Reunion: Diversion Six

by Eden Winters

  The doorbell ringing broke them apart. Who could be here be at this hour? And how’d they get through the gate—though Walter certainly hadn’t had a problem yesterday.

  Couldn’t be one of the neighbors. His forceful refusal of Miss Tupperware’s plastic ware party invitation pretty much put an end to people stopping by unannounced.

  “You stay here. I’ll get it.” Bo shimmied out from under Lucky.

  Like hell he would. Bo wrapped himself in a robe and Lucky pulled his shorts back on, complete with .38 hidden behind his back. They stood together when Bo opened the door.

  Walter waited on the porch, dressed in a shirt, tie, and jacket. “May I come in?”

  Bo stepped aside. No need asking how he’d gotten through the gate. He had his ways.

  Bo and Lucky trailed Walter into the living room. If he stopped by this early on a Sunday morning, before church, whatever he had to say must be urgent.

  Walter sat down in the chair he’d claimed as his own. Bo and Lucky took the couch, with Lucky sliding his gun down between two cushions. “What’s this about, Boss?” Cat Lucky slunk into the room, gave Walter baleful eyes, and disappeared into the hallway out of sight.

  “I received a full report from the Richmond office.”

  Lucky traded glances with Bo. “And?”

  “And the initial toxicology report confirmed the cause of your brother’s death. As many have suspected, he died of an opioid overdose.”

  Overdose. The same way he’d tried to kill Daytona—and Lucky. “Anything else?” Focusing on the case might keep Lucky from dwelling on the loss of his brother. Bristol was an asshole, true, but also a Lucklighter.

  “Richmond police removed heroin, fentanyl, and carfentanil from his basement, along with scales, glassine packets, and other related items. We’re also checking out reports of the overdose death of a young woman who might have purchased tainted heroin from him.”

  “Fuck.” Lucky scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Bristol ran a full-scale packaging operation.”

  “I believe you’re correct. And if you hadn’t uncovered his secrets, they might never have been known.” Moose ambled in and dropped his head down on Walter’s lap. Walter fondled his ear. He’d be brushing dog hair off his clothes later. “You had an uncle named Edward Lucklighter?”

  “Yeah. Uncle Ned.”

  “Were you close?”

  “Not really.” Not at all.

  “It’s seems your brother’s plan to profit from the deaths of others didn’t end after he tried to kill Daytona.”

  Oh God. What now? “What are you saying? His obituary said Uncle Ned died of natural causes.”

  “Only because no one felt the need to perform an autopsy. And since he was cremated, there’s no body to exhume and test now.” Walter’s shoulders sagged, and shadows darkened the skin beneath his eyes. “Guess who benefitted from his life insurance policy?”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  What a shitty couple of weeks. Brother tried to kill him, possibly killed an uncle for money, Bo packed and left without goodbye sex, Walter banished Lucky from the office until the doctor cleared him to return to work, and now this.

  Lucky stared down at the back deck and a suspiciously squirrel-shaped bundle of fur. Moose’s tongue lolled out of his mouth and if his tail wagged any harder the mutt might get whiplash.

  “Did you do that?” Lucky pointed at Moose’s kill.

  Wag, wag, wag. Damn, hard to stay mad at a pooch with an “I saved you from a dangerous beast” vibe going on.

  Lucky took care of the dead squirrel, let the unrepentant Moose in, and flopped down on the couch to watch some TV. Nothing on this channel. Nothing on the next either. Or the next.

  Nope. Not one of those crime-solving shows. Click. Real surgeries? Oh, hell no.

  He paced, cleaned the kitchen, took out the trash.

  What kind of assignment had the Richmond office given Bo? Was he in danger?

  Bo worked for the SNB. Of course he was in danger.

  Undercover. No calls and no telling when they’d see each other again.

  Lucky plopped down on the couch. Life couldn’t get any worse.

  The cat hopped up on the couch.

  And dropped a dead mouse on Lucky’s lap.

  ***

  “How are you, Mama?” Lucky sat on the living room couch, staring out the sliding glass doors at a rainy June day.

  “Doing as good as I can. Charlotte’s boys are here now, helping out pretty good for two young’uns not raised in the country.”

  “If you need me to…”

  “Richmond, you’ve gone above and beyond already, and just had surgery. Clarence is getting better slowly, and if you’re going through the same thing, rest, get better.”

  “But I want to be there.” If Lucky closed his eyes, his mother’s kitchen filled his memory, and if he tried real hard he might catch a whiff of bacon or blackberry jam.

  “I know you do, son.” Mama held something back.

  “You haven’t told Daddy, have you?”

  Silence, then, “The time isn’t right yet. He’s still recovering, and then what with Bristol and all, and the cops keeping us quiet about his death.”

  Calling home didn’t soothe Lucky’s soul like he’d hoped. “Mama, I want to see him again.”

  “And you will. Give it more time.”

  At this rate, Lucky might never truly have his family back. But if things didn’t start going better soon, he might go crazy and take the rest of the world with him.

  ***

  Lucky flipped through a magazine, without reading, keeping an eye on the receptionist. The waiting room hadn’t changed in all the time he’d been coming to counseling. He’d missed a few appointments while having his insides carved out and growing new organs.

  Soft music played, to go with the soft lighting. Soothing, designed to calm patients and get them ready to offer up details of their lives they’d sworn to never tell.

  The door behind the reception desk opened. “Mr. Harrison?” Dr. Libby Drake waited for him to join her before taking her usual chair.

  Lucky settled on the same ugly-assed couch where he’d confessed his deepest, darkest secrets to her on too many occasions. He’d been told confession was good for the soul, but his confessions probably kept Dr. Libby up at night.

  A trace of cinnamon air freshener reminded him of Mom’s apple pie. Damn, now he’d have to stop by a diner on the way home.

  “Look, doctor. I’ll be honest. I need you to clear me to return to work.”

  “Lucky, I’m a psychologist, not your medical doctor.” Dr. Drake crossed her legs, a sure sign she’d never budge. She’d learned many things about him these past few months.

  He’d also learned about her. “But you’re still a doctor. Says so on your door.”

  Dr. Drake sighed. “I’m not clearing you to return to work after a mere four weeks. You’ll have to ask your medical doctor.”

  Lucky’d been afraid of that. Might as well make use of the hour his insurance paid for. “I need to talk to you about my brother…”

  ***

  Too bright lights. Antiseptic smell. Crowded waiting room. If the guy sitting next to Lucky made one more damned phone call…

  “Mr. Harrison?” A nurse, not the doctor, called him back to an examining room. “Make yourself comfortable. The doctor will be here in a few minutes.”

  Yeah, right. Lucky lay back on the table. Might as well take a nap while he waited. Dr. Libby could’ve saved him a lot of trouble by signing the damn form.

  ***

  “No pain?”

  Lucky hid a wince and pulled his T-shirt back on. “Nothing to speak of.” He’d lie his ass off if it meant doing more than sitting at home, brooding. Puttering around the house didn’t help.

  “Your blood pressure is normal, and all tests are within normal limits. But still, it’s rare to send a patient back to work four weeks after major surgery.” The doctor tapped away on his table
t computer. “What type of work will you be doing?”

  Lucky waved a dismissive hand. “Desk duty for the next month, part time, nothing strenuous.” Well, he did have a desk, so not a complete lie.

  The doctor tapped some more.

  Oh, for the love of… “Please, doc. My physical health don’t mean nothing if I lose my f… ever-loving mind.”

  The doctor studied Lucky, bushy black eyebrows nearly meeting when he frowned. “Have you discussed the matter with your employer?”

  “I have. If I get tired, I go home.” He pasted on a smile. Please, please, please, please, please.

  The doctor relaxed his scowl. “If you’re certain. But I’m giving you a list of instructions to be followed to the letter, understand?”

  Lucky strolled out of the office with his ticket back into the game. If he couldn’t be with Bo, he’d at least be in a position to keep up with whatever went on.

  ***

  Ah, cube, sweet cube. Lucky eased down into the chair from hell and counted, “One, two, three, four…”

  Johnson showed up at the count of eight. Lisa must’ve tipped her off to Lucky’s return.

  “Good to have you back.” She slapped Lucky’s back, not nearly as hard as usual. When would folks stop treating him like an invalid?

  “I would say it’s good to be back, but I wouldn’t want to lie,” he lied. Lucky barely looked up from his desk. The sooner folks stopped singling him out, the sooner he’d get back to work. He’d pissed away too much time taking things easy. Time to go kick some drug dealer ass.

  With no warning, Johnson swooped in and probably made a sticky red mess on his cheek. “In case I haven’t told you before, you’re a good guy.”

  He’d done one good deed and shot his reputation to hell. “Don’t you dare tell people stories about me.”

  “Your secret is safe with me. Now, boss man wants you.”

  What now? He closed his laptop and followed the familiar path to Walter’s door, tapped once and entered without waiting for an invite. “If this is about me coming back to work, the doctor released me.” Sort of. He needed the Bureau’s resources to track down how Bristol got a hold of carfentanil. And keep tabs on Bo? Nah.

  But the tracker he’d stuck on Bo’s Durango wasn’t going to download its own data.

  “Sit.”

  Oh, shit. Walter in boss mode and not in the role of favorite uncle. Ready the shit to hit the fan.

  “What’d I do now?”

  “I wouldn’t even hazard a guess. You’re quite creative.” All said without cracking a smile. Walter emitted a sigh. “I have to ask you something. Feel free to say no.” He sighed again. “Our mutual friends with the limitless budget have gotten involved in your case, as it has multi-country implications.”

  “And?” Lucky’s heart sped. Nestor, he could handle, but the possibility of meeting Victor again fried his nerves. Sure, they’d been lovers once, and Victor went out of his way to look out for Lucky from the sidelines, but Lucky’s new life had no room for exes. Nothing good could come of him revisiting his past.

  “We’ve kept your brother’s death quiet for the time being. And spoke with a girlfriend. She claims he kept the basement door locked and never allowed her to enter.”

  Whoever she was, she’d never stand toe to toe with the Lucklighters if she let a little thing like a door lock stop her. “So, what do you want from me?” Please let it not be coming face to face with this woman. Lucky didn’t know her, but more than likely she’d been poisoned to the Lucklighter black sheep, and might even blame Lucky for Bristol’s death—if she wasn’t involved in his little drug operation.

  “She’s told us all she knows, and has been most forthcoming with his e-mails and cell phone.” Walter waved at a pile of papers. When would he stop killing the rainforest and get his reports online instead of paper form?

  Strange how cooperative people got when trying to avoid being implicated. And Lucky didn’t rule anyone out until they’d proven their innocence. “What have you found?”

  “Your brother regularly met someone at the Greensboro Airport, which Jimmy confirmed from his own surveillance. The girlfriend mentioned he made the trip every few months. He’d go to the airport, pick someone up and take them to an undisclosed location.” Walter tapped an ink pen against his desk blotter. “Agents from the Virginia office followed him on three separate occasions.”

  “How did he explain that away?” Bristol had never been a good liar. And as long as he kept bringing in the big bucks and giving her new cars to drive, likely the woman never questioned.

  “He said his meetings were job related for the bank where he worked. His employer is unaware of any such arrangements.”

  Mystery woman must own one hell of a set of blinders. “What’s the plan? You got someone watching the airport?”

  “Yes. But we also need to make contact. From what we’ve gathered and observed for ourselves, you and your brothers look remarkably alike.”

  “Except for Dov… Dallas.” No need to be childish around the boss. “He took after Mom’s side of the family.”

  “All the same, your help is needed to play the role of your brother and keep the next meeting.” He pinned Lucky in place with a tremor-inducing gaze hot enough to cut through steel. “You do realize I wouldn’t have asked this of you without directions from higher up. It’s too soon, and they shouldn’t even suggest such a thing to an agent. Feel free to say no.”

  Too soon. A million years from now would still be too soon to step into Bristol’s shoes. Lucky barely bit off “Oh hell no!” Work. This was work. His job. He’d gone undercover too many times to count. Just another assignment—that might bring him closer to Bo, and the answers he needed about Bristol. “When?”

  “Thursday, but only if you feel able and are willing.” Walter’s searching gaze bore into Lucky’s. “I’ll not risk you.”

  Fuck. “Who’s going to be with me?”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll have adequate backup from the Richmond office. I won’t expose you to any more danger than I have to.”

  Sometimes the world went to hell anyway.

  ***

  Was it safe to touch anything? Marble, marble everywhere. Marble countertops, marble dresser tops, real wood floors gleaming in the sun’s last rays.

  Nothing seemed out of place. It shouldn’t be, with maid service twice per week. Bristol spared no expense in creating the life he’d always wanted.

  “How do I look?” Pretty stupid, if you asked Lucky. The mirror before him likely cost more than the down payment on his house.

  “Hold still.” Jimmy untied Lucky’s noose of death and slithered the material over itself like a snake. He ended by pulling the tie way too tight. “Your brother favored a Windsor knot.”

  Windsor? Lucky yanked at the tie.

  Jimmy slapped his hand away. “You want to look the part of a successful banker, don’t you?”

  Not really. Bikers, drug dealers, even homeless drug addicts were all familiar parts to play. Big wheel pricks who spent more than they made? Not so much. “Where is Bo?”

  Jimmy glanced away, lips pursed.

  Walter disengaged himself from the wall and strode up to Lucky’s side. “He’s in place. Your paths likely won’t cross, but he’s there.”

  For Walter’s ears only, Lucky asked, “He’s okay?”

  “You trained him well. Trust him.”

  Trusting Bo wasn’t the problem. The other folks involved in this big mess? Not a snowball’s chance in Hell.

  Walter rested his hands on Lucky’s shoulders. “Focus, Lucky. You better than any know the dangers of distractions.”

  The vest hidden under Bristol’s expensive monkey suit chafed a bit. No wonder his brother was broke if he’d thrown all his money away on a fancy house, fancy clothes, and fancy cars.

  “Yeah.” He glanced down at the Rolex on his wrist. “It’s almost show time.”

  Photos lined the dresser: Bristol and a gorgeous blonde w
oman on a cruise ship, in front of the Eiffel Tower, in Times Square… All appeared to have been taken close together, as the two in the pictures didn’t change much. Even Victor, with his bottomless wallet, didn’t toss money about like Bristol.

  And not a single picture of any other Lucklighters anywhere.

  An officer stepped forward and clipped a nearly invisible microphone to Lucky’s tie, designed like a tie tack in the shape of a tennis racket. “Testing, testing,” she said.

  The two-way radio on her belt squawked. “Coming through loud and clear.”

  She stepped back with a satisfied smile.

  “Now,” Jimmy told him, removing the arm he’d slung around Lucky’s shoulders at Lucky’s growl. “Surveillance video shows your brother’s car pulling in front of a hangar at the back of the airport. His car is on camera at least six times, so they’ll be looking for the BMW. He pulls in the gate and waits. After a while a man will come out of the hangar, get into the backseat, and the car drives away.”

  “Who?”

  “It could be one of six or seven men.”

  Lucky scowled at his reflection. “They’ll never believe I’m him.”

  Jimmy straightened Lucky’s lapels, reminding Lucky of “Nurse Andy’s” constant fussing and pillow fluffing. “We’ve covered all the bases, kept Bristol’s death out of the news. The bank has him listed as on vacation. Only your family and the girlfriend knows the truth. The girlfriend is under surveillance, and you trust your family, right? Your contacts have no reason to suspect anything’s wrong. You got the intel and studied the videos, right?”

  Lucky nodded. “Where am I driving to after pickup?”

  “Let him tell you.” Jimmy frowned and adjusted the tie again. Obsessive-compulsive much?

  “Not the kind of plan I’m used to.”

  “Based on your brother’s phone records, you could go to any of the three locations we showed you on the map. Your brother remained with the car while his passenger went inside and stayed about twenty minutes. Then Bristol took them back to the airport.” Jimmy handed Lucky a phone. “He was just a flunky, and didn’t seem to interact much with his passenger. Just take your contact wherever he wants to go, and the team will step in from there. Here’s his phone. Can you sound like him if you need to?”