Ghostman (21 page)

Twenty-six hours to go.

30

When I passed May’s Landing, I punched Marcus’s number into another phone and waited as the screen turned from black to green. The phone rang and Marcus’s man picked up before the third ring, like he was sitting there waiting for the call. I glanced at my watch. It was almost 1:30 a.m. in Seattle, so Marcus should’ve been fast asleep. Instead his man was poised and ready. The reception was low.

“The Five Star Diner,” he said.

“Put him on.”

“Who is this?”

“Nobody.”

Things were quiet as he walked the phone into another room. People like Marcus can afford to have a guy with a flat Midwestern accent screening all the calls. This one’s voice was like cough syrup. The diner had three lines that I knew of, and each was always answered the same way. The guy would say the name of the diner, and if you didn’t convince him you were important in thirty seconds or less, he’d hang up and you’d never get the boss on the line.

Marcus came on a few seconds later. He sighed and sounded tired, but there was something else in his sigh. He sounded afraid.

“Hello?” he said.

“Marcus, it’s me.”

“Jack. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for hours. What happened?”

“You tell me, Marcus.” I said. “You think I don’t know you set me up?”

He went quiet. I took the exit that would take me back through the pine barrens.

Marcus had stopped breathing for a beat or two, then let out a breath to say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The Wolf knew your plan long before Ribbons and Moreno even got close. Now, you’re too smart to underestimate a man like him, so either you’re working an angle on this I don’t understand or you’re much stupider than I thought.”

“That’s not possible,” he said. “There’s no way the Wolf knew the plan.”

“I talked to him myself. He tried to kill me.”

“Jack, he’s got to be reaching. He has to be. If the Wolf really knew I planned to rip him off with the federal payload, why did he agree to the deal? Why did he even let Moreno and Ribbons into the city? He would have put bullets in their heads before they even got past the pine barrens.”

“He said he was planning on double-crossing you. He was going to leave you holding the money when it blew, so you’d take the fall for it. Now he’s asked me to put the wired money on your plane and wait for it to blow up. But you knew he’d try that, didn’t you? You were working another angle.”

“What the hell did he do?”

“Have you been watching the news? Do you know about the third shooter? The Wolf told me that was his hit.”

There was silence over the other end of the phone for a second.

“You met with him,” Marcus said.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Jesus,” Marcus said. “You’re working for him.”

I sniffed.

“For all I know,” Marcus said, “the Wolf’s wired into this call right now, coaching you through this conversation word by word. What did he offer you?”

“Your head on a platter. But I didn’t take it.”

“I should hang up.”

“Listen,” I said. “There’s going to be a double homicide on the news in the morning. Two of the Wolf’s men out in the salt marsh got shot through the head. That should be proof enough where my loyalties are. As far as I know, this line is clean. Just you and me. But if you don’t start talking, I can’t promise our relationship will stay friendly. If you don’t tell me everything, I have no reason to keep your best interests in mind, okay? You can’t owe a favor to a dead man.”

Marcus didn’t say anything.

“You
are
a dead man,” I said. “You understand that, right? I bet that if the Wolf can’t set you up with the trap money and send you to prison, he’ll try to kill you outright. He certainly wants to kill you, Marcus. Right now, I’m your best chance of stopping that. So talk.”

“I didn’t set you up, Jack.”

Marcus took a breath and exhaled, his breath coming in big gasping bursts like he was having a panic attack. I listened to him hyperventilate for a while and thought about how much he liked to play games. He wasn’t the kind of guy who freaked out when he got caught in a lie. He was a calm, collected liar and a world-class poker player. He’d do this if he really and truly thought he might have something to lose, or else it was just for effect. Even the way he was breathing could be part of the setup.

“Here’s my problem,” I said. “If the Wolf was behind the third shooter, why did he kill Moreno and try to kill Ribbons right then? Why didn’t he wait until Moreno and Ribbons had gotten well away from the
casino before robbing them? Waiting as little as twenty minutes would have doubled his chance of success and limited his police exposure. So either he’s lying to me or you are.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Marcus said. “I really don’t.”

I knocked the phone against the side of my head in frustration. Marcus was messing with me and we both knew it. The whole conversation felt like a brick at the bottom of my stomach.

“Okay,” I said. “But you’re going to tell me before this thing’s over.”

“Do you have the money, at least?”

“No. Ribbons is still in the wind.”

“How the hell can that be?”

“I think he’s dead.”

“What?”

“He was shot,” I said. “I found that white Dodge they used. The parts that weren’t totaled from multiple crashes or shot through with bullet holes were covered with blood. I’m no expert on gunshot injuries, but I can’t imagine someone losing that amount of blood and living very long. Considering we haven’t heard from him, I think he’s dead. And even if he’s still alive, he can’t have much time left. We’ve got to start watching the hospitals and morgues.”

“Ribbons won’t go to a hospital.”

“He’s dying.”

“He doesn’t care. He’s a two-time felon. If he gets caught, he goes away for life. No parole after twenty years, no plea bargain, no reduced sentence with good behavior. Life. Guys like him would rather bleed out on the streets than die in prison.” Marcus paused. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking Ribbons is holed up, then. He must’ve gone someplace to hide, hoping that he could ride it out, and by the time the drugs wore off and he realized how grievous his injuries were, it was too late.
You know, like an old dog crawling under the stairs so it can die alone. But I’m not sure he wouldn’t call for an ambulance. I’ve met a lot of people who told me they’d rather die than go back to prison, and every single one of them was full of shit.”

Marcus said nothing.

“I need to know if you can think of any places he might’ve gone to. Places that were important to him. Where he could lay low for a while. And don’t tell me about any motels. A guy bleeding like that can’t check in anywhere.”

“Maybe he went back to the scatter.”

A scatter’s where a guy sleeps the night before a job. It’s different from the place where the job is planned. You don’t shit where you eat. Heisters don’t ever work in the scatter. They don’t talk, they don’t drink, they don’t eat, they don’t clean their guns. They do nothing but sleep there. A scatter’s set up so you can get out in thirty seconds flat if you have to. Heisters don’t bullshit in the scatter. They respect it. You’re never ever supposed to return there. Then again, you’re not supposed to get shot, either.

“You’ve got the address?” I said.

Marcus gave it to me slowly, like he thought I needed to write it down. I said the name of the place back to him, just to make sure I’d heard it right.

“What do I do about the Wolf?” I said.

“Don’t get killed.”

“That’s not what I mean. You two are at war now. You realize that, don’t you? You’re going to have to kill him or else he’s going to kill you.”

“Just make sure you get that cash,” Marcus said. “If it blows and the GPS syncs up, there’s no way to stop this thing. I’ll take care of my business. You just take care of yours.”

“Got it.”

We were silent for a second.

“Marcus,” I said finally, “if I find out you’re setting me up in any
way, or even thought about setting me up, I am going to find you and kill you. I hope you understand that.”

I pressed the end button and threw the phone out the window. It got sucked back by the wind coming over the side of the car and hit the rear passenger window before spinning off to the side of the road and exploding into a dozen pieces.

31

The diner, a free-standing American joint with a neon sign featuring a steaming cup of coffee, was located in an otherwise empty concrete lot across from a boarded-up strip mall. Through the big glass windows you could see everything that was going on inside. A man in a white hat was greasing down the grill and the only waitress was refilling the coffee machine behind the bar. Two customers were sobering up in a booth near the door and a young busboy mopping the floors all around them. He was wearing headphones.

Alexander Lakes was seated in a booth toward the back.

He was trying to play it cool, but he was obviously nervous. His back was as straight as a board and he kept looking around like he was expecting something to jump out at him. There was a matrix of black coffee stains on the table in front of him. Even though he seemed quite alert, he didn’t notice me. When the chime went off as I came through the door, he didn’t look up. I came up from behind and he jumped when I put my hand on his shoulder.

“You been waiting long?” I said.

“Over two hours,” he said. “Where have you been?”

“I got caught up in something.”

He glanced quizzically at my shirt. “What happened to your suit?”

“Ruined it.”

I slid into the booth opposite him. He put his right hand on his coffee cup and dropped the other into his lap. His eyes were bright.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“I was worried you might try to kill me over that burned room.”

“Is that why you’re pointing a gun at me under the table?”

Lakes looked like he didn’t know what to say. The kid mopping the floors came around to us. The bass rhythm on his headphones sounded like somebody scratching on a linoleum floor. Under the fluorescent lights every small imperfection on his uniform was as clear as day.

Lakes waited for the kid to pass. Once he did, I heard the hammer of his pistol shifting forward and the safety engaging. Lakes discreetly pulled a small automatic up from under the table and put it back under his jacket.

“How did you know?” Lakes said.

“As soon as I sat down, you slid your left hand under the table and started drinking coffee with your right. I saw you write at the airport—you’re left-handed. So if you were just sitting there drinking coffee, you’d be holding the cup with your left hand. Most people use their dominant hand to drink, if they’re not eating. Instead, your left hand’s under the table and there’s no bulge under your armpit. You noticed me come in, but tried to look like you hadn’t. You also looked nervous, so I assumed you’d have a gun.”

“It was just a precaution,” Lakes said.

“Are you still on my side?”

“Depends,” he said. “Are you still going to pay me?”

“I was planning to,” I said. “But the gun’s a real surprise.”

“I had to, when you consider my position. I’ve heard things, you know. Marcus Hayes doesn’t have a reputation for forgiving or forgetting. I was worried you might make me chase this coffee with a whole jar of nutmeg, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

“That’s Marcus’s thing,” I said. “Not mine.”

“How should I know? I don’t know you, or your reputation. I don’t even know your name.”

“Then now you know one thing about me. I don’t kill people unless I have a very good reason to. Your slipup at the hotel doesn’t make that cut.”

“In ten years,” he said, “nothing like that has ever happened before.”

“What?”

“In ten years, I’ve never had anybody bust one of my safe houses.

We’ve had an impeccable record.”

“What happened this time?”

“My guy at the hotel desk lost his nerve,” he said. “Told me the FBI came around with a description of a white guy, six feet, hundred and eighty pounds, mid-fifties. They made it sound like they’d deport him if he didn’t roll. He was worried they’d take his kids.”

“That description could’ve fit anybody. He had deniability.”

“As I said,” Alex continued. “Nerves.”

I took out the two thousand dollars and put it on the table next to the box of napkins and the bottle of ketchup. The hundred-dollar bills were still a little dirty from the pine barrens.

Lakes glanced at the money, then back at me. “You’re not really as old as you look, are you?”

“How old do you think I am?”

“It’s hard to tell. You look younger now then you did before.”

I pointed up. “It’s the fluorescent lights.”

Lakes didn’t say anything.

“This is how it’s going to be,” I told him. “You’ll take this money and you’ll get me some police records. Then you’ll take the Suburban I parked out front and get rid of it. You’ll rent me a new car—something low-profile, like before. You’ll buy me some new clothes—suit, shirts, shoes, you name it—and you’ll get me a small, reliable handgun with clean numbers. Or no numbers at all. Nothing that can get traced back to you, okay? I’ll call you in a few hours and by then I want all of these things done. Do you understand?”

“What do you need records for?”

“You don’t need to know. Just get me the police reports from the last week or so. Reported robberies, thefts, murders, all that. Any dirty cop or lawyer could get me what I need in thirty seconds. I want to know everything they know.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Yes,” I said, “but I’m not telling you. I don’t trust you.”

Lakes nodded slightly and looked at the money again. Ben Franklin’s face was staring back at him. No currency printed in the United States features a smiling face. They’re all staring out with dead seriousness. Only Franklin seems to stare right out at you, though. His eyes follow you at every angle like the Mona Lisa’s.

“This isn’t nearly enough,” Lakes said.

“The money’s for the records, not you. You should be able to get any cop you like for two grand.”