Bloody Shadows

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  “We were ordered not to speak of Didricson to you under any circumstances. If we did, we were warned we’d be fired, and arrested for revealing classified information, which was exactly what we were trying to charge Didricson for,” Tim answered. “We never dreamed anything like the Formsby scenario would surface. Grace and I would have quit rather than put Rachel and Jean’s lives in jeopardy. Before we go on with this, let Grace and I investigate how and if Sadun actually did get involved in this.”

  “You could have trusted me to help with this problem, kids. I don’t just think outside the box, I am outside the box completely.”

  “It’s too late to say we’re sorry, Nick,” Grace replied. “We’ll go find every thread, and call you back.”

  “Until then.” Nick disconnected. He saw Rachel staring at him. The concern in her features reassured him Rachel had no illusions he had magically transformed into the Easter Bunny.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Pretty well, Rach.” Nick accepted a fresh Irish coffee from John. “They’re going to trace down connections between the imprisoned Uthman Sadun, Formsby, and the Los Alamos guy, Pence Didricson.”

  Nick explained the complications, and why they left him out of the loop. “The way I figure it, no one asked Pence in the correct manner. Once he understands the severity of what he’s done, I’m certain he’ll help us in any way he can.”

  “Sucks to be him,” Gus said.

  “Luckily, I did my homework on Didricson before I lost common sense, logic, and apparently my survival instinct. Pence is quite the social guy. He keeps his Facebook current, and Twitters everywhere he goes as if he’s a Kardashian, and someone cares. In this instance, someone does care. Pence frequents The Ghostrider’s Tavern three or four times a week. I know he owns a late model BMW. I’ll hack the entry code, and get a key. Los Alamos is too tricky an interrogation site. I’ll drive his BMW to Carmel Valley, where I’ll have more time to find out all about the blackmail file scaring the crap out of the DOJ.”

  “If you don’t need me on this one, I think I’ll go to bed early,” Dan said.

  “I agree,” Nick replied, while checking the Twitter feed on his phone. “We’ve been burning your candle with a flame thrower lately. This is a long drive there, and back. We might miss our window of opportunity too, but I’m feeling lucky today. Pence hasn’t missed a Monday night at the Ghostrider’s Tavern in over a month. He never went home earlier than eleven on any Monday night he’s been there.”

  “Do you want Jean and me in the safe-room?”

  “Absolutely. Pence is only the first loose end. I’ll need to involve Tim and Grace in my next loose end adjustment. He doesn’t know it yet, but Uthman Sadun will be receiving a transfer into US Marshal custody as an advisor on a cold case. I’m afraid he won’t make it to his destination. That’s in the near future. For tonight, anyone interested in a ride along with me, pack a bag. I’ll need either Payaso or Kabong to drive my car home. I’ll stick with the Uthman’s BMW.”

  “I will go,” John said.

  “Count me in,” Gus added.

  Rachel sighed, leaning back in her chair, looking peacefully at the clearing sky. “It’s a good thing I stopped at Walmart. We were running low on the big black plastic garbage bags and duct tape.”

  Her shopping restock statement drew appreciative laughter from Gus and John.

  “You’re getting to be quite the comedian, Rach,” Nick commented. “I’m sure you recall how our supply of duct tape got low.”

  Rachel straightened again, pointing warningly at Nick. “You’d best not be contemplating any repeats of my being duct taped into bed, Muerto. It won’t go well for you.”

  “Of course not, my dear. I have put such childish things behind me.”

  “No Jello ever again either.”

  Silence, except for the snorting amusement of Gus and John.

  “Muerto!”

  “You drive a hard bargain,” Nick mumbled. “What’s in it for me?”

  “I’ll forget I heard anything about ‘pressure point baby deliveries’.

  “Deal.”

  Chapter Five

  Loose Ends

  Gus thumbed at the parking lot behind them. “Uh oh.”

  Nick turned to see Sergeant Dickerson straighten away from the driver’s seat of his squad car and signal for Nick. “Mentioning duct tape and Jello was a bad Karma move, Rach. See what happens when you throw the cosmos out of balance with accusations and innuendo?”

  “Yeah, I’m really sure Sergeant Dickerson looks like someone shot his dog because of my mentioning horrible practical jokes from your past… oh wait… I hear the Karma train pulling into the station… maybe this is about your insensitive treatment of the poor woman who married you.”

  Nick enjoyed Rachel’s upbraiding along with Gus and John, but kept his eyes on Dickerson as he handed over his Irish coffee to Rachel. “I bet I can guess this one. Formsby decided to haunt me one last time before Paul erases any thread connecting us. Don’t throw away my Irish, Hon.”

  “I’ll think about it, Mr. Jello. The wind tends to blow the sand around though.”

  Nick stopped. “There’s no wind today, Rach.”

  “Just sayin’.”

  At Dickerson’s squad car, Nick made a friendly wave gesture. “Neil. You must really like me today. Too much coffee from the new machine I bought the PD, huh?”

  “Step inside my office for a moment, Nick. I have another matter to discuss with you about your dinner last night at ‘The Grotto’.”

  “Sure.” Bingo! Nick slipped into the squad car’s front passenger seat, a questioning look on his features as he met Dickerson’s gaze before closing the door. “You did want me in the front, right?”

  “Close the door. Do you know a man named Milton Formsby?”

  “You already know I do.”

  “Formsby’s people said he had a meeting scheduled with you last night at ‘The Grotto’, and he never returned from the meeting. In their words, ‘it’s like he vanished’. Also missing are his two bodyguards, who you accompanied to his limousine. Would you like to tell me about it?”

  “Absolutely. Two guys interrupted a very nice dinner I was enjoying with Rachel and Jean, insisting on all of us meeting with their boss in the parking lot. I explained that would not be possible, but I’d be happy to go along with them. They reluctantly agreed, and I followed them to the limo. Milton Formsby introduced himself. He then offered me a large amount of money to ghost write his autobiography. I explained I don’t write any nonfiction under any circumstances. I hate that genre, especially autobiographies. He was disappointed, but Formsby could tell I would not change my mind. I had him drop me off at my friend John’s place that I own in the Carmel Valley. Formsby mentioned he owned an estate somewhere in the Valley.”

  “Did he mention where he was going after he dropped you off?”

  “No, but I assumed he was going home,” Nick replied.

  Dickerson shook his head, gripping the steering wheel. “This isn’t going away, Nick. Formsby’s people want a complete investigation. I was ordered to locate Formsby no matter what.”

  “Have you pinged his cell, or the limo GPS gizmo?”

  “Of course. Nothing at all from either,” Dickerson answered. “How does a limousine, its owner, and two bodyguards suddenly disappear after talking briefly with you about a writing assignment?”

  “I don’t know, Neil. Formsby never said what he did for a living, or why anyone would be interested in reading a book about him. Maybe I should have taken the gig. He probably wanted a lot of fiction thrown in as filler.”

  “When are you going on the book signing thing in Washington? Soon, I hope.”

  “Pretty soon. I still have to make a few more arrangements with my agent. Are you telling me to get out of town?”

  “No. I know we won’t be the only ones looking at the video footage from last night. If Formsby doesn’t reappear soon, there will be others investigating his
disappearance.”

  “Well okay, thanks for the warning. I’ll be within reach,” Nick said. “I’m only going to Washington State. You have my cell number. Call me anytime if you have questions, or some other organization needs to hear my story.”

  “Will do. I’m glad you have friends in all the government organizations. I think such connections will come in handy right now. It may be as soon as tomorrow if we don’t find a clue as to where he is.”

  “I’ll be here,” Nick replied, wondering whether he could zip down to Los Alamos, snatch Didricson, stash him in the Carmel Valley interrogation center, and get home in time for unwanted company. Nick exited the squad car, trying to decide if he wanted to find out. “I hope you locate him, and all this is just a misunderstanding.”

  “I doubt it, but I guess we can hope. See you later.”

  Nick rejoined Rachel and friends, plunking down in the beach chair, and accepting his Irish coffee from Rachel again. He cautiously took a sip, hoping it was only cool, and not gritty.

  “I didn’t sand it down, Muerto. Was it what you expected?”

  “Yep. The powers that be are climbing all over Neil a day earlier than I thought. I hope Paul gets to work on my cover up. I can’t blame him for being slow on the draw with the cam footage gathered at the Wharf. If the PD moved that quickly and thoroughly on the muggers, El Muerto, Payaso, Ka Bong, and Geezer could have sipped cocktails on the deck instead of baiting traps to save old people. Where is the justice? Now, I’ll have to really push on the Pence. The only upside to this travesty is if I can pull off this caper, there’s no way they would tie in his disappearance with me, because of the degree of difficulty.”

  “You mean impossibility,” Rachel replied. “That’s over a three hour drive one way. It will take seven hours, there and back, if you don’t want to be pulled over with him in your trunk. That doesn’t take into consideration locate and snatch time. It makes my head hurt imagining the complications. Now I understand why I hate going to the beach with you bozos. I could be on the couch eating bonbons, and watching movies. No damn wonder I never see my bestie Tina down here in Depressionville.”

  By the time Rachel finished, her male companions, all but Dan, were humming violin concertos, while making gestures they were playing invisible violins. Nick stopped his violin playing pantomime. “Sorry, Rach. Now you know why we drink when we come down here.”

  “I’m glad to be out of this road trip,” Dan said. “I think Rachel’s right. You guys are nuts to try this. Nick can wait a few days before going after Didricson.”

  “You’re forgetting the impossibility factor,” Nick reminded him. “If Neil points somebody my way, and I answer the door at home, I’m golden for anything connected with Didricson disappearing. Don’t sweat it though. I’ll abort the mission if too many things happen messing with success. I admit I’m anxious to get Pence. He’s the key between Sadun and Formsby. Anything Tim and Grace find for me, threading the names together, will give Paul more leeway to protect me. Pence is the daily double for me, selling out the country, while blackmailing the government. If he had been smart, Pence would have taken his ill-gotten gains, and fled into Mexico. He could have bought a new identity down there, and went anywhere he wanted.”

  “I wish you luck.” Dan stood. “I’m walking to the house, and start my time off with a nap. Please call me tomorrow morning to let me know you goofballs made it back in one piece.”

  “Okay, Dan. I resent the ‘goofball’ tag though, partner.” Nick watched as Dan didn’t turn. He simply waved. Deke ran to him as if to find out where Dan was going. Dan petted him roughly, and told him to stay.

  “Dan’s okay, isn’t he,” Rachel asked.

  “He’s never going to be okay. Dan’s been helpful, and we give him enough to do and worry about to fill some of his hours. For now, that’s all we can do. I’m glad he wants to go with us to Washington. I know we’ll keep him busy there. Plus, getting away from here won’t hurt him any either. God only knows what it feels like to live in the house where he and Carol were together for over four decades.”

  Rachel stared off at the ocean. “You’re right. I know I don’t want to imagine it.”

  “Let’s go home. I need to wash Deke off, and get to work on entry codes. Then I have to see if my man Jerry can use another car.”

  “When do you want to leave?” John began gathering their beach paraphernalia.

  “We’ll leave about 6 pm. That’ll give us some leeway in case we hit any traffic. I’ll get some sleep before I pick Jean up from school.”

  “Do you have an approach in mind at the bar?”

  “We’re going to use the Frank approach, John.”

  “The what?”

  “He gets the entry codes to Pence’s BMW, waits for him in the backseat, and sticks him with a needle after Pence gets comfy in the driver’s seat,” Gus explained. “Nick’s old boss, Frank Richert tried to sanction us. He thought he was invincible too, until Muerto showed him the error of his ways.”

  “That guy was evil, John,” Rachel added. “Not El Muerto level evil… but evil.”

  “Hey… I think I resent that.”

  * * *

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to meet you at closing. I can go into work anytime I want now,” Pence Didricson explained to the blonde waitress serving his drink while putting a twenty dollar bill on the bar. “C’mon, Nat, give me a chance. I have money. I’m not hard to look at, and I have a great job.”

  Natalie Montrose spread the fake smile she reserved for annoying customers she didn’t like across her features. The twenty-four year old developed a bad case of the creeps whenever she came near the man across the bar. She didn’t know why, but there was something off about him. “I’ve heard your resume before, Pence. I’m glad you’re doing well, but I have a boyfriend.”

  “Not like me,” Pence said, pushing the change back at Natalie. “Keep it. Think about it. I’m not going anywhere soon. You and I could have a lot of fun together.”

  “I’m sure we could, but I really do have a serious boyfriend, and he’s the jealous type,” Natalie lied. “Thanks very much for the tip.”

  Didricson watched Natalie move to another customer at the bar, his eyes narrowing. The familiar tightness, rejection of any kind caused, gripped him in a fist clenching moment. Pence relaxed, recovering with a large gulp down of his drink, while checking his watch. It read nearly 11 pm. He glanced at Natalie once more, thinking he would settle with her one night after closing, when no one was around. She would learn all about fun. No one would miss one more bimbo behind the bar.

  He finished his drink, and walked out of The Ghost Riders Tavern. There had only been two other customers, which was normal for a late Monday night. He unlocked his BMW using his remote. Didricson suppressed instant annoyance at the fact he was boxed in by two other vehicles in a nearly empty parking lot. Cursing as he slipped through the small opening possible without his door hitting the car next to him, Didricson’s lanky form settled in comfortably. Pence ran his hands through his long blonde hair with only a hint of receding hairline, while checking his appearance in the lighted mirror.

  “You look lovely, Pence,” a voice said from directly behind him, as Didricson felt a sharp stabbing pain in his neck. “What… the hell?” Black shadows swept over his consciousness. An irresistible numbness seeped into his suddenly unmovable limbs. “Why?”

  “Because you’ve been a very bad boy,” the voice informed him. It was the last sound he heard for hours after.

  * * *

  Nick reached to the side of the BMW’s driver’s seat. He used the switch to power the seat all the way back, and then did the opposite to the passenger seat, leaving him enough room to slide onto Didricson’s lap. After tilting the wheel all the way upward, Nick fastened the seat belt, started the car, and drove away, stopping only when he reached the darkened outskirts of Los Alamos. John parked at an angle behind him, hiding the trunk from view. Seconds later, Didricson h
ad black plastic garbage bags over his five foot, eight inch frame, one over his head, and one drawn up over his legs with his mouth, arms, and legs duct taped. Nick added duct tape around the bottom, center, and chest high bag positions. Only then did he tear a breathing area around Didricson’s nose. He hit the BMW trunk release. John and Gus helped him throw the bound body inside the trunk.

  “Drive carefully, guys – not too slow, and not too fast. I’ll wait ten minutes before I follow. I don’t want us to look like we have a convoy.”

  “Payaso doesn’t know how to drive any other way,” John remarked. “He’s driving home, so you have nothing to fear from us other than driving boredom, Muerto.”

  Gus clipped John in the back of the head as he stumbled toward the passenger side of their vehicle. “Smartass!”

  “See you in the Valley, guys,” Nick said. “John’s right, Payaso. Not too slow, Grandma Gus.”

  Gus flipped him off without comment, and a moment later drove away as Nick entered the BMW once more. So far, so good, Nick mused, noticing he would have a few hours if they made it home shortly after 3 am to find out if he only needed one interrogation session. “I think I’ll open you for interrogation in my special room. We’ll even put our costumes on with the light show, and eerie music for you, Pence. You’ll love it… at least for a few moments, when at last you’ll realize the special room will be the last place you ever visit. I do hope you’re smart enough to blurt out the truth for me. I might get a few hours of sleep before the Feds come knocking on my door.”

  Nick continued to talk with the unconscious Didricson most of the way home. By the time he reached his place in Carmel Valley, John had turned on the spotlight shining on the entrance to the hidden below grounds subbasement interrogation area. Nick and his crew made sure they didn’t make any permanent paths forming to the stand of trees where the entrance was located. Nick had installed a decorative Gazebo structure half way between the house and his subbasement, so he could have a stone pathway part way to the subbasement. Nick drove the BMW into his garage, and John closed the door.