‘Uh, oh.’
‘Yeah,’ the governor agreed, ‘and, now that I walked into that shit, I have to report it, or it will come back on me. What do you think the media is going to make of that?’
‘I’m sorry, Governor. I can see you’re not in a good place.’
‘I should say not,’ he barked, then realized he’d ventured off-track. ‘I was, uh, calling, because the President still wants to come down to do something at the elementary school. Of course, I told him he would have our utmost cooperation and assistance, but there’s all this crap on the news. It makes it look like a bunch of morons are running the state. And what about the missing teacher?’
‘She’s with Thiery now,’ Bullock answered, ‘and I’m sure he’ll bring her back to us, safely. Maybe you should tell him we’re still investigating the case, because some leads have taken us on another course.’ He heard a click on the phone.
‘That’s my other line, Commissioner,’ Croll announced. ‘Please do me a favour and try to get this thing settled, so I know we can make the President happy, capiche?’
THIRTY-ONE
Julio Esperanza had his driver take the back roads and stick to the speed limits. He had no reason to believe he was being followed, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He had a conundrum though; he wasn’t sure where to go or what to do at that particular moment. His heart was still racing, not so much from the shoot-out a couple of hours earlier, but from the thought of his father coming down there. He could hear him now: Could you have fucked this up any more than you already have?
And he would be accompanied by El Monstruo. Julio pictured the giant man staring blankly at him as he pulled the starter cord on a chainsaw and hungrily eyed his neck.
They drove to the small town of Eustis, a tiny piece of central Florida that billed itself as ‘a friendly hometown and a destination for arts and culture’, though it was better known for being home to several young Goth types who, years earlier, had come to believe they were modern-day vampires. Dressing in black and occasionally slurping each other’s blood, they’d grown bored one day and killed a gang member’s parents, beating them to death with a crowbar. Still, it was a pretty little town, and Julio felt some solace as they pulled into the parking lot of Haystax. As if being directed by a higher power, they discovered it was a Mexican restaurant, and Julio, in spite of his shot nerves, was hungry.
He was about to exit the car when his father called. He answered the phone, his hands trembling. Suddenly, hunger was the last thing on his mind.
‘Where are you?’ his father demanded.
Julio looked around in a daze, the bright Florida sun blinding him. ‘Nowhere,’ he answered hesitantly, not being a smart-ass; despite knowing the name of the town and the restaurant, he actually didn’t know where he was.
‘Did you see what Moral did?’
Julio gulped, his throat dry from fear. ‘I … I’m not sure what you mean, Papa.’
‘Turn on that little computer phone you have and check out the news. You two have made a mess of this whole thing. I gotta say, though, that dumbfuck Moral actually did something right, for once.’
Julio found the THN app on his Droid phone and watched the video of Moral’s interview, finding his breathing easier the more he watched. ‘He’s pointing them toward the Albanians,’ Julio said, returning to the conversation with his father.
‘Si,’ said Emilio. ‘I’m not sure that will be good for him, but it takes the heat off us, for now. Do you know where the woman is?’
‘No, Papa. We’re working on it. She could not have gone far. With all the cops looking for her, she will probably lay low. We will find her. I promise.’
‘You’re goddamn right we will. How much heat do you have on you after that display in the hotel lobby?’
‘So far, not much,’ Julio answered, relieved to pass along at least a shred of good news. ‘I think Moral covered for us.’
‘Good. I am flying into Jacksonville. Pick me up there.’
‘Orlando is probably closer.’
Emilio shook his head. ‘It’s also closer to where the heat is now, wouldn’t you say?’
Julio shrugged. ‘Yes, you are right, Papa. I’ll pick you up in Jacksonville.’
‘And find a comfortable place for us to stay,’ Emilio added. ‘It doesn’t have to be one of the five star places you like. I’m not going to be there long, twenty-four hours at the most. If I’m absent from here longer, the Feds will know. Find a place and we will go there and make plans to end this, quickly, once and for all. Do you understand?’
‘Of course, Papa. It is done. I will handle it.’
Emilio thought of a smart-ass retort, but did not say it. He was sipping some very nice bourbon as his private Learjet zoomed toward Florida like a missile. He didn’t want to spoil the moment. He’d had a run in with the Albanians some years before, and he was finding some pleasure in how Moral had managed to throw the suspicion toward them. In fact, he found it quite amusing. ‘I’ll call when we land,’ he said, and ended the transmission on his satellite phone.
Julio sighed, feeling better about things, overall. He stepped out of the icy air-conditioned embrace of his car, into the humid heat of the parking lot, and invited his driver to join him for lunch. He hoped the joint offered a big, fat burrito. He loved them covered with salsa, sour cream, and avocado. If it came to it, he would choose a burrito as his last meal. Though his father had sounded like he was in a pleasant mood, he was bringing El Monstruo with him. That meant someone was going to die and, if history was truly an indicator of the future, he would die in a most horrible way. Julio entered the door of Haystax, his mouth watering at the thought of diving into a loaded burrito, his mind working hard to ignore the possibility it might be his last.
Thiery watched the news reports, particularly THN’s interview with Moral. If he’d had any doubts about the guy, they were gone. What he’d told the media was pure, unadulterated bullshit. Unfortunately, as far as Thiery knew, only three people were aware of that: himself, Millie Adkins, and Logan, who couldn’t help them, now. He wondered if she had completed any reports, or if her investigation into the gun cache used at the school shooting was in a place where someone could find it and put things together. Probably not. That only happened in the movies: the clever investigator who somehow pulls all the pieces together and magically concludes the investigation. There was no magic here. Only one crooked tragedy after another and too many people had paid for it.
Millie’s breathing in the other room was loud and slow, he knew she was in a deep sleep. She wasn’t snoring, but, at the end of each inhalation, he heard a fleshy click as her tongue fell back against her throat, then a pause, followed by a slow gush of exhaled air. Thiery was tired, but he’d only had a couple of bad nights of sleep. Millie had several years’ worth.
He turned his phone on, just for a minute, to check calls. He noted Bullock had left messages, voicemail, and texts. No surprise there. He’d surely heard the news reports, and, while he was smart enough not to believe them, he would be wondering what – and where – his agent and friend was. He saw his sons Owen and Leif had called him back. They’d probably seen the news, too, now and wondered a few things themselves, like why their father hadn’t told them about the case and his involvement. But, he’d kept lots of things from them over the years. Maybe too much. He turned the phone back off, so it couldn’t be traced.
He needed a shower to wash off the stench of blood and gunpowder. Walking to the bathroom, he passed Millie, lying across the bed like a broken doll. He tried to imagine what it would be like to lose one of his sons, the constant worry of any parent, but had to put it out of his mind. He felt an overwhelming sense of loss for this unfortunate woman who had gone through so much.
The shower helped wash away his shifting emotions, though the image of Logan’s lips bubbling with blood kept creeping back into his mind, accompanied by a sense of guilt and remorse. He wondered how her husband was doing, and quietly
mouthed a prayer for him to any God who would listen, anymore.
After attending Episcopalian service for years with his young family, he had stopped going after his wife’s disappearance. Now, when he looked at a church, all he saw was an ornate building housed by people who seemed to need something he was no longer capable of giving. He’d struggled with his faith ever since his NFL gridiron gig faltered. While speculative sports reports attributed the loss of his career to his shoulder injuries, or more often his ‘lack of talent,’ it had been more than that. Simply, NFL advertisers didn’t want a quarterback who looked to the sky and genuflected after every successful play. Coaches, agents, and managers told him to stop doing it, but he was full of the spirit, then, and ignored their demands. In turn, they began to look at him as a prima donna who would not take direction, ignored his renewal contract, and played him on the field less and less. ‘One nation, under God … ’ seemed like nothing more than hot air from a Bible Belt America that wanted everyone to be faithful, they just didn’t want you revealing it in public. Hypocrisy was as much a part of the American culture, now, as crooked politicians.
Thiery stepped out of the shower and dried off, pushing his negative thoughts to the back of his mind the same as he had done for years. He looked his clothes over. His pants were still okay – a little scuffed in the knee from diving behind a car – but he needed a shirt. He tiptoed through the bedroom, again, and looked in the closet. Logan and her husband had left some clothing there, and he rummaged around until he found an oversized Florida Gator football jersey. He was surprised, since Logan was an alumna of Florida State University, and seemed to love to goad him with her allegiance to the Seminoles. He found sandals and swimming shorts that fitted, too, if he cinched them up. The outfit would serve as a makeshift disguise when he went for food.
Millie heard the hangers rattling and opened her eyes. She wasn’t sure where she was and thought the sounds of the hangers were wind chimes. Then, she spied a shirtless man with droplets of water still on his muscled back, looking through the closet. The sight frightened her, at first, and she gasped before realizing it was Thiery.
He turned and watched her eyes focus. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Didn’t mean to wake you.’
Her eyes drifted over his still bare chest and made him self-conscious, though Millie, who hadn’t slept with a man since her husband was murdered, didn’t mind. She noted the scars across his shoulder; typical football player wound, probably a torn rotator cuff.
Thiery slid the jersey over his shoulders, caught a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror on a nearby wall, and had a momentary flashback to his college quarterback days.
‘Oh, my God,’ Millie gasped behind the hand she’d brought to her mouth. ‘I thought there was something familiar about you. I haven’t had the time to figure it out. You used to play college football, around … ’
‘Forever ago?’ he jumped in.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I was a cheerleader in high school and used to watch all the college games with my dad. They used to call you “Magic Man”, because you could make the ball disappear when you threw a Hail Mary! You were … awesome.’ She watched as Thiery’s face blushed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.’
‘’S’okay. I get that every now and then.’
‘What happened? I mean, how did you get into law enforcement?’
Thiery shrugged. If she watched him back then, she probably already knew what had happened. There was the short stint with the Broncos, until he tore out his shoulder. That kicked off a series of trades: to the Jets, who kept him benched as a second-string quarterback, then the Patriots for try-outs, then down to other, lesser teams as damaged goods. After a few years, the offers quit coming. That was the cover story, anyway. No one would believe the truth in the current “politically correct” world.
‘It’s a long story,’ he said, dropping the subject. ‘I thought I’d go find us some grub. Maybe we can talk about it over dinner. There’s a Weber out back. I could grill some steaks. Unless you’re a vegetarian or something.’
‘We’re going to stay here?’ she asked, her eyes wide, quizzical.
Thiery nodded. ‘I think we should, at least for a day or so. Saw on the TV that Moral has already gotten to the media and spread some pretty thick bullshit about us. I need time to get things straightened out with my boss and the FBI.’
‘Are we in trouble?’ she asked, swinging her legs off the bed. The effort made her dizzy, and Thiery noticed.
‘Not too much,’ he said, sitting next to her on the bed. ‘I mean, I think Moral’s story is going to fall apart real quick, as soon as anyone has the time to research it. For now, it would be best if we took a breather. We’re safe here. You okay with that?’
Millie nodded, then bent forward to put her head between her legs, overcome by a sudden wave of nausea. ‘Safe,’ she muttered. ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever feel safe again.’
Thiery placed his hand on her neck and kneaded the small spot between her shoulder blades with his thumb. He wondered when she’d last eaten. He could feel the bones in her neck and thought of a frail, vulnerable bird.
‘How are your wounds?’ he asked, surprised how comfortable they were with each other after meeting during a moment of such violence and bloodshed.
‘I’m … healing,’ said Millie. ‘There was some infection, but it seems to have cleared. Just kind of weak, right now.’
Thiery gave her a small shake and laugh. ‘Most people who are shot tend to stay in the hospital a little longer.’
She looked up at him and smiled. ‘If I would’ve stayed at the hospital, I don’t think I would still be alive.’
Thiery stood and said, ‘I’m glad you are.’ The instant the words came out, he felt he was being too forward, and his face blushed. He changed the subject. ‘I’ll be just a little while,’ he said, staring bashfully at the floor. ‘There’s a store down the road. Do you need anything special?’
She lifted up her shirt and looked at the wounds healing, slow but sure, on her abdomen. ‘Maybe fresh bandages?’
He raised his head but looked away from her raised shirt. ‘Already on my list.’
Turning to leave, she grabbed his hand and stopped him.
‘About how long do you think you’ll be gone?’ she asked. ‘You know, just in case there’s a knock on the door.’
He looked at his watch – three o’clock – then picked up his wallet and dug around. He handed her his card. ‘Shouldn’t be more than a half hour at the most. If it’s more than that, call this number. The man’s name is Jim Bullock. He’s my boss. Tell him everything. You can trust him. But, try to stay here. It really is the safest place for us right now.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But, can you leave me a gun?’
THIRTY-TWO
They knew.
Moral splashed cool water into his face in the restroom of the command post vehicle, trying to quell his growing panic. He looked at his image in the mirror. He was a mess. Nothing new there; he’d been lending himself that assessment for years. He knew his weaknesses and the shitty fabric from which his morals were made. He could make no excuses. Simply, he was unable to control his addictions. But, it was the end of the road now. The way Sales had talked to him made him realize something was up. How much they knew, he wasn’t sure, but he knew they knew he was up to something.
He explored his options, his chances, as any man who’d wasted away his life gambling would do. Gambling is always about exploring options, while inwardly thinking you know the outcome. He could give himself up. A good attorney could say I did the things I did because of addiction. Might still do time, but wouldn’t be forever, right?
Fuck that. Who was he trying to fool? They would probably give him the needle for what he’d done. Especially the thing with the school. Seemed pretty fucked-up, now. At the time, it seemed a good way – maybe the only way – to get the Esperanzas off the hook, and he had to do that or he’d already b
e feeding the buzzards off a deserted highway. Eliminate the key witness against them, and they could walk. Julio had brought in Shadtz, who was perfect: a guy with nothing to lose. They’d done the same thing when they took out the Adkins family. It was almost a trademark for the Esperanzas to use a guy who had no future. But he had brought in the crazy kid on his own. Recruiting Coody might have seemed like a gamble (But hey, he liked that!), but Coody hadn’t been the problem. Millie Adkins was the problem. She wasn’t supposed to survive the school shooting. Now, he was fucked. Unless … unless … he, or the Esperanzas, could get to Adkins and Thiery first.
Moral envisioned a blackjack table, full all the way around, everyone’s money and cards laid out, and everyone busted. But there he was, counting cards, double-downed, two face cards showing, two face cards down. His piles of chips stacked a foot high, and him hiding behind them, like a wall, a barricade that protected him from loss. The dealer with twelve showing and having to take another card. He could bust like everyone else at the table. In Moral’s mind, he could see the guy sliding the card out of the deck, the colours of a face card peeking out like lacy underwear sticking out of the tiny cut-off jeans on a Vegas hooker’s ass.
He could be smart just one more time, he thought. Like when he was young and untainted. Like when he was a good cop. Before he’d found his evil muse of cards and dice and smoky casinos. The erotic sounds of ceramic poker chips clinking together, like the sound he and the devil made as they toasted with diamond glasses, sealing their deal, drinking the blood from his own veins. Here take my daughter, too, while you’re taking my soul.
He went to one of the computer monitors on which they had uploaded the hotel’s security videos, and watched the video of the shoot-out in the lobby over and over again. When it came to the part where Thiery bent down to check on Logan, Moral zoomed in and focused. What were they doing? What was she saying to him? What was that she handed him? The keys to her car, right? That was the car they’d sped away in, going where?
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