by Trace Conger
A few more clicks and the screen showed the new angle of the main parking lot camera. The footage showed the dark SUV rolling to a stop, the driver poking out of the window to enter the code, the main gate opening, and then the vehicle pulling out of frame. If there was a larger truck beyond the gate, the camera hadn’t caught it.
“Can you back up so we can see the vehicle at the gate again?”
More mouse clicking and the SUV returned to the screen. Boyle froze it and I squinted to make out the license plate on the back of the trailer. It was too grainy to read all the digits, but it didn’t matter. I saw enough to know who was behind the wheel.
I pointed to the screen. “That was last Friday. Were you here that afternoon?”
“No. I would have remembered seeing that SUV go by so many times. Peter was here.”
“Does he work today?”
“No,” said Boyle. “He’s a part-timer. Only here on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays.”
“What about keys? Do you have keys to the units?”
“We have keys for all the unit doors. In case there’s an emergency.”
Boyle returned to his desk again. “Peter, the part timer. I’ve got his phone number if you want to contact him.”
“No, I’ve got everything I need.” Boyle looked disappointed, as if our now-concluded investigation might be the high point of his day. “But you might want to check in with your part-timer.”
“Why?”
“Because the man in that SUV didn’t have a key for my client’s unit. That means they got it from your employee. They either bribed him or put a gun to his head and took it. Either way, you might want to chat with him.” I headed toward the door. “Thanks again for your help.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Boyle, still putting the scenario together in his head.
On my way out the door I grabbed a Post-It pad and a pen from Boyle’s desk.
CONNOR AND JAMIE WAITED FOR me in the Outback.
“Any luck?” said Connor.
“I know where the money is.”
“You want to fill us in?” he said.
I scribbled a note and Holbrook’s phone number on the yellow pad I swiped from Boyle’s desk and handed it to Connor.
“If I’m not back in Indianapolis tonight, then you call this number and read this to whoever answers the phone.”
Connor looked it over. “Why don’t I just go with you?”
“I need you here. If what I do next falls through, I need you here to make that call.”
Connor grimaced and nodded his head. I knew he didn’t like the idea of staying behind, but he understood why he had to.
“Can I go home now?” said Jamie.
“I’ve got a deal for you,” I said climbing into the passenger seat.
“You can say no, and I’ll leave you alone, but hear me out. We had to jump through a lot of hoops to find your father, which eventually led us to you. Your father worked with a lot of bad people who aren’t happy that he’s out of the picture…“
“He’s dead,” interrupted Jamie.
“They don’t know that. From the looks of that ledger, they’ve got plenty of reasons to come looking for him, and they might find you. Just like we did.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“You ever hear the name Mason Holbrook?”
“No. Is he the person looking for my father? The person who hired you?”
“Yes. He’s bad news, and I’m working on a plan that will ensure he never comes looking for your father or you again, but I’m going to need your help. You help us, and we can make this go away.”
“What about the other people in that ledger? You can’t stop everyone.”
“I’m working on that too.”
Jamie thought for a moment. “That doesn’t do much to put me at ease. You found my father and then me. So could they.”
“Truth is we got lucky finding your father,” I said. “There’s only a few slivers of information tying him to the Banker, and it’s not a puzzle just anyone could put together.”
I didn’t know whether Jamie would ever be completely safe, but Connor and I could kick enough dirt over her footprints to make her hard to find. “Are you in or out?”
Jamie exhaled a deep breath. “What do you need me to do?”
I thought back to Jamie’s condo. “You said you knew how to sew, right?”
Forty One
MITCH AND ALBERT CLIMBED INTO the pickup and headed toward the junkyard. Ollie’s junkyard was five miles outside of Meddybemps. Mitch pulled to the side of the road about a quarter mile out.
“This’ll do,” said Albert. He stepped out of the pickup and grabbed the rifle from the truck bed. “Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be in place.”
“You sure you can move that quick?”
“I’ll manage.” Albert poked his head through the truck window. “I’ll line up with the front of his office, so you’ll have to figure out how to get him out there. Keep him in one spot, and no walking around. I’ll take the shot as soon as I can. We’re in and out.”
“I got it,” said Mitch. “You’re not going to cut his ears off are you?”
“I think those days are behind us.”
Albert tucked the rifle under his arm and disappeared into the woods adjacent to the highway.
“Hey,” yelled Mitch into the trees. “Don’t miss.”
“I don’t plan to.”
ALBERT STAYED CLOSE ENOUGH TO the road to follow it to Ollie’s junkyard, but far enough away to avoid any attention from the rig jockeys hauling lumber up to the North Mill. After navigating the branches and brambles for ten minutes, Albert came to the dilapidated slatted-fence perimeter of Ollie’s junkyard. He made his way to the entrance to find the chain and padlock hanging over the side of the front gate, a sign that Ollie was inside. He scanned the yard from the gate and found suitable cover about a hundred and fifty feet from the entrance to the office. Albert quickly maneuvered along the inside of the fenced perimeter until he settled behind a large pile of decaying automobile parts, tires, and hubcaps. The chassis of two unidentifiable vehicles intertwined with a tree that grew in defiance of the barren and rust-covered landscape.
Albert crouched behind the pile and slid the deer rifle between the spokes of a wheel and then repositioned himself on his knees so he had a direct line to the front door. The makeshift gun rest gave him enough movement to track any target standing in front of the building. Albert was scanning the junkyard for any movement when Mitch’s pickup coughed into the dirt pad that served as a parking lot.
Mitch stepped out of the pickup and untucked his shirt, letting it fall over the .45 that was tucked in his waistband. He approached the front door of Ollie’s office and slammed his fist into the wooden frame five times before jogging backwards ten feet from the door. He waited for Ollie to open it, but the door didn’t budge. Mitch looked over his shoulder and then approached the door a second time to repeat his routine. Still no Ollie.
“Ollie, it’s me,” said Mitch. “Come on out so we can talk.” Silence echoed back. Albert watched from the rusted pile as Mitch slipped his right hand behind his back and walked toward the side of the building. He poked his head around, keeping his body against the front wall. He stepped farther away from the office and surveyed the junkyard. No Ollie.
“Don’t let him lead you in,” said Albert to himself.
Mitch, as if sensing Albert’s order, returned to the front of the building and again approached the front door. Albert watched as Mitch knocked. He watched the door open. And he watched a pair of hands grab Mitch by his shirt and yank him inside the office.
Then he watched the door slam shut.
“Shit,” said Albert. He took a deep breath and slid the rifle’s barrel from the wheel, careful not to rattle anything in the process. He slowly stepped away from the pile and then jogged, rifle in hand, toward the side of the office. He slid along the wall until he was next to the side window, and then st
anding as tall as he could, he peered inside. Ollie stood along the far wall behind a metal desk that looked like it came from the back room of an old post office. One of Ollie’s boys drove a pointed finger into Mitch’s chest nudging him backward as he spoke. Albert ducked under the window, moved to the rear of the building, and found a back door. He gripped the rifle with his right hand, wrapped his left around the door knob, and slowly turned. Locked. He placed his ear next to the door and listened.
“I don’t know anything about the money,” said Mitch. “I came here to make things right.”
Albert exhaled, loosened his grip on the rifle, and rounded the corner heading to the front of the office. He made it to the front door, gripped the rifle again and reached for the knob.
The blow hit Albert from behind, knocking him into the door hard enough to drive it open. The next thing Albert saw were two men looking down at him. Then he blacked out.
Forty Two
CONNOR AND I SWAPPED THE Outback for his Escalade and watched as Jamie walked up the wrought-iron steps and into her condo.
“You really think she’s up for this?” said Connor.
“We’re going to do the heavy lifting, but I’m working on a plan, and it involves her.”
“Care to let me in on it, little brother?”
I tapped the side of my head. “It’s still percolating up here. I’ll let you know when it’s ready. Course, it all depends on getting Holbrook’s cash.” I paused. “Speaking of that, it’s time we found you a hotel.”
CONNOR PULLED INTO AN EMBASSY Suites parking lot on the east side of Indianapolis and handed me the keys to his SUV.
“Be careful,” he said.
“Always am.” As I rolled away, I glanced at Connor in the rearview mirror. He waved with his right hand and clutched the note I’d given him in his left.
I PICKED UP I-69 NORTH, and four and a half hours later I pulled into DTC Woodworking’s parking lot. The shop’s box truck sat in the same place it had been when I visited Dunbar two weeks ago. The dark gray Jeep Grand Cherokee sat in a different spot. I grabbed my leather messenger bag and walked through the front entrance.
Davy Bill stood behind the counter, the three fingers on his right hand holding up a folded magazine. When he saw me, he placed the magazine to the side and leaned forward against the counter, probably reaching for something that could turn me into a Detroit crime statistic. I’m not sure where Dunbar came from, but I felt his solid presence before I heard his voice.
“You reconsider that Shaker nightstand?” he said. “Or that blanket chest?”
“I’m here for Holbrook’s money.”
“I got nothin’ to do with that.”
“Bullshit. I reviewed the security footage at the storage yard. Saw Davy Bill and his Jeep. And the Michigan plates. Pretty easy to connect those dots.” I turned toward Davy Bill who shrugged, his palms up to the ceiling. “Holbrook hired me to find the money his banker stole from him. Took me awhile to find it.” I looked past Dunbar to the two large metal doors. “I assume it’s here.”
“It’s here, but you ain’t getting it,” said Dunbar.
Davy Bill placed his left elbow on top of the counter. “Of course, you’re welcome to try and take it,” he said.
I’d been in trouble with Dunbar before, and while he usually had the upper hand, he had a weakness that was easy to exploit. He was intelligent. He was a businessman first, and a take-you-out-into-the-street-and-smash-your-skull-in thug second. Reasoning with him had saved my ass before, and it would save it again today.
“I don’t need to take it” I said. “You’re going to give it to me.”
“And why’s that?” said Dunbar cracking a smile.
“Because your operation is small, and I’m guessing you’ve got bigger aspirations than Detroit.”
Dunbar didn’t say anything.
“How much is Holbrook’s operation worth to you?” I said. “I’d wager a lot more than $5 million. Consider it an investment in your future.”
“What the fuck you talking about?” said Dunbar
“Mason Holbrook will be out of business in a few days,” I said. “And then someone’ll step up and take over his territory, maybe even his entire operation. If you want to be that person, then you’re going to give me Holbrook’s $5 million dollars. You can keep whatever else you got from the Banker, but I need Holbrook’s cut.”
“What if I’m not interested in being the next Holbrook? Maybe I just keep the cash and invest in my own operation.”
I glanced over at Davy Bill who still had his right arm under the counter. “Then I drive back to Indianapolis and tell Holbrook I found his money, and I point him toward your address. And then it’s between you and him. And I think you’d rather keep it between you and me.”
“Maybe we just kill you right now and stuff your body in a sawdust bin,” said Davy Bill. “Problem solved.”
Dunbar looked at me as if eager for my response.
“That would be a bad idea,” I said. “I’ve made arrangements. If I’m not back in Indianapolis tonight one of my associates calls Holbrook and tells him you’ve got his money. And you’re still in the deepest part of the shit.”
“He’s fucking with us,” said Davy Bill.
“You can’t risk that,” I said.
Dunbar glanced at Davy Bill and then back at me.
“All right, let’s back up to the part about Holbrook’s retirement party,” said Dunbar.
He was on the hook. Time to yank. “Holbrook isn’t going to be around much longer,” I said. “He’s punching out and when he does, his entire operation will be up for grabs. I don’t care who takes it over.”
“Thought he just hired you to find his money. Why all this talk about pushing him out of business?”
I shifted the messenger bag on my shoulder. “I’m pretty certain that once Holbrook gets his money, he’s going to put a bullet in the back of my head. He’s got no reason to let me live. After everything he told me about his operation and the Banker, I’m a loose end. And Adler, his right-hand man, doesn’t like me very much.” Dunbar’s eyes told me he wasn’t convinced. “And he fucked with my family, and that don’t sit well with me.”
“You’re going to war with Holbrook over that?”
“You’re Goddamn right I am.”
Dunbar stared at the leather bag on my shoulder. “So how are you going to do it?”
“I’m still working on the plan, but it includes getting that $5 million.”
“If you’re just going to kill him anyway, why return his money?” said Davy Bill.
“He’s expecting me to find it. It’s the only way I can get close enough to him.”
I checked my watch. “Your time is ticking away. I need an answer.”
Dunbar thought for a moment. He ground his teeth and the muscles in his neck bulged. “I’m going to need more than two days to get something together,” he said. “This type of transition takes time. I need to line up a few things. Learn who he has working for him.”
“Look, I don’t know how these things work,” I said. “Maybe you drive to his farm, piss on Holbrook’s corpse, stick a flag in his ass, and claim Indianapolis as your own. I don’t know and I don’t care, but I’m on the clock and I’ve got to move quickly.” I thought about Daryl in the back of Adler’s minivan. “This is happening Wednesday morning, with or without you. You’ve got two days.” I reached into my messenger bag and handed Dunbar the Banker’s ledger. “This names some of the people in Holbrook’s network. You might get more info on his business.”
Dunbar slowly riffled through the pages “This’ll help.” He smiled. “So what’s next?”
“You give me his money, I head back to Indianapolis, and make my plan. I’ll call you when I’m ready, but you need to be ready to move when that phone rings.”
Dunbar nodded to Davy Bill who left the counter and walked through the double swinging doors. He returned a few
minutes later wheeling two large gray suitcases behind him. Dunbar scribbled something on the back of a business card and handed it to me.
“My number,” he said. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” I said pocketing the business card and grabbing the suitcase handles.
I was on my way out of the building when I turned around.
“How’d you find it?” I said.
“What?”
“The Banker’s vault? How’d you find the money?”
“When you’ve been in this business as long as I have you hear things,” said Dunbar. “Let’s just say that I know people who know people.”
“There was one thing I couldn't figure out. Holbrook said the Banker used a courier to pick up the cash. That he didn’t do it himself. I never found the link to him. It was as if he never existed.”
“Like I said, you hear things,” said Dunbar.
I nodded, and then turned and walked out the door. The suitcases thumped over jagged asphalt as I wheeled them across the parking lot and then lifted them into the back of the Escalade. They weighed about 50 pounds each. I unzipped the first suitcase and checked inside. It contained 25 five-inch bricks of one-hundred-dollar bills. Each brick was wrapped in yellow and white bands marked as $100,000 per stack. I flipped through two random stacks to confirm they were real bills and everything looked legit. I opened the second suitcase to find a similar layout. Five million in cash. I’d never seen so much money in my life and doubted I’d ever see it again. I zipped up both cases, climbed into the driver’s seat, and headed back south, the entire time trying to figure out a way to end this thing.
Half way back to Indianapolis, I figured it out.
Forty Three
WHEN ALBERT CAME TO, PETER, Ollie’s son, was carrying him into Mitch’s home on Lombard Lane. Peter dropped him on the sofa next to Mitch and then drove a heavy right hand into Albert’s ribs, sending him over the couch’s arm and onto the hardwood floor. Then Peter threw a left into Mitch’s jaw, knocking him over the back of the sofa. Peter grabbed Albert’s shirt, lifted him into the air and then dropped him back onto the cushion. “Stay there,” he said.