Devil's Fancy (Trackdown Book 2)

by Michael A. Black

  “Yeah,” McNamara said as he strode toward the door. “Frigid in here, all right.”

  Chad curled around the wall and pointed the rifle at them.

  “Any bad guys around here?” he asked.

  McNamara stopped and grinned.

  “Just one,” he said, turning to point at the foot-high plaster statue of the Mexican bandito sitting on the mantle above the fireplace. “But his guns aren’t loaded.”

  The boy grinned and dashed away.

  Wolf saw a cloud of dust stirring on the macadamized drive leading to the house. He was about to mention that they had visitors, but Mac beat him to it.

  “I’m sure glad the county didn’t have that road paved over yet.” He limped to the tall grandfather clock next to the front door, hooked the cane over the top of it, and pressed two sections in a child-proof lock sequence on the frame that held the clock face. A drawer slid out of the left side of the structure and McNamara reached in and took out a Glock 43 nine-millimeter pistol. After retrieving the cane he moved to the window, pulling the edge of the curtain away to view the progress of the approaching vehicle. Wolf saw that it was a white Ford van.

  “Look familiar?” Wolf asked.”

  “No, but there’s only two things that arrive in vans. Good deliveries and bad deliveries.” McNamara continued to peer out the window.

  The vehicle slowed to a stop after pulling onto the concrete slab between the house and the garage and parked next to the Escalade. Wolf could see that two people sat inside. The passenger appeared to be male. A big bastard, from the size of his shoulders. The driver looked like a woman. The glare of the sun made it impossible to discern more but when the passenger side door opened he instantly recognized the figure.

  It was Reno Garth. The elevated section of his Mohawk hairstyle had been trimmed down to little more than a half-inch and his face looked drawn and weak. The T-shirt hung almost loosely on his powerful frame.

  “Looks like this one has the makings of a bad one.” McNamara took three steps back to the clock, replaced the Glock in the drawer and pressed it back into place.

  Pulling open the door, he stepped outside onto the porch and watched as Reno stood beside the open door of the van. He eyed the broken window on the Escalade then glanced over at McNamara and Wolf and nodded a hello. Before slamming the door of the van he removed his own cane from the vehicle.

  His steps were slow and laborious as he approached them.

  “Big Jim,” Reno said. “Wolf.”

  “What you need?” McNamara said. His tone was far from cordial.

  Reno didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he took a series of hobbling steps that brought him within a few feet of the porch. He took a deep breath and compressed his lips.

  Whatever he’s come to say isn’t coming out easily, Wolf thought.

  Finally, Reno spoke: “I wanted to stop by and thank you, both of you, for saving my life down in Mexico,” he said. After another deep breath, he shifted the cane from his right hand to his left and extended his open palm.

  Wolf waited to gauge Mac’s reaction. They’d been both harassed and betrayed by Reno and his partner, Black Hercules, in the past, especially on the Mexico trip. But the way things had turned out, Reno realized that both he and his partner were on the short end as well. Reno had ended up wounded and Herc was dead. McNamara, although wounded himself, had driven Reno to the hospital while Wolf had faced down the killers and emerged victorious. But in many ways, it had been Pyrrhic victory. Wolf had few answers and a lot of pressing questions.

  McNamara shifted his cane as well and shook Reno’s hand.

  Wolf did the same.

  “How’s the leg?” he asked.

  “Well, I ain’t gonna be getting back in the octagon anytime soon.” He raised his eyebrows. “Not sure I want to anyway. And my bounty hunting career’s on hold, too. We’re in negotiations on the TV show and that movie deal they were talking about seems like it’s fallen through.”

  “That’s too bad,” Wolf said.

  He caught a slight sideways glance from Mac.

  “But I still got my gym,” Reno said. “And you two are more than welcome to come and workout there anytime. Especially you, Wolf. You’d be a natural for MMA.”

  Wolf mumbled something that sounded like an appreciation for the offer but felt an idea formulating. It might be a way to make a few bucks.

  “Good luck, Reno,” McNamara said, turning back toward the door. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Wait,” Reno said.

  McNamara turned back toward him with a questioning expression.

  Reno reached into his pants pocket, removed an envelope and handed it toward McNamara.

  “Here.”

  “What’s that?” McNamara asked.

  The other man shrugged his shoulders.

  “It’s a check,” Reno said. “For the seatbelt and the tire that Herc cut. Back when we … ah …done that stuff we shouldn’t have.”

  In one of their previous encounters, Reno and his partner had stolen an arrestee from McNamara and Wolf and damaged Mac’s vehicle. It had occurred before the Mexico trip.

  McNamara accepted the envelope without saying anything.

  “It’s blank so you can fill in the amount you need to get it fixed,” Reno said. “What happened to the window?”

  “We had an unruly arrestee,” Wolf said.

  “Kicked out the window because the seatbelt wasn’t working,” McNamara added.

  Reno looked down at the ground.

  “Well,” he said. “If you want to put fixing the window on my tab, too, I wouldn’t blame you.”

  “Now, that’s mighty neighborly of you,” McNamara said. “You and your friend want to come inside for a glass of iced tea, or something?”

  Reno’s face twisted into an unexpected smile but he shook his head.

  “Nah, I appreciate the offer, but me and Barbie gotta get back to the gym. I’m training one of my guys for a fight coming up.” He paused and his smile faded. “There’s one more thing.”

  “What’s that?” McNamara asked.

  Wolf caught the faint sound of a car’s tires turning onto the gravel road from the highway and looked at the road. A navy-blue sedan was making its way toward the house.

  “The FBI,” Reno said. “They come to see me at the gym this morning. Asking me all kinds of questions about what happened down in Mexico. They know all about that guy that got killed, Accondras and they wanted to go over what happened to Herc again.”

  McNamara’s face tightened. “And what’d you tell ’em?”

  “Nothing. Honest. I stuck with that same story like you told me to do down in Mexico. That some bandits hit us and after that CRS. Can’t Remember Shit.”

  “You sure that was all you said?” McNamara’s eyes zeroed in on the other man.

  “Yeah.”

  “They believe you?”

  “I think so.” Reno reached in the pocket of his pants and withdrew a business card. “One of them give me this. Said I should call him if my memory improves before they have to convene a Federal Grand Jury.”

  The sedan was getting closer and Wolf caught a glimpse of US Government plates.

  “Looks like they’ve come to ask us the same questions,” Wolf said.

  The Law Offices of Fallotti and Abraham

  New York City, the borough of Manhattan

  The trip had taken less time than Cummins had expected but what really surprised him was the state of the offices upon their arrival on the fourteenth floor of the Manhattan skyscraper. Electronic shredders were humming in every room and files and equipment were being boxed up. He looked to the window of his own office and saw that his computer and monitor were both gone.

  What the hell was going on?

  He got his answer several minutes later when he and Zerbe were ushered into the main partner’s office. Anthony Fallotti sat behind his big mahogany desk, the arrangements of degrees, accolades, and fine oil paintings untouc
hed on the wall to the right of him. On his left side, Dexter Von Dien, looking like a full-size version of an American Buddha, without the epicanthic cast to his eyes, sat in one of the two leather chairs, his girth substantially overlapping the arms. Cummins didn’t offer to shake hands with him. In the intervening three weeks Cummins had almost forgotten what a physically enormous individual Von Dien was but not that he detested most physical contact.

  A big guy with very broad shoulders and wavy blonde hair that looked like it had been styled like a movie star’s, stood at the rich man’s side, alert and formidable. Cummins remembered him from the last time they were in this office. It had been right before he and Eagan left for the cluster fuck in Mexico.

  Fallotti remained seated and gestured for Cummins and Zerbe to take the seats on the opposite end of the desk.

  “Gentlemen,” Fallotti said, smiling. “Thank you for coming.”

  As if we had any choice, Cummins thought.

  He wondered where this was going. Surely Von Dien or VD as Cummins secretly called him, couldn’t blame him for the fiasco south of the border. But the fact that he had been held in virtual isolation for the past three weeks seemed to indicate that, as Zerbe said, neither of them had been brought here to be given a commendation. From the look of things, Cummins also wondered if he was still going to have a job with the firm.

  “Mind if I smoke?” Zerbe asked as he plopped down in the chair and began reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Von Dien muttered.

  The big bodyguard snapped his fingers and pointed at Zerbe, who withdrew his hand.

  Good, Cummins thought. He’s got no more clout than I do with the rich son of a bitch.

  Fallotti cleared his throat.

  “We’ve had time to do thorough review of the recordings of your debriefs,” he said. “I’m happy to say that they both match with what we’ve been able to find out about the Mexican operation.”

  Recordings?

  Cummins felt a sudden surge of panic. He hadn’t known he was being recorded during that thing.

  There has to be enough on that thing to incriminate me all the way back to Iraq, he thought.

  He’d told them everything, freely admitting to being party to kidnapping and murder, and how they’d been shot at. What else could he do? Of course, he’d explained it all in such a way as to place all the blame on Eagan for the failures. But as a lawyer, Cummins knew that what he’d said made him an accessory after the fact.

  “You didn’t tell us we were being taped,” Zerbe said.

  That must have meant that the PI had spilled his guts, too.

  Good, he thought. At least I’m not in this alone.

  But this gave them a big hold over both of them. They had them by the short hairs, but the worst thing was to appear weak right now.

  “What’s going on with the office?” Cummins asked, resisting the temptation to demand why he’d been under the isolation order. “We moving?”

  Fallotti cast a quick glance at Von Dien, the said, “The firm’s being liquidated.”

  “What?” Cummins was stunned.

  “Yes,” Fallotti said. “Mr. Von Dien’s made a very generous offer to buy us out. All of the employees are being given generous four-oh-one-K’s and offer of employment within one of his corporations.”

  He’s tying up the loose ends, Cummins thought.

  “What about me?” he asked.

  “Especially you, Jack,” Fallotti said. His smile didn’t look very genuine. “You’re one of our most valuable employees. We always take care of those.”

  Those? Cummins thought. He’s already talking about me like I’m some kind of commodity, one of those loose ends.

  Suddenly his mouth went dry and he could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck.

  Zerbe was sitting to his left, not saying a word but Cummins knew the PI was sweating, too, from a sudden increase in his body odor.

  Von Dien made a huffing sound like he’d smelled the unpleasant odor as well.

  “Tell me again what was said about the artifact,” he said. “His exact words.”

  Cummins tried to swallow but his mouth was still too dry. When his words came out, they sounded hollow and brittle.

  “He said that he’d hidden it in a plaster statue.”

  “And this statue.” Von Dien leaned forward, the bags under his eyes tightening slightly. “Where was it?”

  Cummins shook his head slightly. “He said something about a backpack.”

  Von Dien transferred his gaze to Zerbe. “And was this the same backpack that he’d been in possession of when you apprehended him?”

  The PI shrugged. If he was intimidated by the big man, he wasn’t showing it. Cummins hoped this wouldn’t make things worse.

  “He was wearing a backpack when we grabbed him,” Zerbe said. “At the time Wolf and McNamara had him in the back of the van while we transported him. They searched it, found no weapons. I didn’t see what was in it, but the thing did seem to have something substantial inside.”

  Von Dien made a hissing sound, ending with his lips drawn tighter than a miser’s silk purse.

  “That was it,” he said after a few moments. “It had to be. He wouldn’t have trusted anyone with it and had to keep it handy. Hiding it in plain sight. And you let it slip through your fingers.” He hissed out the last words and stared at Fallotti. “What else have you got?”

  “Well,” Fallotti said. “As soon as we had this information, we sent Jason, here, back to Cancun to try and locate the backpack.”

  Von Dien transferred his gaze to the PI. “And?”

  “And,” Zerbe said. “I managed to apply quite a few bribes to the Mexican authorities. This was a bit of a delicate task, I might add, since I had to be very circumspect in letting them know exactly what I was looking for and what my interest in it was. Lest they recover the item or one purporting to be it and try to negotiate a new deal. Not to mention the arrival of the FBI to investigate the matter.”

  Von Dien waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t want to hear those details. Cut to chase.”

  “Of course, sir,” Zerbe said. “Accondras’s backpack was not listed in any of the accompanying property inventory sheets. I know this because I obtained copies of them, which I faxed to Mr. Fallotti.”

  The lawyer nodded.

  Zerbe waited a few seconds before continuing. “I also obtained copies of the personal property inventoried by the hospital for both James McNamara and Reno Garth. A backpack was listed as being on Garth’s property inventory list.”

  Von Dien’s eyes widened within their layers of fat.

  “Was the statue in it?” He sounded almost breathless.

  “It was only specified as con articulos,” Zerbe said. “Which literally means, with contents.”

  Von Dien made another huffing sound.

  Fallotti picked up the conversation. “I was then able to call in a couple of discreet favors from my connections in Customs. It seems McNamara listed a statue on his declaration form.”

  Von Dien’s face froze momentarily.

  “Was that it? The statue?”

  “If it isn’t,” Fallotti said. “It’s one hell of a coincidence.”

  Von Dien leaned forward, seeming to pant for breath. The bodyguard reached into a backpack, withdrew a small, unmarked bottle, and handed it to the rich man.

  He twisted off the top and took a quick sip then sat there staring blankly.

  Several seconds passed.

  “So they must know,” he said. “Accondras must have told them.”

  “I doubt that,” Zerbe said. “I was with them the whole time after they grabbed him. He talked a lot, trying to get us to let him go but never mentioned the artifact.

  “And you didn’t say anything either?” Von Dien’s tone was harsh.

  “How could I?” Zerbe said. “At that point, I had no idea what we were looking for.”

  “That was the way
we set the operation up, Dexter,” Fallotti said. “Remember?”

  “Shut up.” Von Dien took another sip from the bottle, retightened the cap, and handed it back to the bodyguard.

  Fallotti’s neck reddened, but he said nothing.

  “And where is this statue now?” Von Dien asked.

  No one spoke.

  Finally, Zerbe said, “It’s a good bet that Wolf and McNamara have it. They live together.”

  “Live together?” Von Dien’s face registered disgust. “Are they gay?”

  “No,” Zerbe said. “McNamara runs a bounty hunting service in Phoenix. Wolf’s his partner but the relationship’s more like a father and son. McNamara’s Wolf’s mentor from the military, so to speak.”

  “Wolf, Wolf, Wolf,” Von Dien said. “He’s the cause of all of this. Damn him. We’ll need someone formidable to deal with this Wolf person.”

  Cummins felt a slight relief at the big man’s rant.

  At least he’s focused on someone else, he thought. And not on me.

  And then he noticed Von Dien staring at him.

  “You’ve underestimated him time and time again,” Von Dien said. “First in Iraq, then with that prison fiasco, and then once more in Mexico.”

  “What can I say,” Cummins said. “The man’s a …”

  He was about to say marvel but stopped himself. Luckily, Zerbe took over.

  “He’s a meerdere vegter as we used to say in South Africa. A highly capable combatant.” He placed a cigarette from his pack between his lips but didn’t light it. “And if I may be so bold, I may know someone who can handle him.”

  Von Dien raised an eyebrow.

  Zerbe removed the still unlit cigarette and held it between his fingers.

  “Of course, I’ll have to make a call to see if he’s available.” He looked at his watch. “There’s a time zone difference.”

  Von Dien regarded him with hooded eyes. “He’s foreign?”

  “An Afrikaans,” Zerbe said. “South African. He’s used to working internationally, he’s discreet, and he has his own mercenary team. But …” Zerbe smiled. “He’s expensive. Very expensive.”

  Von Dien nodded. “Do it. Money is no object. Just find out if Wolf has that statue. And bring it to me.”