Devil's Dance (Trackdown Book 1)

by Michael A. Black

  The three of them sat in a moment of awkward silence, then McNamara heaved a disgusted sigh. “Ain’t there anything more you can do for us?”

  Shemp compressed his lips. “Well, after reading these transcripts, I am a bit surprised that your lawyer didn’t try to take this to trial. I think the prosecution’s case would have ultimately been difficult to prove.”

  “He was a newbie in JAG,” Wolf said. “Besides, this was the Army, and you had three non-combatants dead at the tail end of an unpopular war. He told me if I was smart, I’d take the deal, avoid the shit storm, and serve my time.”

  “By doing that he lost the chance to cross-examine Lieutenant Cummins,” Shemp said. “I’ve reviewed his deposition, and it left a lot of openings.”

  “Cummins was a reservist,” Wolf said. “He was already released back to civilian life by the time we got to the court martial. My lawyer said the Army wanted to save time and money not having to fly him back.” Wolf shrugged. “Like I said, it was the Army.”

  Shemp’s lips contorted. “Bad advice, I’m sorry to say, Steve. The same for this other fellow, Eagan, and the Iraqi national, Nasim. They weren’t very effectively cross-examined at the preliminary hearing, and their depositions aren’t stellar either.” He leaned back in his chair, trying to look nonchalant, but Wolf could tell he was a man tiptoeing around the eggshells.

  “So that’s it?” McNamara said, getting to his feet. The expression on the big man’s face told it all: he was not very pleased with his daughter’s boyfriend.

  Shemp immediately sprang forward, as eager to please as a wall flower trying to impress the parents of his first prom date.

  “Rest assured, I can and will continue to review this case,” he said. “I think we might possibly have a chance to build an appeal on the grounds that defense counsel rendered ineffective assistance of counsel.”

  “So he’s got a chance for a reversal?” McNamara asked.

  Shemp sighed and looked at him. “Well, we’ve got a shot at it, but the best we could hope for is a new trial at this point.”

  “And what are the chances of that?”

  Shemp bit his lower lip. “As I said, the prosecution’s case was essentially their word against yours initially, but they had the corroborating statements of numerous individuals, one of them an officer, that directly contradicted yours.” He paused and blinked twice. “Well, what there was of your account, and you not being able to recall some of the details cast doubt on your credibility.”

  McNamara leaned forward and slammed his open palm on top of the desk. “This man’s a decorated veteran and you’re calling him a liar?”

  Shemp held up his open palms in a calming gesture.

  “Mr. McNamara, please,” he said. “I’m just the messenger here.”

  “Yeah,” McNamara said, his face reddening. “Well it sure don’t look like you’re much of a lawyer.”

  “Mac,” Wolf said with a tone of rebuke.

  McNamara heaved a sigh and stepped back.

  A flush of pinkish scarlet crept up Shemp’s neck to his cheeks.

  “However,” he said. “They wouldn’t have offered the deal if they weren’t worried about some aspect of the case. If we could come up with some new information or a counter-witness it would make a big difference.”

  “How the hell are we gonna find a counter witness when this happened all the way over in Iraq four years ago?” McNamara said.

  “Well …” Shemp let his voice trial off.

  “I guess I should have followed my instincts at the time and fought it,” Wolf said. But he remembered that he was also promised that by him taking the heat, the rest of his team wouldn’t be touched, and they’d been through enough. Martinez had been killed, and Thompson lost a leg in that IED blast. He hadn’t wanted to drag anybody else down with him in an unwinnable fight. “Sometimes you get bad advice.”

  “Sometimes you do,” Shemp said. “It would help if you could give a more complete account of what you remember.”

  Wolf shook his head. “Believe me, I wish I could.”

  “So what you’re saying is you can’t do nothing for him?” McNamara asked.

  Shemp looked like somebody’d kneed him in the balls. The corners of his mouth twisted down and he cleared his throat. “As I said, I’ll keep looking into it, but it’s going to take some time. And there’s no guarantee that we’ll be successful.”

  McNamara frowned and he shook his head. “What about clearing his record then, with one of them expungements?”

  “We couldn’t do that without a reversal, and, as I said, to do that we’d need some new evidence.”

  “So it’s pretty hopeless?” Wolf said.

  “Well, I’ll go over it again and look for a possible procedural error,” Shemp offered.

  “How about the chances of a CC permit?” McNamara asked.

  Shemp compressed his lips and shook his head.

  McNamara frowned.

  “Thanks, Rod,” Wolf said, getting to his feet and offering his hand. “How much do I owe you?”

  Before Shemp could answer, McNamara jumped in again. “Shit, you don’t owe him squat. He ain’t done nothing for you.” He paused to put on his hat and then squinted in the attorney’s direction. “Like I said before, Rodney, this is a family matter.”

  “Sure, Mr. McNamara. No problem.” Shemp smile was looking nervous again. “No charge.”

  “Rod,” Wolf started to say. “I can’t do that—”

  “Sure you can,” McNamara said as he began moving toward the door. “Come on, let’s go see Manny and maybe get a line on how to make some money.”

  Wolf nodded a “thanks” to Shemp as they shook hands.

  “So much for us getting you that damn concealed-carry permit anytime soon,” McNamara muttered as he thrust open the glass doors that separated the building’s interior from the parking lot. “And I thought I told you not to call that asshole Rod?”

  “He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”

  McNamara snorted. “Shee-it.”

  Outside, away from the coolness of the air-conditioning, Wolf could feel the sweat immediately collecting in his armpits. He waited while McNamara hit the remote to unlock the doors of the Escalade.

  As they got in, Wolf noticed a black Hummer parked down the block. He couldn’t tell but he thought he saw a flash of movement behind the heavily tinted windows.

  The Escalade felt like an oven on medium high. McNamara turned it on, rolled down the windows, and flipped on the air, shaking his head and emitting a “tsking” growl the whole time.

  “What do you expect?” Wolf said. “It’s Phoenix. It’s supposed to be hot, isn’t it?”

  “Shit, I ain’t thinking about the heat. I’m just wondering what Kasey sees in that damn guy. Shemp. What the hell kind of a name is that?” The big man shook his head. “He never even served. You don’t think he’s secretly gay, do you?”

  Wolf chuckled. “Gay? Because his name is Shemp? Or is it because he’s a lawyer and he didn’t serve in the military?”

  “You know what I mean, dammit. I just don’t want her to get mixed up with another loser who’s going to break her heart down the line.”

  “He seems all right,” Wolf said. “Kasey could do worse.”

  “She already has.” McNamara shook his head again. “Yeah, well, I guess he is an improvement over that shitbird she was married to.”

  “You mean the army guy she met, right?”

  McNamara shot a disapproving frown towards Wolf, then sucked his upper lip behind his lower one. “Yeah, dammit, but it was my own damn fault. Never being around. Always being deployed overseas somewhere, fighting somebody else’s god damn war.” The creases in his big face seemed to deepen as he talked. “She was raised by her mama, and when she passed four years ago, I shoulda seen it coming. Kasey and me, we were strangers. Flesh and blood, but strangers just the same.”

  “You’re being pretty hard on yourself, Mac. She looks like she’s tu
rned out all right.”

  “No thanks to me,” McNamara shot back. “No thanks to me.” He sighed and fell into a morose silence.

  Wolf figured that it was better to let this conversation die and leaned back to contemplate his own bleak prospects. At least some cool air was finally beginning to filter in through the vents.

  Emmanuel Sutter’s bail bond business was sandwiched between a game shop and a laundromat in a run-down strip mall. A yellow sign with big black letters spelled out BAIL BONDSMAN in the front window. Wolf sized up the proprietor as he shifted his bulky frame forward from behind an expansive desk. It was hard to place his age, but he looked to be on the far side of forty, and well over three-fifty, weight-wise. He wore his hair in a shaggy bob that that hadn’t been in style for a few decades and had a trail of crumbs down the front of his short-sleeved mauve shirt. His smile that looked as genuine as a politician’s handshake, but he had what appeared to be a genuine Rolex on his expansive left wrist. Wolf saw a chrome covered snub-nose revolver riding in a pancake holster along the right side of the big man’s belt. A half-eaten pastry and a Styrofoam cup of coffee with a mutilated plastic lid sat on waxed paper on top of a clutter of official looking forms. Despite the guy’s excessive weight, he had big hands and arms, indicating that he wouldn’t be a push-over in a fight.

  “I’d offer you something to eat but my nephew, Freddie’s out getting us lunch now.” Manny said, wiping his hand against the solid looking gut pushing out his belt. “So this is the guy you been telling me about, huh?”

  “Right,” McNamara said. “Steve Wolf.”

  “Looks like he could handle himself pretty good.” Manny squinted and stretched his open palm across the desk. “You part Mex, or something?”

  Wolf shook the man’s hand. It felt soft as a baby’s behind. “Half Indian.”

  “Indian?” Manny grinned. “I take it you mean Native American rather than a dot head?”

  “Cherokee, on my mother’s side,” Wolf said. “My father was white.”

  Manny nodded an approval. “Yeah, well I always said, there ain’t no better trackers than Injuns.” He glanced at his watch and took another bite of the pastry and added, “No offense.”

  “None taken,” Wolf said. He’d long ago given up on letting ignorant statements from bigots and idiots bother him.

  Manny shifted to look at McNamara. “Where’s that fucking Sherman with my god damn lunch? That’s the last time I have him go out for Chinese.”

  “Sherman?” McNamara said. “I thought his name’s Freddie?”

  Manny smirked. “It is, but I call him Sherman just to piss him off.” He took another bite of the pastry, shifted the load to his cheek, and asked, “So how’d it go with the mouthpiece?”

  “Don’t look good for that concealed carry permit,” McNamara said, “but he’s working on it.”

  Manny smirked. “Ain’t they all? So in the meantime what you gonna do? Wait for a presidential pardon?”

  Wolf said nothing, surprised that the guy knew so much about the situation.

  McNamara shrugged. “Don’t expect it’ll slow us down none.”

  “No, I guess not. Could be a problem down the road, but as long as he’s working with you.” Manny curled up the side of his lip, obviously trying for a commiserating sneer. “And as long as the lawyer says he’s working on it.”

  Mac nodded. “Like I said, we can handle it for now. I was hoping you had something for us. Maybe something easy and quick.”

  Manny’s chuckle sounded like a toilet flushing as it resonated inside the massive chest. “Easy and quick I can do myself.”

  “Come on,” Mac said. “You been tossing all the big ones to fucking Reno.”

  Manny flashed a crooked smile. Wolf noticed bits of the pastry stuck along the man’s gumline.

  “Whadda ya want me to do?” Manny said. “The guy’s a celebrity now with that MMA thing he’s got going and that cable TV show. And there’s talk of putting him the movies.”

  “Shit, I’ve forgotten more about tracking a felon than that joker’s ever learned,” McNamara said. “Now what you got for us?”

  Manny compressed his lips and squinted, like he was contemplating which bone to throw to one of his dogs. His big fingers sorted to go through the piles of forms on his desk, causing the coffee cup to teeter. Wolf’s hand shot out and grabbed it before it spilled. Luckily the plastic top hadn’t come off.

  “Hey, nice catch,” Manny said, the half-smile and phlegmy chuckle reappearing. “You got quick hands.”

  “You ought to see him use them,” Mac said. “Like I told you, we can handle whatever big-money skips you got.”

  Manny nodded as accepted the coffee cup from Wolf and set it on a metal filing cabinet adjacent to his desk. He pulled open a drawer and his fingers ran over the tops of a section of files. “I don’t know, some of these guys are kinda rough, and with him not having a piece.”

  “What difference does that make?” Mac said, patting his side. “I got one.”

  Manny nodded his head. “You know, I just got a little something that might help him. You can try it out for me.” He pulled open a drawer and withdrew a sleek, plastic cylindrical object about the size of a flashlight with bright yellow and black colors that matched the bail bondsman sign in the window.

  “What’s that?” Mac asked. “One of them sex toys?”

  “No.” Manny frowned, holding it up and pressing the button on top. “It’s a Taser.”

  An arching strip of electrical current crackled between two metal prongs on one end.

  Mac nailed him with a sharp look. “Don’t you know you ain’t supposed to point a weapon at somebody you’re not intending to use it on?”

  Manny chuckled again. “Relax. It’s got a cartridge that fits on the front.” He held up another piece of plastic shaped like a hood. “Shoots out fifteen feet. It can take down a Brahma bull. Or, you can use it up close and personal for what they call a drive stun.” He flicked the arc again, then handed it to McNamara. “Here, take it. Try it out. Of course, you want him to officially carry it, he’s got to get certified. They’re having a certification class at our annual conference this weekend.”

  McNamara frowned. “I told you before, I ain’t going to that damn thing.”

  Manny’s grin was wide, showing that the food stuck along the gumline still hadn’t dissolved. “Why not? Don’t you wanna see who’s gonna get the Bounty Hunter of the Year award?”

  McNamara’s frown deepened. “We both know who’s gonna get it, which is why I’m not going.”

  Manny shrugged. “Suit yourself, but remember, Kemosabe, Tonto here still has to get Taser certified. Sooner better than later.”

  “We’ll make it later then,” Mac said, holding the Taser in his big hand. “You got a couple of them cartridges to go with this?”

  Manny held up his palm. “Of course, but wait till he’s gone through certification before he gets those. As it is now, you can use it as a stun gun. So start thinking about going to the conference.”

  McNamara shook his head and stuck the Taser in the shirt pocket of his blouse. “Okay, I’ll think about it. Now, what you got for us?”

  “Just what you wanted.” Manny smiled as he ran his tongue over his front teeth making a sucking sound. “An easy pinch.”

  “I don’t want easy. I want something where we can make some money. What about that Mexican dude, Ruiz, with the hundred-thousand-dollar bond?”

  “Luis Ruiz?” Manny shot him a quizzical look. “How’d you hear about him? Freddie?”

  “Never mind how I heard,” McNamara said. “I been working some angles on that one.”

  Manny shook his head. “I don’t know. That one’s no push over. Besides, he’s been laying low. Reno’s trying to track him for a week and ain’t been able to find nothing.”

  McNamara held out his hand. “Sounds like it’s just what we been looking for.”

  Eagan sat facing the bar, staring at his reflection in
the big mirror on the rear wall lined with glasses and bottles. Somebody had given it a spit and polish job. You could actually see yourself in barroom mirrors now. Probably a result of the New York Clean Air Act. You could also watch, in an unobtrusive fashion, who came and who went. He sipped his bourbon and branch water. It would be his last drink until the op was completed. A rule of his. No drinking on the job. He thought about the meeting he’d just had, and the one yet to come. Four years seemed a long time to wait for the second half of a pair of carved trinkets, but then again, this Von Dien guy was used to waiting so a little bit longer wouldn’t hurt. If anything, it would make him more appreciative when the goods were delivered.

  Eagan thought again about the quarry being in Mexico and how that added another set of complications to the retrieval.

  After taking another sip and feeling the burn, he considered the possibilities.

  Extraction and retrieval was more accurate.

  Insulation, he thought, that’s all I am to those fuckers. Just another layer of insulation.

  He made a mental note that he needed to be careful as well. Get some insulation of his own.

  Two more guys entered the bar. One of them was Cummins, his head swiveling around searching the room.

  Eagan told the barmaid he’d be moving to a booth now. He stood, picked up his drink, and headed over to the place he’d reserved when he’d walked in. The barmaid pivoted and made a show of giving the wooden surface of the tabletop a quick wipe-off with her towel. Eagan sat with his back to the door this time and watched as Cummins struggled to squeeze in behind the shelf of the table.

  Christ, the simple effort of sitting down seemed to have winded him. Eagan doubted that he could depend on him if the shit hit the fan, but he didn’t intend to. He reaffirmed his previous conviction to get his own layers of insulation, just like in Iraq. He snapped his fingers and motioned at the waitress. She stepped back toward them.

  “So how you been, Jack?” Eagan asked. He extended his big hand over the tabletop.

  “I been okay,” Cummins said, wincing slightly as Eagan squeezed his hand.