The Collector

by Scott Wittenburg

Hank Multer spotted the Hertz Rental on West Fortieth Street and began looking for somewhere to park the Lincoln. He found a space three blocks away, got out and started walking.

  He was so pissed at himself that he wanted to punch something. Popov wanted to burn him a new asshole and he couldn’t really blame him. Whatever had compelled him to allow this bastard to get away he had no clue. All he knew for sure was that if he couldn’t track him down again, he would be dead meat.

  He knew how Popov hated slipups like this and the man wouldn’t hesitate to have him murdered. He’d seen it happen before, to one of Hank’s old friends no less. Sal Milano had been hired by Popov to keep an eye on one of his many interests in the city but had let his guard down just one time. And that had been all it took for Sal to be listed in the obits a few days later.

  Hank also knew the risks there were working for someone like Yuri Popov but the pay overshadowed the danger. And the work was a cinch most of the time. The hardest part was his having to be on call twenty-four/seven in case Popov needed him to work a particular job. The jobs usually consisted of keeping tabs on his restaurant and home out on Long Island whenever he flew to Europe on business. He had done this now for nearly a year and there hasn’t been a single hitch in all that time.

  Until today.

  Why in the fuck had he let the guy drive away?

  Hank still didn’t know the answer to that. He had just done his third drive-by for the day at Popov’s home and was heading back to the restaurant when he happened to see the guy in the rental car pull over in front of the place and park. After he’d circled the block, Hank had half-expected the guy to have already left—he often saw folks drive up to a place and stop like that in the Hamptons while trying to locate a particular place. There was no rhyme or reason to the streets or street numbers in the upscale beach community.

  But the guy was still parked there so Hank pulled over on a side street to observe. He watched as the guy got out and walked directly up the driveway to Popov’s house. Hank had grabbed his binoculars to zoom in on the scene but the front porch was out of view. So he got out of the car and walked around until he was able to see the front door through the binoculars. The man was standing there on the porch with his back to him and the inside door was already open. Nadiya was standing inside talking to the guy for a moment before he handed her what looked like a business card. A second or two later, she opened the door and let him in.

  The scenario had occurred so naturally and smoothly that Hank had little reason to suspect any kind of foul play. It was broad daylight; the guy was probably some kind of traveling salesman that had managed to offer a sales pitch convincing enough to prompt Nadiya to let him inside the house. It was like, no big deal.

  But what Hank had forgotten was Popov’s insistence that nobody whatsoever was allowed to enter that house.

  That had been Hank’s first major screw up in this comedy of errors.

  So he had gone back to the car, turned up the stereo and waited for the guy to leave. After thirty minutes, Hank started getting nervous so he got out of the car and headed for the house. Then he suddenly saw the man come out the front door. Hank ran back to his car and watched as the man came back, got in his car and drove away.

  Hank’s second major mistake—not stopping the guy immediately to question him.

  Suddenly realizing that it would be a good idea to follow the guy, Hank waited until the stranger had a couple of blocks on him then began tailing him. It wasn’t long before the guy must have noticed him on his tail because all of a sudden he cut down a short side street that hardly anyone ever went down. Then he had pulled the same stunt on the next street without warning.

  That was Hank’s third major mistake. Letting the guy catch him tailing him.

  After a while, the guy pulled into the private drive, hacked a u-turn and eventually lost him altogether.

  Fourth major mistake of the day in less than an hour. Did he really deserve to live?

  At this point he realized he had better get back and grill Nadia on who the hell the guy was and what had transpired. So he flew back to Popov’s house and discovered that the man’s live-in whore was nowhere to be found.

  Fifth major mistake. He was a dead man.

  Not if he could help it, Hank thought as he approached the rental car agency that had rented the car to the stranger. A former policeman before he retired a few years ago, Hank still had connections on the force that were able to help him from time to time. He had called Stu Gallagher in the Bronx to run the license plate of the rental car for him. Now all he needed to do was follow up and get the guy’s name and where he was staying. Then hopefully, Hank could save his own ass from Popov’s assassins.

  He went up to the door and entered. The place wasn’t busy and there was only one person working the front desk—a middle-aged black woman. Hank walked up to her, pulled out his badge and held it up for her to see.

  “Good evening. I’m hoping that you can help me identify a man who rented a car from you recently.”

  The woman glanced at Hank’s old and now obsolete police badge and then stared at him apathetically.

  “I’d love to help you out, officer but I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information to you. It’s our company policy.”

  “Excuse me ma’am, but this is police business. All I need is some information for one of your customers. It’s not like I’m asking you for their medical history.”

  “Listen officer, there is no way I’m going to lose my gig here just because you want me to do something that I am forbidden to do. I have a sick husband at home and a kid in college so I can’t afford to lose this job on account of you and your police business. I’m sorry, but I can’t break company policy.”

  “Okay, if you can’t, then I’d like to speak to someone higher up who can. Let me speak to the manager.”

  “He’s not here. Won’t be here until tomorrow morning. Maybe you could come by then and speak to him.”

  Hank was not believing this. What was wrong with this bitch that she couldn’t look up a fucking name for him? He was a cop, damn it! Well, a retired cop, but she doesn’t know that. He had half a mind to demand that she comply or face an obstruction of justice charge, but that could get messy. If she were to call the cops to report him, his cover would be blown. Then he’d really be screwed.

  He glanced at the wall clock. He had to call Popov again in five minutes to update him on his progress. What the fuck was he going to tell him?

  “Please, lady, can’t you give me a break here? I can’t wait until tomorrow for this information and I can assure you that no one will ever know that you did this for me. So what do you say?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, no can do.”

  Just then a man and a woman entered the agency. Hank glanced back at them and then turned to face the clerk again.

  “How about calling your manager? You can do that, can’t you? Then you can put me on and I’m sure he’ll clear you so you can look the info up for me.”

  She smiled. “No way! That boy is out on his first date since his divorce! There’s no way I’m going to bother him with this. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomorrow, officer. And if you don’t mind, I’ve got other customers waiting.”

  “What’s your name, lady? I want to be sure to make a note of it for my report.”

  “Gwen Samuels. That’s short for Gwendolyn.”

  “Very well, Ms. Samuels.And your manager’s name?”

  “Tom Hodges.”

  Hank fished around in his coat pocket, pretending to look for his notebook.

  “Good evening,” he said, then stormed out of the agency.

  Out on the street, Hank’s wheels were turning. He had to find out where the man was staying somehow. He could stall Popov a little longer, but eventually he was going to have to come up with something tangible on finding this guy or he might as well pack it in.

  He was half way down the block when he suddenly stopped himself dead in h
is tracks. He reached inside his jacket and touched the grip of his Beretta.

  He didn’t have time to fuck around with this. He was going to have to do this the hard way.

  Hank resumed walking toward the street corner then crossed to the other side of Forty-Fourth. It was dusk now and he wouldn’t be easily seen from this distance. He walked back up the street until he was directly across from the rental office. He stopped and pretended to be looking into a shop window, glancing behind him occasionally at the car rental agency. The couple was still there talking to the black lady. He stood there for another ten minutes and finally the couple left. The woman was alone.

  He looked both ways then ran briskly across the street, stormed through the door and pulled out his gun. The woman did a double-take when she saw him then noticed the gun he was pointing at her.

  “Go lock that door while I wait for you over there. If you try to run, I’ll shoot your black ass all the way across that street.”

  The woman’s indifferent attitude suddenly took a 180-degree turn.

  “Okay, I’ll lock it! Please just don’t shoot me!”

  “Hurry, lady, before someone comes in!”

  She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a ring of keys then headed toward the door. Hank ran around the counter and stood off to the side. He held the gun on the woman who was standing at the door nervously trying to get the key into the lock.

  “Hurry up, goddamn it!” he shouted from across the room.

  She glanced around to see him pointing the gun on her then managed to lock the door.

  “Now come back here and look up this plate number on your computer. It’s to a 2010 Honda Civic, blue.”

  The woman ran back and Hank handed her the scrap of paper with the license plate number scrawled on it. She clicked on the screen, scrolled up to a search field and typed in the number. A moment later, a new page appeared. She clicked on a link that subsequently brought up what appeared to be the application and checkout form for the rental.

  “Let me see that,” he said, pushing the woman aside.

  Hank looked at the name of the renter for the Civic—Alan Swansea. His address was listed in Columbus, Ohio.

  “Where is his hotel address?”

  The woman looked at the screen. “There ain’t no hotel address listed here. Just an Ohio address.”

  “You mean to tell me that you have no idea where this guy is staying in the city?”

  “That’s a fact.”

  “Wait a minute—what about a contact number? Let’s see, here it is—his phone number. That will work in a pinch.”

  Hank picked up a pen off the counter and copied down the phone number that the man had given as his contact number. Unfortunately, it had a 614 area code and not 212, so it was most likely his cell number. Not much good that was going to do.

  Hank looked to see if the car had been returned yet—it hadn’t. It was due to be returned the following morning at LaGuardia Airport. Great, finally a break! He was flying back home tomorrow morning so at least he could catch up with the guy at the airport. He went ahead and copied down the man’s Ohio address just in case he’d need it then stuck the paper in his pocket.

  “Thanks, Gwen. Sorry you couldn’t do this the easy way but I won’t hold it against you. Now I want you sit down in that chair there and put your arms to your side.”

  “What you gonna do to me?”

  “Make it so you don’t call the cops before I’m way the hell out of here.”

  Hank spotted a roll of packing tape and gestured for Gwen to sit down in the chair. Then he began wrapping tape around her arms and the chair. When he was finished, he taped her ankles together then stuck a piece of it over her mouth.

  “That should hold you. See you, Gwen. And make sure to tell your boss I hope he got laid tonight!”

  Hank then switched off the computer, picked up the keys and bolted out of the place.

  Glancing at his watch, he saw that he was twenty minutes late for checking in with Popov. He got out his cell phone and made the connection.

  “Sorry I’m late checking in boss, but I’ve go some good news.”

  “It better be good, Hank. Please tell me you’ve found the guy.”

  “Well, not exactly, but the next best thing. He’s flying out of LaGuardia tomorrow to Columbus, Ohio, I assume.”

  “You assume?”

  “Well, that’s where he’s from and he’s returning the rental car at the airport tomorrow morning. So, logic says he’s going back home.”

  “Jesus, Hank—is this the best you can do? What have you been doing all this time? I figured you would have at least located his hotel by now!”

  “No such luck—all I was able to get was his name, home address, cell phone number and rental car drop-off time.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Let’s see, Alan—wait, let me get out the paper. Here it is—Alan Swansea.”

  “That’s not ringing any bells. Any other info you found out about him? Like where he works or anything like that?”

  “Nah, that’s about it chief. So I’m gonna hang out by the rental agency bright and early tomorrow morning and catch up with him there. What do you want me to do once I locate him?”

  “Tail his ass to Ohio, what do you think? Check out the flights to Columbus from LaGuardia and find out which one he’s on. Then go ahead and buy a ticket. Don’t let that guy out of your sight Hank, until I can find out what the hell’s going on with Nadia!”

  “Okay, boss. I guess I’ll get on the internet and check out those flights.”

  “And call in once you’ve confirmed everything, Hank. I want to know that you’ve found the guy and boarded that plane. Got it?”

  “Got it, sir. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t fuck this up, Hank.”

  “I won’t. This guy won’t get away again, I can assure you.”

  “He’d better not,” Popov said before hanging up.

  After he returned to his car, Hank headed for the Lincoln Tunnel en route to his apartment in Jersey City. He had a lot to do when he got home, including shaving off his beard and coloring his hair. The cops would be looking for him once Gwen managed to free herself from that chair.