Whistler's Angel (The Bannerman Series)

by Maxim, John R.

  “What’s she driving?”

  “A fuel truck. It says Texaco on it.”

  “An actual tank truck?”

  “From the airport. Don’t ask.”

  Whistler peered up the road. He saw nothing coming. “We’ll wait. I’ll get back to you, Molly.”

  “Leave Aubrey and those others for some other day. There’s no way to take six men quietly.”

  “Walk away and leave Leslie?”

  “Leave that to the police. If it’s true that Carla knows where they are, find out and call the police.”

  He bit his lip. “Would you?”

  “Yes, I would,” she answered firmly. “I’m asking you to back away from this, Adam. And you’d better brief Claudia on Carla.”

  Poole’s assistant, Robert, had returned to the house by way of some woodlands and the neighbors’ back yards. Felix Aubrey had waited for him in the kitchen, unlocking the rear door to let him in. Briggs had remained in the living room out front to give warning when Kaplan’s car appeared.

  Aubrey had given Briggs and Robert their instructions. He had spoken to each of them separately. Such a method, he realized, was not ideally efficient, but it did serve to make corroboration more difficult if this episode should go badly and if charges were filed and if one or both should try to cop a plea. Micro-managing again, but as they say, the devil is in the details.

  Aubrey had agreed that it seemed only fair to let Mr. Briggs shoot Mr. Lockwood. No talking, however, until Lockwood was down. If Briggs then felt the need to discuss his motivation, he could do so while Lockwood was writhing. Robert was, simultaneously, to shoot Mr. Crow. He would do so because, as Aubrey had explained to him, Crow’s actions were destructive of all the good works to which Mr. Poole had devoted his life. He told Robert that Poole had asked God for guidance and that God had told Poole to send Crow to hell. And this, too, was to be done without prior discussion. The quicker, the better because then, if he wished, he’d have time to give Lockwood’s face a good slap before Lockwood was too dead to notice.

  “Mr. Aubrey?” It was Briggs. “They’re just pulling in.”

  Aubrey asked, “They’re together? All three?”

  “All three. Their car’s in the driveway,” Briggs answered as he backed away from the window.

  Aubrey touched Robert’s arm. “Are you up to your task?”

  “Yes, sir.” Robert straightened. “I would die for Mr. Poole.”

  “Not your turn. It’s theirs. Get out there. Be ready. I’ll be waiting here in the kitchen.”

  “You’ll be watching?”

  “No need. I have faith in you, Robert.”

  Will I be watching, thought Aubrey? Of course not, you dimwit. I had no idea what you two intended. Must have been some private grudge. I was horrified, shocked, when I realized that you’d shot them. Unless, of course, all this goes without a hitch. In that case, I’m with you one hundred percent.

  The first sign that there might be a hitch came from Briggs. He hissed, “There’s Lockwood. He’s getting out now. He’s walking up to open the garage door. There it goes.”

  Aubrey heard the muted grind of the door on its tracks and the thunk that it made when it stopped.

  Briggs had dropped to a squat, the better to see, “Guy driving, striped jacket, that’s Kaplan, right? So that has to be Crow in the back.”

  Aubrey said, “No doubt,” as he closed the kitchen door. Briggs stopped him by exclaiming, “What the hell…”

  Briggs leaned forward. “There’s a fight. Crow’s jumping on Kaplan. He’s smacking the shit out of Kaplan. Hey, wait.”

  Briggs moved closer to the window. He said, “Damn. There’s some women. She’s jumping on Crow. Now Kaplan’s got Crow; he pulled him over the seat; and the woman is helping. She’s pushing Crow forward. No, wait. No, she isn’t. She’s trying to get past him. She’s got the door open. She’s trying to run.”

  Aubrey stood frozen. “What woman? Whistler’s woman? Please tell me they didn’t…”

  “I’m not sure,” Briggs told him. “I can’t get a clear look. There goes Lockwood. He got her. He grabbed her.”

  “The Geller girl? Is it? You’ve met her. You’d know.”

  Briggs said, “Still can’t see. He threw her back in the car. He reached in and punched her. No, he didn’t. He punched Crow. Now he slammed the door shut; he’s telling Kaplan to drive. He’s telling him to get into the garage. Kaplan’s arguing. Lockwood’s saying, ‘Shut up and get in there.’ There he goes. He’s driving into the garage.”

  There followed a violent crunching sound. Its vibration was felt through the house.

  “What was that?” asked Aubrey.

  “I don’t know,” replied Briggs. Then he added, “Oh, shit. You know what that was? Kaplan drove the car over that trailer that’s in there. The trailer with the Jet Ski. That’s why Kaplan was arguing. Kaplan knew the car wouldn’t fit.”

  “Well, why didn’t…” Aubrey grimaced. He stopped himself. He was about to ask why they didn’t move the trailer…pull it out by hand…get it out of the way. But the question was pointless. The damage had been done. Aubrey crossed the kitchen and looked out its side window. From there he could see why the whole house had shaken. The trailered Jet Ski had smashed through the rear wall. It had taken a work bench and some garden tools with it. Old paint cans were rolling across the back yard.

  Aubrey said, “Get back here. Into the kitchen.”

  Briggs told him, “The car’s not in all the way. They can’t close the garage door. They left the whole rear end sticking out.”

  Aubrey groaned within himself. He said, “Both of you. Get back here.” He wanted all three of them well out of sight until he understood what was happening.

  Robert asked, “Who is that woman? Why do they have a woman?”

  “I don’t know, Robert. Please go into the kitchen. Mr. Briggs, have they attracted an audience?”

  Briggs asked, “Who, the neighbors? I don’t know; I don’t think so. I don’t see anybody looking out.”

  “No traffic? No passing cars?”

  “I don’t see any…wait…there’s an oil truck out there.”

  “Stopping?”

  “No, passing. It kept going. We’re good.”

  Robert said, “Those men have kidnapped an innocent woman. They intend to assault her. We can’t allow that.”

  “They’re not likely to have time. Get in the kitchen.”

  “Unless she’s a harlot. But she isn’t. She can’t be. If she were a harlot, would she try to escape them? She must be a virtuous woman.”

  “Robert…in the kitchen. I’m sure that all will be revealed. Mr. Briggs, on second thought, stay where you are, but duck out of sight before they enter.”

  Robert muttered, “This is wrong.”

  “We will attend to it, Robert.”

  “This must be prevented. It cannot be allowed.”

  “Robert, try to keep in mind that they’ll be dead in two minutes. You are making a pest of yourself.”

  Damned Lockwood, thought Aubrey. It must be the Geller woman. Lockwood had said that he wanted a crack at her first, so that Whistler would know what he’d done to her. And Lockwood had more than rape on his mind. He meant to cut her up before killing her. Oh, the damned fool. So he’s gone out and snatched her. That must mean, one would think, that he’s already killed Whistler. Either way, he has started a war.

  THIRTY FIVE

  Whistler had chosen to say little about Carla. There was no quick way to explain her. He said only that Carla was experienced, but…well, different and needed to be handled with care. Claudia, in any case, hadn’t paid much attention. All she cared about now was finding Leslie.

  Within moments, a fuel truck had appeared in the distance. As it neared, it almost seemed as if no one was driving. All that showed above the dash was a crescent of red hair and perhaps an inch or two of Carla’s forehead.

  As Carla approached, she downshifted and slowed, nearly stri
pping the unfamiliar gears of the truck. She drove it past them to an opening in the center divider, made a U-turn and pulled in behind them. She climbed out of its cab as Whistler stepped from the Taurus. Carla looked even smaller than he had remembered her. He saw that her left eye was reddened and swollen. She was missing one of her shoes.

  She said, “Hello, Adam. You’ve filled out. You’re very handsome.” She stepped around him and walked to the passenger’s side window. She said, “And this is Claudia? Hello, Claudia. I’m Carla.”

  Whistler asked her, “Carla, do you know where they are?”

  She answered, “Uh-huh,” without looking at him. She said to Claudia, while extending her hand, “I’m so glad to meet you. I’ve been hearing good things. I hope we can talk later on.”

  Claudia took her hand and she returned Carla’s smile, but she didn’t seem to know what to make of this woman. Neither, for that matter, did Whistler. First we have Molly sounding nothing like Molly. Now here’s Carla sounding nothing like Carla.

  Carla gestured toward the tote at Claudia’s feet. “What’s bulging? Weapons? What did you bring?”

  Claudia lifted the sail bag to show the canvas tote’s contents. She said, “Just these. From the boat.”

  “So you do work with guns? Not just knives? So do I.”

  Whistler said, “She does not work with anything, Carla. You’ve got the wrong idea about Claudia.”

  Carla gave him a glance, an if-you-say-so sort of glance, and returned her attention to the weapons. She said, “The sweeper will be good. What’s that other one, an Ingram?”

  “Um…yes, that’s an Ingram Mac-10.”

  Carla made a face. She seemed critical of the choice. She said, “You know what’s much better? You should try the new Calico. It’s the one with the top-mounted helical feed. Fifty round magazine. Never jams.”

  “I…really only know about these.”

  “These are okay for Adam. Too much kick for a woman. But I hear you’re like me. You prefer to work close.”

  “Carla,” said Whistler, “I’ll say it again…”

  “Who taught you how to throw? I hear you’re real good.”

  “She knows how to throw a baseball, Carla. That’s all.”

  Again, she ignored him. She gestured toward the fuel truck. “My weapon’s in the truck. Come back and I’ll show you. A helical feed is sort of a pod. The advantage…”

  Oh, for Pete’s sake, thought Whistler. “Carla, stop it,” he said.

  “Stop what? And say please to your elders.”

  “Please stop with the guns and please answer my question.”

  She replied, “I did. I said I know where they are.”

  “Where they are exactly? This minute? How could you?”

  “A little bird told me.”

  He said, “Carla, cut the games.”

  At this, she winked at Claudia. “Is he always this rude?”

  “Carla, I’d appreciate an answer myself.”

  She said, “Both of you, relax. They’re not going anywhere. They’re having a problem with their cars. We’ve got time.”

  She turned back to Claudia and she gave her a wink. She said, “You see? Birds talk to me, too. Except my bird was only Felix Aubrey’s co-pilot. Is it true that you can talk to the other kind? Gotta see that. My boyfriend, Viktor, met the white light once himself, but you made out better than he did.”

  The bird thing, thought Whistler. His father must have told Bannerman. So much for his trying to squelch it. And he now understood how Carla’s eye became swollen and how she’d lost one of her shoes. Aubrey’s co-pilot. She’d waylaid him somehow. Whistler moved a few steps away to let these two have their one-sided chat. Let them kill a few more minutes getting acquainted until Billy or John Waldo can get up here.

  It struck Whistler that he’d heard Carla speak, in two minutes, more words than he’d ever heard her utter all told. And she’d smiled. He had rarely seen a smile on Carla’s face. And he had certainly never seen any sign that she grasped the concept of a good first impression. This must be a new Carla, reinvented for Claudia. She was trying to get Claudia to like her.

  Claudia’s mind, however, wasn’t on making friends. She asked Carla, “Have you actually seen them?”

  “I saw the three who you two are hunting. They were in an old heap of a Pontiac?”

  “That’s them.”

  “Well, right now their car’s even more of a heap because they tried to get it into two-car garage without making room for it first. It’s still sitting ass-out with its exhaust pipe ripped off and it’s jammed against a van that was already in there.”

  Whistler asked, “A white Dodge with Ohio plates?”

  She nodded. “That’s the one. How did you know?”

  “A little bird told me. Carla, where is this house?”

  She gestured with her thumb. “Twenty-two Lagoon Road. Blue house, black shutters, can’t miss it with those cars. Are you ready to go back there and take them?”

  “What about Aubrey? Did you see Felix Aubrey?”

  She said, “No, but he’s around. They came in a black Lincoln. They don’t know it yet, but I totaled the Lincoln. They’re running real low on transportation.” As she said this, she gestured toward the fuel truck’s front bumper. Whistler saw that the bumper was twisted and gauged. It was streaked with smears of black paint.

  Claudia had stepped out of the Taurus. She asked Carla, “Did you see a woman with them?”

  “In the Pontiac? What woman?”

  “Her name is Leslie. She’s a friend. They dragged her into their car. The big one, Lockwood, hit her with his gun.”

  Carla said to Whistler, “Lockwood’s way overdue.” She said to Claudia, “All I saw were the heads of three men, but if he hit her she would have been down on the floor.”

  “You didn’t see them pull her out when they got to that garage?”

  “I had to stay back. I didn’t see them unload. Their car was already hung up when I drove past.” She said to Whistler, “So this Leslie’s in the house?”

  “They had no time to dump her. She must be.”

  Carla seemed annoyed. Whistler thought he knew why. She would have preferred to go back there and blast anything that moves. Now she’d have to pick her shots. Avoid hitting Leslie. It would be harder for her to get chummy with Claudia if she were to blow Leslie’s head off.

  She said, “Claudia, get your sweeper. You’re riding with me.”

  Whistler said, “Not a chance. We wait here.”

  “Wait for what?” asked Carla. “Her friend is in trouble. We take care of our friends, am I right?”

  Carla, as she said this, reached in for the shotgun. She checked its action as she walked to the fuel truck. She said to Whistler, “You can have the Ingram.” She said to Claudia, “He’ll come with us. Hop in.”

  Whistler reached to take Claudia’s arm. He said, “You’re not going anywhere with Carla. You’re staying.”

  “Adam, I can’t. And you can’t either. Let’s go.”

  Carla said, “Adam, you and I will hit the house. Claudia stays in the truck. She just covers. How’s that?”

  “No one hits the house, damn it. Call Molly. Right now.”

  “Waste of time, Adam. What for?”

  “Because for one thing, this area is crawling with police. Molly’s right. We should let them handle this.”

  “What, a hostage situation? That’ll take them a week. Adam, we can do it. Sixty seconds in and out.”

  Whistler pulled out his cell phone. “We wait.”

  “Then okay, but not here. You want to call them? Go ahead. In the meantime, someone has to watch the house. Let’s get over there.”

  Claudia said, “Adam, she right. We should be there.”

  “He knows we should,” said Carla. “Hop in and let’s roll.”

  Whistler muttered a curse. “We just cover. Agreed? And Claudia stays in the truck.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I’l
l scout out the house. You stay with her. Agreed?”

  “We’ll work out the details when we get there.”

  While Carla had gone looking for Whistler’s beige Taurus, Arnold Kaplan was sitting in the green Pontiac thinking this is how people get heart attacks. He could hardly believe what just happened.

  In front of him, he was looking at daylight because half of the garage’s rear wall was now gone and that Jet Ski was in the back yard. And Lockwood just stands there. He’s staring at the hole and he’s cursing. Behind Kaplan, he was also looking at daylight because the car was part out and part in. He tried backing up. The car was stuck on the trailer. It was wedged against the van. Both cars were now visible from the street.

  The only good news was that Crow was out cold. Lockwood had clipped him some good ones. The girl was crying a little; she was scared half to death. And she was still struggling, but she couldn’t get up because Crow had gone flaccid on top of her. He climbed out of the car and almost fell as he did so. He had tangled one foot in a blue plastic tarp that had probably covered the Jet Ski.

  He said, “Vern…this tarp. Let’s hang up this tarp.”

  Lockwood snarled, “Who taught you how to drive?”

  You did, you schmuck. You screamed at me to get in here while I’m still busy fighting off Crow. But Kaplan didn’t say that. He said, “I’m very remorseful. Now we need to hang up this fucking tarp.”

  “Over where? Oh, the door? Yeah, we should. Good idea.”

  “Look around where you’re standing. You see any tools? Look for a hammer and nails.”

  He said, “The tools are mostly all over the lawn. No, wait. There’s a

  staple gun. I’ll get it.”

  Kaplan watched as Lockwood stepped out through the hole. He retrieved the stapler and returned with it. Kaplan gathered the tarp. It seemed almost big enough. It could mostly cover the whole garage door. From the street it would look like repair work.