Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  Truth nodded to Matt, then slapped Nick on the shoulder. “Last time I saw you, you were still with the Western.”

  “It’s been a decade.”

  “Wow, seems like just yesterday you’d come in and drag Woody to G.A. meetings.”

  Nick grinned. He looked over the big man’s shoulder to the solid green door that Truth guarded. Beyond the fireproof frame was a large, unfinished basement filled with poker tables. This time of night the tables would be surrounded by chiropractors, strippers, tax accountants, firefighters and probably even a couple of cops from Nick’s old beat. A mixture of cigar and cigarette smoke would be lingering just below the fluorescents.

  “How’s the crowd?” Nick asked.

  “Not too bad. You want a seat?”

  Nick shook his head. “I’d scare them all off. You know I’m with the Feds now?”

  Truth frowned. “You don’t come around for ten years and the first thing you think to do is insult me?”

  Nick stood silent and waited.

  “We may be compulsive gamblers,” Truth explained, “but we’re not illiterates. I read the story. Local boy makes good.”

  Nick held up a hand. “Hold on. Don’t believe everything you read in the rags.”

  “Since when is Newsweek a rag?”

  Nick shrugged. “Sometimes the legend exceeds the facts.”

  Truth waved a thick finger back and forth between the two agents. “He’s the partner. They called you two the Dynamic Duo or the A-Team or some shit.”

  Nick said nothing.

  Truth snapped his large fingers. “Dream Team. That’s it. I knew it was something like that. You two dug up some kind of terrorist cell planning to waste the Washington Monument. Isn’t that right?”

  He pointed to Nick. “According to the article, you the brains and he’s the muscle.”

  Matt stood stone-faced.

  “The way you say it,” Nick said. “It makes my partner here sound like a bimbo with large biceps. Look at him. Does he look like he pumps iron?”

  Truth examined Matt’s long, thin frame and shook his head. “Nope. So he must be good with a 9.”

  “Precisely. He’s the FBI’s sharp-shooting champ three years running.”

  Truth smiled. “You two aren’t here to raid the place, I know that much. They wouldn’t send that much talent for this old joint.”

  “Come on, Truth.” Nick said. “This is a landmark. My father used to play here. I’d rather see it turned into a museum first.”

  Truth’s smile transformed into something approaching concern. “And you’re not here to play poker either?”

  Nick shook his head.

  “Then it must be business.”

  Nick stood motionless and let the big man put it all together.

  Truth looked at Nick, but nodded toward Matt. “You wouldn’t bring the cowboy unless you felt a need for backup. Something I should know?”

  Nick thought about how much he should tell him. He trusted Truth as much as any civilian.

  “I’m not sure,” Nick said. “I need to see Ray Seville. Is he still playing?”

  “Seville? Yeah, he’s back there making his usual donations. What do you want with a weasel like him?”

  “He called the field office and left a message for me to meet him here.”

  Truth smiled. “The snitch strikes again.”

  “Maybe,” Nick said.

  Matt cleared his throat in a forced fashion.

  “Oh yeah,” Nick said. “Matt’s in a bit of a hurry. He’s got a date tonight.”

  Truth engaged Matt’s hardened face again, only this time Matt threw in a wink.

  Truth smiled and held out his hand, “All right then, gents. Hand them over and I’ll get Ray for you.”

  Nick cringed.

  Matt glared at his partner. “You can’t be serious?”

  Truth didn’t budge. His palm remained open while his fingertips flexed impatiently.

  “Truth,” Nick said. “Is that really necessary?”

  Truth looked at Matt this time. In a tone that denoted overuse, he said, “A long time ago there was a shootout in the parlor. A couple of drunks got carried away during a tight hand. The drunks were Baltimore PD. Fortunately, they were more drunk than cops that night and neither one got hurt too bad. When one of their fellow officers was called to the scene, he came down hard. Even though the two drunk cops were his senior, he was someone everyone respected and they obeyed his commands. Back then he made a rule: if Lloyd’s was going to stay open it had to be firearm free. No exceptions. The mayor, the governor. No one.”

  Truth took his time to look back at Nick. “Do you remember who that cop was?”

  Nick nodded, reluctantly. “Me.”

  “Bingo,” Truth smiled.

  Nick fished the 9mm from his holster and handed it to Truth. He looked at Matt and shrugged. “Sorry, I forgot.”

  Truth took Nick’s gun and shoved it into the abyss under his oversized tee shirt. He looked at Matt and kept his hand out. “It’s only out of respect that I don’t pat you down,” Truth said. “I trust Nick.”

  Matt moaned while removing his Glock. “Forgot, my ass.”

  “Relax, Truth has our back until we’re done here. Right, Truth?”

  “Fifteen years,” Truth said. “No one’s got by me yet.” He gestured for them to follow and he stopped after only a few steps. He pointed to an open door and said, “Wait in there and I’ll get him for you.”

  Before entering the room, they watched Truth walk down the hall and open the green door. As he pulled the door shut behind him, a burst of cigar smoke escaped along the ceiling and crept toward the front door. Nick followed Matt into the small sitting room and remained standing. Matt eased onto a dingy green sofa, rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together.

  The room was a windowless twelve-by-twelve with two corduroy sofas facing each other. Between the sofas was a carved up oak coffee table that wobbled without ever being touched. The only light came from a pair of bare fluorescent bulbs that hung from a cracked ceiling.

  “I’m just glad you didn’t agree to wear a blindfold,” Matt said. “We would have missed this beautiful decor.”

  “Calm down,” Nick said. “I wouldn’t want you to be uptight for Valerie.”

  “Veronica.”

  “Right.”

  Nick paced while Matt tapped his fingertips.

  Nick heard the green door open. Truth was followed by a wiry man with deep pockets under his eyes. He wore a baseball cap with the brim twisted to the side.

  Nick gestured for him to sit down.

  Truth said, “I’ll be right outside if you need me,” then pulled the door shut behind him.

  Ray Seville sank into the couch across from Matt and pulled a mangled pack of cigarettes from his jeans pocket. He flipped open a pack of matches and flicked one against the striker. He sucked the cigarette to life, then shook the match and pointed the extinguished stick at Matt. “Who’s he?”

  Matt glared.

  “He’s my partner,” Nick said.

  “I thought I left a message for you to come alone.”

  “He’s my partner. He goes where I go.”

  “Yeah, well, how do I know I can trust him?”

  “How do you know you can trust me?”

  Seville managed a meager grin. “Aw, come on. Me and you, we have history.”

  “History?” Nick said. “I arrested you half a dozen times working Gold Street.”

  Seville waved the back of his hand. “Yeah, but you was always straight with me. A lot of other cops were pure bullshit. Tell me one thing, then come at me from a different angle two minutes later.”

  Nick sighed. “Listen, Ray, I’m not with the Western anymore. You want to roll over on one of your buddies, I’ll call a shoe and get him to meet you somewhere safe. Not down here in the basement of Lloyd’s poker house.”

  Seville took another drag of his cigarette and looked past Nick at Matt st
ill leaning forward, elbows on his knees, “What’s his problem?”

  “I told you, he’s my partner.”

  “Doesn’t he know how to speak?”

  “He’s just here to intimidate.”

  “Intimidate? Intimidate who?”

  The guy was a pure idiot. Nick wondered how Ray survived among the predators that prowled West Baltimore on a nightly basis. Nick glanced at his watch and said, “Ray, where are we going here?”

  Seville stared at the hardwood floor while the flimsy ash danced between his feet. “A couple of weeks ago I get a call from this guy asking me for a phony drivers license.”

  “How did he know to call you?” Nick asked.

  “I dunno. Maybe somebody told him. Stop being a cop for a second and listen.”

  Nick folded his arms.

  “Well, anyway, I meet him and get the info he wants me to use on the license. I usually ask some questions to see what I’m getting myself into, but this guy cuts me off before I can even start. I never been eye-fucked like that before.”

  Seville took another drag of his cigarette and pointed to Matt. “Is he like your trained monkey or what?”

  Nick stretched out his arm and held Matt back as he came out of his seat, then he admonished Ray with a stare that forced his attention back to the floorboards.

  Ray’s cigarette slowly shrank between his index and middle finger. “Shit, the guy was talking to me like I was a moron, telling me over and over where to make the drop. How long to wait. I look like I just fell off the turnip truck?”

  Nick let that one go.

  “He asked me everything under the sun, except if I know how to make a good dupe. I mean shit, the guy didn’t even haggle with my rate.” Ray dropped the cigarette stub to the floor and twisted it with his shoe. He blew out a lungful of smoke and seemed to be looking at something off in the distance. “He’s not from around here, I’d know. He’s a foreigner. He’s got some kind of accent, like one of those Iraqis you used to see interviewed on the news during the war. You know, one of those guys you always knew was lying just by his accent.”

  Nick massaged his forehead. He could feel his arteries begin to constrict. “Let me get this straight,” Nick said. “You called for a meeting with the FBI because you forged a fake ID for someone with a Middle Eastern accent? Is that right?”

  Ray seemed to absorb what had just happened. “When you say it like that it makes me sound like I’m wasting your time or something.”

  Nick waited and watched Ray shift around on the sofa. Finally, Nick said, “What are you not telling me?”

  Ray looked up at Nick with a wrinkled forehead. It seemed as if he was trying to decipher the genetic code to the double helix.

  “Isn’t that enough?” Ray said. “I mean, I already told you he’s a foreigner with an illegal drivers license. Shit, what else does a guy have to do to get arrested?”

  Nick tried to figure out why someone like Ray would rat on anyone without motivation.

  “You’re just being a good citizen, is that it?” Nick said.

  “That too hard to believe?”

  “Look, Ray, do you know why you’re a lousy poker player?”

  “Huh?”

  “Because you have a tell. Every time you’re bluffing you look to your right.” Nick pointed over his shoulder, “The guys inside don’t know why you do it, they just know it’s a tell. You look to your right, you’re bluffing. Me, I know why you do it. It’s because you’re using the right side of your brain to think. The creative side. Like right now, you’re looking over my left shoulder. You’re getting creative with your memory. Don’t do it, Ray. For once in your life, tell me the truth.”

  Ray stared blankly at Nick. “Are you shittin’ me? All this time I got a tell and nobody says nothing?”

  “Are you going to tell me what really happened, Ray?”

  Nick waited while Ray grappled with the chore ahead of him. Possibly dealing with the truth. Ray nodded to himself. With his head still hung low, he said, “I lent my car to my buddy Skeeter yesterday. It was the last time I saw him.”

  “He’s missing?”

  Ray shook his head. “Gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “He was blown to smithereens trying to start my car.”

  Nick and Matt exchanged glances.

  “The guy warned me about following him and I didn’t exactly listen. I was curious. I thought maybe I could scam some juice from him if I told him I knew who he was.”

  Nick let out a breath. “Now we’re getting to it, aren’t we? You tried to shakedown someone out of your league and you want us to save your greedy ass.”

  Ray looked bewildered. “No, no, it’s not like that.”

  Nick slid a hand over his face and squeezed his eyelids until he saw stars, then he focused on the wiry mess sitting in front of him. “All right, Ray, who is he?”

  “That’s just it, I don’t know exactly.”

  “But you were going to try and extort money from him.”

  “Now you got it,” Ray said. “Guy like that’s got to have a big identity.” He looked around the room for support, back and forth between stone-faced Matt and Nick. “Doesn’t he?” Ray finished.

  The room was silent for a moment, allowing the slower brain cells to catch up. Finally, Nick said, “All right, Ray. Why don’t we start with what he looks like.”

  “Pretty average I’d say.”

  Nick blinked. “Ray.”

  “All right, all right. He was a little taller than me, about five-eleven, dark hair . . . shit, what am I doing?” Ray shoved his bony fingers into his jeans pockets and yanked out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Nick. “There he is. I made a copy of the photo before I gave it back to him.”

  Nick slowly unfolded the paper, hoping for a lucky break. He didn’t get one.

  Nick tossed the paper into Matt’s lap and watched his partner’s eyes go dark with anger.

  “Who is it?” Ray said.

  Nick said nothing. He had too many neurons firing all at once. The last time he saw Rashid Baser was eight months ago in a small village just outside of Istanbul. Rashid was lying on the ground with his hand pressed to his ear to stop the bleeding. Matt had fired a remarkable shot from one hundred fifty yards, allowing them to escape one of Rashid’s ambushes.

  It was Nick’s job to expect the unexpected, but Rashid Baser in Baltimore was pushing the limits. Even for someone as brash as Rashid.

  Nick looked down at Ray and thought he saw fear in his ignorant eyes. “How did he get in touch with you?”

  “I told you, he called me.”

  “Where? At home?”

  “No, on my cell.”

  “How did he get the number?”

  “Shit, I don’t know. I couldn’t get the guy to tell me nothing, man.” Ray looked up at Nick again and said, “Who is he?”

  Nick let out a deep breath. “His name is Rashid Baser.”

  Ray sank lower into the couch, getting swallowed up by the worn-out cushions. In a small voice, he said, “He dangerous?”

  Nick frowned. He thought about telling Ray that Rashid was the world’s greatest explosives expert. That he could turn a wristwatch into a bomb with little more than what you’d find in a typical shed. That he was an assassin. Maybe the purest human hunter on the planet. Instead, he said, “Yes, Ray, he's dangerous.”

  “He . . . uh . . . Al-Qaeda?” Ray asked.

  Nick rolled his eyes. He wished Rashid was a mindless Al Qaeda pawn. Someone who was just smart enough to take orders and just dumb enough to follow them. No, this was a real, shrewd threat. A bonafide hands-on terrorist who would manage to slip a snake into your pants pocket and then ask you for change.

  “No,” Nick said. “He’s Kurdish. He’s not one of these guys that hides out in a cave and draws plans in the dirt. He does everything himself. And he’s good at what he does. Maybe the best.”

  “What does he do?”

  Nick was deep in thought. Rash
id Baser. What would Rashid be doing here? He looked over at Matt and saw the same question going across his face.

  “You think he came all the way here just for revenge?” Matt asked.

  Nick shook his head. Partly because he didn’t believe it. Partly because he didn’t want to believe it.

  “You said he’s the best,” Ray said. “The best what?”

  “He kills people,” Nick said. “He’s good with a gun, but prefers to work with blades.”

  “Blades?”

  “Yes, blades.”

  Ray involuntarily rubbed his neck.

  “Exactly.”

  Nick was pacing now, gathering speed as he went. “Do you want to know the most dangerous thing about Rashid Baser? He’s Kemel Kharrazi’s best friend. They grew up together in Southeastern Turkey.”

  Ray swallowed.

  “That’s right, that Kemel Kharrazi. The one whose name makes serial killers sleep with the light on. So let’s cut the crap, Ray. Are you positive this is the guy you saw?”

  “What do you want from me?” Ray pleaded. “I swear I’m not lying to you.”

  Nick nodded. He grabbed the copy of the photo from Matt and examined it closely. The image was grainy, but it certainly appeared to be Rashid. Nick thought it looked to be taken about five years ago. Rashid was still wearing a mustache. He thought of something.

  “Ray,” Nick said, “What did he look like when you met with him? Any different than this photo?”

  Ray appeared serious, as if he were adding numbers in his head. “Yeah, he wasn’t wearing no mustache when I saw him.”

  “Is that all?”

  “And . . . and . . . he was missing part of his left ear. Looked like he lost it in a fight or something. Pretty ugly.”

  “Great,” Nick said, now certain that Rashid Baser was actually on American soil. He turned to see Matt sitting there feeling his empty holster, looking like a boy who’d left his fly open.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Matt said, looking at the four cement walls that contained them.

  “No shit,” Nick said.

  Ray looked lost.

  Nick crouched down and pulled up on Ray’s chin until their eyes were inches apart. “What did you do, Ray? Did he pay you to set us up?”

  “Huh?”