The Auctioneer

by D. J. Williams

  “How will they take it away?”

  I strolled over to the hangar doors and pushed them open. In the night sky a row of white lights lined up with the private airstrip. I would’ve loved to take credit for the idea, but Dax was the one who thought through the logistics. This was one of his best yet. Buyers arriving and departing by private jet ensured everyone remained under the radar from the Feds.

  “Chase…”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.” I checked my watch. “Showtime.”

  Laney said louder, “Chase, look.”

  My attention turned toward the runway. Headed in our direction was a fleet of red and blue flashing lights. I spun toward Laney, who stood a few feet away, and for a split second we froze. Millionaire buyers in the air, stolen Iraqi treasures in the RC Engineering hangar, and now the Feds on the tarmac.

  “Run!”

  My body forced itself to move as I grabbed Laney’s hand and cut between the jets and crates, before bursting through a back exit. Scanning the surroundings, I was sure we were moments away from being arrested. Across the parking lot, an SUV skidded to a stop next to my Escalade.

  “We need to move.” Glancing toward the control tower, I squeezed Laney’s hand tight. “Ready?”

  She nodded. We darted across the tarmac, climbed a security fence, and held our breath as the red and blue lights neared the hangar entrance. Jets flew overhead as their landing gears retracted. Ducking between rows of parked cars, I checked each one. All locked. We crouched next to a pickup truck while I dialed Dax. Voicemail. The glass doors to the control tower opened. A man, early forties, lit a cigarette and casually walked across the parking lot headed toward a two-door sedan completely unaware of the raid on the other side of the fence.

  “Stay here,” I whispered.

  Moving stealthily between the cars, I waited until the man unlocked the vehicle, then swiftly wrapped my forearm around his throat. I squeezed until his weight grew heavy and he slumped unconscious to the concrete. He’d wake up with a migraine, but nothing more.

  Laney was on my heels and already on the passenger side of the car by the time I grabbed the keys and security card before sliding behind the wheel. My heart pounded, but I was in control. My instincts were on overdrive, and it seemed Laney’s were as well. The car idled as I tried Dax again. No answer.

  “Give me your cell,” I said to Laney.

  She handed it over, and I removed the SIM cards from both our phones, then tossed them out the window. I shifted into gear and rolled slowly toward the exit with my eyes firmly set on the scene playing out a hundred yards from us. At the gate I swiped the security card, eased onto the street, and headed east.

  Forget money laundering. Now we were fugitives.

  TEN

  After abandoning the car in an alley, we walked briskly down the sidewalk. With a population of nearly twenty thousand, Skid Row was alive within Tinseltown. Whites. Blacks. Native Americans. Asians. Hispanics. A melting pot of humanity where poverty had no preference.

  Tonight, like every other night, a line of homeless stretched down the street waiting for a hot meal from the Hippie Kitchen. Nearby, cardboard shanties filled the sidewalks, while others slept in shopping carts as the cold pierced their bones.

  “I should’ve been more careful.”

  “You don’t think Dax went to Hollywood?” Laney asked.

  “Too risky, especially if the Feds knew about the hangar.” Squeezing her hand tight, I cursed at myself for not warning Uncle Randy before ditching my cell. “I don’t get how they could’ve known — she was right.”

  “Who was right?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Chase, what aren’t you telling me?”

  “I found out last night the Feds have been following me for a while.”

  “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  “I thought we were one step ahead. But we’re not leaving without Dax.”

  A drunk, wrapped in layers of ragged, stained clothes, stumbled into us, slurred an apology, then shuffled down the sidewalk mumbling incoherently. I ignored the interruption and kept my attention on the garage across the street. A few hours earlier, the contingency plan was in full motion. Now, Dax could already be in custody.

  From the outside, there were no visible lights, no sign the place had been raided. Of course, the Feds could be waiting nearby to take me down.

  “Laney, I need you to wait here.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Her grip tightened. “Where you go, I go.”

  “Okay, we’ll wait and see if Dax shows.” Reaching into my pocket I pulled out a few bills, then headed toward a woman pushing a homemade flatbed cart piled with all her belongings. I offered a warm smile. “Excuse me, how’d you like to make a hundred bucks?”

  Her brow furrowed. “What I gotta do?”

  “Park your cart over there for twenty minutes.” I pointed toward Shantytown, then picked up a worn hoodie, coat, and baseball cap from her cart. “I’ll throw in another hundred for these.”

  The woman snatched the cash and stuffed it inside her oversized coat. She pulled a u-turn, parked the cart exactly where I’d pointed, and mumbled, “People call me crazy, but you’re a damn fool.”

  We huddled with the others and tried not to attract attention. A strong stench of whiskey, body odor, and urine filled my nostrils. I slipped on the hoodie and baseball cap, then offered the jacket to Laney, who reluctantly wrapped it around her shoulders. We were silent as the night grew a few degrees colder.

  I asked the woman, “What’s your name?”

  “Down here they call me Maggie,” she replied, “but I prefer Margaret.”

  “Well, Margaret, I’m Chase. And this is Laney.”

  Her smile showed a row of missing teeth. “Why are you two love birds watching that building over there?”

  “We’re just waiting for a friend,” I replied. “He should be here soon.”

  “I’ve seen you pulling up in your fancy car a few times at that place. I always thought you were a mad hatter.”

  I chuckled half-heartedly. “I’m no drug dealer, I promise.”

  “Strange is all.” Margaret’s clouded eyes shifted. “Sitting here instead of going inside.”

  “You’re right.” I turned to Laney and whispered, “Anything happens, you’re invisible.”

  “Wait,” she protested, grabbing my arm. “Chase…”

  Slipping from her grasp, I was already on my feet crossing the street with my head on a swivel. Flashes of that night inside Fatima’s compound struck as I entered the side door to the garage. With the barrel of the forty-five pointed towards the floor, I methodically moved through the building where cars were on lifts, tools were stacked on rolling cabinets, and the place looked exactly as it had a few hours earlier. Inside the room where Dax should’ve been I noticed a smashed laptop on the floor. Raising the forty-five, I approached with caution, then stopped cold at the sight of a shoe.

  “No… no… no…” I whispered. My heart raced as a lump lodged in my throat. Moving closer, my feet were concrete blocks. A pool of blood oozed beneath a body sprawled face down on the concrete. Unsure, I crouched before dropping to my knees, praying there was still hope. The world froze as I touched the body — warm but lifeless. Setting the forty-five on the ground, I rolled the body over, then leaned back with clenched teeth. A hand squeezed my shoulder as I jerked backwards.

  “It’s okay,” Laney said softly. “It’s not Dax.”

  “Yeah.” I wiped my moist eyes with my sleeve. “I know who it is.”

  Footsteps echoed off the walls. Instinctively, I reached for the forty-five and realized Laney had already picked it up. From the shadows, Special Agent Vaughn stepped into the moonlight as it pierced through the rooftop windows.

  I was stunned. Laney wasn’t.

  A few blocks away, I never saw the drunk who stumbled down the sidewalk away from Skid Row. I never saw his pace quicken, his curved spine straighten, or
his dead eyes locked on a black van parked at the curb with the engine running. I never saw the door slide open as he climbed inside. No, I never saw any of it.

  ELEVEN

  By midnight the garage swarmed with Feds and LAPD. Yellow tape barricaded the streets of Skid Row as the homeless watched with a distant curiosity. A coroner’s van arrived. Shortly afterwards, a body bag was wheeled from the garage and loaded into the van. A steady stream of agents removed boxes of potential evidence while others inventoried the vehicles. This was more than a homicide crime scene, it was a honey hole for the Hardeman investigation.

  I sat handcuffed on a stool, dazed, staring blankly at the blood-stained floor. Betrayal ripped through my soul. I loved her — that was my undoing. She played her part perfectly, convincing beyond a shred of suspicion. That angered me. Rage rooted itself in dark corners, buried alongside Dad’s death, Mosul, and the bullet lodged in Sleepy’s skull.

  Across the room, Vaughn spoke briefly with Laney, then disappeared into another part of the garage. My body tensed as she approached, pulled me to my feet, and led me through a back exit to an SUV parked in the alley.

  “Was any of it real?”

  A tinge of bitterness dripped with each word.

  Laney opened the rear door and nudged me inside. I slid across the seat as the door closed, then watched while she stood guard with her back to me. Coward. A few minutes passed before Vaughn emerged from the garage and got behind the wheel. Only then did Laney climb into the passenger seat.

  We rode from Skid Row, through the streets of downtown, headed toward South Pasadena. Vaughn glanced in the rearview, but I kept my eyes on the street signs outside.

  “Victim is Mario Robles,” Vaughn said. “Who is he to you?”

  I hesitated before answering. “He did deliveries for me.”

  “What about your friend, Dexter? Where’s he at tonight?”

  “No clue.” I nodded ahead. “I’m sure she told you that already.”

  “Strange that your sidekick is MIA all of a sudden.”

  “He has nothing to do with what happened in there.”

  “We’ve got our team searching for him, so we’ll know soon enough.”

  “What happens now?” I asked.

  “That’s entirely up to you.” Vaughn reached into his jacket, retrieved the passports, and waved them in front of me. “Your contingency plan is over, Chase.”

  Clenching my teeth, I glared at the back of Laney’s seat. She never flinched. Rather, she allowed Vaughn to drive a final nail in my coffin.

  “We cloned your cell a week ago,” Vaughn conceded. “Now we’ve got stolen artifacts from Iraq inside a hangar owned by RC Engineering. A garage full of cars hidden from your company’s assets. We’ve subpoenaed Cayman National to verify the laundered cash accounts. Oh, and I almost forgot, we recovered your SIM card and linked a Swiss account to your cell. Four point six million. Not bad. I’ve never left Vegas a winner, but I’ll bet the house the Vihkrovs are complicit in all this.”

  “Lawyer.”

  “That’s your God-given right, but I’d think hard before you do.”

  I realized there was still a deal on the table. “You need the names.”

  “You know what happens in Vegas…”

  “What are you offering?”

  “We’ll forget where we found the artifacts and return them to Iraq in a public display of our commitment to the Iraqi people and their history. We’ll close the laundering case, contingent on shutting down Hardeman Auctions and you signing over all remaining assets. Once we’ve filed the paperwork with Cayman National, the money your father embezzled will be seized by the US government as restitution. Everyone wins…or you lose.”

  “You’re leaving me with nothing.”

  “Except your freedom,” Vaughn bantered.

  “What about Dax?”

  “We searched your Hollywood hideout, but he wasn’t there. My guess is he’s on the run. With your help, we can clear him as a suspect, as long as he’s not the one who killed Robles.”

  “Sounds like you got it all figured out.”

  “You’re out of options.” Vaughn turned the corner and parked. “And we’re out of time.”

  “Were you supposed to be on the flight that night?”

  “I was at the field office waiting for your dad to land in Van Nuys.”

  “Your name was on the manifest.”

  “I’ve seen the flight manifest you’re referring to, and we’ve confirmed it was forged. Listen, your dad was willing to help us — so should you.”

  It was hard to discern the truth. “If I agree, what do I have to do?”

  “Pay a visit to Elena Vihkrov.” Vaughn glanced at Laney. “She’ll go with you.”

  I clenched my fists but held my tongue. Love betrayed was maddening.

  “I want it in writing,” I replied coolly. “Signed by whoever’s in charge.”

  “That won’t be a problem — she’s sitting right here.”

  Another dagger pierced deep. At the same time, a wave of guilt swept over me at the thought of Sleepy’s wife and twin girls. That would haunt me to the grave. Greed turned me into someone I didn’t recognize, or maybe it was simply guilt buried in self-pity.

  Laney said in a lowered voice, “Take the deal, Chase.”

  TWELVE

  HOLLYWOOD, CA — 2 AM

  While most Angelenos slept warmly in their beds, hundreds waited outside Tanets, an electronic dance club, where rhythmic tracks vibrated the walls until daybreak. Women wore makeup heavy enough to act as a shield against the cold, doused in pungent perfume, and wrapped in faux fur to hide their cleavage-baring dresses. Men in silk shirts, gold chains, leather pants, and enough gel to seal the hull of a freighter. Some lived in the presence of their youth, while others grasped at what had once been. But all inhaled an urge to drink, grind, and partake in their illicit drugs of choice.

  “Is Laney even your real name?”

  “Yes, it is.” We crossed the street amidst traffic. “Chase, it’s not how I wanted this to go.”

  “Aren’t you the one in charge? Or was Vaughn lying about that too.”

  “I was chosen to lead the operation. Going undercover was my idea.”

  “Because you were willing to slide between the sheets?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  Stopping abruptly on the sidewalk, I faced her squarely. “You used me!”

  “We used each other.”

  “That’s bull—”

  “Elena Vihkrov?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

  Laney turned her face as we walked briskly through the crowd. Sergei, the chiseled Russian, guarded a side door to Tanets, while bouncers trolled partygoers searching for only the most beautiful to gain entrance.

  I shook hands with Sergei. “I need to see Elena.” Without hesitation, he pulled the rope aside. Laney stepped forward as I said passingly, “She’s with me.”

  Inside, the club was at capacity. A wave of shadows pulsed in the darkness. On stage, a DJ hyped the crowd before spinning another deafening beat. Beneath the strobe lights that crisscrossed the club, I eyed the VIP area, avoiding the impulse to see if Laney was behind me.

  Jealous. Seriously?

  Sergei crossed a roped off area, climbed the steps of a balcony until we reached the top row, then stopped at a heavy-duty bolted door with a peephole.

  He said to me, “Only you.”

  “Understood.” I glanced at Laney. “Wait here.”

  “Not a chance,” she protested.

  I turned back to Sergei. “She’s FBI.”

  This time when Laney stepped forward, Sergei stood directly in her path. His body postured as he grunted in Russian. “Crazy American.”

  “You need a name,” I said to Laney. “This is the only way you’ll get it.”

  Her eyes flared as she reached for her cell. Sergei knocked three times. A few seconds later the deadbolt unlatched, the door cracked open, and a
hand pulled me inside.

  Elena dead-bolted the door behind us and whispered urgently, “We must hurry.”

  Following her down the hallway, I heard voices on both sides. In one room, women ran cash through bill counters. Another room, men packed crates filled with wrapped packages. I knew better than to ask what was inside.

  At the end of the hallway, we slipped behind a curtain and entered a private office. Next to a handgun, cocaine residue dusted a glass table. Bloodied clothes were scattered on the floor beneath a half-naked body spread out on the desk. One of Elena’s men leaned over the body with a suture in hand.

  I stepped closer as my heart pounded through my chest. My legs grew weak, struck with another flashback from Mosul. In front of me, Dax’s bullet-ridden body shivered. He groaned when the Russian dug the suture deeper into an open wound.

  “We found him in the alley.” Elena gestured to the wounds. “He was shot four times and has lost a lot of blood.”

  “She betrayed me.”

  Elena fired back, “And yet you brought her here.”

  The Russian motioned for me to prop Dax on his side. I held his limp body in my arms while a wound on his upper shoulder was stitched. Then the Russian retrieved a syringe and injected a needle into Dax’s arm. Rapidly, the sedative flowed through his veins while he mumbled incoherently. I leaned in close, trying to understand his words. A chill shot through me when he called out a ghost from the grave.

  At the muffled sounds of gunfire, Elena spun toward a bank of monitors on the wall. Closed-circuit cameras captured the chaos spreading throughout the club. At first it was hard to know what was happening. Clearly the place was in a panic, evidenced by the crowd trampling over each other headed toward the exits. Another barrage of gunfire erupted.

  “Is there a way out of here?” I asked.

  Elena pushed the side of a wall, and a passageway appeared. “Underground garage.”

  “Get everyone out. I’ll be right behind.”