“Turns out—” Manny paused to take another quick bite, “that this wasn’t buster brown’s first brush with the law. He’s got a shit-ton of other arrests under half a dozen or so different names in several states. Lately, he’s used just about every bail bondsman in the greater Phoenix area and guess who posted the collateral each time?”
“Mama and sister?” McNamara said.
“Ex-fucking-zactly,” Manny said, taking another prodigious bite. “They must’ve had duplicate titles made up, so even if I did go to court and try to collect on the collateral, I own about as much of that fucking house and the car as I do that old time-share I bought at Disneyworld.”
He chewed while he sorted through the file and removed a color picture of a clean cut looking black youth in a graduation cap and gown. “That’s his eighth-grade graduation pic.” Manny then tossed a color print of the same youth, perhaps ten years older, flashing a gang sign and holding what appeared to be a knock-off AK-47. “This one’s more recent.”
Wolf compared the two and noticed the youthful innocence and optimism had all but vanished in the second photo. He handed both photos to Mac.
“The shit-brain’s real name is Booker Nobles,” Manny said. “But he’s got a ton of others. At the moment now, he’s going by Zeus.”
The coffee-maker hissed.
“Zeus?” McNamara said. “He a fan of the classics or something?”
Manny laughed and popped another piece of donut into his mouth. “Yeah, ain’t that a good one?”
“Any idea how we can start tracking him down?” McNamara asked.
Manny held up an index finger, which was coated with vanilla frosting and then said, “Not necessary. I got a line on where he’s holding up from a guy I know.”
“Who’s that?” McNamara asked. “And how reliable is he?”
Manny’s face scrunched up and for once he concluded his chewing before opening his mouth to reply. “Dickie Deekins. He’s golden. Used to work for me. Now he’s a reporter.”
“A reporter?” McNamara said then looked askance. “For who?”
Manny shrugged. “For himself. He does a podcast. He’s an Internet reporter.”
“Internet?” McNamara frowned. “I thought you said this guy was reliable?”
“He is.” Manny held up his hand and made an O with his thumb and forefinger. “Like I said, good as gold. He sent me some video.” Manny broke off a piece of the donut and held it a couple inches from his mouth but didn’t stick it in. “And he’s waiting to tag up with you guys when you get there. I told him you’re coming.”
“Pretty sure of yourself that we’re going to take this assignment,” McNamara said. “Ain’t ya?”
Manny shrugged again then hunched over saying, “Let’s just say, I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
“That’s the worst Godfather imitation I’ve ever seen,” McNamara said.
“Whatever,” Manny said. “But take this to the bank, Dickie’ll lead you right to Zeus.”
“And why’s he want to do that? He getting a kick-back, or something?”
“Nah,” Manny said. “All he wants is the story. He’s nursing a hard-on against Zeus.”
“For what?”
Manny shrugged. “Don’t know. Ask him when you get there.”
“I don’t understand,” McNamara said. “I thought you said this was gonna be tricky or something?”
Manny didn’t reply immediately but once more took his time chewing. Wolf thought this looked to be a delaying tactic and wondered what else was involved.
The hammer appeared about ready to drop.
Finally, Manny finished chewing and contemplating. He shifted in his chair and spoke over his shoulder to Freddie.
“That damn coffee ready yet?”
Freddie heaved a sigh, got up, and went to the coffee-maker. Pulling a big mug from the table, he dumped a load of creamer and a pinch of sugar into it before filling the cup with the dark liquid. He handed it to Manny, who took a sip and stuck out his tongue.
“Not enough sugar,” he said.
“Too bad,” Freddie said as he sat back at his desk. ”You’re borderline diabetic, remember?”
Manny sneered, pulled open his top desk drawer, and removed three paper packets of sugar and one of an artificial sweetener. He tore open the packets, dumped them into the brew, and grabbed a ball-point pen to use as a stirrer.
“You were about to tell us where this guy’s holed up,” McNamara reminded him.
“Yeah, yeah.” Manny brought the cup to his lips and sipped gently. “You see, this guy’s into so many of us businessmen in the area, that we’ve all got a stake in seeing him brought to justice. So do our insurance companies.” He drank some more coffee. “So we all kicked in together and got a little reward going to augment the standard recovery fee.”
“Marvelous,” McNamara said. “Now quit the run-around. What’s the catch?”
Manny ran his tongue over his front teeth and flashed a lips-only smile.
“He’s holed up in the FROZ,” he said.
“The what?” McNamara said.
“The FROZ,” Manny said. “That city called Bendover up near the coast. You probably seen it on the news. The place where they kicked all the cops out, claiming they’re a new country, or some other such horseshit. What’s it stand for again, Sherman?”
“The Freedom Restricted Occupational Zone,” the irritated nephew replied. “And my name’s Fred.”
Manny smirked at Wolf and McNamara as if the three of them were sharing a private joke.
Wolf thought the nickname joke was wearing a bit thin and he didn’t relish the thought of going into a lawless place where the cops were forbidden to enter.
“Bendover … I did see something about that,” McNamara said. “But I also heard that the governor’s gonna have the state police or the National Guard step in and restore order.”
“The governor’s a fucking pussy,” Manny said. “And that piss-any mayor’s claiming it’s a peaceful sanctuary or something. It’s like a tourist scene during the day but the place goes up for grabs every night. Shootings, rapes, robberies. We’re worried that by the time they eventually do step in, old Zeus will have vanished.”
“And you’ll be out the hundred and fifty grand,” McNamara said.
Manny took another swing of coffee and Wolf figured this apprehension was particularly serious to him because he hadn’t yet touched another donut.
“I don’t know,” McNamara said. “The Pacific Northwest’s a ways from here.”
“Only about eighteen or nineteen hours if you’re driving.”
“Only,” McNamara said. “That’s a long drive transporting a prisoner back here.”
“It’s only about two-and-a-half hours if you fly,” Manny said.
McNamara frowned. “I left my Superman outfit and cape in the closet.”
“You can spell each other and make the trip in under eighteen hours. We’ll cover expenses and that reward’s substantial.”
McNamara and Wolf exchanged glances.
“What do you think, Steve?” McNamara asked.
Wolf shrugged. He figured that Mac was just going through the formalities by asking. He’d already made up his mind.
“Your call,” he said.
McNamara turned back to Manny. “We’re gonna need back up on this one.”
“No doubt,” Manny said, a smile starting to form on his lips. “Who you got in mind? Reno?”
McNamara shook his head. “Reno’s out. Gonna have surgery. I’m thinking Ms. Dolly and the gals.”
Manny’s forehead crinkled. “I don’t know. This could be kind of down and dirty. You think they’d be interested?”
“No way to know that without asking them,” McNamara said. “Plus, she’s got connections in Vegas. Knows somebody that owns a tour bus company. We get one of them things, driving back will be a piece of cake.”
Wolf was trying to picture himself behind the wheel of
something that large. He’d driven all sorts of vehicles in the army, including having once been trained for a 36-passenger bus and Mac had once owned a motorhome. Driving would be possible but not the piece of cake that Manny had described.
“Look,” Manny said. “I don’t care if you have to charter a private plane, but just get Mr. Nobles, aka Zeus, back here by next Wednesday and I’ll be one happy camper.”
“Next Wednesday?” Wolf said. “That’s only four days.”
“Five, if you count today,” Manny said.
“All expenses covered?” McNamara said.
Manny nodded. “Just bring me the receipts so I’ll be able to deduct it on my taxes.”
McNamara turned toward Wolf and grinned widely.
“Looks like we’re going to have to go ahead and call the P-Patrol after all,” he said. “You sure you don’t want them to come to the fight tonight?”
“Why not,” Wolf said, adding mentally, Why not let everybody watch me get my ass kicked?
Piccolo Mobile Home Park
Phoenix, Arizona
It had turned out to be a hectic morning. First, Keller had roused Smith and Cherrie out of bed with the admonishment that it was time to get moving. Then he’d called Riley and told him they’d be coming over to the motel shortly and to get ready. And finally, he tossed the keys to the U-Haul truck to Cummins and told him to drive to the McDonald’s to pick up six breakfasts.
“Make one of them a happy meal for the kid,” he said as Cummins was going out of the door.
Now I know why he let me keep that extra forty bucks, Cummins thought.
He was about to exit when Smith called out to him.
“Hey, take the Malibu instead,” he said. “There’s an overhang at the McDonald’s and the truck’s too high. You don’t want to hit it.”
They exchanged keys and Cummins left.
This was the first time he’d driven Smith’s car and it handled better than he thought it would. The pick-up went smoothly and when he arrived back at the trailer Keller and Smith were waiting outside, watching his approach like two hawks. Smith looked around, then whistled. Cherrie came prancing down the steps and got into the Chevy’s front passenger seat. Smith leaned over, his muscular forearms crisscrossing over the open window of the driver’s door.
“You take Cherrie with you,” he said. “Follow the U-Haul.”
Cummins could smell fresh tobacco smoke on his breath, combined with the reek of an unclean mouth and unwashed armpits. Smith snapped his fingers and pointed at the coffee cups and meals. Cummins handed him two sets and Smith and Keller then went to the truck and got in. They both seemed particularly agitated this morning.
Whatever it was on the agenda, it was starting.
Cherrie grabbed one of the remaining bags and opened it.
“You got all biscuits and bacon and cheese, right?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Cummins said. She also reeked of cigarette smoke and body odor, but hers more feminine than Smith’s sharp tangy smell. It was obvious that neither one of them had showered this morning. “Where we going?”
“Just follow them,” Cherrie said. Bits of biscuit flew out of her mouth. She popped the slot on the coffee cup and drank some. “You better eat on the way, Jack. Once we get there they ain’t gonna give you too much wiggle room.”
Cummins debated whether to try and consume anything. The chances were that if things got tense, he wouldn’t be able to keep it down, but on the other hand, with his delicate condition, going without breakfast could also give him one of those hypoglycemic headaches.
“Here, sugar,” Cherrie said, stuffing the biscuit between her lips and unwrapping one for him. As she shoved it toward his mouth the only thing he could think of was whether or not she’d washed her hands. “Go ahead,” she said, her words muffled and distorted by the biscuit still prominent in her mouth. “Eat it.”
He reached up and took it, their fingers brushing against each other and he was suddenly curiously aroused by this odiferous hillbilly bitch, not that he held even the slightest notion that he could act on it. Thoughts of an angry Roger D. finding out quashed any thoughts of carnal desire. He didn’t even want to think about it.
I’ve got to figure out an exit strategy, he thought as he bit off a portion of the doughy biscuit, scrambled egg, and half-fried bacon. For me, and the kid, and the bandito.
Suddenly he felt the vibration of his cell phone in his pants pocket. He took it out and glanced surreptitiously at the screen.
Received your message. Awaiting your call back.
It was from Fallotti. Now all he had to do was find the right time to set up that part of the deal.
Garfield and Ollie’s Craft’s Shop
Scottsdale, Arizona
Wolf watched as Ollie, the distaff half of the jointly-owned husband and wife craft’s shop snapped a series of pictures of the bandito with her cell phone. When she’d finished, Garfield, Ollie’s husband, gingerly picked up the statue and examined it.
“You say you got it down in Mexico?” he asked.
“Right,” Wolf said. “Around Cancun. What can you tell us about it?”
Garfield rotated the statue in his hands, pausing to examine parts of it with a magnifying glass.
“Well,” he said. “I’d say it looks like an authentic Mexican piece, all right. Nothing outstanding about it to my eye but then again, I’m no expert. And who’d a thunk it that one day a comic book that you bought for twelve cents as a kid would now be worth six grand or more.”
“Go figure,” McNamara said.
“We can make you a copy for one fifty-six-forty-eight,” Ollie said, straightening up from her crouch over the counter. “Add twenty dollars more if you want it painted, but we’ll match the paint exactly.”
Wolf assessed this and looked at McNamara.
“Ain’t that a bit steep?” McNamara asked.
“Well,” Ollie said, “we got to make a whole new mold, see. And the paint we gotta match with the computer. Everything’s real scientific these days.”
“It’s gotta be an exact clone,” McNamara said. “Can you do that?”
“Even their own mother won’t be able to tell them apart,” Garfield said with a laugh.
“What kind of time frame are we talking about?” Wolf asked.
The married pair exchanged glances once again.
“Oh, well, we’re closed tomorrow,” Ollie said. “It’s Sunday. Say, a week from today?”
Wolf was about to speak when McNamara said, “Not good enough. We’ve got an appointment out of town the day after tomorrow or so and I’m not sure when we’ll be back.”
Garfield scratched his head.
“There’s an extra twenty in it for you if you get this all taken care of by Monday morning,” McNamara said.
“An extra twenty?” Garfield’s face lit up like a Christmas tree decorated with lights of glowing avarice. “Well, I suppose I could get busy on that mold now and then pour it. Then it’s gotta set.” He looked at Ollie. “And if you can get the paint mixed.”
Ollie nodded.
“One other thing,” Wolf said. “This bandito has tremendous sentimental value to us. We don’t want it damaged.”
“Or stolen,” McNamara added.
“Stolen?” Garfield grinned. “Not too many people come in to steal our figures but nonetheless, I’ll make sure we lock the store securely tonight.”
“And I’ll put it in our safe when we leave,” Ollie said.
“Then it’s agreed,” McNamara said. “We’ll be by at ten o’clock Monday to pick the clone up,”
Garfield and Ollie both nodded, smiling with ear-to-ear grins.
Ten o’clock Monday, Wolf thought, fingering the safety deposit box key in his pocket. If I’m still able to walk after tonight, that is.
Phoenix International Airport
Phoenix, Arizona
Soraces appreciated the almost flawless landing that the pilot of Von Dien’s private Lear Jet mad
e as he touched down on the tarmac. He also appreciated the efficacy of the plan. It was actually a modified version of an acquisition, with a couple of terminations thrown in after the item was acquired. None of the details mattered that much, as long as he kept everything under control. And how could he not with him holding all the cards and setting all the rules?
He sorted through the special envelope that Fallotti had given him before the driver had whisked him away to the airport: a burner phone, blank credit and debit cards that had just been activated, an ample supply of cash, photos of Wolf and McNamara along with printouts of their address, an artist’s rendition of what this bandito thing might look like, and the ultimate dealmaker: the flashdrive. The only weak point in the operation was the bandito. He was seeking some statue that neither he nor his employers had ever seen. They were going on the detailed description that Jack Cummins had given them during an interview. They were certain that it existed but not that it absolutely contained that artifact they wanted or even its current whereabouts. The whole thing was based on supposition. It wasn’t even known if Wolf knew the significance of what he had. That was the logical assumption, though, and Soraces felt he had to operate under that premise. From what he’d gathered from the reports Jason Zerbe had forwarded before his death about his surveillance and attempts to obtain the bandito statue, both Wolf and his partner more than likely knew by now that the statue was a hot entity.
But did they know why?
That would have to be established. It was like playing poker with a wild card in the deck.
This guy, Cummins, was another wild card. Fallotti had hinted that they suspected that the man was still in Phoenix and trying to insinuate himself back into the game. The lawyer had also said that the original plan had been to dump Cummins due to his unreliability.
He hadn’t specified exactly what “dump” meant, but Soraces assumed it was a termination order after Fallotti had said jokingly, “Dead men tell no tales.” The big boss, Von Dien, had already expressed his concern about loose ends not being tied up.
Another good point to keep in mind, Soraces thought. I don’t want to become one of them.
Devil's Brigade (Trackdown Book 3) Page 11
