Vengeance Is Mine (An Owen Day Thriller)

by Rachel Ford

  Tanney said nothing as they got into the vehicle. He said nothing as they pulled out, and joined the flow of traffic. Only when Owen asked, “Where to?” did he answer.

  “That was weird,” he said.

  Owen nodded. “Yeah.”

  “That Davis woman, she was really grilling me. And then all of a sudden, complete attitude change.”

  Owen explained that he could supply the reason for that. “Which is where it gets even weirder, Tanney.” He explained the nanny cam, and the two guys who matched the two guys in Halverson’s dashcam footage. “You were right.”

  Tanney didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to gloat. Which was Owen’s first tip that something was wrong. The old man just frowned into traffic. He looked like he was a thousand miles away.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Tanney glanced up, then grunted and shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ve shared all my theories, even though they’ve apparently all been wrong all along. It can’t be any dumber than them.”

  Tanney said nothing for a long moment. Then, he shook his head. “I don’t know. I just keep thinking that if they whacked Abbot for talking to Halverson, and tried to whack Halverson for talking to Abbot – what happens when they find out we talked to Abbot?”

  Owen frowned. He hadn’t thought of that. “Well, we didn’t learn anything.”

  “They won’t know that.”

  “Good point.” They were silent for another longer moment. Owen said, “Listen, if you changed your mind about that rental, I can drive you to wherever the nearest place is. You could pick your vehicle up on the way back.”

  The old man shook his head. “I told you before: I’m a marine.”

  Owen wasn’t sure how that related. “Okay. But if you’re worried about it, why not leave now. Make sure you’re a live marine.”

  “Marines don’t run.”

  Which both seemed statistically unlikely, and completely irrelevant. So Owen clamped down on the urge to argue it. “It’s not running. It’s a – tactical retreat.”

  Tanney snorted. “You army boys…”

  “This isn’t a warzone, Tanney. You’re one old guy –”

  “I’m not that old.”

  “You’re one old guy. And whoever the hell these guys are, there’s at least four of them.”

  “Maybe three, by now. Halverson put a bullet through the one.”

  “Whatever. There’s three or four armed guys, a quarter of your age.”

  “No way,” Tanney said. “Half, maybe. But a quarter? Bullshit.”

  “You know what I’m saying. They’re younger, they’re well-armed, they’re organized. And they have another advantage we don’t.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They know what the hell is going on. We don’t. We don’t know who the bad guys are, or why they’re coming for us – or if they’re coming for us. We don’t know anything.”

  Tanney considered, then nodded. “I’ll give you that. But we’ve got an advantage they don’t.”

  Owen almost laughed. “We do?” He couldn’t think of a single one.

  “They don’t know who they’re dealing with, if they come for us.”

  Owen hoped food would make Tanney a little more rational. It didn’t. On the contrary, it just made him more determined.

  They were at the diner again, but this time they parked in back – just in case someone was looking for them. Owen wasn’t convinced anyone would be. He thought maybe the situation was getting the better of Tanney’s sense.

  Then again, someone had just gunned down a former judge, a former state AG, and made a move on a county sheriff. A little paranoia seemed warranted in the circumstances.

  “We need to find out what these guys are after,” Tanney said through a mouthful of burger.

  “That’s what got us here in the first place,” Owen reminded him.

  “Yeah, but we’re here now. We got to finish it.”

  “We could go home instead. Get out of their hair, and they’ll probably leave us alone.”

  “Like they left Abbot alone, in his own house?”

  “He was answering questions. Someone must have assumed he was dangerous.”

  “Because you’d go home and just forget about it?” Tanney asked. “You wouldn’t keep poking and nosing around?”

  Owen smiled at the other man’s perceptiveness. “Even if I did, then the risk would be to me.”

  “Then you’d be alone. You wouldn’t have backup.”

  Owen didn’t know how to respond to that one. There was no diplomatic way to tell Tanney that his presence put them both at risk – that he’d be too worried about the grandpa tagging along with him to be effective.

  “This is like the mafia, Owen. Once you’re in, you’re in for life – yours, or theirs. Either you die in it, or you kill them. Every last one of them, from the lowest enforcers to the don himself – him, and all his male relatives, so no one comes looking for you in a generation.”

  “Tanney, how old are you?”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  Owen sighed. “What I’m saying is, you have trouble getting into the SUV. You have trouble when it’s cold. You’re too old to fight the mafia.”

  “So what do I do? Sit there and wait for them to kill me? I guess it doesn’t really matter anyway, because I’m so goddamned old anyway?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what the hell are you saying? We just give up and wait to go next?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what?”

  Owen considered. “Let’s go back to the sheriff’s department,” he said. “Talk to Halverson. He was on his way back. He should be there by now.”

  “What’s he going to do?”

  “I don’t know. But we saw one of the four guys. We saved his life. Maybe he’ll listen to us.”

  “You think they have the manpower for protection, for two nobodies like us?”

  “No. Not forever. But this can’t go on forever. These guys, they can’t hole up indefinitely. They’re going to make a move soon. And – as long as Halverson’s alive, he’s the higher profile target, right?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He’s an actual cop. We’re just – what did you say earlier? Busybodies.”

  Tanney sipped his coffee and picked at his fries. “I didn’t like that cop’s attitude.”

  “No,” Owen agreed. “I didn’t like Brady’s either. But as long as they catch the bad guys before the bad guys find us, does it matter?”

  Ted Walters next stop after the sheriff’s department had been the Skeevy Shamrock. He drank beer for an hour straight after that. Then, he ran out of bills. So he headed back out to the truck, and to Moses.

  Ted wasn’t drunk. He could start a lot earlier, and drink a lot more, and he still wouldn’t be drunk. But by the same token, he probably wouldn’t have passed a breathalyzer.

  Not that that stopped him. He was good and pissed, and blood alcohol and legal limits weren’t about to get in his way.

  He drove past the sheriff’s department, partly to see if Owen Day had left yet, and partly as a kind of challenge to the clowns there. Here I am, breaking the law: what are you dumbasses going to do about it?

  Nothing, as it happened. No one even noticed him. Which didn’t help his mood.

  But what did was the fact that Day’s SUV had gone. That meant he was out and about. Up to no good.

  “We’re going to catch him, Moses,” he told the dog. “We’re going to catch him this time.”

  Ted drove out to Tiny’s, the scene of their confrontation. He was disappointed to find the lot mostly empty – with Day’s truck nowhere in sight.

  He cruised up the main drag and ended up at the hotel. Day’s vehicle wasn’t there.

  He crossed the parking lot, like he’d done a hundred times before, to go check the diner. He drove up and down the rows and scowled:
not there, either.

  He rounded the lot headed back toward the road, and then he froze. In his rearview mirror, he caught sight of a dark SUV parked in the staff area, behind the building.

  “Son of a bitch: gotcha.”

  The vehicle was empty. Ted thought about going inside, maybe even confronting Day and Tanney. But what would he say? And if they called the cops on him, well, that’d mean dealing with those dumbasses from the department.

  And he couldn’t do that again. Not until he had evidence.

  Then, he smiled. Evidence. That’s what he needed. And the best way to get that was the same way cops got their evidence: to search a suspect’s belongings.

  Day’s room had turned up the folder. What secrets would his vehicle hold?

  “Only way to find out,” he told Moses.

  The dog wagged his tail. Ted smiled a grim smile and headed for the employee lot. “I’ve got you now, you son of a bitch.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Walker and his team located Day’s vehicle shortly after returning to town. It was parked outside the sheriff’s department.

  Not a good sign, obviously.

  But there was nothing they could do. Not while Day and the old guy were safe and secure behind those walls.

  So they bided their time. Cars came and went. Day’s stayed put.

  Then, around two in the afternoon, the targets emerged. They headed to the parked SUV and joined the main flow of traffic through town.

  Walker kept them in sight but made sure they had enough vehicles between them to be invisible. When Day pulled into the family restaurant parking lot, he drove past. Just another vehicle, on his way to – wherever.

  Then he turned right on a side street, and right again on another. Another set of right turns put him a few hundred feet ahead of the diner.

  This time, he used his turn signal, and entered the lot. At first, he thought he’d been made, and outsmarted. Day’s vehicle seemed not to be there. Then he drove a little further, until the back lot came into sight.

  “They’re being cautious,” he said. “Parking in the back.”

  “You think they know about us?”

  “They spent all morning talking to the cops. Now they’re trying to avoid being spotted. I think we have to assume so, yeah.”

  He pulled into a parking spot in the main area, where he could watch the employee area. He waited, ten minutes, and then fifteen. Half an hour came and went, and then forty-five minutes.

  They were closing in on an hour when an old rusty truck cruised into the lot, going a little too fast. It bumped and jumped through the potholes, up and down the rows of cars, like it was looking for a spot.

  Except, there were plenty of spots open.

  “Who the hell is this?” one of his guys asked.

  “Not a cop,” another said. “Not driving that.”

  “Could be undercover,” someone else said.

  “Way undercover,” Walker said. The men laughed. “But I don’t think so. Too old to be a cop.”

  “Then what’s he doing?”

  Which was a good question. Walker watched the truck make its way up and down the rows. “He’s looking for someone,” he said in a minute.

  They might have thought no more of the matter. People fought and stormed off; people ran late to dates, they forgot about meetups. No big deal.

  Except the truck stopped suddenly and pulled a sharp turn toward the employee lot.

  “Now what do we have here?” Walker mused.

  No one answered. They all just watched as the old truck cruised, slowly now, toward the dark SUV with Owen Day’s plates on it. It pulled into a spot three empty spaces away. An old guy, grizzled and mean-looking, got out.

  “Tanney?” one of Walker’s men asked.

  “No,” he said. “Not Tanney.” He’d seen pictures of Tanney, pictures that Roy had sent. This wasn’t him. But whoever he was, he’d picked a hell of a time to poke around. The targets would be out any minute.

  The old guy threw a furtive glance around, missed the four sets of eyes watching him, and headed to the SUV. He cupped his hands and peered into the passenger’s side window. Then he tried the handle.

  “What’s he doing?” one of his guys asked.

  “Let’s go find out,” Walker said.

  * * *

  Owen headed to the front to settle the tab. Tanney followed, grumbling about his back. “Too damned much sitting lately. I was supposed to be in the woods, not spending my time in vehicles, up and down all over creation.”

  Owen offered a noncommittal grunt, that might have been sympathy, and might just as easily have been a reminder that no one twisted Tanney’s arm to make him come along.

  There was one person ahead of them: the old guy half of an elderly couple who had been eating pie and drinking coffee. Which shouldn’t have taken long, except that the girl at the counter seemed to have vanished.

  Tanney said something about dying of old age in line. The old guy ahead of them shot him an annoyed glance.

  Owen said nothing. He didn’t know what to say. Tanney was feeling the stress of the situation, justified or not. What could he do except head back to the department and hope Halverson could help put their minds at ease?

  The girl hustled up from the back. “Sorry about the wait,” she said. “We’re a little short staffed in the back.”

  The old guy from the couple said he didn’t mind. Then he added in a pointed way, “People forget what it was like to be young, and working nowadays. So much entitlement. Everything has to be now, all about me, me, me. A little wait never hurt anyone.”

  Tanney didn’t notice though. Something had caught his eye in the parking lot. “What in the hell?” he muttered.

  The old guy at the register settled up, with a slowness that seemed deliberate. His total was seven dollars and thirty-eight cents. Despite having a reasonable wad of cash in his wallet, he paid with a five, a one, four quarters, two dimes, two nickels and eight pennies. Then he put another five on the counter for a tip.

  Tanney, meanwhile, had maneuvered toward the door. He was watching a vehicle outside. At least, Owen figured it was a vehicle. He couldn’t see from his vantage.

  Then the old guy from the couple stepped away, back to his wife who was still at their table. He started to help her to her feet. Owen stepped up to the counter. He paid the bill and didn’t leave a tip. They’d already left bills on the table.

  Then, he turned to Tanney. Except, Tanney wasn’t there. He wasn’t at the door, watching the vehicle outside.

  Owen glanced back to their table. Their waitress had come by and picked up the tip and started on their plates. Tanney wasn’t there, either.

  Then, Owen shrugged. He figured Tanney must have gone to the bathroom. So he stepped out of the old couple’s way and waited.

  Half a minute passed, then a minute. Some kind of big SUV rolled out of the lot. The old couple, Owen figured, heading back home.

  When a minute and a half passed with no sign of Tanney, he sighed impatiently. The girl at the counter glanced his way. “Are you waiting for your friend?”

  “Yeah. I think he went to the bathroom.”

  She shook her head. “He’s outside already.”

  Owen frowned. “Really?”

  “Yeah. He left while you were paying.”

  Owen thanked her and headed for the door, feeling a little foolish, and a lot peeved. He got that Tanney was on edge. He got it. But couldn’t he at least have mentioned, “Hey, I’m going out to the vehicle?”

  Grumpy old bastard, he thought, pushing the door open. He’d stepped into the entryway, past the interior set of doors and before the exterior, when his phone buzzed.

  His first thought was that it must be Tanney, calling to tell him to hurry up. He pulled the phone out and put it to his ear before he remembered that Tanney didn’t have a cellphone. “Hello?”

  A voice he didn’t recognize, deep and male and somewhere between young and old, spoke. “O
wen Day?”

  “Who is this?” he asked, stepping into the cold.

  “You don’t need to worry about that, Mr. Day. You need to know two things. We’ve got your friends.”

  “What? What friends?”

  “Mr. Walters and Mr. Tanney. We’ve got them, and they’ve got exactly twenty minutes to live.”

  Owen stopped walking. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Twenty minutes, Owen. Starting now.”

  He started moving again, fast this time. He ran toward the edge of the building, back around toward the employee lot. He half expected to see Tanney there, cold and impatient and aggravated. And he half feared he wouldn’t. “What do you want?”

  “Now you’re asking the right questions. You’re going to meet us. We need to have a talk.”

  “Meet who?”

  “You’ll find out when you get here.”

  Owen rounded the building. He saw his own vehicle, undisturbed. He saw an old rusty truck beside it. One that hadn’t been there before. And he saw no sign of Tanney.

  The voice went on, “You don’t need to worry, Owen. As long as you cooperate, everyone will be fine. Come alone and on time, and everyone’s happy. But if you hang up the call, or call the police, or anyone but you shows up, your friends die.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m texting you the address right now. Get in your vehicle and get moving. You’ve got less than twenty minutes.”

  Ted had been thinking about smashing one of Owen’s windows when the guys in the Range Rover rolled into view. Consequently, his first thought was that they were some kind of cops: they’d seen him in the commission of a felony, and stepped in.

  Then they’d knocked him upside the head, bundled him into the back of their vehicle, and not bothered with anything like handcuffs or Miranda rights. Which was his first clue that maybe they weren’t cops after all.

  But then they’d pounced on Day’s accomplice, the old bastard Tanney, and he got to thinking that maybe they were cops after all. Maybe they’d roughed him up because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe they’d taken him to be another of Day’s accomplices.