Out Jumps Jack Death: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 8)

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Means no such thing. What it means is that it is rather impossible for me to bring you one billion, nine hundred ninety nine million, eight hundred thousand dollars in cash. Forget small non-sequential bills. Give me a bank account number and a routing number and I will have the money magically appear in whatever account you provide. Presto. It’s a technological world in which we live. Amazing things can and do happen; but then, you already know that.”

  “Similar to the way you stole it in the first place.”

  “But no deal until I see that Laurel is released unharmed.”

  “We seem to be at a stalemate. What I think is needed here is some time to think about this. I will call you back as soon as I have arranged a suitable plan. Goodbye.”

  The voice was gone once more.

  “Did you recognize any aspect of that voice?” I said to my companions.

  “There’s something there, but … I can’t quite put my finger on it. Like you said earlier, it sounds vaguely familiar, you know, like we should know it,” Rosey said.

  “And yet it is quite distinct,” Starnes added.

  “Quite distinct. Intentionally so, don’t you know?”

  Starnes nodded.

  “Maybe we need to devise a plan ourselves,” Rosey said.

  “Is it possible to fake a computer transaction?” Starnes said to me.

  “Let’s find out,” I said.

  I hit the speed dial number one for Rogers. I then crossed my fingers.

  60

  Supper was finished. Starnes and I washed then dried the dishes. The few leftovers were put away in the refrigerator. Everyone was resting in the living room of Starnes’ home. The dogs were outside chasing something down the road. It was hard to tell exactly what from our inside vantage point.

  We were waiting on two phone calls. Rogers was putting together a scheme of dubious details. She promised to call soon. The voice was likely planning a strategy that would serve only him. We knew he would call. We were hoping that Rogers would call first.

  “I don’t like the way I feel,” Starnes said.

  “How do you feel?” I said.

  “Helpless.”

  “Not a good feeling,” Rosey added.

  “You think this voice belongs to Wilkerson?” Starnes said.

  “The person who is calling us, negotiating with us, is smarter than Wilkerson,” Rosey said.

  I agreed by nodding. But I wondered if Thaddeus Wilkerson had simply duped us into thinking that he was not that bright. I finally decided that Thad was not capable of such duplicitous behavior. If we were correct in our thinking, and we actually knew the person on the other end of the line, then that person was highly skilled at subterfuge. Highly skilled. Now we can talk about duplicitous behavior. If we actually knew the person who owned that voice.

  “I think the person who is blackmailing us, knows us,” I said.

  “Yeah, and you think we know this person,” Starnes said. “We’ve been through this once already.”

  “Not sure about that,” I said. “But I have this nagging suspicion that there’s something there, some minor tonal quality, some kindred pitch to another voice that we have all heard.”

  “Not wishful thinking?” Rosey said.

  “I hope not. Just trying to put into practice some of my detective skills.”

  “Didn’t know that voice recognition was something you were trained for,” Starnes said.

  “No training, just a thing that’s assisted me from time to time.”

  “But in this case …,” Rosey said.

  “Not working,” I said. “Or refuses to reveal what I think I know. I got nothing so far.”

  “I wish your computer would work faster,” Starnes said.

  “As much as it pains me to say it, she’s her own person,” I said.

  Starnes rolled her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. I think she mumbled something about technology, but I was distracted.

  Rogers called. Before I answered, I told my associates who was calling. We all breathed at the same time. Relief. I pushed the speaker phone button and placed the phone in my lap.

  “Two things,” she said to us. “First, I think your mysterious caller will have his own computer to monitor the transaction while it is occurring. That is the only way he can guarantee the immediate transfer of the funds. Otherwise, he would have to rely upon the bank, wherever it is, to call him and say that the transfer is complete and you now have x number of dollars in your account. He’ll want a faster acknowledgement than that. So, he will have a computer. He will watch. He will know. Second, in light of this first thing, as soon as he diverts his eyes from his computer, I will then remove the money from his account by back-channeling a kind of Trojan horse application with a twenty second delay built in. That means you have to distract said mysterious caller twenty seconds after he sees that the money is in his account. You need to do something to keep him away from his computer after he believes he has the money. He cannot, for any reason, give that computerized account a second look twenty-five seconds later.”

  “That’s your fool-proof scheme?” I said.

  “Didn’t claim anything about it being fool-proof. It’s a scheme. It’s a decent scheme. Maybe even a devious and delightful scheme. Fool-proof would be a stretch,” Rogers said.

  “Glad to know you’re being so honest about your creative thievery.”

  “No brag, just fact.”

  “No doubt.”

  The call ended and I closed Starnes’ burner phone. I still had no time to purchase one of my own. Besides that, I had no desire to get a more updated phone to use. I missed my flip-phone, as antiquated as it was. This one was good enough for now.

  “I thought computers were smarter than people,” Starnes said.

  “Not in every case,” Rosey smiled.

  “I think we can make it work,” I said.

  “I hope you mean that you can make it work. You’ll likely be the only one of the three of us with the voice in person. He’s not going to allow all of us to come to where he is with Laurel.”

  “Ah,” I said. “Maybe that gives us an edge.”

  “I have an idea,” Starnes said.

  My cell rang again. It was the restricted number. There was no time to hear Starnes’ idea.

  “Our mysterious Voice is calling,” I said as I returned the phone to my lap for all to hear. I hit the speaker button.

  “You have specifics?” I said when I answered.

  “No greeting, Miss Evans? You’re not very sociable,” the voice said.

  “Don’t feel particularly sociable, especially with you. Tell me what you want.”

  “You come to me and bring a laptop capable of wireless internet access. I will meet you there. Laurel Shelton will be with me. Come alone.”

  After he told me where to meet him, he ended the call.

  The Voice told me to meet him at a small Mexican restaurant next door to a pizza parlor in a strip mall just outside of Weaverville. The Mexican restaurant had an outdoor area with three or four tables. We were to meet at 4:30 tomorrow before the crowds would gather for the dinner hour.

  None of us were familiar with the place so I did an internet search to see if we could find it on a map search. The satellite image was more than sufficient to aid our planning. Our ineptitude came with the fact that the outdoor area was open on three sides and that the only way to surprise someone would be to come out from the inside of the restaurant.

  “This is Marvin’s neck of the woods,” Starnes said. “Maybe he knows the place or something about it that might help us.”

  “Call him,” I said.

  Rosey took out his phone and punched in some numbers. He waited. We waited. After seven unanswered rings, it went to voice mail.

  “Call us, Marvin. Oh, this is Rosey. We need your assistance with a small task.”

  “Did he return to Washington?” Starnes said.

  “I don’t know. I would think he would still be at home.”r />
  “Maybe he’s afraid to answer the phone,” Rosey said.

  “Might be the case,” I said.

  “You try him,” Rosey said to me.

  I tried. Same thing happened to me. Seven rings, then voice mail. I left a similar message.

  “We can try him again in the morning,” I said. “Maybe he’ll return our calls before then.”

  “Let’s go over to the strip mall midday tomorrow and scope out the place,” Starnes said. “In the meantime, I’m turning in, too tired to keep up with you guys.”

  She left us. The dogs had returned by this time and Dog followed her into the house. Sam sat down next to me on the top step of the porch.

  “Call Rogers back and see if she can think of some safety feature to add to her scheme between now and tomorrow afternoon,” Rosey said after Starnes had left and gone to bed.

  “I can try, but she gets testy whenever I suggest something that might be understood as a slight against anything tactical and technological she has devised.”

  “I can live with testy. I want us all coming out of this alive,” Rosey said. “And I especially want Laurel Shelton making it out alive from this ordeal.”

  “I wholeheartedly concur, and I’d like to keep that money from leaving this country.”

  “But it’s not your money,” Rosey said.

  “No. Not my money. But I don’t want Thaddeus and his boss or partner to have it either, no matter how I got it.”

  “So what do you want to happen to that vast sum?” Rosey asked.

  “I don’t care, really. That’s the truth of it. I simply need to use it in such a way so as to save Laurel at present. That’s really all I care about now. But a significant part of me has a really hard time adjusting to the idea that this Voice and old Thad might get away with the money and not suffer any consequences for all the harm they have inflicted on so many people thus far.”

  “Strong sense of justice?”

  “Maybe. Paybacks as well. I never like it when the bad guys win.”

  61

  The name of the eating establishment where I was to meet The Voice was Chapala Mexican Restaurant, located in the shopping plaza on Weaver Boulevard close to the downtown of Weaverville. The open-air dining space at Chapala was the more precise location for our scheduled rendezvous.

  We were riding in Starnes’ daddy’s ‘58 truck, figuring that The Voice likely had never seen that vehicle since Starnes had kept it tucked away in the dilapidated barn/shed until we used it to hunt for Diamond recently.

  Diamond still had another few hours to go in her window of clearance as she slept her way through the critical condition. It was up to her body to fight the good fight. Ordinarily I would bet money on her survival. Three gunshot wounds might be more than even a determined woman could overcome. I was hopeful. That was it. Hope. I offered a few short prayers, but I wasn’t sure that they got through.

  I had wanted to call the hospital, but I knew that they would tell me little if anything over the phone.

  Starnes drove us to the restaurant. I sat in the middle and Rosey rode shotgun. We passed by Chapala several times to get a feel for the place. It was small and a good location. It would be difficult to put a sharpshooter on any available rooftop close to the restaurant which would not automatically call attention to said sniper. That meant that I more than likely wouldn’t be assassinated via a hired assassin at long range. That also meant we couldn’t place a sniper on a rooftop to shoot The Voice for the same reasons. It said nothing about my being shot up close and personal.

  “See what the back of the building looks like,” I said.

  Starnes passed the restaurant on our left once more, then she turned left onto the next street at the light. At the second street on our left, she turned again. The back of Chapala was about what one would expect – boxes, some mops, and a dumpster. It was small as well.

  Back at the front of the restaurant once more, Starnes’ parked the truck so that we had a diagonal view of the entrance. This gave us time to sit, stare, and study a bit more.

  “You see anything helpful?” I said to no one in particular.

  “Not sure what I’m looking for,” Starnes said.

  “Compact and not much room for error,” Rosey said. “If shooting starts, innocent people will likely get hit.”

  “Surely you’re a better shot than that,” I said.

  “It’s not my shooting I’m concerned about,” he said.

  “Should I get out and walk inside?” Starnes said.

  “No, but Clancy should do that.”

  “What if he’s watching?” I said.

  “Then he’ll know we’re making plans,” Rosey said.

  “I suspect he’s already figured we’d do that,” Starnes said.

  “Hard to outthink this guy it seems.”

  “So, are you going in now or wait until it’s time to meet him?” Rosey said.

  “Hold your horses, cowboy. I’m thinking here,” I said.

  “We’re burning daylight,” he shot back.

  “Okay, okay. Keep an eye out around the parking lot. If he’s here somewhere, he likely is watching and waiting for me to show.”

  “I’ll do a walk around while you’re casing the joint,” he said.

  “What do I do?” Starnes asked.

  “Stay lovely, stay put. Watch out for trouble,” I said.

  She grunted some non-verbal sound in my direction.

  I strolled casually toward the entrance. At least I tried to stroll casually. I had never given much thought to strolling casually before this moment. Wasn’t sure how to pull that off. That means I walked slowly as if I had plenty of time and nothing else to do but some less-than-obvious surveillance on Chapala Mexican Restaurant in Weaverville. The things I get myself into.

  It was a tiny place as restaurants go. Not much room to maneuver if push came to shooting. I doubt if running inside the restaurant would be an option if I wanted to protect whatever clientele might be dining at that early hour. Still, I had to consider which way I might run if I was being chased. Or needed to flee fast.

  The singular observation I made from my reconnaissance was that if I wanted to get away from The Voice after securing Laurel, then I would have to run through the kitchen to the backdoor. I counted six employees I could see from my few minutes inside. They could have more, but the interior space was as limited as the exterior. I was betting that six was the maximum number for almost any occasion.

  I walked back to the truck.

  “Feel better?” Starnes said.

  “No. Small place, inside and out. Tiny quarters, potential death and destruction no matter what I do.”

  “Collateral damage,” she said.

  “Not if I can help it. But, if the shooting starts, then yes, collateral damage. Lots of it, potentially.”

  We waited a few minutes before Rosey returned.

  “Spotted nothing unusual. In fact, didn’t see a singular person inside a vehicle doing surveillance. I don’t think he’s here.”

  Starnes headed the truck back to her place.

  “If you were the villain, what would you do to make sure you got your money?” I said to Rosey.

  “The first thing is I would not bring Laurel to the meet.”

  “I won’t give you a penny if Laurel is a no-show.”

  “Yeah, I get that. But I would have her close by, just not at Chapala.”

  “Okay. Some visual on her, but far enough away to guarantee monetary success.”

  “For starters,” he said.

  “And then?”

  “Once I had the money, I would use a silencer, make you suffer for what you have done to me and my plans, then walk away.”

  “You’d shoot me right there in the restaurant?”

  “I would.”

  “To kill?”

  “Depends on how deep my pathology runs,” he said.

  “I think he’s maniacal,” I said.

  “But highly intelligent and con
trolled,” Rosey said.

  “Is it possible to be an intelligent lunatic?” I said.

  “If this is not Wilkerson, and I agree with you in that I don’t believe it is, then whoever this fellow is has masterminded quite the theft for a lofty sum of cash,” Rosey said. “Remember that you stole the money from Thaddeus Wilkerson and not The Voice.”

  “I think we’re dealing with one smart dude,” Starnes said.

  “Better to be prepared than to assume that he is otherwise,” Rosey added.

  “I don’t think you finished answering my question,” I said to him.

  “I told you I wouldn’t bring Laurel to the meet.”

  “That it? That’s how you make sure you get your money?” I said.

  “You asking me to come up with some sophisticated computer thing that would be hard to fool?” he asked.

  “I guess not. I just know that he’s going to be a challenge to dupe. I have the suspicion that he is computer savvy, that I won’t be able to stop him from checking his monitor multiple times in order to allow Rogers to take back that transfer. Or, he might have some system that automatically shuts down his account once he has verified the transfer of the one point something billion. Either way, I am worried that I could not only lose the money for good, but that, more importantly, I could lose Laurel as well.”

  “You’ll think of something, Clancy. You think fast on your feet. You’ll come up with something,” Rosey was trying to encourage me.

  “I couldn’t live with myself if something horrible happens to that girl,” I confessed.

  Starnes was silent. I knew she was thinking the very same thing.

  62

  We arrived at Chapala earlier than our scheduled time. Rosey drove Starnes’ ’58 Ford truck and parked far enough away so he could benefit from the powerful scope on his assault rifle to view closely the open-air dining front. He was parked in front of one of those large, super stores which sell everything. He placed a little red bead on my chest to let me know that he was in position and ready. We agreed that he would be a watcher and not an active participant even if shooting began.