F Paul Wilson - Novel 04

by Deep as the Marrow (v2. 1)

  “He’s, um, indisposed at the moment, so it might take a little longer for him to get back to you. Be patient.”

  Snake had a sudden vision of Salinas on the crapper, his rolls of fat bulging over— He banished the thought. “Okay, fine. I’ll wait.”

  “So, um, where’ve you been?” Small talk from Gold—the last thing he needed.

  “Busy. What’s it to you?”

  “Well, we’ve been paging you for days.”

  “You have? Hmmph. Maybe I’d better get my beeper checked. Battery must be low. Haven’t heard a thing.”

  “Yeah, you damn well better get it checked. The man has had some important things to discuss with you.”

  “Really? I can hardly wait.” Snake depressed the plunger, but kept the phone to his unbandaged ear while he waited for the call back.

  The man has had some important things to discuss with you. Snake didn’t like the sound of that. Could Salinas know about the fuckup at the house?

  He leaned against the edge of the booth. He wished Salinas would hurry up and call back. And he wished they had seats for these phones. He was feeling weak and shaky, and his head—his goddamn head was killing him.

  Come on, Fatso! Let’s get this over with!

  And then the phone rang. Snake immediately released the plunger.

  “Yeah.”

  Salinas’s voice: “Miguel. So good to speak to you. I was worried about you.” Something in the tone sent a chill down Snake’s back. Too calm, too pleasant.

  “Why would you be worried?”

  “I was not able to find you. You were not answering your pages.”

  “Like I told your butt boy, I’ll have to replace the battery.”

  “Please do. Now tell me, how is the package faring?”

  “The package is fine.”

  “Everything is under control?” He knows something, dammit!

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because of stories I have heard.” Uh-oh.

  “Really?” Snake tried to keep his voice light while his stomach was filling with lead. “Like what?”

  “Oh, that the doctor has spoken to the package on the phone and a woman has promised to return it to him…”

  No!

  “… and that a government laboratory discovered that a toe supposedly belonging to the package actually came from a little boy—an embalmed little boy.

  Shit!

  “Let’s see… what else? Oh, yes, that a dead man discovered in Falls Church is linked to the package, and that a hunt is on for a man known as ‘Snake’ and a man known as ‘Mac’—both possibly the same man—who was seriously wounded in that same house.”

  Now Snake really needed a seat.

  He was sweating and shaking—and not from fever. But even if he had one, he couldn’t allow himself to sit. He had to get out of here.

  “Do not hang up, Miguel,” Salinas said, and now there was an edge to his voice. “We are not finished speaking. And if you look around, I am sure you will see a familiar face.” Snake turned—slowly this time—and stifled a gasp as he spotted Llosa standing half a dozen feet away, a smile on his pitted face, his right hand in his coat pocket.

  Now he understood all the delays—Gold looking for a pen, Salinas “indisposed” so he couldn’t call back right away. Delaying tactics so they could trace the call and give Llosa time to find him.

  What a goddamn sucker!

  Snake swallowed. “I see him. What’s he doing here?”

  “He was already out looking for you. Now he is going to escort you to a warehouse I lease. I am going to meet you there. And then we are going to have a very deep discussion, you and I. Mano à mano. I will want some answers.”

  Snake glanced at Llosa again and saw that he wasn’t alone. Someone had joined him. Snake had never seen the new man before, but had little doubt from his coloring and dress that he was another Colombian.

  “Don’t forget the tapes,” he told Salinas. “Remember the tapes.”

  “I remember them. They are among the things we will discuss.” Snake knew what kind of discussions Salinas had in mind—probably with meat hooks and cattle prods. Salinas would want to know the locations of all the tapes, and Snake knew he’d give them up—every one of them— before the first jab of pain. The thought of adding torture to the pain he’d already endured for the past two days made him feel even weaker than he already was.

  He had to think fast. Do something, anything, to keep from taking a ride with Llosa and his pal.

  Something rattling around in the back of his head, something bad… talk of the tape had shaken it loose.

  A tape… his missing jacket…

  And then it hit him. Hit him hard, making him a little sick. He’d thought things were bad before. They’d suddenly got worse.

  “The girl has one of the tapes,” he said.

  Salinas was silent. “I do not think I believe you, Miguel.”

  “I swear it’s true. She got the drop on me. She took my jacket while I was out. I had a copy of the tape in one of the pockets. She’s got it.”

  “Then we will have to find her.”

  “I’ll find her. I’ve known her for years. I know her better than anyone you’ve got. If anyone can find her, I can.”

  Only marginally true. Everything he knew about Poppy-the-bitch-Mulliner was what he’d heard from Paulie, and that hadn’t been a hell of a lot. Next to nothing, in fact. But Salinas didn’t know that.

  “No me jodas! Llosa will bring you in… where you will be safe. It is for your own protection.”

  “Look, man,” Snake said, desperate now. He had to convince this greaseball. “I’ve got as big a stake as you in finding her. That tape was only supposed to be listened to if I was dead. I’m on it too! If that gets around, my ass is on the line with yours!”

  Salinas let out a long stream of profanity in Spanish. Snake could catch only snippets, but he got the idea.

  Finally Salinas ran out of steam and agreed to let Snake stay on the streets and search for Poppy. But he wanted Llosa to go with him. More arguing before Snake convinced him that not only would Llosa slow him down, but Salinas would be better served by having Llosa search separately.

  “Very well. Search on your own. But no games when you find her. Finish it and let me know immediately.”

  “I’ll send you her head.”

  “You will find her in Atlantic City. She will be contacting the doctor about returning the package today. He is staying at Bally’s Park Place.” How does he know all this? Snake wondered, amazed as ever by Salinas’s connections.

  “I’m on my way.” He eyed Llosa and his buddy, waiting expectantly. “But you’d better talk to your amigo here, so he knows his assignment’s been changed.”

  Salinas sighed. “Put him on.”

  Snake held up the phone and called to Llosa. “Yo! The boss wants to talk to you.” And while Llosa got new orders. Snake reviewed what he knew about A.C., which was damn near nothing. He’d never been there. Gambling was for jerks. Didn’t matter. He’d haul ass up there this morning and learn about it.

  One way or another he’d find the bitch and the kid, grab the tape, and tie up the last loose ends. Then he’d disappear. Forget the final payment. He wanted to get as far away as possible from Carlos Salinas.

  Singapore sounded pretty good right now. After Atlantic City.

  4

  Mamie watched the elevators over the top edge of her complimentary copy of USA Today. She’d followed John here in a different rental car—a red one this time. She’d even parked near him in the Rally’s garage and followed him inside, watched him register.

  She was tired, but she wasn’t giving up. She’d positioned herself in the Daily’s lobby first thing this morning and had been on sentry duty ever since.

  Sooner or later, John would have to show. And then she’d follow him to Katie.

  What are you up to, John?

  Mamie was sure that Katie wasn’t at John’s house. She’d pee
ked in the windows a couple of times during the dinner hour and had only seen John and his battleax mother at the table. He must have hidden Katie away in another of his cruel attempts to keep them apart.

  But if you’re not here to see Katie, what are you doing? Gambling?

  What kind of father hides his daughter from her natural mother—God knows where he’s stuck her—and goes traipsing off to a casino?

  And he calls me a bad parent… and dangerous.

  Probably here to see one of his whores. Mamie had never been able to catch John at it, but she’d been sure he was sleeping around before the divorce. Katie knew all about it, but she’d kept John’s secrets… no matter what.

  Always hiding things from me, those two.

  You’ve corrupted her, John, I know it. But she’s still young. None of the damage is permanent. I’ll get her back. I’ll save her. I’ll straighten her out.

  5

  The phone rang at 11:02. John knew because he’d been sitting on the bed since 7:13 a.m., watching the red LED-numerals climb toward noon.

  “Hi, Daddy.” Katie! John’s heart soared. She sounded so close. And suddenly he was sure that this time it would work. Today he’d get her back.

  “Hi, honey. Where are you?”

  “With Poppy.”

  Poppy… was that—?

  Suddenly the woman was on the line. “Uh, you should like forget you heard that, okay?”

  “Heard what?” John said.

  “That’s the spirit.”

  He hoped they understood each other. If this woman truly had saved Katie’s toe and Katie’s life and was truly returning her to him unharmed—she’d said she robbed a drugstore for the Tegretol—he would forget anything he knew about her. No court in the world could get him to remember her name or the sound of her voice.

  “Are we set for today?”

  “We are. Go down to the boardwalk at three and stand by the phones between Boardwalk Rogers and Planet Hollywood.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Just a little ways down from where you are. You can’t miss Boardwalk Rogers—looks like a little ceramic church or something. I’ll call the first phone on the left and let you know where to pick up Katie.”

  Three o’clock… seemed like years away.

  “Can’t we make it earlier?”

  “Three. I got some things to work out first. We don’t want no screw-ups.”

  “No. We don’t. Okay. First phone on the left. At three. Got it. But I’ll be there well before that. Call me earlier if you want.” John planned to be at that phone around two. He didn’t want a scene like the one in Lafayette Square last week. No arguments this time over whose phone it was.

  He’d claim it and hold on to it.

  6

  Bob Decker took Canney’s call on the car phone on his way in from the A.C. heliport. He glanced at his watch.

  “Three o’clock? Can you get someone over to that phone to hook up—?”

  “Already on his way. But we need more manpower. We need people stretched all along the boardwalk, because sure as hell she’s going to do the Hollywood thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You know. In the movies. You’ve seen it—where the kidnapper keeps someone running from phone to phone. It’s been shown so many times, real kidnappers have come to assume that’s the way it’s done.”

  “This is my first kidnapping,” Decker said. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  “It’s actually pretty effective, especially if the caller keeps switching phones as well.”

  “So I take it the last place we should concentrate our troops is around the phones.”

  “You got it. You can bet Vanduyne’s going to be sent somewhere else. Oh, and we got a bonus out of the call: The woman’s name is Poppy.”

  “Poppy… could be her real name, could just mean she’s a junkie.”

  “I know. But we’re running it through New York. That’s where Dicastro lived. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “Okay. As for manpower, see how many people you can grab from the Bureau, and I’ll call Keane to see what DEA can supply. I figure they should have a fair number of agents around fun city here.” Decker hung up and leaned back. Things looked good.

  This whole thing might be wrapped by four p.m.

  7

  “What a dump,” Snake thought as he stood by a pay phone at New York and Atlantic Avenues and waited for Salinas to return his call.

  This wasn’t anything like the Atlantic City he’d seen on TV. Looked more like the Bronx. He didn’t like even being out of his Jeep, but using his car phone was verboten.

  He felt like crap. This headache wouldn’t quit. He was ready to bang his head against the sidewalk—that might feel better than this deep relentless ache. And the drive up here had been pure hell. With only one eye, his depth perception was off and he’d damn near cracked up half a dozen times. And now the sun was so damn hot he was sweating and itching under the bandages, and so bright it hurt his bad eye even through the shades and the gauze eye pad, Dizzy… sick… in pain… and suffocating inside this hooded sweatshirt. He wanted to kill somebody.

  An emaciated-looking black guy shuffled toward Snake through the nearby vacant lot and offered him a flyer. Snake’s first instinct was to wave him off—the last thing he was interested in now was an ad for some local grind house or escort service—but better to take the sheet than have some crackhead hanging around while he was trying to talk to Salinas.

  But even after Snake took the flyer, the guy stood there staring at his face, at the bandages.

  “What’re you looking at?” Snake snapped.

  “Nothin‘.” The burnout moved off. “Nothin’ ay-tall.” Snake crumbled the flyer and was about to toss it into the gutter when he spotted the word reward. He flattened it out again and read about the thousand bucks being offered for information as to the whereabouts of two runaways—an eighteen-year-old and her little sister.

  The descriptions perfectly matched the ones Snake had supplied Salinas with before leaving D.C. this morning. Poppy was no eighteen-year-old, but the rest of the description fit.

  Anybody who spotted her with that little girl wouldn’t be put off by the fact that she didn’t look quite like a teenager. They’d drop a dime to the local number listed at the bottom of the sheet.

  A thousand bucks. That’s all? Salinas should be willing to pay a million to get his hands on Poppy and the kid.

  Then Snake realized the fat man couldn’t let on how important they were. A grand sounded about right for a couple of runaways—and it would buy somebody a lot of crack.

  He wondered how many of these flyers were floating around. Probably every junkie and pusher in A.C. had one. Had to be thousands of junkies in town. Each one turning a daily profit for the traffickers. All that money, millions and billions flowing from cities and towns all over the map. No wonder Salinas and his bosses wanted to off a guy looking to legalize their trade.

  The phone rang. Salinas was on, sounding like he was riding the edge as he launched into a rapid-fire spiel.

  “The doctor will be waiting for a call in front of Boardwalk Rogers. You can be sure the delivery won’t be there. His phone is not secure. You will be called shortly after he is contacted, so keep your cell phone at hand. Be careful. Very many feds around.”

  And that was it. The line went dead. Salinas had to be feeling pretty desperate if he was talking about contacting him on his cell phone. But Snake could think of ways to endrun the cellular’s vulnerability to eavesdropping. The most obvious was to relay the message to someone at a pay phone, and have him make a short, cryptic call to the cell phone.

  Whatever. Snake wasn’t going to waste time worrying about it. Salinas would be cool. He was pretty canny when it came to phone security.

  What Snake wanted to know was what the hell he was going to do with the info Salinas relayed to him, especially with the city crawling with feds? Obviously he had a man inside, and tha
t was fine for raw data. But what if Snake needed a little assistance? What was he going to do—recruit a bunch of crack heads?

  Sure.

  Right now the best thing be could do was cruise the casino area and hope he got lucky.

  Or hope Poppy got unlucky.

  8

  “Can I help you?” Poppy nearly yelped in fright as she whirled to face the salesgirl.

  “N-no. We’re just looking. Th-thanks.” Jesus, she thought, shaking inside as the salesgirl smiled down at Katie. I’m about ready to jump out of my skin.

  Poppy and Katie had spent the last ten minutes standing at the rear of Peanut World—“The Boardwalk’s Largest Gift, Nut & Candy Shop!”—first looking at the T-shirts, sweatshirts, caps, ashtrays, thimbles, every imaginable piece of junk, each imprinted with atlantic city; then they oohed and ahhed at the elephants, alligators, cats, dogs, and other animals made of sea shells; then they moved to the candy counter, checking out the fudge, the jellies, and the salt-water taffy, pretending to be trying to decide which flavor to buy. At least Poppy was pretending. But they weren’t here for taffy. The real attraction was the view of the phones on the boardwalk about fifty yards south of Peanut World’s door.

  “Tough to decide, huh?” the salesgirl told Katie, then glanced up at Poppy. “You think your little boy would like to try a sample?” Poppy suppressed a smile—Katie really did look like a strawberry-blond boy.

  But Katie frowned and put her hands on her hips. “I’m not—”

  Poppy jumped in. “Yeah, he’d love some.” As the salesgirl turned to pick from the bins, Poppy nudged Katie and whispered, “Let’s pretend—remember?”

  The salesgirl picked out three different flavors and handed them to Katie.

  “Here y’go, guy. Enjoy.” Then she moved off.

  Poppy looked around the crowded store. Thank God it was a warm, sunny day. The whole boardwalk area was like mobbed with people getting out of their houses to take advantage of the summerlike day—after all, it was almost spring and they’d been cooped up all winter. The only bad thing was that they all seemed to be about a hundred years old, which made Poppy and Katie stick out more than she liked.