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Day of the Tiger (A Carlos McCrary Mystery Thriller Book 5)

Page 19

by Dallas Gorham


  Tank smirked. “It would be bad form to put good ol’ Chuck at risk, wouldn’t it?” Tank drew his Glock 19.

  “I brought you here for a baptism of live gunfire in the real world, not the controlled environment of a shooting range.” I aimed my own Glock and rapid-fired six rounds.

  Tank jumped. “Geez. I see what you mean. That’s loud as hell.”

  “And we’re outdoors. Imagine how it sounds indoors, which is where we’ll find Doraleen.” I stepped back. “Okay, congratulations; you’re my backup. Let’s see you shoot.”

  Tank rapid-fired five rounds, then five more. “My ears are ringing.”

  “They’ll ring for a while. That’s enough. I don’t want to damage our hearing. Mission accomplished.”

  Chapter 55

  Al met us in the lobby. “What’s up, guys? Any developments? They won’t let us keep cell phones here.”

  “Let’s sit down. I need coffee.” I led Al and Tank to the coffee station in the sitting room where we had had our deep discussion about self-inflicted wounds. Was it really the night before?

  We fixed our coffees and found a quiet corner in a separate smaller sitting room where we were alone. I briefed Al on Moffett’s call to his phone. “So Moffett plans to call your phone at 4:30 this afternoon to give you instructions on how to surrender to him.”

  “Then he’ll turn Momma loose. I gave this whole freaking’ mess a lot of thought. Everything that’s happened to Momma, to Race Car, even to your friend Snoop—all this shit is my fault. It’s time for me to take responsibility for my bad decisions. I’ll surrender to Monster, if he’ll turn Momma loose. Let’s do it. My life isn’t any great loss. I can be a better son to Momma dead that I ever was alive.”

  I raised both hands. “Not so fast, Surrender Man. In the first place, there’s no way in hell that Moffett will release Doraleen. He’s in too deep. Kidnapping is a federal crime with the death penalty. And with the other crap Moffett has done, the U.S. Attorney is sure to go for the needle. Moffett will be lucky to get a plea bargain for life without parole. He won’t turn loose the star prosecution witness for his kidnaping trial, that’s for sure.”

  “One other thing,” said Tank. “You owe Momma Dora more than sacrificing your life for nothing. If you get yourself killed, how is she gonna feel? What will she have to live for?”

  Al looked down at his hands. “I gotta find a way to make this right.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” I said. “Tell me about when Moffett and his thugs kidnaped you and beat up your hand.”

  Al regarded his bandaged hand. “Sure, anything to get Momma out of trouble. What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  ###

  We cruised another street in the two-mile square industrial district in western Port City. Al had remembered enough to narrow the search to that large neighborhood. Block after block of office-warehouse combinations lined both sides of the streets behind wide parking lots with room for loading docks for each unit. The differences lay in the paint jobs and the landscaping between the street and the parking lots. The buildings themselves came in two types: Large freestanding units and long strips designed for several small businesses. We’d searched a couple hours, scouring parking lots for SUVs that looked familiar, or buildings Al recognized. We stopped once and bought sandwiches to eat in the van as we cruised the district. The buildings all looked alike.

  My theory was that Moffett had a stronghold in the district. That was why he felt safe hauling Al there to work him over. Maybe that was where he had transferred Doraleen. It was the best idea I could think of.

  “Anything look familiar, Al?” I asked.

  “That’s the problem, Chuck; they all look familiar. I’m ashamed to say that I was drunk when Bones and Turk grabbed me. They threw me in the rear of an SUV, drove me to this industrial district, and the next thing I knew they were dragging me into this big warehouse. Every memory is blurry.” He stared at his bandaged left hand. “I hope I live long enough to get this cast removed.”

  “What kind of stuff did you see in the warehouse?” I asked.

  “There were tall metal racks or shelves like you’d see at a Home Depot or a Lowes. Must have been thirty feet tall. Row after row of boxes and crap on the shelves.”

  “What was in the boxes?” I asked. “What were they selling?”

  “Beats me. I was scared shitless and half drunk. I’m lucky to remember the gray metal racks.”

  “When they dragged you into the warehouse, did you enter through a front office or through a loading dock?”

  “A loading dock. There were steps at one side that we climbed from the parking lot to the warehouse floor.”

  “Which side of the dock were they on, the right or the left?”

  He closed his eyes. “The right, I think, but don’t hold me to that.”

  “That’s good, Al,” I said. “We didn’t know about the steps before.”

  Tank rode in the second row of my minivan. “What kind of SUV did they put you in?”

  “It had two rows of seats and a cargo area in the back.”

  “Was it a Jeep Grand Cherokee?” asked Tank.

  “Maybe.”

  I pulled into a half-empty parking lot and studied my video of the vehicles at Moffett’s building on NW Fourth Avenue. All were some type of SUV or van, but not all were Grand Cherokees. If Moffett owned a fleet, they were not the same model vehicle. I called SAIC Lopez. “Gene, do you have the registrations on those other vehicles I videoed in the lot on NW Fourth Avenue?”

  “They all belonged to TCL Enterprises registered at the same post office box.”

  “Y’all find out anything about the post office box? Like a street address for the renter?”

  Lopez sighed. “Takes time to work through the post office. Lots of red tape and regulations to protect privacy. Gotta get warrants. You know how it is.”

  “But you’re the FBI, the good guys,” I said. “I thought y’all walked on water.”

  “Don’t start with me, McCrary. This is a kidnapping and we do the best we can. I’m not in the mood for your so-called humor.”

  Lopez was pissed when he called me McCrary. “Okay, next best thing. What other vehicles that were not there might belong to TCL Enterprises?”

  “You have a lead on something, Chuck?”

  “So I’m not McCrary anymore; I’m good ol’ Chuck again. Were there any other vehicles registered to TCL Enterprises?”

  “Just a sec… Yeah, I got four more here. There’s a 2013 silver Dodge Caravan, a 2014 black Jeep Grand Caravan, a 2013 blue Honda Pilot, and a 2015 white GMC Denali. You want the license plates?”

  He read them to me while I wrote them on a notepad. “Thanks, Gene.”

  “Wait a sec, Chuck. What are you up to?”

  “Moffett took Doraleen away in a different vehicle. If we find the vehicle, maybe we’ll find Doraleen. Put out a BOLO on those four vehicles, Gene. Let me know if you find one. Gotta go. Talk to you later.”

  I couldn’t tell Lopez I was looking for Doraleen without him. In the first place, he would demand that I not go around him. Then he would threaten to arrest me for interference with a federal investigation. At least, that’s what he usually did. Then I would do it anyway, and there would be a big kerfuffle.

  Lopez operated under a handicap: He followed due process rules, search warrants, Miranda warnings, and such. The FBI was concerned, and rightly so, with the Bill of Rights. I was concerned with right and wrong. Lopez followed the rules; I made my own rules. If I let Lopez get involved, he would slow me down. Doraleen might wind up dead.

  I called Flamer. “I put you on speaker. I’m here with two friends, Tank Tyler and Al Rice.”

  “Tank Tyler as in NFL Hall of Famer Tank Tyler?” asked Flamer.

  I gestured for Tank to speak. “Hello, Flamer. This is Tank Tyler, former Port City Pelicans defensive end.”

  “It’s an honor, Tank. I’ve always been a big fan.”
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  “Thanks, Flamer. Chuck tells me you’re the best researcher in the known universe. We need your help to save a woman’s life. I’ll give you back to Chuck to tell you what we need.” He gestured for me to go ahead.

  “Who owns the building at 8823 NW Fourth Avenue? We’ll hold.”

  Flamer answered within a few seconds. “It belongs to Fifth Avenue Venture Number 27, Ltd. with an address on Fifth Avenue, where else, in New York City. Why?”

  “Montgomery ‘Monster’ Moffett lived there until yesterday, and a bunch of SUVs registered to TCL Enterprises were parked there. He kidnaped Doraleen Rice, Al’s mother, and took her there overnight. Now he’s moved her, and we need to find out where. How long has this New York outfit owned the building?”

  “Seventeen years.”

  “Okay. Do they own any other property in Atlantic County?”

  A short pause. “Three auto parts stores, two office supply stores, and three drug stores. Looks like it’s a real estate investment company organized as a partnership for tax purposes.”

  “Then Moffett rented the building short term and they’re not part of his mob. What did you learn about TCL Enterprises?”

  “You remember Leonard Satin, the Tallahassee lawyer who controls the land under the strip clubs?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He is the registered agent for TCL Enterprises, Inc. That’s not all. I checked out the Fuzzy Bare like you said. Same deal as the Crazy Lady and the Orange Peel. A Florida Land Trust owns the land, and a Caymanian corporation owns the building. Same lawyers involved.”

  “Good job. Who owns the Fuzzy Bare’s liquor license?”

  “You get three guesses and the first two don’t count.” Flamer said.

  “Mickey Mouse,” I answered.

  Flamer made a buzzer sound with his mouth. “Wrong.”

  “Superman.”

  Another buzzer. “Wrong again. Last chance.”

  “Bernard Prevossi.”

  “Bingo. Give that man the prize.”

  “And what did you learn about Prevossi?”

  “He’s got two more liquor licenses in Orange County and three in Duval County. All strip clubs.”

  “You got a file on him you could send me?”

  “Yeah, it’s on its way, but I didn’t tell you the most surprising part.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He’s got two more liquor licenses in Miami Beach and one in Key West.”

  “Why is that a surprise?”

  “Those licenses are for gay bars. In fact, I’ve partied at the one in Key West. Pretty cool place.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  I put the van in gear. “Gentlemen, we are looking for a silver Dodge Caravan, a black Jeep Grand Caravan, a blue Honda Pilot, or a white GMC Denali. We scan every vehicle near every three-story building we pass with steps for the loading dock.”

  “So we’ve eliminated the smaller buildings?”

  “You heard Al. The gray storage shelves were thirty feet tall. We didn’t know that before, and we didn’t know about the steps. Now that we do, we’ll move faster.”

  Chapter 56

  Bones walked over to where Ngombo was eating his sandwich. “You been watching the boss lately, Teddy?”

  Ngombo swallowed. “I always watch Monster. He is the boss.”

  “No, that ain’t what I mean. I mean, like, does he seem, like normal to you?”

  Ngombo regarded Bones suspiciously. Moffett had gone into the restroom. “What do you mean?”

  Bones glanced at the restroom door. “This kidnapping thing. Does that seem rational to you?”

  “I do not know. In my country, hostages are often taken and exchanged between tribes.” He took another bite.

  “It’s different over here. Kidnapping is as bad as murder. And it’s a federal offense, federal. That means the FBI. Those guys, those feds, they got long arms, y’know?”

  “No, I do not know. What is long arms?”

  “They reach a long ways. They got agents, and money, and informants, and shit like that.” He cut his eyes at the bathroom door again. “They ain’t as easy to fool as the local cops.”

  “What do you propose?” asked Ngombo.

  Bones shrugged. “I dunno. I feel real creepy holding an old woman. Nothing good’s gonna come from this.”

  “Do you wish to free her?”

  Bones looked over. The bathroom door was opening. “So, how’s the sandwich, Teddy?”

  Chapter 57

  Tank spotted the white Denali first. It was parked at a long four-unit building on NW 108th Street between NW 103rd and 104th Avenue. I slowed down for him to read the license plate. “That’s it.”

  “And there’s the black Jeep Grand Caravan,” said Al. “I don’t see the silver Caravan or the blue Honda Pilot.”

  The office-warehouse was the second unit in the block-long structure. A discreet sign said Tri-Patron Imports. I turned right at the next corner and drove down the alley behind the building. The silver Caravan had parked between a truck door and a regular steel door with a wire-reinforced window facing the alley.

  “No access back here, guys,” I said.

  I called Lopez. “We have a lead on where they have Doraleen Rice.” I gave him the address. “Three of the four TCL-owned vehicles that were not at the lot on Fourth Avenue are here. I’d bet they’ll leave in one before 4:30 to call Al Rice.”

  “We’ll have a SWAT team and a hostage negotiator there within thirty minutes,” Lopez replied.

  “I’ll leave a man in back to make sure they don’t leave that way. I’ll wait in front with Al Rice until your team arrives.”

  “McCrary, I warned you not to put Rice in danger.”

  “See you when you get here, Gene.” I disconnected. Lopez would be pissed. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d probably call me McCrary again.

  I parked fifty yards down the alley in a slot on the opposite side from Moffett’s unit. I’d picked a spot between two other cars parked behind the same building. Anyone coming out Moffett’s back door wouldn’t notice me parked among the other vehicles. I turned to Tank. “Let’s get you into a vest.” We popped our doors and walked to the back. I opened the rear hatch and handed Tank an armored vest.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. Rainy season had begun, with its typical late afternoon showers.

  “Is that vest bulletproof?” he asked.

  “If the balloon goes up, you’d better hope so,” I replied. I adjusted the straps on the vest. It was barely large enough for his XXXL body. “You stay here and watch the back door. If anybody comes out, hide behind that dumpster and call me. I’ll put a GPS tracker on that van so we won’t lose them. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  I sneaked back down the alley, staying close to the wall where no one could see me from Moffett’s rear door. I fastened the tracker underneath the Caravan and returned to my van. “Test your phone, Tank. Call me.”

  “Is that necessary?”

  “Watch and learn, Tank. Rule Ten: Always test your equipment; your life could depend on it.”

  He called me. Both our phones worked. Thunder boomed again, louder this time. I glanced at the thunderheads rolling in from the Everglades.

  “Al and I will park around front where we can watch for Gene Lopez’s crew. Remember, if anybody exits from that back door, call me. Don’t be a hero. Heroes can wind up dead.”

  “Is that a rule too?”

  I clapped him on the shoulder. “Nah. That’s basic survival advice.”

  Chapter 58

  At the end of the alley, I turned right again and stopped at the curb. “Let’s suit up.” I helped Al into an armored vest, put on my own, and drove back to Moffett’s street. I parked between two cars in the lot next door to Tri-Patron Imports. We could watch both the cargo door and the people door.

  I texted Flamer the street address. Complete report on Tri-Patron Imports and building ownership. Call with results.

  “Now we
wait.”

  Al felt his coffee cup we’d brought from the sandwich shop and made a meh face. “Room temperature.”

  I lifted my cup and took a sip. “Cold coffee is better than no coffee at all.”

  He smiled. “Chuck, why are you helping me?”

  “The simple answer is that Tank is paying me,” I replied. “This is what I do for a living.”

  “This is a dangerous business. Tank told me two hoods tried to kidnap you at the Orange Peel. Hell, we’re both sporting bulletproof vests, for crissakes.”

  “At least, we hope they’re bulletproof.” I grinned. “Let’s hope we never find out.”

  Al smiled back, but it was a conditioned reflex. “That’s what I mean. A guy could get killed in your profession. Surely it doesn’t pay that well. Private detectives also find lost children, catch wayward husbands, and investigate bogus insurance claims. That kind of project won’t get you killed, and it pays pretty well. What’s the real reason?” He looked down at his hand. “I’m sure as hell not worth dying for.”

  “Maybe not yet, but someday you could be, Al. You could be.”

  “How the hell would I do that?”

  “Start by making the right choices from now on.”

  Al stared out the windshield, but I don’t think he saw anything but the inside of his own memories. “I don’t have much practice making good choices, do I?”

  “Doraleen says you’re like a sheep without a shepherd, like an old-fashioned bumper car at an amusement park. The other cars push you around. She said you don’t take control of your own life.”

  “How do I take control?” he asked.

  “Be less like a sheep and more like a tiger.”

  Chapter 59

  “I’ll have to give that some thought,” Al said. “Right now, I’m not worth shit, and I sure as hell don’t want you dying for me.”

  “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Doraleen.” I laughed. “Besides, this job beats the hell out of hanging around a cheap motel with a low-light video camera, trying to catch a cheating husband.” I laughed. “This is what I do, and I don’t want to do anything else. I knew in grade school that I was the knight on the white horse. Your sweet mother calls me her Sir Galahad.”

 

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