Serenity Avenged

by Craig A. Hart

  “This isn’t only about Helen.”

  “Right, your daughter. You said that.”

  “And you don’t care.”

  “It doesn’t involve me.”

  “That’s your answer? It doesn’t ‘involve you’? You realize you could possibly save more than one life, including an unborn baby, by giving us an address.”

  Tucker’s face stiffened. “Save me the sob story, okay? I hear them every day. If I went on a noble mission every time someone had a hard luck tale, I’d be running around day and night, not to mention broke and in more debt than our ex-wife.” He said “our ex-wife” with more than a little disgust. “This discussion is over. I’m going to ask you nicely to get the hell out of my office. I have a meeting to conduct.”

  Shelby’s fists clenched. The desire to battle this man returned with a vengeance. His heart pounded and blood rushed in his ears. Mack laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “Come on, Shel,” he said. “This shitbag isn’t worth it.”

  It took every ounce of willpower Shelby could muster, not to mention a good deal of prodding from Mack, to leave the office without ripping the place apart.

  When they returned to the Jeep, Helen took one look at Shelby and her face fell.

  “Robert wouldn’t help you, would he?”

  Shelby slammed his door and ruthlessly jammed the seatbelt home. “Is it that obvious?”

  “You look like you want to take on the U.S. Marine Corps.”

  “He wouldn’t even give an address. Not even when I told him Leslie could be involved…and that she’s pregnant.”

  “Robert can be a hard, stubborn man.”

  “And there’s no reason for it!” Shelby exploded. “He claimed attorney-client privilege, but I’m having a hard time believing he’s really that principled. I honestly think he just wanted to be a dick!”

  “I know you wanted to crush the guy,” Mack said. “But I don’t think it would have helped. He’s the kind of guy who’ll die before giving up anything. Not because he’s that tough, but out of spite. I’ve seen these guys before. They’re so eaten up with hate or dead inside that they don’t give a shit about anything.”

  Shelby emitted a low growl. “I’d love to test that theory.”

  Helen leaned back in her seat, hands twitching nervously. “What now? We have to do something.”

  Shelby started the engine. “Let’s head back to your place. Maybe we can spot someone staking it out. I may not be able to beat information out of Mr. Robert Tucker, but I’d take my chances with one of Darkmore’s stooges.”

  13

  Jimmy lay on the bed, flat on his back and looking up at the ceiling of the motel room. The plaster sported a discolored crack, clearly a product of serious water damage. The ceiling appeared to bulge and Jimmy wondered if it might cave in during the night, covering him with dirty water and moldy plaster. His breathing was only now normalizing from the stress of the narrow escape and long run. By working his way through the wooded area, he had come out on a gravel road that led him to a construction site, where the city was building the new water treatment facility. Jimmy had heard about the project on the news, since everyone was up in arms about the cost and the benefits were sketchy. A worker loaned his cellphone for a single call, and Jimmy summoned a taxi, which then drove him to his house. He’d been nervous about going to the house, since that would certainly be one of the places Darkmore’s goons would check once they started looking for him. He was there but a few minutes, staying only long enough to grab a few belongings and his car. From there he drove to a motel where he could rent by the week, stashed his car behind the building, and then locked himself inside his room with the lights off and the curtains drawn.

  He mused that his current situation was a far cry from what he’d envisioned when first beginning to work with Darkmore. He’d been dazzled by the opulence and hoped he might one day share in it. Instead, he found himself hunkered in a dim hovel of a room—feeling more like a sewer rat than a man of means—and the man he’d admired had likely ordered his death. Perhaps even worse, Jimmy had nowhere to turn. It was then he began to fully understand how insidious his relationship with Darkmore had been. His uncle had controlled almost every aspect of Jimmy’s life, without Jimmy realizing how far it had gone. He had no family that he knew of, other than Darkmore. He had no friends outside of Darkmore’s network. Every contact he had was loyal to Darkmore to some degree. Even his car had been provided by Darkmore. At the time, Jimmy felt grateful, marveling at the generosity. Now he saw it for what it was: another way to exert control.

  Jimmy punched the bed in frustration, and then lay still as a thought popped into his head. A crazy, ridiculous thought, dangerous and foolhardy. But it might work, and there certainly wasn’t anything else presenting itself as a solution. Truthfully, he had no choice; he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t act. He sat up, grabbed the ancient room phone off its cradle, and punched in a number.

  As they drove back to the house, Shelby’s pulse throbbed at his temples and he noticed Helen kept glancing at him, her brow furrowed with concern.

  “You’re not going to do anything crazy, are you?”

  “Who, me? I’m the picture of caution.”

  “Not with that look on your face. I’ve seen it before. And it usually means you’re about to take leave of your senses.”

  “I don’t know what you’re afraid of. What can I do? We don’t know where this Darkmore lives, I didn’t beat up Robert, as much as I wanted to, and we’re headed back to your house. All nice and peaceful.”

  “I know you, Shelby. When you’re in one of your moods, you can always find some trouble to get into.”

  Shelby was saved from answering the charge by their arrival at the house. As he got out of the Jeep, he paused and cocked his head.

  “Anyone else hear a phone ringing?”

  They all stopped and listened.

  Helen nodded. “I do. It sounds like my landline.”

  Shelby raised an eyebrow. “You have a landline?”

  “Of course I do. I’m surprised you don’t.”

  “And pay a monthly fee to make it easier on telemarketers to reach me? I don’t think so.”

  “And what will you do when terrorists knock out all the cell towers in the country? How will you contact anyone?”

  “You’re assuming I’ll want to contact anyone.”

  “Once again, thinking only of yourself.”

  Mack cleared his throat. “Are we going to answer the phone?”

  “It’s some asshole trying to sell something nobody wants,” Shelby growled.

  Helen sighed. “God, you’re in a foul mood. Would it change your mind if I mentioned that intimidating phone calls was one of the ways Darkmore’s collector tried to bully me into giving them money I didn’t have?”

  Shelby took a second to process this information, and then took off up the walk at a dead run, nearly taking the door off its hinges before bursting into the house. He stumbled across the living room and into the kitchen. He grabbed the phone off its charging base.

  “Hello?” he shouted. “Hello?”

  Silence.

  “Hello! Who is this?”

  “It’s…Jimmy. The guy you taped to the chair.”

  Shelby leaned against the counter, the phone pressed hard to his ear. “What the hell do you want?”

  “I want to help you.”

  “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “I know where Darkmore is.”

  “Give me an address.”

  “I need to be in on this. If he doesn’t go down, I’m a dead man. I have to see it for myself.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “I always have a choice, kid.”

  “Not if you care about Leslie.”

  Shelby’s mouth went instantly dry and his vision blurred. He spoke slowly, his voice a low rasp. “Think carefully about wh
at you say next, asshole.”

  “It’s not me. I didn’t take her and I don’t have her. But I know where she is.”

  “Tell me!”

  “Come pick me up.”

  “Tell me now, goddammit!”

  “I have to be there.”

  “Shit!”

  Mack and Helen entered the kitchen. They looked at Shelby quizzically.

  Shelby covered the mouthpiece and said in a savage whisper, “They have Leslie.”

  Helen gasped. “Oh, dear god.” She began searching in her purse and came out with her cellphone.

  Shelby returned to the caller. “Where are you?”

  “Southside Motel. Room 115.”

  “So help me, if you’re shitting me—”

  “Just get here.”

  The phone went dead.

  “Shelby—” Helen stood in the middle of the kitchen, the cellphone held limply in one hand, her face pale. Her entire body trembled. “I have a message on my phone from Leslie. I somehow missed it. They released her from the hospital. I didn’t get her text, so she took a cab home.”

  Shelby’s face turned hard and grim. “Southside Motel. Any idea where that is?”

  Helen thought for a moment. “It’s about fifteen minutes away. Not a great area of town. Is that where they have Leslie?”

  “I don’t think so, but it’s our only lead.”

  Mack moved toward the living room. “I’ll get the firepower.”

  Jimmy replaced the receiver onto the cradle and lay back down. It had probably been a foolish idea, thinking he might be able to join forces with the men who’d taped him to a chair, especially since he didn’t know what their relationship was to the pregnant woman. The one guy, the bigger one who had fists like hammers, had looked like he wanted to take Jimmy apart. Maybe he would have, had the conscientious friend not arrived when he did.

  Still, they all had something in common. They wanted Darkmore. Jimmy had no illusions regarding his own worth. Now that he was on the outs with Darkmore, he held little value as a bargaining chip for the other two men. Darkmore wouldn’t bail him out the next time. Darkmore wouldn’t want him to talk, so his next plan would certainly be to shut Jimmy up forever, not make a cursory attempt at redemption. Jimmy knew the only reason he’d done it the last time was because he felt certain Jimmy could be controlled. Now that his charge had exhibited a little independence and a willingness to defy Darkmore’s wishes and orders, there would be no going back. Jimmy was a target. He might hold some value by being able to provide information regarding both Darkmore and the organization. Perhaps this was the bargaining chip that would save his life.

  Jimmy stood up and stretched his legs. Unaccustomed to intense exercise, they were beginning to cramp from the recent exertion. He walked to the large front window and pulled the curtain aside a crack, just enough to peer outside. A vehicle caught his eye. A large black SUV parked on the far side of the lot.

  Jimmy couldn’t see through tinted windows, but he felt sure the SUV belonged to Darkmore. Why else would a vehicle with that high of a price tag be hanging around a dump like this? The only other explanation might be if vice was planning a raid, but it was early for a prostitution sting. Perhaps he was being paranoid—an easy state to assume with someone like Darkmore at your back—but Jimmy couldn’t shake the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.

  As he watched, the front passenger door opened and a man wearing a dark suit stepped out. He could have passed for a federal agent, but Jimmy had seen him around Darkmore’s mansion.

  They had found him.

  But how? And how so quickly?

  As he watched, the man from the SUV walked to Jimmy’s car and felt under the front wheel well. He removed something and waved it at the SUV. Jimmy’s heart sank. A tracking device. He should have known Darkmore wouldn’t have provided free transportation without there being some type of ensured accountability.

  The other doors on the SUV opened and three more suited men appeared. They held no weapons, but Jimmy knew they were packing under their suit jackets and likely had heavier hardware in the SUV. They scanned the front of the motel, checking the front windows. Jimmy wanted to let the curtain fall back but knew the slight motion would attract attention and give him away. The only thing keeping him alive now was that they didn’t know which room he was in.

  As Jimmy watched, the first man turned and walked toward the office, no doubt to check the motel’s registry. It wouldn’t help them, since Jimmy had used an alias, and would slow them down a few minutes longer. Of course, if the desk clerk became scared and talkative, he might mention he’d recently rented a room to a suspicious young man who’d been short of breath, not to mention personal details. Jimmy suspected the suited man would find a way to make the clerk as talkative as he needed to be.

  Time was running out.

  Jimmy crossed the small motel room in three large strides and entered the bathroom. Above the toilet was a rectangular pane of frosted glass that, while not large, might be big enough to wriggle through. He tried the latch, but it was frozen with rust and old paint. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. Using the jagged edge of his house key, he sawed at the latch. Rust flakes and paint chips filtered down, creating a tiny pile on top of the white porcelain toilet tank. Another twist of the latch and it turned, screeching in protest. Jimmy pushed on the window and, after some forceful convincing with the palm of his hand that threatened to break the glass, it followed suit. He climbed onto the bathroom counter and visually measured the window’s width. His shoulders might fit through, if he rolled them forward a little. The rest of him should be no problem; Jimmy still possessed the wicked metabolism of a young man who could—and did—eat anything and everything with no discernible ill effects.

  No sooner had he stuck his head through the opening, however, than his plan took a quick and dramatic turn. One of the men from the SUV appeared around the back of the motel, sidearm drawn, eyes scanning the rear lot. Jimmy drew back into the bathroom like a turtle disappearing into its shell, his heart pounding. Unless the gunman went back around to the front, there was no way he’d be able to shimmy out of the window without being seen.

  As Jimmy watched, the man holstered his weapon and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit up and leaned against a low cement wall that bordered the motel property. He appeared to be settling in for a wait.

  Jimmy groaned. He was trapped.

  14

  Shelby slowed as they approached the Southside Motel but didn’t pull into the lot. Helen craned her neck as they passed.

  “I think you missed the turn. Wasn’t that the motel?”

  Shelby nodded. “That was it, all right. What I didn’t miss was the big SUV in the parking lot. It looks remarkably like the one I saw by Leslie’s apartment.”

  Mack swore. “They’re one step ahead of us.”

  “Looks that way,” Shelby said. “It could be coincidence. The SUV is pretty nondescript, so it wouldn’t be unthinkable there would be another like it.”

  “Not in this part of town,” Mack said. “And not at that motel. That place looked like the walls were held up by the termites linking arms.”

  Shelby made a left turn and then another. “I’ll make another pass. Keep your eyes peeled for anything that might tell us what’s going on. I don’t want to walk into anything we can’t handle.”

  As they drove down a side street that ran along the rear of the motel, Mack nudged Shelby’s arm and pointed.

  “There.”

  Shelby followed the point. Loitering by a low cement wall was a man smoking a cigarette. He wore a tailored suit and his dark hair gleamed in the sunlight, oiled to the max.

  “Now what would a man like that be doing at a place like this?” Shelby mused.

  “A pimp?” Helen suggested. “This place looks like flypaper for hookers.”

  “Don’t look now, but your bias is showing,” Shelby said. “Prostitution isn’t only for traditional red
light areas. It takes place in the best hotels too. People think of places like the Southside as hotbeds of vice because the cops target them for stings.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know how you know so much about prostitution.”

  “Oh, I was never into paying for sex. Never had to.”

  “Look at you preen. Vanity does not become you.”

  “Don’t take my word for it. Ask Mack.”

  “It’s true,” Mack said. “We always went for this kind of joint. Performing a sting operation at the upscale places was too risky.”

  “Risky?”

  “Too much risk of pinching someone inconvenient. Big names, politicians, athletes. The department didn’t need the trouble. Better to pick on the lowly johns who nobody knew or cared about, and who couldn’t cause us problems. It kept our numbers up and legal problems down.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair—” Helen began.

  Shelby silenced her nascent moral outrage by raising one hand. “Look over there. Near the corner of the motel.”

  Two more men stood at the edge of the building. One held a cellphone to his ear and the other stood with his hands on his hips. The stance pushed back one side of his suit jacket and Shelby saw the gleam of a pistol butt.

  Mack grunted. “Looks like we’re at the right place. That little shit tell you what room he was in?”

  “Room 115. We’ll have to go around front to see the numbers. I didn’t catch them the first time.”

  “How long are you planning to circle? These guys seem pretty alert. They’ll notice the same vehicle driving by over and over.”

  “We’re not going around again. I’ll park the Jeep across the street and we can approach on foot.”

  Shelby stopped the Jeep behind a convenience store, positioning the vehicle so it was partially hidden behind a dumpster but still afforded clear line-of-sight through the windshield to the motel. He got out, leaving the keys in the ignition. He motioned for Helen to man the wheel.

  “Keep the engine running. If you see anyone suspicious approach, get the hell out and go for the cops.”