Devil's Dance (Trackdown Book 1)

by Michael A. Black

  Wolf saw the dice hit the opposite end of the table barrier and land with four dots facing upward. Snake eyes. The dealer used a long rake to sweep the bills toward her.

  McNamara clucked sympathetically and turned to say, “You don’t always break even in this town.”

  Obviously, Wolf thought. Not that he had any money to gamble with anyway. His thoughts returned to Reno and his buddy. Even though Mac had downplayed the idea of a confrontation, it would be prudent to remain vigilant.

  Spot them before they spot us, he thought.

  McNamara pointed to an oval-shaped bar and slid onto an open stool where he had a more or less clear view of the rest of the casino. Two large four leaf clovers hung suspended over each end of the bar, and a cocktail waitress in low cut green satin and netted stockings stood a few feet away from them holding a silver tray. She smiled and Wolf smiled back. The bartender came over and set three drinks on the tray and she winked as she turned away, her jiggling breasts barely contained by the lime green décolletage.

  Grinning, McNamara flipped the bartender a bill and ordered two beers.

  “Nothing like the sight of a pair of well filled cups, is there?”

  “Depends on what they’re filled with,” Wolf said.

  Mac laughed. “Yeah, you’re right about that.”

  The bartender set the steins down and McNamara picked his up, took a sip of the froth, and swiveled to face the crowd. Wolf did the same but didn’t touch his beer.

  A large banner had been strung across a hallway leading to another section proclaiming: WELCOME NATIONAL BAIL ENFORCEMENT AGENTS CONVENTION.

  “So what’s the plan?” Wolf asked. “Look for Reno and company?”

  “Nah, that son of a bitch can wait.” Mac took another sip, but it was a dainty one. “Right now, I’m just reconnoitering. Looking for familiar faces. Manny’s supposed to be here, too. Maybe he can introduce us to some new bail bondsmen out this a way.”

  A trio of guys in leather vests with lots of tattoos and armbands with RENO RULES printed on them sauntered past, obviously trying to look tough. They were heading in the direction of the area designated by the banner. One of them gave Wolf and McNamara the once-over as they passed and whispered something to the guy next to him. That one looked, then smirked.

  Yeah, we’re here, Wolf thought. Back in Indian Country.

  Eagan checked the long hallway on the second floor as the nice-looking woman in the business suit led the four of them to the meeting room Eagan had reserved. The hallway ran parallel to the main floor of the casino and several windows provided glimpses of the throngs of people below. Teddy looked like a human scarecrow next this new bail bondsman, who had to tip the scales at close to four hundred. The guy looked like a throwback to the seventies, or at least what Eagan knew of that period. The two of them walking side-by-side down the hallway made Cummins appear small. The son of a bitch was looking winded just from carrying the briefcase with the pertinent information in it down the hallway. Eagan hadn’t liked dealing with him in Iraq, and he didn’t care for it now. He would have preferred to handle this negotiation himself, but Cummins had a better grasp of the particulars. Plus, it was Fallotti’s law firm paying the bills. So for now, he’d let Lieutenant Blubber handle things.

  “Here it is,” the woman said. She was a brunette and had a slim figure with nice legs. Eagan allowed himself a moment to consider what she might look like without all those clothes. He smiled and shook his head when she asked if they’d like anything else.

  Inside there were four chairs positioned around a table. Cummins entered first and set the briefcase on top of it.

  Eagan noticed there was a bit of moisture around the flabby neck.

  How had this guy ever made it through basic training, much less OCS?

  But that had been a while ago, and Cummins had only been a reservist.

  Lieutenant Blubber held out his hand toward the other behemoth and introduced himself.

  “I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Sutter,” he said. “Teddy has told us a lot about you.”

  “None of it good, I imagine.” The big face twisted with a wry grin. “And please, call me Manny.”

  “Okay, Manny,” Cummins said as he lowered his obese frame into one of the chairs. “Sit down. Take a load off.”

  Manny descended with the care of a big man who knew better than to flop into any chair that may need reinforcement. As it was, the black leather seat seemed to emit what almost sounded like a groan. Teddy, the human skeleton, took one of the other seats next to Cummins. Eagan walked around the table and positioned himself so he was facing the door.

  “So what gives, Teddy,” Manny asked. “You said on the phone that you needed some help on a skip trace.”

  Teddy flashed a quick glance at Cummins and Eagan, then smiled.

  “Yeah, I got talked into taking on a risky client,” he said. “And it looks like he’s left me high, wide, and handsome. I stand to lose a hundred grand if he don’t show for court next week, and word is he won’t.”

  Manny chuckled. “A hundred grand? What’d he do? Rob the New York Mint?”

  Teddy snorted. “I wish. You heard what’s happening in the Big Apple, ain’t ya? They got this new law where they’re letting people go without posting any bond. Stuff that used to be my bread and butter, burglary, stalking, manslaughter … And they’re giving them game show tickets to show up in court. It’s nuts.”

  “Christ,” Manny said. “I hope that don’t happen out in Phoenix.”

  “It’s probably coming, the way things are going, palie.” Teddy emitted a series of hacking coughs, then finally got himself under control. “Anyway, the way things are, this kind of forfeiture could ruin me.”

  “And the turd’s out this way somewhere?” Manny asked.

  The skin of Teddy’s face seemed to flatten out over the angular bones of his skull. “We got a line on him. He’s in Mexico.”

  Manny blew out a heavy breath. “Shit. You’re fucked then.”

  Teddy leaned forward, becoming almost animated. “Don’t say that. Like I said, things are going to hell in a handbasket in New York. I need some dependable skip tracers who can slip down there and bring this shitbird back to me.”

  Manny’s face contorted and he leaned back in his chair. It gave off another dire metallic squeak.

  “I don’t know. It ain’t so easy going down there now. The cartels, lots of crooked cops to pay off. You might end up spending a whole lot of money and get nothing.”

  Teddy’s tongue flicked out over his lips. He cast a furtive glance at Eagan, then looked back at the other man. “We know where he’d hiding. It’s in a gringo resort. Lots of foreigners living there. Should be a piece of cake.”

  “But then you got to worry about bringing him back through the border,” Manny said. “That’s not gonna be easy.”

  “As porous as our southern border is?” Cummins said. “Even with the new additions to the wall, we have that angle covered.”

  Manny shifted in the chair, focusing on the lawyer. “What’s the name of your law firm again?”

  Cummins took a breath, then reached into his shirt pocket. He took out a business card and handed it to Manny. “Fallotti and Abraham. We do a lot of work for a very exclusive clientele.”

  Manny accepted the card, glanced at it, then slipped it into his pocket.

  “So what’s your connection to all this. You representing the skip?”

  “Hardly.” Cummins seemed to straighten up and assume a posture of righteousness. “We represent the family of the victim.”

  “Victim?” Manny’s face contorted again. “What’d this guy do?”

  “Child molestation,” Teddy said.

  Manny’s expression twisted into one of revulsion. “A short-eyes? And you posted bond for that piece of shit?”

  Teddy glanced at Eagan again.

  Stick with the story we rehearsed, Eagan repeated mentally, as if willing Teddy to hear the unspoken words.

/>   “I told ya,” Teddy said. “Things are stone cold crazy in New York now. I can barely keep my head above water. And this shitbird came from a supposedly real good family.”

  “Why didn’t they post bond for him then?”

  Teddy rolled his eyes. “It was all handled through a third party. Claimed they had all their assets tied up and couldn’t come up with the cash, so they put up some bullshit stocks and bonds as collateral. Turns out they ain’t worth shit. Next to nothing. And now I’m left holding the bag.”

  Manny seemed to be considering this, then looked askance at Cummins.

  “So you still ain’t told me how Fallotti and Abraham’s involved.”

  Cummins cleared his throat and smiled. It looked forced.

  Come on, thought Eagan. Don’t choke on us now, you fat slob.

  “As I said, we represent the victim’s family. They want justice to be done. They hired us to assist with the prosecution. Not officially, of course, but more of a behind the scenes involvement. The suspect’s family does have substantial assets abroad, including a residence down in Mexico, where the suspect is staying. We’ve hired a private investigator who’s located him down there.”

  Eagan watched as Manny’s large frame seemed to slacken a bit.

  “And you mentioned you had the border thing covered?” he asked.

  Cummins flipped open the twin catches on the briefcase. He lifted the lid and removed a sheaf of papers.

  “Let’s just say that we’ve engaged the services of Mr. Smith here.” Cummins extended his open palm toward Eagan. “He runs an organization that has special capabilities, one of which is flying helicopters. They have experience in transporting individuals to and from different areas.”

  Manny gave Eagan the once-over, and then his lips curled back in a half-smile, exposing some of his crooked teeth.

  “So why don’t you go down and get him then?”

  Eagan said nothing. They were still on track as far as their cover story and plan, and the ball was still with Cummins.

  “They’re strictly a transportation entity,” Cummins said. “Your men can go down there and grab the target, bring him to a designated area, and Mr. Smith’s group will take him back across. Your men can then proceed back through the check point as if nothing happened. The plan is foolproof.”

  Manny emitted a long breath then brought his finger up to scratch his ear.

  “And how are my men, as you call them, gonna get credit for the pinch?”

  “I’ll see they get the ten percent,” Teddy said quickly.

  “And we’re willing to pay a bonus as well,” Cummins added. He plucked a pen from his pocket and scribbled a figure down on the hotel tablet on the table.

  Manny’s eyebrows rose as he glanced at it.

  “And what do I get for arranging all this?”

  “You get Teddy and our eternal gratitude,” Cummins said. “And …” He scribbled another amount down on the tablet, circling it, and holding it up toward Manny.

  The huge man smiled.

  “I think I got just the guys for you,” he said, taking out his cell phone. “And one of theme’s about to be named Bounty Hunter of the Year.”

  “Well, well, well,” a voice said from behind them. “You get your tire fixed, Big Mac?”

  Wolf turned to see Reno Garth standing there in a buckskin jacket with decorative fringe hanging in patterns from the sleeves and in a V-shape across the front. Underneath it he wore a light blue shirt, open at the collar, and a string tie held together by a bulbous plastic holder. Inside the holder, suspended in the mold, was a dead scorpion. As Reno’s grin pulled his lips back Wolf noticed that the man’s front teeth looked way too perfect to be real. Obviously, he held his guard a bit too low in the octagon. There were ridges of scar tissue over both eyebrows and both ears were even more cauliflower than Wolf remembered from their brief encounter. Of course, that time he’d been more focused on other things. The big black guy, Herc, was next to him wearing a tuxedo, replete with a knotted bowtie. His smile was so wide that his teeth looked like a miniature piano. The upper arms of the tailored garment were completely filled out with the man’s massive upper arms.

  McNamara smiled at their two potential adversaries.

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” he said. “As soon as I get that seatbelt your gentle here damaged, I’ll be sending you the bill for both.”

  Reno’s smile didn’t change, but Herc looked puzzled.

  “Gentle?” he said. “What you mean?”

  “Relax,” McNamara said. “It’s a compliment. Didn’t you ever read The Maltese Falcon?”

  “Huh? What you talking about?”

  McNamara shook his head and clucked sympathetically. “You should really try to expand your horizons, big fella. Especially if you’re gonna go around calling yourself Hercules.”

  “That’s Black Hercules, to you, sucker.”

  McNamara affected a look of mock surprise, and then exaggerated his Southern accent. “You’re a black guy? Shucks, I heard of y’all. Mind if I check under your watchband?”

  The big son of a bitch is as tense as a coiled spring, Wolf thought.

  He shifted his body off the stool and stood, ready to slam the beer stein into the black man’s face should he make a hostile move. They were in close proximity so any subsequent strike would have to be quick and to a vital area, like a ridge hand to the throat.

  The black man’s head swiveled toward Wolf.

  “What?” Herc said. “You want something, small fry?”

  “You know,” Wolf said. “I’m getting real tired of you calling me that.”

  “Herc, relax,” Reno said, the simper still stretched across his face. “These two are just jealous, that’s all. We stole their pinch, flattened their tire, and there ain’t squat they can do about it.”

  “We’ll see about that,” McNamara said. “But it is good advice.”

  “Damn right it is,” Reno said. The smile on his face was waning.

  “So I suggest you take it,” McNamara said. “Before we put a hurt on you, messing up your ill-fitting gorilla tux and his Roy Rogers jacket.”

  “Gorilla?” Herc started to edge forward but McNamara jammed his right hand into the lowest pocket of his BDU and extended a protuberance in the big man’s direction.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” McNamara said. “I got me a nice little Bond Arms two-shot derringer in my pocket here. Forty-five caliber, too. Make a real nice hole in that pretty ruffled shirt of yours.”

  Reno put up his arm in front of the black man and Herc stopped.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Reno said. “Not in here in front of everybody.”

  A smile curled McNamara’s lips back. “Wouldn’t I?”

  Reno’s face twitched. “How do we know you ain’t bluffing?”

  “First of all, I never bluff.” McNamara smiled. “And second, the nicest thing about this particular derringer is that the barrels are all interchangeable. That means I can blow two holes in each of your big, old chests, remove the barrels and switch in my second pair, right quick. I drop the old barrels down a sewer hole, and wal-la. No ballistics that are traceable back to this gun, even if they could catch me with the weapon on me.”

  Herc’s face was vivid with rage. Reno kept his open palm pressed against his partner’s huge chest.

  “As big as you are,” McNamara continued, “you’d be a tempting target that would be way too hard to miss.”

  “You ain’t gonna do nothing,” Herc said. “They got cameras in here, motherfucker.”

  “The cameras are watching the tables, boo,” McNamara said. “I could put one round in each of you, get up and walk away before anybody’d care to notice.” He smiled. “And then you wouldn’t be able to get your little award, would you, Reno?”

  Reno’s face twisted into a sneer and he turned, pushing Herc away from the confrontation. “Come on, let’s get outta here. I don’t want to mess up getting that award.” He spat on the floor next
to McNamara’s stool. “These two ain’t nothing.”

  “I’ll be coming for you, sucker,” Herc shouted as he gesticulated with pointing fingers on both hands. “And I’ll be coming real soon.”

  “Yeah? Well, keep threatening me in public, why don’t ya,” McNamara said, his grin widening. “I’m sure somebody’s got a cell phone video of it by now with real good sound.”

  Herc looked like Mr. T on a rampage in a Rocky movie, but the Mohawked Reno kept pushing him away. He reached onto his belt, pulled out his cell phone and looked at it.

  “Come on,” he said. “He ain’t nothing. And somebody’s calling me.” Reno cocked his head around and said over his shoulder. “We’ll be settling up for this one, Big Mac. Just you wait. You, too, jailbird.”

  Mac smiled as they trundled off, then he swiveled around and winked at Wolf.

  “That went a long way toward making up for that earlier humiliation,” McNamara said.

  “You weren’t really gonna shoot him, were you?” Wolf asked.

  “Yep. Right through the heart.” Mac pulled his right hand, the index finger still extended, out of his pocket. “Only I lied about having two shots with this one.”

  Wolf grinned. “Remind me never to play poker with you.”

  “Well, if you ever do,” Mac said, reaching into the lower left side pocket of his BDU blouse and withdrawing the handle of a derringer so briefly that only Wolf could catch a glimpse. “Just remember, I never bluff.”