Killers and Keepers

by Charles Dougherty

  "Ah! What is it that you want from me?"

  "We're short of cash, for one thing. The other is that we need weapons."

  "Cash, I can help with. But I don't know anything about weapons. I assume you mean guns?"

  I chuckled. "That's right. Maybe your bodyguard can help with that."

  "Perhaps. How much money?"

  "Five thousand dollars, U.S."

  "That's all? To kill a man like Travis?"

  "We just need a little help with out-of-pocket expenses. The other, we're doing for our own reasons."

  "What kind of guns do you need?"

  "Two semi-automatic pistols of the same caliber, at least nine millimeter, with suppressors. Fifty rounds of ammo."

  "That won't be a problem. I'm sure my bodyguard can arrange for the weapons. Come back in forty-five minutes and knock on the door."

  "Good enough," I said, rising slightly to shake hands with him across the table."

  "Hiram will let you out," Kent said, as he escorted us to the door of the conference room and opened it. The bodyguard was standing right outside.

  "Thank you for coming. Both of you take care," Kent said. "Mr. Finnegan and Ms. O'Brien are leaving, Hiram."

  "Tell Margie hello for us," Mary said, as we turned to follow Hiram down the hall to the front door.

  Kent nodded but didn't say anything.

  We heard the sound of the deadbolt when Hiram closed the door behind us. Once we were a few yards away, Mary spoke.

  "Forty-five minutes to wait."

  "Yes. Let's get another cup of coffee."

  "Same place? They may spot us, this time."

  "That's okay. Kent knows we have time to kill. Grabbing a cup of coffee nearby is a reasonable thing for us to do. That shouldn't make them suspicious."

  By the time we were seated and sipping our coffee, the black SUV pulled up in front of Kingsley's office. Kent and Hiram came out onto the sidewalk. Kent got into the back seat while Hiram locked the front door to the office. Then Hiram got into the front passenger seat and the SUV drove away.

  20

  "That was too easy, Finn," Mary said, watching the SUV drive away.

  "Maybe. We'll have to see how it plays out. I think he wants to see what we're up to. He knows more than he let on, for sure."

  "It has to be a setup."

  "Sure it is. The only question is who's going to come out on the wrong end."

  "I don't get the feeling that he cares much about Margie," Mary said.

  "He didn't say much about her, did he?"

  "No. It was like nothing happened to her. I didn't expect effusive gratitude, but he didn't even thank us for saving her."

  "Maybe he's hiding something," I said.

  "About what happened to her?"

  "Or about something else. Maybe the girl wasn't Margie. We've worried all that to death. Relax. We got what we wanted for now."

  "We did? I've lost track."

  "Come on, Mary. This was your idea to begin with."

  "Yes, but it didn't come out like I thought it would."

  I chuckled.

  "What are you laughing about?" Mary asked.

  "Something I remember from OCS."

  "OCS?"

  "Officer Candidate School — the Army."

  "What was it?"

  "'No battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy.' That's a paraphrased quote from a pre-World War I Prussian general named Von Moltke."

  "That makes planning seem futile; it's bullshit, Finn."

  "It doesn't mean planning is futile. The process of planning itself is where you get the benefit. You evaluate as many possibilities as you can come up with and pick the one that you think is most likely to succeed. The problem is that you can't predict what your enemy will do — not with any accuracy."

  "So where does that leave us?"

  "We're going to kill Travis — after we question him," I said.

  "Wouldn't we have been better off doing that without telling Kent first? I mean, Kent's his boss. He might tip Travis off."

  "We're going after Travis to position ourselves with Kent. Remember, there are a couple of possibilities here," I said. "One is that Travis and Kent have fallen out. That means Kent will be happy to have us do his dirty work, and by telling Kent first, we'll increase our credibility with him."

  "But what if we've got this all wrong, and the girl wasn't Margie? Or Aaron's rumor about Kent and Travis being on the outs isn't true? Then Travis knows we're coming, and his guard will be up," Mary said.

  "A guy like Travis has his guard up all the time. Somebody's always trying to kill him. You said it yourself, though; he's never run up against people like us. We'll get him; don't worry. And then we'll really have credibility with Kent, if he tipped Travis and we still killed him. What's bothering you? Where's that woman who said she was a 'straight-out killer?'"

  Mary frowned and chewed on her lip for a few seconds, shaking her head. "I guess I — " She stopped in mid-sentence and pointed across the street. "Look. Something's happening."

  A nondescript white delivery van pulled to the curb in front of Kingsley's office. The driver turned on the emergency flashers. He got out and walked around to the other side of the van, the one against the curb. The van blocked our view of the door to Kent's office. It also hid the driver from us, but we heard the sound of the van's side cargo door rolling open, and moments later, the thud as it closed. About a minute and a half later, the driver reappeared, walking around the front of the van. He got in and drove away.

  "He didn't leave anything on the doorstep," Mary said.

  "Must have a key. Probably one of Kent's troops."

  "Think he brought our stuff?"

  "Maybe."

  "I'm not comfortable with this, Finn."

  "I know, but I'm at a loss as to how to make you feel better about it. Look." I pointed up the street. Harold Kingsley and his secretary were walking along the sidewalk. We watched as they unlocked the office and went inside. Slipping my smartphone from my pocket, I checked the time.

  "Well?" Mary asked.

  "Five minutes to go."

  "Think that's close enough?"

  "Sure," I said, standing up.

  Mary got to her feet, and we walked across the street. I tried the door, despite Kent's instructions to knock. It was locked. I used the knocker, and thirty seconds later, we heard the sound of the bolt being drawn. The door opened, and Sally, Kingsley's secretary, greeted us.

  "Mr. Kingsley's expecting you," she said, leading us back to his office.

  Kingsley stood behind his desk, one hand resting on a wrapped parcel about twice the size of a shoebox. He nodded when Sally showed us into the office, and she left.

  "From Mr. Kent," he said, sliding the box toward me.

  "Thanks," I said, picking it up and resting it on my left hip.

  Kingsley picked up a business card from the desktop and extended it toward us. As Mary took it from him, he said, "Mr. Kent said you should call him directly if you need anything further."

  Mary looked at the card for a second and stuck it in the pocket of her slacks. She met my eye and nodded.

  "You know the way out, I think," Kingsley said, his eyes darting back and forth between us as his right fist clenched and opened over and over.

  I nodded and followed Mary out onto the street. "May as well head for the ferry dock," I said as we walked out into the late afternoon heat.

  "He seemed a little less cordial," Mary said. "Why, do you suppose?"

  "He looked nervous to me, uncomfortable. Kent made him get his hands dirty; Kingsley probably blames us."

  "You think he knows what's going on, then?"

  "Given the way this all went down, I'd say it's not the first time Kingsley's been roped into this kind of thing. He may not know the details, but he's probably got a pretty good idea that what's in the package is not something he wants to get caught with."

  "When do you want to leave for St. Lucia?"

 
"As soon as we can," I said. "There's a ferry at 3:30. When we get back to Bequia, we can go by the port authority office and clear out on our way to the boat. We should make Rodney Bay by morning."

  "You don't want to take the boat to Castries?"

  "No. It's easy enough to get a minibus or a taxi at the marina. Island Dream will be lost in the crowd at Rodney Bay. She'd be way too obvious in Castries."

  I was at the helm, standing the first watch when I heard the satellite phone ring below deck. My first reaction was to scramble below and grab it before it woke Mary, but then I checked the time on the chart plotter above the helm. It was a few minutes before nine PM. She would be waking up to relieve me in a few minutes, anyway. The phone was halfway through its second ring when I heard her answer.

  "It's Aaron," she said, climbing into the cockpit a moment later. "He's adding — "

  "Mary?" Aaron asked, his voice coming from the phone's speaker.

  "Yes, and Finn's here now."

  "Hello, everybody," Bob Lawson said. "Aaron told me he had a voicemail from you and everything was on track, but we wanted to catch up with you. Aaron's got some news."

  "What's that?" I asked.

  "It'll keep for a minute. Bob and I both want to hear about your day. Your message didn't tell us much except that you had your meeting and you were leaving for St. Lucia. Not sure why your call went to voicemail, though; I was here."

  "We got a recording about network problems and the call went to voicemail," Mary said.

  "Okay," Aaron said. "Last we heard, you had an appointment with the lawyer this afternoon. How did that go?"

  "Finn played him like a fiddle, and we ended up meeting with Kent before it was over." Mary winked at me. "Finn should have been a lawyer. Or at least an actor."

  "Tell us what happened," Bob said. "Don't leave anything out."

  Mary told the story of our brief meeting with Kingsley. Bob chuckled at her description of how I handled him. "We were finishing lunch when Kingsley called us back to tell us Kent would meet us at his office in 45 minutes," she said.

  "Good. What happened with Kent?"

  "We played it pretty much according to the plan we ran through with you yesterday, but Finn told him less than we planned," Mary said. "And vice versa. But at the end, Finn asked him for two pistols with suppressors, plus $5,000 to cover our out-of-pocket expenses. Kent had somebody deliver them to the lawyer's office 45 minutes after we met."

  "Okay," Bob said. "So he agreed that you should kill Travis?"

  "That's one way to look at it," I said. "He didn't tell us not to kill him, anyway."

  "What did he say about the girls?" Bob asked.

  "Nothing, really," Mary said. "If Margie's his daughter, I feel sorry for her; he didn't give any sign of being upset about what happened to her."

  "What Aaron's picked up may help explain that. Aaron?"

  "Yeah. Margie's definitely his daughter, but we think she's in Switzerland. We got into her personal email account. She was planning to spend the semester break at her roommate's family's ski lodge. We haven't been able to confirm that she's there yet, though."

  "Whoa," Mary said. "Then Kent knew she wasn't one of the girls we saved from Travis."

  "That's most likely the case," Aaron said. "But we aren't sure. Her plans could have changed; she could have gone to St. Vincent. We're still working on that."

  "What about the burner phone in Les Saintes?" I asked.

  "It's still in active use, but we haven't managed to get a tap on it, so we don't know any more about who's using it."

  "That tips the odds in favor of my nightmare scenario," Mary said.

  "Nightmare scenario?" Bob asked.

  "My intuition told me something was off when we were talking with Kent. The whole thing was surreal; it was too easy."

  "What are you saying?"

  "My bet is that Kent's setting us up," Mary said. "I think he's warned Travis and set a trap for us. Travis will be expecting us."

  "Why would Kent do that?" Bob asked. "If he wanted to set you up, why not just have someone try to kill you in St. Vincent?"

  "I don't know. Maybe he didn't want bodies on his turf? Who knows what's going on between him and Travis? But I told Finn as soon as the meeting was over that it didn't feel right."

  "Are you having second thoughts about hitting Travis, then?"

  "No," Mary said. "We need to get rid of him; he's a pain in the neck, if nothing else."

  "And you're comfortable going ahead with it?" Bob asked.

  "Absolutely."

  "Then why did you say this was a nightmare scenario?"

  "Because of Kent. If he's set us up for Travis and we kill Travis, where does that leave us when we go back to Kent?"

  "The way I see it, you're no worse off," Bob said. "If you're right and Kent has set you up, he already views you as his enemy. Killing Travis will just make you look more dangerous. And what's this about going back to Kent?"

  "You wanted us to infiltrate his operation."

  "Yes, that's right. But you need to behave in a manner that's consistent with his expectations."

  "I don't understand, Bob," Mary said.

  "Think about it. You went to Kent for help with a hit on Travis. Kent gave you what you asked for. Let's say you've killed Travis. What will Kent expect you to do next?"

  "I'm still not — "

  "Look, Mary. Forget all our scheming for a moment. You've just killed Travis. Based on your dealings with Kent so far, wouldn't you assume you had Kent's blessing for the hit?"

  "Yes."

  "Did Kent ask you to check in with him afterward?" Bob asked.

  "No."

  "Then why would you go back to him?"

  "I wouldn't," Mary said, "except that you want us to get inside his organization."

  "That's my point, exactly," Bob said. "If you kill Travis and then report back to Kent, he'll wonder what you're up to."

  "Then how do we infiltrate his operation?"

  "He's going to do his damnedest to check you out once you blow away Travis. Guys like Kent are always in need of competent killers. He'll offer you work, most likely."

  "Or send somebody to kill us," Mary said.

  "I doubt it. From what Aaron's found out about him, he's a businessman. He'll want to have you working for him, once he sees how good you are."

  "What if he doesn't, though?"

  "Let's take it one step at a time. If he doesn't try to recruit you, then we may ask you to take him out. He's only useful to us as a source of information. There are at least two ways to get information from him, right?"

  "Oh… I get it. Sorry to be so slow-witted," Mary said.

  "Don't worry about it. When you're working up close, it's tough to see the bigger picture. You two are doing a good job. Stay focused on the next step; get rid of Travis. Then we'll work out where to go afterward, okay?"

  "Yes. Got it. Thanks."

  "Just doing my job," Bob said. "Finn? You okay with all that?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "What's your plan for Travis?"

  "We need to do reconnaissance on the ground in Castries. There's not enough detail in the satellite photo Aaron sent."

  "Yeah," Aaron said. "Sorry I struck out on floor plans. There's just not much available from the local government down there when it comes to building permits. There were no plans of any kind on file for the Sundowner Club."

  "We'll be okay," I said. "We'll scope the place out; we would need to do a little surveillance anyway, to see when it's busy, and what kind of security he has."

  "Good," Bob said. "Let us know if you need anything. Otherwise, give us a call after your recon and we'll talk about your plan to hit Travis."

  "Yes, sir."

  There was a click as Bob and Aaron dropped the call. Mary looked at me in the dim light from the instrument panel for a few seconds, then she smiled.

  "Guess it's time for my watch," she said. "You sleepy?"

  "A little. You feeling bet
ter about things?"

  "Yes. Bob was right; I was too close to everything. I'm okay, now."

  "Want me to make you a thermos of coffee?" I asked.

  "No, I'm wide awake. You get some sleep. I'll make myself a cup of instant if I need it later."

  "Okay, if you're sure you don't want anything."

  "Well… there is one thing."

  "What's that?"

  "Kiss me."

  I didn't get to sleep as soon as I expected, but the delay was well worth it.

  21

  "Ready to go check out the Sundowner Club?" I asked.

  Mary and I just finished lunch at one of the restaurants in the marina. We got into Rodney Bay about dawn and slept for a few hours. When we came ashore, we cleared in with customs and immigration. Deciding it was too early in the day to see anything of interest at Travis's club, we opted to have lunch.

  "It's only one o'clock. Think it's late enough?"

  "Probably not late enough for the club to be open, but we might as well scope out the neighborhood. We'll want to come back to the boat for the pistols before we strike, anyway. I vote for an early morning hit; give everybody a chance to get drunk and tired — maybe one a.m. You disagree?"

  "No, that sounds good. Let's go."

  I paid our tab, and we chose one of the taxis waiting outside the marina complex.

  "Good afternoon," the driver said. "Where are you going?"

  "The Saint Lucia Air and Sea Ports Authority building in Castries," I said.

  "SLAPSA, okay. You know they have an office in the marina?"

  "Yes. They sent us to the main office."

  "Okay, then. I take you there, no problem."

  As the driver pulled out into traffic and headed for Castries, I thought about the information on the club that Aaron sent us. The best he was able to do was a screen shot of an online satellite photo of the neighborhood. The SLAPSA building was across the street from the club. Aaron included a series of street-view shots that gave us a panoramic view from the SLAPSA parking lot looking toward the club.

  The Sundowner Club appeared to occupy the ground floor of a well-maintained, two-story commercial building. The man we questioned the other day told us Travis lived on the second floor. In the photos, the building appeared to share walls with the structures on either side. Unless there was a rear entrance, the only access to Travis's quarters would be through the club.