by Jeff Shelby
I frowned. “I'm not following.”
He leaned back in the chair, a small smile on his face. “Technically, you've already started looking for him.” He paused. “Our associate's name is Patrick Dennison.”
EIGHT
Anchor started in on his second taco while I stared at him.
“Patrick Dennison,” I said, repeating the name he'd given me.
He nodded. “That's correct.”
“You're going to need to fill in some of the details here.” Anchor's name had most definitely not been on the list Kathleen had given me. Or any other mafia-connected names, for that matter.
“He's worked for us for quite some time,” he said, balling up the napkin and setting it next to the drink. “He's had some issues, but he's also done some good work for us.”
“I mean, why are you coming to me, asking me to look for a guy that you already know I'm looking for?” I said, irritated. “How did we get there?”
“Since Mr. Dennison disappeared, we've obviously had an interest in locating him,” Anchor explained patiently. “Which meant surveillance on people who might've been in contact with him.”
“Like his wife.”
Anchor nodded. “Like his wife, yes. An associate of mine followed her here to San Diego and observed her meeting with someone. A little research determined that the person she met with was you. When your name was passed along to me, I thought it to be a fortunate coincidence.”
“Is it?” I asked. “A coincidence?”
He smiled again. “It is. I can certainly understand how it might look to you, but I assure you I did not know that you were involved until I saw your name. We were looking for him prior to your involvement.”
He didn't have any reason to lie to me and in my dealings with him during the past year, I didn't believe that he'd ever lied to me. But it was a strange coincidence at the very least.
“So why do you need me then?” I asked. “If you were already involved in looking for him, why do you need me?”
“A fair question,” Anchor said. “First, we haven't had much luck in obtaining information regarding his whereabouts. We haven't had much to go on and our efforts haven't yielded much in the way of results. Second, as I mentioned, locating people matches your skill set far more than it does mine or anyone who works for us. You know how to find people, even when they don't need to be found.” Anchor shrugged. “When I determined that you were involved, I decided that it would be easiest to let you know what I needed.”
I still wasn't convinced. “With all due respect, your people were the ones that helped me locate my daughter. I appreciate your faith in my skills, but you seem to have a pretty good track record in running people down.”
“Perhaps,” Anchor said. “But I'd still like your help with this matter. I've got irons in other fires and I know that if this is put in your hands, I can trust those hands to do the work.”
It was subtle, but it was another reminder that I was in debt to him and that I didn't really have the luxury of turning down his request. I wasn't sure what he really thought of my investigative ability, but I wasn't sure he necessarily cared, either.
“So why'd he run?” I asked. “And where have you looked?”
“Well, he took the money,” Anchor said. “I'd assume that's the first reason.”
“Why'd he take it?”
“You'll have to ask him.”
“You have no idea at all?”
Anchor's expression remained impassive. “I genuinely don't. As I explained, he'd done it once before, was reprimanded for it and told what would happen if there was another occurrence.”
I wondered what the reprimand was. And what he'd been told if it happened again.
“So then he must've had a good reason to take it,” I said. “If he understood the consequences.”
“One would think,” Anchor answered, raising an eyebrow. “But you'll have to ask him.”
“Was he still doing whatever he was doing for you to your satisfaction?” I hated talking in circles but Anchor was purposely being vague and I wasn't sure how much I wanted to know.
Anchor thought for a moment. “Was it as good as in previous years? No. Was it satisfactory? Yes.”
I decided to bite the bullet. “What exactly was he doing for you?”
“He was involved with certain arms of our financing.”
He spoke without hesitation so it was either a well-practiced lie or the truth. I wasn't sure which but at the very least, it was consistent with what I'd been told about Dennison's profession from both his wife and the people I'd already talked to.
“And I'd add that most of what he was doing was above-aboard,” Anchor added. “He wasn't working in gray areas.”
I nodded, processing this. It didn't make much sense to me. If Dennison knew exactly who he was working for and had even been given a second chance for a prior indiscretion, he had to have known that taking money and running was a death wish. He wouldn't have done it without a reason and even then, I wasn't sure he could've come up with a good enough reason. People didn't get out of organizations like Anchor's by choice. The organization made the choice for you; they were the only deciders.
“I'm fairly certain he's no longer in Las Vegas,” Anchor continued. He picked up his cup but didn't drink. “You might be able to find something that helps support his disappearance there, but my colleagues have exhausted their resources and we don't believe he's there.”
“Looked anywhere else?”
Anchor shook his head. “No. We were just beginning to look into other possible locales when you came into the picture, courtesy of Mrs. Dennison.”
What a great decision by me to meet with her. I shifted in my seat. “Alright. So I need to find Patrick Dennison for you. And then we're square?”
Anchor nodded. “Of course.”
“So, what? Just call you if I find him?”
“I trust you'll find him, Mr. Tyler,” he said.
“Okay. When I find him, call you?”
Anchor shook his head. “No.”
“Call someone else then? Do I need another number?” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, ready to take notes or enter in new contact information.
Anchor picked up the remaining taco in the boat and took another precise bite. He washed it down with soda, picked up another napkin and dabbed at his mouth. He set the napkin down, then looked at me. His eyes were flat, devoid of emotion.
“No,” John Anchor said. “Find him. And terminate him.”
NINE
“Terminate him,” I repeated.
Anchor nodded.
My fingers tightened on my phone. “I didn't sign up for that,” I said.
“At this point, Mr. Dennison has become expendable to our organization,” Anchor said, ignoring my comment. He adjusted the lapels on his coat. “He no longer suits our needs and I don't believe in third chances. I don't need to have a conversation with him to explain those things to him. He's a smart man. He'll understand the end result.”
“Did you hear me?” I said, my voice rising. “I didn't sign up for this.”
“I don't believe you actually signed up for anything, Mr. Tyler,” Anchor said, his voice conveying no emotion. “So I'm not sure I follow what you're saying.”
“You know exactly what I'm saying.” I glanced at the construction worker two tables over and lowered my voice. “I did not agree to...terminations.”
Anchor picked up his drink and adjusted the straw in the cup, then took a long sip. He set the cup down and stared at me for a moment.
“As I recall, there were no disclaimers in our agreement,” he said. His voice was still calm but his eyes were hard, like marbles. The block of ice in my gut grew. “Our agreement was that when I required your assistance, you would provide it.” He paused. “I require your assistance here, Mr. Tyler. I'm expecting that you will provide it.”
“I didn't agree to that kind of work.”
“You didn't agree
to any kind of work,” he pointed out. “You simply agreed to provide assistance when asked. There were no conditions. At least I don't recall any.” He leaned forward a fraction. “Or has my memory failed me?”
I looked away from him. Of course his memory hadn't failed him. We both knew it. The hard reality was that he was right. I owed him and there had been no conditions placed upon repaying my debt to him. I just hadn't counted on having to kill someone in order to settle up.
But that was my mistake.
“What if I say no?” I said, turning back to him. I folded my arms across my chest. “That I won't do it.”
Anchor shrugged. “That is, of course, your right to do. It might lead to some unpleasantness, though. For you.”
“Unpleasantness?” I repeated. The block of ice sent shivers down my spine.
He settled back into his seat. “Remind me again what happened to the despicable man who was responsible for your daughter's disappearance?”
“I killed him,” I said. I added, “In self-defense. I was cleared.”
“Ah, that's right,” Anchor said, nodding as if he didn't have all the details of the case. “Self-defense. And he was the only one involved with her disappearance, correct?” He paused, eyeing me. “Or was there someone else? I can't recall.”
I didn't say anything.
“Did he act alone?” Anchor asked, still looking at me. “Or did he have assistance from someone?”
“It wasn't just him.”
“No?” Anchor said, raising an eyebrow. “So I trust the other person was then, what? Arrested?”
I thought of Mosaic Farvar and said nothing.
Anchor waved a hand in the air. “Regardless, I'm sure it was all handled the correct way.” He paused. “And that you were cleared. It would've been a shame if you'd gotten caught up in something that would've taken you away from your daughter after you were finally able to bring her home.” His eyes flicked over me. “Correct?”
I looked away and watched two college-aged guys as they walked into the shop. They stared up at the menu, trying to decide what to order. The cashier, a young Hispanic girl, stood there waiting, bored.
I didn't want to remember what I'd done but the memories came flooding back. A man named Mosaic Farvar had helped Leonard Bazer with the abduction of my daughter. Bazer had taken her and then given her to Farvar who then sold her to a woman in Arizona. I'd learned about their involvement after Elizabeth was home. I'd gone to see Farvar to get some answers. I'd left him dead on his floor in a rundown house on a cul-de-sac in the desert. It had not been self-defense.
I shouldn't have been surprised that Anchor knew about this, but it took me a second to collect myself. I knew what he was intimating. Turn him down and somehow, cops would be at my door, asking me about Farvar.
I didn't have a defense for what I'd done. Farvar was a monster, but that didn't mean I'd been within the legal bounds to kill him. I'd gone there that night, knowing he was going to be dead when I left. I was trying to close all of the doors on Elizabeth's disappearance. I wasn't proud that I'd done it, but I wasn't sorry about it, either. In my eyes, he had no purpose continuing to live and all he'd do was continue to hurt people if he was alive.
But with all of that said, I wasn't willing to take my chances with law enforcement or a jury. No matter how awful he was, I'd killed him and I'd undoubtedly go to jail. Which would mean leaving Lauren and Elizabeth.
Again.
And I had no doubt Anchor would set it all in motion if I turned him down. It was a risk I couldn't afford to take. Not when I was dealing with a man like Anchor. I swallowed the bile rising up in my throat and took a couple of quick, shallow breaths, trying to steady my nerves.
“So you want me to find him and take him out?” I asked, settling my gaze back on Anchor. I kept my voice as neutral as Anchor's had been.
He stared at me for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. That is the job.”
“No rules?” I asked. The knot in my gut twisted and pulled at my insides but I tried to ignore it.
Anchor shook his head. “None. How you proceed is up to you.”
I could've asked him why he needed me when he had an entire team of guys who could've taken Dennison out without my help, but I figured I knew why. I was leveraged and if anything went bad, it would be tied to me, not him. I'd already started the job. Barely, but I'd already gotten some information from Dennison's wife. It was an easy fix for Anchor. Less risk, but with the same outcome.
The college guys at the counter finally ordered and the cashier called back the order to the kitchen through the small window. They chose a table by the window, on the opposite side of where we sat.
“So,” Anchor said. “You'll do this?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“There's always a choice, Mr. Tyler,” he said. “It's just that different choices lead to different eventualities.”
Maybe that was true. But the way I saw it, there was no real choice for me.
“Yeah,” I said, my eyes on table. I couldn't look at him. “I'll do this.”
TEN
“I've arranged a suite for you in Las Vegas,” Anchor said. His tacos were gone and his drink was almost empty. “For as long as you need it.”
“You said you were pretty certain he's not there.”
“I am,” Anchor said, pushing the empty paper boat away. “But my assumption is that you'll need to do some background work in order to find where he's moved onto.”
He was right. I just didn't like that he was making assumptions.
“I think you'll find that it meets all of your needs,” he said. “If it doesn't, contact me and I'll arrange to get you whatever we've overlooked.”
I didn't want any more favors from him. “And you have no idea where he might've gone?” I asked.
“If I did, we probably wouldn't be having this conversation,” Anchor said. “Again, we just started looking, so you could say that our investigation overlapped with yours. We hadn't gotten very far.”
“I already checked his accounts and phone,” I told him. “They've all gone dead. Not a single thing there.”
Anchor nodded. “Yes, we did, as well.”
Of course they had. “Would he know how to cover his tracks?”
Anchor thought for a moment. “While no means a professional at it, I'd say yes, he may have an idea as to how to go quiet. He's been around long enough to know a few things.”
I shifted in my chair. “Is this guy dangerous?”
“In the physical sense?” Anchor said, then shook his head. “No. He might be armed because I'd think he'd presume that we'd be coming for him, but he's never worked in any capacity for us where a weapon or violence was needed. I'd say you would absolutely have the upper hand there.”
Lucky me.
“I do have one thing I can pass along to you,” he said, reaching into the inside pocked of his coat. He pulled out a business card, flipped it over, then slid it across the table to me.
A name was printed on it. Neat block letters, black ink. It looked like Anchor's handwriting. “Carina Armstrong?”
“It's a name that one of my men came across yesterday,” he said. “We have no idea who she is or where she is.”
“But she's connected to Dennison?”
“We believe so, yes. In what capacity, I'm unsure. But I thought I should pass it along to you.”
I flipped the card over. The other side was empty. I flipped it back to Carina Armstrong's name. “How did your man run across this?”
“I genuinely don't know, but I will find that out,” he said. “It all overlapped with learning of your involvement and I don't have all of the answers at the moment. I will get them for you and pass them along.”
“Did you talk to Kathleen Dennison?” I asked, slipping the card into the pocket of my jeans.
“One of my associates did briefly,” Anchor said. “We don't believe she knows where he is or that she has anything to do with his disappearance. We che
cked with her, asked her the basics, then left her, based on the belief she had no information that would help.”
“But she knows you're looking for him.”
“No, I think she believes that his employer was concerned that he didn't show up for work,” Anchor said.
This made sense. “So she doesn't know anything about your...organization?”
“Not to my knowledge, no.”
“She told me they moved to Las Vegas for his job. You moved him?”
“Not me, personally. The company.”
“Why?”
“A number of reasons,” Anchor said, adjusting his glasses. He glanced at his watch. “It was a legitimate move, though, if that's what you're asking. We had work for him there and he was the individual most qualified to do it.”
“Did he want to move?”
“He wasn't opposed to it, no.”
“Would it have mattered?”
Anchor thought for a moment. “Possibly. But we had work for him there and he was agreeable to going. He told me that he and Mrs. Dennison would welcome the change.”
I thought about what Kathleen told me, how she'd hoped moving to Vegas would help them get some distance from Aaron's disappearance. If Patrick had been honest with Anchor, it sounded like maybe he'd felt the same way. Of course, he might not have felt like he had much choice in the matter, either. Because I was feeling that, sitting in the restaurant, being told I had a choice in what he was asking me to do when there really was no choice at all.
“You're aware of what happened with his son?” I asked.
Anchor hesitated, then nodded. “I am.”
“Was he working for you when it happened?”
“He was, yes.”
“Did you know I tried to find his son?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “When he first went missing?”
“Yes.”
“No, I was unaware of that,” he said, shaking his head. “I assume that's why Mrs. Dennison got back in touch with you this time?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
We sat there in silence for a couple of minutes. Something was off. I wasn't sure what it was, but something didn't feel quite right and not just because Anchor was ordering me to kill someone. I couldn't put my finger on it at that moment, but I was missing something.
