Catherine gently touched his shoulder. “Please tell me you don’t have automatic running lights?”
“Yep, but I can override. Why?”
“Good. Do it,” she said, “For the moment, no lights and no questions please.”
“Fine,” John removed the key from the ashtray and placed it in the ignition. The van coughed twice then sputtered to life.
Catherine cocked an eyebrow.
“It may not sound like much,” he said, “But Baby’s got it where it counts.”
Catherine accepted that, “What way are we facing?”
“North.”
“Good. There’s a trailer park about five kilometers up the road.”
“Yeah. It’s closed. That’s why I’m parked here.”
“There’s a pay phone at the gate. That’s what I want.”
“Out of order. I checked last night.”
“Merde.” Catherine whispered under her breath. She then remained silent for a moment, “Can you turn this thing around without the headlights?”
He looked at her. “You mean to face south?” The soft orange glow from the dashboard reflected the desperation in her eyes. “Sure,” John said and before he realized it carefully executed a three point turn using the sloping edge of the road as a reference. He turned to Catherine, “Here we go.”
“Without the headlights, do you think you could slowly follow the road all the way to the main highway?” she asked.
John looked at her with a flippant remark on his tongue, but it evaporated in his throat as their eyes locked. John realized he could not refuse her. Not for any practical reason. There was something else. Something deeper. It was something in her eyes that confessed to him that she was desperate, more desperate that she let on, and that she needed someone to help her. That someone was him.
With a silent nod, John carried out her instructions.
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GREEN-EYED BURN
*****
Smyles cocked his head. “Stop.”
“What is it?” DeTully asked.
“A car, or something, started up just ahead of us.”
DeTully pointed his flash light and squinted into the darkness. “I can’t see a thing. You think she had another car waiting?”
“If she gets to the highway, we’ll lose her.”
“Even with the light I can’t see an inch in front of my face.”
Smyles fingered his scar and thought. “The road between here and the highway is straight, but snakes between Crudup’s and the trailer park, right?”
“Yeah, but...”
“If she’s running without lights she’ll have to take it slow, so if we meet her at the corner of the highway we can cut her off. We’ll be able to see her coming.”
DeTully giggled. “That’s why you the Man.”
*****
“Thank God for the cloud cover,” Catherine whispered.
“Why?” He suspected, but needed to hear her to say it.
“They won’t be able to see us until you turn on the lights or the moon reappears.”
“Who’ll see us?”
Catherine ignored the question, “How much pickup does this thing have?”
“It’ll move.”
*****
Huffing, Smyles dropped to one knee, “Goddamn cigarettes.” He and DeTully had just run the three kilometers to the corner. “Huh-hun... Here’s what we’re going to do. Hun-hun... I want you crouching on the other side of the road. Then when we see the headlight blow out the tires. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Smyles thumbed the safety off his weapon.
37
DAVID A. LLOYD
*****
Catherine placed her hand on John’s shoulder, “Can you flick the lights over to bright without turning them on?”
He flicked a switch, “Done.”
“Good. Stay alert. When I give the word I want you to turn on the lights and floor it.”
“Okay.”
Catherine rolled down her window and leaned out. Only the soft crunch of the gravel beneath the wheels told her she was moving. God I hope we don’t find ourselves in a ditch.
*****
“Hear it?” Smyles whispered.
“Yeah. Whatever it is, it’s coming closer. Still can’t see any lights.”
She’s running dark. The bitch must suspect we’re here. “Stand ready,”
Smyles instructed.
*****
Catherine glanced at her driver. His window was down and, like her, he had his head out in the night air keeping an eye on the road, “How are ya’
doing...uh?”
“John.”
“John.”
He risked a quick look at the woman next to him, “I’m ready.”
“Good,” she glanced back out the window as John returned his attention to the road ahead.
A voice. That’s gotta’ be them. The closer we get the better chance they’ll have of seeing us first. I know they can hear us, but the sound travels erratically out here. Damn, I hate this job. Gene and Vladimir are dead. Now I’m risking the life of a civilian. Damn it, chick, do you know at all what the hell you’re doing? What? That’s it!
“John,” she breathed.
“Yep?” he tried to hid it but his voice gave him away.
Damn. He’s scared. Well, duh chick., “Are you ready?”
“Yep.”
“Stand by….”
38
GREEN-EYED BURN
*****
Smyles’ ears perked up.
What the hell? The Goddamn thing is right on top of us!
His watch beeped, “Christ!”
*****
“Lights!”
John clicked on the headlights.
*****
Suddenly bathed in light,Smyles’ and DeTully’s hands instinctively flew to their faces. DeTully dropped his gun, stumbled back and fell into a hedge lining the road. Smyles twisted away from the light, tripped over his feet and splashed into the ditch. His weapon discharged upon striking the asphalt.
*****
John yanked on the wheel and the van turned onto the highway.
“Oui!” Catherine whooped with delight as they scooted past. She then sensed John’s anxiety. He heard the gun shot. She rolled up her window and faced him.“Well. That certainly was an adventure.”
“Who were they?” John asked evenly.
Catherine shifted closer and unconsciously touched his bare thigh with her naked knee, “Please John, right now the most important thing is for you to take me to a phone.”
John was silent for a moment then nodded. He was about so say something when he glanced into her eyes. He knew then she was in control. Catherine placed an open palm in the air between them, “There’s a gas station not far from here. They’ll have a phone. Please just take me there.”
She then slumped back into her chair and gazed out into the night sky. John nodded, not trusting his voice, and turned his attention back to the road. But there was a magnetism about her that forced his attention back her way, “If you’re cold there’s a blanked on the bed,” John offered. “It’s all yours.”
39
DAVID A. LLOYD
She smiled gratefully, “I think I might.” Catherine slipped though the curtain and after a moment returned cocooned in a patchwork comforter. She slid back into her seat and looked at John, “This is much better. Merci beaucoup.”
John smiled. All he could see of Catherine was her nose and eyes. Those eyes….
Catherine caressed her dark brows and felt some of the tension ease from the back of her mind. Vladimir... fifteen hour drive... Vlad... dying in my arms... gun fight... Gene... non... non... Gene.... The exhaustion, added with the warmth of the comforter, caught her unprepared. Before she could prevent it, Catherine was asleep.
*****
John eased the van off the road and stopped next to a phone booth, then looked over at his passenger. Who are you? Why are you her
e? Who were the two yahoos on the road?. Why are you dressed like that? John shook the thoughts from his head, but he could not tear his gaze away. 40
5
Smyles glanced up at the slowly brightening sky, then back at his watch.
“Shit!” he spat, “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” DeTully said.
“Crap.” Smyles was frustrated. After the girl escaped they returned to the car, only to discover that Max had the keys. The body was right where they left it, but the keys were nowhere to be found. “What’s keeping him?”
“Why didn’t we just swipe a car and go after her?” DeTully asked.
“Because ‘shit for brains Stein’ wanted us to wait here until he arrives,”
he looked at his watch again. It suddenly stopped. Smyles just groaned. DeCoteau looked cautiously at Smyles. The fat man had seen the ugly man angry before and did not want to be on the receiving end of his rage,
“Well,” he said, “if you don’t need me any more today…I’ll be off.”
“Are you sure you don’t know who the skirt was?” Smyles snapped.
“I told you sir, Mr. Crudup has over sixty girls working the Estate at any one time.” At the sound of his boss’ name, DeCoteau suddenly felt brave. “If you can’t tell me any more than she’s white and has big cans, I can’t give you a name. That describes almost half the girls,” he started to feel more sure of himself. “Maybe if you caught her in the first place.”
“You greeted her at the door,” DeTully said.
“In Mr. Crudup’s absence I greet all the girls at the door. It’s good for morale. I met seven girls during your little escapade around the grounds. Six of them fit that description.”
Smyles gritted his teeth. “Get the hell away from me.”
DeCoteau realized he may have pushed too far and quickly waddled away. He muttered, “Shithead,” under his breath.
41
DAVID A. LLOYD
“Why is he on the payroll?” DeTully asked.
“The same reason you are,” Smyles said, “We need to fill our quota of assholes.” He then spat out the stub of his cigar, drew his .357 and squeezed the trigger.
The back of DeCoteau head exploded inward. Blood and brain bits erupted out of his eyes and nostrils.
DeTully sprang back and stared at Smyles. “That was senseless. Care to explain?”
Smyles slipped his smoking weapon into his holster and grunted, “He was really pissing me off.”
Moments later a gray stretch limousine turned into the parking lot. It stopped roughly fifty meters from where Smyles and DeTully stood. DeTully started toward it but Smyles stopped him. The limousine’s light flashed three times.
“It’s him,” Smyles said.
As they reached the limousine, the rear door swung open and a pair of extremely shapely legs swung out, followed by an intensely female form,
“This had better be good,” the hourglass said.
“Where’s Stein?” Smyles grumbled.
“Mr. Stein has more important things to deal with than to coddle you two pricks,” she spotted the body on the ground and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want to know.” She looked back at Smyles and continued, “So he sent me.”
She was visibly not pleased.
“Handling pricks is ideally suited to your talents, my dear.”
“Screw you Smyles,” she spat. “What the hell do you want and why the hell are you limping?”
“Mr. Smyles pitched a fit and stubbed his toe,” DeTully said.
“Zadneprovsky passed off the computer chip to some skirt,” Smyles said, ignoring DeTully.
“She was dressed like one of Crudup’s girls, but we think she was CSIS
or RCMP or maybe another Russian or something,” DeTully put in.
“And?”
Smyles swallowed some pride, “She got away.”
After a moment she smiled, “You’ve been bested, Smyles.”
“She took off in the dark,” he pushed on. “We heard an engine start up, but then nothing.” Smyles paused, waiting to see if DeTully was going to challenge him. When he didn’t, Smyles continued, “I think she’s heading to Sudbury.”
“Fine,” the woman said. “Get in. We have plans to change.”
42
6
Images of blood and gore flashed through Catherine Wildman’s mind. Glimpses of Vladimir’s life slipping like so much sand through her fingers, again and again and again. The image repeats and each time she sees herself not able to help. Not able to stop the pain. The image branded into her mind. The death. The dying. The loss of a friend... the loss of... loss of... Gene. Catherine screamed in her mind. Non!
Her eyes snapped open.
“Good morning,” John said cheerfully.
Suddenly disoriented, Catherine’s heart skipped a beat. She glanced about and realized she was still wrapped in the comforter and sitting in the front passenger seat of the van. The man she met, John was his name, sat next to her. A look of concern crossed his features.
The sun had crept over the horizon behind them and now glinted off the side mirrors. In the van’s shadow before her was a phone booth.
“We’re at the phone like you asked,” he said, “I was just about to wake you when you jumped. Bad dreams?”
“No more than usual. How long have I been asleep?”
“Just a few minutes. We just got here.”
“Merci. I’ll be right back,” Catherine slipped out of the comforter, opened the door and stepped out into the chilled morning air.
John watched her walk toward the phone booth and inwardly smiled. Her solid body almost made her look stocky. Yet she had a light elegance and a delightful swivel as she walked and breasts that were more abundant than usual for the typical bodybuilder.
She’s perfect.
43
DAVID A. LLOYD
*****
Aware of the attention she drew, Catherine discovered a smile on her lips as she slipped into the booth. She picked up the receiver and punched in a sequence of twenty-two numbers. After one ring a monotone voice answered,
“Yes?”
Catherine spoke in an even tone, “Wildman, Catherine S., number 099984A.”
“One moment,” the voice replied. A clicking sound indicated that the call was now scrambled, “Go.”
“Place me through to St. James. ASAP.”
“St. James is unavailable. Curtis is second.”
“Do it.”
Irritation crept into Catherine’s thoughts. She glanced back to the van and spotted John’s silhouette through the curtains. He was getting dressed and had just bumped his head on something. Catherine was forced to muffle a giggle.
*****
Smyles pulled the limousine door shut behind him, “Change what?”
“We’ve been forced to abandon our Alaska location,” she answered. “The Russian escaped.”
“How?” DeTully exclaimed, “She could hardly walk when I left her.”
“I don’t know. I got a call from our Fairbanks safe house a few hours ago. Said she disappeared.”
“Man,” DeTully fingered his thick glasses, “She was a tough nut to crack.”
“You’ll get another shot at her. She couldn’t have gotten far,” she said, then caught the glint in DeTully’s eyes and involuntary shivered.
“She was fun to play with,” he cooed.
“What about our immediate problem?” Smyles reminded them. The limousine’s cellular phone chirped. She snapped it up relieved to consider something other than DeTully’s way with women, “What? Oh.” A sly smile suddenly slid across her face, “One moment.” She placed her hand over the receiver. “Start a trace Smyles,” she said and switched on a hidden speaker.
Catherine’s voice filled the compartment, “Hello, Lydia?”
44
GREEN-EYED BURN
“I’m here Cathy. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got a situation brewing here
.”
“Elaborate please,” Lydia said watching Smyles run the trace.
“I’ve been involved in a shoot out with, and pursued by, three unknown assailants. They have killed my partner and at lease one foreign national. I may have also killed one of them. Copy?”
“Copy. Anything else?” The smile on her face transformed into a snarl.
“Oui. The national has given me some…advice. Copy?”
“Copy. In need of a courier?”
“Oui.”
“Confirming. Standby.” Lydia muted the transmission. “Where is she Smyles?”
“Got her,” he scribbled down her location.
“Perfect.” She touched the mute switch. “Pick up confirmed in twenty.”
Lydia broke the connection. “Right, here is what you are going to do. I’ll stay here at Crudup’s. You two take the limousine and the driver. Has she seen your face?”
“Yes,” Smyles said.
“Right. There’s a kit in the trunk. I want you to tell her that you’re taking her to see St. James.” Lydia poked Smyles in the chest with a long red painted finger nail. “Don’t screw it up again. We want her alive and we want that disk.”
45
7
John Riel’s van, ‘Baby’
South of Sudbury, Ontario, Canada
05:01 hours 25 April, 2020
Catherine replaced the receiver and walked back to the van. Something about that conversation gnawed away at the back of her mind. It’s just my nerves, she told herself.
As Catherine climbed into the passenger seat, John handed her a steaming mug of coffee. “Get everything straightened out?” he asked.
“Oui, merci. Oh, this smells good. Merci.”
“Only the best instant. Black, right?”
“Oui. How’d you guess?”
“Easy. I’m out of milk and sugar.”
Catherine smiled and sipped her coffee.
John silently stared at his coffee, then risked a glance over at his passenger. A slight smile slid across his lips.
Who are you? Where do you come from? You are the most-
“John?”
“Yes,” he answered quickly. If Catherine noticed, she did not react. It was if she knew the effect she had on him.
“I guess you would like an explanation,” she said.
“No, not really.”
Catherine arched an eyebrow and looked at him. That’s not what she expected, “Why’s that?”
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