Neon Prey

by John Sandford

  Cole: “Let’s go.” And to Harrelson: “We need the keys to that Lexus.”

  Deese: “Ain’t got enough money.” He shoved Gloria Harrelson in the chest, hard enough to knock her back on a couch. “Listen to me, bitch. Where’s the money?”

  She began crying again, then choked out, “In the bank, in the box. Honest to God, that’s the truth. It’s in the box.”

  “Fuck it, you’re coming with us.”

  Cole: “What?”

  “She’s coming with us,” Deese said. He turned to Harrelson. “We want two million in cash tomorrow morning when the bank opens. You don’t get it to us, I’ll kill her. You call the cops, I’ll kill her. If we gotta run with her, I’ll kill her. But first we’ll bang her so hard they’ll probably find her pussy lyin’ in the street.”

  Harrelson: “You fuckin’ punks don’t know what you’re—”

  Deese struck with his pistol, raking Harrelson across the face, ripping another jagged cut down across his cheek and nose. Harrelson staggered backwards, fell on the floor. Deese pulled the stocking off his face. “Look at me. You know this face? It’s been on TV . . . All over the TV.”

  Gloria groaned, “Oh my God, it’s the cannibal.”

  Deese turned. “That’s right. The cannibal. I’m gonna roast your tits over a slow fire, we don’t get that money.”

  Gloria: “Oh my God . . .”

  Cole said, “Deese, I don’t—”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Deese said. He waggled the gun at Gloria Harrelson. “Out to the car. And we need those keys.”

  Harrelson said, “Don’t mess with her. I swear to God, I know people here, we’ll track you down. And I’ll pour a gallon of gas on your head and set you on fire.”

  “You do anything but get that money to us, you won’t be doing that because you’ll be dead, along with your raped-ass old lady.”

  Cole: “Jesus Christ.”

  Harrelson to Cole: “Don’t let that motherfucker touch her.”

  Cole opened one of the backpacks and told Deese, “Put your gun on him,” and to Harrelson: “I’m gonna put a chain around your waist. You fight me, the cannibal is going to kill you.”

  Cole threw the chain around Harrelson’s waist, fastening it with a padlock. When the padlock was secure, he led Harrelson to a living room couch and looped the other end of the chain around the couch and locked it.

  He showed the two padlock keys to Harrelson and said, “These’ll be on the kitchen table with your cell phone. You call the cops, the cannibal will kill your wife. Think about it. There won’t be any point in calling anyway because by the time you get the couch into the kitchen, we’ll be long gone.”

  Cole got the other chain out of the pack, and Deese asked, “What’re you doing?”

  “Got to chain up Dopey.”

  “If Dopey’s alive, the asshole will call an ambulance, the cops’ll come in.”

  “Goddamnit, Deese.”

  Deese kicked Dopey’s wounded hip and said, “Fuck you,” and shot him in the head. To Harrelson: “There. Now you don’t got to call nobody.”

  * * *

  —

  COLE, shocked deep in his heart, drove, Deese sat in the back with Gloria Harrelson. Nobody spoke until Cole backed the Lexus out of the garage and into the street. When they were rolling, Cole punched up his speed dial and called Cox and asked, “Where are you?”

  “Hiding behind a pile of dirt.”

  “How do I get there?”

  “Take a left out of the gate, go about three blocks to a construction site. You’ll see a pile of dirt on the left side of the road as high as a house. I’m behind it . . . Did you get the money?”

  “It’s complicated,” Cole said. “It’s fucking awful, is what it is.”

  “Oh no.”

  * * *

  —

  AT THE PILE of dirt, Cole told Cox what had happened, and she whispered, “He killed him? And we . . . We can’t kidnap her. This is terrible, this is awful. Oh, God, Cole, we gotta get away from this maniac.”

  “I’m thinking about that,” Cole said.

  “You got your gun?”

  “Yeah. But I never shot anybody.”

  * * *

  —

  COLE USED A DIME to unscrew the California plates on the Cadillac and transferred them to the Lexus. When Deese asked why, he said, “Because I don’t think the cops know the California plates, but they’ll know the plates on the Lexus if Harrelson calls them. Now we’re driving a Lexus with California plates, which is different from anything they know. Here in Vegas, driving a Lexus is like driving a Ford.”

  Cox asked, “Should I erase my fingerprints? From the Caddy?”

  “Too late for that, honey,” Cole said.

  She tried anyway, using a sock to rub the steering wheel and the center console and door handles. As she did, she kept muttering, “Oh, God, Oh, Jesus,” and looking over at the Lexus, where Deese waited in the backseat with Gloria Harrelson.

  When Cole was finished with the license plates, he pointed to the passenger side and then walked around to the driver’s-side door and got in. Cox got a sack out of the back of the Cadillac and said, “At least I saved some shoes.” In the car, she turned to look at Gloria in the back and asked, “You okay?”

  Harrelson just sobbed.

  “She’s bummed out because I’ve been feeling her up,” Deese said with a grin. “There’s some nice stuff under all them clothes.”

  “Don’t do that,” Cox said. “Please don’t do that, I can’t stand it.” To Cole: “Where are we going? We can’t go back to the house.”

  “Don’t know,” Cole said. “We got to figure that out.”

  “I know where we’re going,” Deese said. “We need to head north on Highway 95. About two hours . . . We got gas?”

  “We got gas. But if we’re gonna try to do this, we need to make another stop at a Walmart.”

  Deese: “What for?”

  “We need to buy a couple of metal file boxes.”

  Deese: “Why?”

  Cole told him. Deese said, “I didn’t think of that.”

  “You don’t think a lot,” Cox said. “Period.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  Lucas estimated that he’d been asleep for all of fourteen seconds when his phone rang. He groped at its lighted face on the bedside table, looked at the time and caller: one o’clock in the morning, Tremanty.

  When Lucas answered, Tremanty said, “The local office got a call from a guy named Harrelson and they eventually called me. Harrelson’s a gambler who’s believed to have a lot of cash on hand. Deese and some other guy, probably Cole, crashed his house tonight, thinking that Harrelson had five million bucks there or in his car. He didn’t. So Deese and the others took Harrelson’s wife and they’re holding her for ransom.”

  “That’s nuts,” Lucas said.

  “Exactly. Deese shot a friend of Harrelson’s. Killed him. To make his point. And he pistol-whipped Harrelson. Deese says he’ll rape Harrelson’s wife and then kill her if Harrelson does anything but pay the money. If they see cops, if they don’t get the money, then they’ll rape and kill her. Harrelson believes them.”

  “How do they know it’s Deese?”

  “He was wearing a mask when he came in, but he took it off. To further make his point.”

  “Harrelson called you anyway?”

  “The guy’s not stupid,” Tremanty said. “He figures if he pays, they’ll kill his old lady anyway to eliminate a witness.”

  “How’s Deese gonna . . . Harrelson wouldn’t go with him after the payoff . . . There’d still be witnesses . . .”

  “We’re not dealing with a genius here. While Deese isn’t so bright, he’s perfectly willing to kill at the drop of a hat. In New Orleans, that’s almost the same as b
eing bright. He’s telling the truth, though: he’ll rape and kill the woman if he doesn’t get the money. Probably rape the woman and kill her even if he does. He’s gone over the edge. They’ll call Harrelson in the morning and tell him where to deliver the money.”

  “What do you want from me?” Lucas asked. “I’ll do anything you say.”

  “Actually, I’m calling you to update you and to see if you might have any idea on how to handle this. I’m heading over to the office. We’re keeping the Vegas cops out of it, for the time being.”

  “I’ll get with Bob and Rae,” Lucas said. “We’ll be in touch.”

  * * *

  —

  BOB AND RAE were early-to-bed types and looked stunned when they stumbled into Lucas’s room. Lucas, a night owl, felt fine. But after fifteen minutes, they concluded that they didn’t have much to offer. Lucas called Tremanty and told him such.

  Tremanty told him to hold on for a few seconds, apparently walking somewhere, and Lucas could hear voices in the background. When Tremanty came back, the voices were silenced.

  “Listen, Lucas . . . Man, the thing is, Harrelson looks like you. Like us, actually, but I’m skinnier, I don’t have the shoulders, and I’ve got to run the team. And he’s clean-shaven, and all. What I’m saying is, we need somebody to put on a golf hat and a golf shirt and be Harrelson tomorrow for the money drop. If there is a money drop.”

  “I can do that,” Lucas said. “What’s the plan?”

  “Harrelson has to go to the bank to get the money. They may be watching him—in fact, I’m betting on it—so we’re flooding the zone. Our idea is, Harrelson goes to the bank at nine o’clock, when it opens, in a pink golf shirt and khaki slacks and a baseball cap. He takes the cap off out on the steps and looks around so that if they are out there, watching, they’ll see him. You’re already in the bank, in your pink shirt and khakis, and he gives you the cap, you put it on, and you come out fifteen minutes later with the bag.”

  “That should work if they’re watching the bank,” Lucas said.

  “It’s what we’ve got right now. At least we’ll have somebody in play if they call.”

  “What do you want me to do right now?” Lucas asked.

  “Go back to bed. Try to get some sleep. We’ve spoken to the bank manager and we’ll get you inside at seven o’clock. So, set your alarm for six. Or I can call you then. We’ll brief you when you’re at the bank, what we know at that point.”

  “What do you want from Bob and Rae?”

  “If we need to go in heavy somewhere.”

  “I’ll tell them,” Lucas said.

  The situation felt weird to Lucas: he was usually the guy in charge, running the team, and was not used to being one of the pawns. He told Bob and Rae what they’d be doing. And then they all went back to bed.

  * * *

  —

  HE WAS UP a few minutes before six, and Tremanty called right at six o’clock and said the plan hadn’t changed, except that the agent in charge had talked to the sheriff. The FBI would handle it, but the Vegas cops now knew what was happening.

  “It’s a political thing, you know, after the mall,” Tremanty said.

  * * *

  —

  LUCAS CLEANED UP, found the bank on Google Maps, called Bob and Rae to make sure they were awake—they were, but they’d be going to the FBI office with their gear, and Bob would be going out to a shooting range—and took the Volvo to a parking structure near the bank and walked over right at seven. Tremanty was waiting inside the door with two other FBI people, including the Las Vegas agent in charge. Lucas could smell the stress.

  “We’ll have seven more agents around you, running a box,” the AIC said, poking a finger as Lucas’s chest. “Don’t try to beat any yellow lights.”

  “We want you to talk to Harrelson on the phone,” Tremanty said. “He’s already up, but he won’t be here until nine. We want you to hear the way he speaks. You’ll have his cell phone in the car. We’ll be tracking the cell and any incoming calls. And we’ll have both a Cessna and a chopper in the sky, tracking cars. And there’ll be a GPS tracker inside the money bag.”

  “What if he asks for identifiers? What if he asks, what tattoo does your wife have on her ass?” Lucas asked.

  The AIC said, “Ah. We got that. When you answer the phone, you’ll make sure it’s on speaker. You’ll be carrying a handset that’ll come back to us, and Harrelson, and you’ll have an earbud in your ear. If Deese asks about the tattoo on his old lady’s ass, Harrelson will say, ‘Property of the Hells Angels,’ or whatever, and you answer the question.”

  “Cool,” Lucas said. And he laughed. “‘Property of Hells Angels’?”

  “The problem is, of course, that they’ll think about aerial surveillance, and all that, and they’ll try something tricky,” Tremanty said. “They’ll have two or three vehicles, maybe a stolen one in addition to the Cadillac and the Lexus, and they’ll dump one or two of them. Something tricky anyway. Like driving into a parking structure and running out on foot. Or whatever.”

  Lucas asked Tremanty, “How’s Santos? Is he going to make it?”

  “Yes, but he’s messed up. Lost a kidney, a chunk of his stomach. A slug barely missed his spine, but he might have some nerve damage that’ll affect his legs. Won’t know about that for a while.”

  “I’m asking because he lost us in Caesars and we were right on his tail,” Lucas said. “He dumped his car with the valet and disappeared into the crowd. I’m thinking Deese and his crew could do the same thing, and we could wind up with guns in a crowd again.”

  “Don’t want that,” the AIC said, with a touch of sweat in his voice. “I mean, Jesus, we really don’t want that. You wouldn’t believe the PR hassle we’ve got after that thing at the mall. We’re smoothing it over, but it looks like ten years of good relations with the local cops just went down the drain.”

  Tremanty: “If those fuckin’ cops hadn’t come running down the mall—”

  “Don’t start,” the AIC snapped. “I already got a headache. So does the sheriff. We don’t need to hear any more about it.”

  Tremanty nodded.

  Lucas asked, “Real money?”

  “We’ve got that going,” Tremanty said. “Not two million, but enough to look like a lot. One-dollar bills, wrapped up in bundles, with hundreds on the outside. Two hundred bundles, so you’ll be carrying a little less than forty thousand. The money bundles will be supplied by the bank but will come from Harrelson. If you lose it, it’s Harrelson’s loss.”

  “All you have to do,” the AIC said, “is be Harrelson. That’s it.”

  “Sounds easy,” Lucas said. “It never is, though.”

  “Not only that, you have to wear silly clothes,” Tremanty said, handing him a sack. Lucas looked inside and found a new pair of khaki slacks and a pink golf shirt.

  “Where’d you get these in the middle of the night?”

  “This is Vegas,” Tremanty said.

  * * *

  —

  LUCAS GOT on the phone with Harrelson, who had a touch of a dry, Southwestern accent. His vocal range and Lucas’s—mild baritones—were a near match, which helped.

  “I’m sitting here on my bed all freaked out,” Harrelson said. “I do love that girl, and that goddamn cannibal has her. I might have taken him on, but there were two guns and it only would have gotten all of us shot.”

  “You did okay,” Lucas said. “Tell me the whole story, beginning with when they caught you in the garage.”

  “I already told the FBI agents . . .”

  “I want to hear you talk, see if I can fake the way you sound.”

  “Oh. All right . . . Well, I pulled into my garage . . .”

  As Harrelson spoke, Lucas turned the phone upside down so he could still hear him but could simultaneously practice the same accent. Whe
n Harrelson finished, Lucas said, “I hope I got it.”

  “So do I. You gotta save Gloria, man. Those people are animals.”

  “See you here at the bank,” Lucas said. “Nine o’clock.”

  * * *

  —

  OFF THE PHONE, Lucas asked Tremanty, “How do I sound?”

  “Like a Minnesotan trying to imitate George Bush.”

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  —

  DEESE AND HIS CREW would know the bank didn’t open until nine, so the feds expected that Harrelson wouldn’t get a call until a bit before or after.

  The bank’s employees began showing up a few minutes before eight and were taken aside, one at a time or in small groups, and briefed on what was about to happen. They were asked to turn off their cell phones until the agents told them it was all right to turn them on again. That caused some complaints, especially from parents who said they needed to check on school arrivals, and Tremanty agreed to allow necessary calls but only with an agent monitoring what was said. That generated some complaints about privacy, but Tremanty used quiet, friendly persuasion to tell them to go fuck themselves and their privacy issue.

  Lucas: “I like the way you did that.”

  “It’s how you would have done it . . . Go change clothes.”

  He did, and when he came back the AIC whistled and said, “You’re so pretty, I might date you myself if I didn’t already have a wife.”

  “I understand the attraction, but I’d never date a feeb,” Lucas said.