Red Dirt Blues

by David K. Wilson

  “He’s the Pakhan of the Petrov crime family,” Strickland said.

  Dean nodded. “The big cheese himself.”

  “So why hit his brother?” Strickland asked.

  “Not sure. A warning? Retaliation?” Dean explained, happy to take the bait. “What we do know is Viktor was very protective of his little brother and this murder will no doubt incite a nasty retaliation. His murder makes no sense unless–”

  “Unless it wasn’t a hit,” Strickland interrupted.

  “I’m thinking it was a retrieval job gone bad,” Dean said. “Security cameras caught Jade leaving the building.”

  “You mean, a person you SUSPECT is Jade,” the director corrected. “Where’s the body? What do the Moscow police say?”

  Dean sighed.

  “There is no body. They clearly disposed of it and no police report was filed. If it wasn’t for these surveillance photos…”

  “That really show nothing,” the director interrupted.

  Dean nodded but continued anyway.

  “The Petrov clan are known traffickers. Jewelry. Arms. Drugs. Intelligence. Maybe she was looking for something.”

  “This mess is all happening in Russia, right?” Strickland said, skimming over the report. “This is their problem.”

  “The police aren’t investigating,” Dean replied. “You know how it goes. Pockets are lined. People look away. But interest isn’t with the Petrovs. It’s with Jade. I’m tracking some intel that tells me she may be heading to America and it could be our best shot at finally catching her.”

  Strickland studied the blurred photo of the woman again. He looked through the files at blurred photos of other women. They all wore sunglasses and sported different color hair. They could be anyone in a variety of disguises. Or different people altogether.

  “This is seriously all you’ve got?” he asked.

  “Sir, I’ve been following her work for years,” Dean enthused. “She’s a skilled thief and a cold-blooded killer. I’ve been able to track over 30 heists in the past five years’ worth over 2 billion dollars. And the body count is impressive. Twenty-two, that we know of. She’s one of the best. And she’s been working under the radar for a decade.”

  “Impressive?” Strickland asked. “You sound like the president of her fan club.”

  He leaned back in his chair with a groan. This wasn’t the first time Dean had come to him with a paper-thin theory. Granted, that was part of his job. As an analyst in the Intelligence Division of the FBI, Dean’s responsibilities included sifting through data and other intelligence to spot trends or abnormalities.

  “No discerning characteristics. The doorman said she was tall, had dark hair and glasses. Along with hundreds of other women in Moscow that night. She could be anyone. And anywhere,” Strickland said.

  “But if we can find out what she was looking for, we may be able to get ahead of her,” Dean protested. “This may be our only shot.”

  “IF she was looking for something and IF she hasn’t already found it, and IF we can figure out what it is, then we MAY be able to track her to it,” Strickland summarized. “Am I getting this right?”

  “It’s the best shot we’ve ever had,” Dean answered, the wind clearly leaving his sails.

  “At least give me a chance to dig a little deeper,” Dean said. “See if I can find anything.”

  Strickland smiled at Dean’s energy. He stood, signaling the meeting was over. Dean stood as well, optimistically waiting for his boss’s answer.

  “Sorry, Dean,” Strickland said. “But I really need you to concentrate on other things right now.”

  Dean nodded. He half-expected the answer.

  Strickland walked around his desk and opened the door to see Dean out. Dean could almost feel his pity. It was something he had grown used to. At least pity was somewhat sympathetic. It was better than the sarcasm and derision that was usually thrown at him. Dean had been with the Bureau for over twenty years and had never really fit in with the other agents.

  As he walked back to his cubicle, he looked down at the blurred photo of Jade. He had been following her profile for years and had come to know her as well as anyone could. He felt like if he could get even just a small lead, he could track her down. If standard procedure wasn’t going to work, then he’d have to try a different route.

  10

  The man with the badge knocked on the door again and Randy came running out from the backroom.

  “Hold your horses, Sheriff,” he said as he ran to the front door and unlocked it.

  Sheriff McKinley stepped inside. A grizzled, barrel-chested man in his fifties with a sour expression on his bearded face.

  “Hey, Randy,” McKinley said. “I saw your truck and just wanted to check on you and your mama.”

  He looked at the woman who was hidden behind the shelves as she browsed through the goat figurines.

  “You got company?” McKinley asked.

  “Just a customer,” he said.

  “I thought you were closing down,” the sheriff prodded.

  He looked at the woman, who seemed to be purposefully staying out of sight, and then back to Randy, putting a mystery together and then solving it with a big grin.

  “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” he asked with a wink.

  “What? No!” Randy protested.

  The sheriff looked back toward the woman, who was now standing motionless behind the shelves. He leaned in to Randy.

  “Then why is she hiding back there?” he whispered. “No pants on or something?”

  Before Randy could protest, she walked around from behind the shelf with a big smile.

  “Oh, Randy, why fight it?” she said. “He’s clearly on to us.”

  Randy was confused as this woman he had just met walked toward him. But she spoke before he could say anything.

  “I’m Jen,” she said, extending her hand to the sheriff. “Jen Brown.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jen,” the sheriff replied as he shook her hand. “Sorry if I interrupted anything here.”

  “Just trying to be discreet,” Jen said with a wink. “Randy wants to keep things on the down-low because of the funeral and all.”

  Randy laughed nervously, too confused to say anything.

  “I get that,” the sheriff laughed. “Where you from, Jen Brown?”

  “Dallas,” she answered.

  “Dallas, huh? Well, don’t go corrupting our boy here with big city thoughts.”

  McKinley winked at Jen and patted a stunned-in-place Randy on the shoulder.

  “Randy, I’m real sorry about your brother,” he said, turning serious on a dime. “I know he and I had our differences, but he was a good man.”

  Randy felt relieved he finally understood what someone was saying and latched on to it.

  “I appreciate you saying so, Sheriff. But we both know that ain’t true,” he said. “Hell, you know it better than anyone.”

  The sheriff smiled and nodded.

  “Well, you give your mama my condolences just the same,” he said before turning to Jen. “And it was nice meeting you, ma’am.”

  “Same here, Sheriff,” Jen replied. “And if you could keep this between the three of us, we sure would appreciate it. At least until after the funeral.”

  She gave the sheriff a flirtatious wink and he nodded in agreement.

  Randy locked the door behind him and watched the sheriff get in his patrol car. As soon as the patrol car pulled away, Randy spun around.

  “What the holy hell is going on?” he exclaimed.

  “I had to get him out of here,” Jen replied.

  Randy immediately noticed her Texas accent was gone.

  11

  Randy was stunned. And confused. The woman in front of him seemed to carry herself differently now. Her warm smile had been replaced by a cold stare.

  “Why did you have to get him out of here?” Randy asked. “And how come you’re talking funny all of a sudden?”

  Jade let o
ut a sigh. She had hoped she could slide in and out of this flea-bitten town quickly and discreetly. But now she not only had run into local law enforcement, her quick shift in alibi had roused the suspicions of Randy. It would be much more efficient if she put down the charade and took care of business.

  “Just help me find what I came here for and I’ll be on my way,” Jade said coldly. “No one has to get hurt.”

  Randy froze.

  “Was someone gonna get hurt?”

  Jade reached down and pulled a gun that had been hidden under her jeans in an ankle holster. Randy immediately raised his hands in surrender.

  “Stop it,” she said. “Just help me find what I came here for.”

  “Holy Jesus,” Randy quivered in a growing panic. “This ain’t even my store. Take everything.”

  “You help me find what I came for and this trigger never gets pulled. Understand?”

  Randy nodded, visibly shaken. He pointed to the back corner of the store.

  “We… we could start back there,” he said.

  Jade motioned Randy to the back corner and followed him.

  “I still don’t understand what I’m looking for,” he said. “These are just cheap little figurines.”

  “You don’t really think Clyde made his money selling these things, do you?” she replied.

  “I didn’t think he made any money at all.”

  They reached the back of the store and Jade motioned for Randy to start on the bottom shelf and she’d start on the top.

  “Your brother was a smuggler, Randy,” she explained. “Brought in all kinds of stuff in these little goats.”

  Randy looked up at her, still not understanding.

  “People weren’t buying the goats,” she continued. “They were buying what was in them.”

  “Wait. Clyde?” Randy asked. “No way. My brother was no way smart enough to do something like that.”

  “Oh, he clearly wasn’t smart,” replied Jade. “Or he’d have been really rich.”

  12

  Even though Dean was sitting at his desk, one of many in a maze of gray cubicles, he was a million miles away. Absent-mindedly tapping a pen on his desk, he stared at the data on his computer screen, trying to find any breadcrumb that could put him on Jade’s path. He rubbed his tired eyes and looked around his work area for inspiration. But, other than the printout of the blurred photo Dean had shown in his meeting, his cubicle walls were bare. No personal trinkets or mementos from vacations. No family photos or children’s drawings. Dean had never married or had children.

  Dean sighed. He was almost 55 years old and had absolutely nothing to show for it except this soul-sucking desk job. Not that he hadn’t wanted more. He had always craved to be a field agent but was never able to get past the application process. After awhile, he just settled in and took the path of least resistance. Before he knew it, he had clocked in almost thirty numb years and was now staring at early retirement. Maybe it was because of that, or maybe he was having a late-blooming post-mid-life crisis, but he had recently started to grow restless. He had been bringing more and more wild goose chase cases to Strickland. Looking into odd cold cases. That’s how he had discovered Jade.

  He looked at the blurry photo of the woman and wondered about who she really was. She probably didn’t even have a comfort zone. Traveling the world. Doing whatever the job called for. Assassination? No problem. Theft? She didn’t even flinch. Just doing what needed to be done, without being burdened with oppressive moral dilemmas and suffocating mortgage payments.

  Normally, this is the part where Dean would just let out a heavy sigh and fall back into the security of his familiar drudgery. But, for some reason, today he resisted. His self-respect finally pushed back. It was time to stop spinning his wheels. This time, he needed to actually do something. To take action and stop waiting for someone to give him permission. It was time to take matters into his own hands.

  He grabbed the thick file folder sitting on the side of his desk and opened it, poring over the contents until he found what he was looking for. Grabbing the sheet of paper, he wheeled his chair across the aisle to the cubicle of Agent Kevin Chin.

  “I need a favor,” Dean said.

  “No,” Chin responded without looking up from his computer screen.

  “I just need you to check something for me,” Dean persisted.

  He shoved the piece of paper under Chin’s chin, giving him no choice in the matter.

  “Why can’t you do it?” Chin asked.

  “Because I’m taking a few personal days,” Dean replied.

  “Oh, really?” Chin asked, turning to face Dean. “Puttering around the house or going any place interesting?”

  “That depends on what you find,” Dean replied with a wink.

  13

  Jade and Randy had worked their way halfway up one of the shelves, turning over every goat in search of a tiny red dot. They worked in tandem, Jade on the top two shelves and Randy on the bottom two, but their styles were very different.

  Randy turned over each piece then placed it gingerly back on the shelf. Jade checked quickly then casually tossed the goat aside. Randy flinched every time one broke.

  “So you’re one of the people my brother worked with?” Randy asked.

  Jade didn’t answer.

  “He was really a smuggler?”

  Jade looked down at Randy and nodded.

  “Huh,” Randy said.

  He was almost impressed. His brother had never been much more than a screw-up. Lots of small-time crime but most of that was fueled by too much booze. But a smuggler. An international smuggler, no less. That had a sense of adventure to it that Randy couldn’t help but feel a little jealous about.

  “So what did he smuggle?” he asked.

  But before Jade could answer, they were interrupted by another knock at the store’s door. Jade instinctively ducked, pulling Randy down beside her.

  “I thought you said nobody shopped here,” she whispered. “Can you see who it is?”

  “Not from down here,” Randy replied.

  There was a second knock, more forceful than the first. It clearly wasn’t coming from a friendly customer. And they weren’t likely to just go away. Jade pulled out her pistol and found a vantage point where she could see through a space in the shelves.

  There were two men at the door. The older one was a big man, easily more than six and a half feet tall, with greasy gray hair tucked under a John Deere baseball hat and white stubble covering his round cheeks. The other man was younger and decidedly shorter. But what he lacked in stature he made up for in peculiarity. He had beady eyes and a long, pointed chin. He wore cargo shorts and a camouflage T-shirt with ripped-off sleeves to better display the tattoos covering his wiry arms. But his hair was what really caught your eye. It was cut super short on the side but was long on top and styled into some sort of Mohawk/Pompadour mashup.

  “Who are these bozos?” Jade asked.

  Randy peered through the space in the shelves.

  “Dangit!”

  “You know them?” Jade asked.

  “Dangit all to hell!” Randy answered. “That’s Stonewall and his lapdog, Toby. They’re trouble with a capital T.”

  “Make them go away,” Jade said matter of factly.

  Randy shook his head.

  “You don’t understand.”

  The two men pounded on the door again as Stonewall, the big guy, cupped his hands around his eyes to peer inside.

  “They see your truck. They’re not going away,” Jade said.

  “I see your truck, Randy,” Stonewall yelled on cue. “I know you’re in there.”

  “Get rid of them. Fast,” Jade said, cocking her pistol to make the point.

  Randy nodded and took several deep breaths to psyche himself up before popping up and waving at the door.

  “Hey guys,” he said cheerily.

  He unlocked the door and the two men pushed their way in.

  “It’s about time,
” Toby, the younger man, said.

  “Sorry. I’m doing inventory and had headphones on,” Randy stuttered.

  “I think you were avoiding me, Randy,” said Stonewall.

  “Oh, come on. Why would I do that?” Randy asked.

  “Because you owe us,” said Toby, the younger man with unfortunate hair.

  The two men closed in around Randy, backing him up against the counter.

  “Look. I told you,” Randy said. “I’ll get you the money. I just don’t have it yet.”

  He clenched, preparing to take a fist to the face.

  “Randy, I’ve been very patient with you on account of this being Clyde’s debt and you just finding out about it and all,” said Stonewall. “But my patience is running thin.”

  “Mine is even thinner,” parroted Toby.

  “It’s only been two days,” Randy protested. “I need to liquidate some things. Trust me. You’ll get your money.”

  “That’s exactly what your brother used to always say,” sneered Stonewall. “Alright. Two more days. But I’m adding an extra one percent service charge. So that’s an extra…”

  “Three thousand dollars,” Toby interrupted.

  “Two hundred dollars,” Randy argued.

  Toby shook his head. “You take me for a fool?”

  “You already owe me twenty thousand, boy,” said Stonewall.

  “Right,” replied Randy. “And one percent of twenty thousand is two hundred. Not three thousand.”

  “You trying to make us believe you only owe us two hundred bucks?” questioned Toby. “That’s bullshit.”

  “No,” explained Randy. “I owe you an extra two hundred on top of the twenty thousand dollars. So it’s a total of twenty thousand, two hundred.”

  “Let’s just keep it simple and round it up to twenty-five Gs,” said Stonewall.

  “But that doesn’t round up to twenty-five thousand,” argued Randy. “That’s even more than three thousand.”

  “You calling me stupid?” snapped Stonewall.

  He raised his fist and Randy cowered back, raising his hands to cover his face. Stonewall and Toby laughed then turned to leave.