He went through it all, up to Phin making him promise not to tell me anything. Then we watched the YouTube video on his tablet.
I was no stranger to graphic images, but this one made my stomach juices curdle. The screaming of the man being towed along the pavement, plus the obvious delight of his tormentors, wasn’t something I’d forget anytime soon.
And the drivers did indeed look like Lucy and Luther. They also fit the profile. Their particular idea of fun.
“That’s… awful,” I said.
“Yeah. It’s kind of a drag.”
“Jesus, Harry.”
“I also could have made a streaking joke. Because the guy is naked, and leaving a long, red streak.”
“You’re a horrible human being.”
He grinned. “I’m a horrible human being, who also tracked down where it happened.”
“And?”
Harry clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back, his victory pose. “Don’t you want to know how I did it?”
“You enhanced the video and ran the license plates.”
The victory pose vanished. “You’re a buzz kill, you know that?”
“Where are they, McGlade?”
“Mexicali. Off of Mexican Federal Highway 5. I’m guessing the owner of the truck is the poor guy being dragged. Roberto Salazar. Single, Mexican citizen, currently between jobs. And by the look of that beaten down truck, not doing very well for himself. You could say he was just scraping by.”
Ugh. And I worked with Harry by choice.
“Did you share any of this with Phin?”
“He left before I knew any of it.”
“And you haven’t been in touch?”
McGlade shook his head. “You’ve obviously tried to call him.”
“His phone is off. I haven’t heard from him since yesterday.”
“Check the bankpants?”
“Stop saying pants, McGlade, or I’ll punch you in yours.”
“Geez, no need to be so crabbypa—” He was lucky he stopped himself.
“I checked the bank,” I said. “He hasn’t been using his debit card.”
“Phin’s not the sharpest knife in the chandelier, but he’s smart enough to figure out the YouTube video came from Mexico.”
I didn’t bother correcting McGlade’s mixed metaphor. Instead I tried to put myself in my husband’s head. He was, obviously, going to try and kill Luther and Lucy to protect me and Sam. He would have seen the license plates on the truck, and the highway sign, and headed southwest. I knew Phin was resourceful, and determined, and could find people. But serial killers tended to be harder to track down than the average street thug. Phin could get lucky, but I didn’t think his particular skill set would be enough to track down two sociopaths who made a career out of avoiding detection.
That gave me a little bit of reassurance. Because even though I’d bet on Phin in a bar fight over just about any other man I’d ever met, and I knew he had no reluctance when it came to ending a life if the situation called for it, he wasn’t equipped to handle the type of evil that serial killers represented. Luther Kite wouldn’t want to meet him face-to-face, one-on-one, on equal terms. Luther was more like a scorpion, hiding in a shoe, waiting for someone to slip a bare foot inside. If Phin found Luther and Lucy first, he’d quickly put an end to them both.
But if they found him first…
“The worst thing he could do,” I said, “would be to go slumming around Mexico with a picture of Luther Kite, trying to beat information out of lowlifes.”
Harry had begun the Waveya video again. “And you think that’s probably his plan?”
“He’s not exactly subtle.”
“So we either need to find him before he finds Luther and Lucy, or find Luther and Lucy before they find Phin.”
“We?”
My partner nodded. “I’m in. Harry Junior is spending the week with the Queen Bitch Who Eats Men’s Souls—”
“His mother.”
“—and we’ve got nothing pressing on our schedule other than the Morrow affair. I can string him along for a few more days. I’d be doing him a favor anyways. No one likes to see pics of their wife with some stud balls deep in her backdoor.”
McGlade, annoying as he was, could prove helpful. At the very least, he’d be able to cover my back.
“Do you still have Katie Glente’s card?”
“You want to pump her for more info?”
“Something like that.”
McGlade leaned over and grabbed his wallet off the nightstand. “She wrote about us, you know. You, more than me. One of her books was about those Feebie tools in ViCAT. Another was about Andrew Thomas. We were footnotes, but from what I read her research was solid. Ah, here we go.” McGlade produced a business card.
“Hand it over.”
“This isn’t Katie. This is Sinnamon, the escort. I think she’s bi, if you’re interested. I won’t tell Phin.” He closed his eyes and sniffed the card. “Mmm. Smells like daddy issues and ruined self-esteem.”
I considered threating his art again, but McGlade must have read my intent because he found Katie’s card. No address on it, just her name, phone number, and website URL. Michigan area code.
“Can you turn off the Korean dance troupe?”
“I cannot. Waveya and I are in love, and no one can stop us from being together.” He noticed my glare and added, “But I can turn down the sound.”
Harry continued to bounce his head along to the muted video as I dialed. Someone picked up on the third ring.
“Katie Glente.”
“Ms. Glente, this is Jack Daniels. I heard you were looking for me.”
“Yes, Lt. Daniels. I’m a big fan of your work. I’d be very interested in meeting with you.”
“Ninety minutes,” I said. “My house. I assume you know where it is.”
“I do. That’s great, I’ll see you—”
I hung up. There was no need to chat now when I was going to meet her. I much preferred seeing the person when speaking to them, because then I could judge body language.
“What’s your take on Katie Glente?”
Harry shrugged. “I’d hit that.”
“You’d hit anything with two tits and a pulse.”
“Untrue. The pulse is optional. And so are tits.” He glanced at the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer poster hanging on the wall. Harry walked last year, and had actually helped raise over thirty thousand dollars for the cause. “Boobs don’t make a woman sexy, Jackie. Her heart and courage are what makes her sexy.”
“Stop acting noble, McGlade. You played the caring guy card to get laid.”
“And I did. Four times, to be exact. But who’s counting? Or taking pictures? Did you want to see pictures? I have a lot. About twice as many as I got during the Muscular Dystrophy Walk.”
“There are so many words I could use to describe you, none of them flattering.”
He shrugged. “I can’t help it. I’m a connoisseur of the fairer sex. I also did pretty good at the Alzheimer’s Walk, but I doubt any of the women I drilled would remember it.”
I only had myself to blame. “Other than wanting to nail her, what was your impression of Glente?”
“Smart. Tough. Has an edge to her.”
“Anything… off?”
“I didn’t notice anything.”
I searched his face, “You sure?”
McGlade probably wasn’t the one to ask. He’d married a woman who cut off his hand, so he wasn’t exactly the best judge of crazypants.
Shit, now he had me doing it.
“I get what you’re saying.” Harry raised his rubber-encased prosthesis, and the mechanical gears inside whirred until he was giving me the finger. “No, she didn’t seem like she wanted to torture me to death. And I’ve gotten better at reading people in recent years. Are you just being your usual, paranoid self?”
I frowned. “Phin is gone because she showed up. If something happens to him, Katie Glente is the one I’m
going to blame.”
“Well, let’s get to it, partner,” McGlade said. He swung his legs out of bed, giving me an unwelcome view of his Captain America boxer-briefs.
Third leg my ass.
“Before we go anywhere,” I said, “You need to get dressed.”
“And dress I shall.” He looked around the bedroom floor. “But first, help me find my pantspants.”
PHIN
Baja
He’d taken five grand in cash with him. Cash Jack didn’t know about. There was more where that came from, about $22k more, in a footlocker Phin kept in the garage rafters. Once upon a time, after he’d been diagnosed with cancer, Phin had taken to the streets and made money by robbing gang bangers and crack houses. It had been an empty, pointless, day-to-day-hand-to-mouth existence, and he’d spent much of what he’d stolen on drugs to take away his pain, both physical and emotional.
He might have also robbed a bank or three. But unlike his dealings with scumbags, Phin had always been nonviolent and polite when making those particular withdrawals.
When his cancer had gone into remission, and Jack had become a larger and larger part of his life, much of Phin’s humanity returned. He stopped being a criminal, and started being a responsible adult. Rather than feel bad about his past, Phin was reflective. But just because he’d recognized his mistakes didn’t mean he was going to give all the money back.
Besides, if anything happened to Phin, Jack would eventually find the cash, and at least part of Sam’s college would be taken care of.
After a quick trip to FedEx, he used a near-perfect fake ID (both driver’s license and passport he’d obtained through McGlade) and paid cash for his plane ticket at O’Hare. Phin endured an eight hour flight next to a chubby teen who snored, and after clearing Customs at General Rodolfo Sánchez Taboada International Airport he found a rental car place that accepted American cash instead of a credit card, provided he pay extra for the insurance.
His first night in Mexicali, he took a room at the Hotel Calafia, an upscale tourist destination with a well maintained pool and a workout room with flat screen TVs on the walls. He watched movies in his room until the front desk rang him to pick up the FedEx he sent to himself. It contained his FNS 9mm pistol, with four extra magazines, and a DoubleTap tactical pocket pistol. The DoubleTap was flat and no bigger than his wallet; thirteen ounces, 5/8” wide, and snag-proof. It held two rounds in the double barrel, with two extras in the pistol grip on a speed strip.
Phin appreciated the form and function; it was so small he could hold the gun in his palm and it was completely concealed by his hand. But even though it was the size of a .380 it packed the punch of a 9mm. The thin aluminum frame didn’t make it the most comfortable weapon to shoot, but as a back-up piece it was unmatched. The coolest thing about it was the barrel detached, and each piece was small enough to fit inside a hollowed-out secret compartment in his Tony Lama cowboy boots. The heels swung open on hinges, like in the classic TV show Wild Wild West. They wouldn’t get past TSA, but a thorough frisk wouldn’t find them, and in a life or death situation it was better to be armed than unarmed.
He’d also sent four boxes of Hornady Critical Defense Ammo, a Bradley butterfly knife with a 4” tanto blade, some brass knuckles, and a shoulder holster for the FNS.
Once his equipment arrived, Phin went hunting.
Usually, if Phin were trying to find someone in a strange city, he would go cab hopping. Taxi drivers were the lifeblood of an urban area. They saw things, heard things, knew things. Phin’s Spanish was así así, but he knew enough to ask the important questions.
Finding Luther Kite, however, would be challenging. This was a man who spent years, maybe decades, murdering people while staying in the shadows. Flashing around his picture asking, “¿Lo has visto?” wouldn’t get him anywhere. So instead, Phin did something he was familiar with.
He went looking for drugs.
Dealers, like pimps, were territorial creatures of habit. If they were paying off the cops, they owned their street corner and advertised their presence, like peacocks displaying plumage. If they weren’t protected, they still needed to be visible enough to sell their wares, but casual enough that they wouldn’t draw the attention of law enforcement. That would mean spotters, usually shorties with cell phones who could give them advance warning when the police rolled up.
Phin drove around for half a day and found six dealers in the low rent parts of town. He was looking for codeine. Both Luther, and his psycho girlfriend Lucy, had some serious medical conditions, brought on by extreme physical abuse. Phin guessed they wouldn’t be seeing a regular doctor for pain meds. He also guessed they were smart enough to avoid the really harsh stuff, like heroin and krokodil.
When Phin had been in his drug phase, cocaine was his palliative narcotic of choice. But to really take away the pain, he needed pills. Strangely, pills weren’t easy to come by in Mexico. At least, not of the opiate variety. Phin found ecstasy, meth, GHB, and ketamine, but nothing from the codeine family other than some grubby Tylenol-3 caplets that looked like knock-offs.
He went back to the hotel, ordered some room service enchiladas, and spent ten minutes staring at his cell phone, which was off.
No doubt Jack had called. Several times. He wanted to hear her voice, but if he knew Jack she was probably on her way back to Chicago, if not back already. If he turned his phone on, there was a possibility she could track it.
Best to leave it off. And to not take it with him.
If he did find Luther, and things went sour, he didn’t want anything that could be traced back to the woman he loved, and their daughter.
KATIE
Near Chicago
Katie called a taxi, had the driver take her to a nearby McDonalds and wait in the lot while she forced down a burger, fries, and whatever energy drink was at the soda fountain. She kept herself in shape and usually ate well, but sometimes a girl just needed empty calories. A remnant of her past, when she’d gone days without eating. Powerless. A victim. Surviving on the whim of others.
Never again.
Jack had sounded hard on the phone. Cynical. Tough. Which was good. That’s what Katie had come for. The ex-police lieutenant was fifty years old, and had been out of the game since having her baby. Katie was concerned she wouldn’t be up to the task of hunting Luther. Hopefully Jack would be just as hard in person as she’d been on the phone.
After a second cup of caffeinated sugar water, enough to make Katie’s normally steady pulse tick a few more beats per minute, she returned to the cab and went back to Jack’s house. Hoisting her backpack, she once again approached the entrance, keeping her face neutral as she stared into the security camera.
The door opened, and Jack, wearing a smart pantsuit with fashionably wide lapels—Donna Karan?—said, “You have five minutes.”
Katie forced herself not to smile. She’d written, tangentially, about Jack Daniels in her non-fiction books, had read quite a bit about her, and had seen a lot of news footage, so Katie already knew what she looked like and how she sounded. But meeting her made Katie feel a little like a fan girl. Jack was greyer than her last press conference, and had put on a little weight, but she radiated authority like few people Katie had ever met. This woman had presence.
“I only need two,” Katie said.
Behind Jack, Duffy stood at attention, his tail ramrod straight. Jack opened the door wider, allowing Katie entry, and she saw Harry McGlade was on the love seat, a leg draped over the armrest.
“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.
“It’s taking all of my self-control not to climb on you right now,” Katie deadpanned.
She noted Jack’s mouth twitched in a small smile.
“I’ll be brief,” Katie said. “I want to find Luther Kite, and I want your help.”
“I don’t care about Kite. I care about my husband.”
“I know.”
Katie watched the realization seep
into Jack’s face.
“You sent Phin after Kite because you knew I’d go after him.”
“I know more about Luther Kite than anyone. I’ve spent years tracing unsolved murders and disappearances back to him. I know how he thinks, what he’s capable of. That’s why I won’t go after him alone.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No. But I think he’s in Baja.”
“Do you know where Phin is?”
“No. He hasn’t been in touch since I met him yesterday.”
“You’ve trapped me into going after Luther. You’ve made it to the top of my shit list.”
“Luther should be at the top of your shit list. Him, and Lucy. I see how you live, Jack. You know they’re out there. You know they could come for you and your family someday. Phin decided on a pre-emptive strike. But he isn’t you. If anyone can find Luther, you can.”
“Why should I bring you along?”
“I can fight. I can shoot.”
“I can get my own crew to back me up.”
“You should. The more people we have on our side, the better chance we’ll have at finding Kite… and surviving.”
“And this is all for a book?”
Katie didn’t reply. She kept her face neutral, revealing nothing, which wasn’t easy because Jack seemed to be staring directly into Katie’s soul.
“You’ve experienced violence,” Jack said.
It was a statement, not a question, and Katie was a bit taken aback. “Yes.”
“This is personal for you.”
Katie chose not to lie. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Katie didn’t answer, but she held Jack’s penetrating gaze.
“Give me your pack,” Jack said.
Katie didn’t hesitate. She handed the pack over. As Jack went through it, Katie noticed that McGlade had a gigantic gun, a .44 Magnum, in his lap. He was still smiling.
“That’s a lot of firepower,” Katie said. “Overcompensating for something?”
Harry winked. “You’re welcome to discover that for yourself.”
Last Call - A Thriller (Jacqueline Jack Daniels Mysteries Book 10) Page 4
