by Aimée Thurlo
Five minutes later they were parked across the street from the Piñon Mesa Steakhouse, watching as the blue SUV pulled into the restaurant lot and parked in a space marked “staff.”
The driver climbed out the same time as Clarence and the two met in front of the vehicle. Then they walked around the corner of the building to the rear, disappearing from sight.
“There are cameras covering most of the lot, including that SUV. We’re going to have to do some sneaky crawly work to place that bug,” Gordon observed, “and approach from the blind side, using the SUV itself as a screen from the cameras.”
“Flip you for it?” Charlie said, grinning.
“Yeah, like a guy your size can fit underneath that SUV,” Gordon said, then sighed. “You’re gonna owe me a prime rib dinner, you know that?”
Charlie laughed. “You’re on. Now let’s round up what we need. We’ll want to get this done after dark, during their busy dinnertime when there’s going to be a lot more noise and activity.”
“It’ll be a lot more fun if you let me place a bomb as well,” Gordon said, watching in the mirror for an opening in traffic so he could pull out into the street.
“Maybe next time.”
* * *
It was seven thirty at night, and Gordon had been gone for ten minutes. Another five, maybe less, and he should be done, barring any unforeseen problems. Charlie had parked in the restaurant’s lot as close as he could this time, using a rental car they’d picked up across the city. They couldn’t risk bringing the pickup again, or his Charger, which was back in service again but recognizable by the two guys who’d accompanied Steve Martinez—and maybe killed him later.
Charlie had been making his pretend cell phone call, watching the restaurant’s corners in case Clarence or his bodyguard came out. So far he’d seen nothing but customers entering and leaving.
“Three more minutes,” came Gordon’s voice over Charlie’s Bluetooth earpiece. “I’m waiting for the superglue to set up on the body pan.”
“Still clear,” Charlie replied. They’d learned to place bugs, bombs, GPS trackers, and other devices years ago, creating ways to disguise their work with fake, weathered covers that appeared to be part of the normal vehicle undercarriage when examined by anyone manning a roadblock.
If done right, their work would pass a casual visual inspection by mirror. Hidden by this particular cover was a tiny microphone placed beneath the front seat of the SUV, via a hole drilled from below. They’d learned where to drill these holes so they’d be difficult to spot from the rear seat. The microphone was purchased locally from a friend of a friend who owned an electronics store. There was also a GPS tracker similar to those used on fancy dog collars.
Charlie, watching the corner of the restaurant, suddenly saw two figures coming around the corner. The lot was well lit and he recognized Fasthorse and his black companion instantly.
“They’re coming your way. Time to get out of there!” Charlie ordered, then climbed out of the car. He was wearing a western hat, glasses, and an enhanced belly disguise that added fifty pounds to his frame. He thumbed the panic button on his key fob and suddenly the rental car’s horn started beeping and the lights flashing.
He started cussing, then played the fool for about ten seconds fiddling with his key before turning it off. “Dammit to hell,” he cussed, then walked toward the restaurant entrance, glancing at Clarence and the other man out of the corner of his eye.
They’d stopped in their tracks and were laughing aloud.
Chapter Ten
Unable to stop now, he continued to the entrance, hoping he’d given Gordon enough time. Just outside the door he paused to tie his shoe. He heard the SUV back up, turn, then drive away toward the street.
Turning, he watched out of the corner of his eye until it disappeared.
A shape rose up from the asphalt behind the concrete parking barrier, picked up a backpack, then walked away from the restaurant toward the sidewalk that paralleled the street.
Charlie walked back to the rental car, and a few minutes later, pulled up beside the curb. Gordon, looking like a street person in a dark hoodie, sneakers, and jeans, climbed in. He was covered with metal shavings and oily dust.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve worked this hard to become invisible. If they hadn’t had to back up out of that parking slot I’d have been spotted for sure,” Gordon added. “That eight-inch-high barrier was the only cover I had.”
“But you got the job done,” Charlie replied. “Way to go.”
“Let’s see for ourselves, fat boy.” Gordon reached into the backpack, pulled out a small receiver, and turned up the volume. A voice came out loud and clear. “Yes. I know. I know. At least he can’t screw up again. I’m working on it, give me some time. Wait until I get there, okay? We’ll talk then. Yes, I had dinner—the Rancher’s Special. I’ve got to go now. Bye.”
There was silence for a moment before the person spoke again. “This could take awhile, Leroy. After you drop me off go back to the restaurant and keep an eye on things. If either of those assholes show up again, give me a call.”
“Will do, C.J.,” came another voice.
After several seconds, Charlie spoke. “The first person is Clarence, the second, his bodyguard—Leroy.”
“Did anything strike you about Clarence’s tone when he was talking on his cell? What did it sound like to you?”
“Like … like he was talking to a nagging wife, or, no, even better, to his mom,” Charlie concluded.
“Exactly. I’m betting Clarence is going to talk to his mommy right now. And the way it sounds to me, he’s a momma’s boy.”
“Or under her thumb. She’s probably the one who controls the money in the family. She’s got a CPA or MBA and used to manage the tribal casino over by Farmington. Sheila Mae Ben’s her name now,” Charlie recalled.
“We should check into her background as well. Maybe Sheila finances the Night Crew—or manages their ill-gotten gains.”
“Ill-gotten gains?” Charlie asked. “You sound like a cop in a forties movie.”
“Excuuuse me. How about I call it loot?”
“Same movie, but yeah. One syllable, our speed,” Charlie joked.
“Are we going to follow Clarence to mommy’s house?” Gordon asked, reaching into the glove compartment where he’d kept his smartphone during the bugging operation.
“Yeah, and assuming the GPS also works, we can stay far enough away to avoid being spotted,” Charlie said, checking in his rearview mirror.
“I wonder where Al is right now?” Charlie asked. “In the restaurant with the Night Crew?”
“Shoulda bugged him,” Gordon pointed out, checking the GPS tracking app. “Hey, Clarence is heading toward his home,” Gordon noticed. “How many strong-arm crooks still live with their mothers?”
“I keep telling you, this generation has no self-respect,” Charlie said. “But if he does, at least he’s saving on house payments. It must work for him, he’s obviously a lot richer than us.”
“Where did we go wrong?” Gordon replied and checked the device. “The SUV stopped a few houses down, so maybe he doesn’t live in the same house after all. Still creepy, though, his age and living just down the street from your mom.”
“Switch on that mike again,” Charlie suggested, holding up his hand.
Gordon nodded, grabbed the device, and turned up the volume.
They heard country-western music, then Clarence spoke. “I’ll call you later, Leroy. And keep an eye on this new guy, Biggs. We’re pushing our luck right now, so make sure he’s kept in the dark as much as possible until we see him in action and know he can do something besides breaking into houses. He already knows way too much to let him get away.”
Gordon looked over at Charlie. “Al is Biggs?”
Charlie nodded. They heard an “Okay, boss,” then the slam of a car door. The country-western music continued for another thirty seconds, then they heard rap lyrics and a rhythm
ic boom boom of heavy bass.
“Leroy’s playing your second most favorite music.” Gordon looked over at Charlie with a grin.
Charlie nodded, then repeated one of their favorite phrases. “Everything else tied for first.”
A few minutes later they passed the residence where the SUV had been briefly parked. A green Mercedes was in the driveway of this older building, just three homes down from Clarence’s place. This home was larger than Fasthorse’s, with tile roofs and a Spanish Colonial look. The walls were topped with decorative wrought iron railing topped with sharp points, and the twin metal gates were massive.
“That looks like a tougher nut to crack than C.J.’s house,” Gordon commented as they continued down the street.
“When we bug his place, how about using a small drone, going through an open window, then dropping the mike, concealed in some everyday object, or hidden behind something, or in a vase?” Charlie speculated, driving out of the area in the direction of his home.
He checked the rearview mirror, noting a dark van about a block behind them. In a few minutes, he’d change directions and see if they’d picked up a tail.
“Sounds tricky and maybe a little too expensive. Think simple,” Gordon said, not noticing Charlie’s concern.
“Okay. Get one of their waitstaff pens—the ones with Piñon Mesa Steakhouse on them—hide the mike inside, then slip it into Clarence’s coat pocket.”
“I like that idea, but who’s going to get that close except the babe in the Mustang?”
Charlie shrugged. “Yeah, let’s think about it a little longer. You about ready to call it a night?” He turned left at the last second and the van behind them continued down the street.
“Yeah. Drop me off at my place. Call me in the morning when you’re ready to return the car and I’ll pick you up at the rental lot,” Gordon offered.
Charlie nodded, fiddled with the seat adjustment, then grumbled to himself. He was so comfortable in his Charger now that no other ride seemed to fit his frame.
Five minutes later he decided to stop checking the rearview mirror. No van, no tail, and no reason to worry. Maybe it was one of the undercover cops backing up Al—Mr. Biggs. They had the resources to check up on the rental car, which meant they’d found out who was driving by now. He’d rented the sedan in his own name.
Charlie yawned and Gordon laughed. “Get me home before you doze off, Chuck, and try to keep the dead guys off your porch. This keeps up and you’re going to get a reputation.”
* * *
Charlie woke up to the faint tone of his cell phone—a text message was coming in. He reached over blindly, groped across the top of the nightstand, and grabbed the cell. Pulling the charging cord loose, he looked at the display. It was Al.
Deciphering the text language, he learned that Al was going with a crew tomorrow night to “jack some guy” they’d targeted. He hoped to learn how they chose their targets, and what happened to the stolen money—and particularly the vehicles, which, apparently, were usually pickups. It made sense; stolen pickups were hot in Mexico for transportation and parts.
He acknowledged the message and reminded Al to be careful. The text conversation ended quickly and Charlie hooked up the charger again. He lay there for several minutes, thinking about the bug he wanted to place in Clarence’s home.
Planting one on the man himself would be risky and short-lived because it usually involved placing it on clothing, which was subject to laundering—and discovery. The more he thought about it, though, the better the pen idea seemed, and they had a few small bugs salvaged from their experiences last year that could be put to good use. His mind made up, Charlie cleared his thoughts, listened to his deep breaths, and quickly went to sleep again.
* * *
The next two days passed quickly, and, after watching Clarence’s habits, they’d come up with a plan to bug the man’s residence. Now, all it had to do was work.
Charlie, parked in his Charger down the street, watched as Gordon walked up the sidewalk, walked over to the locked driveway gate, then stuck a rolled-up piece of yellow paper in the gap between the doors.
“Clear,” Charlie said into his cell phone, noting that no cars were coming down the street. Gordon brought out a pen and tossed it over the wall. It landed on the grass inside the yard. He turned, walked back out to the sidewalk, and proceeded to the next house, placing a rolled-up flyer at the gate.
Charlie picked up Gordon around the corner, and Gordon set the flyers advertising a legitimate landscaping service down on the floor. They’d made copies of one left on the pawnshop’s customer-shared bulletin board.
“Perfect shot. The pen landed about a foot from the flagstone walk. All he has to do is see it on the way to the front door, pick it up, and put it in his pocket,” Gordon said. “Hopefully, my throw didn’t get picked up on any surveillance camera he may have.”
“Yeah, if he reviews every camera every day, it might get noticed, but even then, it’s such a small detail. We just have to hope he keeps it with him, or, because he’s probably already carrying a nicer pen, set this down someplace inside as a spare,” Charlie said.
Gordon looked at his watch. “He should be coming home about now if he keeps his after-lunch schedule.”
Charlie nodded, making the turn along a parallel street. He parked and Gordon turned on the receiver. The sound of a vehicle came through clearly on the device. “It works. Now let’s just hope he falls for it.”
Five minutes later, they switched on the bug, instantly picking up some classical music that sounded familiar. Charlie looked over at Gordon. “It worked, the pen is in the house. Clarence is playing mood music. I bet he’s expecting the chick in the Mustang.”
“Maybe. What do you say we circle the block and verify the chick is part of his schedule?”
“And if she isn’t—gross. I’m turning off the mike,” Charlie said. “And, no, if she shows up and they start getting it on, we don’t listen.”
“Rats,” Gordon said. “You’re no fun.”
* * *
Once they verified that Clarence was going to be busy on noncriminal matters for a while—Mustang Sally had arrived—they decided to get a late lunch. When the girlfriend left they might be able to learn something important, especially when Leroy arrived to pick him up.
It was mid-afternoon when they saw Leroy leave the restaurant and climb into the blue SUV. They’d switched vehicles now, to Gordon’s truck, and changed their appearance with hats, glasses, and different shirts. As they neared the neighborhood where Clarence lived, Charlie switched on the bug.
It only took a few seconds to realize Clarence was on the phone with his mother, Sheila.
“The timing was off and the target left early, Mom. That pickup will get a great price, so it’s worth waiting for our next opportunity. The new guy, Biggs, will be there and we’ll see how he does. McCrystal and Atcitty will handle the details, and after the grab Biggs will stick with Atcitty. There’s no reason for Biggs to see the garage until we’ve vetted him out just a little more. I know. I know. Don’t worry, Mom. Yeah. My ride is coming up the street. See you after dinner. Love you too.”
Gordon looked over at Charlie, and rolled his eyes. “C.J. really needs to grow a pair.”
“Based upon how long Mustang Sally stayed, he might still have some. But until he cuts those strings I doubt any chick is going to move in. He’s probably buying her lots of stuff, though, like that car, and keeping the girl away from Mom. I bet Sheila’s the mother-in-law from hell,” Charlie added.
“Wouldn’t know about that, thank God.”
“Think you’ll ever get married, Gordon, seriously?”
“Ask me again in ten years.”
Charlie knew just enough about Gordon’s mom and pop to understand Gordon’s hesitation with a long-term relationship.
“How about you?”
Charlie shrugged. “My mom and dad made it work, my brother not so much, though he’s sticking it out so f
ar. And Jayne, she goes from one loser to another. At least she hasn’t married one yet.”
“Ruth is available. And you know she likes you,” Gordon said. “If you don’t start making a move she’ll think you’re not interested. A woman like that, smart, beautiful, and maybe rich someday … is quite a catch.”
“She’s outta my league, bro.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Charlie.”
Charlie shrugged. “I need more to offer. She deserves the best.”
“The best isn’t always something that can be measured in numbers. Remember her ex-husband? Character—it really does count.”
Charlie nodded, then, hearing voices coming in from the bug, was grateful he didn’t have to respond. Ruth was out of his league.
Chapter Eleven
That afternoon Al had managed to text Charlie the license number of the vehicle scheduled to be highjacked—a crime Al was going to commit along with some of the Night Crew. A call to Nancy and the promise to keep her informed resulted in the name of the owner and his vehicle—a 2011 silver Ford F-250 pickup.
Charlie and Gordon decided that this offered them an opportunity to upset the Night Crew’s plans in a way that would gain instant attention—and maybe motivate Clarence into making a mistake that would bring the killer or killers among the group into focus.
They learned that the owner—the crew’s target—was a man who taught conversational Navajo at an evening CNM class at an Albuquerque campus. He lived a half hour away north near Algodones, a rural community between Bernalillo and Santa Fe. Charlie and Gordon had quickly driven the route during the day and decided upon the best location for a highjacking on a truly isolated section of highway.
There was only one practical route for the carjackers to take as they made their escape from that location, so all Charlie and Gordon had to do was sit and wait. They’d already learned when the class was supposed to end and could make a good estimate of travel time.
They’d rented a big old Suburban at a “rent-a-wreck” place in the south valley, and the heavy vehicle, dents and scrapes at no extra charge, was ideal for their plans. They stuck a fake paint company sign on the door and mounted a ladder on top.
