by Robert Crais
“No, skipper. Talley has the disks.”
Salvetti called from the desk.
“C’mon. Howell’s on the speaker. He says we don’t have much time.”
Benza went to the phone, trying to control his anger.
“What the fuck are you doing down there?”
Howell cleared his throat, leaving Benza to conclude that the man was rattled. Benza didn’t like that. Glen Howell wasn’t a man to rattle.
“It isn’t working out the way we planned.”
“I guess it fuckin’ well isn’t.”
Howell explained the situation. Talley not only had the disks; he had Smith, Jones, and Jones’s team. Benza saw himself killing Glen Howell. He saw himself driving Howell to the desert and chopping him into sausage with a machete.
“Sonny?”
Benza’s rage cleared, and he saw Salvetti and Tuzee watching him. Howell was still talking. Sonny Benza was more frightened now than he had ever been in his life. He interrupted.
“Glen? Listen to me, Glen.”
He spoke softly, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Salvetti and Tuzee watched him.
“I want to tell you something here, Glen, before you go any further. I trusted you to handle this, and you’ve fucked it up. You’re letting me down here, Glen.”
“Sonny, Talley has the disks, but we can still get this settled.”
Howell’s voice shook.
“It’s good you’ve got a plan for that.”
“He wants the money that Smith was holding for us, the one-point-two. He gets his family and the money, he says he’ll give us the disks and cut loose our guys.”
Salvetti said, “Waitaminute. Are you saying that this asshole wants to be paid off? He’s extorting us?”
“One-point-two is a lot of money.”
Tuzee shook his head, looking at Benza but speaking to Howell.
“It’s a setup. He’s baiting you to get the wife.”
“What other choice do we have?”
Benza answered, softly again, without waiting for Tuzee’s or Salvetti’s opinion.
“You don’t have any other choice.”
Howell didn’t answer for several seconds.
“I understand.”
“Hang on.”
Benza muted the phone. He stretched his back, trying to lessen the ache, but it only hurt worse. He tried to figure out which way to jump; either Talley was really trying to scam the cash or he wasn’t. If Talley was setting up Howell, the next few hours would be a shit storm. Federal agents might already be pouring over the disks and petitioning for warrants. Benza knew that he should warn New York, but the thought of it made his bowels clench.
“Phil, call the airport and have the jet prepped. Just in case.”
Tuzee went to the other phone.
Benza took the speakerphone off mute. He didn’t want to accept defeat yet; there might still be a way out.
“Okay, Glen, listen: I don’t care about the money. If I gotta lose the cash to buy some time, so be it.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“If Talley is setting you up, we’re fucked anyway.”
“I’ll give you fair warning.”
“Fuck you and your fair warning. Get the disks, then get rid of him. If you don’t get the disks, you’re gonna have a problem, Glen. You understand that?”
“Our guys will still be in custody. He’s not going to cut them free until after he has his family.”
Benza glanced at Tuzee again. He didn’t like the idea of killing his own employees, but he had done it before. He had to get rid of Smith, Talley, Jones and his crew, and anyone else who was vulnerable after tonight. That was the only way he would be safe.
“After Talley is dead, we’ll take care of Smith and Jones and his people. That’s the best way to do this. Everyone has to die.”
“I understand.”
Benza pressed the button to end the call, then went back to the couch.
Salvetti came over and sat next to him.
“This thing is goin’ south, Sonny. We gotta think about that. We should warn New York. We let’m know what’s comin’, old man Castellano might cut us some slack.”
Benza considered that, then shook his head.
“Fuck New York. I’m not that anxious to die.”
“You sure about that, Sonny? We still got a few minutes here.”
“We lose those disks, the last thing I want is a conversation with that old man. Even prison looks good by comparison.” Salvetti frowned.
“That old man has long arms. He’ll reach us even in prison.”
Benza looked at him.
“Jesus, Sally, always the cheery word.”
Tuzee crossed his arms, and shrugged.
“What the fuck, we get those disks, we’ll beat the Feds and Castellano will never know this happened. Things could still work out.”
Benza decided to pack. In case things didn’t.
27
• • •
Saturday, 3:37 A.M.
Santa Clarita, California
TALLEY
Talley drove without lights, swerving far onto the shoulder whenever he passed an oncoming vehicle. He pulled off the road a hundred yards before the motel and left his car in the weeds, thankful for the black sweatshirt he had pulled on earlier. He tied a roll of duct tape to a belt loop, then shoved a handful of plastic restraints into his pocket. He rubbed dirt on his face and hands to kill their shine, then drew his pistol and trotted toward the motel. The moon was up, bright like a blue pearl, giving him light.
Talley guessed that Howell would post observers to warn him if the police were approaching. He worked his way to the edge of the motel property and froze beside a spiky-leafed manzanita bush, searching the shadows at the edge of the light for some bit of movement or blackness that did not fit. Talley had approached a thousand armed houses when he was on SWAT; this time was no different. The motel was a long two-story barn surrounded by a parking lot. A smattering of cars were sleeping outside the ground-floor rooms. Two huge tractor-trailer trucks sat at the rear; a third was parked near the street. Talley worked his way around the perimeter of the grounds, moving outside the field of light, pausing every two paces to look and listen.
He spotted one observer on the east side parking lot, sitting between the wheels of an eighteen-wheeler that had been docked for the night. A few minutes later, he found the second man hunkered beneath a pepper tree across the street on the west side. Talley looked carefully for others, but only two men were posted.
DUANE MANELLI
Manelli lay belly-down in the hard dirt at the base of a pepper tree, watching LJ Ruiz move between the wheels of the eighteen-wheeler. They were hooked up by cell phone. If either saw an oncoming vehicle or anything suspicious, they could alert the other, and then Glen Howell. Manelli didn’t like it that he could see movement. This meant that LJ was bored, and bored men made mistakes.
He whispered into his phone.
“LJ, you in position?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Settle in and stop moving around.”
“Fuck yourself. I’m not moving.”
Manelli didn’t respond. LJ had stopped moving, so Manelli let it go. Duane Manelli had spent enough time on night recon training exercises when he was in the army to respect radio silence.
Manelli settled into the dirt.
Ruiz said something, but Manelli didn’t understand.
“Say again.”
Ruiz didn’t answer.
“I didn’t hear you, LJ. What’d you say?”
Nothing came back.
“LJ?”
Manelli heard the rocks crunch behind him, then his head exploded with rainbow light.
TALLEY
Talley bound Manelli’s wrists behind the man’s back with the plastic restraints, pulling the leads tight. He secured Manelli’s ankles the same way, then rolled the man over.
Talley slapped Manelli’s face.
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“Wake up.”
Talley slapped harder.
“Wake up, goddamnit. You’re under arrest.”
Manelli’s eyes fluttered. Talley waited until the eyes focused, then pressed the gun into Manelli’s neck.
“You know who I am?”
“Talley.”
“Which room are they in?”
“They’re not. Howell sent them away.”
Talley cursed under his breath. He didn’t expect that Howell would have kept them with him, but he had hoped.
“All right. Where are they?”
“I don’t know. Clewes took them.”
Talley had not heard that name before, Clewes, but it didn’t matter. He had not heard of any of these people.
“Where did Clewes take them?”
“I don’t know. In the car. Howell is gonna call him. I don’t know what they’re gonna do. That was between Clewes and Howell.”
Talley glanced at the motel, fighting down his panic. The passing seconds loaded onto his back like bags of sand. He was wasting time, and he needed a plan. He told himself to think. He chanted the SWAT mantra: Panic kills. If Jane and Amanda were being held somewhere else, he would have to force Howell to bring them back.
He looked back at Manelli.
“How many people does Howell have?”
“Five here at the motel, plus Clewes.”
“You and the asshole at the truck, leaves three inside?”
“That’s right, plus Clewes. He has more people, but I don’t know where they are. They could show up here anytime.”
Talley thought it through. Three in the room. Three against one, with more on the way. None of it mattered. He had no other choice.
“Which room?”
Manelli hesitated.
Talley pushed the .45 harder into Manelli’s throat. The sweat and dirt from his face dripped onto Manelli like muddy rain.
“Which room?” Manelli sighed.
“One twenty-four. Let me ask you a question, Talley?” Talley hesitated. He didn’t have time for questions.
“What?”
“You’re not just some hick cop?”
“No. No, I’m not.”
Talley covered Manelli’s mouth with duct tape, then slipped across the road and returned to the parking lot, searching for room 124. He found the green Mustang on the far side of the motel, parked one parking place down from 124. A man in a blue knit shirt was standing by it, smoking. This man outside left two more men in the room. Talley saw a silver wristwatch on his left arm; this man wasn’t Glen Howell.
Talley worked his way as close to the Mustang as possible. The man finished his cigarette, then leaned against the car. He was less than fifteen yards away. Forty-five feet. Talley told himself that it wasn’t very far.
The door to room 124 opened, and a man with a dark tan stepped out.
“Keep your eyes open. He should’ve been here.”
Talley saw a gold Rolex on his wrist, and recognized the voice. Howell.
Talley released the safety on his pistol, and readied himself to move.
The Mustang man complained to Howell.
“This is bullshit. That chickenfuck ain’t gonna come. We should get outta this shithole while we still can.”
“He’ll come. There’s nothing else he can do.”
Howell went back into the room, closing the door.
The Mustang man lit a fresh cigarette. When he turned away, Talley rushed forward.
The Mustang man startled at the sound, but he was too late. Talley hit him hard on the side of the head, using the .45 as a club. The Mustang man staggered sideways. Talley grabbed him around the neck from behind in a choke hold, and pushed him toward the room. He didn’t want the Mustang man unconscious; he wanted him as a shield.
Talley moved fast now; he kicked the door next to the knob, busting the jamb, and shoved the Mustang man through, screaming his identification.
“Police! You’re under arrest!”
Talley didn’t think they would shoot him until they had the disks. He was counting on that.
Glen Howell brought up a pistol as he dropped into a crouch, shouting at a man with a big head seated by the window. The man rolled out of his chair and also came up with a gun, aiming from the floor in a two-handed grip as Howell shouted not to fire.
“Don’t shoot him! Don’t shoot!”
Talley shifted his aim between the two men, making himself as small as possible behind the Mustang man. Insects spiraled in from the night, hungry for the light.
Talley shouted, “Where’s my family?”
They sucked air like freight engines. No one was shooting, but if one person fired, everyone would fire. They each had something the other wanted. Talley knew it. He knew that Howell knew it. It was the only thing holding them back.
Howell abruptly released his gun, letting it swing free on his finger.
“Just take it easy. Take it easy. We’re here to do business.”
“Where are they?”
“Do you have the disks?”
Talley shifted his aim to the man with the big head. He felt as if he was at the day-care center again, held hostage by men with guns.
“You know I have the disks, you sonofabitch. Where’s my family?”
Howell slowly stood, hands out, letting his gun hang.
“Let’s just take it easy. They’re all right. Can I take a phone from my pocket?”
“They were supposed to be here.”
“Let me get the phone. You can talk to them, see they’re okay.”
Talley shifted his aim from the big-headed man to Howell, then back again. Howell took out a cell phone and pressed in a number. Someone on the other end answered, and Howell told them to put the woman on. He held out the phone.
“Here. Talk to her. She’s all right.”
Talley jammed his gun under the Mustang man’s jaw, and warned him not to move. Howell brought the phone over, holding it with two fingers like a teacup. Talley took it with his free hand, and Howell stepped back.
“Jane?”
“Jeff! We’re—” The line went dead.
“SHIT!”
Howell shrugged, reasonably.
“You see? They’re alive. Whether they stay that way depends on you.”
Talley tossed the phone back to Howell, then took out a single disk. This was where everything could go bad. This was where he took his biggest chance, and risked everything.
“One disk. You’ll get the other when I have my girls. Not talk to them on the phone, but have them. I get my girls, you get the disks. You don’t like it, tough. You kill me, everyone still goes to jail.”
He tossed the disk onto the bed.
Talley could read that Howell wasn’t happy with just the one disk, but Talley was counting on that. He wanted Howell off-balance and worried. It was a negotiation. Talley knew that Howell would be weighing his options just as Talley weighed his; Howell would be wondering if Talley had the second disk with him, thinking that if Talley had both disks, Howell could simply shoot him and take the disks and this would be over. But Howell couldn’t be sure. If he killed Talley, and Talley didn’t have both disks, then Howell would be fucked. So Howell wouldn’t shoot him. Not yet. And that gave Talley a chance to jam him into revealing Amanda and Jane.
Talley watched the tension play over Howell’s face. Talley offered nothing. Howell picked up the disk.
“I have to see if it’s real.”
“It’s real.”
“I have to make sure.”
An IBM ThinkPad with a Zip drive attached was set up on the nightstand. Howell sat on the edge of the bed as he opened the disk, then grunted at the contents.
“All right. This is one of them. Where’s the other?”
“First my girls. I see my girls, you get the disks. That’s the way it works.”
Sweat leaked from Talley’s hair and ran down his neck. It felt like crawling ants. Howell would either take the chance or he wouldn’
t. Neither of them had any other choice. It had all come down to which one would break first.
It was a face-off.
Talley waited as Howell considered his options. Talley already knew what he would decide. Talley had left Howell no other choice.
Howell picked up his phone.
GLEN HOWELL
Talley wasn’t acting like a has-been cop who had been broken by the job and come to nowhereland to hide; he was carrying on like a full-blown SWAT tactical streetmonster. But Talley was also scared. Howell knew that he had to use that fear; he had to make Talley so frightened of losing his wife and daughter that he stopped thinking. Howell figured that Talley had the second disk on him, but the only way he could find out was to kill him. If he killed Talley, and Talley didn’t have the disk, Howell would be fucked. Sonny Benza’s message was clear; Benza would kill him.
The phone at the other end rang once before Marion Clewes answered.
“Yes?”
Howell spoke clearly, never taking his eyes from Talley. He wanted Talley to know that Glen Howell held the lives of his wife and child in his hands.
“Bring them. Stop the car outside the room, but don’t get out. I want to show him that they’re all right.”
“Okey-doke.”
Howell watched Talley closely, and noticed that Talley tensed when Howell told Clewes to stay in the car. Talley didn’t like that, but tried not to show it. Howell felt encouraged. He felt as if he had played a winning card.
“Don’t hang up. It’s very important that you stay on the line. I’ll want to talk to you again.”
“All right.”
Howell lowered the phone. Clewes was parked behind a Mobil station down the street. He would be here in seconds.
“Okay, Talley, they’re on the way.”
“I want more than just seeing them. I won’t give you the disk until I have them.”
“I understand.”
Howell heard the car before he saw it. Clewes wheeled to a stop in the empty space next to the Mustang, the nose of his car framed dead-center in the open door. The woman, Jane, was in the passenger seat. The daughter was in the rear. They were both tied, their mouths taped.
Howell saw Talley move slightly toward the door and his wife, then catch himself before looking back at Howell.
