“My vacation starts in a couple of days. Didn’t have anything planned, except for some fishing and then heading back down to Toronto to visit family. I figured I might as well call in sick and start my vacation early, ’cause this would be a whole lot more exciting than hearing about Aunt Bertha’s bunions.”
He chuckled.
I frowned.
“Okay, let’s try this one,” he said. “I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”
I pursed my lips and turned away from him.
“Hey, you need to loosen up, lady,” he said as he gunned through an intersection on amber.
“Detective, this may be fun and games for you; but while you’re getting your jollies off this, I think it’s deadly serious. And I’m scared. A few hours ago, I saw someone I love get shot, and I left him bleeding in a ravine.”
“Fun and games for me?” Parker huffed. “I think I know even better than you how dangerous this situation is.”
After racing on in silence for a while, he spoke in a softer voice. “The trick is, though, that you can’t let any of this get to you. If you fall into the trap where all you can think about is how nervous and scared you are, then whoever you’re up against is controlling your head. And all you’ll be doing is reacting when they push your buttons.
“You need to lighten up, loosen up. Stay in control of your own mind. That way you’ll remain alert enough to stay one step ahead, always planning your next move.”
He was probably right. No, he was right.
But I hadn’t been angling for a lecture on crisis thinking. I’d been trying to weasel out of him whether he had agreed to help me find Jacques out of genuine concern over my and the kid’s predicament. Or whether he was here doing Mayor Demetriou’s — and ultimately Syron Lake Resources’ — bidding.
I decided to let the matter rest there. I was tired, and hungry, and still shaken, and there was no way I could have handled this search for Jacques Tremblay on my own.
Even if this cop was tied in with the enemy, I needed him at this moment. I would just have to remain wary and alert and be prepared to fight or flee if or when he dropped his hero act.
Parker drove down a litter-strewn street in a rough section of Fort Lauderdale. Stores were shuttered and graffiti was scrawled all over the walls. Derelicts shuffled along aimlessly as darkness fell.
He drove to the back of a bar where the neon sign was missing several letters and the exterior paint was peeling. Although the sun had disappeared, Parker unfolded a sunshade across the windscreen. After he got out of the car, he whipped around to my side and opened my door. Without saying a word, he led the way in by the back door.
The bartender, who wore a wife-beater, sauntered over to us. Every visible part of his upper body, except for his face, was festooned with tattoos.
“Want anything?” Parker said.
I shook my head. The bartender shrugged and walked away.
“Okay, stay here,” Parker said. “I need to go to the men’s room.”
Before I could say anything, he disappeared around a corner.
The small barroom was dimly lit. Three shirtless men bearing a general look of stupor sat at a table cluttered with about a dozen beer bottles. In the middle of the room, an elderly man kept his head bent and his eyes closed; his long white beard rested on his ample stomach, heaving and falling with his every breath.
A few feet from me, a grizzled figure in shorts and an unbuttoned shirt leaned against the bar counter. Suddenly, he raised his right hand and waved a finger in the air. “The government!” he shouted.
The bartender, who now had his back to the counter as he watched a ball game on a large screen, paid no attention. The grizzled figure let his hand fall back to the counter with a thud and curled his fingers around the beer bottle before him.
My immediate impulse was to dash back out the door. I peered in the direction where Parker had disappeared. From the opposite corner, a sunburned woman with unkempt, dirty-blonde hair came swaggering into the room as she whistled a tune. She wore a bikini top and denim shorts that covered very little. Her eyes widened as she saw me.
“What’s the matter sweetie?” She stopped and stood before me with her hands on her hips. “You look like you’re lost or something.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“You sure? Larry’s not ignoring you now, is he?” Without waiting for a reply, she shouted to the bartender, “Hey, Larry, get this girl a drink!”
Larry seemed too engrossed in his game to hear anything.
With sudden ferocity, the woman screamed, “Hey, Larry! Larry!”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I really don’t want anything. I’m just waiting on someone.”
The woman shrugged. “Well, if you change your mind and Larry’s ignoring you, just let me know. It’s not such a bad place. You just have to know how to demand some respect around here.”
She strode over to the shirtless men and shoved one of them on the shoulder. He caught her around the waist and she fell into his lap, cackling.
The grizzled man at the counter shot his arm into the air again and yelled, “The government!”
I turned to look at the back door again, and as I did, I felt someone touch my arm. I jumped.
“Okay, let’s get out of here,” Parker said as he walked at a clip toward the door.
He didn’t let up his pace, and jumped into the driver’s seat as soon as he reached the car. By the time I got to it, he was leaning over on the passenger side. He popped open the door for me.
“Hop in.” He wore a satisfied smile.
I watched him nonchalantly fold away the sun visor and toss it in the back.
“You sure know how to pick your pit stops,” I said as we turned the corner and the worn-out front of the bar came into view.
“What? You didn’t like the joint?” He laughed.
“Are you just trying to get on my nerves? Because if you are, you’re doing a great job.”
“There’s method to my madness,” he said. He pointed his chin toward the glove compartment. “Open it.”
I squeezed the latch and pulled down the tray. The matte, black handle and the long, silver barrel looked dangerous even just sitting there. A chill went down my spine and I slammed the compartment shut.
“Do you have a license for that?”
“No.”
“But you’re a cop. I mean, come on, Detective, how could you have that in here?”
“Well, let’s get a couple of things straight. First, cut it with the ‘detective,’ okay? My name is Paul. If that’s too personal for you, then call me Parker.
“And second, as I told you before, I think I understand better than you do what level of danger we might be in for. I got that piece because I’m a cop. I’ve spent my whole life dealing with bad guys, both military and civilian, and believe me, you don’t want to mess with them unless you make damn sure you can protect yourself.”
We rode in silence. I guess he saw my pursed lips and squinted eyes.
“Listen, Stella. I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet, but when I went to Dromel’s house, I was not the only one there looking for the tape and Jacques’ address. Someone beat me to it.”
“But I thought you said you got the cigar box.”
“I did. But two men got to the house before me. I think only one of them went inside. A hulk of a guy. Trashed the place completely. It looked like a tornado passed through there.”
“Someone was inside Ben’s house?”
“The goon ripped everything apart. Never thought to move the fridge, though. Clever hi
ding place. I’ll give Dromel that.”
I exhaled. “Good, so if they never got to the box with Jacques’ address, at least he’s safe for the moment.”
“Yes. But there’s a problem. I believe those guys got a letter with Jacques’ last address.”
“Not the one he’s at now, that we’re going to?”
“No. But neighbors know far more about you than you could ever imagine. And they talk. If those men make a few inquiries here and there at Jacques’ former address, it’s quite possible they’ll end up exactly where we’re headed.”
“So where exactly are we headed, Detec–”
Parker hemmed and cast a sideways glance at me.
“I mean, where are we headed, Paul?”
“Campground, a good few miles south. Jacques’ a big boy out on his own. I doubt he’ll be in bed by the time we arrive.”
I nodded. “So what’s the plan when we find him? How do we get him to hand over the video?”
“We’ll figure that out when we get there. Let’s find him first.”
We rode on in silence, leaving behind the office buildings, hotels and shops of the downtown area. Now, way past a string of strip malls and innumerable motels, the highway was lined on either side only by dark bushes.
“So, what exactly is on that recording with Ben and the prime minister?” I said after some time.
I’d been waiting for him to volunteer the information; to even place the box he’d retrieved from under Dromel’s fridge into my hands. I wavered between feeling brave and being sassy with this cop, and feeling my old mousey self, uncertain about how far I could push. I was also still coming up somewhat short when it came to trust, but at this point, what choice did I have but to rely on him?
“An argument over Syron Lake. Peabody was–” Parker pumped the brakes and the car jerked before slowing down. “What’s this?”
Blue and red lights flashed up ahead.
“Looks like we have a road block,” he said.
He stopped about five cars behind a line of three squad cars parked across the road. Half a dozen uniformed cops stood talking to each other or into their walkie-talkies.
“Stay here.” Parker flung open the door and walked over to the officers.
After a lot of nodding and pointing, he returned and dropped himself back into the driver’s seat.
“Nasty crash further down this way,” he said. “Teens drinking and drag-racing, apparently.”
He turned the ignition and put the car into reverse.
“There’s no way this road’s going to be cleared anytime soon.”
“So will the detour cost us a lot of time?”
“There isn’t one. What should have been it is closed for repairs. This is the only route, at least it used to be until half an hour ago.”
“So what now?”
“We have to turn back, spend the night in a motel and try again first thing in the morning. And hope those guys from the airport don’t catch up to us.”
“Or beat us to Jacques. What do you think they’d do to him if they found him first?”
“Let’s not even contemplate that,” Parker said.
I thought of Dromel, and of what Parker said the men had done to his place. I cast my eyes on the glove compartment, and I felt a sense of relief knowing what lay in there.
Chapter 90
Parker rolled into the parking lot of the first motel we came to and killed the engine.
“Home for the night,” he said.
“Kinda rough isn’t it?”
“It’s either this or we drive another hour or more in search of something fancier for you.”
He was smiling but the comment riled me.“Are you trying to suggest I’m some kind of prima donna?”
“I’m not trying to suggest anything. I was just saying–”
“Well I was simply stating a fact. This place is a dump. But if it’s where we have to stay so we don’t lose any time in the morning, then so be it.”
Parker leaned over and stretched his hand toward the glove compartment. I didn’t want to see or know what he was going to do with what he had hidden in there. I jumped out of the car and headed toward the door with the small, neon “Office” sign.
As darkness had descended, I had found myself growing more and more uneasy about being confined in the car all alone with Detective Sergeant Paul Parker.
It was not that he had done anything to make me felt unsafe. It was just the opposite, actually.
He had been a perfect gentleman. And he fit the role of hero completely, what with his imposing physique and his decisive actions, like pulling those rowdy teenage boys off me at the airport.
The trouble was that I had found my eyes returning to that physique altogether too frequently. They wandered to his muscular chest; scanned the length of his strong, aquiline nose; and lingered far too long on the short, dark, silky hairs on his arms.
My response to Parker shocked and embarrassed me. Every time my glance strayed over to the man at the wheel beside me, I would feel a guilty twinge at being disloyal to Dromel.
And then I would remember that Dromel had betrayed me by not recusing himself and lying to me about it. Everything he had said and done in our relationship had been illegal and our entire connection stank of scandal.
And then I would get the faint whiff of blood, Dromel’s blood on his fingers, and I would see his form in the darkness, leaning weakly against the rock wall of the canal, groaning in pain as he clutched his side, and it was all I could do to hold back the tears.
To put it plainly, I was a complete and total mess, and I was grateful that Parker had shown not much inclination to talk for most of the drive.
Ray’s Roadside Haven was a narrow, tumbledown building that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. A sad collection of rusting and dented clunkers sat in the parking lot, which was bordered on one side by a row of huge metal bins. The air smelled of rotting garbage.
The scrolling LED sign at the entrance of the compound said “Free Internet in Rooms, Free Computer for Guest Use.” I’d been disappointed to discover that Parker’s cell phone was a simple clamshell that was useless for getting online. Even if our haven for the night was a fleapit, I was glad that at least I would finally be able to do a search for news about Dromel here.
Just as I reached the door, Parker, whose long stride had apparently allowed him to catch up with me, pulled it open and waited for me to enter.
He tapped the domed bell on the empty counter, but nothing happened after the ring echoed in the dingy room. He rang three more times and we waited in silence.
Finally, a rotund man in pajama bottoms and a thin, white vest that covered only two-thirds of his stomach, shuffled out from behind a door. He yawned and scratched his gray stubble. A tiny woman with a shock of white hair followed him into the office, leaning heavily on a cane. With much effort, she placed herself on a chair and propped both hands atop the cane.
“Yes?” the man said, rubbing his eyes.
“A room with two single beds,” Parker said.
I saw the man crane his neck to look past Parker and directly at me. The man sighed and shook his head as he looked across at the old woman, as if to say, “Yeah right. Who do they think they’re fooling?”
He ran a fat thumb down the motel’s register.
“You can have Room 19,” he said.
I turned away and tuned out as Parker checked us in. We hadn’t discussed this, but, yes, it would be best for us to take one room. The motel was creepy enough for me to feel uncomfortable in a room by myself. But we also had the men at the
airport to worry about. What if they had picked back up our trail?
Yes, it was better to spend the night in the same room with this detective whom I hardly knew — with him and that thing from the glove compartment that I didn’t want to know too much about.
Parker finished checking us in and passed me on the way to the door. I turned back to the man behind the counter.
“There’s a computer hooked up to the Internet in the room, right?” I said.
“This ain’t the Hilton, lady.”
“But that’s what your sign promises.”
“What sign?”
“At the entrance.”
“You misread, lady. Ain’t no sign that says you get a computer in your room with Internet. Bring your own computer; you can use WiFi in your room. Otherwise, there’s a computer over there.”
Barely lifting his arm, he pointed to a table in the corner. The dust-encrusted, gray box, which looked like a relic from the eighties, was plugged in, but the screen was blank. I moved the mouse, hit some keys, and reached back to fiddle with the power switch.
“This doesn’t work,” I said.
The man shrugged. “Like I said, this ain’t the Hilton.”
He turned and walked away and I felt all hope of getting online to search for news about Dromel being yanked away from me.
“Well, if you can’t provide the amenities you promise, then you can’t be charging the full price,” I said, hardly knowing what words escaped my lips.
The man spun around and glowered at me. He jabbed a stubby finger in my direction and shouted, “Don’t you come here telling me how to run–”
Parker was back at the counter in a flash. “Hey, buddy, don’t talk to this lady like that.”
The old woman whacked the man in the leg with her cane. “Perry, how many times do I have to tell you not to lose your temper with the guests?”
“But she’s–”
“But me no buts.” The old woman pounded on the floor with her cane. “Do I have to knock this into your thick skull every day? The customer is king. They could be pigs and all, but you have to treat the customers like kings. Let her have Ray’s old laptop for the night.”
Run, Girl, Run: A Thriller Page 36