Harry Bronson Box Set

by L C Hayden

“I thought of that. Had it been just that one call, I’d agree with you. But I also got a false call from Jay, and that very strange Help me call that supposedly came from Paul. That’s three calls I can’t explain.”

  Ellen eyed Bronson through the rearview mirror. “I know how he did it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Carrier spoofed you.”

  Bronson frowned. He’d been beaten, threatened, lied to, and now spoofed. “What the heck is that?”

  “You know, spoofing, as in Internet spoofing.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  Ellen turned so she could see Bronson’s face. “You get on the Internet. Go to any search engine and type spoofing, caller I.D. That’ll give you the website for spoofing. Once you’re on their website, follow their prompts. It’ll tell you to enter the phone number of the person you want to call, then enter the number you want the cell’s caller I.D. to register. When the cell rings, it’ll show as coming from that person, when in essence it’s coming from a computer.”

  Bronson leaned back. “I’ll be. Anybody can call you pretendin’ to be someone else.”

  “As long as they have access to the Internet.”

  Mike turned to his ex. “Told you your trivia knowledge would come in handy.” He winked at her.

  “I’m sure that solved a lot of problems,” she said and turned around.

  “Park’s about four blocks from here,” Mike said. “Front or back?”

  The phrase brought a smile to Bronson’s face. First time Mike had used it, they had cornered a killer in a house. Bronson banged on the door and identified himself. The killer snuck out the back door and straight into Mike. Ever since then, Mike covered the back and Bronson the front, but each time, Mike asked. “I’ll take the front.” Bronson knew that wouldn’t surprise Mike, but still he felt he had to explain. “Since I was the one who talked to him, he might remember my voice.”

  “Fine with me,” Mike said. “Why break tradition?”

  “Exactly.”

  Mike drove to the opposite end of the park where the benches were located. He turned off the engine and pointed directly in front of him. “I’ll head that way and surprise him from behind.” He reached for the doorknob and felt Ellen’s hand on his arm. He paused and turned.

  “Be careful out there,” she said.

  Their eyes locked. “Do you care?”

  She let her eyes slip away from his. “Yes.”

  He raised her chin, kissed her lips, and stepped out.

  Bronson got out and motioned for Clark to follow him.

  Clark’s eyes snapped opened. “Why? What are you planning?”

  “Get in the trunk.”

  Clark’s eyes widened with fear. He began to sweat.

  “Don’t worry, you’re not going to suffocate. It’ll only be for a few minutes. Did you think we would leave you alone with Ellen? Come on, let’s go.” Bronson helped him out and half-dragged him to the back of the car. “You make any noise—”

  “I’ll be quiet.” Clark climbed in and Bronson slammed the lid. He climbed in the driver’s seat next to Ellen and restarted the car. “I’m going to leave you the keys. If somethin’ goes wrong, take off. Is that clear?”

  Her eyes opened wide and her eyebrows shot up. “And leave you both here? I’m not going to do that.”

  “Is that clear?” Bronson gave her a hard look and she seemed to shrink.

  “Fine, fine. I understand.” She folded her arms. “You’re worse than my husband—ex-husband.”

  “You still love him.”

  She looked away. “Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean I want him back. I can’t take too many nights like tonight. Not anymore.”

  Bronson thought of Carol and wondered if she ever felt that way. “If you love someone, you should be with them.”

  “Not necessarily so,” she said.

  They reached the parking lot. Bronson spotted the only other car there, an older model, pale blue Chevy Impala. Freddie’s car.

  “Be careful,” Ellen said, “and take good care of Mike.”

  “Always.”

  Bronson shut off the engine and stepped out.

  forty-three

  As Bronson walked past the Impala, he peeked inside. Discarded soda cans and wrinkled hamburger wrappers littered the floor. An opened map rested on the back seat. Nothing unusual. Bronson resumed his pace.

  He scanned the park. No one visible, including Mike. He looked at the empty bench where he’d told Freddie and Paul to wait. He headed that way and scanned the park one more time. This time, he spotted a lone figure coming toward him. He checked his pocket for easy access to his gun.

  Once they were within hearing distance of each other, Freddie called out, “Carrier?” The man watched him through keen brown eyes. He had a common face, as nondescript as the guy who hands out tickets at the movie theater.

  “I was expectin’ two of you,” Bronson said.

  “I had to make sure—” Freddie paused and bit his lip.

  “—that I wouldn’t double-cross you?”

  Freddie’s eyes widened in alarm. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Where’s my merchandise?”

  “Where’s my money?”

  Bronson wished he had brought Ellen’s attaché case with him. “You know the rules. You show me the merchandise, I give you the money. You give me what I want. Simple rules. Always work.”

  Freddie looked down and shifted uncomfortably. “Doesn’t work for me that way, Carrier.” He cleared his throat. “Give me the money.”

  An icy tentacle of uneasiness pierced Bronson’s heart. He wrestled with his emotions, trying to anchor his feelings. “Where’s Paul?”

  “He, huh, he . . . look, it wasn’t my fault.”

  Bronson saw Mike approaching and wished he’d go away. If this little piece of insignificant dirt had hurt Paul in any way, Bronson would make sure he’d regret it for the rest of his life. He took a step toward Freddie, putting them almost face-to-face. “Where’s Paul?”

  Freddie pulled a gun from his pocket and pointed it at Bronson. “Back off.”

  Bronson rolled his eyes. If one more person shoved a gun in front of him, threatened him, pushed him, he’d . . . he’d . . . he couldn’t think of the right phrase. He kicked Freddie’s wrist. The gun flew through the air. Mike dove forward the last five steps and grabbed Freddie from behind.

  Bronson stood back, his muscles taut. Hoover’s tackle had thrown Freddie to the ground. Freddie moaned. Mike looked at Bronson. “Very good, buddy. I didn’t know you knew karate.”

  “I didn’t either.” Bronson rubbed his leg. “And now I hurt in a brand new place.” He hobbled toward the discarded gun, grunted as he bent to reach it, and pointed it at Freddie. “You were going to tell us where Paul is.”

  “I want my money first,” Freddie said through clenched teeth.

  Bronson stepped forward, cocked the gun, and shoved it against Freddie’s cheek. “You have ten seconds to tell me what I want to hear.”

  Freddie’s lower lip trembled visibly even in the shadows of the night. “My money.”

  “Nine.”

  Fear shone in Freddie’s eyes like twin spotlights. “It’s not my fault.”

  Bronson shoved the gun deeper. “Eight.”

  “He . . . he . . .” Freddie closed his eyes, whimpering.

  “Seven.”

  “He attacked me.” His breath caught absurdly in his throat.

  “Six.”

  “It’s not my fault. Do you hear me?”

  “Five.”

  Mike tightened his grip on Freddie, making him yelp. “Just tell us where he is.”

  “Four.”

  Silence.

  “Three.”

  “All right. All right.”

  Bronson sighed as his muscles relaxed. He eased the pressure on Freddie’s cheek, but didn’t remove the gun. “We’re all ears.”

  “He’s . . .” He stopped.

  Bronson shoved the gun h
arder against his cheek.

  “. . . in my car trunk.”

  Bronson recalled walking by Freddie’s car, looking in, examining it. He had been so close. “Is he dead or alive?” He held his breath.

  “Alive. What do you think I am?”

  “Certainly not a saint.” He nodded at Mike, who hauled Freddie up and shoved him toward the parking lot. “Where are the keys?”

  Freddie’s hand moved toward his pants pocket.

  “Freeze,” Bronson said. “I’ll get them.”

  Freddie looked at him. “What do you think I have in there? A bomb?”

  “You never know.” Bronson retrieved the keys and showed them to Freddie.

  “The silver one.”

  As they walked past Mike’s car, they waved at Ellen, and Bronson thought of Clark. Two lonely cars parked next to each other and each had a person in the trunk. The irony didn’t escape him.

  Freddie opened the trunk of the Impala. Paul cringed, but relaxed when he saw Bronson and Mike. He flashed them a sheepish smile. Bronson helped him out.

  Paul cleared his throat. “Bronson. Mike. It’s good to see you.”

  “Bronson? Mike?” Freddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Who the hell are you guys?”

  “The police,” Mike answered, and Bronson smiled. He liked hearing that phrase.

  Bronson turned to Paul. “You all right?”

  “Yeah, thanks to you guys.”

  “Don’t thank us yet,” Mike said. “We still haven’t decided what to do to you for pulling such a stupid stunt.”

  Paul shrank. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it.” Mike turned to Bronson. “Now what?”

  “Now we let Clark out.” He walked over to the back of the car, opened the trunk, and helped Clark out. Déjà vu, Bronson thought.

  Freddie’s eyes widened as he watched.

  Ellen opened the door and stepped out. She hugged Paul. “I’m glad you’re okay, and so are these two jerks, even if they don’t admit it.”

  Paul hugged her back. “Ellen, what are you doing here?”

  “It’s a long story, but the short end of it is that Carrier is dead. Bronson shot him. It’s over. He’s really dead this time.”

  God, I hope so, Bronson thought. Now Paul could go home.

  Tears flooded Paul’s eyes and he looked away.

  The group stood by the cars staring at each other. “Now what?” Ellen asked.

  “Do you have an extra pair of handcuffs?” Bronson asked Mike

  “Got a pair in the car.”

  “Get ’em. We’ll cuff this one—” Bronson pointed at Freddie. “—to the park bench, take off, and call the local police.”

  “That’s not how we do things.” Mike threw his arms in the air. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. That’s how you do things. I’m going to get creamed on this one.”

  Bronson frowned. He wouldn’t allow his actions to mess up Mike’s career. “Look, I can’t let the police catch me. I don’t know if I’m still a wanted man or not, and I can’t afford to find out just now. I’ve got to look for Linda and Eric. They’re depending on me.”

  “I know, buddy.” Mike took a deep breath. “Look, why don’t you go find a motel somewhere? I’ll stay here with Freddie until the cops arrive. I’ll join you just as soon as I can.”

  Bronson nodded. “You’ll be okay, by yourself?”

  “Who says I’ll be by myself? Paul will stay with me.”

  Bronson nodded, opened the back door of the car, and shoved Clark in.

  Ellen cast Mike a glance that Bronson couldn’t interpret. She got in the front passenger seat.

  Mike pulled Bronson to the side. “Bronson, I have to ask. What were you thinking? What would you have done if you reached zero and Freddie hadn’t talked?”

  “I would’ve shot the grass right under his feet. That would have set him blabbering.”

  “And if it didn’t?”

  “Then I would have shot his foot or his leg.”

  “And if that still didn’t work?”

  “What’s with you? You sure are pessimistic today.” Bronson climbed into Mike’s rental with Clark and Ellen and drove away.

  forty-four

  Like all the motels in the area, A Good Night’s Rest charged a bit more than they should. Even so, Bronson insisted on two rooms. “As much as I ache, I need my own bed,” he said as he slid into the driver’s seat after paying. “I can’t share. Paul will sleep on the other bed, and I’ll lock Clark in the bathroom.”

  Ellen squinted as though trying to understand what Bronson hadn’t verbalized. “What about Mike? Isn’t he—” Her mouth dropped open. “You tossed out that remark as casually as yesterday’s lunch.”

  Bronson shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but yesterday, I didn’t have lunch.” He pulled up to the two side-by-side rooms.

  “You know exactly what I mean. Where is Mike supposed to sleep?”

  “There’s no place in my room. That leaves yours.” He turned off the engine and reached for the door.

  “Oh, no. No way.”

  “Relax, it’s got two beds.” He turned to Clark. “You wait here, or would you rather I put you back in the trunk?”

  Clark smirked. “You lock the damn car. My hands are cuffed behind me. How can I go anyplace?”

  “That’s what I like. Be a good boy.” Bronson opened the door and got out. “Come on, Ellen. I’ll help you get the luggage inside.”

  “What about yours?”

  Bronson stopped halfway to picking up her suitcase. His luggage was in his car, which he had left parked in Clark’s driveway.

  Ellen smiled as she watched his reaction. “Come on, I’ll drive you to Clark’s house so you can pick up your car.”

  That’d be fine, provided the police hadn’t impounded it. Bronson shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but Mike and I’ll go get it once he returns.”

  “Once he returns? Won’t you be asleep by then?”

  “We’ll see.” He opened the door to her room and led her in.

  “You’re not planning to go to bed, are you?”

  Was he that easy to read? “I have to rescue Linda and Eric.”

  “But you do plan to wait for Mike, right? You’re not going to do this by yourself.”

  Bronson’s cell went off. He checked the caller I.D. “Speakin’ of the devil.” He showed Ellen the phone, then answered it. “Yo?”

  “Things are really messed up.” Paul’s voice, instead of Mike’s, held confusion. “The police haven’t cleared your name yet and now they’re accusing Mike of interfering. I think they’re going to hold him. If I don’t want trouble, I’m to head back to Dallas right now.”

  “Didn’t any of the cops who showed up at the park see or hear about Marshall’s arrest? That should clear Mike and me.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. No one said anything. Where are you?”

  “At a motel called A Good Night’s Rest.”

  “I’ll tell Mike. Listen, the police are coming to take me to the airport. Gotta go. Good luck.”

  The line disconnected.

  “What’s wrong, Bronson?” Ellen’s eyes sparkled with worry.

  “Mike may be detained a bit longer. Seems I’m still a fugitive, and he’s in trouble for helpin’ me.”

  “I thought . . .” She threw her arms up.

  Bronson handed Ellen the key to her room. “I can’t afford to wait. Besides, I’ll be a sitting duck here. When Mike arrives, if he does, have him call me.” He set the last of the luggage inside. “Lock the door behind me.” He stepped out and waited until he heard the click of the bolt before returning to the car.

  He unlocked the car door and got in the driver’s seat. He adjusted the rearview mirror until he could see Clark. “You’re going to tell me where Eric and Linda are.”

  “Give me one good reason why I want to do that.”

  “Because right now you’re facing, among others, kidnappin’ charges. You don’t want
to add murder.”

  Clark looked away. “They won’t kill her. They need her to decode the game.”

  “And once she does, she’ll be no use to them. That’ll be murder one.”

  Clark bit his lip. “She’s fine. They won’t hurt her.”

  “You keep saying they. Who are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Bronson slammed the steering wheel. “I’ve had a pretty rotten day. If I were you, I’d start talkin’.”

  “I’m going to rot in jail anyway.”

  “You’ll do jail time, all right, but how much time you do and even which prison you get sent to depends on how much you cooperate. Some prisons are country clubs. Some are hell. I’ll guarantee you the worst hell. Think about it, because either way, I’m going to find Linda.” Bronson looked at Clark in the rearview mirror. “Where is she?”

  Clark squirmed. “I told you about the basement.”

  “I remember.” Bronson turned on the map light and thumbed through his notes. “You said it was good-sized.” He waited for Clark to say something. When he didn’t, Bronson continued, “You’re tellin’ me that if I find this basement, I find Linda. So where’s this basement?”

  “Figure it out.”

  Bronson felt like strangling the information out of him. “Way I see it, your house is big enough to have a basement, but then the servants would know about it, wouldn’t they? No, I don’t think it’s your basement. That leaves work. That place is huge. That’s where you and Mitch worked on the formula. It makes sense. That’s where Linda would be.”

  Clark sighed and nodded. “You can reach the basement from the lab.”

  Bingo! Finally, a spark of hope. “One more thing. We started talking about Linda and Eric. Somewhere in that conversation, you dropped Eric. Why’s that?”

  “Linda’s in the basement, or at least she was. I’ve never seen Eric and I don’t know what’s happened to him. I’m not even sure who Eric is.”

  Great. Just peachy-cream great.

  forty-five

  “Tell me about the lab,” Bronson said once they were rolling.

  “We have security cameras that monitor the entire building.”

  “Includin’ the parkin’ lot?”

  “Including the parking lot. Two security guards are always on duty. They’re supposed to rotate shifts, patrolling the hallways and monitoring the cameras. I’m not supposed to know this, but beginning at midnight they take turns sleeping. One sleeps from twelve to three, the other from three to six.”