Devil's Dance (Trackdown Book 1)

by Michael A. Black

  A moment later a pretty, much younger woman came into view.

  “Porque, mama―” She paused and looked at him. “Steve?”

  As the younger woman stepped forward the light made it possible for Wolf to discern her features. It was Consuelo Ruiz, from his English Lit class. No wonder the name had sounded familiar. He felt both stunned and angry. Had Mac known about this? If he did, and Wolf was now sure that was the case, he was going to have to talk to him about it.

  “What are you doing here?” Consuelo asked. Her voice took on a high-pitched whine. “What do you want with mi tio?”

  “Is he here?” Wolf managed to ask. His voice sounded weak. He was already feeling like a shitheel.

  “Of course, he’s here,” Consuelo said. “He’s my uncle. He has been staying here. What’s this about?”

  Before Wolf could answer he a commotion inside and saw the flash of a man running toward the back of the house. It had to be him. Wolf pivoted and run across the front of the yard, tripping over a three-foot-tall icon of Jesus in the process. “Halt!” he yelled out to alert Mac. “Bail enforcement agent.”

  The door on the side of the residence thrust open and the male figure turned sharply and ran toward the motorcycle. He pulled it away from the truck and started to roll it toward the street, kicking the starter. Wolf saw McNamara running full speed toward them about twenty feet away, his face scarlet, his Glock in his right hand, the gold badge flopping around his neck. He made a grab for Ruiz, but the fugitive stiff-armed him and McNamara tumbled to the ground.

  The motorcycle’s engine came alive and just as Ruiz lifted his leg to straddle the seat, Wolf rounded the front of the pick-up and tackled him. The momentum carried both of them, and the motorcycle onto the ground. The bike’s engine continued its high-pitched whine as Wolf struggled to pin Ruiz to the sandy earth. The wiry Hispanic proved tougher than he looked, kicking and punching the whole time. Wolf cocked his arm back to deliver a punch and suddenly heard a woman screaming behind him.

  “Don’t you dare hit him.”

  It was Consuelo. A vision of her pretty face flashed in his mind’s eye momentarily.

  Ruiz brought his foot back and tried to kick Wolf in the balls. Luckily, the blow was a bit off center. Wolf grunted in pain, but managed to deliver a half-assed punch, south of the border, to the smaller man’s gut. Ruiz writhed in commiserating agony.

  Consuelo swore at him, in Spanish and then in English.

  Wolf repeated his punch, this time able to add a bit more oomph to it. Ruiz grunted again. Wolf felt long fingernails rake over his cheek. Before he could react, McNamara was there pushing Consuelo back. Her flailing arms knocked his cowboy hat off of his head.

  “Where’s that damn Taser?” he yelled.

  Wolf reached into his pocket and pulled it out, jammed it against Ruiz’s belly, and gave him a good jolt. Ruiz stiffened like a board.

  Consuelo screamed.

  Her mother was next to her now, hurling more invectives in Spanish, which Consuelo was echoing in English.

  “Policía,” McNamara yelled. “La migra, too, dammit.” He thrust a set of handcuffs toward Wolf. “Can you get him cuffed?”

  Wolf jammed the Taser into his own beltline, grabbed the cuffs, flipped Luis over onto his stomach, pulling the smaller man’s arms behind his back, then ratcheting the handcuffs in place.

  Moments later the two women backed off slightly, and Wolf and McNamara were able to get Ruiz to his feet and walk him across the expanse of sandy front yard toward the Escalade. McNamara stopped to retrieve his hat. The two women followed, with Consuelo taking lead, calling Wolf every name in the book, and then some, in both Spanish and English.

  “You kiss your mama with that mouth?” McNamara asked.

  Wolf held the Taser against Ruiz’s side as he pushed him into the back seat and got in after him. McNamara tipped his cowboy hat to the ladies and got in the driver’s seat. Shaking his head, he said, “That little college girl’s a real spit-fire, all right. Wonder what she’s like in bed?”

  “Hey, man,” Ruiz said, “that’s my niece you talking about.”

  “Shut up and try to figure out you’re gonna make bond this time,” McNamara said with a grin. “Cause I don’t think Manny’s gonna post it for you.”

  Ruiz kicked at the back of the driver’s seat and Wolf secured him in place with the seatbelt and snapped it closed. “Take it easy.” He held up the Taser and pressed the button to send a warning arc.

  The Hispanic slumped in the seat with a look of raw hatred on his face.

  Wolf turned and looked at Mac. Why hadn’t he been straight with him from the beginning when he encouraged him to take Consuelo on a date?

  The words replayed in his memory:

  “You’d best ask her out for coffee after class next time.” Mac had been so insistent.

  “What, are you playing matchmaker now?”

  “Not me. I’m all business.”

  All business. What he should’ve said was he was all about some intel gathering.

  Wolf thought about that pleasant conversations in the student union over coffee. It was the closest he’d been to a woman in a social setting in years, and he felt awkward and shy. Still, he enjoyed it very much, even though all they did was talk. Then he remembered, as he was escorting Consuelo to her car, seeing McNamara driving by. At the time he’d just put it off to Mac being nosey, but now he knew better. Mac set the whole thing up so he could follow her. That’s how he knew where she lived. He must have known, or at least had a pretty damn good idea, that Ruiz had a sister and figured he might be hiding out there. Wolf felt a sudden twinge of disappointment. He felt used. Couldn’t Mac have been straight with him? Told him what the plan was?

  It was something he was going to have to get straightened out. He owed Mac, big time, but he didn’t like being deceived. Or used. But this wasn’t the time or place. Not in front of her no-good, fugitive uncle.

  Luis Ruiz spat out a mixture of curse words in Spanglish.

  McNamara shifted into gear and was just starting to pull away from the curb when a huge, black flash zoomed in front of them accompanied by a screech of brakes. It was the black Hummer and it had the Escalade blocked in. The passenger side door of the Hummer swung open and a massive looking African American man jumped out, his right hand on a sawed-off shotgun dangling from his shoulder on a sling, his left displaying a gold badge with a crescent star like Mac’s. He moved forward with a wide stride, a wider smile stretching over his lips. He wore a sleeveless BDU blouse and his arms looked like twin pythons.

  Another figure, this one a white guy with a spiked Mohawk and cauliflower ears slipped around the rear of the Hummer. He had a big semi-automatic pistol in a tactical holster and wore the same type of crescent star affixed to a leather tag on a chain around his thick neck. Clad in a black leather vest, this guy looked equally well muscled, although he was not quite as overdeveloped as the black man.

  They didn’t look much like undercover cops.

  The white guy pulled open the driver’s door of the Escalade, grabbed the steering wheel, and put his face an inch or so from McNamara’s.

  “Hey, Big Mac,” the man said. “I think you got something that belongs to us.”

  “What you talking about, Reno?” McNamara said. “And you better get out of my face and move outta our way.”

  “I don’t think so, old man.” Reno grinned. “Don’t you move, either, jail bird, or Herc will ventilate this hunk of junk with some double-ought buck.”

  The black man raised the shotgun.

  Wolf said nothing, evaluating his chances of making a countermove. Nothing appeared feasible. He wondered if Mac was going to pull his gun.

  “Jailbird?” McNamara said. “Why you son of a bitch. This man’s a decorated war veteran, which is more than I can say for the likes of you two.”

  “That ain’t the way I heard it.” Reno smirked. “Get out now and keep your hands up where I can see ’em.”
>
  McNamara didn’t move.

  “I said―”

  “I heard you,” McNamara said in a low, even tone. “Go fuck yourself.”

  Reno shrugged. “Suit yourself, Big Mac.” His right hand reached inside the vest and came out with a pistol-shaped Taser which made a popping, electrical sound. A cloud of tiny shards of paper exploded inside the Escalade and Mac’s body stiffened, lurching upward. The black guy was beside Reno, covering Ruiz and Wolf with the sawed-off.

  “Keep that one covered, Herc,” Reno said, as he pulled McNamara out of the driver’s seat his body still shaking, his hat tumbling onto the street. Twin lengthy wires extended from the front of the square, plastic barrel and hung in front of Mac’s chest.

  Herc, the black guy, pulled open the door. “Keep your hands where I can see ’em, small fry.”

  Wolf eyed him as he raised his hands and watched with concern as the one called Reno lowered Mac to the street. Wolf saw that the guy’s pistol looked to be a 1911 forty-five at first glance, but with a lot of gold leaf trim. Not a standard Colt, that was for sure. Then Wolf saw the emblem. A Kimber. Mucho bucks.

  Still holding the Taser, Reno bent down and grabbed McNamara’s Glock out of its holster. He straightened up, shoved the Glock into his belt, and looked at Wolf.

  “You ain’t packing, are you jailbird?”

  Wolf shook his head slowly.

  “That fits with what I heard,” Reno said. “Ex-cons can’t get no concealed carry permit.” His lips pulled back into a feral grin. “But keep your hands up just the same.”

  He kicked McNamara’s side, rolling him onto his back. He groaned and started to come around. Reno stepped over him and pulled the keys out of the Escalade’s ignition. “Get Ruiz.”

  “Reno,” McNamara said. “You son of a bitch.”

  “Shaddup,” Reno said, and jammed his boot on top of Mac’s chest.

  Herc let the sawed-off drop and the sling so it hung by his right side. His left hand reached down toward and came up with a big Bowie knife, which he used to slice the shoulder strap and seat belt. Ruiz’s eyes widened as the knife came within millimeters of his body.

  Reno stepped around and pulled Ruiz out of the back seat and slammed him against the car. Then he looked at Wolf. “You slide your ass across the seat and get out, too. Try anything and I’ll give old Big Mac here another ride with the Taser.”

  Wolf did as he was told, his eyes never leaving the other man. When he stepped out Reno said, “Check him.”

  Wolf thought about making a move, but with Mac on the other end of those wires it seemed like too much of a risk. Besides, both of these jokers were armed and neither seemed very stable.

  Herc slipped the Bowie knife into a leather sheath on his belt and ran his left hand over Wolf’s body. It was a half-assed search at best, but he found the Taser in Wolf’s pocket. He handed it to Reno, who put it into his own pocket.

  “That’s all he got,” the black guy said.

  Herc shoved Ruiz toward the Hummer. The lean Hispanic’s hands were still cuffed behind him. The black man grinned, his white teeth looking like a bright ivory keyboard in contrast to his dark skin. He shoved Ruiz into the back seat of the Hummer, buckled him in, slammed the door, and came sauntering back. McNamara appeared to be getting back to normal now and he gripped the wire extending from his chest as he started to sit up.

  “Leave ’em be,” Reno said, still brandishing the Taser. “Unless you want another ride.”

  He gave the trigger a brief squeeze and McNamara stiffened again.

  Reno leaned over, his hands on his knees, and laughed. “Let’s face it, Big Mac. You were way out of your league on this one, trying to compete with the best. And that’s what you get for stealing our pinch.”

  “Your pinch,” McNamara said. “It was ours.”

  Reno laughed again. “Manny musta told you, we been tracking him for the better part of a week, so we got first dibs. Don’t know how you found him before we did, but thanks for locating him for us.” He straightened up and motioned to Herc. “Well, as much as I’d like to stay and chat, we got a bounty to collect on. The clock’s ticking.”

  “Hey, give me my keys,” McNamara said. “And my piece.”

  Reno patted the handle of the Glock. “I been meaning to check one of these things out. But I think I’ll stick with my Kimber.” He took the keys out of his pocket, flipped them in the air, caught them, and then threw them over the top of the Escalade. “Those shouldn’t be too hard to find for a good tracker like you.” His lips peeled away from his teeth in something akin to a mocking smile. “Nice Caddie, but Herc here is gonna do a little safety inspection on your tire.”

  The big knife appeared in the black guy’s hand again and he moved to the right rear of the Escalade and pressed the point into the tread. Seconds later the tire began to emit a hissing sound.

  “Reno,” McNamara said. “You’re a no good son of a bitch.”

  Reno made a tsking sound. “Big Mac, face it. You’re getting old. You’re starting to repeat yourself.”

  Herc laughed, re-sheathed his knife, and went around the driver’s side of the Hummer and got in.

  “You can’t do this,” Wolf said. “This is armed robbery.”

  Reno laughed. “Not really. Just a little property dispute. Besides, my brother’s a lieutenant on the PD. You got any complaints, take them to him.”

  Wolf glanced at McNamara, who gave a brief nod.

  Reno disconnected the cartridge from the Taser and yanked the barbs out of McNamara’s pectoral muscles. He grunted in pain. Reno smirked, winding the wires around his fingers as he sidled back into the still open door on the passenger side of the Hummer. “And stay outta our way or next time we’ll smash your hat.”

  “What about my gun?” McNamara said.

  “I told you, I prefer my Kimber. It’s a real man’s weapon.” Reno paused at the rear bumper. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll leave your polymer piece of shit with Manny along with your other stuff. But you really ought to consider retiring, Big Mac. Oh wait, technically you are retired, ain’t you?” He slammed the door of the Hummer. Wolf couldn’t see through the darkly tinted windows, but he heard the sound of raucous laughter.

  Herc followed, grinning as he went around and got into the driver’s seat. The Hummer roared away leaving Wolf and McNamara inhaling an effluvium of exhaust fumes.

  Wolf started to help Mac to his feet, but the older man shook him off.

  Wolf understood that Mac’s pride was hurt more than his body. Stooping, he grabbed his hat from the street and brushed it off.

  “You all right?” Wolf asked as he handed the hat over.

  “I’m all right, dammit,” McNamara said. “That son-of-a―” He stopped and ran his hand over his clothes, too. Two small spots of blood stained the fabric of his shirt where the prongs had hit him.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Wolf asked.

  “Shit, yeah. Just some injured pride.”

  Wolf took his cell phone out. “I got his license number. Should we call the cops?”

  McNamara shook his head. “I heard this ain’t the first time he’s pulled shit like this. Just the first time with me.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “I’ll settle up with those assholes in my own way.”

  “I take it you know them?”

  McNamara nodded. “Reno Garth and his partner, Black Hercules. That’s his stage name. They both fight in them MMA matches on the side. Got some kind of TV program, too, and a reputation that makes it look like they’re the best in the business. In reality, they’re the kind that gives the profession a bad name.”

  Wolf processed this information, wondering how he’d fare going toe-to-toe with either of the two of them. They looked pretty formidable, but he was already formulating a plan of attack.

  “Well,” McNamara said. “Looks like they won this round.”

  “You sure you don’t want to call the cops?”

&n
bsp; McNamara shook his head. “It’d only be our word against theirs. Besides, his brother’d just get it swept under the rug.”

  Wolf didn’t like it, but he figured it wasn’t his call to make. Nor did he feel it would be a good time to discuss how Mac had deceived him about Consuelo even though Luis Ruiz was gone. If this partnership was going to work, Wolf knew he’d eventually have to confront him about it. But now was not the time. He hooked his thumb toward the Escalade. “You got a jack in there?”

  “I expect,” McNamara said. “Never had to use it, though.”

  “First time for everything,” Wolf said.

  “And hopefully the last one, too,” McNamara said.

  Chapter Six

  Graham’s Bail Bond Services, Queens, New York City

  Theodore “Teddy” Graham looked like a living skeleton wearing wire-rim glasses as he sat perched behind a large, gunmetal gray desk awash with paperwork. His hair was snow white on the sides and completely gone on top. He’d apparently tried to compensate as best he could with a bad comb-over, which would have given Eagan a good chuckle had the office not been so damn small and smelling of mold and cigarettes. An overflowing ashtray was perched on top of a stack of papers.

  “Yeah,” Graham said. “That bastard Accondras is gonna cost me a pretty penny, that’s for fucking sure. You know how much I had to post for his ass?” His voice was imbued with a husky, whispering quality. Like each word had to be forced out with an emphasizing breath. “A million dollars bond, ten percent of which, is a hundred thou. All down the drain if he don’t show up next week, and I don’t guess that he will, right?”

  “Teddy,” Cummins said, “I already told you, the firm’s good for it.”

  “Yeah, right.” Teddy snorted in disgust. “You know how big a hit the bail bond business took after that crazy fucking governor forced that motherfucking bail bond reform act through the legislature? Burglary, manslaughter, stalking, robbery. Christ, they’re giving the fucking shitbirds Knicks tickets just to show up for court.”

  “It’ll be repealed soon enough,” Cummins said.