Poison Control

by Dom Testa

  This added a new complication. At some point I’d come face-to-face with the help.

  Your tax dollars at work.

  Once in Tucson I stopped to stretch my legs and grab an energy drink, just to add a dash of caffeine to my already-heightened state. I took the opportunity to call headquarters.

  “I’m here,” I told Poole. “About two miles from the hotel.”

  “Okay. Aiken’s in room 237.”

  I grunted a laugh. “The Shining room.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You know, the book? The movie? The Shining? The dead woman in room 237?”

  “Stephen King?” she asked.

  “Never mind, not important. Any other news on Parks or Jayanti?”

  “No,” she said. “They’re back underground.”

  “All right. If Aiken’s in his room I’ll check in again with you soon. If you don’t hear from me it means I’m having to hunt for the guy. Hopefully he’ll make this easy for me.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Of course she would. Poole was married to Q2. I had no idea what her compensation was, but in the last few months I’d decided it should be huge.

  I pulled into the parking lot of the Hyatt Place and began my prep routine, similar to a pilot’s pre-flight checklist. They made sure all the plane’s switches were in the right place; I made sure my killing gear was ready and my mind was right.

  The Glock was loaded with my usual 19-rounds, with a spare magazine tucked neatly into my jacket. I didn’t anticipate firing a single shot, but I hadn’t planned on getting poisoned, either.

  As for my mind, during the drive from Phoenix I’d considered the various ways I could play it with this guy. It would be fiercely direct. No monkeying around, no playing a part, no friendly chit-chat. The bastard had cost me one of the best bodies I’d had in ages, so I’d play rough in order to coerce him into helping me find that other dick, Steffan Parks. Through extension that would lead to a certain giggling femme fatale. I had a score to settle with her, too.

  But it started with Aiken.

  I waited until a family with two fussy children stormed into the hotel with an inordinate number of bags for four people. While that circus played out at the front desk I slipped past and made for the stairwell.

  The second floor was quiet. I walked up to room 237 and gave an officious knock, waited five seconds, and knocked again.

  The peephole grew dark and from the other side of the door came a curious voice. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Aiken, I’m Reggie with Hyatt guest services. I’m so sorry, we made a billing error with your reservation. I’m delivering a $50 dining certificate at any of our restaurants as a courtesy.”

  I’d used this same line before and it never failed to open doors. Nobody in America turns down free food. And it would be impossible for Aiken, with his voracious appetite, to pass up.

  Sure enough, the door swung open. Jonas Aiken was barefoot, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, and happy to get his meal ticket. “Wow,” he said. “That’s very generous.”

  I smiled. “We like to keep customers happy.” Then I pushed my way past him, and in one move closed the door with my left hand while pulling out the Glock with my right. It gave him no time to utter so much as a gasp.

  The barrel of the gun settled nicely under his chin. “Hello, Jonas. I’m here because you’re behind on your student loan payments.”

  His eyes darted between my face and the gun, and he finally managed a sound. It came out like a child’s slow windup before a crying fit, a sort of eh-eh-eh. He may have wet himself. He wouldn’t be the first in a situation like this. In movies people act like real badasses at gunpoint, lots of balls and bravado. They say all sorts of cocky things.

  But in the real world even Chuck Norris would whimper with a semi-automatic weapon shoved against his throat.

  Wait, scratch that. Everyone except Chuck Norris.

  I used the gun to steer him backwards. It was a standard guest room, with a queen bed, love seat, chest of drawers, and a small work desk. Aiken was a sloppy guest; clothes lay scattered across the bed and the floor, with a towel draped over the television. The bathroom light was on, revealing a mess of toiletries, more towels on the floor, and a magazine lying in front of the toilet.

  “Damn, Jonas, maybe I should’ve identified myself as housekeeping. What a pig. I hope you tip well.”

  I’m sure none of this coalesced in his mind. It’s hard to concentrate with a gun pressed against your larynx. The jabber was really for me. It’s fun pestering victims.

  Pushing him down onto the love seat, I cleared a space on the bed and sat facing him, the Glock leveled at his chest.

  “It’s good to see you,” I said. “I’ve heard so much about you and your weasel ways. Just kidding about the student loans, by the way. Nobody pays those back.”

  His eyes continued to stare at the gun. He licked his lips. “Who . . . what—”

  “Yes, excellent place to start,” I said. “The who is Steffan Parks. The what is how pissed he is at you right now. He sent me to straighten things out.”

  “Why?”

  “Great, now we add why. You’re really good at this. The why is because you didn’t get enough information about that government asshole before you called Pradesh. Parks wanted to know more. And let’s skip the where, because the answer to that question is right between your eyes.” I waved the gun to make things clear.

  He looked up at me and stammered. “But . . . but . . . no . . . that’s bullshit. I got everything I could. I couldn’t have asked him any more. Do you know how suspicious that would’ve been?”

  I looked up at the ceiling and released a long, slow breath. “Oh, Jonas. Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

  Aiken couldn’t have looked more confused if I’d been wearing Mickey Mouse ears.

  Returning my gaze to his face I said, “I don’t work for Parks, dipshit. But thank you for confirming your part in the murder. You saved us sooo much time here. I hate all of the Where’s Parks? and you saying I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ugh, so tedious. And it saved me having to put a bullet in your knee to get you to talk. See, you’re helping everyone here, even yourself.”

  His face was pure defeat.

  “So,” I continued. “Now that we’ve established you as an accessory to murder of a federal agent, we can get down to business.”

  His voice was almost a whisper. “What business is that?”

  “For starters, what are you doing in Tucson?”

  “Hiding.”

  I laughed. “You suck at hiding.”

  His voice shook. “Look, I had no idea anyone was going to be killed, and that’s the truth. When I found out, I got scared. I didn’t think I’d be connected in any way — I mean, I wasn’t even there when it happened — but I was still freaked out. So I left town for a while to lay low.”

  “Does Parks know you’re here?”

  “He must. I told Jayanti I had to get away. She said he’d be in touch.”

  “That will be very helpful.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because you’re going to take me to Steffan Parks.”

  “But I don’t know where he is.”

  I gave an exasperated roll of my eyes. “Just when I thought we were really moving along here. I guess I have to shoot you after all.” I pointed the Glock at his right knee.

  His hands went down to cover himself and his voice took on a high-pitched squeal. “No no no! No, I mean it. I don’t know where he is. I’m telling the truth.”

  For effect, I pushed the gun up against his knee. “Look, dude, you think I’m a cop? Wrong. I’m someone who really doesn’t care if you hobble for the rest of your life, or, for that matter, if you bleed to death in a Hyatt. I need information, and I need it now. Why don’t you tell me what you do know.”

  He swallowed hard and adopted a placating look. “I . . . I know where he probably is. Does that help?”
r />   “What if I probably cripple you?”

  “It’s all I know,” he said.

  I hesitated, then pulled back the gun. “All right. Where is he probably?”

  “San Antonio.”

  “San Antonio? As in the Alamo? The River Walk, overpriced margaritas? That San Antonio?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “He needs some sort of phone app.”

  I almost laughed. “Jonas, are you pulling my lariat?”

  “What? No. He has to make a trip there at some point, and it’s probably now.”

  “This phone app; it’s part of his plan?”

  Aiken put a hand up, palm facing me. “Listen, whoever you are. I will help you the best I can, but you have to help me in return.”

  “Help you? You got someone killed in Scottsdale, shithead. I’ve helped you already by not splattering your brains against the ceiling.”

  “Yes, okay. Fine. You could kill me. But I’m willing to cooperate. That has to be worth something.”

  I shook my head. “You really are a weasel, aren’t you?”

  But the truth was, I did need his help. I had to track down Steffan Parks pronto, and if that meant a trip to Texas, then it was time to rodeo.

  And it looked like I’d have a companion with me the whole way.

  Chapter Twelve

  There have been more than a few movies made about reluctant partnerships. De Niro had one in the 1980s called Midnight Run. There was the classic with Eddie Murphy and Nick Nolte, 48 Hours. Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy in The Heat.

  Even FBI agent Clarice and Hannibal Lecter in Silence of The Lambs. That on-screen dynamic is still electric no matter how many times I see it.

  There was no electricity between me and Jonas Aiken.

  I’d be traveling almost 900 miles with not only someone who was involved, however remotely, in a plot to murder innocent people, but the guy who’d triggered the process of my own murder. I wasn’t happy about it, but this was’t about my happiness. It was about finding Steffan Parks before he could poison thousands of people.

  We could wait around for Parks to contact Aiken, but who knew if and when that would happen. If Aiken was right about an important transaction taking place in San Antonio, then that was our destination. We couldn’t fly; that’s a nightmare when you’re basically kidnapping someone. It’s not like I could sit in coach with a gun stuck in his ribs.

  We’d drive. That’s roughly 12 to 14 hours, depending on stops. I could go long stretches without having to pull over, but what if Jonas had a puny bladder? I wanted to leave right away, so that meant we’d also stay the night somewhere along the way. That would be fun.

  There was another reason driving was preferable. It provided an opportunity to question Aiken about the sick mind inside Steffan Parks. Maybe some insight into Jayanti. Not that I wanted to become besties with either of them; it just helps to understand the animal you’re hunting.

  After confiscating his phone I watched Aiken shuffle around the hotel room, gathering his things. He moved like a man who thought he’d be dead as soon as I got him outside, so I convinced him he’d live through the night.

  As soon as the last pair of socks was tucked into his bag I raised the gun. “Get out your wallet.”

  “What? You’re robbing me?”

  “Take out 20 bucks. Now.”

  He grumbled, reached into his wallet, and held out the bill.

  “I don’t want it,” I said. “Put it on the nightstand. I told you that you’d need to leave a big tip for housekeeping, you filthy pig.”

  Just before opening the door I pushed him against the wall. “Let’s get the nasty disclaimer out of the way. I don’t expect to repeat this over the next few days. Do anything to cause a scene, or try to bolt, or anything stupid whatsoever, and you will die. You just will. I’m good at killing and I have no conscience. Plus, I’ll get away with it. Do you understand all of this? Is there anything I need to make more clear?”

  “No. You’re a bloodthirsty killer. I get it.”

  I laughed. Like a lot of people, once he got over his initial pants-wetting fear, Aiken redirected his emotions into surliness. I really wanted to smash the Glock across his smarmy face, but instead opened the door and shoved him into the hall.

  When we got to the car his bag went into the trunk of the M4 and we buckled up for the first leg of the trip. I planned to spend the night in El Paso and handle the final eight hours the next day. The good news was that we’d be on one interstate highway, I-10, the entire drive. And if I remembered correctly, the speed limit along the desolate stretch of West Texas was 80.

  Texans are in a damned hurry to get there, wherever there is. And so was I.

  As soon as Tucson’s lights faded in my rearview mirror I called Poole. I had the phone up to my ear instead of using the car’s speakers. Aiken didn’t need to hear the other side of this conversation.

  “We’re heading to San Antonio.”

  “We?” she asked.

  “Jonas is comfortably reclined in the passenger seat, behaving himself.”

  “What’s in San Antonio? Parks?”

  “We’ll see. He has business there. I’ll text you when we stop in El Paso. Anything for me?”

  “Positive ID on one of the men who removed the body from the conference center. Name is Cox, Darnell Cox. Former military, former deputy sheriff before he did time for assault with a deadly weapon. I just sent you the file.”

  “And the other guy?”

  “Nothing yet. No match on prints, no facial ID. Still working on it.”

  “What about the evil girlfriend?”

  “Walked out of the hotel and left the scope of security cameras on foot. We’re assuming she was picked up by someone, maybe Cox. But for now she’s gone again. That’s one thing about Parks and Pradesh: They’re very good at disappearing.”

  With a little good fortune — which was overdue — and the help of my current co-pilot, I’d be able to at least unearth Parks.

  I ended the call and looked over at Aiken. He was sullen, staring out the passenger window, watching the scenery roll by as twilight painted the desert. On some level I felt pity for him. He’d devoted his adult life to academia, which was fine when you toiled in the minor leagues. But the bigger players, the ones who slurped up the largest grants and government investment dollars weren’t in it for fun. It was serious business, with more than cash on the line. Reputations often determined where the funds went; once yours was damaged, you were crushed.

  That was the impetus behind the mysterious group he’d described, and explained why they felt the need to associate. Throughout history maligned groups have banded together, finding strength not only in numbers but in a shared sense of injustice. Aiken had felt it, probably found solace in it at first. And he probably never dreamed that one day it would snowball into something sinister and deadly.

  So yeah, part of me felt bad for the guy. Things go off the rails, and sometimes they accelerate and devolve into something far removed from the original path. Aiken got caught in the undertow.

  Not that I completely forgave him for sending me to an agonizing death. Bastard.

  Instead of the usual loud music I enjoyed on road trips, I left things quiet, allowing both of us to think. I wanted to plot my strategy, and Aiken was probably wondering how much he’d need to cooperate to save his neck. The longer I let him stew the greater the chance he’d realize just how screwed he was.

  We drove into the rising half-moon, and as darkness descended the night sky came alive. Away from city lights it was a beautiful show. I set the BMW on cruise and relaxed.

  “Shoot straight with me, Jonas,” I said, breaking the silence. “When you told Phillips that Parks had an office in Arizona, was that complete bullshit?”

  He kept his gaze out the window. “Complete. I don’t know where he works.”

  “How much of anything you said at dinner was true?”

  “Oh, bits
and pieces. Enough to seem willing to talk.” He paused. “I wasn’t lying about disliking Parks. I think he’s basically insufferable. But he used to be a pretty big deal. It didn’t hurt to have his name on a grant proposal.”

  “So you just used his name.”

  He turned to look at me. “And I’m the first person in the history of business to do that, right?” He scoffed.

  “But then his reputation went south, and quickly,” I said. “It burned you in the process.”

  No reply.

  “What’s the target for his poison plan?”

  “I don’t know. I never really grasped exactly what he was up to until recently.”

  “How many people is he targeting?”

  “I don’t know that, either. It has to be something significant, though.”

  “Why?”

  He let out a long, pained breath. “Because he’s sick and feels like his revenge should match his highest achievement in terms of scale.”

  I furrowed my brow. “You mean his terrorism has to be on a scale with winning the Nobel?”

  “Sounds stupid, but if you knew his mind . . .” His voice trailed off.

  Aiken was telling the truth, I was sure. The question was why he’d helped Parks in the first place. So I asked him.

  This generated a much longer pause before he said, “Just a stupid mistake. A horrible lapse in judgment.”

  Now he was lying.

  “Horse shit,” I said. “Listen, you’re getting handcuffed to a bed tonight, which isn’t ideal but at least puts you in a bed. If you’d prefer to sleep handcuffed to the bathroom sink, just keep treating me like I’m stupid.”

  “I still haven’t heard what legal protection I’m getting for all this,” he said. “I told you—”

  “And I told you that I kept your skull intact instead of blasting it into the 3rd floor. That’s what you get for now. I have a hall pass from very powerful people, and it says I can dump your skinny corpse out here in the wilderness at any time if I believe you’re jerking me around. You’re pissing me off, Jonas, and that’s not something you want to do. Now why did you work with Parks when you knew he was crazy?”