by Rob Ashman
Moran had her Browning in her bag.
‘You’re a long way from the parking lot, ma’am. Are you sure you dropped it here?’
‘You know, honey, that’s the problem. I was a little drunk and I might have got a little lost. But I’m sure I was here. I think.’
The guard stepped past the partition and looked around. ‘I can’t see anything, ma’am, maybe you dropped it somewhere else.’
‘Yes, maybe I did, honey. Is this the Pioneer?’
‘No, ma’am, it’s the Mint. The Pioneer is a couple of blocks away on the other side of the street.’
‘You know, I might not have been here after all.’
‘That’s okay, ma’am, it’s pretty confusing.’
‘Thank you for helping me look, honey.’ Moran slinked past the man as he shook his head.
She waved her hand and walked away. She could hear the sound of metal wheels trundling over uneven ground.
She circled left and met Lucas and Harper.
‘That’s got to be the place.’
Harper took out his field glasses and scanned the horizon. The top windows came into focus.
‘And that has to be where the shooter will be.’
They arrived at the Jackpot motel. It looked everything its name said it wasn’t. Nobody staying there would ever think they had hit the jackpot.
The place was long and thin, one room wide and four storeys high. Reception was located in a separate building to the left. The front of the motel was covered in fading blue paint with fading white doors. A network of wooden walkways ran around the outside on each floor with a stairwell in the middle and one at either end. They nosed the car across the parking lot.
‘CCTV at the back but none at the side,’ Moran said looking out of the car window. They came around again and parked at the side.
‘I’ll distract the person on reception, you find a way onto the roof,’ she said.
They piled out of the car and went their separate ways.
Lucas and Harper kept tight to the wall and looped around the back. There was a metal ladder bolted to the wall with a semi-circular cage build around it.
Lucas looked at the height and wished it were him creating the diversion and Moran climbing to the roof.
Moran was getting on famously with the young guy behind the counter. He was all bouffant hair and gleaming smiles, she was all coy and pretty.
‘Are you full at the moment?’ She had dropped the mid-west drawl.
‘No, we have plenty of rooms, would you like to see one?’
You don’t waste any time, Moran thought.
‘No it’s fine thanks. How much for a night?’
‘We have discounted rates for the weekend. When were you planning to stay?’
The conversation rambled on. Moran maintained eye contact and feigned interest.
The young man was falling over himself with good intentions. She was more interested in the CCTV images on the TV in the corner. The more she batted her eyelashes, the more he was distracted.
After much heaving and puffing Lucas and Harper were standing on the roof. Lucas was blowing like a twenty-dollar hooker and rubbing his injured leg. The place was cluttered with air-conditioning units, cable trays and switchgear. They were both leaning with their elbows on the front wall looking through binoculars. Two hundred and fifty yards away, over the top of the warehouses, was the Mint. In the dark they could make out the oblong shape of the grey metal partition.
‘It’s a perfect shot,’ Harper said. ‘Bonelli would be walking away from the shooter in a dead straight line. Excuse the pun. No need to pan to the right, or to the left. Just line it up and bang.’
Lucas shuddered. He wondered if it had been the same with Darlene. Did Mechanic have to pan the rifle, or was it a simple case of lining up the shot and bang. He shook the thought from his mind.
‘This is the place,’ said Lucas.
‘There is one slight problem. This building is high enough to take the shot from the room below.’
‘Yes, but it’s unlikely. The walkway passes in front of the windows, so the line of sight could get blocked. The shooter has five seconds and then Bonelli disappears. Also, the maid is going to be turning down rooms at 10am. It’s too much of a risk.’
‘Agreed. You would take the shot from here.’
‘Let’s go.’
They climbed down the ladder and headed to the car. Moran was already there. Lucas struggled to get in.
‘Well?’ she said.
‘That’s the place. The shooter would have a great shot.’
‘What did you find?’
‘Apart from a teenager with raging hormones, there is a CCTV monitor behind the desk. As expected, it covers the back but not the side. They aren’t busy, we can park up here and be out of sight.’
‘We need to get back, we got planning to do.’
37
The likelihood of the hit taking place the next day was slim. Only a few days ago Jameson had said the time was yet to be decided. If it was going down this week, he would have said so. But tomorrow was Friday and they couldn’t take the chance.
The three of them had built a childlike model of the motel with food boxes, crockery and cushions. Each part was represented by something from Moran’s apartment.
The plan was to take Mechanic when she was on the roof. That way she had limited escape options and her attention would be focused on the twelve-foot piece of concrete lying between the back door of the car and the side entrance.
It is the Achilles heel for any sniper. You are so focused on what is happening at the dangerous end of the barrel you are oblivious to what’s happening behind you.
The plan was simple. Two people on the roof, one person on the ground keeping watch. The two on the roof would hide amongst the air conditioners and switchgear. When Mechanic was zoned out and focused on the hit, they would strike.
There would be no big speeches, no long recitals telling Mechanic that this was payback time, no watching her squirm as they told her this was justice for all those she had murdered, no looking deep into her eyes and saying this was revenge for killing Darlene. That kind of stuff only happened in the movies. In real life, it was shoot on sight and shoot to kill.
Tactically they had a decision to take. Who was going to pull the trigger? Lucas was the natural choice but the hike up the ladder had proved a challenge with his injured leg. Moran had made the point that he was at risk of doing himself even more damage and that was the last thing they needed. Lucas had to accept the practical common sense of the situation and agreed to stay on the ground.
The communication would be done with series of squelches. Squelches happen when the talk button is pressed on a walkie-talkie. The person on the ground would squelch once when Mechanic was spotted, telling those up top to expect her arrival.
The issue of timing was difficult. Mechanic would not want to arrive too early for fear of being discovered. They, on the other hand, had to arrive in plenty of time to be ready. They opted for 8am, two hours before the hit was scheduled and when the reception boy would be busy with checkouts.
Lucas and Harper retired to their hotel and ate dinner in their room. Moran cooked a pizza from the freezer. All three got an early night but didn’t sleep a wink.
The next morning Moran ate breakfast as she got ready to leave. It was 7am and she had arranged to meet Lucas and Harper near the motel at seven thirty to run through last minute details. It was unusual for her to eat anything in the morning but given the potential for holy shit to be let loose today, breakfast was a sound idea.
She put the gun into her backpack along with the box of shells, the walkie-talkie and the binoculars. She gave herself one last look in the mirror and puffed up her hair. It sank back immediately. She shrugged and opened the door.
Mills was standing on her doorstep.
‘Jesus.’ Moran stepped back. ‘You scared me.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to.’
She heard the words but his face said the opposite.
‘What are you doing here?’ Moran eased the bag from her shoulder and pushed it out of sight with her foot.
‘This is not a social call,’ Mills said.
‘I thought you were going to write to me when you’d concluded your investigation. Did you send me something? Have I missed it?’
‘No, this is about a different matter, but it is connected.’
Moran screwed her face up.
‘I want you to come to the station to answer a few questions.’
Fuck, this is not good.
‘Answer a few questions about what?’
‘We can talk about that at the station.’
‘Can’t we do this another time?’
‘No.’
‘Am I under arrest?’
‘Have I read you your rights?’
Moran shook her head and followed Mills down the path. She made for her car.
‘No, it would be better if you came with me.’
She shrugged and climbed into the passenger seat.
Mills pulled away and headed for the station.
‘What is this about?’ asked Moran.
‘I’ll tell you at the station.’ Mills stared straight ahead.
Her outward demeanour was of someone mildly inconvenienced, in her head she was screaming blue murder.
They travelled the rest of the way in silence.
Lucas and Harper nosed the car into a side street and pulled over. Neither of them was in the mood for chatting. The gravity of the situation was weighing heavily on them both. It was unlikely they would see any action but that sensible piece of deduction did not remove the chance that they might come face to face with a vicious serial killer this morning.
The clock on the dashboard ticked past the half-hour mark.
‘She’s late,’ Harper said.
‘Give her a few minutes, she’s probably stuck in traffic.’
‘We weren’t stuck in traffic and we use the same route.’
‘Give her a few more minutes.’
The silence returned. Harper toyed with his gun.
The clock said 7.40am.
‘We need to make a move,’ said Harper. ‘She knows the drill, she can catch us up.’
Harper climbed onto the roof and pressed himself against one of the metal cabinets covered with yellow lightning flashes warning of electricity. He figured Mechanic would position herself along the front wall where she had the best line of sight to the target. It would be directly in line with the door and Bonelli’s head. He found the ideal spot, the electrical cabinet was twenty feet away to the right. The switchgear inside hummed in the still morning air.
Lucas was off to the left of the motel grounds watching the back. He could see the ladders leading up to the roof at either side of the building. He had the walkie-talkie in his hand.
They waited.
Where the hell is Moran? They both had the same thought.
At the station Mills ushered Moran into an interview room.
‘Wait here,’ he said and left.
Moran picked at her fingernails. She checked her watch every five minutes. She needed to get back home, grab her bag and get to the motel fast. What the hell was Mills playing at.
Moran’s patience ran out and she had her hand on the door handle ready to leave when Mills returned carrying an envelope. She sat down again and he shut the door.
‘Will this take long?’ she asked.
‘That depends on what you have to say.’
‘Come on, Mills, spit it out.’
‘We located the Helix Holdings file held at the public records office in Tallahassee. We believe it had been deliberately misfiled. The file had been tampered with and documents removed – the forensic accountants are working on it now to piece together what’s missing.’
‘That’s all interesting stuff, Mills, but why have you brought me in here to tell me that. I’m no longer on the case so what’s it got to do with me?’
Mills removed a photograph from an envelope and set it in front of her. The picture showed the back of a person waiting outside an elevator with a suitcase. They were wearing a knitted hat and a hideous canary yellow jacket. Moran gazed at the image and steeled every muscle in her body not to flinch.
She looked at Mills.
‘So, what am I looking at?’
‘Well, if I’m right, it’s you.’
‘Ha, dressed in that get-up. I don’t think so.’
She slouched back in her chair and pushed the photo back to Mills. Her head went into overdrive.
Shit, this must be taken from the surveillance camera at the public records office. Mills can’t have a picture showing my face, or right now he would be ramming it down my throat.
Mills returned the favour and pushed the photo back to her.
‘It’s your height, your build. I think you went to Tallahassee to cover your tracks.’
‘Oh yes, that’s exactly what I did. I left here and went straight to the airport, jumped on a plane, flew two thousand miles and hid the file in a place where it was bound to be found. Yes, that’s a really smart move.’
‘I think that’s precisely what you did, and I will prove it. We are dusting the file for prints, and when we identify yours I will be in touch. Tampering with public records is a serious offence. The removal and destruction of public records is a serious offence. They carry with them a jail term of up to three years. Adding that to withholding critical information in a murder case makes it quite a rap sheet.’
‘Is that it?’
Mills nodded his head.
Moran looked at the print. The white skin of her hand was clearly visible, poking out of the sleeve of the jacket. What Mills could not see was the gloves balled up and stuffed into the pocket.
Dust away, she thought.
Dust away.
At the motel, time ticked by. Lucas was hopping from one foot to the other trying to control his nerves. Harper spent his time checking his weapon over and over again. He was afraid to walk about in case Mechanic saw him on her approach to the motel. He was calm and collected.
His watch said 9.20.
Moran was finally on the move. She raced home, picked up her bag and screeched her car up the road heading for the motel. Lucas and Harper must have put an amended plan in place. She had to be careful on her approach, the operation could be underway by the time she got there. She couldn’t screw it up.
The motel came into view and she pulled over. She tracked the remaining one hundred yards on foot. Her walkie-talkie made a squelch sound.
Harper had depressed the button sending a single squelch to the other unit. He was asking Lucas if he could see Mechanic. Lucas responded with two squelches – no. If Mechanic appeared, Lucas would give three squelches to signal she was on the ground.
Harper checked his watch, it was 9.55. He craned his head around the cabinet. The coast was clear.
He made his way to the front wall and lifted the binoculars to his eyes. He could see the metal partition. A few minutes later he saw the door open and a big man in a dark suit walked out. He crossed the triangle and heaved the metal wall to the side.
A black SUV swung into the parking lot and headed over to the man waiting in the gap. The vehicle eased inside and the man opened the rear door. Harper recognised Bonelli immediately as he got out of the car.
Harper counted in his head.
One.
The man acknowledged Bonelli with a nod of his head and closed the door.
Two.
The front doors opened and two men got out.
Three.
Bonelli walked along the side of the SUV.
Four.
The entourage marched to the apex of the triangle.
Five.
One man opened the service door and moved to the side.
Six.
Bonelli stepped through the gap and was gone.
Today was not the day, Harper thought.
/> He edged his way down the ladder and met up with Lucas. Moran was standing beside him.
‘Where the hell did you get to?’ he asked.
‘It’s a long story.’
Harper shook his head and tutted loudly. They walked back to their cars.
‘Today was not the day,’ Harper said, out loud this time.
‘Looks that way,’ replied Lucas.
‘When you realised Mechanic was a no-show did you take a look at Bonelli?’ Moran asked.
‘Yup, and at 10am sharp he pulls up in a big limo, a load of heavies get out and escort him through the side door. If I’d had a long gun, his brains would be all over the whitewash.’
‘What’s our next move?’ asked Moran.
Lucas jumped into his rental car.
‘You two can stay here and keep a low profile while I go back to San Diego and piss someone off by parking outside his house.’
38
Bonelli was sitting in the private lounge on the twenty-first floor of the Mint. It looked like an English old boys’ club with high back wing chairs, gaudy wallpaper and walnut tables. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling and purple velvet drapes were looped back either side of the windows.
Bonelli was holding court. His men were clustered around him in a semi-circle, each one swallowed up by their easy chair, each one with a glass beside them. A waiter dressed in black tie was in attendance, bringing more drinks on a silver tray.
It was easy to see who was in charge. Bonelli was seated in the biggest chair, with the most flared wings and the highest back. He looked like a Disney villain.
Since Mechanic had killed his brother, Alfonso Bonelli had done well with the business. The word on the street said he was too much of a knucklehead to make it work. His brother had been the smooth, suave, sophisticated one, with the gravitas of a corporate executive. Alfonso was the enforcer.
Rival gangs had tried to move in on his turf following his brother’s death. His murder was seen as a sign of weakness and they smelled blood. Unfortunately, the blood they smelled was their own and Alfonso ruthlessly crushed them. Once that was done, life returned to business as usual – supplying class A drugs, prostitution and a new line in extortion. Alfonso Bonelli had proved his critics wrong, and there were now fewer of them to doubt him.