Whistler's Angel

by John R. Maxim

  “While you’re thinking, they could be killing her, Adam.”

  “You want us to do what? Drive around? Look for their car? That’s why I didn’t tell Moore that we know Vernon Lockwood. That’s exactly what Moore would have us doing with him.”

  “Wouldn’t that be better than standing here talking?”

  No, it wouldn’t, thought Whistler, because if they found Lockwood, he wouldn’t be able to kill him on sight. Not with the sergeant looking on.

  He said, “Let’s try to figure out what we’re up against first. The third man, the driver…we’ve seen him before. He was there last night when the shooting took place. I’ve noticed him several times before that.”

  She remembered. She asked, “The far side of the bar?”

  “Facing us, his back to the door.”

  Whistler grimaced as he realized that he should have known. The striped jacket, he told Claudia, was the only person there who hadn’t ducked for cover when it started. He’d seen it all. The best seat in the house. Whistler had to shout for him to get down when Crow drove up outside and raised his shotgun. Whistler should have wondered why he’d seemed so detached. No fear. Fascination. Didn’t want to miss a thing.

  She asked, “Could he have been a lookout for Crow?”

  “No. Too surprised. He didn’t expect it. He was there watching us and now we know he’s with Lockwood. This means that Lockwood must have known for some time that you and I are back in this country.”

  He must have, thought Whistler, but how? The answer to that was any number of ways. The most efficient of those would have been electronic. That double signal. That must have been it. His father had said that he was getting an echo. Since when? Since Antigua? No, before that. Martinique.

  Whistler said, “There’s a tracker somewhere on this boat. They’ve known where we are for two months at least.”

  She did not seem alarmed. She said, “And yet nothing’s happened.”

  “You call all this nothing?”

  “No, I mean that we’ve been here for more than three weeks. If they wanted you, Adam, they had every chance. Yet until last night, nothing happened.”

  “What’s changed,” he said, “is Crow. Them tying in with Crow. I just can’t imagine why they’d do that. Or how.”

  “But they did. What’s the simplest answer to how?”

  He stared for a moment. “They already knew him. They had to have known where he’d be…how to find him.”

  “Of course. And therefore? Who put them together?”

  “You…want me to say Aubrey. This does not sound like Aubrey.”

  “But Crow is a lunatic. A religious fanatic. What does that suggest to you, Adam?”

  He nodded. “You’re right. That would point to Stanton Poole.”

  “Okay, what’s the simplest answer to why?”

  “To silence Ragland. But that’s where you lose me. Aubrey wouldn’t have touched this and Lockwood works for Aubrey. Lockwood doesn’t take orders from Poole.”

  You’re assuming that Lockwood wouldn’t act without orders. And if, as you say, there’s a tracker on this boat, why would Lockwood feel the need to come aboard?”

  Good question, he thought. To plant a listening device? Or, just as likely, some other device. Whistler felt the hairs on his neck begin to rise. He remembered Moore saying that Crow had used bombs. Remote control, maybe? Lockwood’s thumb on the button?

  He stepped closer to Claudia, his lips to her ear. He whispered, “Don’t touch anything. Climb back up the steps.”

  Her eyes widened. She understood and obeyed. Without a word, she went first. She reached the cockpit where she waited for him. She pointed to some marks on the fiberglass deck. They were scuff marks. From street shoes. Whistler saw them and nodded. They had to be Lockwood’s. She stepped over the rail and onto the dock. She pointed to another set of marks that she’d found. Spike marks. Those golf shoes. Crow had been there as well. They followed the spike marks all the way up the ramp. They were safely away from the boat.

  Whistler saw Moore’s patrol car. Another had joined it. Moore was standing at the door of his car, speaking into his radio; his back was turned toward them. Another deputy was talking to a small knot of people. Must be those who had witnessed the abduction. A few others had gathered and they stood on the fringes. Whistler saw two men among them who looked vaguely familiar. A big man and a smaller one, both middle aged. The big one had the build of a wrestler. They reminded him of…never mind…it couldn’t be. He took Claudia’s arm and steered her toward the steps that led off into the warren of restaurants and shops.

  She asked, “Why this way? Are we ducking the sergeant?”

  “If we don’t, he’s going hold us. Let’s try to get to the car.”

  “What then?”

  He said, “Claudia, I need you to do something for me. If we can get to Jump & Phil’s, I’m going to drop you off there. Wait there for me. Stay by the phone.”

  “While you’re doing what?”

  “While I try to find Leslie.”

  “By yourself? How would you even know where to start?”

  “I…know how Lockwood thinks. That might help me.”

  She looked into his eyes. She saw that they’d turned cold. She asked, “Is it Leslie you’re thinking about?”

  “She’ll be with them if I find them. And you said it yourself. I won’t find them standing here talking.”

  “I’m going with you, Adam. You go nowhere without me.”

  “Look, this morning…when you said that you’re in my world more than ever, I didn’t correct you. But you’re not. You never will be.”

  She said, “Adam, that’s not your decision to make.”

  “Yeah, it is. And I’ve just made it. You will wait at Jump & Phil’s. I don’t want you with me on this one.”

  Arnold Kaplan had almost reached North Forest Beach when he heard the the description of their car on the scanner. Green Pontiac, three men, one young woman, partial plate. At least one of the occupants may be armed.

  He said to Lockwood, “Few more blocks. We’re almost there.”

  Another bulletin came on, this one much more detailed. It identified the victim of the “probable abduction.” It gave her full name, Leslie Stewart. It described the two men who’d forced her into the car and the clothing that was worn by the driver. It said that one of them might be Joshua Crow, the man wanted for the shooting of Ragland. It further identified Miss Stewart, the victim, as a bartender at Jump & Phil’s. It said that as such, on the previous evening, she had witnessed the shootings in that restaurant. She might have recognized Crow before he made his escape. She might have spotted Crow again at Palmetto Bay. He knew it and attacked her and seized her.

  No, thought Kaplan, that is not how it happened. It happened because this fucking loony in the back….

  He swung off the main road to a narrow street that looked like it might wind back toward the house. Up ahead, he saw that the paved road was ending. After that it was dirt. That looked right. He’d go that way.

  He said, “Leslie…Miss Stewart…can you hear me back there?”

  She coughed and she squirmed. She could hear.

  He said, “Miss Stewart, we’re not going to hurt you. I give you my word. No one hurts you.”

  Lockwood glanced at him sideways. Kaplan knew what he was thinking. Lockwood’s eyes said, “No way we don’t snuff her. She’s seen us.” But Kaplan was thinking, “No, she’s only seen Crow. You, she only heard, but it doesn’t much matter. You two are going to get a bullet in the head just as soon as I can stash this girl someplace.”

  Leslie’s voice, scared and muffled, came up from the well. She asked Kaplan, “What did you do?”

  He answered, “Do where? You mean down on the dock?”

  “What did you do to Claudia? What did you do to Adam? If you hurt them…”

  “We didn’t. They were not even there. None of us have seen them. It’s the truth.”

  Lockwo
od snapped, “What’s this? True confessions? Shut up.”

  “No use scaring her more than we have to,” said Kaplan. He asked Leslie, “By the way, what were you doing there?”

  “I was going to the hospital. I…stopped by to see if they wanted to come.”

  “See that?” said Lockwood. “I told you. They’re tight. They knew each other long before this.”

  “Leslie?” Kaplan asked her. “How long have you known them?”

  “I don’t know. Two weeks. Maybe three.”

  “And just from the bar. You only know them from the bar?”

  Lockwood asked, “And what’s this? Now you’re feeding her lines?”

  Kaplan answered, “She’s telling the truth.”

  “That she hardly knows them? You’re kidding me, right? Then what was that meeting on the boat with that cop? You yourself said they looked very cozy.”

  Kaplan said, “So let’s ask her.”

  “I’ll ask her myself.”

  Lockwood turned in his seat. He looked down at Leslie’s head. He pushed Crow’s headcovers out of the way so that he could see her face looking up at him. He asked her, “You saw what the girl did to Breen?”

  “I…no,” she said, swallowing. “I’m not sure what I saw.”

  “See that?” he said to Kaplan. “She’s still covering for them. They’re both fucking killers and she’s covering for them. Why is that, do you think? They’re big tippers?”

  Look who calls who fucking killers, thought Kaplan. He answered, “Let’s just leave it, okay?”

  But Lockwood never did know when to shut up. He asked Leslie, “Whistler showed you Aubrey’s ledger, am I right?”

  “His…who?”

  “On the boat. This morning. He was showing you papers. They were from Aubrey’s ledger, am I right?”

  Kaplan sighed and asked Lockwood, “Did you hear what you just told her?”

  “I’m not telling her anything she doesn’t know. I’m right about this, Arnie. She knows.”

  “Vernon…do you think we could avoid using names?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “And you showed her your face. Do you realize you did that? Back when you hit her, she did not see you coming. She never saw your face before just now.” You dumb shit.

  “So what? Doesn’t matter. Watch the road.”

  You’re right, thought Kaplan. It’s not going to matter. He surveyed the road ahead and he checked his rearview mirror. Up ahead, all he saw was a garbage truck making its house-to-house rounds. Behind him, was an oil truck on its way to make deliveries. He saw a taxi further back, but the taxi was turning. It all looked nice and normal, nice and quiet.

  But while watching through his mirror, he had also noticed Crow. Crow had hardly made a sound, except some gagging and coughing, since Kaplan had warned him that he’d shoot him if he spoke. Kaplan thought he had recovered from the thumb in his throat, but now Crow looked as if he was choking to death. Kaplan nudged Lockwood. He said, “Check out the wacko.”

  Crow’s eyes were shut, his fists were clenched, and his face was the color of pastrami. Small drops of bloody spittle squeezed out through his lips. Kaplan realized he was holding his breath.

  “Hey, Crow,” said Lockwood. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Crow began to hum softly, atonal, low-pitched.

  “That’s how babies look,” said Kaplan, “when they’re trying to shit. Hey, Josh, are you having some rectal discomfort? What that comes from is having your head up your ass, but don’t worry; you’ll feel better soon.”

  Crow made no response. “I think he’s praying,” said Lockwood.

  “Either that, or he’s trying to levitate,” said Kaplan. “Hey, Josh, can you do that? Have you factored in the roof? The roof could be a problem if you’re trying to float away.”

  Crow began rocking in time with his humming. He opened one eye. It was glaring at Kaplan. He exhaled a blast of air and he threw himself forward. He clawed at Kaplan’s throat with both hands.

  Kaplan cursed. The Pontiac swerved. Lockwood’s fist shot out. It caught the side of Crow’s head. Crow fell back, but he quickly recovered. He raised both feet and tried to kick at Lockwood. Kaplan touched the brakes to slow the car down because the crew of the garbage truck was a half block ahead and they didn’t need the garbage guys seeing this. Crow kicked twice more at Lockwood. Lockwood cocked his fist again, but then he said, “Screw this.” Instead, he reached for his Glock.

  Kaplan said, “Put that away. Just keep the putz off me.”

  “This guy’s fucking nuts.”

  “I been telling you that.”

  “So let’s save ourselves some trouble. He goes now.” He raised the Glock.

  “No, don’t,” said Kaplan quickly. “We’re here to help him, remember?” Just keep the guy off me. No guns.”

  Lockwood blinked, confused. “Will you make up your mind?”

  “I remembered our instructions, is all.”

  Kaplan didn’t want him shot for a number of reasons. The most obvious reason was that Leslie was there and she’d be an eyewitness to murder. That likelihood, however, would cut no ice with Lockwood, however, because in his head she was on borrowed time. If Lockwood did pull the trigger, however, he’d notice that nothing much happened. Lockwood might then realize that the last time he checked, his gun had a round in the chamber. He might realize, therefore, that if someone removed it, that someone could only have been Arnold Kaplan. This would not be good. Not here, not now. It could cause an untimely falling-out.

  “Vernon…the gun. Put it down now, will you please? Hey, Leslie? How’s it going? You okay?”

  A muffled, “No, I’m not okay, damn it.”

  “Well, as long as you’re back there, keep an eye on him, will you?”

  “Me watch him? You want me to watch him?”

  “Just keep your eyes open. Sing out if he moves. Not for long. We’ll be stopping in a minute.”

  “You’re crazy. You know that?”

  “Some of us more than others. Are you watching? What’s our friend doing now?”

  “He’s…curled up hugging his golf bag and humming. He opened a zipper that runs down the side. There’s some stuff spilling out of the bag.”

  “What kind of stuff, Leslie? You see any plastic pipe?”

  “No, it’s food. A sandwich. And two bottles of Snapple.”

  “Watch out that he doesn’t pick up one of those bottles.”

  “He can’t. They rolled down on me.”

  “Especially watch out for any white plastic pipe. Make sure you can see both his hands.”

  “What’s this white plastic pipe?”

  “You see it or not?”

  “No, I don’t. And he’s back in a fetal position. Hey, where are you guys taking me?”

  “To a house. You’ll be more comfortable. Trust me.”

  “And you’re not going to hurt me?”

  “You’ll be tending bar tomorrow. In the meantime, try to roll with the punches.”

  Next left turn, then a right...that should be Lagoon Road. Get to the house, get this car in the garage. First order of business will be Leslie. Tie her up. Use Crow’s duct tape. Stick her in a closet. Put a radio in there with her and turn it up loud so that she maybe can’t hear what happens next. What happens next is Crow and Lockwood go down. Boom, boom, two head shots, then at last there’s peace and quiet while he waits for Aubrey to show. After that, he disappears. He leaves disposal to Aubrey. He had earned the right to bail on any digging.

  But digging was later. This was now. First things first. He’d considered taking Lockwood’s gun and popping them both with the Glock. No noise would make Leslie even less of a witness. But that would involve holding these two at gunpoint and trying to get Lockwood to hand over his weapon. Lockwood wouldn’t because he would know he’d been crossed and might decide he had nothing to lose. It could get tense. So boom-boom, two quick shots. Noisy is better than sloppy.

 
He found Lagoon Road at the end of a sidestreet. From there, the house should be three streets to his right. As he made a right turn he glanced up that same sidestreet and noticed a car that was parked there. That car bothered him for some reason. He tried to think why, and then he realized what it was. He’d seen no other cars that were parked in the street. All the cars around here were in driveways. And that car, in addition, was a black Lincoln Town Car. This was not a Lincoln neighborhood. It was a minivan neighborhood. Minivans, SUVs and a few pick-up trucks. Even so, it was three streets away from the house.

  Kaplan put it out of his mind.

  THIRTY FOUR

  Whistler, once again, had wasted his breath telling Claudia that she couldn’t come with him. He was tempted to leave her, to drive off without her, but that would have left Claudia with no place to go except back to a boat that might blow at any time. Or if not, she’d be found there by Moore.

  They made it to the car without being seen. Shielded by other cars in the lot, he popped the trunk and reached in for the canvas tote that held the Ingram Mac-10 and the decksweeper shotgun.

  “I’ll take those,” said Claudia. “You drive.”

  He said, “You won’t take them. You won’t even touch them. I’m putting this bag on the floor at your feet, but that’s only so that I can reach them.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Keep them covered with that sail bag. Don’t touch them.”

  “I heard you.”

  “I’m still dropping you off at Jump & Phil’s. It’s the one place where you’ll be safe.”

  “And I think you heard me,” she said. “No, you’re not.” She climbed in with the bag and both weapons.

  Okay, thought Whistler, he’d have this out with her later. On the other hand, it might not matter in the end. He realized, of course, that there wasn’t much chance of him spotting the car that took Leslie. But he knew that there were only so many places where that green Pontiac could have gone.

  “They went that way,” said Claudia. “Up Palmetto Bay Road.”

  “I’d like you to be quiet.”

  “They still went that way.”

  Whether this was intuition or a thought-out conclusion, he agreed that she was probably right. They would have turned left out of Palmetto Bay. They would not have risked being trapped on the bridge.