the security systems, but most likely they were handed special codes by the companies that built them—codes that The Factory must’ve insisted on. Luce pulled into the garage and used the gizmo to lower the garage door.
Luce exited the car. As he expected, McCoy was awake. His prisoner lay on his side with his stubby arms behind his back, his wrists taped together, his knees almost to his chest, with his ankles also taped together. A wadded up piece of newspaper had been stuffed in his mouth and then duct tape was used to keep his mouth closed. McCoy looked up at him with a mix of fear and rage, with maybe rage having the upper hand, his eyes both watery and burning bright. Luce ignored it. It was just business and if the guy wanted to take it personally, that was his problem.
Luce grabbed McCoy under his armpits and pulled him o
ut of the trunk, letting him fall onto the floor. The body hit the cement with a dull thud, the gag blocking any grunts of pain.
Luce left him there and went to unlock the door to the house, then came back and grabbed McCoy by his feet and dragged him through the door and into a small room that had once been a den, but was now empty of all furniture. The only reminder of what the room had once been was ugly orange shag carpeting. Luce went back to his car for his laptop and brought it into the house. Once he found the memo that had been sent about the man with a half a million dollar bounty on him, he showed the picture of the man to McCoy and asked if that was Burke. He didn’t bother pulling the tape off and taking the wadded up newspaper out of McCoy’s mouth. From the shift in McCoy’s eyes, he knew the man in the photo. McCoy nodded in a defeated way, not that Luce needed to see that.
The man in the picture was named Dan Willis, or at least that was the name The Factory used. Luce recognized the man’s eyes. The same cold dead eyes he saw every time he looked in a mirror or accidentally caught his reflection. There was no doubt the man had been a Factory assassin. The memo had been sent over four months ago. Instead of Willis running to a remote part of the world like he should’ve, the damn fool had hung around after deserting The Factory to commit armed robberies. It was a miracle the guy was still alive. Luce remembered hearing about a Factory supervisor in the Boston office who had disappeared around the same time the memo was sent. What was his name? Barry? Barron? Something like that. He wondered if the two were connected. Probably. He put his laptop down, grabbed hold of McCoy’s feet again and dragged him to a coat closet that was just big enough to fit McCoy’s bulk. He closed the closet door on him. It would be fine leaving him there. He’d be out of sight if anyone looked through a window, and he sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere.
The Interloper Page 20
