‘What … are … you … doing?’ she asked weakly, her throat beyond parched.
Moral wiped his eyes with the back of his coat sleeve. His cheeks shone wet. He was drinking from a pint bottle of scotch. He leaned forward and tipped the bottle into her mouth. The liquid burned her cracked lips and sore throat, but allowed her to swallow.
‘Why did you cuff me to the bed?’
Moral shook his head. His eyes bulged and a patina of sweat made his forehead slick. ‘I need time to think,’ he said.
‘About what?’ said Erica, still in a fog.
‘About what our next step should be.’
The sip of booze helped wake her. ‘How about getting me the fuck out of here,’ she suggested, her anger coming back, but with a touch of fear. What’s he going to do to me?
‘It’s not that easy,’ he replied. ‘It’s going to take time to establish a new start. We didn’t think this one would be compromised so soon. You shouldn’t have called so much attention to yourself.’
Erica tugged at her binds. ‘It wouldn’t be compromised if someone hadn’t told those guys I was teaching at the school. Did you do that?’
Moral glanced at her, but couldn’t keep his eyes on hers. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying,’ he said. ‘They were some crazed kids. One of them used to go to the school. Maybe he was bullied there. We don’t know all the details, yet, but he was a nutcase. Played shoot ’em up video games all day, then hooked up with another nut, and they launched a raid on the school. It’s happening all over the country every week now.’
‘The man who came to shoot me wasn’t a kid. He was a grown man.’
‘What difference does it— ’
Erica bolted up, but was held fast by the handcuffs. ‘He asked me my name, Robert! Can you tell me why he’d do that, huh?’
Moral scrunched up his brow. ‘I can’t imagine— ’
‘Oh, shut up,’ she cut him off again. ‘Do you think I’m stupid, as well as naively trusting? It was the same as Washington, and the other places before that. My position keeps getting compromised. How is that, Bob?’
‘I … I don’t know, Erica. I don’t understand it, either,’ he said, wiping his face with a yellowed handkerchief. ‘We’ll have to put you into a different programme.’
‘Fuck that, Bob. I’ve got the emergency relocation money and another ID. Uncuff me from this bed, and let me get the hell out of here.’
He’d forgotten about the money. Damn, there is a God, he thought to himself. ‘Okay, Erica, er, uh, Millie. You could make a run for it, but, without the agency’s protection, how long do you think you’ll last out there on your own?’
Erica nodded her head toward her stomach. Blood had seeped through her shirt. ‘Yeah, looks like you guys are doing a great job, protecting me.’
‘I’m sorry about that. I swear this wasn’t because of us.’
‘You don’t think the Esperanzas were behind this?’
‘I don’t see how – ’
‘Shut up and release me!’
Moral stared at her, trying to come up with some excuse, some story that might make sense to her. Maybe she was talking to a friend? Maybe there was a mole in the Marshal’s Office?
Fuck it. He didn’t have to tell her anything. He thought about the money again. If he could use the cash to make more money, he might be able to get out of this, yet. Give him some time to think, sort things out. If nothing else, he could pay off that second mortgage and the credit cards. Maybe help his daughter get out of the trouble she was in. Thinking of her, of what she was doing now, always made him sick to his stomach. He felt an overwhelming anxiety overtake him. If he could only get the weight off his back, give himself breathing room. Sensing a plan, of sorts, gelling, he stalled her a while longer.
‘My job is to keep you safe, Millie,’ he said. ‘I think it’s best you stay here, and you won’t if I take the cuffs off.’
‘Quit calling me Millie. You never knew her.’
‘Yes, I did. She was a brave woman.’
Erica stared at the ceiling, hot tears spilling from her eyes. ‘If you were concerned about me you would get me medical treatment. What are you up to?’
‘I’m not up to anything. It’s my opinion you’re a danger to yourself, and that’s what’s going in my report. I just need some time to set up a different plan. We need to find out what you’re doing that’s allowing you to be compromised. Now, where’s that money?’
Erica glared at him. ‘Fuck you, you piece of shit. Find it yourself.’
‘You’re delirious, Millie,’ he tried. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying … ’
‘Right,’ she said, giving up. What could she do? She felt her heart beating in her throat. She was still dehydrated and needed more of the antibiotic. ‘Then call in some cops to help us.’
‘You know I can’t do that. We can’t compromise your identity and position.’
‘Go to hell.’
Moral got up and began to look through the house. It was a tiny place, maybe nine hundred square feet under roof. It didn’t take him long to find her purse. The money, stolen car keys, and her new ID were inside. He left the new identity – Christine Angel – in the purse and took the cash.
It was almost night, so the dog track would soon close. But, there was a Hard Rock Casino up in Orlando. If he could get there, double the $10K, or even turn it into a hundred, he might have some bargaining power. If he could make that much, he might even be able to double that, then he’d have the world by the balls. Suddenly, he was in charge, electric, on top of the world.
He stuffed the money packet into his inside coat pocket and headed for the door.
‘Robert!’ Erica yelled out to him.
He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob. ‘Yeah?’
‘If I can get out of this, I’m going to kill you, too.’
Moral felt a chill run down what spine he had left, and a lump of what felt like jagged ice pushed into his throat, his elation fell away. As he walked out to his car, feeling the lump of money pressing against his chest like the barrel of a gun, he murmured, ‘I wish you would.’
The FBI’s role in the school shooting was small. Diminutive was the word that kept coming back to Sara Logan as she waited to hear results from the forensic lab. She was bored and she didn’t like to be bored, because it often led her into trouble. She’d been bored – with her job, with her marriage, with her life – a few years ago, when she’d met Thiery. The idea of a harmless (who was she trying to kid?) one time tryst seemed like something that might end that boredom, add some excitement to her life. Men had been hitting on her ever since she’d been in the FBI, opportunities were always there, but she’d resisted them, until Thiery. He was handsome, vulnerable – an easy target – and she turned up her sexy charm, drenched herself in alluring musky cologne, and gave it a whirl. Then – like an idiot – fell in love with the man.
Logan would never leave her husband; he was a contractor who afforded her a wonderful life and did not question her many nights away ‘on assignment’. Like her, he did not want any children. That had been the problem with Thiery; his two sons. Not bad boys, but she didn’t want to be mother to them. But God, Thiery was a match for her in bed. A guy who could finally keep up with her stroke for stroke, so to speak. She missed that as she went home to her husband, sixteen years older and well into slumberland by the time she slipped between the sheets.
In the end, she began to feel guilt, then shame, and she ended it, though she never openly declared it. Thiery had begun to ask when she going to get a divorce and she told him, with all the emotion of a cold-blooded killer, never, silly – this has just been some fun. The look on his face told her he wouldn’t call again, and he didn’t.
She tried to put him out of her mind as she idly plucked through evidence reports Thiery had emailed to her. One of them had a list of guns the shooters had used at the school, as well as the additional firearms found at Coody’s house. The list
had the make, model, calibre, and serial numbers.
Logan fed the list into the FBI’s database of guns. It was a lark, really. She assumed the guns would be stolen or the serial numbers faked, but the database returned a hit almost immediately. It was a list of confiscated guns the Kentucky State Police auctioned off months ago. Logan couldn’t believe it. Some cities were doing buy-backs and one-day amnesty programmes for folks with illegally obtained guns. But, in Kentucky, they were selling the damn things like hotcakes at a Sunday fundraiser.
Logan’s mind began to race. Federal law does not prohibit the transportation of guns across state lines unless, of course, the person moving them is a convicted felon. She looked up Shadtz and Coody in the FBI’s NCIC (National Criminal Information Center) and while Coody was a dead end, she found several convictions for Shadtz. She felt a slight adrenaline rush. This case was going to be federal after all.
She called Kentucky State Police, got hold of an admin branch manager who confirmed the weapons had been sold as a lot to a gun dealer licensed to sell in Vegas. Logan asked for the dealer’s information. It was a pawn shop called Tito’s Pawn & Guns, owned by a man named Tito Viveros. Logan called the pawn shop.
‘Hello, this is Tito,’ said a man with a distinct Mexican accent.
‘This is Special Agent Sara Logan with the FBI in Florida,’ she replied. ‘I’m following up on some of the weapons we seized that we think might have come from your shop. I just need a few minutes of your time.’
‘Uh, what?’ said Viveros, feeling a sheen of sweat break out on his forehead and the back of his neck.
‘It looks like you bought a collection of guns from the Kentucky State Police Department a few months back. Is that correct?’
Now, Viveros was in a full-blown panic. Fucking A he’d bought them. Sold them, too, to someone he wasn’t supposed to be selling them to: a kid in Florida. But, it wasn’t supposed to be able to come back to him. A federal agent who had set up the deal through the Esperanzas was supposed to take care of that. Fuck! he thought. What now?
‘Can you speak louder?’ he improvised, poorly. ‘My phone, eet isn’t working so well.’
Logan fumed. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me. I need to know who you sold the lot to. You want me to fly out there and audit every record in your business? Think you could stand up to that?’
‘I … I’m sorry, my Eng-leesh, eet ees not so good … ’ he said and hung up. Then, he immediately dialled the man who had helped broker the deal: Julio Esperanza.
Julio recognized the number and did not pick up. He let it go to voicemail, then listened to the recording.
‘Hey, Jefe. It’s Tito,’ he announced. ‘Hit me back, man. The FBI just called. They were asking about that shipment of guns that went to the kid in Florida. I thought your guy was supposed to take care of that, man, make it a clean sale. If someone fucked up, it’s not on me. I’ll stall, man, but we might have some bad shit happening. Call me back, quick.’
FIFTEEN
On the way to the motel lobby, Thiery saw the perfectly chiselled and megawatt spot-lit face of Dave Gruber, along with his camera crew and a young blonde who chased Gruber around doing his make-up. Thiery avoided eye contact; he didn’t want to talk to this cat right then.
Thiery manoeuvred revolving doors to reach the front desk of the motel, showed his FDLE identification to a young lady with active chewing gum, and asked for Gloria Shadtz’s room number. Without hesitation, she pointed and replied, ‘Number Four.’
It was long after sunset, and the concrete walk outside was dimly lit. Cool air moved in, lending Thiery a chill as he rapped a knuckle against the door marked with a crooked ‘4’. He heard shuffling noises inside, a chain latch clanking open.
Gloria Shadtz opened the door, pillow creases in her face, her eyelids swollen. Must’ve cried herself to sleep this afternoon, thought Thiery. Even lousy husbands need to be mourned he supposed.
‘Hi, Mrs Shadtz. I’m Agent Thiery with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.’
Gloria nodded and yawned. ‘Oh, yeah. Chief Dunham said you might call on me.’
‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m investigating the shooting at the school yesterday, and I’d like to ask you a few questions about your husband.’
‘Ex-husband,’ she chided, fingering her hair back, trying to make it look right.
‘Okay.’
‘It’s nice out. You want to sit on the back patio? Maybe have a beer?’ she suggested, touching her upper lip with the tip of her tongue.
‘Out back is fine. I’ll hold off the beer for now, though.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Gloria held up a finger indicating a minute was needed. She rooted around in the room’s small refrigerator and came out with a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon. She closed and locked the door. Thiery kept up with her surprisingly energetic pace to the back of the motel where plastic chairs and tables sat around a pool whose surface was still and dark. Thiery sat in one of the chairs, instantly feeling its coldness seep through the thin fabric of his trousers.
Gloria opened an icy beer and took a quick swig. She pulled a cigarette from a pack of Camels and lit up. ‘I’d offer you one, but you don’t smoke, do you?’
‘No,’ said Thiery, smiling. ‘How can you tell?’
‘Your teeth are too white,’ she said, smiling back. ‘Frank smoked like a chimney.’
‘Yeah?’ said Thiery, watching her take another pull off the beer. He could see its amber colour, the drops of condensation running down the brown bottle like rivulets of sweat from a lover’s body. He was parched and tried to think of when last he drank anything. He could almost taste the malty beer, thought about changing his mind and accepting her offer, but decided against it. One often led to another, then another. He had too much work to do. ‘Tell me more about Frank,’ he asked.
‘What do you want to know?’ Her voice a low rumble of gravel after a few pulls on the cigarette.
‘Okay,’ he said, thinking, twenty questions it is. ‘Did he dislike kids?’
‘No’ she answered, exhaling a cloud of smoke. ‘In fact, he was a fuck-up for the most part, but one thing I can say is he was a good father. We have a boy. Danny. He has Down Syndrome. He can be a handful, and sometimes I just don’t have the patience. Frank always did. It was like they could communicate in a way I never could.’
‘I see,’ Thiery said as he took notes on his tablet. ‘So, why do you think Frank would move down here, befriend a guy like Coody, and attack an elementary school?’
Gloria pushed her chin up and blew out a plume of smoke aimed at the stars. She shrugged and shook her head.
‘Chief Dunham said Frank left you some money,’ Thiery continued. ‘Where do you think he got that?’
Gloria shot him a look of concern. ‘You’re not going to try to take the money, are you?’
Thiery thought about it. Maybe there were fingerprints. Maybe the serial numbers would yield clues. But, he said, ‘No.’ He could hear a sigh of relief in her next exhalation of smoke.
‘Frank was something else,’ she announced. ‘If you would’ve seen him when he was younger. God, the ladies loved him. It was like he put Spanish Fly, or cigarette ashes, in the girls’ drinks, you know, to make ’em horny? ’Cause they got hot in the pants real quick around him. I was one of them. Man, I fell for that guy. Put up with a lot of shit over the years, too. He wasn’t a bad man; he just couldn’t keep out of trouble.’
Thiery looked up from his tablet. ‘What kind of trouble?’ he asked.
‘Well,’ Gloria considered as she tapped ashes onto the cement pool deck between them, ‘he was a bouncer for the most part, so he was always getting into fights, even when he wasn’t at the bar. When he was at the bar, people were always asking him for drugs, so he got into selling grass and coke, and got busted a few times for that. Then he did some scut-work for some of the mob guys, leaning on people if they owed a loan shark, shit like that. I think you cops call it extortion. Hell
, if you live in Chicago, sooner or later, you’re going to be rubbing up against some made guys.’
Thiery sat up now, his interest piqued. ‘Yeah? Do you think that scut-work would include a hit on someone?’
‘You mean take a contract, like to murder someone?’
‘Yes.’
Gloria thought about it for a few minutes, lighting another cigarette with the burning filter of the last one. ‘If you would’ve asked me that a year ago, I would’ve said no. Absolutely not. He was tough, but he wasn’t vicious. When he started getting sick, it was like I could see a fear in his eyes that wasn’t there before. People do crazy shit when they get scared. But, he never owned guns that I knew of. He was a straight barroom brawler, a bare knuckles guy. I just can’t see him as a hit man.’
‘But, what if he knew he was dying?’ Thiery asked. ‘Would he do something like that if he knew he didn’t have long to live? Maybe take a hit so he could leave you and Danny something?’
Gloria stared at Thiery as if she were in a darkened room and he’d come in and turned on the lights. ‘Could be,’ she answered. Then she considered the obvious. ‘But, who would call a hit on a bunch of school kids?’
Thiery leaned forward. ‘Gloria, I don’t know what you know about the shooting, but none of the kids were killed. One was shot in the arm, but I think it was a mistake. I don’t think Frank meant to shoot her.’
Gloria frowned. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Who would be the target then?’
‘I was hoping you could tell me.’
‘Like I said, I can’t see Frank doing a hit.’
‘But, what if he knew he was dying?’ he asked again ‘What if he thought it was the only way he could leave Randy something?’
Gloria drew deep on her cigarette and looked toward the horizon. A green glow, the last goodnight wave of the fading sun, held up the blackness of the rest of the sky. She wrapped her lips around the mouth of the bottle and chugged it back until it drained. The beer foam sliding down the neck of the bottle like dirty soap suds. She looked back at Thiery, her eyes wet. She nodded. ‘He might do that. Who got killed there?’
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