Savage Alliance

by R. T. Wolfe

  Glancing at Byrd, he checked the peephole. He yanked open the door and pulled his brother inside, then locked and bolted the door. Blinds secure. Door secure.

  "Toys!" Andy said and walked to the pile of materials on the floor.

  Bombs were not Andy's expertise. Dr. Byrd was the professional, but Duncan carried the knowledge he gained from his time with explosives in the armed forces and Andy brought his natural talents as a builder. Andy's gift for placing inanimate objects together was one he held since he was a child.

  Duncan logged on to his local cell phone to check for messages.

  Another from his office manager. She wasn't doing so well without him. And another from his aunt and his pilot. He chose his Nickie's message to open first.

  Parker is dead. Using your pilot and your plane to transport body to Northridge.

  He checked the time. Nine p.m. That was hours ago.

  "What happened?" Andy stood next to him.

  Duncan turned his head to his brother. "They got to Parker."

  "You mean the murdered kind of got to?"

  He nodded. "I need to get back to her." Picking up his jacket, he patted the pockets to make sure he had his wallet.

  "Whoa," Andy said and sat on the floor next to the blanket. He looked over the piles of supplies as he said, "What would Nick want you to do?"

  "Don't."

  Andy shrugged. "You know you can't. Beat yourself up if you need to, but it's annoying."

  "As are little brothers who are annoyingly forthright."

  "Job description." He lifted from his butt and organized the materials.

  While Andy worked, Duncan responded to Nickie.

  I'm sorry. Are you okay? Do you want me to come home?

  To his surprise, she messaged back.

  Rickard said homicide.

  He had more questions than messaging allowed.

  What is next?

  Vegas planning meeting today.

  Still? He didn't have a chance to respond when his phone vibrated again.

  Potential mass grave site excavation tomorrow.

  It was one of the most helpless moments of his life.

  Say the word and I can be with you in less than twenty-four hours.

  I've been through worse.

  That she had.

  * * *

  Nickie considered herself well rounded. Raised as a Maryland Monticello snob, she scratched her way through college after floating from foster home to foster home.

  Nothing could have prepared her for Johnny and Bebe Lyons' Vegas house. She expected big from an Emmy Award winner, but this was nuts. Stopping at the entrance, she squinted up the winding drive. The house was up there. She could see it, but it looked like a postage stamp at the corner of an envelope.

  "Now, this is what I'm talkin' 'bout," Eddy said from the backseat.

  "You're not staying here, Jimbo," she said as she shifted the rental economy car into drive. Even at double the price per day, she second-guessed her decision to turn down the convertible.

  Eddy sneered from the passenger seat. "That's right, Slimeball. I saw a nice place for $29.99 a night near the interstate on the way in. Free cable."

  She spotted the main entrance as she drove. The ginormous set of glass front doors stood framed by brick. White stucco covered the outside walls. Duncan had been here. Why were there no paintings of this place in his collection? Or in the ashes that used to be his collection?

  Mrs. Lyons came from around the back before Nickie reached the house. Bebe stood in spiky heels and a sunbathing robe, waving her hand in what Nickie liked to think of as a parade wave. Nickie lifted a hand in return.

  Bebe's smile was sincere. "Just make sure to stay in the car, Jimbo," Nickie said to him.

  "At least the break room at the station had donuts."

  Nickie and Eddy got out of the front seat but left the car running for Jimbo.

  "Hello, Nickie. It's so good to see you again."

  "Thank you, Bebe," Nickie said. She could smell Bebe's floral perfume from where she stood. "This is Detective Eddy Lynx. Due to recent events, he has become available to oversee this part of Operation Fu Haizi. He's an excellent detective with extensive expertise with trafficking."

  Crooked at the wrist, Bebe held out a hand like she might have expected Eddy to kiss it.

  "Um, yes," he said and shook using the tips of his fingers.

  Bebe leaned around him as she smiled and peered in the car. "Um, Nickie dear. Your car is running." She dipped her head a few inches. "And you have a man in your backseat."

  Nickie waved a hand like she was shooing a fly. "That's Jimbo. James. Jim. He's going to stand in as an undercover pedophile."

  Eddy added, "He has extensive expertise in being a scumbag."

  "Any friend of the Reeds is a friend of mine." Bebe stepped to the car and waved for Jimbo to come out.

  An image flashed in Nickie's mind. It was of her waving her arms in big circles as she yelled, "No!" as if Bebe was about to unleash The Cracken.

  From the backseat, Jimbo looked around the car like she must have been gesturing to someone else. He pointed to his chest, then smiled from ear to ear. He reached over the seat and turned off the car. Spilling out of the car, he smoothed his greasy hair over his ears and then held out an open hand.

  Bebe stared at Jimbo's outstretched hand as she said, "Welcome, Mr. Jimbo, James, Jim." She patted him on the shoulder instead of shaking. "Shall we?" She gestured to the trail of stepping stones that led to the back of the place.

  Flagstone stepping-stones. As the group followed her, Nickie leaned close to Jimbo. "If you touch one single thing, I will personally push your eyeballs through your sockets and blind you for life."

  "Why you gotta be like that, Detective Dude?"

  "Because of the other set of whiskey glasses from Duncan's plane that were found in your carry-on. And no talking, either." In case he didn't hear that part, she zipped her lip.

  Ducking under the low-hanging vines that covered an arbor leading to a fenced-in pool, Nickie stood for a moment in awe. An hourglass-shaped pool stood in the center of a ton of plants. They weren't even fake plants like the ones in their Maine vacation home. It must have taken an entire crew to keep it all watered. She was going to try hard not to leave this house filled with bullet holes.

  Johnny Lyons sat at a glass table. He stood as they entered, taking off the reading glasses that sat on the end of his nose. "Nickie! It's good to see you. Welcome. Please," he said and gestured an arm around the table. "Sit."

  "This is Detective Lynx and Jimbo, James, Jim," Bebe said as she sat next to her husband.

  "Just James," Nickie corrected. Turning to Jimbo, she explained so all could hear. "Special Agent Hurst is due at any moment. This is his operation. The Lyonses will get you a ticket into the Celebrity Poker Tournament. That is all. They have agreed to keep their eyes open, but they will not be involved beyond that."

  Eddy pulled out a tourist map from his back pocket. He'd circled the meeting spots in red. He laid it on the table and said, "This is where we meet the night of the 2nd. Fu Haizi generally uses rooms inside casinos, so look for a long hall with lots of doors. It will be disguised as business meeting rooms and might be labeled as a conference area."

  "I just can't believe anyone could do this," Bebe said and put her hand over her mouth.

  Me neither, Nickie thought.

  Chapter 26

  Duncan woke fully clothed to the sound of snapping wires and clinking metal. Hints of the rising sun peeked through the window screen in his peripheral vision. As he blinked awake, his focus rested on the ceiling. It was plaster and cracked in several places. Water stains gathered in spots, mostly at the outside wall corner.

  As he turned his gaze to the rest of the room, he first spotted his brother. His mouth hung open on his razor-thin pillow. He'd at least had enough sense to change into more comfortable clothing before sleep.

  The clinking came from the blanket Duncan ha
d spread out the night before. An ironing table had been set up next to it since he had fallen asleep in the late hours the night before.

  The doctor faced the wall and worked furiously. The weight of his backside lifted from the chair as his elbow raised and lowered. Then, he craned his head to one side and lifted his chin as if he was looking through trifocals.

  Watching him work reminded Duncan of himself as he painted. Hair disheveled. Wrinkled clothing. His face shined as if he hadn't showered in days. Understandable. It occurred to him that Byrd was in the same spot when Duncan fell to the bed with his clothes on the evening before.

  "Good morning, Doctor," Duncan said and set his feet on the floor next to his bed.

  He felt a short wave of guilt from the fact that he had arranged Dr. Byrd's materials. He would not at all be pleased if someone had rearranged his paints, brushes, canvases, or studio.

  He stood and walked around to investigate what had gained the doctor's undivided attention. On the ironing board sat a contraption that resembled the engine of a car. Spools of wire attached to the outside like a bad hairstyle.

  He hadn't gotten a response from the doctor. Duncan recognized he hadn't actually asked a question and tried again. "Have you been up all night?"

  The doctor grunted and continued his work. The haze was one that Duncan recognized. This was Dr. Byrd's painting. His instrument. His passion. Like any artist, he was in his element, not to be reckoned with.

  Instead, Duncan studied his creation. His piece of art. His bomb. His electromagnetic pulse device. Any attempts to earn a response from the doctor were fruitless. Duncan understood and appreciated this. He tiptoed toward the bathroom door with a newfound respect for this man.

  * * *

  Nickie sat with her phone in her hand. She waited in her car outside one of the possible grave site locations Dale Parker had given her. It was a dirty trick. Levels of dirty, really. Dirty because she'd failed Parker, the one who gave her the tip. Dirty because it was Special Agent Hurst who provided the manpower for the search, and she hadn't told him his only witness in the case against her mother and Jun Zheng was dead. Dirty because the sole reason she hadn't told him was because she didn't want him to pull this dig from her. That and the fact that she truly was chicken.

  A small army of vehicles, supplies and earth-moving equipment arrived and gathered around the perimeter. She pressed the send button on her phone and closed her eyes.

  "Nick, what's up?" Hurst asked. "Things are coming together."

  "That's good but—"

  "Captain Dave's wife and contacts from Jess Larsen's Child Rescue have locations set up and ready to accept children."

  "I have something I need to te—"

  "Are you at the grave site? Has the team arrived yet?"

  He was psyched. She got that. Every good cop she knew got that way ahead of a bust of any size, let alone one of this magnitude.

  "Stop," she said as loud as she could without yelling at him.

  Silence.

  "What's the matter?"

  "It's Parker."

  "Oh fuck. They got him."

  She could have been calling to say she'd got him to talk. Or that Parker had had an epiphany about his time inside Fu Haizi, but Hurst must have recognized the tone in her voice. It's not like she tried to hide it. "Carbon monoxide poison in the air conditioning set up."

  "Fuck," he said again. She got that, too. "Where's the body?"

  "NPD."

  "Did anyone else get hurt?"

  No inquiry. No accusations or threats. "No. Our ME did the autopsy. Said it was cut and dry, but I'm sure you'll want to do one on your own."

  "You've had time to do an autopsy?"

  Oops.

  "I didn't want to tell you until I knew the cause of death." It was partially true, but she didn't kid herself. She had to have this site searched. Needed it. There were likely the bodies of missing girls in the field in front of her.

  People she didn't recognize moved around like a well-oiled machine. One of the cars had wire crisscrossing all the windows in the back. Search and rescue dog.

  "This is screwed up, Nick. I need to think about how to deal with it."

  "What can I do?" she asked.

  "Promise me your tip is good, and Fu Haizi will show up at the five locales."

  "I promise." She had nothing left to lose.

  "The Belmont Stakes wasn't a complete fail," Hurst added. "I've got the MO of this organization now and have been able to brief the team leaders at each location."

  "Stop being positive."

  "What?"

  A woman got out of the K-9 car. She wore a black shirt with a patch on the chest and pants tucked into tall brown boots with flat heels.

  Search and rescue dogs, plural, Nickie corrected herself as the woman opened the back. Two German shepherds bounded out, then sat in front of her.

  "I gotta go, Hurst. I'll let you know how today goes."

  He clicked off, and she got out of her car.

  Shaking her mind clear, she adjusted her attitude and walked to the woman with a smile. "Hello, I'm Detective Nickie Savage." She held out a hand.

  The woman nodded and took Nickie's hand. The dogs didn't get up to greet Nickie. How did the woman get them to do that? They stared at their owner like they were ready to ask how high at her command to jump.

  "I'm Special Agent Johnson. I am the human remains detection expert."

  Nickie's confusion must have been evident on her face because the agent clarified. "Human remains detection. Cadaver dogs." She turned and looked over the area. "Search and rescue dogs are trained to find live humans. Cadaver dogs are trained to locate body parts, tissue, blood and bone. They can find dead people fifteen feet under."

  She would be lying if she said she wasn't impressed. "How old?" she asked.

  "I'm assuming you're not asking about the age of the dogs but about how long the remains can be underground and still be detected."

  Nickie nodded.

  "Hundreds of years," Johnson said and pursed her lips. "This is going to take a while. If you'd like to leave, I can call you if we find anything."

  Shaking her head, Nickie said, "Not on your life."

  * * *

  Gloria sat on one of the couches in the safe house with a book in her hand. Like a teacher in front of her classroom, she read book after book written in the language of children who only begged for more. It was easy for Duncan to see why Nickie loved her.

  It was too early for Gloria to go to work. She did this in the evenings. Entertainer of children by day, undercover pusher of trafficked children by night.

  Duncan suffered a similar daytime fate as he'd somehow found himself on the other side of the room with a small sketchpad on his lap, drawing pictures of individual children.

  They were accustomed to missionaries coming and taking their pictures but only saw the photos on the screen of a phone soon to be deleted.

  This one was of a boy. His name was Rico. He spelled it for Duncan and told him he was six.

  Six years old.

  Six years old and had been through more in his short lifetime than Duncan had in his thirty-three years. Jess explained he had been mute for the first two years here. Now, he had found his voice and learned to read and write and trust again. To save a child, even one single child, was more than anyone could ask of their lifetime.

  His eyes were a dark brown, almost black, and his chocolate-colored hair long enough to wave over his ears. Duncan couldn't get him to smile but drew the corners of his mouth turned up in a grin regardless. No need to etch his sadness permanently on paper.

  Rico pulled on his pant leg and said something Duncan didn't understand.

  "He wants to know if you will give the paper to him when you are done," Gloria said between pages. Women were such good multitaskers. "Si," Duncan said to the boy, ripped the paper from the pad and handed it to him. A small smile formed around the corners of Rico's lips. Yes. It was how Duncan had imagined it
.

  Before his next customer arrived, Duncan messaged his multitasker.

  * * *

  Sitting in her Eldorado, Nickie watched out her windshield with her boots propped on the dash. The dogs had done their lay thing the trainer, Special Agent Johnson, had taught them, giving the signal that they'd found a bone. Or body parts, or tissue, or blood. Johnson had given them a rope to play with as their reward. They had a measly ten minutes to play, then the whole thing repeated. About a dozen times.

  For days, Nickie had carefully stuffed the possibilities of this day in a safe spot. Deep in her subconscious, under the rug or wherever else people shoved this kind of stuff. Potential grave site. Maybe even plural. Potential Fu Haizi grave sites of a decades-old, now international human trafficking organization. The grave possibilities were endless.

  So far, excavation equipment dug in five of the twelve locations. Like most police work, it was excruciatingly slow. White plastic markers stuck in the grass, labeling the spots that equipment hadn't gotten to yet.

  Her phone vibrated in the seat next to her. Glancing over, she saw it was Duncan. She sighed a small breath of warmth.

  Thinking of you. How is the dig?

  Her shoulders relaxed.

  Amazing. Unsettling. Still digging around. You?

  I'm drawing sketches of children. Gloria is reading. There is a boy. I want to come back here when all is said and done.

  Okay.

  There were still seven remaining spots marked with white plastic markers. This was going to be a long day.

  This is but a season in time. In eight short days, we will be together.

  Special Agent Johnson headed her way.

  Gotta go. I love you.

  Pulling her feet from the dash, she opened her car door.

  "Detective Savage," Johnson called.

  Nickie walked toward her. The dogs heeled one on each side of her.

  "We have unearthed the remains."

  It had been a few hours but all things considered, that was fast. "Can you tell me what that means? Do we know if it is human remains?" Nickie walked in a quick clip toward the deepest hole. She wanted to know. She didn't want to know. Story of her life.