At Large

by C. M. Sutter

  John stepped off the patio and entered the house. He looked back at Curt before opening the door. “And two more names will be removed from that list tonight.”

  Welcoming his guests, John apologized that Luca couldn’t attend the dinner, saying that he’d mentioned having a sore throat.

  “That’s unfortunate,” Ernesto said. “Luca is usually the life of the party.”

  John shrugged. “Guess he isn’t feeling that lively tonight.” He tipped his head toward the patio. “Come on out back. The food is hot, the beer is cold, and the pool is just right. I even have some top-quality cigars.” John led the way outside, where Curt was sitting at the table.

  “Welcome, gentlemen!” He rose, shook their hands, and pointed at the chairs. “Have a seat. Let’s get reacquainted over a beer, and then we’ll have dinner. There’s plenty of food and drinks to last us all night.”

  They spent a half hour drinking beer and smoking Cuban cigars before dinner began. The men exchanged conversations about politics and investments as they lined the table with empty beer bottles.

  Curt lifted the lids off the food dishes and placed serving utensils next to each one. “Let’s eat, drink, and be merry.”

  “So, are you enjoying life here in Mexico?” Paulo scanned the private backyard as he raised his fork to his mouth. “The property is to your liking?”

  “It’s wonderful,” John said. “We’re very grateful to you, and as a token of our appreciation, I’d like to give each of you one thousand dollars.” He reached in his back pocket and handed envelopes to both men.

  “Mr. Vance, that isn’t necessary.” Ernesto slid his envelope across the table back toward John. “We will remain loyal to you and Curt no matter what.”

  “And we certainly appreciate that. How about toasting our friendship, then? Curt used to bartend in college, and he makes incredible margaritas. The secret is using the best Patrón money can buy.”

  With laughter all around, Curt took the hint and rose from the table. Busying himself at the outdoor kitchen while the men continued eating, he was going to make margaritas that Ernesto and Paulo would die for. He called out over his shoulder. “Frozen or on the rocks? Salt or sugar? Plain or fruity?”

  The men chuckled and said they preferred on the rocks, salt, and plain. That meant Curt needed to mix in the zolpidem thoroughly. No traces of the powder could be allowed to settle on the bottom of the glasses.

  Minutes later, he carried two chilled margaritas to their guests. “Just as you requested,” he said. “On the rocks, plain, salted rims, and the best tequila available. I’m sure you’ll ask for more.”

  The men thanked him and waited until Curt returned to the table with his and John’s drinks as well. He took his seat, and Ernesto raised his glass.

  “To longevity in life, health, friendship, and business. Cheers!”

  The men clanked glasses and drank. Curt kept the margaritas flowing and the glasses full, and within forty-five minutes, the zolpidem was kicking in. Ernesto and Paulo slurred when they spoke, and both had slower response times to questions they were asked. Sweat beaded on Ernesto’s brow.

  “It looks like you’re overheating, my friend,” John said. “Let’s dip our feet in the pool. That should cool you down.”

  “Yes, um, okay. Pool, let’s—”

  A quick glance at Curt confirmed what John was thinking. It would take only a few minutes to drown them both. It would be the easiest and cleanest murder John had ever committed.

  Curt rose from the table. “Why don’t we sit at the pool’s edge where it’s shady? The setting sun is coming around the house and glaring on the table, anyway.”

  Paulo stood, wobbled, and grabbed his chair for support. He laughed. “Too much Patrón, yes?”

  “There’s never enough Patrón,” Curt joked. “Lean on me, and I’ll help you to the pool.”

  After stumbling across the patio, both men were helped into sitting positions at the pool’s deep end.

  “Go ahead and get your toes wet,” John said. “It’s refreshing.” He took a seat next to Ernesto and dropped his feet into the water. “Ahh… that’s nice.”

  Ernesto mumbled incoherently and followed suit. He teetered precariously on the edge as he lowered his legs into the water. Curt was in charge of Paulo, who wasn’t quite as inebriated as Ernesto yet clearly on his way. The drug should take full effect soon.

  “I’m going to take a dip,” John said as he stood. He reached for Ernesto’s hand. “Come on. Jump in.” He pulled the man off balance, and they both tumbled into the water. John bobbed up immediately while Ernesto began thrashing.

  Ernesto sank like an anchor then swatted at the ladder until he had it in his hands. He coughed out mouthfuls of water as he pulled himself up, only to be kicked back in by Curt.

  Paulo tried to get up and run once he realized their fate, but with the patio wet, he slipped and fell. John grabbed his leg and pulled him toward the water. Paulo cried out for Curt’s help, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

  John yelled at his brother. “Get in here. I can’t do this alone!”

  Curt dropped in at the deep end and leapt on Paulo, forcing him underwater. John, who had his arm wrapped around Ernesto’s neck, continued to push him downward until the struggling subsided. He released his hold on the man and watched as Ernesto sank to the bottom.

  “Help me finish off Paulo,” Curt said as he continually punched the man in the face, trying to knock him unconscious.

  Paulo fought with all he had, but he quickly lost the battle once two men were on him. His gurgling and thrashing stopped, and he, too, sank to the bottom. A red cloud of blood surrounded his body as he lay at the deep end of the pool.

  “Jesus Christ!” John swam to the shallow end and pulled himself out. “Those two still had some juice left in them.” He wiped his face with the towel that had been draped across the nearest lounge chair and climbed out. He needed to catch his breath. Curt rolled over onto his back and floated across the water.

  Walking to the tote, John reached in and pulled out a bottle with each hand. “Have a beer, brother. It’s time to celebrate two less people to deal with.”

  Their celebratory drinks lasted until way after dark. They emptied the tote of the ice and beer, and after removing the dead men’s belongings from their pockets, squeezed their bodies inside. John snapped the lid closed.

  “Help me put the tote into Ernesto’s SUV, and then we’ll drive them out into the desert and dump them.”

  Curt frowned. “Then why the tote at all?”

  “Precautions. What if we were stopped for some reason? This is Mexico.” John patted his pants pockets. “Damn it. Where are Ernesto’s keys?”

  Curt patted his own pockets and then checked the pile they’d put on the table. “Two cell phones, two wallets, and one set of keys that belonged to Paulo. “I don’t have them, John. Maybe Ernesto left them in his vehicle.”

  The men went to the driveway and pulled on the door handles—locked.

  “Check on top of the tires,” John said. The keys weren’t there. “Son of a bitch! His SUV is blocking the garage door, so I can’t even get the Camry out.” John paced back and forth in front of the house, but nothing useful came to mind. A dead man’s vehicle blocked their car’s exit. “We needed that damn Camry to get across the border tomorrow.”

  “But that isn’t the worst of it. What are we going to do with the bodies?”

  John clenched his jaw and kicked the SUV. “Change of plans. Let’s move that tote inside the house and shove it into a closet. We need to call a driver to take us to the car rental agency in Brownsville tonight. We’re leaving Mexico and heading to Chicago right now, so grab everything that has our old and new names on it, our passports, all our money, and every piece of clothing you can fit into your suitcase. Once we leave this house, we’re never coming back.”

  Chapter 56

  Word came from Tommy that they had four available cells. Several of the men picked up t
hat night lived in the Seventh District, so their sleeping quarters would be at that precinct no matter what. I wasn’t in any rush to question them. They were nothing more than minions who catered to John Vance’s every whim, but I wanted them off the streets and unavailable to their boss. I was sure that as soon as John’s name was mentioned, they would lawyer up and we wouldn’t have the chance to talk to them, anyway. Regardless of whether they spoke to the officers, we planned to hold them for forty-eight hours.

  Tomorrow would be another busy day, and waiting to hear from Jared Bell would almost guarantee me a night without sleep.

  As I walked the hallway to our department’s exit, I stopped at Lutz’s door and leaned against the frame. “Go home, Boss.”

  He glanced up and laughed. “Isn’t that like the pot calling the kettle black, or some stupid phrase like that?”

  I grinned. “Yeah, I get your drift, and I’m heading out now. I’d advise you to do the same. Hopefully, Bell will call sometime tonight with news from John. The sooner those dirtbag Vance brothers are off the street, the better.” I frowned.

  “Something wrong, Jesse?”

  “Yeah, I just realized I haven’t heard from the DOT about those interstate plate readers picking up any of the plate numbers I gave them.”

  Bob swatted the air. “Tomorrow is another day, and you can check on it then. Doubtful that you’re going to hear anything tonight. They’ve had hours to get back to you.”

  I pulled out my notepad and added that reminder to my list, which hadn’t gotten any smaller.

  “Call me if you hear from Bell. Doesn’t matter what time it is.”

  “Will do.” Knuckling the wall, I said my good nights and continued on.

  I thought about my life as I drove the eighteen minutes home. Every night was the same as the night before. The only thing that ever changed was the time I finally got home. I glanced at the clock on the dash—8:14.

  Another twelve-hour day. Bandit has to be starving.

  I reminded myself that being a responsible pet owner meant not depending on my neighbor to do the job that belonged to me.

  That’s it. I’m having a doggy door put in, and I’m getting self-feeding and watering bowls. I can’t expect Dean to do my dog parenting all the time.

  Guilt flooded over me whenever I walked up the stairs. A squealing, tail-wagging, happy-to-see-me-no-matter-what-time-it-was pup was ready to give me a bath of dog licks. I would take off my sport jacket, remove my holster and badge, then I was all his until he was worn out. That night was no exception.

  “Hey, Bandit, I’m home.”

  Bandit could barely contain himself, and I laughed as he pawed at my leg. He wanted me on the ground, up close and personal.

  “Give me a second to get some of this stuff off, buddy, and then I promise we’ll play.”

  Bandit’s entire body wagged as I knelt to the floor and let him climb all over me.

  “Okay, okay, let’s get you outside before anything else.” Once the patio door opened, he darted out to run around the yard. Inside the house, I filled his dish with kibbles then checked the refrigerator, giving the contents a once-over. Nothing looked appealing, so I opted for a delivery calzone. Nice, easy, and I would be eating in a half hour without a mess to clean up in the kitchen. It worked for me. I turned to the sound of Bandit pawing at the glass.

  “Come on in. Your food is in your bowl.” After locking the patio door and replacing the bar, I watched to see how long the motion-sensor lights stayed on—ten seconds. Satisfied, I pulled the vertical blinds closed and hit the couch with a beer in hand. I reached for the remote, clicked on the TV, and settled in, knowing my calzone should arrive before my favorite crime series began.

  When the doorbell rang at nine o’clock, I paused the TV. Bandit’s ears perked, he stood at attention, and when I checked the video on my doorbell app, I saw a man holding a bag from the local pizza joint. “It’s okay, Bandit. Nothing to worry about.” I pulled fifteen bucks from my wallet, opened the door, and greeted the delivery guy. With the money and bag tradeoff, I thanked him and told him to keep the change, then I locked the door at his back. In the kitchen, I transferred the calzone to a plate, grabbed my second beer, and returned to the living room to resume the show. Bandit took his place on the couch’s opposite end and curled up. He was content.

  Several times in the next half hour, I felt my chin hit my chest. I would shake it off, press the back button, and stop the show at the spot I’d last remembered seeing. Within seconds, I was asleep again. Finally giving up, I shut off the TV, took my plate and empty beer bottle to the kitchen, and shuffled down the hallway. “Come on, buddy. It’s time for bed.”

  Settled in, I twisted the knob on the nightstand lamp, and the room went dark. My entire body relaxed.

  I couldn’t quite grasp the next sound I was hearing. Was I dreaming? I opened my eyes and felt Bandit’s breath against my cheek. “What the hell?” I sat up, saw Bandit hovering over me, and realized my phone was ringing. I looked at the clock—2:13 a.m. It had to be Bell. Nobody else made sense. I picked up on the last ring before it went to voicemail.

  “McCord speaking.”

  “Detective McCord, I was just about to hang up. It’s Jared Bell. Vance just called me.”

  I rubbed my eyes and took a drink of water. “Yeah, okay. How’d you get that past the wife at this time of night without raising suspicion?”

  “I just told her it was a distraught client, so I went into the bathroom to talk.”

  “Hang on. I have to grab some paper and a pen.” I reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out what I needed. “Okay, tell me what he said, but before anything else, did he believe the photos and the reports? Essentially, that’s all that matters.”

  “He bought it, every report and every picture.”

  I fist-pumped the air. We were finally making progress. “That’s awesome. So what else?”

  “Honestly, even though he said he was going to wire me the hundred thousand bucks for doing the job, I got the feeling he was on the road. I heard another person talking and what sounded like wind in the background.”

  “As if a car window was open?”

  “Yeah, just like that.”

  “Good. It’s the middle of the night, so he must be on his way. Anything more?”

  “Definite agitation in his voice.”

  “That’s interesting and probably because he can’t get ahold of his guys and has to drive back here to do his own dirty work. The other voice had to be Curt’s, meaning they’re heading here together. Our plan is coming along perfectly.” Silence filled the phone line on Jared’s end. “You okay, buddy?”

  “I’m worried. Are you sure my family and I are safe? I mean, I haven’t let on to them, but I’m definitely feeling anxious.”

  I let out a sigh. “Let me put it this way. You’re far safer in that hotel than you would be at home, and you’re only five blocks from our station. Stick to the plan, don’t wander out, and swear to me you won’t go back to your house under any circumstances!”

  “I swear.”

  “Okay. Call me immediately if you have any more contact with him. I’ll do my best to find out what he’s driving, and we’ll keep a unit on your house. Take a breath and go back to sleep. I’m going to do the same.”

  After hanging up, I clicked off the light then remembered what Lutz had said. He wanted a call if Vance contacted Bell, no matter what time it was. With a groan, I turned the light on, tapped Lutz’s name on my contact list, woke him from his sleep, and explained the conversation I’d just had with Jared.

  “Great news, and it means Vance took the bait. Everyone will be updated during the roll call meeting in the morning. We’re going to need all hands on deck for the next few days, so get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

  Once again, I ended a late-night call and clicked off the lamp. Hopefully, it would be for the last time that night.

  Chapter 57

  Instead of stopping, I
raced through every yellow light that morning. I was excited to get to work, go through the updates and our plan of action, then follow up with Cal Morrow and the DOT. I needed a hit on the list of plates I had given them. Finding out what John was driving would make tracking him down a lot easier. I hoped he was heading north and using the same route I’d given the DOT as one of the interstates to check.

  After parking my Camaro and climbing out, I saw Frank crossing our lot. “Hey, wait up!”

  He stopped and turned. “What has you all jacked up this morning?”

  I caught up to him and walked at his side. “Bell called me last night.”

  “No shit? And?”

  I grinned. “And Vance took the bait. He’s on his way back to Chicago as far as I can tell. It was after two a.m., and Jared said he could hear wind in the background and another man’s voice. They had to be driving and, at that time of night, trying to avoid detection.”

  Frank pulled open the glass entry door. “That sounds about right.”

  I led the way to our department. “Now we just need to know what kind of car they’re in.”

  We met up with Lutz in the hallway as he walked to his office. “Grab whatever you need and a coffee. We’re getting roll call started right away. There’s a lot to discuss this morning.”

  “Roger that.” I arrived at my desk, grabbed a spiral notebook instead of my small notepad, and fished a half dozen quarters out of the center drawer. A large coffee was in order.

  The roll call room was abuzz with chatter about the phone call I’d received from Bell last night. News traveled quickly.

  Lutz stood at the podium, cleared his throat, and called the room to attention. “Let’s get the roll call wrapped up since we have pressing business ahead of us.”

  The roll call took less than five minutes, then it was on to the John Vance updates. Lutz waved me to his side. “Jesse, let’s hear about your phone call with Bell.”