Highway 61 (25 page)

What instruments we have agree

the day of his death was a dark cold day …

“That poor kid,” I said aloud.

My prepaid cell phone rang, and I answered it without thinking much about it.

“This is McKenzie,” I said.

“This is Vicki Walsh,” a woman’s voice told me.

FIFTEEN

Southdale Center is the oldest enclosed shopping mall in the country and home to over one hundred twenty specialty stores. It was built in Edina, one of Minnesota’s richest suburbs, before I was born and over the decades has become more or less the center of the city. A hospital, public library, courthouse, and city historical society have all been built within a stone’s throw of Southdale’s gigantic parking lot, not to mention countless professional offices, supermarkets, restaurants, bars, coffeehouses, bookstores, gas stations, auto repair shops, movie theaters, computer outlets, and, yes, a second shopping mall.

I sat next to the window inside one of the coffeehouses located between the two malls and looked out at the traffic moving recklessly through the parking lot. I wasn’t happy about that, sitting next to the window. I knew I made an inviting target for anyone driving by in an SUV armed with, say, a Ruger MP-9 submachine gun. Yet it was one of the conditions that Vicki demanded in return for meeting me. I might have argued with her except she insisted on ending our conversation in a hurry.

I was drinking a sixteen-ounce French vanilla almond coffee straight while resisting the impulse to set fire to the store’s PA system. It was playing an innocuous smooth-jazz cover of the Dizzy Gillespie classic “Groovin’ High,” surely an affront to civilized man. A good-looking black kid wearing a beige windbreaker with a blue lining moved past to a second table next to the window and sat facing me. Another good-looking kid, this one white and wearing a jacket in the green and red colors of the Minnesota Wild hockey team, sat at the table directly behind me. They were both about twenty, and each had ordered a coffee drink that was heaped with so much whipped cream and sprinkles he required a spoon with a long handle to “drink” it. I wondered briefly if the two of them were members of the same club.

Finally, Vicki Walsh arrived. She didn’t look around like someone who was expecting to meet a man she had never seen before. Certainly she didn’t look at me. Instead, she went directly to the barista and placed her order. I couldn’t help but notice that she had changed her hair color again. Her roses-and-wheat tresses were now brilliant blond and seemed to flash like a yellow caution light. There was no mistaking her brown eyes, though, or her pretty nineteen-going-on-fourteen face. She was wearing a short, thin violet-colored sweater over a long white tank top and blue jeans and carrying a small green leather handbag that didn’t match her outfit.

I watched until Vicki picked up her order, an ice-cream-and-coffee concoction that caused me to shake my head. Did kids these days even know what real coffee tasted like? Vicki glanced my way but did not acknowledge my presence. She moved with utter confidence, claiming the table closest to the door, and settled in.

What the hell,
my inner voice said.

I picked up my coffee and stood. The two kids sitting on either side of me rose at the same time. My plan was to join Vicki at her table, but when I took a step toward her the white kid positioned himself to intercept me. He was smiling. The black kid moved to my left flank. He wasn’t smiling. I glanced at Vicki. She had produced a purple cell phone from her bag and was punching in numbers. A moment later, my prepaid cell rang. I answered.

“McKenzie—you are McKenzie?” she asked. Even over the cell her voice was like a silk nightgown. “I’d prefer that you remain seated at your table. I am taking no chances.”

“As you wish.”

I sat. The two bodyguards—if you could call them that—returned to their tables.

“What do you want, McKenzie?” Vicki asked.

“What did Caitlin tell you?”

“She said that Denny Marcus had been murdered.”

“Did she tell you how?”

I could see her hand squeezing the cell phone she held against her ear.

“She told me,” Vicki said. “Who killed him?”

“I think it was the Joes.”

“The Joes? Why?”

“Roberta Weltzin hired them to find you. Apparently they thought Denny knew where you were.”

“He didn’t.”

“I’m sure he told them that before he died.”

Vicki looked away. She continued to press the cell against her ear, yet did not speak. Her two friends looked at her as if they felt sorry for her, as if they both wanted to hold her in their arms and tell her it would be all right. They held their positions, though. I waited until she resumed the conversation.

“How could they have known about him?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I learned about him through your Facebook page.”

Vicki gritted her teeth and breathed through them.

“It’s my fault,” she said.

If I had been sitting next to her I might have patted her hand and told her that she was not to blame, that she couldn’t be held responsible for somebody else’s actions, and so on and so on. I wouldn’t have believed it, of course, but I might have said it.

“Why are you looking for me?” Vicki asked. “You don’t work for Roberta.”

It was ridiculous to keep speaking to her across the room over a cell phone. I couldn’t imagine why Vicki thought that would make her safe.

“You’re right to be cautious,” I said. “These two, though, they won’t be able to protect you.”

“They did all right the other day.”

“Were they the guys in the SUV? Are they the ones who shot up my car?”

“You didn’t answer the question, McKenzie. Why are you looking for me?”

“They’re your partners, too, aren’t they? They’ve been with you every step of the way, helping with Jason Truhler in Thunder Bay and all the rest.”

“Junior partners. You said Jason?”

“Truhler asked me to find you. He’s tired of paying your blackmail. I’m sure all of your victims are.”

“That just breaks my heart.”

“I thought it might.”

“Just out of curiosity, what is Jason paying you?”

“Why? Are you going to bid higher?”

“I just want to know.”

“He’s not paying me anything.”

“Why help him, then? You’re not his friend. Jason doesn’t have any friends.”

“I’m a friend of Erica’s.”

“Erica, Jason’s daughter? Yeah. I know her. I like her. She’s a sweetheart.”

“Yes, she is.”

I kept glancing from one of Vicki’s bodyguards to the other. They both now seemed more interested in their frilly coffee drinks than they were in what was going on around them. Amateurs, I thought.

“Does Erica know her old man is a pedophile?” Vicki asked.

“I don’t think it’s come up in conversation.”

“I actually thought about recruiting her, you know, recruiting her for Roberta. God knows she’s pretty enough, although I’m not sure how important that is to our clients. I decided against it, partly because I didn’t think she’d go for it, but mostly because Erica doesn’t look like someone you can take advantage of, and in our little market niche, that look is essential.”

“Who’s taking advantage of whom?”

I would have heard Vicki’s laugh even without the phone.

“I still can’t get over how easy it was,” she said. “The johns all wanted underage girls, expected underage girls. Yet they were all so very surprised when they learned that the girls really were underage.”

“How did you convince them of that?”

“I sent them copies of counterfeit student IDs. Naturally, Roberta told them it wasn’t true, but whom would you believe in a situation like that, Roberta or the IDs? Besides, I had photos. A picture is worth a thousand words. Lots of money, too.”

“What about Truhler?”

“Jason? Jason was my masterpiece. Jason knew me from fencing. Do you know he actually hit on me at a high school fencing meet? In front of his daughter? I knew the underage girl scam wouldn’t have worked with him, so I had to try something a bit more theatrical. If he had caught me, or called the police, something like that, I would have told him it was just a practical joke. Turned out it wasn’t a problem. He never even felt for a pulse, just ran as fast as he could. I had a good long laugh over that.”

“I’m sure you’re very proud of yourself.”

“My, don’t you look fierce when you’re being all self-righteous. Go ’head, tell me how much you pity all those poor family men who hire young girls for prostitutes. Tell me how your heart bleeds for each and every one.”

“I have no sympathy for them, Vicki. But what you’re doing…”

“I’m not losing any sleep over what I’m doing.”

“Why are you doing it?”

“For the money. Call it my college fund. Do you know how much it costs to go to a top-flight school these days? Cornell gets over fifty thousand a year after you add room and board. I couldn’t afford it when they accepted me. Now I can.”

“So quit. According to my calculations, you already have more than enough to go to Cornell.”

“Yeah, but not in style. Besides, money is only part of it.”

“Given who you’re dealing with, I’d say you’re playing an awfully dangerous game.”

“I have it under control.”

“Tell that to Denny Marcus.”

Vicki looked away again. I heard her gasp over the cell even as I saw her body cringe on the other side of the room, and for a moment, I thought she might actually start weeping. She didn’t. She closed her eyes, then opened them abruptly. When she spoke, it was again through gritted teeth.

“Do you know why most gamblers lose, McKenzie? It’s because they stay too long at the table, because they don’t know when to quit. I’m not greedy. One more round of collections and I’m through.”

“You might be through with your victims, but they won’t be through with you. They won’t forgive and they won’t forget. No matter where you go or what you do, they’ll still believe that you’re a threat to them.”

“They wouldn’t pay me if I weren’t a threat, now would they?”

“Vicki, I’m trying to help you.”

The way she laughed, I knew she didn’t believe me. I didn’t take it personally, though. I doubt she would have believed the pope when he did the benediction.

“Caitlin said that you said you could help me,” Vicki said. “I don’t need help. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“Because you offered and because you’re a friend of Erica’s, I’ll let Jason off the hook. Poof. See how easy that was? Now you can leave me alone.”

“It’s not enough, Vicki. Roberta and the Joes are still after you. They killed Denny Marcus, remember? They might go after other people who are close to you. Your mother. Caitlin. Your victims, they’re still after you. Some of them are scarier than the Joes. Then there’s a man named Muehlenhaus who’s scarier than all of them put together. Do you know who he is? He’s the prince of darkness, Vicki. He wants you, too, but I made a deal with him. If you give up the files you downloaded off of Roberta’s computer and whatever other incriminating material you have, he’ll let you keep your money, he’ll let you disappear, and he’ll see to it that you’re left alone.”

“Oh, please, McKenzie. We both know better than that. My files are the only things protecting me. Not knowing where they are or what’ll happen to them if they lay hands on me is what’s keeping my enemies at bay. If I give them up, it’ll be open season. I might as well paint a target on my forehead.”

“It might be your only chance.”

“We’ll see.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“Good-bye, McKenzie.”

Vicki deactivated her cell phone and dropped it into her bag. I stood and called to her across the coffeehouse. Her pals stood at the same time.

“You can trust Muehlenhaus,” I said.

The white kid slid between us. I might have done something about it except I couldn’t think of any reason why I should. Jason Truhler was off the hook, Vicki said so. That’s what I came for. As for Muehlenhaus, I delivered his message. That’s all I said I would do. I remained by the table. Vicki didn’t even bother giving me a backward glance. She stepped outside; the door of the coffeehouse closed slowly behind her. The black kid soon followed. A moment later, the white kid joined them. I watched the trio through the window. They stood in a tight circle and talked it over, a foolish thing for someone on the lookout to do. The two kids were looking at Vicki, oblivious to what was going on around them, another error in judgment. The lights of the parking lot were bright enough to play ball under, yet there were still plenty of shadows between parked vehicles where someone could be lurking. They should have been watching the shadows.

If Vicki’s bodyguards had been any good, their vehicle would have been close at hand, their route carefully mapped out, their itinerary already planned. One guard would have stayed with Vicki—inside the coffee shop—while the other inspected the vehicle and then brought it up. Transferring her to the vehicle would have been done swiftly and efficiently, and then the vehicle would have moved out. Instead, the three of them sauntered through the parking lot as if they didn’t have a care in the world, taking a circuitous path to their SUV parked nose-in in the third row—I recognized it as the vehicle that had ambushed me on Highway 61. It was yet another mistake. The SUV should have been parked to allow for a fast exit.

I didn’t hear the gunshot through the thick pane of glass.

The white kid took the round low in his shoulder, and the way the back of his green jacket exploded with blood made me think the bullet went straight through. He fell against a parked car and slowly slid down into a sitting position on the asphalt.

The black kid didn’t turn to face the threat or move to cover Vicki as he should have. Instead, he bent to help his friend. He took two rounds in his back that lifted him off his feet and threw him on top of the white kid.

By then I was out the door and moving up on the scene. I was shouting, “Get down, get down.” I found Vicki crouching between two parked cars and screaming. Her clothes were splattered with blood. The fact that she was still alive proved that she had been right—her enemies wanted her files as much as they wanted her. I didn’t see the killer, but I knew he was close at hand.