by James Kent
55
Kingman.
‘It’s me,’ he said.
‘Nick! How are you? Is everything alright? Things have been a bit mad around here! That Pearman woman! Good grief!’ said Sally with emphasis.
Swann grinned. He could just imagine how Lavinia would be feeling after Eddie crashed her program. She’d have no idea what was going on.
‘Yeah, all good this end. Tell Poirot everything’s squared away. He’ll need to send the cleaners in again. An hour north of Kingman, then east off the old Stockton Hill Road. There’s a large ranch there, and a few other deserted buildings nearby. Can’t miss it. A few vehicles . . . one completely burnt out; the others trashed by fifty-cal rounds through their engine blocks. Western end of the ranch partly demolished. I’ll text you the GPS coordinates of the place after I hang up. Just tell him there’s a perp down and disabled, name of Lucas, leaning against an old tin shed near the main house. At least he was when I last saw him. He’s hanging in there and won’t move far due to injuries and no boots on his feet. Tell Poirot there are five more perps lying around to pick up. But they’ll need body bags. One lying near the live guy, one inside the ranch, eastern end, and three out back . . . two are covered by a tarp. Bit of a mess. But couldn’t be helped. Tell him he’d better get onto it before they all start reeking, if you catch my drift.’ He could hear Sally frantically writing everything down. ‘Got all that?’ he asked her.
‘Yes, I’ve got all that. Goodness Nick, sounds like world war three out there! Ok, what else? When are you back?’
‘I’ll be back in a couple of days. Oh, yeah, tell Poirot that “Diablo” has gone for a long walkabout in the mountains and won’t be coming back. Getting in touch with his ancestors I think.’
Sally scribbled it down. ‘Ok Nick. Wow!’ she said. ‘Anything else?’
‘No. That’s about it. Thanks. Maybe see you in a couple of days . . . if I feel like it.’
‘Ok Nick. Take care,’ she replied and hung up.
Swann smiled to himself again as he thought about the details he deliberately left out. Like Cricket for instance. And Silva’s floor safe. And the six black notebooks with all the names. And the bag of money he gave to the church. It was one of those “need to know” things. And Simms didn’t need to know about any of that.
But he might tell Lavinia about it as part of his trade, like in exchange for dropping her investigation. Maybe let her have all her emails and files back, that Eddie had copied. “Take it or leave it”, he’d say. She’ll take it. Or not.
He threw the phone on the bed, reached for his burner cell and texted Sally the GPS coordinates of Diablo’s ranch. Then he rang Eddie who answered immediately.
‘What’s up boss?’
‘Get your ass to Kingman! Bring all your shit. Everything because you won’t be going back. I’ve got another job for you!’ Swann gave Eddie the name of the motel and his room number, then he hung up. He’d have at least four hours up his sleeve before Eddie got there, so he decided to contact Lavinia and prime her. See what she’s planning, then drop the bombshell.
56
Wilshire Federal Building, Sawtelle, L.A.
She was packing up. Lavinia Pearman had had enough. There was no point hanging around if nearly everything she’d done while there in Sawtelle no longer even existed. All she had left were her written notes and paper documents, a few audio recordings. It wasn’t enough. A pathetic pile of circumstantial bullshit evidence that any two-bit lawyer would drive a damn truck through! she thought to herself. She might as well have nothing at all. She felt depressed. Useless. Like a spare wheel. Everyone was avoiding her. No one made eye contact. Simms would pass her in the corridors and smile in that creepy way of his. Rubbing her nose in it. It was like she was a leper or contagious or something. She felt isolated and defeated as she sat at her desk looking out the window to the veterans’ cemetery for the last time. She was worried about what kind of reception she would get, back in D.C. for failure. She’d be demoted. Or sacked. Or maybe even prosecuted for criminal negligence, having allowed sensitive and classified information fall into the wrong hands. No one comes back from that. They’d investigate her! So she started thinking about Nick instead. It was easier. Like some kind of pointless relief.
And then her phone vibrated on the desk. It walked half an inch with each buzz. She stared at it detached. Piss off whoever you are! she thought. She picked it up and looked at the display without interest, didn’t recognize the number, but she answered it anyway.
‘Hello?’ she said tentatively.
‘Do you want Mordor?’ asked the deep voice on the other end.
That got her attention. Pearman’s eyes went wide. She froze in shock. Sat up in her chair. ‘Who is this?’ she asked, yet she was sure she recognized the voice. ‘Nick? Is that you?’
‘Yes. Answer the question. Do you want Mordor?’
‘What the hell is going on Nick? How do you know about Mordor?’ She was tense and apprehensive. Things were out of control.
‘Answer the question or I’ll hang up!’
‘Yes! I want Mordor, whoever the hell he is! How on earth do you know about it? What’s going on?’ she asked again. ‘Where are you?’
‘I know who he is. Just been talking to him. He made me coffee.’
Confusion. Coffee again! ‘What? What are you talking about?’
‘I can give you your life back. Meet me tomorrow in Kingman, Arizona.’
‘Kingman? What’s in Kingman? Where in Kingman?’
‘Text me when you’re here.’ Then the line went dead.
‘Wait!’ she said. Too late.
Pearman was stunned. She slowly put her phone back down on the desk. Her eyes were fixed, staring into space as she digested what she’d just heard. ‘It is him!’ she whispered to herself. ‘All this time and it was staring me in the face! It’s got to be him!’ she said to no one. ‘Shit! Who the hell is this guy?’
She panicked. She hurriedly tidied her desk and personal things, checked that she hadn’t left any classified or incriminating material behind, in the desk drawers and filing cabinets, packed everything including her laptop into her two leather briefcases, left the room and closed the door behind her. She didn’t bother saying anything to Sally upstairs, like “Goodbye Sally . . . Been nice working with you!” and all that crap because it would be a damn lie. She hated the place and couldn’t wait to leave it and L.A. behind her like a bad smell. She walked down to the main lobby, handed in her security pass, filled in the receipt and form for the rented office, handed over the keys, filled in the sign-out forms, then she went through the security gates, the electronic scanners and left the building for her car breathing a sigh of relief. She wanted to get to Kingman as quickly as possible to find out exactly what “Nick”, knew and how he knew it. She wanted to find out who he really was. Maybe “Nick” wasn’t even his real name! she wondered. Why would it be? Yet, despite everything, she was excited to be seeing him again. And that made her smile.
Pearman drove back to her hotel in downtown Los Angeles. She changed into more comfortable clothes; form-fitting jeans, cream blouse, sensible shoes. She shook her hair out, looked in the bathroom mirror and applied more red lipstick. She knew she looked good. And she knew Nick would like the look too. ‘Why the hell am I doing this?’ she asked her own reflection, but got no answer. She packed all her clothes and belongings into her suitcase, took the elevator back down to the lobby and checked out. Then she sat in her car, checking the map for the fastest route. Programmed it into her phone. Kingman. But why there? she wondered. By midday she was on the road east. It would take over six hours to get there so she decided to stop for a late lunch in Barstow on the way, a decent town only two hours away. She didn’t mind getting to Kingman late in the day. Besides, the drive would give her plenty of time to think. If “Nick” was indeed the guy she was hunting, she would have to decide what to do about it, what to do about him. The problem was that he seemed to hav
e her life in his hands somehow. How the hell did that happen? she thought. Someone she’d met only once in a random bar somehow knows everything about her and has complete control. ‘Unbelievable!’ she whispered to herself. And yet she felt reinvigorated, excited. She felt an adrenalin rush. Her fingers tightened on the wheel, making her knuckles turn white. There was a chance that all was not lost after all and that she could, perhaps, get things back on track. Or at the very least, retrieve all her hard work. Or some of it. And her reputation. Maybe. But at what cost? What does he want out of it? Everything now depends on what Nick has up his sleeve.
*
Eddie got to Kingman at four-thirty that afternoon. Later than planned. He was loaded to the gunnels like a pack animal on safari. His Harley Davidson hog overflowed with all his gear in packs, all strapped down, one on top of another, plus a pack on his back. He’d bought clothes and books and more computer gear in Vegas, making day trips from Caliente while he waited to hear from Swann. Building up his collection again. Perhaps he’d overdone it. Bitten off more than he could chew. And he was now running short of funds, to say the least, so he hoped Swann would pay him something. A “stipend” they call it. A “gratuity”. Not quite a salary as such, which would require paying taxes. It would have to be declared by both sides to keep it legal. Which this wasn’t. Well, it was a fine line. A good lawyer would find daylight. But who’s to know anyway? They just hadn’t discussed the details yet.
He knocked on Swann’s motel door and waited. Didn’t hear anything so he opened it and walked in. He was greeted by a fat roll of greenbacks flying at him. Swann had seen him pull up on his Harley out the window, had grabbed one of the six rolls he’d liberated from Diablo and waited for Eddie to walk in. Then he tossed it at him the moment he came in through the door, hitting him in the left ear. Deliberate? Hard to say. Maybe it was just a bad throw. But it caught Eddie off guard. Eddie shucked off his pack, dropped it on the floor and bent to pick up the roll of cash. He looked at it, then back at Swann with a raised eyebrow, rubbing his ear.
‘Yeah, a donation from your ex-boss,’ said Swann by way of an explanation. ‘There’s more later if you do a good job and don’t whine. Looks like you’re about to. You’re late. What took you so long?’
Eddie took the rubber band off the roll and fanned out the notes. Twenty hundred-dollar bills. Enough to keep him happy for a while. That’s for damn sure. ‘Thanks boss!’ he said with a grin. He rolled it up again and stashed it in his pocket. ‘Yes, sorry, I took longer than expected. Took me a while to sort out all my crap and load it onto the bike. Took a few goes to secure it and all. So, what’s up?’ he asked as he sat down on the spare chair by the window.
‘Did you bring all the files and shit you trashed and stole off Pearman?’ asked Swann.
‘Yes. Everything. It’s all safe,’ he said looking out at the overloaded hog. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘We’ll have a visitor shortly. Pearman herself,’ Swann said. He studied Eddie for a reaction but got a blank stare, like it was no big deal. ‘She’ll be hopping mad and will want it all back,’ he continued. ‘And I’ll agree to it if she drops her investigation and answers a few questions. I want to know exactly who is behind it and why. Because it looks political. So, if she doesn’t come clean, I want you to go “ferreting”, if you get my drift.’
‘Wow! Ok, cool!’ replied Eddie. ‘This should be interesting! How does she know?’
‘I told her. But she still thinks it’s the other guy, “Mordor”. Has no idea about you. So she might even think you’re him, since I told her I’ve just been talking to him and that he made me coffee.’ Swann laughed at that.
‘Jeez that’ll confuse her!’ replied Eddie, also laughing. ‘It’s confusing me!’ he added.
‘Yeah. So, I don’t want you to say anything. Nothing at all unless I tell you to! We clear?’
Eddie nodded. ‘Clear,’ he replied. He turned and looked out the window at the packs on his bike.
And then they waited for Pearman to arrive.
57
Kingman.
Pearman liked the look of Kingman. It looked robust and honest, like it was a town that had nothing to hide. Unlike L.A.
She had arrived there at five in the afternoon and pulled over so that she could send a text. She tapped it out, ‘Hello Nick. I’m in Kingman. Where do I go?’ then she pressed send and waited for the reply; hoped he wouldn’t take long. He didn’t. The answer came back within half a minute. Just a motel name and unit number, and the street it was on. No ‘Hey there!’ no ‘See you soon!’ no smiley face. Just a blunt text like it was written by a robot. Or an asshole.
She found it on her phone’s GPS map and programed it in. Then she followed the blue line on the display. It showed a left turn two miles up ahead, followed by a right and then another left. It took her to a motel off the main drag. Some cheap-looking joint, in her estimation. Too rundown and neglected. Not the sort of place she would choose.
Before turning into the driveway, she pulled over across the street, and down a few yards, just to check the place out. See if any other vehicles were parked outside the unit. There was a fat Harley Davidson resting on its stand, close to Nick’s Raptor. She remembered the Raptor. A huge vehicle. Remembered thinking that it well suited him. All business. Unsubtle and hard as nails. The Harley beside it was loaded up with packs as though some passing tourist was paying a visit. Strange! she thought. Who else is in there? Perhaps it’s Mordor! She wanted to strangle him.
Time to find out.
She pulled away from the curb, crossed the street and drove into the motel’s carpark, then slowly parked up outside the unit, beside the bike. She switched off the engine and sat there thinking, clearing her mind for what was to come. She was nervous. Her heart rate was through the roof and her hands were shaking slightly. She made sure her Government-issue Smith & Wesson Model 13 was fully loaded, with the safety on, and tucked in her handbag just in case things weren’t what they seemed and turned ugly. There were too many unknowns now to be careless. Too many questions. The Model 13 was a small, but powerful handgun and its .357 Magnum round had plenty of stopping power. She doubted she would need it, but then anything could happen.
She glanced in the rear-view mirror, looked at herself, her hair, her lipstick. ‘Why am I doing that?’ she asked her reflection, but again got no reply. Then she looked at the motel door, and the window beside it. Couldn’t see anything inside, so she climbed out of the vehicle and clicked the door shut quietly. She stepped over to the chrome-encrusted bike, reached down and held her hand near its massive engine. It was still warm, which meant whoever it was inside hadn’t long since arrived. Maybe half an hour ago. She headed for the unit, stepped up onto the pavement and tapped lightly on the door, feeling the hot sun on her back.
And then the door opened.
*
Some scrawny guy with greasy black hair greeted her. He looked like a rat. Or a weasel or a ferret or something. She wasn’t sure which. Who the hell are you? she wondered. He said nothing as he stepped out of the way to let her pass. Then she walked in and saw him sitting there with his feet up on the bed, his arms crossed across his chest. He was watching her like a predator.
A cocktail of conflicting emotions coursed through her when she saw him. A heady brew of fear, desire, excitement, resentment and anger all fighting each other like acids and alkalis. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He’s an impressive guy! That’s for damn sure! she thought. He stared back at her with a look of curiosity, but no emotion. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Maybe a hint of a smile on his face. She wasn’t sure. Something.
Her eyes scanned the room as she tried to get her feelings and emotions under control. She stepped over to the table, dropped her handbag on the top with a heavy THUNK! and sat in the only other chair. It felt warm like it had just been vacated. She felt two pairs of eyes on her, assessing her. No one said anything. Then she turned to the rat-looking guy and s
aid, ‘I’m guessing you’re “Mordor”.’ He studied her, said nothing, then he looked over at Nick who moved his head slightly from side-to-side as though to say, “Don’t say a word!”. Eddie leant back against the door with his arms folded and waited. Then Pearman turned back to Nick and asked, “So what the hell is going on?”
58
‘Sounds like you’re packing heat,’ he said after a long pause, and not answering her question. ‘Let me guess . . . Government-issue Smith and Wesson? I’d say a three-fifty-seven magnum, judging by the size and apparent weight of your handbag. Probably a Model Thirteen. That’d be my guess.’
Pearman said nothing. Looked at her handbag on the table, then back at Swann. Shit he’s good! she thought. How the hell could he possibly nail that from just the sound it made?
‘You won’t need it,’ said Swann. ‘So, let’s make a deal! And then I’ll tell you about “Mordor!”’
‘How do you know about it? That ASSHOLE has destroyed months of hard work! I could face disciplinary charges for criminal negligence if I don’t get it all back! And HE will face jail time!’ she said with emphasis, turning again to stare at Eddie with eyes that blamed him for everything. Then she looked back at Swann and asked, ‘Who the hell are you anyway?’ Anger and resentment in her voice. ‘You’re obviously not who I thought you were.’
‘We’ll get to that. In the meantime, I have something you want. You have something I want. So, either we make a deal right now or I’m outta here and you’ll never get your life back. You’ll never know what just happened. And why.’
And there it was. The deadly, slippery hook of poisonous curiosity snared her. Like the cat.
She looked at Swann with intensity, thinking it through. Asking herself, what did she have to lose? Nothing. ‘Fine!’ she said. ‘Tell me what the hell this is all about!’
