Night Moves

by DJ Steele

  "Could you explain, if Julia isn’t home, why you'd have her car?"

  The woman frowned. She rubbed a scar on her forehead. "Just give me her license. She’ll call you when she gits home." Laquita held out her hand.

  "I’m afraid I can’t do that. If I file my report about finding Miss Bagel’s driver’s license at the scene of a crime, I’ll be back with a search warrant. And Laquita, you could be charged with obstructing justice. If she’s here, then you need to tell me."

  Silence.

  "When will Miss Bagal be back?"

  More silence.

  The woman was right. He didn’t have the authority to be inside the house, much less search the place without a warrant. It wouldn’t be hard to get a warrant, but all that took time.

  Time he didn’t have.

  He handed the woman his card and opened the door to leave. "Call me if you happen to see Miss Bagal. I fear her life might be in danger."

  Walking down the sidewalk toward his vehicle he remembered what Hauser told him once when they worked a case a few years back. One they never solved. Seems like we’re running on a damn treadmill headed nowhere. Was Julia Bagal in the home hiding? Was she dead? The woman in the house knew something. He decided his best move would be to park around the corner and wait. And hope it didn’t take too long for the woman to show her hand.

  He was a few steps from his car when he heard, "Hey mister. Wait. Wait." The tall woman was holding the cat in one hand and waving him to come back with her other.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Julia recalled going in and out of consciousness in the backseat of a car.

  Sounds. Sirens. Voices.

  A man arguing with Laquita. How did she escape the club? She had a vague recollection of what had happened. A man carrying her and then putting her in a car. Who was that man?

  And why was she now in her bed at home. A searing pain roared through her head like waves crashing against rocks causing her vision to blur.

  She heard a different voice. When she tried to move, a strong hand holding her down. She winced in agony as the pain rippled down her neck into her lower back. Where was she? She blinked several times forcing her eyes to focus.

  A tall man leaned close and said something. A deep slow drawl. Different than the man’s voice she heard earlier. She could smell a sharp pungent odor on his clothes.

  Gunpowder residue.

  A smell she remembered from her teen years when she’d go to the firing range to target practice with Elke.

  She drew back from the intruder unsure of his intensions.

  He gently placed something cold on her face. Her head hurt. She tried to think. What happened?

  "You think she’s got a concussion?" Laquita asked.

  "Possible. We need to have her checked out," said the man.

  His face slowly came into focus. Her brain struggled to clear the soup of fog in order to make sense about what was happening.

  "Julia, I think you might have a concussion. I need to take you to a hospital," the man stated.

  "No." Her voice sounded like a whisper.

  "I’m so sorry Julia. I shoulda never let ya go in there by yourself." Laquita whimpered.

  Julia pushed her hands down on the mattress in an attempt to raise up. The cold pack fell to her lap. She grunted. The movement pulsed every nerve ending on fire. She collapsed on the bed, closed her eyes and bit her lip to keep from yelling out.

  "Don’t move. We need to get you checked out." The voice was warm. The man placed the cold pack in her hand. "You need to place this on your eye for twenty minutes every hour to keep the swelling down."

  The man looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

  She pushed the man’s callused hand away. Maybe he was a friend of Laquita’s. She gingerly eased up and rested her back against the bed frame. "Would you get me water? My throat’s dry."

  "I’ll git it for ya. This’n Detective Shockley. He’s gonna help us. I already told him how Max carried you outta the club and brought ya to the car. You was just there trying to find Max."

  Julia cradled her head with her hands. It was slowly coming back. "Tylenol too. I need something for my head."

  She remembered.

  The big man with the needle. He was going to inject her with drugs. What had he injected in her? She held her arm out and searched for the needle mark.

  The stranger took her hand and held it. "You’re okay. Laquita said Max told her the old man shot and killed Lopez before he was able to inject you. But unfortunately, not before he knocked you out. I think you need to let a doctor examine you."

  "Ugh, my head hurts. I don’t want to go to the hospital. Please, just get me some Tylenol."

  "I have a friend who’s a doctor. I can give her a call."

  The man had an accent similar to Laquita’s southern drawl just not as pronounced or soft. He had thick brown hair with wisps of silver on the sides, deep brown eyes that hadn’t had enough sleep, tanned skin and maybe mid to early thirties. She remembered his name and the face. The man she had seen on the news earlier during the coverage of the motel bombing.

  "Thanks, but I really just want a glass of water and some Tylenol."

  He arched an eyebrow and removed his hands. "Ok. Just don’t be so stubborn and let me help you. You took quite a blow to the head."

  "I’m not pigheaded," she snapped.

  "Excuse me?" His eyes scanned her face searching for an explanation.

  "What I mean is I’m easy going." She didn’t like a stranger characterizing her when he didn’t even know her.

  Laquita had walked in with a glass of water. She said, "Gurl, you a lot of thangs, but easy goin’ ain’t one of ‘em. Detective, she’s stubborn as a mule. And if she don’t eat, ya don’t want to be around her."

  The detective’s face broke into a boyish grin exposing his dimpled unshaven face.

  If her head didn’t hurt like hell, she’d let both Laquita and the detective have it with both barrels. Right now, though, she needed to talk to Laquita.

  Alone.

  "Would you mind stepping out of the room Detective and letting Laquita help me change clothes." She was still wearing the too tight dress she had worn to the club.

  "Of course. I’ll wait in the living room."

  After he shut the door, Laquita handed her the water and Tylenol. She popped three pills and gulped the water.

  "You want me to help ya git up?"

  "Yes, I do."

  Laquita bent over Julia and started to wrap an arm under Julia’s back when Julia reached out and clasped Laquita’s shirt, yanking her so close their noses touched. Laquita’s face morphed from startled surprise to fear.

  "What in the hell have you told him?" she whispered in a harsh voice. "Remember, the Bridge Club told us not to go to the police."

  "I ain’t told him nothin’."

  "Well, he knows about Max and what happened to me at the club."

  "I had to tell him somethin’. He found your driver’s license at the club and told me he needed to make sure you were ok. If I didn' let him, I could be charged with obstructin’ justice."

  "My license? That’s how he found me? You didn’t tell him about the surveillance we were doing?"

  "Hell no."

  Julia shot Laquita a questionable look.

  "Cross my heart." Laquita used her finger and made an X on her chest. "Max told me ya almost died, and that the killer might track us down. He warned me to stay away from the cops too. Said they might try to connect him to ‘em murders."

  Julia let go of Laquita’s shirt allowing her to back up.

  A light rap on the door. "Are you ready? My doctor friend will wait for thirty minutes, then she has to go home," said Shockley through the door.

  "A few more minutes Detective," replied Laquita. "Ya gotta go. Ya might have a concussion."

  "A concussion? That’s nothing. Your friend, Max almost shot me up with heroin."

  "Max saved your life. He got in ov
er his head. He didn’ wanna hurt ya. That’s why he’s worried we ain’t safe."

  "Damn Laquita. Max is a criminal. What’d he tell you about the killer?"

  "Said he didn’ know the guy would kill that woman."

  "What’s the killer’s name?"

  "All he knows is his street name."

  "What’s his street name?"

  "Razor."

  "Sounds scary. Does he…."

  Another soft knock on the door interrupted her. "You gals ready."

  Julia warned, "Don’t say a word to that detective. Not till I’ve had time to contact the Bridge Club. Understood?"

  Laquita nodded.

  Getting dressed was slow. She had the worst headache she’d ever had. Laquita had to hold her steady while she slipped on dark olive colored leggings and pulled a long sleeve white t-shirt over her head.

  "That Detective out there," Laquita said as she motioned to the door. "Is a fine lookin’ man. Lean as an alley cat. And he ain’t married."

  "Maybe you ought to ask him out then," Julia replied sarcastically before heading to the bathroom.

  Looking in the bathroom mirror she yelped "Oh my gosh."

  Her eyes settled on the reflection in the mirror. A purple yellow welt surrounded a swollen left eye with broken blood vessels. There was dried blood on the side of her nose. Her face looked like a war zone and worse, felt like one.

  Washing the blood off her face, she felt lucky her nose wasn’t broken. Detective Shockley must think she looked awful.

  She did.

  Brushing her hair was painful. The bristles hurt against her tender scalp. She threw the brush in the sink and used her fingers to gently smooth out her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail.

  Standing in the doorway, she could feel Detective Shockley’s piercing eyes on her face. A surge of attraction made her body flush.

  Laquita was right. He was fine looking.

  What the hell was wrong with her? She almost died, looks like hell and she’s having a schoolgirl crush.

  Detective Shockley was holding one of her plants. "Looks like you don’t have a green thumb."

  "It’s getting late," she said, her tone full of anger. "My head hurts like a son-of-a-bitch. Can we get this over with? After I see your doctor friend, then you bring me back."

  Detective Shockley’s mouth tightened. "I got some questions I need you to answer. We’re going to have to go down to the station and file a police report. You’re a witness to a murder."

  She glanced at Laquita and back to him. "Laquita told you, didn’t she?"

  He hesitated. "We talked." His calm demeanor had left him. "This is serious Julia. You could have died today."

  "But I didn’t."

  "That was a stupid thing you did. It could get more dangerous."

  Knowing she did something stupid was one thing, but to hear him say it was another. She knew Laquita had lied to her and had told him they were at the motel doing surveillance.

  "But right now," he said, "I need to get you checked out by a doctor."

  "I’ll pass," she said with an irritated tone of voice.

  Laquita picked up Julia’s coat and held it out to her. "I think ya gotta go to the doctor Julia. Your face is a mess."

  "Thanks, Laquita. Telling me that makes me feel sooo much better." she said, annoyed. She turned to Shockley. "If my symptoms don’t go away, then I’ll go. Besides, all they’ll tell me to do is rest, which is impossible with Detective Shockley here wanting to haul my ass down to the police station."

  "I’m sorry Miss Bagal, I don’t have a choice. Can I see the photos you took while doing surveillance at Willow Oaks Motel?"

  "If I refuse?"

  Shockley’s forehead furrowed and his lips parted in surprise. He strode toward her and stopped a few feet in front of her. She immediately took a step back.

  His intense eye contact made her nervous and self-conscious.

  "I’ll get a search warrant and charge you with obstruction. You’ll be compelled to turn over the photos." His tone softened. "Look, you want this killer caught as bad as I do, right? We have the resources to find him and keep you safe."

  Julia was conflicted and overwhelmed about the situation. Being safe was what brought her to this point in her life. She played it safe becoming an accountant. She played it safe with every guy she ever dated. Being safe had not turned out that great for her.

  It was foolish to think she was a detective after only a few weeks of online training. She had helped Elke thwart a plot to kill the President and Vice President of the United States. But that was different. Elke and her friend, Derick were the true heroes in that.

  She did have clues to help solve this case. Furthermore, she wanted to do this without Elke’s help. Prove something to herself. Redeem herself.

  Shit, I need more therapy.

  She lowered her eyes to give it some thought. Her fingers curled tightly into her palms. Her eyes slowly raised till she was directly staring into the Detective’s eyes. She fought to keep her voice strong,

  "Sorry Detective Shockley. You’ll have to get that search warrant."

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Heathrow Airport

  London

  * * *

  "No visual on Grey Goose. I repeat, negative visual on Grey Goose." The man’s voice rose in intensity, "Are you sure we’ve got the right baggage carousel?"

  The man scanned the crowd and reached up with his right hand to touch his earpiece. He wanted to be sure he heard the next transmission.

  "Copy that. Check the other carousels," a female voice crackled in his ear.

  "We’ve got eyes on this whole area."

  "It bloody well isn’t working, now is it? Don’t lose the rabbit. Grey Goose is too damn important."

  The man quickly circled the area around the carousel while keeping sight of travelers exiting the airport. Two other field officers caught his eye and shook their heads indicating no luck locating Grey Goose. There were two unclaimed bags spinning on the carousel. He grabbed one and after reading the luggage tag tossed it back on the moving conveyor belt. The next bag he gathered from the carousel was problematic.

  The field officer read the luggage tag attached to it.

  Elke aka Grey Goose

  007 Fake Street

  Washington, D.C.

  He dreaded his next transmission. "Inform the Director we have a problem. We’ve lost Grey Goose."

  Inishmore, Aran Island, Ireland

  * * *

  The ploy worked better than she had anticipated. Her London connections and the Bridge Club had done a good job.

  Elke was almost, perhaps 90% convinced Director Piagno believed Kuznetsov was hiding in England. He had been spotted in London two weeks prior and then disappeared. Intel had been leaked he was still in England, but where, they didn’t know.

  The Director knew she would go to London and she knew he’d try to track her. Did he know her history with Kuznetsov? Unless Kuznetsov told somebody in the CIA, then the answer was no.

  At Heathrow airport, Elke went to the designated bathroom as instructed and was given a change of clothes, a brown short wig, and glasses. It took the young woman helping her all of two minutes to apply the makeup. The young woman known as Margaret was the granddaughter of a Bridge Club member who recently passed away. She was a special effects makeup artist who worked in the science fiction and horror genre. Margaret apologized that she didn’t do a better job, but she wasn’t used to changing a person’s appearance like a NASCAR pit crew.

  When Elke exited the bathroom steadying herself with a cane in one hand, a man standing behind a wheelchair was waiting. He wheeled her to another section of the airport where she hastily boarded a private jet headed to Dublin.

  Checking baggage in D.C. to London was the Bridge Club’s idea, which she thought was a clever ruse. The bathroom charade was her idea. The private jet was a favor owed.

  It was a little over an hour till wheels down at the Shan
non Airport, northwest of Limerick, Ireland, the closest airport to her destination capable of handling the private corporate jet aircraft. She changed out of her costume and back into her own clothes, washed her face and swept her silver hair up into a bun. Her vanity forced her to apply fresh makeup; blush, mascara and lipstick. She hadn’t seen Adrik Kuznetsov for many years but held the hidden desire that he’d still find her attractive. She momentarily hesitated when applying her lipstick, fixed her eyes on her reflection in the small washroom mirror.

  Would she actually be able to do what might be necessary?"

  She was glad she was able to sleep on the overnight flight to London. It was going to be a long day. All her transportation had been arranged for her, courtesy of the Bridge Club.

  There was no way she’d get behind the wheel of a car in a country where you drive on the opposite side of the narrow, twisting roads between high hedges. No room for error. A driver had been hired for her trip from the airport to Rossaveel. Right now, she wasn’t sure she even needed to concern herself about what she was going to do with Adrik, because several times when her driver swerved to avoid a head on collision, she saw her whole life flash before her.

  In a tight voice she asked the driver, "Can’t you slow down?"

  "I’m being paid to get you to your destination by a specific time in order to catch the ferry. If I miss that time by as much as five minutes, I bloody well won’t get my bonus." He shot her a wink. The middle-aged driver had protruding ears, large like his nose. He had a slight English accent and unfortunately loved to hear himself talk.

  She survived the car ride but wasn’t sure she’d survive the boat trip across the rough seas to Inishmore. After disembarking the boat, she clutched her umbrella tight in her hand. The sky had filled with dark tumultuous clouds threatening rain. Gusting wind pushed against her as she strolled toward the main street to find transportation, whipping her hair loose causing strands to blow back and forth against her face. So much for fixing my hair on the plane, she thought.