Devil's Dance (Trackdown Book 1)

by Michael A. Black

“Fuck that. Paying me under the fucking table’s the least you can fucking do, after begging me to post the asshole’s bond so you guys wouldn’t be officially involved. Fine and dandy, but what about the increase in my bonding insurance premiums after taking a hit like that? Where will you guys be when that fucking bill comes in?” He snorted. “Not to mention the damage to my rep. Word gets out that somebody put one like that over on Teddy Graham it’ll be bad for fucking business.”

  “What would you say if we told you we got a solid lead as to where he’s at?” Cummins asked.

  Teddy snorted again. “I’d like that even better. Where?”

  “Mexico.”

  Graham frowned. “Shit. Might as well be in the Emerald fucking City. Even if the Mexican cops could pinch him, they’re too fucking easy to pay off down there. They’d want to cut in and start their own action. He’d never make it back across the border.”

  “Maybe,” Cummins said. He cast a sly look at Eagan. “Or maybe not.”

  Teddy glanced at both of them, pursed his lips, then bumped his glasses up on his nose. “I’m listening.”

  The asshole’s got a beak like a Heeb, Eagan thought. Doesn’t fit with a name like Graham, but he sounds like a Jew-boy.

  “But,” Cummins said. “Like us posting the bond, we can’t be officially involved, see?”

  Teddy smirked. “So, in other words, you need me to hire someone to go down there and grab him for you?”

  Cummins nodded.

  Teddy barked a harsh laugh. “This is New York City, palie. Nobody up here knows Mexico turf. So how the hell am I supposed to find some bounty hunter who wants to risk going down there and take a chance on ending up in some spic prison, much less smuggling a fugitive back across the border?”

  “What if I told you we’ve got that angle covered?” Cummins asked.

  “How?”

  “I run a PMC called the Vipers,” Eagan said. “Give me forty-eight hours and I can set up an op south of the border that’ll be in and out without any problems.”

  “A PMC? What the fuck’s that?”

  “Private Military Company.”

  Teddy’s mouth gaped slightly. “You mean like black helicopters and that kind of shit?”

  Eagan nodded. “I’ve got the personnel who can get down there undetected. But I need a legitimate bail enforcement agent with, just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  “When we get the fugitive back across the border,” Eagan said. “We’ll need someone to turn him over to the proper authorities.”

  Teddy’s head rocked back and forth for several seconds. “So you need some licensed skip tracers to bring the son of a bitch back here and turn him over to the cops?”

  “Right,” Eagan said.

  Teddy glanced at Cummins. “Your firm bank rolling this?”

  Cummins nodded.

  Teddy canted his head to the side, licked his lips, and then smiled. “Then color me interested.”

  “Good. I thought you’d say that.”

  “But I still don’t know nobody I can send down there with you,” Teddy said. “At least nobody that knows that region.”

  “The National Bounty Hunter’s Convention starts the day after tomorrow in Las Vegas,” Eagan said. “Ever heard of it?”

  Teddy smirked. “Yeah. So what?”

  “You going?”

  Teddy shook his head. “Wasn’t planning on it. Got too much shit here to handle. Plus, I can’t afford no trip to Vegas, as much as I’d like to get out of this shithole”

  “I’m sure if you did go out there,” Eagan said. “You’d be able to find somebody who could fill the bill for what we’re looking for, right?”

  “Maybe.” Teddy raised an eyebrow, rubbed his chin with his boney fingers, and then nodded. “Yeah, matter of fact I do know a guy who’s got an operation out West. He’d probably be able to put us on to somebody who could do the job.”

  “Not us,” Cummins said. “You gotta handle this. We’ll be flying under the radar.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Cummins took in a deep breath. “Let’s just say that the firm’s concerned about the PR aspect.”

  Teddy smirked. “Okay. So what else?”

  “What else?” Cummins asked.

  “Yeah, butterball,” Graham said, lifting his hand and rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. “What else is in it for me?”

  Cummins smiled, leaned forward, and grabbed a pen from the jar on Teddy’s desk. He scribbled a figure on a piece of paper. Teddy looked at it and the grin widened. “Yeah, that’ll work. Plus, you also agree to cover the bond forfeiture and the cost of my new insurance premiums if the snatch and grab down there ain’t successful.”

  “Done,” Cummins said, holding his open hand toward Graham. “And we’re throwing in an expense-free trip to Vegas.”

  Bail Bond Office of Emmanuel Sutter

  Phoenix, Arizona

  Fifty-nine minutes later they were standing in Manny’s office, Mac hovering over the bail bondsman’s desk. Freddie, the nephew, got up and went into the bathroom as soon as he saw them coming through the door.

  “Reno been here?” McNamara asked.

  Manny looked down. “Yeah.” He opened the drawer and placed Mac’s Glock and handcuffs on the desk. “Left these here for you.”

  Mac grabbed the Glock first, removing the magazine and pulling back the slide slightly to check the round in the chamber. “You can start by explaining how Reno showed up to steal our collar.”

  “Steal?” Manny rolled his shoulders. “I told you up front, he was working on the case, too. This is a free enterprise system.”

  Mac pointed his finger at him “You tipped him we were on to Ruiz, didn’t you?”

  Manny’s chair squeaked in protest as he leaned back. “Hey, Mac, I can’t afford to get in the middle of something like this. Reno called me. Asked what you were doing here. He musta seen you coming in. I told him you came in looking for an assignment. That’s all.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Manny’s face blanched and he held up his hands, palms outward. “Hey, Reno’s no dummy. He’s good. That’s why he’s gonna be named Bounty Hunter of the Year. Say, you going to the conference, ain’t ya? Everybody who’s anybody’s going to be there.”

  “Including you?”

  Manny nodded. “All packed. Just starting to tidy up here so I can catch my flight.” He opened the drawer in the center of his desk and shuffled through the clutter. “Here, I got a couple of extra tickets somewhere. I’ll give ’em to ya, for what I paid for ’em.”

  McNamara’s face twisted into a scowl and he swept the papers off Manny’s desktop.

  “Hey. What you do that for?” Manny looked genuinely wounded. “I told you, I didn’t sic him on you intentionally. Reno was working the case before you. Maybe he was already setting up on the guy’s place when you guys got there.”

  “You told us he’d been looking for him for a week,” Mac said. “How’d he know where to go all of a sudden?”

  Manny held his hands out in a ‘who knows’ gesture. “Jeeze, you got me. How’d you figure it out?”

  Yeah, Wolf thought. How did you?

  “Reno couldn’t find his ass with both hands and a map,” McNamara said, glaring down at the bail bondsman. “Somebody tipped him we were on Ruiz’s trail.”

  “Like I said, it wasn’t me.” Manny flashed a nervous smile.

  McNamara continued to glare down at the other man. Wolf wondered if his friend was going to belt him. Finally, Mac took a deep breath and his body relaxed a bit.

  “This ain’t right and you know it. We did all the work and he stepped in and stole our arrest. And you had no right to tell him anything about Steve here. He’s a veteran, not a jailbird.”

  Manny shrugged again, flashing a crooked smile. “Hey, Mac, I’m sorry, okay? I tell you what.” He opened the drawer again and set another Taser on the desktop. “Keep this one. Let Tonto here use it.”

 
; “Tonto means stupid in Spanish,” Wolf said, feeling his anger rising now.

  “Sorry, palie. Native American, okay?”

  McNamara balled up his fists. “Maybe you and me better step outside.”

  Manny held up his hands again. “Hey, being politically correct ain’t exactly in my DNA, you know. But I’m a lover, not a fighter. I’ll even toss you a couple of easy pinches.”

  “I don’t want your charity,” Mac said. “I want Reno.”

  Manny’s eyes widened. His mouth opened but no sound came out.

  “Where’s he at?” Mac asked.

  “How should I know?”

  McNamara started to go around the side of the desk. Wolf wondered again what Mac was going to do. The bondsman rolled his chair backwards until it collided with the wall. He crisscrossed his arms in front of his face. “Okay, okay, okay. He came by here to collect his check, then left.”

  “Left for where?” Mac said.

  “Vegas, okay. Him and Herc are going to the conference, just like I told you. He’s up for Bounty Hunter of the Year.”

  “Shit.” Mac stopped and looked down at the other man, inhaled deeply, and then turned toward Wolf. “Let’s go pack our bags. We’re going to Vegas.”

  Wolf nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Always wanted to see that place.”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Manny said. “If Reno finds out I told you―”

  “He won’t,” Mac said. “Unless you call him and tip him again.”

  “Me?” Manny’s upper lip was covered with sweat. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “You’d best not, if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Hey,” Manny said, “what you gonna do?”

  Mac said nothing. He turned and pulled open the door, motioning for Wolf to follow.

  Wolf nodded to Manny as he turned and left.

  In the parking lot Wolf asked, “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m gonna collect a debt,” Mac said. “Those two sons of bitches owe me for a seat belt, a tire, and a new shirt, not to mention that ten grand recovery fee.”

  Chapter Seven

  McCarren International Airport, Las Vegas, Nevada, Hourly Parking Area

  The three of them sat in the air-conditioned comfort of the spacious limo drinking iced drinks from the car’s built-in wet bar. Eagan could tell that the New York bail bondsman, Teddy, was already close to being half in the bag. Bringing the skinny creep along to lubricate the way for hiring some experienced skip tracers who could serve as a buffer for their excursion down to Mexico was a necessary evil. Teddy had admitted that his contacts were all in the Big Apple, not out west of the Pecos, or wherever the fuck they needed to be. But the fugitive from a chemo ward did mention that he knew a fellow bail bond guy out here who could put them on the right track. That would be good enough. Eagan knew all he needed was a couple of expendable bounty hunters as a subterfuge while he took Accondras to a safe spot and interrogated him. Still, that part had to be handled carefully and with a bit of finesse. Accondras had to be kept alive until Eagan had the artifact— the authenticated artifact, in his hands. The bounty hunters would also take all the blame later when things went inevitably went south. Their activities to grab a fugitive with a warrant would obscure the trail of why Accondras was really grabbed. It would be put off to the exploits of some overzealous bail enforcement agents who went into Mexico without proper authority to grab a wanted fugitive and came into conflict with the Mexican police. At least that would be the assumption, once the bodies were discovered. The shit kickers were expendable. Accondras, too. No way any of it could be traced back to Von Dien and his stupid artifact. No loose ends, which was just what Fallotti and Von Dien wanted.

  Fine with me, Eagan thought. And the bonus money he said he wouldn’t mind paying for the artifact was just sweetening the pie.

  Eagan still had the Viper’s LLC account and routing numbers in the Caymans. Once the money was deposited there, the rich prick could have his little piece of petrified crap. The Lion Attacking the Nubian. Eagan didn’t care much about it, as long as that big deposit ended up in his bank account with no repercussions. If he played it right, this could be his last job. He’d be set for life.

  He glanced at his watch again. Nasim’s flight was due in from Toronto about twenty minutes ago. The limo driver had been dispatched to stand with a sign right by the escalators leading to the baggage claim carousels. Once the gang was all here, they’d head over to their hotel. Eagan had mixed feelings about dealing with that camel jockey again. The last time had turned into a real cluster fuck, but what choice did he have? Nasim was the only one who could authenticate the fucking artifact. After that was done, he could go pound sand up his Iranian ass as far as Eagan was concerned. But then again, Von Dien had casually mentioned that Nasim could turn up to be another of those loose ends. That could be arranged, but there was something else. If Nasim was a liability, Eagan figured he was, as well. He’d have to make sure that he held onto the artifact until he got paid in full, and then some. Disappearing to parts unknown would then be the next step. He’d have enough money to buy his own island.

  “Where’s this convention at again?” Cummins asked. He reached over and refilled his glass from the limo’s built-in bar.

  Eagan noticed that Cummins was a bit tipsy, too. He was on his second drink. Eagan was the only one of the three who wasn’t drinking alcohol. There’d be plenty of time for partying later, once the mission was done.

  “It’s at this new hotel,” Teddy said. His pale skin showed more creases than an opened fan. “The Leprechaun, or something Irish like that.”

  “The Shamrock,” Eagan said.

  Teddy grinned, causing another set of facial wrinkles to appear. “You got it.”

  Eagan said nothing. This human skeleton was wearing thin. As soon as he made the right introductions, Eagan would jettison him. But then again, maybe a more final solution was called for. The guy could be classified as another one of those loose ends that Fallotti had talked about. Whether they let the Big Apple bondsman live or not was immaterial to Eagan, but it would put him in good graces with the boss if he showed some initiative. All he wanted was the recovery fee for the fucking artifact. It was his ticket to a new start, somewhere on a beach with a couple of half-naked, good looking broads and an endless supply of rum and Cokes filled with ice.

  “You sure about this guy you’re going to introduce us to?” Cummins asked. He was starting to slur his words. Eagan was going to have to have a little talk with the former lieutenant. Instill some missing military discipline into his overweight carcass. Eagan watched him sip his drink.

  He doesn’t know it yet, Eagan thought, but the party’s over.

  “Manny Sutter,” Teddy said. “His first name’s Emanuel, but everybody calls him Manny.”

  “Emanuel. A good Biblical name,” Cummins said.

  Teddy nodded; the wrinkle-framed simper still plastered drunkenly on his face.

  “He works this area a lot. Knows everybody out this way, even though he’s based in Phoenix.” Teddy shrugged and some of his drink sloshed over the rim of his glass. “But Phoenix ain’t actually that far from Vegas. It’s drivable.”

  Eagan caught a flash of movement outside and stiffened. A pair of gloved knuckles rapped on the window and the door opened. Nasim’s dark face appeared in the opening, his mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Long time no see.”

  Eagan smiled back at him. “Looks like the gang’s all here. Climb on in and we’ll get this show on the road.”

  Hoover Dam

  Boulder City, Nevada

  “They put this new bridge in so you don’t get to drive over the dam anymore,” Mac said, pointing to the right.

  Wolf looked over at the massive, sloping structure as they drove onward. It looked like a misplaced castle wall sandwiched between two cliffs. Beyond it lay a huge body of water—Lake Mead, Mac had told him, “The largest man-made lake in the world.”

  “Where’
s the place where you can step over the line into another time zone and lose an hour?” Wolf asked.

  “By that second little turret,” Mac said. “You gain one, stepping back.”

  “If only time was always that easy to manage,” Wolf said, thinking back to the endless days that were divided into different segments: wake up bell, standing morning cell check, breakfast, laundry drop, physical activity period, shower time, new clothes pick up, lunch, back to your cell. Monotony was occasionally broken up by optional counseling or academic classes and coming and going anywhere was always coupled with the constant danger lurking around the next corner. That attack on his last day was just one of many. Still, its timing was something of an enigma to him. Most fights arose from the constant posturing, the need to prove yourself tougher than the other guy, or the need to keep something, like your body parts, from being used and abused by somebody who thought they were bigger or stronger or tougher than you. Fights were commonplace, and Wolf had initially had his share, but as his reputation grew inside the walls, the challenges became virtually nonexistent. Nobody wanted to mess with him. The last attack by the bald-headed gorilla had come totally out of the blue. Had somebody been trying to settle an old grudge before he shipped out? Possible, but Wolf had essentially been a loner, aligning himself with no one in particular except perhaps Gant, who’d been his cellmate the better part of a year. They went their separate ways in the yard, though, with Gant choosing to sit with the other blacks and Wolf merely going for a run or doing some katas to remind everyone, cons and guards alike, that he was one very dangerous man. Plus, his fluency in Spanish won respect from the Hispanic gang contingent. Everybody pretty much left him alone.

  Pretty much.

  Especially after he’d backed Gant when they’d been cornered behind a tower wall on clean-up duties. The white Aryans were looking to exact revenge for the shanking of one of theirs by a black inmate. Six big white guys with shaved heads and crude swastika tattoos ordered Wolf to back off as they approached Gant, two of them with their shanks drawn. It had taken Wolf less than twenty seconds to disarm and knock down both the armed goons. Then he and Gant, who was the light-heavyweight prison boxing champion, made short work of the other three assholes. After that, a truce was called and the gang leaders decided upon another means to settle the matter. Maybe that last attack was an eleventh-hour attempt at belated payback by the Aryans.