Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

“From whose side of the family?”

  “Tommy’s dad is my father’s brother.” All male connections. Nick knew this would make Gasper happy.

  Gasper nodded toward the ceiling. “Smart guy like you, how’d you let something like that get by you? Aren’t you supposed to be in charge here?”

  “Listen,” Nick said with a tight, searing look of impatience. “I didn’t know about the wire because the Bureau didn’t put it there, someone who was trying to spy on us had it installed before we got here. Secondly, Tommy is my cousin, like a brother really. As kids we spent every summer day playing the ponies at Pimlico. I even lived at his house after my folks died.”

  Nick gestured toward Silk. “Don must’ve told you that much already. He and Tommy have been best friends since grade school. The three of us were inseparable throughout high school.” Nick leaned forward, his arms flat on the desk in front of him. “I wear a size ten-and-a-half shoe and a forty-two long suit jacket. What else can I tell you before we get down to business?”

  Gasper nodded. “Of course. I got just one other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I need to know what’s in it for me?”

  Nick blinked a couple of times. “Tell me, Gasper. What do you want?”

  Gasper shrugged. “Actually, nothing now that I’m thinking about it. I’m just in the habit of asking—wait a second, I know. I got a speeding ticket a couple of weeks back and I have to go to one of those safety-driving classes next month. You ever been to one of those things? Like going to a wake, only without the alcohol. Anyway, I’d like to get out of it without getting points on my driver’s license.”

  “That’s it?” Nick asked.

  “Believe me, that’s plenty.”

  “Consider it done,” Nick pronounced. “Now can we get on with it?"

  Gasper turned and gave Silk a hesitant glance. Silk nodded.

  “Silk here says you can be trusted. He says that anything I tell you will stay inside of this room.”

  Nick grimaced. “Are you going to be telling me anything about dead bodies that you may have contributed to?”

  Gasper seemed appalled. “Of course not. I don’t even like the way you said that.”

  Silk gave Gasper a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Gaspers runs book down in Scottsdale. Once a week he makes a trip up here to Payson. He simply brings Las Vegas to Arizona for people who don’t have the time to drive back and forth.”

  “Sort of a public service,” Nick commented.

  “Exactly,” Gasper said, appreciating Nick’s insight.

  “The answer is yes,” Nick said. “Anything you tell me will be confidential and won’t go any further than this room.”

  “Good,” Gasper said, settling back in his chair and pulling his white cuffs out from the sleeves of his double-breasted jacket. “So this customer of mine up here is the guy who got his head cut off. His name is Fred something,” Gasper snapped his finger a couple of times searching for the name.

  “Fred Wilson,” Nick said.

  “That’s it,” Gasper exclaimed. “Well, he makes an unusually large play on the Cowboys a few weeks back. He was bragging about some shady blasting-cap deal he’d made with some foreigners. I’m guessing these are the type that could be used to blow up houses, if you get my drift. Anyway, a friend of his tells me that he suspected something fishy and warned Fred not to make the deal, but the money blinds Fred to the danger and he goes and does it anyway. So one day this friend is in the parking lot of Fred’s business when this one particular Arab-type walks out the front door in a hurry. This guy don’t like the way the Arab is acting, so he waits in his car until he’s gone before he goes in and finds the mess that he was afraid he’d find.”

  “He’s the one who found Fred?”

  Gasper nodded. “Headless. Like that horseman guy.”

  Nick rubbed his temple. “And how does this help me?”

  Gasper flashed a knowing smile. “Because he recognized the Arab. This guy is an aluminum siding salesman and he drove up to the Arab’s cabin once to try to sell him some siding. He remembers that the Arab chased him away. Very rudely, I might add.”

  Now Nick was interested. Since Rashid Baser killed Fred Wilson, he had to be the Arab this guy was speaking of. There’s no question Rashid would have been staying at the headquarters before he took a revenge bullet from one of Sal’s crew. “So he knows where the Arab lives?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And this is the same guy who killed Fred?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s his name?”

  Gasper spread his arms with his palms up. “See, I’m not real good with names. Faces and numbers are really my strong suit.”

  “You don’t know his name?” Nick asked.

  “I think it was something religious, like Moses, or Peter, or Paul.”

  “Paul? Religious?”

  “What, you don’t know the Apostles?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Gasper. All this and no name?”

  “Well, I can tell you where he hangs out.”

  “Where?”

  “The Winchester. A bar over on Main Street. He’s some kind of a pool shark. I do a lot of business down there.”

  Nick went to the door and called Jennifer Steele into the office, then closed the door behind her. She wore a borrowed FBI windbreaker and had on her black baseball cap minus the ponytail. If she were bald and wore a lavender sports jacket, it wouldn’t have detracted from her looks.

  Gasper jumped to his feet and offered his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Gasper Continelli.”

  Steele had one eye on Nick whiled she exchanged pleasantries with the character.

  “He’s a big fan of the police,” Nick deadpanned.

  “What’s up?” she asked, shaking off Gasper’s groping handshake.

  “Are you familiar with a place called the Winchester?” Nick asked.

  “Sure.”

  “You’ve been there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you familiar with anyone who might be hustling pool down there?”

  “Well, hustling might be a strong word considering the amount of money—”

  Nick held up his hand. “No, you misunderstand me. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just looking for a name. Anyone in particular you might remember shooting pool and,” Nick chose his words carefully, “winning fairly often?”

  Steele looked down in deep thought. Gasper dropped back down into his chair and waited for her to come up with someone.

  Finally, Steele looked up at Nick. “The only person in this town that could even be considered a pool shark is a guy by the name of Angel.”

  Gasper snapped his fingers. “That’s it! Angel. I knew it was religious. I’m good at association.”

  “And numbers and faces,” Nick quipped. “What’s his last name?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not even sure Angel is his real name. Nicknames are real common up here.”

  “She’s right about that,” Gasper chimed agreeably. “Something about small towns and nicknames. I never quite understood it.”

  “Great.” Nick looked down at his watch. Less than two hours to go and he was discussing nicknames with a bookie whose major concern in life was having to attend a driver’s education class.

  “Tell you what,” Gasper said. “It’s a little early, but there’s a chance he’s down at the Winchester shooting pool right now. I’ll go down there and check it out. If he’s there, I’ll bring him to you.”

  Nick couldn’t afford to augment his band of mercenaries any more than he already had. He looked at Steele. “You know what he looks like?”

  She nodded.

  Nick walked around the desk and offered Gasper his hand. The bottom-heavy man lifted himself from his seat and vigorously shook Nick’s hand. “Thanks for the offer,” Nick said, “but we can take it from here.”

  “It’s been my pleasure.” Gasper smiled. “That’s all you need
?”

  “That’s plenty,” Nick said.

  “Give Tommy my regards.”

  Nick clasped his free hand over their handshake in a sign of respect. “I’ll take care of the speeding ticket.” He paused and eyed Gasper intently. “You did your country proud on this one. You know that.” Nick struck the proper chord to send the man off with a smile on his face.

  Once Gasper was gone, he looked at Steele and Silk. “I want both of you to head down to the Winchester and find this Angel character. I don’t care what it takes, find him.”

  Steele looked at Silk. “No offense, but I don’t need an escort.”

  “None taken,” Silk said.

  “I want Silk with you,” Nick said. “In case Angel isn’t there and no one wants to cooperate with an FBI agent.”

  Steele’s eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”

  Nick spoke deliberately, trying to reason out his response with the slower tempo. “I’m simply suggesting that Silk can do certain things that go beyond the scope of your capabilities.”

  She frowned. “You mean things like intimidation and brute force?”

  Silk stood silently, allowing Nick to do all the work for him.

  “Yes, I mean intimidation, brute force and animal husbandry if it’s called for. If this guy knows where the KSF headquarters is, then he’s our best chance to save the White House, and maybe even our country.”

  Steele looked as if she was ready to walk out, but didn’t want to be insubordinate. “Don’t you think this is going over the line?”

  “Probably,” Nick said. “The line’s getting blurrier and blurrier all the time. But I don’t have time to debate protocol with you, Agent Steele. If you don’t want to go, tell me, and I’ll send someone else.”

  Steele looked over at Silk who appeared to be suppressing a grin. “Are you at least going to give me a chance to do this legally?” she asked him.

  Silk looked offended. “Of course. What do I look like, a monster?”

  She looked back at Nick and seemed ready to agree, when Nick said, “Whatever Silk needs to do, he does. No questions asked.”

  “And he receives a get-out-of-jail-free card?” she asked.

  Nick walked behind Skrugs’ desk, sat down, and placed his hands flat on the desktop. “Look,” he said, “you saved my partner’s life. I owe you. Please work with me here. We’re dealing with someone who will kill woman and children just for something to do. He tried to kill my wife. I need you to give me some room to maneuver.”

  Steele’s look softened. She nodded.

  Nick didn’t say any more. He’d taken on more responsibility than he could handle and it didn’t hold up to the scrutiny of a fellow FBI agent. It seemed the faster he acted, the more palatable his commands became.

  Steele left with Silk trailing her. He was on his toes. A lion on the prowl. Nick wondered exactly what he had just unleashed. He looked up at the cable dangling from the ceiling. “Fuck you, Kharrazi,” Nick spat. “Fuck you and everything I’ve become to get you.”

  Chapter 34

  Jennifer Steele’s house was less than a mile from the Winchester, so she decided to stop for a quick change of clothes. Walking into a cowboy bar wearing an FBI windbreaker wasn’t the most effective way to extract information. She had decided to use another tactic and by the time she and Silk reached the bar, the transformation was complete.

  “You’re one talented FBI agent,” Silk said, leering at her spaghetti-strapped top and tight-fitting jeans.

  Steele was uncomfortable using her body as a tool, but she despised the alternative that Silk represented.

  They were outside of the Winchester. Steele applied lipstick while looking into a compact mirror. “You are going to give me a decent shot at this, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Hey, a guy takes one look at you and he’s spilling all of his secrets including some stuff about his mom.”

  “Thanks. I think.” She put the finishing touches on her face, then snapped her compact shut and slipped it into her tiny purse, next to her gun. “Give me a couple of minutes head start,” she said, leaving Silk to pace on the creaking wooden floorboards that fronted the bar.

  The Winchester had been a large barn that was converted into a cowboy bar over twenty years ago. The Berlin Wall had crumbled and private citizens were planning space travel, yet time seemed to stand still inside of the Winchester. Other than a few obvious tourists, the standard attire included jeans, cowboy boots, Stetson hat, and the occasional bandanna. There were piles of hay bound up in strategic spots, giving the place more authenticity than it really needed. On the overhead speaker system, Willie Nelson pleaded for mommas not to allow their babies to grow up to be cowboys. It was already too late for most of the clientele.

  Steele scanned the room. The bar itself was a square-shaped, wooden frame with shelves of whiskey covering up a full-length mirror. A bartender rang a cowbell, then dropped a few dollar bills into the silver bucket tip jar that hung from a nail.

  She wasn’t inside more than a minute before someone took the bait.

  “Buy you a drink, Ma’am?” Steele turned to see a thin, young man wearing a large Stetson hat that might have weighed half his body weight. The hat was supposed to make him look older, but his baby face worked against him. He pushed the brim of his hat up with the tip of his longneck bottle of beer. “Be my pleasure,” he added.

  “Sure,” she said. “That would be nice. I’ll have a draft.”

  The man smiled. He hurried over to the bar as if Steele’s acceptance might have a short shelf life. It gave Steele just enough time to adjust to the darkness and by the time he returned she was certain that Angel wasn’t there.

  “Here you go,” the man carefully handed her the overfilled glass of beer. “They don’t cheat ya here.”

  “No, they don’t,” Steele said, sipping the foam off the glass of beer. They were standing dangerously close to the dance floor and several slow-dancing couples moved them back a couple of steps. “I’ve never been here before, how about you?” she asked.

  “A few times,” he said, in an overly innocent tone that made Steele think he slept in a room out back. “I didn’t catch your name,” he said.

  “Jennifer. What’s yours?”

  “Zeke,” he said with a straight face.

  “Hi, Zeke.”

  Steele waited a brief moment, then acted like she was trying to fill the awkward pause with conversation. “Have you ever heard of a guy named Angel? I understand he hangs out here sometimes.”

  Zeke looked up at the high ceiling in deep thought. Probably considering which answer would benefit him the most. “I think I do remember a guy by the name of Angel. Why? Is he a friend of yours?”

  She rubbed her index finger around the rim of her glass and offered a crooked smile. “He’s not my boyfriend, if that’s what you mean. I don’t have one of those right now.”

  Zeke’s eye’s widened. “Um, well, why are you looking for him?”

  “My brother lost some money playing pool with him and I was looking to pay him off. It’s a big sister kind of thing.”

  Zeke nodded, as if the story rung true. He’d probably lost money to Angel himself. “Yeah, I can see that happening.”

  Steele lowered her head and whispered into Zeke’s ear. “I was hoping you might know where I could find him, so I can free myself up for the rest of the evening.” She lingered a little before backing up and for that brief moment she allowed herself to imagine it was Matt McColm’s cheek she was brushing against. It surprised her how quickly his image had popped into her head. They hadn’t had a chance to talk privately since the shootout. Was that the cause for the butterflies now swirling in her stomach? She needed to focus on her assignment, but for some reason she felt compelled to permit the small fantasy to creep into the fray. If even for a brief moment.

  She must’ve been glowing when she stood upright because Zeke’s blush deepened. He appeared willing to help her, but his face told he
r that he didn’t have the information she wanted. He shrugged slightly and looked at his boots. “I really don’t know him all that well,” he admitted.

  Steele smiled. “It’s okay.” She rubbed his arm. “Do you know his last name?”

  He shook his head. He looked deflated.

  “Is there anyone here that might know something about him?”

  Zeke brightened. He nodded toward the stand of pool tables on the opposite side of the bar. “Rocky over there is his playing partner. The one in the white shirt. They play in a lot of pool tournaments together. I’m sure he knows stuff.”

  Steele saw a solid-looking man with a white tee-shirt tucked tightly into faded jeans. He was holding a pool cue in front of him with both hands and was tapping it against the floor in time to the music. The man he was playing with was a tall, thick Native American Indian with a braid running down his back.

  Steele leaned toward Zeke and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Sweetie. I owe you one.”

  Zeke’s face held eternal hope as she turned to go.

  It was still early, yet the bar was more than half full. Steele meandered between single men trawling for young girls and couples holding hands on their way to the dance floor. She found the man in the tee-shirt hanging over one of the four pool tables, lining up a long shot. She casually leaned over the pocket where he was aiming. She wasn’t wearing a bra, so he got the full treatment. He had one eye shut and was sliding the tapered pool cue through his curled index finger when he noticed her smiling at him. He came up for a moment and ran his eyes up and down her body. Then he returned to his crouch and smacked the cue ball into the 5-ball, which slammed into the back of the corner pocket right below Steele. She jumped back.

  The Indian smiled at her reaction.

  The man picked up a cube of blue chalk, twisted the tip of his stick into the cube, then placed it back onto the ledge of the table. He moved around Steele and as he crouched down for another shot, he bumped her aside with his hip.

  Steele crossed her arms. “Am I in your way?” she asked.

  “Yup,” he said without looking at her.

  The Indian seemed to enjoy the free entertainment.