Bikini Baristas: Ted Higuera Series Book 4

by Pendelton Wallace

  “Mrs. Randall?” the man said.

  Karen looked in the back seat. A large swarthy man in an expensive suit sat there. She hesitated a moment.

  The man with the gun gave her a gentle push.

  She slowly climbed into the car.

  “Mrs. Randall, pleased to meet you.” The swarthy man extended his hand. “I’m Tony Lamont. You have my apology for this unorthodox method of introduction. I needed to speak with you in private.”

  Karen stared at his hand for a moment. She had handled dozens of goombahs just like him. She took his hand.

  “Mr. Lamont.”

  “I suppose you want to know why I wanted to meet you.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  Lamont leaned back in the luxurious leather seats. “I work for the Caglione family. I’m kinda running things for Mr. Caglione while his is, uh, indisposed.”

  Caglione family? Who the hell were the Caglione family?

  “I see from the look on your face that you’re not familiar with the Cagliones.”

  “I’m not from around here. I’m from Vegas.”

  “Yes, I know that.” Lamont leaned close to Karen. “You see, Mrs. Randall, the Cagliones run Seattle. We have, ah, representatives everywhere. We own the City Council. We have lots of legitimate businesses.”

  “Okay.” Karen was nobody’s fool. This guy was Mafia all the way.

  “Your husband was doing a little work for us.”

  Karen stared at the Mafioso for a moment. “Uh-huh.”

  “He had some of our money. Not a great amount, mind you, but enough for us to be concerned.”

  “Okay.”

  “Seven million dollars. Your husband owes us seven million dollars.”

  “That’s not a lot?” Karen gasped. How had Dick gotten his hands on that much Mafia money?

  “We need it back, Mrs. Randall. We’re not stupid. Your husband’s little drama isn’t fooling anyone. You know where he is and where the money’s stashed. Don’t you?”

  “NO!” Karen slunk back in her seat. “I didn’t know about this. I don’t know anything.”

  “When you talk to him, you let him know that we had this little chat.” Lamont smiled benevolently. “You tell him that we want our money back. It will be bad for him, for you, for everyone, if we have to go looking for him, if we have to find the money ourselves.”

  “I... I don’t talk to him. I haven’t heard from him. We never talked anyway. He was here in Seattle, I was in Vegas. I don’t know anything about his business.”

  “Well, Mrs. Randall, that is very unfortunate for you, because what I said still goes. If the money isn’t returned, it will go very bad for you.”

  Chapter 19

  Clayton loved the Go Pro camera “borrowed” from the house on Camano Island. It took some effort to set it up in the cockpit of the Cessna 182 he liberated from the Stanwood airport on Camano Island. The 182 Skylane was a bigger, more powerful version of the Cessna Skyhawk from his first flight.

  He had a few hours behind the yoke now and felt more confident. This plan was faster and had a longer range, which meant making it to Idaho on the first leg.

  With a little on-line study he mastered the GPS installed in the plane. Navigation in this computer age was simple.

  He got good footage of himself at the controls, thoroughly enjoying the freedom of flight. After a while, turning the camera around to look out the dashboard, he managed to get some really dizzying footage when he crash-landed at the Flying H Ranch just outside of Buckley, Washington.

  He wasn’t on the ground long. Flying H supplied him with another Cessna 172. There were three other single engine planes tied down on the grass airstrip, but Clayton decided to stick with a familiar plane. Besides, the gas tanks were full.

  Several more hops, with a new plane at each site, brought him to Indiana. Landing was impossible. Each time, the plane ended up in a heap along the runway. Clayton had a few cuts and bruises, but the last landing really hurt and left him with a deep aching pain in his side.

  It was time to cool it for awhile.

  Clayton found a nice house near the Indiana Dunes State Park on Lake Michigan. It was an A-frame with a nice bedroom in the loft. They had a good Internet connection and a spiffy computer.

  Clayton spent several hours editing his flying movies then inspiration hit him.

  He attached his Go Pro camera to a broom stick and began a tour of the house.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m Clayton Johnson-White, the so-called Fly Away Bandit, broadcasting to you live. I won’t say where I am because I don’t want to make it too easy for the police. Let me just say that I’m where they would never expect to find me.”

  He had no idea how many people were watching his live Web cast, but knew some fans were out there.

  “First of all, let me give you a tour of my new house. The owners have very kindly provided me with everything I need to hang out here for a few days.”

  He turned his camera to sweep the living room furnished with rustic furniture and a river rock fireplace, roaring with a fire built for this video. Next he turned the camera to the kitchen.

  “My hosts very considerately left me a pantry full of food, not to mention a freezer with goodies that will keep me going for a month.”

  He walked up the stairs with the camera in front of him.

  “This is my bedroom.” It had a brass rail double bed with a hand-sewn quilt. “There’s a well-stocked book case. The owners share my tastes, there’s lots of Clancy and Clive Cussler here.”

  Clayton sat down at the computer.

  “I don’t want to show you any outside pictures right now; I don’t want to tip law enforcement as to where I am. But, I will show you some videos that I made on my trip out here. I got some great footage flying over the Cascades.”

  He punched a few keys on the computer and switched his Web cast to his newly-edited videos.

  “I want to let all my fans know that I’m doing fine. I’m having the time of my life. I’m done with Washington for now. Don’t expect me back anytime soon. There’s a whole big world out here to explore and I intend to see some of it.”

  The video came to the end, so he turned the computer’s web cam on and smiled.

  “This is for all of you law enforcement types out there.” He stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry at the camera. “Catch me if you can. This is Clayton Johnson-White signing off. Who knows where you will hear from me next?”

  Clayton leaned back in the chair, popped open a can of Coke and saved his video before posting it to YouTube.

  He ran downstairs for a bag of chips and another Coke. When back at the computer, there were already a hundred views of the video. By the time the bag of chips was empty, there were well over a thousand views and growing rapidly.

  He was going viral!

  ****

  “I’ve got your boy,” Ted said into the microphone on his monitor.

  “Yeah, what did ya find?” Chris asked.

  Ted leaned back in his chair. “The kid ain’t very sophisticated. He’s not making any attempt to hide his IP address. Either he doesn’t know that you can track him with it, or just doesn’t care.”

  “I’d vote for the first,” Chris said. “He dropped out of school in the sixth grade. I doubt if he’s been exposed to much advanced IT training.”

  Ted noticed Chris brush back his long hair on the monitor. “This isn’t perfect. We have a service we use. I can give you his Internet Service Provider and state with ninety percent accuracy. He’s using AT&T and he’s in Indiana. The city is less accurate, about eighty-percent. He’s in a rural area, not in an incorporated city. I can send you his GPS coordinates, if you like.”

  “Yeah, that’d be great. I don’t know why I’m tracking him. I’m certainly not getting paid for this. I just feel a kind of responsibility. I know he’ll get caught one of these days and I’ll get put back on the case. I guess I’m just being proactive.”
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br />   “Karen’s gone.” Catrina burst into Ted’s office.

  Ted looked up from his monitor. “Huh?”

  “Karen has disappeared. She hasn’t been answering my calls. Doesn’t respond to texts or emails. I called her barista stands and they say they haven’t heard from her in days.”

  “Chris, I gotta go. We got an emergency here.”

  “Okay, amigo. Thanks for the help.”

  Ted signed off of Skype.

  “That’s not good.” He turned to Catrina. “She usually drops by each stand every day.”

  “I called her brother. He hasn’t heard from her. I even drove over to her house. No one home.”

  “Could she have gone back to Vegas?” Ted asked.

  “I thought of that.” Catrina sat in one of the chairs opposite Ted’s desk. “I just heard back from our operative in Vegas. She drove by Karen’s house. It’s still closed up. No one home.”

  Ted tapped his fingers on his desk. “Shit, Cat. This doesn’t sound good. Where else can we look?”

  “I’m going over to her brother’s office now. I want to have a face-to-face with him. You want to go?”

  “Yeah.” Ted stood and grabbed his jacket off the coat rack behind his desk. “Let’s rock.”

  ****

  Dan Anderson’s office was in a low single-story building on the main street of Kent, a suburb about a half hour south of Seattle. The plain-looking concrete block building could have been anything. Only the sign by the road saying “Anderson & Associates, CPA” gave any clue as to what went on there.

  Catrina pulled open the heavy blue door. “Catrina Flaherty to see Dan Anderson,” she said to the plump, gray haired woman behind a bamboo wallpapered counter. “He should be expecting us.”

  Catrina looked around the crowded waiting area. Two love seats sat at right angles to each other, against the walls, with a square coffee table covered with old magazines and at least three daily newspapers. To the side stood a small bookshelf and next to it a water cooler. The top of the book shelf was covered with a creeping philodendron and potted daisies. A few hard back thrillers and romance novels lined the two shelves.

  “Just a minute please.” The woman picked up a telephone off the desk. “Dan, I have a Mrs. Flaherty here to see you... Okay... Right away.”

  “He’ll see you now. Please follow me.” The woman got up from behind the counter and led them through a narrow hallway to the back of the building.

  “Cat, Ted, good to see you.” The thin blond man stood and walked to the door to greet the detectives. “Please, come in. Now you’ve got me worried.”

  Anderson’s office was dominated by a large L-shaped oak desk tucked into the corner. Directly behind him was a two shelf bookcase behind him with some kind of weird impressionistic brass sculpture on it. On the wall hung pictures of his family.

  “Worried? How so?” Ted asked.

  “I hadn’t really thought much about not hearing from Karen. It’s not unusual to go a week or so without talking to her, but now that I think about it, it’s a little strange that I haven’t heard from her at month end.”

  “When was the last time you heard from her?” Catrina took a seat in the padded arm chair in front of Anderson’s desk.

  “Let’s see…” Anderson looked up and to his right. “I think, yes. She was here last Friday. She had a power of attorney for me.” Anderson pulled open a drawer in his desk and searched for a folder. “Here it is. She wanted to give me the authority to run her business in case something happened to her.” A strange look came over his face. “Why? Do you think something happened?”

  “We don’t know.” Catrina pulled her notepad from her purse... “She hasn’t returned my calls. We think it’s a little strange, when we’re involved in an on-going investigation for her that she wouldn’t stay in contact. Did she say anything about leaving?”

  “Well, she did seem kind of nervous. You know.” Anderson paused as if trying to make up his mind. “Remember, the last time we talked and I said I thought Dick had been laundering money for the mob?”

  “Yes,” Ted said. Why wouldn’t Anderson make eye contact with him?

  “Well, Karen said that she’d heard from a mob boss. A guy named Tony something or other. The man told her that Dick had a bunch of the mob’s money and they wanted it back.”

  Was Anderson breathing a little faster?

  “Holy cow!” Ted looked up from this tablet. “And you didn’t think that was important?”

  “You have to understand Karen. She’s a frustrated actress.” Anderson threw his hands in the air. “She’s a bit of a drama queen. I take everything she says with a grain of salt.”

  “But no one’s heard from her. No one knows where she is. Don’t you think you should take that seriously?” Catrina asked.

  “I guess so...” Anderson rubbed his forehead. “What do you think happened? If the mob offed Dick, do you think they did Karen too?”

  “I don’t know what to think yet.” Catrina said. “I know Dick had a big insurance policy. Did Karen have one too? Do you know who her heirs are?”

  “Gee. I don’t know... She doesn’t have any kids. Maybe our mom? We never talked about it.”

  “Well, if you hear from her, Mr. Anderson, will you please let us know?” Catrina rose from her chair. “Have her contact us as soon as possible.”

  “What did you think?” Catrina asked as they climbed into her Ford Explorer.

  “My spider sense is tingling,” Ted said, buckling his seat belt. “Something is rotten in Denmark and I don’t think it’s the fish. I don’t think Anderson was leveling with us.”

  “I got the same feeling. I know a liar when I see one. Do some digging, Ted. Find out if Karen has a will, a life insurance policy. Find out who her heirs are.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to keep a sharp eye on the barista stands and Mr. Anderson.”

  ***l*

  Clayton Johnson-White was nowhere near as smart as he thought. The young rascal might as well be sending James Winston daily emails with his whereabouts.

  It was child’s play for Winston to follow the trail of crashed stolen airplanes across the country. The latest was found at Shelby County Airport, just outside Shelbyville, Illinois, a stone’s throw from Springfield.

  The Toyota Corolla that was stolen from in front of the grocery store in Shelbyville was recovered in Indianapolis, Indiana. This kid couldn’t have left more clues if he tried.

  Winston hated flying and needed ground transportation when he arrived at his destination. The Johnson-White kid might be making better time than him, flying across the country, but Winston was the tortoise, slow and steady. Driving across the country was soothing and it allowed time to think and plan.

  The midnight blue Chevy Tahoe was a comfortable ride with an outstanding sound system. Winston listened to classical music and practiced for his next performance. He belonged to an acapela choir that performed all over the country. The choir director prized his deep, mellow bass voice.

  “Si--lent night, Hol--y night...” The melodious tones rolled off of his tongue. Their next performance would be the annual Christmas Concert held at Bastyr University in the Seattle suburb of Juanita.

  He pulled into the parking lot at the police station in downtown Indianapolis, got out and stretched. After driving for six hours straight, he could use some shut eye, a shower and a shave. A comfortable room would be nice, a place where he could Skype his wife, Frannie, and talk to the grandkids. But first things first.

  At the sergeant’s desk inside, Winston waited his turn.

  “Next,” the desk sergeant called.

  “Hi, I’m James Winston.” Winston held up his badge. “Fugitive recovery agent.”

  The desk sergeant didn’t seem very impressed.

  Winston produced a roll of Lifesavers from his pocket. He held the roll out to the sergeant. “Lifesaver?”

  “Thanks.” The sergeant took a candy off the r
oll and popped it in his mouth.

  “I’m on the trail of a young man from Washington State,” Winston said as he took back the roll of candy. “He stole a car in Shelbyville that I believe has been recovered here.”

  “Yes,” the sergeant said.

  “I’m looking for a list of cars that have been stolen in Indianapolis in the past twenty-four hours. I suspect that he’ll have stolen a new one to continue his flight.”

  ****

  It was Ted’s day to pick the lunch spot. Catrina almost always opted for Thai food. All those noodles and stuff were okay, but they weren’t among Teddy’s top choices. It was dry and the weather was only mildly chilly, so Ted selected the Pecos Pit, an outdoor BBQ joint across the street from Starbucks world headquarters.

  He could taste the slow roasted BBQ as he sat at his computer. A pulled pork sandwich, with hot, spicy sauce and a side spike, a fiery Louisiana sausage on the side. Mmmm...

  “You ready yet, Junior?” Catrina pulled on her jacket as she passed by Ted’s door.

  “You betcha, Mama.” Ted locked his computer and jumped up.

  “Where we going?” Catrina asked.

  “Pecos Pit.” Ted pulled on his coat.

  “Don’t you ever get tired of BBQ?” Catrina asked as they went through the heavy door. “Abiba,” she tossed over her shoulder, “we’ll be back in about an hour.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of Thai?” Ted rejoined as they walked down the long staircase.

  Catrina held the heavy glass door open for Ted.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Who’s driving?” Catrina asked.

  “I’ll drive.” Ted started towards his BMW.

  “You know,” Catrina said. “You should get a real car. That toy is like riding in a toilet bowl.”

  Ted’s spider sense suddenly started tingling. He looked around.

  A long, black Lincoln Town Car sat next to his Beemer.

  The driver’s door opened and a tough looking man with dark hair wearing jeans and a leather jacket got out. Ted immediately noticed the bulge under his jacket.