by Scott Cook
“Nope… Our APB is still active of course. I’m still hoping you guys find something. He’s a good man… okay, let’s see now… the case has been turned over to our detective squad, such as it is. But I’m also still connected and I’ve got some I.D.’s on those three guys.”
“I’m all ears.”
He chuckled, “Two of the men, the one who you said came out of the shitter and one holding a rifle were brothers. Jose and Mateo Diaz. They lived in Immokalee. Run… or ran… a small tomato farm. The other guy, the one you called Stank… Christ… is a known banger from Miami. Small time thug, been picked up on a handful of charges, few prosecuted, though. Rumored to work with one of the heavy dope pushers over there. Has a reputation as a shooter.”
“Okay, not much to go on there… what about the Suburban?”
He scoffed, “Fake plates. The VIN was faked too… but we double checked and found the real one in the driver’s doorframe. The SUV was originally white, which explains the dark interior. Stolen a month ago from up in your neck of the woods.”
“Orlando?”
“Yeah… well, registered in Orange County. Legal address was for a place in Windermere. Guy named… Derrick Walker.”
A rivulet of ice water trickled along my spine.
“Scott?”
“Uhm… yeah… was the vehicle reported stolen?”
“No… but with fake plates and a faked VIN plus a paint job, it doesn’t take a rocket surgeon to figure that one out… what’s wrong? You know the name?”
“Yes… Derrick ‘Big Daddy’ Walker was a pretty notable dope peddler in the Orlando area,” I explained. “Head of a decent sized drug gang.”
“Was?”
“Yeah… he’s dead as of last night.”
Wright chuffed, “Well, no wonder we can’t reach him. You?”
“No, but I was there.”
“You’re a dangerous man to hang around with… so what’s the connection?”
I sighed, “Sergeant, if I knew I’d tell you. Big Daddy did send a couple of hard numbers over to a friend’s house the other night… same night I was at the Shell station… and shot up the place. My friend is a Detective Lieutenant with OPD… and Rick Eagle Feather’s unofficial niece.”
Now it was his turn to go silent. Finally he asked: “So this Walker guy is connected to the kidnapping?”
“I guess… I don’t see how though,” I replied glumly. “All I do know… is that the more layers I peel off this goddamned onion, the more questions I uncover. Sure wish we knew more about the three guys that got away with Rick.”
He blew out his breath, “Well, we’ll see. You know how police work is. You keep picking and scratching until you finally find the answer. Keep in touch.”
The sun was barely peeking over the trees when I crossed the bridge onto Pine Island. I parked outside the main entrance to the Randell Research Center after confirming that Pak’s charcoal gray Honda CRV was indeed sitting in the lot. It was just after five and I had no idea how long he’d be there. I thought that the center closed to the public at about five, but the doctor could stay and work on a project until who knew when.
Although I did hesitate to call on my network for assistance, I had no problem utilizing any technology I could get my hands on. I’d managed to… borrow… quite a bit when I went to visit Patrick on my training weekends. Among these small tidbits were a variety of tracking devices that utilized the global positioning system. They were small and could be placed on or in clothing and some were magnetic as well.
It was one of these, therefore, that I placed on the undercarriage of Pak’s vehicle when I walked up to the main entrance. I was right, the museum had closed, so I turned around and walked away. I walked as innocently as possible, in the event that anyone saw me. They’d simply take me for just a plain and simple visitor, interested in the history of the Calusa people… rather than an evil genius bent on world domination.
Doctor Pak finally did emerge from the museum facility about thirty minutes after sunset, just as it was getting full dark. The tracker on his vehicle would allow me to stay far back. There was hardly anybody around now, and until he reached a more populated area with plenty of traffic, it might look suspicious if a lone Jeep seemed to go everywhere he went.
I let him pull out and head south on Stringfellow Road until he was out of sight. I then proceeded along the same path, my iPhone screen guiding me. The app that was connected to the particular tracker I’d planted not only gave me his position against a map backdrop, it also left a breadcrumb trail that I could follow.
Once he turned left onto County Road Seventy-Eight and headed for the Pine Island Bridge… the fishingest bridge in Florida… I accelerated and caught sight of the CRV just as I reached the peak of the bridge. I thought maybe he lived in Cape Coral, which is just across Matlacha sound from Pine Island. However, he led me onto Cape Coral Parkway and over the Cape Coral Bridge, one of the spans that crosses the Caloosahatchee River and onto College Parkway in Fort Myers.
Eventually, his vehicle, which was now out of my direct line of sight thanks to traffic and me hanging back, entered a residential neighborhood composed of twenty-five to thirty-year-old homes and stopped in front of a small one. When I prowled within sight, I found that the archeologist had parked in his driveway outside of his one car garage. This was fortunate, although the GPS tracker was accurate down to a dozen feet or less, it was possible that I could pick the wrong house. There was nothing so embarrassing as peeping in the wrong person’s windows or even invading a home to find an innocent family of five watching Family Guy or something… or to find oneself the unwanted and untimely cause of coitus interruptus.
Nothing more destructive to connubial bliss than a stranger walking in on you… no matter how charming his smile.
I was also fortunate in that being a mild Florida winter day, the temperature even after dark was still hovering in the upper sixties. This meant that Doctor Pak’s windows were open, thus allowing for an easier dropping of the eaves. I parked a few lots down along the street and strolled casually back toward the target property with yet another James Bondian doohickey in my possession. This one was a small hand-held device that was little more than a pistol grip with a six-inch parabolic oval for a barrel. When a small earbud was plugged into said device and the trigger was pulled, the unidirectional microphone and audio enhancer would magnify sound considerably. It was sort of like listening over somebody’s shoulder but from fifty feet away.
The only difficulty I had was that it was just before seven p.m. and I was in a populated and well-lighted subdivision. I couldn’t just crouch below the living room window or skulk behind the immature queen palm in the front lawn that was slightly taller than, and very much thinner than your clandestine hero.
So I did what any self-respecting shamus would do. I skulked around the side of the house, thankfully surrounded by a six-foot privacy fence and could then apply my snooping in an alternate portal without being spotted by a curious passer-by. I found that the house had a small screened in back porch that was accessed from the house by a sliding glass door, which was currently standing open. Sitting on said back porch was none other than Doctor Pak himself. I flattened myself up against the corner and aimed the dish around it and pressed the trigger. I probably didn’t need it, as the doc was talking on a phone at a normal conversational level and I was no more than fifteen feet away. However, with the sound enhancer, I could not only hear him but the party to which he spoke.
Sadly, he wasn’t speaking to either Senator Thorne or Congresswoman Davies about their malevolent scheme to seize ultimate power and rule the Earth under a brutal iron fist.
Consarnit!
His conversation was apparently with a relative, possibly his mother and was rather mundane. He hung up and sighed, and then dialed again.
“What do you have to report?” Said a man’s voice from Pak’s smart phone. Almost as clear in my ear as if he were talking to me.
“Everything is going perfectly,” Pak said. “No one at the Center suspects anything.”
“Excellent… you’re not calling me from there, are you?”
“Of course not, I’m home.”
“Good. So what do you have to tell me?”
“Not much,” Pak replied. “I told you already that the two girls came to see me yesterday. Even got the blonde to have dinner with me. Couple of babes, lemme tell ya’. She said she’s got a boyfriend though… wonder if I can change her mind on that.”
An audible sigh, “Pak, if you called me just to talk about your social life… such as it is… then I strongly suggest you find another topic.”
“Take it easy,” Pak said amiably. “I also told you that they returned the artifact. They did have a question about how the thief got in, though. Kind of hard to explain that away, considering the security system.”
“And how did you explain it away?”
Pak scoffed, “Said it might’ve been a disgruntled employee. Somebody who’s poorly paid and wants more out of life. It’s actually the truth… just not quite the way I meant it.”
There was a short scornful laugh, “Clever. Do they suspect it was you?”
Now it was Pak’s turn to be scornful, “Of course not. I’m a nice young archeologist. A dedicated scientist only in it for discovery and not money… which is partly true. I love my work, but I don’t love the pay.”
“Of course not,” the voice empathized. “That’s why I paid you so well. Should things work out as I plan… you’ll find yourself in a much higher income bracket.”
Pak laughed, “I like the sound of that. So what’s next?”
There was a pause, “The two women aren’t really a concern. My primary concern is the third one. Jarvis. You haven’t spoken to him yet, have you?”
Pak chuckled, “Not yet. I think Lisa or Sharon mentioned him… but I’ll handle him, if he comes around asking questions. Don’t worry.”
“Be careful, John,” the voice admonished. “Jarvis is a very dangerous man.”
“You mean like… a killer or something?”
“No… he’s a Boy Scout if there ever was one… no, he’s dangerous to our cause is what I meant. Although if pushed, Jarvis is dangerous in the way you meant. He won’t harm an innocent though. Even if he suspected you, he wouldn’t use force… or not much, I think. But he’s smart, tenacious and although I can’t confirm this yet… well backed. Just be careful with him.”
“No worries,” Pak assured the voice. “So what’s next? Now that I have the artifact again… doesn’t that hurt your plans?”
“It complicates things… what you get for using sub-quality help. Drug addicts and gang punks and other idiots like that… scum. Yet a job like this calls for such people. It’s not like they’re going to run to the police are they?”
Pak joined in a hearty laugh with his caller. Finally he asked: “What do I do now?”
“Have you located someone who can duplicate the artifact?”
“Yes, a rather skilled old lady over in LaBelle who makes custom pottery. I showed her pictures and she said she can make a copy that would be indistinguishable from the original, at least visually.”
“Excellent! Did she want to know why you need this done?”
“She asked, of course. I said it was simply because we wanted to have a display piece that people could interact with but that wouldn’t be accidentally broken,” Pak replied, sounding a bit smug. “I even suggested there could be more work done and that I’d appreciate her discretion.”
“Good. Good. Then you can sneak the original out again and it can be put back where it needs to go. When will it be done?”
“I delivered it to her this morning,” Pak replied. “I took it with me last night. She thinks possibly tomorrow afternoon. Normally something like that would cost a few hundred, but because we need it fast, I promised her a grand.”
“That’s fine. Small price to pay if she’s good. And what about the museum?” The voice asked. “Won’t they be curious about the fact that it’s gone missing again?”
Pak chuckled, “They don’t even know I got it back. Those two girls only spoke to me about it. I hid it yesterday and I was the last one out last night, just like tonight, so I brought it with me. As far as the Center is concerned, it’s never come back.”
“You’ve done quite well, Pak,” The voice stated
“Thanks,” Pak said smugly. “When I get the copy, I’ll smuggle that back into the museum. Then on Tuesday, I can let the board know that the two women brought it yesterday. I’ll say I wanted to verify its authenticity or something before I reported it or something.”
A long pause.
“You still there?”
“Yes, John… I was just thinking,” The voice said and even from a distance, my audio enhancer picked up and accurately transmitted the change in the tone. It sounded not just contemplative but… something… “Why don’t you keep the copy at your house for the time being. As things stand, its better that the museum just thinks the artifact is still gone. Least for a day or two.”
“Okay… but those two women,” Pak said. “What if they call and ask to speak to one of the directors? It’d look mighty odd if they reported that they gave the artifact to me and then it was gone again.”
“I don’t think that’ll be a concern for long, John,” the voice said definitively.
A vague alarm bell began to ring somewhere in the cheap seats of my psyche. So tinny and distant was the warning that I couldn’t identify what was bothering me… but something was.“If you say so.”
“I do. Again, John, good work. I’ll be in touch soon. Please let me know when you’ve got the copy made. Good night.”
Now I faced a conundrum. I wanted to know who Pak was talking to. I needed to know who Pak was talking to. He was alone and his phone might possibly hold the key to that.
However, it would also serve if I had some leverage on him. Other than torturing him for information, I needed something on him that would entice him to tell me all that he knew.
With the stolen artifact and a copy of it in his possession, that might give me what I needed to make him talk. I’d have Sharon or Lisa contact the Randell Research Center in the morning and get in touch with whoever was in charge and let them know that they’d delivered the artifact into Pak’s hands. Further, that he verified its authenticity. Then his back would be up against the wall.
Yet what would that do to my adversary’s plans? Surely they planned to bury the true jar again, right? Possibly even in the same place? Wouldn’t that move this case along and allow me to home in on them further?
I hadn’t recognized the voice on the phone. Most importantly, it hadn’t been Thorne’s or Davies, certainly. Not that this bit of information was very helpful. Already in this scenario I’d discovered that the people pulling the strings were using multiple layers of henchmen to disguise themselves. The man on the phone with Pak could be a middleman… although something about the way he’d spoken made me think that might not be so…
And there was that distant warning signal in the back of my mind. What was it? What was my unconscious trying to tell me and why the hell didn’t it speak up?
I pulled my iPhone out and sent Lisa a quick text asking about their progress. When an answer didn’t come after a few seconds, I tried Sharon. Nearly a minute went by without any response. Probably too busy to look at their phones.
Out in front of the house, I heard a car approach, slow and then stop. Either right in front or the next house over. At first my only thought was that if I were going to leave, I’d have to wait so as not to be seen coming out of Pak’s yard. When I heard two car doors close and the engine of the vehicle didn’t shut down, I suddenly knew. The tiny whisper of a warning rapidly grew into a roar… and I knew.
Pak was a liability. A loose end. He knew too much and now that he’d done what his benefactor required, he was only a potential leak in the ship. I’d have thought this
wouldn’t have happened until Pak got the copy, since only he knew who he’d given it too… but that was easily enough resolved.
The woman… the old woman had a place in LaBelle. How many custom pottery makers were there? And since he’d talked to this woman on the phone, her number would be in it. Simple enough to resolve…
“Shit…” I muttered as I pulled out the earbud and folded the small parabolic dish and shoved the unit somewhat uncomfortably in my hip pocket.
I had to get Pak out of here. I also had to do it stealthily… as my 1911 was resting comfortably in my Jeep at that moment. I turned the corner and ran for the porch.
26
Doctor John Pak was, as you may suspect, rather surprised to meet me. Especially when I yanked open the side door to his screened porch, lunged through it and half tackled him, placing one of my hands over his mouth to stifle his rather audible expression of his aforementioned startlement.
“Shut the Christ up!” I hissed into his ear. “We have mere seconds here, Doc. My name is Scott Jarvis. Several men just pulled up in front of your house and I’m pretty sure they’re not here for a barbecue! At best you’re being kidnapped and at worst, assassinated. Now if you want to live, then please do exactly what I say and let’s move!”
I pulled my hand away from his mouth and met his wide frightened eyes. This was his one chance. If he did anything but what I asked, I’d leave his ass for his visitors.
“Okay,” he said. “But why— “
“Later, let’s move!” I said, yanking him to his feet and propelling him toward the screened door just as his doorbell rang.
I followed Pak through the screened door and eased it closed against the pneumatic arm. If left alone, it’d eventually clack shut when it was almost closed, ensuring that the door would catch, but also making enough of a sound to alert our friends that somebody had gone outside.
We couldn’t go out front. Not only was there possibly a driver staying with the vehicle, but no doubt one of the two who’d gotten out was either waiting by the gate or about to come through it and circle around to the back of the house. I grabbed Pak by his shoulder and pulled him toward the fence between his house and the neighbor, angling toward the corner of the yard. I didn’t know what was on the other side and had no time to take a look, because someone was trying to open the gate on the side of Pak’s house. Our side.