by Brian Drake
He’d picked up Kiki Callaway’s trail from the Hall of Justice. She met a man at a Starbucks where they went through some files she’d brought along. Was he the man who had helped Harry Brock?
He sipped the beer. The rest of Kiki Callaway’s day had been spent picking up a pregnant friend from a doctor’s office, who she took home. Then back to the office and home again after six. No sign of Scott Palakis. Had his cooperation with the D.A. ended? Had he fled the city?
He drank more beer, watching the couples at the bar. Their chattering voices were lost in the music, just fine for him. The wailing saxophone took him to another place where there were no guns or stolen DVD videos or dead children.
After a while he downed the rest of the beer. Pushing through the heavy oak door, he hit the sidewalk where the evening breeze chilled him. Miles turned left; stopped, gaped--
At Ben Regan. No more than five paces before him.
Regan said, “You gotta be kidding me.”
Regan and Miles clawed for iron and exchanged shots as they dodged away from each other. The shots went wide, smacked into cars and concrete walls. Somewhere behind Miles, glass shattered. Pedestrians screamed, ran. Miles ducked in front of a parked car and winged another shot at Regan as the other man reached the cover of a doorway. Miles jumped up and raced across the street, cars screeching, horns blaring; another shot cracked behind him as he reached the opposite sidewalk. More pedestrians scattered. Miles sprinted along the sidewalk to an alley. A shot nicked the entryway, and Miles winced at the spit of brick shards that pelted his face. He kept running.
21
Wolf sat on the soft seat of the back booth of a quiet tavern with an untouched cup of tea in front of him and his eyes fixed on the entrance. He sat with his back straight, feeling tense.
That morning he had made a call to the office of Zachary Coleman, a former client, and the target of Joe Thorne. The conversation had been short and to the point: your son is in danger and we need to meet. Coleman didn’t argue; asked what time, where.
Wolf had chosen the tavern because it was close to Coleman’s offices. The early hour, just past eleven a.m., meant they had the place to themselves.
Zachary Coleman’s thin frame, followed by his bulkier son Max, pushed through the heavy oak door and found Wolf’s table. Wolf rose as they approached, greeting them with handshakes. They sat down. Max needed to inch the table forward so he could fit.
Zachary’s silver eyes stayed on Wolf, who sipped his tea. A pony-tailed waitress with black-framed glasses arrived, and the Colemans ordered coffee. Once she departed, Wolf said:
“Thanks for coming.”
“The tone of your call made it hard to say no,” Coleman said.
“I wasn’t kidding around,” Wolf said. He outlined his encounter with Joe Thorne and Thorne’s plan to snatch Max for ransom.
Coleman’s face paled a bit. He closed his eyes, shook his head, opened his eyes and looked at Wolf. “Why my family?”
“One of Joe’s cohorts fingered you. There isn’t anything more to it than that. They could have chosen anybody. You have money and Joe wants some.”
“You speak of him very informally.”
“Joe and I go back. To the military. Why he’s taken the path he’s on I have no clue. Once he was a good man.”
“If you agreed to help them,” Max said, his shoulders tensing, “is this meeting a trap?”
“Heavens, no. I agreed to help because they’re threatening the lives of people close to me.”
“Let’s go to the cops,” the younger Coleman said.
“Way ahead of you. If all goes as planned this will be the only time you hear of this. But I would recommend beefing up your own personal security. I mean the whole family, Zachary.”
“For how long?”
“Until you hear from me. Or John Callaway. But if Callaway calls you, it means I didn’t make it.”
Coleman said okay.
The waitress returned with their coffee. Coleman poured cream into his cup. Max left his black. Coleman sipped and said, “Wealth is a curse. But we play the cards we’re dealt.”
“We sure do,” Wolf said.
Wolf spent the rest of the day with Sheila and helped with Freddie’s burial plans. When she went to lay down for a nap, Wolf worked on an idea for his infiltration of Gambolini’s lumber mill that night.
Sunol Lumber and Supply looked like it had been made out of the material it sold, a little one-story affair with an overhang in front. Shadows covered the storefront but the bright lights in back suggested action.
Another space of land, with high grass and tall trees, separated the lumber store from the office building next door. Wolf moved through the field in a low crouch, his boots gouging the damp earth. A line of trees made a wall at the end. Wolf slowed, dropped to his stomach, and flat-crawled through dirt and grass to the trees.
He stopped and took a few deep breaths. Of the parking lot he had a full view and noted three particular cars. Gambolini’s big Lincoln, Sanborn’s Corvette, and Regan’s Ford.
The activity in the rear eluded him, but men’s voices were loud and clear. Wolf crawled along the tree line. Light flashed when a side door opened. The light struck Wolf and he froze with face in dirt. His mouth, chin, and tip of his nose sank into cold mud. Blades of grass tickled his nostrils. He held his breath, grateful that the black combat outfit covered the rest of him. The door slammed shut and the light went out. A man cleared his throat. Wolf kept his face buried. A lighter snapped. Steps faded. Wolf lifted his head, exhaled, and stole a glance. The man, taking a drag on a cigarette, moved toward the front of the building. An automatic pistol rode under his left arm.
Gambolini and Regan stood in front of the bandaged Jake Sanborn, who sat on a leather couch.
“Did you see who hit you?” Regan said.
“Happened too fast.”
“You didn’t see anything? Was he big, bald?”
“Dark hair, I think. Wasn’t huge. Tall, I think. About my size.”
“So, it wasn’t Kincaid. Ring any bells, Ben?”
“The man I tangled with at the cemetery sort of fits that description.”
“The one Brock was with?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Marvelous,” Gambolini said. “Jake, you’re gonna have some company next few days. You’re the worm on our hook. If this guy thinks he can get to us through you, we’ll have him under the barrel and no mistake.”
Sanborn said, “So you’re not going to kill me?”
Gambolini laughed.
Wolf wiped his face, smearing the mud, and crawled until he couldn’t hide from the rear lights any longer. The voices were louder, the loudest belonged to a stocky man shouting orders and stressing that they were falling behind schedule.
Wolf moved from tree cover to a low wall and peeked over. A large semi-truck sat backed up against a loading dock. Wolf counted fifteen men and the foreman unloading two-by-fours and sheets of plywood into a well-lit storehouse.
None of the workers carried guns. No sign of Gambolini or Regan or Sanborn.
He rolled over the top of the wall and grunted as he landed on a hard shelf of concrete. The pavement over the edge of the shelf slanted several feet, allowing the backs of trucks to be level with the building when they pulled in. Nobody in the cab of the truck. Wolf dashed to the passenger side. Another shelf and wall ran parallel. No activity there. Wolf crept along. A speck of dirt from his hair fell into an eye. He brushed it away. At the end of the truck his legs were shielded by one of the huge rear tires.
The foreman said, “Let’s get the last of this stuff outta here.” The truck trailer shook side-to-side as heavy work boots pounded within. After five minutes, the foreman shouted, “Good work!” He then gathered his people around the storehouse and ran his mouth some more, but Wolf didn’t listen. He spotted a neat stack of two-by-fours and rushed to the edge of the dock, vaulted onto it, crouched low and stopped behind the stack. The foreman’s voic
e continued to echo.
The piles of wood were high enough to block Wolf from view, and he didn’t see anybody else standing around. A door at the far corner caught his eyes. The door swung open and some familiar figures stepped out.
“Are they done?” Teddy Gambolini said to Regan and Sanborn.
“Looks like,” Sanborn said. Wolf noticed the bandage on his forehead. Gambolini told the two to wait and joined the foreman.
Gambolini and the foreman shared a few words and went inside with Regan and Sanborn following. Wolf stayed hidden as the workers hustled off. The rear door of the truck rumbled shut with a loud clang. The truck’s engine roared to life and drowned out every other sound.
The overhead lights clicked off one by one. Minutes later, silence.
Wolf lay on his belly and stayed still while crickets took back the night and assured him of solitude. Except for the heavy hitters inside.
Wolf lifted a two-by-four. It felt lighter than any two-by-four he remembered. He gave it a shake, and something rattled inside. He took the piece with him, slipping out through another exit. He didn’t consider stealth this time and ran back to his car. He jammed the lumber in the back seat and drove away.
With every bump or rough patch, the two-by-four rattled. He couldn’t wait anymore and stopped under a freeway overpass. A streetlight provided the only illumination as he took the wood from the back, went to the curb, and smashed the lumber against the edge.
A sharp crack and the wood snapped in half. White pills spewed out like loose confetti. Wolf picked up a few of the pills. Plain white, no markings. The pills left chalky residue on Wolf’s fingers.
22
Wolf twisted off the cap of a bottle of Johnny Walker Black. Ava Sutter said, “What magic elixir are you opening now?”
She twirled a finger through her hair and watched him with glassy eyes.
“Do you want a glass or a funnel?” Wolf said.
She laughed, hiccupped, covered her mouth, laughed some more through the palm of her hand and hiccupped again. Wolf poured her a glass. He poured a short drink for himself and sat on the other end of the couch.
He’d been flush from the night’s discovery, once again too wired for sleep, and spent time mentally reviewing everything he knew and juggling how best to handle what remained of the Gambolini matter and the Thorne complication.
Then Ava knocked on the door.
He’d expected her arrival, the fully assembled outfit with heavy make-up. What he hadn’t expected was her head start in alcohol consumption.
And tonight, he needed to know which side she’d choose.
“We should go out,” she said. “I need some fresh air.”
Wolf set his glass down, walked to the window, opened it. “Presto,” he said. “Fresh air.” He returned to the couch.
“I mean real fresh air.”
“Something wrong with what’s coming through the window?”
“I want to go dancing.”
“We can dance here.”
“Don’t you want to go out, darling?”
He laughed. “Not tonight,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Because we can have fun right here.”
She cracked a grin. Placing her glass on the table, she began crawling across the couch. The neck of her blouse dropped open and her stockings whispered, and she stretched out on her left side with her head on Wolf’s lap. “What kind of fun, darling?”
Wolf played with her thick curls.
“Any kind of fun you want if you can stay standing,” he said.
She laughed. He set his drink on the small table to the left, patted her hip. He left his hand on her hip and waited for her to object. She didn’t.
“I know why you don’t want to go out,” she said.
“Why?”
She swung her legs to the floor, sat up, then scooted against him. Her eyes didn’t seem glassy anymore. “You’ve been busy tonight. Had some action. What vicious scum did you send cowering to a dark corner? Tell me.”
Wolf grinned.
“Let’s go dancing,” he said.
She smacked her lips against his cheek, jumped up and twirled, laughing. Wolf grabbed his jacket and the IWB holster with the Colt inside because a hunch told him he’d need it.
Ava managed to stay upright, and they spent an hour cutting the rug at a club called High Five. The club was part of the Cain Hotel, offered a bar, small sitting area, and dance floor. A three-man band played on a small circular stage, and while the music required quick moves, the stuffy atmosphere combined with the pressed-together crowd left Wolf feeling claustrophobic and self-conscious being the only one wearing a jacket. During a break they found a table and she dropped into a chair. Wolf scooted next to her.
A bow-tied waiter approached. They asked for ice water. Ava fanned herself with her hands. Beads of sparkling sweat gathered on her forehead. Wolf drew a thumb across her forehead, and she smiled. He used a napkin to wipe some face-powder residue off his thumb.
“Last time you did that, I was bleeding from a head wound,” she said.
“Long time ago.”
“Yesterday.”
The waiter returned and placed their glasses on the table. Wolf passed him a few bucks and turned back to Ava as she took a sip. Her eyes hadn’t left him.
The night air felt good after the heat of the club. They walked arm-in-arm down the sidewalk toward Pier 15. A silent ferry boat, about the size of a small building, lay moored at the dock, rocking back and forth. Water slapped against the pilings at the end of the pier, where they stopped at the damp wooden railing looking out into the pitch blackness ahead. Only the rippling water inside the cove indicated anything beyond.
“It’s like this is where the world ends,” Ava said. “Nowhere else to go.”
“If this city is the end of the world, I want my money back,” Wolf said.
Ava leaned against his shoulder. He laced an arm around her waist. The warmth of her body reached through her dress; she felt nice and soft. The wind picked up. Her hair tickled his neck.
“I’m sorry about last time,” she said. “The things I said.”
Wolf remained silent.
“You know me too well. I hide so much, but I can’t hide from you.”
“Why did you leave me in Zurich?” Wolf said.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Will you let me say I’m sorry?”
“Did I push you away?”
“Were you surprised?”
He let out a breath.
Ava’s face softened. “People like us have been hurt all our lives.”
“That’s no excuse.”
She buried her face against his chest. He lifted her head a little, met her eyes. Teary eyes, now.
She said, “Why do you think I left?”
“You left me,” Wolf said, “before I could leave you. But I wasn’t going to leave you. I thought for once, maybe--”
“Okay. I was wrong. It was a mistake to leave you. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“Ava--”
“I tried to find you,” she said. “I knew you were still in Europe at the time and when I met up with Joe, I asked him, but he didn’t know where you’d gone.”
Wolf breathed in, out.
“We can start again,” she said. “We can. Give me a second chance.”
Wolf said, “But you’re with Thorne.”
She cupped his face with both hands. “I’m with you.”
Wolf’s head shook.
“Seeing you again. That’s all it took. I’m with you. Listen to me. We can start over. Between us we’re loaded with money. We can go anywhere. Let’s just go. Right now. Let’s go somewhere where there’s an ocean. Where we can be happy. Let’s just go. Leave all this junk behind. We can do it.”
Wolf moved her hands away, wrapped them in his. Her hands were cold. “What about Thorne?”
She let out a whispered curse, wrapped her arms a
round him. “The only good thing about getting involved with him again is seeing you.”
Wolf squeezed her tight. “We can’t go anywhere with him hanging around.”
“He found you by accident, darling.”
“That can happen again. And I don’t want to have to run ever again. This is my home. I’m not going anywhere.”
She pulled away. “So, what about Thorne?”
Wolf said into his phone, “Okay, John, thank you. I’m taking Ava to my cabin. This afternoon will be fine.” He said good-bye, hung up, and looked at the dash clock. Pushing two a.m.
Ava sat in the passenger seat. She stared out the window.
“They’re moving on the gang within an hour,” Wolf said, “and they’ll pick you up late this afternoon to start your interviews.”
“And you’re positive about my immunity?”
“Of course.”
“This is dangerous,” she said. “Thorne and McNab and Naughton won’t let themselves be arrested.”
Wolf kept his hands on the wheel, ten and two; eyes on the road, silent. The hum of the Chrysler’s engine filled the space. The two-lane road led into the hills. Huge trees and thick forest flashed by on either side. Only the bright headlights burrowed through the thick wall of darkness ahead.
“You’ll like the cabin.”
“That’s a funny way to change the subject,” she said. “You’re staying with me, right?”
“Nope. I need to head back and finish my other business.”
“Come on, one day--”
“I can’t.”
Wolf steered through a turn and the road straightened again, began to climb. Presently he slowed and took a left onto a dirt road that led deeper into the woods. He kept the speedometer around twenty-five and reached a clearing. In the center stood his A-frame cabin. Beyond, the dark water of Lake Wyatt. A wavy reflection of the moon occupied the center of the water.
Wolf parked the Chrysler at the front door and he and Ava jumped out.