Judith ordered a basket of clam strips and calamari while Cassidy ordered her old standby of giant prawns. Grilled, boiled, sautéed—it didn’t matter. She liked them every way and any way. Tucker, on the other hand, ordered a T-bone steak, rare, much to Judith’s surprise. “You’re eating red meat at a seafood place?”
“What can I say? I’m a meat-and-potatoes kind a guy. You want some?” He grinned devilishly and offered her the plastic-covered menu. “I’ll order you so much steak you’ll have to take a doggie bag home with you.”
Judith scrunched her shoulders and giggled. Once again Cassidy was thankful he’d taken the time to show his ugly mug in Florida. The change in Judith’s attitude made putting up with his bravado worthwhile. Before long the food arrived and they’d chatted like long lost friends.
Tucker regaled them with a few of his cleaner war stories. The best was the tale of the time his chair broke in the middle of a disciplinary meeting with two wayward sailors who’d decided to borrow his private vehicle for a joyride.
“So here I’m trying to impress them with how ornery I am. I mean, I’m glaring, and they’re convinced I’m tough enough to eat them for breakfast and spit ’em back out again for lunch.”
Judith rested her chin on her folded hands, her gray eyes filled with sparkles for a change.
“And they’re shaking in their boots. I gave ’em one last dirty look before I sat down in my leather chair, and...” He paused and took a deep breath to draw Judith in. Cassidy lounged back in her seat and let him work his charm on the girl. He did know how to impress a fourteen-year-old.
Judith leaned forward. “What did you do next?” she asked breathlessly.
He grinned. “Hell, no. I fell on my son-of-a-bitchin’ ass is what I did. The goddamned spindle on the chair broke. All those two jokers saw was my rear end flying over backwards.”
Judith laughed while Cassidy shot him a warning look over his language, which he promptly ignored.
“Yeah,” he continued, dabbing his napkin to his big mouth. “It’s real hard disciplining a couple stupid kids when they’re busting a gut and trying not to laugh.”
“Language,” Cassidy hinted again.
He waved her off. The napkin hit his plate. “Hell. I was laughing my guts out, too, but I was still so damned mad and, you know, I was embarrassed, and I don’t get embarrassed much. But there I was looking like a fool. I had to do something so I picked up that damned chair and tossed it out my door just to prove I was still tougher than those two punks.”
“Oh, my gosh. What did you do then?” Judith laughed, her eyes full of delight and maybe a touch of a schoolgirl crush, too. By the pink glow on her face, Tucker couldn’t do a thing wrong.
He slapped his knee. “I told those kids to get the shit out of my office, and they’d better not let me catch them joyriding again. They were just a couple knuckleheads having some stupid fun. I wasn’t really mad until that goddamned chair broke.”
“That’s so, so funny.” Judith smiled, her basket of deep-fried food long forgotten.
“So how about you, little darlin’?” He pushed his empty plate away and leaned back in his chair. “How are you really doing?”
Her countenance fell. She looked down at her hands. “I’m okay.”
“But you’re still wondering what happened to your nice little world, aren’t you?” he asked as the waitress came over to see if anyone wanted dessert. Cassidy meant to decline, but Tucker ordered three slices of chocolate cheesecake all around. “With raspberry drizzle and a dollop of real whipped cream, none of that fake spray-on shit out of a can, either,” he proclaimed, loud enough for everyone to hear.
As soon as the waitress left, Tucker turned his full attention to Judith. He leaned toward her. “That’s how it feels, doesn’t it? Like nothing will ever be good again? Like life’s not worth a shit?”
Her eyes brimmed. She nodded without answering, suddenly transformed into the frightened little girl without a mother and a father again. Tucker laid his hand over hers, and Cassidy wished he would shut up and knock it off. Judith didn’t need some charming, big-talking jerk giving her the wrong impression that he cared for her on top of everything else she had to deal with.
“Let me tell you something, darlin’.” Tucker’s tone softened. “Your dad’s one of the bravest men I’ve ever had the privilege to work with. He’s serving his country right now. That’s something to be damned proud of. You need to keep the porch light on and keep strong. Trust him, kiddo. He can’t do what he needs to do if you’re falling apart back here.”
Cassidy’s jaw dropped.
“I’ve worked with the FBI for seven years now—eleven with the SEALs. I’m here to tell you, young lady, your father is the only reason I’m alive today. God’s honest truth.”
Judith’s eyes teared up. “He... he is?”
“You bet.” Tucker tapped his index finger to the tip of her nose. “I know things are kind of hard for you right now. You’re scared, and you’ve seen some shit you shouldn’t have, but it’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to be scared, too. Life is hard sometimes, and you’re going to lose people you love, but you know what?”
“What?” Judith’s lower lip quivered.
Cassidy leaned forward, not sure exactly who Tucker was talking to right now, Judith or her. Yeah, what, you big oaf?
“The only reason it hurts losing anyone is because you loved them with all your heart to begin with. Don’t matter if they’re your mother, your father or some guy beside you in a firefight. You give a piece of your heart away every time you do that, Judith, and well, it hurts like a mother. It just plain sucks. I’ve only met a couple people like you in my whole life. Heck, I can count them on one hand and still have fingers left over. You love your dad and good on you.”
Cassidy blinked her tears away, thankful Tucker was focused on Judith. It gave Cassidy time to wipe her face without drawing attention. The big jerk’s words were getting to her.
“You’re stronger than you realize, darlin’. Always remember, the only thing that makes us strong is the love we give away. Besides, look at your old man. You’re his daughter, aren’t you?”
Judith’s eyes glistened as she nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Well, there you have it,” Tucker announced, like that took care of all Judith’s problems. He picked up his napkin and wiped Judith’s tears. “Any kid of Jude Cannon’s is gonna be just fine. You’ll see, baby girl. He’ll come home and you’ll have that happily-ever-after you need. Trust me. He won’t let you down, so don’t you let him down.”
“B-b-but... I want my dad now,” Judith burst into tears.
Damned if that smug, know-it-all FBI agent didn’t pull her chair next to his and wrap his arm around her. He pressed his lips to her forehead while he patted her trembling shoulder. “I know you do, baby girl, but you’ve got to know deep down in that sad little heart of yours that he’s coming home. Believe in him. Pray for him. Never give up on him. Never. Ever. You hear me? That’s what he needs most of all. You keeping strong makes him strong, too.”
She sucked up a wet sniffle, but nodded. “’Kay.”
Cassidy coughed politely over the lump in her throat. Damn it, Tucker. You’re not so bad after all.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Time to celebrate!”
Mickey insisted they stop at a little sports bar off Mission Street after Jude placed the final ricin canister deep within the maintenance shaft at the Balboa Park transfer station. With beers and pizza ordered all around, Jude stifled a groan. This was the last place he wanted to be. He’d hoped for a quick trip back to Florida, not partying with the Brothers Grimm.
The bright idea Floyd had to use his earpiece as a listening device on the aircraft had failed miserably. The first time Jude left it behind during one of his frequent trips to the restroom, Floyd was rewarded with nothing but static. The next time, the only intel it revealed ended up being a sparring match between Mickey and Clyde over who could tell
the worst lewd joke. Clyde won. Go figure.
The chubby guy slapped Jude’s back as they bellied up to the bar. “Man, Cannonball, you’ve got balls of steel. Might hafta come up with another nickname for you. Steelballs instead of Cannonball. How’s that grab ya?”
Jude shrugged, but Clyde’s comment seemed to trigger something in Alan. “How is it that a simple accountant like you can be so calm when he’s playing with something as deadly as ricin? You ever done this kinda work before?” Alan’s dark eyes kept track of the waitress while he talked.
“I’ve been wondering that myself,” nosey Floyd added his two cents’ worth. “Sounds like you’re perfect FBI material if you ask me.”
“Guess I’m a changed man now that I’ve seen the light,” Jude said indifferently. But it will be a cold day in hell that I turn FBI.
Alan looked around the place again before he lowered his voice still further. “I gotta admit. I wasn’t inclined to let you work with us, but now I’m glad we did. You make it look easy.”
“Why’s that?” Jude acted like he was bored with the whole conversation. The waitress brought their first round of beers, and Clyde promptly ordered a pitcher and garlic breadsticks for the next.
“’Cause it’s your fingerprints all over them cans, not ours,” Alan gloated. “You never even used gloves handling that crap. You’re going to be a wanted man for sure once the cops find ’em. You ever think of that?”
“Let them come. I’m only here to serve the prophet,” Jude said easily. He’d gotten good at this lying business.
Mickey leaned forward on his elbows. “You think it’s time to let old Cannonball here in on the next phase?”
“Yeah.” Clyde nodded as he sucked his beer through a straw, while Jude waited.
“You think he’s ready?” Alan asked. “I mean, you think Brother Aloysius would go along with it?”
That perked Jude’s ears up. Floyd’s, too. “Aloysius who?”
“Sure,” Mickey answered. “If Lucien thinks he’s safe, his brother should.”
“His brother?” Floyd asked, and Jude wished he’d shut the hell up and butt out.
Alan emptied his schooner. He slapped Jude a hard one on the back and wiped his mouth with his other hand. “Let’s find out. I’ll call him soon as we spot a pay phone.”
Mickey’s eyes gleamed. “Now you’re really gonna be one of us, Cannonball. Ha, I mean Mr. Balls-o-steel.”
“Steelballs,” Clyde corrected. “Don’t go changing his new name the minute I come up with it.”
“Whatcha gonna do, cry in your beer?” Mickey taunted.
Jude kept his focus on the last swallow of the amber drink in the bottom of his glass while the idiocy of idiots whirled around him. “What does Cain’s brother do? Is he another deliveryman? Another convert?” Another idiot like me?
“Not exactly,” Alan muttered. “He’s smarter than all of us put together, maybe even smarted than the prophet. We grow the beans. He makes the poison. It’s easy in California. That’s why the prophet chose that scab of land near Boggs Mountain. Perfect climate. Perfect location. Perfect everything.”
Jude let that interesting tidbit of perfect information settle into Floyd’s big head. Asking questions usually created more problems, and this late in the game, he didn’t need any. But what made Boggs Mountain so damned perfect? Surely Cain’s crop of castor beans could be grown in other places.
The waitress brought three extra-large pizzas to the table, the bread sticks, and another pitcher of beer. “Anything more I can get for you boys?” she asked sweetly.
Clyde lifted one bushy brow and gave her a suggestive leer all the way down to her toes, then burped. “When do you get off?”
Jude wanted to belt him. The man was a pig from the ground up, but she handled him well. “Sorry. I own the place. I work twenty-four-seven. You gonna hang around that long just to wait for me?”
He grunted. “Maybe.”
She winked over a sweet smile. “Well good, big guy, ’cause I promise I’ll wait until the day after never for you.”
Mickey nearly spit his beer, but if Clyde got the hint to drop dead, he didn’t show it. Just grinned like he really did have a chance at dating that savvy woman. The one walking away from him.
“See what you can find out about this Aloysius guy,” Floyd urged. “Go on. Get ’em to talk. They’re warming up to you. Now’s your chance.”
Instead, Jude tapped his earpiece just to annoy his friendly FBI agent. He knew Floyd was probably sitting close by with a headset on, all safe and comfortable in his air-conditioned vehicle while Jude sat with three cold-blooded murderers in a greasy diner. Making outrageous demands was easy for a man who had nothing to lose.
“Lucien’s brother must be damned smart,” Jude offered somberly as he grabbed a slice of pepperoni pizza. “I imagine it takes a pretty expensive lab to make that ricin stuff.”
Alan shrugged. “Hell, I dunno how he makes it. We send him the beans. The rest of it’s his problem.”
“Yeah, but ricin is damn deadly, just like you said. I think it takes some kind of a chemical process to make it,” Jude countered, “or else Lucien could’ve made it himself. Don’t forget, he’s a real smart man, too.”
“No, he couldn’t make it,” Mickey said through a mouthful. “His brother owns the medical equipment company. Mr. A’s the one with all the right stuff. All Cain’s got is a farm with a bunch of suckers dumb enough to hand over their money and work their guts out. Shit, people are stupid.”
“Yeah,” Clyde grunted, his mouth dripping with the grease from his triple cheese pizza, “like living in poverty’s some kind a blessing. Let me tell ya. Before I met the prophet, I spent most of my life dumpster diving. Poverty ain’t no fun.”
Jude swallowed the last of his drink, willing to walk away at the latest news about Cain’s brother and his company. Surely Floyd had enough to close them down. But nothing happened. Jude tapped his earpiece again.
“I hear you,” Floyd said. “I’m checking on the whereabouts of one Aloysius Cain. Hang on. I’ll get back to you.”
“Hey,” Alan leaned in conspiratorially to Jude. “Instead of me calling Mr. A, why don’t you come with us? He’ll be glad to make your acquaintance, knowing you and the prophet are so close and all. His place ain’t too far from here.”
Jude shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Yeah,” Mickey chimed in. “Then you can tell him exactly what the prophet told you about the second coming and phase two and all.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Floyd added quickly. “Go with them. Don’t worry. We’ll track you. I’m still digging up the dirt on this guy. Once we have Cain’s brother, locating the ricin ought to be easy.”
But I don’t know anything about phase two, damn it. Jude grunted in response to all the idiots he was listening to, not willing to put his life in danger for one more stupid idea. Improv was not his forte, either. What was Floyd trying to do? Get him killed? He had to set this straight once and for all. “We might have a problem, guys. The prophet never told me what phase two entailed. Don’t you know?”
“Uh huh.” Alan grunted. “All we knew was where and when we were supposed to place the first five canisters.”
Jude gritted his teeth, wishing the subterfuge ended right then and there. He gulped past the growing knot in his larynx. “Don’t look at me. Guess I’m not in that real inner circle, either.”
“Humph.” Mickey slammed his empty schooner down a little too hard. “Maybe Mr. A knows. Come on, guys. Let’s hit it.”
Once the Brothers Grimm got it into their heads to visit Mr. A, that was all there was to it. They went through two more pitchers of beer. Alan talked the waitress into letting him use her phone, and before Jude knew it, they’d driven to an out-of-the-way strip mall beneath a dark freeway overpass. The fourth neon sign on the row of deserted shops proudly declared Palma Christi Medical Supplies. A real no-kidding, oh shit tremor hit Jude. He tapped his earpiece to ge
t Floyd’s attention.
“I’m here. What’s up?”
“Palma Christi Medical Supplies, huh?” Jude stretched when he got out of the rental car. “Mr. A works here? Feels like we’re home.”
Mickey shot Jude a drunken leer. “Kinda does, huh?”
“Didn’t see that one coming,” Floyd muttered.
Another tremor hit seconds later. Mr. A was the spitting image of Lucien Cain. Could’ve passed for his twin, and he was suspicious the moment he spotted Jude with the Brothers Grimm. One brow spiked while the other lowered. Aw shit.
“Who’s he?” Aloysius asked sharply as he closed his front door behind Jude and flipped the switch to extinguish the outside signs.
Night had fallen fast. Jude flinched. He sensed a different kind of darkness in this place.
“This here’s Brother Jude Cannon,” Alan introduced him with a friendly slap to the middle of his back. “The prophet sent him to help us get the second coming done. Phase one’s complete. We’re ready for phase two. What is it?”
“My brother? Lucien changed the plan without discussing it with me first?” Mr. A’s brows lifted. “I don’t think so.”
“Uh-huh. He did, too.” Clyde nibbled his take-out order of garlic bread sticks. “Jude’s a real good guy. He’s smart, and he’s been helping us all week. We call him Cannonball, only we’re gonna change his name on account of he’s got balls of steel. We was thinking Steelballs.”
“Yeah, he’s the main man, ain’t you, Balls-o-Steel, my buddy and friend?” Mickey’d had a few too many beers, but all his jocularity was lost on Mr. A.
“Lucien never said anything about sending you three more help,” he hissed. “You were the only ones appointed to this task. No one else.”
Cassidy Page 25