D-Boy

by Edward Kendrick

  “No. They are, for obvious reasons, very cautious—” he chuckled “—and very happy with the down payment, which might have helped mitigate Torres’ reluctance to meet at the site.”

  “Good. All right, I’ll see you Monday.”

  * * * *

  The operation went off as planned, albeit with a bit more gunfire than would have been necessary if Torres’ people had just realized resistance was futile. The Company’s men dropped in, literally, to take over the plant and deal with Torres. They used the truck to transport their prisoners back to the city. From there, they would be handed over to the proper authorities.

  It was late afternoon when Derek watched the truck leave and felt a sense of real accomplishment. It wasn’t often that an assignment went so easily and so quickly. He said as much to Larson.

  “Greed, kid. It’ll get them every time. Torres saw dollar signs and was willing to put aside his caution to make more money.”

  “I’d feel sorry for his family if his sons hadn’t been with him. I wonder if his wife knew what was going on.”

  “I’d say it was a fair guess she did. Okay, we’re finished here. Ready to test the car’s brakes on the ride down?”

  Derek chuckled. “Let’s hope they’re as good as they should be or we’ll be walking when they give out.”

  “Something I’d rather not do.”

  They started down the steep, twisting road leading from the plant to the secondary highway twenty miles away. They were halfway down when Larson suddenly slammed on the brakes.

  Derek grabbed for the dashboard, muttering “What the hell?” Then he saw something in the road ahead of him. A dark shape silhouetted in the last rays of the lowering sun.

  He heard a scream—”Francesco, he’s going to…” Then the figure fired the rifle it was holding. The car swerved, there was the sound of tearing metal, the door flew open, and Derek was flying, falling…

  “Derek, Derek!”

  He shook his head to clear it, trying to figure out who was calling his name. His hands were clenched so tightly on the dashboard they ached. Slowly he came back to the present. Larson was gripping his shoulder, trying to get his attention.

  “It wasn’t an accident.”

  “What wasn’t?” Then Larson seemed to understand. “You remembered.”

  “Not much,” Derek replied, wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his hand. “Someone was there, on the road. My mother screamed, ‘Francesco, he’s going to…’ He shot at us then it was over.”

  Larson released his grip, staring at Derek. “An assassination attempt?”

  “More than an attempt,” Derek said angrily. “He succeeded.” Burying his face in his hands, he tried to regain his composure as best he could. “At least I have a name now. My father’s name. Francesco.”

  “That explains your looks, since it’s definitely Italian.”

  Derek nodded abstractedly. “Now I just have to find out who he was—and why someone wanted him dead.”

  “Which you can’t start doing until we get off this mountain.” Larson turned the car on again, starting off slowly, headlights on bright. “Whatever animal that was we almost hit is long gone by now.”

  Derek managed a weak smile. “If we could find him, I’d thank him for being there. I might never have remembered more about what happened if you hadn’t braked so suddenly to keep from hitting him.”

  The rest of the drive down was done mostly in silence as Derek thought about what little he’d remembered and how he could put it to use to find out about his family—and himself.

  Chapter 11

  “Coffee?”

  Derek looked up from the computer, quickly minimizing the site he’d been searching, and shook his head.

  “Then take a break for a few,” Tim suggested, massaging Derek’s shoulders. “You’ve been at whatever you’ve been doing almost nonstop since you got back.”

  Derek sighed, leaning forward when Tim started to work on his tight neck muscles. He appreciated it, but was unwilling to say more than thank you. He didn’t want Tim to feel as if it doing that would make him more of a fixture in his life than he already was.

  They had met six months ago at a club Derek frequented and hit it off immediately. They had become friends and not too much later, lovers. Derek liked him, but not enough to want them to live together, despite Tim’s increasingly hinting that they should. It would be awkward at best since Tim had no idea what Derek really did. As far as he’d been told, Derek traveled a lot on business for the hotel chain he supposedly worked for. Besides which, while Derek liked Tim, that was as far as it went. It was the same with any of the men he’d met since moving back to Colorado. He might find them interesting for a while, but he wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship.

  Once, years ago, he’d thought he might have been on the verge of having one with Brad. It hadn’t happened and he wasn’t willing to risk the terrible heartache he’d felt when he found out he meant nothing more to him than a short-term, casual sex partner.

  “What is it again you’re doing?” Tim finally said, moving around to rest against the edge of Derek’s desk.

  “Looking for someone. A man I met a long time ago. And not that way,” Derek added with a smile when Tim bristled a bit. “I told you that. He helped me out when I needed it and I want to repay him, now that I can afford to.”

  “Just Google him.”

  “I have, but with only a first name, it’s making things difficult.”

  “He helped you and you don’t know his name? Weird.”

  Derek chuckled. “I’ve realized that since then, but at the time, I was young and didn’t think much about it. I was just glad he was there when I needed him.”

  “O-kay.” Tim looked doubtful but didn’t push the issue. “Let’s go get something to eat. I’m starving and bored.”

  “When aren’t you?” Derek said, laughing.

  “Never? Unless we’re at a club or in bed.”

  No kidding. Derek refrained from saying that out loud but in that moment he decided it might be time to break off their relationship, if he could do so without hurting Tim too badly in the process. And sometimes that’s not possible, but…He frowned, and when Tim asked why, he just said, “I was trying to remember where I put my keys,” while patting his pockets.

  “Last seen, on the dresser.”

  “Thanks,” Derek replied, and went to get them.

  * * * *

  After a nice lunch, Derek sent Tim on his way then returned home. He made a new pot of coffee and got down to work again. He would probably have been much further along in his search if Tim hadn’t shown up last night, just hours after Derek had returned from Grand Junction.

  Now I have all the time in the world, at least until Larson gives me another assignment.

  So far, in the timeframe he was searching, he’d come up with three possible men named Francesco who had been living in Denver. The problem was, none of them were the right age and all three were still alive. He tried English variations of the name, which gave him just the opposite problem. There had been hundreds of men named Frank and way too many named Francis. There had also been several Franco’s, which one naming site said was an Italian nickname for Francesco.

  He modified his search once he gained access to the Department of Motor Vehicles records, using the two known letters from the car’s license plate as the search parameter. He still came up with more than two hundred possible men, whose names he diligently made note of.

  And that, of course, presupposes he actually owned the car. If it was stolen then the plates could have been as well.

  Several hours later, he shut down the computer for the night, sighing in frustration. He was sure he could ask for help from Larson and his experts, but for now, he needed to do what he could on his own. He knew he was being stubborn, but it was his life and personal—especially if his father was a less than honest man.

  The fact that someone caused his death says there wa
s someone who hated him or wanted him eliminated for some reason. And they didn’t give a damn that in doing so, they’d also killed his wife, son, and unborn child. He smiled wryly. Well, they didn’t kill his son, but they don’t know that.

  He decided that, first thing in the morning, he’d head to the library and go through the back issues of the local papers to see if there were any stories about missing people from around the time of the accident.

  “I should have done it years ago,” he grumbled to himself as he went into the kitchen to fix a very late supper. “But,” he alibied, smiling ruefully, “I had next to nothing to go on, not even a name, and people go missing every day.”

  * * * *

  Derek discovered the following day that quite a few people seemed to have gone missing around the time of the accident. The information wasn’t in the newspapers as he’d hoped, but on missing persons’ sites on the Internet. One of them caught his interest the moment he came across it. A man had reported to Denver police that his daughter and her family had set out from their home in Durango to come for a visit. The last time he’d spoken to them was the day after they left. They had called that morning, saying they had had car trouble and would have to wait until it was fixed before continuing their trip. He hadn’t heard from them since.

  “If it wasn’t for the fact the car had Denver plates, not La Plata County ones, it could be them,” Derek murmured as he read the brief report again. The man who reported them missing was Gene Chase. His daughter’s married name was Caroline Lambert. Her husband was Frank Lambert.

  Derek quickly did a search for Gene Chase. As a rough guess, he figured the man had to be in his sixties by now, or older. He found two men who fit that parameter, one in Denver, one in Aurora, and made note of their addresses and phone numbers. Then he called them. The first man, in Aurora, had no idea what he was talking about. The second call was answered by a woman.

  “Gene?” she said when he asked. “He’s in a nursing home. Can I help you with something?”

  “This may sound strange but I wanted to know if, back in 1999, he reported his daughter missing.”

  “Why do you want to know?” she replied warily.

  “I think…I might know what happened to her and her family.”

  The woman snorted. “What happened was they decided to pack up and move before the police caught up with them. Unfortunately, my father never believed that. As far as he was concerned, the sun rose and fell on Frank Lamberti and Carol had made the perfect match when she married him.”

  “Lamberti was his last name?”

  “Francesco Lamberti, may he rot in Hell. If he wasn’t mob connected, I’ll eat my hat. He had his fingers in a lot of illegal pies. Carol knew that when she met him and she didn’t care. She’d been a stripper, he—” she laughed sourly “—rescued her. They had a kid about six months after they got married, and then, sixteen years later, she got pregnant again. That was about six months before they took off.”

  “Ms.…What is your name?”

  “Ellen Chase. Who are you?”

  “I think…I’m their son.”

  There was a deathly silence for a moment then she laughed. “I don’t know what kind of scam you’re trying to pull here, but forget it. If you were, you’d have known everything I just told you.”

  “Please, Ms. Chase, before you make judgment on me, could we meet somewhere and talk. I promise you this is no scam.”

  “Why should I believe that?”

  Derek chuckled. “You probably shouldn’t, but it’s the truth.”

  Again there was a long pause. “It’s too late for today. Do you know a place called Annie’s?”

  “I do.”

  “I’ll meet you there tomorrow at, say ten? It should be relatively quiet there by then, so we can get a booth and you can try to convince me you’re legit.”

  “Thank you,” he replied gratefully. “I’ll see you then. Oh, how will I know you?”

  He heard a bit of a laugh in her voice when she replied, “If you are their son, I should recognize you. By the way, you never did tell me your name.”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “I do. Do you?”

  Derek sighed. “Actually, no, but that’s part of what I have to tell you.”

  “And if I believe it, I’ll tell you your name.”

  “Deal,” he replied. Then after thanking her, he hung up.

  * * * *

  Derek parked in the lot behind Annie’s, and after getting out, approached the back door of the diner with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

  What if she’s not here? What if she doesn’t believe me if she is? What if…?

  Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside. She had been right; there were only a few customers there at the moment. He looked around for a woman sitting by herself in a booth. There were two, both in their early to mid-forties. Hesitantly, he approached the first one. She glanced up then returned to the book she was reading while she ate.

  As he walked toward the other woman, he saw she was studying him intently. When he got to the booth, she said, “You have her hazel eyes—and his mouth and hair.” She nodded the bench across from her. “Please sit down.” He sat and she steepled her fingers, looking at him. “Talk to me.”

  So he did. He started with the accident and what he first remembered of it then went on to explain everything else, from what the sheriff in Barkerstown had told him through to the close call on the mountain road a week ago when he’d remembered his father’s first name and reason for the accident that killed his family.

  As he talked, she nodded occasionally, but remained silent. When he finished, she said, “So for the last eight years, you’ve been living a lie.”

  “It’s hardly a lie when I didn’t know the truth,” he replied, hurt by what amounted to an accusation.

  “True enough, I suppose. That was quite some story. However your father, if you are his son, was the consummate liar. Why should I believe you’re not just like him?”

  “Because I’m not,” Derek said quietly. “Although I really have no way to prove it other than to give you the name of the sheriff, and I suppose show you the scars from the accident, and my leg.” He smiled wryly. “Which, if you don’t believe me, will really prove nothing other than that I was once in some sort of accident.”

  “Let me tell you something about Frank Lambert, as he called himself. I know for a fact that he ran petty scams and was involved in the drug business. I just couldn’t prove it, not in any way that could have led to his arrest. I met some of his friends when he and Carol would host barbeques and Christmas parties. Every one of them was Italian.”

  “So being Italian means you’re a criminal and mob connected?” Derek asked scathingly.

  She smiled slightly. “Or a crooked politician.”

  “Excuse my language, but bull.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t have expected any other response from his son.”

  “So now you believe I am.”

  “I believe it’s possible. What you told me explains why no one ever heard from him, from them, after Carol’s last call to my father.” She sighed deeply. “What a terrible waste.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “If my sister hadn’t met him, she might have gotten out of the business and become someone. She had dreams, aspirations. She just needed to have someone steer her in the right direction. As it was, she met him, he ruined her life even more than it was, and now she’s dead.”

  Unwilling to listen to any more of her vitriol about his family, because he was certain at this point that’s who they were, whether she believed it or not, Derek slid out of the booth. “It was good to meet you, Ms. Chase,” he said with a small bow of his head.

  She looked up at him and nodded slightly. “You as well.” As he started to walk away she said quietly, “By the way, your name is Matteo, although your parents always called you Matt.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, and without another wo
rd, he left.

  Chapter 12

  Derek strode into Larson’s office, sat down in front of the desk, and said, “I need your help.”

  “Interesting, because I need yours. Why don’t you start first?”

  “You…well, the Company, have resources I don’t. I need to know about the man I’m certain is my father.”

  Larson cocked his head. “So you have a full name for him.”

  “Yes. Francesco Lamberti a.k.a. Frank Lambert. Estimated DOB given my age, nineteen sixty-one, give or take a year.”

  “That’s all you know?”

  “Yes. That’s all my mother’s sister would admit to, other than that she’s certain he was connected, even though she says she couldn’t prove it.”

  “And your mother’s name?”

  “Caroline Lamberti, nee Chase.”

  Larson nodded as he wrote down the information. “Did she know your name? Or more to the point, did she tell you?”

  “Matteo, although they called me Matt.”

  “And?” Larson quirked an eyebrow.

  “And now I know, but as far as I’m concerned I’m Derek, plain and simple.” He chuckled. “It’s who I’ve been for as long as I can remember.”

  “Then Derek it remains. I’ll have our people get on this ASAP.”

  “Thank you. Now, what do you need me for?”

  “We have a man coming in tomorrow as part of an undercover operation. He’s never been here before and doesn’t know the city. I want you to meet him then ghost him until he gets the hang of the parts of the city he needs to be in.”

  “Sure. No problem. Where and when?”

  “Do you mind if we use your apartment?”

  Derek shrugged. “If it’s the safest place to meet, sure. What does he look like, so I don’t get caught unawares by whoever he’s after, who might be aware he’s coming to town?”

  “From what I was told, tall, around six-foot, blond, muscular, twenty-nine. But of course, he’s undercover, so that might not be the case now. He’ll buzz you from the lobby and say, “I’m looking for the guy who had a sixty-two Mustang for sale.”