by Dancer, Jack
I move the arm to the side and let it drop limply to the floor. It's James all right; eyes half open; blood mixed with spit trickling out of the corner of his mouth onto the carpet, and there's a stain of blood blooming across the front of his white Polo shirt. The guy's dead.
Holy shit.
I gotta get outta here; I'm thinking, and when I go to stand, the toe of my shoe bumps against something hard, lying on the floor under his open coat. I lift the material to take a closer look, and it's a pistol - a lot like the one Dick gave me last week. I pick it up for a closer look but I can't tell if it's the same gun exactly or not. I never really looked at the other one closely, and even though I'm not a total novice with firearms - I do own a couple of pistols and shotguns - I'm no way an expert either.
Then it hits me. What is this is a setup? And I'm the one being set up?
Holy shit.
Think fast.
I go through his pockets until I find the billfold with his badge and ID and his cell phone, and I pocket 'em. I then yank the DickAlert necklace from around my neck and push the call button, wad it up and stick it in his coat pocket and wouldn't you know it; at exactly that moment there's a knock on the door followed by, “housekeeping” and in walks a small woman dressed in a black-and-white maid's uniform. One look at me standing there with a gun in my hand, and she freezes like Lot's wife.
My first inclination is to shoot her where she stands, but instead I drop the gun like used Kleenex, which for her must have been a signal to turn and hightail it outta there because that's exactly what she did. No scream, nothing. I wasn't about to go running after her so I take off across the room and through the connecting door to Terry and Monica's old room. Close the door quietly behind me and flip the deadbolt. That's when I hear the distinct sound of someone in the bathroom peeing. The bathroom door's standing wide open with the light on.
Who in hell would be in there? Uh oh, maybe the guy that shot ole James.
There's no time to ponder other possibilities, so I pull out the Taser and literally leap in front of the open bathroom door mimicking as best I can, the two-handed, spread-legged, slightly crouched firing position every TV cop uses to shoot the bad guy, and yell, "FREEZE!”
And let me tell you, she did too. Her arms went straight up, and the peeing stopped in mid-air, which is pretty tough thing to do, voluntarily anyhow, but I guess under the circumstances a startled sphincter snaps shut pretty quick, or open, depending on where it was in the first place.
One thing I can say for sure is mine nearly sprung a leak when Lisa turns around with a big ole black pecker hanging out like it was.
“Holy shit,” was all I could get out before she sprung at me, but it's too late because two projectiles are already headed right for her boobs carrying fifty thousand volts knocking her off her feet like a baseball bat to the chest. Her head hits the tile floor with a nasty crack, and her whole body folds into itself like she's having the worst menstrual cramps ever. I knew exactly how she felt, and I also knew it wasn't menstrual cramps.
No time for sorting out all these new revelations, so I blow through the door and into the hallway on a fast chicken-walk to the stairwell where, passing the elevators, I nearly have a cardiac when a ding rings out. I was certain it was the Barcelona police.
Two stairs at a time, and I'm on the ground floor quicker than gravity. I crack the stairwell door and peek around that the coast is clear then make a casual . . . What? Who me? . . . exit back through the Gymfira to Carrer Joaquim Blume where my little bullet-proof Mini Monster stands waiting like my loyal steed, Trigger.
Even with my heart trying to pound its way outta my chest I think I'm pulling off a pretty fair imitation of the nondescript passerby casually strolling down the sidewalk. Except for the little tickle at my nose.
Once I'm safely tucked inside the little beast I sit for a moment to catch my breath and allow my slamming heart to calm down a bit. Outside, it must be ninety sweltering degrees, so I crank the ignition to turn on the air conditioner. When the air starts to blow the little tickle to my nose starts up again too. So, I pull down the driver's side sunshade and flip the mirror to check it out and nearly jump out of my seat when I see a two-inch-long, black caterpillar working its way into my nostril.
Holy shit!
I slap at the thing, flinging it to the floorboard, and I'm out the door in a second. When I look back inside to find the critter, sure enough, I'd killed the mustache.
Back in the car my heart tells me that if I don't knock off all this bullshit, it’s going to get out and find another ride. I promise that'll be it, at least for today, then shift into drive and roll off the sidewalk.
At the end of the block, I take a lazy right on the Carrer Guardia Urbana and drive right smack into the world's biggest roadblock, white and blue-checkered police cars and vans everywhere.
Holy shit.
They got me!
fifty
19:00 Hours, Monday, 8 September.
Magic Fountain of Montjuïc, Barcelona.
Looks like I've got two choices: Either floor the little Mini Viper and make a run for it or jump out and hug the ground in surrender.
But wait. Is the road really blocked?
No one's pointing guns. I don't hear any commanding bullhorns screaming halt, get out, freeze or anything like that in English or Spanish. Yeah, there're a bunch of cop cars and cops walking around, but they're paying no attention to me, and that's when it dawns on me, I HAVE DRIVEN INTO THE GODDAMN POLICE STATION! Guess they didn't name this street the Carrer Guardia Urbana for nothing. Who’d've ever guessed the Fira Palace hotel would be attached to the local hoosegow? I wonder if the hotel provides room service? Wouldn't that be a kick, but I don't stick around long enough to find out.
I take a left on Avinguda de Rius and up a couple more blocks until I'm in front of the Magic Fountain of Montjuïc. I pull into the nearest empty space.
Somebody's gotta be following me. They'll probably pounce on me as soon as I get out of this car so I’ll sit and wait and try to calm down a little. If they come, they come, nothing I can do about it.
Jesus Christ, I am screwed to the wall here. James is dead and probably Lisa too after the way she cracked her head on the bathroom floor. All she has to say is I shot James and tasered her and ran out the room. Simple. And who's going to doubt the word of a U.S. government agent?
Whoever walks in first, that's who. A black he/she with real tits and a real dick, in a dress, lying unconscious on a bathroom floor claiming to be a Homeland Security agent? Come on.
I exit the car and walking up to the fountain find a spot on the steps to sit and wonder if what I'd just experienced was real or not. I decide it was, but how could it be? James was dead, Lisa or Leroy or whatever, in the next room, pissing away like it's just another day? What the hell's going on? Am I losing it?
My cell rings, its Dick, my hired PI.
“Hey, Dick."
“Tucker, we received an alert from you. I have men in the Fira Palace now. Are you okay?"
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You are at the Magic Fountain?”
“Yeah, wait, how'd you know?”
“We have a tracker on the Mini Cooper, Tucker.”
“Oh, yeah. Figures. No, I'm all right, Dick. I pressed the alert button and left it in the coat pocket of the agent James Culpepper; you remember him from Park Güell.”
“Yes, the Homeland agent. Of course I remember.”
“Well, you see I was to meet him at the Fira after the ransom drop, and when I got there I found him dead, shot. I didn't know what to do. Guess I panicked. Anyhow, I pushed the button on my Alert necklace and put it in his coat pocket. I knew you or your men would go to the necklace, and I wanted you to find him before anyone else did.”
“You want us to do a cleaning?”
“What's that?”
“We clean the scene and get rid of the body.”
“Oh, Jesus, yeah, I guess so. Yes, do that
because I could be implicated in this, Dick. While I was there a maid from housekeeping came into the room and saw me.”
“Don't worry about her, she works for us. She was the first responder.”
“You're kidding. She was there within seconds.”
“Pretty good, huh?”
“Unbelievable.”
“So, we'll clean up.”
“Okay, but there's one more thing; a woman on the floor in the bathroom of the connecting room. I shot her with a Taser I borrowed from the apartment. She's really not a woman though . . .”
"Okay. We'll clean her too.”
“Wait. Don't kill her, Dick. That sounds like you're going to do away with her.”
“No, Tucker. Don't worry we'll just do a regular generalissimo.”
“A generalissimo? What's that?”
“You're old enough to have heard of Generalissimo Franco, eh, Tucker?”
“Yeah.”
“So, she just disappears.”
“Oh, okay, like Drusus and Tiber?”
“Exactly. Who knows, she could end up their roommate.”
“Isn't it getting a bit crowded over there by now, Dick? I mean you've got the ransom courier too right? Where exactly are you accommodating these people?"
“Not far from the El Raval apartment actually. Maybe you'd like to have a tour? We could even set something up tonight if you'd like.”
“Tonight might not work, maybe tomorrow night? I'm supposed to be having dinner with Nanette tonight.”
“The flight crew kidnapper?”
“James Culpepper said she's not a part of it but I'm not so sure. Could you run a background check on her? Her name is Nanette Mieras. She lives here in Barcelona. The place to start would be with Lisa.”
“Who?”
“Lisa's the woman your men'll find on the bathroom floor in the adjoining room at the Fira. This Lisa is actually a man by the name of Leroy Jones, at least I think its Jones. I'm not really sure, but this person is Agent Culpepper's partner.”
“But, you say this woman's a man? I don't understand.”
“I don't either but apparently she's a transgendered man or almost - you know, used to be a man but now's a woman, well about to be a woman.”
"Ay, caramba! An hombre castrat now a puta," he says.
"Yeah something like that."
“We will do that, Señor Blue, but I haven't yet heard from my men at the Fira, if they have located the Alert necklace and these two agents. We may or may not have either in custody, but I should know soon. Either way I will have this Nanette Mieras, flight attendant, living in Barcelona, looked into and let you know what I find.”
"Did you get anything on the motorcycle guy, who did the hit-and-grab today and stole the ransom money?"
"Not as yet, Señor, but we are working on it."
Not as yet, hell. I'd tell him about the GPS trackers, but I think I'd rather Speed follow up on that.
“That's a pretty important one, Dick."
"I know, Señor. We will find him."
"I hope so. Otherwise, you may be owing me money." He doesn't respond. "You know where I'll be this evening.”
“I always know where you are, my friend.”
“Yeah, right. Anyhow, I may have my cell phone turned off. In fact, I may just leave it in the Mini Cooper while I'm there.”
“You don't trust this Nanette Mieras, not to drug you and go through your cell phone?”
“No, I don't. Oh, by the way, the other thing I did when I put the Alert necklace on Agent Culpepper was to relieve him of his billfold - his Homeland Security badge and ID - and his cell phone.”
“Hmm, that ID and badge might come in handy to us,” Dick says.
“I don't know if you can verify if the ID and badge are the real McCoy’s or not.”
“Real what? McCoy?” he says.
“Whether or not they're authentic,” I say.
“Oh, yes I see. I don't know, but I can try,” he says.
“If you can, great, if not, maybe there's another way to verify if Culpepper and Jones are authentic agents.”
"Maybe."
“And his cell phone; I'd like you to go through his cell calls - you know, the calls he made and received, day and time, all that and let me know. I'd like to know if this Nanette and Culpepper talked and how much, particularly around the time of the ransom payoff today. I'll leave his phone in the console of the Mini Cooper for you to retrieve. Just be sure your men don't grab my phone by mistake. I'll put my cell in the glove compartment to keep it separate. Think you can do that, Dick?”
“Is that a question, Tucker?”
“No, I was thinking aloud. I know you can do it.”
“Right.”
“Culpepper's cell might be password protected though,” I say.
“We have people.”
"Of course, you do.”
“One moment, Tucker, hold please, I have a call coming in from the team at the Fira.”
“I'll hold." God, I hope these guys were able to get James’ body and Lisa out of there.
He comes back on. "Señor Blue, good news. My men completed their mission.”
“Excellent,” I say, happy for the first-time today, though there was Claudia who not only assisted me with the ransom drop today but blew my mind, and other appendages, with talents I never considered a bank president assistant possessing. And I remember when banks would give away a toaster for opening a new account. Boy, they’ve come a long way, no pun intended.
“Any details?”
“Not at the moment but I will have my people working through the night to get your answers on the motorcycle man, this Nanette Mieras and the two we just picked up. Hopefully, you'll have what you need by tomorrow noon,” he says.
“Great,” I say.
“Oh, one more thing; my men discovered hidden cameras in the room at the Fira,” he says.
“Holy shit.”
“Yes, holy shit, Señor. Until tomorrow,” he signs off.
This guy is friggin' unbelievable. He's crazy. I sure better collect on the lottery money because he's gonna cost me most of it.
James' phone rings and I flip it open, curious to see who it might be; it's Nanette. I recognize her number. Less than a minute later the phone blings, and I'm certain she's just left a voicemail and when I flip it open, sure enough she did. I try to access the voicemail, but the phone’s demanding a pass code. I close it and put it in the car's console.
I check my watch. Uh oh, time for Nanette-land. Probably should've worn some Kevlar underwear.
fifty-one
19:30 Hours, Monday, 8 September.
Nanette's Place, Barcelona.
Unlike last Friday, my knock on Nanette's door this time’s answered by Nanette, not Pau, and even though she's not in her white wedding getup, she's a knockout in a loose-fitting dark cashmere top and skin tight jeans tucked into calf-hugging black leather boots. I’m nearly Ga-Ga looking at her that I have to imagine it’s Dick standing in front of me instead of Nanette, just to wipe the silly expression off my face.
She greets me with a smile, but it's a smile mixed with what? Worry, sadness, relief, all those things? Without a word, she walks up and wraps her arms around me and pulls me into a hug, no kiss, nothing expressly sensual, though in Nanette's arms, that's a near impossibility, but it's her version of a meaningful, "good friend hug.” She hangs on longer than I'd have expected and squeezes for emphasis as if we've both lost something or someone. It's that kind of hug. It's an, I’m-so-sorry-for-your-loss hug.” I guess she means Monica. Maybe she means the money I just paid out to ransom Monica, maybe both.
Whatever. Doesn’t matter, because it’s everything I can do not to tear into this body she’s occupying and devour it like a Supreme Deluxe Pizza with extra cheese.
“I'm so glad you came over, Tucker. I've been so worried about you. Are you all right? Did everything go okay for you today?” she steps back to let me in.
“Thanks, N
anette.” Well, not exactly. “You mean the ransom payment, right?" I want to clarify just, so we're on the same page and not talking about James. I have no idea if she's heard anything about him. I don't know if anyone has. Dick's guys should have Lisa in custody by now but who knows if she called anyone about James before his guys got there.
“Yes, I mean the ransom payment, why? What happened?” she asks and from everything I can tell - and I'm watching her face like a hawk - she's clueless.
"No, it did not go well. We ran into a little trouble."
"What? What sort of trouble?"
"When the money was handed off, some guy on a motorcycle came out of nowhere and practically ran the courier down and took off with the money."
"The courier? That's the person picking up the money?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, my God. And you have no idea who it was?"
"Is,” I correct her. “We have the courier."
I notice a nearly imperceptible wince before she says, "No. I mean the person on the motorcycle. Do you know who that was?"
"I wish. But no, not a clue yet.”
"Was anyone hurt?"
"No."
"Oh, Tucker. I can't believe it," she says.
"I know. Neither can I."
"What’re you going to do now?"
"I don't know. Talk to the courier. Find who she is and who she's working for."
"She? The courier's a woman?"
"Yeah, can you believe it?"
"No, I can't."
"Have you heard from anyone? Captain Pat? Jim and Lisa? Randy? Any of the rest of the flight crew?"
"No. Why?"
"Just wondering."
“You think they know anything about this?"
"No, not necessarily. Just wondering if they might’ve heard anything from Ebba or Terry. I guess if they had they would've called you or at least me."
"Of course, they would have."
"Say, where's Pau? She around?"