by David Stever
“To do what?” Eric asked.
“What you do best.”
Eric stood. “No way, dude.”
Quade held up his hand. “I need to get approval from my superiors, but if this goes as I want, you’ll have full immunity for the scope of this job. In writing.”
“I’m not crazy, dude. No thank you. Am I free to leave?”
“Of course.”
He stopped at me. “PI Dude—good luck.” Exit Eric.
“Plus Katie is leaving on vacation tomorrow, so I’m afraid my ranks are dwindling.”
“It was canceled.” Katie’s face blushed. “I forgot to tell you. Mandy got sick. So I’m available to work whenever you want, Agent…what is it again?”
“Quade.”
“Yes, Agent Quade. Delarosa Investigations is here for whatever you need. Always happy to help out fellow law enforcement.”
Ortiz rolled her eyes. “Quade, we done?” She was Hispanic, mid-thirties, medium height, more muscles than curves, had a cute, round face, light-brown eyes, and short brown hair.
He turned to me. “Can we stop by in the morning? Ten?”
“Sure, we’ll talk. Always willing to help out fellow law enforcement,” I said.
Katie’s face turned a shade of red I had not seen before.
They left and she threw herself on the sofa and buried her head in a cushion and screamed. “I am such a dork.”
“Trip is canceled, huh?”
She popped up. “No wedding ring either.”
“Smitten, are we?”
“My panties melted when he frisked me…electricity shot through my body.” She paced around the condo like a madwoman. “Johnny, I think it’s love at first sight.”
“How about you come back to reality and we go to work.”
“What?”
“Bellamy and the blonde at the motel. Remember? Or did your mind melt, too?”
She grabbed her jacket and the computer.
“Mandy will kill me.”
19
The Starry Night Motel was a roadside roach trap connected to the truck stop fifteen miles north of Port City on I-64. The portable GPS trackers we had on both Bellamy’s and the blonde’s cars, still showed them at the motel. I hoped to grab some shots of them coming out of their love nest to give Mary Ann the proof she needed, which was the reason she hired me. The George Ainsley business with the FBI was intriguing, and Quade and Ortiz must have something substantial or they would not be following around a paranoid old-timer, but I preferred they come back tomorrow with a check in hand. No pro-bono here.
“The indicators are moving.” Katie focused on the computer while I drove. “Their date must be over.”
“Damn. I wanted to take their picture.”
“Bellamy is heading toward the interstate…Keira’s car stopped. She is still at the Starry Night.”
I made the last ten miles in eight minutes. The motel connected to the truck stop by an access road where eighteen-wheelers lined up end-to-end for the night.
“Duck down a bit. Your hair is a giveaway. We need to hide it,” I said.
She slid down in the seat as I made a slow recon pass of the place. “I see it. The Mercedes,” Katie said.
Keira’s car was not close to the motel, but out in the lot by itself; as if she was leaving then changed her mind and backed up. “Anyone in the car with her?”
“No. She’s alone.”
To make a U-turn at this spot in the road could draw attention, so I had no choice but to continue to the truck stop to turn around. It was the usual several acre mash of diesel pumps, a restaurant, convenience store, and shower facilities for the truckers. I pulled to the far end of the lot, away from the traffic. I hopped out and got a black ski cap from the trunk for Katie. Somehow, she hid her massive blonde mane under the cap.
“Perfect. Let’s find a spot to keep an eye on our girl.”
“Don’t bother. She’s headed this way.” We watched the screen as the blinking cursor moved in our direction. “You think she saw us?”
“No. I doubt it.”
“She could have seen us the other night, after the restaurant.”
“Unlikely. There she is.” Keira’s Mercedes drove on the lot and by the grace of some private eye god, went to the opposite end. We were a hundred yards away from her with a decent line of sight, except for being interrupted every time a truck pulled in or out.
Katie grabbed the binoculars from the back. “She stopped. Might be texting.”
I snapped a telephoto lens on my Nikon for my own glimpse. “What’s she up to? Not exactly the kind of place I would expect to find her. You keep on her.” I set the camera down, picked up the laptop, and switched screens to Bellamy’s tracker. The cursor pinged a few miles from North Shore and his cozy bed.
“Some girl is going to the car.”
I put the camera to my eye. A skinny girl in tiny jeans shorts, black hair, and a tube top walked up to Keira’s car.
“Johnny, a drug deal. You think Keira is buying drugs?”
“No. A lizard.”
“What?”
“The girl is a lot lizard. Truck stop hooker.”
“No way. That is gross.”
A semi pulled from the pumps and blocked our view for a few seconds. When the truck passed, the girl was in a dead run from the car and disappeared between two rigs.
“Whatever she said, the girl looked scared to death.” Keira sat and we sat. We took turns on watch, switching every five minutes. “I can’t believe you are not going on your vacation.”
“Not now. We have a chance to work with the FBI. I can’t leave.”
“You got Agent Quade on the brain.”
“Shut up.”
Fifteen minutes later, a small white sedan with two yellow lights mounted on top appeared and turned in our direction. “Please no.”
“Is it security?”
“Hide the camera and binoculars. We’re suspicious over here by ourselves. He’ll think I got myself a lot lizard.” The car pulled up and the driver shined a flashlight at us. “Don’t say a word.” I lowered my window.
He peered at us from under his cap. “You two okay?”
“We are. Needed a driving break.” He held the light on Katie, to determine whether he recognized her or whether she was under duress.
“Might want to move up closer to the building. Bunch of crazies around here at night.”
“Right. Will do. Thanks.”
He moved on.
“What was that about?” Katie asked.
“Trafficking or prostitution. Places like this are rampant. Doing his job.”
She put the binoculars back on Keira. “Johnny.”
I used the camera. A white paneled van had pulled in and parked behind Keira’s car. She and two men were standing, huddled together. One man was tall and skinny, the other short with a moustache. Both with black hair. “We need sound from now on.” I snapped a few pictures of the group and zoomed in on the license plate.
“We can do that?”
The huddle broke and both men stepped away and stood with their backs against the van. Keira appeared to be berating them. The skinny guy took a step forward, animated, his arms flailing. With one swift motion, Keira flicked open an asp baton and struck him on his knee. He let go of a yelp that we heard, and crumbled to the ground.
“Did you see that?”
“Asp baton. Police carry them. Quite effective, I would say.” The moustache man knelt to tend to his partner while Keira opened the trunk of the Mercedes and came back with a black object in her hand. Moustache stood to face her just as she thrust the object into his gut. His body doubled over and he fell limp to the pavement.
“She shot him, Johnny. Oh my God, she shot him.”
“Stun gun. She hit him with a stunner.”
She stood over both men like a conquering hero, and then kicked the skinny guy twice in his ribs. He writhed on the ground while she waved the stun gun in his face, emphas
izing her point, and then got back in her car and peeled off. She flew out so fast it took the GPS almost a minute to catch up. She was on the interstate headed toward the city.
Tall, blonde, and brutal. If she could stick a stun gun in a man’s gut, she would have no problem sending goons to run a woman off the road. Did she just punish them for a botched job on Mary Ann?
***
The events of the evening had me too keyed up to go to bed. I poured a slug of bourbon in a glass and took it to the balcony of my condo. The twinkling lights of Port City blanketed out before me and I wondered how many other brutal, violent acts were taking place at the truck stops, in the gritty back alleys, the filthy crack houses, or in the posh mini-mansions of North Shore. I wondered whether there was enough love in the city to offset the inhumane ways humans treat one another.
The safe house was now a priority. I sent a text message and received a response in thirty seconds: the house was ready.
The threat level on this case was now raised to vicious.
20
She did not want to go to the safe house without Brynne and stood firm in her protest. I did not think it necessary to subject Brynne to a potentially dangerous situation, but neither woman would take no for an answer.
“She’s my only support. Besides, I am not staying in some house by myself,” Mary Ann said.
“You will not be by yourself. Security will be there with you.”
“No thanks.”
Brynne came into the kitchen of her home with two overnight bags. “Let’s go.”
“Johnny doesn’t want you to go.”
“Why? I’m going.”
“Brynne, I cannot put you in any type of potential harm, especially when it has nothing to do with you.”
“Mary Ann is my best friend. If you are moving her, then I’m going.”
“I don’t know how long this will take. A day or two, maybe a week.”
“Nothing for me to do here but play tennis and drink wine. Will there be wine wherever you are taking us?”
“Yes, whatever you want.”
“I fail to see a problem.”
The women stood in defiance, with their arms folded across their chest. I knew better, but I would not win the argument and I wanted both out of Brynne’s house.
***
We drove twenty miles south of Crescent Beach to the northern edge of the beachfront state park, to a massive, modern oceanfront house. The proximity to the state park prohibited any new development in the area, setting the house in quiet isolation. The nearest neighbor was a quarter mile north, the beach was to the east, and to the west was the old coastal highway. A search of property records showed the owners of the house as Enterprise Holdings, LLC, as ambiguous as a name could be.
The house had private beach access, three sun decks, one covered deck, four levels, five bedrooms, two outdoor showers, a fully stocked modern kitchen, three wet bars, a family room with a sixty-five-inch television, parking for three cars, high-speed wireless, and—most important—two security guards.
Emmanuel Blackmon met us in the driveway. “Johnny. Been a while.” He was one of the “strong arms,” as she called them. He was just under six feet tall, and a solid block of muscle. A former Army Ranger, spent time as a private mercenary, he now worked exclusively for my contact. His father was African American, his mother Israeli, giving him light-brown skin and hazel eyes. Receiving attention from the ladies was never a problem for him, but he only dealt with women on his terms. A man’s man, he was not one of those insecure wimps who always needed a woman around.
“Emmanuel. Looking good, as usual.”
“I try.”
I introduced them as Mrs. Bellamy and Mrs. Middleton but they quickly corrected me and told Emmanuel to call them by their first names. I took it as an attempt to ditch any attachment to husbands present and former, especially in front of Emmanuel.
He led us into the house and they marveled at the modern, beach décor. Mary Ann and Brynne, even with their affluence, were in awe. I was too. It went through some upgrades since my last visit.
I took over a cottage on Crescent Beach in a leftover divorce deal with my ex-wife, but my place looked like a single-wide on concrete blocks compared to this showstopper. The girls wandered out to the deck.
“A safe house is supposed to be functional, Emmanuel. Not opulent.”
“You know how she is.”
“Yes, I do.” Mary Ann and Brynne were snapping pictures with their cell phones. I brought them back inside. “Give me your phones.” They did and I removed the batteries while they protested. “For your safety.”
“I can’t be without my phone,” Brynne said.
“I can take you back to your house. The decision is yours. If you want to stay, fine, but there are rules.”
We all sat around on sofas in the great room. “You’ll be safe in the house.” I checked to Emmanuel. “How many other guys?”
“Two of us at all times unless you tell me different.”
“The batteries are out of your phones because they can be tracked. I don’t mean to scare you, but, Mary Ann, I believe the attempt on you was real. I want to keep you safe and this is how we do it. Emmanuel will supply a phone if you need, but keep that to a minimum. The house is stocked with anything you need. Think of it this way: a few days of luxury, hidden away from the world. Who wouldn’t want this, right?”
“The hell with my phone. I don’t want to talk to anyone anyway.” Brynne put her feet up on the coffee table.
Mary Ann did not look as convinced. “All this trouble because of my husband’s nonsense. I’m so embarrassed. Who pays for all this?”
“Your husband, of course.” That brought a smile. “A few more things. You do whatever Emmanuel or the other men tell you. You will not be able to leave the house. Mary Ann, your husband already thinks you are at Brynne’s. You each will use Emmanuel’s phone and call your kids and tell them you had an opportunity to get away for a week, and you’re in a house in the mountains without any cell service.”
“What about my Uncle George?”
“Taken care of. I’ll keep him close.” My lips stay sealed about Ainsley until my meeting with Quade.
“Please do. I am so worried about him.”
“Don’t worry, sit back, and relax. Take a deep breath. I will check in on a regular basis.”
“I’m so nervous about all this.”
Brynne jumped up. “To the bar.”
“Whatever you are making, make Mary Ann one too,” I said.
Emmanuel followed me outside and introduced me to his partner on the job, Jamal Collingsworth, a broad-shouldered African American, about six two, without an ounce of fat on his body.
I shook his hand. “Former Ranger?”
“Yes sir.”
“You guys work out all the time?”
“Only seven days a week, sir,” Jamal said.
“Best I can do is bend my elbow.”
They laughed.
“We do pretty good with that, too, sir.”
“What’s the deal?” Emmanuel asked.
“Somebody ran Mary Ann off the road the other night. Bad divorce going down. She claims it was a white van, but no other leads. Then, last night, I think I saw the same cats. White cargo van, two Caucasians, one with a moustache. Keep an eye out. They work for a tall blonde, drives a black Mercedes, mean as hell. I watched her stick a stun gun in the gut of one of her flunkies.”
“Amateurs. Easy money.”
“We’re playing it safe. I don’t like the vibe on this one. Check in every four hours?”
“Standard protocol.” He walked me to my car. “She wants you to stop by tonight.”
“Oh yeah?” I got in the car. “Keep an eye on the tall one. She could get playful on you.”
“I keep it all business.”
“Smart man.”
21
“You want what?” asked George Ainsley.
“Information,” Quade sa
id.
Ainsley got up from his seat and walked over to the window of the fifth-story hotel room of the downtown Port City Hilton. He stared at the cityscape for a minute while Quade and I sat, not saying a word.
After witnessing Keira Kaine’s brutality the night before, I called Quade and requested we move the meeting to a safer location later in the day. I sent Ainsley a message on the burner phone and he replied he could meet us at noon. Quade agreed, and as a precaution, even did a bug sweep of the hotel room. I thought that was overkill, but better to be safe. It also gave me time to situate Mary Ann in the safe house.
Quade and I met thirty minutes before Ainsley arrived and he briefed me on the plan he cooked up. Plus, he provided more background on Keira Kaine, and why she got the attention of the FBI.
Ainsley came back to the small table and sat down. “Why, again?”
“Your suspicions about Keira might be correct, but when you started digging into her background, alarm bells rang all over Washington. You were investigating a senior executive at a defense contractor on a top-secret clearance. You got our attention,” said Quade. “That’s why we followed you. Then we heard about Bellamy’s wife, your niece, understood your motivation, and we came forward. Now you can help us and maybe get the satisfaction you want.”
“I had to do something. She is destroying our company.”
“Your instincts were not unfounded; I only wish you contacted us first. Her name has come up before.”
“How so?”
“I can’t say. Classified, but Mr. Ainsley, trust me, it is important or we would not ask this of you.” Ainsley nodded. “If you agree to help us, you acknowledge you could be putting yourself in danger.”
“Of course. I cannot allow her to steal everything that I, that Tom and I, built. These are lifetime accomplishments…a life’s passion, to be…to be thrown away because of a sick, tawdry love affair. I can’t sit back and do nothing.”
