The Wicked Flee (A Marty Singer Mystery Book 5)

by Matthew Iden

  “It’s all the same. Just different license plates,” he said, then pointed. “Here we go.”

  Chuck smoothly joined the local lanes, then took the second exit for Gaithersburg. Off-ramps and transitional roads did their job and we’d slowed to a respectable suburban speed less than a minute after leaving I-270.

  “You know where you’re going?” I asked.

  Chuck fished around in a pocket for his phone. “No. But this does.” With the ease of long practice, he drove while navigating the phone’s tiny map.

  I’d been to Gaithersburg only a few times before—it had been outside my jurisdiction, after all—and it wasn’t such a little hamlet anymore. In fact, it was on its way to becoming a small city. Tower apartments had replaced sleepy two-story duplexes, and whole stretches of road were nothing but the neon lights of the fast-food joints, shoe stores, mattress emporiums, and pharmacies needed to serve a burgeoning population.

  “What is this place and what did they do with Gaithersburg?” I asked.

  “Progress, man,” Chuck said. His face was lit a ghastly white from the glow of his phone. “The I-270 technology corridor plus lobbyists plus a solid housing market means suburban sprawl.”

  “Golly,” I said, looking out the window like a hick on his first trip to the city.

  Chuck took the turns with confidence, but I knew he was getting keyed up, because I was—a tightening in the pit of the stomach, that electric energy that I couldn’t quite shake out of my hands and fingertips. In fact, I wasn’t sure how Chuck was keeping his cool. If it had been me, I would’ve driven the car in a straight line to the address, plowing through anything between me and it.

  Ten minutes later, hovering on the edge of Gaithersburg, we stopped at a street corner that gave us a view of the Huntington Crowne Motel. It looked like the kind of place a pimp would put his girls. Beat down, drab, a runner that could barely finish its race. Snow fell in clumps, piling in unplowed drifts in its modest parking lot. Streetlamps flickered on and off, but the lights in several of the units burned constantly.

  I glanced over at Chuck. “Time for some direct action?”

  He nodded. “Hell, yes.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Get out.”

  Eddie grabbed Lucy’s arm and pulled her off the seat of the Mustang. They’d parked in the driveway of a small, one-story house built on a rise. Dominating the front yard was a fifteen-foot inflatable Santa Claus, lit from within by a small bulb. An odd, homemade cardboard crown had been put on its head, but the crown had gotten soggy and now drooped over the puffy face like dreadlocks. A dog barked in the distance, its voice carried unnaturally far on the winter air. It was the only sound except for a low whine from the air compressor that kept the giant Santa inflated.

  The lot was surrounded by trees like every home she’d seen on the drive into the neighborhood, if that’s what you could call a scattering of houses along a deserted road. They’d made a dozen different turns after exiting the highway near Glenwood, passing through the suburbs and on to the sparsely populated countryside in between towns. Lucy had gotten lost minutes after they’d left the highway.

  A light came on inside the dumpy house, followed by a bare bulb that served as a porch light. The door opened and a thin man stepped onto the porch dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. He was bald back to the middle of his head and the skin of his scalp gleamed in the light. Pale arms poked out from his sides, the elbows sharp and the forearms covered with dark hair. He looked down at them, squinting into the darkness.

  “Eddie? Is that you?” the man called.

  “Jack,” Eddie said. With a hand under her elbow, he led Lucy to the rickety, sagging steps that rose to the small porch. “How you doing?”

  “Can’t complain,” Jack said, eyeing Lucy as they climbed the steps. “Who do we have here?”

  “Mind if we come inside first?” Eddie asked. It was less of a question than a demand.

  “Aw, hell. Where are my manners? Of course, of course.” Jack danced back like a jester, holding the screen door open for them.

  They entered and moved to one side so Jack could shut the door. The living room was small, dominated by shaggy beige carpeting and faux pine paneling. A large print of a wolf pack with picturesque mountains in the background hung on one wall. The edge of a hole peeked out from behind it. Weak light emanated from a small table lamp, the base of which was a knight holding a lance. Poorly mounted shelves took up most of the available wall space, each cluttered with dusty bric-a-brac: cheap resin figurines of castles and wizards, crystal and prisms and ordinary rocks, a needlepoint pillow with a shield and rampant lion design. A map of Britain, littered with ornate, illegible lettering and heraldic shields, hung on the wall above a nappy green couch with a seat so low that the front of it touched the floor. The couch was square to a TV, from which a loud huckster’s voice hawked the latest irresistible offer. Jack snatched at the remote lying on the couch and turned off the TV.

  “So,” he said, tossing the remote back onto the couch. “What can I do for you, Eddie, old chap?”

  “I need a favor,” Eddie said. He pointed. “This is Lucy. I need to stash her here for an hour or two, tops. I’ve got some business that can’t wait, but I can’t have her . . . acting out in the meantime. That’s where you come in.”

  “You’d like me to provide sanctuary for this young lass, yes,” Jack said, scooting closer and giving Lucy the once-over. She winced as he stuck his face in hers. He smelled like garlic and jelly.

  Eddie shifted closer and put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Nothing is going to happen to her, Jack. I want her in exactly the same shape as I’m leaving her. Exactly the same shape. You understand?”

  Jack’s face fell. “Not allowed to play?”

  “No.”

  “I hate to seem venal, lad, but what’s in it for me, then?”

  Eddie reached into his jacket and pulled out a wad of bills. He counted off four fifties and handed them to Jack, who took them delicately between thumb and forefinger, then slipped them into a back pocket.

  “You get two more when I get back, if she’s conscious, happy, and untouched. If she isn’t, you don’t get the money and you get me in a piss-poor mood. What do you say?”

  “Not much choice you leave me, boy-o.”

  “I can take her somewhere else . . .” Eddie began.

  “Oh, no. No, no, no. She’ll be my guest. My liege lady, my princess without a pea. You have my word of honor.”

  “I don’t need your word of honor. Just lock her in a room until I get back. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “And it shall be done,” Jack said, bowing low and sweeping his arm back with exaggerated courtesy. He turned to Lucy. “Would m’lady care for a cup of tea before I lock her in her tower? I have a nice tin of Earl of Grey that I picked up on clearance last week.”

  Lucy shook her head. Jack shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  “Where’s Doris?” Eddie asked. “I’d feel better if you were both here to watch her.”

  “Out for the evening, sire. She left me in charge of the freehold in her absence.”

  “She’s out boozing with the girls from her bowling league?”

  Jack inclined his head. “The same. I am left to entertain myself with the dubious charms of reality television while my wife frolics with her court.”

  “Call her. I want her here.”

  “But I am perfectly capable . . .”

  Eddie reached out and put his hand on Jack’s shoulder again. This time, however, he slowly squeezed, pinching the thin muscle in Jack’s neck. Eddie seemed to put little effort into the motion, but Jack gasped and his knees buckled. He put a hand on Eddie’s, ineffectually attempting to pull it away.

  “Jack, I don’t think I’m being clear,” Eddie said, his voice even and conversational. “This is important.”

&n
bsp; “Okay,” Jack said hoarsely. “Okay. It’s serious. No fucking around.”

  Eddie maintained the pressure for a few more seconds, then let go. He stared at Jack. “Call Doris and get her back here.”

  “I . . . I don’t have the phone tonight,” Jack said, humiliated.

  Eddie closed his eyes briefly, then said, “Give me her number. I’ll call her.” Jack recited it and Eddie punched it into his phone. “I’ll be back in an hour, maybe two. Got it?”

  “Got it, Eddie,” Jack said, subdued.

  “Good.” Eddie turned to Lucy. “Do what he says. Don’t try to run. We’re in the boonies, so there’s nowhere to go anyway. You heard what I told Jack. I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t make any trouble.”

  Lucy stared at the floor. Eddie gave Jack one more warning look, then he opened the door to a blast of freezing air, and slammed the door. A minute later, the rumble of the Mustang’s engine shook the pictures on the wall, then the headlights played over the front of the house as he backed out of the drive. With a roar, the muscle car dropped into gear and took off down the road and away, the sounds of the engine eventually fading into the distance.

  Humming to himself, Jack peered out the front window until the last sound of Eddie’s car had died away. Lucy jumped as Jack spun in place and clapped his hands together loudly.

  “All right, my girl,” he said with a grin. “It’s just you and me. What say we get to know each other better?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Torbett was stepping into his Lexus when #4 buzzed once, twice. He pulled the phone out and frowned. A Virginia number. Eddie. He hesitated. Three rings. Two communications in the same night was dangerous, against the rules, definitely verboten. As Eddie should know. Four rings. But the consequences of ignoring a call were potentially severe, possibly even disastrous. Eddie might’ve lost the girl. Or maybe he’d changed his mind and Torbett had almost made a huge mistake. Five.

  “Damn,” he said. He pushed the little green button. “Hello?”

  “John? We need to talk.” Eddie’s voice had a distant quality, as though he were talking on a speaker.

  There was a problem. Back out. “I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong—”

  “Don’t hang up. You’re safe. I know you throw the phones away. You need to hear this.”

  A wave of panic at the idea of a good plan possibly gone awry washed over him, or worse, that perhaps the walls of the legal system were closing in at this very moment. Another section of his brain, however, registered peevish disappointment. He’d taken time cultivating Eddie, getting to know him before entrusting him with an order. The boy had seemed the reliable sort. Someone, perhaps, he could do repeat business with (although that was flouting the rules). But if there was a problem serious enough to call him twice in a night—in fact, if he needed to call him at all, and not simply handle the issue himself—it was doubtful that Eddie was the man he’d hoped he was, after all.

  “You have one minute,” Torbett said. “Then I’m ending this call and our relationship.”

  “Relax. You’re not in any danger. I’ve got a problem on my end that doesn’t involve you, but it’s something I have to take care of before I deliver the package. It means a one-, maybe two-hour delay.”

  Torbett was silent.

  “I called so that you wouldn’t be waiting any longer than you have to,” Eddie said, his voice reasonable, soothing. “I know you want a minimal amount of contact at the drop-off and I’m trying to provide that for you.”

  Torbett cleared his throat. “What’s the problem?”

  “You don’t really want to know, do you? It’s nothing that involves you. No one knows your name or anything regarding our arrangement and you don’t know anything about my end of things. That changes if I tell you.”

  “This doesn’t involve the police? You’re not posting bail or anything?”

  Eddie’s chuckle was made metallic and disembodied by the distance, like a ghost’s laugh. “No, John. Nothing like that.”

  “It makes me jumpy, thinking you have other priorities.”

  “Believe me, this isn’t more important than delivering your . . . product. It’s just an unpleasant surprise. If I could ignore it, I would.”

  Torbett chewed it over. “All right. What do you want me to do?”

  “Wait two hours and follow the schedule just as we agreed. I’ll make sure the timing works on my end. Everything proceeds as planned. Next to no contact, a safe handoff, then we go our separate ways. As long as you have the delivery fee.”

  “Fine. We’ll stick to the plan,” Torbett said. “This makes me nervous, though. I’ll be getting rid of this phone as a precaution. You have the next number in the chain in case you have to call again?”

  “Yes.”

  They ended the call and Torbett sat in the dark, thinking. The swell of panic had subsided. He’d imagined Eddie calling for all kinds of terrible reasons, but this had been nothing, really. Troubling, yes. An inconvenience, certainly. But nothing catastrophic. He’d put Eddie on probation after this, however. It wasn’t a failing grade, but definitely a black mark for the future.

  He sighed, got out of the car, and went back into the house to go through the ritual of destroying yet another phone. Adieu, number four. I hardly knew you. After he put the phone in the freezer, he put it out of his mind to deal with later and went down the hall to the study. He opened the drawer in his desk and pulled out the next phone. Bonjour, number five. He slipped the phone into his pocket, then blew out a breath and looked around his office.

  How to kill two hours?

  He turned and knelt by the safe that was embedded in the wall behind the desk. With a few quick turns of his wrist, he unlocked the vault and opened it. Inside were papers and some cash, a handgun that he’d never fired, and a stack of generic photo albums that he’d bought at a department store. He shuffled the albums, checking the names and dates handwritten on the spines, then picked one at random. Sandy, last year’s Fourth of July gift to himself. He poured himself a snifter of whisky, sat down with the album, and began whiling away the time by flipping through the pictures he’d taken of the girl he’d kept in his basement.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  If he opens the door and he’s keeping it together, Eddie told himself, I won’t do it.

  He was standing on Gerry’s front stoop, having taken the same path through the snow, he guessed, that the state cop had taken when she’d brought the world crashing down around them. There’d been only one set of tracks, small booted feet that had strode with a purpose to the front door of the most vulnerable pimp in his network.

  Eddie rang the bell and knocked, then rubbed his hands together while he waited. Even with gloves on, his fingers felt frozen. The snow and the temperature were both continuing to fall, promising the kind of winter that Maryland hadn’t seen in a hundred years. He shivered and rolled his shoulders, trying to dislodge a flake that had somehow found its way down his collar, missing his hair and the coat, and was now melting its way down his back. Maybe a cabin in Maine wasn’t what he should be shooting for, after all.

  A minute passed and he was getting ready to pound on the door or kick it down when he remembered he was in a suburban neighborhood after midnight. No doubt there was an insomniac neighbor or a nosy old lady just waiting for a minor commotion in the community to break the monotony. One wrong move and he’d be front and center in somebody’s binoculars. It was bad enough he’d had to park the Mustang in front of Gerry’s house—to put it mildly, a classic muscle car stood out in a suburban neighborhood of family minivans and colorless commuter vehicles. Maybe he should’ve parked farther away? No, if he needed to get out of there in a hurry, he didn’t want to have to sprint through the night to get back to the car.

  A shadow moved inside. Eddie cracked his neck, trying to loosen up. He heard a scuffling sound as someone unlocked th
e security chain, then the dead bolt, then the knob. The door opened.

  Gerry stood there, panic written over his face.

  “Eddie. Thank Christ you’re here,” Gerry said, stepping back and motioning him inside. “I’m about to lose my mind, sitting here waiting for the cops.”

  “Take it easy,” Eddie said. He walked through the foyer and into the living room, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his head on a swivel. He leaned in and poked his head around the corner to check out the dining room and kitchen. “First things first. Did you get the girls out?”

  “Yeah. Just like you said. They’re all at the Crowne, like it’s a normal night.”

  “They don’t know anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “They see the cop when she came around?”

  “Trish got a glimpse, but I chased her ass back to her room.”

  Eddie motioned for the two of them to come into the kitchen, out of sight of the living room windows. Gerry smelled of sweat and aftershave. “Tell me about this state cop.”

  His pimp started at the top, telling the story in fits and starts, fidgeting with his necklace while he talked, running a fat finger around the gold chain. In the middle of it, he ripped a paper towel off its roll and wiped the sweat off his forehead. For a big guy, he had a high voice.

  “So, this Kevin guy was a friend of yours,” Eddie said. “He know about me at all?”

  “No way,” Gerry said, shaking his head from side to side like a bear. “All he knew to do was call the number when he wanted a piece. I took the girl to him.”

  “He ever go to the Crowne for one of the regular girls?”

  Another shake. “He didn’t have the nerve. I wanted him and Tiff together to kind of break each other in, you know? Then she could start working the Crowne and maybe he’d be one of our regulars.”

  “Shitty bad luck that she OD’d with a john who actually knew you,” Eddie said. He leaned against the countertop, relaxed, his hands still stuffed in his pockets. His hand accidentally wrapped around his lighter, which made him want a cigarette badly—very badly—but that would not be a smart thing to do.