Shadow Spy (A Bryson Wilde Thriller / Read in Any Order)

by R. J. Jagger

131

  Day Six

  June 14, 1952

  Saturday Night

  WILDE’S FISTS POUNDED into Trench’s face over and over and over. He was killing the man but couldn’t stop. “You’re the pinup killer!”

  “No I’m not”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Bullshit I said!”

  “I can prove it,” Trench said.

  Wilde stopped his fist in mid-swing.

  “I killed Jennifer Pazour,” Trench said. “I’ll admit that. I didn’t kill anyone else though.”

  Wilde punched him again.

  “You’re lying!”

  “I have a woman captive,” he said. “If you kill me she’ll rot to death. Her blood will be on your hands.”

  Wilde punched him again.

  “You’re lying.”

  “No I’m not,” Trench said. “She’s an Indian girl.”

  The words jerked Wilde’s rage to a stop.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Her name’s Visible Moon. She’s real, I swear to you.”

  Wilde grabbed the man’s shirt with two fists and pulled him to his feet.

  “Take me to her, now.”

  THEY GOT IN TRENCH’S CAR with Wilde behind the wheel.

  “Go straight,” Trench said.

  They rode in silence.

  “Here’s the deal,” Trench said. “I’ll take you to her but you have to let me go. Nor can you ever tell the police about what I did to Jennifer Pazour.”

  Wilde leaned over and punched the man’s face.

  “That’s your deal.”

  “You’ll never find her,” Trench said. “If I don’t tell you where she is you’ll never find her. I guarantee you that.”

  Wilde’s instinct was to break his fucking nose a hundred different ways.

  He didn’t though.

  He held his fist in check.

  “LOOK,” Trench said. “I was drunk one night and ran into a woman who was changing a tire. It wasn’t entirely my fault. She didn’t have the car lights on and she was partly in the road. But I hit her nonetheless, plus I sideswiped her car. I was driving a friend’s car at the time, a female friend’s. She was with me that night.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Just hear me out,” Trench said. “We ditched the car, walked a half-mile and got lucky enough to spot a cab. We flagged it down. We told the driver—who was Jennifer Pazour, in hindsight—to take us to a bar on the west side of town. We drank there for a couple of hours. Then we came out and pretended like the car had been stolen out of the parking lot. We called the police and they made a report. They found the car three days later and eventually tied it to the accident where the woman got run over. They never challenged our story though that the car had been stolen. We were off the hook.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Right, good for us,” Trench said, “but not for long. The cab driver figured things out and hired a detective to find out who we were. Then the blackmail started. We paid her twice, hefty sums, but it was clear she’d never stop. We had no choice except to kill her.”

  “That’s a coward talking.”

  “Be it as it may, that’s what we decided to do,” he said. “I decided it, actually. The woman I was with on the night in question wasn’t involved. She didn’t have the deep pockets, I did.”

  He put a finger to his face.

  “You broke my nose.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Right, fuck me,” Trench said. “Anyway, being a lawyer I have lots of lawyer friends. One of them is a man named Stuart Black. Over lunch one day, Stuart told me about a man who referred to himself by the name Shadow, who kept calling Stuart up and telling him about these pinup murders he was committing. I decided to duplicate that MO when I killed Jennifer Pazour. That way the blame would fall on someone else.”

  “Clever.”

  “We can go to a phone and call Stuart right now,” Trench said. “He’ll verify that my voice isn’t the voice of the Shadow. He’ll also verify that he told me about Shadow over lunch.”

  “So who’s Shadow?”

  “I don’t know,” Trench said. “Stuart doesn’t know. No one knows. I’m telling you what I’m telling you so you’ll understand that I’m not the pinup killer. I killed Jennifer Pazour but I’m not Shadow. I’ll tell you more, the part about Visible Moon, but only if we strike a deal.”

  “There are no deals.”

  “Then there’s no Visible Moon.”

  132

  Day Six

  June 14, 1952

  Saturday Night

  WILDE WAS STUCK and he knew it. Sure, there was a chance he could find Visible Moon on his own; she’d be somewhere remote, like the shed. He could check every remote place he could find in this part of the universe. But there was a risk he’d never find her. That wasn’t a risk that sat good in his throat.

  Over the next five minutes driving through the relentless storm, he hammered out a deal with Trench.

  Trench, for his part, would tell Wilde where Visible Moon was. He would also tell him why she was there.

  Wilde, for his part, would let Trench go. Also, he’d never tell the cops or anyone else anything about the tire-changing accident, the murder of Jennifer Pazour or Trench’s involvement with Visible Moon.

  “Visible Moon has seen my face, many times,” Trench said. “She’ll talk to the police. That’s fine. I’ll be on the run and I deserve it. But I don’t want you telling the police some of the other things I’m going to tell you, things that Visible Moon doesn’t know.”

  They shook.

  They had a deal.

  There was one additional agreement though. They would leave each other alone for a week. After that week was over, Wilde was free to hunt Trench down and kill him if he chose to, and Trench was likewise free to hunt Wilde down and kill him if he chose to.

  Wilde, for his part, didn’t know if he’d ever act on that option. It was worth having it though even if that meant giving Trench the same thing.

  “Okay, talk,” Wilde said.

  “I WAS WITH THE CIA for a number of years,” Trench said. “A couple of the higher-ups slowly brought me into their confidence. One was a man named Kent Harvin. Another was a woman named Penelope Tap. They were selling confidential information to the Russians. They recognized me as a money-oriented man and brought me into the fold.”

  “They were moles?”

  “Moles, double-spies, whatever you want to call them,” Trench said. “They sold secrets to the enemy. I was one too by the end, the number three man. I made a lot of money. I don’t regret it. There came a point five years ago where I didn’t trust my luck to run forever. I got out, moved to Denver and started a law practice. On the side, though, I still do an occasional project for my two friends.”

  “Okay.”

  “One of the biggest things going right now is the nuclear arms race,” Trench said. “We’re ahead, Russia’s behind. We’ve been developing an H-bomb for some time now. The project is spearheaded in Las Alamos, New Mexico. One of the foremost scientists is a man named Richard Zephyr. He was a pretty straightforward man but had a little quirk. There was an Indian bar that he stumbled on one day while driving. The bartender was a woman named Visible Moon. Zephyr developed a little thing for her, and to his credit, got a similar reaction from her. They began seeing each other more and more frequently. Are you following me?”

  “I’m following you.”

  “Good,” Trench said. “The information on the H-bomb was worth a fortune but the CIA didn’t have access to it. Kent Harvin and Penelope Tap came up with a plan. The plan was to kidnap Visible Moon and then give Zephyr an ultimatum, either turn over the plans for the H-bomb or kiss his little Indian friend goodbye. My part in the plan was to be the one who kidnapped Visible Moon. I went down there, waited outside in the shadows for the last drunk to leave the bar where the woman worked, then kidnapped her and brought her up here to Denver
. The scientist, Zephyr, actually chose his girlfriend over everything else. He was in the process of driving to Denver to deliver the documents. Unfortunately, he ended up missing a turn and driving over a cliff. The documents disappeared.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Right, that’s one word for it,” Trench said. “This is where it gets strange. Unknown to anyone, a CIA agent named Shade de Laurent turned out to be a half-sister of Visible Moon. She started a search, first down at the reservation then getting a lead that brought her to Denver. My two contacts—Kent Harvin and Penelope Tap—didn’t want her on the case. She was too good. Kent Harvin, believe it or not, was actually her immediate supervisor. He knew what she was capable of.”

  “Small world.”

  “Small world indeed,” Trench said. “Anyway, they set her up to look like she was a mole. They broke into her apartment and planted evidence that made it look like she was selling confidential information to Russia through her contacts in Cuba.”

  “So she’s not a double-agent?”

  “No,” Trench said. “With the so-called evidence in place, Penelope Tap through her underlings hired a freelance woman named London to bring Shade in dead or alive. Somehow Shade converted her. The next move was to hire a local named Jack Mack to kill the both of them. That failed. Another person was hired to file a police report saying that he was in the vicinity the night Jack Mack got murdered. He gave the police composite sketches of Shade and London. All the while, another hitman was sent and is probably in town even as we speak.” He exhaled and said, “We’re almost there.”

  Wilde slowed down.

  “Here.”

  Wilde pulled to the side and stopped.

  “Down that way a half mile,” Trench said, pointing to something that might have once been a dirt road. “That’s where you’ll find Visible Moon. I can already tell you it’s not drivable.”

  Wilde pulled the keys out of the ignition.

  “You’re coming with me,” he said.

  “No I’m not,” Trench said. “Give her a kiss for me.”

  Then he was gone.

  WILDE GOT OUT with no intention of chasing the man.

  The storm pelted his face.

  He dipped his hat lower and braced it with his hand against the wind.

  “Hey, Wilde.”

  The words came from behind him.

  He turned.

  Trench walked over.

  “One more thing for your information,” he said. “After Zephyr died, Visible Moon had outlived her usefulness. My two friends at the CIA wanted me to kill her. That wasn’t my thing though. I told them I’d keep her off the streets until they sent someone else to do the job. That person is scheduled to arrive in town tomorrow. So your timing’s good.”

  WILDE HEADED DOWN THE ROAD.

  Then he turned and said, “Trench, come back here a second. I have one more question for you. You hired Senn-Rae, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t get why you did that.”

  “Because I wanted her to find the pinup killer.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The pinup killer had just struck,” Trench said. “He killed a woman and left her on top of a boxcar. Stuart Black got his customary call about it and I learned about it from him. I went out there, saw the body and knew exactly where the guy had been. I told Senn-Rae that I had accidentally killed a woman during a bondage scene and buried her in a place that wasn’t too far from the boxcar. I told her that the body had been dug up and I had been blackmailed by someone. All that was a lie. I never killed anyone, I never buried anyone and I never got blackmailed by anyone.”

  “So why’d you tell her that?”

  “Because I knew she’d sniff around the area for who might have seen me burying the body,” Trench said. “I knew she’d eventually make her way over to the boxcar. I knew she’d figure that whoever killed the woman there was the same person who was blackmailing me. I was hoping that she’d be able to track the guy down.”

  “Why?”

  “I took some of Jennifer Pazour’s personal things from her house,” Trench said. “Once Senn-Rae found out who the pinup killer was, I was going to plant those things in that guy’s house. At that point he’d be connected to physical evidence. I’d be a hundred percent off the hook.”

  “You put her at risk,” Wilde said. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “Does that mean I’ll see you in a week?”

  “You might.”

  “I’ll be watching for you.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  133

  Day Six

  June 14, 1952

  Saturday Night

  FROM VAMPIRE’S MANSION, they went straight to Jundee’s house, bandaged up their cuts, changed into non-bloody clothes, picked up the other briefcase and drove to a dilapidated industrial park east of the South Platte River. There they broke into an abandon building, collected a pile of wood, cardboard and combustibles, and set the two briefcases on top.

  “You want the honors?” Jundee asked.

  “Sure, why not?”

  He handed her a book of matches.

  She tore a stick off, struck it and held it under the edge of a box.

  It took the flame nicely.

  Within minutes the fire was five or six feet high.

  They watched it from as close as the heat would let them.

  “No H-bomb for you, Russians,” Fallon said.

  “Maybe next time.”

  She laughed.

  “Right, maybe next time.”

  She stuck the matchbook in her purse and said, “I’m going to keep these forever. A souvenir.”

  134

  Day Six

  June 14, 1952

  Saturday Night

  THE PATH WAS MUDDY and filled with potholes but it was also choked with weeds which kept Wilde from sinking in. The enemy wasn’t the mud so much as the darkness, which was absolute. It was all he could do to figure out where the road went. It would be easy to get off course and veer into the wild.

  A half-mile up, that’s where Visible Moon was, assuming Trench was telling the truth.

  Wilde didn’t even know what he was looking for.

  He didn’t know if it was a structure, a 55-gallon drum or what.

  Something unexpected happened behind him.

  The vehicle started up, the headlights turned on and then disappeared down the road.

  Wilde felt in his pocket.

  The keys were there where he put them.

  Trench must have had a spare key under a mat or up in the visor.

  A terrible thought jammed into Wilde’s throat—he’d been set up. Trench outsmarted him. He dumped him out here in the middle of nowhere and tricked him into walking off into mud.

  He kept walking, hunched against the storm.

  Every square inch of his body was soaked. He couldn’t be more wet if he’d fallen off a bridge into Clear Creek.

  It was hard to judge how far he’d gone.

  He couldn’t see his watch.

  His pace wasn’t steady.

  He had no point of reference.

  He kept going.

  That was his only option, to keep going.

  If there was even a remote chance Visible Moon was out here, he’d walk all night.

  TEN MINUTES PASSED, then ten more, then ten more.

  He must have gone at least a half-mile by now, maybe even a mile.

  He stopped.

  What to do?

  Keep going?

  Head back?

  His legs were numb.

  His body was loosing temperature. The rain was too cold to keep fighting.

  Damn it.

  Damn it to hell.

  HE KEPT GOING.

  Then something strange happened.

  He bumped his head on something metal.

  What the hell?

  “Visible Moon!”

  No one answered.

  He called ag
ain—“Visible Moon! I’m a friend. I’m here to help you.”

  Silence.

  He felt the structure and found it to be smooth and round. As he edged down it started to take a shape. It was the fuselage of an old plane. He worked his way to the end and felt a jagged edge, no doubt where the body broke. He stepped inside.

  “No!”

  The word came from a woman at the other end.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Wilde said. “I’m a friend of Shade’s. I’m here to take you home.”

  “You’re tricking me.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  He inched towards the voice, slowly, moving his hands back and forth in front, not knowing what jagged edges were waiting in the dark to grab his face.

  He got to the woman.

  She was curled up in a ball at the farthest end.

  She smelled like urine.

  Wilde got down next to her.

  She recoiled.

  “I’m a friend,” he said.

  Then he got her in his arms and held her.

  HER ANKLE was secured in a metal cuff. A chain ran from that to the framework of a seat where it was attached with a solid padlock.

  “Do you know where the keys are?”

  “The man takes them with him.”

  “Do you have a flashlight?”

  No.

  She didn’t.

  Wilde pulled a matchbook out of his pocket and tried to light it. It was too soaked. He did the same with all the others. None of them worked.

  He settled down next to the woman and rocked her.

  She laid her head on his chest.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll wait until morning. Then I’ll get you out of here.”

  135

  Day Seven

  June 15, 1952

  Sunday Evening

  SHADE WOKE UP in a hospital bed. Her brain was foggy, her vision was blurred and her tongue was dry. A face appeared in front of her. It was Visible Moon’s face.

  “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

  It was her.

  It was actually her.

  Visible Moon kissed her on the forehead.