"This is starting to make sense," I said. "But why are we starting in Jacksonville?"
"Optics," Mike said. "He sent two guys from Jacksonville after Mary, and they're in custody. We'll treat that as the chink in his armor that allows the government to roll up his operation. Exploit the opening in Jacksonville, and then move on to Savannah, and Charleston, because that's where he started the fight. It will look like we're following a trail given to us by the Jacksonville people. If that doesn't flush him out, we'll crush the Miami operation. By then, he'll be out of business in the southeastern U.S."
"But he's going to be all over the people he's paying for protection," I said.
"Yes," Mike said, "and they will deny everything — like Aaron said, nobody will believe them, especially not Lavrov. They've told too many lies already. Lavrov may even take a few of them out before we get to him — save us the trouble. What do you think?"
"Sounds good to me," I said. "What do you want me to do next?"
"Get yourself up to Jacksonville and figure out how to nail Grissom. Your first task is recon. You've already got a handle on Charleston, so your next stop after Jacksonville will be Savannah. In a week, you should have a plan for how to take the three of them out with no trace. Once you've got the details worked out, we'll know whether Mary's ready, and take it from there. Questions?"
"No," I said. "That's clear enough. If there's nothing else, I'll get on the road to Jacksonville and stake out Grissom beginning tonight."
13
David Grissom's house — a mansion in a compound, actually — was on the southern edge of Jacksonville. It was one of several similar places in a gated, golf-course community. This was another Dailey development, if I didn't miss my guess.
I infiltrated the gated community as dusk was settling, working my way through the undergrowth that surrounded the golf course. With Grissom's place in sight, I climbed into the lower branches of a big live-oak tree. Settled in a spot high enough to let me see over the undergrowth but low enough not to be screened by the tree's foliage, I took a pair of night-vision binoculars from my backpack. I was less than 100 feet from Grissom's perimeter wall. While surveying his place, I thought about the day's events.
After my meeting with Mike and Bob, I made the five-and-a-half-hour drive to Jacksonville. I stopped at a sporting goods store in the southern suburbs and picked up a few odds and ends for my nighttime stakeout. Checking into a motel on the Interstate close to Grissom's neighborhood gave me a chance to rest up for my evening's work.
Before I went out for dinner, I called Mary's new encrypted phone, the one Aaron gave her this morning. I was surprised that she answered; I thought she might still be busy with Jill Hardwick.
"Hi, Finn. I hear you're out looking for work. Save some for me, okay?"
"Aaron told you," I said.
"Yes. Not specifically what you were doing; just that Mike and Bob gave you a recon mission. I'm not supposed to ask for details."
"Okay. How's it going with Jill?"
"She's great. You were right; she's easy to talk to. We covered a lot of ground today."
"Any reaction from her yet?"
"Well, she's keeping her assessment to herself, but I think I'm telling her what she needs to hear."
I didn't doubt that for a second, remembering how convincing Mary's tales could be. She led me on more than one merry chase through fabricated stories early in our time together. Jill's ability to sort fact from fiction would be more objective than mine when it came to Mary's stories. Still, I wouldn't bet against Mary's being able to fool her, if that's what Mary wanted to do.
"Sorry," she said, with a laugh. "I just realized how that sounded; that's not what I meant. I'm being honest with her; I want her help. But I'm feeling good about how it's going. She's helping me organize all my tangled feelings about what I did, helping me put things in perspective. I'm glad for the chance to work my way through this with somebody like her. She assured me up front that if I was honest with myself and with her, we would come out in the right place. And the right place will be one that's acceptable to me and to Phorcys, she said. I'm not supposed to worry about what her assessment will be. She says there won't be a conflict between her recommendation and what I want, by the time we finish."
"Are you comfortable with that?" I asked.
"As long as she gets the right answer, I am. I know what I want out of this."
"What's that?"
"The go-ahead to kill Lavrov."
"Suppose you and Jill don't see eye to eye on that?"
"We will, Finn. Count on it; I'm going to keep talking until we do."
"I hope it works out," I said, suppressing a chuckle. This was the Mary that I knew and loved. Her uncertainty and doubt were in the past already. Whatever Jill thought, I knew Mary was ready to go back to work. "I'll need your help before this is over."
"I'm in, sailor. But I'd better go. I'm supposed to have dinner with my Uncle Bob in a few minutes. Call me later?"
"I'm not sure I'll be able to; I've got a night stakeout ahead of me. But we'll talk again soon. I'll at least call you before breakfast in the morning. Glad you're feeling better."
"Thanks. I miss you."
"I miss you, too," I said, and disconnected the call.
14
There was a movement on the patio between Grissom's house and the lighted swimming pool. Forgetting my memories of the day, I lifted my binoculars. A tall, shapely blonde in a string bikini strutted out onto the pool deck. She unrolled a yoga mat, bending over to flatten it out.
Another flicker of motion caught my eye as a man in a robe stepped out of the house. He was not David Grissom; Aaron showed me several photographs of Grissom earlier. Too bad I didn't have a camera with a telephoto lens so I could email a picture of this guy to Aaron.
Carrying a cocktail in one hand and a fat cigar in the other, the man settled into a chair at a round table. He put his drink on the table and the cigar in an ashtray, shifting the chair so he could watch the show. The girl smiled and blew him a kiss before she began stretching.
Turning my attention to ways we might breach Grissom's defenses, I examined the top of the wall around Grissom's property, looking for signs of intrusion alarms. There were several fixtures along the wall that could be infrared light sources, as well as housings for security cameras. Lowering my binoculars, I was reaching into my backpack, feeling for the cheap cellphone I used as an infrared detector. As my fingers closed around it, I felt a sharp, stinging bite on the side of my neck. Thinking it was a wasp, I raised my hand to brush it away, but I felt myself falling. I was drifting off to …
The next thing I remember, I was listening to two men talking. I wasn't sure where I was, so I lay still and kept quiet. I was flat on my back on a hard, cool surface, maybe a concrete floor. My wrists were bound; my arms extended over my head, stretched uncomfortably. Trying to flex them, bending my elbows, I felt immediate resistance; my wrists were anchored to something solid.
Cautiously, I tried to open my eyes, but they were taped over, the lids stuck to the tape. My mouth felt dry and full; it didn't take much movement of my tongue to let me know there was a rough, absorbent piece of cloth crammed in to keep me quiet. Wrinkling my cheeks, I could feel that the rag was taped in place.
My ankles were bound and fastened to something heavy enough to keep my legs extended. I was immobilized, wherever I was. I began trying to focus on what the two men were saying, but I must have drifted off again before I picked up any useful information.
When I regained consciousness again, I was in pain. Not agonizing pain, but I was feeling stiff and sore, my muscles cramping. At that point, I was only vaguely aware that I woke up earlier; it came back to me as I was evaluating my physical condition. Working my way through the sensations from my body, I remembered that I was tied up, gagged, and blindfolded. Then I recalled the men talking. Were they still here?
I started counting off the seconds as I listened. I wasn't sure, but I t
hought I could hear someone breathing steadily, rhythmically. Maybe there were two of them, still, I thought, as I picked up overlapping rhythms in the breathing. They sounded like they were asleep, but I couldn't be sure. After about three minutes, a telephone rang.
"Shit," a man said, his voice rasping like he was a heavy smoker. "Get that would ya?" He yawned.
"Get it yourself," a second one said, his voice sharp. "You're closer, dumb ass." His tone showed he was accustomed to giving orders to raspy voice.
There was the creaking sound of a heavy man getting out of a chair. The phone was silenced in mid-ring, and raspy voice said, "Yeah?"
A couple of seconds passed, as I pictured him listening to the caller. Then he spoke again.
"No. He's still out cold from the dart."
Another pause.
"I dunno. He's been out since about 9 o'clock last night. That shit can take a while to wear off, Sergei said. Sometimes a whole day."
A second or two of silence, and then, "No, man. Like 24 hours, a whole day. Sergei said even if he woke up before that, he'd be loopy, worthless to question him. We could try to wake him up, I reckon. Want us to?"
Another short interval passed, and he said, "Yeah, sure."
He hung up the phone and said, "Asshole."
"Which asshole was it?" bossy voice asked.
"Dixon."
"What did he say about waking him up?"
"Not to bother," raspy voice said. "Mr. Grissom won't be back until next week. We got plenty of time to mess around with this piece of shit, find out who he is and what he was doing. Dixon said just leave him be until tonight, unless he wakes up. Then we're supposed to call him. He wants to be here when she questions him."
"Yeah? Sick bastard. He gets off on watching her do stuff like that."
"Can't say as I blame him," Raspy said. "She's one hot mama. Her and her damn string bikinis. I wouldn't mind her asking me a few questions."
"You ever seen her question somebody?"
"Uh-uh. Why? What's she do? She got some special tricks?"
"I won't spoil it for you, not if this is your first time. But trust me, if they ever sic her on you, just tell her whatever they want to know and get it over with. Your only hope is to make her mad so maybe she'll kill you quick, instead of the other way. You got something to look forward to tonight, especially if this guy tries to be a hero. If she gives him the full treatment, you'll be sleeping with the lights on for a week. If you can sleep at all after seeing her in action."
"Hell yeah!" Raspy said. "I can't wait, man. You reckon since our boy's out cold for a while yet, we could go get us a little breakfast?"
"Sure," Bossy said. "He's not going anywhere. Bring that backpack he was carrying. I want to try to crack that iPhone of his."
I heard the squeak of upholstery springs. Bossy voice must have been on a sofa. Then there was the sound of a door opening and closing. I was trying to imagine what the bikini babe had in store for me, but the drugs in my system were too strong, I guess.
15
A solid kick to the left side of my ribcage roused me.
"Wake up, asshole," Raspy said.
I groaned into my gag.
"Strip him," a woman said. "Cut his clothes off but be careful. When he bleeds, it will be because I want him to. If you so much as scratch him, you get the next turn in the chair. And get that tape off his eyes. I want him to see what's happening."
"But then he'll recognize us," Raspy said.
She laughed, a nice, musical laugh, all the more chilling because it sounded as if she were genuinely amused. "That won't matter, you fool. And that's the last time you will question my instructions. Are you clear on that, sweetheart?"
Raspy said, "I don't — "
"Shut up, dumb ass. Do what she says." The bossy one was here, too.
I felt one of them scratching at the tape over my eyes, and then I yelped into my gag as he ripped off my duct-tape blindfold. A heavy-set man knelt beside me, the tape still dangling from his hand.
"Good boy, Bobby," the woman said. "Now, cut his clothes off, but remember, not a scratch on him or you'll be next after I finish with him."
So the heavy-set man, Bobby, was the hoarse one. I could smell stale tobacco smoke mixed with his body odor. I lifted my head a little and cut my eyes in the direction of the woman's voice. She was the bikini babe, the one doing yoga by the pool last night. She wore a blood-red string bikini that missed being decent by a few millimeters in several critical dimensions. She no doubt thought she radiated sex appeal, but the look on her face was enough to quell any reaction of that sort.
Her eyes were wild, flicking around as she tapped her right foot on the floor with jerky movements. Her fingers were in constant motion, too. She was keeping time to music that only she could hear. I wondered if she was high on something, or just crazy.
Standing next to her was the man who was with her at the pool last night. His arm was around her, his hand on her nearly bare hip in a possessive way. Was he the one with the bossy voice?
"Now, Bobby," she said. "If he's not naked in the next thirty seconds, I'll use you for the opening act." She laughed again, that rich, genuine laugh that was a sure sign she was nuts.
Bobby slipped a knife from the side pocket of his jeans and flicked it open with his thumb. She really got to him; his hand shook as he cut away my clothes. He sliced through the laces of my running shoes and took them and my socks off. Bobby was thorough. When I was stark naked, he rocked back on his heels and looked up at her.
She slapped her companion's hand away from her hip and sashayed over to stand next to Bobby, reaching down with one hand to rub his head. "Good boy," she said. "Maybe I'll have a little treat for you, if you keep it up."
Bobby was practically panting. He grinned up at her. I wondered if his tail was wagging, or if it was tucked between his legs. Probably wagging; he didn't seem very bright.
She blew him a kiss and took a half step back, turning a bit and snapping the pointed toe of her red, high heeled pump squarely into his crotch. "Don't drool when you look at me, you pervert," she said, as he doubled over, dropping his knife as he grasped his wounded parts. She stepped close to him and raked his cheek with the red-lacquered nails of her right hand.
Instead of the scratches I expected to see on his cheek, there were four deep razor cuts, bleeding profusely. She held her hand up, studying her nails, and I could see the bits of a razor blade under each one, held in place by superglue. An old trick, but it surprised poor, dumb Bobby.
He put a hand to his damaged cheek, stroking it, and then looked at his hand to see why it was wet.
"You cut me," he said, his voice more raspy than usual.
"You were looking at me, pervert, stripping me with your eyes. I know what you were thinking. You can't have me, not even in your dreams. But I can have you, any time and any way that I want. Now, both of you, get him in the chair before I lose my patience."
A third man came into my field of view and crouched beside Bobby. Picking up the knife Bobby dropped, he moved away. In a second or two, I felt a jerk on my arms and then the tension eased; he must have cut the rope that held my arms extended. He came into view again, moving toward my feet, and I watched as he sawed through another rope. Trying to move my arms, I found that they were numb; my legs wouldn't move either.
"Okay, asshole," the new man said. "I'm gonna cut your wrists and ankles loose, but don't try nothing stupid."
He was bossy voice. That must mean the man with the bikini babe was Dixon. I could feel Bossy doing something at my ankles, and my feet began to tingle as the circulation to them improved. Keeping still, I followed him with my eyes as he moved back to my wrists and cut through the cord that bound them together.
"Let's stand him up, Bobby," the one with the bossy voice said.
"Okay, Bubba," Bobby said.
Bubba and Bobby. And Dixon. But I still didn't have a name for bikini babe.
"On my count of three," Bubba sai
d, as I felt the two of them gripping me under my arms.
Bubba counted to three, and they lifted me to a vertical position. My arms flopped, useless, and my legs felt like rubber as they dragged me to a sturdy-looking, open-frame commode chair. It looked like something scavenged from a nursing home, except that it was missing the waste receptacle that slid under the seat. It sat squarely in the middle of a heavy vinyl tarp. Next to it, there was a small table on wheels, laden with a selection of gleaming surgical instruments.
Bobby and Bubba turned me around when we were a foot or two from the chair and plopped me down on the seat. Bubba moved behind the chair and held me in an upright position while Bobby cinched a piece of heavy webbing around my midsection. Once I was strapped in, they taped my forearms and wrists securely to the armrests. Dixon and bikini babe watched from a few feet away. She was twitching, licking her lips as Bobby and Bubba spread my knees apart and taped my legs to the legs of the chair.
"Get his head," Bubba said.
Bobby grabbed my hair and pulled my head back against a headrest as Bubba peeled off a strip of duct tape.
"No, you fools," bikini babe said. "Leave his head free for now, so he can watch the fun. And get rid of the gag, so he can answer my questions."
Still holding my head against the headrest with one hand, Bobby used the other to rip off the duct tape over my mouth. "Spit out that rag, asshole," he said.
I was happy to comply.
"Good," bikini babe said. "Now, get out of my way."
Bobby and Bubba hurried to one side as she stepped up in front of the chair. She stood facing me, looking me in the eye. Taking a deep breath, she made a visible effort to relax. Her nervous tics subsided, and she let her eyes roam over my body as she began a series of deep breathing exercises.
Villains and Vixens Page 7