by Niv Kaplan
"How about you guys changing looks for now," Russo suggested, careful not to sound mocking. "In these outfits they'll spot you a mile away."
He had made similar suggestions to them in the past, but they kept drifting back to looking alike. "You guys spend way too much time together. It isn't good for this business," he remarked.
Maloney spoke for the two of them, his husky voice tired and irritated. "Just get us a room, Russo. We'd like some sleep. Talk to me in the morning if you don't like what I wear."
Russo shrugged and pointed to a door behind his back.
"That's your room, gentlemen. The firm is cutting costs. Make the best of what you got 'cause the sister likes to jog real early."
The two grunted, picked up their luggage and disappeared into the next room.
Russo knew they despised the work. Despite their trendy appearance, the two possessed a nasty streak and had developed their reputation collecting debts, preferring to terrorize people than to be tailing them. A Puerto Rican smuggler learned that when he attempted to cheat the firm out of some cash. First day on the job, Maloney and Sollet were sent after him. When he could not be found they went after his family. The stray smuggler resurfaced after they had butchered two of his brothers. The cash was recovered. The Puerto Rican ended up alive but half blind and with a serious speech impediment as the two had sliced up his face and neck with a butcher knife poking one eye out and damaging his vocal chords. The affair brought much respect to the firm among the small time Caribbean drug haulers who, from then on, were careful paying their debts. For their part, Maloney and Sollet established themselves as the favored enforcers in the firm and had often been the default crew used in sensitive coercion duties. But on occasion, just as everyone else, they would be expected to perform the essential tailing detail under Russo's supervision.
Russo looked at his watch. It was almost five. He had an hour before Lance would wake him. He lay back in bed but felt too alert. Sleep, all of a sudden, was out of the question. He decided to take a stroll, prowl their subjects' floor and maybe check up on Lance.
The long corridor was empty as he silently walked by their room, hesitating a fraction in hopes of discerning any activity inside.
He heard their door unlock when he was two doors past their room and instinctively rushed toward the stairs, a third of the corridor from where he had been hovering. Not sure he made it in time he hopped three stairs at a time and took refuge on the floor above.
Out of breath, he heard them enter the elevator hauling luggage.
As soon as the elevator shut its doors, he rushed down the stairs to his room.
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The two were at the reception when he stepped out a fire exit door at one end of the lobby floor and rushed to his car, Sollet hot on his heels. Maloney was left to collect the luggage, check out, and unite with Lance. They would rendezvous where ever, assuming the miniature radios worked. If not, they would default to calling the relay person at the firm.
The sister and boyfriend, as referred to by the client, walked out of the hotel three minutes later. They flung their luggage in the trunk of their car and drove away. Russo and Sollet followed them around for a while, stopping at a donut shop for coffee, then stopping at a pay phone, the sister making a short call. It soon became apparent they were headed for the airport. Both Russo and Sollet knew the area quite well and could tell they were headed that way as soon as they merged south on Route 436.
They stopped in front of the United Airlines departure terminal. Russo and Sollet watched as the two fussed around the trunk of their car then stood a minute, talking intimately.
Russo had to make a split-second decision when it became absolutely clear the sister was the one taking the flight. Under the premise that he may have been recognized, he decided to let the Frenchman tail the girl. It made sense for him to remain obscured behind the wheel of a car and let the unknown individual follow her at an airport and eventually on the same airplane.
Sollet yanked his lone travel bag from the back seat and was on his way within seconds. He spotted the sister at the domestic check-in lines and joined in himself, keeping a reasonable distance.
The only United flight leaving Orlando at that particular time was a flight to Los Angeles via St. Louis. There were other flights flashing on the bulletin board, but leaving much later, and most of the passengers, Sollet observed, were checking in for the LA flight. It was safe to assume his female subject was taking this same flight, but he needed to be certain. He could not overhear her conversation with the airline attendant but as he stepped to the counter himself, he managed a peek at her luggage tags passing by on the conveyer belt behind the counters, confirming she was on her way to LAX. He purchased a one-way ticket in business class since there were no seats available in coach, and kept his one travel bag with him.
He next saw her at a bookshop leafing through magazines, then watched her eat a muffin with her second cup of coffee of the morning, and eventually followed her to the lounge by their gate.
They had an hour before boarding commenced.
As he watched her casually reading a magazine she had purchased in the shop earlier he was suddenly aroused, imagining her body under the thick clothes. He liked her looks. Her stern face was pretty under the wavy brunette hair flowing down her shoulders. Her physique was partially obscured by a thick sweater and a black polyester overcoat, but he had noticed her shapely buttocks and legs under the tight fitting pair of jeans. He could already picture himself peeling them off her, running his hands up her smooth legs into her crease, then all the way up to her firm breasts, pinching her nipples as she squirmed under him, unable to prevent his assault.
He had been out of action for the last ten days, stuck on a small boat with Maloney and a few other people, island hopping in the Caribbean, distributing merchandise. He had made plans to visit his favorite madame once back in Miami, but was sent to assist Russo instead.
Watching the girl, he recalled Nice, and another girl with smooth black skin, twisting under him in terror. He had met her on the beach, half naked, her bronze breasts and reddish nipples, exposed to him for hours until he could no longer control the urge. Back at her apartment, she had put up little resistance. He could still see her shocked face after he had broken in and recalled ripping the clear silk dress off her shoulders and attacking the bottom half of her bikini, exposing her nakedness. She looked totally helpless as he stripped letting his erect member dangle in front of her face. Then she had tried to run, but that only made it more exhilarating as he chased her naked frame around the apartment, cornering her in her own bathroom. He remembered her moans as she finally succumbed.
The damn sluts, he thought, always made him act crazy. Always the games, teasing him, making him sweat, getting him hard. He never asked for it. They'd seduce him then pretend to be frightened. It was their fault it always ended up the way it did. That was why he preferred the madame. She let him have his way…
He straightened uncomfortably in his seat, looking hastily around, realizing she was gone. He got up, methodically surveying the lounge then backtracked to the main concourse, a touch of hysteria beginning to choke at his throat. At first glimpse he did not see her on either side of the concourse and he began trotting along the row of shops when he spotted her in a phone booth adjacent to one of the shops. She had her back turned as she spoke and he waited a good ten minutes for her to conclude before following her back to their gate.
The boarding announcement came soon after.
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Russo followed the boyfriend to Route 528 east then north on the 95 toward Jacksonville. That took him well out of miniature radio range so on their first break he called the relay and left a message for Maloney, Lance, and Sollet, none of whom had yet to make contact.
The boyfriend had stopped at a wayside diner and was having breakfast while Russo remained in his car, worrying.
He trusted Sollet up to a point. The Frenchman was prone to flying
off the handle at times, an attribute Russo could do without. He knew Sollet to be reliable when the situation called for quick reactions, but he also knew him to be less than patient with the more tedious tasks. He knew he could keep up with the girl but was worried he may decide to take matters into his own hands and find an excuse to confront her. He would have felt better had he or Lance, or even Maloney, had accompanied the Frenchman to keep matters balanced.
He himself had learned patience the hard way and now appreciated its importance, realizing that uncalculated, hasty actions were a recipe for failure. That got his best buddy killed and had put himself and Lance in prison. Had they waited and assessed the situation better, they may have spotted the unmarked police vehicles and would have never attempted to strike the money truck.
He had learned patience in prison, a cruel place where one could easily be dragged into taking certain actions without ever assessing any long term consequences. Russo, by no means a pushover, had shied away from confrontations and had made a name for himself as a reasonable and reliable inmate who could be trusted to settle matters in peace. Had it not been for that, he could easily have added several more years to his prison stay, possibly enough to never see the light of another free day.
Unlike many discharged inmates, Russo took to freedom and never once considered himself unfit for society. He knew the limits of his ex-con status, but the firm had made up for that. The work they performed was by no means an insurance policy and could still get him in a shit load of trouble, but he knew he could minimize risk by acting patiently and not succumbing to impulse.
On their next break, a hundred miles into Georgia, he called the relay again and received Lance's phone number. He and Maloney had opted to remain at the Orlando hotel. He called and instructed them to stay put until Sollet resurfaced. The two were only too happy to oblige.
The boyfriend finally turned in at a motel near Savannah. Russo did not have much use for a room, but he took one anyway to make phone calls. The relay eventually delivered a message from Sollet who had tracked the sister to Los Angeles and was in a motel in the San Fernando Valley. Russo had spent many a night tailing the girl in that part of the country and knew exactly where she had gone. He called Lance at Orlando instructing him to catch a red eye to LA then he called the client.
"They split up," he said into the phone dryly, as the receiver on the other end was picked up.
"Where?" came the immediate inquiry.
"Girl's in LA, back at her parents. The boyfriend's with me outside Savannah, Georgia."
"Your people in place?" the voice asked.
"Sure are," Russo replied, not bothering with the troublesome details.
"Keep me informed," the voice commanded," every twelve hours."
"Will do," Russo replied and heard the phone click.
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Lisa used a pay phone to call her friend Kathy at work. The two had studied together at UCLA and had been best friends since Junior High. Kathy Miller was an architect working for a large firm in Century City. She had been the main advocate in convincing Lisa to complete her studies and get her life back on track after losing Karen.
"Hello?" she heard the familiar voice answer the ring. "Kathy, hi, it's me."
"Oh hi, where are you."
"Back in LA."
"Great, let's celebrate. I'll pick you up at eight. Are you home?"
"I am, but we can't celebrate. Not yet. I need you to do me a favor."
"Name it, girl. You know I'll do anything for a price."
"Can you leave work?"
There was a slight pause. Lisa could picture Kathy digesting the request, silently letting her head fall down in resignation, her long silky brown hair spreading across her desk.
"Are we at war, girl? Have they attacked Pearl Harbor again?"
Lisa chuckled. Kathy's never failed to raise her spirits.
"We are, as a matter of fact, but not against the Japanese this time."
"What is it then? Are you in trouble?"
"No trouble, Kathy. I just need a monster favor from you and you can't ask questions either."
Her tone became tense and Kathy sobered quickly.
"OK, I'll leave right now. Where shall we meet?"
"We can't meet. I'll need to give you instructions over the phone. We can meet later."
"Sure sounds like trouble to me," Kathy remarked, "or you are working part time for the CIA?"
"A bit of both Kathy, but don't concern yourself. Just do what I ask and I'll owe you bigtime!"
She needed her friend but her boss had lost his life helping her and she was damned if she was going to get another friend in trouble. On the way over from Orlando she had gone through a mental exercise, putting up all kinds of arguments against involving her best friend, but Kathy remained her only choice.
"Will you be here holding my hand, when my boss goes into one of his daily fits about us procrastinators?" Kathy joshed.
"I'll do anything you ask."
"OK, shoot."
"You need to go down to San Clemente to check up on a house. All I want you to do is to watch it for a while. Don't go knocking on any doors now. Just watch for any activity then tell me what you saw."
"Sounds simple enough," Kathy said.
"Just be careful not to be noticed. You may drive by now and then, but mainly you need to find a spot with a good view and stay in your car."
"OK, then what?"
"Meet me at the Lakeview and tell me all about it."
"How long do you want me to stay there?"
Lisa looked at her watch. It was 9:30. San Clemente was an hour drive from Century City. She wanted the house surveyed for as long as possible but during hours that were reasonable for the tenants to be around.
"I'd like you to get there at one and stay until seven, if that's OK," she said cautiously, realizing she was asking a lot.
There was another brief pause then a quiet sigh before Kathy replied. "You paying for all the munchies and drinks I plan to consume?"
"That, and dinner after," Lisa said, relieved.
"OK then, I'll see you at the Lakeview at nine-ish."
"You're a pal," Lisa said.
She gave her the address and instructed her to bail out if she thought she had been noticed by anyone even remotely suspicious including any neighbors, the police, or anyone from the house, then wished her luck and hung up quickly, afraid she would change her mind if they talked any longer.
CHAPTER 42
There was no particular rationale for choosing which house to check first except for their location relative to the airport, and since Glen Cove seemed closer on the map they went to it first.
Having arrived late at night, they took up residence at the Kennedy Airport Travelodge and drove out in a rented Corsica early the following morning. They had considered splitting up, each of them assuming a house, but eventually decided against it. Eitan's English was not up to par, making it quite difficult for him to find his way around. He had been doing most of the driving while Sarah guided them by way of conventional Triple A maps. Moreover, the proximity of the two houses made it possible to cover the both of them in the same day if need be.
They took the Belt Parkway to the Cross Island then on the Long Island expressway, traveling east until they reached the Glen Cove exit and took it north. They veered off Glen Cove Road past Greenvale to Roslyn Harbor then drove north toward Sea Cliff.
Even the gray December setting could not take away from the magnificent scenery along the narrow Hempstead inlet that steadily widened into the Long Island Sound. The narrow highway twisted along the rocky shore, gray, turbulent water to one side, affluent gardens enveloping majestic mansions to the other side. The early morning atmosphere was icy and damp, the wind shrieking across the road tilting fences and trees. They reached Sea Cliff stopping at a cozy little shop serving coffee and muffins and took their time enjoying the warm, aroma-filled shelter, watching the locals drift in and out for their morning n
ourishment.
Before leaving, they took a stroll around to stretch their muscles, inspecting the layout of the picturesque little town with its narrow, luxurious streets, and attractive store fronts.
"Cute place," Sarah said out loud, walking backward to avert the gusts of chilling wind from freezing her face. "If it wasn't for this weather, I could get used to it."
"Too established for my taste," Eitan called out, trying to outperform the shrieking wind. "Can't go hunting wild hogs around a place like this."
"I bet you could in Elkhorn County," Sarah said.
"Actually, they hunt deer not far from there. There were some photos above the cashier at the coffee shack. I spoke to some fellow about it while you were out talking to Duffy Duck. He invited me to join him."
"Just like that?"
"We exchanged tactics. I described how we do it in Israel with Jeeps and automatic weapons. They do it differently here, on foot and with modified hunting rifles."
"Would you have joined him?" Sarah asked, tightening the grip on her coat as the wind picked up once again.
"In a heartbeat," Eitan said with a twinkle in his eye. "I may even go back there once we settle our business here."
"You think we'll settle it here?"
"I didn't mean necessarily here, in this spot, but for sure somewhere on this continent."
"It's certainly a big continent and we may be running out of options if we don't find something in one of these houses," Sarah pointed out then turned and ran for cover.
They reached their car in front of the small coffee shop and scrambled in, escaping the wind. Eitan gunned the motor, setting the heater full force and the two embraced the heat pouring out the front panel. Sarah inspected the map as soon as she felt blood return to her fingers, noting the two sites she had marked. Their prospects were fast diminishing, she thought grimly.
Together with Lisa and Mikki, they had decided to inspect the house in San Clemente before she and Eitan went on to check the Long Island houses.
They were all pretty doubtful of finding anything in San Clemente. The sequence of postcards sent by Dan Hasson coincided with their own findings at Provo and Omaha and it showed a clear, west to east trend, which gave them plenty of reason to suspect Long Island as being the next destination, but the San Clemente prospect had to be eliminated.