But even though Missy had been spared the worst of the experience, he could not leave her hanging from her seat belt and shoulder harness for long. The gasoline smell that was making him nauseous was also a warning signal of possible danger. He knew what to do, but also knew that it would not be easy.
“Oh, well,” Hannibal said aloud. “There’s nothing for it.”
After releasing his seat belt, Hannibal slowly and carefully pulled himself upright. In a moment he was standing with the steering wheel against his shins, his feet on the ground through the driver’s side window. A shower of windshield safety glass cascaded out of his hair and off his shoulders. The full moon cast him in a spotlight in the narrow confines of the car resting on its side.
Hannibal was startled by the rush of silence when the horn stopped. The sudden silence prompted him to focus. Missy’s head pressed against his chest as he unbuckled her seat belt. The shoulder harness was less cooperative, but by turning her body into a vertical position he easily slipped her out of it. He supported her, leaning against the back of the seats, but only for a few seconds. He felt her head shiver against his chest before she spoke.
“What happened? Where are we? Smoke?”
“It’s me, only call me Hannibal,” he said, easing her downward so that she could rest on the center console. “We crashed and rolled. We’re in a small field near the edge of Lake Holly I think. You can now do commercials for Volvo’s safety record. Now sit tight for a minute and try not to throw up.”
Placing one foot on the console beside Missy’s hips, Hannibal boosted himself up and out of the passenger window. As he turned to sit on the closed door he rocked gently to test whether the vehicle would be tempted to drop onto its roof or its tires. When neither seemed likely he reached down.
“Give me your hands, Missy.”
“How come I’m not scared?”
“You’re in shock,” Hannibal said. “Give me your hands.” Missy reached up with both arms. Hannibal grasped her wrists and pulled up until he could wrap his legs around her waist to hold her steady.
“Not feeling very good,” Missy said.
“Just hold on for a few seconds.” Hannibal wrapped both hands around her waist and pulled her up. Without being told, she curled her legs to clear the roof. He lowered her to her feet on the grass. She dropped to her knees and then fell forward onto her hands.
“Oh God! Can I throw up now?”
“Go for it,” Hannibal said, hopping down from the car. He sat on the grass with his back to the roof of his car and fished in his pockets for his phone. He was surprised that Rod hadn’t taken it from him, but figured he shouldn’t have been. This guy never thought things through and Hannibal was at a loss to explain how a man who never considered consequences could be so dangerous.
Gazing into the calm lake waters, Hannibal slapped at a growing cloud of flying insects and listened to Missy begin to heave. Absently he reached over to hold her long hair back while she vomited into the grass. She had only been unconscious for a few seconds but he knew this to be one common reaction to being knocked out. When she was finished he leaned her back against the white roof beside him and pushed a button on his phone.
“Police?” Missy asked.
“They’re next.” In fact, he wondered why no police cars had found them already. Their landing was noisy and the nearest homes stood no more than fifty yards away. Besides, hadn’t the driver of the little Toyota stopped to watch the crash? Surely he would have called an ambulance. Unless of course he was too drunk to think and didn’t want the authorities to know he was behind the wheel in that condition. Or, he may have been sneaking home from someone else’s wife’s bed at four-thirty in the morning. Or, maybe he and the nearby residents were just in the habit of minding their own business. In any case, he would get the local police to come by and pick them up, tell his story and point out the bullet holes in his car. With police assistance he would return to Rod’s house in daylight with Missy telling tales of rampant drug use and showing handcuff marks. Hannibal’s blood in the hall carpet, and more in the master bedroom, would hold their attention. While Rod answered questions he would retrieve the disc he left behind in the sofa.
In the meantime, they sat alone being eaten alive by the lakeside insects. But before he called for help he wanted to check in. There were people who might be worried about him.
He expected to hear a series of rings but Cindy’s voice burst through after only one. “Hannibal! Oh thank God.”
“Hey, baby…”
“Did Sarge find you?”
The question froze his planned words in his throat. He didn’t know why, but the question started a chill up his spine, and fresh perspiration painted his forehead.
“I told Sarge I didn’t need backup on this. I left him to guard Marquita.”
“Hannibal, she disappeared,” Cindy said. “Right after she made that one telephone call for you. We were all at Sarge’s place and then she was just gone.”
That was so many hours ago. So much had happened since then. Hannibal stood up, pacing with the telephone. “Where would she go? She knew she was safe with Sarge.”
“He thinks she went to see Rod in person.”
“She wouldn’t even know where to go,” Hannibal said, staring into the lake as if clarity lay there. “I only gave Rod’s address to you, for safety’s sake. Oh, Cindy. You didn’t tell her, did you?”
“Of course not,” Cindy said, indignation in her voice. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Thank God.” Hannibal breathed relief, slowing his pacing around the car.
“But Sarge thought she might already know. He took off after her.”
Relief vanished in an instant, and Hannibal felt an invisible hand squeezing his chest. “You gave the address to Sarge,” he said with grim certainty.
“I didn’t think it could hurt. He was starting to act a little crazy. If he was going to be a loose cannon it seemed best for him to be with you.” Hannibal closed his eyes and quickly did the math. Enough hours had passed. Sarge would be driving like a bat out of hell, with blood in his eyes. His search for Marquita would have quickly changed to a mad charge to get at the source of her suffering. What if Rod and Derek, both armed, returned to that house after running Hannibal off the road and found Sarge on the porch, spoiling for a fight? Hannibal had wanted to return to Rod’s house in the daytime, but waiting for daylight could mean Sarge’s life.
“Don’t worry, babe,” he said into the phone in calm, even tones. “I’ll find Sarge and bring him home safe. Got to run now.”
With his thumb Hannibal cut his connection to his support system. He panned slowly, his eyes scanning the houses across the nearest street. “So, where the hell is Rod’s house from here?” he asked himself aloud.
Behind him, Missy said, “It’s that way.”
Hannibal looked down just in time to see Missy’s arm drop.
“What makes you think it’s that way?”
“I have a good sense of direction,” she said. “But you don’t want to be there. He’ll kill you. Wait for the police.”
“Can’t,” Hannibal replied, hopping up to grab the edge of the car’s skyward window. He reached into the car, clawing for the clips under the dashboard.
“They have guns,” Missy said, in an expressionless voice.
“Me too,” he said, dropping back to the ground. After flashing his Sig Sauer to her he slid it into the back of his waistband. “How far do you think?”
She shrugged. “A mile. Maybe a little more.”
“Okay.” Hannibal looked down at Missy, chocolate skin highlighted by very plain white bra and panties, and considered how simple packages sometimes hold very complex contents. “You were experimenting, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” Somehow, she knew exactly what he was talking about.
“Well, was the experiment a success?”
She smiled up at him. “Well, I learned something about myself. Guess that would be a yes.”
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Hannibal nodded. “I don’t see any injuries, but that doesn’t mean you’re not hurt.”
“The shock thing.”
“Exactly,” Hannibal said. “Pick up that phone and call 911 and get an ambulance out here. When the police arrive, send them over to Rod’s house.”
“You could wait for them.”
“No,” Hannibal said, already walking toward the road. “A friend may be in danger. My fault. I have to put it right. And I need to finish this business with Rod.” He turned to being jogging toward the street. He could just hear Missy’s words behind him on the wind.
“Spoken like a true agent of the cosmos.”
Darkness closed around him as Hannibal jogged toward the bridge he had driven off minutes earlier. Before he reached it he had settled into a good running pace and his breathing deepened. As always, he shifted his focus from his aching lungs to the rhythmic sound of his footfalls. Then, as always, his mind wandered to unrelated matters. When asphalt changed to wooden slats under his feet he was asking himself some hard questions.
He certainly didn’t expect Rod to back off in a confrontation. Did the fact that the man tried to kill him justify using deadly force in return? There was also the matter of stealing from Hannibal’s client. Bad, even evil, but not a capital offense. What about kidnapping? Hannibal had found Missy handcuffed to a bed. But it was clear that she had volunteered for that treatment. She might not even call her sexual encounter with Rod rape. And even if he killed Sarge, Rod would be able to make a case for self-defense.
Hannibal’s mouth was dry and he tasted the dried blood in his mouth. Somehow that taste made a mental connection for him to Anita lying in her hospital bed. Then he pictured Marquita the first time he saw her, used up and well on her way to the bottom of a spiral from which few return. Ultimately, anything he did to Rod would be in their names.
Seven minutes later Hannibal stood across the street from Rod’s house, breathing more deeply than he liked and smelling his own sweat. He had recognized enough landmarks to get straight to his objective, and he was sure it had in fact been little more than a mile. He owed Missy a big thank you. She had pointed him well. Too bad she couldn’t tell him what to do now.
He stood with his hands on his thighs, feeling the weight of his P-226 at the small of his back. He was ready to charge the house and stage a rescue, guns blazing if necessary. He just wasn’t sure if a rescue was needed. The blinds at the big front window were drawn tight, allowing only tiny drops of light to leak out. Was Sarge inside, or was he still en route? Or, was he in hiding someplace observing the house as Hannibal was? He might not even be headed this way. How was Hannibal to know?
Behind Hannibal, a heavily accented Hispanic voice said, “Don’t move. This thing would wake up the whole neighborhood if it went off.”
-23-
The man who stepped in front of Hannibal wore a gray suit, white shirt and conservative tie. His hair was cut very short. His complexion was swarthy but not in the Mediterranean way. This was Central American skin, golden, thick and rough. When he smiled he displayed a gold tooth. Hannibal judged him at about five foot seven. His easy manner told Hannibal that a second man must have been standing out of Hannibal’s sight.
“Tell me, what brings you out so late at night?”
“Jogging,” Hannibal said. “Just stopped to catch my breath. I can move on.”
“Jogging?” Gold Tooth rolled it around in his mouth as if trying it on for size. “You were expecting serious trouble in this neighborhood, eh?”
Hannibal felt his gun being lifted from his waistband. He stood erect, waiting for the next step.
“What you say, Ruiz?” Gold Tooth asked.
“Sig Sauer P229 in .40 caliber,” the voice behind Hannibal replied. “Serious shit, Manny.”
“Professional shit,” Manny said.
“Can’t be too careful,” Hannibal said, wishing he had been a bit more careful. At that minute he felt careless and stupid, but why should he have expected guards to be posted across from Rod’s house?
“Know what I think?” Manny asked. “I think you come looking for the big fellow we met earlier. He at least had the guts to walk right up and knock on the door. You are maybe a little less bold. No smarter though.”
Well, now he had one answer anyway. Sarge had been here. Hannibal needed to know what had happened to him. These guys seemed professional, so he thought he’d try the direct approach.
“The big guy. What happened to him?”
“Well, he wasn’t our problem, was he?” Manny said. “And we don’t get paid to deal with other people’s problems. So, we invited him inside. Why don’t we go see him, eh? Follow me.”
Manny turned and, knowing that at least one gun would be trained on his back, Hannibal followed him across the street and onto Rod’s porch. A third man sat on one of the wicker chairs holding a Tec 9 submachine gun with a casual air that could make an observer miss his heightened level of alertness. Manny rapped a knuckle on the door twice, then once, then twice again. After this simple code he pushed the door open and ushered Hannibal in ahead of himself.
“Found this guy wandering around outside, jefe,” Manny said. “Thought he might be another friend of your host here.”
All eyes were on Hannibal and he used the moment of silent appraisal to scan the room. The atmosphere in the living room was more cordial than he unexpected. Rod, in his own big chair, showed an unexpected degree of cool, although his eyes betrayed both surprise and anger at seeing Hannibal in his living room. Derek and Sheryl just looked stunned on the sofa. Hannibal looked for Sheryl’s eyes, but she quickly pulled them away from him.
The man in the chair Hannibal had occupied a couple of days ago could have been Manny’s older brother, but everything about him said that he was the boss. His half-smile was noncommittal, as if he was waiting to learn more about Hannibal before deciding whether they should welcome him, eject him or kill him. He wore a Breitling watch on his left wrist, diamond cufflinks and a stickpin in his tie that was probably worth more than the house around them.
Anything else Hannibal needed to know about the man he derived from the quality of his help. The man behind him watched Hannibal. The man across the room watched Rod. Neither of them looked to their boss for guidance. They would know what to do if things went wrong.
The last person Hannibal looked at was Sarge, sitting in the far corner with his hands behind him. Cuffed together, Hannibal assumed, or taped. He wore a black sleeveless tee, shorts and running shoes. Hannibal guessed it was what he had on when he heard Marquita was gone. Sarge turned his face away, probably to hide injuries, but it also served the purpose of hiding any look of recognition.
“All right, Mr. Mantooth, do you know this one?” the stranger asked.
“This son of a bitch is called Smoke, Mr…” The stranger raised a finger and Rod stopped. He didn’t want his name dropped in front of strangers. And suddenly, Hannibal knew who he was.
“You’re the Colombian buyer,” Hannibal said, taking a couple of steps forward and getting back into character. “Rod told me he had a big hot deal going down. Didn’t think he was this well connected though.”
The stranger waved another finger, and the bodyguard on the left stepped forward. He reached into his jacket but instead of a gun he produced a flattened roll of duct tape. Hannibal sighed, nodded, and put his hands behind his back. Once his wrists were secured, the guard led him to the end of the sofa where he was lowered to the floor.
“You are too free with your business, Mr. Mantooth,” the stranger said.
Rod sat forward. “I never told this boy anything about you. But now I know he’s a spy. Snuck in here to rip me off. Stole a couple of my girls.”
“You should have shut his mouth permanently.”
“I thought I did.” Rod’s voice became harder, and Hannibal could see his control slipping.
“I prefer to do business with careful people.”
“You’ll
deal with me,” Rod said, standing, “because I got this.” He waved the computer disc in front of himself like bait to attract a shark. This was an opportunity that Hannibal could not pass up. He locked eyes with Rod, rose to his knees, pushed out his chest and forced a big grin.
“You a joke man. Your dreams are bigger than you are. You ain’t no gangsta, at least, not on a level where you can deal with this guy. Look at him. He’s money.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Rod was in front of Hannibal in two long strides with an arm raised to backhand him. Hannibal shifted his gaze to the stranger.
“You really want to work with this asshole?”
Rod spun to stare at his guest. The stranger’s face was passive, showing the slightest hint of annoyance.
“Sorry, Smoke is it? Sorry but this man has something I very much want and I will work with him this one time. After which, I fear he will dispose of you.”
“So you really want this formula he’s got?” Hannibal asked. “You want people to be able to get off their habits?”
Rage and surprise fought for dominance on Rod’s face. The stranger betrayed only amusement.
“You are smarter than these others,” the stranger said, pulling out a silver cigarette case. “Of course, I would like for some of my senior staff to be able to sample our product without fear of addiction. But also, consider how much product some wealthy customers might purchase if they also did not have addiction to fear.”
“Yeah, I can see that, but is it really worth the pile of cash I know this slug is demanding?” Hannibal asked. While he spoke he twisted his wrists, feeling the tape pull hairs from his arm.
The stranger tapped the tip of his cigarette on the case before putting it into his mouth. His nearer bodyguard jumped to give him a light. He took a casual drag on what used to be called a regular length cigarette and spoke through the smoke.
“Like my product, the formula’s value is set by the demands of the marketplace. More importantly, I must control this formula in order to keep it out of the hands of those who might share it injudiciously, which could ruin my market. For this, I will pay this man a large sum indeed.”
Hannibal Jones - 04 - Damaged Goods Page 26
