“Try adjusting the rabbit ears.”
“Huh?”
“They were on old TVs.”
“Rabbits were on old TVs?”
“That’s what the antennas were called. You’re probably too young to remember.”
“Can we switch to WiFi or Bluetooth?”
Herb shook his head. “I just had a case where a killer hacked a neighbor’s WiFi connection to spy on her. It’s easier than you think. With normal equipment, WiFi only has a range of about thirty meters. Bluetooth, less than ten. And both need some sort of WAP.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “They need a derogatory term for Italians?”
“W-A-P. Wireless access point. Like a router. We don’t have one. No hotspot either. And no ad hoc network. With a hotspot or ad hoc, we could maybe text each other, but we still couldn’t connect to the Internet or reach anyone beyond our short range.”
“Fascinating,” Tom said. He didn’t look the least bit fascinated.
“I’m full of useless bits of information.”
“Such as?”
“The national game of Argentina is Juego del Pato. It’s basically basketball, played on horseback.”
“I think there was a scene in Evita with Madonna doing that. What’s another?”
“Nikola Tesla created a death ray.”
“Tesla? The guy who invented alternating current?”
Herb nodded. “He called it a teleforce. It was a charged particle beam weapon. He died before he sold the final plans. Tesla claimed it could bring down ten thousand enemy planes from two hundred miles away.”
“What do you do, memorize Wikipedia at night?”
“I tend to remember esoteric stuff. Such as; about a dozen people die each year from shark attacks. But three thousand people a year are killed by hippos.”
“So stay away from him, Tom,” Harry called from the front seat. “Especially since he hasn’t eaten in a while.”
“I thought you were still listening to music,” Herb said. Several hours ago, they’d forced McGlade to put on headphones after he sang Long Gone Long by The Rainmakers seventeen times in a row.
“I was. But we’ve got a road block situation coming up, and I thought it best to let you cops handle it.”
Herb leaned over and peered out the driver’s window. He saw the yellow tape and blinking construction horses dead ahead, and a black man with a flag who was standing in the middle of the road and waving to get Harry’s attention.
McGlade slowed the Crimebago down, and Herb fished his badge out of his wallet and made his way to the front seat. As Harry hit the brakes, Herb noticed he had a one pound bag of peanut M&Ms in his lap.
“Why didn’t you tell me you have candy?”
“Duh. Because I wanted it all for myself. You could have bought your own M&Ms any of the four times we stopped for gas. Or did you spend all your money on Zombie Sugar Jackers?”
“Why do you have to be an ass all the time?” Herb asked. He was pretty sure he still had eight dollars and change left in his checking account.
“An ass? That’s mean. You should be more considerate of other people’s feelings, jumbo.”
“Look!” Herb pointed out the window. “Strippers!”
“Where?”
While Harry was looking, Herb took a handful of M&Ms.
“Dick. You’re going to pay me back in tribute.”
“Roll down your window,” Herb said, his mouth filled with chocolatey goodness. “Guy is here.”
The construction worker was young enough that the hair on his upper lip couldn’t quite be called a moustache. Harry opened the window halfway.
“What?”
“Road is closed.”
Herb flashed his badge. “Not for us. Can you show me your license and permit?”
The kid blinked, then said, “Hold on a second.”
He walked off.
“They need a license and permit to do construction?” Harry asked.
“Hell if I know. But I’ll bet the union doesn’t hire high school kids.”
“You think he’s a C-Note?”
“I dunno. Let’s ask. Hey!” he called out the window. “Are you a gang member pretending to be a construction worker!?”
The kid replied by yanking a gun out the back of his jeans and firing. Which, in Herb’s eyes, pretty much indicated a yes answer. Harry attempted to climb over Herb to get away, falling on top of him, pressing against the larger man cheek-to-cheek. McGlade’s quick cowardice in the face of danger probably wasn’t necessary; the gangbanger was less than five meters away, and not a single slug hit the vehicle.
How bad a shot did you have to be to miss a gigantic Winnebago from spitting distance?
The gunfire stopped. Maybe so the kid could get even closer.
Harry wiggled atop Herb. “It’s like being on a waterbed,” he said, “but it smells like pork chops. When was the last time you washed your neck?”
“Get off me, you idiot.”
“Again with the name calling.”
McGlade disentangled himself. Herb pulled his weapon and got up onto his knees, reaching for the passenger side door.
That’s when the RV bounced and someone said, “Umph!”
Herb looked in the back of the Crimebago and saw the side door wide open. Tom had the construction worker cum gangbanger face-first on the floor of the vehicle, his gun at the man’s head and his knee in his back.
“I didn’t bring my cuffs,” Tom said.
Herb had his. He secured the guy’s hands behind his back, then patted him down. Cell phone. Wallet. Folding knife. Lighter. Box of weed. Rolling papers. Suspicious baggie containing white powder. Eyeglasses. And two Clif Bars, a White Chocolate Macadamia Nut, and a Spiced Pumpkin Pie. He went through the wallet. Thirty eight bucks, a debit card, and a driver’s license saying his name was Chester Newton and he lived in Hyde Park.
“Took this off him.” Tom held out the filthiest-looking semi-auto Herb had ever seen. “Don’t you ever clean your gun? I’m surprised it fired at all.”
“Ain’t mine,” Chester said.
“What do you mean it ain’t yours? I took it out of your hand.”
“I mean I don’t own it. It’s a loaner.”
“Who lent it to you?”
Chester didn’t reply.
“Answer the question,” Herb said.
“I got no answers for you.”
“Then we have no use for you,” Harry said. He took the Magnum from his shoulder holster. “So you don’t mind if I just shoot you right now.”
“You’ll mess up the floor of your luxury vehicle.”
“He’s right,” Harry said. “Let’s take him outside to shoot him.”
“You cops ain’t gonna shoot me.”
“Why not?” Tom asked. “You shot us. And I have to tell you, man to man; you can’t aim for shit. You should seriously consider another career choice.”
“I didn’t have my glasses on. Couldn’t see you.”
“Why did you take them off in the first place?”
“I’m in disguise, man.”
“Disguised as a road worker?” Herb asked.
“Yeah.”
“And there aren’t any road workers with glasses?”
“When you say it like that, it makes me sound stupid.”
“How many of your equally intelligent buddies are up in Spoonward?” Herb asked.
“What?”
Herb raised his voice. “How many guys?”
Chester scowled. “I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about. I was told I got to stand by the road, turn traffic away. They gave me a gun and didn’t tell me nothin’ else. And why would they? You never heard of plausible deniability? They don’t tell me shit, so I can’t tell you shit. Man, you cops are stupid. Now I’m not saying nothing else until I talk to my lawyer.”
“Maybe we’re not going to arrest you,” McGlade said. “Maybe we’re going to make you blow us one at a time.”
&nb
sp; He seemed to consider it. “A’ight. But just you and the tall guy here. Not the fat one.”
That stung. “Hey! You saying I’m not attractive enough to rape you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m sayin’, jelly roll. Dunno if I could even find your dick in all that flab.”
“I always wondered about that,” Harry said. “What do you do, Herb? Lift your stomach out of the way? Or use a hand mirror?”
Herb ignored Harry. He picked up the kid’s cell phone. No signal. Herb scrolled through the texts, which featured a lot more smiley emojis than he would have guessed. But nothing about Spoonward or Jack.
Tom motioned for Herb to confer privately. He whispered in the older man’s ear. “We don’t have jurisdiction, can’t call in the locals, and even if we took him to the nearest authorities, they’re all probably busy dealing with the fire.”
“So we let him go?”
“Or let McGlade shoot him.”
“What if we let him shoot McGlade?” Herb suggested.
“Are you guys talking about me?” Harry asked. “I heard my name.”
“I have a few more questions,” Herb told Tom. Then he leaned over the kid. “Where’d you steal these Clif Bars?”
“What, ’cause I’m black, I got to steal?”
“No. Because you’re a gangbanging thug, you got to steal.”
“I bought them at Whole Foods Market.”
“Bullshit.” Herb had been looking for Spice Pumpkin Pie for months. It was his favorite flavor Clif Bar. But no stores carried it. If this kid had a source, Herb wanted to know.
“Read my lips, fat white man: Whole Foods.”
“I’m supposed to believe you shop at Whole Foods?”
“What is it with you and stereotypin’? Just ’cause you’re a fat cop, you hear me makin’ jokes about you lovin’ Dunkin’ Donuts?”
“I do love Dunkin’ Donuts.”
“Well, they do not love you, pork belly.”
Harry nodded. “You really should watch your blood sugar, Herb.”
“I want to know,” Herb plowed onward, “about the Clif Bars.”
“You got cholesterol clogging your ears? Whole. Foods. Market. I go there all the time. Great organic fruits and vegetables, and I like their selection of low fat deli meats. You should consider it, for both health and aesthetic reasons.”
“You say you care about health?” Herb asked. “What about this shit?”
Herb dropped the weed and white powder on the floor next to the banger.
“Cannabis and coca leaves grow wild on God’s green earth, and are one hundred percent natural. It’s not like I’m doin’ meth.”
“METH!” Homeboy screeched. They’d put a cover over his cage so the bird could sleep.
“What you got under that sheet? A little man in a cage? What the hell is wrong with you people? You okay in there, little man?”
“HOMEBOY!”
“What up?” Chester replied.
“HOMEBOY!”
“I said what up? You hear me, little man?”
This was wasting everybody’s time, and they needed to get to Jack.
“You crazy white people aren’t gonna lock me up in a small cage, are you?” Chester said.
Herb sighed. “No. But I’m sure a judge will, sometime soon.”
“METH!”
“At least give the poor little guy some meth,” Chester said.
“It’s my parrot,” Harry said, yanking off the cover.
The kid recoiled. “What the hell did you perverts do to that poor bird?” He turned to Herb. “You pluck him so you could eat him?”
“And, we’re done here,” Herb said. He uncuffed the kid and tossed him his wallet and glasses. Herb kept everything else.
“Take off,” he told him.
“You lettin’ me go?”
“Only if you promise, from now on, you’ll be a law abiding citizen.”
“Serious?”
“I actually don’t care,” Herb said. “Just take off.”
Chester didn’t move.
Herb sighed. “What’s the problem, Chester?”
“You got my keys. Got my phone. Got my stash. Uncool, man.”
“Consider it a life lesson. Stop shooting at people.”
“What about the gat? Told you it’s not mine. I don’t give it back, I’m gonna get in trouble.”
“Okay,” Herb said, “I guess I could take out the bullets and let you have it.”
“Really?”
“No! Get the hell out of here!”
Chester got the hell out of there.
“He seemed nice,” said Harry. He let Homeboy out of his cage. The parrot hopped onto McGlade’s arm, then leapt off and plummeted to the floor with a dull THUNK. After a brief recovery, he pounced on the baggie of cocaine and tore it open with his beak.
“No, Homeboy!” Harry said, grabbing his bird. “That’s not meth! It’s coke!”
Homeboy buried his face in the powder and made snuffling sounds as McGlade grabbed him and pulled him away from the drugs. The parrot looked pretty damn happy.
“COKE! COKE! COKE! COKE!”
“Cool,” said Harry. “He learned a new word.”
He put the bird back in his cage, and Homeboy hopped onto his perch and swayed back and forth in obvious narcotic euphoria.
Then he began to sing Long Gone Long by The Rainmakers. McGlade joined in.
Herb went to the bathroom, mostly to get away from the noise. When he finished, they were on the road again. The duet had ended, with Homeboy pecking at his own body, apparently searching for any feathers he’d missed. Tom was eating a White Chocolate Macadamia Nut Clif Bar.
“Where’s the other one?”
Tom jerked his thumb at Harry.
“This really is the road trip from hell,” Herb said to himself.
He sat back down and hoped, for the three hundredth time, that Jack was okay.
T-NAIL
When he opened his eyes, T-Nail realized he’d been knocked over. He yelled, but couldn’t hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears.
Two hundred pounds of dynamite packed a bigger punch than he’d guessed.
Del Ray had tried to warn him. He wanted to mathematically figure out how many sticks of dynamite to use before proceeding, then went on a rant about directing the explosion toward the house, using sandbags, and making sure everyone was at a safe distance. T-Nail didn’t want to waste the time. The forest fire was so close he could see the orange glow coming from the north, like a false dawn. So he had his men drop all the crates in front of Jack’s front door, hook up the wires and detonator, and then it was boom time.
T-Nail had been fifty meters away when he turned the key on the handheld detonator box.
Now he had no idea where the box was. It had been blown out of his hands.
He waited for the smoke to clear, half-expecting the house to be erased. Turned out only half of it was. A good part of the roof had also collapsed. It looked like a giant stepped on it, leaving most of a footprint.
Several men rushed to T-Nail, righting him and the Gyro, and as his hearing returned their murmurs became words.
“Are you okay?”
“Does anything hurt?”
“What do you want us to do?”
“Dig them out,” T-Nail ordered.
The possibility that the blast had killed Jack and her husband was large. That would be disappointing, but T-Nail felt better knowing he was the one who did it.
Del Ray approached. He didn’t say anything to T-Nail. He just examined the Gyro.
“Servos are fine. Kevlar shielded the electronics from the blast. You lost your gun.”
T-Nail saw the empty holster. Then he checked the other side and saw he still had the nail gun. He drew it, and fired into the dirt.
“Still works.”
“For now. Your battery is almost dead. You need a fresh one.”
“I thought the nail gun worked without a battery.”
“So change the battery.”
“The replacements were on the bus.”
“So?”
Del pointed. The bus, which had been abandoned alongside the house, was buried under rubble.
“Get a team on it. How long will my charge last?”
“If you conserve? Forty-five minutes. Maybe an hour.”
“Find the batteries, and get some men to push me toward the house. I want to see their bodies when they’re uncovered.”
“Two hundred pounds of dynamite.” Del Ray shrugged. “Might be nothing left but mush.”
“Then I want to see the mush. You have your orders. Move your ass.”
JACK
First there was light. Then came sound.
“Jack! Talk to me, please!”
I was on my back, squinting at the glare.
“I can’t see with your flashlight in my face.”
Phin turned the beam away and pulled back the focus so it illuminated the room. Or rather, what was left of it. The storage room had imploded, and the ceiling was now half a meter above my head.
My husband sounded close, but I couldn’t see him. “Are you hurt?” he asked
I did a body part inventory, checking for pain and damage. Everything hurt, but not unbearably. And I took the fact that all my nerves were firing as a good sign. Nothing seemed damaged beyond repair.
But for some reason, when I tried to move, I couldn’t. And there was an uncomfortable weight on my chest.
“I don’t think so. But I’m stuck.”
“We’re trapped under canned goods.”
Phin played the light across my body. I was buried in cans of lasagna, all the way up to the ceiling.
“You’re stuck too?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Let me check.” He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. My ribs are broken. So is my finger.”
“Seems like your sense of humor is intact.”
“We’ll see how long that lasts when T-Nail starts skinning us alive.”
“That’s my man. A shining beacon of optimism.”
“I’m very optimistic,” he said. “I’m optimistic we’re going to die horribly.”
“Thanks for reminding me. I’d forgotten.”
Rum Runner - A Thriller (Jacqueline Jack Daniels Mysteries Book 9) Page 22