Ash Reckoning

by Samson Weld

  Heading for the door, Ash’s eyes fell on something out of place. A small black square was half-under the doorjamb. That hadn’t there before. It wasn’t a complete neat freak, but Ash could tell his crap from other people’s crap. He pulled it out from under the jamb.

  Computer chip? he thought, detecting an outline of Texas on the top, with TI superimposed. His laptop was gone. The TV still hung on the wall, untouched. Where did that computer chip come from? Looks like it scraped off the bottom of someone’s shoe.

  He paused to listen to the sirens. They were still a few minutes away. He counted seventeen residents milling around in the parking lot. No one seemed aware of where all the excitement had gone down. At least no one was looking up at his place or pointing at him.

  Ash considered the computer chip again.

  Definitely evidence the police would want. Ash glanced back into his apartment. Completely destroyed. Viciously trashed. No, this is personal.

  He slipped the chip into his pocket. The first police car arrived, lights flashing red, white, and blue. Ash rushed down to the parking lot. Desmond waited at the bottom of the stairs. He handed his friend the pack.

  “Take this back to your place,” Ash whispered. Then turned toward the police. “Officers! Over here! I came home to find at least three men inside my apartment and tearing it apart.”

  Ash had to explain multiple times how he’d come home and found unknown men ransacking his home. They kept asking the same questions over and over, just wording them differently. Once they were satisfied, and more cops had arrived, they kept him downstairs while the other cops went up and checked it out.

  “Mind if I call my girlfriend?” Ash asked.

  “Go ahead.”

  She didn’t answer, which meant she was busy. He left a voice message.

  “Deanna, Ash here. I came home to find some men inside my apartment. They ran away and I’m fine, but I haven’t been able to see if anything was stolen yet. Don’t come over tonight. The police are here and investigating. I don’t know when I’ll be allowed back inside. Call me when you get a chance.”

  “That’s not exactly the story you told us,” one of the cops said, coming closer.

  Shit, Ash cringed silently. “I cleaned it up so she won’t worry too much. You know women…”

  This placated the young officers. They allowed him to write up his statement on the scene, but informed him that he couldn’t enter the apartment until after the crime scene team and detectives cleared it.

  Good thing I still have the farm, he decided. The lease would expire in a few months and he’d intended to let it go. The intruders made him reconsider. It was good to have a secret backup place.

  Ash checked his phone’s contacts. Detective Bellucci had given him her number months back. He almost hadn’t entered her into his contacts. Good thing he had. He tapped her displayed phone number and it began to ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Bellucci. Ash here,” he said. He reconsidered for a second, but continued. “Can we talk? In person?”

  She didn’t respond right away. “Okay. Beer Shack in ten minutes okay?”

  “Perfect. Thank you.”

  Ash made it to the small bar in five. It was a light crowd, but some young men and women were playing pool. Half of the tables and booths were occupied, and the waitress smiled at him. She was a pretty young woman with bangs down into her eyes.

  “Hi, Ash,” Chloe called. “Scotch?”

  “Two beers,” he said before heading to a booth. He waved at the owner, now tending bar. “About time you did something around here, Jim Bob.”

  “Will Deanna be joining you?” Chloe asked as she delivered two tall mugs of beer.

  “Afraid not. She’s working,” he said. “This is a business meeting.”

  “You serve beer at business meetings?” she teased. “I want to work for you.”

  “Are you even old enough to drink?”

  She recoiled in feigned horror. “I don’t think you’re allowed to ask that question in a job interview.”

  He laughed. “You’re as bad as your father.”

  “So I got the job?”

  “Of course. The only thing worse than the hours is the pay. Since you work in a bar for your father, I suspect you’re cool with that arrangement.”

  “I quit. Bye bye, Felicia.”

  He watched her walking away. I really need to google what “bye bye Felicia” means.

  Bellucci walked in a few minutes later. She’d added a New York Yankee’s cap to her outfit. The detective arched a brow at the beer waiting for her in a booth.

  “I thought I was buying the next round?”

  “Don’t worry, I haven’t paid yet. Sit. I need to pick your brain.”

  “Okay, now I’m uncomfortable,” she said, but sat anyway. “What do you want to know? I’m not allowed to reveal information about any cases I’m working on.”

  He hadn’t considered that. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about the home invasions. I got invaded tonight.”

  She looked shocked. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Yes. Me,” he said, and lifted his shirt to reveal scrapes and bruises on his chest and belly. “I came home to find men inside my apartment. They opened fire on me the second I opened the door, so I went head first down the stairs.”

  “Ouch. Looks painful.”

  “It probably was,” he said. “But I was preoccupied at the moment.”

  Ash laid it all out for her. He left out the part about his weapons cache, of course. She listened, asking a few questions.

  “So, does that sound like one of your home invasions?” he asked.

  “No. The cases I’m investigating went down much differently,” she said. “The homeowners were home and it appears they knocked on the door and charged in when the owner opened the door. This sounds more like you interrupted a burglary.”

  He considered that a moment. Just looking at the facts, he had to agree with her assessment. But it felt different. He felt targeted. They went for the kill too fast.

  Could be the Russians I messed with months ago?

  That didn’t feel right, either. The Russian mob didn’t hire American hitmen. They had their own. Those intruders weren’t Russians and he couldn’t get over the feeling they were after something.

  Worse, he didn’t think he’d seen the last of them, either.

  Chapter 13

  Hand tightening on the steering wheel, Ash checked the time displayed on the dashboard. 9:41 AM. Dale’s flight arrived at 10:10 AM. He hoped the flight was running late, because traffic on I-635 wasn’t moving at all. Had to be a wreck.

  He knew he should’ve left earlier. Maybe he’d misjudged how much time it would take to reach the airport, especially at that time of day. Ash had never picked anyone up at DFW Airport before, and he spent the night at his farm east of Dallas.

  It felt odd, yet strangely comforting to be back at the farm. He felt like it was a step back. The farm represented a darker period. A time best forgotten if he wanted to move forward.

  “Finally,” he muttered when traffic started moving.

  “We’ll make it on time,” Deanna said. “We’re past Josey Lane, so it isn’t much further to I-35, and we’ll be free to fly. We just have to play traffic accordion a little.”

  Deanna looked great. Her hair was down, and she’d dressed to impress without looking like she was trying too hard: jeans, nice shirt, and heels.

  “You know how I hate being late,” Ash said. He wore his usual jeans and a button-down shirt. “Besides, our relationship has been, uh, strained the past five years. Heck, it wasn’t all that great before.”

  “Oh? Sibling rivalry?”

  “Yeah, though more on his part,” he said. “And I might’ve bullied him a little as children, as kids are wont to do. Nothing major, but you know. And the rest of the family didn’t help when his marriage failed without children.”

  He kept quiet about the reason for that divorce. Gam
bling. Dale would bet on just about anything. Even worse, he sucked at picking winners.

  “Is he married or single?”

  “I don’t know,” Ash said, quickly turning into another lane that was moving. “He called out of the blue and said he was coming to town for a dental convention and would like to get together and catch up.”

  That was strange since Ash wasn’t sure how Dale got his cell number. It was unlisted. It was possible he’d given the number to another family member, but couldn’t remember doing so. After his parents passed away, and then the death of his wife and children, Ash had lost all interest in the rest of his family.

  He’d been rather preoccupied.

  Deanna distracted him by crossing her legs. She was the only person he knew who crossed their legs while riding in a car. Kind of odd, but he liked it. She looked comfortable.

  “Love you,” he said, reaching out and squeezing her hand.

  “Love you more.”

  He laughed. “You are so competitive.”

  “I know, right?”

  Ash noticed the right lane really moving out fast, and he spotted a gap coming up. He hit the blinker, spun the wheel, and punched it when the gap in traffic reached him. The big F-150 whipped into that slot, accelerating up to speed effortlessly. He was so glad he went with the 5.0L V8.

  That surge got him almost to the I-35E merge, where he’d go straight toward the airport while most of the traffic headed south down I-35E. He relaxed a little. They’d make it on time, though it might be close.

  Deanna pulled out her phone, tapping at it with her thumbs. It worried him when she frowned.

  “Not to ruin your day…”

  “But you’re about to do it anyway, aren’t you?”

  She winced. “I just checked and his flight is ahead of schedule. It’ll be landing ten minutes earlier.”

  DFW didn’t allow anyone but passengers with tickets to go all the way to the gates, so Ash had checked online for where Dale would emerge. He counted on there being nearby parking at that time of day. Otherwise, his brother might have to cool his heels for a few.

  His lane slowed, but never stopped. Ash almost cried out in joy when they broke free and continued west at high speed. He cranked the speed up to seven miles an hour over posted. Cops gave a little leeway. Before he knew it, they were turning south and passing through the airport toll station. Then all he had to do was find a parking place.

  They arrived in the terminal with five minutes to spare, but it was another forty minutes before the passengers began flooding out. Dale tagged along behind the bulk of them. Ash noticed he had two carry-ons: suit bag and small suitcase. His brother wore a brown suit, open collar, no tie. His dark curly hair looked a little long and unkempt.

  “Ash!” Dale cried. They embraced. “Long time no see, big brother.”

  “Too long,” Ash agreed. Then he guided Dale over to the woman. “Deanna, this is my brother Dale. Dale Deanna McGrath.”

  “And girlfriend, I assume if he brought you to meet me,” Dale said and hugged her.

  “I like to think so,” she said. “Pleased to meet you. Ash has told me so much about you.”

  “Nothing good, I’m sure,” he said. “I’m not that bad, just misunderstood.”

  Ash took his suitcase and led the way out to the waiting pickup. He put his brother and clothes in the backseat of the big, four-door Ford. Deanna took her place riding shotgun.

  “When did you start driving trucks?” Dale asked.

  “When I moved to Texas. I think it’s the law. I’m even a Cowboys fan now.”

  “What? But LA has two football teams now,” Dale said. He shook his head. “I just don’t know you anymore.”

  Ash headed out, going south toward downtown Dallas. Dale’s convention was at Union Center and he had reservations at the hotel there. Ash had made lunch plans at the Reunion Tower restaurant, as well.

  After getting Dale into his room, they went up Reunion Tower to Wolfgang Puck’s Five Sixty restaurant. The dress code was business casual, but they allowed nice jeans.

  “Why is the restaurant called Five Sixty?” Dale asked their server. He looked at Ash with a grin. “Because five sixty is actually six o’clock. Right?”

  The tall, slim Asian man smiled. “Because Reunion Tower is five hundred and sixty-one feet tall.”

  Dale’s phone beeped. He quickly pulled it out, and scowled. “Damn.”

  “What? A problem?” Ash asked.

  “No, I have my phone set to alert me when there’s a score,” he said. Dale looked like he’d bitten into something sour. “Unfortunately, the wrong team scored.”

  “Baseball?” Deanna asked. “Basketball and hockey are played at night, right?”

  “Yes,” Dale said absently, then shook himself out of it. “But no. It’s cricket. I have money on the game between India and Pakistan.”

  Ash stared at him a moment. Dale was still gambling? He hadn’t learned his lesson yet? That obsession, that addiction, had ruined his life.

  “Cricket?” Ash asked. “Since when do you care about cricket?”

  Dale shrugged and put away his phone. “I don’t normally, but it was a sure thing. India is heavily favored, but I heard the team was suffering from food poisoning. So I put in my bet before it changed the odds.”

  “I take it they recovered,” Deanna said.

  He just nodded. Ash noticed his brother was avoiding eye contact, so at least he was embarrassed. Maybe there was still hope for him.

  “So, little brother, how’s the dental business back in LA?” Ash asked. “Is your practice still in Calabasas? That Kardashian money is surely rolling in.”

  “I wish! I’d love to get my drill into Kim’s teeth. I’d be living the high life,” he said. “But no. Business is starting to pick up a little after that wrongful death malpractice suit I lost.”

  “What?” Deanna cried.

  Ash and Dale laughed. She looked at them in horror.

  “Didn’t I warn you he’s a joker?” Ash said. “And that was a pretty good one.”

  “Thanks. I was so hoping you’d ask the question,” Dale said, face a mask of wicked glee. “Deanna’s a gem. She fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”

  “You two aren’t as funny as you think you are,” she said, though smiling.

  Three men entered the restaurant. Ash’s breath caught. They stood tall and arrogant, briefly making him think of the men who had tried to kill him. It completely soured his mood, reminding him that he had bigger problems than his brother’s continued gambling. But nothing Dale or Deanna needed to worry about.

  Not yet.

  Chapter 14

  “He’s gone off-grid, boss,” Eddie said.

  He sat at the table, laptop open before him.

  “Wexler turned off his phone’s GPS after the attack, so we don’t have any way of tracking his movements.”

  Carpenter looked at him and then took a sip of coffee. He carefully remained outwardly calm, but failure made him want to explode. The mistake was his, and his alone.

  He turned to look out the break room door. The abandoned factory was dark. Most of the manufacturing equipment was gone, but they’d left some obsolete pieces and lots of trash on the floors. At one point, they’d begun to renovate the place, taking out most of the interior walls to reconfigure.

  Something must’ve stopped them mid-renovation. They had never even finished the demo portion. Of course, now it made a perfect place for men like them to operate out of, and it was close to Wexler’s apartment, too.

  Most importantly, the portion of interior not demolished still had electricity.

  What did I do wrong? Carpenter wondered, his mind back on the problem at hand.

  Using information gleaned off his lease, Eddie was able to track Wexler through his smartphone. The man didn’t do much other than going to the local gym first thing in the morning, followed by a couple hours inside his apartment. He might visit a local bar for a drink and lunch. Then he s
eemed to just wait around for his girlfriend to get off work. She was a nurse.

  The boring life of a man living off life insurance money and investments.

  They’d waited for Wexler to leave before going in and tossing his apartment. He’d returned earlier than expected, catching them off-guard and before they had set up their ambush. Now Wexler knew they were after him. This complicated things considerably.

  “Are you sure the guy’s not ex-military?” Kurt asked from across the break room. He sat in front of the TV while cleaning his weapons. They’d installed the TV, along with a small fridge, microwave oven, and hot plate. “What kind of insurance agent reacts that fast and is that quick-witted when attacked by armed men? Seems like military to me.”

  “Maybe even SF?” Eddie offered.

  That’s what really pissed off Carpenter. Was there something about Wexler that Steinberg had failed to alert him about? According to Steinberg, Wexler was just an average insurance adjuster who’d dropped out of normal life after losing his family.

  “Give up the laptop,” Carpenter said.

  Eddie gave up his seat at the table and headed to the kitchen. Carpenter pulled his phone out of his pocket, pulled up Skype on the laptop, and then sent a message to Fiona: I need S/C face time.

  A few minutes later, Fiona responded with, In a meeting.

  Not my problem, Carpenter messaged back. If he wants his problem taken care of, he better speak to me.

  It took another five minutes, but a Skype request popped up on the laptop. He accepted and Steinberg’s aggravated face appeared. Fiona stood behind him, the lower half of her face obscured by his shoulder.

  “Is there a problem?” Steinberg demanded. “That was a very important meeting you dragged me out of, Carpenter.”

  “Yeah, we have a big problem. Wexler is far more competent than you indicated,” Carpenter said. “He escaped our ambush, displaying unexplained abilities. Is there something you failed to tell us about Wexler?”

  Steinberg looked confused. He slanted a look back at Fiona, who shrugged. Not good. Carpenter ground his teeth. He wasn’t going to get much help from them.

  “Fine. Tell me why you want that hard drive? What’s on it that’s so important?” he asked.