Usually local law enforcement resented FBI interference, but Ryeland was trying to shake the old-school image of rivalry among agencies and Lupo agreed. If it could help, then there was no reason to refuse it.
“This guy never made any sort of statement after the first shooting. If we find out there’s some political motive, they’d swoop in anyway, them and DHS, calling it terrorism.”
Ryeland made a face. “Well, I can stand the usual Feds, but I don’t know anyone who likes Homeland.”
“Yeah, that seems to be the consensus.”
They contemplated in silence for a half-minute.
“If he follows the pattern, there won’t be another shooting for a month or five weeks.”
Ryeland said, “Unless he’s of a mind to start escalating. Frequency. Method—hope he doesn’t graduate to explosives. If he does, then it’ll get flagged and we’ll have Homeland shoved way down our throats.”
“I think he likes the shooting, you know? It’s…old school. Kinda gets your attention, but in a different way.”
“Sure fuckin’ does.” Ryeland inclined his head at the early television truck arrivals. “All right, Lupo, you got this in hand…” The big man took another long, panoramic look around the scene.
Bus and light pole debris was strewn everywhere, and techs were sweeping it all up carefully, documenting locations. Taking photographs, video. Black vans waited to take it all away to be sorted at the police warehouse facility and labs. White-suited lab personnel crawled over everything like huge maggots, eating, digesting. They’d be at it all night and part of the next day.
Ryeland nodded, satisfied. He needed a series of bullet points to shoot back at the mayor when the inevitable questions were asked.
What are you doing to catch this asshole? Is this terrorism? And What are you doing to prevent another shooting?
“I’m expanding the task force,” Ryeland added.
Lupo grimaced. “Sir, I have, uh, some personal time coming, and Dr. Anders has insisted that I take it.” This was true. He’d resisted taking more than the couple days he’d spent up north with Jessie, but she had insisted. Now he wanted to try and deal with his father’s storage space contents. He thought he could convince the Doc to make the request official, if he needed to.
“Shit, Lupo, this is the worst time. I need someone good on this case. You’re experienced, and…”
“Dr. Anders—”
“I’ll deal with Anders,” Ryeland snapped. “Leave her to me. I need you to lend your experience to Detective DiSanto on this. I’m making him head of the task force. His file looks good and I think it’s time he stepped up. He’s ready to head a major task force.”
Lupo was left with his mouth hanging open, with nothing to say. He’d expected to be given the task force.
Ryeland squinted at him suspiciously from his slightly higher gaze level. “Why did you want off this thing?”
Lupo tried to recover from the surprise. “Not off, Lieutenant, just not heading. I will definitely still lend DiSanto my full support.”
“I’ll talk to DiSanto. Meanwhile get out of here and dig up something else I can tell the cameras.”
Lupo grinned without humor. “How about ‘The investigation is ongoing and we’re following up several promising leads we can’t comment on yet.’”
“Son of a bitch, they warned me about you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, that you’re mostly off the reservation. That you’ll say anything.”
“Sir, those words have served cops well for decades.”
Ryeland nodded. “So they have, Lupo. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna like saying them. I’ll get crucified in the media tomorrow.”
“Pretty much happen no matter what you say.”
“The sad part of that is surely the fact that it’s true.” Ryeland spotted the closest media truck, which was raising its satellite gear while still vibrating from its abrupt stop. “Okay, you win for now. But you help DiSanto get me something soon, so I can make good on those leads we’re claiming we have.”
Lupo nodded and watched the lieutenant stalk off to talk to DiSanto, interrupting a witness interview. Then he headed for the TV trucks to hand his head on a plate to whoever wanted it.
Lupo set a course for DiSanto, who appeared shell-shocked.
Welcome to the big time, my friend.
Chapter Sixteen
Rabbioso
They pulled into the Best Western late, after a quick drive-by at the casino to get the lay of the land. The place was hopping, so it was easy to see why Bastone was so hot to get his hands in the tribe’s pants.
Rabbioso had Tony driving. The guy was a moron, but he was a good driver and he seemed eager to please.
He watched the younger thug surreptitiously from the passenger seat.
It displeased him to know he was required to dispose of the newbie after the deal was done, so he rather hoped the kid pulled a huge boner, the blame for which would justify the punishment.
The guy in back of the SUV insisted on being called Deuce, a name that everyone twisted into Douche when he wasn’t in the room. You’d think he would be aware, but no, as far as Rabbioso could see, Douche was oblivious. He was a slab of muscle, though, most likely steroid-enhanced—his biceps were the size of Rabbioso’s thighs. Both wore their hair buzzed in the new way, with lots of man-jewelry calling attention to them. Rabbioso would have to put the kibosh on the chains. Good thing neither went in for silver, he thought.
Piled behind them were bags of personal gear and several high-impact plastic carrying cases for long guns and a stash of H&K MP5 submachine guns. Each of them carried a personal piece, and Rabbioso wore a backup, a compact Sig in an ankle rig. He figured this would be sufficient—they weren’t starting a war, they were merely massaging a merger that had already been set in motion, according to the Don. They were meeting Johnny, who’d been the point man. But now he was meeting a little last-minute resistance, some changing of the mind.
Well, Rabbioso was there to change minds back to their original point of view.
“It’s early enough,” he said to Tony. “Let’s check in, drop off our shit, get a bite to eat, and meet Johnny so we know what’s up. I’ll call him when we get to our rooms.”
“Okay, boss.”
“Don’t call me boss,” Rabbioso said.
Tony shrugged.
Thanks to their GPS unit, a half hour later they were checked in and pulling around the typical Best Western building to their entry. Their rooms were scattered along the second floor, overlooking a mostly empty parking lot. The motel was on the outskirts of Eagle River, and it would take a little while to reach the rez casino. They carried up their bags and gear, and Rabbioso had Johnny on the phone ten minutes later.
“We’re here,” he said without preamble. “What’s going on?”
Johnny was silent for a few seconds. “Nothing too bad, but I warned the boss that some elements who signed off on the deal are now having second thoughts. Not all elements, just some.”
“Are we talking taking out some of these elements? Or just breaking a some arms and legs?”
“A few fractures will do the trick. I had to have a talk with some fuckin’ Indian, name of Treewalker. Stopped short this time, but I’m ready to go medieval the minute the boss says so.”
“Well, I’m the boss on the ground here,” Rabbioso said, “so you can wait for the word from me. Got it?”
There was a pause at the other end. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want.”
“Don’t worry, if it needs doin’, we’ll do it. I don’t wanna go too far and give them reason to get the cops involved. I don’t think it’ll happen.”
Johnny said, relieved, “Okay. I’ll keep Marty on a leash.”
“Same leash as you, Johnny. I know what you like.”
Johnny only chuckled.
“Believe me, if we have to, we’ll go there.”
They set a meeting place, and Rabbioso went to sco
op up Tony and the Douche. They’d pick up some dinner at the casino. According to Johnny, they’d find the place was better than expected in the food department.
Rabbioso didn’t much care. A rare steak would go down well, but not as well as a live bleeder, some four-footed mammal from the woods squirting hot blood directly into his gullet until he died. Robb would have preferred human, but he should probably play it cool at first.
He was sure the woods would be full of campers and hikers when spring rolled around, but for now he had to make do. The occasional snowmobiler could disappear without too much fuss, especially if a banged-up machine turned up at the bottom of a lake or stream.
Then again…
All good things in time.
Bastone
Las Vegas
He was distracted by the phone.
Damn it.
He put out a hand to hit pause on the remote, stopping the action right in the middle of some particularly nasty backdoor sex.
“Gotta get this, dear,” he said, smiling down at the showgirl who was gobbling him down her throat. She blinked at him, intent on what she was doing. She didn’t care, really, as long as the checks cleared. Well, by checks he meant cash. He made a motion to allow her to continue. Hell, she was too talented to interrupt. Trudy? Was that her name?
“Yeah?” he barked into the phone.
“I’m patching through a call from Wisconsin,” one of his men said. “You said if anyone from—”
“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” He smiled down at the slowing mouth. “You too, dear.”
There was a click and then he heard a familiar voice. It was perturbed and rattled off a few sentences before Bastone interrupted.
“Look, I said you could call me, but that don’t mean all the time. I got things to do, too. Now, what’s got your panties in an uproar?”
He listened briefly until the voice was finished.
“Okay, well, they didn’t cut off his hand, right?”
Trudy was bobbing up and down faster now, and he started to lose focus on the call.
“It was a courtesy call, that’s the way I see it. If I say they should, they’re gonna go back and take that hand. I’ll add it to my collection. And maybe I have them take yours, too, you don’t stop the whining. You see what I’m sayin’?”
Trudy was getting hard to ignore.
He listened some more.
“Look, let me put you on hold.” His finger stabbed the right button and it was just in time. He felt the orgasm build quickly, his penis swelled, and then he was finishing. Trudy stayed with him, then cleaned him with a tongue bath.
Nasty. Instant stress relief, he thought. And damn if prostate cancer was gonna get him, as it had his father and grandfather.
He patted her on the head, then she got to her feet, her long and lean body hunched over him, and they kissed passionately for a few seconds. He loved tasting himself on their lips. It was one of his little secrets. He thought the girls liked it, but they liked the cool thousand he’d slip into their accounts even better.
“Bye bye,” she said, smiling, and he waved as she went off to get ready for her show.
“Later, Trudy.”
“Trina,” she corrected.
“Whatever.”
He brought back his caller, who was audibly stewing on the line.
“I got some muscle in town right down the street from you. That’s right, I promised to send some backup, right? You just keep doin’ what you been paid to do. They’ll take care of anyone who makes too much noise, okay? So what’s her name?”
He listened.
“A doctor, huh? Hawkins? Name’s familiar. All right, calm down, I’m not gonna have her whacked or anything like that. I get it, she’s important. Sure, sure, I know. You can trust me, right? Haven’t I been right all along? Man of my word.”
He picked up the remote and unpaused the action on the screen, then fidgeted with a solid gold pen on his blotter.
“I’m not gonna have her removed!” he said. “Sure, I said I give you my word. Okay?”
He tuned out the voice. He watched the sweaty, oily sex on the television, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be in touch. Stop worryin’.”
He hung up.
“Fuck this shit. If I want her head, I’ll have it.” He checked his contacts list and quick-dialed.
Fuckin’ voice mail.
“Robb,” he said into the handset, “we may have a problem. Fortunately, you’re in a position to take care of it. I want you to take good care of it. So call me back and I’ll give you specifics.”
He watched the screen for a while, but he couldn’t get into it anymore.
Time to move into his new colony.
The New World is so full of treasure, he thought, chuckling. It’s just like before. The Indians are in the way, but not for long.
He knew enough history to understand how that had turned for the people who were the obstacles.
And beyond that, what was to stop him from opening a “competing” casino? He had to have his people check the laws for the exact wording. There were a half-dozen major Indian casinos in Wisconsin, and they could all use a silent partner. Of course partnering even with only one was illegal, but all he had to do was play it cool, keep the transactions mostly in cash, and make sure his contacts all did well. Very, very well. The Cayman banks still welcomed his referrals, even kicked back a small but not insubstantial percentage. And then when he pulled the strings, he could occasionally allow the tribe to build something sparkly, something they could hold up as proof they were cashing in on their own gaming. It would be nice and flashy, but there would be the cutting of corners—with his connections in construction and the inherent kickbacks. Making this kind of generosity a rare occurrence would keep the cost low.
He could see a chain of Indian-themed casinos bearing his mark.
Maybe use Columbus as a focal point. He could see a Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria ride, an Indian attack, maybe a musical based on the queen—what was her name?—sending old Chris out to sea, or whatever the fuck. He could get that Italian singer, the one the ladies loved even though he was blind, to write the music. Or sing it.
Don Gus Bastone had a plethora of ideas. And no one was going to get in his way.
He went to pack.
Rabbioso
The damp evening air felt good in his open snout after years of the dry desert. He was running through the densely packed trunks of a grove near their motel. His long tongue lolled sideways like that of a domesticated canine, but he was anything but that.
He followed a tasty scent and when the rabbit panicked and broke cover, Rabbioso was all over it, chasing him through trees in the zigzag pattern the tiny mammal hoped would allow him to escape the feared predator.
But Rabbioso was an experienced hunter and he was in no mood to play. The rare steak had only whetted his appetite for warm blood flowing from a living artery. Since the meet was set for later, he’d gone for a walk—leaving the motel and heading for the nearby tree line. It wasn’t the middle of nowhere, only the outskirts of town, but the wildlife was half-tame and didn’t know any better than to hang around nearby. If they didn’t die squashed on state highways and county roads, then they’d be handy for snacking.
Rabbioso brought down the fleeing hare, broke his neck with a twisting jerk of his long snout, then bathed in the hot blood that flowed like nectar down his throat.
He trotted away, deeper into the grove, feeling rather unsatisfied.
He’d been restrained when stationed in Iraq and later Afghanistan, because his status as on duty military—several different below-radar assignments that took him to some of the worst fighting—had kept him within sight of comrades and commanders around the clock with very little exception.
But when he’d mustered out and accepted a gig with Wolfpaw…well, then he’d watched how the wolves in their special units followed their noses and hunted down insurgents and innocents alike, feasting on bo
th the sun-dried flesh of the elderly and the young and tender flesh of boys and girls. For a while, gone was the restraint he’d worked so hard to maintain while in uniform with a flag on his shoulder—the reason the Wolfpaw wolves called the regular troops flags. The mercenaries wore a stylized wolf’s paw flash on their shoulders and wolf’s head collar insignia on their black BDUs. A closer look would have shown other, more interesting symbols, but Rabbioso was all about the opportunity to wolf out. He didn’t believe in ideology or nationalism. There was food, and there was non-food. Friends were non-food—usually. Everyone else was on the bubble. Rabbioso enjoyed his liberated feelings toward his nocturnal lunar habits, as he sometimes referred to what he did.
So while he’d promised himself restraint here in Eagle River, he found that he was wobbly on the concept. The rabbit had been an appetizer, barely quenching his thirst for living blood and still-warm flesh. It was like an egg roll before the meal, or in Bastone’s world, a plate of antipasto before the main course.
He continued to run on his large pads, his weight seeming to barely make a dent in the needle-covered ground. This was so much more refreshing than a run in the desert, especially in the Middle East!
When he caught the scent of a human nearby, and a group of deer too, he stopped and melted behind a tight grouping of pines, swaying in the delicious wafting of fresh flesh and the blood that flowed beneath it.
He caught the bright blue-white light of a spotlight through the trees, like an alien craft landing site. On hearing the crushing of leaves underfoot he estimated one human, booted, attempting silence as he awkwardly maneuvered outside the perimeter of a small clearing recently vacated by four-foot mammals. Shining deer with the spotlight made them freeze before bolting, which allowed the illegal hunter to take a much better shot. Illegal during hunting season, or if done with a weapon in hand, shining was usually legal until late September to a certain time of night, if the purpose was simply to observe the deer in their habitat. In this case, however, Rabbioso caught the scent of gun oil carried on the wind along with the human’s blood smell.
So Rabbioso gave in to his gurgling stomach and stalked the petty criminal whose intent was to shoot a deer against state law.
Wolf's Cut (The Nick Lupo Series Book 5) Page 14
