Devil's Fancy (Trackdown Book 2)

by Michael A. Black

  Franker shrugged and scratched his ear. “That depends.”

  “Depends?” Reno’s brow furrowed. “What you mean?”

  “It depends on how you got the capital,” Franker said. “And if it was done by legitimate means.”

  Reno’s mouth gaped and he stared at the FBI man, not saying anything.

  “Reno, don’t pay any attention to these guys,” McNamara said. “They’re just trying to rattle you. That’s the way they work. Intimidation and threats. They’re a disgrace to the government.”

  “Would you like us to look into your finances, too, Mr. McNamara?” Turner asked.

  McNamara turned toward the man. “You’re gonna do whatever the hell you want to do, but just make sure you do it legally, and not try to trump up something like you did against General Mike Flynn.”

  The two FBI men exchanged glances.

  “What are you doing here anyway?” Reno said. “If you’re looking to buy a membership, our club’s closed.”

  “Actually, the Bureau’s gym is a lot cleaner,” Franker said, the cocky smile still gracing his lips. “We just stopped by today to see if your memory’s improved at all.”

  “Imagine our surprise,” Turner said, “when we happened to see all three of the principals in the Mexican murder investigation all together, snug as three bugs in a rug.”

  “Bugs?” Reno said. “You calling me a bug?”

  “Easy, big guy,” Wolf said, stepping forward. “You don’t have to talk to these guys. You’ve already given them your statement.”

  “Ah,” Turner said. “The jailhouse lawyer speaks.”

  “I think it’s time for you two to leave,” Wolf said.

  “Go find a legitimate case to work,” McNamara added.

  “We’ve got a legitimate case, all right,” Franker said. “And we’re working it right now.”

  “Then work it someplace else,” Reno said. “I already told you I don’t remember shit.”

  “Don’t you want to get to the bottom of who killed your buddy, Preen?” Turner said.

  “Maybe he already knows,” Franker said. “How about that, Mr. McNamara? You know who killed him?”

  McNamara started to talk but Wolf grabbed his arm.

  “None of us are talking to you without a lawyer present,” he said.

  The two feds exchanged another mutual glance and smiled.

  “Why’s that?” Franker said. “You three got something to hide?”

  “That’s on the advice of our attorneys,” Wolf said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

  He grabbed both Reno and McNamara and steered them both toward the locker room.

  “Barbie,” Reno called out over his shoulder. “Start recording them two guys. I asked them to leave and they’re disrupting the business. I’m gonna call my brother.”

  “Lieutenant Garth of the Phoenix PD?” Franker said, the Cheshire cat smile still locked in place. “I think we’ve worked a few cases with him.”

  Barbie came running over holding her smartphone out in front of her.

  Franker raised his hands and said, “Sorry to hear you’re refusing to cooperate with the FBI, Misters Garth, McNamara, and Wolf. We’ll be back, if and when we get those subpoenas for that Federal Grand Jury.”

  “If and when you get them,” McNamara said, “you know where to find us. In the meantime, quit harassing us innocent victims and go find some real criminals to arrest.”

  The two feds exchanged one more mutual glance, smiling as if they were sharing a private joke, and headed for the door.

  Adjacent Strip Mall

  Phoenix, Arizona

  “Shit,” Cummins said. “Are those guys feds?”

  Zerbe manipulated the twin joysticks and the visual display on the monitor became clearer.

  “U.S. Government license plates,” he said. “I’d say that would be a fair assumption.”

  “Shit,” Cummins said again. “This complicates things.”

  Zerbe was silent, watching the monitor and manipulating the drone.

  “Did you fucking hear me?” Cummins said.

  “I did,” Zerbe said. “Makes sense. There were several Americans killed on foreign soil. That makes it a case for the FBI.” He manipulated the joystick a bit more. “Looks like they’re coming back out now. I’d better get this up higher so they don’t hear it.”

  “Do you realize what this might mean?”

  Zerbe frowned, obviously irritated at having his piloting concentration distracted.

  “It doesn’t mean shit,” he said. “As long as we keep our heads and get in and out quick.”

  “In and out quick? You think they aren’t going to be suspicious if some South African goon squad busts in and kills a bunch of people? We need to keep our eye on the ball, which in this case is the statue.”

  “Don’t tell me how to do my job,” Zerbe said.

  “I’m not.” Cummins felt a momentary surge of panic. “But we should call for instructions.”

  “Call whoever you fucking want,” Zerbe said. “Just quit bothering me while I’m flying.”

  Flying, Cummins thought. As if he’s a real pilot. What an idiot.

  “Okay,” Zerbe said. “The federal boys are leaving. I’m going to bring the drone back and then we’re going to sneak up and put a GPS tracker on McNamara’s SUV.”

  “Huh?” Cummins felt the roiling in his stomach begin. “Are you crazy. What if they see you?”

  “It’ll allow us to keep track of and locate them. We can’t keep flying the drone round the clock. The batteries won’t last.” Zerbe looked askance. “I thought you had a background in Military Intelligence. You should know the value of gathering intel.”

  “This is too dangerous,” Cummins said. It was all he could do to keep the contents of his stomach down. “I want no part of it.”

  Zerbe turned and looked at him. “Listen to me, you …” He stopped talking and compressed his lips. “We’ve both got a lot on the line here. Like I told you before, it’s do or die. Failure is not an option. But if we do this right, we’ll both be rich.”

  Cummins tried to swallow as best he could, then nodded.

  The drone came swooping in and Zerbe went back to the controls and completed a safe landing. “Now as soon as we break down here, we’re going to drive over to that parking lot. If the Escalade’s still parked where it was, you’re going to stop right behind it. I’ll be in and out of the car in a flash and we’ll plant the GPS. Understand?”

  Cummins nodded.

  Zerbe got out and retrieved the drone, which he’d managed to land only a few feet away.

  Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad, Cummins thought. After all, Zerbe was the one getting out of the car and even though both Wolf and McNamara knew him, he had changed his appearance a bit.

  And he can move a little faster than I can, Cummins added mentally.

  Zerbe placed the drone in the back of the Lexus, dug around in the black nylon backpack that had all his electronic stuff, and then got back into the passenger side.

  “Let’s go,” he said, holding up a small, rectangular object about the size of a half-eaten donut.

  The thought of food made Cummins’s stomach curdle again and he placed a hand on his substantial belly for reassurance. The PI’s noticeable body odor made this even more difficult.

  “Let’s go, dammit,” Zerbe said with a wry grin. “And try not to puke.”

  Cummins was starting to sweat again. But Zerbe was right. The FBI had to be investigating that incident in Mexico, and both of them had been involved in that one up to their necks. Moreover, Wolf knew they were involved. He’d seen them in the departing helicopter. So if he started singing to the feds, it wouldn’t be long before they’d come knocking, and Fallotti and Von Dien weren’t about to take the chance of putting themselves in the federal crosshairs.

  Cummins tried to swallow, but his throat felt dry … Extra dry.

  They’ll eliminate me for sure, he thought. I’ll be another loo
se end to them. Zerbe most likely will be, too. If this thing snowballs and the feds get involved, they’re not going to want to take the chance on any of it leading back to them.

  This made his escape plan even more imperative.

  But what about Zerbe? Maybe it was time for the two of them to start considering a bailout plan that could leave both of them financially set. The question was, could Zerbe be trusted as an ally?

  Cummins trusted the sleazy PI about as far as he could throw him. And for all he knew, Von Dien might have told him already to take care of all the loose ends, including Cummins, the permanent way. And with the squad of his South African buddy-boys arriving he’ll be at a distinct tactical disadvantage.

  He didn’t even want to think about those jokers right now. He couldn’t afford to.

  But one thing he did know, he had to get himself a gun and be ready to use it discreetly when the time came.

  Mixed Martial Arts Fighting Academy

  Phoenix, Arizona

  Wolf took a quick “combat shower” and was dressed inside of ten minutes. After packing all his gear into his ditty bag, he walked up to the front office to look for Mac and Reno. He found them in Reno’s office. Reno looked nervous sitting behind his desk, and McNamara sat beside him, leaning close and talking in a low voice.

  “That’s the way those bastards work, I’m telling ya,” McNamara said. “They come in threatening you and making it seem like they’re gonna haul you in on some kind of bullshit charge.”

  “A Federal Grand Jury ain’t no bullshit,” Reno said.

  McNamara brought his hand up and massaged his temples.

  “It’s just a damn smoke screen,” Wolf said, entering the office and closing the door behind him. He dropped his ditty bag on the floor and pulled up a chair in front of Reno’s desk. “If they had anything solid, they’d be giving us subpoenas or reading us our rights.”

  “Shit,” Reno said, frowning. “That makes me feel a lot better.”

  “It’s true,” Wolf said. “Look, we were all down there to make an apprehension. Technically, we were acting without any lawful authority on foreign soil. We took Accondras into custody with the intention of bringing him back here to face charges. Then he was taken from us and we were held as prisoners and about to be executed. We defended ourselves. What choice did we have?”

  “Maybe we should just tell them that then,” Reno said.

  “No.” McNamara’s voice was loud and firm. “That’d send us all to prison, Mexican style.”

  “But if it was self-defense—”

  “Self-defense don’t mean shit down south of the border,” McNamara said. “And up here we’d be charged with lying to the FBI. Not to mention then maybe having to go down to Mexico to prove our innocence. You got that kind of time and money? ’Cause I sure as hell don’t.”

  Reno sat in silence, staring at the floor.

  “Those bastards killed Herc,” he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

  “Yeah, and we killed the ones that did it,” Wolf said. He made sure to include the “we” in that statement even though he’d done the killing. “It doesn’t alter the facts. And Mac’s right. We’ve already given our statements to the FBI. If we change those now, we’re dead meat.”

  Reno pursed his lips.

  “How much of all this did you tell your lawyer?” McNamara asked.

  “Just what you told me to say, Mac.” His voice sounded strained. “You drilled it into me when we were driving. I was shot, remember?”

  “Yeah,” McNamara said. “I was, too. Now what did you tell your lawyer?”

  Reno heaved a sigh. “I told him we went down to Mexico, me and Herc, to have some fun. Then I said we met up with you in Cancun,” He nodded at McNamara, “and went out looking for some pussy. Our driver took us to the rough side of town and some dudes jumped us and shot us to pieces. I told him I didn’t remember nothing else.”

  “That’s a good story,” Wolf said, thinking that they’d told Shemp practically the whole shebang, leaving out the part about Wolf tidying things up at the Mayan ruins. But if you couldn’t trust your lawyer and attorney-client privilege, whom could you trust? “Stick to it, and you’ll be all right.”

  “We all will be,” McNamara said.

  Reno slowly nodded. “I guess you’re right. Plus, you guys saved my life. I owe you.”

  Wolf and McNamara looked at each other and Mac gave a fractional nod and a quick wink.

  Wolf felt like he was trying to hold a shaky engine together with duct tape and baling wire.

  He glanced at his watch.

  Thirteen-fifteen. That gave them about forty-five minutes to get to the airport, park, and pick up Ms. Dolly and the P-Patrol. And Mac had mentioned something about wanting to pick up some flowers.

  McNamara must have seen him checking the time and he checked his watch also, then stood. He laid a hand on Reno’s shoulder and spoke in a low, soothing voice.

  “Reno, don’t let this stress you out none. When our backs were against the wall we did what we had to do, and came through it as brothers, stronger than we were before. It’ll be all right.”

  Wolf knew he’d caught what must have been a phantom-glimpse of Command Sergeant Major James McNamara, Special Forces, counseling one of his troops in the field and helping him through a particularly rough patch. He thought back to his own military days in the Sandbox and the ’Stan.

  Leadership … the art of leading and directing men to accomplish the mission. Mac was a master at it.

  Adjacent Strip Mall

  Phoenix, Arizona

  Cummins took several long steps away from the side of the car, leaned over, and puked onto the hot asphalt. His nervous stomach had done it to him again. It was so damn hot that the stench seemed to rise up toward him from the puddle and he wondered if was simultaneously evaporating. God, he hated this desert climate. It reminded him too much of his brief stint in Iraq, even though he’d tried to remain inside the comfort of the air-conditioned structures when he was there, leaving it to the grunts like Wolf to stand guard outside the walls.

  His thoughts returned to Wolf, which always made his stomach even more queasy, so he did his best to cast them out of his mind. Plus, he had to get back into the car to hear at least part of what Zerbe was saying. The phone call had proved both irritating and disconcerting.

  After Cummins had called Fallotti and reported the sighting of the feds, the son of a bitch had gone silent for about thirty seconds, then said, “Put Zerbe on the phone.”

  Zerbe … Did they trust this sleazy PI more than they did him?

  Christ, the guy probably wasn’t even an American citizen. Cummins recalled his quarantine in upstate New York. It had been Zerbe who’d picked him up from the isolated cabin and brought him to see Fallotti and Von Dien. Had Zerbe been in isolation after their return from Mexico as well? That didn’t seem likely, although he had expressed surprise when Fallotti let it slip that both of their debrief sessions had been recorded. With the stuff on those things, there’d be enough to ensure absolute loyalty.

  Or absolute obedience.

  Put Zerbe on the phone …

  It was tantamount to a dismissal and a not so subtle reminder as to who was in charge here. Cummins wondered why he’d been included in the first place, and then it dawned on him. He was the only one who’d seen the other half of the actual artifact, and thus had a good grasp of what this other one might look like. He’d been cast in the role of authenticator.

  But once that was done, once they obtained possession of it, would he become as expendable as the plaster bandito shell that housed the damn thing? So was Fallotti now telling Zerbe to eliminate another expendable loose end?

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, stepped around the puddle of vomit, and got back into the car, struggling to fit himself behind the wheel.

  Zerbe was still in the passenger seat and on the phone, nodding and emitted a series of monosyllabic grunts.

  �
�Yeah … yeah … I know … okay …” he cradled the phone between his shoulder and jaw and fished out a cigarette.

  “Lemme talk to him.” Cummins said. The sour taste of the regurgitation was still in his mouth and he imagined his breath was just as foul, but he didn’t care at this point. He reached for the phone.

  Zerbe leaned away from him, still muttering one-word replies. He was obviously getting instructions about something.

  I wonder if they’re talking about me? Cummins thought.

  Zerbe lit the cigarette and a cloud of smoke filled the interior of the vehicle.

  Cummins wanted to rip the damn phone away or at least tell him to put it on speaker.

  Before he could utter another word, Zerbe mumbled a quick, “Yeah, will do,” punctuated with, “Goodbye.” He terminated the call, looked at Cummins, and canted his head, blowing twins plumes of smoke out of his nostrils.

  “They’re none too pleased,” Zerbe said. “But I guess you already knew that.”

  “Why didn’t you let me talk to them?”

  Zerbe shrugged. “They didn’t want to stay on the line too long.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  “I hope they’re not trying to blame us,” Cummins said, making sure that he used the plural personal pronoun to designate both him and Zerbe. “It isn’t our fault.”

  “I explained that.”

  “What else did he say?”

  Zerbe’s profile was framed with a halo of smoke. “That he wants us to proceed with the utmost caution.”

  “That means we can’t have your South African Musketeers acting like storm troopers,” Cummins said.

  “Admittedly. But he also wants us to use burner phones from here on out.”

  “Burner phones?” Cummins tried to figure out Fallotti’s reasoning for this.

  “Yeah. A sensible precaution for all of us.”

  And a way for Fallotti and Von Dien to start distancing themselves, should this operation go badly ... Or perhaps in anticipation of tying up all of the loose ends … Perhaps it was time to talk to Zerbe about an alliance.