Tony Wolf/Tim Buckthorn - 02 - Broken Shield

by J. D. Rhoades

  __________

  Callie only half heard the rumble of the engine as it pulled away. She’d been drifting in and out of consciousness, her mind fogged with pain and fatigue. She could hear the trickle of water near her head becoming stronger, as if someone had turned the handle on a faucet. A sudden crack of thunder shocked her awake. It’s storming again, she thought. She felt a sudden brief stab of panic at the thought of the basement filling with water, rising slowly, inexorably, higher and higher until it covered her mouth and nose and drowned her. A soft whimper escaped her throat. A second explosion, seeming to come from right above her, made her jump. Her head felt suddenly clearer. She realized how thirsty she was, and leaned her head over to where she could hear the water flowing. She felt it run over her face, warm and strangely soothing. Opening her mouth, she drank. It’s going to be okay, she thought. It’s going to be okay. She was having more and more trouble convincing herself.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Buckthorn rolled over and looked at the clock on his bedside table. 3:43 AM. He sighed. Sleep just wasn’t going to come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the eyes of that terrified girl in the picture.

  Well, if I can’t sleep, he thought, I might as well get some work done. He dressed quickly and drove to the Sheriff’s department. On the way, he turned up his radio, listening to the chatter. It was a quiet night in Pine Lake and the even smaller hamlets that made up Gibson County. Every now and then, a bored voice would come crackling over the radio, reporting the location of one or the other of the deputies on night patrol. One of the newer guys pulled a car over for weaving, a possible DWI. Anyone driving at this time of night was more likely than not to be making his or her way home from one of the local roadhouses or, if they were feeling particularly adventurous, from the notorious Rancho Deluxe Club over in Blainesville.

  Buckthorn reached for the mike button to offer backup, but two other patrol cars had already responded. Buckthorn let his hand drop with a sigh. He drove through the streets of the little town, eyes automatically scanning the darkened storefronts and parking lots. The lights of the lower floor of the government building glowed through the darkness up ahead. He parked the car in his reserved spot and walked through the glass doors. The lights were on in Dispatch, and he waved at Monica, the night dispatcher, who was talking into her headset. She waved back and kept talking.

  Buckthorn was about to go into his own office when he saw the lights on in the conference room. His brow furrowed with annoyance. He’d told everyone that they needed to be turning lights off in unused rooms, to save the county money. Most of them had listened. He walked down the hall and looked inside.

  Leila Dushane was seated in one of the rickety chairs, her feet up on the table. She was typing something on a laptop computer propped up on her legs. She looked up as Buckthorn entered.

  “Hey,” she said. “You know, the Wi-Fi in here sucks.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “We weren’t expecting company.”

  “You’re here early,” she said.

  “I could say the same thing about you.”

  She sat up, placing the laptop on the conference room table. “I’ll tell you a secret about me,” she said. “I’m kind of a freak. I only need a couple, maybe three hours of sleep a night. Always have. Since I was a baby.”

  “Your parents must have loved that.”

  She laughed. “You have no idea. But it came in handy in school. And for work, of course. What’s your excuse?”

  He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  She stood up and stretched. “Thinking about that girl?” she asked. Buckthorn just nodded.

  “She’s probably not even in your jurisdiction,” she said.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “No,” she said, looking at him appraisingly, “I guess not.”

  “You get anything from the lab?”

  She shook her head. “No, not yet, but Tony…Agent Wolf…got the Deputy Director to give them a little extra motivation. We should get something soon. Meantime, I’ve been chatting online with a lonely guy at NOAA.”

  “The weather guys?”

  “Yeah. The weather guys. I was asking about this kind of phenomenon. How many miles can papers blow, how do they get picked up, that sort of thing.”

  “And he just told you?”

  “Here’s a tip, Lieutenant. You want to find out anything and everything about a particular subject, go online, find a geek who knows the subject, then tell him you’re a girl who’s interested in what he does. If you can, imply you’ve got big tits. Between the lame come-ons and cheesy jokes, you’ll get all the info you ever wanted and more.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Buckthorn said. “So what did the weather guy tell you?”

  “Basically, we got a lot of ground to cover. That system was a big bastard, with some serious winds. I could tell you a lot about updrafts and windshear and stuff like that, but the condensed version is, we could be talking about a search area from here to Northeastern Alabama and as far west as Nashville. Maybe even further.”

  Buckthorn gritted his teeth. “Damn it,” he said, with a little more vehemence than he’d intended.

  “Take some deep breaths, cowboy,” she said. “We get a hit from that Facebook page, we’ll narrow it down.”

  “Anything from that yet?”

  “No. But the phone number your assistant set up runs right to dispatch, and Monica in there’s got me on speed dial.” She looked at Buckthorn. “You got some motivated people here, Lieutenant,” she said. “They’d walk through fire for you. All I had to do was mention this was something you’d like done and they snapped right to it. My compliments.”

  “They’re good folks,” he said.

  She looked at her watch. “So,” she said, “I don’t suppose there’s any place to eat around here at 4 AM on a Saturday morning?”

  “Lulu’s,” Buckthorn said. “They open at 5, but the owner’ll be there already, making the biscuits. It’s probably a little more countrified than you’re used to.”

  “Honey,” she said in an exaggerated drawl, “you’re talkin’ to a coon-ass gal from La-fay-ette, Louisiane. Biscuits at Lulu’s sounds like just the ticket. How’s the coffee?”

  “Strong enough to strip the enamel off your teeth, if you get it from Lulu’s personal pot.”

  “And she’ll share?”

  “Lulu’s a he. And yeah.”

  “Well, lead on, then, sheriff. Lead me to the promised land. I always wanted to meet a guy named Lulu.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Lulu’s was a low, broad building with a huge gravel parking in front. The big plate glass windows in the front were darkened, but when they peered through, they could see light behind the kitchen doors behind the lunch counter. A black sign with white letters hung from a suction cup stuck to the inside of one of the double glass doors: CLOSED. Buckthorn ignored it and rattled the door. There was no response, so he rattled it again.

  The door to the kitchen burst open and a short, plump Asian man in a white apron over a red polo shirt and khaki pants stormed out, looking annoyed. The angry look turned into a wide grin as he spotted Buckthorn. He fumbled beneath the counter for a moment, then came up with a set of keys.

  “Hey, Tim!” the man said in heavily accented but fluent English as he opened the door. “How’s it hangin’? Who’s your friend?”

  “This is Agent Leila Dushane,” Buckthorn said. “She’s with the FBI. Agent Dushane, this is Lu Liu.”

  “Lulu’s,” Dushane said, extending a hand. “I get it.”

  Liu took the hand. A worried look crossed his face. “Nice to meet you, Agent. I tell you, I got no problems here. All my cooks and busboys got their green cards. I checked.”

  She laughed. “Not that kind of agent, Mr. Liu,” she said. “And the name is Leila.”

  He looked relieved as he released the hand. “Okay, good. You two want coffee? First batch of biscuits is about ready.”

  “Thanks
, Liu,” Buckthorn said.

  In a few moments, they were seated in a booth with worn vinyl seats and a Formica tabletop. Liu plopped down two big mugs of steaming coffee in front of them. “Biscuits in a jiffy,” he said. Dushane picked up her mug with both hands and brought the mug to her nose for a long sniff, like a wine connoisseur savoring the bouquet of a fine Cabernet. “Mmmmm…” she murmured, her eyes closed. Then she took a sip. Her eyes popped open. She took a longer drink, then put the cup down with a satisfied sigh.

  “Now THAT,” she said, “is a fine cup of coffee.” And she meant it. Buckthorn hadn’t been lying. The stuff was strong, all right. A couple more cups, and she might not even need that two hours of sleep for a week.

  Liu appeared with two plates, each one holding a pair of biscuits the size of a man’s fist. There was a thick slice of ham in the middle of each.

  “You want to wait, I can cook up some eggs,” he offered.

  “This’ll do me fine,” Dushane said.

  “Thanks, Liu,” Buckthorn said.

  “So,” Dushane asked as Liu bustled away. “You grew up around here?” She took a bite of biscuit. The ham was sizzling hot, heavily salted, the juice thick and tasting of hickory smoke. It was delicious.

  “Yeah,” Buckthorn said. “Lived here all my life. Except a couple years when I went away to college.”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “North Carolina State. You?”

  “LSU for undergrad. Tulane for law school.”

  “Huh,” Buckthorn said. “You’re a lawyer?”

  “No need to be insulting, Lieutenant,” she said, then grinned. “I got recruited by the Bureau right out of law school. You’d be amazed at how many agents are law school grads. Only thing we have more of is accountants.”

  “Guess it makes sense,” he said. “All those complicated financial crimes.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Too rich for my blood.”

  “Mmm. So why’d you only stay two years?”

  He looked down at his plate. “Came home to take care of my mom and my little sister.”

  There’s a story there, Dushane thought. He’d been starting to relax while they’d sat at the booth, but something in that memory had shut him down. Part of her knew she should just let it go, but there was something about Buckthorn that intrigued her. With that thinning sandy hair and the weathered lines on his face that made him look older than he probably was, Lord knows he was no Brad Pitt in the looks department. But the intensity she’d remarked about to Wolf struck a chord in her. It was very much like her own. So she pressed on. “What, did your mom get sick?”

  “Something like that,” Buckthorn said. “How you like those biscuits?”

  “They’re awesome,” she said, and she meant that, too. “But there’s no way I can eat both of these.”

  “I usually wrap one up and take it to work with me.”

  “I’ll do that,” she said. And with that, the opportunity to ask any more about him passed. She was surprised to find that that disappointed her. She was mulling that over when her phone beeped. Buckthorn’s went off at the same time. They pulled them out and checked them.

  “We’ve got a hit from the Facebook…” Dushane said.

  “Monica just got a call from…” Buckthorn began at the same time. They stopped, each motioning the other to finish, neither one willing to do it. Finally Buckthorn chuckled. “Let’s go.”

  Liu came out of the kitchen as they got up to leave. “You guys leaving already?”

  “Got a call,” Buckthorn said, reaching for his wallet.

  Liu waved him off. “On the house.”

  “Liu,” Buckthorn said impatiently, “You know better than that. I got to go.” He pulled out his wallet and handed Liu a ten dollar bill. “Keep the change. Thanks for opening up for us.”

  Liu smiled and the bill disappeared into his apron pocket. “Okay, Tim. Have a good day. Nice meeting you, Leila.”

  “You too,” Dushane said, jogging to catch up with Buckthorn as he strode out the door. She pulled out her phone and hit the speed dial as she got to the patrol car.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Wolf rolled over and picked the buzzing cell phone off the nightstand in his motel room. “Yeah?” he said.

  “Boss,” Dushane said, “We got a hit on the Facebook page. Someone recognized one of those pictures. Buckthorn and I are on our way back to the Sheriff’s department.”

  “A hit? From where?” Wolf said. Then, as the import of what she’d just said began to sink in, he said “Wait? What? You and Buckthorn? Back from where?”

  Dushane sounded annoyed. “From breakfast, boss. I know I woke you up, but try to focus.”

  “Oh. Okay.” He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He could hear the shower running. “Who was it that called? What’s the location?”

  “Don’t know. All we got’s a text.”

  “Okay. On my way.” As he crossed to the room’s tiny closet, the door opened and Gabriella Torrijos walked out, wrapped in a large, fluffy orange towel. She always brought her own towels to hotels. Her hair was wet from the shower. The sight of her, and the memory of the night they’d just spent, stirred his desire. He started for her. Then he realized the phone was still in his hand and what that meant. He sighed. She looked quizzically at him, then noticed the phone and his expression. Her face went blank.

  “Back to work,” she said. “If you ever really left.”

  He felt a flash of anger. “We were just together. Did it look like I was working?”

  “Hey,” she said with a shrug, “You’re the master of undercover. How do I know?”

  “Are we going to start this again? If you didn’t want to do the story, you could have just told me. Or sent someone else.” He turned to the closet and began looking for a clean shirt. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “But we don’t talk, Tony. Later never comes. We spend a night together, we have a few laughs, we have great sex, then you’re off again, chasing bad guys.”

  “I could say the same thing about you.”

  She sat down on the bed. Her voice trembled a little as she said, “This isn’t working, Tony.”

  He pulled a dress shirt on, selected a pair of pants. “We need to get away for a while. After this case. I swear it.”

  She shook her head. “No. Because you’re right. If it’s not you chasing bad guys, it’s me chasing another story. It’s never going to end. Until one of us gives it up. And we both know that’s not going to happen. “ She took a deep breath, the shudder in it betraying the sob she was holding back. “You never really break cover.”

  The accusation cut him. And you never stop probing, he wanted to lash out. You never stop pushing. You never…his thoughts were interrupted by the chime of her phone, which had been resting on the bedside table next to his. She picked it up. “Hello? Yeah. I’m still in Pine Lake. Yeah. On my way.” She set the phone back down and looked at it, then at him. “Not that tie,” she said. “The blue one with the squares.”

  “Okay,” he said, pulling the tie she’d described off the hanger. “I hate wearing these damn things,” he muttered.

  “And that’s the other problem,” she said. “It’s not that you hate a suit. It’s that you loved undercover. It nearly got you killed, but you loved it. And now you can’t do it anymore. I outed you in a big way when I put your face all over the news. You can’t do what you loved any more. And I feel like you blame me.”

  “I don’t,” he said.

  “So you say. Now. But…” her phone chimed again. She looked at it balefully, then sighed and answered. “Hello?” Then, “I’ll ask.” She looked at Wolf. “Any hits from the Facebook page?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Wolf said. “I was going back to the sheriff’s office. They’ve got something. I don’t know from where yet.”

  She spoke into the phone. “Yeah. They’ve got a hit. Just found out. No, I don’t know from where.” She listened for a moment, then closed her eyes. “Ye
ah. Yeah, I’m still here. Okay. Bye.” She shut off the phone. “Looks like I’m here a little while longer,” she said.

  “Gaby…”

  “You need to go. And I need to get ready. Will you be available to interview?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not. Not yet.”

  “Okay. Let me know when you’re ready.” She went into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. He stared at it. He started for it, then his own phone went off, the soft double tone that indicated an incoming text. He looked down at the screen.

  SOMETIME TODAY, BOSS?

  He sighed, finished dressing, and left without another word.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “The hell you mean, you ain’t got her?” Monroe said.

  Donovan’s tone stayed level. “We got rained out,” he said.

  “God damn it,” Monroe said, his thin, reedy voice rising with anger. “You can’t work in rain? What kinda pussy are you? How much longer you think it’s gonna be before someone starts snoopin’ around?”

  “We’re getting ready to start when it gets light. We’ll get her out. One way or another.”

  “Listen here, you…” the words trailed off into a spasm of coughing. The hacking and wheezing grew worse until Monroe was doubled over in the wheelchair, racked by the spasms until he was gasping for breath. Patience crouched at his side, holding his oxygen mask. Every time she tried to put it over his mouth and nose, however, he batted her hand away stubbornly with the hand holding the cell phone. Finally, weakened by lack of oxygen, he subsided into semi-consciousness and she slipped the mask over his face, deftly taking the phone from his hand as she did so. He slumped in the chair, taking long gulps of the oxygen. Patience stood up and put the phone to her ear, walking into the next room as quietly and cat-footed as she could.

  “Sean?” she said. “You still there?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m here. He still alive?”