The house in Santa Monica was the perfect place for displaying his private collection. Each art object in the house meant something special to him. None of the women he associated with had ever seen his collection in Santa Monica. Everyone thought he stayed away from the property. How very wrong they were.
There were no windows on three sides of the house. The only windows in the building faced the ocean. Raised above the beach, his collection was hidden from the average person walking along. It could only be appreciated from inside.
If one were able to walk around the house, the entrance was not visible. He had a tunnel which went under the driveway of the house next door. The underground entrance allowed him to come and go undetected. He was careful to use either rental cars or hire drivers when he went home.
It was his refuge. All his most prized possessions were in there. He also kept a considerable amount of cash in the safe. He cooked his own meals and did whatever his heart desired, in his place of safety.
The house in Cabo was generally used for business. The business of money laundering was a very lucrative enterprise. Buying and selling artwork helped him to keep the business thriving. There were so many ways to deal in the world of the highflying wealthy collectors, Jerry found no problems funding his lifestyle.
The Sunny Day was his question-free mode of transportation. He could effortlessly move from Alaska and Canada down to Seattle, to Santa Monica, or on to Cabo. The vessel was so well known, he hardly ever had to show documentation, certainly never in Mexico or in Hyder.
It amused him greatly that no one knew his most closely guarded secret. Jeremiah Alden Day couldn't swim. He could float and sort of dog-paddle, but nothing else. Yet, he owned one of the most beautiful schooners still gracing the West Coast.
It was highly unlikely he would ever have a need to swim on the Sunny Day. It was equipped with the newest and best of electronics. Further, there was a dinghy and life raft as well. He really did not worry about such things. He had cheated death for years while running drugs. If he were fated to die at sea, then it would happen.
For now, he was enjoying himself. He intended to continue to do so for many years to come. Once he was over the little hiccup his latest acquisition had caused, he would dump the sickly thing and be done with her.
It did occur to him, what with the prevalence of bears in and around Stewart and Hyder, one could easily dispose of a troublesome matter. One could leave it for the top animal predator there. With a slight smile, Jerry finished his brandy. When it came to the top predator in Hyder, he was numero ono.
Lurch found a four-year-old Jeep Cherokee in the paper, for sale by owner. A cash withdrawal from one of WarLoch Productions credit cards took care of the funds needed to purchase the Jeep. Once the SUV deal was completed, Lurch insisted they take a short detour to a branch of the Department of Motor Vehicles. He wanted the title changed so there would be no question should they be stopped for any reason.
"This won't take long. While I get the title changed over on the Jeep, you guys can get the phone calls all lined out. I'll give you a phone number, vehicle ID, and my account number. Call my insurance agent and get them to add the Jeep to my policy. Washington State can get dirty if you don't have insurance. I used to live in this state; been there, done that. We need to be hassle-free as far as the cops are concerned."
Lurch went inside, leaving the other three men near the bank of pay phones.
As he stood on the sidewalk in front of the building which buzzed with activity, Hamish did a rough calculation of his finances in his head. The personal credit card he used to charter the jet was maxed out when the plane landed. But there were two more to go. Both cards had sky-high limits and zero balances, thanks to Lori.
Warren would probably blanch when the bills all came due on the business card, but money was the lifeblood of this operation. Hamish didn't give a rat's ass how much he threw at it. Lori was the prize, and he would sell his body for research if it came to that.
While Lurch took care of business inside the DMV office, Hamish, Thud, and Glen tried to get the calls over with as quickly as possible. Thud made a call to Ulster to get a list of names and information for suppliers in their area for things of an explosive nature. Once he obtained names, he would attempt to make contact. His was the hardest job. The individuals with what he needed moved around regularly.
On another phone, Glen gave Lurch's insurance agent the information on the vehicle. That was a straightforward matter, and Glen had all the necessary documentation.
The SeaSide gallery was Hamish's target. Pulling out his best manners, he toned down his accent and concentrated on extracting information about Jerry Day. He was sure the gallery maintained a file on the biggest players. It was doubtful they would issue an invitation to a private showing without conducting research on the man.
Anything he learned was potentially helpful; the name of the marina the vessel used while in town and any other tidbits he might glean. The young woman on the end of the line was the same one he’d growled at before.
After the initial greeting, it seemed she felt duty-bound to be helpful. The breathy little voice which irritated him previously now gushed in response to his name. Hamish, in turn, pumped her for information.
She did inquire hesitantly if there were any breaks in Lori's abduction case. In a cheerful tone, she informed him Lori's show went well, with over seventy-five percent of the paintings being spoken for. If he wished, a check would be ready for pick-up the following afternoon. She assured him since it was from a local bank he could convert it to cash immediately if necessary.
Hamish declined. He advised her to send it on to Lori at their residence. The girl's voice rasped across his nerves. When finished, Hamish slammed the phone down and stuffed the paper with the information she had disclosed in his jacket pocket. He glanced at Thud, who nodded. The drummer would be off the phone soon.
Lurch exited out of the DMV with the title in hand. He waved at them as he walked toward the Jeep. Glen finished his call, and Thud stood nodding, phone in hand. The bass player joined Lurch at the Jeep. Hands in his front pants’ pockets, Hamish moved away from the bank of pay phones.
As he walked up to the vehicle, Hamish looked it over carefully. This was the first opportunity he'd had to give it more than a cursory inspection. Since his decision in the hotel room, everything moved too quickly.
The tires looked good, and he was happy it wasn't painted a screaming "here I am" red. Originally a dark green, at the moment it was a dusty green. He jerked open the passenger door and was pleased to see the back seat could comfortably seat three people. Behind the second seat, an open area would hold whatever they might need to transport.
Hamish slid into the back seat, moving over to give Thud room. Mission completed, the drummer slipped in beside him.
With a satisfied grin, Thud buckled himself in. "I have tae good ones. A local lad, an another in Canada. We're good tae go."
"How did you do, Hamish?" After buckling himself into the front passenger seat, Glen turned to look over the back of the bucket seat at him.
"Day's boat is called tha Sunny Day. He keeps it in either Smith's Cove or Smith Cove, accordin tae the girl at tha gallery. I'm thinkin they're tha same place, mind? As Warren said, Day has no home here, only an office. He lives on tha boat. 'Tis off Marina Place, if that helps."
Glen pulled a book out of the glove compartment. "It does, as we got a bonus with this one. It got used for pizza delivery quite a bit. The owner threw in a book with the vehicle. We have a map book of Seattle and surrounding area."
The young man flipped the book open to the index. Glen mumbled the number of the section he needed to look at. He plotted out the fastest way to the marina. Once he gave the directions to Lurch, they got moving.
Jet lag combined with a lack of sleep was fuzzing Hamish's brain. He slid down a little in the seat and leaned his head back. Eyes closed, he listened as the three chatted.
Lurch a
nd Glen discussed the pieces they’d recently added to their collections. Glen played the guitar and the bass. Both men were acquiring extensive collections of guitars.
Half asleep, the word "collection" stuck in his head. People collected all manner of things: guitars, cars, motorcycles, and art. He'd never been interested in collecting things. A few good pieces which fit his needs kept him happy enough. Some, once bitten by the collecting bug, couldn't seem to stop. If it were not for those kinds of people, Lori would surely need to find some other line of endeavor.
He started out of his near sleeping state with a jolt. Hamish grabbed the back of Glen's seat. "Sweet Christ! Day, tha bleedin wanker, is a collector."
Thud patted him on the shoulder. "Aye. We know that."
"Nae! Ye dinna get it. He has collected Lori. Maybe he has ah commission in mind, one she will pay for with her life. No one else will ever see it. It will be his alone tae appreciate."
Lurch's face in the rearview mirror was a study in anger. "That answers what happened to the other two artists he kidnapped. He got what he wanted out of them, then killed and dumped them. Bastard!"
The four men sat in appalled silence for a moment. That kind of mentality shocked them all. As artists, the thought of being "collected" horrified each of them. Art was to be enjoyed by everyone. An artist needed to make enough to keep them alive so they were free to pursue their art. But being forced to create a work for a person who would then hide it away, after killing the artist, was obscene.
Thud shook his head. "Jaysus! Let there be no more of those twisted fecking loonies out there. It brings tae mind being stuffed and mounted like an animal."
With a muttered curse, Glen reached out between the seats and cuffed Thud across his head. "You need to get your mind going before you engage that silver tongue of yours. Shut tha fuck up, Thud!"
Glen nodded in Hamish's direction. Thud turned to look at MacGrough. Face pale, his hands clenched around the back of Glen's seat, the man's eyes were closed. He wondered if Hamish might pass out. Thud settled back in his seat and shut his mouth tightly as he crossed his arms over his chest.
After adjusting the rearview mirror, Lurch glared at Thud. He nodded toward Hamish. Thud carefully reached over to touch Hamish's arm.
"I'm ah gobeen arse wipe, Hamish. Forgive me, boyo. 'Times me tongue gets ahead of me brain." Thud lowered his hand, then ran it through his sandy blond hair. Hamish turned to look at Thud.
"I swear by all that's holy, that if ye weren't my friend, I would cut yur babbling tongue out. I love ye, lad, but it's ah bloody wonder nae one has taken ah bat tae yur knees before this."
Thud stared at Hamish, whose dark eyes blazed at him. "Forgive me, boyo. I will watch me mouth."
Hamish leaned over to cuff Thud across the back of his head, hard. "Och, aye, sure ye will, ye gobeen arse wipe."
Hamish turned away from the drummer and stared out the window. Thud breathed a sigh of relief. It occurred to him he had gotten off lightly. He rubbed the back of his head. Hamish was running on the ragged edge. Thud realized he'd never seen his friend in such a state before and resolved to think before he made any more cute remarks. The next time he would sport a split lip, something for which he could not blame Hamish if it happened.
With his head against the window, Hamish stared at the landscape, which whizzed past. Tired, he was entirely too tired. His temper danced on the end of the shortest, thinnest leash since the day his mother had died. If they did not get a break, if he didn't get a glimmer of hope, he could quickly become a raving maniac.
As difficult as it was to admit, Warren did the right thing by sending babysitters. Warren knew him well. They had been together a long time.
Warren understood a little of his feelings toward Lori. No one, not even Lori herself, knew how long he waited for her, dreamed of her. Hamish kept that bottled up inside right alongside his fear of losing her.
He skirted on the verge of needing a straitjacket. Depression, stark terror, lack of sleep and jet lag, all rested on a deep well of anger. Anger howled through him in the form of the lament. It would not get out of his head. He dearly wished he could hurt someone, break something. Thud didn't understand how close to eating a few of his own teeth he came.
These three men in the car with him, and Warren in his office in L.A., were his family. They were the brothers he chose. With that thought, a stab of grief sliced through him. Vince, he missed Vincent. Not the man who had nagged and picked at him, but the other Vince, the one he shared booze with as they drove to some shite gig.
Hamish sighed. He forgave Francie for killing Vince and taking any chance of making things right away from them. Her fear for the child drove her. It was something he understood better at this moment than he ever had. If he could get his hands on the man who held Lori, he would cut him to ribbons one slow inch at a time.
This would not do. Hamish closed his eyes. Perhaps some deep breathing exercises would help. Fill lungs, hold it, and breathe out slowly. Fill lungs, hold, and breathe out again. The raging anger, which bubbled so close to the edge, ready to boil over, subsided somewhat. He repeated the exercise several more times. At last, he could close his eyes without seeing Lori, bloody and wounded.
They reached the marina late in the afternoon. The far left pier near the larger commercial Pier 91 berthed two big powerboats. No large schooner could be seen anywhere.
A sinking feeling in Hamish's soul dove to his gut as the notes of the lament screamed louder in his head. The Sunny Day had already left. He was behind. The question was how far behind.
Gates closed off the ramps, keeping unauthorized people from going down to the docks. The four men stood on the shore, surveying the marina. Thud looked down the long outside pier. Sailboats sat in every slip. Several people could be seen working on their craft. As the Irishman watched, a couple, arms full of items, made their way to the ramp from the parking lot.
"Back shortly!" Thud called out as he dashed down the slight slope toward the two people.
Lurch grunted. "This may be a job for the silver-tongued devil." He looked over at Hamish. "If anyone can get information, it'll be him."
Hamish watched silently. They were too far away to hear what Thud said, but the drummer's body language was apparent. A friendly guy, he offered to help. Laughter drifted toward them as he held the gate open for the couple to pass through once they opened it. Thud took something from the woman's arms. He strode along beside her, carrying the parcel down to the second to last pier.
Still holding the package, Thud followed them to their slip. He placed the thing on the utility box in front of the berth. For a moment he lingered, chatting with the two people. With a wave of his hand, Thud turned to walk away.
Hands in his pants pockets, Thud sauntered over to the last pier as if he had all the time in the world. At the first slip where a man was working seated on the power box, he stopped. Thud systematically worked his way down the row of boats. The Irishman chatted with the people he met, laughing with one or two. About a third of the way down, Thud apparently found something interesting.
The three of them watched as he put one booted foot on the utility box at the head of a small sloop. Thud's body language displayed mild interest as he waved toward the small boat and encompassed a t-shirt clad female. He put every ounce of his Irish charm into the conversation as he leaned confidentially in, toward the young woman. When he threw his head back, they could tell he was laughing with her.
A glance at his watch told Hamish Thud had been gone approximately half an hour. Thud put a hand lightly on the female's back before strolling away from the woman. When he turned the corner out of her line of sight behind a large powerboat, he broke into a run and sprinted up the ramp toward them.
"Mount up!" Thud slapped Hamish on the back. "Now ye can thank me, boyo. Glen, we're going to tha corner of S.W. 112th and 15th Avenue. Get tha map book out."
They piled into the Jeep. While Thud buckled up, he gave them the informatio
n he’d acquired. "Tha young woman got real friendly with tha steward on tha Sunny Day. They ha been keepin company. He didn't leave on tha boat. And tha Sunny Day, by tha way, left the dock at around 4:00 p.m. Sunday. She is worried about the young lad. This evenin she planned tae see her mum an was gonna pop in on his mum. Elden's mum lives round tha corner."
Thud settled into the seat with a slight wiggle. "Lad's mum lives in ah building on tha corner of those two streets, lower corner apartment. Elden is tha lad's name. He's been on tha outs with his mum off an on. But according tae yon lass, he would go tae her if he had any trouble. She is tha only family he has. Elden had ah girlfriend, but they broke up ah while back."
Glen looked up the address as Lurch drove. Back on the road again, Hamish was grateful to have a chauffeur and navigator. He did not have the patience for it.
When Lurch got cut off for the fifth time, Hamish growled from the back seat. "Tha shite would be run over in London. 'Tis far better ye're driving than me."
Lurch shook his head. "Sometimes I wish I had two machine guns mounted in the fenders, under the headlights, à la Mr. Bond. But things are gonna get worse before they get better. Rush hour is on us."
Hamish recalled his last trip through Seattle. On the motorcycle, with Lori clinging to him, they kept to I5 that time. He pushed hard to get through Seattle before rush hour. Four years… Four years ago, Vince died. So much had changed in four years.
Vince's child lived in Rio with Francie and Glen. Cadell Warren Barrett, a feisty little four-year-old lad, was the joy of Glen and Francie's life. Francie, through several years of therapy, found some measure of peace. Glen was making himself a name as a solo performer who, unfortunately, commuted from Rio to everywhere else.
Time and again the tabloids resurrected Vincent's death. Some of the stories were bizarre in the extreme. The one about aliens zapping Vince for immoral behavior had been so bad, Hamish left the store shaking his head in amazement. He wondered why anyone would pay to read such trash.
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