Mercy River

by Glen Erik Hamilton

  “Not carrying millions,” said Fain, “but it’s a good option. I can get behind it. Pak, we haven’t heard from you.”

  Leo spared me a glance before he answered.

  “We go for Jaeger,” Leo said, “and I won’t vote on the other. This is my last jump with the Rally.”

  Every one of them had an immediate response. Daryll and Zeke swore, and Rigo folded his arms. Macomber took a deep inhalation that communicated a similarly fathomless disappointment. Fain simply stared.

  “What’s that shit about?” said Zeke.

  “Pak. We need you,” Fain said.

  Daryll bumped Leo’s shoulder with a ham-sized fist. “Come on, man.”

  “This may be our last such mission, regardless,” said Macomber, defusing the unexpected tension. “Let’s make it count. Shaw, we’re agreed that Jaeger is our primary target. What do you have in mind?”

  I took a map from my pocket, unfolded it, and spread it out on the table. The map had been in one of the seat pockets of the Dodge since Dono’s time, long before mobile apps had made it a relic. Some of the streets it listed were years out of date. Still, it would illustrate my idea.

  “Fuckin’ Antiques Roadshow,” Daryll said, touching a crease where the paper had split.

  “Seattle,” the general said, reviewing it. “And those lines you’ve drawn . . . the route of the bank truck.”

  I nodded, pointing to the far edge of the map. “The Federal Reserve branch is all the way down here in Renton. But the Prime Banks on its route are all in Seattle proper. Starting on Rainier Ave, working northward through the city, and then back south for the second half.”

  “You want to throw in with us?” Zeke said. “’Cause we can handle things just fine without some cherry getting in our way.”

  I gestured to the inked lines of the route. The lines forming a closed and randomly spiky shape like a piece of abstract art. “Tell me where you’d hit the truck.”

  “First stop,” Zeke said without hesitation, tapping the first dot on Rainier. “When all the money’s still in the truck.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s run the numbers. The armored truck is scheduled to roll up on its first stop at eight-fifty in the morning, right before the bank opens. That’s rush hour on a five-lane thoroughfare. Not quite bumper-to-bumper, not on Rainier, but plenty of movement. Lots of eyes on you. Cops cruise the central district arteries about every thirteen minutes, on average. Traffic cameras at many intersections, too. Eleven million dollars in fifty-dollar bills weighs about four hundred and fifty pounds, in sixteen different bags if we assume one bag for each bank branch that day. So a rough guess is that you’ll be exposed between four and five minutes while you ride up, secure the guards, open the truck, unload, and exfil. Meanwhile, everybody on the street with a cell phone will be live-streaming the show.”

  They were silent, and staring. I caught the hint of a smirk on Leo’s face.

  “How the hell do you know all that?” Fain said.

  Zeke recovered enough to sneer. “He’s bullshitting us.”

  Leo scratched his head bemusedly. “If Van says it, it’s solid.”

  “You suddenly on his side now?” Zeke said.

  “Always was,” Leo said. Fain frowned.

  “Shit, I’m convinced,” Rigoberto said. “Forget the Rainier branch.”

  “You’ve made your point, Shaw,” said Macomber. “We haven’t done the recon. Not yet.”

  “There’s more,” I said. “You don’t know where Jaeger is going to make his play, either. If he gets to the armored truck before you, you’re screwed and the guards are dead. If you get the money first, Jaeger misses his chance but he’s still running around free.”

  “Not acceptable,” said Macomber.

  “And if you both try for the truck at the same time . . .” I shook my head. “Bloodbath.”

  “Do you know where he’s gonna be?” Rigo said. Honestly asking, without the sarcastic tone of Zeke’s.

  “Forget predicting the future,” I said, “or taking the money before Jaeger is neutralized. We should hijack the armored truck instead. Two of us will replace the guards. We deliver any drops ourselves. And when Jaeger makes his move, we catch that son of a bitch right in between us.”

  “You’re including yourself in this plan?” Macomber said, breaking the stunned silence.

  “I am.”

  “How do you intend to take over the truck without anyone noticing?” he said. “Much less stand in for the guards.”

  “Pretending to be the hopper is the easy part. I know enough about the procedure for making money drops to fake it. No bank will think twice about a guard delivering the expected amount of cash. But I won’t have to play that game for long, if at all. Jaeger will have the same bright idea as Zeke, to hit the truck early in the day. More money for him. As for how to boost the truck, let me worry about that.”

  “That move might protect the guards,” Leo said. “It won’t protect you if Jaeger shoots first.”

  “I’ll be ready for him.”

  “And maybe I should cover your six, Sarge.”

  I looked at Leo. “Thanks.”

  “It would be better if we could figure where Jaeger will strike,” Fain said, following the inked lines of the route with his finger, “and be waiting there.”

  “He’ll have to hit the truck when its doors are open,” I said. “That’s the only time the truck is vulnerable. Stopping it on the street between the banks would leave him with a giant safe he can’t crack. I’ll case the banks on the route tomorrow and pick the likeliest branches.”

  “I hope you have as much experience as you imply,” Macomber said. “We’re risking a lot on your word.”

  “I wasn’t always a soldier.” I turned to Fain. “I can show you a picture of Jaeger from his fake license. If your team is rolling just ahead of the truck, you might be able to spot and intercept him before the truck even comes close.”

  The general smoothed a crease in the map as he mused. “Jaeger had three of his men at the house, Aaron said. John will have five with him, counting Shaw.”

  “Four who are mobile,” said Fain.

  “I can still drive,” Daryll said, shifting on his broken foot.

  “Those aren’t odds I like,” Macomber said, “not with nonlethal weapons. Jaeger might enlist more men.”

  “A compromise, sir,” Fain said. “We go with M4 carbines with under-barrel grenade launchers attached. The guns give us the intimidation factor and live rounds in case we need them. The launchers will have sponge grenades if we have to take Jaeger’s men down hard.”

  Hard was the right word. A sponge grenade wasn’t nearly as benign as it sounded, a foam-rubber bullet the size of a plum that could rupture a spleen or shatter a jaw at fifty yards. At closer range, it could kill.

  The general grimaced. “That’s a single-shot weapon.”

  “Ideally we won’t need to use even that,” said Fain. “And we’ll also have the bigger launchers, the Milkors.”

  “These are city streets,” I said. “How will you hide the guns?”

  Fain raised an eyebrow. “You worry about the truck. I’ll deal with the arms.”

  I didn’t love the idea of Fain’s team rolling into Seattle with assault weapons and 5.56mm rounds. But it would be pointless to argue against it, not to mention hypocritical. Against Jaeger and his pack of rabid dogs, I would have lethal measures as my backup, too.

  “What about the money?” Zeke said to me.

  “Once Jaeger’s bagged and tagged? I walk away. The rest is up to you.”

  “Really. You don’t want any part of eleven million bucks.”

  Fain came around the table to stand in front of me. “Our team’s down one man, Shaw. We need you to help cover us. Four minutes in the open, you said.”

  “Which is why I’m telling you to nail Jaeger and get the hell out. Forget the cash.”

  “You’d leave brothers in the field?”

  “It isn’t th
e field,” I said, “it’s a crime scene. And that’s my specialty.”

  “Enough,” said Macomber. “Stop Jaeger. Acquire as much of the cash as you can manage, with the men you have.” He frowned in my direction. “We have arrangements to make and not much time. John, we’ll regroup in the morning.”

  “I’m headed to Seattle tonight,” I said. “My arrangements are there.”

  “One thing I don’t get,” Rigoberto said as I started folding the map. “We hogtie Jaeger like a Christmas present for the cops. So what? He can just claim he’s an innocent bystander.”

  “We’ll leave enough evidence at the scene to send him away for life.”

  “Life for robbery?” Rigo frowned.

  “For the murder of the HaverCorp guards in Nevada. I’ve got Jaeger’s stolen drugs. And his jacket, and a few items with his fingerprints, including the fake license with his photo on it. One hundred percent chance that asshole is already in the system.” I walked toward the door. “We’re going to frame him for his own crime.”

  Thirty-Five

  Dez and Leo pulled into the driveway on Dez’s Suzuki as I was tossing my rucksack into the truck. Strapped to the seat behind Leo were bags of their own, a black leather weekender and a large roller case that might have been through more wars than I had. Two people and luggage made a precarious load for the little two-stroke machine. Its brakes squealed with the strain of halting the bike’s momentum.

  “Fain told us all to saddle up,” Leo said.

  “So you came here.”

  “He came here,” said Dez, removing her helmet. “I came with him.” Her heart-shaped face was drawn tight with fatigue. The last time I’d seen Dez in person, she was half buried under the shock of finding Wayne Beacham’s body. Since then she’d been yanked between police interviews and funeral arrangements and Leo’s release from jail.

  “How are you holding up?” I said.

  “Hour by hour.” Dez ran her fingers through her hair to rearrange the mess made by the helmet into a more attractive dishevelment. She seemed to do so unconsciously, habit and expertise gained from every time she rode the bike.

  “We’re both leaving this damn town,” said Leo, “without further fucking ado.”

  “What about Daryll and Rigo and the rest of them?” I said.

  He stopped in the middle of unhooking the bungee cords from around the bags. “I told you I’d watch your back. As long as those skinhead freaks are running loose, I figure I’m on the clock.”

  “Besides, the general doesn’t want me around,” Dez said. “No girls allowed in the tree house.”

  Shortsighted, given that Dez and Leo had risked and deceived and suffered more than any of Macomber’s followers to protect the Rally.

  “Leo told me you supported him, when he joined up with Fain’s team,” I said. Making it a question. How had she been okay with her man becoming an armed robber?

  She looked at Leo, then back to me. “I spent the last two years driving between Mercy River and hospitals and clinics and support organizations all over the western states. And I will tell you straight out: the vets’ health-care system is a huge impersonal clusterfuck. Any condition not directly related to a soldier’s service—that’s ninety percent of the problems they face, with the burden of proof on the soldier—and aid will be denied, or postponed, or plain stop after the doctor who pokes his head into the room for the five minutes he’s got in his schedule for each case prescribes a fistful of medications. Meds that threaten to turn half of the patients into addicts and tempt the other half into selling their pills to pay for better care, or just to buy groceries. I know that’s not every soldier’s experience. Especially not every Ranger’s, since you guys tend to be hard chargers in your civilian lives, too. More of you wind up landing on your feet. But Jesus.”

  Dez’s exhaustion had stripped her to a white-hot core. “These government programs take months to implement any change, and years to find out whether the change had any positive results. At least the Rally provided immediate help when it had the funds. Jobs or loans or paying for a twenty-year-old’s physical therapy after his knees develop inflammatory arthritis from running with sixty pounds on his back every day. Anything to get these peoples’ lives rolling in the right direction. Leo wanted to do something. I wanted to do something, more than holding their wives’ hands and hoping I could bring them some Walmart gift cards next time so their kids would have school clothes. I didn’t like the risks Leo was taking, but I sure as hell understood why. He would join Fain’s gang, and he would stop when I left Mercy River. Leo and I agreed on it.”

  “We trusted each other,” Leo said, putting his arm around Dez. She leaned her head against his. “But not you, man. That was wrong.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” I said. “Faith has been in short supply. You wouldn’t tell me you were part of Fain’s crew. I didn’t believe you had your head on straight. Bad choices built on wrong guesses.”

  “Just promise me no more lies,” Dez said to both of us. She walked to the motorcycle and began unstrapping the bags herself. Her roller bag was held more or less in one piece with stickers for REI and Volkl and Burton. Leo would have to stay in shape to keep up with Dez.

  “No more secrets,” I agreed. “We deal with Jaeger, and we’re done.”

  Leo hefted the roller bag, which took both hands. “You might want these for the job. Toys straight from Big Daryll’s duffel.”

  “Did Fain give you shit after I left?”

  “Yeah. Captain Fain’s big on unit cohesion. As much as if we were still in the regiment. He asked me at the town hall in front of everyone whether I would accept him as tactical command in Seattle. His exact words. That if I had a problem I should voice it right there.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I voiced the fuck out of it.” Leo spat. “Asshole. I told Fain what I thought of him using my freedom as a bargaining piece, forcing you to work for him. He hadn’t informed me of that little maneuver because he wasn’t sure I’d fall in line. Would I put the mission ahead of a brother? I said I’d follow the plan in Seattle, but I wasn’t ever taking his orders again. That he’d forgotten what Rangers were about.”

  “Bet that was received well.”

  “Fain looked like he hadn’t taken a shit in a month. And Rigo and Daryll and Zeke, they read the room and kept their mouths zipped. Macomber is seriously pissed at his number-one boy tonight.”

  “And at you, too, I’m guessing.”

  “Screw the general and his stars.” Leo grinned so wide that his cut lip split again. “Let’s move.”

  “God,” said Dez. “You’re like children sometimes.”

  “Roger that,” I said. “Get in the truck.”

  Thirty-Six

  At five o’clock in the morning we emerged from the I-90 tunnel and rounded the bend to see the lights of downtown. Dez leaned forward between the front seats.

  “First time here?” I said.

  She nodded. “Where’s the Space Needle?”

  “Hang on.” We merged onto Interstate 5—maybe the only time of day when traffic wouldn’t slow us to a crawl—and continued north to Mercer Street. In another moment, the glowing disk of the Needle appeared like a UFO on the horizon.

  “It’s different than I thought,” she said, craning her neck to look through the windshield.

  “It just got a face-lift.”

  “Space-lift,” Leo said drowsily. Dez elbowed him.

  “I mean, it’s . . . delicate,” she said.

  “Hope you got a place we can crash,” Leo said. “Jail got me used to a free bed.”

  I’d let the happy couple have my apartment. I would grab a nap in the cabin of the small speedboat I owned, moored down near Hollis’s slip at Shilshole. There was a lot to do, and only fifty hours left on the clock.

  Late that afternoon, Leo met me at a teahouse called Baek’s Finest in the International District. I’d snagged a window seat with a good view of 6th Ave outside.


  “Hope you didn’t pick this place for me,” he said. “I hate kimchi.”

  “Try the roasted green.” I motioned to the steaming pot at the center of the table.

  He poured and scanned the street as he waited for the tea to cool. The bold royal blue of the Prime Bank logo stood out among the hot pot restaurants and print shops, at the top of a T made by a three-way intersection of 6th and Lane. Underneath the illuminated sign, the bank’s name was echoed in Chinese. The tea shop was a couple of blocks south of the Chinatown Gate, the district’s main tourist attraction. Too far away for any cheesy souvenir stores selling kung-fu slippers or stuffed pandas.

  “I drove the armored car’s route,” I said, “and then the first half of it again. This branch is the clear winner.”

  “Why this one?” Leo said, eyes on the bank.

  “It’s only the second drop of the day. A hell of a lot better choice than the first bank on Rainier,” I said. “There’s a pay parking lot right across the street from the bank. Makes a good spot to watch the intersection.”

  We both shut up while the server, a woman with ice-white hair and skin as delicately crackled as ceramic glaze, came to ask if we’d like something to eat. Leo spoke to her in Korean. A long enough conversation that I assumed he was ordering food. She smiled and moved away.

  Seeing the old woman reminded me that I hadn’t spoken to Addy Proctor in a week. I hadn’t even asked Luce how she was doing. I was a little ashamed at that.

  I pointed. “See that courtyard next door? The one with the metal sculpture?” Leo turned around to look at the paved triangle of public space, with a giant cylinder of bronze adorning the center.

  “Thing’s like a pencil holder,” he said. Kids skateboarded in a loop around the sculpture, off the curb and back again.

  “There are stairs under it leading down into a parking garage. You could hang out there for an hour and nobody would notice. Plus another lot in that direction for Uwajimaya.” The Asian grocery’s flagship prompted a constant stream of shoppers between the lot and the store, on the far side of the courtyard.