"Well"—Zack chuckled—"that's still up for debate. Come on. Let's get out of here. I spend too much time at the hospital as it is. And yes, we're taking the bike, so deal."
"Where are we going?" Trev asked when they got to the bike. "Your place, so you can get to bed and recoup?"
"Nope. I promised you dinner, and dinner you'll get. I'm starving, and I bet you are too."
"Zack, you're in no shape—"
"I'm a doctor. Remember? I know my limits, and food is needed if I'm going to heal properly."
"Uh-huh." With a shake of his head, Trev got on the bike after Zach did, carefully wrapping his arms around him.
"Put on your helmet," Zack said before taking off.
"I did." The thought that Alberts' people might try to run them off the road again… He looked around, trying to determine if any of the cars he could see were planning to do that. Then he figured, probably not, since one of the goons had been shot. That sort of put a crimp in their plans. Hopefully a permanent one.
Zack pulled into the lot beside a restaurant not too far from the hospital. "Is this okay with you?"
"You bet. I love Indian food."
When they were inside, seated, and had placed their orders, Zack asked, "What did Quint find out about Bill?"
"Not much, so far. He didn't show up for work today, which I suppose isn't too surprising, since he didn't get the job done yesterday. Alberts, or whoever sent him, probably wasn't too happy about that. By the way, Bill Traves isn't his real name."
"No big surprise there."
"So they decided to eliminate the middle man and grab you instead. Meaning we were probably right about why Bill—"
"How about we find something else to talk about," Zack suggested. "This is supposed to be a nice dinner together."
Trev nodded. "That works for me. So…umm…"
Zack smiled. "At a loss for a subject? Why don't you tell me about your family, then I'll regale you about mine."
"We've already done that. You have two fathers. That must have been interesting, when you were growing up."
"It had its moments, especially since that was far from the norm twenty years ago. I mean, some kids had a father and a stepfather, but not two fathers living together in the same household. Tom and I got our fair share of bullying as a result, but we stood up for each other when that happened."
Their dinners arrived at that point, and while they ate, they traded stories of their childhoods. When they finished, Zack paid the bill then they went out to his bike.
"You're coming home with me," Zack declared.
"Am I? Do I get a say in it?"
Zack gripped Trev's shoulder, shaking his head. "I want to know you're safe, and my place is a lot more secure than yours."
"You think? Never mind."
"I suspect they've given up on you, since they came after me, but I'm not willing to take that chance."
Trev grinned, albeit barely. "I can play doctor this time and make sure you take your meds."
Zack snorted. "What meds? I've got acetaminophen at home. That's all I need."
"Then I'll…make sure you go straight to bed. You need sleep, to heal. Are you going in to work in the morning?"
"I actually have the day off and not because of the accident."
"Accident my ass," Trev muttered, getting on the bike.
"You planning on doing the driving?" Zack asked.
"Well…if I knew how to, I would. But…" Trev slid back so Zack could get on too.
"I'll teach you, but not right now," Zack replied before they took off, heading to his condo.
Trev resisted cheering. I guess Zack really does see a future for us.
CHAPTER TEN
"I'm ready to fill your order," Lou said when he called Carter mid-afternoon. "If I think the collateral you're offering is worth the cost."
"It will be," Carter replied confidently. "When and where?"
"Tonight. You name the place. Make certain it's somewhere where a large truck won't stand out."
There was a long pause on Carter's end before he replied. "How well do you know the city?"
"I can find my way around if I have an address."
Carter gave him one, in an area that didn't surprise Lou in the least. It was full of commercial warehouses, so the truck would be just another of many, even at night.
"I'll be there at eleven thirty. If you're not, the deal is off," Lou told him before hanging up.
"That was rather confrontational," Quint commented.
"Men like him will try to run roughshod over people they're dealing with," Lou replied. "I'm just jumping the gun and letting him know I have what he wants and don't intend to take any crap from him." Lou stretched, then said, "We have seven hours to set this up."
"You realize he'll be using the time to do the same thing."
"Of course." Lou smirked. "But we're better than him."
"We'd better be. Your life—and the sting—depend on it."
"So let's get out there and see what we're dealing with."
"As soon as we let the lieutenant know what's going down," Quint replied. "He'll need to find a driver for the truck, unless you want to do it yourself."
"Might be better if I drove, since this is supposed to be a private deal. Carter doesn't need to know I've got reinforcements in the back, hidden behind the fake panel."
They met with the lieutenant, arranged with him where to pick up the truck, and settled the final details of the sting. Then, after changing into dark shirts they both kept in their lockers, they took off. As they drove out to the address Carter had given Lou, Quint called Clay to let him know he was going to be late coming home and why.
"You be real careful," Clay said. "I'd rather not have to make a trip to the hospital in the wee small hours of the morning."
"That's right, only think of yourself," Quint teased.
"Yep. The midnight call that you've been hurt messes with my beauty sleep," Clay retorted. Then, seriously, he said, "I love you, and I want you around for a long time to come."
"I know," Quint replied softly. "I love you, too, so I'll be very careful. I promise."
"It must be nice to have someone in your life who cares," Lou said, when Quint hung up.
"You don't?"
Lou shrugged. "Family, yeah. But not someone on a personal level who would give a damn if I was late for dinner."
"A good-looking guy like you should have women throwing themselves at you."
"That's a bit presumptive."
"Not really. I've seen how some of the ladies at the precinct look at you."
"No. I meant that I'd be interested in a woman."
"Ah. Got it. Well, I can't say I've noticed any of the men giving you the eye, but hey…"
"Me neither." Lou grinned. "Not that I'd date another cop."
"Yeah, we're lousy risks. For starters, getting involved with us is a live-for-the-moment proposition, since we might not make it home at the end of the day."
"How does Clay deal with that?"
"We've been through a lot together, including dealing with a couple of guys who intended to murder us. He knows I can take care of myself. That helps. He also understands you don't have to be a cop to die too early. Think about how many traffic accidents you've dealt with where someone was killed, leaving a grieving spouse behind. Or the guy who walks into a workplace, intent on shooting his boss and anyone who gets in the way, or—"
"Yeah, I get what you're saying. I think you're lucky you found Clay. I dated a guy who was so terrified of what could happen to me that he didn't want to let me out of his sight."
"Another cop?"
"Yeah. That ended fast. Hell, he trusted his partner to take care of himself but not me. So like I said, no way would I date a cop. As far as a civilian? I haven't met one who even remotely interests me, except for some down and dirty screwing when the opportunity arises—which isn't so bad when you come down to it."
"You, Lou, are a cynic."
"Nope. A realist. And we're here." Lou pointed to a collection of warehouses.
Quint parked the car in the lot of a convenience store a block away then they went inside. Five minutes later they left by the rear door, using the cover of darkness to make their way to the address Carter had given Lou.
"He chose well," Quint said softly. "The warehouse is fairly large, which means he can have men stationed inside without being visible, unless he thinks he needs them. We have to get a look inside."
"I think the security guard might not like the idea," Lou whispered back, pointing to a guard shack just inside the chain-link fence surrounding the warehouse. The front area was well lit, although it was dark along the sides between two other warehouses.
"Yeah. Let's work our way around and see if there are any windows."
"Won't do us any good if we can't get to them."
"Why do you think I've got my backpack?" Quint opened it, handing Lou night vision binoculars, taking out another pair for himself. "These should give us a good look inside, if there are windows."
"If not, we're SOL until the meet."
"Then pray," Quint replied. "You take the left side. I'll take the right."
When Lou took off—the shadows between the warehouse and the one beside it making him virtually invisible—Quint went down the right side, easing along the fence until he was opposite the first of four windows. The view, since he was several feet from it, wasn't great, but it appeared as if the warehouse were empty. He saw what he thought was a balcony running along the far wall. He moved on, checking each window, gaining little in the way of information other than the fact it indeed was a balcony. Through the window closest to the back of the warehouse, he saw a roll-up door that appeared to be large enough to let a truck back into the building.
When he turned the corner, Quint spotted an electronic gate that, when open, would give a truck access to the rear door of the warehouse. There were lights flooding the back area so he remained where he was, taking out his phone to text Lou to return to the car. Lou replied, Will do.
When they were back at the car, they compared notes. Lou said he saw several large crates, "Approximately waist high, which is probably why you didn't spot them, since they were on your side of the room, along the wall and below window height."
"Interesting. They might contain drugs he got from another supplier, or…who knows?"
"We'll find out later tonight."
Quint nodded. "For now, let's go back and finish getting prepared."
*****
"Everyone in place and ready," Quint asked, using the encrypted channel on his microphone to communicate with the officers Lieutenant Harber had brought in for the operation. He got affirmative replies from the three men hidden behind a panel made to look like the real back of the truck's interior—and the officers within striking distance of the warehouse. "Then let's do it."
With that, he joined Lou in the truck's cab. Despite their earlier thought that Lou should be the driver, without any company, Harber had countermanded the idea. He pointed out that, since Lou, as Richard Loyola, was the owner of the drug company, it would be unlikely that he'd do his own driving.
"You'd bring a trusted man with you, to drive and for security. After all, you're coming in with a small fortune in pharmaceuticals—or so Carter thinks. He'd be leery if he saw just you, and he might wonder if you weren't quite what you said you were."
"Okay," Quint agreed. "That makes sense. He'll undoubtedly have one of his people there as backup as well."
"Or six or ten, if he plans on double-crossing me," Lou said dryly.
"I doubt he'll do that. It would blow any chance of getting his hands on more drugs, if the word got out he'd done so. He's a businessman, first and foremost," Harber replied. "A crooked one, but still, he knows his illegal livelihood depends on his contacts trusting him."
That had ended the discussion. Now, Quint, wearing a watchcap and a leather jacket over a dark turtleneck, pulled the truck out of the garage where it had been stored since an undercover officer had driven it into the city—presumably from the Western Slope. "Not that Carter is likely to have anyone watching for it," Quint had said when they set that up, "but there's no sense in taking chances."
They arrived at the back gate to Carter's warehouse at exactly eleven thirty. Quint tapped the horn once, to let whoever was watching know they were there. Seconds later the gate slid open, and the door of the warehouse rolled up. Quint backed the truck in, leaving the hood beneath the door so it couldn't be closed. In the side mirror, he saw Carter waiting with two other men, one of whom was holding a large package wrapped in brown paper.
"Looks like he's keeping his end of the deal," Quint said quietly, stepping out of the truck.
Lou nodded, getting out as well to join Quint, before they walked forward to meet Carter.
"That's your collateral?" Lou asked, pointing to the package.
"Good evening to you, too, Mr Loyola," Carter replied with a brief smile. "It is. My order is in the truck, I presume."
"It is. Feel free to check it out, while I take a look at what you're offering me. James"—the name Quint was going by at the moment—"if you'd show Mr Carter's man…" Lou pointed to the truck.
Quint nodded, opening the truck's rear door to reveal stacked cartons, each marked with its contents. One of Carter's men joined him, waiting while Quint took out a carton, set it on the warehouse floor, then slit the tape holding it closed.
While the man examined the contents, and more in three other cartons, Carter took the package from the second man, going over to a table at one side of the warehouse. As Lou watched, Carter untied the twine around the package and folded back the paper to reveal two paintings.
"This is your collateral?" Lou asked, frowning.
Carter nodded. "This one"—he held up the top painting—"is an Andrew Wyeth, valued at two hundred and fifty thousand. The second one is by Clayton Richardson. It's worth eighty thousand."
Quint was both relieved that Clay's painting was part of the collateral, and somewhat amused at Carter's—or probably Alberts'—valuation of it. Clay had said it would sell for forty thousand, tops.
"How do I know these are the real thing and not copies?" Lou asked sharply.
"I have the provenance papers for both of them"—Carter handed Lou a folder—"and the appraisals that were done by Stephan Alberts, one of the top men in the business."
Lou scanned the papers, nodding. "These, especially the Wyeth, will cover the wholesale price of the drugs. I'll return them to you when you give me half of what you sell the drugs for. And don't try to con me on that. I'm well aware of what the street price is for illegal pharmaceuticals—or legal ones," he added with a smirk.
"One-third," Carter countered.
"Half or no deal." Lou turned to Quint. "Put the goods back in the truck, James. We may be paying a visit to the other man who is interested in what I'm offering."
Carter glared at Lou. "You didn't mention you had another buyer."
Lou shrugged. "Why would I? Half or he gets to make a bid. It will be interesting to see what he's offering as collateral."
Carter looked at the truck, and the cartons stacked almost to the ceiling. Quint could imagine he was salivating at how much he could make for the drugs on the street.
Finally, Carter nodded. "You have a deal, Mr Loyola. Carl"—he looked at the man standing beside Quint—"if you and Max would start unloading the truck while Mr Loyola and I finalize our business."
The two men began moving the cartons from the truck to stack them with the others along the warehouse wall.
Lou smiled, handing the paintings to Quint, telling him to put them in truck's cab. Then, with that accomplished, Quint came over, standing beside Lou.
"Thomas Carter, you are under arrest, for drug dealing, art theft, and murder," Quint announced, showing Carter his badge, as did Lou.
"You have no proof I killed anyone," Carter replied angrily, backing away. "Even if you do,
neither of you live long enough to do anything about it. Take care of them," He shouted, and three men appeared on the balcony, guns aimed at Quint and Lou.
"Now," Quint said—speaking to his backup officers via the microphone he wore—as he and Lou pulled their weapons and made a dash for the far side of the truck, out of sight of the men on the balcony. As he ran, Quint took a shot at one of Carter's thugs, hearing a satisfying cry of distress in return. Lou had already wounded one of the men who'd been unloading the truck, and he was kneeling, sighting in on the other one, when three officers burst out of the truck and several more came into the warehouse through the open back door.
By that time, Carter was at the front of the building, heading to the door. Quint sprinted after him, ordering him to halt. Carter spun around, firing the gun he held. Quint shot back, ignoring the flare of pain when a bullet grazed his thigh. Carter went down, still firing, blood blossoming at the side of his shirt. Quint was beside him seconds later, twisting the gun from his grip then rolling Carter onto his stomach. Pulling the man's hands behind his back, he cuffed him, then knelt to read him his rights.
When he finished, he turned to see how everyone else was doing. The officers had Carter's men in cuffs, with the exception of the ones he and Lou had shot. Their wounds were being tended to by two of the officers. Quint heard another office call for an ambulance. "Make it two," Quint called out. "Our friend here is wounded as well."
"So are you," Lou pointed out, joining Quint. "Clay won't be happy."
"He'll deal, since we got back his painting and the Wyeth. I wonder who it belongs to."
"I'm sure we'll find out once we talk to Alberts," Lou replied. "He's going to be one unhappy camper when we show up at his doorstep."
"Serves him right for stealing Clay's painting," Quint said with a brief laugh. He heard sirens in the distance, and a few moments later, two ambulances pulled up beside the fence outside the warehouse. After that, it was business as usual as the EMTs took care of the wounded, including Quint, and the other officers bundled their captives into patrol cars to escort them to jail.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It Takes An Artist Page 13