The Collected jq-6

by Brett Battles

  He took a deep breath. Be a pro. Finish the job.

  He climbed out of the back, circled around the vehicle, and got in behind the wheel. Sticking to his preplanned, less-trafficked route, he reached the turnoff for the safe house just inside the time range he’d been given.

  During the whole drive, he’d been thinking about the dead man in back. He’d explain everything to his client. Tell him the target had arrived DOA, and that he’d even tried multiple times to resuscitate him. They’d have to believe him. They’d just have to.

  He turned down the driveway, rehearsing in his head what he was going to say. But as he approached the isolated house, thoughts of his explanation vanished. Parked directly in his path were two sedans, their occupants standing outside, guns drawn and pointed at him.

  He looked in his mirror, intending to back out of there as fast as possible, but a third car was pulling across the driveway, blocking his exit.

  Oh.

  Crap.

  CHAPTER 15

  Chicago

  Pullman was right about the phone number he had for Mr. Brown. Disconnected.

  “A burner,” Orlando said. “Probably already dumped in a landfill.”

  Quinn nodded. “What about this Burke guy? Is he missing, too? Because if he isn’t, I would very much like to talk to him.”

  They stopped at the next coffee shop they spotted, and took up residence at a table near the front door as early morning commuters lined up for their shot of espresso.

  Orlando first made a pass through the documents on Pullman’s computer. It didn’t take her long to turn up the list of people who’d been hired for the Lopez project-each name accompanied by contact information. She turned the screen so Quinn could see. He recognized only one of the names from the ops team, but it wasn’t someone he’d worked directly with before. Below the team were two more names: QUINN and BURKE.

  “I say we give Mr. Burke a call,” he said.

  Orlando punched the number into Pullman’s phone. “Ringing.”

  He watched her, hopeful, but it soon became clear no one was going to answer.

  After disconnecting, she handed the phone to Quinn and moved Pullman’s computer to the side, aiming the screen at him. “Maybe one of the others will answer,” she said. She pulled her own laptop out of her bag.

  Quinn went straight to the last name on the ops team list. Kelvin Moore was the team leader, so, theoretically, he’d be the one with the most information.

  The line rang three times, then, “What the hell is it now, Pullman?”

  “Mr. Moore?”

  A long pause. “Who is this?”

  “My name’s Jonathan Quinn.”

  “Quinn? The cleaner? Bullshit. You don’t sound like him at all.”

  “The man you worked with in Mexico is a colleague of mine who also goes by the name of Quinn.”

  “What kind of crap is this?”

  “My friend hasn’t checked in yet, and I’m trying to figure out-”

  “Brother, you have called the wrong number.”

  Moore hung up.

  Quinn called back. The line was answered and immediately disconnected. A third try received a message telling him the subscriber was out of calling range.

  He tried the other names on the list. Two of the numbers played back the same out-of-range message, but the last was answered.

  “Pullman?” A woman’s voice.

  “I’m looking for Bob Rooney,” Quinn said.

  “This is Bobbie.”

  Bobbie? Wait. “Bobbie Harbin?” he said.

  Silence.

  “Don’t hang up. It’s Jonathan Quinn.”

  “That name’s been thrown around a bit lately.”

  “I know, I know. The guy who was in Mexico with you. He’s my partner. Uses the same name.”

  “That’s…weird.”

  “Long story.”

  “How do I know you’re you?”

  “Baton Rouge. Crawfish dinner. Cajun karaoke.”

  Orlando looked over for a second, one eyebrow raised.

  Bobbie grunted a half laugh. “Okay, okay. Just don’t go into any details. I barely remember that night, which I think is probably for the best.”

  “What’s with the Rooney?”

  “A little trouble under the old name. Thought it best to change it up. What the hell are you calling me for? And why are you on Pullman’s phone?”

  Ignoring the second question, he said, “I’m hoping you might have some information.”

  He could sense her hesitation. “What kind of information?”

  “I’m sure you heard things didn’t end up going so well on the job you just finished.”

  “I might have run across something about that.”

  “Then you know the body was found.”

  “Yeah. I guess your partner isn’t quite as good at his job as you are.”

  “My partner is excellent at his job,” Quinn said quickly.

  “Currently, there seems to be some evidence to the contrary.”

  Bobbie had always been one to see the world in terms of black and white, while Quinn operated in the grays. He said, “He’s missing, Bobbie. He hasn’t been heard from since he last talked to you all. I want to know if there was anything unusual you might have noticed.”

  The line was silent for a few seconds. “Nothing that comes to mind. I’m sorry your friend is missing, but-”

  “What about Burke? The guy who was working with him?”

  Another pause. “I only saw him twice, and neither time for very long. I did get kind of an odd vibe from him, though, like he wasn’t the kind of guy I’d want to hang out with.”

  “Did he say anything unusual? Anything that stands out?”

  “I did see him on his phone behind the motel where we were having our planning meeting once. He didn’t see me at first, but when he did, he wrapped up his call pretty quickly. As he walked past, he shook his head and said, ‘Family drama. What are you going to do?’”

  “Was he lying?”

  “Sure he was,” she said. “But we all do that. I just figured he was lining up another gig, and didn’t want to share the information.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No. That’s it,” she said.

  “Okay, thanks, Bobbie.”

  “Quinn.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I am really sorry your partner’s missing. If you want my guess, either the police have him and aren’t talking, or he died trying to get away. Watch your step. It’s probably something you don’t want to get pulled into.”

  “Call me if something comes to mind,” he said, then hung up.

  “Bobbie?” Orlando asked.

  “Bobbie Harbin. You remember her?”

  “Hard to forget a five-foot-ten skinny blonde. What’s this about crawfish and karaoke?”

  “A bad night.”

  She gave him a skeptical half smile. “Define bad for me.”

  He laughed. “Not as bad as you’re thinking.”

  With a roll of her eyes, she returned her attention to her computer. “I’ve located Burke’s phone.”

  Quinn pushed out of his seat and came around so he could look over her shoulder.

  She had her cell-phone-tracking software up. In one window was a map pushed in close on two intersecting roads. In the middle, a small blue circle pulsated, indicating the phone’s location.

  “Mexico?” Quinn asked.

  “Yeah, but not Monterrey. Imuris.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It’s in Sonora. South of Arizona. I was able to pull a twenty-four-hour history. The phone hasn’t moved.”

  “Dumped?”

  “It’s an empty lot, so either that or he likes camping out.”

  Quinn frowned, disappointed. “He could be anywhere now.”

  “Or,” Orlando said, “he could have gone someplace he knows well.”

  “And where would that be?”

  “While the program was runn
ing down the phone’s location, and you were still chatting with your ex-girlfriend-”

  “Never was my girlfriend.”

  “Ex-lover, then.”

  “Not that, either.”

  “We’ll just call it a one night stand.”

  “No we wo-”

  “While you were still on the phone,” she said, “I did a little digging on Burke. The guy’s still new to the business. Takes whatever comes his way. It’s obvious no one’s taught him how to effectively cover up his information.”

  “And?”

  “Seems our Mr. Burke is from Tucson, Arizona. Which is only about one hundred and ten miles due north of Imuris.”

  Quinn frowned. “He wouldn’t.”

  “No. You wouldn’t. I wouldn’t. This guy, I’m not so sure.”

  “Who do we know in the area?” he asked.

  Orlando thought for a moment. “Doesn’t Kim Lakey work out of Tempe?”

  Quinn and Orlando flew to Phoenix, where they waited for their connection to Tucson.

  As they sat near the gate, Quinn kept expecting to see someone he knew. Of course, that was ridiculous. If he had seen anyone, he probably wouldn’t have even recognized the person. It had been a long time since he’d called this city home. He’d been a rookie cop then, thinking his career path was set. It wasn’t, though, thanks to Durrie, his mentor. Phoenix was where their paths first crossed, Durrie both saving his life and changing its path forever.

  In an attempt to distract himself, Quinn pulled out his phone and called Liz. She didn’t answer. He left a message saying he and Orlando would probably be back in L.A. that evening, then he started scanning the other passengers again.

  It wasn’t until they were finally back in the air that he was able to relax a little. There were just too many ghosts in Phoenix, of things and events and the actual dead. Sitting there for the short layover had been more than enough to reconfirm that it was a place he needed to avoid as much as possible.

  They met Kim Lakey on the west side of Tucson, in the parking lot of the Waffle House off Star Pass Boulevard.

  “Good to see you guys,” she said as she climbed into the back of their car, setting the gray canvas backpack she’d been carrying on the seat beside her.

  They exchanged handshakes. Though Kim looked large compared to Orlando, she was only five foot three and a hundred and ten pounds. In their world, she was a jack-someone who was good at a whole range of things, and easy to slot into pretty much any support position that might be needed.

  From the backpack, she pulled out the weapons they’d requested, handed them up front, then said, “Shall we go for a drive?”

  Kim had been able to get to Tucson and do some hunting around before their flight had arrived in Phoenix. She confirmed that Burke had a townhome in the area, and that someone was inside.

  The guy’s place was located among a sea of tan, pueblo-style townhomes in a complex west of the city. If it weren’t for the numbers next to the doors, it would have been nearly impossible to tell one unit from the next.

  “Park there,” Kim said, pointing at an open spot with the word VISITOR painted over the asphalt.

  Once out of the car, she led them along a wide path through several of the buildings, slowing when they reached the point where the pathway ended at another road.

  “On the right,” she said. “Four down on the other side.”

  Quinn glanced over. Like all the other places, there was nothing remarkable about Burke’s townhome. The only thing slightly different was that curtains had been pulled across all the windows.

  “How did you establish someone was inside?” he asked.

  “Saw them peeking around the curtains a couple times. Couldn’t see the face, though.”

  They walked across the street to where the path continued, taking them out of sight of Burke’s place, and stopped again.

  “Well?” Orlando asked.

  “He knows things didn’t go as planned in Monterrey,” Quinn said, “so he’ll obviously be running scared. If it is him inside, I doubt he’ll just open the door if we knock.”

  “How many ways in and out?” Orlando asked Kim.

  “Two doors, the front and a sliding glass one in back. Since he’s between two other places, he only has windows on the front and back on both floors. Unless he barricades himself inside, it’d be an easy flush.”

  Quinn thought about it for a moment, then nodded. The simplest plans were often the best. “You play instigator,” he told Kim. “We’ll play rear guard.”

  It would have been better if Quinn and Orlando could have climbed over Burke’s fence and hidden on his porch, but, with the sun still out and the person inside undoubtedly on edge-and potentially armed-they thought it best to play it safe.

  What they did instead was position themselves on the pathway that ran along the back wall enclosing Burke’s small patio area. Once they were set, Quinn called Kim. “We’re ready. Give him something to think about.”

  There was a delay of several seconds, and then they heard the distant pounding as Kim knocked, hard and decisive, on the front door. She paused for five seconds before pounding again. When she knocked a third time, Quinn heard the sliding glass door on the other side of the wall ease open.

  He tensed, ready to act.

  A footstep on concrete, then a thud, like something had been bumped into. And breathing, rapid, almost panting.

  Whoever was on Burke’s patio was scared out of their mind.

  This time, instead of knocking, Kim rang the doorbell twice in a row.

  Quinn heard a quick intake of breath, and then the person on the other side ran from the house to the fence. Hands wrapped around the top, and there was a whack against the other side as a foot or a knee slammed into it. A loud grunt of exertion, and the person’s head and shoulders popped over the top.

  Not Burke.

  Not a man at all.

  A young woman with long sandy blonde hair and a desert tan.

  She worked her way up until she could bend over the edge at the waist. That was when she saw Orlando.

  With a yell of surprise, she dropped back down onto the patio.

  Orlando beat Quinn over the top by half a second, and grabbed the girl’s arm just before she ran back into the house. The girl tried to break free, then started to yell.

  “Leave me alone, you bitch! I know what you-”

  “I think you need to relax,” Quinn said, coming up fast on her other side, flashing his gun.

  The sight of the weapon had the desired effect. The girl’s jaw went slack as her eyes widened in fear.

  “Anyone else here?” he whispered.

  She continued to stare at the weapon.

  “Hey,” Quinn said. “Is anyone else inside?”

  She blinked, and shook her head.

  “Then why don’t we go in where it’s cooler?” he suggested.

  As he stepped toward her, she moved backward into the house. Once inside, Orlando closed the glass door and repositioned the curtain so no one could see in. “I’ll do a check.” She headed for the stairs.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Have a seat,” Quinn told the girl.

  Not taking her eyes off him, she backed all the way to a black leather couch, and sat down.

  “Stay right there, and everything will be fine. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  Quinn went over and opened the front door.

  “Success, I see,” Kim said.

  “Appreciate the help.” He glanced back to make sure the girl hadn’t moved.

  “You need me for anything else?”

  “Nope. We’ve got it now. Thank you. If you want to wait, we can give you a ride back to your car.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just do what you have to do. I can get back on my own. And Quinn, keep in touch. It’s been a while since we’ve worked together.”

  After they shook hands, Quinn closed the door and headed back to the living room.

 
“Second floor’s clear,” Orlando said, descending the stairs.

  When she reached the bottom, she headed off to check the rest of the ground floor, but Quinn knew she wouldn’t find anyone. The girl had been too scared to lie about being alone. Wherever Burke was, it wasn’t here.

  “What’s your name?” Quinn asked, lowering himself into the matching leather chair next to the couch.

  Her jaw moved a few times as a few incoherent syllables stumbled out of her mouth.

  “Take a breath. It’s okay. You’re going to be fine. Come on, like this. In,” he said, breathing in deeply. “And out.” He pushed the air back out again. “Your turn. In.” Her intake was not quite as smooth as his. “And out.” The air moved out of her lungs in a mad rush. “Again, slower this time.” She tried again, her breathing better. After the third time, she was almost back in control. “Better?”

  A hesitant nod.

  “Good. What’s your name?”

  “Ellie,” she said, a tremor in her voice.

  “All right, Ellie. I just want to ask you a few questions. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise.”

  Her gaze flicked to his gun, then back to his face.

  “Here,” he said. He tucked the gun between his leg and the arm of the chair, where it was out of sight, but retrievable in a hurry if the need arose. “Better?”

  She chewed on her lower lip, and nodded once.

  “All clear,” Orlando said, walking back into the room.

  Ellie jumped at the sound.

  “Don’t worry,” Quinn said. “My friend’s not going to hurt you, either.”

  “How about some water?” Orlando suggested as she headed toward the kitchen. “I’m going to have some.”

  “Um, yeah. Okay,” Ellie said. “There are, um, cold bottles in the refrigerator. In the door.”

  “I’ll take one, too,” Quinn said.

  Quinn waited until Orlando returned. Once they had all taken drinks, he said, “Ellie, do you live here?”

  “Uh-huh,” the girl said. “Well, I mean, I have my own place, but I’m here a lot. When Doug’s home, anyway.”

  “Doug Burke?”

  “Yes.”

  “He owns this place?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So where’s Doug now?”