Lazar's Intrigue (The Jack Lazar Series) (7 page)

Jack
was familiar with Graf & Tate and knew it was a large conglomerate traded
on the New York Stock Exchange. Several months ago the company had announced its
intentions to divest itself of subsidiaries that didn’t complement its core
business of manufacturing and erecting offshore drilling platforms. Intercontinental
Trucking was just such a subsidiary since its business was distributing media
publications in the continental United States and Canada through numerous
warehouse-distribution facilities. And since Graf & Tate owned another
trucking concern that operated flatbed rigs more suitable to the company’s
centralized business, Intercontinental had been placed for sale.

Although
the transaction outlined in the file appeared legitimate, Jack knew instantly
what Hesterling and Antonucci were up to. What would be a better network for
illegal drug distribution than a nationwide conduit that legally disseminated
cargo all over North America?

Hearing
a faint noise from the darkened hall, Jack snapped his attention toward the
doorway. He narrowed his eyes to see better and could barely make out the
silhouette of a person. A lump entered his throat as the observer became more
visible, and his fear heightened as he finally recognized the man’s short,
dumpy outline. Jack had prepared himself to deal with the building’s guard, but
the man who stepped into the light was someone far more alarming.

A
controlled but clearly furious Gerald Hesterling scanned the destruction in his
office. “You’ve been a busy boy,” he said as three other men entered behind
him, one of whom was the fat little lobby guard.

The
other two men were apparently Hesterling’s thugs. Both were big to be sure, but
one of them was outright monstrous—perhaps seven feet tall with the biggest
hands Jack had ever seen. The other was a young, incredibly muscular black man,
around six-foot-two, and if it were not for the contrast of his mammoth
counterpart, he would be plenty intimidating on his own.

“You
see, Mr. Hesterling?” Jesse said, standing officiously. “I told you this son of
a bitch was up to no good.”

“You
did the right thing by calling me,” Hesterling replied as he handed Jesse a
hundred dollar bill. “Now go back to your station. God knows we don’t need
another nuisance like Mr. Lazar tearing up the rest of the building.”

“Thank
you, sir.” He took the money eagerly and leered toward Jack before walking off.

Noticing
that no one had pulled a weapon, Jack placed his hands on his hips as he stood
up, hoping to nonchalantly move toward the Beretta tucked into the back of his
pants.

Hesterling
moved closer, his two thugs trailing behind, and he pointed a threatening
finger. “What the hell are you doing up here? Eh?” He gave Jack a token,
Mafia-style slap in the face. “I had no idea you were so stupid, Jack.” He
looked around at the mess. “Do you have any idea what you’re screwing with
here? Do you?”

Jack
kept his hands at his sides, speaking as if he had done nothing wrong. “Look,
Gerry, I was just trying to find out why you blackmailed me into leaving the
firm. I really didn’t intend to make such a mess of your office. That was a
total accident. Sorry. Besides, I didn’t find anything.”

Hesterling
chuckled and looked back toward his henchmen. “Didn’t find anything, huh? What,
do you think I’m stupid?”

“God
no, Gerry. I don’t think you’re stupid. I just think you’re an asshole.” Jack
moved his right hand inside the back of his coat as he spoke and took hold of
the Beretta. He slowly slipped it out from his waistline, and began to guide it
around his body.

“Stop
right there!” the enormous henchman shouted. He had responsively drawn his
revolver, which looked like a toy pistol in his hands, and he pointed it
directly toward Jack’s head, maintaining a steady aim as he walked over. He
removed the Beretta from Jack’s grasp and handed it to his boss.

Hesterling
rolled his eyes and shook his head as if equally surprised and amused. “My, my,
Jack. Who do you think you are? James Bond?”

The
three of them laughed heartily.

Hesterling’s
tone turned hostile. “Jesus, Jack. What am I going to do with you? I gave you
an easy way out, a chance to live, and that just wasn’t good enough, was it?” He
paced around the office, apparently in deep thought, clenching his fists. He
walked back over and held the gun in front of Jack’s face with a look of
contempt. “You see this, you stupid little son of a bitch? It’s going to get
you killed! I ought to just get it over with and shoot you right now!” He
grinded his teeth and pressed the gun against Jack’s temple.

Jack
remained still, his heart racing as adrenaline raced through his body. “What
about the DEA?” he said.

Hesterling
eyed him skeptically before lowering the gun, and he offered a smirk of amused
disbelief. “Very clever, Jack. I’m so impressed. Now tell me, what do you know
about the DEA?”

“You
might say I’m working for them. And they know I’m here.”

“That
is so preposterous that I feel stupid even responding to it. What in the world
could you do for the DEA?”

Jack
glared at him and raised an eyebrow of superiority. “I’m just helping them out,
that’s all. Haven’t you ever heard of civilian cooperation?”

“Yeah,
like they’re going to ask you to commit a felony by breaking and entering into a
building and stealing confidential documents? I don’t think so!”

“Sometimes
you have to break the law to uphold it. Besides, I wasn’t going to steal
anything. I was just looking. That’s all they asked me to do.”

“Clever
boy,” Hesterling continued. “Well, I’ll tell you what you’ve done, Jack. You
haven’t bought your life back. That’s for sure. But you’ve succeeded in buying
yourself some time. Don’t be too proud of yourself, though, because you’ve made
your last few hours on this earth much more painful than they would have been. Before
this little ploy of yours, we would have just killed you with a clean shot. Straight
through the head. Nice, quick and painless. But now we’ll have to find out what
you really know, and you’re going to wish we had just killed you when we had
the chance.”

Jack
drew strength from some enigmatic source. “That was a great performance, Gerry.
I can’t quite place what movie it came from.”

Hesterling
tossed the Beretta back to his larger associate. “Get this asshole out of here.
Take him to the warehouse, and feel free to rough him up along the way. Just be
sure he can still talk when you’re through with him. Then we’ll let Phil take
over.”

The
smaller henchman grabbed Jack by the hair and threw him into the hall before
leading him to the elevators at gunpoint.

Jack
moved forward as he searched for an opportunity to escape, but he knew it was
an exercise in futility. He wondered what in the world he was thinking a few
hours ago when he decided he was capable of striking out on his own mission.
Within no time he had been captured, and in a few more hours he would probably
be dead.

EIGHT

The
storage closet was pitch-black, and the humid stream of frigid air rushing
through a seam in the wall assaulted Jack’s body with an unpleasant chill, his tweed
blazer offering little insulation. The floor felt damp and gave off a terrible
musty smell as if it were perpetually covered with water. A machine of some
kind, which backed up to the structure, seemed to be leaking the moisture
inside, and Jack concluded from its sound that it was a massive cooling unit. The
room was otherwise empty, allowing him to walk freely from wall to wall, and he
touched the perimeter periodically with his hands, ultimately concluding it was
made of corrugated aluminum. If they had been constructed with a wood frame and
gypsum board, he might stand a chance of breaking through, but this wouldn’t
work at all.

A
shiver raced up Jack’s spine as he paced about, and he struggled to convince
himself he was warm. He cupped his hands together and puffed air around his
face as he awaited his demise. Without light to see his watch, he could only
estimate his stay at Hotel de la Mildew had thus far reached two hours.

To
his own surprise, Jack didn’t fear of his predicament. Instead, he felt more
disoriented and impatient. If something was going to happen to him, he would rather
it happen now than sit around and agonize over it for hours. He distinctly
remembered Hesterling telling his henchmen to more or less beat some sense into
him, but they apparently had more important things to do like throw him into a
closet. Perhaps a lesson in humility was a prerequisite for a lesson in respect.

During
the cooling unit’s sporadic periods of silence, Jack could hear the muffled
voices of several men nearby, but words were impossible to distinguish. Judging
from all the shouting, the situation sounded serious, and Jack could only
assume his actions had promulgated an emergency meeting of some kind.

A
few seconds before the machine began another cycle, Jack heard footsteps
approaching his new home away from home, and the door opened promptly
thereafter, casting a stream of blinding light into his eyes. Two figures
appeared in the doorway, and Jack shielded his eyes to see them.

The
deep voice of Hesterling’s huge assistant vibrated against the walls of the
aluminum cell. “So, are you ready for some fun?”

“Well,
it’s about time,” Jack said. “I was about to think you guys had forgotten about
me. And after all we’ve been through together.” He was surprised at his own
cockiness.

“Enjoy
yourself while you can, Mr. Lazar.” The man sounded unaffected by Jack’s
attempt at humor. “We have something special planned for you.” He grabbed the
underside of Jack’s arm and tossed him out of the room into the open warehouse.

The
men walked silently behind Jack and shoved him periodically in the small of the
back, directing him to the opposite side of the warehouse building. They
stopped at the bottom of an open stairway that led up to an office area with
large windows overlooking the interior of the facility.

As
he began to climb the stairs, Jack looked back at his captors and continued his
act. “So, you guys got names? Or should I make some up for you?”

A
rough, disquieting voice descended from the top of the stairs, its generic
accent laced with a complete lack of feeling. “You can call the big one Rex,
although around here we affectionately call him ‘T-Rex’ because he’s just so
darn big and gets a little crazy when we let him play with knives. You never
know when that might come in handy though.”

Jack
directed his attention to the top of the stairs where he saw a man of medium
height in his mid-thirties with lengthy blond hair pulled into a ponytail. His complexion
was coarse and scarred, but he was still ruggedly handsome, and his body sported
a gymnast’s build, which was clearly revealed by the black turtleneck and tight
jeans he wore. Jack knew he was someone to be careful with.

“Rex’s
companion there is Damien,” the man continued. “Now Damien is one of those
people who just likes to hit people, plain and simple. He’s an ex-football
player who blew out his knee during his second year in the NFL, so I think he
never had the opportunity to get all those hits out of his system. And we try
to help him out with that.”

“You’re
a regular humanitarian,” Jack said.

The
man chuckled with an odd bravado as he slowly made his way down the stairs. He
stopped two steps above Jack, leaned down and offered his hand. “My name is
Phil.”

Jack
returned his greeting obligatorily, trying not to reveal his intimidation. “And
I’m Jack…Jack Lazar. But then, you probably know that.”

“Indeed.”

“Wait
a minute,” Jack said, looking back down the stairs. “Damien? As in Damien
Thomas
,
the 49ers linebacker who went to the Pro Bowl his rookie year?”

“Yes,”
Damien replied as if it were nothing.

“Dammit,
dude. You were a monster out there.”

“Thanks.”
The man was clearly not a talker.

“And
this is the best gig you could get?”

“Go
to hell,” Damien said, still without a hint of feeling.

“Getting
back to business,” Phil continued, “you’ve caused a great deal of inconvenience
for my employer this evening. And he’s not the type of man who takes these
things lightly. In fact, I just hate to see him upset because it makes all of
our lives difficult.” His bronze eyes conveyed the coldest stare Jack had ever
seen. “You see, we have a business to run. And as they say, time is money. But
you apparently have some information we need, and I’ll do whatever I feel is
necessary to obtain it. To me it’s all a day at the office, and when I’m done,
I’ll simply dispose of you and move on to the next task at hand.”

Jack
did a poor job of hiding his nervous swallow. Phil spoke as if having him
killed was of no consequence, like an afterthought, and Jack’s contempt for the
whole idea instantly surfaced. “Excuse me. But what gives you the right to
subjectively decide who lives or dies?”

Phil’s
bold, methodical way of speaking sounded more powerful with every word. “I don’t
have the luxury or the time to consider these moral issues of yours, Mr. Lazar.
It was your
decision to get involved in all this. I didn’t ask you to
attack our business or tear Gerald Hesterling’s office into shreds. You should
have evaluated the risks before you started. Still, I’m not entirely
insensitive to your position, so I’m willing to offer you a deal. Just tell me
what you know right now, and I’ll make sure Rex ends it for you quickly and
painlessly. Your choice. And judging from what I’ve seen him do to people that don’t
cooperate, I highly recommend taking the easy route.”

Jack
exhaled in frustration. “Look, Phil. None of this is really necessary. I know
it may be hard for you to believe, but I know absolutely nothing about what’s
going on here. I had a hunch that Hesterling was involved in the drug business,
and I went to his office tonight to dig for information. I wanted revenge on
him for blackmailing me into resigning from my position at Benson Kohler. Had I
known I was stumbling onto something this big, I would never have gotten
involved. I can see now that this is way over my head, and I really just want
to go home.”

Phil
raised a powerful eyebrow.

“Just
let me go,” Jack pleaded. “Please. I don’t know what you guys are up to, and
frankly I don’t care. All I
do
know is that you have the resources to
take me out of the picture whenever you want, so it would be totally insane for
me to go to the police, the DEA or anyone else. Just let me walk out of here,
and I promise you will never see or hear from me again.”

“Nice
try, Mr. Lazar. And I’m almost tempted to buy your story, but your eyes give
you away. There’s more you aren’t telling us. For example, Hesterling says you
claimed to be working for the DEA. Are you now saying it isn’t true?”

“I
just said that to get Hesterling to let me go. If he was involved with drugs, I
figured the most intimidating thing I could say is that I was working with the
DEA.”

“What
makes you think Hesterling is involved in the drug business?” Phil’s eyes
burned with inquisition.

Jack
froze, trying desperately to think of a plausible explanation. God knows he
couldn’t mention anything about his contact with Sarina or the fact that he
knew about Hesterling’s link with Antonucci. The only chance he had of getting
out of there was to pretend he had never heard the name Antonucci before. But
what kind of believable story could he make up on the spot?

Phil
continued to stare him down, and he smiled as if he knew Jack was struggling to
come up with something. “I thought so.” He turned and walked slowly back up the
stairs. “I have something up here that will make you tell me what I need to
know, Mr. Lazar.” He stopped again at the top and looked to Rex. “Bring him!”

Jack
felt Rex’s abrasive grasp and wrestled his arm away while still trying to
appear outwardly controlled. “That’s not necessary, thank you.”

“Then
move!”

Jack
ascended the stairs and walked guardedly into the office, which was far more spacious
than it appeared from below. A large open room in the front was furnished with vintage
steel-case desks and chairs, a plethora of outdated office equipment, and
mounds of paper scattered about. The perimeter of the room was lined with
private offices, and a bright light emanated from the one in the far back
corner. Jack presumed the contraption Phil referred to was there, and he moved
slowly toward it while he scanned the open area for a weapon or an easy exit. He
flinched as he noticed his Beretta sitting next to another automatic handgun on
top of a desk in the corner, but the weapons were too far away for him to make
a move toward them.

Jack
took a deep breath before rounding the corner into the lighted office. The
walls were lined with torn and soiled wallpaper, exposing the cinder block
behind it in several places, and an old wooden table sat in the middle of the
room with two mismatched chairs scooted under the left side. Another chair had
been pushed against the wall on the right, and Jack’s heart leapt as he saw
Sarina sitting there, her arms and legs firmly tied to it with heavy rope. She
had been beaten, a trickle of blood still oozing down her cheek from a fresh
blow above her eye. She looked disoriented and exhausted, but she came to life upon
seeing him.

“What
the hell?” She had a look of absolute disbelief on her face.

Jack
ran to her side, sacrificing the composure he had so intently staged. “Dear
God, Sarina!” He barely had time to wipe the blood from her cheek before Rex
grabbed him from the neck and tossed him effortlessly against the wall. He
pinned Jack there by his throat and pressed a revolver into his gut.

Phil
laughed . “This is too easy! So, Mr. Lazar. You’re not working for the Feds? Did
I hear you correctly? Then tell me, how is it possible you know this woman? Do
you make a habit of dating DEA agents or something?”

“He
doesn’t work for us,” Sarina interrupted. “He’s just sticking his nose where it
doesn’t belong. I wouldn’t waste any time on him.”

“And
what about you, Sarina?” Phil retorted, pointing at her accusingly. “What can
you offer me? After all, we’re here to bargain. And the way I see it, I’m
dealing from a pretty strong position.”

“If
you know what’s good for you, Phil,” she threatened, “you’ll call Enzo. I don’t
think he’d approve of what you’re doing.”

“I
agree,” Damien interjected. “When he finds out what we’re up to, there’s no
telling…”

“Shut
the fuck up! Both of you! Especially you, Damien. What side are you on,
anyway?”

“I
just don’t think…”

“I
don’t give a shit what you think. I’m in control here. This is what I get paid
for, goddamnit, and I’ll take full responsibility for it!”

Jack
turned everyone’s attention back to himself. “Listen, Phil. I’ll make a deal
with you. Just let Sarina walk. And as soon as I know she’s out of trouble,
I’ll tell you everything about the operation. Then you can do whatever you want
with me.”

“Goddamnit,
Jack!” Sarina scolded. “You have no idea what you’re doing. Just tell them the
truth, or they’re not going to let either of us go! What are you doing here,
anyway? You stupid son of a bitch!”

Phil
beamed. “Perhaps if I let you go, you’ll kill each other and save me the
trouble!” He chuckled once more before his expression turned sober. “But if you
don’t mind, I’ll take the floor from now on.” He paced around slowly, thinking.
“The situation is very simple, you two. All I need to do is find out what’s
going on with the DEA, and my offer still stands to end it for you quickly and
painlessly afterwards.” He gave them both a lengthy, powerful stare. “There are
no other options here, so you can stop trying to manipulate the situation. Just
realize that if you choose to make things hard, we’ll treat you to so much pain
and humiliation that you’ll be sorry you didn’t talk in the first place. So
tell me, Mr. Lazar. With that in mind, what does the DEA know about our operation?”