Skin Puppet: Reightman & Bailey Book Three

by Jeffery Craig

  “There’s a car parked a few blocks up,” Frank informed him the second he stepped out of the Jeep. “It’s the only vehicle in the area not locked up in a lot. It has to belong to him.”

  “Show me,” George instructed.

  The gang climbed into the cab, and three of the guys hoisted themselves into the back. Frank provided directions and soon, they pulled up next to the light silver sedan.

  “It’s not very new,” Dorrie observed critically.

  “We’re not buyin’ it,” George retorted. He circled the car, checking the doors along the way. “Dorrie, grab a pen and something to write on from my truck.” He walked to the back of the car and waited, one foot on the back bumper. When Dorrie handed over the writing materials, he scribbled down the license plate details.

  He stuck the paper in his front shirt pocket, and handed the pen back to Dorrie. Stepping away from the vehicle, he nodded toward the waiting men. “Have fun fellas. Beat the hell out of it.”

  Once the windows were broken and the sides, hood, and trunk were demolished, George Padgett pulled out his phone and made a call. He explained the situation, and braced himself against the cursing from the other end. He ended the call and rounded up the men. When he reached the parking lot of Gro-Transport, he pointed to the rolled and wrapped body. “Frank, Steve, drop this off somewhere. Then, head on home. We’ll settle up in the mornin’. Same for the rest of you. Get on out of here.”

  Right before sunrise, Frank and Steve—with a misplaced sense of ironic humor—carried Nathan Fields over the ruined threshold of his burned-out home and dropped him in the middle of what had once been his living room. Nathan’s temporary resting place was in almost the exact spot where he’d placed the vagrant’s body after killing the man, cutting off his fingers and pulling his few remaining teeth.

  ***

  Vassily Grokov dialed the number and waited. “Good morning,” he said jovially when the call was answered. “I hope I’m not calling too early. I need a favor. Can you run a license plate for me? Seems someone parked illegally outside one of my buildings, and I want to contact them if possible before having the car towed. It seems like the right thing to do.” He passed along the required information.

  He ended the call, and placed his phone on the table, confident he’d have his answer before he finished his breakfast.

  ***

  Police Chief Ernest Kelly was sitting at his desk, working his way through a stack of urgent files. He tossed one into his out box just as the phone on his desk rang. He hesitated for a minute when he recognized the number, but picked it up anyway. Four minutes later, he entered the short string of numbers and letters into the search field and hit enter.

  He leaned back in his chair, staring at the returned result: “Toby Bailey, 1217 Capital Street.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Melba made Toby stay on the phone. She kept up a constant flow of chatter while she splashed icy water on her face in an effort to wake up. She talked about the salad she’d made for dinner while pulling a jacket over her sweat-pants and t-shirt, and critiqued the movie she’d watched before bed while unlocking her gun safe and strapping on her revolver. After his initial explanation, she didn’t ask any questions. He sounded kind of shaky, and the details could wait.

  Shemade good time across town—rush hour traffic was still a few hours away, and the streets were almost deserted. His car was right where he said it would be, but one slow drive-by told her everything she needed to know. It took more effort to locate his hidey-hole, and she finally resorted to driving slowly past each building and warehouse, giving a few beeps of her horn, until he confirmed he was hearing the signal. Then, it was just a matter of closing in on his location, flashing her headlights at nearby dumpsters until she spotted his head poking cautiously over a metal rim.

  Once he was safely tucked in her car, she allowed him to sit in silence for a few minutes to get himself together. Besides, she didn’t even know where to begin.

  “I think I’m okay,” he finally broke the heavy quiet. “If you’ll take me to my car, we can get out of here.”

  His voice was much calmer than she expected. She hated to share the news, but couldn’t find a way to avoid it. “Sorry, Toby, but your car’s not going anywhere anytime soon—maybe never. It’s been torn-up pretty badly.”

  He didn’t question her statement, he just nodded.

  “Better it, than you,” she continued. “I guess they were pretty mad about losing you.”

  He leaned back and shut his eyes. “It was close,” he told her. “I almost didn’t make it.”

  She felt sick. “You did, though,” she assured him, and herself. At a loss for anything else to say, she settled for watching his face for a moment while breathing through her nose to calm her nerves. Forcing a matter-of-fact tone into her voice, she put the car in gear. “Now, we’re going to get you home, and then you can fill me in on the details and we’ll figure out what to do. I hate to say it, but you’re in need of a shower—in the worst way.”

  Toby opened his eyes briefly. “Thanks.”

  “Sure thing.”

  They didn’t say anything else to each other until Melba pulled up in front of his apartment building.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I thought I’d drop you off here and then go park. I’ll meet you upstairs”

  He shook his head at her suggestion. “No, pull into the parking lot. I don’t want us to split up yet.”

  “Why?”

  His blue eyes were shadowed and worried as he answered. “They found my car and wrecked it, Melba. They had the chance to get my license plate info. They may already have figured out who I am and where I live. We need to be careful. Park and we’ll walk together. I don’t think either of us needs to go up that stairwell alone.”

  She swung the car away from the curb and headed to the lot, thinking about what he said. “Okay. I don’t have all the details, but you must have a good reason for saying that. So, how do you want to do this? Do you want me to go up the stairs first? I have my gun.”

  “No, I’ll go up first, and you can cover me. I doubt there’s anyone waiting, but I think it’s best to be cautious.” He started to add more, but shook his head. “We’ll talk more once we’re inside my apartment.”

  Melba parked, and they exited the car, checking the area carefully. The lot was empty except for Jon’s vehicle and there weren’t any obvious hiding places to be concerned about. They walked quickly, passing Green Dragon and the studio. When they reached the stairs, they stopped. Melba drew her revolver and after taking a deep breath, Toby started up slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. He paused on each landing along the way and allowed her to catch up.

  Once they were safely at the top, he dug his keys out of his pocket. “I’m going to open the door quickly and rush in,” he whispered. “Follow-me, but keep low. We’ll find out soon enough if anyone’s waiting inside.”

  She signaled her agreement. Toby inserted the key, and after checking her readiness, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. He hurried over the threshold, arms up in a fighting stance. Melba came through next, keeping low to the ground as agreed.

  Toby crept forward, trying to see in the dark interior. He suddenly cried out, blinded by the sudden blaze of light.

  “Get down!” Melba commanded.

  “Stop!” A voice rang out. “I said stop!”

  Toby looked at his partner crouched on the floor beside him and sighed in relief. He recognized the voice. “Jon? It’s okay. It’s just me and Melba.”

  “Toby? What the hell is going on?”

  Toby stood and started to offer Melba a hand up, but stopped. “Uhhh…I think you need to stay down there for a second,” he advised her. “Jon, go put on some clothes. I don’t think Melba’s ready for the view.”

  ***

  By six in the morning, Toby’s apartment was feeling crowded. After a quick shower and some remedial first aid to deal with t
he worst of the scratches left by the roofing tacks, he told Melba and Jon everything that had happened. When he finished, Melba pulled out her phone and dialed Edmondson, who in turn, called Garfield. Jon, of course, called Zhou Li.

  Everyone showed up shortly after that, and the group huddled around small dining room table with either strong coffee or tea in front of them.

  “Toby needs to go down and make a statement. That should be enough to get a warrant.” Melba took a drink of her high-octane brew and waited for a response.

  “It would be,” Edmondson agreed. “We could probably make a strong case to get warrants for Grokov’s home and primary place of business, and maybe even Jake Anthony’s home.”

  “Or we could play it sneaky,” Garfield suggested.

  “What do you mean by that, Agent Garfield? I am not sure I understand.”

  “Bear with me while I explain, Madame Zhou. I’ll try and make it short.” Garfield buttered a piece of toast and added a generous dollop of jam, and took a bite. “What if we played possum, and acted dumb? We get everything in place to come down on Grokov and Anthony hard, but we wait. Give them some rope. Let them wonder what’s going on. In the meantime, we’ll go with the original plan and have a team trailing them around the clock.” She munched down another bite, then continued. “The uncertainty will get to them, no matter how cool they try to play things. I think if we give them a chance, one or both might panic and make a mistake.”

  Melba could see the merit in the suggestion, but was worried about the possibility of more violence. “How long do you propose we let them dangle?

  Garfield looked at her superior before answering. “Not too long. Maybe forty-eight hours. Anything else it draws it out too long, and we lose any advantage.”

  “When will the other teams be on the ground?” Edmondson asked.

  “The first two teams will be here this morning. The third has to tie up some things over in Macon, and then will be on their way. I think it will be late this evening before we see them, though.”

  “Okay. Having two teams here this morning will help. We can brief them and get them on Grokov. You and Mitchell can take Jake Anthony until the third team arrives.”

  “Speaking of Mitchell, did anyone call him this morning?” Melba asked.

  “I didn’t see the need based on the what information you provided over the phone,” Edmondson admitted. “Given what we’ve learned now, I probably should have.”

  “I’ll bring him up to speed later this morning,” Garfield offered. “At least one of us will have had a good night’s sleep.”

  Edmondson nodded his agreement and turned to Toby. “I’m still not sure about what to do with you two, though. This could get dangerous fast. The problem with Garfield’s plan is I don’t have enough manpower here on the ground to provide any additional protection for either of you. That leaves you exposed, which makes me uncomfortable.”

  “Thanks,” Toby answered. “But we’ll be all right. We’re both licensed to carry, and we’ve already agreed we’re not going to head out anywhere by ourselves.”

  “I’d still feel better if you had someone watching your backs.”

  “They do,” Jon assured him. “Anyone who tries to get to them will have to go through me first. In case you’re wondering, I’m licensed to carry as well. Unless we’re seriously outnumbered and outgunned, we’ll be fine.”

  Edmondson took a sip of his coffee. “In what capacity will you be performing that role, Mr. Chiang?”

  It was Zhou Li who answered. “Agent Edmondson, I once told you there had been no need for the Reightman and Bailey Agency to call upon my nephew’s skill and experience. That has now changed. As of this moment, Jon is an employee and is covered under our licensing umbrella. While not providing the same scope of authority your agents and Detective Mitchell enjoy, I think it will serve our needs for the moment and will provide some legitimacy.”

  Edmondson stood and walked to the kitchen. He rinsed out his cup and placed it in the draining rack. After drying his hands on a towel, he nodded. “That puts my concern to rest. Now, we all need to get ready for the day. It’s bound to be one heck of a ride.”

  ***

  By 10 AM, Vassily Grokov knew he wasn’t going to be provided the requested information regarding the owner of the silver four-door sedan which had been demolished by George Padgett and team.

  He shrugged it off, accepting the message Chief Kelly was sending. Fortunately, he had other sources. One of his property managers had a sister who worked for the Department of Motor Vehicles.

  By noon, he had the information he’d requested, and it didn’t take long for him to learn exactly who had made the late night visit to Gro-Transport. He alerted Padgett, and directed him to let the rest of the staff know to expect a visit from the police in the near future. He was actually surprised they hadn’t shown up already.

  By 2:30 PM, he knew he might have a problem.

  He met a business associate for lunch, and then stopped on his way back to the office for his weekly haircut. As he walked out the door of the barbershop, he noticed a dark sedan idling at the curb. His own car was parked in a nearby space, making it necessary for him to walk past the vehicle, and as he did, the dark tinted glass of the driver’s window lowered. Smiling from his seat, the black-suited man lifted a hand and gave a little wave. Grokov stopped, thinking the man was an acquaintance, before suddenly recognizing him from lunch. He’d been seated a few tables away from his own, dining with a companion.

  Just as that crossed his mind, the passenger side door of the sedan opened. The driver’s lunch companion stared over the top of the car and gave a wave of his own. “Good afternoon, Mr. Grokov. That’s a sharp-looking haircut.”

  “Do I know you?” Grokov asked.

  “Not yet,” the man smiled. “See you around.” He gave another wave and ducked back down into the car.

  Grokov walked quickly to his car, extremely uncomfortable with the situation. As he backed out of his space, he kept an eye on the sedan. He wasn’t surprised when the car pulled away from the curb and followed him back to the office. There was only one reason for the tail. Special Agent Edmondson had invited friends to town.

  He pulled out his phone and made a quick call. “Jocasta, I want to confirm I’m available for dinner this evening. Sorry it took so long for me to get back to you, but I unexpectedly ran into a couple of gentleman who wanted to introduce themselves. I’ll fill you in this evening. I will need to make it earlier than I originally planned, if that’s not a problem. By the way, I’m looking forward to trying the South American recipes you’re testing. See you this evening.”

  He hadn’t given her a chance to speak, but he knew she’d received the real messages. If his phone was already bugged, then so be it. He’d left a message for them in the short conversation, too. If the Bureau was listening, they knew he was on to them.

  Strangely, he didn’t feel any sense of one-ups-man-ship and wondered why. Then, it hit him. The agents’ approach had been bold—too bold. They wanted him to know they were watching. They had no reason to hide.

  ***

  It was early afternoon before Melba found the time and the gumption to visit Zhou Li. She ran out during lunch, accompanied by Jon—who insisted the go-nowhere-alonerule absolutely applied to errands—and stopped at the Gourmet Bakery Shoppe a few blocks from Capital Street. There, she purchased a dozen of the hideously expensive, but mouthwatering, paper-thin almond cookies as her secret weapon. She also sprang for a dozen double-chocolate chunk monsters, and three vegan peanut butter cookies. The peanut butter cookies were to distract Lindsi if she happened to be in Green Dragon when Melba worked up the nerve to cross the street and have a serious chat with Zhou Li. The chocolate chip cookies had other uses, some more immediate than others. She unfolded one of the white bakery bags and pulled out a cookie and handed it over to her escort, and then snagged one for herself.

  “What’s this for?” Jon asked.

  “Co
urage,” she replied. He obviously wanted more information. “When we get back, I have to go talk to your Aunt.”

  “And?”

  “I have to find some way to get her to talk about something she doesn’t want to talk about.” She couldn’t keep the frustrated sigh from escaping. “I have to make her tell me what I need to know. It may be important.”

  Jon silently handed the cookie back.

  “Don’t you want it?”

  “Yes, but you’re going to need all the courage you can muster. I think you better eat it.”

  She smiled and handed it back. “Don’t worry. There are ten more of those in the bag. I stocked up, knowing I’d need ammunition.”

  “Okay.” He took the cookie and bit into in. “These are unbelievable,” he moaned, before taking another bite. “If these are your ammunition, what’s in the other bags?”

  “Bribery and distraction.”

  The trip back to the office seemed to fly by, probably because she wasn’t looking forward to the next thing on her list. She pulled into the parking lot and grabbed her purse and the three bags of cookies. The bag with the chocolate chips was considerably lighter now that she’d consumed two more cookies, and Jon had graciously accepted one additional offering.

  He escorted her into Green Dragon and, after reminding her not to leave without him, he disappeared into his studio.

  Melba took a deep breath and approached the old apothecary counter. “Hey, Lindsi. How’s it going?” she asked brightly.

  Lindsi looked up from her book and stared her down. “Fine,” she answered in her familiar monotone. She gave Melba another split second of attention, before bending her neck back down to continue her reading.

  “Uh…is Madame Zhou here?”

  “Yes,” Lindsi replied, without looking up. “I guess you can go on back.”

  “Ummm, okay. Hey, I brought you something.”

  Lindsi looked up, face blank and expressionless. “What?”

  Melba handed over one of the white bags and sat it on the counter. “Three Gourmet Bakery Shoppe Vegan Peanut Butter Cookies.”