by David Achord
“Explain to me what happened again with the wreck.”
“They kidnapped a young woman and her baby down in Cornersville. She was tied up in the backseat of her own truck. She got loose and attacked the guy who was driving, which caused the wreck.”
“What about the baby?” she asked.
“Still missing,” I said. “There’s an Amber Alert and a nationwide manhunt going on, but nothing yet.”
“So, what in the world are they doing here at the crash site?”
“That’s a good question,” I said. “We’ll soon find out.”
I went into condition yellow as I slowed and parked on the right shoulder. Shutting the SUV off, I adjusted the dimmer switch so the dome light would remain off when we opened the doors.
“You should stay in the car,” I suggested.
Al shook her head. “If you’re walking into a trap, you’ll need backup.”
“Those shoes you’re wearing are nice, but the terrain is a little rough, walking in those heels will be difficult.”
“Let me worry about that,” she retorted.
I shrugged. On the one hand, I admired her grit, but on the other hand, I did not want to be the one leading her into possible danger. If she got hurt because of me, I’d be hard-pressed to explain myself.
The two of us exited the SUV together. I walked around to the passenger side and pointed with my flashlight. “We’re going that way.”
“Alright, hold on a sec,” she said, then she took each shoe and broke the two-inch-long heels off.
“Lead off,” she whispered. “I’m going to follow a couple of feet behind.”
A car drove past and in the illumination of the headlights, I caught a look of determination on her face. I gave her a curt nod.
We carefully made our way down the embankment. I only used the flashlight intermittently and held my 45 at the ready. I glanced back at Al a couple of times, and to my satisfaction, she was keeping the Glock at a low ready position.
It looked like someone had run a bulldozer down the embankment. All of the undergrowth had been knocked down and now it was a trail of trampled dirt clods. Still, it was not easy walking down the embankment in the dark and watching out for a possible ambush. As we proceeded, I saw something. I stopped and put a hand against Al. After a moment, my eyes adjusted and I saw a faint glow. Al stepped close beside me and whispered in my ear, “What is that?”
“I’m not sure,” I whispered back. “It might be bait for their trap.”
She grunted slightly and then nudged me forward. We slowly, carefully, made our way closer until we finally reached the bank of the river. A blanket was spread on the ground, and the faint glow was of a candle sitting in the middle of the blanket. The flickering of the candle showed various items on the blanket. I could make out the largest item as a tambourine. It had been broken in two. I held my flashlight away from me and did a slow circle around us.
“It looks like we’re alone,” I said.
Al pointed at the array. “What is all this?” she asked.
“I’m guessing here, but it looks like some sort of memorial for their dead comrade,” I said.
“Yeah, maybe,” she murmured.
We inspected the articles. There was an old book written in a foreign language, a few coins, and the broken tambourine. Looking around again to make sure we were indeed alone and not about to be jumped, I pulled out my phone and took several photographs.
“They were definitely here, but presumably they’re long gone by now,” I said.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
I nodded. “There’s no way anybody is hiding out in the bushes. The undergrowth is too thick to be traipsing through it in the dark. And besides, where is their car? Nope, they’re gone.”
“Good,” she said, dropped the Glock onto the blanket, and then grabbed me, kissing me hungrily, aggressively.
“I am so fucking wet,” she whispered huskily into my ear and then bit it.
I hesitated only for a second before reaching down and grabbing a handful of her dress. I pulled it up with one hand and plunged my other hand down her panties. She was soaking wet and my probing caused her to emit a moan from deep in her throat. We continued kissing while she began massaging me through my pants. I brought her down to the blanket and swiped everything aside. She pulled her dress up over her head while I eagerly undid my pants. She grabbed me again and pulled me down on top of her. I pushed her bra up and massaged her breasts. They were firm and tan, and they felt as wonderful as they looked.
“Pinch my nipples,” she demanded. When I did, she emitted another animalistic moan and begged me to pinch them harder.
When she guided me into her, we both gasped in ecstasy. It took every ounce of self-discipline on my part to not immediately explode. Thankfully, I didn’t and we went at it like rabid bunnies.
When we finally expended ourselves, I rolled off of her and the two of us lay there in the darkness, staring up at the inky sky. It was pitch dark, with the exception of the lone candle and the slight glow from the headlights of passing vehicles.
“Jesus, I needed that,” Al exclaimed. I simply nodded because I was still trying to catch my breath.
“How many women have you been with since your wife died?” she asked.
I could not decide if her questions were bait questions, overly intrusive, or innocent. I opted for innocent, for now.
“Three,” I answered. “After her death, I was seeing a fellow cop, but she kind of went haywire on me. Then there was Simone, and then Lilith.” There was a one-night stand in there also, but I did not mention that. “How about you?”
“After Hank died, I was devastated. Not only because he was gone, but that crazy whore who had to show up at the funeral and make things worse. I eventually got back in the dating scene, had a couple of lovers, but only one person who I had a serious relationship with.”
“The guy you work with,” I said.
“Yeah, the asshole I work with who I caught cheating.”
We talked some more before deciding to dress and go back to my SUV. Once inside, Al pulled off her shoes and inspected them.
“Ruined,” she stated, rolled down the window, and tossed them.
“I’ll make it up to you and take you shopping on our next date,” I said with a grin.
She responded by turning in her seat, throwing a leg over, and straddling me. “Make it up to me right now.”
Chapter 41
I sat at an open table at the FBI command center and carefully read all of the reports for the third time. It didn’t get me anywhere. I stood and stretched before walking over to a table where there was a coffee urn and an assortment of donuts. I chuckled inwardly. Feds always thought of themselves at a higher echelon than city cops, yet they still ate donuts. I helped myself to one as well.
I took a bite and walked over to some bulletin boards. There were various printouts and photographs. Standing out was the picture of Special Agent Stainback. My eyes spotted and lingered on the set of photographs of the RV that was recovered in Chicago. As I stood there staring, I felt a presence beside me. I turned to see Dresden. He had his own coffee cup and donut.
“Good morning, Thomas.”
“Back at you,” I greeted. “You look tired.”
He responded with a slight nod. “The director himself has been demanding regular updates, and he has begun voicing his opinion with great alacrity at our perceived lack of progress. So, no, I’m not getting much sleep.”
“I understand.” I gestured at the RV with my donut. “Did the techs recover anything?”
“Nothing. The RV was fully engulfed in flames before the fire personnel arrived on the scene.”
“What about the location where it was abandoned?” I asked.
“The tattoo parlor has been closed for a few months, as you know. We obtained a search warrant for it, but found nothing of consequence.”
“I’ve been there and there were several more businesses and
buildings in the area. What about them?”
“A canvass was performed by agents, with the assistance of members of the Chicago Police. Same results,” he said. His phone buzzed. “Excuse me.” He answered his phone as he walked off to a quiet spot at the far end of the room.
I continued staring at the photographs for a long time. It was only when I took a sip of cold coffee that I realized I’d been fixated on the panorama photograph of the parking lot where the RV was found. Looking around, I found an open computer and sat down in front of it. A minute later, I had Google Earth online. I plugged in the address for the tattoo shop and watched as the monitor zoomed in on the location. I then manually zoomed it back out far enough so that I could see the surrounding area.
There were commercial areas and neighborhoods near the location, but try as I might, I was getting no epiphany. My phone rang and I saw it was Ronald.
“Can you talk?” he asked in a low whisper. “I know where you are, can you talk?”
“Of course, I can,” I said in a normal voice.
“Oh, okay.”
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Well, since the Reavis case is over, I have a little extra time on my hands. So, I’ve been going over some of the stuff I captured on you-know-who’s laptop.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And, like I told you, his phone was synced up to it,” he said.
“Okay, you found something interesting, I’m guessing?”
“Well, um, I don’t know if you’d call it interesting, but it is unusual,” he said.
I kept my irritation in check. Sometimes Ronald took a while to get to the point.
“Tell me what you found,” I urged.
“A day before Candy was killed, he made a couple of phone calls to a number with an Illinois area code. I did a reverse number search and it comes back to an auto body shop in Arlington Heights.”
I sat up in my chair. Arlington Heights was only a short distance from the location where the tattoo studio was once located. “Give me the information,” I directed. I jotted it down on a napkin as he read it off.
“Alright,” I said once he had finished. “I think I might have to go up there and check it out.”
“You’re not going to make me go with you, are you?” he asked.
“Not at all,” I replied. “I’ll handle this one on my own.”
“I can monitor you, if you want me to,” he said. “But I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.”
“Actually, I think that might be a good idea this time,” I said.
I hurried home, packed, and hit the road. Once on the interstate, I made some phone calls. The first was to Anna. I only told her I was going to Chicago to follow-up on a lead and for her to finish up the Braxton case. After all, I’d committed us to starting on the insurance fraud case.
After hanging up with her, I called William Goldman. He had left me a message asking that I serve some subpoenas for him. I told him I would not be able to get to them for a few days. He then asked about Anna, but I did not give him any information, which did not sit well with him.
My final call was to a person I was not looking forward to talking to.
“Hey,” I greeted when she answered.
“Hi, handsome,” Al replied. “What are you doing?”
“Heading to Chicago.”
“Why?” she asked. There was an edge to her voice.
“It is believed the suspects are hiding out somewhere there. I’m going to help search for them.”
There was a long pause. “So, you’re standing me up on our date, again. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Um, I was hoping that we could merely postpone it for a day or two.”
“Thomas, I have a rotating work schedule and two teenage sons to care for. I had to make special arrangements just so I could be with you.”
“Al, I’m really sorry, but this is important.”
“So, I’m not important?” she retorted.
Before I could reply, she hung up on me. I could not blame her. This was the second time after all. I pulled over to the side of the interstate and parked. I then prepped and lit a cigar before sending a text.
Please forgive me.
I added a lot of stuff, but ultimately deleted everything except for the one line. I’d screwed up and I knew it.
It took a little over nine hours due to traffic before I reached Chicago. Nashville and Chicago are both on central time, so it was a little after five. After exiting the interstate, I stopped off at a fast food restaurant only to use the restroom and then got a to-go order.
Chapter 42
Arlington Heights was a section of Chicago that was mostly older homes and commercial businesses. I opted to first visit the location where the Gypsy Dragon used to be located, which was in a strip mall located on a side street off of Northwest Highway. I could still see the blackened scorch marks in the parking lot’s asphalt where the RV had been set on fire. That was a clever move; between the fire and the shit ton of water sprayed on it, it guaranteed no DNA evidence could be recovered.
I had already read reports from the Chicago office agents. They’d canvassed the area and wrote up a perfunctory report, which also said they found zilch. In my mind, I was critical of their work ethic. It seemed to me they could have pushed the canvass a little harder, but it was always easy to Monday morning quarterback.
I activated my phone and spoke the address of the body shop. It spit out directions along with a map.
“Interesting,” I said to myself as I looked at the map. The body shop was only a couple of miles down Northwest Highway.
Upon arriving, I parked at the front door and looked it over. This was one of those body shops that I’d never take one of my vehicles too. There was clutter lying everywhere and the place was grimy. It had no curb appeal whatsoever.
There were two men working on a Camaro. They ignored me as I walked inside the lobby and up to the counter. A third, older man in his late fifties was sitting in his office talking on the phone and smoking a cigarette. He was swarthy and stocky, like he might have once played sports in grade school, but he’d gone to seed years ago. His hair was black, like he dyed it, and he was in bad need of a decent haircut.
He saw me through the dirty window separating his office from the lobby and held up a finger. After a minute he hung up, lit a fresh cigarette, and walked out. He was wearing a black Adidas brand warm-up suit with matching shoes. For some crazy reason, Adidas was wildly popular in Russia and eastern Europe.
“Can I help you?” he asked in a heavy accent.
His accent was similar to Wolf’s. So much so, they could have been brothers. It was like I was playing the slots and scored on the first spin. This man was not from here. Was this the connection I’d driven all the way up here to find? I suppose I could have simply asked him if he knew Wolf and Pekoe, but we know how that’d go.
“Yeah, I drive by here every day and I saw your shop. I don’t live too far from here and I’ve got an old MG that has some front-end damage. Not many places will work on an old foreign car. What about you guys?”
“We work on all cars. You bring it in. I take a look at it. Yes?” he suggested.
“Okay great, I’ll do that. See you in a day or two,” I said and gave him a head nod before walking out.
I don’t know if any of them watched me leave, so I drove down the road and out of sight before turning around. I found a place to park where I could keep an eye on the place and ate a granola bar for a late afternoon snack. Now the waiting began. Whether or not it would pay off was debatable. The odds of winning the lottery were probably better. I texted Ronald and told him what I was doing. He responded with a thumb’s up emoticon.
For anyone who has never actually participated in a stakeout, it goes something like this—for the first hour, you’re getting settled in, but you’re diligent. You’re paying attention and keeping your eye on the target. You also look around the surrounding areas, and remem
bering your training, you orient north, memorize other businesses and their addresses, the names of the side streets, identify potential blind spots, escape routes, kill zones, you name it.
Starting sometime around hour two, your attention begins to wander. You start watching the pretty women driving by. You start playing on your cell phone. First, all you’re doing is sending a couple of texts, but before you know it, you’re looking up your stocks online, playing online poker, and God forbid, if you have any social media accounts you’ll be dabbling on all of them.
In the ensuing five hours, you’ve played on your phone so much you have to recharge it. You’ve walked over to the nearby fast food restaurant to use the head and refresh your coffee so many times there’s a good chance you’ve blown your cover, and, oh yeah, you’ve occasionally monitored the target.
I must admit, I’ve been guilty of exactly that behavior in the past. Now, being a little older and wiser, I tried to avoid those pitfalls. I avoided caffeine, which is a diuretic, and only sipped water if I was parched. If I had to go, I had a gallon-sized plastic jug I peed in.
Oh, a word to the wise—at the end of the shift, absolutely, positively, throw that jug away immediately. Don’t leave it sitting in your backseat. Find a dumpster or a gas station with trash cans sitting outside. Never, ever, toss it in your kitchen trashcan. Bad things always seem to happen when you leave a jug of stale urine lying around. Or so I’ve heard.
At around the three-hour mark, the fatigue took over and I dozed off. I only woke up because somebody laid on their horn at a nearby intersection for some reason. I looked at the time on my phone and panicked. Had I come all this way, chasing a hunch, only to fall asleep while the gypsies came in and got a paint job or something? Thankfully, I had a dash cam and it was actively recording. I played it back and watched the last hour. There was nothing. I don’t know if that was good or bad.
“What a waste of time,” I muttered to myself. I refrained from lighting a cigar. Instead, I sipped some water and texted Anna.
