“How do you go from working a nine-to-five job with no arrest to kidnapping?”
Wally licked his lips. “Could you hand me some water?”
Mario poured water from the pink hospital pitcher into a plastic glass. “Here you go.” Wally’s shaky hand got the cup to his lips without spilling any and took a sip.
“I didn’t kidnap the girl.”
Mario smirked. “The witness Camila fingered you as the person who stuffed her in a car. I found her roaming the area she escaped, and you pulled a gun on an officer.” He gave a side head tilt. “A judge is going to love this story.
“Can you help my wife and me?”
A surprised look crossed Mario’s face. This was too easy, he thought. “I’ll do what I can, but you better give up names, times, and locations that can be verified.”
Wally pressed the panic button. Over the speaker, a nurse responded immediately.
“May I help you?”
“My pain is back with a vengeance,” Wally said. “Can I get some pain meds?”
The speaker went silent and within seconds Becky arrived with one of those little paper pill cups. Handing him the pills with water, he knocked them back.
“The doctor ordered a morphine pump,” she said. “Within reason, you’ll be able to manage your pain.”
“When?” Wally shouted as Becky walked out with no reply.
Mario waited a few minutes for Wally’s pills to kick in before resuming the inquiry.
Wally let out a sigh. “Wow, those babies kick in quick.”
“Feeling better?” Mario asked, using his compassionate voice.
“Enough to spell out how this all went down.” Wally rolled his eyes back. “It started last month.”
He talked for five minutes straight, and Mario took notes the best he could since Wally jumped around a lot. Wally opened with some bullshit about it being hard holding a job lately. Mario refrained from commenting or asking why. His guess was Wally didn’t like to show up to work before noon. He was one of those guys that couldn’t understand why he got a pink slip with his paycheck.
Wally mentioned his wife’s employment briefly—working as a cashier at a gas station and hating her job. One eyebrow moved upward, showing it wasn’t surprising to Mario. Wally became too scattered with his subject, and Mario took over.
“Who hired you to snatch up Camila?” Mario cut to the chase and needed answers quickly.
“My friend Hudson,” he said.
“Got a last name?” Mario asked, with his pen in hand.
Wally rolled his eyes as if he had to think. “Carr. Hudson Carr. Been friends for years.”
Mario’s cell vibrated for the third time. He ignored it. “How much were you paid? Who hired Hudson?” Mario asked, then stood. “Think on that for a second.”
The screen read Avery, and she’d text 911 three times. Mario stepped out of the room and called her. She answered on the second ring.
“Mario, something is going down,” she said, talking much faster than usual. “Two of the men you showed me pictures of, the guys that came in with Julie?” She paused. “They battled for a fancy vase. I wouldn’t pay twenty bucks for what one guy tapped out, and the other won the bid for three hundred thousand.”
“Three hundred?” Mario whispered back.
“Simon Kade was all smiles when he announced the winner of the bid.”
“Can you keep an eye on them?”
“My car is in the alley,” she said. “I can follow them.”
“Be careful,” Mario said. “Call me with their location, wherever the hell they stop.”
Mario stepped back into the room. “Let go, Wally, give me something,” he said, getting closer to the bed. “Wake up.” Mario gave a slight shake of his shoulder, and Wally’s eyes opened. “Who hired Hudson?”
“Hudson referred to a man.” He paused. Mario gave another shake. “Hudson said—Mr. Heinz pays well.” He barely got the words out, and an alarm sounded.
Before Mario could reach for the siding door, two nurses came busting in. Wally crashed—the monitor showed a red flat line across the screen. The nurses worked on him as a man wearing green scrubs pushed a defibrillator into the room on a cart. Mario stepped outside the room and watched through the glass. An attempt to save Wally’s life three times with the defibrillator failed. His lifeless body didn’t respond, and the man in the scrubs looked at his watch and announced the time of death.
Becky wrote the time of death on his chart and went on with her busy work at the station. It was an everyday occurrence in a hospital to lose a patient, whether a prisoner or someone’s family member. It was all in a day’s work, and while it didn’t openly affect Becky and the others, Mario knew it took a little out of them each time.
It was no different than a crime scene. You see one homicide—you’ve seen all. A pale face, eyes open most of the time, an arm stretched out, reaching for something that was not there. The body lying on its side or face down. Each time you stuffed the horrible memory deep down inside and hoped it would never surface again. It was wishful thinking but never possible—Mario knew it firsthand.
Chapter 28
Mario followed Avery’s directions and parked his dark blue sedan with cop written all over it, from the heavily tinted window to the oversized new tires, a block away on Magazine Street. He spotted Avery’s Audi A3, which she always corrected, saying it was an S3. Mario would make light of it and reply,“A3 or S3. What’s the difference?”
Avery’s answer was to the point. “Twenty grand is the difference.”
He grabbed an old newspaper from the trash can, smoothed the pages a little, and walked, pretending to read. It was a good decoy and got him close enough to the car to jump into the backseat without being noticed.
“What do we have?” Mario asked, bent down across the backseat.
“Nothing much since I called you,” she said. “The SUV drove from the alleyway of the auction house directly into that building.” She pointed to the green double doors across the street then handed a picture over the seat to Mario. “These two won the bid.”
Mario peeked at them and handed the photos back. “Yep, they came in with Julie.”
“Mario! The garage doors opened.”
“Don’t panic. Just observe.”
The SUV pulled out and turned Avery’s way. “Here they come. I can’t tell if anyone was in the backseat. Hold on, a U-Haul, maybe a twelve-footer pulled out. It turned and is pulling away from us.”
“Follow the van,” Mario said. “Slowly, not too close.”
He climbed over and got stuck between the backrest and console. He pulled on his shoe, unjammed it from between the seat, and slipped into the passenger side.
“In all due respect, boss,” Avery said, eyes on the road, bouncing back and forth to the damage Mario did to the leather with his bulky shoes. “This is a new car.”
“Sorry, tell Daddy. He’ll buy you another—just like he did this one.” Mario waited for confirmation.
“If you weren’t my boss, I’d put you out.” She gave him a crooked side-glance. “The truck is taking the Interstate ramp.”
“What part of following do you not understand?” Mario made a call on his cell phone.
“I’ve never done this before,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road.
“Don’t panic on me now, Avery.”
Mario connected with a fellow cop that now headed up Special Ops, mostly undercover, and they drove the worst vehicles, with engines torqued to chase the fanciest and fastest of cars. They went unnoticed and could pull alongside mob bosses and gang-bangers without anyone giving them a second look.
Mario explained what he needed and described the SUV and the plate numbers Avery wrote down before driving off from the auction house.
Avery kept with the truck, which was easy for he drove under the speed limit. Mario got her to get closer on the left lane, enough for him to observe, then had her pull back.
“He is go
ing slow because of the load,” Mario said. “Got some weight at the tail end. The back two tires are stressed.”
Mario’s cell phone rang, and he answered. “Found them?” He gave a few heads shakes as if the guy was sitting with him. “No shit—we’re heading west, too. Thanks, I owe you one.” Mario hung up.
“What?” Avery asked with a quick glance at Mario.
“The SUV drove down Canal Street and got on the Interstate down by the cemeteries. They’re heading west.”
“If I had to guess, we’re all going to the airport,” Avery said.
“Yep, that’s what I’m thinking,” Mario agreed.
“The SUV is in front, three cars up in the left lane,” Avery said, pointing to the car. She couldn’t get closer without passing the truck but decided to try anyway. “That’s them, the plates match.” She backed the Audi off and got a few car lengths behind the U-Haul.
“You’ll make a good cop,” Mario said.
“Not in my DNA,” she replied.
“Not in your daddy’s plan, either,” Mario said. He thought he might have gone too far with the daddy jabs. He was right.
“What’s with you and my dad?” Avery asked. “Pissed because he beat you up in court, and his client walked.”
“Yeah, that could be it,” Mario said and changed the subject quickly. “Looks like they are getting off at the airport exit.”
“That’s it, huh?” she said. “You can’t stand losing—”
“Get off here!” Mario shouted.
The Audi skipped two lanes and followed the truck down the airport ramp. At the bottom of the cross street, the SUV stopped for a traffic light with the U-Haul, behind, and the Audi slowly pulling in third.
“I don’t like this, Mario.” Avery looked around.
“It’s just three vehicles at a traffic light, Avery. Stay calm.”
The light turned red, and the three vehicles turned left. Mario pointed out a side street that looped around the private jet area. They came to a guardhouse and stopped. Mario leaned over Avery and stuck his badge out the driver’s window at the uniformed man. Immediately, the black and white wood arm across the road opened. They were on the commercial side of the private airport—the area for the large cargo planes, UPS, FEDX, and other aircraft without a logo all loading cargo into the airplane’s belly. A forklift dropped a steel container at the back of a plane and two men pushed it on rollers to a locked position.
“Wow, I didn’t know they loaded cargo planes that way.” Avery stopped to let a forklift pass.
She parked in an area far enough away to see the SUV and the truck. The men got out and walked up a stairway to the sleek jet.
Two men on the ground wearing blue all-in-one outfits with a General Aviation logo directed the U-Haul to the plane’s cargo door. An aluminum roller came from the truck’s back, and the driver adjusted it to the aircraft floor.
“So what now?” Avery asked.
Mario’s eyes locked on the truck, and it was eating away at him. “What the hell did they carry from the warehouse?”
“And paid three hundred thousand for,” Avery added.
“That, too,” Mario replied.
Mario pulled on the fancy door handle and opened the door. His eyes focused on what was coming out of the truck as he stepped from the car. Moving behind a vehicle to get a better angle, he watched as a wooden create was pulled from the U-Haul up the rollers by the men in blue into the aircraft.
As he got closer, Mario flagged down a catering truck and jumped in the cab. It took some convincing, showing Mario’s gold shield, and exposing his Glock strapped to his shoulder. The guy agreed and followed Mario’s plan.
The catering truck pulled to the aircraft stairway. Mario stripped off his coat and anything that might ID him as a cop and left the items on the front seat. In his white shirt and black pants, he followed the caterer carrying a tray of fruit dishes covered in plastic wrap.
“Can I help you?” one of the thugs Mario watched get out of the SUV said, stopping them at the door.
“How are you, sir?” Mario asked with a smile. “I’m the catering superior. I spot-check my drivers weekly. You, know making sure they’re taking care of our clients.”
“Didn’t we get catering already?” the man shouted to the back.
Before they could answer, Mario said, “We failed to deliver this earlier—that’s why I’m with him. Making sure nothing else gets screwed up.”
Mario lead the way to the rear of the plane. “We’ll be out of your way in a second.” He scanned the inside as he strolled down the aisle. A lady dressed in a flight-attended outfit sat reading a magazine, and the other guy from the SUV sat across from her.
Julie’s Asian friends departing on a different aircraft and with their auction house prize, Mario thought. He continued to the rear of the plane, closed the galley drapes, and bent down into a low door that lead to the cargo area.
The caterer was instructed to keep the men in the cabin occupied, saying his supervisor needed to clean up some spilled fruit juice.
In the back, Mario stopped and watched the two General Aviation men close the cargo door from the outside and slide down the roller ramp, loading it back into the U-Haul. Mario scrambled for something to pop the wooden creates open—he planned to look in one of the three. Back in the galley, he found a knife and a screwdriver.
“They’re getting restless,” the caterer said when Mario surfaced.
Mario worked fast, but it was a slow process with the little tools he had. An overhead light came on when he closed the galley door, but it offered dim light and didn’t help much.
“There you go,” Mario whispered as the first nail loosened, and then the second until he was able to leverage the board to pull the other side open. The second board was more accessible using the screwdriver and the other piece of wood. Once open, he saw black plastic protecting whatever it covered. With the knife, Mario cut carefully along the edge of the box and peeled the plastic back.
“Holy crap!” Mario said louder than he wanted.
He quickly exited into the galley. “Okay, all cleaned up,” Mario said, pulling the curtain back. “Sorry to hold you up, gentlemen.”
They exited the plane, and Mario was dropped back at Avery’s car. Strapping his gun on, he went to the driver’s window.
“I’m driving,” Mario said.
Avery got out in a panic. “What’s going to happen to my car?”
“Hopefully, nothing,” he said.
She went to get in the passenger seat, and Mario stopped her.
“Sorry, this is as far as you’re going.”
Avery’s face drained as she watched her beautiful new Audi head for its death. She’d heard about Mario’s record with cars. To the point, the department stopped giving him new vehicles, knowing he’d total them in ninety days anyway.
Mario drove closer to the plane for a better view. “Chief, I need backup and quick,” he said when she answered her phone.
On Mario’s promise he’d do nothing stupid, she called the Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s Department and had three units dispatched and airport security, too.
She came back to the phone. “What’s going on, Mario?”
He explained how and why he had followed the U-Haul, and that set her off since it was the first she heard of the unauthorized investigation he was running.
She asked where his partner was, and he dodged the question. He hadn’t seen Howard the last day and a half and had no idea what he was doing.
Mario watched the captain walk the outside of the aircraft. It was the last check before the plane would depart. “Chief, if help is not here in a minute, I’ll handle this myself.”
“What’s so important? Who’s on the aircraft?” she pressed, trying to get some clarity of the emergency.
“It’s not who—it’s what’s on board,” Mario said. “My guess, about two million dollars in cash. Bundled nicely in plastic in a wooden crate.” He paused. “It came from t
he Rockford Auction House, and I think Roland Rockford is up to his eyeballs in this caper. What I don’t understand is who sells a create of cash worth millions for a hundred thousand?”
The phone went silent, then the Chief spoke. “You’re sure?”
“One hundred percent, I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Mario, the money boxed up neatly—it’s counterfeit.”
He was embarrassed, and then it clicked in his head as if a light bulb switched on. Preoccupied at the time, wondering how many people were involved in this auction house scam, the money being counterfeit ...
“Chief, the pilot is finished with his checklist. I’ve got to move.” Mario hung up on the Chief. It wasn’t the first time, but it could be the last if he didn’t come up with something solid and make an arrest.
He stepped on the gas and dodged two tractors pulling luggage, and stopped at the stairway. The ground crew pulled the blocks from the wheels. Another man pulled a lever under the cockpit, and the electric stairs started to move upward.
Mario pulled his badge and jammed it in the man’s face. “Stop! Now set the stairs back down.” The stairs lowered to the ground.
With his gun drawn, Mario entered the cabin. “You’re under arrest.”
One man laughed then stood. “What charges?”
“Let’s start with a boatload of counterfeit money,” Mario said. “In this case, an airplane full of cash.”
The man laughed again. “You foolish man. My name is Frederick Grenfell. I’m the highest-ranking officer to the United Kingdom’s ambassador.”
Mario kept his gun pointed and made a screwy face. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I have diplomatic immunity in your United States. That, my friend, is what it means.” Like Mario, he had a leather wallet and flashed some gold seal embossed on heavy stock paper.
Mario looked closer. The best he could read were the words The United Kingdom.
The pilot stepped in and pointed to a letter framed and attached to the wall. He read some official wording from it that sounded legit. A gold seal at the bottom again looked official, and the pilot reiterated that Frederick had complete diplomatic immunity.
The Auction House Page 16
