Devil's Fancy (Trackdown Book 2)

by Michael A. Black

  “You’re under arrest,” Wolf said.

  “What?” Willard said. “You’re fucking cops?”

  “Bail Enforcement Officers,” Yolanda said. “We’re better because we don’t have to advise you of your rights.”

  Wolf stood and pulled the lawyer to his feet, glancing back to check on Mac.

  He lay on the ground with Ms. Dolly kneeling beside him. Brenda had Lola out of the Toyota and bent over the hood, her small Taurus Spectrum pressed into the other woman’s ear.

  Wolf power walked Willard over to them, the lawyer spouting off a bunch of legal threats.

  “You’d best shut your mouth before I tear off your toupee and stuff it down your throat,” Wolf said. “And you better pray that my partner isn’t hurt.”

  This seemed to end the lawyer’s protestations.

  “You okay, Mac?” Wolf asked.

  McNamara’s face was creased with pain, but he nodded and said, “Just had the wind knocked outta me, is all.” He slowly rolled to his feet and when he stood emitted a gasp and lurched to the right.

  “Sugar, what’s wrong?” Ms. Dolly asked, moving her body against his to steady him.

  “Nothing,” McNamara said, smiling weakly. “I was just hoping you’d do that.”

  Ms. Dolly laughed, but it was plain to see that McNamara was in pain.

  “Let’s vamoose with our prisoner before the authorities get here and we have more explaining to do,” McNamara said. He looked at Wolf. “Stick old Willard in the back with me and you drive.” He limped to the Escalade, opened the rear door, and slid inside. Once on the rear seat, he slid over a bit and held his arms outward. “Come to papa, Willie boy. We ain’t gonna hurt you.”

  Wolf shoved the lawyer into the vehicle and opened the driver’s door. He looked to Ms. Dolly, who was going through Lola’s purse.

  “What are we going to do with her?” he asked.

  “Oh, we’re gonna to take her on a little ride and do some girl talk. Maybe get Yolanda one of those latte things she likes so much.” She grabbed a handful of Lola’s blonde hair and pulled. Her voice coarsened as she put her mouth next to the other woman’s ear. “Now listen, sweetie pie. Right now you’re facing a charge of harboring a fugitive and causin’ bodily injury to an officer, unless you can convince me otherwise.”

  “You hurt my boo daddy,” Yolanda said, her face contorting with a mean expression.

  “Pendeja,” Brenda said. “I should break your fingers, one at a time.”

  Lola looked terrified as Ms. Dolly and Brenda walked her back to the Cherokee and shoved her inside. Yolanda looked after them with a smile and then walked over to the still open driver’s door of the Escalade.

  “Looks like I’m the designated driver,” she said.

  “Enjoy your latte,” Wolf said. “Meet you at Manny’s.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I-94

  Near Kingman, Arizona

  “I gotta piss, I tell ya, for Christ’s sake,” Willard Krenshaw said from the back seat of the Escalade. Not only was he seat belted in but he was wearing a leather security belt, which had a metal loop in front to accommodate the securing handcuffs and leg irons to boot. Wolf had also slammed a loop of the shoulder restraint belt inside the rear door to prevent any further movement. “You want me to go all over the floor back here?”

  Yolanda was sitting in the front passenger seat next to Wolf and she said, “You’d better not. It runs under the seat and it messes up my new running shoes, I’ll make sure that any water that’s poured into you is going to be coming out red for a month.”

  Wolf glanced back at the lawyer and smirked. He’d always looked so smug and self-assured on TV, but up close Wolf noticed that the guy wore make-up and a toupee. And as garrulous as he’d been on the talk shows, spouting off about defending the innocent against injustice, he’d offered them a substantial bribe ranging from money to sexual favors if they’d let him go.

  This guy’s going to fit right in on the cellblock, Wolf thought. If the Mob lets him live that long.

  But Wolf figured the lawyer would most likely spill his guts to the feds now and agree to testify so he could live a life of comfort and ease in Witness Protection.

  “Come on, man.” Krenshaw said again. His once sonorous professional voice had degenerated to a whine now.

  They’d been on the road about three hours and it was close to midnight. The long day’s activities and the endless drive through the dessert-like terrain had worn Wolf down as well. In some ways, the scenery reminded him a bit of Iraq except this desert wasn’t really empty and endless. And here there were no hostiles out to kill him or blow him up with an I.E.D. should he venture down the wrong avenue. The freeway here was just that; free and clear. He knew they’d have to stop for gas pretty soon. The needle was dropping dangerously close to the bottom. Yet escorting a guy in handcuffs and leg irons into a gas station Men’s Room invited problems. The last thing they needed on this trek was to be stopped on the highway by some state troopers due to a call from a nervous or bored gas station clerk of a possible abduction. And there was also no guarantee that Krenshaw wouldn’t call out just to cause a problem in the hopes he could escape. It was standard prisoner transport precautions to be reasonable with a prisoner, but not to take unnecessary chances.

  A blue sign with white lettering appeared: REST STOP 25 MILES.

  That might be a solution to everyone’s problems, Wolf thought. This time of night it would be most likely be sparsely populated or hopefully, deserted. It would offer everyone a chance to stretch out a bit and maybe grab a snack from the vending machines. Then they could, hopefully, make it to the I-40 junction at Kingman, gas up, and finish the last leg to Vegas.

  Wolf wondered how Mac was doing back at the ranch. His ankle had ballooned up and although he’d insisted he was all right, Ms. Dolly had instructed him to stay home and keep it elevated.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie pie,” she’d said. “I won’t steal Stevie here away from you. Yet.”

  Wolf evaluated her job offer. Moving to Vegas had its appeal and from the looks of things, Ms. Dolly would be a dynamite boss. And he’d also be close to Yolanda. Plus, it would be a godsend to get away from Kasey and her constant bitching. He was a man caught in the middle, torn by his loyalty to his best friend and mentor and his urge to get a fresh start. But getting a fresh start was off the table until he helped Mac get solvent again and paid him back for giving a second chance to an ex-con he treated like the son he always wanted. And still, in the back of his mind, was the slim hope that he could one day somehow clear himself, but this seemed quixotic at best.

  “Come on, man,” Krenshaw repeated. “I can’t hold it anymore.”

  “Just stop and let him piss along the road,” Yolanda said. “I won’t look.”

  “Then he couldn’t wash his hands,” Wolf said with a grin. He picked up the radio and keyed the mic. “Ms. Dolly, you there?”

  “Sure enough, honey,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “Our pigeon’s got a PR problem,” he said.

  “Public relations?”

  “No, personal relief.”

  “Well, la-dee-da. You tell him to take a number?”

  “There’s a rest stop coming up in about ten or twelve minutes. Let’s stop.”

  “All right,” she said. “I could kinda go for that myself.”

  “Hold on for about ten more minutes, Willard,” Wolf said. “Rest stop coming up.”

  “About fucking time. I’m going to sue you all for the way you’ve treated me.”

  “Good luck with that,” Wolf said. “As the saying goes, I haven’t even got a pot to piss in.”

  He saw Krenshaw’s frown in the rearview mirror.

  “Actually, Yolanda said, “that last latte I had is weighing kind of heavily on me, too.”

  “Then we’re all in agreement,” Wolf said. “This next stop will make everybody happy.

  Near the McNamara Ranch

  Phoe
nix, Arizona

  They were in a dark van now, rented earlier by Zerbe and Luan, who were in front, as usual. The other three South African mercs sat in the very back, near the rear doors. Once again relegated to the back seat, Cummins sat and listened to the ongoing conversation in front of him.

  “Almost there,” the black South African, Amiri’s whispering voice said over the com unit. “No lights inside.”

  Preetorius had set the volume so high that it came through with the clarity of a speaker. He’d also told the black guy to speak in English, not Afrikaans, just in case the transmission of their com was somehow intercepted.

  Smart move, Cummins thought. And it also allows me to stay in the loop.

  They were perhaps a hundred yards away on the access road. With Wolf and McNamara gone to Vegas to drop off that arrest, they should have a good chance to find and recover the statue of the bandito in McNamara’s house. Then his two men following the Escalade could eliminate the troublesome pair and their companions by making it look like a mob hit on the lawyer in their custody. Cummins had to admit that Zerbe’s plan did seem pretty ingenious. But it was also precipitous. Everything was dependent on Amiri finding the bandito and getting out. And then the three South Africans following Wolf on the freeway would have to be able to take him out. Preetorius assured them that this would not be a problem.

  “I’m sending Bash and Gerhardus and Ryband,” he said. “They’re more than capable of taking out a couple of American moffie.”

  Cummins didn’t know what that word meant, nor did he care to ask. He was just grateful that the two of them had been conversing in English for the most part since he’d requested it. But he also felt that if they both started talking back in Afrikaans, it might be time to worry. It could mean he was going to be edged out.

  “Don’t forget they want that lawyer here in Phoenix taken care of, too,” Cummins said. “Shemp.”

  “That should be easy enough,” Zerbe said. “He didn’t look too formidable.”

  Luan’s cell phone rang and he answered it, once again speaking in his native language. Cummins assumed it was the two on the road.

  “Waar?” he said, then turned to speak to Zerbe. The other man cocked his thumb back toward Cummins and Preetorius switched to English.

  “They have pulled off into a rest stop,” he said. “It’s just south of a city called Kingman. It looks deserted. A good place to make the kill.”

  “We need to make sure we have the bandito statue before we do that,” Cummins said. “Maybe they can just take them hostage until we’re sure.”

  “Where are your men exactly?”

  Preetorius spoke again and then said, “They’re sitting on the entrance ramp to the rest stop, blacked out. No one else is there at the moment except for a truck on the other side of the place.”

  “Tell them to make their move,” Zerbe said. “But to do it discreetly. And hold off on killing anyone until we give the order.”

  Preetorius spoke in Afrikaans again and placed the phone against his chest.

  “And where’s your other man at?” Cummins asked. “The one doing the burglary?”

  Preetorius keyed the mic on his com and asked, “Status?”

  “I’m inside,” Amiri’s voice said over the com speaker. “And I think I see it on the mantel.”

  “Confirm and advise,” Preetorius said, then put the phone to his mouth and said something else in Afrikaans.

  “What did he say?” Cummins asked.

  Zerbe turned to him and smiled. “He said, prepare to terminate the subjects on my command.”

  Cummins nodded, suddenly feeling his stomach begin to roil again.

  It was almost over, at least for this part. He hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be a whole new set of problems for him.

  Rest Stop

  Near Kingman, Arizona

  Wolf watched the three women rush on ahead of him into the rest stop structure as he walked Krenshaw up the cement walk. The building was brick and shaped like a long hallway with entrances at both ends. The far one opened out into the truck section, whereas the one they went through was on the car side. Rows of vending machines lined the walls along with a section of maps and tour books. What they could be advertising in this rather bleak desert terrain area made Wolf wonder. There was also a big sign at the entrance advising that this building was under video surveillance, which made Wolf doubly glad he’d removed the leg irons from Krenshaw and covered his handcuffed arms with the towel from the Coral Reef Motel.

  Wolf pulled open the entrance door and motioned for Krenshaw to go in. He saw another vehicle, a dark-colored Ford van, pull up next to Ms. Dolly’s Cherokee and three guys got out.

  Big guys, Wolf thought, suddenly feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

  It wasn’t that uncommon for three men to be in a vehicle together, but adding into the equation were the factors of this being a very remote location practically in the middle of nowhere and it was closing in on midnight. Not only that, but they seemed to be fiddling with something on their heads.

  Stocking caps?

  Who the hell would wear a stocking cap in the middle of the Mojave?

  He took out his radio and pressed the button to key the mic as unobtrusively as he could.

  “Ms. Dolly,” he said. “We have three males coming in here and they may not have good intentions.”

  Krenshaw’s head swiveled around. “What? Where?”

  “Armed?” Ms. Dolly asked.

  “Unknown,” Wolf said, and angled Krenshaw into the corner by the display of maps and tour magazines.

  Outside, the three men were barely visible through the glass from the inside, but Wolf saw one of the trio angle off toward the side of the building.

  He’s going to flank us, he thought.

  Near the McNamara Ranch

  Phoenix, Arizona

  “I’m inside,” Amiri’s voice said over the com. It was obviously in sotto voce, but came through with crystal clarity.

  “In and out,” Preetorius said. “You know what you’re looking for.”

  “Roger.”

  Cummins could feel the pressure building in his stomach again. He didn’t want to have to scramble out of the car to puke, but neither did he want the vomit to explode all over the inside of the car.

  I’ve got to keep control, he thought. He’s inside the house. Now it’s just a matter of him finding that damn statue.

  Another whispered transmission: “I think I see it.”

  “See?” Preetorius said, smiling. “Did I not tell you that this would go down easily?”

  “We’re not out of the woods yet, Luan,” Zerbe said. “Ask him if he’s sure.”

  Preetorius held up his hand. “He will advise.”

  “Ask him, dammit,” Zerbe said.

  Preetorius glared at him. Even in the dim, moonlit interior of the van, Cummins could see that the leader of the Lion Team did not like to be rushed or questioned. He still held the cell phone which had an open connection with the other three mercs tailing Wolf and McNamara and the three women.

  Then another transmission came, this one sounding like a regular conversational tone.

  “Yes, I’ve got it,” Amiri said.

  “Good,” Preetorius said. “Now set fire to the place to cover your tracks.”

  “No,” Zerbe said. “Not until we verify that it’s the right statue.”

  “How many could there be?” Preetorius said. He was obviously irritated.

  “We can’t afford to take the chance,” Zerbe said.

  Preetorius heaved a sigh and pressed the key on his mic.

  “Delay that last command,” he said. “Bring us the statue immediately.”

  “Roger.”

  Preetorius turned to Cummins. “May I at least tell Ryband, Bash, and Gerhardus to proceed with their strike?”

  Zerbe nodded. “Tell them to abduct, but not to kill until we’ve verified the authenticity.”

  Preetorius snort
ed in apparent disgust and spoke into his phone: “Take them.”

  Rest Stop

  Near Kingman, Arizona

  “Oh, shit, shit, shit,” Krenshaw said. “It’s gotta be the Bellotti’s. Those dago fuckers musta put a hit out on me. We gotta run.”

  “We’ll never outrun them,” Wolf said, picking up a magazine. “Besides, one of them just went to cover the other end of the building.”

  “Fuck, what are we gonna do?”

  “Stay calm for the moment,” Wolf said. “And do exactly what I tell you.”

  A stream of urine began to flood from Krenshaw’s pantleg and puddle on the floor.

  Two figures were partially silhouetted just outside the entrance doors. The door at the other end burst open and a man wearing a ski mask pushed through. He had a wicked-looking semi-automatic in his right hand, holding it in a Weaver stance.

  A gunshot exploded in the building confines, and Wolf pushed Krenshaw toward the open entranceway to the Men’s Room as the mounted camera exploded over their heads.

  Shock and awe, Wolf thought, and regretted that he hadn’t taken Mac up on his offer to loan him a weapon. Now he was totally dependent on the P-Patrol and hoped they were as good as their reputation. He also wondered how many actual fire fights they’d been in. He rammed Krenshaw into the wall and then twisted and threw him under the line of wall sinks. Whirling, he searched for anything he might use as a weapon. A three-foot-high metal trash receptacle stood by a paper towel dispenser. Wolf grabbed it and lifted the white outside covering from the metal base, then kicked that on its side. The circular receptacle rolled toward the opening just as one of the masked men rushed through the door, a big Glock extended out in front of him. He kicked the can out of his way, but suddenly slipped in the trail of urine that Krenshaw had left.

  Wolf wasted no time in swinging the hollow metal tube like a baseball bat into the intruder’s outstretched hands.