The Highest Stakes

by Rick Reed

  For once, Jack was glad she was such a bitch. “Is Dr. John here?”

  Lilly stopped and turned around. “No. Our starship transporter thingamajig is being repaired so he won’t be able to beam in. He’ll have to drive here like the rest of us. He’s been called.”

  Jack almost asked Little Casket what was up her twat, but he didn’t want that mental image. They entered the autopsy room and when the door shut behind him the air seemed to be sucked from the room, and with it all sense of hope and life. The room was spotless, every stainless steel surface shining, but even with the air scrubbers on full tilt the air smelled of strong disinfectants with the stench of death mixed in. This wasn’t a place for the living.

  Laid out on the autopsy table was the naked body of Khaled Abutaqa. A square of wood propped up what was left of Khaled’s head, and his normally dark Middle Eastern complexion was as pasty as floor wax. There were several scars on his legs, stomach, and chest that might be old bullet wounds. His right eye socket was a pulpy red mass; his left eye sightlessly stared at the ceiling. The back of his skull had flattened or was missing, giving his head the look of a cake that had fallen.

  On a gurney nearby were a pair of blue jeans, a red and white-checkered shirt with fake pearl snaps for buttons, and a pair of hand-tooled Western boots. Rolled up on top of this pile was a wide leather belt with an oversized brass steer-head buckle.

  Jack heard a toilet flush and Sergeant Elkins came out of the restroom in back. “Hi Jack,” Elkins said. “I heard the FBI’s coming. Little Casket has been cleaning the place and putting on makeup. She was going to run home and bake some cookies for the Feds, but I told her you might want to see this guy first.”

  “Kiss my ass, Boy Wonder,” Lilly said.

  Jack had never heard anyone call her Little Casket to her face.

  Elkins said, “She calls me Boy Wonder because we were an item once. I prefer Man of Steel, but hey . . .”

  “I call you Boy Wonder because—boy do I wonder how the hell you ever got hired,” Lilly’s tone was light and she was almost smiling.

  “Speaking of wonder, I wonder if this guy’s right now standing in line for his seventy-two virgins,” Elkins said.

  The door opened again and Dr. John walked in wearing tattered jeans and a black AC/DC T-shirt that had seen better days. His blond hair was sticking up on one side like he had slept on it. Coming in the door with him was Liddell.

  “Ladies. Gentlemen. You too, Jack,” Dr. John said.

  Jack and Liddell listened as Elkins gave the pathologist a quick rundown of the scene where Khaled’s body was found. He told about finding the van near the body, and bits of bone and tissue and blood on the inside passenger window. He concluded with the position of the body when they arrived and the obvious gunshot wound to the right eye. He gave Dr. John the Indiana driver’s license they’d found in the victim’s wallet.

  During this monologue Dr. John had been examining the body. He looked at the Indiana driver’s license picture and read the physical description from it aloud.

  “Well, I would say this is his identification. The physical description matches even though the face and skull are a bit deflated. Does this Khaled guy have fingerprints on file?”

  There was no hair, skin, or tissue left on the head; the hands had been skeletonized, burned almost to ash. “The feet are pretty much intact,” he said to Elkins. “Your crime scene guys take his boots off at the scene?”

  “Fire department got there before us. They used foam to put the fire out, and when they pulled the body out his boots must have come off.”

  “Is that the seat belt buckle?” Dr. John asked, tentatively poking at the hunk of melted metal on Khaled’s stomach.

  “I think that is—was—a brass belt buckle,” Jack said. “He was into cowboys.”

  Dr. John looked at the burned clothing, then back at the body, and said, “Hunh.”

  Jack said, “The FBI and our captain are coming fairly soon. Bigfoot and me would like to be gone by then. Can you give us a quick tour? Was he shot? Strangled? Burned alive?”

  Dr. John manipulated the head, examined the sides of the skull, the backside, and then the X-ray film that Little Casket had already taken.

  “He was shot in the face through the right eye. I don’t suppose your crime scene techs found anything at the scene?” Dr. John asked Elkins.

  “Do you mean did we find the bullet? No. Wasn’t much left from that fire.”

  Dr. John felt the back of the skull again. “There’s an exit wound. Was he in the driver’s seat?”

  Elkins nodded.

  “I’m guessing—this is not for my final report—that he was facing his killer. He was shot point-blank in the right eye. The trajectory of the bullet could be consistent with the shooter standing outside the van. The bullet traversed the brain and exited the back of the skull slightly left of center.” He examined the X-ray again, then turned Khaled’s head to the side and examined it. “Yeah. That would make sense. Someone walked up to the van and shot him in the face.”

  Jack traded a look with Liddell. Policemen.

  Elkins asked, “Did you tell me that Killian was shot in the right eye? Maybe that’s the shooter’s signature.”

  Jack asked him, “Does the van belong to Khaled? I thought he owned a white Toyota RAV4.”

  Elkins said, “We haven’t found the Toyota yet. The license plates are missing from the van and Khaled doesn’t have a van registered to him.”

  Dr. John said, “Large caliber bullet.” He looked over at the X-rays Little Casket had already taken. “Here’s some bullet fragments inside the skull. Not a whole bullet, mind you.”

  “Khaled knew the shooter,” Elkins said.

  “Possibly,” Jack said. Or he thought a policeman was legitimately stopping him.

  The front door buzzer sounded.

  “That’s the FBI,” Lilly said. “I’ll have the secretary get it.”

  “We don’t have a secretary,” Dr. John said.

  “That’s right,” Lilly said in a mocking voice. “And we don’t have anyone to help with autopsies, and we don’t have a vehicle worth a damn, and I could go on and on. Damn county council.” She headed to the front of the building, saying over her shoulder, “And now I have the FBI giving me orders like I’m some kind of waitress.”

  Jack heard Captain Franklin’s voice in the hallway introducing the FBI agents to Lilly. He heard Lilly made some sarcastic remarks and then they came into the autopsy room. Lilly first, followed by the older agent, John Walmart, and then John Armani, who even at this hour was dressed as though for a cocktail party at the Waldorf Astoria. The captain came in last.

  John Armani glared at Jack with eyes that seemed to cloud over with a shark’s nictitating membrane.

  Captain Franklin asked Jack, “Why are you here?”

  Elkins spoke up. “I called him, Captain. I understand Khaled is a person of interest in the shooting of Agent Killian.”

  Uh oh.

  Captain Franklin asked Jack, “How—when—did you establish that?”

  “I checked out that lead you gave me about Eddie Solazzo having a .40 caliber gun when he was arrested. The parole office said Khaled had supplied a .40 caliber handgun to Eddie before Eddie got dead. So naturally I was interested in talking to him. And here he is.” He didn’t want to lie to the captain about being at Khaled’s house, but he didn’t want to admit that he was there—twice—and didn’t report the fire at Khaled’s. The two FBI agents didn’t ask anything, but the younger one was looking at Jack, smirking.

  Asshole.

  Jack said to Elkins, “Well, I’ll let you get back to your work. I guess Khaled isn’t going to tell me anything now.”

  As Jack and Liddell left, he could feel the young agent’s eyes following him.

  Outside the morgue, Jack said, “You were awful quiet in there.”

  “Waste of breath, pod’na,” Liddell said.

  “The young one reminds me of a girl I
dated in high school. She rarely talked, but she was always watching me with those dead eyes. Creepy.”

  “Did she wear a suit and carry a gun?” Liddell asked.

  “Only to the prom. We went as the Men in Black.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Jack and Liddell called it a night and agreed to meet early in the morning. Jack had just seemed to get to sleep when he heard an insistent banging noise at his front door. He squinted at the bright sunlight coming in through his window. It was morning already and he couldn’t quite remember going to sleep. He was on his stomach, naked, and he looked at the empty bottle of Glenmorangie on the floor with a pile of clothes beside it. Cinderella had pulled his pillow off the bed and lay on it, one eye cocked at him, the other half shut.

  The banging stopped and he thought maybe he had been dreaming. His bed was near the window on the front porch, and he had forgotten to close the curtains, again. Living in the bottoms like he did, there wasn’t much reason to close curtains. There were no neighbors to worry about. He lay still soaking up the sun when the banging started again, this time on his window. He grabbed the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around himself, then looked out the window. No one was there.

  He got up, twisting the sheet into a knot at his waist, and made his way to the front door. Whoever it was had most likely seen him in his birthday suit and knew he was home. If it was a pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses he would invite them to get naked with him. Have a “come to Jesus meeting,” so to speak.

  He yanked the door open.

  “Surprise,” Katie said.

  He was so shocked to see her that he didn’t notice he’d dropped the sheet until she put a hand to her mouth to cover a grin. He grabbed at the sheet but he’d stepped on it and it was tangled around his feet. “Damn,” he said, and then “Not you. Sorry. Give me a sec.”

  He shut the door and ran to the bedroom, where he put the pile of clothes on. They still smelled from wearing them all day yesterday, and a little of Scotch. He came back to the door buttoning his shirt and noticed his pants were still unzipped. “Damn! Shit.”

  Katie pushed the door open and came in. “Jack, I come in peace,” she said with a smile. “Just take your time. I’m going to put some coffee on and get you awake.”

  He pulled at the zipper and the tab came off in his hand. Oh, screw me! He went back in the bedroom and found a pair of sweatpants and pulled them on. He finished buttoning the shirt and went to the living room, where he could hear Katie in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, the refrigerator, the oven, and the microwave. A little more clattering and he smelled the aroma of freshly brewing coffee. Katie was a great cook. And she could make a hell of a cuppa.

  “I can see I should have called first.” She said, coming from the kitchen. She stopped in the kitchen door and was looking at his crotch where his sweatpants were tented. She made no attempt to avert her eyes.

  “Oh . . .” Jack covered himself with his hands. “Just a minute,” he said and ran to the bathroom.

  He was speechless and angry at the same time. He’d tried to talk to her for months without any success, and now she was here, she was beautiful, and she’d seen him in a state of arousal. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her. He also wanted to shove her outside and slam the door in her face. These emotions played tug-of-war but he said, “Coffee ready?”

  Katie laughed and asked, “Are you?”

  He didn’t know what to say. How do you talk to a woman you’ve been intimate with, but who recently despised you, and now you had shown her a stiffy? Bad start to the day.

  Katie said, “Liddell tried to call last night and again this morning. I tried to call a while ago and you didn’t answer either of your phones.” She went into the kitchen again and Cinderella padded into the kitchen after her, no doubt expecting to be fed. This all had a surreal feeling. Katie being here, rummaging around the kitchen. She had never liked the cabin. That was the reason for the house in town. The cabin was his for fishing trips.

  “You don’t have any food,” she said and came back into the living room.

  “I eat at Two Jakes,” Jack said and reached for his cell phone on the coffee table. The battery was dead.

  “There’s nothing in there. Not even dog food.” Cinderella stood at Katie’s side. Jack could swear the dog was giving him an accusing stare.

  “I brought food home last night. We ate. That dog will eat all day long if you let her. We had . . .” He suddenly thought of why Katie might be here.

  “Killian . . . ?”

  Katie sat beside him and put a hand on his arm. “Killian’s resting and Marcie is there with Barbara. Marcie insisted I check on you. She said you don’t listen to anyone else. Jack, are you in trouble at work again?”

  The “again” is mostly what this visit was about. When he and Katie were married, he had spent so much time in the captain’s office he should have had a chair with his name on it. Katie had warned him perpetually about what she called his “flippant attitude” toward his superior officers. He had always responded by telling her they weren’t his superiors. In most cases it was true. In Double Dick’s case there was no contest.

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “You’re deflecting, so it must be true.”

  He hated it when she psychoanalyzed him. Deflecting? What the hell did that mean? “Yeah. I guess I might be in Double Dick’s sights again,” he admitted. He wasn’t going to tell her he’d been suspended and then unsuspended. She’d probably heard all about it from his bigmouthed partner.

  Jack remembered his father saying, “Hard work is what a man should expect out of life.” Jack did his job, and he got results. He didn’t care about credit or political correctness. He did what he did to help people. The rest was fluff. He didn’t want promotion. He didn’t care if everyone liked him. He worked for the citizens of Evansville and not Double Dick or even the mayor.

  She squeezed his arm, and Jack saw worry in her eyes.

  “Katie, don’t worry about it. It’s okay. I’m okay. I’ll get some groceries. I’ll take the dog with me and get her a hamburger before I go to work.” She leaned close and put the back of her hand on his cheek. He could smell her perfume. The warmth of her touch brought the past back with a rush. The first time he had kissed her, the first time they made love, the taste of her. He pushed the thoughts away.

  “Jack, I still care about you. You know that, don’t you?” Katie said, and the lump he’d expected in his groin was growing in his throat. “You need to change, Jack.”

  “You’re probably right. I guess I should try at least.”

  “No,” she said. “You really need to change.”

  “Oh . . . Well, I have to get ready for work.” He got up and walked her to the door.

  “You will be careful, won’t you?” Katie said and gave him a hug.

  “I’m always careful.” He walked with her onto the porch. “That’s why you never knocked me up, muffin.”

  She smiled at his stupid joke and it was beautiful to see.

  He admired the view from behind while she walked off the porch. Then he reminded himself that he had things to do, miles to go, and all that Robert Frost stuff.

  He went back inside and took a cold shower. He was drying off when the phone rang. Cinderella was curled up on the pillow on his bed. He wrapped a towel around his torso and tried to shoo her away but she snapped at his hand.

  He snatched the phone up and yelled at the dog, “Stay off my damn bed,” and then into the receiver, “What?”

  “Jack?”

  Shit. “Sorry, Captain. I was asleep,” he lied. He grabbed the smelly couch pillow and threw it at Cinderella. She didn’t budge.

  “I know it’s early, but I need to see you in my office. ASAP.”

  * * *

  The Sugar Creek Inn sat across the highway from John James Audubon State Park, in a wooded setting of its own. True to its name, a small creek flowed under concrete bridges built to allow gue
sts to stroll the beautifully landscaped grounds. The large conference rooms welcomed businesses, conventions, and dinners. The hotel wasn’t cheap, but it was more than accommodating for entertaining business clients and their every need. It was out of place and time in a small town like Henderson, Kentucky. Quinn felt he had chosen well.

  He was a successful assassin because of his instincts and positive attitude. He wasn’t a pessimist, or an optimist, not a glass half full or half empty. The glass was his. He would do what he wanted with it, and when he wanted. He used whatever resource or weapon presented itself in order to complete his task. In his line of work, winning wasn’t just everything, it was life or death.

  One more day and he would be on his way to Belmopan, a tiny city in Belize, a place with no extradition, a place where he would be untouchable. The local drug cartel would protect him in exchange for a few favors. Then, with a few smart investments, minor plastic surgery, he could live anywhere. Seeing the woman with the detective at Khaled’s house had started him thinking about Pamela. He remembered something he’d heard Pamela say. “Money makes the world go ’round.” Even though she had betrayed him, played him, turned on him, he still thought about her. It had hurt him to have to kill her, but she left him no choice. It had been easy to believe her lies. He supposed, in his own way, he had loved her.

  Smith sat in the atrium and watched the balcony across the courtyard. He had no doubt that the men waiting for him, especially Moon Pie, intended to blow their entire “share” of the money on cars, women, and toys. He had no doubt they would draw attention to themselves, and one by one they would be captured. And they would spill their guts. Greed was a terrible and debilitating motivator. Greed and sexual lust were the downfall of great empires. He wasn’t ruled by emotions. He was driven by his ability. He killed because he could. He took what he wanted because he could. Did what he wanted because no one could stop him. He had proven this in Chicago.

  He watched a little longer before crossing the courtyard and taking the stairs to the second floor.

  * * *