“Almost to the airport. Got maybe five minutes. Maybe less.”
“Let me know if anything changes.”
I headed to the coffee pot, craving more caffeine. It was empty. I filled the pot and turned it on. The lack of sleep was making me irritable as hell. Or it could have been the stress. As I waited for the coffee, I wondered again who the hell was leaking information. Somebody close. Had to be. I glanced to the other room and caught Lucia staring at me with a look in her eyes that said she was dying to know what was going on but afraid to ask.
Rightfully so. I got nothing to tell you.
With her stare and sorrowful look, the pressure built in my head until it felt as if it might explode. My gut churned. I had to get her girl back. Had to. And to do that, I had to find the leak.
Who the fuck is it?
Chapter 55
Everyone Has a Plan
Lonny sat beside Lucia on the sofa, doing everything he could to comfort her. She was a strong woman, a rock. Had been for all these years. But this was too much to ask of any woman. First came the financial pressure, which he’d thought was the worst thing that could happen…but now this. Money didn’t seem so important anymore.
He racked his brains all night trying to think of what he could do, but thinking had never been one of Lonny’s strong points. Working with his hands, with tools—he shined there. Build a stone wall, pour concrete and make it slicker than cat shit. Those he could do. Hang a door, run electric, fix the toilet. But put his mind to work on a problem like this, and he was lost. It was a God-given wonder the kids did so good in school. Must have got all that from their mother.
Lonny had other talents too. He sometimes helped Lucia with her cooking, not that he could cook, but he could taste the difference in a dish and tell her what was missing, or what it had too much of. And he could smell a sauce or a pot of soup and tell what it was as soon as he entered the door. He had a good sense of place and direction too. But what good did all that do? He’d trade it all for the brains to find Jada. Instead, he was forced to rely on the detective. Gino seemed like a good enough guy, but still…his daughter wasn’t out there. He didn’t have to worry about her when he went home at night. And she sure as hell wouldn’t be a flash in his memory six months from now if they never got her back.
Lonny squeezed a little too hard on Lucia’s arm. She jumped. “Sorry,” he said. “Just nervous.”
She offered a forced smile, patted the back of his hand. “We’ll get her back.”
We’ll get her back. That’s all Lucia had been saying of late. Lonny worried it might be all she’d ever say if this didn’t come out right. He stared at Detective Cataldi, waiting on his coffee with signs of worry etched on his face. Not the same kind of worry, but it was there. He was worried. No doubt.
Lonny lay his head against the back of the sofa. Closed his eyes. If he could only figure out how to find them. Maybe if he had paid more attention when they had picked him up. He shut his eyelids tighter, trying to focus on remembering that first day they had picked him up. He was nervous; he recalled that much. Nerves had been eating at him that day, tearing him up. He’d had a roll of Tums with him, and he’d popped them until they were gone. He remembered coming back up I-45…
Lonny sat up straight. How did he know it was I-45? He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. Maybe it was the smooth ride interrupted by the bump of the joints in the pavement every fifty feet or so. Or maybe it was the sensation of speed. Nowhere else close to where he’d met them that they could have gone that fast, not without the risk of being pulled over. He lay back against the sofa again. If they’d come back by going north on 45, then they had to have gone south to get there—wherever there was. Confirming it all in his head made him recall the same sensation on the way down, the smooth ride, the bumps, the speed. And he remembered it being a twenty or twenty-five minute ride. Seemed like he knew more than he thought. Now to get the rest.
In the middle of his train of thought, Lucia tapped his shoulder and said something about tea or lunch. Something unimportant. She got up and went to the kitchen. Lonny tried getting back to the images in his mind but couldn’t. He had to get out of here, go where he could focus.
He went to Lucia and whispered, “I’m going out for a drive. Want to come?” He knew she wouldn’t.
“Where are you going?”
“Just taking a drive to get my mind off things.”
“You go ahead. Be careful.”
He tried to look calm as he walked toward the front door, but he wanted to run. Time was running out for his baby girl. He had to do something.
***
I watched Lonny go out the door then looked at Lucia, her gaze still on him as the door closed. He was at it again. “Connors!”
He came over. “What’s up?”
“Take over,” I said. “I’m following Lonny. Call my cell with anything. And I mean anything.”
I got halfway to the door before I realized Scott had my car. I turned back to Connors, who already had his keys out. He tossed them to me.
It didn’t take me long to fall in behind Lonny. He seemed oblivious. Twice he drifted into the other lane, catching it only when someone beeped their horn at him. I did my best to keep a discreet distance, but I didn’t think he looked in his mirror once. Lonny could have had a naked girl on his back bumper and he wouldn’t have noticed.
While I drove, I kept thinking about the leak. I had been focusing all this time on who it could be. Suppose it was a what, not a who. I called Connors.
“Yeah, Gino?”
“Get the techs to sweep that whole house. I want everything, from the front yard to the toilets.”
“You think there’s a bug in here?”
“It would explain a lot. Get them going.” Next I called Julie. “We find out anything about those plates?”
“I checked every plate in the Houston area that started with VNA. A few had records, but they’re still in prison, and yes, we checked. There were six plates in The Woodlands, and we sent an officer to every house. Two were dead ends, and the other four weren’t home. He’ll be going back again after work.”
“Keep me posted,” I said, and then followed Lonny off the freeway and into the right lane of the feeder road. I hung back, letting a few cars get between us in case he looked in the mirror, but I wasn’t too worried. When Lonny’s brake lights came on, I applied mine, matching his speed.
My mind jumped to what I’d told Connors—that a bug would explain a lot. It would explain a lot of things, but it wouldn’t explain why the kidnappers didn’t know they had the wrong girl. That was the biggest puzzler of all, and I had no answer for it.
***
Lonny turned off the feeder road into the parking lot at FM 2920. He had mentally counted down the time from when Boss and them would have left the coffee shop. This would have been about the right spot. He parked in the middle of the lot with nothing to block his view, and his gaze swept all directions, searching. Looking for…what? He knew this was a long shot. He was good at travel and distance estimates, but even so, he could have easily been a mile or so off. Or more. Taking that into account, he wouldn’t see shit. He didn’t even know what he was looking for.
He closed his eyes again and tried to remember anything about where he’d been that first day on the job. The building had the feel of a warehouse—big and empty. There were no windows in the room where he met Boss the first time. No windows in either of the rooms, now that he thought about it. And it was a large building. The image that kept coming back to him were of steel walls, like a warehouse, or a barn.
He tried thinking of smells. Oil, maybe grease. A lot of dust. Yes, dust was the strongest smell. Lonny shifted his focus to sounds. There had been a hollow sound. A slight echo. Something about the sounds haunted him. He recognized one of them and recalled wondering about it at the time, but he had been so nervous that day.
Think, Lonny. Think!
He turned the truck off, rolled
up the windows, and closed his eyes. Number Two had been there, off to his left. Number Three in front of him. A desk with a small lamp to the right. Three chairs and a small sofa…
Then it struck him. He’d heard the rumbling sound of a large truck, with the wheels bouncing on a rough road. Maybe a gravel one. And the familiar sound of metal clanging against metal.
Concrete trucks! Lots of them.
Somewhere close by, a crew had been pouring something big. He recalled hearing at least ten or twelve trucks, which meant it was a decent-sized pour. Maybe a hundred plus-yards of concrete. Now Lonny knew what to do and how to find them. He called every dispatcher he knew. Fred Mintz was first—the dispatcher for Superior. They did a lot in this part of town.
“Fred, it’s Lonny Hackett.”
“Lonny! It’s been a long time. Are you keepin’ busy?” Fred had a voice that sounded like he had a mouthful of tobacco, which he usually did. He carried an empty can or bottle with him to spit into.
“Not now, I’m not. But that’s not why I’m calling. I need your help.”
“If it’s a job you’re lookin’ for—”
“No job. I need to know about some pours you might have done a few weeks ago.”
“What for?”
Agitation was setting in, but Lonny tried to be patient. “Fred, my girl’s in trouble. I can’t say much more, but I need to know if you made any big pours, 80–120 yards or more, about two weeks ago. It would have been somewhere up around 2920 and 45. Say within five miles of that, maybe a little more.”
“That’s a big area, Lonny. Might take me a while to check it.”
Lonny gripped his steering wheel and squeezed. He wanted to break something. Still, he maintained his composure. “I know I’m asking a lot, but this is soooo important.” There was silence for a moment, and then Lonny thought of something else. “It would have been in the morning. Say between ten and noon.”
More silence, then. “Hang on a minute.”
Fred put him on hold for what seemed like half an hour. When Lonny checked his watch, it had only been about eight minutes.
“Got two pours that could fit. One came in at about ninety yards, the other at one hundred twelve.”
“You got addresses?”
Fred gave Lonny the addresses. One was maybe a mile and a half away. The other more like three. Either one could have been it. Lonny had been in the back of a van with the windows covered and a mask on. Getting within three miles was miracle enough.
“Thanks, Fred. I owe you, man. I mean really owe you.”
“Just get some work, Lonny. Be nice to hear your voice more often. And good luck.”
“I need it.”
Three more concrete companies delivered a lot to this area. He got hold of all of them, and after a lot of arm-twisting, got one more address. He wrote it down then studied the three addresses on his piece of paper. All he had to do was check them out and see if the kidnappers were there.
What the hell am I going to do if I find them? I’m no damn Rambo. I’m a bricklayer.
Chapter 56
Not Everything Is Roses
As soon as Scott drove off, Driver removed the mask, pulled into the left lane of the parkway, drove a few miles, then headed south on the feeder.
Number Two sat in the back with Three. “Keep watching for tails,” she said.
“No one saw us,” Three said.
Two pushed the curtain aside at the rear window. “It’s possible.”
Number Three suddenly laughed, real loud. “Would you look at all of this cash? Seven million.”
“A lot of money,” Two said. “It turned out to be a good job.”
“It would be a lot more money if we didn’t have to split it with so many people.”
Two turned to glare at him and found herself staring at his gun. She kept her cool and spoke calmly, with a soft voice. “What are you doing, Three? This isn’t in the script.”
He laughed, the kind that’s not really a laugh. “I really hate to do this, but Driver and I decided that splitting it two ways was a lot more profitable.”
Two didn’t seem fazed. “You have nowhere to clean it. No contacts.”
“I’ll find a way.”
“What about Boss? He’s been good to us.”
“Fuck boss. And fuck Dispatcher, and Number Four…” Three took hold of the gun with both hands, pointing it at her face. “And fuck you, Number Two.”
Two shrugged. “Maybe a three-way split isn’t so bad.”
“Now you want to partner up with me, is that it?”
“I could do worse.”
Three laughed again. “You got that right. None of them know who we are. Have they ever seen your face? Not mine.”
Two said nothing.
“Well?”
“I’m thinking on it.”
“Think fast, Two. It’s not far from here.”
“What do you really think of Boss? Wasn’t it smart how Boss planned all of this? How would we have ever gotten out of so many jams without Boss? But you still want to betray the one person who helped you get here?”
“If it means an extra two million for each of us. For two million dollars, I’d do anything.” Three stared, the gun still focused on Number Two. “Well?”
“I’ll go along with it, Three, but before we split the money, let’s play a guessing game. Let’s see who can come the closest to guessing the real person behind each other’s mask.”
He laughed. “Winner gets to fuck the other person.”
She laughed with him. “All right, I’ll agree, but only—and this is important—only if the winner wants to.”
“I go first,” he said.
“We have to establish criteria.”
“Like what?”
Number Two thought. “I don’t know. Age, weight, nationality, type of house we live in…” She cocked her head in thought. “Let’s see…real names…”
“Okay, enough bullshit.”
“If you think I’m risking going to bed with you on a few lucky guesses, you’re crazy. If you win, that’s one thing.”
“All right, what else?”
She thought for a moment. Shook her head. “I guess we have enough. Go ahead, you start.”
“You are so easy, Two. You gave away too much. By asking the type of house, I already know you live in a house, not an apartment.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Good start, Three.”
He smiled. “Let’s see. You’re five feet six. Weigh about…120.”
Two raised her eyebrows.
“Lot of muscle on you. I figure I’m close with that.” He stared close to her face. “I’d say you are thirty-five, and you’re Irish…wait. Didn’t commit to that yet.” He thought some more. “All right. Irish. You live in a ranch house.”
“And the name?” she asked.
“Name? Let me think. I peg you as a…Carla.”
She raised her eyebrows again.
“How’d I do?” Three asked.
“Not bad. You’ve got me a little concerned with how transparent I’ve become.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“You hit the age, height, and weight right on. Well, close enough. You missed the age by two years, and I weigh 122.”
“And?”
“I do, in fact, live in a ranch house, but I’m of German descent, not Irish.”
“Only one wrong so far. What about the name?”
“I’ll tell you that after I finish.”
“Fair enough. Your turn.”
She looked at the corners of his eyes, at his neck, and thought some. “I’d say you are thirty-nine. Height—five eleven, weight 185.” She watched as his expression went from victory to concern. “Your nationality is likely Bulgarian on your father’s side, Belarus on your mother’s. And you live in a rat-hole apartment off 59 South.” Number Three lost all expression. “Oh, and your name is Dwayne Povich.”
His hands shaking, he moved the gun even closer to her, hi
s finger on the trigger. “You whore.”
Number Two made a tsking sound as if chiding someone. “One more thing, Three. Your gun is empty. I did that this morning.”
Three looked at his gun, then at her. He pulled the trigger. Nothing. Before he could do anything else, Two had her gun aimed at his face, the silencer already attached.
“How did you get my information? No one is supposed to have that.”
“After the Marshall incident, I decided you were dangerous. I needed to know all there was about you. So I called Dispatcher.”
Three looked dumbfounded. “How do you have Dispatcher’s number? I thought only Boss did.”
Number Two laughed. “You’re getting smarter all the time, Dwayne.”
Three’s brow wrinkled, and his eyes narrowed. Two leaned forward, gripping the gun with both hands, then whispered, “I forgot one part of the game. My name. I am Boss. Not that lame-duck asshole you’ve been taking orders from.”
Number Three must have thought of all the times Boss had looked to her before acting on a question or committing to a direction. He might have thought of the time in the motel when she had said Boss wants to do this, or when she had ordered Four to evacuate. There was a lot more he might have thought about, but he didn’t have time. She had already pulled the trigger and the bullet was racing toward his head.
Number Two opened the door to the front compartment then poked the gun through the curtain, aimed at the back of Driver’s head. “I don’t know where you stand on this, Driver, but I’d suggest you abandon any alliance you had with Three. He’s dead, and you’re no match for me.”
Driver nodded. “Where to?”
“The warehouse.”
Two emptied Three’s pockets, setting his wallet and his cash to the side. She looked at the watch he had in his pants. Unique. She started to put it in the bag with his other things when she noticed an inscription on the back. She got close to the light to read it. A tear formed in her eye. Then another. She wrapped the watch in a cloth they used for wiping down prints then carefully tucked the watch into her pocket.
Necessary Decisions, A Gino Cataldi Mystery Page 27
