The Murder Run

by Michael P. King

  Nicole felt the old excitement. “It’s a beautiful day for a ride in a convertible.”

  Lily’s mouth fell open. “Steal the car?”

  “We’re not stealing it. We’re just going for a ride.”

  “We’re bringing it back?”

  “Of course. He won’t even know it was gone.”

  A group of teenagers in suits and dresses came out of the club and started across the lawn, getting louder as they moved away from the building.

  “I thought I was the wild one. But it’s pretty obvious I was wrong,” Lily said.

  “Ride or no ride?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  “Give me the keys.”

  3

  The Robbery

  Monday evening, Tony sat with Duke and Barker in a stolen Arnold’s Pest Control van across the street from 2087 Cummings Place. They were all wearing latex gloves and blue coveralls with names sewn over the chest pockets. Just as a UPS truck pulled up in front of the apartment building, they climbed out of the front of the van, opened the back, and pulled out a two-wheel cart loaded with pesticide spraying equipment. Duke grabbed the handles on the cart. Barker shut the van doors.

  Tony pushed in his earpiece. “Keep a sharp eye out.”

  “I got you covered,” Barker said.

  Tony and Duke rolled through the front doors of the apartment building just as the UPS woman was unloading her second cart of boxes and the doorman was checking them against a computer printout. “Where’s the service elevator?” Duke asked.

  The doorman raised his hand. “Hold up. Where you going?”

  Tony looked at a clipboard. “602.”

  “Let me check on that.”

  They kept moving.

  “Hold your horses.”

  Duke rolled his eyes. “You want your residents to see us?”

  “Give us a break,” Tony said. “This is our last job. We want to go home.”

  “You signed off?” the UPS woman asked the doorman.

  The doorman signed the UPS tablet. “Okay,” he said to Duke and Tony without looking up. “Service elevator is around to the left.”

  “Great,” Duke said. They started away.

  “Wait a minute,” the doorman said. “602 is out of town.”

  “Yeah,” Tony said. “We got keys. They want it done before they get back.”

  In front of apartment 602, Duke watched the hall while Tony picked the locks. Easy-peasy. They turned on the lights. The apartment looked like it belonged to a bachelor—wall-to-wall carpeting, leather furniture, framed posters of horse races. In the spare bedroom/home office, the safe was in the wall behind a framed U2 poster. “What do you see?” Duke asked.

  “No challenge here.”

  Tony had the safe open in a few minutes. Inside were a few file folders and, as advertised, a sealed manila envelope and a small cloth bag. He tossed the bag to Duke. Duke shook some of the contents out into his hand. He grinned.

  “What have we got?” Tony asked.

  “Diamonds. Small. I’m guessing fifteen thousand cash.”

  Tony shut the safe and rehung the U2 poster. They turned off the lights and locked the door on their way out. Duke gave a wave to the doorman as they came out into the lobby. Barker opened the back of the van as they were crossing the street. “All good?” he asked.

  “Never better,” Tony said.

  Up the street half a block, a National Defense Agency operative sat in the back of a Suburban looking at a computer monitor. Four days of surveillance had finally paid off. She’d recorded the two men up in the apartment, plus she had silent footage of the van on the street. The street lighting here really was excellent. And she’d had enough time to compromise their smartphones by channeling their cell phone signals through a fake cell tower. You just had to love the way people left their phone GPS tracking on. She called Garcia.

  “Ma’am, a crew just broke into Clemens’s. They were in and out of there like they owned the place.”

  “What did they take?”

  “They took an envelope and a small bag from the safe. Do we move on them?”

  “Is the tracking up?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We’re inside all their phones. I’ve taken over the Find My Phone feature, and we’ll have all their data downloaded in four or five hours.”

  “Excellent. Let them roam. I want to know which of the conspirators they’re connected with. Call up Ridley. Transfer the surveillance to him. Tell him I want a complete profile on these guys as soon as possible.”

  Barker drove the van out onto the beltway going north, took the next exit, and doubled back south. The traffic was light, mostly semitrucks. No one was tailing them. He took the third exit onto Mission Drive and second right onto Rockhaven Road. A Toyota Camry sat under a broken surveillance camera in a high school parking lot. They put their coveralls and gloves into a garbage bag before they climbed into the Camry. Barker drove back onto the beltway, drove south to the last exit into town, and got off on First Avenue, where he pulled into a half-empty strip mall parking lot and stopped beside Tony’s RAV4, which was parked in the far corner of the lot.

  “You guys hold the diamonds,” Tony said. “I’ll meet the client, collect the five thousand, and meet you at your place.”

  “We’ll dump the Camry and get rid of the garbage bag,” Barker said.

  “And I’ll call Fats about selling the diamonds,” Duke said.

  Tony parked on the street in front of Chen’s house, a story and a half in a neighborhood of picket fences and well-tended lawns. It was still early, before 7:00 p.m., but the street was quiet. He walked up onto the porch and knocked on the front door. No answer. He found the doorbell and pressed it with a knuckle. He couldn’t hear any movement inside. He used his handkerchief to grab the doorknob. The door swung open. “Chen!”

  He pushed the door shut with his foot. There was something—something in the air, a scent that made his back teeth tingle. He pulled his Glock and quietly chambered a round. He held his gun out, military style, working his way step by step toward the back. Off to his right was a hallway. The first door was the bathroom. The door was open. The shower was running, but the shower curtain was torn down. A dead woman, Caucasian, maybe fifty, lay in the tub, her blood swirling down the drain. She’d been sprayed with bullets. Now he remembered what the smell was. Gunpowder and blood. He listened as hard as he could, but all he could hear was the spray hitting the tub.

  He continued down the hall to the kitchen. Chen lay in the floor between the counter and the kitchen table. Dead. His face was bloody, as if someone had worked him over before they shot him. Tony looked out the back door. The yard was peaceful suburbia. He turned back into the room. That’s when he saw the white, business-size envelope on the floor under the table. He picked it up. Five thousand dollars cash. Must have fallen off the table during the struggle. He slipped the envelope into the right-hand pocket of his jacket. He glanced back down at Chen. The blood was still wet. In a neighborhood like this, if there was gunfire, someone would call 911. It was time to go. Tough luck for Chen. But he had the money and the diamonds, and maybe he could off load the blackmail information, so all in all, a good day’s work.

  Outside, there was a man leaning against his RAV4 under the streetlight, a nondescript man with a regular haircut wearing a dark suit that screamed federal agent. Tony glanced up and down the street. There was no one else. A dog barked in the distance. Tony kept the Glock down along his leg as he came off of the porch.

  “Good evening,” the man said.

  “Who are you?”

  The man held out his identification. Paul Robertson, National Defense Agency.

  Tony nodded. “So you’re not a cop.”

  “No.”

  “You’re working late.”

  “I need that envelope.”

  “What envelope?”

  “Don’t play fuck all with me. The envelope from the safe.”

  “You been in the house?”
<
br />   “I was too late. They obviously didn’t know you hadn’t arrived yet.”

  “Or they would have waited.” Tony smiled. “Unless it was you.”

  “Please. I didn’t need to kill the Chens. The first mention of rendition to a black site, and I would have had their full cooperation.” He stuck out his hand. “The envelope.”

  Tony unfolded the manila envelope out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Robertson.

  Robertson glanced at the writing on the outside. “Thanks.”

  Tony got into his SUV. Only God knew what was really going on there—why Chen had him steal the envelope—but it didn’t matter now. He had the cash and the diamonds. He pulled away from the curb. Still no sirens. But why was Robertson conveniently waiting there to collect the envelope? Had Robertson been following him, or had he been trailing the bad guys?

  Just to be on the safe side, Tony drove around town for a while, stopping at a Gas N Go and at a Caffeination coffee shop. No tail. Then he drove down Mercer Boulevard to the freeway interchange where he and his partners had agreed to rendezvous at The Sundowner Motel, a rattrap at the end of an access road. The motel sign flashed on and off in the dark, and a few old cars sat in the parking lot. He pulled in next to the Ram truck parked in front of room 125. His headlights showed that the door to the room was ajar. He knew that he should just drive away, but he had to know for sure. He got out of the RAV4 with the Glock in his hand. He stood behind the wall next to the door and pushed the door open with his foot. No gunfire. He stepped into the room and flipped on the light switch. Duke was lying across the first bed, shot in the head and the chest. Barker was lying facedown by the bathroom door.

  Tony bumped the room door shut with his shoulder. He needed to move fast. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves. He flipped Barker over. One in the head, two in the chest. Execution style. He went through Barker’s pockets methodically. Nothing. No cash, no wallet, no car keys. Duke was the same. But Duke was old school. He would have hidden the diamonds first thing. Tony pushed Duke to the floor and lifted the mattress. Nothing. He hurried into the bathroom and looked in the toilet tank and under the sink. Ditto. He felt the undersides of the dresser drawers and the bedside tables. No luck. He stood in the middle of the room and turned full circle. The diamonds weren’t here.

  He shut the door behind him. This was the second time he had arrived between the bad guys and the cops. How many minutes did he have? He started toward the RAV4, but the Ram truck just sat there, inscrutable and alone. What the hell? He picked the lock on the passenger’s side and popped open the glove box. There it was. The small cloth bag. He snatched it up, swiveled his head around like a cartoon character expecting the large hammer, and jogged over to the RAV4.

  He began to feel safer when he got off the freeway two exits south. Who were the killers? Definitely professionals. Rogue law enforcement? Black ops? Drug cartel? The envelope from the safe obviously didn’t just contain some blackmail info. Think. The guys that killed Duke and Barker couldn’t have known about the rendezvous. They must have been waiting at the break-in. So why did they follow Duke and Barker instead of him? But the guys who killed the Chens knew where they lived and knew they were going to get the envelope. They just got there too early. So did they double back to the apartment building after they killed the Chens? Was it just plain dumb luck that they had followed Duke and Barker instead of him? Or was Robertson the key? And if it was Robertson’s crew, why was he alone at Chen’s? If it was some other crew, were they still looking to grab the envelope? Tony drove downtown until he saw the sign for a long-term parking lot.

  He pulled into the long-term parking, wiped down the inside of the RAV4, and left the keys in it. Did the bad guys think Duke and Barker had the envelope, or were they just cleaning up? Why didn’t they wait for him at Chen’s? They were going to kill everyone anyway. He opened his rucksack and pulled out a set of shanked keys. A white Nissan Sentra was parked under the second level, safe and dry. He slipped his Sentra shanked key into the door lock and gave it a turn. He was inside. He shoved the key into the ignition, gave it a jiggle while he turned it. The Sentra started on the first try. Half a tank of gas. He took his smartphone from his pocket. Robertson—the government guy—had been waiting at Chen’s. Either he was rogue, or it was a straight-up government operation. Which meant his phone was probably compromised. He went into his contacts and wrote down Missy’s and Nicole’s phone numbers. Then he went into Settings, erased the contents and settings on the phone, and pulled the chip. As he drove out of the parking deck, he tossed the phone and then the chip out the window.

  He drove to a Mail-N-More at a strip mall where he kept a PO box, put the diamonds in an envelope, and put the envelope in his box. The middle-aged Latina behind the counter didn’t even look up from the box she was packing. Then he went to a Save-U-Mart, where he parked across the street at Ted’s Liquors so that the Sentra wouldn’t be on the security cameras, and purchased a cell phone. When he got back to the car, he called Missy.

  “Hello?”

  “Do you know who this is? Don’t say my name.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Throw away your phone.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause your phone might be hacked. Remember where we first met?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Meet me there.”

  Missy laid her phone down on the seat of her car. Tony didn’t do drama. What could have gone so wrong? It was just a simple little job. The cops get after them somehow? A civilian get killed? Damn. She was going to have to find out. She drove across town to The Fishing Hole, an old-timey bar on a corner in a rundown neighborhood. She hated bars like this. It was dimly lit and smelled of floor cleaner and old beer. It was the kind of place where lonely old men went to die. Three guys sat at the bar, all by themselves. Tony wasn’t one of them. She motioned to the bartender. “I’m looking for Chuck.”

  “He left this note for you.”

  It was a phone number. She went to the pay phone in the corner and dialed it.

  “Is this a new phone?” Tony asked.

  “Pay phone.”

  “My guys are dead. Meet me at Parkside Apartments, number 302.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “Come or don’t come. I’ll be waiting there two hours.”

  She went back out to her car, sat behind the wheel, and looked down the street. The stoplight changed from green to yellow. His partners were dead. This wasn’t some random nonsense. She got out her smartphone and called Robertson.

  “Missy, how are you?”

  “I don’t know. The safecracker’s guys are dead. That wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “Settle down. I didn’t have anything to do with that. Some people got their messages crossed.”

  “I thought you were in charge.”

  “I am now.”

  “Really?”

  “You’re still alive, aren’t you? We’ve got an ongoing relationship. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Go on home. Everything is fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. You’re on my team.”

  Missy pulled away from the curb. Robertson had always had her back. Ever since he had made those robbery charges go away and recruited her to find criminals to do projects for him, his word had always been good. He got what he wanted, her friends got paid, and she made her finder’s fee, which meant she had to do fewer cons to support her own lifestyle. A big win for everyone. Robertson was insulated from the crime, her criminal friends were insulated from Robertson, she got paid for standing around. She took a right turn at the four-way stop. But now? This job had developed too many moving parts. It didn’t look like Robertson was calling the shots. It looked like he was coming afterward with the dustpan and broom. And his assurances just weren’t that convincing.

  She pulled into a driveway and turned around. This was no time to take chances. She needed her go bag. With killers on the loose, the smart move was to give
Robertson a few days to smooth everything out. If he could. She speed-dialed Betty.

  “Baby, where are you?”

  “I’m at the gallery. Remember? Tonight’s the reception for new clients. I won’t be home until late.”

  “Don’t go to the house.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You need to stay away from the house.”

  “Are the cops coming? Are you going to be arrested?”

  “No. And I don’t want you to worry. Go to your brother’s.”

  “He’s going to ask why.”

  “Tell him we had a fight, anything, just don’t go to the house.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “It might be nothing. Right now, you need to do what I say.”

  “I need clothes.”

  “Run in and run out. Don’t even turn on the TV or use the bathroom. If anyone is sitting in a car on the street, don’t stop.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “Good. You should be scared.”

  “When will I see you?”

  “A day or two. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  Tony watched Missy turn around in the driveway. He pulled over to the curb and ducked down in his seat as she drove by him. Then he made a U turn and followed her three cars behind. She was easy to tail. He followed her to a townhouse, watched her come out with a large shoulder bag, and followed her to the Parkside Apartments. He was in the hallway behind her when she rang the doorbell to apartment 302.

  “Hey, Missy,” he said.

  She pivoted, reaching inside her jacket, but dropped her arm when she saw who it was. “How long have you been following me?”

  “Long enough to know that nobody else is. We cool?”

  “Yeah, we’re cool.”

  “Then let’s get inside.”

  He opened the door with a key. No one was home. Janet was at her book club, and her husband wasn’t due for two more days.