by Juno Rushdan
The exchange was quick and fluid, and to anyone watching, it would look like a drug deal.
“You good?” Garcia asked.
Colette nodded. “Peachy.”
Any other response meant something was wrong, like she was under duress or being followed or had been asked to hand over a fake recording. Anything seriously bad.
Colette walked off and Garcia drove in the opposite direction.
Instead of hitting the Windfall tonight, she would go home and start listening to the seven to fourteen hours of audio recording. Walsh was careful. Even in his office he tended to talk around things. But every week she hoped for another nugget while forgoing sleep.
Her phone rang again. This time she answered. “Garcia here.”
“It’s Jensen,” said one of the guys on her surveillance team. “There’s a lot of activity with Walsh. We just lost him. Something is up.”
Garcia swore into the phone. “We need to find him. Do you have eyes on the nephew?”
“No. We lost him, too.”
Going home and getting to slip off her shoes was out of the question. She was in for a late night, trying to track down Walsh and his sidekick Tommy Guillory.
She slapped the steering wheel. “I’m on my way.”
“Also, call the boss. He’s looking for you. It’s urgent.”
Garcia disconnected and dialed Special Agent McCaffrey. “Sorry I couldn’t take your call a few minutes ago, sir. What’s up?”
“I hope you’re sitting down,” her boss said.
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Good. Because you’re never going to believe this.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“For starters, you’re getting your extra agents tomorrow.”
On a Sunday?
“I’ve got three driving down in the morning from some of the resident field offices in Mississippi,” McCaffrey added. “Pascagoula, Hattiesburg and Gulfport.”
They were all within a two-hour drive, but that would’ve taken approval from the director up in Washington, DC, and coordination with the special agent in charge in Mississippi. “How in the world did you swing that?”
“You’re going to need heavy backup for a meet tomorrow in Jackson Square at noon.”
Chapter Sixteen
The bread truck came to a jerky stop. Big Bill caught hold of one of the steel racks lining the inside to steady himself.
Tommy killed the engine and opened the back doors. Bill climbed out and dusted himself off.
Going from the slightly sweet, yeasty aroma in the truck to the pungent, briny air at the old docks turned his stomach. This far down the river, there weren’t any tourists taking in the sights. He took a few deep breaths, letting his nose adjust, and faced the warehouse.
He owned the building and the surrounding land under one of his subsidiaries. The property of each of his illicit businesses, the women and drugs, all fell under a different shell company to disguise the ownership from the feds. They couldn’t very well put a place under surveillance and raid it if they didn’t know it belonged to him.
Let them watch the Windfall and Avido’s to their hearts’ content. Didn’t matter to him. They were both legit. But it did make traveling somewhat inconvenient at times such as now.
For the next couple of days, he had to steer clear of his house, the restaurant and the casino. He couldn’t risk going back until he’d taken out his rage on Edgar and got some retribution.
Fortunately, Bill had a feeder coming in tonight with a new bunch of girls. The small container ship didn’t attract as much attention as a larger vessel and it could navigate an older, smaller port. He’d oversee the off-loading of the girls, something Tommy usually took care of, and sleep in one of the passenger cabins once he tired himself out punishing Edgar.
The burner phone they’d used to stay in contact with the hit men from the bayou buzzed in his pocket. A response from those marshals.
It had to be them. They were the only ones in possession of the incriminating information that had been printed, photographed and sent to him. Bill wasn’t sure what to make of them yet.
He’d hoped they would’ve thrown out a figure. Greed he understood, even appreciated. Everyone had a price, and once he’d learned theirs, he could be done with this.
Instead they wanted to trade.
But trade what?
Bill took out the phone and opened the text. For a moment, he was speechless with confusion.
Edgar Plinski. Alive. Unharmed. Plus $1M guarantees no copies of the drive are made.
What in the hell?
Bill read it again, shaking his head in disbelief. What cockamamie planet were these two marshals from? Was this some kind of joke?
Edgar could send him to prison just the same as the information on that flash drive.
Bill furiously typed back.
I need Plinski AND the contents of the drive. Name a new price $.
It took seconds for the phone to chime.
$2M + EDGAR PLINSKI. He’s stayed quiet about you this long. We’ll get him to keep his mouth shut. We need him to clear our names.
Grinding his molars, Bill kicked the truck tire. Another new message flashed. He stared at the screen.
Nonnegotiable!
Bill growled and shoved the phone back in his pocket.
Removing the delivery jacket and hat, Tommy asked, “What do they want, Uncle Bill?”
“The sun and the moon.” They might as well ask for all the stars in the damn sky.
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
Bill shook his head at the kid. “They want,” he said slowly, “what they can’t have.”
Why couldn’t they ask for new identities? Help getting out of the country. Something reasonable.
Tommy hustled ahead of him, grabbed the door to the cavernous warehouse that was little more than a gutted-out shell and held it open.
Inside, Devlin and his crew were waiting. Along with a handful of Bill’s guys, who’d keep watch over Edgar Plinski, doling out pain every hour on the hour once Bill was finished having his fun and he gave Tommy a go at him.
But he didn’t see the traitor. “Where’s that piece of filth?”
Devlin gestured to the van parked a few feet away. “You get the package once we’ve been paid.”
“I’d like to throw in an extra hundred.” Grand was implied. Devlin didn’t get out of bed and put on his outlaw hat for less than ten thousand.
“What for?” Devlin asked.
“To kill those marshals.” Bill’s men were muscle, good for run-of-the-mill protection and breaking kneecaps. This problem required a shrewd, ruthless predator.
“I need to find them first,” Devlin said. “But don’t worry. I will.”
“No need to find them. They’re going to come to me.” Bill stuffed his hands in his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels, still fuming. “They texted. They want to trade. The flash drive for Edgar. Alive and unharmed so he can clear their names.”
Devlin roared with dark laughter. The sound was spooky enough to give Satan himself the chills. “That’s rich.”
“Yes. It is. But not the least bit funny.”
A smile ghosted across Devlin’s lips as he rubbed the back of his head. “Those two have got a lot of grit.”
“You almost sound as if you admire them,” Bill said, disgusted.
“My father was a hunter. He taught me how to be a great one. To track something to the ends of the earth and kill it. First rule I learned was to respect dangerous things.”
Bill huffed. He knew two plus two equaled four. Hell yeah, they were dangerous. That was why he wanted them dead. Respect wasn’t a necessary part of his equation.
“I’d kill them for free,” Devlin said. “For the s
port of it. For payback. But we’ll take the extra to fill our captain’s pockets.”
Their police chief was as crooked as they came. Loved being in front of the camera on the news, spinning manure into glitter, portraying his golden cops as shining examples.
Bill pulled out his other phone and made the call for the wire transfer. Three million six hundred thousand dollars.
“We’re good,” Tate said to Devlin a minute later, confirming receipt of the money.
Devlin nodded. “Give the man his package.”
Tate opened the van door, hauled Edgar Plinski out onto his feet and dragged him over.
Pure satisfaction rushed through Bill’s veins. Once the traitor was in front of him, he ripped off the duct tape from his mouth, hoping it hurt. “I’m going to enjoy hearing you scream.”
Edgar yelled and howled like a man in agony. Sweat and grime covered his reddening face. “I’ll scream all you want. Please, Bill. Don’t do this.”
“You shouldn’t have killed her.” Poor Irene.
“It was an accident,” Edgar said. “I—I loved her. Wanted her to go with me. But she tried to call you and I had to stop her. I didn’t mean to kill her. I only hit her once.”
Once across the back of her head with a solid bronze sculpture. Cracked her skull wide open and let her bleed to death.
That was the reason Edgar hadn’t turned over evidence on Bill. If the FBI had arrested Bill, he would’ve told them about Irene’s murder and Edgar’s immunity would’ve been null and void. They would’ve been in prison together. Bill preferred to get his revenge as a free man.
“I’ve got a long list of things I’m going to do to you. Ways to make you suffer,” Bill said. Then he thought about those marshals. Alive. Unharmed. “Damn it,” Bill hissed and turned to Devlin. “They’re going to ask me for proof that he’s okay before they meet with me.” They’d be fools not to. “But I’ve waited too long to put off making this one pay,” he said, stabbing a finger in Edgar’s direction.
“He just needs to look okay,” Devlin said. “Plenty of options to bring him pain.”
“Such as?” Everything Bill had planned was meant to scar and maim.
“Pull out some teeth. Start with the back ones. Rip off toenails. You could do waterboarding, one of my personal favorites. Or insects in a confinement box.”
Edgar trembled, shaking his head, mouthing “No, no,” dissolving into a pathetic heap as tears streamed down his face.
Good thing Bill had Devlin at his disposal to give him ideas. The man was a sadistic monster of the sickest kind.
“See. Plenty of options,” Devlin said cheerfully. “Once we take care of the marshals, then you can really have at it with Edgar.”
Grinning, Bill typed a response on the burner phone.
Let’s trade. Midnight. Location to follow.
Then he hit Send on the text.
“Tommy,” Bill said. “Make a list of the stuff we’re going to need. I want to do it all, beginning with a pair of pliers.”
Edgar started screaming again and Bill couldn’t think of any sound in the world that had ever brought him more pleasure.
* * *
We say when. We say where. Or no deal.
Aiden sent the message and shut off the phone. The one thing they had to maintain control over was the rendezvous.
While eating the home-cooked dinner Henri had prepared for them, they sat on the bed in front of the laptop, strategizing their next step. Aiden had already got dressed to go down and get the food, sparing the older lady a trek up the steep flight.
“I think we should give Walsh a location for a fake meet,” Charlie said. Wearing his long-sleeve button-up with the front open and revealing a tempting amount of skin, she shifted into a cross-legged position. “Catch them off guard early. Take the fight to them.”
“But how? We don’t know where they’re holding Albatross.”
“They’re going to have him someplace Walsh completely controls. Somewhere contained, with no danger of him being seen. Not the casino and not the restaurant. His home is out of the question since the feds are watching him. Didn’t you mention seeing deeds for other properties?”
“Yeah.” Aiden brought up several documents that he’d pored over the night before. “Walsh is in some nasty business. Human trafficking, forcing the women to work in brothels, and he also has his hands in drugs. There are four properties that he’s hiding under shell companies. Two are small apartment buildings, one-and two-bedroom units. All appear to be leased, but according to this, money is being laundered through there. I assume he’s using those apartments for prostitution. If they’re active, with a lot of traffic flowing in and out, Albatross won’t be there.”
“What about the other places?” Charlie finished her crawfish étouffée, scraping the plate clean with her fork.
It was a testament to Henri’s cooking. Junior hadn’t exaggerated about her culinary skills.
“There’s an old processing plant in Metairie and a warehouse down by the docks. No documentation showing any income flowing through either.”
“You think Walsh might be holding Albatross at one of those sites?”
“It’s possible.”
Charlie took a closer look at the paperwork. “We’ll have to check them out to narrow it down.”
“What you’re proposing would require a lot of recon for just the two of us.” Aiden ate the last spoonful of his dinner. “We might have to watch one location for a day or longer to be sure that Albatross is there, and we have multiple sites to cover. What if Devlin is holding him for Walsh somewhere else? Even if we did find him, we’d be seriously outnumbered and we’re talking about the potential for a lot of bloodshed.”
“That’s a risk no matter what. I think we have to take the chance.”
“If we hit them on their turf, even with the element of surprise, they’ll have the advantage. They could use smoke against us again. We can’t defeat thermal scopes or use flash bangs in return. We’re operating on the shoestring budget and limited resources of street vigilantes.”
Resting back on the wood headboard, she sighed. “The only other option is to set a legitimate meet in a public place, but civilians could get hurt. They could be used as human shields. If there’s going to be loss of life, I’d prefer it to be the bad guys. We bought Albatross time. Walsh might still hurt him, but he’ll be alive. We can do the recon.”
Aiden shook his head. Albatross was worth three times more alive just so that he could be tortured. Walsh had a vendetta that he wasn’t going to let slide. The odds of Eugene walking away uninjured were nil. “Alive, but in what condition after a day or two? In public, we can have the FBI there in advance waiting for him.”
Charlie ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re an eternal optimist and I love you for it, but we’re fugitives. The FBI consider us a threat and are more likely to arrest us or shoot us before we can ensure Albatross is safe. And don’t you think Walsh will send flunkies to check out any location we pick? Maybe even Devlin, who’d spot feds a mile away in a park or shopping mall. Walsh will never get out of the car, especially not with Albatross. We need to use the FBI as our final play.”
Aiden ran his hands over his face, racking his brain. “There might be another way.” He brought up the city of New Orleans on Google Maps. “What if we spend our time looking for the right public place, where we have more control over how everything plays out? Limit collateral damage. Terrain is everything.”
Terrain and a lack of convergence led to General Custer’s defeat. Why not Walsh’s?
“Maybe,” she said. “As they say, location is everything. It would mean the difference between success and incarceration or death.”
“Controlling the terrain is possible, but Walsh has four highly trained SWAT officers working for him, plus however many thugs. We’d need to e
ven the playing field. Reduce his forces.”
Charlie shot him a confident, lopsided grin that was sexy as hell, and all he wanted to do was kiss her, but then he’d want to press down against the mattress, their limbs tangled, and work up a good sweat.
Restraint, he told himself.
“That’s where Enzo Romero comes in,” Charlie said.
“How so?” Aiden was skeptical about getting a second mobster involved, but Charlie had insisted they might be able to use him.
“The first year I was in a group home as a teenager, I was separated from my sister and surrounded by older, bigger, quite frankly tougher girls. There were two, Tasha and Judy. Both mean. Downright vicious. And they hated each other. Anyway, Tasha took this bracelet that Brit had made for me. I got my butt kicked trying to get it back. One day, someone messed up Judy’s bed, went through all her stuff. I told her that it was Tasha.”
“Did you do it?”
Charlie shook her head. “No, it was another girl who hated her. But I used it. When Tasha went for Judy, I went and got my bracelet back. We use Enzo to cause trouble that Big Bill can’t ignore right before the meet. If Enzo is already squeezing Bill out, then what we want him to do should be more amusement than a chore.”
“Divide and conquer.”
“It’s the only way to win.” She moved their dishes, setting them on the nightstand.
“We need to make a list of places to scout tomorrow morning.” He zoomed in on the map. “All within easy walking distance of Jackson Square. Then we should get some sleep. We’ve got to get up early and tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
“Do you want to make that list before or after?” Her mouth spread in a wicked hot smile that instantly heated his blood, igniting something inside him.
He closed the laptop and pulled her closer. “Definitely after.”
Chapter Seventeen
Early-morning sun slashed through the opening in the curtains, banishing some of the shadows in the room. Charlie rolled over to find the bed empty, the room quiet and Aiden gone.
