by Chad Zunker
David took a moment to let the magnitude of the situation settle on him. He felt like he was suddenly holding a lit stick of dynamite. “Dana, do you still have that friend who works with the Texas Rangers?”
The Texas Rangers were the state’s elite law enforcement unit with statewide jurisdiction. They were known for investigating major crimes, unsolved crimes, and public corruption, among other special operations.
She nodded. “Mike Harbers. He’s been asking me out for months. Why?”
“If this thing goes as high and as far as we think, we’re going to need someone from the outside to help us. This is not a 911 call. Even the police have been coerced and manipulated to hide the truth. We need someone we can trust.”
FORTY-SEVEN
David parked his truck in a crowded parking lot right outside Barton Creek Square, which sat high up on a hill overlooking downtown. He got out, pulled his black hoodie up over his head, and hurried inside the Nordstrom department store. Kate had sent him a panicked text message only ten minutes ago. The bald guy with the combat boots had followed her into the mall. She felt like he was becoming bolder, which scared her. She didn’t know what to do. David told her to stay put.
Inside the store, David paused, took a long look around him. Nordstrom was busy with shoppers. He spotted no one suspicious at the moment. He walked over to a woman wearing a name tag in the far corner of the first floor, said he was looking for his wife, who was trying on clothes. She led him through an entrance into a hallway of private dressing rooms and knocked on the third door. When it opened, David slipped inside with Kate, who swiftly shut the door behind him. Although there were several clothing items hanging on a hook by the mirror, she wasn’t trying anything on at the moment.
“You okay?” David asked.
“No. He’s out there right now.”
“Where did you see him?”
“I dropped in to return a jacket here. When I turned around, I spotted him a few aisles over, staring at me. I freaked, grabbed some clothes, came in here, and have been waiting on you to get here.”
“Did you come here straight from your office?”
She nodded. “He must’ve followed me.”
“What’s he wearing?”
“Black jacket, jeans, black boots. And, like, a gray cabbie cap. Did you see him when you walked through the store?”
David shook his head. “But I was hurrying.”
Kate swallowed. “Lee was acting really weird this afternoon. He’d hardly interact with me.”
“They’re panicking.” David went on to tell her about his discovery of Owen Nelson and the billion-dollar development project.
Kate’s face went pale. “What do we do?”
“My friend Dana is reaching out to someone she thinks can help us and protect you from whatever fallout is about to happen. One way or another, we have to bring this to a close. It’s become too dangerous for everyone.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. “Where do I go from here?”
“I want you to walk out in a minute without me. Instead of going straight back to your car, I want you to go deeper into the mall. Just stroll around for twenty minutes or so, like you’re window-shopping, and then leave the mall.”
“Why?”
“So I can put eyes on this guy. If I spot him, I’ll follow him back. And then maybe I can finally ID him. Where are you parked?”
“Right outside the entrance by the kids’ shoe department.”
“Me, too. What kind of car?”
“Black 4Runner.”
“Okay. Drive slowly out of the parking lot. Give me time to get to my truck so that I can follow you closely. And, hopefully, him.”
Kate nodded, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.
David reached out and touched her arm. “Hey, don’t worry. If anything happens, I’ll swoop in and tackle this guy, okay? I used to play football, you know.”
He gave her a playful grin, trying to get her to relax so she could get through this.
She forced a small smile in return. “My hero. Okay, let’s do this already.”
Kate opened the door, left the dressing room. David waited a full minute and then also stepped out. He took a peek from the dressing-room hallway into the wide spread of the department store. He didn’t spot the bearded guy. He carefully followed a walkway into the busy main mall corridor, hands in pockets, eyes on high alert. Kate was about a hundred feet ahead of him. She was walking slowly, staring into store windows, and doing a good job of not looking terrified. David surveyed the length of the corridor but still couldn’t put eyes on the bald, bearded man. He peered up to the second level, seeing if he noticed anyone suspicious staring down over the rails. Where the hell was this guy? He had to still be here somewhere.
David followed at a distance, eyes carefully bouncing from face to face to those all around him. Kate peeled off into a luggage store, began poking through travel bags near the front window. David hugged the opposite wall. He felt a charge race through him when he finally spotted the guy. The bearded man was fifty feet ahead of him, standing off by himself near the front of a mattress store. Black jacket, black boots, gray cap. The man’s eyes were firmly set on Kate, who was still inside the luggage store.
David pulled out his phone, carefully raised it in front of him, and snapped several photos of the guy. When the bearded man glanced in his direction, David quickly ducked inside a nearby women’s clothing store. A clerk in the store approached and asked David if he needed help, which he politely declined while keeping his eyes out the front window the entire time. Kate stepped out of the luggage store and wandered farther down the corridor. David watched as the bearded man trailed Kate. David then moved all the way across the corridor to monitor the guy from a different angle.
David’s cell phone buzzed. A text message from Kate.
You got him?
Yes, go back to your car now.
OK
David watched as Kate turned around and began walking back toward the entrance to Nordstrom. He slipped inside a jewelry shop, held his phone up to his ear as if he were talking to someone as she passed by him. They connected eyes for a brief moment. He hated seeing the fear in hers. It made him want to step out and punch the guy who was following her. When the guy moved past him, David stepped back into the corridor and trailed him.
Kate was walking faster now. She cruised through the aisles of the department store and out the glass doors to the parking lot. The bearded man waited inside the glass doors for a few seconds, watching her return to her car, while David watched him from behind a rack of kids’ shoes. Then the guy pushed through the doors and also made his way toward the parking lot. It was David’s turn to pause right inside the glass doors. He spotted Kate climbing into her black 4Runner in the middle of the second row. She smartly took her time, allowing everything to play out in a way that gave David a chance to follow.
The man in the gray cap jumped into a green Jeep Wrangler in the third row, quickly backed out. Kate eased out of her parking spot and slowly circled away from the mall. The guy in the Jeep followed. David squinted out the window, took a mental snapshot of the guy’s license plate, and then rushed outside and hustled over to his truck. He said a quick prayer as he turned the key. Now was not the time for the truck’s old engine to give him any trouble. It roared to life. He backed out, traveled the same circle drive, and caught up with them.
Kate took an exit out of the mall parking lot, did a slow U-turn underneath the MoPac Expressway, then drove the speed limit all the way back into downtown proper. The Jeep Wrangler followed at a safe distance, David trailing the Jeep from even farther back. Finally, Kate pulled into a paid parking lot a block away from the Littlefield Building. Although the guy in the Jeep slowed a bit to watch her get out of the 4Runner, he didn’t stop and park. Instead, he turned around and headed south on Congress Avenue.
David did a quick U-turn and followed.
FORTY-EIGHT
David track
ed the bearded guy back to a cheap motel on South Congress. The Jeep Wrangler pulled into the parking lot, circled around to the back of the crumbling two-story building, and parked in an outside row. David slowed at the edge of the parking lot as not to be spotted. He counted about a dozen other cars currently parked in the back. The bearded guy got out of his vehicle, took the metal stairs up to the second level, and entered a motel room.
David pulled his truck around until he was close enough to see the number on the outside of the door. Room 237. Then he did a quick U-turn, circled back to the front of the building, and parked right outside the office. A television was on behind the counter in a back room. A guy with curly red hair lounged in a folding chair as David entered, munching on fried chicken from a bucket, his eyes glued to the television.
David rang the bell on the dusty countertop.
“Yep, coming,” the guy said with a grunt.
The motel clerk eased his way up to the counter. He was in his twenties and wore a T-shirt that said, Whiz Kid: Wanna see me whiz?
“You need a room, bro?” he asked, licking his fingers. “Sixty bucks a night.”
“I don’t need a room. I need a name.”
The guy shifted his eyes. “You a cop?”
David shook his head, pulled two twenty-dollar bills out of his pocket, set them on the countertop. “I got a friend staying in 237. I just need his name, that’s all. I’m not going to cause any trouble.”
The guy considered it for a long moment, shrugged, and grabbed the money. He stared down at an old computer and began typing. “237?”
David confirmed the room number. The guy laughed.
“What’s so funny?” David asked.
“Your friend is famous.” He put his palm on the computer monitor, pivoted it so that David could also read the screen: Tom Cruise.
“He pay with a credit card?” David asked.
“Nope. Cash. We don’t ask a lot of questions around here.”
Climbing back into his truck, David drove around to the back of the building again. When he got there, the bearded guy’s Jeep was no longer in the same parking spot. He couldn’t find it parked anywhere in the lot. It looked like the guy had already left. David cursed. His eyes went back up to the second level and settled on Room 237. Reaching into his glove box, he grabbed a flat-head screwdriver and hustled over to the stairs. When he reached the top, he moved down the outer walkway until he stood in front of 237. There was a window beside the door, but the cheap blinds inside were closed. He took a quick peek but couldn’t make out much of anything in the cracks of the blinds. He moved in closer to the door, his ear only inches away, listened but didn’t hear anything inside. He put his hand on the doorknob, twisted. Locked. But the knob was really loose.
Turning, David examined the parking lot again. No one was currently getting in or out of the other cars. Was he really going to try to do this? Kneeling, he carefully stuck the screwdriver into the crack of the door and began gently jimmying the lock. It didn’t take much effort—this wasn’t a five-star hotel. The door lock at the jamb easily popped open. David felt his heart racing. He took one last glance behind him, opened the door, and stepped inside. He quickly shut the door behind him and locked it again.
David surveyed the motel room. A disheveled bed. A small circular table with a single chair by the front window. A small dresser against the wall. A tiny bathroom and closet in the back. The table was covered with wadded fast-food wrappers, pizza boxes, and beer cans. The guy was a slob. David quickly sorted through the trash, seeing if anything on the table had a name attached. Nothing. He found a black duffel bag on the tattered tan carpet next to the dresser and began picking through it. Blue jeans, underwear, socks, T-shirts, and a pair of brown cowboy boots. He stuck his hands in the pockets of the jeans and found a pack of cigarettes, some wadded dollar bills, and plenty of loose change. But nothing to identify the guy.
The tiny bathroom was next. A small brown toiletry bag sat on the counter. Next to the bag was deodorant, an electric razor, and a toothbrush and toothpaste. David searched the toiletry bag and finally found a name on the outside of a prescription bottle: Jake Manaford. The prescription was for Prozac from a clinic in Lake Charles, Louisiana. David pulled out his phone, took a pic of the label. David remembered the text message between Lee Barksdale and Owen Nelson that had pulled Kate into this ordeal in the first place referenced someone by the same name.
Coordinate with Jake and take care of this ASAP.
They had to be one and the same.
Who the hell are you, Jake Manaford?
David was about to do a quick Google search when he heard movement from right outside the motel room door. A punch of panic hit him. Someone was out there. Had Manaford already returned? David’s eyes whipped left, right. A mirrored door to the closet was to his immediate right. He tugged it open, slid inside the empty closet, and managed to pull the door just slightly closed when he heard the motel room door swing open. David froze. He still had a three-inch crack in the closet door. He wanted to fully shut it but thought any movement right now could possibly expose him. He inched as far back against the closet wall as possible. He heard keys being dropped on the table near the front, along with what sounded like a sack or something.
David stiffened when Manaford crossed in front of the closet door. The man stepped into the bathroom and relieved himself. David glanced around the dark closet and tried to find some kind of weapon, just in case he had to defend himself. There were a couple of metal hangers but nothing else. Manaford zipped up, moved to the sink, washed his hands. Then he turned and began to examine himself in the full-length mirror on the outside of the closet door. David held his breath, stayed perfectly still. The same guy who probably killed Murphy was only a few inches away from him. If Manaford had any notion to open the closet, David would have to fight his way out of the motel room. He balled his fists, felt sweat beads on his neck.
A sudden knock at the room door startled both him and Manaford. Three quick but firm raps. Manaford stepped away from the closet, walked over to the room door, and pulled it open. David couldn’t see who was out there, so he tried to listen closely. He heard a man’s voice. It sounded somewhat familiar.
“You the owner of the Jeep Wrangler?”
“Yeah,” Manaford grunted. “Why?”
“I’m real sorry, but I accidentally backed up into it with my car. Nothing major, but I didn’t want to be the jerk that just drove away. You want to take a look?”
“Yeah, all right.”
David heard Manaford grab his keys off the table and leave the room. He knew he had to get out right now, if possible. He opened the closet door, slid out, and rushed over to the front door. He peeked outside and spotted the backs of the two men as they crossed the parking lot over to Manaford’s Jeep Wrangler. The other guy wore a black windbreaker. That’s when David put the familiar voice together with the man who’d knocked on the door. Keith Carter—or whatever his real name was. Carter must’ve been following him and noticed he was caught in a sticky spot. So he swooped in for the rescue. Pulling his black hoodie up over his head, David carefully slipped out of the room and took the outer walkway over to the stairs. He descended to the ground level, kept his eyes on the pavement, and cut through the parking lot behind the guys. David slid up against the motel building, hiding out of the way, and then watched the rest of the encounter between Carter and Manaford.
A gray Ford Taurus was parked directly behind the Jeep Wrangler. David could hear the two men talking about the damage. Manaford said it was no big deal—he didn’t have time to mess with insurance and all that. Carter pulled some cash out of his wallet, handed it to Manaford, who climbed into his Jeep. Carter then got into the Taurus, backed out of the way, and headed toward the front of the motel. When he pulled up next to where David was hiding in the shadows, Carter looked straight over at him and gave him a two-finger salute. David held up a finger. But Carter drove off. David thought of running after him
but didn’t want Manaford to spot him.
Seconds later, Manaford also spun the tires and hit the main street. David knew he was too far away from his truck to catch up with him at this point. He’d have to make do with the information he’d already gotten. He again thought about Carter.
Who the hell was he, really? Was he following David? Or was he following Manaford?
More important, why was he involved in all this?
FORTY-NINE
David drove straight to the hospital to show Rebel the pics of Jake Manaford. Hurrying up to his client’s room, he was glad to see two police officers standing guard right outside the door. Billings’s TV news spot earlier that afternoon had at least ruffled some feathers and created some movement. Mason had even texted David a string of expletives to let him know how unhappy he was about the story.
Rebel seemed safe—for now. That was all that mattered.
After flashing his ID to the officers, David entered the hospital room. Rebel was wide-awake and watching TV. His client was smiling and laughing at the screen. He seemed really happy to see David.
“Hey, Lawyer! You seen this Talladega Nights flick? It’s hilarious.”
“Yes, I have. How’re you feeling?”
“Shoot. Haven’t felt this damn good in years.”
It was probably all the pain meds. David pulled up a photo on his phone of Manaford inside the mall and held it in front of Rebel. “You recognize this guy?”
Rebel squinted at the screen. The smile immediately disappeared.
“I’ve seen him somewhere.”
“Where, Rebel?”
“I dunno. But I’ve seen him.”
“His name is Jake Manaford. That mean anything to you?”
“Manaford?” Rebel repeated. “Nah, don’t know that name. Is he a Russian agent?”
“No,” David said, trying to be patient. “Think harder.”
“I’m trying,” Rebel exclaimed, swallowing and pressing his dry lips together. David heard a nearby machine start to beep more quickly. “I dunno, Lawyer. But I feel like maybe me and this guy had a tussle about something. Just don’t know what about.”
