Burning Bridges

by Heath Stallcup

  The man cursed at him in Arabic and Gregg did the nasty. He had to turn away as the man screamed and simultaneously ejaculated. “There ya go. Your friends are going to have a field day watching this video.”

  Gregg continued to work his arm deeper into the man’s body cavity all the while screaming at him to tell him when and where the attack was going to be. The man continued to curse at him until Gregg was nearly elbow deep.

  He’d finally reached the Jihadi’s breaking point and the man began crying and sobbing as he told him everything he wanted to know. Gregg slowly withdrew his arm and fought the urge to throw up as he held the arm away from him.

  He used the man’s pants to wipe the grease and fecal matter from his skin. “I don’t think that’s gonna wash off…”

  Gregg was summarily chastised and praised. He had gone beyond what any of the interrogators were willing to do, but the information was accurate and effective.

  The name Slippyfist stuck.

  “Okay Bridger. That’s everything in the archives on White Rock.”

  Bridger snatched the papers from the printer and began scanning them. “Do your thing with the photos. See if you can track DJ or Lisa.”

  “Already on it.”

  “And while you’re at it, find out where that rat-fuck Laughlin is.”

  North Florida

  * * *

  DJ pulled the old pickup into a truck stop and parked at the pumps. Nobody sold regular gas anymore and he knew that running unleaded through the old engine was going to do even more damage, but he had little choice. He didn’t want to risk going into the store itself to find a lead substitute for the tank. There were cameras inside the store and he felt it best to stay as far away from those as he could.

  He slid the dead cartel member’s card into the slot and waited, praying that it would work. The small screen told him to choose the grade of fuel and he quickly punched the big yellow button for the cheapest stuff.

  He shoved the nozzle into the tank and tried to lean against the bed nonchalantly as the pump ran. He slowly scanned the area and nothing set off his radar. He had to force his hand to stay away from the butt of the pistol tucked into his pants as people walked by. He watched them all intently through the mirrored lenses of the old aviator sunglasses, his head barely moving as he assessed each person.

  When the nozzle clicked, DJ nearly jumped. He had to continually force himself to remain calm as he shook the nozzle off and hung it back at the pump. He slowly screwed the cap back onto the tank and slid back in behind the wheel.

  He started the truck and scanned the area once more. He knew he had to get off of the highways, but he had no idea where to go.

  He sat motionless for a moment, his mind racing.

  Should he call the Clearing House? Should he dare risk it?

  A honk behind him had his eyes shifting to the rear view mirror and the soccer mom behind him in the minivan. He shoved the truck into gear and pulled away from the pumps, the truck shuddering as the clutch protested.

  DJ pulled out of the truck stop and back onto the freeway. He knew what he’d have to do, he just didn’t want to do it. If the Murillo cartel had tracked him down in the swamps of Florida, surely they could find any of his fellow team members.

  He slowed the truck at the next exit and began to pull off the freeway again. If any of the others were still alive, he needed to warn them. And the only way to do that was to do something stupid. He’d have to pop up on radar. Even if it was just for a moment.

  Central Texas

  * * *

  Lisa took the keys to the hotel room and gave the clerk a quick smile before disappearing out the door. She had to haggle to get a room at the end of the small complex, but she wanted to limit the number of neighboring rooms, if it was possible.

  She quickly crossed the parking lot and let herself in. She had parked the Mercedes behind the building, away from passing eyes. If anybody was going to find that car, they’d have to cruise through the lot and behind the main building.

  She peeled the clothes from her body and soaked them in the bathtub, watching the water turn brownish red from the blood. She sighed as she gripped the heavy material and began squeezing as much liquid from it as she could.

  She opened the drain then turned the cold water on, rinsing the blood down the drain. She scrubbed at the clothes with the tiny bar of soap until the water began to rinse clear then squeezed them out and hung them up to dry.

  She flipped the water in the tub over to hot then pulled the shower curtain closed. She scrubbed the tiny brown dots that had freckled her skin and washed the sticky residue from her body.

  Lisa leaned forward, pressing her forehead to the cool tile as the hot water beat down her back. “This is so wrong,” she muttered, lightly pounding her fist against the wall of the shower. “What the hell do they want? How have I got anything to do with these assholes?” She pushed off the wall and slowly turned around, her mind racing, trying to connect dots. “They have to be cartel. But, I never had dealings with cartels when I was with the task force. The only cartels I personally dealt with were in Colombia and…”

  She wiped the water from her face and kicked the shower off with her foot. After wrapping a towel around her she strode through the small room and snatched the burner phone from the small table.

  She hesitated for just a moment, her finger trembling as she recalled the number. Finally she punched the green call button and sat down on the bed.

  She nearly hung up when she heard ringing through the speaker but then a voice answered. “Clearinghouse, how may I direct your call?”

  Lisa swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Uh, tracking please.”

  “Please hold while I transfer you to that department.”

  Lisa could feel her arms trembling as the phone rang again then a deep male voice answered, “Tracking and allocation.”

  “I’d like to track some packages.”

  “Very well.” She could hear typing through the line. “Customer ID.”

  “Vasquez, 1682.”

  “Confirm first initial.”

  “Lima.”

  “Customer ID confirmed.” She could hear more typing then the voice returned. “Date of your order?”

  Lisa squeezed her eyes shut, her mind recalling a past she had fought to forget. “I don’t have an exact date. It would have been late spring or early summer of ’94.”

  “Very well.” More typing. “Parcels you’d like tracked?”

  “All parcels involved.” She tried to sound more confident as she spoke.

  The voice paused for a moment. “Please confirm the operator you dealt with at the time of the order.”

  Lisa felt the bile rise in her throat as the name came from her lips. “Laughlin.”

  “Stand by.” After a brief pause the voice returned. “Our records indicate that two parcels have been canceled since the date of the initial order. One parcel has been lost in shipping. Remaining parcels are tracked and their location information is available.”

  Lisa sighed and closed her eyes. “Can you transmit that information to this device?”

  “Affirmative, Vasquez, 1682. Tracking information is being forwarded.” Lisa heard a muffled chime in her speaker. “Can I assist you with any other orders at this time?”

  “Negative. Thank you.” She hit the end call button then pulled up the text messages. “Thank god you boys are still alive.”

  5

  Southeastern Oklahoma

  * * *

  Bridger sifted through the documents and laid them out on the small dinette. “Rob is killed in a single car accident and an attempt is made on Lisa.”

  “According to tall, dark and sexy.” Gregg grinned at him.

  Bobby shook his head. “She has no reason to lie.” He scratched at his chin as he scanned the reports surrounding Rob’s accident. “I wonder if…”

  “If she’s blaming a gangland attempt on ghosts of her past?”

  Again Bob
by shook his head. “No, Lisa is better than that. If she says that it’s a professional attempt, I believe her.” He lifted the papers concerning Rob’s accident. “But how could she claim that Wolcott’s death was an assassination?”

  Gregg leaned back in the old metal chair and shrugged. “She’s easy on the eyes, but I dunno if she’s still sharp enough to make that call.”

  Bobby stared straight into his eyes. “Some could say the same about you, Mr. Five Star Hotel.”

  Gregg shrugged. “I’m still in the suck with you assholes. I just provide tech support these days.”

  Bobby turned back to the reports. “I’m not seeing the autopsy results.”

  “They didn’t do one,” Gregg stated flatly. “I’m guessing nobody thought one was necessary.”

  Bobby lowered the pages and studied him. “A sound and fit guy rolls his Jeep and it crushes him, but they don’t even do tox screening to see if he was on something that might have caused it?” He dropped the pages. “That dog don’t hunt.”

  Gregg studied him through narrowed eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. They’d at least do a blood screen for alcohol.” He lifted the lid on his laptop again and began to dig.

  “Just for shits and giggles, check the surrounding counties. There’s the remote possibility that he was taken to a different coroner, if it was closer to the accident site.”

  “Ah…gotcha.” Gregg pointed to the screen. “You’re smarter than you look.” He pulled up the corresponding reports and printed them. “Looks like the initial autopsy was performed in a neighboring county before his body was transferred closer to home in preparation for burial. My guess is that the local coroner just signed off on the initial work.”

  “Probably billed the county for…” Bobby trailed off, his eye catching something. “Myocardial infarction?”

  “Heart attack,” Gregg stated.

  “I know what it is.” He held the sheet up. “Why would that be cited as Rob’s cause of death?”

  Gregg sat forward and pulled the screens back up on his computer. “Hold on a second.” He tapped away for a moment then sat back. “I’ll be dipped in shit.” He pointed to the screen. “Coming at ya.”

  The printer hummed to life again and Bobby pulled the sheet from the tray. “Tox report?”

  “If Rob had a bad ticker, shouldn’t he have been on some kind of medication?” Gregg asked, coming to his feet. “The guy was in his forties. Relatively fit. No history of heart disease, yet his COD is a heart attack?”

  Bobby lowered the paper and shook his head. “Sounds like somebody is trying to make his death look like an accident.”

  Gregg nodded. “And yet, they go after Lisa with automatic weapons?”

  Bobby shrugged. “Make it look like a gang hit?”

  Gregg whistled low. “She was working for Houston PD.” He shrugged. “I don’t guess you know if her work had anything to do with drugs or…?” He trailed off.

  “Gangs,” Mauk stated, coming to his feet. He rubbed at his eyes and stared at his watch. “How long was I out?”

  “Not long enough,” Bobby said crossing the room. “You should get more rest. We got your six.”

  Mauk shook his head and reached for the cold coffee. “Nah, I’m good.” He yawned as he poured another cup. “But Lisa worked for the inner city gang task force.” He sipped the cooling dark nectar and watched the other two. “So they also crossed paths with narco on a regular basis.”

  Bobby leaned against the wall. “It wouldn’t be a far stretch to assume a drive-by hit like that was work related.”

  Mauk shook his head. “I tried to make that connection, too. Not that I didn’t trust her judgement. But she said she could tell.”

  “I’m not saying it wasn’t what she claimed. Just that if somebody sent a hit squad after her, that would be a good way to make it look work related.”

  Bobby froze when his cell phone rang. He pulled the old flip phone and his gaze narrowed.

  “Who is it?” Gregg asked.

  “Baba Yaga.” Bobby flipped the phone open. “Bridger.”

  “You got an incoming call from a Lisa Vasquez. Want me to try to port it through?” Jim McDougall asked.

  Bobby’s mouth fell open and he stared at Gregg. “Speak of the devil.”

  North Florida

  * * *

  DJ hung up the phone and stared at the text that appeared over his burner. The Tracking and Allocations guy had said that he was the second person to call about that particular order and it made every hair on DJ’s neck stand on end.

  He scrolled through the names in the text and ignored Laughlin’s. He actually felt a bit choked up when he read that Wollychop was deceased. “Poor bastard.”

  He continued to scroll and paused when he realized that Bridger and Soares had the same contact number. That left Lisa.

  He scrolled across to the number of record and hit dial. He turned and leaned against the wall of the 7-11 he was parked at and listened as the phone began to ring.

  The line connected, but there was no voice answering it. For a moment he felt his blood pressure increase and he almost hung up. Instead, he went against his better judgement. “Lisa?”

  It took a moment for her to answer. “Who is this?”

  “DJ.” He waited a moment for her to connect the dots. “I know it’s been a while.”

  “DJ who?”

  He paused a moment then answered. “White. From…the rock of the same name.”

  “Jesus Christ, DJ.” Her voice sounded relieved and worried at the same time. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  “Yeah, I’ve had some pretty strange happenings of my own.” He sighed and continued to scan the area as they spoke. “Tell me you’re okay.”

  She nodded as she spoke. “I am for now, but Rob’s been killed. It wasn’t an accident like they say it was.”

  “I saw his name on the…list.” He cleared his throat. “That’s how I got your number. I called the clearinghouse.”

  Lisa chuckled on the other end. “I wondered. This is a new burner.”

  DJ turned and pressed his forehead to the cement block wall. “Have you contacted the others?”

  “Only Mauk. Then he dropped off the grid.” She sighed heavily into the phone. “You?”

  “You’re the first person I called. Looks like Bobby and Gregg are still working together.”

  “I was just about to call them.” Her voice trailed off, unsure what to say next.

  DJ pushed off the wall and turned back to face his truck. “We should meet up. Safety in numbers and all that.”

  She thought a moment then nodded. “You’re right. Where are you?”

  “Panhandle of Florida.”

  “Can you drive to Texas?”

  “Just send me the coordinates.”

  Lisa smiled. “I’ll text it to you.”

  DJ nodded as he reached for the door handle of his truck. “I’ll see you soon enough.”

  Central Texas

  * * *

  Lisa texted him the address as soon as they hung up then dialed for Bridger and Soares. She didn’t recognize the man who answered and she had no idea who or what Baba Yaga was, but she felt relief when he said he’d connect her.

  She waited and almost hung up when she heard the clicks and pops on the line just before Bridger answered. She recognized his voice immediately.

  “Vasquez?”

  “Bridger! Thank god you’re still alive.”

  Bobby sat down heavily. “Mauk called me.”

  “Is he still safe?”

  “He needs sleep in the worst way.” Bobby glared at the tall man who simply ignored him. “But yeah, he’s still safe.”

  “Where are you?”

  Bobby cringed then glanced to Gregg. “We’re holed up in an old cabin, in the mountains of Oklahoma.”

  “Jeezus, when you go off the grid, you go off the grid.”

  “Not my cabin.” Bobby pursed his lips. “It’s a rental.”

  �
��DJ contacted me. He’s on his way—we should meet up.”

  “Why?” Bobby’s paranoia began to rise until she replied.

  “Safety in numbers. Whoever is behind this, they’d bite off a hell of lot more than they could chew if they had to face us all at once.”

  Bobby looked first to Gregg then to Mauk. “You’re right.” He stood and stretched his neck. “I’ll send you the coordinates once we hang up.

  Lisa nodded as she spoke. “It will take DJ a while to get here, but as soon as he shows, we’ll hit the road.”

  “Dare I ask where you are?”

  Lisa smiled then cringed at her reflection. “Between where I was and where you are.”

  “Good enough for me. Text me when you’re close.”

  “I will.”

  Near Chapala Mexico

  * * *

  “We got them!” A tall, thin man yelled as he ran toward the opulent office. He slid to a stop on the polished marble floor tile and waved a sheet of paper in front of him. “Jefe, your agents at the NSA finally tracked them all down.”

  A tall, dark complected man slowly came to his feet. “Are you certain?”

  “Si!” He handed the paper over. “They will soon know the far reaching touch of el Fantasma!”

  The man reached for the paper and glanced at it. “They are all coming together?” He scratched at his neck, his mind racing. “This is acceptable.” He smiled as he handed the paper back. “Contact the matar escuadrones. Tell them to converge on their location.”

  “Jefe, we do not know where they are yet. According to your contacts, they will soon meet up.” The smaller man almost appeared scared as he informed his boss of the obvious.

  “Very well. We know their general location.” He smoothed his tie as he slowly took his seat again. “Have them stand by in the general area. Perhaps fortune will smile upon us and we can locate them before they are gathered.”