“Of course. Everything is fine between us, Grace. I’m just not good with surprises. How was your flight?”
“I just wanted to be sure. The way we left it—”
She nodded. “I understand. You felt I was rushing things.”
“So you’re okay with where I’m at? I want to be with you. I think you’re wonderful, but I’m just not ready to say you’re my only one. Are you really okay? ’Cause I could get a hotel.”
“As long as you’re not saying that our relationship can’t grow.”
“I’m not saying that. I’m definitely not saying that.”
Clare smiled, took Mosley’s hands, and kissed her again. “Then you should definitely stay here.”
“Great. Glad we made it through that.” Mosley stepped out of her shoes. “This run is a little different from usual. I’m not making a drop. Might be here a few days. What smells so good?”
“I’m making lasagna.”
“Enough for two?”
“There’ll be plenty.”
“I can’t wait. How have you been?”
“The same.” She motioned toward the kitchen. “I’ve got to keep moving.”
Mosley followed her. “The same?”
Clare cracked open the oven door and peeked inside. “I’ve picked up a few evening shifts. Better tips.”
“Great. The boss sends his best.” Mosley got a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. “You want one?”
Clare shook her head. “Not yet. After I make the salad.” She looked into a pot on the stove and gave it a stir. “So if you’re not making a drop, what are you doing?”
Mosley shook her head. “Can’t say.”
Clare turned to look at her, the wooden spoon still in her hand.
“Trust me,” Mosley said. “You’re better off not knowing.”
It was dark when Philips’s Gulfstream 200 taxied to a stop outside the Crenshaw Industries airplane hangar at the private airfield next to the Nohamay City Airport. Inside were the same men who had murdered Bartholomew at the parking ramp construction site that morning. Their leader, Gary, the black man with the neatly trimmed hair, stood up in the aisle at the front of the plane facing the rest of them, the top of his head just shy of the ceiling height.
“Okay, guys, this is what’s going to happen. Rickover is here somewhere. We’re going to find him and collect the boss’s money. We’re going to do this so quietly that the locals won’t even know we’re here. So no fucking around. No drinking, no gambling, no whores. Not even part-timers. The locals can be a pain in the ass, and the boss has business here he doesn’t want interrupted. Everybody understand?”
They all nodded.
He continued. “The casino has metal detectors. We can’t take weapons in there, so we’re going to work out of the airplane hangar. Leave our gear here when we can’t be carrying. Two teams. Black and white. Blend in and get it done. Questions?”
Jacob, the blond bodybuilder, rubbed his crew cut and yawned. “This Rickover guy. How gentle do we have to be?”
“We get the money first. Then we clean up the mess. Let me repeat. The boss wants his money. He’s going to be extremely pissed if Rickover dies first.”
“Got you.”
Gary looked at the others. “Anybody else?” No one spoke. He pressed a button by the door to the cockpit. The pilot, a gray man in a crumpled dark blue uniform, came out and opened the plane’s door and lowered the steps. Gary looked over his shoulder at Mitch, the dark-haired guy with the potbelly. “You and Jacob grab the foot locker.” Then he turned to the pilot. “Keep your phone on, Tony.”
“I’ll be ready.”
They all hurried down the steps and went into the airplane hangar, Jacob and Mitch lugging a heavy, black footlocker between them. The tarmac was quiet. The overhead doors to the hangar were up, revealing an office space to one side. Jacob and Mitch set the footlocker down next to a folding table. Gary unlocked it. Inside were handguns packed in their cases and boxes of ammunition. He looked over at Jermaine, the large black man, who was wiping his glasses with the corner of his shirt. “You’re with Mitch. You two are scouting around town, so you may as well arm up.”
“Sweet,” Jermaine replied.
Gary turned to Charles, the skinny black man with the goatee, and Jacob. “You two are checking out the casino.”
Jacob frowned. Mitch chuckled. “What’s a matter? Thought a big guy like you didn’t need a gun.”
“You could trade with me,” Jacob said.
Mitch snorted. “Not a chance.”
At 11:05 p.m., the last plane of the day landed at the Nohamay City Airport. Ron and Nicole, still dressed in the wrinkly city clothes they’d been wearing for over thirty-six hours, walked into the gate and down the hallway to the baggage claim area. They stood among the other arriving passengers, who were all dressed in their festive vacation clothes—sleeveless pastels, linen jackets, light-colored pants—and tried to blend in while they waited for their bags to come out on the baggage carousel. The bell sounded, the carousel turned, and their bags popped out among the others.
“So far, so good,” Ron said.
They rolled their bags out onto the sidewalk in front of the airport. The night sky was bright with stars. The cool breeze felt good after the long plane ride. Across the boulevard, yellow and red lights flashed from the signs over the Rising Rapids Waterpark. The breeze shifted, and they could hear the sounds of rushing water and laughter. They got in a yellow cab in front of the airport for the four-block ride to the Arrowhead Hotel, a high rise, value hotel, which didn’t have a policy against firearms, located next door to the Great Circle Casino and Convention Center.
There was no line at the lobby counter. They checked in using their Martin Sherman credit card, and the young Native American man behind the counter, wearing a red sweater vest with a green arrowhead logo on the chest, gave them a room on the twelfth floor. Their room had two queen beds and a view of the surrounding desert. They put their suitcases on the closest bed. Nicole lay down on the bed by the windows. Ron looked in all the drawers—empty—and the well-stocked refrigerator.
“Looks clean,” he said.
He opened his suitcase, got out the locked gun cases and opened them. “Everything is here. Let’s go over to the casino and get the lay of the land.”
“I’m beat,” Nicole said.
“The clock is ticking. That jewelry box isn’t going to find itself.”
“I’m going to shower and change first. You should too.”
She got her shower bag from her suitcase and went into the bathroom, leaving the door open. Ron found his shaving kit, hung up his suit, left his shirt and underwear in a pile on the bed, and followed her into the bathroom. He shaved while she showered. She got out of the shower without turning off the water, and he traded places with her. When he got out of the shower, she was already out of the bathroom. He grabbed a towel from the stack over the towel rack. “A shower was a great idea.”
She stuck her head in. “I feel better, but I look like death. I need about fourteen hours’ sleep.”
“You look great, honey—just like always.”
She gave him a quick kiss. “Liar.”
By the time he hung up his towel, she was back in the bathroom, dressed in dark green pants and a lightweight flower-print sweater with her makeup bag in her hand. “I’m almost ready,” she said.
He put on khaki pants, a red golf shirt, and a blue blazer. Then he took the guns from their cases and locked them and the ammunition in the room safe in the corner of the closet. When he looked up, Nicole was standing beside him.
“Usual combination?” she asked.
“Always.”
They went down the elevator and out the lobby. Even though it was near midnight, lots of people were on the street. They walked in the hotel entry to the Great Circle Casino and Convention Center. There was an Indian on horseback sculpture at the center of a fountain in the circle driveway. The huge lobby was furnished
with sofas and easy chairs arranged in groups. Four-foot-tall cactuses in ceramic pots created screens to make the furniture arrangements more intimate. Across the back was a long reception counter where several people were standing in line to check in. To the left and right of the counter were hallways that led to the elevator clusters. On the left side of the lobby were a coffee shop and the entrance to a restaurant.
They took the front hallway to the casino. Tasteful signs indicated that no weapons were allowed. Just ahead of them was a short line at the security station where everyone had to pass through metal detectors. A few minutes later they were inside a large, dimly lit room filled with slot machines. A cacophony of machine and human noise gave the impression that every conversation was somehow private. They walked over to an area that was elevated a few steps so that they could improve their view. “Poker and blackjack are back there,” Ron said.
Nicole nodded. “And there’s a couple of bars with built-in slot machines.”
Servers dressed in white-fringed black bikini tops and tight black pants moved through the crowds carrying drinks on trays.
“This is supposed to be an Indian casino, isn’t it?” Ron asked.
“That’s the idea.”
“I wish there were more Indians and Asians in here. It would make it easier to spot Aaron.”
They looked up and down the rows of slot machines as they moved toward the back of the room. They saw several bald, gray white men in glasses and cheap sports coats, but they were never Rickover. There were lots of people at the first group of blackjack tables, playing and watching, but Ron and Nicole weren’t interested in games. Ron put his hand on Nicole’s arm. “Get a drink?”
“Why not?”
They wandered over to the nearest bar and ordered two beers. They watched the people drift by, shoulders back and chest out, or slouching and foot dragging, depending on their wins or losses. Ron shook his head. “A whole building full of suckers. All ripe for the taking. Makes it hard to stay focused.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Nicole said. “What about the guy in the hat coming out of the poker room?”
Ron tried to follow Nicole’s look. “Which guy? Orient me.”
“Far left, just walking by the first pillar, bald guy fedora.”
“Got to have a closer look.” He got off his stool.
There was a voice from behind them. “Hold up.”
Ron and Nicole turned. A Native American with close-cropped hair and a burn scar on his left cheek, dressed in a charcoal gray pinstripe suit, stood behind them with two beefy, blue-uniformed security guards. “We need to talk with you.”
“Who are you?” Ron asked.
“I’m Jason Stands-Alone, the casino general manager.”
“What’s this about?”
“Come with me.”
The security guards stepped in close to Ron and Nicole, their hands resting on their gun butts and the pepper spray holstered at their waists. Stands-Alone led them through an employee-only door into a nondescript hallway and then into an office that was empty except for four chairs and a desk with a computer on it. Stands-Alone sat down at the desk, input a password on the computer, and began clicking through pictures. “Here you are,” he said, swiveling the computer screen toward them. On the screen was a picture of Ron and Nicole from several years ago, captioned with the names Philip Rose and Tracy Benet. “You two are on the ‘no gambling’ database.”
“We weren’t gambling,” Ron said.
“I know. We’ve been watching you since you came into the casino.”
“So?”
“Just wanting to make sure you know how things stand.”
Ron nodded. “So how do we stand?”
“You’re welcome to look around, eat in the restaurants, see the shows, but if you try to gamble here, you’ll be taking a one-way ride into the desert.”
“We’re not going to do any gambling.”
The security guard closest to Ron gave him a push.
Stands-Alone continued. “There will be no second warning. We’ve seen every kind of disguise and ploy you professional hustlers use. We always catch you.”
“Not doing any gambling.”
“Then Bob and Jim here won’t have to rough you up to convince you of our sincerity. Enjoy your stay in Nohamay City.” He turned to the security guard closest to the door. “Take them back out on the floor.”
The security guards walked them back down the hall and out into the casino. As soon as the security guards were gone, Ron took Nicole by the elbow and started steering her back toward the bar. “Assholes. Got nothing better to do. Let’s see if we can catch up to that guy you saw.”
They wove their way through the knots of gamblers, moving as fast as they could without being suspicious. Ron spotted a gray fedora bobbing in the crowd by the entrance to a restaurant. “Is that the guy?”
“Wrong color. The guy who might be Aaron was wearing a brown hat.”
“What about that guy? No hat, but he looks like Aaron from behind.”
“Over there.” Nicole put her hand on Ron’s shoulder. Through a break in the traffic, they saw Rickover on the other side of the room. Two men, a thin black man with a goatee and a bulked-up white man with a blond crew cut, were leading Rickover by the elbows. Ron and Nicole followed after them. They watched from behind a pillar as the two men took Rickover down a hallway that led to an exit door.
“Were those two of the sporting goods guys?”
“Don’t know.”
“We’re not going to be able to take Rickover without our guns,” Nicole said.
“Let’s see where they’re going.”
“I’ll tail them. You go for the guns. I’ll text you.”
He shook his head. “We need to stay together. We don’t know who those guys are or how they’re connected to Aaron.”
They hurried down the hallway and stopped at the door. Nicole peeked out onto the street, which was brightly lit by streetlamps. The men were leading Rickover toward the waterpark. Ron and Nicole followed about a half block behind. “They aren’t checking for tails at all,” Nicole said.
“And Aaron isn’t dragging his feet.”
The waterpark was closing. The last few customers were trickling out—teenagers with their towels wrapped around their waists and parents leading cranky, wet children. At the crosswalk in front of the waterpark, Rickover and the two men crossed over to the airport side of the boulevard. The airport was closed, and the taxis were gone. The sidewalk was deserted.
Ron and Nicole stayed on the waterpark side of the boulevard, trailing along, still half a block behind. Rickover and the two men continued down the sidewalk, walking next to the chain-link fence that protected the airport, until they came to the entrance to the private airfield, where warehouses ran from the fence down to the airplane hangars that lined the tarmac. They disappeared into the darkness between two rows of warehouses. Ron and Nicole ran across the boulevard and followed them through the gate. Rickover and the men were nowhere in sight. Ron and Nicole stepped into the deep shadow of the nearest building.
“We need our guns,” Nicole said.
“And daylight. I can’t see a thing. The streetlights here are spaced too far apart. We can’t risk being scooped up trying to find out which building they’re in.”
“What if they kill him?”
“Aaron isn’t acting as if he’s afraid. They could be his partners. If they aren’t, and they do kill him, there’s nothing we can do about it. We’re running on fumes. We don’t know what’s really going on. We can’t afford to make any mistakes now. We know he’s here. The smart move is to wait until morning and pull a plan together.”
5
The FBI
The next morning, Ron and Nicole sat in a coffee shop, eating eggs and toast and drinking coffee. Neither was talking. Ron watched the servers move among the tables in their T-shirts and jeans, their aprons the only indicator of their employment, and thought about Rickover and the two men
who were walking with him. Ron and Nicole were carrying their guns today. She had a Glock in her handbag, and he had the other one in a holster at the small of his back under his blue blazer and the Smith & Wesson in an ankle holster. Nicole was reading the Charles Bay Tribune on her smartphone, looking for more information about the investigation of the theft. Their server, a skinny twenty-something man with a porn-star mustache, came by with the coffee pot. Nicole flashed him a smile.
“Whoa,” she said, glancing across the table at Ron. “Somebody caught up with Bartholomew.”
“What’s it say?”
“Man found murdered at new parking garage. Blah, blah, blah, Tommy Bartholomew, thirty-one, construction worker, blah, blah, found at eight a.m. when workers were adjusting the rebar for a concrete pour at the bottom of a stairwell. Gang task force has been assigned the case.”
Ron sipped his coffee. “Okay. Think about the timeline. He was going to work when we left him. He must have been killed in the next couple of hours.”
“Think about his wife and kid.”
Ron shrugged. “He chose this life. What I’m saying is they killed him yesterday morning, and they scooped up Aaron in the evening. If they’re already taking out the trash, we’re probably too late.”
“If they were the same crew—we don’t know if it was the sporting goods guys—and if they scooped Aaron up, maybe they’re his partners. Maybe they were watching our apartment as a favor to him. Last night, they weren’t pushing him. He wasn’t trying to slow them down.”
Ron signaled for their check. “All true. We don’t know what Aaron’s situation really is. What we do know is that these guys will get ahead of us if we’re not careful, and we still need Aaron if we’re going to get the casket back.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “So as much as I’d rather not do it, we’re going to have to go looking in those warehouses.”
They walked across the boulevard to the airport. The sun was already beating down, and the breeze was like a convection oven. People were hurrying in and out of the main doors, dragging luggage, looking for taxis or the baggage-check kiosk. Ron and Nicole ignored them. They traced their path down the sidewalk along the chain-link fence, past the runways to the private airfield gate. They stopped in the shadow of the first warehouse inside the airfield. It was a thirty-foot-tall, rust-red, corrugated steel building. Ron looked in the nearest dirt-encrusted window. Boxes stacked on pallets were arranged in the center of the space.
The Freeport Robbery Page 7