“None of your business. Figure out where Jacob went.”
“Why? So you can try to kill him again? That’d make me an accessory to murder.”
A dog barked.
Gregory said, “That’s not your pug, is it?”
“It’s the whore’s.”
“His name is Quincy.” Hopefully reminding her of the dog’s name would make it harder to kill him.
When the pug barked again, Tiffany said, “Shut up, Quincy.” She remarked, “He’s ugly as fuck.”
“Yeah, his eye’s messed up. Why don’t you let him go? The police were telling me people get up to four years for taking someone’s pet. Just leave him somewhere, and I’ll make sure he gets back okay.”
“No, he’s mine now. You just worry about where Jacob and his whore are.”
“I’m not doing that. Besides, you fired me.”
“You’re rehired. I’ll double your pay.”
“Really?” That’d be some easy cash. Gregory actually knew exactly where Jacob was going. The Airbnb he’d booked was his own posting.
“Really,” Tiffany confirmed.
Nice. He could use the cash to YOLO on the latest tip from wallstreetbets: triple-leveraged oil calls expiring in two days. It had the potential to be a ten-bagger. Tempting. But if she kills the guy…
Quincy barked, and Tiffany scolded him again.
“You don’t want to just give me the dog? Maybe I could use him as bait.”
“No. I’ve got plans for Quincy,” Tiffany said.
That’s dark.
He had to get the pug. While the finder’s fee wouldn’t be anywhere near as much as tipping off Tiffany to Jacob’s whereabouts, it wouldn’t come with the possibility of jail time. Gregory knew he was tough, but jail tough? No. And he’d also feel bad if he let Quincy get the ax.
But first, the other source of his Jacob-related income was calling.
“Gotta go,” he told Tiffany. “Will let you know if I find him. Call me if you ditch Quincy.” He switched over to Tina, hoping to hear he was due a bonus for his bravery in the line of duty.
She said, “You’re fired.”
“What? No. Why?” Shit.
“How could you let that happen? My God.”
“I stopped it from happening. And I got shot for it too! I took a bullet for your client. You should be praising me.”
“That’s your own damn fault. We’re done with you.”
Before Gregory could comment further, Tina hung up. He let out a frustrated shout, then stormed around the hotel to the parking lot.
The emergency vehicles had all departed, and the crowd was gone. Across the way, his car door was as he’d left it, wide open. However, when he got close, he could hear something rustling around inside the Nissan.
He paused, imagining a cat or a squirrel (Please, not a raccoon) had found the stash of fast-food wrappers he’d let pile up.
He dragged his feet along the pavement, trying to make some noise, so the animal would just scurry off. Bits of stone and sand crunched under his shoes.
But the crinkling of food wrappers continued.
He crept closer and cleared his throat. Still, whatever was in there didn’t hear. Gregory peeked into the car, and amid the trash, a hairless purple dog was going to town on some leftover French toast sticks.
Didn’t expect that.
Gregory’s ever-present ability to spot an opportunity to make a buck told him this was no random stray. This dog was someone’s pet, someone’s prize. And in its blazing, shimmering purple coat, Gregory saw dollar signs. There certainly had to be a reward for finding this absolutely gorgeous freak.
Carefully and slowly he climbed into the car. The dog had its head in the container, but when Gregory shut the door, it bolted upright, the container flying into the backseat. The dog’s dead brown eyes studied Gregory as its dainty pink tongue flicked over its lips. A collection of bristly hairs branched from its kite-like ears, and because those ears weren’t pulled back, and the dog was being rather quiet, Gregory made the mistake of believing it was friendly.
“Hey, buddy.” He reached to pet the purple animal; its skin looked gross yet enticing.
The dog flipped out, and Gregory could think of nothing but the Dilophosaurus attack on Nedry in Jurassic Park.
~
The previous night they’d driven nonstop, just as Xiaolian had said they would. Not even a near accident with a deer trolloping across the interstate had slowed her down. (And the accident had been near, as in there was a tuft of white tail hair stuck on the corner of the bumper.) Thankfully the only animals she saw thereafter were belly-up on the shoulder, having attempted their ill-fated crossings prior to their arrival.
The four of them had gone in silence, no music or talk radio, all the way through the state of Minnesota, following I-35. It may have been better to blast something, though, since the men had taken the silence as an invitation to make advances, ranging from disgusting to shockingly crude. Oscar and Rubén had been the former; David, the concupiscent rube aiming to reestablish his masculinity after Denver, had been the latter. But Xiaolian had ignored them all, her face a blank slate, giving them no indication of her intentions.
At 2:00 a.m. they had arrived in Duluth, and she took the first exit two miles south of downtown to a Motel 6. There was a house that Rubén had said they could use—the CJNG had houses in every city in which they operated—but it was northwest of the city, out in the woods, and Xiaolian hadn’t wanted to bother with it. The Motel 6 had been right there, so they’d checked in (“Two rooms, please.”) and retired for the night.
In the morning Xiaolian awoke to the sounds of grunting and screaming coming from the next room over, ROD’s room. The fog of sleep prevented her from recognizing the noise was mostly their TV. Instead she could only imagine the men were ravaging a Duluth prostitute they’d found in the night. No doubt they thought they could just dump the body in the lake and go on with their day.
Xiaolian threw on her clothes, grabbed the key to their room she’d insisted on having, and burst in on the scene. Only when she caught sight of the barbarous simpletons standing in a semicircle, facing the porno with their dicks in their hands, did she realize the true nature of the commotion.
Rubén looked over his shoulder, his brow furrowing at her disgusted look. “What?” he asked. “Whoever hits the TV gets fifty bucks.”
It took everything in her not to shoot them right there. “Animals.”
She went to the diner next door, unable to stay and listen to them, even though she fully expected their “fun” to end in seconds.
The diner (Lakeside Eats) and the motel next to it had been built to cater to a freight terminal across the street, and with a trailer at almost every bay that morning, the diner was particularly full with drivers loading up on pancakes and coffee before hitting the road. Xiaolian took one of the last remaining stools at the counter and placed her order.
While she waited, ignoring the chatter and chewing around her, she prepared for the day by going through what she knew: Jacob White was at the Days Inn; he was in room 2008; and his girlfriend and dog were keeping him company. Among other things, she also knew the room faced the highway and the mall across from it; the hotel’s security was limited to a few cameras in the hallways; and there was usually only a front desk attendant and a single housekeeper working at any one time.
Most of those facts didn’t matter much, though. Xiaolian had no plans of going into the building. She’d only asked her contact in Tianjin, a computer engineer/computer hacker who referred to herself as KA-4F, to put everything she could find in the report. You never knew what might turn out to be useful.
When her plate of waffles and ham arrived, she was, as a matter of course, reading through a customized report on the local police department’s activity over the last twenty-four hours. Another KA-4F creation. It should’ve just been a routine check, just to make sure all was calm and quiet, but when Xiaolian saw the report of a
shooting (Code 19) at the Days Inn, everything changed.
XVII.
Day Thirteen, Still Tuesday
Three Dead
“Thought you were just grabbing a coffee,” Missy said when Jacob walked into the room. She was working cross-legged on the bed, her computer on her lap. “Where’s your coffee? Where’s Quincy?”
Jacob couldn’t look her in the eyes.
“Oh, my God. What happened?” She pushed the laptop away. “Jacob?”
He closed the door and perched next to her on the bed. “The sicario who jumped off the balcony? She was here.”
“What happened?” Missy teared up. “Where’s Quincy?”
“She didn’t hurt him,” Jacob said quickly. “But she took him. The police are looking for her now.”
Missy cupped her hands to her mouth. “My Quincy.” She raised her face to the ceiling and took a few measured breaths, trying to keep the tears from flowing.
“She won’t hurt him,” he promised, although he had no idea what the sicario would or wouldn’t do. It was possible Quincy was already cut up into little puppy bits, the pieces waiting in several Priority Mail envelopes to be shipped to them over the next few days. “We’ll get him back.” In one piece. “The police’ll find her. I got her license plate.” I think. He was pretty sure it was F25-1985. He knew for a fact the plates were from Illinois. Even without the actual plate number, there likely wouldn’t be a ton of Illinois-plated Chryslers roaming the streets of Duluth. He said, “They’ll get her.”
Missy took a deep breath. “Is that what Breeland said?”
“I haven’t talked to him, but here.” Jacob dialed Officer Breeland’s number.
“Mr. White,” the officer said after one ring. “How in the world does this keep happening? That was the sicario who jumped from the balcony, right?”
“Yeah, it was,” Jacob said. “And I have no clue.”
“Well, we’ll get her.”
“So you haven’t heard anything on Quincy, then?”
“Nothing so far. You’ll be the first to know when I do. Until then—”
“You think it’ll take long to find him?”
“Hard to say. We’re out there looking.”
“Is it possible for someone to keep an eye on us from now on?”
“We’ve been watching you.”
“Yeah, but I mean like actually be here with us.”
“Oh. I wish we could, but that’s really not feasible. We don’t have the officers or the budget for that. Trust me, though. We’re checking in on you as often as we can.”
Missy rolled her eyes. Jacob opened his mouth to say something but held his tongue.
Breeland said, “Doesn’t seem like we’re dealing with a professional here. It’s just a matter of time until she’s in custody. Keep your head up.”
“Will do my best,” Jacob said, sighing.
As he hung up, Missy said, “We can’t stay here.”
“I know. I got an Airbnb.” Jacob showed her the photos on his phone.
“Then I’ll get packed.” Missy scooted off the bed.
“But it won’t be ready for a couple hours,” he added.
She started tossing clothes into her suitcase. “I don’t care. Let’s just get out of here.”
“Where’re we going to go?” Jacob wandered to the window and stared at the highway and the mall beyond it, searching for Chryslers. There were a few, but none had the white and blue with red lettering to indicate an Illinois origination.
“I don’t know,” Missy said. “Think of somewhere.”
As Missy gathered the last of her items, an email from the Airbnb homeowner popped up on Jacob’s phone.
Greetings, Mr. White,
I’m sorry, but there’s a problem at my place. The last tenant clogged the toilet and let it run. Water’s everywhere. It’s being cleaned, but the place is in no shape for your arrival. However, with that said, I’ve got another place you can stay. It’s ready if you want it. Please let me know.
—Greg
“That sucks,” Jacob said. He showed Missy the message. “Guess we’ll just take the other one?”
Missy pursed her lips. Her brow drooped. “Just cancel with”—she leaned in to see the screen—“cancel with Greg and find something else.”
“But this late in the day? What if there’s nothing else available?”
Missy shook her head. “A last-minute plumbing issue? I’ve heard of scams like this.”
“Really?” He studied the email. “It’s a scam?”
Grabbing her wedge sandals and slipping them on, Missy said, “We can talk about it more in the car. I want to drive around some. Maybe Quincy was let go, and we’ll spot him.”
“That’d be great. I like that idea.” Jacob pocketed the phone and quickly circled the room, gathering his things.
Envisioning a successful Quincy recovery mission, they checked out (the late cancellation fee charged to Simon’s agency) and tossed their suitcases into the backseat of the hatchback.
“Going to be a little windy,” Jacob warned, pointing out the fact that his window didn’t exist anymore.
Missy barely looked at it. “Least of my worries.”
Jacob sped out of the parking lot, eyes peeled, but the great Quincy rescue fizzled fast. The neighborhood around the hotel wasn’t segmented into neat, compact blocks that would’ve made searching systematic and manageable, but rather, it was all large chunks of asymmetric, wooded land and wandering roads. Unless Quincy was standing right there in the roadside ditch, they weren’t going to spot him. Neither admitted as much, though, and Jacob kept driving. Better than nothing.
Progressing outward, expanding the search area, they eventually came into the hills around Enger Park. The sharp delineation between land and lake, created by prehistoric geological events, actually went all the way up the North Shore. Split Rock. Gooseberry Falls. Enger Park. It all made for some spectacular overlooks of the whitecapped waters.
And from this particular perch in Enger Park where Jacob and Missy were driving, one also could look upon the entirety of Duluth’s downtown.
“You know,” Jacob said, “we’re not far from the Coffee Princess.”
“Ah, no,” Missy huffed.
“It’s not about the coffee,” Jacob protested. “I want to talk to Emmelia. The sicario was there. I should let her know what happened.”
Missy groaned. “Not about the coffee, my butt. Call her if you’re so worried.”
“Okay, fine, I admit it. I could really use a cappuccino right now.”
Missy didn’t protest. “So long as you admit it. Go get your fix, you addict.”
“But I do want to tell Emmelia what happened too,” Jacob said, continuing down the hill to the harbor and then darting over to the coffee shop.
Emmelia wasn’t there, though. “She stepped out on an errand,” the smiling barista told them. “She’s due back any minute if you want to wait.”
Jacob scanned the café. It seemed quiet enough—just a few college students with their book bags, laptops, and notes. He glanced at Missy.
“A couple minutes is fine.”
Jacob asked the barista, “Can I get a cappuccino?”
“Sure thing.” She rung him up. “I’ll bring it out when it’s ready,” she said, still smiling.
Jacob smiled back, and he and Missy went off to grab a table against the wall.
They hadn’t talked about the Airbnb at all during their drive, so Jacob said, “You want to book a different Airbnb? It’s almost one thirty.”
Missy had pulled out her canister of pepper spray and was cupping it in her hands. “Call customer service and see if they can help us get something, then.”
The mention of a call sent the hairs on Jacob’s neck standing on end. “Oh, shit. I forgot about the adoption agency. We were supposed to talk at one.”
“What? You never told me about that.”
“I forgot. I’m sorry. I scheduled it the other day when
I was at the police station. Damn it.”
“Call them now.”
“I am,” he said, and hit the speaker.
“Don’t do that. There’s people around.”
Jacob brought the phone to his ear. He didn’t have a good feeling about this, which might’ve been why he’d let it slip his mind. That or you were attacked by the cartel again. The agency still hadn’t told him the exact reason for the call. He tried to tell himself they only wanted to clarify something on the paperwork, or maybe the news was so good that congratulations were in order.
That’s it. Congratulations.
“Yes? Hello? Yes. This is Jacob White. So sorry I’m late. Things got a little hectic today.”
“Don’t say that,” Missy whispered.
“Just one of those days,” Jacob added with a wry chuckle. “Anyway…” He paused and listened as the woman spoke. He nodded slightly. “Sure. Sure.” He gave Missy a look of uncertainty. He couldn’t tell where the conversation was headed. The woman was explaining the adoption process, which he knew all about. “Oh, glad to hear Morena’s doing well. Playing with the other girls finally? That’s great to hear.”
But then Jacob’s face went flat. The rejection was worse than any he’d gotten before—all the literary agents saying no, the FBI kicking him out of the academy, the university’s thanking him for his application but regrettably passing. It’d been well over a decade since his dad had died, and maybe time had muted that memory, but this woman telling him that their application to adopt Morena was being denied felt so much worse.
Missy knew. She dropped her head and stared at the tabletop. A tear hit a knot in the wood next to her hand.
Jacob kept himself composed for the duration of the call. No, he had no questions. Yes, he’d call if he did. Thanks.
He set the phone on the table. The cappuccino with latte art in the shape of a heart sat near the edge. He hadn’t noticed the barista setting it down. She’d already retreated behind the espresso machine.
Jacob ignored the coffee and grabbed Missy’s hands.
“There’s another family who’s been waiting a few years,” Jacob explained. “They’re in Texas. They have a couple of their own girls. Morena will be taken care of.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s okay.” The tightness in his chest and the tremble in his voice betrayed his belief in that assurance.
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