“Just out of curiosity, what does the lawyer owe you for?”
Tommy barked out a laugh. “Tell him, John.”
It was kind of a heartwarming story, but only to us creatures of the dark. “Chad Dubrinsky had just been let go by the District Attorney’s office. He and his wife lived in a small house on Faust Avenue in LA. His little boy, Charlie, was only three. They were trying to make due on his salary alone. With the layoff from the DA’s office, things were getting tight. He had to start all over, doing law clerk work in a firm downtown. Long hours on the job, and then this guy moves in next door on a foreclosure sale. He starts partying to dawn, loud music, cars all over the place, and people hanging out in Chad’s yard. Chad calls the cops, and gets his tires slashed, and pictures of Charlie in his mailbox.”
“By then, Chad doesn’t know what to do, so he called a friend of his in a law firm up here, asking for advice. The friend gives him Tommy’s number, and before you know it, we’re on a road trip to the City of Angels.”
Tommy chirps in, not being patient enough to listen to the version he asked for. “John and I meet with this guy, and he’s a mess. He’s workin’ eighteen hour days, his wife’s having a nervous breakdown, and his little boy’s in danger. John goes ‘I can fix this, but it will have to be a permanent solution’. Chad looks at John and doesn’t even blink – ‘I don’t care if you burn him up alive, just so he never, ever puts another picture of my kid in the mailbox’. That’s the kind of thing John here understands for directions.”
“The guy has another wild party that night. We attend in masks. I fire the riot gun up into the ceiling, and the house is cleared out in seconds. Mr. Bad Neighbor comes charging out of the back bedroom, and John put some attitude in a one punch masterpiece that literally broke out all the guy’s front teeth, and his jaw. We put him in a body-bag, carted him out to the car, and headed north. End of problem.”
Halliday waited, but when Tommy didn’t go on, he couldn’t resist. “Ah… what happened to the neighbor?”
Tommy shrugged. “He was never heard from again. No one knows what happened to him. Chad was happy, and paid us off in installments. We figure it was still a favor though.”
Halliday remained quiet for a few more moments. “You guys were going to make me disappear, weren’t you?”
“Never,” Tommy said.
“Never,” I echoed.
“Liars.” Halliday let out a deep breath and sat back in his seat.
Chapter Nine: Deadly Business
It dawned on me while we’d been riding for an hour that I still had Kev cinched up in the back. I turned around toward him. “This is a pathetic apology, but I forgot I still had you plastic tied. Turn around.”
I released him from the ties. They have a plastic trigger release. Very handy, but you don’t want to put two bad guys side by side with them on. That Halliday never complained or said anything put another couple pluses on his good side board with me. I like a man or woman that doesn’t complain. It just means they’ve tasted reality with common sense. Complaining is for saps that live in an alternate universe. Sure, if you have a problem, you go and state the facts and resolve the problem with common sense arguments. Sometimes you have to get through a few cardboard cutout mannequins who think otherwise, but whining and complaining won’t get you there.
“Thanks.” Halliday didn’t waste time with profuse thanks either – another plus. “You can turn the station to whatever you guys listen to, Mr. Sands.”
Tommy immediately switched the station to the jazz and oldies station. “Thank God. I didn’t mind the new country for a while, but it was starting to make me bleed out of my ears. Call me Tommy. Call John anything you like.”
“Thanks T. Since I never knew my mother, you can call me son-of-a-bitch too, Kev. It doesn’t bother me.”
Halliday cracked up at that allowance. “Ah… now that we’re at least on the acquaintance level… is there any chance we can stop for the bathroom and some food.”
“Coming right up,” Tommy said. “We’re near Coalinga. John and I usually stop there, get gas, and get something to eat at the Harris Ranch Inn. We’re only two exits away. We fill up at the Chevron Station there, hit the head, and then go on to the Harris.”
“Sounds good. What kind of food do they have at the Harris?”
“What do you care, meat?” Tommy glanced back at Halliday with a grin.
Halliday leaned back again. “Walked right into that one.”
* * *
Halliday’s filling our tank when I come from the bathroom. Tommy’s buying snacks for the road after we leave the Harris. There’s an old blue Cadillac Sedan de Ville parked at the pump behind us, and Kevin’s glancing at it like he wants to buy it. The owner’s not around, so I figure he’s in the food mart. I don’t see anything remarkable about the Cad. It’s ugly, and probably gets about five miles per gallon on a good day.
“Hey, Kev, thinkin’ about making an offer on that Cad?”
He didn’t look up. Halliday finished pumping gas, and hung up the hose while I put the gas cap back in place. “I keep hearing weird noises coming from it, John. It sounds like some kind of scuffling sound. I’m in enough trouble, so I thought I better wait until you came out. The driver’s that guy in front of Tommy in the cashier’s line.”
I check out the line of customers at the food mart cashier’s line through the window. A tall lanky, pock faced guy, wearing a dark plaid shirt with cut off sleeves to the shoulder stood nervously glancing out at us as he waited to pay for gas. He had shoulder length brown hair tied in a ponytail at the back of his neck. I don’t get any particular vibes from him, but I’m also listening for the noises Kevin was hearing. There’s an eighteen wheeler pulling out, so I have to clear my head of that noise before I can concentrate. Then I hear it – vague scuffing sounds. Then I notice the rear end of the Cad moving ever so slightly.
“I hear it, Kev. Something’s moving in the trunk. That guy looks nervous as hell. I don’t know whether he’s packing or not, and I don’t want a gunfight amongst all these people either. He’s already seen me checking him out. If I approach the food mart, he may panic. Want to take another chance on trouble?”
“Hell yeah. If the fucker’s got something movin’ in the trunk, I want to see what he has in there.”
“Good. When he starts out of the store, walk toward him. Put your hands in your pockets. Don’t make eye contact. When you pass him, body slam the prick, and pin his arms. Tommy will be close. He’ll back your play. I’ll clean the windshields until it goes down.”
Kev nodded his understanding, keeping turned away from the store. I wet one of the station squeegees and walked around to the passenger side to clean the rear window. Halliday made a show of checking out the rear driver’s side tire. All the time I’m still hearing noises from the Cad trunk, and I don’t like it. I see the guy getting his receipt.
“He’s coming out.”
Halliday straightens, jams his hands in his pockets, and heads for the store with his head down. When he passes the guy, he turns to wrap his arms around the guys middle, trapping his arms, and slams him to the pavement. Kevin maintains his grip, wrestling with ponytail so as not to lose his hold. Tommy drops his bag of goodies to rush over next to him.
“He’s got a gun under his shirt, John!” Halliday calls out, but Tommy already arrives to handle that. Tommy presses the barrel of his 9mm Glock to the guy’s forehead. Lanky stops struggling.
“Let me go! What the hell’s wrong with you guys?”
I’m there a split second later to plastic tie the guys wrists together behind his back. I then lift him up to a standing position. “Frisk him, T. He has something in his trunk, and it’s movin’.”
Tommy does a professional frisk, coming away with a .45 caliber auto from the guy’s belt in the back, an ID, car keys, and a boot knife from under his pants leg. By then, we’re getting a small crowd of on lookers. I held up my FBI cover ID. “Relax folks. I’m FBI Agen
t John Harding. Please stay back while we find out what or who is in this man’s trunk.”
There were gasps of shock, and Lanky looked sullenly down at his feet. He’d stopped with the outraged angle when I produced the FBI ID. Tommy handed Halliday the Cad keys, and Kevin ran over to the trunk. He popped the trunk open, his features a grim mask. He made shushing noises as he reached in. Tommy jogged over after leaving Lanky’s goodies with me. A moment later the two pulled a sobbing girl out of the trunk, who didn’t look much older than twelve or thirteen. Sirens wailed in the distance. I considered making minor alterations to Lanky, but there were just too damn many witnesses.
“Don’t even think about it, John!” Tommy called out. He and Halliday were carefully unbinding the girl’s painfully duct taped body.
Lanky let out a yelp, as I may have forgotten myself for a moment while holding his arm. I leaned in close to Lanky. “You’d better pray those sirens are headed here, shithead. If they’re not, I’m going to take you somewhere quiet and pluck your arms and legs off.”
Lanky looked at me in horror. Oh boy, if he knew me a little better, he’d be crying. I called the number for Clint’s FBI contact, Sam Reeves. He answered with a grunt of acknowledgment.
“Oh good… John Harding. Spit it out. I know you wouldn’t be calling for anything else other than trouble.”
“That’s just hurtful, Agent Reeves. I have a pre-teen girl we just released out of a guy’s Cad trunk. I have him in custody. What details would you like? It’s all yours if you want it. We’re in Coalinga, but the local cops are already on their way.”
That sobered him up. “Janie and I are in San Diego. What state is the license plate?”
I waited for Tommy and Kevin to escort the girl past me and Lanky. She huddled closer to Kevin as they passed us. I walked over to the Cad with Lanky, and read off the Nevada license number for Reeves.
“Perfect. A kidnapping across state lines will rate a helicopter ride to you. Can you interrogate the suspect and victim if she can help within the guidelines, and do you still have that phony FBI ID?”
“Hey… for one thing, it’s not phony and you know it. Yes, I’ll read him his rights and interrogate him. I wish Lynn was here.”
Reeves snorted. “Yeah… I’ll bet you do. Tell me where you are. I know you’ll need an ambulance for the girl. Can you send someone with her to the hospital?”
“Sure. I have just the right guy. I’ll talk to you when you get here. The text with this Chevron Station’s address is on its way.”
“Just how in hell do you people end up in the middle of these shit piles?”
“We pay attention, Agent Reeves. Tommy and I were escorting a bond skip who wanted to turn himself in down LA way. The guy noticed noises from the Cad trunk at a gas station. We investigated.”
“Wow, and the guy’s still alive? Give the locals my number when they get to you. Call me with the details and girl’s ID as soon as possible.”
“On it, boss.”
“Prick.” Reeves disconnected.
Man, that guy’s wound a little tight. I dragged Lanky around to the GMC rear hatch, opened it, and got into my small kit for Nitrile gloves. Then I checked the guy’s ID. He had a Nevada driver’s license with Donald King on it. I’m not good enough with the ID’s to tell when they’re fake or not unless I know the perp’s name. This FBI and cop procedure crap is not in my line. I sent a picture of it to Reeves along with pictures of the Cad and open trunk, and of course Donald. He tried to put his head down so I squeezed his chin until Donald got the message to keep his head up. The bystanders were comforting the little girl. Tommy walked over to me when I signaled.
“Watch this cluck while I take a picture of the little girl to send Agent Reeves.”
“John. This asshole has others some place around here. The girl’s name is Becky Varner. She’s twelve, and she says he was selling her somewhere in LA.”
I shook the Donald. “Tell us where your hideout is around here.”
“I ain’t tellin’ you shit!”
“For the first time I wish we had Montoya with us,” Tommy said.
“That’s what I told Reeves. I’ll have to call Reeves back and get the locals to give me custody of him. Then we go old school on him.” I shook the Donald again. “We’re going to have a good time together until you tell us where your hideout is. I’m thinking some place quiet, me you, a propane torch… oh yeah.”
“You can’t do shit to me!”
Tommy started laughing while I called Reeves back and told him the situation.
Reeves was dead quiet for a moment. Then he took a deep breath. “Are the locals there yet?”
I watched two squad cars streak into the station with an ambulance running a block behind them. “They’re here.”
“Put someone on I can talk to.”
“Hold on.” Tommy took hold of the Donald, while I went to meet the local PD with my FBI credentials out. A short haired, medium height sergeant with Carlson on his tag met me. “I have my FBI boss on the line, Sergeant. Can he speak with you about this?”
“Yes Sir.” Carlson took the phone, and gave his name to Reeves. He handed it back after a couple of minutes in a nearly one sided conversation. “Agent Reeves says the FBI has custody in this case with it having happened across state lines. That’s fine with me. We’ll allow one of your men to accompany the girl to the hospital.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” I walked over to Kevin, who was holding the girl’s hand while the EMT’s checked her over. “Sergeant, this is my undercover man, Agent Halliday. He’ll be accompanying the girl and staying with her at the hospital.”
“Very good,” Carlson acknowledged. “Great work, you guys.”
“Thank you.” I made eye contact with Kevin. He gave me a nod of understanding. I went back over with Tommy and the Donald.
I was smiling. By the time I reached the Donald, he started quacking about torture. Tommy moved in front of him, and I gave the Donald a short left to the solar plexus, which halted all conversation as I loaded him in the GMC. “You drive T. When we get some place with some solitude, pull over. The Donald is in our custody now.”
Moments later we were on our way. Tommy headed down Dorris Avenue toward Fresno Coalinga Road. It’s a barren connection with dirt roads going off with destinations out of sight. Tommy headed down one with nothing in sight as far as the eye could see. By that time, the Donald was breathing with ragged snorts and groans.
“You… you can’t… do this!”
Tommy turned once he was stopped. “Shut up, pussy. We’ll let you know when to speak, and it better be exactly what we’re asking for or you are going to be one hurtin’ son-of-a-bitch.”
Let the games begin. Damn, I wish Lynn was here. We’d already be headed over to this cluck’s hideout. “We can’t use the torch, T. If we have to take him back with us, we can’t leave any marks.”
“What about pliers?” Tommy gets right into it. He’s seen Montoya work. “I bet we get one of his nuts in the jaws of victory, and the little pussy will be talkin’ in no time.”
“I like it! I’ve got the large jawed ones in the back. They’re in my kit. You get them, and I’ll prep the Donald for surgery.”
“No… no… no…” the Donald repeated in horrified cadence while slithering into a corner of the backseat. “I…I’ll tell. I’ll tell.”
Tommy shook his head. He was getting good at this. “That ship sailed back when we asked you nicely. Now, we have to make sure you’re cooperating in good faith. You may have to do it in a high squeaky voice, but that’s okay.”
“I’ll take you there! For God’s sake… I’ll take you!”
“Shut your blasphemous mouth, you…” I reached back for the Donald, but Tommy grabbed my arm.
Tommy sighed. “Think about it, John. We need to get his other victims.”
I pointed at the Donald. “If you’re lyin’, I will cut your fuckin’ dick off and stick it down your throat after we find ou
t the truth while you’re still alive. If you’ve killed and buried victims, we will eventually find out, and I’ll come get you. As God is my witness, you do not want that. I can reach you anywhere, even a federal penitentiary. Sit up straight, you fuck! Every time you screw this recording up, I will get pay back in blood later. Are we clear?”
In answer, the Donald sat up immediately. “Anything… just ask.”
Tommy nodded he was recording. I repeated the Miranda rights for the Donald and asked him if he understood his rights. He answered with a yes. Tommy stopped the recording at my signal. “Okay meat, here’s what I want next. You will say you can’t live with yourself anymore, and you have to come clean as to what you’ve done, and all the details…. and I mean all the details. You pause, and there will be blood.”
I gestured at Tommy and he began recording again with picture and sound.
“This is FBI Special Agent John Harding. I have a suspect who claims he wishes to confess to crimes he’s perpetrated on others. He asks for no leniency or special circumstances. He claims his name is Donald King. Is that your real name?”
“Yes… yes it is.”
“Do you wish to confess to crimes you have committed without any duress, but by your own free will?”
“Yes.” This time the Donald nodded with emphasis when I gestured for him to do it.
“Please proceed, Mr. King.”
For the next nearly an hour, the freak recounted all he had done, including two kids’ bodies he had buried in Nevada. Good Lord in heaven, if it weren’t for the live kids he still had stashed, the Donald would beg to be killed for days. His death would be legendary. We made a deal with the devil, and now we’d have to pay up. I concentrated on the kids, who until now had no chance. Thankfully, Becky was the first he’d planned to sell into slavery, but as a bonus, I had the name and address of the contact down in LA. It was going to be a hot time in the old town tonight.
Hard Case: Boxed Set Books 1,2 & 3 (John Harding Books) Page 71