The Collector

by R. Allen Chappell

  Charlie thought Surely Fred doesn’t intend this guy to be in on this…regardless of past training. He shot Billy Red Clay a glance and saw him wink back without expression.

  Senior Agent Smith assured the hotel man they would attempt to keep the operation as low key as possible. He made it clear his old friend was to stay in the office and monitor the arrest on camera. Only in the event something should go seriously wrong should he call for assistance. “Craig we don’t anticipate anything we can’t handle,” Fred assured him.

  The manger, looking somewhat disappointed at not being included in the actual takedown, nonetheless, agreed. He pointed to yet another monitor and pulled up a photo of their suspect taken from the desk security camera the day before. “This is your guy.”

  They gathered around, and Charlie was surprised to hear Fred Smith suck in his breath and go wide-eyed at the sight of the image. “That’s Archie Blumker! He showed up in the Vermeer Foundation report, and was on a ‘person of interest’ watch list from Albuquerque this morning. I had no idea he was in the area.” For a moment the Federal Agent seemed deep in thought…then pointed at the screen. “When did he check in?”

  “Not until a day or so after the Johnson murder…I took the liberty of checking his rental’s paperwork he hadn’t even left Albuquerque until after the killing.” He knew what the FBI man was thinking.

  Fred was about to reply when Billy Red Clay reached across to point at the screen monitoring the third floor hall. The elevator up-arrow lighted and as the door opened all four men watched as an elderly man with a cane haltingly made his way off the elevator, then looking neither left nor right, tottered down the hallway.

  “Who’s that?”

  Benson answered immediately, “Just a guest, he checked in shortly after our guy.”

  The Federal Agent nodded, immediately dismissing the old man. “Let’s not get in a rush, we’ll give the old fellow time to get to his room.” Fred timed the sequence in his mind. Billy, if you’ll take the east stairwell…and Charlie, you take the west. I’ll go up on the elevator, disabling it as I get off. We should have him boxed in at that point.” He turned to the manager. “I’ll need the key to the control panel and a master room key.”

  “I was pretty sure you would,” Craig pulled both keys from his pocket and handed them over.

  The FBI Agent shook the keys as he turned to Charlie. “I’ll give you men five minutes, exactly, to find your places. Billy’s in uniform and you, Charlie, may as well be. You’ll want to stay inside your stairwell doors until you see me step off the elevator. No need alerting him in advance.”

  Billy Red Clay, checking his service revolver, nodded to Charlie and the two left for the third floor.

  Fred watched them go with an air of confidence. Marking the time, he and the manager continued watching the painfully slow progress of the old gentleman in 306, now almost to his room. After checking both ways down the hall, Fred watched frustrated as the man fumbled with his keys. Dammit! He appeared to be having trouble seeing in the dimly lit hallway. Finally sorting things out he was able to let himself in.

  “How many other guests are on the third floor?” Fred’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  The hotel manager didn’t hesitate. “There are none— the storm pretty much shut us down last night. Only Blumker...if that’s his name…and that older gentleman in 306, are left up there.”

  “Good.” Fred turned his attention back to the monitor and surveyed the now empty hallway. They waited another minute or so and then, looking at his watch, the agent turned to the door with a last pointed look at his friend. “Craig, it’s important you stay here you know…continue your surveillance.”

  “You can count on it, Fred.”

  The Agent was counting on it; should things go south this man would be their only backup.

  ~~~~~~

  Charlie Yazzie arrived first at the west stairwell. Out of breath and edgy, he moved to the small glass looking out onto the hall. Carefully peeking at the edge of the portal, he could see to the far end. Billy Red Clay either had not yet arrived or was keeping out of sight. Billy had the longer distance to go and Charlie figured it would take him a little more time. Turning his attention to the elevator, he watched the lighted up-arrow ticking off floors. At number three, it stopped but the door didn’t open. Charlie decided Fred was having trouble disabling it…maybe there was a problem with the key… He pulled his .38 and looked again to the other end of the hall where he now saw Billy behind his window palms up in question. As the elevator finally opened Fred stepped out, weapon already drawn.

  Gunfire immediately erupted from room 306 and the FBI man was hit twice in quick succession. Charlie first thought it was Fred opening fire, and was already out the door to cover him when he saw the agent stumble and fall backwards.

  Billy Red Clay was instantly on the shooter. He got off a wild shot and in return he also took two rounds—one to the shoulder that spun him aside and left him slumped against the wall. The second bullet grazed the side of his head dropping him to the floor.

  Charlie saw now where the shots were coming from, and diving for the floor came up firing, emptying his revolver at the half-open door of 306. A bullet instantly slammed into the wall beside him and another clipped his left hand. Charlie crouched and fumbled to reload as blood made the revolver slippery, making it difficult to eject the empties.

  The old man in 306 stepped out into the hall, an automatic pistol in each hand. He took dead aim at Charlie Yazzie.

  Instinctively the Investigator threw up his bleeding left hand in a futile effort to ward off what was coming. Momentarily paralyzed with pain he squinted between his fingers only to see the shooter blink and with a surprised gasp, sag back against the door. Charlie hadn’t heard the shots but saw the two holes appear in the old man’s shirtfront. Blood spurted and ran down his chest and he lowered his head, to watch in disbelief as the floor pooled with blood. Making a last desperate effort to raise his pistol the man flinched as a third and killing round struck. Sighing, the operative looked up to gaze into Archie Blumker’s eyes.

  Without lowering the silencer-equipped automatic Archie nodded a final salute before swinging his own gun on Charlie Yazzie.

  Still frozen in place and defenseless, the Navajo Investigator could only stare back thinking, So this is Archie Blumker…then this is it...

  Shaking his head slightly as he looked at Charlie, Archie appeared unable to decide if killing him was worth the trouble. “Scoot that pea-shooter over my way, if you don’t mind, Cowboy.”

  Charlie, now on one knee, glanced in desperation at the few bloody cartridges he’d dropped while attempting to reload.

  Archie shook his head more forcefully. “Don’t even think about it…there’s not a chance in hell that’s going to happen.” There was a deathly silence. “Of course, I may decide to shoot you anyway…that’s something you may want to factor in.”

  Charlie sent the empty .38 skidding away and rose painfully to his feet, automatically putting his hands above his head. Blood streamed unnoticed down his left arm. “All right…”

  “A wise decision.” Archie smiled as he picked up the gun, studied it a moment, and then stuck it in his waistband. As he came even with him, he motioned the Investigator back against the wall. “You’d best see to your friends now—one, I think may be hit pretty bad.” Archie cocked a thumb back over his shoulder and said, “That dead man over there would have killed you all, you know. He was an excellent shot…” Archie then walked past him to the stairwell and without turning, was gone.

  ~~~~~~

  Charlie already had pillows under his friend’s heads, when the hotel manager rushed in with washcloths and towels to staunch the flow of blood. It was no more than ten or twelve minutes later that Charlie heard the sirens coming.

  Though Billy was still out, Charlie could see his wounds looked worse than they probably were and he was able to concentrate on Fred Smith.

  The FBI man w
as conscious. He had lost a lot of blood yet still was able to speak in an audible whisper. “I didn’t think it would come to this… I had no idea what we were up against. Or, that there would be two of them… It was a bad call.” His voice broke as he turned his face away and fell silent.

  Charlie could see the agent was fading fast, probably already going into shock. While he knew the injured man probably couldn’t hear him, he nonetheless, whispered, “It wouldn’t have mattered, Fred. We weren’t up to either one of these two…they were way out of our class.”

  The hotel manager placed cold towels on Billy Red Clay’s forehead. The young Navajo cop began to moan quietly and Charlie watched as his eyes fluttered open for a moment.

  The manager went down to explain the situation to the arriving city officers. He’d seen most of what happened for himself and was pretty sure his recording machine would have most of it on tape.

  Charlie had wrapped a small towel around his hand and was still trying to help the others when the Ambulance crews arrived. Charlie told him the FBI agent was the more critical of the two. The head EMT, hooked Fred up to an IV while instructing another to take his vitals. All this, before the Federal Agent was even on the stretcher.

  When Charlie asked how they thought Fred was doing the Medic shook his head. “I don’t know what’s holding him up, Bub. He’s about bled out—I’m afraid to give him anything for the pain...” By the time they loaded Fred into the ambulance he was unconscious.

  As the second crew worked on Billy Red Clay, the young cop began coming around—he asked Charlie if Fred was going to make it, but the Investigator could only shake his head, too choked up to say more.

  26

  Survivors

  Carla hung up the phone and went to the door. Glancing through the peephole, she unlatched the safety chain and let Archie in.

  “We have somewhat of a problem.” The ex-cop didn’t raise his voice or sound the least worried. Archie had snatched the small “ditch-bag” from his truck and now set it on the chair beside him. Other than that, it was just the clothes on his back and a good memory for coded account numbers.

  Carla nodded. “I thought there might be a problem. I’ve been watching a ‘Breaking News’ bulletin on T.V. There’s a video clip of your motel…surrounded by cops. It didn’t me take long to figure out what that was about.” She pursed her lips. “How bad was it?”

  Reflecting on this for a moment he murmured, “I’m afraid your Senior Agent took a bad hit, and there were two others with lesser injuries: a Tribal cop, and another Navajo with a badge on his belt. I still can’t figure out how they came to be involved?” He took a deep breath. “The good news is, no more worries about the operative who took out the Johnsons.” Archie looked at the little refrigerator in the corner. “You wouldn’t have anything to drink, would you? I could use a kicker about now.”

  Carla went to the fridge and came back with two miniature airline bottles. “This is it, I’m afraid,” She poured them into separate glasses and passed one to Archie. “Who were the two Indians?” she asked, swirling her scotch dangerously close to the rim.

  “I didn’t have a chance to ask,” Archie smiled, “but their little war party probably saved my ass. They took the brunt of the action before I knew what was happening—good thing too—a few minutes more and I’d have been walking straight into it. The bastard was waiting for me. He and I had the same idea at the same time.” He mulled this over… “The man was as good as I’ve ever seen. If he hadn’t been distracted, I believe he might well have killed me.” He lifted his glass in a quasi-toast and murmured, “He was no quitter…that’s for damn sure.”

  Carla, too, was thinking… “When I called in to the office for my messages this morning, there was no mention of anything like this in the works.”

  “Ah, well, that explains why you didn’t give me a heads-up this morning.” Archie tried not to grin. “You don’t suppose they’re on to you…do you?”

  “That’s a real possibility,” she smiled. Looking up she swallowed the scotch and sat her empty glass by the newspaper. “Fred knew he had a leak, and almost certainly suspected me. He couldn’t have known for sure—but I think it had been working on him for a while.” Carla toyed with the edge of the newspaper. “That young cop that got shot was most likely Billy Red Clay. He’s the Liaison Officer to the Bureau. The older one, I would guess, was Charlie Yazzie. I mentioned him once before if you’ll remember; he’s a Legal Services Investigator for the tribe. Agent Smith liked and trusted him.” She nodded as though thinking. “Charlie carries a stainless .38 with turquoise set grips!”

  Archie reached inside his jacket and placed the Tribal Investigator’s Smith & Wesson on the table. “Like this?” he chuckled. “We’ll leave it here for him; I imagine he’ll want it back.”

  Carla looked at the revolver, noticed the dried blood, and ran a finger over the turquoise. “He got hit, did he?”

  “He was lucky. He might lose a finger, or maybe even two, but that’s about it. I probably should have finished him, but was feeling a little obligated, I guess, you know, for them taking the heavy end.” Archie was smiling now. “The shooter was most likely headed my way when they surprised him.”

  “I didn’t figure you for a sentimentalist?”

  “No? Well, maybe I’m mellowing in my old age…should I take Percy up on his retirement plan?”

  Carla turned to the window, surveying the freshly plowed yet nearly deserted street. She said over her shoulder, “Archie, I’m not sure you understand the sort of retirement plan Percy has in mind for you at this point?”

  “Really? The two of you have already discussed my retirement?” He still was smiling but only with his lips.

  Turning to him she placed both hands on the table. “Yes, we did…only a few minutes ago, as a matter of fact. We were on the phone when you knocked.” Carla slipped her little FN automatic from under the newspaper and pointing it directly at him she too smiled and took a deep breath before saying, “What do you think Archie… Are you ready to retire?”

  For an instant, his drink halfway to his mouth, he considered throwing the heavy glass, but instead calmly finished it off and set the glass on the table. Turning back to the television news story he watched the motel manager, in the parking lot by his pickup—the man, obviously enjoying the attention, was gesturing toward the upper floor of the building, pointing out the fugitive’s window.

  Archie said over his shoulder, “You’re not going to shoot me, Carla.” He smiled as he watched the manager raise a hand to indicate how tall the killer was.

  “What makes you so sure, Archie, what makes you so sure I won’t shoot you?” She smiled, “You don’t think I’m a company girl?”

  Archie turned to her with a grin. “If you were going to shoot me, Carla, you wouldn’t be standing there talking about it. And though you may well be a company girl… I still haven’t figured out whose company…have you?”

  Carla ran her tongue across her upper lip, looked down at the gun in her hand and eased her finger off the trigger before lowering it. “So, what exactly do you think should be done, Archie, you know too much about Percy, the foundation…and me, to let you just walk away.”

  Archie exhaled slowly and shook his head. “Well, the sorry fact is, by tomorrow morning it won’t really matter. Everything connected to Percy Vermeer, and that includes us, will be front-page news. With an FBI Agent shot down in cold blood…whether he dies or not…the Feds won’t let up. The entire thing will come down now no matter how much money Percy throws at it… It’s all coming down. You and I both know that. At this point, I would suggest the two of us are in the same boat.”

  “So, what are our options?” Carla lost the smile as she listened.

  Truth be told, Archie had been thinking about this for a while now. Regardless what Percy had promised over the years, and no matter how much he wanted to believe it—in the back of his mind he’d always known it could come to this.

  �
��The Vermeer Foundation will come to an end, Carla…but that doesn’t mean you and I have to go down with it. I’m thinking we would make a very good team, you and I.” He paused to see how this might register. Seeing a tentative smile on her lips he went on. “I have a small cottage—tucked away in a charming little Mexican village—I think you’d like it. For some years now, I’ve been putting a little by in foreign accounts, as a hedge, let’s call it, against an eventuality just such as this. In time, there’s the possibility we might even be able to continue our careers…together. I was thinking Europe for that, maybe? With your legal education and art expertise, and my contacts…and, shall we say, baser skills, we could conceivably do quite well.” He turned to the window drawn by yet another set of sirens wailing in the distance. “Just a suggestion, of course. You might already have plans, and that’s fine too.” He gave her time to consider.

  As he spoke Carla thought the words oddly out of character for someone like Archie. There was no sign of anger or vengeful indignation toward The Factor, or anyone else for that matter. The things she would have expected from such a man were totally absent. It seemed his entire mental acuities were now focused in a different direction—the way going forward, and what might reasonably be salvaged.

  “So, we make a run for it. Hide out in Mexico…or later Europe, and live the good life?” Carla was chasing the possibilities around in her head.

  “Something like that, I guess.” He could see she was at least considering it.”

  “What do you think the odds are of something like that working out?”

  “Not as good as I’d like, but there’s a gamblers’ chance I would guess.” He stopped to listen again, the sirens closer now. “One way or the other Carla…time is running out. We should go.”

  Carla regarded him a moment longer, as though seeing the man for the first time. There was no doubt Percy Vermeer and his organization would, more than likely, not recover—just as Archie predicted. The Vermeer Foundation had too long eluded notice…this would be the game changer. Percy himself, in their conversation that morning, made it very clear just how far he would go to preserve his reputation and all that he’d worked for. He obviously perceived Archie as a liability now, one that needed addressing; he’d said as much. Carla couldn’t help wondering who would be next. Archie was among The Factor’s oldest confidants; she’d heard his praises sung for years. She herself would now come under scrutiny…what then?