“Bell and Skip aren’t running my life. We can do whatever we want.”
“It’s more complicated than just being one place or another. Just give me some space to work this out.”
“Okay.” Denison put his hand on her shoulder. “But no more secrets.”
“No more secrets.”
Back in Mitchellville, it was midmorning by the time Joan came into the living room carrying a cup of coffee and a file folder. Tony sat up from the sofa and stretched his arms overhead. “Here,” she said, handing him the coffee.
“Thanks.”
She sat down facing him. She looked worn to the bone. Her eyes held that fearful look of a person who was carrying a psychic load that was too heavy to bear. He needed to do what he could to give her a few strands of hope to hold on to so that they would be well in the wind before the crash and burn of the futile plan to save her daughter. Instinct told him to start personal, let her share. Missy walked in, her shirt untucked and her suit coat over her arm.
“Coffee’s in the kitchen,” Joan said.
“I don’t drink it in the morning,” Missy said.
“How’s your daughter?” Tony started.
“She’s still asleep.”
“She’s in pretty tough shape. You got a plan?”
“I thought—I don’t know what I was thinking. She looks a lot worse than I thought she would.”
“But you’re doing the right thing. Looks like you got to her just in time.”
“I hope so.”
“Can you get her into a program today?”
She shook her head. “I know someone. I’ve been planning for this, but it will be tomorrow or the next day at the earliest.”
Missy saw what he was doing. She knelt next to Joan and took her hand. “So you’ve got to keep her from running. You get that, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Only two ways. Lock her up until you can get her into detox. Hope she doesn’t get too sick. But she’s an adult—she doesn’t have to go. The other choice is to get her some dope and talk her into rehab.”
“Buy her dope?”
“Just enough to keep her level until your spot opens up. Your decision. You do what’s best.” She got a card out of her pocket and wrote a number on the back. “This guy isn’t an asshole. He’ll treat you right if that’s what you decide. Methadone, heroin, whatever you want.”
“Methadone?”
Missy nodded. “Might work if she wants to clean up and you catch her before she’s too shaky.”
Tony picked up the thread. “I know that you want to focus on your daughter. So you want us out of here, right? What have you got for me?”
“I’ve got everything you asked for.” She glanced in the file folder. “The lawyer Chen is a real lawyer, and the NDA guy—Robertson—is a real NDA guy. The apartment? It belongs to Rodney Clemens. He’s a state department guy who’s stationed at the embassy in Kyrgyzstan. He’s been back and forth four times this year. Mother in the hospital. Mother’s funeral. Two other times. He was on the phone to Chen last week.”
“Wonderful,” Tony said.
“And Chen had two calls from Robertson’s personal cell phone last week.”
“Is that all of it?”
“Clemens is flying in tomorrow,” Joan said. “I’ve got his flight info right here. And a recent photo.” She passed him the file folder.
Tony shuffled through the papers. “This is more than I expected. Thanks.”
He turned to Missy. “You ready?”
Missy stood up and tucked in her shirt. “Thanks, Joan.”
Tony turned back to Joan. He used a casual tone of voice. “Your daughter just showed up out of the blue. We never met.”
“Of course.”
Tony and Missy drove out to the Travel Ace truck stop at the freeway interchange for an early lunch. Truckers crowded the counter, and families from the nearby discount motels filled the tables. They sat in a booth against the back wall where they had a good view of the door and front windows. Tony ordered the breakfast special: two eggs, hash browns, toast, and bacon. Missy ordered yogurt and granola. The waitress brought their orders before Tony had a chance to finish his coffee.
“You going to make me watch you eat that?” Tony asked.
“I could say the same thing,” Missy replied.
“Thanks for the assist back there.”
“No problem. Joan really didn’t understand what she’d gotten herself into.”
“No, she didn’t. I forgot to ask you how you know her.”
“You think she’ll make trouble when her daughter runs off? Call the cops?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“I met her through a girlfriend.”
“Like the one you got now?”
“What can I say? I like civilians who think it’s sexy to be with a player.”
“And?”
“My girlfriend was a do-gooder. Volunteered at the women’s shelter. Joan was hiding from her ex. A real peach. Put her in the hospital.”
“Tell me if I’m wrong: Your girlfriend cried on your shoulder about the troubles of the world. You wanted to impress her, so you sent some guys to rob and murder him.”
She smiled. “It got out of hand, but it couldn’t have happened to a nicer fella. Don’t know what happened to that girlfriend, but Joan has always been a friend.”
“A friend who’s good with computers.”
“Yeah.”
Tony pushed his plate away. “Sounds like she’ll hold up.”
“She always has.”
“So Chen, Robertson, and Clemens were all in contact with one another,” Tony said.
“Whatever that means,” Missy said. “Robertson didn’t try to kill you or arrest you.”
“Maybe you’re right and he’s not a problem, or maybe he had to protect his cover. Maybe he double-crossed Chen, or maybe he’s the luckiest guy in the world and just happened to be there to collect the info. Either way, I’ve still got business with the other players.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“I’m going to meet Clemens at the airport and find out what he knows. Then I’ll have a better idea of how to deal with the assholes who murdered my guys.”
“Sure that’s the best move? He might not know anything. He might be the next murder target.”
“Chen’s gone, Robertson’s a Fed, so Clemens is the only move. Of course, you don’t have to go with me. I’ve already told you that you can get off this merry-go-round whenever you like.”
“Hey, I’m still in. I’m not going home until I’m sure I won’t be bushwhacked.”
“Then let’s stay on course.”
The server dropped a check on their table and collected their dishes.
They stood up. “I’ve got to see a guy about some gear,” Tony said. “And he’s kind of skittish, so I need to drop you somewhere.”
“How long?”
“Maybe an hour. He’s expecting me.”
Tony drove through the gate to Sunny Days Recyclables, navigated through the mountains of scrap metal being sorted by huge cranes, and parked by the loading dock to a warehouse. A skinny guy with a shaved head wearing gray coveralls with the name Barney embroidered on the chest stood at the door. “He’s expecting me,” Tony said.
The guy led him into the warehouse, past crates stacked on pallets, to an office in the back. A short fat man who looked like an accountant or an insurance salesman stood up from his desk. “Trav. Great to see you.”
“Thanks for helping me on such short notice.”
“Need anything beside the Kevlar?”
“Two semiauto rifles, short barrels, and a clean vehicle.”
“That makes us even.”
They shook hands.
“Barney will fix you up.”
They walked away from the office. “Follow me,” Barney said. He led him through the warehouse to a pallet of boxes against the far wall. He slid out two cases. Inside
each was an AR-15 rifle, a Glock 9mm, boxes of ammunition, and a Kevlar vest.
“Do these work for you?”
“They clean?” Tony asked.
“No serial numbers. They work fine.”
“Great.”
“What kind of ride do you need? Fast? Sporty?”
“Inconspicuous for city driving. Able to take a hit.”
“I got you covered.”
He pulled out a walkie-talkie. “Dennis, pull the Volvo up to the loading dock.”
They carried the cases back through the warehouse to the loading dock. A yellow Volvo sedan sat parked next to the Corolla Tony had driven into the scrap yard. “Will that do?”
“Yeah.”
“Yours hot?”
“Can you take care of it?”
“No problem.”
They loaded the cases into the trunk of the Volvo. Tony climbed into the driver’s seat.
Meanwhile, Missy stood on the steps in front of the Mitchellville Public Library talking on her phone. A mom holding the hands of two preschoolers walked by. “That’s right. The safecracker is going for Clemens at the airport.”
“I told you to stay out of the way,” Robertson said.
“I’m not sure if I can trust your partners. And you’ve been holding out on me. You didn’t tell me Chen was dead.”
“I feel sick about that. I tried to help him, but he wouldn’t help himself.”
“Well, my guy always has a way of landing on his feet.”
“So I have to prove myself to you?”
“You don’t have to prove anything. Either your partners are incompetent, or they’re not listening to you. Either way is bad for me.”
“You don’t want to get in the middle of this business. You’re part of my team. I can protect you. I did everything I could for Jerry, but he wouldn’t listen to reason. The safecracker’s guys, I’m sorry about that. That was overzealous bullshit. But if he doesn’t let this thing go, he’s going to get a bullet.”
“He thinks your guys are hunting him, that they still want the envelope or want him dead. And he’s sentimental about his partners.”
“Nobody’s hunting anyone. These bodies are just attracting the police.”
“So I’m completely safe?”
“Completely safe.”
The line was quiet.
“You there?” she asked.
“Do you want to make another five grand?”
“How?”
“Keep track of your guy so we can stay out of his way.”
“Not set us both up to be killed?”
“This project is supposed to be accomplished without the knowledge of domestic law enforcement. How do you think that’s been working so far? Two more days, that’s all I need.”
“Okay, I’ll keep you up to speed. But at the first sign of trouble, I’m bolting.”
She ended the call. Robertson had always been a handy person to know. He’d gotten her out of some jams, didn’t ask for too much, but he wasn’t her friend, not by a long shot. He sounded like he was telling the truth when he said she was safe, but that didn’t mean she was safe, it just meant he thought she was. So how much work should she actually do for the extra five K? Tony wasn’t her friend either, but he never turned on a partner, and he always got even. Narcing on him to Robertson would be like building her own gallows. So she had to walk a fine line—a thread, really. Give Robertson just enough so that he would believe she was on his side, and don’t give up so much that Tony would see it as a definite betrayal. One of them was going to come out on top, and she planned to be standing next to whoever that was.
She called Betty. The phone rolled over to voice mail. “Hey, baby, just wanted to check on you. I’ll try back later.” She ended the call. Her phone rang. “Hey, lover.”
Betty’s voice sounded sleepy. “What time is it?”
“Eleven thirty. When did you go to bed?”
“You know I’m no good before noon. Where are you?”
“I’m at the library.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. We’re in the middle of things.”
“Who’s we?”
“A guy I know.”
“He get you into this mess?”
“We got each other into it. How’s your brother?”
“He’s fine. His wife still hates me.”
“Smile. Play nice.”
“When can I go home?”
“Maybe in a few more days.”
“A few more days?”
“I know it’s a drag. As soon as it’s safe, I’ll let you know. I’ve got to go.”
“Love you.”
She sat down on a bench by the bus stop. Betty was such a prima donna. She couldn’t think of a single reason why she loved her—and yet, just talking to her on the phone made her smile. This business of being on the run was so tedious. What had Robertson said? Two more days tops. She could juggle Robertson and Tony that long. Then she’d be back to sleeping with Betty and looking for her next score.
A half hour later, Tony pulled up in a Volvo sedan.
Missy climbed in. “I didn’t know you were a family man. Get everything taken care of?”
“Yeah. I got Kevlar and AR-15s.”
“Expecting to fight a war?”
“I’m not going to underestimate the scope of the problem. My guys were executed by professionals. If they come for me, they’ll have their work cut out for them.”
At 2:00 p.m., Robertson and French stood on the sidewalk under a shade tree near the carousel in Fredrick Memorial Park. “Ring Around the Rosie” sounded from the carousel as the brightly painted animal figures went up and down and around in a circle. A bus marked Namaste Preschool idled at the curb. Several young women dressed in yoga wear stood in a group watching over a crowd of small children as they ran about on the grass, tumbling, jumping, and playing tag.
“So you did come down,” French said. “Wasn’t sure you’d really do it.” Tobias French was an NGO contractor who used to be an army major. He had a way of speaking that made everything he said sound like he was giving an order.
“How was your flight?” Robertson asked.
“Sucked,” French said. “Jet lag kills me anymore. Did you get the envelope?”
“Yeah. No thanks to your guys. They were in too big a hurry. I had to wait around for the safecracker with the bodies in the house.”
“Did you deal with him?”
“Are you kidding? Out on the street in a suburban neighborhood?”
“But we’ve got the account info, and Chen’s out of the way.”
Robertson watched a man in a cable company uniform climb a utility pole on the corner.
“Don’t worry about that guy. He’s one of mine.”
“The bank-account info is encrypted.”
“So we still need Clemens.”
“Yeah, and the safecracker’s nosing around because we killed his partners.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve got a CI next to him. He’s planning to take Clemens at the airport to find out what he knows.”
“Then he’s going to get cleaned up.”
“But not my CI. She belongs to me. I promised her I’d look after her.”
“She leads the lamb to the slaughter, we’ll keep her safe.”
“She’ll take care of it. What about Clemens?”
“We’ll meet him at the airport. He’ll deal with the encryption, and we’ll drop him somewhere where he won’t be found.”
“We’ve been over this. Dead criminals is one thing, but the Chens were already a step too far. His wife, for Christ’s sake. And what your guys did to Jerry—he was a friend of mine.”
“A friend who was going to screw you. Whose side are you on?”
“I’m just saying we can’t have any more bodies. Particularly government employees.”
“Paul, Clemens knows both of us. He’s connected to Chen. There’s something about him that’s not right. You know it.
I know it. Somebody alerted Kyrgyzstani Intelligence. You want to go to prison, or do you want the deluxe retirement package? My guys don’t know any of the details; they’re strictly muscle. As soon as Clemens is gone, I’ve got the back end, you’ve got the front end, and we’re on our way to the money.”
“The police are all over the Chens. They can’t find any more crime scenes.”
“You’ve got my word. Nobody will find him.”
Robertson walked away. Where was it going to end? When French had told him they’d killed some of their Kyrgyzstani partners, he’d shrugged. Why should he care? Then when French had said Chen had to go, he had heard him say it, but he hadn’t really believed he’d do it. Not here, not in the US. But Chen and Muriel, in their house—Jesus, what a mess. And the safecracker’s crew. What was that about? That didn’t have any logical purpose. Now French had his eye on Clemens. French had always been tightly wound, unwilling to let anything go, but now? It was a good thing they went so far back together. French couldn’t have any doubts about him. As soon as they had the bank codes decrypted, they’d be able make the run for the money, and all this insanity would be behind him.
At 4:00 p.m., Tony and Missy were in a room at the Budget More Motel on the access road off Jefferson Drive. Two beds with well-worn comforters, a square table with two chairs, a microwave sitting on top of a minifridge. The carpet had stains that were probably wine. A check on the internet showed that Clemens had made his flight, so barring any travel delays, he would be arriving on time tomorrow. There was a knock at the door. Tony looked through the peephole while Missy peered through a gap in the window curtain. A full-figured Latina in a black pantsuit stood at the door. She carried a shoulder bag, and a pistol was holstered on her hip. Tony opened the door.
“Yeah?”
The woman held up her ID. Clara Garcia, National Defense Agency.
“How did you find me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. Wasn’t even a challenge. Can I come in?”
Tony backed into the room. Garcia nodded toward Missy before she shut the door behind herself.
“Why are you here?” Tony asked.
“You cracked Clemens’s safe. Your guys were left at the Sundowner.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The Murder Run Page 5
