“You can go down to the police station and confess what you’re doing.” I glanced around. “And go rot in prison. It’s the smart move for you.”
He laughed. “You’re a cocky one, Savage.” McCurdy didn’t speak with an accent like a lot of the other rural people around Tulsa. My guess was he probably did when he was younger and then tried to get rid of it. He was better than Tulsa, better than all the people around him. Classic narcissist.
I stood up.
“Leaving already?”
“Did what I came here to do. Saw what I needed to see.”
“And what was it you needed to do here?”
I stopped at the door. “Let you know I could get to you. Any damn time I want.”
“You have a vivid imagination. Go home.”
“Make me.” I walked out.
16
I FIGURED AN AMBUSH WAS waiting for me out front. They’d have called Bear the second they left the office. I had to find an alternate exit. They’d have weapons and would plan on detaining me themselves or turning me over to whichever corrupt law enforcement official they had in their pocket. I walked past the blonde secretary’s desk. “Bye.”
She snapped up and stared at me like I was a dead man. I turned the corner and pushed through the doors to the operations department. There were temporary walls dividing a large room into several with one big office in the corner. I stalked by a few cubicles, eliciting glances from a few employees pecking away at keyboards. I walked past their miniscule breakroom, and saw what I was looking for, a rear exit door.
I shoved out into the Oklahoma heat and padded across a small area of grass, then back through the okra plants toward the corn. I turned my head along the way and confirmed what I’d thought about the first two large metal buildings, one for processing all the fresh produce, the next for canning and distribution to grocery stores. Maybe the different levels of product were already integrated into their production lines. One time of the day was for organic stuff, then they’d switch everything out and work with the produce they used pesticides on.
I stepped into the corn where I wouldn’t be seen, stopped a few yards in, did a one-eighty, and watched the front of the admin building. The four guys were waiting for me there. Wyatt was at the front, looking to pounce. The others’ heads swiveled around. They fidgeted with their hands, ready to draw the guns they’d retrieved as soon as they’d left the office. The huge truck pulled up and they all relaxed. I got my first real look at the Bear guy. He stepped out and slammed the door—didn’t say a word.
The guy was massive. He had long black hair to his shoulders and was probably closer to seven feet tall, maybe even closer to four hundred pounds. His skin was hard tanned leather and his hands looked like boulders. His chest and shoulders were so wide he probably had to walk through doors sideways. The other four guys smiled when he walked up, and I could practically feel the tension release from their bodies. Wyatt held his hands out and told him something, but Bear didn’t react. He just stood there and stared off like he was looking a million miles away. His eyes locked onto the corn stalks where I was standing.
His legs were two redwood trees and he had a football lineman’s gut, probably rock solid, but at least fifty inches around. He was not someone you wanted to tangle with. I couldn’t recall ever going up against anyone his size. Size didn’t always matter in a fight, though. I’d been told it didn’t matter in the bedroom either, but the data sources were always conflicting. Nobody had ever filed any formal complaints with me, so I figured I was at the positive end of the distribution curve.
I sat there in the corn and observed. Bear’s lips curled up into what looked like a smile as he stared right out at the corn. I knew he couldn’t see me, but his gaze burned a hole in my chest. McCurdy walked out. A few of them shrugged at whatever he said. Wyatt held his hands out like I don’t know where the hell he went. McCurdy nodded to Bear, then Bear walked off with the other guy and hopped in the truck. The driver had to nearly leap to climb up into the huge pickup because of the lift kit. Bear stepped into it like it was normal size. The huge tires kicked up dust and they took off for the perimeter.
The rest of the men scanned the horizon. I faded farther back and let the corn swallow me whole. A while later, I made my way to the fence line and stared around for a few minutes, straining my ears for any sounds I could pick up. The truck wasn’t in sight and I couldn’t hear it. I hopped up over the fence the same way I’d come in. I threw the unloaded 1911 over first after I’d put the magazine in my pocket, then climbed to the other side, picked up the pistol, and took off into the woods. The growl of the truck engine caught my ear a few minutes later, but I was already a good fifty yards into the thick forest.
I showed back up at Peabody’s place with ten minutes to spare.
Shirley looked up at me from the couch. She hadn’t moved. The dog lay next to her and she scratched him on the belly. “Well, what’d you find out?”
17
I HELD A HAND UP to let her know I’d answer her question in a minute and turned to Peabody. “You got a pen and paper?”
“Sure.” He got up and retrieved both.
When he returned, I had the 1911 disassembled on the coffee table. He scooped it up and counted the bullets, then reached into his billfold and handed my dollar back. “Pleasure doin’ business.” He said “business” like “bidness.”
I took the paper and began sketching out the grounds of the place. “How far does his property run?”
Peabody told me, and I drew a perimeter. I asked him how long it was and got it as close to scale as possible. Shirley peeked at it over my shoulder.
I drew a circle in the upper right-hand quadrant which would’ve been the northwest corner of McCurdy Farms. “This has to be where anything illegal is happening.”
She nodded.
“I saw a Classic Cola truck driving up a dirt road on this side.” I drew a line back to the circle.
“You think they’re hauling stuff out of there concealed in a Classic Cola truck?”
“I bet they were using the service entrance and made a left turn behind the main buildings.” I traced the route with my finger. “There’s probably some kind of loading dock back there or whatever, and they had breakrooms with refrigerators. I bet they stock it for the employees.”
“You went in the offices?”
I didn’t say anything, just felt her glare on my skull as I stared at the makeshift diagram I’d drawn.
“That makes sense about the truck,” Shirley said with a sigh. She didn’t seem as pissed as I thought she’d be. Maybe she’d finally given up on trying to contain the situation.
“Agreed.”
She pointed at the page. “These are the greenhouses back here? Off to the side?”
I nodded and said nothing.
“I don’t think they’d grow cannabis in those. You can see them from the road.”
“I agree. He could grow it somewhere else for all we know. Or maybe he does get it from Mexico. Maybe they’re just a distribution hub.” I turned to Peabody. “You’re a farmer, right?”
“Was.”
“The amount of land he has out there. What would you estimate his revenues and expenses are?”
“For the size of the property.” He gestured at my rudimentary map, then looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, maybe ten million bucks.”
What? It was much less than I’d expected. “Even for all that corn? Prices have gone up on food since you quit farming. The government has programs for corn to be used to produce ethanol. I heard they pay through the roof for the stuff. Subsidies or whatever, legal kickbacks.”
“How do you know that?” Shirley stared at me.
“I don’t just read the classifieds when I get the newspaper.”
She mumbled, “Right.”
“Okay, maybe twenty.” Peabody rolled his eyes over to me. “That there is being generous though. Probably closer to fifteen.”
I shook my head. “Do
esn’t explain the expenses. He should be in the red. All that machinery. The facilities. Rising cost of gas for him to transport it all. No way he could sustain it. He has to be moving drugs.”
Shirley stared at me. “Maybe he has loans? Financed?”
I shook my head again, even harder this time. “No way. Not for as long as he’s been doing it. Maybe for a little while. But the banks don’t just keep handing you money. And not after the financial collapse back in ’08. The money train dried up. They just started freeing up cash the last few years.”
“Maybe he has rich relatives.”
I knew she was being rigorous. It was what investigators did. Things had to be air tight from every angle.
I tapped my fingers on the table. “Peabody already said he grew up poor.”
“What about his wife? Family money on that side?”
“Naw, she’s a trophy wife.” Peabody shook his head. “Married for the money.”
“Drugs would explain the security guys. Why they didn’t want me poking around about Sean’s death.” I sighed. “Sean looked where he wasn’t supposed to. He was a hacker, couldn’t help himself. Everything in there was compartmentalized. Departments all separate. I bet he went digging through financial records because it didn’t make sense to him either. Found something and went down the rabbit hole. They killed him for it.”
She exhaled a long breath. She knew I was right, which meant her and Starsky overlooked everything and wrote it off, just the way McCurdy had intended. “I’ll call Harden.”
“No way.”
“What?” She glared. “I have to call this in. We need to open his case back up.”
“We don’t know who’s on the take at your precinct.”
“I can’t sit on this if there’s something there. He’s an asshole but he’s still my partner. I’ve known you all of one day.”
“And you know I’m right. You already told me this town is connected. Good ol’ boy network. Remember?”
“Mmhmm.” Peabody rocked back and forth, grinning his crooked teeth at us.
She sat there and warred with herself, feeling her pocket for her phone. She stared at me for a long few seconds. I liked it—her stare. I liked the way she thought things through before making decisions. “I go back to work on Monday. You have until then.”
“Understood.”
She quirked an eyebrow up. “Seriously?”
I nodded. This would all end way before Monday.
18
“THANKS AGAIN.”
“Don’t mention it.” Peabody waved us off from his front porch. Remington waddled out next to him.
I had a feeling we’d see Peabody again; just a hunch.
We both got into Shirley’s car, and she reversed out of Peabody’s driveway. We drove past the GET US OUT OF THE UNITED NATIONS banner and the RON PAUL campaign signs, then took off up the dirt road back to Route 66 and kicked up a wake of dust that swirled into little eddies over the irrigation ditches that ran parallel to the road. The sun had lowered itself farther down on the horizon. The thin shadows of the trees and power lines danced and fluttered and grew horizontal across the highway. In a few hours it’d be dark.
We both sat in silence as we wound northeast back through Claremore to the Will Rogers Turnpike, toward Tulsa on I-44, and then onto I-244 heading west. Downtown rose up from the ground on the horizon as we passed the Hard Rock Casino again. The skyline knifed up toward the sun as we drew near. Her phone rang over the car speakers. She glanced at the screen and pushed a button to take the call on the phone and pressed it to her ear.
“Detective Shirley.”
I heard a man’s voice on the other end. Shirley’s eyes widened, and her face turned red. “Yes, sir.” She jammed her thumb on the screen and tossed her phone down on the console. It rattled around on the hard, black plastic.
“I have to get you back to your hotel room.”
“What happened?”
Her jaw flexed and she white-knuckled the steering wheel. “I’ve been benched.”
“How long?”
“Undisclosed.” Shirley’s foot stomped on the gas.
The force pressed my back against the seat. She whipped us around one of the curves of I-244.
I steadied myself, using my forearm on the center console. “They think you’re helping me. McCurdy probably called up his buddies downtown the second I left and told them I was there.”
Her eyes flicked over to mine. “I am helping you. And you waltzed right in there instead of looking around like you said.”
“Just wanted to say hi.”
“Do I look like I’m in a joking mood, Savage?”
“You’re doing the right thing.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re doing what’s right. And you’re not doing it for self-preservation. That’s usually the best indicator.”
We made it back downtown roughly forty-five minutes after leaving Peabody’s place. She dropped me off in front of the Best Western.
I turned to her. “Come up. We never got that drink.”
She looked away, distracted. “I’m going into the office to find out what’s going on.”
“Are they even there?”
“They called me from there.”
“How do you know?”
“Caller ID.” She stared at me. “You need to get a phone.”
“They could have called from a cell phone.”
“Well, they didn’t.”
Giving her some time to cool off seemed like the right decision, so I climbed out at the parking garage and shut the door. She rolled down the window.
“Thanks for the help. It wasn’t my intention to get you in trouble.”
“Yeah.” She gritted her teeth.
I didn’t blame her for the frustration. I wouldn’t be surprised if she kicked someone’s ass when she got there. Better them than me. If there was one thing I noticed about Shirley, she didn’t take any crap.
Her tires caught when she accelerated and squealed across the pavement, echoing through the garage. I looked over at the sun. It was still bright yellow, just off the horizon. There was still some time before it’d set. I decided to go back to Sean’s place. Maybe being around there would help me think. I needed to go over his ad some more. Maybe I could find more clues at his house I’d missed the first time.
Sean was a smart guy. He may have put everything in the ad and his laptop. It was brilliant, really. It left no evidence behind that could be destroyed. He put it out there for the world, even though he knew I’d be the only one who’d find it. I wasn’t sure what the Tulsa World’s circulation was, but there was no way to go in and destroy all those newspapers that’d already been distributed. I was well-aware it would now die with Shirley or me if we didn’t make something of it.
I took off down Houston, heading toward Brookside. I knew it was unlikely there was anything at his house that’d help with the case, but it never hurt to be thorough. Subconsciously, I think I wanted McCurdy’s guys to show up. I didn’t like waiting around for things to happen and another chance to taunt them would make my evening that much better. I made it all of two blocks before a police cruiser rolled up at my rear. I kept my head down and walked. We weren’t far from the downtown police station. Maybe they were just patrolling.
It turned out to be wishful thinking. The lights came on almost immediately, the siren fired up, and they pulled over along the curb.
19
BOTH OFFICERS EXITED THE CAR.
“Max Savage?” one of them said.
I froze on the sidewalk, then turned around slowly. Their weapons were still holstered. It was two uniformed cops, both maybe mid-thirties, smaller guys.
I didn’t say anything.
“Are you Max Savage?”
No point in lying. They knew who I was, so I nodded.
“We need you to come with us.”
“Am I under arrest?”
<
br /> “Should you be?”
I thought about it for a second. “I’m just walking.”
They both looked at each other then back at me. “You can come with us. Or we can arrest you. Your call.”
I started toward them. “I could come with you, or you could try.”
The guy’s shoulders bounced with a light laugh. “Why don’t you come with us, so we don’t have to find out.”
I looked around and didn’t respond. It didn’t seem like I had many options.
“Well?”
“Okay.” I walked over and folded myself into the backseat of the squad car.
They both turned to each other, like they’d expected me to run for it. It took them both a few seconds to process what had just happened. Then they both smiled. They didn’t even bother to put cuffs on me as they lumbered into the car.
The officer driving killed the siren and the lights, pulled a U-turn on Houston, and headed back toward the skyscrapers. I saw the one with the green patina on top—the one I liked. What makes a man a man?
“What’s that one called? With the green on top?”
They both stared at each other like they didn’t know what I was asking.
“The building?” I said.
“It’s the Mid-Continent tower.”
“What’s its story?”
“Huh?” said one officer.
I shook my head. “Never mind.”
“It actually started as a smaller building a long time ago, then they built another one over it in the eighties. It went into foreclosure when the company moved to Houston,” the other officer said.
His partner turned to him with a look that said, what the hell?
“A lot of people think it’s art deco but it’s actually modern gothic. It’s listed on the register of historic places. That whole strip of buildings is called the Oil Capital Historic District.” He turned to his partner. “What? They taught us in school.”
Savage Beast (Max Savage Book 1) Page 9
