Headcount: v5

by Frank Stein

  Chester smiled and shook his head. “None of us are that good. We’re not Navy Seals or anything. We’ll have to use guns.”

  I looked at Simone and then at Mo. “But I thought one of our rules was no guns.” When Mo didn’t answer, I looked at Chester again. Then I sighed. “How many guns do you own, anyway?”

  “None.”

  “Okay.” My head hurt. I reached for my glass of ice water and took a long drink. I put the glass back down on the unfinished pinewood coffee table, and then sank back into my beanbag and stared at Chester. My next question was obvious, and so I didn’t even ask it.

  Chester smiled. “But these guys have a nice stash.”

  I leaned forward. “We’re going to use their own guns to kill them?” Then I leaned back again and looked around. “Can I smoke in here?”

  Chester slid an ashtray across the coffee table. “I’ve been scoping the houses out for several months now, trying to figure out all the routines, who lives where, etcetera.” He waited until I lit my cigarette. “And it turns out they have an armory in one of the houses.” He snorted. “Well, more like a room where they stash their weapons. They aren’t particularly sophisticated.”

  I nodded slowly. “Why do they have an armory, anyway?”

  Chester shrugged. “It’s just part and parcel of being a neo-Nazi in this country. The movement is militant in nature, and even though most members never actually commit an act of violence, the idea is that they’re always prepared to do so. And guns are fun toys to collect. Especially weapons that you can’t buy legally without attracting some attention. So it’s almost like a badge of honor if you add a cool weapon to the collection.”

  I tried to laugh but only managed a cough. “So we’re going to break into this room, steal the guns, shoot everyone, and then run away? That’s your plan?”

  Chester smiled. “Yup.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was serious. Simone looked serious enough, but I couldn’t tell if she was just zoned out on too much wine or if she actually thought Chester’s plan was good.

  Chester stood up and moved away from the computer monitor. “There is one more thing that’ll make it easier for us, though.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Looks like they have some kind of meeting once every two weeks. Monday mornings. Just the men. They get together in the basement of the house at the end of the street and stay in there for maybe an hour.”

  “And where’s this gun-room or whatever?”

  “Same house.”

  “And same basement.” I shook my head. “This is crazy.”

  Chester smiled. “Sorry, I’m not explaining this well. But it’s fun watching you get all worked up.” He sat down on the thick red carpet and propped himself up with his arms. Then he looked up at Mo. “How’s your long-distance shot these days?”

  Mo looked insulted. “Do I really need to answer that?”

  Chester laughed. “Okay then. Sorry.” He turned back to me. “Your boss here will be in position behind a rest-stop on the highway. The rest-stop is on an elevated section of road, and there’s a clear line to our targets’ house from there. When the meeting starts, she’ll take a couple of shots at the empty living room. You know, shoot the windows, TV, a couple of lamps and shit.”

  I nodded. “Okay. And so all the skinheads will run to the armory, grab their weapons, and head upstairs?”

  “Hopefully,” said Chester. “Maybe not immediately, but Mo can stop firing after the first few shots, and then I’m pretty sure they’ll all creep up there. Or almost all of them.”

  Now I smiled. I was getting into it. “And the armory will be unlocked, and everyone will be focused on what’s happening upstairs. So we sneak in, grab a couple of guns, and surprise them. It’ll be like we’re flanking them on a goddamn battlefield.”

  Chester laughed. “Easy there, boy.” He looked at Mo, who was holding her side and laughing at me. “Looks like your pick was a Spartan in his last life.”

  I smiled. I was embarrassed, but in the way that you’re embarrassed when someone says something nice about you. I took a sip of water. “Of course, if these guys take every single gun out of the armory, we’re all dead.”

  “No,” said Chester. “I’ve been taking a rough inventory. They have over thirty weapons in there. And I haven’t noticed them removing any over the past week.”

  I stubbed out my cigarette and looked at Mo. “And you have a sniper rifle somewhere?”

  Mo just pointed at Chester.

  I looked at him. “I thought you said you didn’t own any guns.”

  “I don’t. I stole this one.”

  I shook my head. “Let me guess . . .”

  He laughed. “Well, I had to get a closer look at the armory to make sure we didn’t waste time looking for it on Monday.” Chester went into a storeroom attached to the finished basement area and came back out with a sleek black corrugated box. “The damn armory was unlocked, and this beauty was just sitting there.” He looked at Mo. “I know this will turn you on.”

  Mo leaned forward as Chester flipped open the case. She gasped. “Oh my God, it’s an A2.”

  I smiled. I had no idea what the hell an A2 was. But I didn’t bother to ask, and I didn’t need to, because Mo rattled off the specs like a tech geek describing the latest superfast gaming chip.

  “Remington M24-A2. The military sniper weapon system, but enhanced with side-mounted rails, a ten-round magazine, and a sound suppressor.” She looked up at Chester. “You’re going to have to pull me away from this. Those guys don’t have a chance.”

  Chester smiled. “You’re only there to create a diversion and monitor the situation in case we need backup. I don’t want you taking one of us out by mistake.”

  “Watch it with those insults,” said Mo. She smiled and caressed the gun like it was a child. “When are we moving on this?”

  “Monday,” said Chester.

  Simone had been watching the interchange, and now she stared at Mo with a distant smile. Then she turned to me. “What do you think, Frank?”

  I looked at her and shrugged. “Well, it seems like a good plan. Except . . .” I paused and gulped while Chester turned to look at me. “Except, today is Saturday, and I’ve never even held a gun before.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  The sound of curtains being pulled apart woke me. I was in a guest bedroom on the second floor, and Mo was standing in the window in that same nightgown. I remember noticing how awesome she looked outlined in the morning sun. Then the hangover set in, and Mo’s voice blared like an alarm clock.

  “Big day today, Frank. Gotta head downtown, lie to the police, get back here for lunch, and then Chester’s going to take you out to the range.”

  I yawned and rolled out of bed. There was a warm glass of water on the bedside table, and I downed it in a single gulp. It didn’t taste good, but my dehydrated body welcomed it. After showering and dressing I felt much better, and gladly followed the smell of fresh coffee down the stairs and into the large open kitchen.

  The entire gang was there, everyone hovering around the center island. It really was like a family. I smiled and nodded at my new kin.

  “What’s for breakfast, Mom?” I said to Chester.

  Mo answered. “A bagel in your hand while you drive us into Milwaukee. I called the police back this morning. Turns out there’s an FBI agent on the case. I spoke to her briefly, but she wants to see us, and we’re already late.”

  Instantly I felt tired and cranky. “What did she say?”

  “Not much. She was pretty chilled. I told her I was shocked and dismayed about Takahashi and Yoshi and Aki, so at least we won’t have to pretend to be surprised about it. And I told her that we stopped outside the restaurant for a smoke, and that’s the last we saw of Takahashi and crew.”

  “Did you tell her about my fight in the restaurant?”

  “No.” She looked at me. “But maybe you’d better bring it up. That bruise on your face needs to be explained som
ehow. Besides, I bet she already knows about it.”

  I nodded. “What about you? Are you going to be able to hold up without them noticing?”

  Mo touched her side and nodded. “Chester wrapped me up pretty well. And I’m wearing black, so even if I bleed through they shouldn’t notice.”

  “Okay. I’m ready.” I downed my coffee, drank another glass of water, and grabbed an onion bagel on the way out.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Thirty-three minutes later we were in the waiting area of the Milwaukee Police District One building. The place was surprisingly quiet, and it looked like any other government office. I guess I was expecting gang-bangers and hookers and sleazy lawyers to be all over the place, but maybe since it was late Sunday morning they were all in church. After all, this was God’s country.

  FBI Special Agent Ramona Garcia walked out of the back room at a pace much too fast for the placid atmosphere of the headquarters. She had that look in her eye which tells you that she’s smart like a buggy-whip, and I tensed up with a sudden panic as I became sure she would see right through our bullshit. I smiled and shook her hand, and was relieved when the greeting ended without her slapping cuffs on me.

  “Please, this way,” said Garcia. She held the waist-high swinging door open for us to walk through.

  She took us into an interview room, and I have to say that it did look like what you see on TV: steel table, steel chairs, grills on the high-mounted window, and a mirror on the wall. Contrary to what you see on TV, though, Garcia didn’t let me smoke.

  “You get that in the bar fight?” she asked me, pointing at my eye. She flipped through a small black notebook. “With Mark Baylor?”

  “Yes. I’m not sure if that was his name, but I think I heard his friend call him Mark, so yes.”

  “Mr. Baylor said you were really trying to push his buttons there,” said Garcia. She paused and looked at me without blinking. “Almost as if you were trying to start a fight.”

  I shook my head and looked at the table. “Yeah, it’s embarrassing. I was just drunk and it had been a rough week.” I looked at Mo and smiled and then turned back to Garcia. “My boss here had been giving me a hard time about screwing up at work, and I guess I had one too many at dinner and wanted to vent.”

  “So you were drunk?”

  I nodded. “I’d say so.”

  Garcia pulled out a photocopied piece of paper and slid it over to me. “This is your dinner receipt. Can you tell me which drinks were yours?”

  I gulped, because I knew that I had only had one whiskey with dinner, and no one else at the table had been drinking. “Well, just that one scotch with dinner. But on my way outside to smoke, someone was buying shots at the bar and I ended up doing two or three.”

  “Oh, cool. I love when that happens,” said Garcia. “What kind of shots?”

  “I’m not really sure. I don’t do shots much these days. Maybe tequila?”

  Garcia nodded. She started to write in her little book. “Okay. Thank you, Mr. Stein.”

  “Sure. Any other questions?”

  “Yes, plenty,” said Garcia. She looked down at her notes again. “Which one of you was driving?”

  “That’d be me,” I said. “I get the chauffeur duties.”

  Garcia didn’t smile. “Any reason you parked out back in the overflow lot? They have enough parking out front to handle an average Friday night crowd.”

  I thought Mo would offer up her story about parking far away so she could walk a bit after dinner, but she didn’t say a word. I was about to go ahead and answer, when I realized what Garcia was doing. I spoke as casually as I could. “We didn’t park out back.”

  Now Garcia smiled. “Okay. Any idea why your Japanese clients would do so?”

  I shook my head. Let Mo take this one, I thought.

  Mo gave a sad smile and then nodded. “Takahashi was always complaining about his weight, and earlier that week in a meeting, one of his colleagues—I can’t remember if it was Aki or Yoshi—suggested that he should start walking more. And Takahashi joked that the only way he’d end up walking more is if he parked far away when he went to restaurants.” She shook her head. “That poor man. This is so surreal. I can’t believe he’s . . . I can’t even say it. What do you think happened?”

  Mo was good, and I thought Garcia’s sympathetic smile was genuine.

  “We’re not sure,” said Garcia.

  I wanted Garcia to ask us if our Japanese clients appeared to be having a disagreement when we left, but she didn’t.

  “Maybe they got into a fight or something?” I said. I felt Mo tighten up, and I realized I had made a mistake.

  Garcia looked at me and nodded. “Yes, that’s a possibility. But it’s very rare that an impromptu fight ends up with all participants dead. Especially when there are no guns involved.”

  I remained quiet.

  Garcia continued. “It’s possible that Mark Baylor came back with a few buddies. Maybe he didn’t see you there, but ran into your dinner companions and went to town on them.” She shrugged.

  I nodded. “It’s scary to think that, but sure, I guess that’s probably what happened.”

  “Anyway,” said Garcia, “we should be able to clear it up pretty soon. We’re comparing Mark’s DNA with the blood found on the scene.”

  My hangover returned with a screaming vengeance and it was all I could do to not pass out at the table.

  Garcia went on. “This is just a formality, but would both of you be willing to volunteer your DNA? Just so we can rule you guys out, of course.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  “I think you need a warrant for that.” I knew I was in the clear and could afford to get a bit combative. “Do you have one?”

  Garcia smiled. “No. This is just an invitation for you two to volunteer.”

  Mo interrupted me just as I was about to whip out my ACLU card. “Frank’s seen a bit too much Law and Order. It’s all those nights watching TV alone in random hotel rooms.” She laughed. “Of course we’ll give you what you need. Do you actually need a blood sample?”

  “Oh no,” said Garcia. “We can just take a swab of saliva and get your DNA.” She looked at me. “Mr. Stein?”

  I shrugged and looked at the table. “Sure. Anything to help.”

  “Great. I’ll send someone in to take the samples.” Garcia stood up to go.

  Mo stood and smiled and shook Garcia’s hand. I was slow to get up, and still felt either hungover or confused and upset at being shut down by Mo.

  We left the building and walked out to the car. I didn’t look at Mo until we were inside and I had started the engine. It was only when I pulled back onto the highway that Mo explained.

  “My DNA is already in the database,” she said, reaching for a cigarette. She handed me one as well. “So if they had found my blood at the scene, I’d be in a holding cell right now.”

  “Why are you in the database?” I said, and lit my cigarette.

  Mo smiled. “I was picked up for something minor a few years ago in one of those states that takes a DNA sample from anyone who’s been arrested.”

  I laughed. “Arrested for what? Being a slave-driver at work?”

  “Ha ha. Very funny. No, something stupid. They dropped the charges, anyway. But it sucks that I’m now in the system.”

  “What was it for?”

  “Never mind.” Mo smiled and turned away from me and looked out of the window. She put down the glass a crack and a gust of hot air blasted in.

  I looked at her, and then decided not to pursue it.

  “So you think Garcia was just playing mind games with us? She took a guess about the blood and wanted to see how we reacted?” I said.

  Mo shrugged. She was checking something on her phone.

  I went on. “But isn’t it possible that after my reaction she’ll have her people go back over the scene and test more blood samples? It’s only been a day or so. They can still get DNA from dried blood, right?”

  Mo nodde
d. “They can, but they won’t.”

  “Why not? Would they have cleaned up the scene so quickly? Don’t they block off the area for a few days so they can go back if they realize they missed something?”

  Mo nodded again. “They do, but they won’t find any dried blood.”

  I sighed and gripped the steering wheel hard. I hated it when Mo fed me the answers bit by bit.

  She laughed. “Maybe you don’t remember when we drove back to the hotel from Chester’s on Friday night.”

  “Remember what?”

  “The streets.”

  “What about the damn streets?”

  “I love doing this to you,” said Mo. She dropped her cigarette out of the window and put the glass back up. “The streets were wet, Frank. The damn streets were wet.”

  Now I laughed. “It rained when we were at Chester’s?”

  She nodded and clapped her hands. “There was a summer storm for about three hours. The whole area got pounded. We were both passed out at Chester’s. I remembered noticing the streets when we drove back to Milwaukee that night, but I didn’t connect the dots back then or even yesterday when we talked about the antifreeze. But just now, when I tried to figure out why they hadn’t found my blood, it all came back to me.” She laughed and held up her phone to show me the weather report from that night. “Maybe that bullshit about Allah being on my side is true.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  When we got back to Chester’s, Simone was taking a nap. Chester was dressed and seemed a bit annoyed that we had taken so long.

  “We need to get going if we’re going to make our slot at the range,” he said. “We’ll need at least three hours, and I want to be out of there before the drunk Brewers fans come in.”

  “Okay,” I said. “You want me to drive?”

  “Yep.”

  “Let me hit the restroom first.” I hurried through the living room and towards the first floor bathroom.