The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 4-6 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set Book 2)

by John W. Mefford

  “No, before that,” Nick insisted. “I want to hear exactly what was going on before your Dad and Carly left the beach. Did they make any calls? How was their interaction with you, the kids, and Archie? From what you said, given your earlier confrontation at their house, it was a little tense or awkward. But I need to hear you describe it in detail.”

  I huffed out a breath, then did as he said. When I was finished, Gretchen chimed in. “I don’t know how you do it, Alex. To put up with someone sabotaging your dad’s life. I don’t know how you’ve been able to hold back with this woman.”

  “Honestly, she almost had me convinced a few times that I was the problem. But then we had another shooting, and Dad was a half inch away from becoming a human vegetable, or worse, and then it became all too clear: I’d been played.”

  “Absolutely,” Gretchen said with provocation. “Reminds me of the shysters running around New England…the gypsies or whatever you want to call them. They prey on the weak or weak-minded, try to make you feel sorry for them. You fork over five grand to have your driveway paved, and then the frickin’ driveway starts to crumble a month later.”

  No one said a word for at least ten seconds. “Sounds like you have some personal demons of your own,” I said.

  “It’s my parents. A couple of honest, hardworking Americans who try to do the right thing, treat everyone with respect. They don’t have a hateful or bigoted bone in their bodies. But they got royally screwed in this paving scam, and now this gypsy fella won’t return their calls. My parents might live in Connecticut, but they don’t have money growing on trees. It’s just really stressing them out. Me too, I guess.”

  “When I’m back in the city, Gretchen, we’ll have to make it a girls’ night out. Maybe there is something we can do legally against these shysters, as you called them.”

  “Cool.”

  Assertive Nick got us back on track. “Ladies, that’s all well and good, but, Alex, you mentioned your dad seemed to show some attitude toward this captain?”

  “Captain Rex. No idea if he’s really a captain. In fact, I probably doubt it. He’s just one of those characters who’s always around. In some respects, I think he’s lost his marbles. He’s searching for some sort of lost treasure. He thinks one of the robbers from the Brinks robbery in Boston back in the mid-1900s ended up on the Texas coast and might have buried a million dollars in precious coins or gold. Just repeating his theory makes it sound even more like nonsense.”

  “And your dad wouldn’t say what his beef was with him?”

  “Never got the chance to ask, although his rudeness was embarrassing. I think the kids noticed too. It just adds another layer of regret for coming back here. And that doesn’t begin to address the fact that my kids were exposed to two drive-by shootings.” I released a tired, annoyed breath.

  “Take it easy on yourself,” Brad said. “You couldn’t have known all this was going to happen.”

  “But my dad has been a walking soap opera, train wreck—whatever you want to call it—ever since my mom died. I should have known. But no, I pushed the negative stuff out of my head and thought he would be different. At first it seemed that way, but now look at everything. There is some serious shit going on down here, and he’s right in the middle of it. I know this from firsthand experience in the past.”

  “Alex, you’re not a mind reader. You tried to see the best in your dad. That’s normal. I just wish I was there to…”

  Hold you. That was what Brad almost said, but he didn’t finish his thought, and we all shared another moment of silence. I really couldn’t deal with interoffice gossip about me and Brad right now, even if I was fifteen hundred miles away.

  Thankfully, Nick stayed focused on the case and at least pretended he hadn’t heard Brad’s comment. “Normally, I’d blow off this Captain Rex guy. But your dad’s reaction to him makes me pause. Gretchen, can—”

  “I’ve already started the search.”

  “Nice. Thanks. Do we even know his full name?” I tried to recall if I’d ever heard a last name. “I don’t think he told me. So, it will take some digging.”

  “I’ve been dealt a worse hand, so I’ll figure it out.”

  I could hear her nails clipping the keyboard at a breakneck pace.

  “By the way, he said he was writing a book about this mystery of the stolen treasure,” I said. “Not sure if I believe it. Just sounded like a bullshit story so he would have an excuse to walk around the beach all day with his metal detector to find money people probably dropped out of their pockets. Yeah, I guess he could be another version of the gypsies up north.”

  “So, to level set…” Nick said. “We still have a few feelers out for Carly and Bolivar. There could be a connection between what we once thought were two separate cases. This kidnapping, the shootings are possibly tied to drug cartels. Too much coincidence. Carly and Bolivar. We know they were at rehab at the same time.”

  “Right, we just can’t go back in time and set up surveillance to record any of their discussions,” Brad said.

  “Time travel would solve more than a few issues,” I admitted.

  “Sometimes, it can create more issues than good, from what I’ve read in this novel I just bought,” Gretchen added.

  “I know you’re just joking about time travel; obviously, we can’t undo our past actions,” Nick said. “But we can go with what we’ve got and try to make the next decision our best one.”

  Hearing Nick as the voice of reason was surreal. But I was grateful for it, since I knew I was off my game.

  With everyone in agreement on next steps, I disconnected the call and rang Raul’s number. He picked up on the second ring. I didn’t waste time. I unloaded everything that had happened and everything I knew in a few minutes. Then I heard a toddler’s voice.

  “Sorry to interrupt Daddy time.”

  “It’s okay. I’m used to walking around with one on my hip and the other tugging on my shirt,” he said. “Give me one second.” A moment later, I heard loud metal banging.

  “What in the world is that?”

  “I opened the cabinets and let the kids dump all the pans on the floor and bang wooden spoons against the sides. You should see the smiles on their faces. It works every time.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. I recalled Erin and Luke doing the same thing. Boy, life had changed a lot in the last fifteen years since Erin was born.

  “So what are your thoughts?” I asked bluntly.

  “I need to find Carly and bring her in for questioning. I think now is the time to put some formal pressure on her. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Hell no. I applaud it. Nothing else is working. Do anything you can to get her to open up. And I mean anything.”

  “Legally, of course,” he said with a slight chuckle.

  “Finding her might be the most difficult part. She didn’t say where she was going, and I doubt it was home.”

  I then pressed him to tell me the name of his contact who had gotten him the intel on Powder Man, a.k.a. Ricardo Bolivar.

  “Can’t tell you. Won’t tell you. And I say that in the nicest way.”

  I knew he was being cheeky, yet also straightforward. “I need to talk to this agent of yours, to learn more about Bolivar and what he’s tied to.”

  “Alex, you know how dangerous these undercover ops are. I can’t put his life at risk. Even though I know you’re good, it’s just not the right thing to do. And there’s no way in hell you could reach out to him anyway. He has one handler, and that’s me. If anyone else contacts him, he’s to assume it’s a setup. But this Bolivar connection is a strong one, I will say that. He’s now in the crosshairs of our investigation.”

  I felt comforted, but also put off. Or was I just tired and frustrated? I asked Raul to let me know what he got out of Carly, and anything else his agent might have to share on Bolivar. What I failed to tell him was my next move—call Archie and start tracking Bolivar ourselves.

  ***

 
Archie snickered and I followed his gaze to a house across the street from Bolivar’s. A woman in curlers and some type of white face paint was shaking a finger and yelling at a girl half her age. The girl stomped her sandaled feet on the concrete, right next to a secondhand car.

  “A mother/daughter dust-up,” he said way too loudly since he couldn’t hear himself over the music. Then he gave me the thumbs-up, as if to say, Lucky you.

  Erin and I had our moments, but all in all, we were dealing with it, making a few strides along the way. This morning had been one of our more mature interactions when I asked her to ensure that she and Luke got along while they hung out with Teresa for most of the day. Oh…Teresa. My heart felt nearly broken for my friend. As the early morning sun had glittered off her million-dollar pool, we both shed tears as she spoke about her daughter Jessica. She was killed by a drunk driver. Teresa initially tried to put up a good front, but it didn’t take long for the floodgates to open, and then she crumpled into my arms. She had shown she could bounce back, make something of herself professionally, but I knew we all had our breaking points. I had been pulled into that deep, dark hole a few months back when Mark was murdered, and then the aftermath of dealing with anger, blame, guilt…every emotion a person could feel. But I hadn’t lost my child.

  “What kept you going?” I’d asked her as she wiped mascara off her face.

  “Corey. He’s the only thing that got me out of bed. He was suffering too, and I couldn’t ignore it, even if I was grieving.”

  I gave her another hug, then we shared an orange juice together. If it had been at night, we probably would have spiked it with some vodka, but I had told her about the work I had to focus on today. I didn’t want to give her the details, but she knew it had to do with Carly and Archie’s case. And then she’d offered to watch after Luke and Erin, admitting she could use a couple of assistants. I’d spoken privately to both Luke and Erin, and they were cool with the arrangement, at least for one day.

  Archie and I watched the younger girl get in her car and drive off, and he finally removed his earbud.

  “Done with the Zen music?”

  “It was Beyonce, thank you very much.”

  I nearly snorted coffee out of my nose.

  “Don’t laugh. That woman can bring it. Whoa,” he said, and his eyes got all dreamy. He was in some type of fantasy state of mind.

  I slurped another mouthful of sludgy coffee. As I placed the Styrofoam cup in the holder, Archie inched up in his seat. “Check it out,” he said.

  An older model Jeep, gray with a black soft-top, pulled up to Bolivar’s house. The glare and angle of the sun made the driver impossible to see. Powder Man exited his house wearing high-tops, jean shorts, and another T-shirt that looked like a hand-me-down from when he was fifteen. A manila folder was tucked under his arm. Before he got to the car, he picked up his newspaper and tossed it on his porch.

  A few seconds later, the car drove right by us as Archie and I slunk lower in our seats. “Did you get a visual?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Plates?”

  “Nope.”

  “Dammit. Let’s follow, but keep your distance. Don’t want to spook them.”

  Once the Jeep had turned out of the neighborhood, Archie turned around and then caught up to them on the main road.

  “Not so close,” I said.

  “I’m not. There are five cars between us and them.”

  “I know, but you’re too obvious. Be more casual about it.”

  “Casual in a car?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Uh, yeah. Whatever you say, Alex.”

  We finally reached a red light, but were just two cars back in an adjoining lane. As the Jeep took off, I was able to read the plates. I quickly sent off a group text to the Boston team with the new information.

  Suddenly, the Jeep made a quick turn across our lane, and Archie had to slam the brakes to avoid a wreck.

  “I guess they’re hungry,” he said.

  Bolivar and his new driver had pulled into a McDonald’s. They went through the drive-thru as we huddled in another parking lot next door. They pulled out and continued their trek.

  “Now you need to be really casual since they might have seen you earlier.”

  “Right. Casual.”

  I tried to get a look at the driver as they pulled out onto the main drag, but I was blocked by Bolivar’s ugly mug.

  Ten minutes later, we drove east on Boca Chica Boulevard headed for downtown Brownsville, just a few blocks from the café where we’d seen Bolivar the last time. “Wonder if they’ll stop at the café again,” I said.

  We then took a brief tour of Brownsville, passing by the Gladys Porter Zoo, the Children’s Museum, Sams Memorial Stadium, a funeral home, and a couple of schools. After twenty minutes of meandering through town in no discernible pattern, we turned onto East 6th Street and watched the Jeep pull to a stop in front of that same café.

  “Wonder if they thought they were being followed?” I asked rhetorically.

  Bolivar got out of the car, and the driver stayed put with the engine running. Folder in hand, Bolivar walked inside. In less than a minute, he walked back out, holding nothing.

  “Something is going on inside that café,” I said.

  “Seems that way. You going to ask Gretchen and Brad to look into it?”

  I was already tapping the text into my phone, and I could feel Archie’s eyes on me. “Don’t lose them.”

  “Right. On it.” He gently released the brake, and we angled back onto the road. “They just made a quick left,” he said.

  I lifted my eyes. “Okay, follow, but—”

  “Casual, I remember. Shit, woman, you’re a broken record.”

  I smacked the center console. “Archie, he’s braking. Crap, they might have spotted us.”

  “What do I do?” he said with panic in his voice. The Jeep had pulled to the side of the road.

  “Turn left just past them, and I’ll point that way. We’re stupid tourists and can’t figure out where we’re going.”

  Archie motored past them and turned on his blinker while I pointed. “I’m pretty sure I saw Bolivar on his phone,” he said.

  I nodded. “Just keep going, then let’s circle back and try to find a side road from where we can watch them and see where they go next.”

  Once out of sight from Bolivar and his driving partner, Archie maneuvered the Camaro with precision, cutting across a couple of business parking lots, down a residential street, and then found an uninhabited side street that would provide us a view of where Bolivar had sat in the Jeep five minutes prior. Archie parked the car between an unmanned backhoe and an overflowing dumpster. We walked the last fifty yards on foot—just a couple of tourists wasting the day away. “Nice and slow,” I said, hooking my arm around Archie’s. “We’re on vacation.”

  He did a double take at my arm.

  “Don’t get used to it,” I said.

  “I…uh, don’t know how to tell you this in a professional way,” he said with unblinking eyes and his mouth hanging open.

  “I didn’t know ‘professional’ was an option with you. Spit it out. We’re almost to the point where they could see us.”

  “I’m kind of excited.”

  “What?” I refused to look down. Almost without thinking, I reached up, grabbed his nipple, and turned my wrist until he yelped.

  “What the fuck, Alex? I think you ripped it off my chest.”

  “Did that change your blood flow at all?”

  He groaned. “I think I’m bleeding through my nipple. Dammit, Alex, you have no idea how strong your hands are.”

  I smiled, and he stopped groping his chest by the time we reached the main street. The Jeep was gone.

  “Where did he go?” Archie said under his breath.

  We crossed the street and pretended to window shop while pointing at a store for expectant mothers. “Pink or blue?” Archie asked.

  “Wha
t?”

  “Are we having a boy or girl, you know, just in case someone asks? Gotta stay in character.”

  I did what kept me sane and ignored the blowhard, then took the opportunity to peer down the street. Among the many cars and trucks parked along the side, I spotted the Jeep. It looked to be empty, at least as far as I could tell from my vantage point.

  “I see the Jeep, but I can’t tell what business it’s parked in front of. Can you?”

  “I see a black sign with white lettering swinging on a bar. Starts with an A, and there are maybe three or four words. I think I need glasses.” He wiped his eyes. “I guess you can’t make out the sign either?”

  “You’re taller, have a better angle,” I said, actually believing myself.

  He craned his neck and took a step in that direction, but I jerked his arm back. His neck snapped like a wet towel. “We’re looking at baby stuff, remember?”

  “Okay, okay.” He looked through the window for a few seconds. “Do you want to go to the optometrist together?”

  “I can see just fine, thank you.”

  “I think time is catching up to you, Alex. I’ve recently noticed a few new lines at the side of your eyes.”

  I reached up and touched my face.

  “Gotcha,” he said with a wide grin. “You still look as fine as ever.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Fine as in just fine, no aging issues whatsoever.”

  My eyes spotted an alley running behind the row of businesses. “Let’s head this way.”

  Archie stayed at my side as we casually walked down the street perpendicular to the one where the Jeep sat. Then we walked across the street and cut into the alley, hoping we might be able to sneak a peek into the business where Bolivar had likely entered. That was when I pushed Archie to the side and kept walking.

  “What did I do?” he whined.

  I swatted at him to hush as we walked heel to toe down the alley. Like most alleys, it wasn’t clean, and it smelled like garbage. I watched for signs, mainly one that started with an A about halfway down or so, and people. Fifty feet in, I’d yet to spot anything living, if I were to eliminate mold from the list. I passed a dumpster, Archie right on my heels. Out of nowhere, a bird’s wings fluttered just behind us, and Archie swung around so fast he tripped and fell to his knees on the filthy concrete. “Damn bird. About gave me a heart attack.”