Camels and Corpses

by G. K. Parks

  “The same bar we went to the other night at nine p.m. If I see anyone suspicious, I’m out of there. And you’ll never catch your killer.” He hung up, and I heard the radio calls sending units to his location. With any luck, they’d arrive before Chase could leave.

  Thirty

  Instead of following the team en route to Devereaux’s location, we continued with our plan to analyze the evidence inside the safe house. The records were pulled, but it was condemned and awaiting another inspection before the bank either sold the property or the city tore it down. Based on snippets of conversation Donough recollected, Gregson might have told Barlow about the property.

  “Ryan,” I called, sifting through the glass instruments and medical equipment littering the kitchen counter, “if you were Barlow’s right-hand man, why did he give access to Devereaux?”

  “Devereaux was in charge of the finances. He set up the accounts and transferred the funds. He was a glorified clerk.” Ryan rubbed his five o’clock shadow. “From his records, he was an accountant or something. I don’t know.”

  “Mallick was the muscle?” I asked, and he lifted a single brow. “Okay, so you were both the muscle.”

  “Parker,” Mark called from downstairs, and I went down the steps.

  “I’m sorry, but whatever is inside that container, I don’t want to know about,” I replied. He opened one of the large oil drums and was peering inside. “I have enough nightmares as it is.”

  “Just take a look,” he chided, and I stepped forward with Ryan at my heels.

  Inside were dozens of photos, papers, and information. Not at all what I expected to find inside what I thought was the Camel’s stewpot. Leaning over, I snagged one of the papers, wincing on the way up. It was a photo of a woman I didn’t recognize.

  “Friend of yours?” I asked, handing the picture to Ryan. He shook his head, and while Mark continued to skim through the barrel, we picked our way through various car parts, the worktable, and the magazines that covered the rest of the basement.

  “What is this place?” one of the techs asked, coming down the stairs to begin cataloging the evidence.

  “One of the levels of hell, but I haven’t read Dante in a while, so don’t ask me to elaborate on which one precisely,” I muttered. “Hey, check the table for traces of blood.” I licked my lips which were suddenly dry. “I’d like to be proven wrong what the table and power tools are for.”

  Not waiting for the results, I went upstairs. Another part of the team was evaluating the chemicals and medical supplies in the bathroom and spare bedroom, and if the equipment in the basement was used to disembody the diseased before tossing them into the oil drums, I really didn’t want it to be proven. My psyche was already convinced of this fact because it made the most sense, but it was too horror film for any sane person to contemplate. Not that I was necessarily sane, but I didn’t need anything else to encourage more frightening imagery. My imagination worked far too well as it was.

  The hanging I.V. bags contained saline, fluids, and potassium. The normal mix you’d find in any banana bag in an ER. The point was to rehydrate. “They probably pumped the fluids in to make you lucid,” the tech said to Ryan, who appeared behind me.

  “That’s probably what they did before you made the call,” I acknowledged, considering the syringes and the vials. “Then afterward, they probably gave you another dose of that horrible concoction.” I muttered a long string of expletives before meeting Ryan’s eyes. “Are you okay being here and everything? I mean,” I shook my head, no one even considered the impact of this trip on his mental health, “we can go. You don’t have to torture yourself further.”

  “How is it torture when I can’t remember a bloody thing about being here?”

  “Agent Parker,” a voice called from the living room.

  “Alex, not agent,” I corrected, following the sound. “What can I do for you?”

  The tech was standing over the rubble of the flowerpot, pointing a laser at the bullet holes in the wall. She seemed completely confused by their locations, and so I did my best to recall where we were when the shooting started and where we ended up. During my rendition, Mark returned from downstairs. More technicians arrived on scene, and everything was bagged and tagged for analysis. Our trip didn’t lead to a smoking gun, but maybe it was somewhere in the details. Hopefully, the techs would find it.

  “Are you finished playing CSI?” Mark asked.

  “CSU,” I remarked, heading toward the door.

  “No, CSI, like the tv show.” He gave me a challenging look. “They like to pretend to be cops too.”

  * * *

  After our adventure inside the house, I was left out of the loop. Oddly enough, so was Ryan. The two of us were nestled into an empty corner office. I studied the collected information, the photos from all the scenes, the interview files, and phoned Heathcliff to beg for something more exciting to do in the meantime. The police department ought to rescue their consultant from the depths of federal agent hell.

  “Why isn’t Devereaux here yet?” Ryan asked. He was leaning back in the chair, reading through the hotel shooting report.

  “They missed him. Or they killed him.” I shrugged. It was the only explanation that made any sense. It had been hours since the traced call, so if he wasn’t in custody either here or at the precinct, then there was no other reason for it. I looked at him. “How did your interrogation go this morning?”

  His eyes darted to the ceiling briefly. “It went, I suppose.” He leaned back in the chair, making it rock slightly. “The only thing worse than being abducted by the targets is realizing how bloody incompetent I’ve been for the last six months.” He smiled, but it was ugly and full of self-loathing. “Regardless of what happens, it’s been made painfully obvious that I need to go home.”

  “There’s no shame in stepping away.”

  “Then why the hell are you still here?” He narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you thought you fucking owed me.” He slammed his palm down unexpectedly. “If anyone has a debt to repay, it runs the other way, Parker.”

  “I don’t owe you, Donough. We’ve both been through plenty of shit. I’d like to say we’re finally even now. Maybe I’m still trying to prove something to Mark or myself, or I’m a million times more screwed up than you can even imagine. It doesn’t matter. Right now, we’re close. The group I infiltrated is in custody, and so is two-thirds of your team. We grab Devereaux, and the only one left is the Camel.”

  “You still don’t get it,” he berated. “He’s the only target I’ve ever been focused on, and I still have no idea where he is or who he is.”

  “Hell, O’Connell made the car connection. The Camel is gunning for Chase, and as soon as we get the financial records from the accounts Barlow set up for Hu, maybe we’ll be able to freeze his assets. Without funding, he’ll surface, and someone will locate him.”

  “Right.” He didn’t sound convinced, but he sighed and resumed rocking the chair back and forth. “Farrell’s limiting my access,” he admitted, “but since you have a reputation for failing to play by the rules, shall we partner up until the end?” His tone was friendlier, and the smile was evident on his face.

  “Absolutely.”

  After another few hours of reviewing the information and all the new files the forensic teams brought to us, a lot of things suddenly became apparent, but when Heathcliff showed up to brief us on his latest interview with Robert Gregson, the pieces all came together. First and foremost, Barlow might be the international connection to the Camel, but Gregson had his fingers in the cookie jar from the time the plane set down in the U.S. Barlow had been in the business for years and used Gregson numerous times before. The two men had an understanding, and any cars that he couldn’t find within the EU, Gregson found here. Barlow always took care of transport and shipping, but the two had a long-standing partnership.

  “Gregson always received payment from Barlow in overseas accounts, the types with closed banking policies,” He
athcliff offered. “We don’t have the current information because Barlow never gave it to Gregson. We must have intervened too quickly, but get this, the last payment was in German bearer bonds.”

  “What is this, a World War II movie?” I retorted, but Heathcliff continued without responding to my question.

  “Like you’ve been saying since the beginning, Claxton’s an idiot. Even Gregson finally admitted that Tommy doesn’t know anything. So he’s offered to turn on his longtime friend for a deal.”

  “What does he want?” Ryan asked.

  “Full immunity,” Heathcliff replied.

  “No.” I shook my head for added emphasis. “Robert Gregson might only be responsible for the car thefts and chopping the stolen vehicles, but if he thought I was a cop, he would have told Tommy to put a bullet through the back of my head.” Heathcliff pulled out a chair, knowing my venting wasn’t over yet. “Nonviolent criminals don’t order their lackeys to kill people.”

  “You know it’s up to the DA,” he added quietly. “Plus, if he gives us Barlow, there won’t be any extradition, we can keep him here and prosecute him to the fullest extent. He’s still our best bet for locating the hitman.”

  “What did Jablonsky say?” Ryan asked.

  “He told us to do what we have to.” Heathcliff watched me carefully. “What are you thinking? I know that look, and typically, I don’t like what follows.”

  “Chase Devereaux. Did you apprehend him?”

  “No, he’s in the wind,” Heathcliff remarked with a level of reticence I wasn’t used to experiencing from him.

  “He wants to meet with me. Well, Riley, but same difference. We can leverage him to lure out the Camel. Our killer has already taken a run at Chase once, and I don’t think he considers failure an option.”

  “Parker, you already got pretty banged up tangoing with the other creep. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “It’s a wonderful idea.” I smiled at the two men sitting at the conference table. “But I could use an entourage and a translator.”

  “You need approval,” Heathcliff insisted. “I’m not losing my badge. Someone has to stick around to keep you,” he tossed a glance at Ryan, “and your friends out of trouble.”

  “I’m in,” Ryan said, breaking the silence.

  “I’ll talk to Interpol and Director Kendall and work it through the official channels,” I offered.

  “Fine, I’ll have a talk with Moretti.” Heathcliff stood, heading for the door. “How come you didn’t ask O’Connell to help?” he quipped.

  “Because you do undercover better.” I winked, and he retreated from the conference room.

  Thirty-one

  Once again, I developed an ingenious plan that no one liked. Oh, well. It happens. Heathcliff was inside the bar. He’d gotten there two hours earlier and was hiding in the corner, ordering drink after drink. Where he was actually putting those drinks, I didn’t know. Jablonsky made certain I was wired, which fit nicely underneath the elastic bandage wrapped around my torso. In the event things soured and turned physical, I didn’t want Chase to be able to use my current weakness for his own gains.

  Ryan was equally outfitted with a GPS tracker and a radio, but since he didn’t plan to leave my side, it seemed ridiculous that we were both equipped for some black ops gig. The surveillance team and a rapid response unit were close. Standing outside the bar, I peered inside to see if I could spot Chase. As predicted, he was sitting in the back booth near the emergency exit.

  “Maybe you should stay out here,” I suggested to Ryan. “He said just me.”

  “Too bad. I have a score to settle.”

  I nodded, and he opened the door, leading the way inside. Devereaux spotted us immediately, but he didn’t run like I thought. Instead, he smiled. “Looks like you’re still alive and breathing,” he said to Ryan, gesturing to the empty booth. “Pity.”

  I bristled at the comment, but Donough didn’t react. He wordlessly took a seat and relaxed. No wonder I wasn’t cut out for undercover work. Apparently, I had a temper. “I’d suggest you play nice since you’re the one looking for an out,” I growled, noticing the faint blood stain on his shirt near his shoulder. Guess I didn’t miss after all.

  “This is what you think coming alone means?” he quipped. “Don’t think I’m stupid enough to believe you don’t have cops crawling all over this place.” He swept the interior with his eyes. “We’ll reconvene in ten minutes where you first met Reggie. I’ll even let you bring Hoyt.” Without another word, he disappeared through the emergency exit.

  As soon as the door shut, Heathcliff and I radioed for someone to grab Devereaux, but somehow, he eluded us. “He had a car parked in the back alley. We missed it,” Heathcliff offered. “Where is he going?”

  “I have the address, but it’s a stretch to get there in ten. And he knows it. Tell our tactical team to get there as soon as they can, but go quietly.” I turned to Ryan. “Ready?”

  “Allons-y,” he replied, and we were out the door and inside my car.

  Tearing through the streets was more taxing this time than it had been at four a.m. People were still out and about, and they kept getting in my way. I didn’t like Chase calling the shots, and meeting him on top of a garage wasn’t the safest plan either. Things could go south quickly.

  “Glove box,” I urged, jerking my chin in the direction, “there’s a spare nine millimeter with a full clip. I assume you know how to shoot.”

  He snorted. “Is this your way of adding insult to injury?” It was a joke, and I graced him with a smile before careening onto the sidewalk, knocking off a side mirror from a parked car, and launching back onto the main street before cutting through two lanes of traffic and pulling into the garage.

  “We need him alive,” I added quietly as I crept up the ramps, watching for signs of activity.

  “Well, let’s hope I’m not a very good shot then.”

  Parking diagonally to provide the most cover protection, I scoped out the roof of the garage. Chase was waiting inside his car, and I stepped slowly out of my vehicle. Chase opened his car door and stood, sweeping the expanse.

  “Isn’t it much nicer to talk without company?” He glared at Ryan. “Fucking bastard, I told Barlow to end you when we took care of that other rat, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “What do you want, Devereaux?” Ryan asked. “You called Alex because you wanted protection, so I’d suggest you shut up.” The two rattled arguments and insults back and forth in French while I stood there, hoping the delay would give our teams time to catch up to us.

  As the two exchanged barbed words, I wondered why someone intent on turning himself in would go to such extremes to avoid the authorities. Frankly, Chase couldn’t even be a hundred percent sure I was the authorities. Sure, it seemed obvious with Mark and me chasing after him the other night, but I never announced myself or showed any credentials. Granted, I didn’t have any, but he didn’t know that. Something was starting to stink, and I took a step backward, closer to the car.

  The shot rang out instantly, and I hit the ground, hoping Ryan had done the same. Another three bullets were fired in rapid succession, and based on sound alone, I knew they were from a long-range rifle. Devereaux grinned and ducked back into his vehicle.

  “Shit,” I snarled, “our sniper’s back. North side of the garage,” I relayed over the radio, watching helplessly as Devereaux started the engine. “Ryan?”

  He edged around my car and fired, blowing the back window and the driver’s side mirror off but not making enough of an impact to stop Chase. I glanced up, saw the laser sight on him, and dove, knocking him to the ground.

  There was additional fire, and by the time I rolled off Ryan, the Jeep had crashed into one of the support pillars. Blood was on the window, and before I could ponder if Chase was dead, he crawled out of the car. Turnabout’s fair play, asshole.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Ryan. He nodded. “You have two options. The shooter or Devereaux?”
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br />   “The shooter,” he replied, already crouched and taking cover behind my car.

  “Fine, I’ll get Chase.” I lifted myself off the ground. This was not the best time for broken ribs. “I need cover fire.” He nodded. “On the count of three.” On three, he fired in the direction of our shooter, knowing that the handgun rounds wouldn’t do anything to someone hundreds of feet away, but it was more about distraction than anything else.

  Scurrying across the expanse, I ducked under the barriers and continued after Chase. Thankfully, he was leaving a decent blood trail to follow, and I figured he must have been hit by one of our shooter’s bullets. At least I was in the closed portion of the garage, no longer susceptible to sniper fire, but Ryan was still alone on the roof.

  “Really?” I bellowed. “You made a deal with our killer in order to save your own skin. How stupid are you?”

  “Riley,” I heard the evil laugh in his voice, even though I still couldn’t locate him among the other cars and various obstacles, “you’ve made my life so much easier. You eliminated the competition. Now I’m in charge.”

  “There’s nothing left of your auto theft ring.”

  “Who said anything about stealing cars? Brokering hits is a much more lucrative prospect.”

  “I doubt you have the cojones for it.” I took a breath and saw a drop of blood add to the pool near the car. “Newsflash, your partner just shot you. Obviously, you’re the victim of yet another coup. You really need to find a more stable career.”

  “Don’t play those mind games with me,” he spat, still hiding in the same spot. “This is from Hoyt, and I will promise you one thing. When this is all over with, he’ll be in a box.”

  Pissing me off was the worst idea Devereaux ever had. He probably hoped it would make me stupid or foolish, but it just eliminated my hesitation to make sure he stayed breathing. The longer we stayed here talking, the less chance he had of walking away.