by Sims, R.
“Oh.” She used a pinky finger to fish Barry’s gun from her console.
Que wanted to laugh at how she was handling the gun.
She said, “I’m scared of guns.”
He took the gun from her then got out with a large tote bag and a laptop computer.
Dana said, “Can you make it from here?”
“Yeah, but let me make sure her truck starts.” He placed his belongings inside Patricia’s SUV, jumped inside, and started it with the first key he’d selected. He waved at Dana and watched her leave. Que looked at the bail bondsman’s office and wondered why it was closed on a Saturday.
***
The text message to Peter Boone, which was purportedly from Patricia, was brief and to the point.
I have custody of DP now. Can’t make delivery because my truck won’t start. Meet me at the World West Service Station in Wrightwood with room for two ASAP.
World West was on the outskirts of Wrightwood, California, seemingly a half mile from the rest of civilization, and was run by an elderly white couple. A neat little gas station, a place worth stopping at for do-it-yourself hotdogs, pickles in a jar, snacks, beer, and even motor oil.
Peter Boone sat in the front passenger’s seat of his Land Rover as his driver cruised past the service station. They had seen Patricia’s Honda SUV. Peter said, “She’s not answering her phone and that worries me. Something doesn’t feel right about this.”
The driver said nothing. He was simply waiting on an order. He was also Peter’s bodyguard, armed with a heavy black handgun that he’d only used at firing ranges.
***
On the way to the front counter, Que took one bite of his hotdog, killing half of it. A tall white man, easily in his thirties, entered the store.
Que knew he’d fucked up by not waiting outside in the SUV. He had not seen or heard a vehicle arrive, and the well-dressed white man didn’t appear to be out for a morning stroll.
Que hurried to the counter, dropped a $20 bill on it, and said to the old lady, “Keep the change.”
The store attendant said, “Are you sure, young man?” She’d asked that because a hotdog and a bottle of cranberry juice would cost no more than two dollars and change.
“Just won a scratch-off,” Que said then headed for the door. He stepped outside, devoured the other half of his hotdog, and made his way to the left side of the store where Patricia’s SUV was parked.
Inside, the tall customer dilly-dallied by the drink cooler then decided on a 20-ounce bottle of Pepsi. He grabbed a candy bar as he walked down the candy aisle then arrived at the front counter with a $10 bill in his hand. He said to the old lady, “A pack of Kool.”
She reached above and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. “It’s a wonderful day out, although I was expecting some rain. At least that’s what the weatherman called for.” She smiled.
He gave her the money and said, “I stopped listening to the weatherman a long time ago. I’d rather be surprised.” He returned the smile.
“I’ll have to try that someday.”
After receiving his change, the customer exited the store and walked casually to Patricia’s SUV, which was on the left side of the store. He could see no one inside the truck, so he walked up to the driver’s window and looked inside through cupped hands while gripping the Pepsi with a thumb and index finger.
Que crept up on the man from the rear of the vehicle. “Keep your hands on the window, and keep kissing the glass.” He had Barry’s handgun aimed at the man.
The tall white man held his position as he peeked at the gun-wielding black man to his right. Que walked up to him and said, “You Peter Boone?”
Without hesitation the man said, “That’s right, I am. Where’s Patricia?”
Que smiled. “You don’t look nothing like the Peter Boone I got saved in my phone. Let me try this again, another way.” With his left hand, Que smashed a full, unopened bottle of Cranberry juice against the back of the tall man’s head, breaking the bottle and banging the man’s forehead against the driver’s window.
The man fell to the pavement but he wasn’t out. His forehead might have broken the window if his cupped hands hadn’t lessened the impact. Cranberry juice had splattered mostly on the tall man but was on Que, the SUV, and the pavement as well.
Que said to him, “This is your last chance to tell me who you are.” He rested the barrel of the gun against the bridge of the man’s nose.
“Roy Knight. I have ID.”
Que produced a set of handcuffs and tossed them to Roy. “Peter Boone has to be nearby. Cuff yourself up. You got fifteen minutes to find him.”
CHAPTER 90
In the city of Hesperia, a few minutes from the World West Service Station, Que arrived at GT’s Bar & Grill and drove around back. He made an abrupt stop when a black man staggered in front of Patricia’s SUV.
“Hey!” The man slapped the hood of the SUV and said, “Slow that thing…down.” He staggered to the driver’s window and glanced at Que while noticing the tall white man in the front passenger’s seat with his hands behind his back. Que was about to pull off and park the SUV next to Peter Boone’s Land Rover.
Suddenly, the once-staggering black man pulled out a semiautomatic handgun with eye-blinking speed. “Put the fucking truck in park and get out. Keep your hands where I can see them at all times.” He tilted his head at the passenger and said, “Good work, Roy.”
Another gunman, this one a white man, appeared from who knows where. He stopped at the front passenger’s door and opened it for Roy, his handgun aimed at Que.
Roy and Que got out of the SUV at the same time.
The black gunman used one hand to pat-search Que. He collected a handgun, two smart phones, a wallet, and a set of keys.
A white Mercedes came into view, seemingly in slow motion, and the driver veered around the SUV. The Mercedes was stopped so that its front passenger, Peter Boone, was only a few feet away from Que. “Well now. You certainly don’t resemble the infamous Dexter Parker. I hope for your sake that you just won’t shut up.”
Que stared at Peter Boone but did not respond.
“Young man, this is where your boss man’s game plan gets screwed all to hell.”
***
Phillip and Laura arrived at a modest home in a quiet Sacramento community. They were looking at a black man washing a new Volvo in the driveway. They got out of Phillip’s car and walked toward the black man.
The man loosened his grip on the spray nozzle then aimed it at the couple. “Stop or I’ll shoot.” He smiled and said, “How can I help you?”
They showed credentials and introduced themselves. Phillip said, “Are you Mr. Terry Adams?”
“I am. How did I attract the Feds?”
“We understand you own a Hyundai dealership a few miles from here,” Phillip said.
“That’s right.”
Laura wanted to smile. The other day she and Phillip had learned that Terry Adams did not resemble the guy in the photocopied driver’s license at the Hyundai dealership.
Phillip said, “On the second of this month, a man named Dexter Parker paid about $70,000 cash for a brand new G90 Hyundai Genesis at your dealership.”
“Yes. I’m familiar with that transaction. How could I forget? A couple of other agents already came to my dealership about that matter.”
CHAPTER 91
Phillip said, “I appreciate that. Did you tell those agents everything you know about the customer and the sale? I mean, you’re friends with Dexter Parker, right?”
“Whoa! Slow down, Mr. Walters. Agent Walters. I’m the owner; I’m hardly ever there. Your fellow agents talked to the operating manager. And when I learned of this…problem, I looked into things myself because I recognized that name. The driver’s license photo did not match my memory of the Dexter Parker I once knew. There are probably 500 Dexter Parkers in the United States, and this guy’s picture didn’t match the one I went to school with.”
“I see,�
� Phillip said.
Laura said, “But you used to live in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, and so did the Dexter Parker you once knew. The Dexter that bought that car had a Harrisburg address. Did you not find that to be too much of a coincidence?”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘too much’. What was I supposed to do after the fact? The manager filed a Suspicious Activity Report, as required by law. Does the law also require an owner to conduct an investigation when a customer has…”
“Mr. Adams,” Phillip said, “the guy who bought the car from your business…do you know him? He’s clearly not Dexter Parker. Can you tell me who he is?”
“Never saw him before. I don’t recognize him.”
“Okay. I’m going to get this guy’s photo shown by the national and local media. I’ll know who he is within a matter of days,” Phillip said. “I will also use every federal resource to determine whether or not you’re even slightly connected or affiliated with him. If I find that you are, conspiracy charges will be forthcoming. While I’m at it, I’ll also look into reports that you deal in stolen cars. I’m talking about something other than your Hyundai dealership.”
Terry sighed, allowed the hose and nozzle to fall to the concrete driveway, and said, “All right. You win. How do I stop you from becoming a madman, a cop with a vendetta?”
Laura turned away and watched two kids race down the street on bicycles. She knew that the information Mr. Adams was about to give up would be a lie and a setup. Why else would Dexter even give her the lead?
Phillip said, “Mr. Adams, I want you to tell me who purchased the new car from your business. Do that and I’ll forget to investigate you for conspiracy.”
“His name is Mike Brewer. Mike is his real name, not short for Michael. He lives in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania. Shouldn’t you be writing all of this down?”
Phillip said, “I’m recording it all. Keep talking.”
And Terry did just that. He said he didn’t know Mike’s address, and he mentioned that he, Mike, and Dexter had attended the same high school.
Laura turned toward them again and said, “Mr. Adams, has Dexter Parker contacted you in the last…”
“Haven’t seen him since high school. Right after my senior year, I moved out here with my father. You see, my mother passed. I stayed with her in Harrisburg. But, no, I haven’t talked with Dexter. We didn’t get along, anyway.”
“Why is that?” Laura asked.
“He always thought I was sleeping with his girlfriend.”
Phillip said, “Do you remember her name?”
“Yeah. Delores…something.”
Laura said, “Smith?”
“Exactly. I see you guys are on top of things.”
Laura wanted to smile. The set up was definitely with either Delores or Mike; she just didn’t know how it would play out.
Terry said, “Dexter is all over the news for stealing billions of dollars. Why would Mike buy a Hyundai in Dexter’s name?”
Laura said, “We’re asking the questions. You own a Hyundai dealership. Why would you drive Volvo?”
“Let’s just say I don’t like to take my work home with me.”
CHAPTER 92
Dexter hadn’t heard from Que in three days, so on Tuesday morning he called his ex-girlfriend Delores and asked her to take him to Celisa’s place.
Delores said, “Where are you? I have to be at work by nine.”
“Laymen’s Inn. Same room you spent the night in. I thought you were on second shift.”
“I am,” she said. “I switched with a co-worker so I could attend my son’s play tonight.” She was on a prepaid cell phone he’d given to her on Sunday, mostly for communicating with the FBI.
“I’ll call someone else. I have to talk to Celisa in person, and I don’t know how long I’ll be there.”
“You can’t trust her phone line?”
“No. I believe something has happened to her husband…fiancé. A few days ago, I received a text that was supposed to be from him, but it was written too well to be a message from Que. One of the sentences in the message properly used a semi-colon. After that, I switched carriers and changed all of my contact information again. Whoever has access to his phone may be able to tap his home phone line.”
Delores didn’t know what to say. “I can call in late if you want me to.”
“Don’t do that. Listen, I have a question. When Special Agent Walters came to see you yesterday, could you tell whether he believes you really hate me?”
“I think he bought it. I emailed the recording to you.”
“I heard it, but an audio recording doesn’t reveal enough of his demeanor, mannerisms, or any of his facial expressions.”
“Hmm.”
“I need to make another call. I’ll check on you in a few days. Call 60/40 if something important comes up. He’ll get in touch with me.”
“Okay. Be careful.”
Dexter was staring at the Harrisburg traffic from the window of his motel room. He didn’t realize it, but one of his hands formed a grip-tight fist. Not everything was going according to plan. His cell phone rang and slightly startled him. He answered the damn thing.
Dana said, “I got 60/40 on the other line. Conference?”
“Go ahead,” Dexter said.
After a moment, Dana had the investigator on the phone with Dexter.
60/40 said, “Her name is Celisa Richardson. Thirty-one, engaged to Marquise Dyson. He’s wanted for questioning, or course. The cops think she was killed last night. No motive yet. She was clearly tortured. They even flayed her housecat.”
Dexter said, “Anything else?” That was Keshi, Janet’s cat, but 60/40 didn’t need to know that. Dexter looked up and did not see the sun in the sky, but it was not quite dark yet.”
“A couple more things. I told you a couple days ago that Patricia Teague was arrested near a homeless shelter. I’m told that she claims to have had amnesia. She was bailed out this morning.”
Dexter was still thinking about Celisa. He believed Que was already dead.
“And Louis Johnson,” 60/40 said. “He had surgery number two yesterday. He’s paralyzed from the neck down, the result of a poisonous spinal injection. He also has a dead tongue in addition to his mouth injuries.”
“What’s a dead tongue?” Dexter asked.
“The muscles in it don’t work anymore. Somebody messed him up pretty bad. The substances found in him, at least two, are usually accessible to licensed physicians only. Sorta like what happened in the death of Michael Jackson.”
“Good job. When will you have a full report on Issue 41?” Dexter said, keeping Dana in the dark.
“Let’s give it another week,” the investigator said.
CHAPTER 93
After a few more exchanges over the phone, 60/40 was gone, and only Dexter and Dana were on the line.
Dana said, “Harold moved the rest of his things out this morning.”
“Are you happy now?”
“I…I guess. It hasn’t had time to sink in. I’ll be happy when your trial ends with a not-guilty verdict.” Dexter did not respond.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“I have a lot on my mind. I’m considering a gallon of ice cream and a bag of cookies.”
“That bad, huh? Should I fly there and give you a big hug?” she asked.
He shook his head, still thinking about Celisa. So innocent. Beautiful. Nice. He’d only met the pregnant woman once, and Que was happy to show her off. He wondered what information might have been drawn out of Que through torture. His mind was clogged with questions.
“Dexter, are you there?”
“Yeah. Uh, Dana, I’ll call you tomorrow. I need to think right now.” He ended the call before she could respond. He grabbed his room key and decided to walk to the nearest convenience store.
By the time Dexter had stepped onto the Sixth Street sidewalk, his mind was made up. He would get off everyone’s radar and pop up only for the necessary court
dates. He needed a few weeks alone, secluded, and he figured he had more than enough money to make that happen.
***
When Eric Adkins entered the booth in the visiting room of the federal detention facility in L.A., he was surprised to see his visitors. He had expected to see his parents, his lawyer, or maybe even another investigator. Anyone except the woman and child on the other side of the thick fiberglass window.
Stephanie Wheeler looked great, still sexy, and had apparently comes across some money. Why else would she travel from Pennsylvania to California to see Eric? Her youngest son, Aaron, almost seven years old, smiled at Eric then began looking down at his new Nike sneakers.
Eric picked up a hard-wired handset phone receiver and said, “What brings you here?” The secure visiting area had six other detainees lined up on either side of Eric. It resembled a short but wide hallway with booths on one side.
“Good to see you, too, after nearly eight years.”
Eric looked at the little boy. “That your son?”
“Yours too.” She smiled. “I was asked to fly out here so that he could meet his father. Personally, I didn’t want him to ever meet you.”
“Then why did you come?” Eric asked. He looked at the little boy and tried to see himself in the child.
“I’ve met someone who has made sure your son will have a future. He says you’ll see this visit as a gift one day. I disagree. Anyway, he’s vowed to take care of your son just to show you how much he appreciates what you’ve done for him.”
“Dexter Parker?”
Stephanie smiled then pushed a tuft of hair from over her right eye. “I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to confirm or deny your suspicions.”
Eric dropped the handset on the stainless-steel shelf. He got up from the stool seat and stood on top of it, holding the upper part of the booth.
Stephanie grabbed her son’s hand and began backing away from the large window.
Other detainees in the visiting box were watching Eric now, and the guards began approaching him.