Lilac and Old Gold

by Jeff Siebold

  Chapter 41

  Riding with Kimmy in Clive’s immaculate automobile, Mary was dialing her phone. Kimmy heard the distant ringing as she turned onto Highway 400.

  “Hello?” said the tinny, male voice.

  “What have you been doing?” asked Mary, almost hysterical with fright. “What were you thinking, Steve?”

  “Whoa, wait, slow down, Mary. What’re you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about being kidnapped and almost killed, you bastard! You’ve been helping that madman, haven’t you? He came and found me and said he was you! How could you?”

  “Mary, what are you talking about?” was all that Steve could think of to say.

  “Look, I’ve just been through the worst experience of my life, and I was almost killed by a short white guy who clearly knows you and used what you told him to…”

  “Wait, Mary, a short white guy?”

  “A sadistic short, white guy,” she said. “You helped him, told him where I was, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, crap,” said Steve. “How short?”

  “Shorter than I am,” said Mary.

  “And he kidnapped you?” said Steve in disbelief.

  “Handcuffs, a panel van, a gag, all the serial killer accessories, Steve. Did you think this would get us back together? No way, you moron. Just the opposite. I’m going to have you arrested!”

  * * *

  Clive spoke. “Apparently, Jefe has been buying up homes in larger US cities. From what Cruz told Tracy, Jefe buys a house and they keep it vacant, to use it as a shipping destination. They ship the drugs or counterfeit money FedEx to the vacant house, and then they watch the house to be certain there’s no law enforcement in the picture. They watch some of these for a couple of days.”

  “From nearby?” asked Zeke

  “They usually own a second house down the street that they use for observation,” said Clive. “Ingenious, really.”

  “So you were looking for homes owned by some of Jefe’s relatives, located on the same street or block,” Zeke said.

  Clive nodded.

  “So we were right?” asked Zeke.

  “Right. It appears that Jefe is diversifying his investments into real estate in some neighborhoods in this country,” said Clive. “We were able to isolate the matches in Atlanta with little problem, once the Mexican Federales gave us the names and surnames of Jefe’s family members. It just took a bit of time.”

  “I assume that Sally had a lot to do with that part,” said Zeke, knowing he was on a secure line.

  “She was right there the whole time,” said Clive.

  * * *

  For the few remaining days until the court hearing for the disposition of property, Mary stayed with Kimmy again. Zeke and Clive approved the situation and considered the threat to Kimmy minimized, in that both George and Carlos were no longer in the game, and Steve had been arrested and was being detained by the Atlanta Police.

  The arrest came after the Detectives investigating the multiple killings on Valley View Road were able to view George’s smart phone, a burner that had been used to contact only three phone numbers. One of the numbers was from a local cell belonging to Steven P. Anderson, and the other two, in the 653 area code, were international phone numbers in Mexico.

  Because of the several recent calls to and from Steve Anderson’s number, a warrant was issued to search Steve’s residence. A records search uncovered that there was a restraining order on a Steven P. Anderson of the same address, and that he was scheduled for a disposition of property hearing in Circuit Court in two days.

  A senior Detective called the number from George’s phone to gauge Steve’s reaction. Steve answered, at which time diodes and transistors and towers and satellites all worked in concert to identify his location. After a brief conversation, Steve agreed to be interviewed. A Detective’s car picked him up just ten minutes later at the house where he’d rented a room from a friend. Unfortunately for Steve, he was named as a person of interest, and spent the next few days with Atlanta’s finest. And he missed the property distribution hearing.

  Chapter 42

  The hearing, for all of the anticipation, was anti-climactic. Mary was transported from Kimmy’s apartment to the courthouse, and she and her attorney were ushered into the hearing by Zeke and Clive. The Sheriff’s Deputy bailiffs had been alerted that they were coming and were already in place, in each corner of the hearing chamber. They each gave a short nod to Clive as he checked around the room visually.

  As soon as the judge called the court to order, Steve’s attorney requested a continuance.

  “Your honor, my client isn’t present today. We’d like to request that this Distribution of Property hearing be rescheduled for a time when he’ll be available,” said the attorney.

  “Where is your client, Mr. Delacroix?” asked the judge.

  “Approach, your honor?” asked Delacroix.

  “Come on,” said the judge.

  The two attorneys approached the bench.

  “Your honor, my client has been unfortunately detained by law enforcement in an unrelated matter,” whispered the attorney. “He’s being questioned by the Atlanta police.”

  “Your honor,” injected Mary’s attorney, Jack Tomlin, “although that is unfortunate, we do have a property distribution agreement that’s been signed by both parties, and I see no reason to postpone this hearing. My client is anxious to get on with her life, and this hearing is the last in a series of steps to allow her to do just that.”

  “I’ve reviewed the agreement,” said the judge. “Mr. Delacroix, I see no reason that I shouldn’t rule on this matter now, even in the absence of your client. His signature is on the agreement.”

  Delacroix paused. “Mr. Anderson, my client told me that he was having some second thoughts about the property distribution. He wanted to contest some of the items in the agreement.”

  “Well, Mr. Delacroix, this is the third time that this hearing has been scheduled, and its been rescheduled by your client the last two times. I don’t think that’s particularly fair to Mr. Tomlin’s client. In light of this signed agreement, I’m inclined to approve the agreement and put this matter to rest. As a matter of fact, I’m doing just that. Step back, please.”

  “Your honor,” said Delacroix…

  “The matter is resolved. I rule that the signed agreement be authorized by this court, and that the property be distributed as indicated therein immediately.”

  * * *

  After the hearing, Clive and Mary returned to meet Zeke at his apartment. On the way, Zeke stopped by the hospital to chat with Alberto Cruz.

  “Mr. Zeke, glad you stopped by,” said Cruz. It sounded like he was back to his broken English.

  “How’s your leg?” asked Zeke, pointing. The bandaging was obvious; heavy white gauze had been wrapped around Cruz’s thigh.

  “Not, how do you say, not fatal,” said Cruz. “Some stitches. I’ll be OK in a few days. How is Mary?”

  Zeke told him about Steve’s detention and about the hearing. Cruz was apparently relieved. He sighed a long sigh and looked at Zeke.

  “So she is OK now? No more threat to my Maria?”

  “Mary is just fine, Alberto,” said Zeke. “She’s planning on leaving town soon, and I doubt Steve will have the time or energy to try to track her down. He’s rather preoccupied, I gather.”

  “You saved me, amigo,” said Cruz. “Not just me, but my daughter. I am most grateful to you and Mr. Clive for your efforts on our behalf.”

  “De nada,” said Zeke. “It worked out. We ended up in the right place.”

  “Yes,” said Cruz. “And now, they have me waiting here in this hospital. But the Secret Service agents haven’t come to visit yet.”

  “I’m not certain if they’ve been informed of your participation in the activities the other night,” said Zeke. “But I’ll bet they do more than send flowers when they hear that you’re here.”

  Cruz thought about that for
a moment.

  “Well, you know where to reach us if you need anything else, Mr. Cruz,” said Zeke. “Thank you.” Zeke left the hospital and headed back to his apartment.

  Chapter 43

  They were all sitting in Zeke’s living room, looking out the large glass window overlooking downtown Atlanta and the slowly encroaching dusk.

  “I believe that our work is done,” Clive said to Mary. “We’ve delivered you safely, and you’re done with the divorce hearing. Things might have gone a bit more smoothly along the way, but it’s ended well.”

  “I think I’m good now,” said Mary. “And the bad guys seem to have disappeared, at least for a while.”

  “They’ll send more,” said Clive. “Jefe can’t be happy about losing the counterfeiting plates, or about Alberto escaping from George and Carlos. Plus, he’s down a couple of his best guys now. A couple of specialists.”

  “It’ll put a short-term dent in his operation, anyway,” said Zeke.

  “Well, I won’t be waiting around,” said Mary. “I’m packed and on my way south. Next stop, Calle Ocho.”

  “Your mother lives in Miami,” said Zeke. “Are you planning to stay with her?”

  “Only for a couple of weeks. Then, I’ll move on to somewhere where no one knows me,” she said, “just as you’ve suggested.”

  There was a knock at the door, and a moment later, Kimmy walked into the living area. “Hey,” she said, and smiled. “How’d the hearing go? I was sending positive energy.”

  “Was the apartment door open?” asked Zeke.

  “Oh, no, I saw you come back a little while ago. I just let myself in.”

  “Oh, you did, did you? Miss Show-off,” said Clive.

  * * *

  Tracy Johnson was laughing. Sitting in the living room in Zeke’s Midtown apartment, sipping a glass of Italian Merlot, she was sharing a story from her days in the Secret Service in Washington.

  “So the suspect, he had to be close to three hundred pounds and was totally nuts, he tried to rush the White House, and got his head caught in the iron fence around the perimeter,” she continued. “He was stuck there until we got a welder out to cut him loose.”

  Zeke smiled at the visual. After the others had left Zeke’s apartment earlier, he and Tracy had met for a small plate dinner at a place near Tracy’s office, and then walked together back to Zeke’s. The evening is going well, he thought.

  Tracy stopped talking and sipped her wine, looking at Zeke over her wineglass. I could get lost in those eyes, she thought again.

  “I’m glad you came by,” said Zeke. He noticed that Tracy’s makeup was quite different from the last time he’d seen her. This time, it had been applied to accent her eyes and emphasize her lips and her long neck. She looked at him for a moment and nodded to herself.

  Tracy set her wine down, stood up and walked over to the chair Zeke was sitting in. She put one hand on each of the chair’s arms, leaned over and said, “I’ll bet you’re a great kisser.”

  Her eyes were just slightly dilated, and he swore to himself that he could sense pheromones in the air.

  “Only one way to know for sure,” he said with a smile.

  She kissed him, and after a moment, he kissed her back gently. He tasted the subtle raspberry-plum flavor of the Merlot.

  “Let’s check out your bedroom,” said Tracy. She seemed comfortable and animated.

  “Sounds like fun,” said Zeke.

  Her skin was surprisingly soft and smooth to the touch, and yet beneath it her muscles were firm. Her green silk shirt was well fitted, but it came off easily. Naked, she slid her lithe body under the bed covers. Without her hair band, Tracy’s thick hair fell free and framed her head on the pillow. She looked at Zeke lying next to her, and leaned in to kiss him again, this time hungrily.

  For Zeke, the best part of this was the anticipation. Go slow, he thought as he kissed her again, nibbling her lip a bit and kissing her neck. She seemed to melt into him as he held her close gently, slowly learning the things that brought her best reactions. She had a lean body with long legs and an extended torso. Zeke felt her smooth against his body, warm and comfortable.

  “Fun is an understatement,” she whispered. Zeke smiled.

  * * *

  “So tell me about Zeke,” said Kimmy.

  Clive and Kimmy were on their way to The Agency offices in Clive’s Aston Martin. Clive was driving.

  “Zeke’s a lot like other people, I guess, but he has a gift of being able to physically sense more things than most people seem to sense,” said Clive. “Like smells and sounds. He can feel temperature changes or light air movement and he can see very well, in the light or in the dark.”

  “That’s a bit scary,” said Kimmy. “Does he actually sense more, or has he just learned to not filter it?”

  “Not sure, really,” said Clive. “But because of this, his decision-making is generally based on more inputs than most people use. And he’s been trained to try to use all of the available data around him to make the best decision at the time.”

  “That’s useful,” she considered.

  “Combined with that, he’s gifted with great coordination, both hand-eye coordination and full body coordination, which allows him to react quickly – and most of the time accurately – to situations. He’s been trained to rely on the data or the inputs in a situation, and not on emotion or reactions,” said Clive. “He seldom hesitates.”

  “I saw that,” said Kimmy. “Very impressive.”

  “His memory is very good, almost eidetic, actually, and he tries to keep it full of information that can contribute to his health and efficiency,” said Clive. “He studies medical information, chemical composition of foods, the impact of our environment on our physical and mental health, that sort of thing. The goal is to maintain optimum efficiency while looking to extend his effectiveness over the years.”

  “And he certainly is fearless,” she said.

  Chapter 44

  The Atlanta Police Precinct was a solid, brown brick building, reminiscent of what police precincts looked like in the last century, before the advent of creative architecture. There was probably a Civil Defense area in the basement, stocked with bottled water and medical supplies and sixty-five-year-old cans of food. Inside, the building was sparse and smelled of human sweat and dirty clothes.

  “Are you sure we’re supposed to turn this evidence over to you? The counterfeiting plates and the money?” asked the Desk Sergeant. He was a short, stocky man with thick black hair and stubble on his face that looked as if it needed shaving twice a day. His nametag read, ‘Sergeant Crowley’.

  “Yes, sir,” said Ron, moving lightly to the high counter and showing his Secret Service identification. “Here’s the paperwork.” He handed it to the policeman.

  “Let me check, OK?” said Crowley. He picked up the desk phone and turned away from Ron and Tracy. A short conversation ensued. Crowley shook his head, then nodded, and finally hung up with a “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s yours,” he said to the space between Ron and Tracy, and he went back to the important papers he had been reviewing on his desk. Tracy recognized them as a personnel schedule.

  “OK, thanks,” said Ron. He took the two large, sealed plastic evidence bags off the desk and walked out the door. Tracy followed him.

  “Glad to be out of there,” said Tracy. “I think you can pretty much tell the crime rate of an area by the smell of its precinct house.” They got into the Crown Vic they’d parked in front of the building in a “Police Only” spot and drove back toward downtown.

  Earlier in the week, Clive had called and informed the Secret Service of the location of the missing printer plates with the Atlanta Police and shared that Cruz was recovering from his wound in the hospital.

  Tracy dialed Fitch from the car.

  “We’ve got them, boss,” she said. “Heading back in.”

  Fitch sounded irritated. “OK, good. Let’s get them in here and locked up.”

/>   “On our way, boss. What’s up?”

  “Looks like we’ve lost Mr. Cruz again is all,” said Fitch, tightly.

  “What? How?” asked Tracy. She switched the cell phone to speaker mode.

  “He’s gone. He got up, got dressed, and walked out of the hospital!”

  * * *

  Clive was sitting at a two-top table near the polished wood bar in Meehan’s Public House next to the Westin Hotel in downtown Atlanta. It was two short blocks from Luckie Street and a half block off of Andrew Young International Boulevard. Meehan’s is an authentic Irish Pub with wide plank dark wood floors, an open ceiling and stained glass appointments. Booths are arranged along one wall, with floor to ceiling dividers that assure some level of privacy. Clive was sipping a martini made with Sipsmith’s traditional London Dry gin, which he favored for its smoothness.

  “This is one of the few places that you can get this around here,” said Clive, gesturing with his left hand to include all of Atlanta or perhaps all of Georgia. It was hard to tell. “Good stuff.”

  “You didn’t tell me about the back-up,” Zeke said. There was an ice-cold glass in front of Zeke.

  “Didn’t know about it specifically,” said Clive. “We hired Kimmy – her name is actually Tzofiya, pronounced a bit like Sophia, but spelled all kinds of weird – The Agency hired her as a backup for the Cruz exchange. Strictly background, for observation and communications. Apparently, she was, well, enthusiastic, and got closer to you than we expected. I had no idea, old man.”

  The waitress approached and looked over questioningly, and Clive waved her over. “Hungry?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Zeke said and picked up a menu.

  “Bangers and Mash,” said Clive. “And a pint of Guinness with it, if you please.”

  “Brilliant,” said Zeke quietly, with a smile to himself. And to the waitress, “I’d like a grilled tuna sandwich, please. With cheddar cheese, on wheat bread.”