Knife Point

by Jim Heskett

  “Mariana, please. This is a bad idea. I’ll answer what I can, but I’m not doing it out here.”

  “Oh, is that right? I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  Layne set his jaw and eyed a car driving toward the office. It stopped, and a skinny white guy emerged and then walked into the lobby. “Fine. But, if you want answers, you can come to room 108. I’m not talking with you out in the parking lot. It’s not safe.”

  He waited a moment to see if she would call his bluff. She relented and pointed for him to lead the way. Her eyes burned at him the entire time.

  Layne let her in the room and pulled out a chair at the built-in desk for her to sit, but she opted to lean against the wall closest to the door. Arms crossed over her stomach, looking ready to bolt at any second. Layne didn’t blame her.

  “Who are you?”

  “You know my name isn’t Louis Pastori, but, for your safety, it’s better if I don’t say my real name. Whatever happens, you need to get out of town. Right now.”

  She put a hand on her face, fingernails pulling down her cheeks. “I can’t believe I let you put your dick in me.”

  “I’m sorry. Things got out of control.”

  “If you wanted to be with me to pick my brain about getting a job at Hillcrest, I could see that. I could understand. We both knew what it was. Just a little bit of fun. But, you couldn’t even tell me your real name? Do you have no respect for me at all?”

  “You’re in danger. Serious, life-threatening stuff.”

  She rolled her eyes, and for a brief moment, it all seemed fake. That she wasn’t upset about any of this. All of her efforts were for show, a sham. But, he couldn’t figure out why. An impulse told him she wanted him to cross the room and kiss her, that she was actually enjoying the intensity of the moment.

  But, as quickly as it had come, the feeling faded, and he was left with one choice. He took the memory cards out of his pocket.

  “What’re those?” she asked.

  “I found these in Farhad’s house. He made recordings of you and him. Sex tapes.”

  For a moment, she appeared full of revulsion, her eyes glued on the little chips in his hand. Then, her face changed, and she looked at Layne with horror. “Were you robbing him? Are you a cat burglar, or an undercover cop or something? I do not understand what’s happening here.”

  He set the memory cards on the bed. “Take them. They should belong to you.”

  Mariana crossed the room and snatched the cards, her eyes on Layne the whole time. He wished she wouldn’t look at him as if he might grab her by the wrist, but he understood. He didn’t deserve her trust. A strange feeling lingered between them, but he couldn’t quite place it.

  Memory cards in hand, she gave Layne the most venomous look he’d ever seen in his life. “I can’t go back in time and not invite you over for dinner. But, the universe is going to make sure you get what you deserve.”

  “You should leave town, Mariana. I think Farhad might hurt you.”

  “Go to hell, Louie, or whatever your name is.”

  With that, she stormed out of the room.

  INTERLUDE #4

  New Orleans, LA | Six Years Ago

  As he strolls along Bourbon Street, Layne notes beads on the sidewalk like seashells on the beach. One thing they don’t show in the touristy brochures for the French Quarter is the gutters. There’s a river of gray sludge on either side. Layne doesn’t want to know what it’s comprised of. He’d rather pretend he never saw it at all and keep his eyes up.

  Layne taps the Bluetooth in his ear. “Harry, you with me?”

  “Affirmative,” Harry says. “I’m reading you, walking down Bourbon. At the upcoming intersection, turn right.”

  Harry’s next words are garbled. A quartet of young white boys with backward baseball caps sits on cardboard boxes, playing drums on plastic buckets. The sound rattles like automatic weapons fire. With all the noise, it’s hard for Layne to hear anything. “Say again, K-Books.”

  “It’s Toulouse Street. Next right. He’s walking toward Rampart. Don’t stray too far. It’s hard to keep him separate from everyone else wearing dark clothes.”

  “Copy. Turning right.” Layne tips his head toward Jonah, walking parallel on the other side of the street.

  They caught a whiff of Satori Watanabe on CCTV about a half hour before. Harry used the green bracelet found in the house in Metairie to uncover information about Satori’s movements over the last few days, and built a pattern. He has had drinks at a bar in Congo Square named Funky Butt every evening for the last few days. Not far from the insanity of Bourbon Street. But, where he’s been resting his head at night, they don’t yet know.

  “I think I have a visual,” Jonah says, keeping a hand on the Bluetooth in his ear. Layne can barely hear him over the noise on the street. A strip club blares pink neon and deafening electronic music on their right. Layne has to divert his eyes so it doesn’t blow his night vision.

  “Turn north on Rampart,” Harry says. “Funky Butt is about a block up. You can’t miss it.”

  “Copy that,” Layne says as he slips his baseball cap on his head. But, before he can cross the street, a crew of four men emerges from an alley. All of them in matching jeans and white t-shirts. At first, they don’t seem to be on an intercept path, they’re just crossing the sidewalk. But then, all four take a sharp turn and stop in front of Layne.

  The street is thick with people. Layne doesn’t have an easy way to go around, so he comes to a stop. They’re all looking at him, so he feels like he has to say something. “Excuse me, guys. I need to get by.”

  The four of them don’t allow him past. In fact, they pull closer together. Eyes on Layne, staring him down. Without a word, they’ve formed some sort of tense Red Rover line. With the amount of pedestrian traffic on either side, Layne can’t easily run around them. Also, he doesn’t want to attract attention to himself unless he has to.

  “Do you need help?” Jonah says in his ear.

  “Layne,” Harry says, urgency in his voice. “You need to keep on the target. Get past these guys. Do whatever you have to. We can’t assume he’ll stay at or even go to this bar.”

  Layne flashes a look to Jonah across the street, dimming his eyelids, hoping to communicate that he’s fine, to stay closer to Satori. He opts to not answer Harry so he doesn’t seem like he’s talking to himself.

  “Where you serve?” asks one of the men, a guy with a shaved head and a lazy eye. His eyes are on Layne’s upper arm, where he has a tattoo of a skull wearing a beret, with the word Ranger behind it. The tattoo is from a long-ago undercover mission. At the time, he didn’t have a choice other than getting the ink. And now, he doesn’t want to discuss it out here on the street, while he’s trying to keep his eyes on a target.

  “I didn’t serve. Now get out of my way.”

  The man grins, then he takes a step toward Layne. His fists are balled, but still at his sides. No fear on his face.

  “There’s a police car one block over,” Harry says. “Whatever you do, please do it quietly.”

  With a sigh, Layne decides he doesn’t have time for this. He snatches the man’s left hand and jerks hard to shift him off balance, then spins the guy around to face his friends. In one quick move, Layne stretches the guy’s hand up to the middle of his back, an inch away from dislocating his shoulder.

  The guy yelps and tries to run, but Layne has his other hand firmly grasping the back pocket of the guy’s jeans. He presses his front against the guy’s back, hoping the streams of surrounding bystanders won’t even notice.

  Over the Bluetooth, Jonah clears his throat. “The short one on the left has a pistol sticking out of his waistband.”

  Layne looks at that one. He narrows his eyes at him.“Pull your gun, and I’ll break his arm, man. I don’t have time for this shit.”

  The short guy lifts his hands. “It’s cool.”

  “The three of you, keep on walking,” Layne says. “I’ll let your frie
nd go after you walk ten paces.”

  The three of them hesitate until the captive man nods, then they comply. Layne lets his man go once they’re far enough away. He gives the guy a little shove to create space, and he keeps his hands up in case he decides to try anything. Pretty soon, though, Layne realizes they aren’t interested in a public confrontation.

  The guy rubs his wrist. “Asshole.”

  “Yeah,” Layne says as he walks backward away from him. “Try it on somebody else.”

  “What was that about?” Jonah asks.

  “There’s a VFW down the street,” Layne says as he again joins the flow of traffic. “He probably was going to offer to buy me a drink, then he and his friends would rob me in the alley.”

  Jonah chuckles. “Joke’s on them because they don’t know how broke you are.”

  “Roger that,” Layne says. He turns at the crosswalk, and now he catches a glimpse of Satori, entering a building up ahead. The sign above reads Funky Butt. “I have eyes on the target. He’s right on schedule.”

  Layne and Jonah are on the same side of the street now. They pick up the pace, headed for the bar.

  “I’ll let you know if he shows up outside,” Harry says.

  Layne walks up the steps and pulls back the door. Immediately, he’s greeted by a large oil painting of a humongous naked African-American woman. He grins. It’s hard to notice anything else in the entryway.

  This place has low lights, blood red walls, and velvet table cloths. Energetic jazz comes from a trio on a small stage in one corner. It’s a nice vibe, the sort of place Layne would have loved to visit as a college undergrad. He could see himself getting into trouble in a place like this.

  “Got him,” Jonah says, pointing to the back. There’s a separate room behind the bar. An archway between the two halves of the building. Layne and Jonah, heads down, make their way through the crowd as Satori passes under the archway.

  Satori slips beyond that room, out the back door of the bar. By the time they push through all the people to catch up, it’s been five full seconds. Layne opens the door. They emerge into a back alley, forty feet wide, dark, and free of people. Satori doesn’t look back as he slips into the front door of a brick building opposite the bar’s rear.

  “Harry,” Layne says into his earpiece. “Brick building directly behind Funky Butt. What is it?”

  “Standby,” Harry says, and Layne listens to the clacking of a keyboard for a few seconds. “It’s an apartment complex.”

  “Got him,” Jonah says, and he removes his Desert Eagle.

  Layne also takes out his Beretta. “Harry, we’re almost done here.”

  32

  Layne parked outside the small airport southeast of Redding as Serena walked out of the glass doors. The morning sun rose above her head. Saturday, the eighth day since Layne had seen Jonah's picture on the wall outside the bathroom at the Sunshine Brewing Company.

  Layne didn’t know why, but today felt like the day. The last day. He and the others would find and neutralize Farhad, or they would fail, and Farhad would carry out… whatever it was he was planning.

  Serena lifted a hand to block the glare. She didn’t smile when she saw Layne, but she nodded at him. He left the car and crossed the walkway to meet her. He was suddenly struck by how much Serena looked like Mariana Flores. Same height and complexion. Serena was more muscular, a little taller with a V-shaped back, but they had a similar body type. Serena didn’t wear a perpetual smirk like Mariana, but they had a similar facial structure, too. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t made the connection before.

  He met her on the sidewalk and took her rolling bag. “Morning. How was your flight?”

  She shrugged. “They ran out of pretzels on the beverage cart before they got to me. Otherwise, nothing to complain about. Sorry it took me so long to get here.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  “I just finished an op in San Antonio. The timing was good, so Daphne gave me the all-clear to come out here. She doesn’t usually do that, you know, but when it comes to you, she makes exceptions.”

  “Yeah, believe me, I’m well aware. So, San Antonio? Did you see family?”

  “A little. My dad’s been sick, so it’s a dark cloud over everything.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  Serena nodded, looking uncomfortable. “Thank you. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  After a couple of awkward beats, Layne realized he needed to change the subject since Serena didn’t appear to know how to do it herself. “Sure, no problem at all. Let’s talk about your cat. How is he?”

  “Probably angry with me. He’s been with my neighbor for almost a week.”

  “I’m sure he’ll find a way to forgive you. Do you need anything before we go?”

  She hitched her purse up over her shoulder and shook her head. “I’m ready to get to work.”

  “Right. My car’s this way.”

  He escorted her to the rental and opened the door for her. Once inside, she paused and turned in her seat to face him. “It’s good to see you again, Layne. Sorry if I was a little short back there. It’s been a stressful few days.”

  “I understand. And I’m really glad to have you here. I know Jonah retired before you joined the team, but he was a good shadow, and I think we owe it to him. He needs our help.”

  “You said he was drugged. Is he lucid?”

  “He’s been a little better each day.”

  “And you’re sure he’s not compromised.”

  He stared at the rental car key, letting the sunlight reflect onto the dashboard’s instrument panel. “Trust, but verify.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “He’s not compromised. Not as far as I know. I’ve been wrong about that before, but my gut says he’s okay.”

  “If you can vouch for him, then it’s good enough for me. What’s the situation?”

  Layne turned on the car and backed out of his spot. “My ex and daughter are leaving this morning. That frees me up to focus on this alone, which is good since I haven’t even checked in on them since yesterday afternoon.”

  Serena applied lip balm as she studied her hair in the side view mirror. “Target?”

  “Basically, this man Farhad Jahandar is working with someone, planning something in the Redding area. I have reason to believe it’s some sort of retribution for the killing of Omar Naseer, a man I took out on an op about fifteen years ago.”

  “Fifteen years? That’s a long time to wait for revenge. Seems thin.”

  “I agree. That might not be the real reason for their plan. He could be a figurehead, for whatever reason. Maybe not important at all, or could be a smokescreen to keep us looking in the wrong direction. He has to know I’m onto him by now. I’ve taken out a few of his hired guns, including one in his living room last night.”

  “Anything on his movements?”

  “I don’t know where he is at present. We know Farhad is meeting with someone today. I found a document that indicates he’s planning to receive a helicopter at Hillcrest Family & Children Services, a mental health facility in town.”

  “So we intercept the helicopter?”

  Layne tilted his head left and right. “Or, better yet, we intercept Farhad first. We get answers out of him. Then, when this helicopter lands—full of explosives or guns or whatever it is—we have FBI there to apprehend the people in the copter.”

  “Have you talked to the FBI yet?”

  Layne shook his head. “I don’t have anything concrete. Daphne doesn’t want us to call in the feds, but I don’t see how we do this without backup. Farhad could have an army of mercs with him when this goes down. We just don’t know.”

  “There’s an FBI field office in Redding. I know someone who works there so I can make the call, once we have more information.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Forget what Daphne says. This isn’t a sanctioned mission, so we make the decision in the field. Not her.”
/>   Layne spread a flat smile. “She’ll be furious.”

  “You let me worry about that. You good with bringing in the FBI?”

  “Works for me. I think our best plan is to stake out the helicopter landing pad on top of the building, then grab Farhad.”

  Serena held up her hands, cracking her knuckles by flexing her fingers. “Copy that. It’s good to work with you again, Layne.”

  “You too, Serena.”

  “I’m ready to get this son of a bitch.”

  33

  Harry Boukadakis swerved the spaceship over the bed, across the nightstand, and then down into the valley of the carpet. Another spaceship, piloted by Captain Cameron Parrish, pursued him with relentless vigor.

  “I'll shoot my lasers at you!” Cameron shouted as she navigated the narrow divide between the motel bed and the dresser.

  “Not a chance. I added laser-proof shields to the back of my spaceship.”

  “Hey,” Cameron said, pouting. “That’s not fair. You can’t add shields.”

  “You wanna talk about fair?” Harry turned the spaceship around, now pointed at Cam’s. “I’m going to come after you now.”

  Cameron squealed with glee and jumped up, guiding her spaceship away from the bed. She raced toward the other edge of the room. She was wearing Denver Broncos pajamas with an added orange tutu around her waist.

  Harry labored to his feet, out of breath. When his son had been this age, Harry hadn’t carried so much extra weight around his waist. Playing with little ones hadn’t gotten any easier with age, for sure. It was still as fun as ever, though. What they don’t tell you about growing up is that playing make-believe never stops being fun, but you can’t justify it unless you have a little kid around to make it seem normal.

  “Here I come,” he said, wobbling toward her like a zombie.

  Cameron cackled and hopped up on the bed, making the box springs squeak as she bounced up and down. Her tutu fluttered when she jumped.

  “No!” said a muffled Inessa from the next room. They had two rooms linked by a set of two opposing doors, with Harry’s open and the other shut. She’d been in there for the last thirty minutes, talking with Jonah.