“You could stakeout Cline’s place, I could do McConnroy’s. Maybe they’ll show up.”
She didn’t reply.
“So you want to go home?” I asked. “Just give up?”
Jack gave me a long, sad look. “Do you know why I became a cop, Harry?”
“That’s easy. You’re a control fiend with a barely concealed violent streak who likes to catch bad guys. It’s who you are, and you push people away because you feel you can’t do your job and protect them at the same time.”
She blinked. “That was…”
“Mean?”
“Surprisingly accurate.”
“You think I’m an idiot because I crack a lot of jokes and don’t seem to care about anything. I’m not an idiot. I was a good cop. I’m a good private eye. We can find these guys. We just need to think harder.”
She let out a deep breath. “Okay. We’ll keep at it. I just wish we had something to go on.”
“Maybe there’s some clue in the picture,” I said. “Some landmark in the background that can be recognized.”
Jack snorted. “We don’t need a landmark. We need a phone number.”
Oh, shit, I said to myself in my Rover voice. Harry, you really are an idiot.
“I may have a phone number,” I revealed. “When I was in Cline’s trailer, I took some pics of his landline Caller ID. Maybe one of those is the place on the lake.”
Rather than bust my balls like she should have, Jack immediately asked for the numbers, then called Herb.
I heard a lot of swearing on Herb’s end, which was unusual for the guy.
“Tell him we’ll send him a sheet cake,” I suggested. “Wrapped in bacon.”
Herb put her on hold while he checked the numbers. You could cut the tension with a knife.
Well, not really. That’s a pretty stupid expression.
“One number is Garrett McConnroy’s cell phone,” Jack repeated when Herb came back on. “One is a pizza place in Maple Hills. One is the home of Tucker Shears, in Green Birch. And the last is a house, owned by Theodore Cline, is on Lake Violet, an hour northwest of here.”
Jack looked triumphant. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I smiled big.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go catch some bad guys.”
PHIN
I gave myself one final shake, brushing off the remaining dirt and leaves, before climbing into my Bronco. Then I stowed my duffle bag in the back seat and went to the bait shop I saw on the way over. The moment I stepped inside I was coated in fish odor.
The smell brought back a bad memory of my youth, of the only vacation my family ever went on. Fishing at a forest preserve. I remember being five years old and scared by the live leeches the proprietor was selling, and older brother Hugo taking my hand and forcing it into the leech tank, laughing at my screams.
This establishment also had leeches, along with minnows and earthworms and mealworms, and a wall full of over-priced, out-of-date, dusty lures with ridiculous colors and designs. One that caught my eye had propellers on it. How that imitated a bait fish, I wasn’t sure. I’d never seen a minnow with propellers.
A bell sat on the dirty counter, and I rang for the proprietor. He was bald but had enough ear hair to do a comb-over. The guy walked in through a door that probably was directly attached to his house. He scratched his chest through a dirty undershirt.
“Help you?”
“I want to rent a boat.”
“Ain’t got no boats here.”
“Do you know who rents them in the area?”
“Gus does. Go on about three miles down Grundle Road, turn left on Halifax, he’s up there another three. You need a fishing license?”
“Got one. Do you have any jig paint?”
“Every color of the rainbow. Also got the glitters and the flower-escents.”
“How about glow in the dark?”
“Sure do.”
He rummaged under the counter and came up with a container of paint the size of my big toe. It was a clear glass jar, allowing me to see the milky green inside.
“Six-fifty.”
I took the paint, cupping it in my hands to see if it glowed. It did. Then I used every bit of strength in my fingers to screw off the lid. The paint inside was runny, and the oil had separated and floated to the top, but it should be okay with a good stir.
“I also need some bug spray. Something with deet.”
He found a bottle. “Eight bucks.”
I gave him a twenty.
“Anything else? We just got some fresh minnows in.”
He pointed to his live bait tank, where I saw a dozen minnows floating dead on top, swirling through the current.
“No, thanks,” I said, pocketing my change. I went out the way I came in.
Three miles down Grundle and another three down Halifax, I found Gus’s. Earl was acting up, so I swallowed a few aspirin before getting out of the truck.
Gus’s wasn’t a watersports mecca. Mostly, it sold chainsaws. But resting on trailers next to the shop were several boats. There wasn’t anyone in the store, and I could have walked off with twenty chainsaws if I wanted to.
I didn’t want to.
I went through the shop and out back, into the yard, where a man hunched over a workbench. Sweat glistened on his bare back, and his hands were attending to a chainsaw.
“I need to rent a boat,” I said.
He looked up at me, his face still scrunched in concentration. “For what?”
“Water skiing.”
He nodded, wiped his greasy hands on his greasy jeans, and walked past me, into the store.
“Got a fifteen footer, hook it up with a twenty-five, it’ll pull a skier,” he said, assuming correctly that I was behind him.
“How fast?”
“Bout twenty-five knots. Give or take. It’s a good old engine.”
He went over to the corner of the room and removed a tarp from a squat object. It was a black Mercury outboard motor, mounted on a hand truck.
“Runs a little lean. How long you need it?”
“A week,” I lied.
“Could give it to you, with gas and oil, for forty a day. Take your pick of the aluminum boats.”
“I trust your judgement.”
He nodded and spat in the sawdust on the floor.
“Interested in a saw?” he asked.
“No.”
He nodded again, and I followed him to find a boat. When he judged one of them suitable we winched it onto a trailer, which he rented to me for an additional ten bucks a day. The trailer went on my truck’s ball hitch, the motor and gas tank went in the back, and three hundred bucks went from my pocket to his.
When he asked to see some ID, I showed him my newly acquired badge. He didn’t require a driver’s license. No one questions a cop.
After signing the cop’s name on the rental form, I got in the truck and towed away the boat. I pulled over a few kilometers away from Tucker’s house, uncapped my jig paint, and gave it a quick stir with an old pen. Using a wadded-up napkin, I carefully painted the sights on my AR-7 rifle. I also painted the trigger. Next I painted the trigger on the shotgun, recapped the paint, and left my weapons on the passenger seat to dry.
The boat landing on Lake Violet was down the road I’d taken earlier, where I met Fred and Edna and Hal. I had to back up to the lake, the water up to my rear tires, and then manually release the trailer and push it the rest of the way in. Once the boat was floating, I beached it, tied a rope around the trailer, and used the truck to pull the trailer back out. The outboard motor attached to the boat on the back with two screws, tightened by hand. I hooked it up to the portable gas tank, used the bulb on the hose to pump gas into the engine, and pulled out the choke.
I pulled that damn starting cord forty times before I got that engine to even sputter. Then I yanked on it another twenty to finally bring the monster to a coughing start.
“Runs lean my ass.”
I pressed the stop button and w
ent back to the truck, driving it into the bushes alongside the road. I detached the trailer, grabbed all of my things, and took them back to the boat.
Tucker’s place was on the opposite side of the lake. I restarted the motor and sat on the aluminum slat seat. Facing forward, I reached my left hand behind me to the motor arm, and gave it some gas.
After some initial sputtering, it evened out and ran pretty good. There were enough horses in the engine to tip the boat if I accelerated too fast.
I buzzed past their place. Tied to their pier was one of those cigar shaped boats that looked like a spaceship. It had two engines on the back, each double my horsepower.
There was no one on the dock, so after my first pass I made another, closer one. Just beyond the pier on land was a deck with lawn chairs set up on it. At the moment they were empty. Tucker and the gang were probably still barbecuing out in front.
I took the boat back around to halfway between both shores and killed the engine. Taking out my binoculars, I watched and waited.
Come night, I’d charge the glow paint on the rifle with my flashlight, so I could see the trigger and sights. Then I could row in, lob the grenade into their speedboat, and shoot Tucker when he came out to investigate. It the grenade was a dud, I’d get in closer and use the shotgun, then retreat to a safe distance with the rifle for my shot. Once Tucker was dead, I’d call the police.
The cops would save any women that were in the house. I wasn’t the hero type.
I put on my cap, put on some bug spray, and tried to make myself comfortable.
The lake was still. Mirror still
I rubbed my neck.
I stretched my legs.
I waited for night.
JACK
“This is it?” I asked, staring into the woods.
Harry had pulled over, and according to his iPhone we were supposed to turn, but I didn’t see any road. Just trees.
“This should be it.”
“Are you sure your phone is right?”
“It usually is.”
“Usually?”
“Jackie, this miracle of modern technology that I’m holding in my hand is finding our location by bouncing radio waves off of a tower and syncing with a satellite that was launched into geosynchronous earth orbit. Cut it some slack.”
“You memorized that line for when people question your iPhone, didn’t you?”
“A little.” He pointed out the window. “Look. A camera.”
I followed his prosthetic finger and saw the surveillance camera, high up in a tree.
“Pull away,” I told him.
“Why?”
“Just do it, McGlade.
Harry took off. “Aren’t we supposed to be going to their house?”
“We don’t want them to see us before we make a plan.”
“Plan? We drive up, break down the door. That’s the plan.”
“Bad plan,” I said.
“Bad? Remember Charles Kork? I ran up to the front door and broke in with a plastic milk jug full of cement, and kicked so much ass I now have a TV series.”
“He was one guy. This is three guys, or more. Your milk jug trick won’t do it.”
“It would work.”
“Do you even have a milk jug?”
McGlade pouted. “No.”
“We need a better plan.”
“Okay. Brainstorm.”
“I was thinking we do some surveillance, try to see if the women are there, then call the local cops.”
“Too easy,” he said. “I have a better idea. First, we go to a hardware store.”
“This is a set up for a dumb joke, isn’t it?”
“We buy cement.”
“And a milk jug?”
“And a milk jug.”
“How about we each carefully approach the house from a different angle, try to see what’s going on inside, and if we notice anything illegal, we call the local cops?”
“I’m leaning toward the cement and milk jug plan,” Harry said.
“I’m up for doing anything other than the cement and milk jug plan.”
“Okay, how about this. We go to the bank, and buy about fifty dollars’ worth of pennies.”
“And put them in a milk jug?”
He pouted again.
“How about,” I suggested, “we each carefully approach the house from a different angle—”
“I don’t do woods,” Harry said.
“You’re afraid of the woods?”
“Not the woods. What’s in the woods.”
“Bears?” I asked. “Deer?”
“Ticks,” he said.
“Ticks.”
“Ticks. The little bugs that land on you and stick their legs in your skin and start sucking your blood until they blow up to the size of grapes. Big, fat, blood-filled grapes. They freak me out.”
The way he described it they freaked me out too.
“I could do this alone,” I offered.
“Too risky. You need back-up if shit goes down.”
“If shit goes down, you can call the local police.”
“Still too risky. You need me there.”
“Well, we’re not doing anything involving a damn milk jug.”
We were silent for a moment, and then Harry pulled over again.
“Water,” he said.
“Let me guess: water, in a milk jug. Why don’t you just freeze the damn milk? Then you don’t have to add anything. You’re putting all this stuff in milk jugs, and it’s completely unnecessary.”
“I’m not talking about milk jugs,” McGlade said. “I’m talking about a boat.”
HARRY
I’m no tactician. Especially since I wasn’t really sure what a tactician was. But any needlehead with half a brain cell knew that the best way to check out that house was not crawling through a forest full of ticks, like some juicy human tick-bait.
The way to do it was by water. So the first order of business was to find a boat. That shouldn’t be too hard, considering this was Minnesota. Cue the state motto.
I let Jack drive, and then searched Google Maps for boat rentals.
“How can there be no boat rentals within fifty miles?” I said to myself.
Jack answered the rhetorical. “Maybe your miracle of modern technology doesn’t list them all.”
“Remember that restaurant a few miles back?” I asked. “They had a lot of cars in the parking lot, and a bunch of them were towing boats.”
“You want to go back there and try to rent a boat from some random guy eating at a restaurant?”
I didn’t reply.
Jack caught on. “You want to steal a boat.”
“We’ll just borrow it. Return it when we’re done.”
“I’m a police officer, McGlade. I’m sworn to uphold the law.”
“In Chicago. This is Danburn, Minnesota.”
I could tell Jack was chewing on the idea. I knew how to seal the deal.
“Or,” I said, drawing it out, “…we can get a milk jug.”
“Fine. You can steal a boat. But I’m not helping you.”
“Butch and Sundance robbed banks. They helped each other.”
“And if you were Robert Redford, I’d consider it. But you’re more like Danny Devito.”
“Be nice.”
“I won’t help you steal a boat, McGlade.”
“Just drive us to the restaurant,” I told her. “I’ll do the rest.”
“Every damn boat has a lock on their hitch,” I said as I drove through the restaurant parking lot. “What the hell is wrong with people? What happened to trust in your fellow man?”
And then, right when I was ready to give up, I found an unlocked one. An old wooden boat, covered with a cheap, ratty tarp. It couldn’t have been worth much, which would make Jack feel better.
Jack was waiting across the street, hiding in a gas station. Hiding from the larceny.
No problem. I could handle this alone.
I had a stale pack of
cigarettes in the glove compartment for times like these. A man with nothing to do but stand there was suspicious. A man with a butt in his mouth was having a smoke, and decidedly less suspicious. I lit it with an old pack of matches and parked next to the boat. Then I made my move.
I pulled the lock lever on his hitch and lifted up on the trailer, raising it off of the ball. It was heavier than it looked, but with two strong tugs I had the trailer over to the back of the van.
I had a bad moment, where I wasn’t sure that the ball hitch on the van was the same size as the one I stole it from, but with only a little bit of rocking and adjusting the mount fit just fine.
I now had a boat. The whole operation lasted eight seconds, and went off without a hitch.
Heh heh.
I took a final drag on the smoke and flicked it into the street. Then I got in the van and picked up my fraidy cat partner.
“It went off without a hitch. Heh heh.”
Jack didn’t laugh.
When we got near Cline’s house, I pulled over. Then I opened my stakeout kit box, which I’d taken from the Vette before we left. I dug inside, making sure Jack didn’t see the throwaway guns I’d bought from Fakir, and took out two walkie-talkies. I checked the batteries, made sure they were on the same channel, and handed her one.
“If you’re in trouble, press the send button twice,” I said, showing her how. “You want some camo face paint?”
“I’m good.” Jack clipped the radio to her waistband. I did the same with mine. Then she sprayed on some bug repellent.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Gas station.”
“Is it good against ticks?” I asked.
She squinted at the label. “I hope so.”
“Tuck your pants into your socks. And try not to muck up my Air Jordan 11s. I’ve also got binoculars for you.” I gave her my back-up pair. She frowned when I handed them over.
“These have a camouflage pattern on them.”
“I know. Cool, right? It’s called Tactical Assault Woodland, using fractals to blend perfectly into the surrounding foliage.”
“What if I drop them? I’ll never find them again.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “So don’t drop them. Got one more thing for you.” Without making too much out of it, I held out my Kevlar vest.
Phineas Troutt Series - Three Thriller Novels (Dead On My Feet #1, Dying Breath #2, Everybody Dies #3) Page 55