Hurricane Force (A Miss Fortune Mystery Book 7)

by DeLeon, Jana

  The coffin was about twenty yards from the end of the alley when I closed in on it, only five feet away. It had just cleared a section of fencing and was about to skirt a back driveway when a hot dog vendor pushed his cart into the alley. The coffin hit the vendor cart right in the side, tipping the entire thing over and scattering wieners and buns all over the alley. The vendor, who was knocked down by the initial impact, jumped up, ready to raise hell over his cart, then took one look at the coffin tipped on its side and paled.

  As I rushed up to the side of the coffin, the top flew open and Gertie started crawling out. The hot dog vendor made the sign of the cross, then passed out right in the middle of a stack of buns. I reached down to help Gertie up as she struggled to get to her feet. Agent Moss ran up beside me, surveying the damage and looking like he was about to have a heart attack.

  “Get her out of here,” he said. “I’ll fix this.”

  “Wait,” Gertie said and reached back inside the coffin for her purse.

  “Hurry up,” I said.

  She took two steps, then stopped. “Are those beef?” She bent over and started picking up wieners and buns, stuffing them into her purse.

  I grabbed her arm and pulled. “You have to get out of sight.”

  Gertie slung the purse over her shoulder and we ran back up the alley and into the funeral home. We dashed into the room secured for unloading and collapsed on two chairs. Ida Belle hurried over as soon as we entered.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “I heard screaming and the funeral director looks like he’s going to cry, but no one will tell me what happened.”

  “Considering I almost died in that coffin,” Gertie said, “I’m doing okay. But I’m going to feel it tomorrow.” She pulled a wiener and bun out of her purse and put them together. “Anyone else want one? I have quite a few.”

  Ida Belle looked over at me, her confusion apparent.

  “Later,” I said as the funeral home director ran into the room, muttering and wiping his sweating, bald forehead with a silk handkerchief. Ida Belle was right. He did look ready to cry.

  “This is a tragedy,” he said. “How can I possibly explain this? My reputation will be ruined.”

  “Agent Moss is going to handle it,” I said. “Stop worrying.”

  The funeral director looked a tiny bit hopeful but not convinced. I couldn’t really blame him. Agent Moss could throw money at the vendor for the cart repairs and the loss of revenue and stock, but it would require an exorcism to make him unsee Gertie crawling out of that coffin.

  “Is the SUV out front?” I asked the other two agents, who’d left Agent Moss to deal with everything and would probably be hearing about it for the next month or two.

  One of them nodded.

  “Then go get it and bring it around back,” I said. “And don’t screw up this time.”

  They started to hesitate. After all, to them I was just some broad who needed protection, but apparently their embarrassment at allowing Gertie to get away overrode any indignation of being ordered around by a civilian, because they filed silently out of the room.

  Agent Moss entered a couple minutes later. “Everything’s settled with the vendor,” he assured the funeral director. “I told him we were a private transport company and not affiliated with your funeral home. He has a contact number to call with a damage amount and we’ll be issuing him a check.”

  “Thank God.” The funeral director slid into a chair, his entire body seeming to relax into jelly. I hoped he could work up the energy to run his viewing. It would start any minute.

  “I sent the agents to get the SUV,” I said.

  Agent Moss nodded. “They were pulling around when I came in the back door. I’ve already removed the decals from the car and van. I’ll call for someone to pick up them up as soon as we leave. We need to get out of here now before people start arriving.”

  We headed out of the funeral home and into the SUV. The door had barely closed behind us when I heard the lock slide into place. I’d never seen a man happier to get rid of people than the funeral home director had been.

  I climbed into the second row of seats next to one of the other agents and looked out the limo-tinted windows as we drove. I didn’t know New Orleans very well, but I had no doubt Ida Belle and Gertie were watching and would know where the safe house was located within the city. I knew it didn’t matter as we were supposed to stay put, but something about not knowing my exact location bothered me. Navigating the bayous around Sinful with Ida Belle and Gertie had always frustrated me. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear some of them shifted overnight.

  We were still somewhere near downtown when Agent Moss turned onto a side street and parked at the curb in front of an old two-story brick building. The red brick was chipped and crumbling, but no more so than any of the other historical buildings surrounding it. We exited the SUV and Agent Moss waved us inside and upstairs. At the top of the stairs was a single locked door. Agent Moss unlocked the door and we followed him inside.

  It was a studio apartment and wasn’t a big space—maybe eight hundred square feet total—but it had been equipped for our stay. Three twin beds lined one wall where big venetian screen room dividers stood next to them. I assumed that was our sleeping quarters. Agents Two and Three were on guard duty and I supposed would share the couch on their off shift. Agent Moss had other things to oversee and looked more than ready to ditch all of us.

  The kitchen was small but serviceable, and the pantry and refrigerator were well stocked. I was a bit concerned about five people and one tiny bathroom, but it wasn’t exactly something that could be fixed. I pulled off my cap and the suit and tossed them onto one of the beds.

  “I guess this is home,” I said.

  Gertie sat her purse on the middle bed and flopped down beside it. “Those hot dogs gave me heartburn. I don’t suppose there’s an Alka-Seltzer in that pantry, is there?”

  Ida Belle opened the pantry door and peered inside. “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “There’s a drugstore around the corner,” Agent Two said. “Make a list of anything that you need and I’ll go pick it up.”

  We poked around in the kitchen and the bathroom, put together a short list of necessities, and Agent Two headed out. Agent Three flopped down on the couch and a couple minutes later, was snoring.

  I took advantage of that opportunity to pick the lock on the drawer Agent Two had locked our cell phones in and handed them out. “Put them on vibrate and no making calls. If they see us with these, they’ll break them next time.”

  “Some security they are,” Gertie said as she stuffed the phone in her pocket. “The first one goes shopping and the second one takes a nap.” She reached inside her purse and pulled out a .45. It’s a good thing I have my own backup.”

  “Put that away,” I said. “If they see it, they’ll confiscate it. Why do you think mine’s hidden in my bra?”

  We looked over at Ida Belle, wondering where her pistol was secured.

  “I’ll never tell,” she said.

  “Where are we, anyway?” I asked.

  “The Warehouse District,” Ida Belle said. “But I’m not sure exactly where. I don’t know this area that well. I made a note of the street names, though.”

  “I think we’re on the edge of it,” Gertie said. She went to the front window and pulled the blinds up a bit. “Hey, isn’t that the group home that Landon was in?”

  Ida Belle and I peered out the blinds at the large building across the street. It looked like an old school or government building. A weathered sign on the front of it read Haven Place.

  “Yeah,” Ida Belle said. “That was it.”

  I watched as a woman in scrubs helped a man out of a car and up the sidewalk to the entry of the building. “I thought you said it closed.”

  Gertie nodded. “That’s what Nora told me.”

  Ida Belle snorted. “Nora’s been drunk for the last fifteen years. This spring she marched into the sheriff’s
department and claimed her cows had been abducted by aliens.”

  “Sounds perfectly reasonable for Sinful,” I said.

  “She doesn’t have any cows,” Ida Belle said.

  “That does not negate my previous statement,” I said.

  “Well,” Gertie said, “if that’s the place then we’re definitely in the Warehouse District. This is the south side of it.”

  “How close are we to the art gallery?” I asked.

  “Not close,” Gertie said. “I mean, not as far as the Warehouse District goes. We’re on the other side from the art gallery. Maybe eight blocks?”

  I hadn’t seen anything to indicate that the gallery was where the money was being printed, but I figured Max would have picked something nearby. But then, I could be completely off. Maybe he was so dedicated to his belief that he was an artist that’s why he picked that apartment, and the printing facility was in Mississippi or Idaho. At this point, who knew?

  “So what do we do now?” Gertie asked.

  I headed to the kitchen bar and pulled three beers out of the refrigerator. “We wait.”

  That was always the hardest part.

  ###

  I had fallen asleep sitting at the bar when my cell phone buzzed that night around 10:00 p.m. Agent Two was snoring away on the couch, but Agent Three hurried over to hover. “Where did you get that?” he asked, pointing at the phone.

  I ignored him. “It’s the CIA guy,” I said, trying to sound like a civilian.

  “Hello,” I answered.

  “It’s Harrison. Is the FBI standing over you?”

  “Yes. We’re fine. Thanks.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes, so just listen. There’s been a change in plans. Using the Randal connection, we’ve located the printing shop. We fed the information to Ahmad’s men in New Orleans.”

  “So there’s more?” I had figured that was the case. Ahmad usually sent backup for backup.

  “Yeah. The two dispatched in Sinful weren’t the ones our guys were on in New Orleans. There’s four in New Orleans that we know of, maybe more. You know Ahmad.”

  “Oh yeah. What about that one?” Harrison would know I meant Ahmad himself.

  “He was spotted two blocks away in a coffee shop, but he slipped out with a group of tourists. We don’t have eyes on him now.”

  I forced my expression to remain neutral but my pulse shot through the roof. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, and the entire room seemed to expand out, then in. This was it. The moment I’d been praying for over the last two months. Ahmad was within my reach.

  “Anyway,” Harrison said, “the four just left their hotel and are headed in the direction of the printing shop. Randal arrived ten minutes ago with some of his men, and they did not look like art critics.”

  “And you’re just now telling me this?” What the hell was wrong with him? The whole thing might be over before I got there.

  “What’s wrong?” Three asked.

  I waved a hand at him.

  “The print shop is only two blocks from you,” Harrison said. “Hand the phone to the agent and I’ll tell him to get you outside because we need you to point out the men.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then get your ass outside and prepare for the showdown we’ve all been waiting for.”

  “He wants to talk to you,” I said and handed my phone to Three.

  He frowned and took the call.

  “Yeah. Are you sure…no, of course you are. We’re on our way now.” He disconnected the call and handed me the phone. “He explained what’s going to happen?”

  “What’s wrong?” Ida Belle asked.

  “Nothing,” I said, “they think they have found those guys. They need me to make sure.”

  “They don’t need us too?” Gertie asked.

  I shook my head. “He said one of us would do.”

  Gertie and Ida Belle looked at each other, their expressions grim.

  “Be careful,” Ida Belle said.

  “Extra careful,” Gertie said.

  “You know me,” I said and gave them a smile. “Careful is my middle name.” I winked at them and headed for the door, Three walking practically on top of me. At the doorway, I glanced back and they both gave me a thumbs-up.

  This was it. Time to fix my life.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The driver remained silent the entire drive and dropped me off in a parking garage two blocks away. Harrison exited a stairwell and motioned me over. “It’s good to see you, Redding,” he said and stuck out his fist.

  I bumped his knuckles with mine and smiled. “You too.” And I meant it. Harrison and I went head-to-head on some things, but when it came to the work, we trusted each other completely. He was a good guy and a great agent, and there simply weren’t that many of them out there.

  He led me over to the edge of the parking garage and pointed to a warehouse across the street. “That’s our target.”

  “It’s a publishing company,” I said, surprised. “Either they’re lazy or someone likes irony.”

  “I don’t think they’re smart enough for irony. I’m going with easier to explain expensive printing equipment orders. The first and second floors contain the legit portion of the business, but the third floor is an attic, and that’s where the tax-exempt portion of things are handled. And you’ll never guess who owns the publishing company.”

  “Randal?”

  Harrison nodded. “It took some digging, but after you tipped us off to him we got every agent we could pull on researching business records and finally connected the dots. We did a broad sweep to narrow down the real estate that could house a printing operation, then sent men in as city inspectors, gas meter readers…anything that wouldn’t arouse suspicion.”

  “Smart.”

  “The dead giveaway stuff was out of sight when our fake building inspector went through the third floor of the publishing company, but he recognized enough of the tools and equipment to know what was really going on up there and why it had been separated from the other production areas.”

  “Is anyone on site now?”

  Harrison nodded. “Randal and two of his men went in about twenty minutes ago.”

  “So what’s the play?”

  “I have one of our guys on the inside now. He’s got the alarm disabled on the back door, so Ahmad’s men can get in clean, and he’s got a back window ready for us. As soon as Ahmad’s men enter, we’ll access the building through that window and follow them upstairs. The FBI has four men on the roof of the building next door. When we enter, they’ll cross over to the publishing company roof. On my signal, they’ll drop through the skylight. It’s on the opposite end of the attic from the printing equipment, so they should have a small window of time to gain cover.”

  “I take it you’re not expecting them to surrender.”

  “Ha. Are you?”

  “Not a chance. Ahmad’s man was going to kill me in Gertie’s backyard and I looked like Suzy Homemaker. No way those guys are stepping down. So three men including Randal and probably another two to four for Ahmad.”

  “One more with Ahmad.”

  “You don’t know how hard I’m hoping for that one more.” With the FBI support and Harrison and me and our guy on the inside, that made it seven against a potential eight. Eight men heavily into arms dealing who would be equipped with the very best money could buy. But they didn’t know we were coming, and that made all the difference in the world.

  Harrison pulled a smoke grenade from his pocket and handed it to me. “Do you have a pistol?”

  I pulled a nine-millimeter—one of Marge’s stock—out of my bra. “I have two more magazines where that came from.”

  He grinned. “I thought you looked like you’d acquired cleavage since you left.”

  He motioned me to the corner, reached behind a pole, and pulled out a bulletproof vest. I shrugged off my T-shirt, lifted the extra magazines out of my sports bra, and pulled the vest on. It was never a good idea
to wear the vest on the outside of your clothes. In my line of work, that just told the bad guys to shift to head shots.

  I pulled my T-shirt back on, secured my pistol and the grenade on my jeans, and slipped the magazines into my pocket.

  “Ready?”

  “Definitely.”

  He handed me an assault rifle, and we headed down the stairs and out the back of the building. We skirted down the alley, then a block over and back up the alley of the publishing company. There were no lights on behind the building, and as my feet crunched on glass shards, I knew Harrison had eliminated them earlier today. The moon provided enough light to slip down the alley without tripping over anything and soon, we were crouched behind a Dumpster, across the alley from the window we would use to gain entry.

  Harrison touched his headset, indicating he was receiving a message, then he pointed toward the street, held up four fingers, then one.

  Ahmad’s men were one minute out.

  I nodded and we both maintained position, watching for movement. About forty-five seconds later, four men slunk down the alley and jimmied the back door. Harrison and I watched carefully, but no one else entered the alley. Ahmad’s men didn’t hesitate in the doorway and closed it behind them.

  I felt my heart sink. He wasn’t coming.

  If Ahmad didn’t show, then this takedown was great for the FBI but didn’t solve any of my problems. Harrison looked over at me and I could tell he was as disappointed as I was. He pulled two black ski masks from his vest and handed me one. I pulled the mask on and started to stand when Harrison grabbed my arm and pointed down the alley. I squinted into the darkness, but everything appeared still. Then I saw it. The tiniest shift of shadow about fifty feet away.

  I held my breath as a man walked out from the shadows and toward the back door. His face was turned away from us, but there was no mistaking that walk. It was Ahmad. I looked at Harrison and nodded. Harrison gave me a thumbs-up. I could see the excitement flash in his eyes.