Going Twice

by Sharon Sala

  Cameron shoved a hand through his hair in frustration. “That’s right. Nothing was stolen. The money was legally his.”

  “Yes, and the powers that be are willing to look the other way at removing the flag and all traces of the transfer.”

  “But Taliaferro aided and abetted a felon,” Wade said.

  “I told you. You’ll never be able to prove it,” Jo said.

  Wade set what was left of the cake aside, his appetite suddenly ruined. “Well, hell. Now we have a serial killer with access to a butt-load of money to fund his sick fantasies. I hope whatever this Taliaferro does will save lives, because he’s sure going to cost some other people theirs.”

  Tate walked back into the room and then made a point of looking straight at Jo. “You are commended for your abilities, and officially ordered to cease and desist.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “What did I tell you?”

  “What does this guy do?” Wade asked.

  “We don’t have the clearance to know,” Tate said.

  Cameron frowned, but knew better than to comment. Orders were orders.

  “So my job here is done,” Jo said. “Are they ordering me back?”

  Tate glanced at Wade and then nodded. “They want you back in D.C. by Friday.”

  She shrugged, disgusted but not surprised. “That’s the day after tomorrow, which means if I’m ever going to take a ride up inside the Arch, tomorrow would be it.”

  “Damn it,” Wade said. “I was just getting used to sleeping in the same room with someone who didn’t snore again.”

  “I don’t snore,” Cameron said.

  “I’ll be there when you get back,” she offered, then eyed the half-eaten cake. “Are you going to eat that?”

  All three men looked at her and then burst out laughing.

  “See what happens when you hang around Luckett too long?” Tate said. “You turn into him.”

  Wade handed her the cake. “You earned it.”

  Jo sat down in his lap and finished it off while he held her. His silence said it all.

  * * *

  Ever since Gunner had identified Teacher’s body, he hadn’t been able to get it out of his mind. Even though he hadn’t seen his face, he’d heard what had happened. Teach didn’t deserve that. Nobody deserved to die like that.

  He kept thinking about that light-colored van at the motel and the glimpse he had of the driver. He knew the driver was still staying there, because he’d gone over to check, so he took off walking. The van was there when he arrived, and he even waited around, hoping he would see the man come out so he could get a closer look, but nothing happened. Hours passed and it got dark, and he was about to start the long walk back when a pizza delivery car drove up near the guy’s room.

  Gunner stopped, and when he saw the kid with the pizza knock on the door, he moved into the shadows so he could get a little closer.

  The kid knocked again, and a few moments later the door opened just a little, as if the man inside was checking to see who was there, and then, when he saw the kid and the pizza box, he stepped out on the threshold, right below the security light.

  Gunner stared. The man’s face was all marked up, and it took him a few moments to realize what he was seeing was a mix of stitches and scars.

  The hair rose on the back of his neck as he slowly backed deeper into the shadows.

  The man handed the kid some money, took the pizza and disappeared. The kid jumped into his car and drove away, and Gunner walked closer to the motel. He stopped directly behind the van and stared at the tag number, then looked around, hoping to find a pen or something so he could write it onto his arm, but all he could find was a bent nail behind another car. He picked it up, then shoved his coat sleeve up far enough to bare some skin. He jammed the nail against his flesh, gritted his teeth and scratched the number into his arm, then started running.

  His arm was stinging. He knew he’d drawn blood and wondered if he would get infected, but what was done was done. He kept on running, thinking he hadn’t run like this since Iraq, and before long his side was hurting and there was a pain in his chest. He slowed down just enough to catch his breath, and then hastened his stride again and didn’t stop until he’d crawled into the packing box that was his bed and pulled his worn blanket up over his shoulders. It was a very long walk in the dark through some bad parts of the city to get to the police station. And since he didn’t want to end up dead like his friends, his news would have to wait until daylight.

  The night was hot, but Gunner’s arm hurt, and he couldn’t stop shaking. He’d seen the devil tonight, and now he was afraid that the devil might follow him home. He lay with his back against the wall of his box and his gaze on the stairs while the night shadows danced and the rats ran across the floor in front of him.

  All he had was a hunk of scrap iron for a club, and he wished to God for his army-issue rifle. He never once closed his eyes, and when the sun finally rose on the city of St. Louis, he crawled out of his box and went to look out the window. People were beginning to move around down below, and traffic was beginning to flow. He peed off the second floor balcony onto the floor below, and as he did his belly growled, reminding him of how long it had been since he’d eaten. He shoved the sleeve up his arm and saw that the numbers he’d scratched on it last night were all red and puffy.

  Even after he left the warehouse he stopped at the Dumpster behind a local bakery for something to eat.

  He found some day-old rolls that the rats hadn’t finished off, pocketed two and took one with him, eating as he began a return trip uptown to the police station.

  Fifteen

  Morning came far too soon for Wade. He’d spent half the night making love to Jo and the other half watching her sleep. Despite the dread with which they’d begun this journey, it had all been for the good. Nothing had been left unsaid, and there was every reason to hope for a happy future. Considering how Inman had fixated on her, he had to believe getting her out of St. Louis was a good thing.

  Then, just after seven-thirty, Tate sent him a text.

  Our witness is back at the police station with something more.

  Wade rolled out of bed, and when he did, Jo woke.

  “What’s going on? Where do we need to go?”

  “Not you,” Wade said. “Go back to sleep. You have flight plans to make today. You’re officially off the clock and due back in the office tomorrow, remember?”

  She frowned. “I could still go.”

  “Did Tate send you a text?”

  She looked. “No.”

  “Then you’re not invited.”

  She sighed. “Fine. But it doesn’t take all that long to make flight plans. What am I going to do with myself? Isn’t there something I can do for you guys here?”

  “Not that I know of,” Wade said. “We’re in a holding pattern. Maybe the witness will have something new. You made a joke about going up in the Arch, so check it out. I hear you get quite a view from up there.”

  “Maybe. I’ll text you if I go.”

  He leaned over and kissed her soundly, and groaned beneath his breath.

  “No more of that or I’ll be late,” he said, then rolled out of bed and went to shower.

  Jo stretched back out, put her hands beneath her head and began planning the day.

  * * *

  It was just after 6:45 a.m. when Hershel woke. His sleep had been restless. He blamed it on the pizza he’d eaten, which had given him heartburn, but that wasn’t all of it. He was getting too complacent. He needed to move to a new location, but first he was getting rid of his stitches. He’d looked at that face all he could take. Yesterday he’d stopped at a pharmacy and picked up a small free-standing magnifying mirror, a tiny pair of manicure scissors, tweezers, alcohol and cotton balls. Now he had those
and the antibiotic ointment the doctor had given him all spread out on the counter. He washed the sleep out of his eyes, picked up the little manicure scissors, tilted the magnifying mirror so he could see the stitches and took the first snip. Then he picked up the tweezers, got a good grip on the stitch and pulled.

  The stitch came out with hardly more than a twinge, leaving a neat little scab that would soon peel off. Satisfied it was safe to keep going, he began removing all the other stitches, until every one of them was gone. The relief of being able to run his hands over his face was huge as he poured some alcohol into his hands and then splashed it on like aftershave.

  “Oh, shit, shit, shit!” he yelped as the alcohol seeped in and around the tiny scratches, and set his face on fire. It didn’t last long, but it was enough to take his breath away. Once that was done, he put a thin layer of the antibiotic ointment all over the skin, then stepped back for a better look.

  He didn’t look good, but he no longer looked like a monster. It was enough to satisfy his vanity as he began to pack. As he did, he also began to plan his day. Today he would begin tailing the team, and the moment he got a chance to grab Jolene Luckett, he was getting rid of her, then moving on.

  Louise hadn’t argued with him once about the decision, which made him think she was down with the idea, too.

  He dressed in jeans and a clean black T-shirt, picked out a salt-and-pepper gray wig and mustache, and then added a St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap to give himself the appearance of a local guy supporting the hometown team. He began carrying his things out to the van, and once he was certain he’d left nothing behind, he checked out at the office and drove away.

  It was just after 7:20 a.m.

  His plan was to go to the hotel and find a secluded place to watch the agents’ movements. His Taser was charged. Duct tape was on the floorboard. His rifle was wrapped up in a blanket between the seats. He was a rolling murder weapon, looking for a woman to kill.

  He found a fast-food place on his way to the hotel and picked up a couple of breakfast sandwiches. Once he arrived, he made one circuit through the parking garage, located both cars the feds were driving, which meant they were all still inside, and then drove right back out again. He found a place to park where he could see cars exiting the structure and settled in to wait.

  It was a few minutes before 8:00 a.m.

  He unwrapped one of the sandwiches, salted the egg inside, then replaced the top and took a big bite. The bread was warm, the bacon was just like he liked it—done, but not crisp—and the egg was tasty. He would have liked a little salsa on it, too, but he ate it as-is, washing it down with coffee.

  He was working on his second sandwich when a dark SUV came out of the parking garage and turned left. It looked like the feds’ car, so he sat up for a better view. It was them, but he only counted three heads, not four. Who wasn’t there? Was it the woman, or had one of the men stayed behind? He cursed the tinted windows and shifted into a better position to see what happened next.

  About twenty minutes later he saw another dark SUV coming out. He sat up again, this time looking closer. It was the feds’ other car. And when it passed, he saw the perfect outline of a woman’s head with a ponytail sticking out behind.

  “Hot damn,” he said softly, started up the van and drove off, taking care to stay a couple of cars behind her so she wouldn’t spot the tail.

  * * *

  Gunner was chowing down on fresh doughnuts and hot coffee as he waited for the feds to show up.

  Detective Compton had a cup of coffee at his elbow but was waiting for it to cool. He watched Gunner eat and drink without hesitation and wondered if there were any taste buds left on his tongue or if he’d burned them all off drinking coffee that hot.

  “I’ll go see if there are any more doughnuts,” Compton said, and got up.

  “I’d like some more coffee, too, if it’s all the same to you,” Gunner said.

  Compton nodded and left the room. When he came back, three FBI men were with him. He set the hot coffee down near Gunner’s hand.

  Tate quickly made eye contact. “Good morning, Mr. Holly. I hear you have some more news for us?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do. There’s a guy who’s been staying at the Riverside Motel, which is right in my neighborhood. He drives a light-colored van. I never got a good look at his face and didn’t think much about it. I mean, there are dozens of light-colored vans all over, right? But after I saw what had happened to Teacher and you showed me pictures of that Stormchaser guy, I thought the least I could do was try and get a better look at his face.”

  Wade’s heart suddenly skipped a beat. He could feel what was coming, even before Gunner spoke again.

  “Was it Hershel Inman?” Tate asked.

  “I finally got a good look, but I had to stake out the room to do it. It’s number 112, by the way. I waited and waited for him to come out, but he never did, and then it got dark. I was getting ready to leave when a pizza delivery guy drove up and went to his door. I waited for him to come out, and when he did, I finally saw him.”

  “Was it him? Was it Inman?” Wade asked.

  “Well, it was a middle-aged guy who was nearly bald. He looked like hell. There were scars on one side of his face and what looked like little stitches all over it. But I’d say he looked a whole lot like your guy.”

  “What’s the name of the motel again?” Tate asked.

  “Riverside Motel.” Then Gunner pushed his sleeve up, revealing the angry red marks. “My memory’s not so good since the war, and I didn’t have anything to write down the tag number, so I scratched it on my arm with a nail.”

  The men were momentarily silenced by the deep scratches the man had purposefully put in his arm, and sympathetic to the fact that Gunner must have known it would get infected but did it anyway.

  “That’s amazing,” Wade said softly.

  Gunner shrugged. “Teacher was my friend.”

  “You need some medicine on that,” Tate said, as he wrote down the numbers. “It looks like it’s getting infected.”

  Compton got up again. “We’ve got a first aid kit. I’ll be right back.”

  “The guy probably won’t be there,” Gunner said. “He goes out early and comes back late.”

  “How do you know this?” Wade asked.

  “The Dumpster behind that motel is on my route,” Gunner said.

  The matter-of-fact way the man had admitted he ate garbage was shocking to Wade. He glanced at Cameron and then looked away.

  “Thank you for the information,” Tate said. “This is invaluable.”

  “You gonna go get him?”

  “If he’s there, he’ll be in custody within the hour,” Tate said, and thought about the man sleeping the night away right under their noses.

  “Why didn’t you call us last night after you saw it was him?” Tate asked.

  Gunner frowned, patted his pockets and then stared straight into Tate’s eyes.

  “Well, I’ll be. I must have left my cell phone in my other pair of pants.”

  “Sorry. That was a thoughtless comment,” Tate said, belatedly realizing he’d given his card to a man without a phone or the money to use one.

  “Until you’ve walked in these shoes, you have no idea of the things you learn to do without.”

  Compton came back with another officer, who was carrying the first-aid kit.

  “This officer is going to clean up your cuts and then show you out,” Compton said, then glanced at the men. “Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me…”

  Less than a half hour later, the team was in the car, with Wade behind the wheel, following a quartet of cop cars all heading to the Riverside Motel.

  * * *

  As soon as Wade left her room, Jo got up. She made her plane reservations online and went to get dressed. She
had one pair of jeans with her, and added a blue cotton T-shirt to go with it, put on her tennis shoes for comfort, and pulled her hair back into a ponytail before heading out the door.

  She got coffee and a sweet roll down in the coffee shop in the lobby, and after picking up a city map from the concierge, she went down to the parking garage. As she drove out, she glanced up at the sky and frowned. It looked like rain. She was going to have to hurry if she wanted to get any sightseeing done.

  She ate as she drove to the Arch. It wasn’t until after she made her first sweep past it that she realized wherever she parked, she would still have to walk. She circled the area twice before she found a lot and pulled in.

  * * *

  Hershel braked and took the turn into the same lot a short distance behind her, and when he saw her suddenly wheel into a parking space, he tapped the brakes, waited until she was looking down to gather up her things and pulled up right behind her. He bolted out of the seat with the Taser in his hand and went out the sliding door on the side of the van.

  The woman was getting out when she stopped and suddenly looked back inside the car. She was leaning in just as Hershel fired the Taser.

  * * *

  Jolene’s heart nearly stopped when she felt yet another charge from the electrodes of a Taser, this time right between her shoulder blades.

  In her head, she was screaming, “No, not again,” but no words were coming out. The phone she’d been about to retrieve was on the seat right in front of her, but she couldn’t move to pick it up. She was slumped over the steering wheel, her muscles seizing, her mind in free fall, silently screaming, screaming, screaming, but no one could hear.

  When he grabbed her around the waist and dragged her across the concrete and into the van parked behind her car, her body felt like lead. She kept asking herself why she hadn’t seen him. This didn’t need to be happening. She was leaving tomorrow. She wanted to tell him, but she still couldn’t speak. He slammed the door shut, and she watched in horror, unable to move, as he stripped the jeans off her legs, yanked the electrodes away and then pulled the T-shirt over her head.