Don't Look for Me

by Mason Cross

  He remembered that he had forgotten to retrieve the USB device he had used to crack Freel’s laptop, and cursed softly under his breath. If Carol heard him, she didn’t acknowledge it. Too late to worry about it now. A few miles out, Gage tensed as they saw flashing red lights approaching from the road ahead. He heard Carol take a sharp breath and he moved the gun an inch closer.

  “Easy now,” he said, eyes fixed on the police car approaching in the opposite lane.

  Carol swallowed and kept both hands on the wheel. The blue and white vehicle flew past them, the Doppler effect distorting the siren as it passed.

  Carol didn’t say anything, but she glanced down at the gun. Gage smiled and relaxed a little. He rested it on his lap, ready to raise it again if he needed.

  “Very good.”

  Almost an hour passed without either of them exchanging a word. Gage was grateful for the silence. It gave him time to think. If Carol was on the level about the ghost town and the case, this trip might be more than worthwhile. Whatever McKinney and Freel had been hiding had to be there. Gage didn’t know exactly what to expect, but he knew it had been valuable enough to have cost them both their lives. Drugs or cash, most likely, and hopefully the latter. If this worked out, perhaps he would even turn Carol loose as a reward.

  Even if the trip turned out to be a bust—if they couldn’t find the safe opened by the dual keys, or if what it contained was worthless, or if it never existed in the first place—then he would be no worse off than he had been after he had pulled the trigger on Freel.

  If that happened, he would check in with the men in Vegas, explain the situation, and offer them Carol instead. Maybe he would still do okay out of the deal, salvage the rest of his fee at least. After all, even if she knew nothing, they didn’t know that.

  He watched her as she drove. The highway was wide and straight, which meant her eyes had very rarely strayed from looking ahead. There were fine beads of perspiration on her brow and on the back of her neck; from the heat, he guessed, not from nerves. He wondered about the men in Vegas. Would they torture her for information? He found himself hoping not. Understandably, the woman had been hostile toward him ever since they met, and was only grudgingly cooperating with him now. But despite himself, he found himself warming to her. He admired the way she had been able to process the shock of Freel’s death and function well enough to prolong her own survival.

  For some reason, that made him think of the voice on the other end of Carol’s phone call. Not a friend, just “somebody she used to know.” He wondered if this someone had been close to the house. If so, he would have arrived on the scene and found Freel’s body by now, and the police would likely have been called. It would take time to identify the body and his identity might not be made public right away. He had no idea what connections the men in Vegas had, but it was likely there was some time to play with. The Vegas trio were in the dark at the moment, and Gage might need to exploit that uncertainty.

  He glanced back at Carol. Her eyes were focused on the road, her expression calm.

  “You don’t seem very upset,” he said.

  She turned her head to look at him, then looked back at the road.

  “We have to make conversation too?” she said coldly.

  Gage smiled. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to turn her over to the men in Vegas.

  “I mean, I’ve never been married,” he said. “But I’ve met a few widows. You seem to be taking it pretty well, is all I’m saying.”

  “If it disappoints you, we can pull over and I’ll break down into a sobbing mess,” Carol said. She glanced at him and then back at the road. “You get off on that kind of thing, huh?”

  “Not in the slightest,” he said. “Your composure is appreciated. This is much less hassle for me. Killing your husband was nothing personal, like I said.”

  “You can stop apologizing.”

  “It wasn’t an apology,” he said, tightening the grip on the gun. A little smart mouth was endearing, but he didn’t want her forgetting who was in charge.

  She glanced down at the gun and straightened in her seat.

  “So when were you going to leave him?” Gage asked.

  “Who says I was?”

  “You can’t have liked him much. A woman comes home and finds three bullets in her husband, doesn’t shed a single tear? You either hated his guts or you are the coldest goddamn broad I ever met.”

  She looked across at him. “Maybe it’s both.”

  “Maybe it’s both,” he repeated.

  39

  Central Arizona had a lot to recommend it, as far as Gage was concerned: wide open spaces, no pollution, very few people. Blanket cell phone coverage was not, however, one of its primary attractions. Gage’s phone had lost its weak signal a few miles after leaving Quarter, and had picked up a signal only sporadically since. He doubted whether the single bar that occasionally appeared would be enough to connect a call, anyway. The sky was darkening as they saw a sign for gas, and a couple of minutes later, Gage told Carol to pull off the highway into the small filling station.

  There were four pumps under a canopy and a small convenience store. Gage was pleased to see a payphone attached to the wall outside the store. He told Carol to park up next to the pumps.

  “I need to make a call,” he said. “Keep both hands on the wheel.”

  Carol said nothing, but moved both hands up so they were on top of the steering wheel.

  He turned in his seat and surveyed the forecourt. No other cars. An attendant sitting by the register inside reading a magazine.

  He looked out at the road. They had passed other cars every few minutes or so, but right now it was deserted.

  Gage leaned over to take the keys from the ignition, got out and crossed to the payphone.

  He took his cell out and thumbed through it to get the number, before dialing it in to the payphone.

  Two rings and a pickup. A cautious, suspicious voice that Gage recognized as belonging to David, the younger, more irritable member of the trio who had met him in the bar. “Hello?”

  “This is Gage.”

  A pause.

  “We’ve been waiting to hear from you.”

  There was a hint of irritation in the voice, but nothing more than that. So they didn’t know Freel was dead. If anything had been reported on the news yet, they hadn’t put two and two together. Why would they? Quarter was a long way from Vegas, and Freel would likely have been using another assumed name.

  “I’ve been out of range,” he said. “This is the first opportunity I’ve had to call you. Put Walter on.”

  “Walter isn’t here right now,” David responded sharply. “Talk to me. He said there was some sort of confusion. He told you we didn’t need you anymore.”

  “Tell Walter there was no confusion. I’ve thought about it and I’m willing to accept. I’ll call him back later tonight to arrange the balance of my payment.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’ll tell you tonight.”

  “Fine. We’ll call you at ten.”

  “Don’t bother. I’m out of range, remember? I’ll call you. Eleven o’clock.” Ten would have been fine, but Gage wanted to make a point.

  “Where are you?” he asked again.

  “Speak soon,” Gage said, and hung up.

  David would be wondering why the hell he had bothered checking in at all. But the call had given Gage the information he needed. He still had time to see if Carol’s story about the ghost town tied up with the twin safe keys.

  Gage had kept his eyes on Carol while he had been talking. She hadn’t moved her hands. She had stared back at him at first before looking away, in the direction of the road.

  He pointed to the store to indicate he was going inside, then pointed at his eyes.

  He opened the door and stepped inside. The layout of the store and the windows meant he would be able to keep Carol in his line of sight for the whole time until he had to face the attendant. If Carol tried t
o signal the attendant, it would be obvious. She would be signing his death warrant. He didn’t think he needed to tell her that. He bought a couple of bottles of water and some snacks and paid for a tank of gas. He glanced back at Carol, who was staring at the road now.

  The attendant, a short, bespectacled kid of no more than twenty, processed the transaction without giving Gage a second glance and looked back down at whatever he was reading. It was an oversized book, lots of text. Something academic. A college boy minding his own business and biding his time until he could get out of his shitty nowhere job and whichever shitty nowhere town from which he commuted to it. Good for him.

  Gage pocketed the change and was pushing open the door when he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. He turned his head in the direction of the road and saw the blue and white Arizona Highway Patrol car pull off the road, angling toward the pump adjacent to his own car. His eyes flashed to Carol, who was looking back at him. Her expression gave nothing away, as usual. He hesitated for a second and walked over to his car, passing in front of the police car as it pulled into the space. There were two officers inside: a black cop driving and a white cop in the passenger seat, who examined him from behind mirrored sunglasses. Gage reached for the pump and started filling up, angling his body so that it blocked the view of Carol with her left hand cuffed to the wheel.

  The cop in the passenger seat got out and fixed his hat on his head. He was short, maybe five-seven, but very wide, with a thick mustache that was beginning to go gray at the edges. He looked at Gage again as he passed by in the direction of the store. Gage held his gaze, offering a friendly smile.

  “Evening.”

  The cop gave an almost imperceptible nod, glanced at the car and continued on his way. Gage looked back at the police car and saw the driver watching him, before looking away. Gage glanced at the gallons clocking up on the meter. He watched the windows of the store out of the corner of his eye. The cop had selected a couple of bottles of soda and was headed for the register. He looked down at Carol. Her blue eyes looked back at him, blankly. They were impossible to read. The horn was less than two inches below the thumb of her right hand.

  “Hands down,” he said. Under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear through the open window.

  She seemed to consider it for a moment. She did that a lot, he had noticed: it was as though every time he gave her an order, she had to decide whether to obey. She dropped her right hand from the wheel and lowered her left, but the handcuff caught on the spoke of the wheel, preventing her from dropping the cuffed hand below view.

  The cop in the store was paying. The one behind the wheel was leaning an arm on the window sill, staring out at the road.

  Gage switched hands so that he was holding the pump with his left hand, leaving his right free. The pump clicked off as the tank filled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Carol flinch at the abrupt silence.

  The cop in the store was coming back now. His angle of approach said he was headed for Gage’s car, rather than his own.

  Gage moved smoothly, twisting the cap back on the gas tank with his left hand, his muscles tensing for the moment when the cop spotted Carol’s handcuffs. He hadn’t seen them yet, or if he had, he was playing it cool. The soda bottles were in his left hand; the necks dangling between three beefy fingers. His right hand hovered by his holster. He was closing the distance, looking at Gage. Fifteen feet, ten now. Gage turned around and fixed a “can I help you?” smile on his face. The cop’s eyes stayed on him, which was good, but he knew it was fleeting. In the next couple of seconds, he would take a closer look at the car and the driver. He wouldn’t be able to help it: human nature, to say nothing of years of training and experience. The cop’s mouth was opening to address him when they both heard it.

  Another engine. Louder this time, no intention of pulling into the gas station. Gage kept his eyes on the cop as the other man’s attention shot straight to the source of the noise. A cherry-red Mazda MX-5 flashed by, headed north. Gage guessed the driver was doing better than ninety.

  The next sound was immediate: the patrol car’s engine growling to life, followed by the howl of the siren starting up. The cop with the mirrored shades ran to the passenger side as the patrol car maneuvered around the forecourt. The driver paused long enough for his partner to yank the door open and get in. The cop car peeled out of the station and was gone, leaving the sound of ascending gears and the siren fading gradually in the distance.

  Gage stood there until the sounds had died away to nothing. The attendant had come outside to see what the commotion was about. He stared down the road and then looked at Gage, giving him a “how about that?” look. Gage ignored him and got back into the car, handing Carol the keys.

  “That was lucky,” he said, forgetting for a second that they were not co-conspirators.

  “I suppose that depends on your point of view,” Carol said mildly as she put the keys back in and started the engine.

  Gage said nothing, just watched her as she pulled onto the road. A little rebelliousness was a likeable quality, he mused, but sometimes a person can push things a little too far.

  40

  In contrast to our easy conversations on the way down, there was a tense silence for most of the return trip north toward Corinth. Both of us understood we were on the back foot. We had had the chance to keep Carol safe and had let it slip through our fingers. Or to be more accurate, I had. I had known she was in danger ever since talking to Sarah that first night. Everything that had happened since—Gage breaking into Sarah’s house, the revelation that the police were looking for Freel in connection with a high stakes robbery—had only emphasized that danger. I had been stupid. I had screwed up the chance to keep Carol safe for a second time. I just had to pray I would get one last chance.

  Every car we passed on the road, we glanced at the faces inside. I knew Sarah would be a lot more use than me in identifying Trenton Gage, given that she had seen him up close, but she didn’t see anyone who fit the bill. It wasn’t the kind of face you forget, she assured me.

  Corinth was the only lead we had, so it had been a simple decision to head back there. Even so, part of me worried that it was possible we were going in the wrong direction, putting more miles between us and Carol.

  We had brought Freel’s laptop with us, and Sarah had spent some time going through the files on the hard drive. There hadn’t been a whole lot there, certainly nothing that told us anything new about why someone would want to find or kill Freel. The laptop was either very new, or had been professionally wiped recently. Between the two of us, Sarah and I knew all the places to look for hidden files on a computer, and none of them yielded any results. The browser history might be worth looking at, and any emails we could access of course, but we would need to wait until we could connect to the internet to check that.

  There was still so much we didn’t know. Whatever the explanation was for the actions of Freel and the men pursuing him, I knew it had something to do with the Ellison heist. Did he know where the rest of the take was? That seemed like a strong possibility. Or perhaps he was a witness to something he shouldn’t have seen. The way I was feeling, I would have gladly killed Freel myself if Gage hadn’t beaten me to it. Somehow he was involved in the Ellison job. It didn’t matter whether he was the master planner or a hired hand: because of him, Carol’s life was in danger.

  With Freel dead, Carol was left alone as the only potential lead. She had claimed not to know about Freel’s activities—was that the whole truth? Maybe she would know enough about her husband’s activities to be useful to her captor. I found myself hoping so, remembering the body on the floor of the bedroom. From what little I knew of him, Trenton Gage did not strike me as a man who cared to leave loose ends.

  That was one of the reasons why I had suggested Sarah stay in Iron City, while I approached Corinth myself. I had half-expected her to argue the point, to demand to come, but she understood what we would be walking into, and that she would
be a distraction at best, a liability at worst.

  The sun was kissing the western horizon when we reached Iron City. Sarah had called ahead and booked two rooms in the same motel we had stayed in the night before. I hoped I would be around to use mine.

  Sarah got out and shivered in the cool air. She pulled her leather jacket on and regarded me with the nervous expression of a student about to go into a tough exam.

  “You’ll be careful?” she asked. It sounded like she was trying to reassure herself, rather than warn me.

  In answer, I reached under my jacket, took my gun out and placed it on the passenger seat.

  “I’ll call you after I ...” After what? I didn’t know what was going to happen. I didn’t want to think about it too much. “After,” I finished.

  “I’ll see you soon, Blake,” she said and swung the door shut. She turned and walked for the motel entrance without looking back. I pulled out of the lot and onto the road.

  Less than ten minutes later I took the turn onto the badly surfaced road indicated by the worn sign. Only a few more miles to Corinth. I put my foot down, gripped the wheel, and kept my eyes on the horizon.

  41

  “This is it?”

  Gage’s question was rhetorical, and Carol’s silence indicated she knew it. He had checked the map from the gas station after Carol had given him enough information for them to identify the town. Corinth was the only destination on this road. He knew the road terminated on the eastern edge of town, leaving nothing but desert.

  The dark husks of the buildings loomed in the headlights. There had been no streetlights, no lit windows to home in on, so they found themselves on top of the town almost before they knew it.