by John Foxjohn
Before he left, he made sure everyone knew about his money, but they laughed at him. He knew Connors planned to fire him, but he had a little surprise in store for him. He ripped his apron off and strode out of the office. Connors was busy with the cash register, and when he turned, Joe Don threw the wadded up apron in his face. “I quit, mother-fucker. You can also keep the money this place owes me. You need it more than I do.”
He whistled as he strutted from the slop house.
* * * *
At twelve-thirty, with a steady rain, David parked close to the street in the pancake house parking lot. Smoke and burning grease billowed from pipes on top of the flat roof. The trash-strewn parking lot held several old, dented jalopies and trucks.
Jogging to get out of the rain, the three agents entered the restaurant to clouds of cigarette smoke overriding odors of bacon, eggs, and several unidentified aromas.
As David wiped water off his suit coat, his hungry stomach argued against eating there. John leaned close. “P—please—tell me we aren’t—g—going to eat here.”
Before David answered, a plump waitress brushed by them with three menus and indicated for them to follow. David trailed but tried not to breathe too deep. He had to agree with John. He wasn’t in a mood to eat at this place, either. All conversation in the place stopped when the agents entered, and eyes followed them to a red-seated booth in the rear. Gray duct tape covered holes in the seat.
When the agents asked for coffee, David asked her if the manager was around. She flounced off as if she thought they intended to complain on her.
David sipped the coffee and winced. He liked it strong, but he wished they’d put a little water in it. John didn’t bother to drink his. He put his spoon in the cup as if the metal might melt.
Moments later a harried man strode up and asked what the waitress had done.
The odors made David crinkle his nose. Either the waitress got a lot of complaints or the whole restaurant did. When he told him they needed to speak to Joe Don Hensley, the manager relaxed and told them about the phone call and him walking out.
Against his better judgment, David took another sip of coffee. It hadn’t gotten any better. “What phone did the call come in on, and has anyone else used it since then?”
The manager leaned on the table. “Don’t think so, and we only have one phone here.”
Morgan, who wrote in his spiral, glanced up. “Do you know the exact time of the call?”
“Nope. Best I can tell you is about thirty minutes ago,” The manager leaned closer. “Look, I don’t want to be rude, but everyone in here knows you you’re pi—.” He closed his eyes a moment. “I mean cops or something. You’re making my customers nervous. The coffee is on me.”
David smiled and glanced at Morgan, who rolled his eyes. John still spooned his coffee. “Let’s go.”
Anxious eyes followed them as they strode out the door. The rain had stopped and David sniffed the clean air hoping to relieve his senses of the odor from the café. It didn’t quite work. After they dropped by Hensley’s apartment and talked to the person who oversaw it, David drove to the motel to call the parole officer and sent Morgan to the phone company.
In his room, he called the chief to ask them to keep an eye out for Hensley and bring him in for questioning.
David sat in a chair, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. Something fluttered in the recesses of his mind—something that didn’t make sense, but he couldn’t get it out.
CHAPTER 30
Joe Don’s car gave out on him first. When it began to sputter, he whipped it into a parking lot of a closed business on Timberland Drive. The door creaked when he opened it, and he slammed it shut, kicking the fender. Mud fell from the bottom.
Still a couple of miles from the mall, he strode through the rain. He wouldn’t need to worry about this for long. He’d buy him a new car before he headed to Mexico—a Corvette or sports convertible that would make them Mexican bitches take notice. With the money he’d have, he could buy any damn thing he wanted to. He wished he could stay around here and show everyone that he hadn’t lied about the money, but if he did that, he’d have all his bum friends wanting to get their hands on his money—not to mention all the people he owed. No, it was best he take off.
By the time he turned into the parking lot behind the mall, his feet squished inside his tennis shoes. When he reached Sears he stopped, hands on hips, looking around the empty lot. He glanced at his watch and discovered he had arrived thirty minutes late. Should he wait? He glanced at his watch again and decided to wait five more minutes.
He turned his head looking for a place out of the light and rain. His gaze swept past shadows in the far corner, and whipped back. He’d almost missed the black car and it pissed him off. Could have called to him and not let him stand in the rain. He stomped toward the driver’s side. This shit wasn’t right.
Hands on hips, water dripping from his face, he leaned toward the window as it cranked down.
“’Bout damn time—”
Fire exploded from the window. Searing pain surged through his chest, and he hit the pavement on his back. He couldn’t breathe. He attempted to gulp air but couldn’t get any. He tried to roll over, but he couldn’t move, and gravel hit his face as the car spun away. Dog panting, he lay on his back, unable to move with rain pelting him on the face. The boss never intended to give him his money, and he should have gone to the FBI.
* * * *
Up late trying to finish paperwork, David glanced at his watch when the phone rang, and shook his head. The saying, “No news was good news,” applied at this time of night.
“Mason.”
“This is Harlan. We found your boy.”
David groaned. They wouldn’t call him this late unless someone had killed Hensley. “How long has he been dead?”
“He’s not. The person or persons behind this finally made a mistake.”
When David hung up, he called Melissa. She answered in a groggy voice after the second ring. “Get everyone up and to Memorial Hospital on Frank Street. Need everyone there in ten minutes.”
David slammed the phone down and jumped up. Without coat and tie, he considered for a moment about changing clothes, but forgot it and rushed out.
Three minutes later, his rental skidded into the emergency room parking lot. A police lieutenant named Mercer met him at the doors. “They’re prepping him for a life flight to Houston. Should take off in thirty minutes.”
David started to adjust his suit coat but realized he didn’t wear it. He took a deep breath. “Will he make it and can we talk to him?”
The lieutenant shrugged. “Doc says it is fifty-fifty. If they get him to Houston alive, he has a chance. He’s unconscious and can’t be questioned, but out of his head and talking. Most is difficult to understand. Keeps blabbing something about his money and Mexico, though.”
“Is there room for one more on that life flight?”
Mercer chuckled. “Thought you’d ask that. I made sure one of you agents could tag along.”
David thanked him as the other agents rushed in. David told them what had happened and pointed at John. “You’re going on that flight and stay with him every minute. Write down anything he says. If there are witnesses who hears anything he says, get their name and all contact information. Do you understand”?
John nodded. “Y—es, sir.”
David ignored the sir stuff and spun toward Mercer. “Where was he shot?”
When Mercer told him, David thanked him and told the others, “Let’s go.”
Five minutes later, the agents pulled into the mall parking lot and threaded their way to the rear and the roped-off crime scene. When David flashed his badge, the patrolman let them through. As they ducked under the tape, the patrolman said on his walkie-talkie, “The feds are here and on their way to your location.”
Captain Miles Ingram, whom David had met, strode toward them with his hand extended. David shook and asked him if he rememb
ered the others.
When he nodded, David asked, “What do you have?”
“Not much. Patrolman drove through here and found Hensley lying on his back on the pavement unconscious and a bullet in his chest. We’re processing now, but don’t think we will find anything. Rain washed things away if there was anything to start with. Best thing we have is if that shitbird lives.”
“Let’s hope. How did he get here?”
“Evidently walked. We found his car a couples miles away on Timberland. It wouldn’t start and we had it towed in to process.”
David kicked at some loose gravel. “Fuck a duck!”
No one said anything, and minutes passed with no noise except an occasional eighteen-wheeler speeding around the loop, hissing airbrakes as they slowed down to make the turn onto Highway 59. David shook his head. Too many people had died and he didn’t know much more than when he first got here. If Hensley died, they had nothing. Again. Every damn time they got close to a suspect, someone killed them. Beeker wanted answers, the director wanted answers, it seemed like everyone wanted answers. David wanted them more than they did, but he had none. How long would they remain tolerant?
He fiddled with a tie that wasn’t there. How in the hell did the killer know they looked for Hensley? Or, was someone eliminating witnesses?
Something occurred to David and he frowned. A little piece of information joined the first in his mind, and then another. He rubbed his stubbled chin. That wasn’t possible, but the more he considered it, the more he believed. If one of his agents didn’t leak anything to them—it was the only possible way. But how did they do it?
Something he had read in a magazine several years before popped into his mind and he jerked his head up, glancing at his agents. “Do any of you have a battery-operated razor?”
Melissa ran her hand on her chin and the others laughed but David didn’t hear it. He asked Miles, “Is there any place in town open where we can buy a battery-operated razor?”
The grins at Melissa’s joke disappeared from the agents and Miles pursed his lips. He told David of one place. David nodded and turned back the agents. “Who drove here?”
Andy, with a perplexed expression shuffled his feet. “I did.”
“I need you to get over there and buy a battery-operated razor and make sure to get batteries.”
“O—kay. But I have a spare razor you can use. It’s just a disposable one.”
“Get the battery one and hurry. Meet me at the motel room. I’ll take the others back.” David turned to Miles. “Tell the chief I’ll talk to him in the morning.”
In the motel room, Melissa broke the silence. “What’s going on?”
The agents sat and watched as David paced the room, glancing at his watch. They occasionally shrugged at each other, but no one said anything.
When Morgan asked what was going on, David only shook his head and the quiet continued until Andy knocked. When he walked in, he glanced at Melissa. She shrugged. David opened the razor and inserted the batteries.
The razor emitted a low buzzing whine when he turned it on. David stood in the middle of the room for a moment glancing around. He walked to the door with the razor going.
He turned to face the agents. He edged toward the sofa where Melissa and Melvin sat. The agents’ eyebrows rose when the razor changed sounds. The low buzz changed to a rough interrupted grinding.
As David edged away from the sofa, the razor changed to normal. Melvin cocked his head. “What the hell just happened?”
David turned the razor off, put and index finger to his lips and strode toward the end table beside the sofa. He bent low, peering under it. Reaching under, he pulled out a small metal disc the size of a watch face.
Melvin’s jaw dropped. David motioned everyone to follow him outside. No one spoke a word until the door shut to David’s room, nor did they notice the cold wind blowing across the balcony.
Melvin put his hands on his hips. “Is that what I think it is?”
“It’s a bug. That is how they knew what we were doing.”
Morgan shuffled his feet. “How did you know that a razor would sweep for bugs? Better yet, how did you know the room was bugged to start with?”
“Something I read several years ago, and I didn’t know—it was a hunch. Only thing that made an ounce of sense. Remember when I thought someone had been in my room, but all the maids denied it?”
David didn’t wait for an answer. “I want Melissa and Morgan to get the motel manager in here, and all the maids.”
“Now, at this hour?” Melissa asked.
“Now. They had to let someone into my room to put that bug there in the first place.” He turned to Melvin. “I want you to go to the office with them, but I want you to call the police department. See if they have anyone on duty who speaks Spanish. If not, on the department. If they have someone who is not on duty, get him in here right away. I’ll wait right here for Melvin to return.
When the agents scurried off, David returned to his room and put his coat on, not worrying about the tie. When he stepped outside, cold blasts hit him and he shivered. He didn’t know what good the knowledge of the bugs would do, or how it would help him find this killer, but at least he could stop them from getting information, now.
He leaned on the cold metal rail. It dawned on him that he shouldn’t remove the bugs. With the knowledge that they were there, he could stop giving out key information, but pass on any misinformation that he wanted the killer to know.
Melvin broke his thoughts. “PD is sending Victor Martinez. He speaks Spanish.”
David handed the bug to Melvin. “Do you know anything about these things?”
Melvin brought the small disc up close to his face, turning it in his fingers. Minutes passed as he examined it. “Know something about them. I would need to break it open to know more. It looks to be home-made and cheap, but it’ll do the job at a short range.”
“What do you mean by short range?”
Still examining the bug, he turned it in his fingers. “Bugs send out a low frequency signals that pick up sound and send it to a receiver that stores the sound.”
He glanced up from his inspection. “Since this is home-made and cheap, the receiver needs to be close to it.”
“In the room?”
Melvin’s gaze began to sweep the area outside the room. “Not necessarily in the room, but…”
When his gaze and voice stopped, David’s followed until he found the small box, the size of a cigarette pack, above the light on the outside of the room door. “Is that it?”
Melvin nodded, but didn’t say anything. He reached up and pulled the box down, turning it over in his fingers. Moments passed before he spoke. “Homemade and cheap, but it’ll do the job.”
Something occurred to David. “Will what we said in the room and out here be recorded on that thing?”
Melvin nodded and held up the bug. “It is recording and storing what we say right at this moment.”
David tugged on his ear. Whoever bugged the room will know that we found the device when they listen to it, but how do they listen to it? He opened his motel door. They might as well go inside. When they shut the door, Melvin set the bug and receiver on the table. “Melvin, how would they get the stuff off that box thing?”
“Inside, it has a recorder. They can do it a couple of ways. They can exchange this box for another and take it with them and listen to the tape, or they can take the box down, take the tape out and replace the tape with another.”
“Which would be the quickest?”
“Replacing the box.”
David sat, tapping on the chair arm. His plan of feeding them bad information had flown out the window, but he needed to know more about these bugs. He told Melvin to break them open and see what they had. With a wide grin, Melvin picked the devices up and headed for his room where he had tools.
David walked down to the manager’s office to see how that went. They had the manager in, who continued to apo
logize to anyone who would listen, and four of the six maids, but the other two they couldn’t locate.
Martinez, the Lufkin patrolman, had talked to two of the four who spoke little English. He found out that neither had let anyone into the room, but Maria Estevez, one of the maids they couldn’t find, had told the others that she’d let David’s wife in.
CHAPTER 31
When Martinez told David about letting his wife in, he gave the officer a perplexed look. “My wife?”
Martinez shrugged. “That’s what she told these two. Your wife said she was surprising you and didn’t have a key.”
David stuffed his hands in his pockets. Beth had a key and besides, she was still in Houston. She’d only been there the one time. He spoke to her every day. Now, what the hell was going on?
“Can they describe my wife?”
“Nope. I asked that. They didn’t see her. All they know is Estevez told them she let your wife in. She didn’t tell management, afraid they’d fire her.”
David turned to Melissa. “What’re we doing to find this maid?”
“We sent a patrol unit by her last known address, but she doesn’t live there any more and the people who do, claim they don’t know her. She didn’t show up for work three days ago and as far as we can tell, no one knows where she went. The manager says this isn’t unusual. Sometimes they pack up and head to Mexico.”
“Damn.” David paced the office for several minutes. It was a possibility that the people who lived in the house where this Estevez lived had lied about knowing her whereabouts. He knew one thing, Beth had not come and asked the maid to let her in, and if she didn’t, who was the woman who did?
Melissa broke into his thoughts. “I called Beth just to make sure, and she hasn’t been here and definitely didn’t ask a maid to let her in.”