by Arno Joubert
“No buts.”
Neil pursed his lips and nodded.
Missy greeted them at the entrance to the dining room and led them to a table. They were the only people there. As a matter of fact, they were the only people in the entire inn.
Neil looked up and smiled as Mary-Lou shrieked his name. “Uncle Neil!” She bounded through the kitchen door and grabbed him around the neck, wriggling her way onto his lap.
He gave her a hug. “Are you okay, baby?” he asked, stroking her hair.
She nodded and sucked her thumb contentedly.
A gentle smile spread across Missy’s face. “Poor baby, she got a big fright.”
She took out a pencil and a notebook. “We have bacon, eggs, and hash browns. That okay by you folks?” She glanced at Neil and then at Alexa. They shrugged and nodded.
She took her time writing their breakfast down in the notebook and turned around to leave.
Voelkner’s head appeared inside the doorway, glancing around suspiciously. He noticed Missy, who scowled at him and grunted. Voelkner sighed and walked in, joining them at the table.
Mary-Lou wriggled off Neil’s lap, skipped around the table and stood in front of Voelkner. She tugged his shirt. Voelkner’s eyes darted between Missy and the young girl. He pulled his collar from his throat. “Um, yes?”
Mary-Lou beamed at him. “Thank you for saving me, sir. From the truck and all.”
Voelkner smiled and patted her head. “My pleasure, little girl.”
Missy stiffened. “You did what?”
His dropped his shoulders. “I pulled her from the path of the truck.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “It was heading straight at her.”
Missy pulled a chair closer and sagged into it. She grabbed Voelkner’s hand and held it to her chest. “Now why don’t you go and tell me this before I gave you a clobbering?”
Voelkner’s eyes flitted between Neil, Alexa, and Missy. “You didn’t ask,” he said and swallowed. “No big deal.”
Missy shook her head. “Breakfast’s on the house, mister.” She heaved herself up and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Sorry for clobbering you.”
She plodded to the kitchen. Mary-Lou followed behind, tugging at the hem of her dress. Voelkner looked at Alexa and let out a breath. “Merde, that woman is crazy.”
Alexa grinned. “Well, at least you’re back in her good books.”
Voelkner shook his head, confused.
“Did you see anyone suspicious hanging around our room last night at twenty-two hundred?” Neil asked Voelkner.
Voelkner scratched his chin. “No one suspicious, no. Why?”
Neil glanced at Alexa. She pursed her lips and nodded. “I met with Andy Fitch this morning.”
Voelkner looked up, interested.
“He had some photos of Alexa and me.” He glanced at Voelkner. “He threatened to kill Alexa.”
Voelkner cocked his head. “Kill the captain?” he asked, glancing at Alexa.
Neil nodded.
Voelkner jumped up. “We must leave here now,” he said urgently. “And we must notify the general about these threats.”
Missy walked in with a pot of coffee and plonked it on the table. “Sit your wiry ass down, mister.”
Voelkner picked up his chair and sat down apologetically.
Mary-Lou tugged at Voelkner’s shirt. “Wait here, mister. I’ll be right back.” Voelkner looked around, bewildered.
Mary-Lou spun around and ran out of the diner as Missy poured the coffee. A minute later, Mary-Lou came hurrying back in. She handed the passport to Voelkner. “Here is the book you wanted.”
Voelkner grinned and patted her on the head. He flipped it open and studied the passport photo. “Jackson does look a lot like Latorre,” he said as he paged through the passport and then handed it to Neil.
Neil nodded, inspecting the passport photo. He looked up at Voelkner. “Fitch happened to mention he had both you and Latorre killed. He must have mixed you two guys up.”
Alexa inhaled sharply. “Latorre is dead?”
Neil lifted his hands in the air and shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but Fitch reckons he is. But he mixed this one up.” Neil jerked his head at Voelkner.
Neil turned a page, and his eyes widened. “Holy shit.”
Missy frowned at him. “Watch your tongue in front of the little one,” she scowled.
“Sorry,” he said and handed the passport to Alexa.
She studied the drawing of her photo and then looked up at Mary-Lou. “Did you draw this, darling?” she asked.
Mary-Lou nodded proudly.
“It’s beautiful,” Alexa said. “Do you think she’s a savant?” she asked Neil.
He shrugged. “I guess. It’s perfect.”
Missy snorted. “She’s always drawing those silly pictures.”
Alexa paged through the rest of the passport. She cocked an eyebrow. “Look at this one,” she said and handed the passport to Neil.
He saw a drawing of a man loading a body into the trunk of an idling mortuary truck. The car was parked next to the bus stop; Neil recognized the sponsor’s insignia on the side of the stop.
Neil stared at Mary-Lou. “When did you see this, Mary-Lou?” he asked.
She popped her finger out of her mouth. “The other night, after I took the pretty lady’s picture from the sleeping man.”
Neil nodded slowly. “And where did you get this?” he asked, holding up the passport.
She looked at the ground, drawing circles on the floor with her toe. “It fell out of the sleeping man’s pocket when Uncle Mac picked him up.”
“Uncle Mac?” he asked, looking up at Missy.
Missy studied the picture over Neil’s shoulder. She shrugged. “Mac McAllister, the mortician.”
Neil nodded and handed the passport to Alexa. “Get hold of him,” he said to Voelkner. “And get me those damn DNA results.”
Voelkner nodded and gulped down his coffee. He jumped up and fished a cell phone from his pocket.
Alexa showed Neil the next drawing of a truck lying on its side. She flipped to the final page and inhaled sharply. Bis Latorre was standing with his hands on his hips, looking up at the drawer of the picture. He had a Stetson on his head and a grin on his face.
“When did you draw this one?” Alexa asked Mary-Lou.
Mary-Lou shrugged. “This morning.”
Alexa looked up from the passport as Lucy Beck dashed into the diner. She wore a white lab coat over a floral summer dress. She saw them and trotted toward their table. “Oh, thank God you’re here,” Lucy said out of breath. She took Alexa’s hands in hers. “Please, you must help,” she sobbed.
Her hair was plastered to a sweaty brow, and lines of concern were etched on her face.
Neil stood up and pulled a chair closer.
“What’s wrong?” Alexa asked.
Lucy sat down, her hands trembling as she folded her dress beneath her legs. She leaned her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders jerked as she sobbed. She lifted her eyes. “They arrested David. They’ve taken him to the police station.”
Alexa frowned. “Why?”
Lucy put her hand on her mouth, almost afraid to say the words out aloud. “Apparently they found child porn on his laptop.”
Alexa glanced at Neil.
He shook his head, suspicion painted on his face. “When did this happen?”
Lucy sobbed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “An hour ago. I cannot believe it. David isn’t like—” she said and swallowed her words as she sobbed.
“Okay, let’s go.” Neil stood up. He took Lucy’s elbow. “Drive with us.”
Neil screeched to a halt in front of the police station. They jumped out and slammed the doors behind them. As they entered the station, Tony was busy punching a number into the black phone on the counter.
Harvey came out a couple of seconds later, his face red and his chops quivering. He walked up to them and t
hen nodded curtly. “It’s a sad day for the community of Dabbort Creek, Miss Guerra,” he said and blinked twice. “At least we caught the sicko.”
Neil snorted. “You sure?”
“Absolutely,” Harvey nodded, blinking. “We found it on his laptop. I saw it,” he said, grimacing.
“Bullshit,” Lucy snapped. “It must have been planted.”
Neil took hold of Lucy’s arm and then turned to face Harvey. “It’s all circumstantial.”
The red-faced deputy shrugged his shoulders. “It is what it is. Some funny shit on there. I couldn’t watch it.”
“Who tipped you off?” Alexa asked.
Harvey stuck a finger in his collar, pulled it open, and sighed. “No one. Routine inspection. They do it all the time.”
“I want to see my husband,” Lucy demanded. “You didn’t have to beat him up.”
“He resisted arrest, ma’am,” Harvey said, blinking his eyes. “And it wasn’t my guys; we didn’t touch him. You need to chat with Refatex’s security people about that.” He shrugged noncommittally. “They are a bit rough-handed sometimes.”
Alexa pursed her lips. “Take us to him,” she commanded.
Harvey motioned to the female cop and she strode toward them. “Please take Mrs. Beck to see her husband.”
She nodded, walked up to the door of the holding cells, and unlocked it. Beck was the only prisoner inside, lying on a bunk with his arm over his forehead.
“David?” Lucy Beck whispered.
David Beck looked up with a relieved expression on his face. He swung his legs off the bunk, bounced up, then stuck his arms through the bars and grabbed his wife’s arm.
“Please unlock the door, officer,” Alexa said.
The officer glanced at Harvey, who nodded. “It’s fine, unlock it.”
Lucy rushed into the outstretched arms of her husband. “Is it true, David?” she sobbed into his chest.
He held her back and leaned down toward her, locking eyes with her. “What do you think, Lucy?” He grabbed her shoulders, jerking them urgently as he spoke. “Tell me, what do you honestly think?”
Lucy shook her head, wiping her eye with the back of her hand. “I knew it, David. I’ll get Pops to fly down from Chicago; he’s the best trial lawyer around.” She reached for her cell phone in her purse. “We’ll sue their socks off.”
“No,” David said urgently. He pursed his lips and shook his head, a determined look on his face, and then breathed deeply. “No, Lucy, don’t,” he said softly.
She stared up at him, a puzzled expression on her face.
“Please, I need to talk to Neil and Alexa,” he said, glaring at the other people in the room. “Privately.”
“But Neil . . .” Lucy whimpered.
Beck pinched his brow. “Please, Lucy, not now.”
Lucy reluctantly followed Harvey outside, and Neil closed the door behind them. He turned around and strode to Beck. “What happened?”
David shuffled closer and whispered, “There’s some screwed up shit going on down at Refatex.” He looked around the cell conspiratorially.
“Like what?” Alexa asked.
David Beck look flustered. “Yesterday, when Ryan took us on the tour of the facility, he said they were refining two hundred thousand barrels per day.”
Alexa nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”
“He also mentioned that they were making a profit of $20 million per day.” He studied them, his eyes darting between their faces. “Remember?”
Neil shrugged. “Yep, sure—$800,000 per hour, or some insane number.”
David Beck pursed his lips. “Don’t you see?”
Neil frowned. “See what?”
Beck glanced around nervously. “That $20 million per day divided by two hundred thousand barrels refined per day equals $100 per barrel.”
Alexa tapped her lip. “Which means what, exactly?”
Beck huffed impatiently. “Refatex is supposed to be making a profit of $8 on the oil that they refine per barrel, not $100!”
Neil bit his lower lip. “What exactly are you saying, David?”
Beck grabbed Neil’s arm. “Don’t you see? They’re not refining the oil coming into the refinery.” He licked his lips excitedly. “They have their own source of oil. The trucks coming into town don’t have oil in the containers, they’re empty.”
“How do you know this?” Alexa asked.
Beck pursed his lips and glanced over his shoulder. “This place could be bugged,” he whispered. He turned to Neil. “What’s your shoe size?”
“A twelve, why?”
“Shit, it’s going to be a tight squeeze, I’m a ten.” He snapped his fingers. “Gimme your shoes, quick, move it.”
As Beck undid his laces and shoved his shoes toward Neil with his feet, Neil pulled off his sneakers and handed them to Beck. Neil squeezed his feet inside the pair of hand-stitched leather shoes. They must have cost a fortune.
“What, you afraid of losing these babies in jail?” Neil grinned.
Beck jerked his eyes up as the door opened and then grabbed Neil’s arm. “You’ll understand soon enough,” he said.
“Okay, ladies and gentleman, visiting time’s over,” the female cop said. “Everyone out.”
They walked out of the holding area, Neil hobbling uncomfortably.
“Remember, Lucy, it’s all in the water color,” Beck shouted as the door slammed behind them.
Neil sat slouched forward in the comfortable sofa in the living area of their rented room. Beck’s shoes were placed in front of him on a coffee table.
Alexa sauntered in from the kitchenette, placed a beer on a coaster next to the shoes, then plopped down beside him. “Want to go over the facts?”
Neil nodded. “Okay. Latorre and Voelkner arrive in town. But with them are two hitchhikers they picked up on the way.”
Alexa flipped through her notebook. “A young guy called Jackson, and another man called Bubba Bartlett, according to Voelkner.” She looked up from the notes. “Our trusty field agents decide to attend the local tavern, Voelkner tosses his wallet to Bartlett to go buy them some drinks and then gets into a bar fight and wakes up in hospital.”
Neil sucked on his beer. “And Mary-Lou sees this young guy, Jackson, passed out at the bus stop.”
“And with him is who we assume to be Bartlett, only whoever dropped them there thought Bartlett was Voelkner.”
Neil nodded slowly. “Because Bartlett had Voelkner’s wallet.” He turned to Alexa. “Do you think Fitch had these two men murdered, thinking they were Latorre and Voelkner?”
Alexa tapped her lip. “Confusing one man is understandable, but both? Such ineptitude borders on the bizarre.”
“So you reckon Fitch had Jackson deliberately killed?”
Alexa sighed. “I don’t know.”
Neil picked up the shoe and examined it carefully. “Mary-Lou saw Latorre outside her window. So at least we know he’s still alive.”
Alexa nodded pensively.
Neil turned the shoes around. They were made from expensive Italian leather, but as far as he could see, they weren’t anything out of the ordinary. Fine, hand stitched by a master craftsman. He ran his thumb over the leather, feeling for any protrusions or ridges. The shoe was glossy and polished to a sheen, like fancy shoes were supposed to be. He had never had any use for a pair; he didn’t know what they were worth, but he guessed a lot.
He peered inside. The shoe had an inner lining at the bottom, made from soft, tawny leather. He felt a bump above the bridge of the shoe and peeled the leather lining back. It came out easily. He flipped the piece of leather around and noticed a couple of sentences written in an untidy scrawl. Alexa leaned forward as he read the words.
Refatex recruited me, David Beck, under false pretenses, to ascertain the dolomite content of earth samples they had taken. After I signed a nondisclosure agreement, Dr. Joseph Ryan disclosed information to me relating to Refatex’s underhanded dealings. When I threaten
ed to approach the authorities, I was beaten up by the Refatex guards. They threatened my wife, Lucy, and said they would kill her if I ever divulged any information. I request witness protection and guarantees that my family
The note stopped midsentence. Neil ripped the liner from the other shoe, but it contained no writing. “Bloody, cursed Clan of Kane,” he muttered irritably.
Neil skimmed the note again and then handed it to Alexa. “Fitch is up to something at the refinery,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And Beck is scared shitless.” He glanced up at Alexa, who was tapping the lip of the bottle on her chin, studying the text.
She looked up, placing the bottle on the table. “Okay, let’s make sure the Becks are safe and then recce the refinery properly.”
Neil nodded thoughtfully. “Now would probably be the best time, seeing only emergency staff is on site.”
Alexa punched Laiveaux’s number into her phone. They exchanged quick greetings, and then she updated Laiveaux on their progress and informed him about the secret note in Beck’s shoe. Alexa nodded as Laiveaux issued their orders.
“Very Well, General,” she said and hung up.
She turned toward Neil. “Okay, he’ll deploy four special forces agents,” she said, sounding pleased. “Bruce will accompany them. He’s personally guaranteed their safety, but we need to look after the Becks until the agents arrive.”
Neil swigged a mouthful of beer. “David should be fine where he is. What about Lucy, though?”
Alexa unlocked her cell phone with a swipe of her thumb. “I’ll send Voelkner to pick her up,” she said as she punched a number into her phone.
Alexa issued the instructions to Voelkner. She listened intently to something he said, and her eyebrows pinched into a questioning frown. “You’re one hundred percent certain?” she asked.
She disconnected the call and gaped at Neil incredulously.
“What?”
“The DNA results came back,” she said, her fingers touching her parted lips. “The person who attacked us in our room, the blood sample on the wall we sent for testing . . .”
“Yes?”
“It belonged to Lieutenant Bis Latorre.”
