Shadow Spy (A Bryson Wilde Thriller / Read in Any Order)
Page 27
“Right.”
“Unless of course the ghost-lady recognized us from the paper and is calling them as we speak.”
“Stop talking. You’re not making things better.”
126
Day Six
June 14, 1952
Saturday Night
FROM TESSA TANGLEWOOD’S HOUSE, Wilde headed for the first public phone he could find. A black rain pelted out of an even blacker sky. Blondie’s wipers swung at full speed and still only delivered a blurred mess. The ragtop would start leaking if this kept up.
He spotted a phone but it had no booth.
He’d just have to get wet.
Luckily no one had ripped off the phone book. It was sopped though. The pages stuck together. He opened the yellow pages to Private Investigators. There were six numbers listed, one being his. The names were familiar. He reached in his pocket, found no coins and trotted back to the car.
“I need change.”
“You didn’t check before you went over there?”
“Apparently not.”
Alabama found some in her purse. Wilde dialed the first number, got no answer and remembered it was Saturday night. He looked up the man’s name in the white pages and dialed. His question was direct. “This is Bryson Wilde,” he said. “Did you do any PI work for a woman named Jennifer Pazour?”
“No.”
On the fourth try he got the answer he needed, “Maybe, why?”
“She’s dead,” Wilde said. “I don’t know if you knew that or not.”
“I didn’t.”
“I have time for details but I need information and need it now. You were trying to find out the name of a man she picked up in her cab one night.”
“Right.”
“What was the guy’s name?”
A pause.
“That’s confidential, Wilde.”
“Do you think I don’t know that? Let me repeat, the woman’s dead. I’m in the middle of a mess here. I need to know the man’s name and need it now.”
Hesitation.
“You never heard it from me. His name is Parker Trench. He’s a lawyer in a law firm downtown.”
“Parker Trench?”
Right.
Parker Trench.
“Thanks.”
“You owe me a referral.”
“You’ll get it.”
“Make it two.”
“Fine.”
HE HUNG UP and dialed Senn-Rae. She answered with wine in her voice.
“Do you know a lawyer named Parker Trench?”
No.
She didn’t.
“Who was that woman you were with this afternoon? The one in the white sundress?”
“No one.”
“It looked like someone to me.”
“I don’t have time for this right now,” he said. “I’m coming over. I’ll be there in five minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Why, what’s going on?”
“Just stay there.”
SIX MINUTES LATER he turned the knob of her door and walked in.
“This is supposed to be locked,” he said. “I thought we had an understanding. Where’s your phone book?”
She got it.
He flipped to the T’s, got the number he wanted and dialed. As it rang he got Senn-Rae’s head by his and stuck the receiver between their ears. “I’m calling Parker Trench,” he said. “Listen to his voice and tell me if he’s your client.”
A man answered.
His voice was deep.
Strong.
“Trench,” he said.
“Who?”
“Trench.”
“I’m trying to get Robert.”
“There’s no Robert at this number.”
“Are you sure? Robert Brown, that’s who I’m trying to get.”
“There’s no Robert Brown here. You dialed wrong.”
The line went dead.
Wilde hung up and looked at Senn-Rae.
“Is that your mystery client?”
“Yes.”
“It is?”
“Yes, I can’t believe it.”
“Are you positive?”
“Absolutely positive. How’d you find him?”
Wilde headed for the door.
“It’s a long story. I have to run. Keep your door locked.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“Okay I said.”
He was three steps down the stairs when he heard, “Bryson! Come back here.”
He did.
“You didn’t kiss me.”
He did it.
“Better?”
“Yeah.”
He turned.
“There’ll be a lot more later. For right now just keep your door locked.”
HE GOT ALL THE WAY to the ground level then headed back up, turned the knob and found it locked.
“It’s me, Bryson.”
She opened.
He grabbed the phone book, turned to the T’s and looked up Parker Trench again, not for his number but his address. “Next time I forget something, tell me,” he said. “Lock your door.”
Then he was gone.
OUTSIDE IT WAS STORMING even stronger than before. He fired up the engine, waited for the wipers to make a clean spot and squealed out.
“Where we going?” Alabama said.
“To see the pinup killer, Parker Trench.”
“That’s nuts.”
The words shocked him because they were so absolutely true. It was nuts to bring her with him. It was nuts to put her in danger.
He slammed on the brakes.
“Get out.”
“No.”
“Do it.”
“Bryson—”
“Do it I said.”
She stepped into the storm and slammed the door.
“This isn’t fair!”
She smacked her fist on the trunk as Wilde pulled off. She also shouted something, he wasn’t exactly sure what it was but it sounded something like, “I hope you get shot!”
127
Day Six
June 14, 1952
Saturday Night
SOMETIMES THINGS HAPPEN exactly the way they’re supposed to even when the likelihood of them happening that way is minimal. So it was with Fallon’s plan to drive down the road without the lights off, do a one-eighty and then swing back. It worked perfectly. No encounter took place other than two pairs of headlights passing each other in the middle of a storm.
That’s where the perfection stopped though.
Jundee showed up five minutes later with a heavy breath and said, “The coyotes ripped him apart.”
“Really?”
He cracked the window and lit a cigarette.
“He’s basically just rags and bones.”
HALFWAY BACK to Denver flashing lights appeared in the rearview mirror.
Jundee checked the speedometer.
He wasn’t speeding.
His headlights were on.
“What do these yo-yo’s want?”
He pulled over, shifted into neutral and left the engine running.
Two cops approached, one on each side.
Flashlights sprayed in.
Fallon whispered in Jundee’s ear, “Those are the same cops from yesterday.”
“The ones who stopped you?”
“Yes.”
The butt of a flashlight rapped on the driver’s side window.
Jundee rolled it down halfway and said, “What’s the problem?”
The cop put on a hard face.
“What are you doing out here? Are you looking to settle a score?”
Jundee looked straight ahead.
His heart raced.
Then he looked directly into the cop’s eyes.
“Here’s your choice,” he said. “You and your friend can drive back to the station right now, this minute, and quit your jobs. If you do that, the score’s settled.”
The cop laughed.
&n
bsp; “Did you hear that?” he said over the roof.
“Yeah, I heard it. It looks like we have a comic on our hands.”
“It sure does.”
He hardened his face.
“I don’t think we’re interested,” he said. “Why don’t you step out of the vehicle?”
JUNDEE STEPPED OUT.
The weather assaulted him.
The rain was cold.
It hit like needles.
Five minutes later he got back in. His face was a mess, his body was a mess, his lungs were on fire. Fallon slipped in the other side and scooted over to the middle, not as badly battered but breathing just as heavy if not more so.
Two asshole cops were on the ground, not moving, not breathing, not bothering anyone. Jundee ran over the one in front of the car as he pulled away, the one Fallon managed to grab by the eyes as he straddled her and beat her face with his fists. The body caught up on an axle, dragged for fifty yards and spit out the back.
Jundee pulled up an image of human hamburger and said, “Nice knowing you.”
Fallon laid her head on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry you got pulled into that.”
“I’m not.”
128
Day Six
June 14, 1952
Saturday Night
SOMETHING THICK AND HEAVY hit the back of Shade’s head. She knew she’d been attacked but crumpled to the floor in a black fog before she could turn to see who was responsible. A sharp pain radiated briefly and then everything disappeared. She regained consciousness sometime later not knowing if she’d been out two minutes or two hours. She was on the floor face down. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her ankles were tied together. The room was dark except for a sliver of light that crept through the windows. Rain pelted the building. Her brain throbbed and wouldn’t let her remember where she was.
Then it came to her.
She was in Baxter Fox’s office.
“London!”
“Well who’s finally awake.”
The voice belonged to a man.
She’d heard it before.
Suddenly a strong hand grabbed her face and tilted her head up. She found herself looking into the eyes of Mojag. They were intense, bordering on insane.
“You wouldn’t let it go,” he said. “No matter what happened, you wouldn’t let it go. I gave you every chance but you wouldn’t let it go. That’s why you’re here right now. You have only yourself to blame.”
“Mojag—”
“Shut up!”
HE PULLED A SOCK OFF her foot, shoved it in her mouth and wrapped tape around her head.
“There, better?”
She mumbled something.
“What was that? London? Is that what you said, London?” He slapped her ass. “London can’t hear you anymore so don’t waste your breath.”
He paced.
Then he lit a cigarette, squatted down and blew smoke in her face.
“Do you know what it said on the floor under the mattress? It said, Mojag killed Tehya,” he said. “Do you know what it said on that cupboard door where you copied what was under the mattress? It said, Mojag killed Tehya. Do you know what it said on that piece of paper you copied from the cupboard door? It said, Mojag killed Tehya. Do you know why it said that? Because Mojag killed Tehya. Do you want to know why I killed her? Because she was turning five-dollar tricks in the back room of that stupid fucking bar. I told her to quit a hundred times. She never did. That night I got drunk, way drunk, beyond stupid drunk. I told her she was going to quit the tricks, it was over, she wasn’t going to do it again, not even one. She told me to fuck off. She pushed me on the chest and ran out. That’s when my brain exploded.”
He punched the wall with his fist.
Something fell off.
Glass shattered.
“I killed her. She had it coming and I’m not sorry about it. I didn’t take Visible Moon though,” he said. “I scalped Tehya because no one in a million years would picture me doing that. They’d picture a white man. The reason I came to Denver with you was to help you find the person who took Visible Moon. It wasn’t to rescue her though. It was to plant Tehya’s scalp in his house. It was to make him the one who killed her, not me.”
Lightning exploded.
The room lit up then returned to blackness just as quickly.
Thunder slammed against the building so hard that the windows shook.
“I made you take me to the shed to show me what was under the mattress, not because I needed to see the original but so I would know where the shed was and be able to burn the fucking thing down,” he said. “I stole the cupboard door out of Wilde’s office. I scraped the face to a pulp, busted the wood into a hundred pieces and threw them in ten different places. While you were passed out I took the paper out of your purse and burned it to ashes. All the evidence is gone.”
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
“The only other evidence that was left was Visible Moon herself,” he said. “I pretended like I had spotted her killer. I pretended that I found Tehya’s scalp tacked on his wall. I pretended that he said he killed Visible Moon. I pretended that I killed him in a rage. All that was to get you to stop trying to find her and get you to the reservation where I could keep you from saving her. You didn’t do it though. That’s why you’re here right now. You wouldn’t stop. You’ll never stop as long as you’re alive.”
He flipped her onto her back.
He straddled her.
His weight was enormous.
She tried to wiggle but couldn’t.
“Goodbye,” he said.
Then he sunk his thumbs into her throat and bore down with an insane pressure.
She couldn’t breathe in.
She couldn’t breathe out.
Her brain turned to fire.
Seconds passed.
Then more.
Then more.
Her struggle got weaker and weaker.
The world got blacker.
Then she slipped into the darkness of death.
129
Day Six
June 14, 1952
Saturday Night
PARKER TRENCH lived in a fancy house on a tree-line boulevard just off Colorado Boulevard on the west side of town. Wilde sat in Blondie three doors down, smoking a cigarette and contemplating exactly how to handle things. Half of him wanted to go in, make him confess and then kill him. The other half balked at the seriousness of that. Rain battered down so thick that the ragtop dripped.
Headlights swung around the corner and passed him.
Then the car stopped and backed up next to him.
It was a cab.
Someone gave paper to the driver and hopped out.
It was Alabama.
She ran around Blondie and hopped in the passenger side.
“It’s raining,” she said.
“What are you doing here?”
“Helping,” she said. “What’s the plan?”
He exhaled.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Is he home?”
“Yeah, I see a shadow move every now and then.”
“Let’s go in and get him.”
“If I go in I’m going to end up killing him,” he said.
“So?”
“So, that’s serious.”
“I’ll do it then,” she said. “You hold him.”
He pictured it.
“We need to think it through.”
SUDDENLY TRENCH came out the front door and trotted through the weather to the garage. Headlights came on and moved down the driveway.
Wilde fired up the engine but left the lights dark.
“I’m going to follow him. You go in and snoop around. Find out if he’s after Senn-Rae. After fifteen minutes, get out of there whether you’ve found anything or not.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it,” Wilde said. “Fifteen minutes tops. Promise me.”
�
�Wilde, I always do what you say.”
She hopped out and ducked into the shadows.
Wilde followed Trench who was already at the corner turning right.
IN THE CITY it was easy to hang behind and just be an anonymous car in a sea of cars. As they got farther south though the traffic thinned and Wilde’s headlights got more pronounced. If they went much farther it would be obvious what was going on.
What to do?
Maybe he should just ram the guy and force a confrontation.
No.
Hold on just a little longer.
Find out where he’s going.
TRAFFIC GOT ALMOST NON-EXISTENT.
Suddenly Trench pulled to the side of the road.
They were in the sticks.
The place was deserted.
If Wilde stopped, it would be obvious he was following.
It was already obvious though.
He slowed down and came to a halt fifty yards back.
Nothing happened for ten seconds.
Then a gun fired and his windshield exploded.
More shots came.
Bam!
Bam!
Bam!
He opened the door, dove to the asphalt and rolled into the shadows. The bullets continued to hit Blondie. Wilde got to the far side of the road and sprinted through the blackness towards the gun. All he could hope was to stay invisible for as long as it took.
He closed the gap in no time.
Trench never saw him coming.
In a heartbeat Wilde had the man on the ground, pounding his face with every ounce of strength he had.
“This is for Jennifer Pazour!”
130
Day Six
June 14, 1952
Saturday Night
VAMPIRE’S HOUSE WAS DARK. Not a light was on inside. Either she was sleeping, out, or laying a trap. Fallon and Jundee broke a window in the back and climbed in. Jundee grabbed the largest gourmet knife of several displayed in a wooden holder in the kitchen and headed upstairs with Fallon in tow.
Vampire was asleep.
Jundee flipped her over and put the knife to her throat.
“All we want are the documents,” he said. “Be smart and you’ll live.”
The woman stared at him.
Then she said, “Okay.”