“You shoot me and everything I’ve found about your robbing freight shipments goes to the press,” I said.
He stopped, uncertain and squinting at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re a better thief than a liar. How long has it been going on, Dave? Did you really think nobody would notice?”
Finally deciding on his course of action, he walked toward the desk. “I’m calling the cops,”
“Call the cops and it still gets leaked,” I said. “Just tell me where Mike is.”
His hand hesitated over the phone. “I don’t know,” he said.
“But you know why he split,” I said. “Because he and Ramirez both figured out what you were up to.”
He shook his head. “Your brother split because he murdered a fellow agent. That’s the only explanation there is, or that anyone needs to know.”
“Bullshit. Ramirez was killed with a rifle shot from long range, not Mike’s weapon,” I said, “unlike what you conveniently reported.”
He stared at me, his expression unreadable. Time to step it up.
I continued, “That’s on the official autopsy report that you had suppressed, by the way. It’s all part of what goes to the media and the Director of Homeland Security if anything happens to me.”
“What do you want?” he said flatly.
“I want my brother, you fucking idiot,” I said. “Why is that so hard for you to comprehend?”
“I already told you —” he began.
“You don’t know where he is,” I continued. “Yeah, this is getting boring, Dave. Maybe I’ll just call the cops for both of us.”
I reached for the phone on his desk when Hammond said, “Wait.”
“Why?”
He licked his lips. “Maybe we can cut a deal.”
Oh dear. “Why would I make a deal with you, you sack of shit? Tell you what, why don’t you tell me why you do it and we’ll go from there.”
“Ever worked for the government?” he asked.
“I used to be a cop,” I replied. “But you knew that.”
“A cop,” he sneered. “City police. You weren’t even in for ten years. You have no idea.”
“Let me take a stab at it anyway,” I said. “You got tired of being a career desk jockey, right? Watching all that good shit seized from bad guys, it must have driven you nuts, how easy it would be to get a piece of the action.”
I held my hand up when I saw him about to protest and continued, “Stop me if I start getting warm, but I’m guessing when you combine that sense of bureaucratic impotence with a good helping of Lone Star machismo, it was only a matter of time.”
His face was turning red, which was good in the sense it was working. Bad for me in what was about to happen next. “You can’t talk to me like that.”
“What did I get wrong? The macho thing?” I laughed. “Like that H2 you drive? You can’t even overcompensate right. I’ve seen your type a hundred times: you think you’re a fucking cowboy when all you are is a crook. Hell, you’re worse than a run-of-the-mill thief; at least my taxes don’t pay their salary.”
If the impotence thing lit the fuse, the taxes thing must have hit the detonator, because he pivoted away from the wall and swung, connecting with my jaw.
How to Annoy Someone into Violence, Part Two: Keep Them Talking.
I went down on one knee. Hammond stood over me, fists clenched. Depending on your definition of the word, things were going well.
“Was it something I said?” I spit mostly blood and some saliva onto the floor.
“You don’t have any idea what the hell you’re talking about,” he growled.
“Don’t I?” I stood up, rubbing my jaw. “Tell me you haven’t been illegally seizing freight. And worse.”
He punched me again, in the stomach this time. It was solid; not the worst I’ve taken, but I sold it well and doubled over with dramatic flourish.
“Oh, I’ve been doing it for years,” he said, smiling. “Do you know how much comes through the Port of Houston every year? How many tons? There’s no way any agency could keep tabs on all of it. And I can take my pick.”
“Not just,” I sucked wind, “not just contraband for you, huh?”
He laughed, then hit me again. A sharp jab to my nose. My vision flashed white for a second and I felt blood starting to flow freely. Gonna stain those hardwoods, Dave.
“Why stop there? Like I said, there’s more cargo than anyone can keep track of.”
I wiped my nose on my sleeve, the blood showing slightly blacker against the material. “What about the women?”
He leered, and I wished I could put a bullet in his head right then, but I hadn’t gotten everything out of him yet. “Those are the best part! Blondes, brunettes, Asians, Europeans, Latinas … I can take my pick from all over the world. And you wouldn’t believe how easy it is to move them when you have a federal badge.”
My head was spinning but I couldn’t back off now. “Wife’s that lousy a lay, huh?”
He kicked me in the crotch and light flashed behind my eyes as a nauseating wave of pain roiled through me. I dropped to my knees and groaned. Unfortunately, no dramatics were necessary this time.
Leaning down, he said, “I can get a different girl every night. Hey, how about I pay a visit to that sister of yours after I get rid of you?”
That made me laugh, even though it hurt like hell to do so. He looked confused, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d pull back a stump if he ever tried to lay a hand on Charlie.
I rolled onto my side and propped myself up with one arm, shaking my head to clear it. So close now.
“Ramirez found out something, didn’t he?” I guessed. “And because he was a good agent and respected the chain of command, he made the mistake of telling you.”
“Yeah, but that’s not why he died,” Hammond said.
Here we go. I sat up as best I could and in my most puzzled voice said, “No?”
He smiled. “Ramirez came to me with his ‘findings,’” he said, doing that annoying air quotes thing around the word, “and I said I’d look into them.”
“Which you didn’t,” I said.
“Of course I didn’t,” he snapped. “Should’ve been the end of it right there, but the bastard had the stones to go over my head to my boss. That wasn’t a good idea, which he found out right quick.”
I was getting a bad feeling. “You didn’t order Ramirez killed.” I wracked my brain for the name and it came to me. “Morris. Director Morris is your boss, and he’s in on it, too.”
“See, you’re not such a bad private detective after all,” he said.
“So Morris orders the hit,” I said. “What sucker did he get to carry it out?”
Hammond seemed offended. “I did, of course.”
In spite of myself, I was impressed. “Autopsy report says Ramirez was killed by a .300 Winchester round, fired from a distance of five hundred yards. Not too shabby.”
He smiled. “Aw, that’s nothing. I’ve dropped a target from twelve hundred before. Just gotta put in the time.” He looked at his watch. “Which is something you’re about out of, friend.”
I glanced at my own timepiece and saw fifteen minutes had passed since I booted Hammond’s computer up. Knowing Charlie, she’d finished ten minutes ago and was making tea while searching for new episodes of The Great British Bake Off, but I had to be sure.
I got up on one knee, then stood. It was a little wobbly, but I made it.
“What about Garcia?” I said.
Another voice from the hallway, one I didn’t recognize, said, “Stop talking, Hammond.”
Hammond turned but didn’t seem surprised when a man walked in the room. He could’ve been anywhere from 45 to 60 years old and moved with authority conferred by long years of military and government service.
It couldn’t be anyone but Director Morris, Hammond’s boss. Things had just taken a dangerous turn.
So I
said, “What’s all this … poppycock?”
Chapter FORTY-TWO
“Is this him?” Morris asked Hammond without taking his eyes off me. “The pain-in-the-ass brother?”
Hammond said, “That’s him.”
“Where’s his gun?” Morris asked.
Hammond grunted and handed him my .40. Morris palmed it, racked the slide and checked the chamber, then stuck it in his waistband.
Damn, I thought. I liked that gun.
“The one and only,” I said, extending my hand. “Cy Clarke. Real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morris.”
He looked at my hand like I’d just picked my nose with it. I dropped it and smiled as amiably as my blood-slicked teeth allowed.
“Why is he still alive?” This time Morris did look at Hammond.
“I don’t know if killing him is a good idea,” Hammond said, his bravado diminished in the presence of his boss. “Everyone knows he’s been nosing around the Guerrero raid, looking for information about his brother. If he disappears —”
“If he disappears, the good people of this city will be concerned for exactly a day and a half, then some celebrity will say something stupid or another maniac will shoot up a school and they’ll forget all about him,” Morris said. He seemed like a cheerful guy.
“He’s right,” I said to Hammond.
He ignored me. “He says he has proof.”
“Bullshit,” Morris said.
I piped up, “No, it’s true. Altered shipping manifests, transfer orders, even the original Ramirez autopsy report. Not sure how you managed to suppress those, though. Need to look into that a little more.”
“Shut up,” he said. To Hammond, “Shoot him.”
“Bad idea, Dave.” I said, silently hoping there wasn’t any traffic between that goddamned Starbucks and here.
Morris said, “Shoot him. Bad enough to admit killing Ramirez, but you implicated me, and that can’t leave this room.”
Boy are you in for a surprise, I thought. At least I hoped so.
Hammond raised his pistol and aimed it at my chest.
“I wasn’t kidding about the Feds, Dave.” I was totally kidding about the Feds. “They’re going to come sniffing around here when I don’t turn up.” I looked around the room, then pointed to the drops of my blood on the floor. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen C.S.I. They’re gonna black light the shit out of this place. Hope you know your way around a bucket of bleach.”
He hesitated for a second, then raised the gun so I was staring at the barrel. This was escalating quickly.
“That’s even worse,” I said, trying to sound indifferent instead of panicky. “Do you know how hard it’s going to be getting my brains out of this fine wood siding?”
He was still hesitating. It wasn’t much, but every second gave Don more time to get there and execute whatever genius tactical plan he’d devised to save my ass.
Then I remember Don was the same guy who once ran through a wall of sheetrock rather than wait for my mom to pick the lock to the bathroom door.
I might be doomed.
“You guys have a real hard-on for my family,” I said.
Hammond still had the gun on me, but that got Morris’s attention. “How do you mean?
I shrugged. “Killing me so soon after killing my brother. That’s how those Sicilian vendettas get started.”
Hammond said, “We didn’t kill Mike.”
“Bullshit.”
Morris said, “No, it’s true. But now I wish we had.”
Hammond said, “Mike cosigned the report Ramirez sent me. Truth be told, I was supposed to take out both of them, but your brother’s a smart bastard. Ramirez had barely hit the ground before he was out of there.”
My head whirled, and it wasn’t entirely due to lingering crotch pain. Mike was still in the wind, but short of his coded emails he’d made no attempt to contact me or Charlie or anyone. And he’d sent those before the Ramirez shooting anyway.
Where the hell was he?
“And the dead guy?” I said.
“Which one?” Hammond and Morris said simultaneously. It would’ve been funny if we weren’t, you know, talking about murder.
I said, “The one posing as Chester Garcia in what I’m guessing is a front house.”
They looked at each other. Morris shrugged. “I don’t remember the name. New guy who drew the short straw that morning, I guess.”
Cold bastard, I thought.
To Hammond, Morris said, “What are you waiting for?” He was getting impatient.
I said, as calmly as I could, “He wants you to shoot me because he knows his name’s still clean. Your signature is on those manifests, and it’s your ID attached to those altered shipments, not his.”
Morris shook his head. “He’s reaching. We’re both in this.”
“Then why kill me?” I said. “So you can both go down when the Feds get my stuff?”
Morris said nothing, but I noticed he had my gun out. It was pointing at the floor for now, but it added another layer of menace.
Hammond’s gun lowered. “He’s right, Hank. What about the information he says he —”
“There is no information!” Morris yelled. “He’s bluffing and you’re falling for it like a goddamned GS-5 rookie!”
A government insult, I thought. That’s low.
I said, “That’s what he wants you to think, Dave. You’ll take the fall for this. Worst he’ll get is an official reprimand for not realizing his direct report was a thief and a murderer.”
“Shut up,” Morris said. Now his gun was up. Speaking in net terms, this wasn’t an improvement.
Hammond was no longer looking at me, “That’s been your plan all along, hasn’t it, you son of a bitch?”
Morris didn’t take his eyes off me. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t have any skin in this game at all. It’s why you ordered me to do Ramirez, even though you’re supposed to be a better shot.”
Not really what I wanted to hear right now.
“You need to stop talking,” Morris said. “I can’t believe you’re having an attack of fucking conscience now, after everything else that’s happened.”
“Well, I am.” Hammond reholstered his gun. “There’s a better way to do this.”
Morris looked incredulous. His eyes flickered to Hammond, and for a half second I considered making a move. The better part of valor convinced me to wait and see how this played out.
“Are you out of your mind?” Morris said.
“We don’t know where his brother is,” Hammond said. “We can’t take the risk.”
I don’t know what happened to Morris at that point. Something passed behind his eyes, like a threshold — a Rubicon for those of you into classical references — had been crossed. I had no perspective on how years of thievery, trafficking, and murder affect a person. Some probably adapt to it easily, finding it scratching an itch in their souls they didn’t know was always there. Others might experience conflict between the acts they’re committing and their upbringing.
From his bearing, the fact he held a high position in DHS, and the anecdotal information about his shooting ability, Morris must be ex-military. They swear an oath to defend the Constitution, which is generally interpreted as frowning on criminal acts.
Or maybe Ramirez’s was the first murder he’d ordered, and he’d finally come to a place he’d managed to avoid all these years. Knowing what I know about trafficking and the cartels, that seemed highly unlikely. If nothing else, living a double life for so long takes a psychic toll. I mean, just look at Batman.
These thoughts occurred to me in the instant of time it took for Morris to turn his (my) gun away from my chest, point it at Hammond, and pull the trigger.
He shot Hammond in the chest, the power of the bullet sending him back two steps, though incredibly, he didn’t fall. He just stared at Morris, confusion and anger crossing his face in equal measures.
Oh, you stupid, stup
id man, I thought.
Morris apparently wasn’t the patient type, because he shot Hammond again, this time in the head. Hammond’s left eyes disappeared in pink mist as the back of his skull blew outward, spattering his neatly framed commendations with blood and gray matter.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“Yes,” Morris said, turning the gun back on me as he walked over to Hammond’s corpse. Treading carefully, so as not to disturb the body or step in blood, he retrieved Hammond’s pistol from his holster. Bringing that one up to aim at me, he tucked my .40 back in his waistband.
“You knew I was bluffing,” I said.
He snorted. “I’m not an idiot. However, you definitely have access to information you shouldn’t. I suspect that’s thanks to your sister.”
“What makes you say that?”
“She’s clearly the brains of your little operation,” Morris said, then sighed. “Looks like I need to pay her a visit after this as well.”
I laughed. “You wannabe cowboy assholes need to come up with some new scary threats, because this ‘maybe I’ll pay your sister a visit’ shit is straight out of a Lethal Weapon movie.”
He said, “It’s not a threat, and whatever … proclivities my dead subordinate may have displayed toward her aren’t my concern. She, like you, is a loose end I need to clean up.”
Maybe it was my sense of optimism, but I thought I saw a shadow move in the hallway. I kept my eyes on Hammond.
Stalling for time, I said, “What about Steranko? Was he ever involved?”
He smiled. “Another useful idiot. When we learned you were looking into him, we naturally tried to encourage that line of thought. Pity you didn’t bite.”
“I see how you’re going to get clear of this.” I looked around the room. “It’ll look like I confronted Hammond, then shot him, but he got one off and killed me before my second shot. Is that about right?”
Morris nodded. “It’s not perfect, but it’ll work. Homicide cops in this city are overworked as it is. They won’t dig too deeply when both murder weapons are right in front of them.”
“You’ve done this before.” It wasn’t a question.
“You have no idea.” He smiled.
Lucky Town Page 22
