by David Thurlo
“Yeah, I understand. It means doing things that would get a cop fired. That’s the way you work. Still, don’t let anything happen to you, or Gordon. Gina would never forgive me.”
Charlie nodded. They were only a few blocks from the pawn shop now, and in the back of his mind he was already reminding himself to check his Dodge for a bomb before starting up the ignition.
“Let me off out front, okay?” he asked as they came down the block.
“It’s no problem. I can pull into the alley.”
“Naw, just out front.”
He checked the front door, which was heavy-duty steel, then let himself into the semi-dark front display area, which was illuminated by a couple of well-placed LED lights so any intruder wouldn’t bump into things. A few steps away, he entered the security code to deactivate the alarm, then locked the front behind him.
Everything was very quiet, of course, and all he could hear was the faint tick tock of the various clocks that hung on the far wall. The office enclosure was distinguished by the shine from the Plexiglas windows, and only the glow from the red and green lights of the electronics indicated the presence of their computers and office equipment.
Charlie walked across the room and stepped into the office, not bothering to turn on any lights, just the power switch to the surveillance monitor on the wall. He replayed the last few hours of the coverage on the alley beside his Charger at a fast forward, skipping past the images of store owners and employees stepping out for a smoke or disposing of trash in the Dumpsters. Finally he spotted something unusual—a man in a cap and sunglasses strolling closely past the car, seeming to slow for a second just as he passed by the rear end.
Replaying the scene at normal speed, he notice that the person looked down toward the car and his left shoulder dipped slightly. Then Charlie replayed the image one frame at a time. The guy, if it was a man, had been in shadows and there was no facial image at all, despite the light above the small loading dock. The time stamp showed it was well after dark, anyway. All he could learn was that the person was wearing a dark jacket, sunglasses despite the hour, and a black baseball cap with no logo.
It was worth checking the back end of the car before he got inside. Maybe the guy just keyed the trunk lid. Quickly he surveyed the following coverage, all the way to the present time, but the person hadn’t returned.
At the moment, the alley looked empty within the range of the camera coverage, so Charlie grabbed a flashlight from a shelf in his office and stepped out onto the loading dock. He held the door open and hugged the wall, looking for snipers or potential danger beyond camera range.
It looked clear, so it was time to get out from under the cone of light. Charlie stepped down from the loading dock and went to the rear of the car, listening for footsteps or vehicle sounds that might precede an ambush or drive-by.
He directed the flashlight beam at the car. At least nobody had scratched the perfect plum finish with a key or knife. So what had the guy done as he passed by the vehicle?
If it was a bomb, it would have been tiny. The guy’s fist had been clenched. Aiming the light at the license plate, he noticed a slight smudge on the edge. He crouched down, and using two fingers, felt behind the plate in the gap. There was a small bump about the size of a quarter. Dropping to his knees, Charlie pried the object loose, then brought it into the light for a look.
Then he heard a footstep just a few feet away. Charlie dropped to the asphalt, then rolled to his left, yanking out his Beretta as he looked up for a target.
“Hang on there, bubba. It’s me,” Russell Turner exclaimed in his Southern drawl, stopping short and showing his empty hands.
“I thought that stride of yours looked familiar,” Charlie said, then sighed and placed the pistol back into his holster before sitting up. “This must be your bug.”
“Yeah. I’ve been having a hard time tailing anyone lately, as you may have noticed. I’m used to working with assets and a team, and I haven’t had enough time in this community to become familiar with the road network,” Turner said, reaching out for the small device. “I keep losing your location, so I decided that a GPS on your vehicle would make it a little easier. I should have said something.”
Charlie nodded, wondering why Turner hadn’t just asked, and whether Gordon’s truck had a similar bug. Domestic CIA operations were unsanctioned, supposedly, but every agency in the world would break the rules if it was to their advantage. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, he’d learned the hard way, and clearly Turner was operating under that philosophy at the moment.
“I’m getting the feeling that your section chief or whatever doesn’t know what you’re doing,” Charlie decided to ask.
Turner smiled. “What I do on my vacations is my own business, Charlie. I’m just trying to look out for my boys, and you and Gordon were the best.”
He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Charlie didn’t like to be reminded of what they’d done in Iraq and, later, Afghanistan. It had taken years to get over the guilt, though the nightmares were now rare and less detailed. Did a man like Turner, or whatever his name really was, have bad dreams too?
“I’m all for saving my own ass, brother, so if you want, put it back on,” Charlie said. “I have no real secrets to keep regarding my activities, and you know I’m going to keep after the bastard who’s been stalking me.”
“You sure?” Turner replied, bending down beside the Dodge, then looking back up at him.
Charlie nodded.
“Where are you going next? Home?”
“Yeah, but tomorrow I’m heading to Back Up. I want to find out who else connected to the operation might be involved.”
“Who knew about the van, where it was located, and also knew the owner was out of town so it might not be missed?” Turner said, nodding.
“Exactly. And I have a hard time believing any of the vets have sunken so low as to take on terrorist attacks against their own troops,” Charlie admitted.
“It’s happened before…”
“Yeah, but all the agencies are looking for a lone wolf—an outsider. I’m thinking this might be the work of an insider,” Charlie said.
“I hope you’re wrong.”
“Me too. Have you thought about keeping an eye on the Koury family? Now that you’re able to track my location…”
“Yeah, I’m heading over to their home right now. Even if the kid is kept locked up for a while, the rest of them can’t just hang around the jail. I’ll watch the place, then their shop tomorrow. But if you need me for anything…” Turner added.
“I’ve got your number. And thanks for everything.” Charlie yawned. “As for me, I just need to get some sleep.”
Turner yawned back. “I’m getting too old for this…”
Charlie laughed. “With that well-worn movie cliché, I’m saying good night. Once I reset the alarms and lock up the shop, I’m outta here.” He walked up the steps, glanced back, and realized he was alone. The CIA man hadn’t lost his skills.
As he stepped back inside to set the alarm again, he wondered if there were any other reasons why Turner had placed that bug on his car.
Chapter Thirteen
It was barely 8:00 AM, already warm in urban Albuquerque. Charlie drove into the only remaining parking place next to the austere Back Up building. To his right was an older model faded gold Chevy sedan with a variety of bumper stickers, most of them from branches of military service, politicians, and gun lobby groups. The other two slots contained an ancient Jeep and a new-looking economy model pickup.
“Looks like everyone’s there,” he called to Ruth as he hurried around to open her door. Charlie was rested now and needed to learn who might have latched onto Ben Webster’s van yesterday. Hopefully the shooter hadn’t had time to cover all his tracks.
“Same vehicles as last time, so Anna, Patricia, and Max?” Ruth asked, stepping out of Charlie’s Charger.
“I’m guessing that Jeep belongs to Max,” Char
lie said. “A little rough around the edges but still able to do the job.”
“So what’s the plan? Do we divide and conquer, or double-team someone?”
“Rene got you watching sports?” Charlie observed with a smile, walking beside her toward the front entrance to Back Up, resisting the urge to take her hand, then giving in.
She smiled and gave his fingers a squeeze, holding on tight. “Of course. But I picked that up in college. Speaking the language helped me fit in and talk to the players, both male and female teams. I made a lot of friends that way,” she replied.
“Hmmm.”
“Just what does that imply?”
“Never mind,” he said. “Why don’t we gather as many names of potential suspects from Anna and Max—vets, contacts, or employers who had a beef, or maybe a personality conflict with Nathan?”
“Then we filter through the names to determine who on that list had no obvious alibi? Make some calls?”
“Exactly. And I’d also like you to try and uncover any business-related issues that would fly over my non-MBA head?” Charlie said. “Turning on the recorder now,” he added in a whisper, reaching into his light jacket pocket.
“Okay, here goes,” Ruth added, letting go of his hand and stepping onto the porch just ahead of him.
As they came into the small outer office, the bookkeeper and Patricia were involved in a heated discussion about something. When they saw they had visitors, the women stopped talking and greeted them.
The attention went immediately to Charlie and his latest encounter. Once it was clear he was uninjured, he declared his reason for the visit. “We came here today searching for the identity of the man who shot at me,” he added.
“The same guy who killed Nathan. Is that what you’re thinking?” Max asked. “This is all screwed up.”
“It was the terrorist. I think he staked out the Afghan family’s place, hoping that Charlie would show up at that protest. That what you think?” Anna asked.
Charlie nodded. “Pretty much. The problem is, the van the shooter was driving belongs to Ben Webster, one of your clients.”
“No shit,” Max responded. “But isn’t Ben working that gig in Phoenix?”
“Sure is,” Anna replied. “Unless he came back early or skipped out on the job.”
“If the vet doesn’t show up or has on-the-job problems, don’t the employers let you know?” Ruth asked.
“According to what I’ve been able to learn, Webster has shown up for work on time, every day recently,” Charlie said. “We’ve already ruled him out.”
“So what’s with his van?” Max asked. “How did the terrorist end up with it?”
“According to his apartment manager, the employer transported their work crew, Webster included, to Phoenix in company vehicles. The van was left at Webster’s apartment,” Ruth said.
“So Ben was just unlucky. I heard recently that Albuquerque has the highest rate of auto theft in the country,” Anna said.
“Except that the van was stolen, used, then returned and parked right back where Ben had left it,” Charlie replied, looking from Anna to Max for a reaction.
“That makes no sense at all, unless someone was trying to frame Ben,” Patricia said. “This is an odd coincidence,” she added. “Nathan being killed, then Charlie gets attacked by maybe the same terrorist using a van with a connection to Back Up.”
“More than a coincidence,” Max responded. “That’s why you two are here, Charlie. Am I right?”
Charlie nodded. “Who knew Ben was out of town, and that his van would still be parked in front of his apartment? It’s an old model that can easily be broken into with a slim jim.” Seeing Patricia’s raised eyebrows, he explained, “A long, thin strip of metal that can be inserted between the glass and door, raising the lock lever and opening the door.”
“We knew he was gone—well, not Patricia,” Max said, looking over at Anna, who nodded.
“Along with a few of the vets also trying to get that gig, and his other friends, and his neighbors, including that apartment manager, right? Are the police checking with those people?” Anna said.
“Hopefully. But we’re wondering if you’d thought of anyone new who might have had an issue with Nathan, or now, Ben Webster?” Charlie added. After what had happened lately, he was more worried about earthly, armed enemies than chindis, the evil in a person which remained after their death. He wasn’t concerned with speaking names aloud anymore.
Anna and Max exchanged glances, then Anna spoke. “Maybe Todd Colby? He’s a hard worker, but he came in more than once complaining to Nathan about the work he’d landed. One time Nathan stood up from his chair while they were arguing and Colby squared off like he was expecting an attack.”
“Colby’s a whiner and has absolutely no job skills, Anna,” Max argued. “The only places Nathan could find work for him involved basic hard labor—digging ditches, loading and unloading construction materials, cleanup and janitorial. He couldn’t handle any heavy equipment beyond a wheelbarrow. Once he dumped two loads from a hoist and got fired, remember?”
“Copy that,” Anna said. “And his computer skills are limited to video games. He can’t even text. We keep trying to place him, but sometimes when an employer gives him a try, they don’t call back for more. Todd had a big argument with Nathan about two weeks ago, and Nathan told him to get out. Colby blew up and threw a punch at the door. See that dent in the metal?” she said, pointing to the spot.
“Then what?” Charlie asked.
“Nathan and I made sure Colby left the property. Haven’t seen him since,” Max added.
“Do you have an address for Mr. Colby?” Ruth asked, looking over at Charlie, who nodded.
“He’s no longer represented here, so I guess it’s okay. Boss?” Anna looked to Patricia.
Patricia nodded. “If you promise to be careful talking to the man, Charlie. It doesn’t take much to set him off.”
Anna left the room, heading into her office.
“By the way,” Charlie asked, “how did Colby serve?”
“He was in the Army, combat engineers; demolition, if I recall. He was deployed for three tours in Iraq during the Gulf War, and saw his share of the action,” Max explained. “My advice is to avoid any confrontations. Colby has PTSD issues, and was drinking heavily when he came here looking for work. First time Nathan smelled it on his breath, he cancelled the job. Colby was annoyed, but promised to quit the booze if he could get another chance. Fortunately, I think he finally quit drinking, or at least cut back.”
“Here’s the address,” Anna said, coming back into the front office with a piece of paper in hand.
Ruth took the handwritten note and put it into her purse. “Thank you so much, we’ll keep it confidential.”
Charlie glanced over at a dozen clipboards on the wall, all containing what looked like business stationery. “It looks like you have a lot of clients out on jobs today, more than I saw last time. This is good news, right?”
Patricia spoke. “We’re hoping to get even more work for our vets. Finances are still tight.”
“How exactly does your bookkeeping work?” Ruth asked.
“Some of the employers we work with are still paying our people directly, and that makes accounting more difficult. Right, Anna?” Patricia commented.
“It’s a little more work for me, but I don’t mind. When our vets get paid directly, they feel a lot better about themselves, even though they’re required to pay Back Up a percentage of that salary. They don’t like to wait either, often needing the money right away. Most employers, however, insist on sending us the checks, then we pay our clients their share. Having an option was something Nathan always insisted on, leaving the payment methods up to the employers. Sometimes employers prefer dealing in cash, especially when it’s one- or two-person businesses who simply require a temp on certain projects, but nothing long-term,” Anna replied.
“How can you ensure that the payments made directly to
your clients are accurately reported to Back Up?” Charlie asked. “Say, a vet making three hundred dollars on a job, but only reporting two fifty?”
“Anna and I were discussing this problem when you came in,” Patricia replied. “I’d like to change over to the less vulnerable system and require that all wages be paid to Back Up directly in order to avoid any potential abuse. Not that I know of anything like that having actually taken place.”
“What do you think, Max?” Charlie asked.
“We’re hurting for money right now, and I don’t want us to lose Back Up. If changing the system will help, I’m all for it,” Max admitted.
“If we change over to a private employment agency payout system, complete with contracts, we’re going to be telling some of our vets that we don’t trust them anymore. That’s not good, and that’s why I’m against it,” Anna replied. “I don’t think we’re being ripped off, we’re just not finding enough work for the vets, and too often the jobs pay just minimum wage.”
“Your opinion is noted, Anna,” Patricia replied.
“Well, that’s a business decision for you people,” Charlie said. “All I want to do is talk to some of your clients and see how they feel about Nathan and Back Up in general. Maybe get a hint of who might have been skimming from this office, or had a beef. Someone wanted him dead, and once we rule out all the vets, we’ll be able to move on in the search for the killer.”
“And whoever has been attacking Charlie,” Ruth added.
“So you’d like a list of our vets and their contact information?” Patricia asked. “Please call them first, Charlie. If they don’t want to talk to you, I’m asking that you leave them alone.”
“Of course.”
“Anna, would you mind printing out our active client list?” Patricia asked.
“And maybe those who’ve moved on within the past year?” Ruth suggested.
Anna glanced at Patricia, who nodded.
“While you’re doing that, Anna, may I have a look at your office?” Ruth asked. “I’m interested in seeing your layout. I do a lot of the bookkeeping at FOB Pawn, and we’re using a new system ourselves.”
