Safe and Sound (21 page)
Authors: J.D. Rhoades
“Yeah,” Danny replied. “I’m in.”
DeGroot sounded surprised. “You don’t want to know what it is?”
“You said there was a possible big paycheck,” Danny said. “That still true?”
“Yeah,” DeGroot said. “But there’s some risk.”
Danny glanced up. The team leader was gesturing at him angrily from the restaurant door.
“Good,” Danny said. “I’m bored off my ass.”
DeGroot chuckled. “Lekker,” he said. He gave Danny a time and a place.
“North Carolina?” Danny said. “What the fuck’s in North Carolina?” He shook his head. “Never mind. I’m still in.” He snapped the phone shut. The team leader was walking toward him. He caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. A man with a large camera bag dangling from his shoulder was dismounting a small motor scooter a few feet away. Danny walked toward him, pushing past the team leader. The paparazzo came on, raising the camera, grinning from ear to ear. Danny could tell what he was thinking. A scuffle between two members of the security detail might not be as good as one of the little shit himself in some embarrassing situation, but it might be worth a few bucks. Danny grabbed the camera and jerked
it away from the paparazzo. Then he whirled completely around in a 360-degree arc, generating the maximum momentum as he smashed the heavy camera into the side of the man’s head. The paparazzo didn’t have time to scream as he collapsed. Danny threw the camera down on the paparazzo’s bleeding skull as hard as he could and turned to face the team leader. The man was standing there, his mouth open in shock. He shut it with an almost audible snap. His face contorted with rage. “You crazy bastard,” he yelled, “What the fuck?”
Danny reached down to his belt. He wrapped his fingers around the plastic and metal object hanging there. It came free with one smooth motion and Danny pressed it to the team leader’s stomach. He thumbed the button. The team leader stopped dead, then began to convulse as the stun gun slammed 80,000 volts of electricity through his body. Danny let go of the trigger and the team leader collapsed to the pavement.
“I quit,” Danny said calmly. He turned and walked away.
When he got to the corner, he raised his hand for a cab. He knew he didn’t have long to get to his apartment and pack. By the time the cops got there, he’d be long gone. As the cab pulled to a stop and Danny got in, he started whistling.
“I can’t tell you where I am right now, Dad,” Marie was saying. They were standing outside the car in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart. Powell and Riggio were inside getting supplies. “Yes. Ben’s with me. I know. I know. No, Jack didn’t have anything to do with it, and neither did I. But, Dad, listen to me. If anyone comes to the door that you don’t know, don’t let them in. Don’t even answer it. Anyone approaches you that you don’t know, don’t talk to them. The man who killed Carson and took Ben…he’s loose somewhere. He’s looking for us. He may try to find out where we are by…by trying to get you. Yes, Dad, I know. We’re going to do that. But first we have to get somewhere safe. And you need to be careful, okay?
Okay? Dad?” She looked at the cell phone in frustration. “Damn it!”
“He got the message, though,” Keller said. He was sitting on the hood of the car a few feet away from her. “That’s the important thing.”
“Yeah,” Marie said. “He thinks this is your fault, by the way.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Keller said.
“Well, this time he’s wrong,” she replied. “I’m sorry, Jack. I never should have gotten you into this.”
He shrugged. “I’m the one who offered,” he said. “I volunteered.”
“Kind of,” she said, “but I could have turned you down.” She hopped up onto the hood next to him. He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. “Are you all right?” she said. “Is all of this…you know…”
Keller examined his feelings. He felt fine. Better than fine, actually. He felt great. He sighed at the realization.
“You know me,” he said. “I’m never happier than when I’m in the middle of a major shitstorm.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s what worries me.”
“I’ll be okay,” he said.
“I hope so.” She kissed him. “Did you get hold of Angela?”
“Yeah. I filled her in. She’s keeping a lookout. Oscar, too. She’ll call Lucas.”
“What about Scott?”
Keller flipped the phone open. “I need to call Scott myself.” He hit a speed-dial button. After two rings, Scott McCaskill’s confident baritone came on the line.
“You’ve reached the law offices of Scott McCaskill,” the recording began. At the beep, Keller said, “Scott, this is Jack Keller—” There was a click and McCaskill’s voice came on. “Jack?” he said. “Where the hell are you, son?”
“Working late, aren’t you, Scott?”
“I’ve been catching up,” McCaskill responded. “Things have been a little busy around here, Jack, what with the local detectives, the FBI, Bragg CID, and about five different scary guys with credentials I never saw before wanting to know all about you. Mind telling your faithful attorney what the hell’s going on?”
“What were they asking?” Keller said.
“Everything from where you lived to your shoe size. I told them nothing, of course.”
“Of course,” Keller said. “Were they asking about any, ah, incident in particular?”
“Yeah, son, they were,” McCaskill said softly. “They were asking about Tammy Healy.” There was a pause. “You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you, Jack?” McCaskill said. His voice was bleak.
“No, Scott, I didn’t. I swear it. But I think I know the guy who did.”
“Good. I don’t suppose I could persuade you to bring the cocksucker to me,” McCaskill said. “Tammy Healy was a friend of mine. I’d surely like to have a little talk with the man who did that to her.”
Keller was shocked at the savagery in his voice. “Actually, Scott,” he said, “I’m trying to avoid him myself right now. And you may want to be careful about doing the same. He’s not likely to be as nice about asking where I am as the cops were.”
“Ah,” McCaskill replied. “So that’s how it is. He wants you bad, I take it.”
“He wants information about some people I know,” he said. “And I think I might have pissed him off a little.”
“You do have a talent for that,” McCaskill said. “This has anything to do with those missing guys from Bragg?”
“Have you checked this line lately?” Keller asked.
This time it was McCaskill who sounded shocked. “You think they’d tap my—” He paused. “Stupid question. Of course they would.”
“Just be careful, Scott,” Keller said.
“Jack,” McCaskill said, “you think any of my staff people might be in danger?”
Keller looked into the car at Ben, who was playing with the stuffed frog they had picked up at the overlook.
“Maybe. This guy’s not really discriminating. If he thinks they might know something…”
“Got it,” McCaskill said. “Looks like it’s time for a little firm retreat. I can get Judge Waring to continue my cases for a few days. I hear Vermont’s lovely this time of year.”
“Impressive.”
“These people have been with me for ten years or more, Jack,” McCaskill said. “And I saw what that bastard did to Tammy. I…” He stopped. Keller heard his breathing on the other end of the line. When he spoke again, his voice was normal. “I was the one who ID’d the body.”
“I didn’t know you were that close,” Keller said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. You be careful. And Jack—”
“Yeah?”
“I was just kidding about bringing him to me.”
“I figured.”
“If you find him, kill the sonofabitch yourself. I’ll defend you for free.”
“Is that legal advice, Scott?”
McCaskill sighed. “No. So you should probably ignore it. Yeah, you should definitely ignore it.”
“I probably will,” Keller said. He hung up.
They drove for several hours. The terrain on either side of the road grew rougher, rocky bluffs rising abruptly to loom over them on one side of the road and dropping away precipitously on the other. Here and there, clumps of vegetation had forced their way between tiny chinks in the stone, patiently clawing their own way into the mountain. These hills were already ancient, ground down to stumps of their former selves by the slow abrasion of years. Man had added his own faster talent for destruction; the stone was gouged with long straight channels where huge machines had ripped into the mountainside to create the roadway. They looked like the marks of gargantuan talons. Occasionally, the road widened enough for a small house or tiny store to cling precariously to the roadside. They gradually climbed higher into the hills, their ears popping as the air pressure decreased. After a while, they turned off the main road onto a rougher and narrower two-lane byway. Now there were trees on both sides of the road. There were no more houses.
“Turn here,” Powell said. Keller stopped the car. A gravel road led off to the right, heading upward. A wooden sign was nailed to a tree at the entrance: copperhead road. no trespassing.
“Friendly,” Keller said. He wheeled the Crown Vic onto the gravel track. The big car crunched and bounced over the ruts.
“Is this thing going to make it?” Riggio said.
“Don’t worry,” Keller said. “It used to be a cop car. And I beefed the suspension up a little bit beyond cop specs.”
“Not much further,” Powell said.
They rounded a curve and came out of the trees. After the bend, the road sloped sharply upward. Keller could see the steel skeleton of a fire tower at the top of the rise.
A small log cabin crouched at its feet.
“Honey,” Powell said. “I’m home.”
The ringing of the phone jarred Holley’s eyes open. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to focus.
His head throbbed and his eyes felt like the corneas had been rubbed with sandpaper. His right hand went automatically to the .357 revolver on the bedside table. He picked it up as he swung his legs to the floor. A nearly empty vodka bottle rolled beneath his foot. He kicked it away. He snapped the cylinder of the pistol open. One bullet, just like always. He spun the cylinder, then snapped it shut. He held the gun in his right hand and picked the phone up with his left.
“Yeah?” he said. His throat felt as rough and abraded as his eyes.
“So, Markey, howzit?” a familiar voice said.
Holley looked at the gun in his other hand. “Can’t complain,” he said.
“You’re looking for work? Well-paying work?”
Holley continued to stare at the pistol. He brought the gun to his temple and closed his eyes.
“Hello?” DeGroot said. “You still there?”
“Yeah,” Holley said. “Still here.” His finger tightened on the trigger, just shy of the breaking point.
“So? Interested?”
The trigger broke. The hammer fell on an empty chamber. Holley opened his eyes.
“What was that?” DeGroot said.
“The alarm,” Holley replied.
“Ah,” DeGroot said. “Are you all right, bru? You sound like you got a bit of a babalaas,” He used the Afrikaanas for hangover.
Holley looked at the vodka bottle. There was still some left. He felt the thirst pierce him like an ice pick. “Out late last night.”
“That’s fine,” DeGroot said. “But I need you sharp for this one, Markey D. Can you manage that?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m in.”
“We’re having a meeting tomorrow,” DeGroot said. As before, he named a time and a meeting place.
“North Carolina?” Holley said. “Yeah. I’m only a few hours away.”
“See you then,” DeGroot said.
“Okay,” Holley said. He hung up the phone. He picked up the bottle. A half inch of liquid remained. He sloshed it around and looked at it reflectively for a moment. Then he put it down. There was no need now. He had a mission. But his hands were still shaking. That wouldn’t do. He opened the drawer of the bedside table and took out a small plastic bag and a pack of rolling papers. Carefully, cursing his trembling hands, he rolled himself a conical joint of prime weed laced with a sprinkling of black Afghan hashish. He tucked the joint in his shirt pocket and rolled another. This one he lit. Ahhh. That was better. Once the shit started, he’d stay clean and sober. But for now, he needed a little lift. And if what DeGroot had told him about the mission was true, he’d have enough cash for all the drinks and weed a man could ask for.
***
“What is this place?” Keller said. They were standing in the main room of the cabin. It was small but comfortably furnished. There was a main room with a wood stove in one corner. A tiny kitchen area was just off the main room to the right. Three bedrooms, two in the back and one to the left, opened on to the main room.
“Agency safe house,” Powell said. “Back in the day, they used to bring Russian defectors up here to debrief. They don’t use it much anymore.”
“Mom!” Ben called from one of the bedrooms. “Bunk beds! I get a top one, okay?”
“Okay, honey,” Marie called back. She turned to Powell. “How did you find it?”
