by Frank Hughes
“Again?”
“How does this concern you? The owner’s description of Mr. Somerset fits you to a ‘t’.”
“Once again,” I said, “I call your attention to the face.”
“Yes, the plague of Nick Craig doppelgängers our meager force has had to deal with. One of them, our Mr. Somerset again, was driving a truck with New Jersey plates, according to the motel records. That truck, however, seems to be registered to an eighty-seven year old man in Wall County, New Jersey, who says it was repossessed nearly two weeks ago. Said vehicle even now sits in our municipal parking lot, with a Denver boot on the front wheel, having overstayed its welcome.”
“Perhaps he ran out of quarters.”
The radio came to life. “Dispatch, this is Schecter. I’m going 10-7B.” Dispatch gave him a roger.
“And,” Catherine said, getting up and going to the kitchen counter, “there’s this.”
She picked up a manila folder and tossed it onto the kitchen table. Some of the contents slid out towards me, fanning out neatly like playing cards.
“I found this behind a vent in Mr. Somerset’s room. Topographic maps, Google Earth photos. And Mr. Somerset’s passport. But, then, you know all about this, don’t you Mr. Somerset?”
“You call that place a charming motel,” I said. “It looks like it hasn’t been renovated since Bonnie and Clyde were on the run.”
“You’ve got thirty seconds before I put the cuffs on.”
“Ordinarily, that would excite me, but I suspect you mean that in a businesslike sort of way.”
She folded her arms and looked grim.
I sat forward and put my hands palms down on the table. “Somerset was a cover identity I used, in a capacity you’re not cleared for. The passport and credit card were supposed to go in a burn bag when my last assignment went bad, but I held onto them.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t sure what went wrong and I wanted options. After things got sorted out, I just kept them for a rainy day.”
“It’s pouring now.”
“You have no idea.”
She thought for a moment. “I imagine they monitor those identities.”
“Constantly. Some guy in Istanbul is probably using it now.”
She grimaced and set her cup down. “I had a call on my cell phone. My personal cell phone that only five people have the number to, from a man I’ve never met in New York. Asking about you.”
“Clipped voice, abrupt manner?”
She nodded.
“Name of Roma?”
She nodded again. “He was interested to know if I had any news of you. I had the feeling he expected to hear you were dead.”
“Or hoped. Upon my death he inherits the entire kingdom.”
“I assume when the motel ran the credit card number, it set off alarms in D.C.”
“Immediately.”
“Are you working for Roma?”
I laughed. “In a way. Like everyone else in this thing, he’s been using me.”
“To find out what’s going on at The Retreat?”
“Yes.”
“Which is what?”
“Off the top of my head, I’d say it’s a drug smuggling operation.”
“What?!”
“Hey, you asked me.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“They’re using the beer distributorship to smuggle something. Hiding it in beer kegs and shipping it out in loads of empties.”
We were interrupted by a loud knocking at the front door.
“Stay out of sight,” she said. “I’ll see what this is.”
She grabbed my coffee cup and put it in the sink. Smart girl. I got up and moved towards the back of the house. The knocking started again.
“Hang on,” she yelled. I heard the door open, then: “Schecter, come on in. What’s going on?”
“Hi, Chief. We got a report that guy from the beer warehouse might be in this neighborhood.”
“Report from whom?”
“I don’t know. Anonymous tip, I guess. It just came in over the radio now. Someone saw a man running down the street a couple of blocks over. Said he looked drunk or something.”
Funny, I thought, how we hadn’t heard that call, but we had heard Schecter say he was going off duty for personal reasons. This did not feel right.
“Couldn’t you just call me?”
“Well, I wanted to be sure you were okay. Plus, I noticed it looks like there’s been some foot traffic around your house.”
“Everything’s fine. As soon as I finish my coffee, I’m headed in. You better get back out on patrol.”
“I think I should look around.”
“I think you should get back on patrol.”
Just then the scanner burst into life. I caught only a few words - it seemed like a routine call – but it came at a bad time for Catherine.
“No, Chief. Keep your hands away from the mike.”
“You going to shoot me, Schecter?” Her voice was level.
“Not if you do as you’re told. Turn around and face the wall. You know the position.”
I looked around for a weapon. If only I knew the combination to the gun safe. I was eyeing a set of kitchen knives when the rear door was breached, slamming so hard against the wall that two framed pictures dropped to the floor. I had a glimpse of one masked man in dark clothing holding a breaching tool, before two more, their faces obscured by balaclavas, rushed into the kitchen, pistols pointed at me.
“We have him,” the first man said. He turned to the others. “Take Karl and secure the house.”
The man with the breaching tool laid it against the wall and pulled a pistol. He followed the other man into the house.
Catherine came into the room, hands cuffed behind her. She was followed by Schecter, who was holding his Glock.
“You okay?” I said.
She nodded and held my gaze for a moment. Then her eyes darted briefly to my right and she said, as if disoriented “I, don’t, I want… two, three, four, four.”
“Shut up,” said the man with the gun. “No one talks.”
A moment later Kohl came through the open door.
“Why, Mr. Craig. It has been far too long.”
“Can we skip the bad guy speech and just get this over with?”
“You think we are here to kill you? No, no. The time for that has passed. Although, it will come again. Soon. For now, there are questions to be asked of you.” He nodded in Catherine’s direction. “Also of our lovely police chief, who according to her phone records has been talking to federal authorities. And for that, you must both accompany us.” He turned to Schecter. “Officer, please cuff Mr. Craig.”
Schecter pulled the cuffs from Catherine’s belt and came towards me, holstering his Glock. I dutifully turned my back, and presented my hands. I nodded to Catherine and she lurched into him. They stumbled into the kitchen.
“Two, three, four, four,” shouted Catherine.
They were between me and the man with the gun. I reached for the gun safe and pressed the number pattern she’d given me. The door popped open and a spring pushed the handle of Catherine’s revolver partway out.
Schecter stepped back and pointed his gun at Catherine. I had no choice but to go for him first, shooting him through the head as I turned. The blast was deafening in the confined space. Something stung my neck. I turned towards Kohl.
He was pointing a pistol at me, his free hand restraining the other man’s gun arm. I tried to shoot him, but my arms were lead weights. My fingers opened of their own volition and the revolver was swallowed by a black whirlpool in the kitchen floor. I followed it down into the darkness.
51.
I was cold again. Not the mind numbing, teeth chattering, wind driven cold of the ice storm, but something more insidious, a damp, wet chill that lived in air heavy with moisture, a chill that flowed steadily into my body where my right cheek was pressed against a concrete floor. My head felt
as if I’d taken too much allergy medicine, and my vision was blurry. I blinked several times to clear my eyes, and the bottom of a gray metal door swam into focus about four feet in front of me. The door had a slot in the bottom for food trays. I was in a cell.
I rolled over onto my back, or at least I tried to. My hands, cuffed behind me, made the process difficult and the position uncomfortable, so I rolled back onto my side. I gathered my legs behind me and, with some effort contorted myself onto my knees. From there I swung my legs out to a sitting position.
“Nicely done,” said Catherine Masterson.
I rotated around in a series of hops and scuffles. The cell was about twenty feet long by ten feet wide, with four metal bunks down one side. Welded to the foot of each bunk was a metal ring. A steel toilet and a sink were bolted to the far wall. Catherine was seated on one of the bunks, hands still cuffed behind her.
“Where are we?” My voice was thick.
“I don’t know. They had a hood on me the whole time. We drove for about thirty minutes, but with the weather, that doesn’t tell us much. Then we were in some kind of building and took an elevator. Down I think, into an empty building or a tunnel. We walked for a while. Until we ended up here.”
I shook my head to clear it. “I thought I’d wake up dead.”
“Kohl shot you with a tranquilizer gun. According to them you should be out for another two hours. He’s a scary good shot, by the way.”
“How long have I been out?”
“I figure it’s been eight hours, maybe more.”
Using my hands to push forward and the heels of my feet to grip the floor, I propelled myself over to her.
“What did you hear?”
“I heard parts of a conversation Kohl had on the phone or a radio. Turns out Kohl wanted to kill us both right away, but he was overruled. He left us here. Something urgent he had to take care of.”
“Confirms Kohl’s not in charge.” I twisted around until I could rest my back on the edge of the bunk next to her.
“Nick.” I looked up at her and I could see she was, and had been, fighting the despair and panic she felt. “They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?” she said.
“They’re going to try.”
Her expression turned quizzical. “You have a plan?”
“Not really. I’m kind of making it up as I go along.”
“That’s reassuring.”
I looked up at her. Her hair was still done up with bobby pins.
“What are you staring at?”
“I didn’t care much for that hair style the first time I saw it, but now I love it.”
“Are you sure you’re fully conscious?”
“Okay,” I said, “please don’t take this next move personally.”
Pressing my right shoulder against the edge of the bunk, I pivoted towards her and lunged up and over, planting my face right in her lap.
“Oh, for God’s sake!”
“Trust me,” I said, my voice muffled by her trousers, “I know what I’m doing.”
“I have very little evidence of that.”
By bracing my head against her body, I was able to bring my chest up onto her knees. I moved up, pressing my head against her chest until my crotch was on her left knee. From there I simply rolled onto the bunk beside her.
“Did you have to prove that everything my father ever told me about men is true?”
“You wound me,” I said, gasping for breath.
“I can think of simpler ways you could have accomplished that.”
“Now you tell me.”
“Now that you’re here, what difference does it make?”
“Well, first of all, it’s much cozier and, second, we’re going to get you out of those cuffs.”
“Without a key?”
“You have a key.”
She shook her head. “They took it.”
“The one in your hair.”
“What?”
“I need a bobby pin.”
“You’re going to open handcuffs with a bobby pin?”
“Stranger things have happened. Now lean your head down.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she leaned down to where I could reach her hair with my mouth.
“Wow,” I said, “you smell good for a cop.”
“You really are a jackass.”
I got my teeth onto a bobby pin. “Pull - away - slowly,” I said, taking my time with each word so as not to open my teeth. As she did so, the pin came free of her hair.
She turned to look at me. “Now what?”
“We – have - to – open – it –up.”
“How?”
I widened my eyes and raised my eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.
I puckered up. She shook her head, but leaned in until her lips met mine. It was not at all unpleasant. Her skin smelled like peaches and I particularly enjoyed it when she used her tongue to maneuver the pin.
“Ready?” she asked, in a ventriloquist’s murmur.
“Not - yet.”
After a few moments where neither of us moved, she murmured something unintelligible, but that sounded like “jackass”, and slowly began to pull away.
“That’s enough,” I said. “Hold it there.” I released my teeth and sat back. “Now I have to strip it. Hold tight.” I leaned forward again and used my front teeth to strip the protective coating off. I spit the piece on the floor.
Catherine cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows.
“I’ve got to bend the end. Keep holding.”
I leaned forward and bit down, bending the pin into the shape I wanted. Releasing my grip, I shifted on the bench until I was facing away from her. I turned the palms of my hands upward and twisted my head to look over my shoulder.
“Very carefully, I need you to drop the pin into the palm of my hand.”
After what seemed an awfully long time, the pin hit the edge of my left palm, but it bounced. I curled my fingers and caught it before it could fly away.
“Jesus,” said Catherine.
“Okay, turn around and show me the cuffs.” I manipulated the pin to where I could grasp it with the fingers of my right hand, turning it carefully until the bend I’d created was extended. I looked over my shoulder at her cuffs and maneuvered the pin into the lock, using the cuffs to give the end another bend.
“These things work on a ratchet,” I said. “If you manipulate it right, you can hold the pawl back and pop them open.”
I worked in silence for a few minutes. Then she spoke, her voice serious.
“Kohl said something while they were bringing us here.”
I didn’t like the sound of this. “Really?”
“He warned his men you were a trained assassin.”
“We all have our faults.”
There was silence for a while. I concentrated on the lock.
“So it’s true?”
“I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you. Whoops. Guess that sort of gives it away.”
“Kohl said you’d killed some of their people.”
“Not as many as I could have. In my defense, I wasn’t really trying.”
The handcuffs clicked opened.
“Voila!”
She rubbed her wrists. “Now what?”
“Now, we try to get out of here. But, first, I gotta pee like a racehorse.”
“You do. I’ve been sitting here for hours.”
“Shut up!” I could hear voices outside the door, coming closer. “Close the cuffs and hide them and your hands behind your back. Whatever happens, don’t let them know you’re loose.”
I threw myself off the bed, back on the floor, lying in the same spot where I’d awakened. I closed my eyes just before I heard the little viewing port in the door slide open.
“He’s still out,” said a man’s voice.
“Then we must wake him up,” said another man. “What is the date?”
Th
e viewing port slid shut before the first man replied. Eight electronic beeps were followed by sound of a heavy bolt being thrown. Through slitted eyelids, I watched the door swing open. A pair of black leather military boots planted themselves in front of my face.
“Help me with him.”
I was hauled up and roughly shoved into a sitting position on the bunk next to Catherine’s. They made a point of slamming me back against the wall. Two guards in the standard orange parka and black cargo pants of the Diablo Canyon goon squad were standing over me.
“Go get them,” said one. He stepped back, drawing his USP and pointing it casually in my direction. The other man left the room without a word.
“Please try something,” said my guard.
Imperatrice and Kohl entered, Rich smiling as always, Kohl looking rather grumpy. For some reason, both were holding black flashlights.
“Nick!” said Imperatrice. “No ill effects from the dart, I trust?”
“Dart?”
“He’s quite handy with that thing. And I’m sure you needed the rest.”
“Thanks. Sorry about your pet cop.”
He came over and stood in front of me, hands loosely clasped in front of him. I tried to catch a glimpse of his watch.
“Don’t smirk, Nick. You did us a favor. Schecter was a bit of a liability, spending far above his supposed means, despite our guidance. Now he’s dead in the chief’s house, your fingerprints on the gun. The chief of police herself is missing and what do you know, your DNA is in the hot tub.” He glanced at Catherine. “And maybe other places, if you had time to get lucky. Because the good Lord knows you’re shit out of luck now. A cop killer on the run. Soon to be considered a double cop killer, once poor Catherine here turns up in an empty lot, sexually abused and strangled by you, you nasty man.”
He walked over to her.
“Chief Masterson. Looking lovely, despite your unfortunate ordeal.”
Catherine squinted at him, but said nothing.
“And what condition will I be found in?” I said.
“Oh, Nick, you won’t be found at all. We have something very special planned for you. It will be my pleasure to show you.”
“I must again insist we kill them now,” said Kohl. “Keeping them alive is pointless.”
“You are a practical man, Herr Kohl, but we have our orders. The boss wants to know who they might have spoken to. I know the Chief here has talked to Roma. And it’s still not clear how Nick managed to bumble his way out of Mexico.” He smiled down at me. “And we need to know what Boyd might have told you during your little ski holiday.”