Devil's Deal

by Terri Lynn Coop

  “You look pretty peaked. Rough night?” I was about to give her a death glare until I saw the saucy smile.

  “In more ways than one, Stella.”

  “Have you had lunch? There’s a big pot of chicken soup on my stove and fresh baked rolls. How about we get you fed and you can tell me about the mystery man?”

  Hello rock, I’d like to introduce you to hard place.

  I tossed the duffel bags inside the door of the office-shed and got in the cart with Simon nestled in my lap. In exchange for an uncomplicated afternoon and a bowl of homemade chicken soup, I’d make up a good story.

  CHAPTER 44

  I walked back to my camper later than I expected, but I was stuffed, mellow, and most importantly, the Trans-Siberian Orchestra was no longer pounding a beat behind my temples.

  What I didn’t have was Simon. I’d asked Stella to keep him, stating I had to go out of town to finish up an old case and didn’t know how long I’d be gone. I had to be realistic. This was not a court case or a courier job where I had a client’s power and money backing me up. Except for Ethan, I was alone on this one. If Rockhound twigged to the setup, I could end up as dead as Cami Jo Floyd.

  I couldn’t call my contact until after dark. He wouldn’t be voluntarily conscious until at least seven and waking him up would not encourage the cooperation I needed. I decided to pack for the trip. Actually, first I had to unpack. I fit everything from the two duffel bags into the tiny dresser and closet in the motorhome. I wasn’t kidding; I’d brought all my underwear. I picked through the designer froth, ferreted out the simple cotton, and rolled it up with my shorts, tank tops, and a couple of khaki shirts before adding my favorite boots to the mix. A few girly bits from the bathroom, the five large from my safe, and my backpack was zipped and ready to go. The other bag would take more time.

  The ammo pouch from Uncle Jimmy’s locker yielded pay dirt in the form of a box of twelve-gauge slugs and a small bandolier of buckshot. After I confirmed the Cutter was in smooth working order and adjusted the sling, I loaded the twin magazines with eight slugs and topped off the right mag with buckshot. A flip of the switch gave me my choice of taking out an engine block or a nice spread that could drop a couple of bad guys. I chambered a slug. If I had to throw down, I wanted the fuck-you-very-much ammo on tap.

  I have no love of Tec-9s. They’re guns for chickenshit street bangers, but if we needed to make a lot of noise, they could come in handy. Finally, the Kalashnikov: folding-stock, never fired, a collectible as much as a weapon. I didn’t have ammo for it, but didn’t need it. It was our price of admission for the meet I hoped would happen tomorrow night. As an added fashion accessory, I tucked my .380 and the Chief’s Special into the pocket of my backpack.

  It never hurts to have a couple of close-quarters weapons of last resort.

  CHAPTER 45

  Since I still hadn’t mastered the propane system in my motorhome, I didn’t have hot water. Plus, I wanted much more shower than my voting-booth bathroom could provide, so I bundled up my clothes and walked over to the community bathhouse to kill some time and relax.

  The neat sterile room with the handwritten sign reminding visitors to squeegee the shower stall after each use was a far cry from the native stone and frosted glass grotto in my apartment, but I liked it. Surrounded by white tile and fluorescent lighting, I could shut out everything but the steaming water and my thoughts.

  This had to work. Dad’s life depended on it, and once Ethan and I stepped over the line, so did ours. With no real time to plan, I kept it simple. I’d tell my contact that with Dad’s arrest, I needed fast cash to get out of the country to some place with a beach and no extradition treaty. I wanted to invest what I’d been able to grab before the asset seizure in a quick product run of coltan and gold. I’d hooked up my own transport and needed a meeting with Preacher Joe. Without the go-ahead from Rockhound, there was no way in hell the African would talk to me.

  I stayed in my safe haven until the water turned lukewarm. While I toweled off, I mulled over the plan, either keeping or discarding small details and flourishes as they occurred to me. Ethan would obviously have his say as well, since he was going to have to sell himself as being able to get the product to the contacts in Yemen.

  Yemen.

  The realization hit me like a sledgehammer. Justice had told me Rockhound was branching out from supplying the Chinese to working with al-Qaeda. When I talked to Dad at the jail, I’d mentioned Ethan would pose as a mercenary with ties to Yemen. He hadn’t even flinched, much less asked for an explanation.

  Damn it, Dad knew.

  I don’t know what part he had in it, but he knew Rockhound was dealing with terrorists. I considered grabbing Simon and heading to the airport. I had cash, papers, and a strong interest in staying alive. But the usual pulled me back: duty, loyalty, and the desire to nail Rockhound because I was tired of this shit. Toss in a strong measure of curiosity and I was committed.

  It was still too early to call. Waiting was the hardest part. Even after I’d laid out our route and reduced my thoughts to a simple handwritten script, I was still at least an hour short of my contact’s coffee time. I thought about taking a walk, but didn’t want to run into Betty. Finally, I brought up a movie on my laptop and willed the earth around the sun.

  CHAPTER 46

  A car horn from outside jolted me awake. I didn’t remember nodding off and my cramped position hadn’t improved my mood or comfort. Rolling out of the overhead bunk, I did a few stretches and popped some tea in the microwave. The chicken soup had worn off, but luckily, a good chunk of Stella’s shopping trip was still in my fridge.

  It was time to make the call that launched this mission or stopped it dead in its tracks.

  After three rings I heard the familiar beat of the jukebox and a gruff voice saying, “Talk.”

  “Hi, Mikey. It’s Juliana Martin. You got a minute?”

  “Julie, how the hell are you? You know I always have time for you.”

  The only think I hated more than being called “Jewel” by strangers was being called “Julie” by anyone. I think that’s why he did it. “Abrasive asshole” was one of Mike’s talents.

  “Can I drop by the bar tomorrow night? I’m in a bind. I have somebody I need to introduce to the Rockhound and I have a business proposition for him.” I had a feeling Mike already knew what was going on, but decided to play dumb.

  “You can come to the bar and stay as long as you want. But damn, with the shit clogging up the fan, the boss isn’t real fond of your old man right now. Hell, nobody is, and nobody can figure out why you aren’t in jail with him.”

  Of course, even with almost no media coverage, it had made its way through the back channels.

  “I was out of town tending to some business in southwest Bumfuck. I know they’re looking for me and that’s why I need to talk to Rockhound. I need to get out of the country and he’s the only one who can help me. I need your help, Mike.”

  I called him Mikey to compensate for the Julie. I hoped straightening up his name would make me seem more sincere and appealing. I’m glad I was alone through this part. Putting that little wheedle into my voice was making it hard to keep a straight face.

  “You say you got somebody you want to introduce to the boss. Who is it?”

  “Not on the phone, Mike. He’s in the kind of specialized transport your boss would be interested in. Which is why I’m calling you first instead of Rockhound. You’re the judge of character and I have to do this right the first time.”

  I couldn’t believe he wasn’t laughing. That had to be one of the biggest loads of bullshit I’ve ever uttered. Luckily, my assessment of the male ego was correct.

  “It won’t hurt anything to meet him. Be here at one. Most will either be gone or too drunk to notice by then. I’m not making you any promises.”

  “Thank you, Mike. I have a little something for you to show my appreciation.”

  “Are you finally going to give me tha
t blowjob? I could make it a condition of the meet, but I’d much rather you offered it up yourself.”

  And they say chivalry is dead.

  “Sorry, Mike, not this time, but help me out and I will definitely owe you.”

  “You know, one of these days I’m going to forget I’m a gentleman.”

  I swallowed just in time to avoid coughing up my tea. Some things would never change. I really didn’t want to see Mike busted. He was just a hustler doing his job. But, with any luck, tomorrow was the last time I ever had to talk to him.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  That earned me a laugh.

  “I have to go. See you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks Mike. I mean it.” And I did.

  My work for the day was done. I wanted to talk to Ethan. What I really wanted was to do was forget our agreement, get in my car, and go find him. I imagined him opening the door, maybe wrapped in a towel, skin still warm from the shower.

  I paced the aisle in my home on wheels. The entire thing was half the size of my old kitchen. This was crazy. Ethan and I were going to be together constantly until this was done. A constant distraction was just what I didn’t need.

  I decided on a walk. At this hour, Betty and her posse should be behind closed doors absorbed in this week’s hottest reality show. If I was going to get any sleep at all, I needed to burn off this mood.

  CHAPTER 47

  “Stop with the yawning already. You’re the one who wanted to leave at six.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t sleep too well last night.” I drained my mug and put it on the patio table.

  Ethan popped the trunk and grabbed the duffel. His eyes met mine when he heard the dull metallic clink.

  “Jewel, is there something you want to tell me?”

  “We probably should obey the speed limit today.”

  Without another word, he unzipped the bag, took one look, and zipped it back again.

  “I don’t know if I should be impressed or appalled. Since I saw the shooting trophies in your office, I’ll settle for impressed. Are you planning an armed invasion?”

  He didn’t press, increasing my respect. “I’m not worried about access so much as egress.”

  “Fair enough. And it’s funny, I was feeling the same way myself about the speed limit.” He raised the lid and I had to laugh. A hard-shelled gun case nestled against the back of the trunk.

  “Should I guess or can I peek?” Without waiting for an answer, I flipped the latches and decided I’d opt for impressed as well. The Mossberg 500 pistol-grip shotgun shared space with a Sig Sauer P226. The former glowed with care and maintenance. The latter, worn and pitted, looked like a throwaway.

  “Don’t be fooled. That’s my personal weapon for street work. After I fixed the damn trigger, I’ll drop you at range every time. I thought it was less obvious than my Glock.”

  “Nice to know we’re on the same wavelength. I do like your taste in automotive accessories.”

  “Well, Jewel, I will confess, I thought I might find myself in a situation of having to protect you. I’ll just marinate in that bit of irony for a moment.”

  After a sigh of mock humility, he finished loading my bags and closed the trunk.

  “Is this thing a go?”

  “Yes, I made contact. We have a meet with the first layer of security tonight. I’ll fill you in on the road.”

  He opened the passenger door and bowed.

  “Milady, what’s your pleasure?”

  “Austin.”

  “Then like the man said, let it rock and let it roll.”

  CHAPTER 48

  As much as I would have loved to have Ethan spool up the Challenger on the back roads, he stuck to the freeway. About an hour out of Cochinelle we stopped for breakfast at a strip-mall coffee shop. No need to hurry. We had a four-hour drive and the meeting wasn’t until after midnight.

  We took a booth in the farthest corner and stayed quiet until the waitress had taken our order. After she bustled off, I gave him the guts of my plan.

  “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I had weeks to come up with this.” I was slamming tea, still trying to wake up.

  “No, it’s not the worst plan I’ve ever heard. Like you said, it’s kind of thin, but you aren’t a stranger to them. I’m also sure seeing you, typically the head-bitch-in-charge, in distress and asking favors will get their little motors running.”

  “If you were them, would that make you happy?”

  “Oh hell yeah. You have a rather intimidating air about you. It’s okay, baby, it’s a guy thing.” He winked and patted my hand.

  “Would you lose all respect for me if I said I wished we could blow on past Austin and not stop until we made it to Mexico? I’m not looking forward to this.”

  Something flitted across his face, but before I could say anything he reached into his shirt pocket.

  “That reminds me. I promised you this. I’m surprised you haven’t asked.” He slid a small black device, about the size of a matchbox, across the table.

  “I’m impressed, Price. I forgot about the car tracker.”

  “Evidently Uncle Sam bought good units, but bad magnets. It must have fallen off.”

  “Is this thing dead?” All the external lights were off and the case was cold.

  He took it back and dropped it in his ice water. “It is now.”

  “Excuse me, as a taxpayer, I must protest.” I tried to keep the joke going, but couldn’t keep from laughing. We were now off the grid.

  “Jewel. I get the basics. Tell me more about what you want from me. Who am I?”

  A legit question loaded with innuendo. To buy a minute, I spread ketchup on my hash browns.

  “First, can we use Ethan Price? It’s nicely generic and I’m going to be juggling enough in my head. And what about the car, what if somebody runs the plates?”

  “Okay, without going into too many details, that’s covered. The plates track back to my name and the address of a crappy little garage in Dallas. If they call and ask for me, a very grumpy ‘partner’ will say I’m not around and if I want to keep my share of the business, I’d better get my ass back to work. The paper trail is solid. We’ve used it before and it’s passed every test.”

  Like my passports.

  “Good. First, I thought of saying you were an old client, but that’s too easy to check. Most of that crap is online. So, you’re the friend of a client. We hooked up at a party and have been quietly running around ever since. When this went bad, I called you. You have the skills to arrange transport.”

  “How long have we been together?” He stirred the glass with the tracker in it until bubbles stopped coming out of the case.

  “I’m thinking six months, long enough to be past the novelty, but not to boredom or picking out china.”

  We paused to let the waitress fill our cups and drop the check. I doubted we’d see her again.

  “So I like you? I’m not just in it for the money?” He wrapped his hands around his cup.

  “Yes, Ethan. If you think you can fake it, we like each other.”

  “That’ll work. It gives me the chance to be a little more protective. If they think I’m only along for the ride, they’ll try and get me to double-cross you.”

  I hadn’t thought of that.

  “Jewel, I have nothing but respect for you, but this is a new game. I doubt you’ve ever been here before. You are, on the surface, vulnerable and exposed, and you know a lot of their secrets. I’m betting every last one of them has hit on you and been rebuffed, probably with a lot of attitude. The temptation to take you down will be huge. Having me along as your old man and partner should deflect some of that.”

  This was a gut punch. I hadn’t thought that way at all. He was right. I thought about Rockhound’s fortress-like house in the middle of the secluded hundred-acre hobby ranch. If I was alone, the attitude that worked so well with Richie might well have landed me in his homemade porn collection. That thought
made me queasier than yesterday’s hangover.

  “Damn Ethan, you know how to cut to the chase. I’m glad you’re along.”

  “Every once in a while I’m more than a pretty face. You can still be smoking hot. It enhances my rep and we don’t want them thinking you’re broken, but I’ll snarl and pee on your leg from time to time.”

  In a flash, my stomach settled and my good mood returned. I toasted him with my tea, and attacked my bacon and eggs.

  “Okay Price, tell me what special skills you bring to the table. What you can do and what you can fake.”

  His own breakfast took a beating while he thought about it.

  “I was stationed in Iraq from ‘95 to ‘99 along the No-Fly Zone. Since I could speak fluent Arabic within a few months, I got pulled into all sorts of assignments. I left after one tour, but plenty of friends re-upped and some are still knocking around the region. I’m a decent mechanic, comes from growing up on a farm. I can fly small planes, primarily crop-dusters, and I can talk the talk about bigger aircraft and helicopters. But that’s all I fake,” he said with a smile.

  I was stunned and couldn’t think of what to say. My face must have done the talking because Ethan let the silence stew while he spread jelly on a triangle of cold toast.

  “I’m going to cut you some slack because of how we met. Yes, Miss Martin, I have a brain. In fact, we’re headed back to my old haunts. I spent two years in the Arabic studies program at UT in Austin and another two years in general foreign language studies. I didn’t have any plans after Annemarie dumped me, so I went to college after the Air Force. But, I’m not the grad-school type. So when the FBI came recruiting, I jumped at it.”

  “I am so sorry. I’m not always a snob, but when I am, I’m also a bitch. That’s just not what I expected to hear about the guy tasked to knock on the door of my camper at sunrise. Why aren’t you in a cubicle in Virginia or D.C. reading intercepts? Or, are you from D.C, loaned out to the Dallas field office?”