Deep Dirty Truth

by Steph Broadribb

  ‘You owe me,’ I say.

  ‘And if I help you now, you’ll owe me again.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So what is it you want?’

  ‘I need the location of a federal witness, Carlton North. He’s in protective custody for—’

  ‘Shit, Lori, that’s classified. What the hell are you up to?’ There’s rustling and Monroe’s silent a while. The background noise switches from office sounds to quiet. When he speaks, the room he’s in gives his voice an echo. ‘North’s Miami Mob. He’s giving evidence about the family.’

  I pick at the label on my water bottle. Just need Monroe to agree already. ‘Yeah, under duress.’

  ‘That’s usually the only way men like that talk. Anyways, if he wasn’t inclined to speak we couldn’t make him.’

  ‘I’m not the public, Monroe. I know how you guys work. Waterboarding and the rest can have a very persuasive effect on a person.’ I take a breath, and soften my tone. ‘Look, I need that location. You owe me, and you know why.’

  There’s a pause. Monroe knows I’ve got dirt on him. There’s enough to sink his bureau career, and most likely put him in jail for a good while. We both know he wouldn’t fair well inside.

  ‘I’m not going to like what you’ll do with the intel, am I?’

  I rip the label off the water bottle. Scrunch it between my fingers. ‘Unlikely.’

  ‘Then I’m going to need you to agree to do something for me. Say you’ll work the job in Chicago.’

  Shit. I never want to work with Monroe again; the last time near killed me. But what choice do I have? He’s got access to the data I need. With the time pressure I’m under, he’s the best option I’ve got to help me find North. ‘Get me North’s location and I’ll help you in Chicago.’

  ‘Good. I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.’

  ‘I need it fast, Monroe.’ I try not to let him hear the desperation in my voice. ‘I’m on the clock here.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as I have something.’

  I hang up and take a long swig of water. My throat’s still burning from all the hours without drinking, my head’s thumping and my body aches. Ignoring it, I fire up the Jeep’s engine and pull out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

  I have to get home and talk to JT. I need him in my corner on this job, and from his one-word message I’m thinking that isn’t going to be easy.

  Putting my foot on the gas, I push the Jeep up to the speed limit. I’ve a few hours on the road to get back home. By the time I arrive I hope I’ll have figured out how to talk JT around to my way of seeing things. Because, even though I hate it, I have to do this job.

  10

  WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 19th 22:54

  I park in the lot and make my way up to our second-floor apartment. The concrete steps feel like a mountain. Every muscle in my body’s got tight; it’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other.

  Krista’s place is closest to the steps. Her lights are on, the drapes open. As I pass, I see her teenaged son and his friends huddled around the television, X-box controllers in their hands, and hear them whooping and laughing as they shoot things on the screen. I think back to my captors, of Growler packing heat with his shoulder holster and ankle strap, and shudder. Virtual guns are a lot more fun than those in real life.

  The blinds in my apartment’s front window are drawn, but light leeches from around the edges. Putting my key in the lock, I take a deep breath and open the door. It’s quiet inside; no sign of Dakota or JT. I close the door behind me and slip off the sandals I’m still wearing.

  Before I take a step JT appears at the end of the hallway, big and sexy as hell, in jeans and a black tee, his dirty-blond hair a little on the long side and flopped down over his forehead. Our eyes meet and he frowns.

  ‘JT, I—’

  ‘Godammit, Lori.’

  He takes seven strides, and then he’s standing in front of me. Kissing me on the lips, he pulls me into a bear hug. I wince as he squeezes me tight.

  ‘Where’s Dakota?’ I ask.

  ‘In bed. She was worried until you messaged, but after that she was fine.’

  I pull away slightly and look up at him. ‘Thanks for getting her from school. They took my cell. I had no way of letting you know what’d—’

  ‘No problem.’ His expression is full of concern. ‘What the hell happened?’

  ‘They jumped me outside the school, shoved me into a van and bound and gagged me. Drove a few hours to the Old Man’s place down near Miami and kept me captive in a barn for most of the day. Then they took me inside the house and made me freshen up and put this on.’ I gesture to the flower-print dress I’m still wearing. ‘And then I met the Old Man himself.’

  JT’s jaw is tense. He doesn’t try to contain the anger in his voice. ‘And what did he want?’

  I exhale and use Old Man Bonchese’s words. ‘An eye for an eye. He knows I was the one who killed Tommy and he wants revenge, but his son, Luciano, persuaded him that there’s another way. They want me to break their numbers man, Carlton North, out of FBI protective custody.’

  ‘I sure hope you told them to go to hell.’

  ‘You think I’d be here if I had?’

  We stare at each other a long moment. Neither of us speak.

  JT shakes his head. ‘Shit, Lori. You can’t—’

  ‘I said I’d do it.’

  He runs his fingers across his stubble. ‘Why’d you go and do that?’

  ‘Because they said they’d kill me if I didn’t, and then they’d come after you and our daughter.’

  ‘Well, shit, going after North is a suicide mission.’

  I don’t disagree. ‘I’ve already spoken to Monroe. He’s going to get me the location where they’re holding North.’

  JT cusses under his breath. ‘You can’t be serious? Now you’re trusting that double-crossing son-of-a-bitch?’

  ‘No, I’m not trusting him.’ I harden my tone. ‘I’m using him for his intel.’

  ‘But at what cost?’

  I don’t want to get into that with JT right now. ‘He owes me.’

  JT’s silent a long moment. Then he nods. ‘Well, if this is happening, I’m coming with you.’

  I put my hand on his arm. ‘No. I have to do this alone.’

  ‘You can’t, Lori. Going in on your own – that’s crazy talk. If North is a federal witness against the mob the Feds will be expecting trouble. He’ll be heavily guarded with proper firepower. You go in alone and they’ll shoot you to shit.’

  ‘It’s the way it’s got to be – the Old Man’s orders.’ There’s another reason too; one I’m not going to say to JT. It’s only seven weeks since he was stabbed. He’s still recovering from the punctured lung, the cracked ribs and the heart attack that trauma induced. I can’t let him come with me. He’s not strong enough. ‘I’m going alone.’

  ‘It can’t happen that way.’

  ‘Why, don’t you think I can take care of myself? I managed without you just fine for the last ten years.’ As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I reach towards him. ‘JT, I didn’t—’

  He steps back. Shrugs my hand away. ‘Sounds like your mind’s made up. Guess you best go get yourself ready.’

  I can tell from the stubborn tilt of his chin and the look in his eye that there’s no sense trying to talk to him. He’s hurt by my comment, and it’s sent him retreating back into himself. He’s always been a man of few words, but at times like this he becomes a man of none. Right now, I wish he’d get over that.

  I walk past him, along the hallway to our bedroom. Stepping inside, I drop my purse onto the floor and lean back against the closed door. It’s been a hell of a day … and this is just the beginning.

  I plug my cell in to charge, and step over to the closet. Opening the doors, I reach down and pull out my footlocker. Inside is my battered but serviceable brown leather carryall – the ‘go bag’ I’ve used ever since I started in the
bounty-hunting business. Lifting it out, I unzip the front section and check my equipment: my leather rig, a canister of extra-strong pepper spray, three sets of plasticuffs, a roll of twenties totalling five hundred bucks. I put the bag onto the bed and kneel down. At the bottom of the footlocker is my lock box. I take the key from my necklace and unlock it then lift out my X2 Taser and my Wesson Commander Classic Bobtail. I don’t like carrying a weapon, but I’ve got a permit, and on my more recent jobs I’ve learned it’s better to have it with me than to be in a situation where I regret not taking it.

  I put the footlocker away, then peel off the dress that Bonchese made me wear, drop it into the trash and head to the shower. After I’ve freshened up I fix my hair and make-up and dress in my own clothes – jeans, blue tee, cowboy boots and leather jacket. I add clean panties and an extra change of clothes to my go bag. Then, taking my wallet from my purse and unplugging my cell, I put both into the pockets of my jacket.

  Catching sight of my reflection as I walk past the mirror, I pause. There are dark circles beneath my eyes and a bruise is developing across my right temple; souvenirs of my time at the Bonchese place. Shit. Is JT right – am I making a mistake? I shake my head. Need to get this done. I pick up my go bag and carry it out into the hallway.

  JT’s waiting. He glances at my bag. Frowns. ‘You’re leaving right away?’

  ‘North is due in court Friday morning. I don’t have long to find him.’ I step towards JT. Soften my tone. ‘Look after our baby.’

  He keeps frowning, disappointed. ‘Yep.’

  This isn’t the way I want to leave, but what choice do I have? If I don’t get Carlton North free of the FBI then this – JT, Dakota and me – will be at risk. Even if we ran, we’d never escape the Miami Mob. It’s better this way. This way the price on our heads, the need to look over our shoulders all the time, goes away. Then we might have a real chance at being a family.

  ‘Tell Dakota I had to go out on a job. Tell her I love her.’

  He tenses as I say the word ‘love’ and I turn away. His feelings for me are strong enough, I think, but he won’t tell me he loves me. He never does. The way I get around the pain of that is to never say it to him. Someone you care for not saying they love you back, why, that’s more painful than a sucker punch to the heart.

  I turn when I reach the door. ‘I’ll be seeing you then.’

  He nods. Says nothing. The silence hangs thick between us.

  I push the door open and escape into the night.

  11

  WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 19th, 23:47

  I head for Tallahassee. The heat of the day has gone, replaced with cooler night air. I turn off the air conditioning and wind down the Jeep’s windows, hoping – Lord willing, and the creek don’t rise – that the freshness will keep me alert.

  It’s an easy enough drive. Straight down I-75 and I-10. I turn the radio loud; perhaps the country music will stop me thinking on the look on JT’s face as I left and the fact I’m missing my baby girl real bad already. I put my foot on the gas. At this time, with no traffic, I should reach Tallahassee by four.

  I keep driving.

  Later, a little ways past Madison, I see a rest stop and pull off the highway. The place looks deserted. The small store straight ahead is closed. There’s a low-rent motel on the far side of the parking lot – the cream paint’s flaking off the walls and some of the room numbers are missing. There are no lights on, which makes me doubt they’re taking customers at this time of night, so I swing the Jeep into a space in the far corner of the lot between two sixteen-wheelers.

  It’s near on three-thirty. Still dark, and will be for a while yet. I take a swig of water and check my messages. I’ve got nothing new. There’s no sense in getting any closer at this point. I need a location, and I need some rest. One of those things depends on Monroe, the other I can do something about.

  I wind up the windows and set the alarm on my cell. Inclining my seat back, I stretch out as far as I can and close my eyes. My body aches, and my head’s pounding. I try to ignore the pain and, after a while, start to feel myself drifting into sleep. I just hope Monroe has something for me by morning.

  My alarm wakes me at seven a.m. The sun’s coming up and it’s starting to get warm inside the Jeep. I wind down the windows and take a long drink of water. I’m almost out. My head’s still pounding, and I could do with the bathroom. I wonder if the store is open yet.

  Getting out of the Jeep, I stretch and walk out past the trucks. Across the lot the store has lights on inside. I take that as a positive sign. Going back to grab my go bag, I lock the Jeep and stride towards the store. There’s movement over by the motel, a couple of guys in shorts and ball caps are standing outside one of the rooms, mugs and cigarettes in hand. My stomach rumbles and I get a sudden yearning for coffee.

  A bell jangles as I push open the door. It’s an old-style place – mom and pop rather than chain owned. I’m relieved to see they have fresh coffee brewing behind the counter, ready to serve in go cups. I use the restroom first, freshen up as best I can and run my fingers through my hair to smooth it tidy. Then I pick out some supplies: more bottled water, a bagel for breakfast and some snacks. I find a map of Tallahassee and the surrounding area in the gift section and pop that into my basket too. I pay for my items and add a large black coffee to go.

  As I head away from the counter I feel my cell buzz in my pocket. I put the bag down and pull out my cell. It’s a message from Monroe: Call me.

  12

  THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 20th, 07:37

  Back at the Jeep, I call Monroe. ‘You got something?’

  ‘Good morning to you too,’ he says, at this hour of the morning his Kentucky drawl a little more gravelly than usual. ‘Where are you at?’

  ‘On my way to Tallahassee.’ I’m vague on purpose. I might need Monroe for his intel, but I sure as hell don’t trust him. I don’t want him knowing my location, because, although I’m pretty sure I’ve got enough dirt on him to make him play straight with me, if he does decide to flip the tables, I don’t want him being able to tell his colleagues exactly where I am. ‘What’ve you got?’

  ‘Missingdon.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The place they’re going to be holding your friend, Carlton North, tonight. It’s a small town about thirty miles from Tallahassee. They stayed somewhere else last night; they’ll move him this morning.’

  Grabbing the map I bought at the store, I spread it out across the passenger seat and scan the area around Tallahassee. I find Missingdon – a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it town located part way between Waukeenah and Hampton Springs. ‘Where are they staying?’

  Monroe exhales hard. ‘Now that I don’t know.’

  ‘Not good enough, I need a—’

  ‘Wait up a moment, y’hear? The way it works is there’s always three potential places the agents with a witness will chose from. There’ll be bookings made at all three, then the agents in the field will make the decision en route about which to use. They don’t tell anyone central their decision.’

  Damn. ‘What time are they moving him?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure, but usually they’d leave at check-out time and get to the new place a little after check-in opens. They won’t want to risk the room not being ready and having to wait in the lobby.’

  I nod. What he says makes sense. ‘You got names for the three places?’

  ‘Sure.’ There’s a rustle of paper, then Monroe continues. ‘Hampton Lodge, Korda Motel, Missingdon Suites. They’re all independent, no chains.’

  Using a pen from the cupholder in the dash, I jot down the three names. ‘So how do I figure out which he’s at?’

  ‘The places have been reserved by a pen-pusher in the office, not someone with boots-on-the-ground experience of the area. That means the three places are, in theory, what we need for a safe space, but the reality could be different. The agents with Carlton North will choose whichever one has most of the attributes on the list.’<
br />
  ‘What list? Can you email me a copy?’

  Monroe gives a hollow laugh. ‘It’s not an actual list, least I’ve not seen it written anywhere, but it’s the things we know are needed to give us the best chance at guarding our witness.’

  ‘So tell me.’

  ‘Okay, so on this the FBI are predictable. If there’s no permanent safe house available they’ll look for somewhere that’s mid-range and busy enough that they can blend in with vacationers. They’ll need a room that has more than one potential exit – window, balcony, whatever – and have it located where they can get out fast to the parking lot. They’ll want a good vantage point, so they’ll only go for ground-level rooms if they’re impossible to avoid. And they’ll book three rooms in a row and use the central one for the witness.’

  I make a mental note of the points as I repeat them back. ‘Mid-range. Busy. Multiple exits. Vantage point. Got it.’

  ‘As soon as they’re in, they’ll aim to set up some kind of counter-surveillance. Could be rudimentary, depending on their budget and time available, but you’ll need to operate as if they have basic motion detectors and cameras in place.’

  I nod to myself. ‘That’ll make getting close hard.’

  ‘Yup.’

  I think for a moment. I’m going to have to access each of the three locations that Monroe has given me, narrow it to one and do a more detailed search to try to find Carlton North, all undetected. ‘So the agents with North, they’ll aim to blend in with the other folks staying at the place, no suits?’

  ‘They could be in suits. It depends.’

  I glance in the rearview mirror at the parking lot behind. It’s busier now, more people travelling meaning more people visiting the restrooms and the store. Turning my attention back to Monroe I say, ‘On what?’

  ‘The type of place. If there’s people in suits there, they’ll probably keep them on. The agents with him won’t be undercover guys. They’re used to dressing a certain way for work and they’re like anyone else – they like the familiar. But if they’d stick out in suits they’ll change, probably into hastily bought stuff.’