Shoofly Pie & Chop Shop: 2 Bugman Novels in 1

by Tim Downs

  Riley covered her face and turned away from the screen.

  “Easy,” Nick said. “Everything’s OK.”

  Riley spun around. “Everything’s OK? Dr. Lassiter did autopsies on three people who are not OK—three people who walked into the wrong alley or stopped to change a tire or felt a little needle prick in the back of the neck—and they never woke up again! Well, my sister is not going to be the next one!”

  “Riley, listen to me,” Leo said. “The FBI is monitoring Lassiter’s computer just like we are. They’ve seen this message too.”

  “Have they? What time do federal agents knock off for the evening? You got this message less than an hour ago—what if they haven’t seen it yet? The message says, ‘Next procedure as scheduled’—scheduled when? What if it’s scheduled tonight?”

  She rushed to the kitchen counter and shoved her hand into her purse, fumbling for her cell phone. She turned the purse upside-down and dumped its contents onto the counter. She flipped open her wallet and pulled out a business card with a black and gold seal.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Special Agent Santangelo. I’m going to make sure they’ve seen this message.” She dialed the number and waited an eternity for it to connect.

  “Hi there,” the voice on the other end said.

  “Special Agent Santangelo?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “This is Dr. Riley McKay.”

  “Of course it is. I’ve been expecting you to call.”

  “Mr. Santangelo, are your people still monitoring Lassiter’s computer? Did you intercept the e-mail message he sent out tonight?”

  “Can you hang on a minute? Coffee’s ready.”

  “No! Wait a minute, you idiot! This is urgent!” She pulled the phone away, stared at it in disbelief, and shoved it against her ear again. It was a full thirty seconds before the voice came back on the line.

  “There we go. I find it gets bitter if you brew it too long. Now, you were saying something about a message. What message would that be?”

  “A message from Dr. Lassiter—Next procedure as scheduled—Donor: Sarah Jean McKay! That’s my sister, Mr. Santangelo! These people are targeting my sister next!”

  “Dr. Lassiter sent that in an e-mail? That was awfully careless of him, wasn’t it? And he probably thought that was a safe thing to do because it was encrypted. But you saw the whole thing because you were watching his keystrokes, weren’t you? Well, I guess that’s what I get for working with morons.”

  Riley froze.

  “I really do want to thank you for your cooperation. Why, without your help, I would have had to guess what you kids have discovered—but you were kind enough to keep me informed every step of the way. As a way of saying thanks, Dr. McKay, may I give you a piece of advice? I wouldn’t worry about the ‘next procedure’ if I were you—I’d worry about my own health.”

  Riley began to tremble so hard that she dropped the phone. She stumbled back away from the counter and into Leo’s arms. Nick picked up the phone.

  “Santangelo? Nick Polchak.”

  “Oh yeah, our Bug Man friend. You know, Dr. Polchak, I really didn’t appreciate your comments about Waco. The whole thing started when those idiots killed four ATF agents searching for illegal firearms. The truth is, no FBI agent fired a single shot at Waco—did you know that? But I wanted to, believe me. I would have killed them all if I had been given the order—but no, we had to let them set fire to the compound and burn themselves to death, then take the blame for everything.”

  “So you’re the bad boy of the FBI after all,” Nick said. “Tell me something: just how many bad boys are there?”

  “It’s not nice to talk about other people; let’s talk about me. You asked me where HRT members go after Waco, remember? Well, I went looking for a more lucrative way to apply my hard-earned skills. And I found one, right here in Pittsburgh.”

  “You’re the one who’s been killing these people,” Nick said. “The phony cardiac arrest, the drive-by shooting in Homewood. You were trained for this. You’re an assassin.”

  “An assassin,” he said thoughtfully. “Really, that’s like calling Mozart a ‘piano player.’ No, Dr. Polchak, I’m much more than that—as you and Dr. McKay are about to discover.”

  “What happened to ‘the minimum force possible’?”

  “Sorry—this time the maximum force is necessary.”

  There was a click, and the line went dead.

  Nick slowly turned and looked at Riley. “We told him everything,” he said. “What was I thinking? Why didn’t I see it? We thought we were shutting them down—we’ve been helping them.”

  Riley grabbed the phone from his hand and started punching numbers.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “The real FBI.”

  “Stop,” Nick said, pulling the phone from her hand.

  “What are you doing? Give me my phone!”

  “Riley, he is the real FBI. Remember when we first met Santangelo on the Majestic? You called the local FBI office to check him out. Santangelo is an actual field agent, Riley. We have no idea who else in his office is involved.”

  “We can’t just sit here! Sarah’s life is in danger!”

  “Maybe—maybe not. When you told Santangelo about Lassiter’s e-mail, what did he say?”

  “He acted like he knew nothing about it. He said Lassiter shouldn’t have sent it, and he called him a moron. Why?”

  “Santangelo has been working with Lassiter; that message may have been nothing more than a plant.”

  “But why would they plant a phony message? What would they have to gain? They already know what we know, and they know where to find us—why feed us information about another procedure? And why Sarah, of all people?”

  “Exactly—why Sarah? Doesn’t the coincidence bother you?”

  “Nick, listen to me. Lassiter is a moron—we know that. We’ve both witnessed his past mistakes. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to send that message—maybe Sarah is the next victim. If we assume the message is phony, and we’re wrong, then Sarah is dead. We can’t take that chance—I won’t take that chance.” She took the phone from his hand and opened it again.

  “No,” Nick said, covering the phone with his hand. “There’s no one to call. Think about it, Riley: The FBI? We’ve been there. The coroner’s office? Hardly. The police? They work closely with the coroner’s office—who would be safe to call? You’re right about one thing: we have to assume that the message is legitimate—but whatever we do about it, we have to do it ourselves.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We get your sister to safety, that’s the first thing—and we get ourselves to safety at the same time. Now that Santangelo knows everything, he’ll come after us. That’s his next order of business.”

  “Where do we go?”

  “You can stay here,” Leo said. “My house is your house.”

  “Not a chance,” Nick said. “Santangelo referred to ‘you and Dr. McKay.’ He still doesn’t know who you are, Leo, and we’ve got to keep it that way. There’s no sense in endangering you, and we may need your help back here. In the meantime, get the rest of this evidence organized as fast as you can. Somebody’s going to want it—we just don’t know who yet.”

  “We can’t go to my place,” Riley said. “They’ll know where I live for sure.”

  Nick shook his head in frustration. “They’re a step ahead of us—they’ve been a step ahead of us all along. What we need most is time to think.”

  “Nick—we don’t know how much time we have.”

  “How far is it to your sister’s place?”

  “Ten minutes, maybe less.”

  “Let’s go. First we grab Sarah, then we find some place where we can figure this thing out.”

  “Here they come,” Santangelo said, pointing at the two shadows emerging from the arched doorway into the yellow glare of the streetlamp. Riley climbed into her car, gunned the engine, and pulled away from the curb; N
ick followed close behind in his own car, marking his parking space behind him with a glistening black puddle.

  “Third floor,” Santangelo said. “Down the hall, on the right—look for an open doorway. You know what to do?”

  She nodded. “Away from the door and away from the windows.”

  “Good girl, Angel. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Riley knocked again, this time harder. The apartment door opened until the chain stretched tight, and a single eye appeared in the crack.

  “Riley?” a woman’s voice said. “Is that you?”

  “It’s me, Gabriella. Can we come in?”

  The woman peered around the door’s edge and discovered Nick, glaring impatiently at her from over Riley’s right shoulder. Her eye widened at the sight of Nick’s enormous eyes.

  “It’s late,” she said uneasily. “I’m not exactly dressed for company.”

  “Gabriella, please. This is important.”

  The chain made a scratching sound and then dropped away. The door slowly swung open with Gabriella still behind it, peering around the edge at Nick, who followed Riley quickly through the open door.

  “Sarah!” Riley called out, hurrying toward the hallway and the two back bedrooms.

  “She’s not here,” Gabriella said.

  “Where is she?”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Gabriella—where is she?”

  “Sarah’s at the grocery store. What is it? What’s happened?” She shut the door and chained it again, then hurried over to Riley, making a wide arc around Nick.

  “It’s a little late for grocery shopping,” Nick said.

  She jumped. The combination of Nick’s deep voice and overpowering eyes had an unnerving effect on Gabriella. Riley stepped close, put her arm around her shoulders, and squeezed her tight.

  “Gabriella, I want you to meet Nick Polchak. Nick is a friend of mine—a good friend. Despite those big buckeyes of his and his terrible taste in clothing, he’s a nice guy, really.”

  “Does your roommate always do her grocery shopping at night?” Nick plunged ahead, ignoring Riley’s attempt at warmth and reassurance.

  Riley rolled her eyes. “Nick, Gabriella is Sarah’s roommate. They’re both nurses at UPMC—they often work late.”

  “Do you know anyone around here?” Nick said. “Family? Friends? Somewhere you can go for a few days?”

  Gabriella stared at Nick. “You guys are scaring me. I need to know what’s going on.”

  Riley turned her away from Nick and led her to the sofa. They sat down side by side, and Riley took her by the hands. “Gabriella, you know that I work for the coroner’s office, right? Well, something has come up—something that I can’t tell you about right now. There’s a chance that Sarah is in danger—and you could be in danger too, because you share this apartment. We think it’s best if you get away from here for a few days. Can you do that? Give me your cell phone number, and I’ll call you when it’s OK to come back. Is that OK?”

  Nick sat down on the other end of the sofa. “What store does your roommate shop at? Does she go at the same time each week? Does she follow a predictable route to the store? Does anyone else know that route?”

  “Nick,” Riley said with a quick glare.

  “When should I leave?” Gabriella asked nervously.

  “The sooner the better,” Riley said gently.

  “First thing in the morning?”

  “Now,” Nick said. “The longer you stay here, the greater the risk.”

  Gabriella scrambled to her bedroom; Riley followed her to the doorway, then then turned back to Nick.

  “What’s wrong with you? Do you want her to jump out the window?”

  “That would be a little counterproductive; I just wanted to hurry her along. Do you know where your sister shops?”

  “There’s a Giant Eagle just a couple of miles from here. Should we go there and look for her?”

  “We can’t both go—if we missed her she’d come back here, and then she’d be alone in this apartment. I can’t go by myself—I don’t even know what she looks like. And you can’t go.”

  “Why not?”

  “What if you find Sarah and she’s in trouble?”

  “What if you find Sarah and she’s in trouble?”

  “Better me than you,” Nick said. “Besides, if you leave me alone with Gabriella, she will jump out the window.”

  Riley picked up her purse from the sofa. “Stop trying to protect me.”

  Nick stepped between her and the door. “Isn’t that the whole point here?”

  “The point is to protect Sarah first. Get out of my way.”

  “The point is to protect all of us.”

  She took a step closer. “Don’t make me walk over you. I will, you know.”

  Nick raised both hands. “You wouldn’t hit a man with glasses, would you?”

  “This is my sister, Nick. You don’t know how it is for me.”

  Now Nick stepped closer. “You don’t know how it is for me.”

  Just then, there was the sound of a key fumbling in the lock. The door opened a few inches and then stopped, with a paper grocery sack wedged in the opening.

  “Gabriella, get the chain!” a voice called from behind the door. “I’m losing this bag!”

  Riley unlatched the chain and swung the door open wide. Sarah stood in the doorway, mouth open, blinking at her sister. “You look like someone I know,” Sarah said. Then she looked at Nick. “Whoa—who’s the big guy?”

  Nick stepped forward and lifted both bags from her arms.

  “Watch that one,” Sarah said. “It’s got eggs.”

  “Get in here!” Riley said. “Where have you been?”

  “Is this a double date? You could give a girl a little more notice.”

  Riley gave her a quick embrace, pulled her into the apartment, and shut the door.

  Sarah watched Nick as he disappeared into the kitchen. “Cute,” she whispered. “Has he tried contacts?”

  “I tried them,” Nick said, returning. “They were the size of paperweights—kept stretching out my eyelids.”

  “Sarah, I want you to meet Dr. Nick Polchak.” Riley slid her arm behind Nick’s back and looked intently into Sarah’s eyes.

  Sarah nodded slightly and turned to Nick. “It’s really nice to meet you, Nick. Welcome to the McKay Coal Mine—duck your head as you enter.”

  Behind them a bedroom door opened and Gabriella appeared, lugging a black Samsonite carry-on in one hand and a small cosmetic bag in the other.

  “What’s going on?” Sarah said. “Are you two moving in?”

  “We asked Gabriella to spend a few days with her family,” Riley said.

  “What? Why?”

  Gabriella stepped past Sarah and opened the door. “Oh, Sarah—be careful.”

  “You too,” Sarah replied. “Will somebody tell me what’s going on here?”

  Gabriella turned to Nick and Riley. “Should I go in to work tomorrow?”

  “Go to work as you always do,” Nick said. “Keep an ear out for anyone asking questions about Sarah’s whereabouts. We’ll check in with you—and don’t come back here until we tell you to, understand?”

  Gabriella nodded, gave Sarah a quick peck on the cheek, and pulled the door shut behind her.

  Sarah turned to Nick and Riley. “Well, this is interesting. My sister and a tall, dark stranger mysteriously appear in my apartment late one night, and two minutes later my roommate moves out. What are you, Nick, an immigrations agent? I’m pretty sure Gabriella’s got a green card.”

  Riley shook her head. “Sarah, there’s so much to explain, and there isn’t time. Do you trust me?”

  “The last time you said that you set me up for a blind date with an anesthesiologist. I’ve been drowsy ever since.”

  “I want you to pack a bag. Pack enough for—” She looked at Nick.

  “A few days. A week at most.”

  “A week! You know, this is a little
sudden for a road trip. What’s going on?”

  “I can’t explain it all now.”

  “So I’m supposed to just disappear for a week—from my job, from my friends, from the club—and just head with you two to parts unknown?”

  “That’s about the size of it,” Nick said. “We can talk on the road.”

  “We can talk now,” Sarah said. She strolled to the sofa, plopped down, and picked up a magazine from the coffee table. “I’ve got lots of time—I live here.”

  Riley charged over to the sofa, ripped the magazine from her hands, and threw it across the room. “You pack that bag,” she said. “You pack it now. This is your big sister talking to you, and if you give me any more trouble, I swear I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here kicking and screaming—I’ve done it before, and you know I can do it again.”

  Sarah looked at her, then turned to Nick. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

  “I’d do what she says,” Nick said. “She’s been very belligerent tonight.”

  Sarah gave her sister a bored look, shrugged, and headed for her bedroom.

  “Five minutes,” Riley called after her. “Don’t make me come looking for you!”

  “We’ll take two cars,” Nick said, “yours and Sarah’s, if it’s OK with her. Stop at an ATM and take what you can out of your checking account—no more credit cards, OK? I’ll do the same, but I’ll find an ATM in the opposite direction. If they check our bank activity, they’ll know we’re on the run—but they won’t know where. Let’s meet at the motel in thirty minutes. And build a fire under Sarah, will you?” Nick turned and headed for the door.

  “Nick,” she called after him.

  He turned.

  “You can’t protect me.”

  “Thirty minutes,” he said. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”

  It was just after midnight when they checked into the King’s Motel, a sixties-era relic complete with flat, gravel-covered roof and open hallways fenced in by black iron railings. Riley and Sarah checked in first; they took a room together on the second floor overlooking the street. Nick watched from the parking lot until they disappeared behind a peeling orange door; then he entered the small office himself and requested a room nearby. He paid in cash, and he registered under the name of William F. Burns. Five minutes later, he knocked softly on their door. Riley quietly slipped out and shut the door behind her.