UnderCover

by David R Lewis

  He exited the room, walked to the garage, fired up the Mercedes, and pulled out.

  Halfway down the quarter mile drive he caught a glimpse of red exactly where Whisper said it should be. At the end of the drive he turned left and, less than two hundred yards later, pulled off the road in front of a ten-year-old red Corvette, blocking the vehicle’s exit. He opened the door, stood up, and leveled the big handgun at the driver as he advanced to the side of the ‘Vette. Bennie, Leoni’s shop foreman, was cowering to his right, slumped down in the seat, the revolver ten inches from his right elbow forgotten as he faced the mass of the Desert Eagle.

  Crockett smiled. “Bennie,” he said. “how ya doin’? Kinda scared I bet, big gun like this pointed at your head.”

  Bennie nodded.

  “That’s okay,” Crockett went on. “I’m probably not gonna shoot ya. I bet I do have your attention though, huh?”

  Again Bennie nodded.

  “Good. Go back to your boss and tell him that if he wants to know what I’m doing, all he has to do is ask. If he wants to see me, he’s welcome to drop by, as long as he calls first. If he wants to have a beer and talk, that’s wonderful, too. I’m very easy to get along with, very social, very willing to make new friends, as long as certain rules of etiquette are observed. Now here’s the really important part. You listening?”

  Bennie’s nod was jerky, his eyes constantly on the muzzle of the pistol.

  “Any attempt to circumvent those rules would not be in Mister Leoni’s best interest. Understand?”

  Bennie did not appear to.

  “Let me rephrase,” Crockett said. “He may approach me as a friend. If he approaches me in any other way, he is my enemy. He does not want that. I have resources far above anything he can marshal. Now do you get my drift?”

  “I think so,” Bennie said.

  “Good. Do you have a cell phone?”

  Bennie nodded.

  “Excellent,” Crockett replied. “You’ll need it for your car trouble.”

  With that, he walked to the front of the vehicle and fired three rounds into the Corvette’s hood. The hiss and steam were immediate. Crockett waved at Bennie, got in the Mercedes, and drove back toward the house, his hands trembling on the wheel. Christ, what a gun!

  The group was still assembled when Crockett walked into the kitchen. Everyone seemed a bit tense.

  “You okay?” Clete asked.

  “Sure,” Crockett replied, placing the Eagle back on the counter in front of Stitch.

  “Did we hear shots?” Clete continued.

  “Three,” Crockett replied, moving to the coffee pot. Silence reigned while he poured a cup and added cream. Stitch checked the Eagle’s magazine as Danni got up and walked to stand in front of Crockett.

  “Davey, honey, did you shoot somebody?” she asked, touching him lightly on the chest.

  “Nope.”

  “But you fired the gun.”

  “Yes, I did,” Crockett said, taking a sip of coffee and cringing.

  “Okay,” Danni went on. “What did you shoot?”

  “Car,” Crockett said, enjoying himself.

  “A car.”

  “Yep. Corvette. A red one.”

  “I see. Why?”

  “Making a point.”

  Clete laughed. “Ol’ Crockett’s real good at making a point,” he said. “Lemme guess. You couldn’t see your way clear to shoot the feller drivin’ it, so you shot what he was drivin’ instead. You scared the shit outa him and gave him some kinda ultimatum to take to his boss. Leoni has lost a shitload a face and now he’s gotta come to you on your terms. Right?”

  Crockett smiled. “Texican,” he said, “have I ever told you how good your ass looks in those jeans?”

  It didn’t take long for Leoni to come to terms. Less than a half an hour later, while everybody was still at the snack bar, Crockett’s cell phone rang. Crockett grinned as he opened it, clicked on the speaker, and set it on the counter.

  “Mike,” he said. “How good of you to call.”

  “Whathefuck is the matter with you, you crazy fuck!” Leoni shouted.

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “You shot up Bennie’s car!”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yeah, that! Jesus H. Christ! What are you, fuckin’ nuts?”

  “The answer to that would depend largely on who you asked.”

  “I’m askin’ you, you sonofabitch.”

  “You Italians are such passionate people. Take it easy, Mike. I’m not yelling at you. Why are you yelling at me?”

  “I don’t think you know who the fuck you’re dealing with.”

  “That’s what you think? Oh, Mike. I know exactly who I’m dealing with. The more important question here is do you know who you’re dealing with?”

  “What?”

  “Several times in my life I have encountered someone who just begs to be killed. Someone so foolish he’s prepared to insult and anger another individual, without any conception of that person’s will, experience, or capabilities.”

  “So what?”

  “You need to understand, Michael, that those three rounds that went in Bennie’s Corvette could just as easily have gone into his head. Or, for that matter, yours.”

  “You can’t threaten me, you motherfucker!”

  Crockett chuckled. “Of course I can. Actually, your head would be the logical choice. After all, you are the one that sent a puppy to do a dog’s job. I’m disappointed in you, Mike. I thought better of you than that, considering your background.”

  “My background?”

  “Unlike you, I do my homework. I know about your father, I know how you got his business, about your undesirable discharge from the service, your return to Afghanistan, your contacts there, your pals in Italy that ship the bikes directly to you, and your customs friends there and in New York that slide them through without inspection. That’s not all. I know a lot more about you than that, Mike. A lot more. Should I go on? Wanna talk about things over the phone?”

  “Jesus Christ. No.”

  “Just so you understand, everything I know about you a few of my friends know, too. That information would be made public if anything happened to me. Maybe one of my friends could announce it at your funeral.”

  “My funeral?”

  “Sure. Italians are damn near as obsessive about funerals as the Irish. One of my friends could mention your screw-ups in front of your friends. Then they’d know why you were dead. How’d you like that?”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “Nice to have friends though, huh, Mike?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Think you and I could ever be friends, Mike?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Now see? There’s a nice, calm answer, but it’s not good enough. If you’re not my friend, Mike, you’re my enemy. You need to decide if you and I could ever be friends, and you need to make that decision right now.”

  Leoni’s voice was a little unsteady. “I…I think we could,” he said.

  “Really. Now isn’t that nice. Perhaps I’ll stop by in a day or two and you and I can discuss how much our budding friendship might mean to you. That okay, Mike?”

  “Yessir. That’s fine.”

  “By the way. What do you pay that kid you call Bump that works back in the shop?”

  “Bump?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Five bucks an hour, cash.”

  “He’s a good kid. Helps his mother. I think any friend of mine would pay him at least fifteen dollars an hour from now on, don’t you?”

  “Okay.”

  “Cash, Mike.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll take care of it starting tomorrow.”

  “Good. Now here’s something I want you to remember. If you should, for whatever reason, let your ego get the best of you and do something foolish, like attempt retaliation against me or any of my friends, within forty-eight hours you will have no business, no contacts, and you will spend the rest of your l
ife in a wheelchair shitting in a bag. Sound like fun to you, my friend? You know what a catheter is Mike? ”

  “No.”

  “It’s a tube they put up your penis, Mike, so you can evacuate your bladder. Think you’d like something like that on a permanent basis?”

  “Nossir, Mister Becket.”

  “Uh-huh. Then have you and I reached an understanding?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Since you’re the one that sent him on that fool’s errand, you probably ought to get Bennie’s car fixed for him, too, doncha think?”

  “I can do that, Mister Beckett.”

  “Wonderful. Well, it’s been nice to chat with you. Oh…and Mike?”

  “Yessir?”

  “Call me Dan,” Crockett said, and disconnected.

  There was a beat or two of silence before Whisper spoke up. “Damn,” she said. “I think I’m wet.”

  The whole crew fell out.

  Around eight that evening, as Crockett was contemplating calling Satin, his phone went off.

  “Satin!” he said. “I was just thinking about giving you a shout.”

  “I just had a rather upsetting call from my daughter,” Satin replied.

  “Oh? What about?”

  “Danni told me that earlier today it’s possible that you may have made Whisper wet.”

  “It’s true,” Crockett said. “At least that’s what Whisper said. She’s an honest young woman. I have no reason to doubt her.”

  “Danni also mentioned that you accomplished that while remaining about ten feet distant from the lady in question with no physical contact whatsoever.”

  “Also true,” Crockett said. “Such is my power, such is my gift.”

  “Does this gift of yours work on anyone?”

  “In truth, my love, I suspect it might.”

  “Perhaps we should find out for sure.”

  “Gimme an hour.”

  “Thirty minutes, old man. You can shower here.”

  “Oh, good. That way, I can get wet, too.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  When Crockett arrived back at the house around five the following afternoon Cletus and Whisper were seated on the deck. He was drinking Scotch; she was drinking what appeared to be red slush. Crockett sat with them.

  “Purty good slick ya’ll laid on Leoni yesterday,” Clete said. “Dangerous though. You told him a bunch a shit as fact that you just assumed was true.”

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  Cletus smiled. “I ain’t takin’ nothin’ away from what you done, pard. He might as well have confessed. I thought the boy was gonna swallow his tongue. If you’d mentioned bodies, he prob’ly would have.”

  “If Cheryl McGill is gonna get what’s rightfully hers, we need more than just that, Clete.”

  “I know it.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Well, what are you gonna do about it?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “I brung ya a shitload a drugs. I got ya cars and motorcycles. I got the rent for this whole goddam house. I even picked up a Desert Eagle for the Woodstock refugee, for crissakes. What the hell else can I do?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Do I want to hear any more of this conversation?” Whisper said.

  “Probably not,” Crockett replied.

  “See ya,” Whisper said and vanished inside the house.

  “We don’t need an almost confession,” Crockett went on. “We need a real one.”

  “Now that the two of you are such good friends, why don’t you ask him to write you one out the next time you see him.”

  “Can we bug his place?”

  “Do I look like a CIA weenie to you, son?”

  “Can we?”

  Cletus thought for a moment. “Maybe, but it won’t do ya no good.”

  “Why not?”

  “You gonna git a court order for a wiretap or somethin’?”

  “Don’t need one.”

  “The hell ya don’t. Ain’t a defense attorney on the planet that’d let somethin’ like that git by. That’s a gray area, Crockett. Chances are it’d never be admissible at trial.”

  “I don’t want it for a trial. I want it for the state cops so Cheryl can get all her benefits. The question is, can you get what we need to bug Leoni’s office?”

  “Well, yeah. I can git it, but them things don’t send out a lot a signal, son. Damn sure wouldn’t reach plumb out here.”

  “There’s a motel just up the road from his shop.”

  “How far?”

  “Couple a blocks. No more than a quarter of a mile.”

  “Yeah. That’d work.”

  “How you feel about being cooped up in a motel room listening in or searching recordings all day and night?”

  “Don’t have to,” Clete replied. “All that recorded shit goes into a computer. You give the computer a bunch a key words. You know, dope, drugs, heroin, cop, kill…stuff that relates to what you’re lookin’ for. The computer sorts it out and gives ya anything that applies.”

  “No shit?”

  Clete grinned. “Ain’t science grand?”

  “How soon?”

  “How soon what?”

  “How soon can you get the computer and shit?”

  “Jesus Christ, Crockett. How come everthing you want from me you gotta have yesterday?”

  Crockett grinned at him.

  “Shit,” Clete went on, getting to his feet. “I doan know why I put up with this crap. Lemme go make a call. See if Stitch can rent us a helo to git up home and back tomorrow.”

  Crockett chuckled. “Don’t forget your burglary tools, honey,” he said.

  “Oh, hell yes,” Clete bitched. “What’s another felony.”

  “I’ll be sure and tell Whisper what a fine man you are and how much you deserve special treatment.”

  “And now threats,” Clete said and turned away toward the door.

  Smiling, Crockett leaned back in his chair and looked at the sky.

  A few minutes later, after giving Clete space to get busy and settle down, Crockett joined Stitch and the girls in the kitchen. Whisper bustled around the stove and fridge and Danni poured him a cup of coffee. Crockett added cream and ignited a Sherman.

  “You light a fire under ol’ Clete, too?” Stitch asked.

  “A small one. Just asked for another couple of felonies.”

  “Far out. What’s up?”

  “He wants you to contact somebody at the airport or somewhere and see if you can get a helicopter to fly him back to Ivy’s tomorrow.”

  “Could be a problem. Most places won’t rent ya just a helo. Ya gotta take a pilot, too. We don’t want no civilian along, do we?”

  “No. Shit. How ‘bout just a plane?”

  “We could rent a Cessna or something, and I can fly the fucker, but I ain’t got no ticket for fixed wing, man.”

  “Hmmm. I don’t know. Maybe you guys’ll have to fly commercial and come back in the chopper.”

  “I don’t fly commercial, dude.”

  “Oh yeah. I forgot.”

  Whisper spoke up from her position by the stove. “You want cheese on your burger, Crockett?”

  “Ah…sure.”

  “Cheddar or swiss?”

  “Cheddar.”

  “Okay. We’ll eat in about ten. What about Clete? Cheese for him, too?”

  “Clete will have cheddar,” Clete said, walking into the room. He took a seat and turned to Crockett. “Ivy to the rescue,” he went on.

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “She’s sending out a guy. I called her and she put me in touch with Cabot Industries communications division. The guy there turned me over to a fella named Irwin Bergman. Irwin, complete with everything we need, will arrive by auto late tomorrow evenin’ from his home base in Denver.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like
that.”

  “So now we’ve got another person drawn into this. Harder and harder to keep secrets, Texican.”

  Clete grinned. “I don’t think ol’ Irwin’s gonna be a problem. Once he knew this was a clandestine project, he really wanted to come.”

  “Oh, good. Some kinda flake?”

  “He called himself a techno-geek, Crockett.”

  “Is this what we want?”

  “This is what we got. I figure if he gits too excited, Whisper can settle him down.”

  Whisper looked up from slicing a tomato. “Not a problem,” she said. “It’ll be his pleasure.”

  Clete grinned. “Lord, ain’t it good to have a well-rounded team?”

  “Any good team has to have specialists,” Whisper said.

  The grounds crew showed up the next morning and was gone by noon. Lunch was a light affair, and the afternoon was spent in growing anticipation of the techno-geek’s arrival. As dinnertime neared, the ladies attended to their wardrobe and appearance, Crockett fixed some goulash and crusty bread, Clete drove to the motel in question and rented a room on the second floor for a week, and Stitch sat around and grinned at everybody. Shortly after nine an elderly Chevy Caprice came rattling up the drive. Crockett and Clete went outside to welcome the new addition.

  Irwin Bergman was a thirty-year-old, five-and-a-half-foot-tall, chubby, dark haired young man with a prominent nose, a receding chin, and black horn-rimmed glasses. His short-sleeved white shirt was missing the second button, his brown chinos were wrinkled and stained, and he wore a wristwatch only slightly smaller than a toaster. As he attempted to get out of the vehicle, he neglected to release the seat belt. He corrected that oversite, stood up, dropped his keys, picked them up, and got the driver’s door firmly shut on the second try. He fingered some hair off his forehead and, with a shuffling gate and a lopsided grin, advanced on Crockett and Clete.

  “Mister Bergman, I assume,” Clete said, sticking out his hand.

  “Correct,” Bergman announced with a nervous laugh and took Clete’s hand for no more than half a second.

  “Cletus Marshal. Glad you could make it. I guess you found us with no trouble.”