Dead Ringer

by Michael A. Black

  “How about if I mention that I’m a professional athlete and I’m in training?”

  He held the lighter in his hand, gesturing as he talked, but not lighting the square. “Yeah, I heard something about that. You’re that fighter buddy of Grieves over in One, right?”

  “One and the same,” I said.

  He scratched his chin and slipped the lighter back into his shirt pocket. The unlit cigarette was still between his lips and it bounced up and down as he talked. “I heard about you. You’re supposed to be a pretty straight shooter. Now, what I want to know is how you got Alex involved in a homicide. And a double, at that.”

  “That was her idea. I told her not to follow me in.”

  “It doesn’t matter much, now, does it? With her sitting down the hall in a room like this.”

  The good-cop-guilt-trip didn’t work well on me, and I told him so. I’d been around long enough to know how things worked in the world of police. He grinned and took out the lighter as he stood.

  “It was worth a try, though, wasn’t it?” With that he flicked his Bic, held the flame to the end of the cigarette, and started to leave the room as he inhaled. I had to put my trust in somebody and since Alex seemed to think highly of this guy, I said, “George.”

  He turned, his eyebrows elevated.

  “What do you want to know?” I asked.

  He turned and smiled, pausing to grind out the cigarette on the cinderblock wall before coming back to the table.

  “Details of the case you’re working would be nice.” He sat in the chair across from me. “And I’d appreciate it if you hurried, unless you want me to have a nicotine fit.”

  I grinned. “I appreciate your restraint.” As quickly as I could, I ran things down for him, starting with the Bayless investigation, my conversations with the widow, Dr. Colon, and Nick Farnsworth. “It was shortly after that conversation that a couple of his Russian friends tried to whack me in an alley. They got away, but I put a bullet in one of them.”

  “And who’s working that case?”

  I gave him Cate and Norris’s cell numbers, as well as George’s. “Grieves can vouch for me, if you question my veracity.”

  “Your what?”

  “Never mind, I was just in a literary mood.” I paused and licked my lips. “I know it’s asking a lot, but could you give Alex a note if I write her one?”

  His mouth sort of went sour, but he nodded. “What I’d really like to do is talk with this Farnsworth guy. You know how to get ahold of him?”

  “Alex might know,” I said. “Apparently they were childhood friends, or something. But she knows he’s a shithead.” I took out my notebook and pen and wrote on a piece of paper: The next weakest link is Bayless, and they’re getting sloppy tying up loose ends. We’ve got to move fast. Are you up for a quick trip to Vegas?

  I signed it Ron, and made no effort to fold it or conceal what I’d written. Lulinski took it as if he wasn’t going to look at it, but I was sure he’d read it as soon as he left me alone in the room again. I only hoped it worked.

  Chapter 18

  Alex St. James

  We made it to Midway Airport by seven o’clock the morning after next. Too bad our flight wasn’t scheduled till three-fifteen. We’d gotten there early in the hope of catching an earlier flight, but there were none available with standby seating. There aren’t any places to sit and wait at Midway, until you get past security. Since we were early, we couldn’t check our bags right away, and we were stuck meandering the small check-in area with occasional traipses downstairs to the bathrooms in baggage claim.

  Southwest Airlines was my favorite way to fly, despite the crazy A, B, C seating system. We’d all gotten in the A group for our three-fifteen departure, but before our plane took off, I asked Shade to hold my place in the boarding line, while I walked off to put in another call to Jordan.

  She’d been surprised by my sudden travel plans when I told her yesterday. Shade had made a good case for taking off the morning after we found Dr. Colon, but I needed a day to get the travel approved and to get a cameraman to accompany us.

  Hal sat in a chair with his back to the window, claiming that he didn’t feel like spending an hour standing in line just to get his choice of seats. The truth was he knew we’d save him a spot and he had no problem leaving us to do the dirty work. Hal dozed frequently. His big head bobbed up—startled—whenever he lost consciousness, and his bottom lip hung slack.

  I made my way past him as Jordan and I talked. I asked her to do a little more investigative work on Manus while I was gone. She agreed. “By the way,” she said, “your uncle called this morning. He was trying to get ahold of you.”

  “My Uncle Moose?” I’d already told him and Aunt Lena that I’d be out of town for a couple days.

  “No, your Uncle Larry.”

  “I don’t have an—” I let my voice trail off. Good old “Uncle Lare.” I was really beginning to regret using that appellation when I was trying to butter him up for my adoption quest. And now he’d called my work claiming to really be my uncle. That was odd. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “No. He seemed worried, and when he found out you were going to Vegas, he got upset.”

  “You told him?”

  “Not me. Frances. She took the call when I was away from my desk. I guess your Uncle Larry didn’t feel like leaving a voice mail and Frances let it slip where you were. She said he got angry and wanted us to call you right away to tell you not to go.”

  I’ll bet, I thought. Nicky must have confided in him—which meant Uncle Larry was now on the list of bad guys. “If he or Nicky Farnsworth calls back, don’t tell him anything else. As far as the world is concerned, I’m heading to Lincoln City, Oregon.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “It’s on the coast.” I sighed. “Anyway, thanks for the update. I’ll call you if I get anything.”

  “You got to go?”

  “No, Shade’s motioning to me. He must want something.”

  “You go, girl.” Her tone was so light it took me a minute to realize what she meant.

  I started to say it wasn’t that kind of a trip, when she added, “Try to stay out of trouble,” and hung up.

  Ron Shade

  I motioned to Alex St. James, who was on her cell phone once again, and she held up her hand for me to wait. I was glad she wouldn’t be yapping on the damn thing during the flight, since most likely we’d be seated next to each other. At least that was the plan. And it probably wouldn’t have been an issue at all if we’d gotten her boss pick up the tab for some first-class tickets. But instead, she’d insisted on flying on Southwest, her “favorite airline.” For my money, all they did was cut bad jokes and make you wait in line according to number, then scramble for your seat. Not that I minded scrambling, but I hated to wait. And that seemed like all I was doing lately. I’d pressed to leave immediately after we’d found Colon and his hygienist stretched out in that pool of blood, but Alex had to get the trip approved and arrange for her pain-in-the-ass cameraman to accompany us. Just what I needed: some guy with a bladder control problem dragging me down. We’d lost some of the element of surprise already, but at least the bad guys didn’t know we were coming. I needed to work that advantage.

  And in all fairness, the extra day had turned out to be sort of a godsend for me. I’d spent the time briefing George, who was furious I hadn’t called him last night. Luckily, Lulinski had already given him most of the scoop, and all I had to do was fill in the blanks. Plus, I approached him about his daughter taking in the mail and feeding the cats while I was gone. She’d done this before and spared me the expense and trauma of boarding them at the vet’s. After throwing things in a suitcase, I grabbed a couple hours’ sleep before getting up extra early to meet Alex at Midway at seven. We’d managed to get reservations on a flight with three cancellations that took off at three-fifteen, but we hoped to find an earlier one. As luck would have it, we didn’t, and we’d already spent most of the
day waiting and trying to avoid airport chow as best we could. At least we’d been able to check our bags at noon and get through the security checkpoints. But now we were back to playing the waiting game, and I had to hit the bathroom, but some grandmother with a little squirming tyke was inching up on me in the A line. If I left to go, then it would be back to the end once again. I motioned yet again, and, once again, she held up her hand to let me know she’d be there in a minute.

  Like I said, I’m a man who hates to wait.

  It wasn’t helping things that I hadn’t packed my Beretta, either. I felt practically naked without it. I hadn’t taken it the last time for my big fight back in March, but this time I was working a case and might end up needing it. I wasn’t licensed in the state of Nevada and didn’t want to risk losing the gun if I got involved in a shooting. So I had to make other arrangements, although I had an idea about how to maybe get around that.

  That extra bottle of water I’d drunk to wash down my fast-food lunch was really starting to get to me, and grandma looked like she sensed an imminent move on my part. Alex heaved a sigh and looked like she was finally starting to wind up her phone conversation.

  “Excuse me, young man,” grandma said. “Are you going to be here for a few more minutes?”

  “It looks like it,” I said.

  “Good, would you mind holding my place in the line?” She grinned knowingly at me. “I have to take my granddaughter to the washroom. She has to go.”

  I grimaced as I nodded. I knew the feeling.

  Alex finally hung up and came sauntering over, stopping to smile and exchange a few words with grandma and grandbaby. I guess the kid didn’t have to go that bad after all. But I sure the hell did.

  I glanced at my watch and hoped for the best. I could hardly wait to get on that damn plane.

  Finally Alex sauntered over to me with a “What?”

  Before I could answer, the Southwest attendant stepped over and started announcing that they’d be allowing handicapped individuals and people with small children to board in five minutes.

  She raised her eyebrows questioningly. “What do you need?”

  “A short line in the mens’ room,” I said.

  Alex St. James

  On the plane, I made myself small, trying to keep my arms away from the large male bodies that walled me into the tight cocoon of middle-seat airline travel. The overbooked flight left me no open seats to claim later, and so I’d resigned myself to three and a half hours of minuscule movements between muscular Shade and beer-belly Hal.

  I glanced out Shade’s window as we passed through a sunlit blanket of white clouds. He had gallantly offered me the window seat, and although I would have loved that, it made much more sense to put the smallest person in the center.

  Shade read a novel, Hal slept and occasionally snored.

  “Bayless,” I said.

  Shade turned to me. “What about him?”

  “If you’re right, and he’s the next weakest link, don’t you think whoever is running the show will be after him?” I thought about the glistening pools of blood on the dentist’s office floor. “Don’t you think he’s in danger?”

  “No,” he said, shutting his novel and keeping his voice low. “I don’t think anyone realizes that we’ve put it all together. Not yet, at least. That’s why I wanted to fly out as soon as possible.”

  I took a deep breath. No sense in putting off the inevitable. “I’ve got some potentially bad news for you.”

  “What?”

  “Nicky probably knows we’re headed to Vegas.”

  “How the hell can he know that? Did you tell him?”

  I sat up as straight as my cramped quarters would allow. “Of course not.”

  “Well then, how—”

  “One of the station’s assistants inadvertently told Nicky’s father where I was going.”

  “Shit.” He stared out the window, working his jaw. Little clicks of tension broke the silence between us. “This changes things.”

  “But,” I said, “I can’t see Nicky being a threat.”

  Shade turned to me, a warning in his eyes. “Just because you’ve known the guy since you were a kid doesn’t mean that he isn’t capable—”

  “I don’t mean that,” I said, interrupting him. “I think Nicky’s perfectly capable of all the terrible things we suspect him of. I just don’t see him as someone to be afraid of. He’s kind of a wimp.”

  Shade made a noise that might’ve been a laugh. “Wimps get desperate, too. That’s when they get dangerous. He’s got a lot to lose and if he’s calling the shots . . .”

  “That’s the thing. I don’t think he’s in charge.”

  “Then who is?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “We can’t discount the possibility that Bayless is involved in the whole thing, but with him being in Vegas and all these bodies popping up in Illinois, it’s probably a good bet that he’s on the periphery. Your buddy Nicky’s the one with the association to dead homeless guys.”

  “All the same,” I said, “I don’t know . . .”

  Shade continued, “Think about it. He’s got unlimited access to the body parts market, which you found out about, and he’s hired the muscle to take care of any problems that come up.”

  We were silent for a while, listening to the muted roar of the 737’s engine.

  “I still don’t know how you think we’ll find Bayless in a city as busy as Las Vegas,” I said.

  “I have my ways.”

  “And when we find him?”

  “When he finds out what happened to Dr. Colon, he’ll be willing to sing like a canary. Especially once he knows Nicky and his gang are on their way.”

  I gave him my best skeptical look. “And if Bayless doesn’t sing?”

  “Then we find out what his buttons are and we push them,” he said. “Hard.”

  With a menacing grin like that, he looked positively scary. I realized that I would never want to be on this guy’s bad side. I checked on Hal. Still fast asleep. He snored loudly, then slid sideways to lean against my shoulder. “Great,” I whispered.

  “Why did he have to come along?” Shade asked. “He’s just going to slow us down.”

  “Bass insisted.”

  “Your boss doesn’t like me much.”

  “Bass doesn’t like anybody much.”

  “I thought you said he’d fight you about paying for this trip.”

  “Yeah,” I said, marveling. “Go figure. Bass is a guy who doesn’t like to be ‘taken.’ He thinks that since you weren’t upfront about your car’s history, you tried to ‘take’ him.”

  Shade considered that. “I thought just giving him a good price was enough.”

  The cabin attendant came by with little packets of peanuts and boxes of snacks with hearts printed all over them. “I love Southwest,” I said, when I found Oreos in the box. I tore open the package and popped one in my mouth saying, “Best cookie ever invented.”

  “I heard they took out the trans fats in those.”

  I stared at him and shook my head. “Don’t mess with my Oreos.”

  He laughed. “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll take them on,” I said. “Believe it. I may not look it, but I’m tough.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Since he clearly didn’t know me, and I didn’t feel like arguing, I took the opportunity to shove a second cookie in my mouth. “You’ll see.”

  “When we find Bob Bayless, I’ll need you to be ready,” he said.

  “Ready for what?”

  “That’s the thing. We don’t know exactly. Not yet. We’ve got Nicky figuring into the equation now. He’s a variable I didn’t count on. I want to run over all possible scenarios with you, so that we’re prepared.”

  We talked until the cabin attendant returned with our beverages. Shade and I had cranberry juice, Hal woke up long enough to ask for coffee. He dragged the back of his hand against his mouth and thanked her.

  “Look,�
� I said, pointing out the window. “Snowcapped mountains.”

  Shade turned to look out. “Beautiful.”

  Hal wasn’t paying attention.

  “We need you to be ready to move, too,” I said.

  Hal took a long drink of coffee, still not fully awake. “Where am I moving?”

  I started to answer him, but he drained the cup, pushed up his tray table and stood.

  “Forget that now, I gotta go.”

  Shade followed him with his eyes. Hal headed for the front of the plane where the attendant reminded him that there could be no line for the washroom. She directed him to the back. He shrugged good-naturedly as he passed us.

  I stretched and stood.

  “You gotta go, too?” Shade asked.

  “No, just appreciating the space.”

  When I sat again, he said, “Your friend Hal’s going to slow us down. Mark my words.”

  I sighed. “You’re probably right. But without footage, I don’t have a story.”

  “Here’s the thing, Alex,” he said. “All I have to do is prove Bayless is still alive. If we capture him on tape, we’ll have proof. But if he rabbits, I’m going after him, with or without you.” He glanced back toward the washroom. “Or Hal.”

  “Well then, I’ll just have to make sure we keep up.”

  Shade lifted an eyebrow.

  Ron Shade

  All I remembered doing was leaning my seat back after we finished talking and I was out like a light. I didn’t know if I snored on the way, but the quick combat nap was all that I needed. I felt a gentle pushing at my side, and hoped I didn’t mention any girl’s name, because when I snapped awake I saw Alex St. James giving me a sideways look.

  “We’re on the descent now,” she said.

  I turned and looked out the window. Mountains and a fleeting glimpse of what I figured was Lake Mead were visible down below. I moved the seat to its upright position and stretched the best I could.

  “How long was I out?”

  She shrugged. “Only about ten minutes.”