The Outsider (James Bishop 4)

by Dean, Jason

  ‘He always warns us before he needs a bathroom break. Don’t worry, there’s always somebody watching the front. Same for the back.’

  Bishop turned to her. ‘Not always.’

  Delaney grimaced. ‘Yeah, that’s right. What time was it when you dug your nest?’

  ‘About three a.m. I worked fast using that thermal sheet as a windbreak, but one of your men should have spotted movement out there. But I’m aware that looking through those thermal imagers can really screw with your eyes after a while, so maybe you should split the night watch so that they change over every couple of hours.’

  ‘Will do. Any other suggestions?’

  Instead of answering, Bishop slapped a palm against the nearest wall. The sound of flesh hitting clapboard sidings echoed through the room.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ she said with a sigh. ‘A stucco or adobe house would have been ideal, but I was short on time and there were none on the rental market. At least not any this size. This was the only one that came close to what I needed, especially in this area.’

  ‘It’s a problem,’ Bishop said and looked out the window again. ‘On top of which, these are all large plots around here. Each house is surrounded by masses of open space, including this one. Especially at the sides. And no boundary walls, either. Only the concrete one out front, and at three feet high that’s not much good for anything. I know there’s no such thing as a perfect safe house, but I’m seeing more cons than pros with this one. If you really believe there’s going to be another attempt on Strickland’s life, I’d recommend you find somewhere else to hole up till Thursday morning.’

  ‘Thursday?’ Delaney narrowed her eyes. ‘Where did that come from? I didn’t give you any specific dates.’

  Bishop gave her a look. ‘I don’t make a habit of going into situations blind, Delaney. You should know that. And from the minimal information you gave me in DC, it didn’t take me long to discover that of all the major murder trials in the news at the moment, only one has been postponed twice for unspecified reasons. We’re talking about the Felix Hartnell trial, right?’

  Delaney shrugged. ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  Bishop nodded. He’d made it his business to find out all about Felix Hartnell. The Coke King of America, according to the popular media, at least on the distribution side of things. But always with an alleged before it. Because nobody had ever been able to touch him for spitting on the sidewalk in over twenty years. His record was spotless. According to legend, he was the ultimate paranoid and never spoke to anybody outside a small circle of trusted lieutenants and never talked on the phone. At the same time he made large donations to all the right charities and institutions, and made a habit of being seen with all the right movers and shakers. The man just seemed to have a natural talent for doing everything right.

  ‘So once you learned he was involved,’ Delaney said, ‘is that what changed your mind about joining us?’

  ‘Let’s just say I’m surprised you didn’t bring his name up when you came to see me last Friday. It might have simplified things.’

  ‘Or complicated them. You have to understand I couldn’t take the risk of giving out too much information without knowing for sure you’d say yes at the end of it and, let’s face it, you can be … well, unpredictable.’

  Bishop smiled. ‘Thanks. So assuming the media stories are accurate, our guy in the next room actually witnessed Hartnell execute an undercover DEA agent by the name of Salvador Ferrera in Columbus, Ohio, three months ago?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By being in the right place at the right time, I guess.’

  ‘I doubt he sees it that way, not after what it’s cost him. But I’m still curious as to how an apparent law-abiding citizen happened to witness a major paranoid like Hartnell actually pull the trigger on somebody. And not just somebody, but a cop, no less. I mean, what are the chances?’

  ‘Don’t read too much into it, Bishop. Apparently, Strickland’s car simply died on him when he was driving home from work in the early hours of the morning. With his cell phone battery dead, he started searching on foot for a nearby gas station or a phone box to get help. He was taking a short cut across an old abandoned industrial area when he witnessed the shooting in question, then waited until Hartnell and his guy had left before getting the hell out of there and pretending nothing had happened. Then when he saw Hartnell’s face in the paper a week later, he and his wife had a long discussion about what to do and they finally agreed to do the right thing and take it to the feds. And so here we are.’

  Bishop thought there had to be more to it, but now wasn’t really the time. They had other problems. ‘So back to the subject at hand. What are your thoughts on another move?’

  ‘The problem is each move we make leaves an additional paper trail that the enemy can pick up on. You’re evidence of that. I know that slip I made back in DC gave you your starting point, but who’s to say Hartnell’s people aren’t already refocusing their efforts on this section of the country? One more move from us could be just the break they need. That bastard’s got almost unlimited resources, don’t forget.’

  It was a reasonable argument. But Bishop already knew what he’d do if he was in charge. Only he wasn’t.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, watching the street outside through the narrow window. ‘It’s your call. So give me a breakdown of what constitutes a typical day around here. What time the mail comes, that kind of thing.’

  Delaney paused. ‘Well … the mailman usually comes at around eight fifteen every morning except Sunday. He doesn’t deviate much. Let’s see, before that we get a school bus that starts its route here at seven fifteen every weekday morning. It passes by outside, but doesn’t stop. Its first pick-up is a girl in the next street across. There’s also a Fat Daddy’s ice-cream truck that does a tour around here every weekday at about five p.m. Not always at the same time, though. It stops on this street for about three or four minutes.’

  ‘What about garbage pick-ups? How regular are they?’

  ‘Every Monday and Thursday morning.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s now ten forty-five. Today’s pick-up should be at around eleven.’

  ‘Okay.’ Bishop turned from the window and went back through the house with Delaney following behind. He opened the door to Strickland’s room and they both went inside. It was at least twice the size of the other bedrooms, more a suite, with a separate living area with its own couch and TV and an en-suite bathroom. Two shuttered windows looked out onto the rear of the backyard and the desert beyond.

  ‘This here’s my biggest concern,’ he said. ‘If I’d brought a rocket launcher with me, I could have taken the two of them out easily from my position. It’s a shame there isn’t another room like the utility room we just passed through, but bigger. It’s the best room in the house by far. No windows. Centrally located. A projectile would have to pass through at least two walls to reach its intended target.’

  ‘And it’s not much bigger than a broom closet. Strickland would never agree to move there.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect him to. Two in a room that size would be impossible. However, I do have an idea, although it’ll mean digging into your expenses.’

  ‘The federal government’s got large pockets, Bishop. As long as I can present them with receipts. What do you have in mind?’

  Bishop brought out his cell phone. ‘Just let me make a call first to see if it’s possible, then I’ll tell you all about it.’

  EIGHT

  Bishop scratched his cheek as he looked out the side window at the Mojave Mountains in the distance. Or looked in their direction. He didn’t really see them. What he was doing was thinking about further preventative measures he could take to secure the house, or at least recommend. He also thought about possible methods the enemy might use to try to get to Strickland a second time. Because he agreed with Delaney. Hartnell would make another attempt before Thursday. If he found them once, he’d find them agai
n, especially if there was a leak from within the team itself. All Bishop could do was help prepare for the worst.

  Hence, this road trip.

  Deputy Marshal Frank Lomax was driving. They were in the SUV, heading west on Interstate 15 and making pretty good time. They’d been driving for the last two and a half hours, having crossed the California state line ninety minutes before. It was now almost two thirty in the afternoon. Traffic was light for the most part, and not a cloud in the sky. Perfect driving weather. That was one of the good things about being on the West Coast. Other than the colder nights, January weather wasn’t much different from June weather.

  Bishop faced front and saw a sign up ahead that showed they were twenty miles from Barstow. He made a quick mental calculation and said, ‘There should be a turn-off about a mile and a half ahead on the right. You’ll want to take that and keep going until you see a gas station on the left.’

  Lomax nodded. ‘And your guy’s waiting for us there?’

  ‘If he’s not, we’ll wait for him.’

  The car was quiet again as they both looked for the turn-off. When it came, Lomax slowed and took the turn, then kept going at a steady forty. There were a few lone warehouse-type structures in the distance, plus a few clapboard houses here and there. If they constituted a town, then it was one without a name, at least not one printed on any map Bishop had ever seen. But it did have a combo gas station and auto shop. Bishop could see it about two hundred yards up ahead. He’d stopped there once before, a long time ago. And since it was equidistant between North Vegas and Bakersfield, California, he’d decided it would make the perfect meeting point for today’s business.

  As they got closer, Bishop could see the place hadn’t changed much. It was one of those basic, old-style gas stations you don’t see much of anymore. There was a rusted APCO sign out by the road, then a dirt forecourt with a single set of pumps. Further back was a low grey clapboard building with two overhead garage doors and an office on the right. One of the garage doors was open. The front of an old Ford jutted out. A man wearing dark overalls was leaning over the open hood, doing something to the engine. To the left of the building, under a long wooden lean-to, were several vehicles in various states of disrepair.

  The mechanic saw them turn in and strolled over to the pumps to meet them. Bishop lowered the window and the man, a grizzled guy in his fifties, raised the visor of his cap and said, ‘Fill her up?’

  ‘Yeah, unleaded,’ Bishop said, ‘and a couple of Cokes if you got ’em.’

  ‘Can do,’ the man said and went to the rear of the vehicle. He opened the gas cap, placed the pump inside, then went over to the office and came back out with the two sodas.

  Bishop took the bottles and handed one to Lomax, and said, ‘Okay if we stick around for a while to drink these? We’re waiting for somebody.’

  The man shrugged. ‘No skin off my nose.’

  Once the guy had filled the tank, Lomax paid him, got his receipt, then drove over to the lean-to. He parked the SUV next to an old Plymouth and switched off the engine. Bishop took a slug of his soda and watched as the mechanic went back to work on the Ford.

  Lomax said, ‘So tell me, Bishop. Just what makes you so damn special?’

  Bishop almost smiled. He’d been waiting for the simmering resentment to show itself and here it was. Finally out in the open. ‘You tell me,’ he said.

  Lomax gave a snort. ‘I wish I could, but all I see is another wannabe from the private sector looking to put something cool on his resumé, that’s all. But when the principal decided he didn’t fully trust us anymore and demanded my boss bring in a body from the outside, Delaney picked you out specifically. And I’d like to know why.’

  ‘Delaney seems fairly approachable for a team leader. Why don’t you ask her?’

  ‘I’m asking you.’

  ‘Maybe she just likes my company. She’s chased after me before, you know.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘’Cause I gotta tell you you’re screwing up the dynamic just by being here, man. The way we see it our team’s like a well-oiled engine and we’re just clicking along nicely, then you come along like a loose screw rattling around the carburettor, ready to block the fuel line and screw up the whole works. I don’t like that. The team don’t like that.’

  Bishop sighed. ‘Look, I’ve headed up protection teams before and I know how it works. Anybody from the outside tries to mess with the inner workings is classified as an enemy and is immediately repelled. I get it. But I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes, Lomax. All I’m doing is helping fill a few gaps here and there. That’s all. You do your jobs and I’ll do mine. We don’t have to like each other, but I’m sure we can all get along for a few more days.’ He looked at Lomax. ‘Are we going to get along?’

  ‘I’ll let you know,’ Lomax said, and picked up his Coke and took a swallow.

  Bishop decided to let it go. He understood it was nothing personal. He might have felt the same in Lomax’s shoes, back when he was in the game. But now he was out of that life it all seemed a little dumb and petty to him, like dogs pissing on the ground to mark their territories.

  Bishop decided to clear the air and move the subject to something else. He noticed the man’s wedding ring and said, ‘Been married long?’

  ‘Almost seven years. Why?’

  ‘Just curious. Never got round to it myself. You got kids?’

  Lomax shook his head. ‘Got a dog, though, which is almost the same thing.’ He smiled faintly to himself, obviously visualizing his pet, and said, ‘You like dogs?’

  ‘Who doesn’t? What kind is he?’

  ‘German shepherd. Four years old. Here, I got a photo.’ Lomax reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. He slid out a four-by-six photo, folded down the middle, and showed it to Bishop.

  Bishop saw it had been taken in somebody’s backyard. In the forefront, a friendly-looking German shepherd panted at the camera, while just behind, tickling his ears was the wife in question. With her sharp cheekbones and large eyes, she was extremely good-looking, which was surprising only because Lomax was so plain. In Bishop’s experience, like generally attracted like, at least in physical terms. Or maybe he just had hidden talents.

  ‘Beautiful dog,’ Bishop said. ‘And a stunning wife. You’re a lucky man.’

  ‘Yeah, you don’t need to remind me,’ he said, and took the photo out of Bishop’s hand and stuffed it back in the wallet.

  ‘So you live around these parts?’

  ‘No, I’m from back East.’

  ‘New York?’

  He sighed and turned to Bishop. ‘No, a little place called Bloomington, Indiana. Believe it or not, New York isn’t the centre of all life on this planet. Anything else you wanna know about me, like what kind of grades I got in high school, maybe? My favourite football team? The chest measurements of my first date?’

  Bishop could see the conversation had quickly soured for whatever reason, and said nothing else. The car interior was filled with silence again, which was perfectly fine with Bishop. Silence was his favourite sound.

  After three more minutes, he noticed movement in the side mirror. A black panel van was slowing as it approached the station.

  ‘Here we go,’ he said.

  NINE

  Bishop got out and adjusted his suit jacket as he leaned against the SUV. Back at the house Hammond had loaned him a spare suit and shirt, since they were about the same size. But no tie. That was taking things too far.

  He watched as the van slowed and turned in. There was a tasteful shield logo on the side with the words DALY DESIGNATED DEFENSE in silver next to it. Underneath was a Bakersfield, CA, address and a toll-free number. The windows were tinted. The driver paused, then steered the van in Bishop’s direction before coming to a stop beside their SUV.

  The driver’s door opened and a smiling black man in his thirties got out and stretched his arms out. He had close-cropped hair an
d wore tan chinos and a tight black T-shirt that emphasized his muscular physique.

  ‘Bishop,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Long time, man.’

  ‘Long time, Nels,’ Bishop said, shaking the hand. The man’s grip was as strong as ever. ‘I was expecting somebody else to make the actual run, or does the CEO of a major supply company have nothing better to do than play delivery boy these days?’

  Nelson Daly shrugged. ‘Hey, I just decided this’d be a good chance to see how my old sergeant was doing. I could have flown in on the company jet, man, but I’m in cloak-and-dagger meetings in Mexico City for the next couple of days and I figured this’d be my last chance to see daylight for a while. So, you been waiting long?’

  ‘Not long.’

  ‘Cool. So based on your request, am I to assume you’re still in the close protection racket?’

  ‘No, I got forced out of that a few years back. This is just a one-off deal.’

  ‘Something special, huh? I can dig that.’ Nelson looked over at Lomax getting out the other side and said, ‘Who’s the square-head?’

  ‘A federal marshal by the name of Lomax. So you made your first billion yet?’

  ‘In my tax bracket? Forget about it. I sure ain’t starving, though. Man, private security’s a field where you have to work real hard not make a fortune these days. You should really come and see me, Bishop. I could always use a man like you. And I’ll make you a millionaire in less than six months, guaranteed.’

  ‘There’s more to life than money, Nels, but thanks for the offer. So have you got the stuff I asked for?’

  Nelson smiled. ‘Yeah, I got it all in the back. Come with me.’

  At the rear of the van Nelson unlocked and opened the double doors. Completely filling the interior were two dozen large flat boxes, all stacked against each other.

  ‘All four by two,’ Nelson said, ‘except for the three extra pieces measuring seven by two. Those are the dimensions you wanted, right?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Bishop said. ‘Let’s get them loaded. Better lower the seats in the back.’