Bodyguard of Lies

by Bob Mayer

  "Fuck!" Racine came to a halt. Neeley wouldn't call the cops! She'd tricked him. Just as she'd tricked him to shoot at the window. Racine half-turned back toward the house, and then realized it was too late for that.

  He smiled, his teeth giving him a ferocious appearance in the dark. It didn't matter. He knew exactly how to meet up with Hannah and Gant's ghost. Racine began sprinting, heading back the way he had come.

  CHAPTER 12

  Hannah glanced at the woman behind the wheel. Neither of them had said a word since they had switched to Neeley's pick-up and made the on ramp for Interstate 70. They were going toward Kansas City and Neeley, if she had a plan, wasn't sharing it.

  Hannah was surprised at her own calmness. She had no idea what was going on or who this seemingly dangerous woman was other than her name, yet she felt a detachment that seemed to insulate her from even curiosity. The thought of John dead didn't affect her as much as she had thought it would. The last week had angered her beyond her imaginings. Now it was as if the events of the past hour had shifted her into the eye of the hurricane, taking her out of the turmoil she was in. She didn’t know what was coming, but she was sure it would also be bad. Most importantly though, was the realization that had seeped into her as John told his story that his leaving had had nothing at all to do with her. She felt as if the last ten years of her life had been wiped clean.

  She watched the endless businesses, strip malls and larger shopping centers that constituted northern St. Louis zip by her window. She thought of the stores she had frequented and was reminded of the meager supplies in her current possession. She had her purse with its few cosmetics and useless credit cards, the tote bag with the stuff she had crammed in it in the dark, and was wearing sweats that Neeley had grabbed for her with a nylon windbreaker, socks and sneakers. That was it.

  Hannah felt certain she wouldn't be going home any time soon, or even ever. In the space of less than two weeks, she had effectively lost her husband and the whole of her possessions. A couple of hours ago she had almost lost her life.

  Hannah pushed memories of the shooting from her mind. Neeley seemed intent on her own thoughts and just driving the truck. Hannah could appreciate the distance they were putting between them and whoever had made Swiss Cheese of her den. When Neeley spoke, the suddenness of it caused Hannah to jump.

  "Aren't you going to say something?"

  "No."

  Neeley turned to the woman huddled in the passenger seat. "Are you in shock or something? Aren't you interested in what's going on?"

  "I don't want to talk right now, OK?" Hannah said.

  "This isn't going away, Hannah. You can't draw into yourself and pretend you're on a Sunday afternoon outing."

  "Where are we going?" Hannah finally asked.

  "Right now I'm just trying to get out of town."

  “And then? What are we supposed to do once we get out of town?"

  "I figure first we just get away from the guy trying to kill us. I agree, we'll have to figure something out though, because he'll find us soon enough."

  "What? How can he find us? And who is he any way? What is going on? Who exactly are you?"

  "He found your house." Neeley recited the facts in logical order. "He freq’d in on the bugs that I placed in your house. He--"

  "Bugs in my house?” Hannah cut in. “That you placed?"

  "I needed to find John," Neeley said.

  "You bugged my house? You listened to me?"

  "I was doing a job," Neeley said.

  Hannah turned away and silence again reigned inside the truck.

  Neeley glanced in the rear view mirror. As far as she could tell they had not been followed. She had not liked going back to her pick up truck, given that the shooter had probably come from the same direction, but there was too much irreplaceable gear in the truck-bed under the camper shell. She couldn't leave it sitting there, waiting for the cops to find it. Her fingerprints were all over the truck and when John's body was found it wouldn't take the cops long to put something together.

  She realized she had not done well. The fact that the shooter, whoever it was, had not done particularly well either, taking John out first instead of the person with the gun, did little to console her.

  “Whoever it was heard what we were saying?” Hannah asked.

  Neeley nodded, trying to figure out a plan.

  “Why was John shot first?” Hannah asked. “You had the gun.”

  Neeley was surprised that this housewife was asking the same thing that had just occurred to her. “He screwed up.”

  “Whoever it was is a professional, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then he didn’t screw up, did he?”

  Neeley frowned, but Hannah continued.

  “He shot John to shut him up.”

  Neeley realized Hannah was right. She replayed the scene, trying to focus on what John had been talking about just before getting killed. Hannah’s observations disturbed her, even though they were pretty much the same as her own. Neeley pointed to the generic restaurant at the next exit. "We'll stop for some coffee. We can talk there."

  They rolled into the lot and Neeley parked the truck. They walked in and took a booth where Neeley could watch outside.

  ***************

  Four miles back, Racine had a small metal suitcase open on the passenger seat. A power cord ran from it to the cigarette lighter. He watched the dot that represented Neeley’s truck come to a halt. He smiled at the thought that the bitch's training would be her downfall. He'd known exactly where to find her ride and the Vermont plates had just been icing. She had by-the-book-Gant stamped all over her. Gant and his fucking rules. There were problems with rules and if the dip-shit have ever condescended enough to treat Racine like an equal, he would have been glad to explain some of them to Gant. Number one was if someone knew your rules, they could predict your actions and be one step ahead.

  Racine saw the first sign for the exit the women had taken come up. The bitch had outsmarted him at the house. Time to push things, Racine decided as he flipped open a small black book. He thumbed through until he got to the page he wanted. Then he opened his cellular phone with his free hand. With difficulty, he punched in a phone number.

  He grimaced when the other end was picked up, but he knew one had to make due with what was available. He didn't have much time to plan anything elaborate but all he needed was a few minutes of quiet time to kill Neeley and get the blond into the trunk. He knew Nero was adamant about not killing her and he couldn't afford another mistake. At least not yet, as far as Nero was concerned.

  ***************

  Hannah glanced at the other patrons in the restaurant and decided it was a place where no one would find her oddly dressed. Neeley was fussing with the coffee they had been brought by the middle-aged waitress. For the first time Hannah could clearly see the other woman's face and decided she was lovely. The dark hair and eyes highlighted the pale skin that seemed to glow with an athletic health and vigor. Hannah knew this was a dangerous, hard woman, but she had to admit she was also a pretty one.

  Neeley reached over and clasped Hannah's free hand. It was not a gesture of comfort but rather one of restraint. Her voice had a steady quality that was more frightening than the information it conveyed.

  "Listen closely, Hannah. If you want to survive this, you'll listen to me and do what I say. I don't know what kind of dream world you've been living in, but it's time to check in to reality. In the real world your life is worth spit about now. I'm not the bad guy, OK?"

  Hannah stared at her. "You walk in with John all tied up and waving a gun and you're not the bad guy?"

  Neeley shook her head. "No, no, that's not how it is. You see, your husband screwed you over. He not only took everything when he split, he left you hanging in the wind knowing that someone like me or the man who shot up your house would show up."

  "John wasn't a bad man for God sakes. He was a little egotistical and overly involved with ma
terial possessions but that hardly damns him." The words sounded hollow to Hannah even as she said them. Just this evening she’d been damning John at the top of her lungs to the empty rooms of her house.

  "Hannah, your husband just told you he was involved in something a long time ago that killed him earlier this morning. But he never told you a word about it, did he?"

  "You're lying. John was making that up."

  "There's the briefcase in my truck with something in it that John has had all these years that says I'm not lying and that he wasn’t making it up." Neeley squeezed tight on Hannah’s wrist. “You were angry about John leaving you, but understand he betrayed you when he met you by not telling you the truth about his past. Use that anger, work with it, because you need something to get you through this.”

  The waitress appeared with the coffee pot.

  Neeley let go of Hannah and pushed her hair from her face with impatience. Neeley waited until the waitress refilled their cups and was gone before continuing. "What we need is a plan, because everyone else is going to have one."

  "Who is everyone else and just what's going on? For starters, who exactly are you?"

  "First let's get you up to now," Neeley said. "You now know your husband was involved in something that forced his termination. The man that I spent the last ten years with was also involved and he sent me to John."

  “This Gant fellow?” Hannah asked.

  Neeley nodded.

  "Where is Gant now?"

  "He's dead."

  "People seem to die around you a lot," Hannah said.

  "Not just everyone around me. I'm dead too in a manner of speaking."

  “Great. What did John mean?” Hannah pressed. “About Nero coming for me? Why would he come for me?”

  Before Hannah could say anything else, Neeley interrupted. She had been looking past Hannah and now she shook her head. "See those two men who just pulled in to the parking lot?" Neeley inclined her head toward the glass.

  Hannah could see two young men in dirty jeans and brown leather jackets climbing off large motorcycles. Both had beards and were not the type you wanted to run into in a dark alley or anywhere else for that matter. They were looking about. "Yes?"

  "They're here for us," Neeley said.

  "How do you know?"

  Neeley smiled coldly. "Woman's intuition."

  The two men sauntered to the door of the restaurant and walked in. One was tall, with long flowing dirty blond hair. The other's skull was shaved. The tall one looked about, then his eyes settled on the booth Neeley and Hannah were in.

  "Just stay calm," Neeley said. "Let me handle this."

  The men walked over, then slid onto the seats, pinning the women against the window. Tall blond was next to Neeley and the shaved head was next to Hannah.

  "Can I help you?" Neeley said. She glanced out into the parking lot. There was a car parked, facing their window. The glass was dark but she could tell the engine was running by the exhaust coming out the tailpipe. It had pulled in right after the two motorcycles. She couldn't see the driver, just the form of someone sitting there, waiting.

  "I like my woman big," Blondie said. "You like your men big?" He grabbed Neeley's left hand and pushed it into his crotch.

  Neeley turned her attention back to the booth. Hannah was scrunched up as far as she could against the glass. The man next to her had his hands under the table. Hannah gasped and jerked further away as the man did something.

  Neeley curled the fingers of her left hand and squeezed. "Not big enough, buddy boy."

  Blondie gasped as he doubled over. "Ah shit!"

  Neeley's Glock was out and pointing straight at Baldie. "You'd better have your hands on the table right now," Neeley said.

  Blondie swung with his right arm and Neeley ducked the blow. She twisted her left hand and he screamed as his balls did a 180. The muzzle of the pistol hadn't wavered from between Baldie's eyes. "Put your hands on the table," Neeley ordered again.

  Baldie did what he was told, a strange-looking knife with a notched point in his right hand. There was blood on the tip. Neeley rapped the muzzle of the gun against the side of Blondie's head and it thumped down on the table top.

  Neeley could see the waitress on the phone. The cops would be here in a couple of minutes. She brought the gun back to bear on Baldie. "Who hired you?"

  "Some guy."

  "Bad description," she said, slamming the barrel down on top of his right hand. He screamed as bones broke. She looked at the parking lot. The car was pulling out.

  "That him?"

  Baldie was holding his wounded hand. "Yeah, some guy. That’s all I know. He had a lot of cash. Crazy dude with crazy eyes. You broke my hand you bitch!"

  "Get out of the seat," Neeley said as she pivoted and used both her legs to push Blondie onto the floor. Baldie did as he was told.

  "Let's go," Neeley said to Hannah who had remained frozen throughout the entire proceeding.

  Hannah stirred. "I'm bleeding," she said, looking down at her left leg where blood was dripping down from a cut in her thigh, just above the knee.

  Neeley tossed some napkins. "Use those." She stood. "On your face," Neeley ordered Baldie. He did as he was told and Neeley grabbed Hannah's arm, dragging her out of the restaurant.

  They hustled to the truck and Neeley quickly drove out of the restaurant and onto the Interstate, heading back toward St. Louis.

  Hannah finally spoke as they merged into traffic. "Who were they?"

  "Some shitheads the man who shot up the house hired."

  "Why?"

  Neeley just stared. "Why do you think? To grab us, drag us some place quiet, and blow our brains out. Evidently he doesn't want a public spectacle that he’s involved in."

  Hannah was holding the now red-soaked napkin to her thigh. "What about the gun battle at my house? That was pretty public."

  Neeley shook her head and pointed behind them. "Not like that. And I think you were right—John talking forced the play at the house. Unless the Cellar called in a disposal unit and cleaned up your house, we're going to be fugitives soon. I can't go to the police but you still could. I don't know how much they'd believe and I can't guarantee someone from the Cellar won't show up with the proper papers and identification to take you away and nobody would ever see you again. We’ve stepped into some deep shit here, Hannah."

  Hannah was starting to shake her head. So much for the eye of the storm. "I don't know who you are but don't leave me, OK? Let's just get out of here. There's got to be some place we can hide. Right now I feel like a bullet's going to punch me right between the eyes any second."

  Neeley was trying to think. She hadn't thought they had been followed after picking up the truck, but obviously they had.

  "That guy was a creep," Hannah said. "He was grabbing my leg. He jabbed me with his knife."

  Neeley glanced over. There was definitely blood seeping through the napkins that Hannah was pressing against her skin. The wound was deeper than she had initially thought. Hannah was now wrapping a kerchief around the wound.

  “Is it bad?" Neeley asked.

  “Not too bad," Hannah replied as she tied off the cloth.

  “We have to get rid of this truck," Neeley said. "There's got to be a bug in it somewhere and if we don't get rid of it, neither of us will live."

  She saw what she was looking for. She slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel, turning onto the crossover. Tires squealing, she quickly drove up onto the westbound lanes.

  Hannah made no comment on the move. Indeed, she didn’t react at all, other than to grip the door handle to keep steady during the turn. Her stillness was a bit disconcerting to Neeley, who, although she preferred it over panic, wasn’t sure what to make of the other woman. Neeley checked the mirror. No other car imitated the maneuver, but that wasn't much consolation.

  CHAPTER 13

  “John Masterson is dead," Nero's metallic voicebox grated the words out.

  "Do you have his package?" S
enator Collins asked. He hadn’t bothered to sit down since entering the room a minute ago. One of the lights over Nero’s head was out; making it look like a pair of headlights was over the old man. Collins wondered if the effect was deliberate or simply that no one had mentioned to the old man that the light bulb had burnt out.

  "No."

  "Damn it!" Collins exclaimed.

  "His package isn't as important as Gant's," Nero said.

  “What about the woman?” Collins asked.

  “Masterson’s wife?” Nero was puzzled for the moment.

  “No. Gant’s girlfriend. I assume she has his package.”

  “Ah, Neeley,” Nero said. “She made it to John Masterson before we could.”

  Collins grimaced. “Then she has Masterson’s papers now. She has to.”

  Nero shrugged. “And she probably either has Gant’s tape or knows where it is. When Gant was alive they had them also. I still believe nothing has changed and by acting we are forcing a dangerous situation.”

  "Do you realize the repercussion if this becomes public?" Collins asked. He didn't wait for an answer. "This will make Iran-Contra look like a parking violation! A lot of heads will roll, yours among them."

  Nero did not appear to be particularly worried about that possibility. “It is curious you mention Iran-Contra. I was never briefed on that action, never mind sign off on it.”

  “Remember your place,” Collins threatened.

  Nero abruptly shifted the subject. "I understand you had Mister Racine perform a task for you in Baltimore not long ago.”

  Collins frowned. "So? It was a minor matter.”

  “Racine works for the Government under specific contracts, not for you," Nero said.

  “I am the government," Collins said. He caught the look Nero gave him and quickly amended: "All right, not exactly, but I have input. I’m on the Oversight Committee for Christ’s sake."

  “Input?" Nero repeated the word, as if considering it. “The action in Baltimore was not sanctioned by the Committee. Has Mister Racine worked for you in the past?”