A Dodge Ram pickup truck pulled to the curb. Two Harley-Davidsons were nestled in the back cargo hold. Two agents bounced out of the truck and slid into the backseat of the Dodge. Mahoney and Palance grinned at the two cranky agents. “What does Zander want us to do?”
Both agents were young and full of piss and vinegar. They were also full of themselves, according to Landry. Early thirties, fit and trim, aviator glasses at seven in the morning even though the day was rainy and dismal. Both were dressed casually in jeans, biker boots, and leather jackets. They were hot shots and didn’t care who knew it.
“The same thing you’ve been doing for the past eight months. Watch the house, watch the woman, listen to her phone calls. This might be nothing, but then again, it could be something. That meeting at Betty’s Diner wasn’t for shits and giggles. She’s up to something. But can we pin that something on her and make it stick? Not at this point. No harm in having breakfast with some young girl. The phone calls could be anything. Remember who she is and was before she retired. If anything goes down, this town will cut her miles of slack. Every lawyer and judge will be Johnny-on-the-spot wanting to help her and give the Bureau another black eye. She won’t go the local route though, count on it. She’ll hire that buzz saw, Lizzie Fox. Then it’s all over but the shouting, and we’re all fools. Get your lazy asses out of our car so we can grab some shut-eye. See you at seven,” Landry said.
The two young agents grinned. Mahoney thought they were cloned from the same mold. One he detested.
When the two younger agents were back in their pickup, Mahoney asked a question. “Who the hell is Lizzie Fox?”
Palance glared at his partner. “You don’t know who Lizzie Fox is! Where the hell have you been these past few years? That’s one lady you don’t ever, as in ever, want to go up against. She has every politician in this town in her pocket. What that means is they all owe her. And she is not above calling in favors. She was and probably still is a personal friend of Martine Connor, the former president of this here United States of America. She was legal counsel to the president. Not to mention she is one hell of a looker. Drop-dead gorgeous. Judges just rule in her favor regardless of what the case is. No lawyer worth his salt will go up against her. You getting the picture here?”
“Yeah, we’re screwed from the git-go. Even if we nail Justice Barnes, it won’t go anywhere.”
“Yep, that’s the way it will go. And we’ll be the assholes she nails to the wall on the stand. So, I’m thinking here, we should let Landry and Barry do the collar. Ah, I see you still don’t know what I’m talking about. Go on your laptop and Google her. Hey, you like Vegas, right? Well, guess who she’s married to! Cosmo Cricket. The guy that calls the shots with the Gaming Commission. Now, that’s the big time! You want to go up against a dynamic duo like those two, be my guest.”
Mahoney opened up his laptop and typed in the lawyer’s name. He let loose with a whistle. “You weren’t kidding, were you? That chick is smoking hot!”
Palance slouched in his seat. “How’d you like to be staring at her while she grills you on the stand, Mahoney? You’d be tongue-tied, and you’d wet your pants, that’s how you’d do. Then you’ll get transferred to Pierre, South Dakota. While you’re reading, I’m going to take the bike and go get some coffee. You want anything to go with it?”
“I’m not hungry,” Mahoney said, swallowing hard as he envisioned himself on the witness stand answering or trying to answer Lizzie Fox’s questions.
“Shit!”
Mahoney could hear Palance laughing uproariously as he gently lowered his bike to the ground.
Chapter 10
Pearl Barnes fussed around in her kitchen. First, she emptied the dishwasher. Then she made coffee that she had no intention of drinking. She’d been doing that a lot lately, and she needed to stop. She looked around, her gaze coming to rest on the two cell phones on her kitchen table. She wished they would ring. Anything to get this show on the road. But when nothing happened, she walked over to her kitchen door and looked out at the early-morning sky. The rain had stopped, and the October sun, though weak, was trying to peek from the clouds, but it was a losing battle. The clouds scudding across the sky looked like giant bruises.
She turned back to look at her bright kitchen. She loved her kitchen. It was sunshine yellow, with a wonderful breakfast nook that looked out over a yard that in the summer was a veritable rainbow of color. When she had time, which she had a lot of these days, she loved digging in the soft, loamy earth. When her daughter was little, they would work together in the garden. Then they would sit for hours in the breakfast nook, her daughter doing her homework, or they would just talk. So many memories. And not even one regret. She wondered how that could be.
Pearl looked at the muted television on the kitchen counter. She had no clue what Matt Lauer was talking about, but he seemed excited for some reason. She wondered when he had started going bald, not that she cared one way or the other. She decided she didn’t care what the commentator was excited about either—she had her own problems to deal with. If she turned up the volume, she might not hear the cell phones if they rang. Besides, her hearing wasn’t what it once was. In fact, she’d been fiddling with the idea of going to get her hearing checked and possibly getting a hearing aid. Just the thought made her crazy because it was one more indication of her age.
Pearl stared at the phone, willing it to ring. And, lo and behold, it did. Who says a watched pot never boils? The magic of positive thinking, Pearl thought as she clicked on the phone, her heart thumping in her chest.
“This is Star 72. We have an update on the party.”
“Extra guests? I’m sure it won’t be a problem. We have enough time to adjust the menu, don’t we?”
“Not really,” Star 72 said quietly. “With the extra guest list, we need to move the party somewhere else.”
“Any suggestions?” Pearl’s mind raced. Did they want her to meet somewhere? She gambled. “I can meet you somewhere if you want to discuss it.”
“That’s a great idea. Location?” Star 72 asked.
Pearl responded smartly. “Two plus four.” Like her words had any meaning at all, she was just making it up as she went along.
“Star 77 will meet you at location three. Confirm.”
“I confirm, Star 72. When do you want me to leave?”
“Now. A mode change is in the works. Do you agree?”
“I agree.” Pearl broke the connection and pondered the conversation. When she’d been active in the underground, the star numbers were assigned to the volunteers. Their clients just had assigned numbers. It worked for everyone. A mode change meant she was to switch vehicles. Location three if this was all for real would mean the next stop on the relay that only the underground volunteers knew.
Pearl walked into the laundry room and pulled a dark gray hooded sweatshirt from the closet along with a baseball cap that said NY METS on it. She then slipped a bulging backpack over her shoulders; it contained a flashlight, flex cuffs, a gun, and a Taser, all bundled tightly in a fluffy pink towel. She’d used everything at one time or another. As had all the other volunteers. Their mantra was, whatever it took to get their people to safety. The last thing she did was to grab the two cell phones and stuff them into the pocket of her hooded sweatshirt.
Pearl was out the door within seconds. The moment her engine turned over, the cell phone Jack Sparrow gave her pinged. She picked it up, said hello, and waited.
“Don’t say anything. Just listen. Go to the Shell gas station on the corner of Dorchester and Shepherd. Drive around to the back. There’s a maroon Subaru waiting for you. Park your car, be sure to lock it and take the keys. Get back on Dorchester and stay on it till you come to an empty storefront. The sign overhead says it was once a deli. Pull into the lot and sit there and wait. Right now I want you to say, ‘I understand.’ Then hang up.”
Pearl did exactly as she was told, her eyes straining to see through the pouring rain that had start
ed all over again the moment she got out to the highway.
Four cars back, the two FBI agents in the pickup truck cursed to each other. “Okay, she’s on the move. Stay with her. What the hell! I just heard the cell ring. You heard it, right?” Palance nodded as he concentrated on the road in front of him. “Then how come we can’t hear what she’s saying? Okay, okay, she just said, ‘I understand.’ Crap, she’s got a burn phone.”
“You want a wild guess, Mahoney? I told you she has another cell phone. Get with the program here. This lady is no dummy. You need to call this in to Zander. She’s turning into that Shell station. What do you want me to do?”
“Follow her, pretend you’re going to get gas. It’s self-serve. Oh, oh, she’s driving around back.” A second later, Palance bounded out of the truck and ran to the side. He was just in time to see Pearl get out of her car and slog her way to where a maroon Subaru was parked. He ran back to the truck, climbed in, and yelled, “She’s in a maroon Subaru; she switched up cars.”
“Son of a bitch!” Mahoney swore as he peeled away from the gas pump. An elderly lady laid on her horn at the way he cut her off.
“Don’t lose her. Stay as close as you can. Crap on this rain. What the hell are we supposed to do now? I could have taken the bike but not in this downpour.”
“I told you, call Zander. We’re going to need some extra help here. Man, she’s cruising for an old lady, especially in this weather.”
“You lose her, your ass is grass with the boss. Eight months, and it has to happen today, in this goddamn monsoon.” Palance lowered the window and got a blast of rain in his face for his efforts. “You know what, Mahoney? Doesn’t it strike you as a little odd that the old man has this running detail on Justice Barnes? Eight months, all those man-hours, the overtime, when he’s always screaming about cutbacks and money? If she is running an underground railroad to get women and kids to safety, what the hell is wrong with that? We all know the justice system stinks, especially in this town. We get orders to look the other way on shit that’s a lot more serious than this. In my opinion.”
“You need to keep those opinions to yourself, pal.”
Palance snorted. “If I can’t talk to my partner, who can I talk to?”
“I’m just saying. Damn, she’s pulling over. No way I can follow her in. What the hell is this place?”
Palance lowered the window again. “The Busy Bee Café. But it’s out of business now. Go to the next turnoff and swing back around. You can pretend to have engine trouble. I’ll get out and raise the hood.”
Mahoney did as instructed.
Within minutes, a Chevy Yukon pulled into the parking lot; even in the heavy rain, the two agents could tell that the windows had been darkened. Engine idling, the big SUV sat there like a dark monster. Across from it, Justice Barnes sat and waited, her engine also running.
Inside the pickup, Agent Mahoney cursed because he couldn’t hear a thing. His gut told him the occupants of both vehicles were conversing on phones that he had no access to. What the hell were they supposed to do? There was no probable cause that he could see and feel comfortable with to intercede. The lady could meet up with whomever she pleased wherever she pleased. Just like she could switch cars on an hourly basis if she felt like it. At this point, he was gut certain Justice Barnes knew she was being followed, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. For now.
Palance climbed back into the truck, drenched to the skin and shivering. “Turn up the damn heat, will you? I’m freezing here. You pick up anything?”
“Nada. And no word from Zander either. We need to decide to either move or wait them out. What do you want to do, Palance?”
“Pull out and head down the road, take the first turnoff, and circle back. If we’re lucky, they’ll just think we had some engine trouble. We need backup.” As Palance talked, he was sending out texts on his cell phone. He cursed again when there were no replies.
The rest of the day was, as Mahoney put it, the worst goddamn screwed-up Chinese fire drill he’d ever seen as Justice Barnes led them on a merry chase all over town. She was back at her own house at ten minutes past five. It was already totally dark when she pulled into her driveway, driving a gray, nondescript Nissan Sentra whose license plate was crusted with mud to prevent identification.
Inside, Pearl collapsed on a kitchen chair and stared around at her pretty kitchen with wild eyes. Today was a day she hoped she wouldn’t have to repeat, but she knew that was wishful thinking on her part. She’d been sent home to rest for an hour or so. By seven, Sparrow told her, she’d be on the move again.
Pearl made coffee, rummaged in the fridge, and made a baloney and cheese sandwich that she wolfed down. She finished her sketchy dinner with a banana and waited for the coffee to finish dripping into the pot. Her mind raced as she wondered if she could hold up for two or three more days until Sparrow was satisfied that he had all the Fibbies in his net. What would happen afterward was anyone’s guess. Even though Jack Sparrow had assured her that when he left to return to Vegas, she would be a free agent and could do as she pleased with no one following her, no one invading her privacy. It all sounded too good to be true. It boggled her mind that in the short time he’d been here, Sparrow had mapped out a course of action, gotten his people lined up, and did what she had believed impossible. She was no fool, though; she knew, thanks to Annie, that this was Sparrow’s chance to get his pound of flesh for being railroaded and spending time in a federal prison. That, she thought, had to leave some serious mental as well as physical scars on a person.
Antsy with nothing to do, Pearl wandered over to the door and looked out into her yard. She wondered how many invisible eyes were watching her house. Thank God the rain had stopped, and while the night was crisp and cool, stars were peeking out through the clouds. Another few hours, and the sky would be star-spangled. And it was a new moon. That wasn’t so good. Her work called for darkness.
Pearl poured a second cup of coffee, returned to the table, and stared at the two phones. She thought they looked like two malevolent eyes.
Less than three miles away, in Georgetown, Maggie Spitzer was opening cartons of Chinese food and setting the table for herself, Ted, and Espinosa. Ted was setting out silverware in lieu of chopsticks, along with napkins, while Espinosa opened three bottles of Chinese beer.
“This is really like old times, isn’t it?” Maggie said, eyeing her two best friends in the whole entire world. Ted and Espinosa beamed and nodded.
“You guys ready to hit the road tomorrow?” Maggie asked.
“I’m chomping at the bit,” Ted said. “I have six interviews lined up with the parents of kids sent to those boot camps. I took the youngest ones. How many did you confirm, Maggie?”
“Eight, but two are iffy. The mothers sounded like they really wanted to talk but the husbands not so much. I’ll wing those two. When the others see which way we’re going with this, they might clam up. Like one lady said, if she talks to me and it gets out, how much worse is it going to go on her son? He’s only twelve, and he has nine more months to go at that place he’s in. The boy is seriously depressed, and they have him on meds. The lady said he’s like a zombie. God, Ted, how are we going to make this right without something going wrong for those kids?”
“The proof will be in Espinosa’s pictures, that’s how. I don’t care how powerful those two judges think they are, the Post is more powerful. The ladies are planning a snatch and grab with those two judges. Once we get them out of their comfort zone, it’s free fall. At least from where I’m sitting, that’s how it looks to me.”
Maggie reached for her third egg roll. It crunched when she bit into it. Her eyes rolled in pure delight at the taste. She did love good food. “I sure hope that Charles gets this synchronized down to the last sync because the timing is going to be crucial.”
Espinosa opened three more bottles of beer and passed them around. Ted tossed one fortune cookie to him and another to Maggie.
Maggie was biting down on the cellophane to rip it away when her cell phone rang. Startled, she looked across at Ted and Espinosa and shrugged as to who would be calling her during the dinner hour. “Whoa! It’s Dennis West, the kid who wrote the story in the Baywater Weekly,” she whispered.
“Damn it, Maggie, answer it before he chickens out and hangs up,” Ted roared.
“Maggie Spitzer!”
“Miss Spitzer, this is Dennis West. I’ve gotten several messages saying you were trying to reach me. What is it you want to talk to me about?” Maggie pressed a button that would allow both conversations to go to speaker format so Ted and Espinosa could hear what was being said.
Ted mouthed the words, “He sounds nervous.” Espinosa nodded, as did Maggie.
“Oh, Mr. West, thanks so much for calling me. Yes, I have been trying to reach you. I’m a reporter for the Post here in D.C. I wanted to talk to you about the article you wrote in the Baywater Weekly.”
“The Post! You work for the Post!” Dennis West repeated, excitement ringing in his voice. “Do you know Ted Robinson? He’s my idol. He’s the first thing I read when I go online. Someone said he was the EIC and not reporting anymore. I was crushed. If I had one wish, it would be to be as good a reporter as he is.”
Maggie grinned from ear to ear as she held the phone out to Ted, who ran with it.
“Dennis, this is Ted Robinson, Maggie’s my partner. Nice to meet you, kid. So, can we arrange a meeting? We’re thinking of offering you a job here at the Post.”
The silence in the room rang in all their ears as they waited for the young reporter to respond.
“Oh, jeez! Holy smoke! I can’t believe I’m talking to you. I wasn’t lying; you are my idol. Oh my gosh! This isn’t a joke, is it? Maybe I’m dreaming. Nope, I just pinched myself, and it hurt. Why me? Holy gee whiz!”
Ted grinned. The kid sounded just like he remembered himself years and years ago when he was in awe of a particular reporter who had gone out of his way to mentor him. Now it was his turn. “So, what do you say? Can we meet, Dennis? By the way, where are you? We’ve been trying to track you down for the past few days. Is anything wrong?”
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