by Rob Ashman
Lucas exhaled loudly. Droplets of saliva landed on the table.
‘But, sir, I know this woman. I know what makes her tick and this is precisely the twisted thing she would do. You have to go with me on this one, sir. She’s out there. I just know it—’
‘Lucas.’ Chambers held up his hand, butting in. ‘I’ve listened to what you have to say and I have to ask myself a simple question: why would Mechanic do this?’ Lucas furrowed his brow. ‘Put yourself in her position. As far as she is concerned, we don’t know if she’s dead or alive. We also don’t know where she is. So from her perspective she’s got away with it – again. Why would she announce the fact that she’s alive and give us a possible location? That doesn’t make sense, Lucas.’
Chambers softened his tone as if it was time to make friends. He leaned forward: ‘You’ve been under enormous personal stress and I believe it’s clouding your thinking. I’m afraid your judgement is flawed on this, Lucas.’ Chambers sat back with his arms folded; for him the discussion had come to an end.
Then the light bulb went off in Lucas’s head.
‘Ah yes, Jeff Chambers. Now I remember,’ Lucas said pointing an unsteady finger at him. ‘You were the one who sent Dr Jo Sells to be part of my team. You were the one who sent the sister of the serial killer we were trying to apprehend right into the heart of my investigation.’
Jeff Chambers shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Lucas exploded. ‘And you have the nerve to sit there and tell me my judgement is flawed! Before I go further I need to be sure – you’re the same guy aren’t you?’ Chambers nodded and looked at the floor.
‘Well, excuse me if I don’t find you very credible, Mr Chambers. It’s because of you people are dead. It’s because of you Chris Bassano has lost an arm and lives the life of a hermit. It’s because of you I spent eight months recovering from being beaten half to death – a beating I received at the hands of a psychotic bitch whose fucking sister you sent to help me.’ Lucas was on his feet and slammed his hand hard onto the table. ‘So, Mr Chambers, why don’t you take your flawed judgement and fuck off back to Quantico where you can recruit more relatives of serial killers.’
‘Now that’s quite enough!’ Hastings was also on his feet. ‘Lucas, you’ve gone too far.’
‘Too far … too far? How far would you go to catch this vicious bastard, sir? Not as fucking far as Louisiana it would appear.’
Lucas gathered up the evidence pouches, put them in the box and stormed out. He left the office door wide open, not expecting to return.
4
Mechanic waited in the main reception of the Hacienda hotel. It was early evening and this was her second visit of the day. Her first had been mid-morning, dressed in a broad floppy hat, tan shorts, flip-flops and a vest top. After a period of casual lift-riding she found what she was looking for on the twenty-first floor – a guest laundry trolley. She deposited the white plastic bag from the previous day among the others and left. The contents would be put through the automated washing process, boiled clean of blood and returned to some bewildered guest in room 2125, who in turn would hand it back to the hotel. It would then sit in lost property until it was either stolen or disposed of along with the thousands of other garments. The best way to hide a needle is to first locate a haystack.
In distinct contrast, she was now wearing a well-tailored black suit and white button-down collar shirt. The therapy of yesterday had done the trick and she exuded confidence and poise.
Her face and hands bore witness to a glowing tan, while the slight bulge on her right hip gave away the .45 in its holster. Her hair was short at the sides and long on top allowing for a sweeping fringe. It was dyed silver and coloured contacts turned her eyes deep blue. Her only jewellery was two silver stud earrings and a military wristwatch. She stood around five feet ten in her flat work shoes and wore a hint of makeup. This was how she liked to look when meeting a client for the first time, business like and elegant.
Mechanic now worked in personal security, a lucrative if not entirely savoury profession, where her unique skills were well sought after. When a high roller arrived in Vegas they liked to know they would be safe. The excesses of the city drew the seedier side of life, like flies around shit, and the clients wanted to be sure they wouldn’t spoil their designer shoes by stepping in something bad. That’s where Mechanic came in. Bodyguards were typically male and she was in demand.
Most of her clients were women – successful corporate types who flew in for the weekend when their husbands thought they were somewhere else. The women enjoyed their excesses just as much as the men and felt a female minder would be more sensitive with the confidential items on the itinerary. Christ knows why, because every woman Mechanic had ever known couldn’t wait to dish the dirt.
Male clients were brazen. Many a time Mechanic would stand guard in a hotel corridor while a parade of semi-clad women were ushered in or out of the room. At least her female clients tended to have dinner first with their procured male company. The men seemed to like theirs with a large helping of alcohol and white powder.
While this assignment was a big deal for her, she was not looking forward to today. A high-stakes guy was blowing into town for three days and his usual minder couldn’t take the gig. So, he gave it to Mechanic.
Mr Harry Silverton, or Fuckwit as he was known to those who minded him, was a walking, talking nightmare. He came from Texas and brought with him the smell of oil and money. He had a comic tendency of strutting around in a bright white Stetson and cowboy boots, as if he’d just fallen from a rodeo bull. The problem with Harry was the more he drank the more obnoxious he became. And the more obnoxious he became the louder he got. This was his first time at the Hacienda as the other hotels had been unexpectedly full when his PA called to make a reservation.
Under normal circumstances Mechanic avoided this type of client like the plague, but Harry paid well over the odds and that was hard to turn down. She accepted the job knowing Harry Silverton fully expected to get into trouble and expected his minder to get him out of it. You got paid well but it carried higher risks than normal.
Mechanic checked her watch: 7.25pm. It was usual practice for the hotel to make arrangements for the airport pickup and for her to meet the client on arrival. Silverton was already late, perhaps he hadn’t even made it past airport security. The cool fragranced air of the foyer was a welcome alternative to the twenty-eight degree heat outside. Vegas is never the place to be wearing a dark, well-fitted suit.
A black Dodge limo pulled up and the concierge guys ran around like children, opening doors and taking cases from the trunk. Mechanic saw a bright white Stetson emerge from the front of the car and another emerge from the back. One hat stood a good head and shoulders taller than the other. She recognised Silverton.
The two men walked to reception with the smaller man in front. Then it dawned on Mechanic: Shit he’s brought his own security. That was never good. It always resulted in a turf war about who was in charge. She hated these situations.
Another concierge opened the ornate glass door and they swaggered into the hotel followed by a gaggle of bellhops carrying assorted luggage. The taller guy removed his sunglasses and scanned the interior. The duty manager swooped into action and accosted his high-spending guest with an over-enthusiastic handshake.
Mechanic waited until the initial greeting and small talk had subsided then stepped forward, extended her hand and introduced herself.
‘Mr Silverton, I’m Jessica Hudson, welcome to Las Vegas.’
‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms Hudson. This is Mr Walker,’ he said, shaking her hand and pointing to the taller guy in the Stetson. ‘He will be accompanying me on my trip.’
Walker glowered at Mechanic.
Silverton and Walker were a sight to behold. The former was a short, stocky man sporting a thin moustache; he was in his late forties, his sweaty face the complexion of putty. The latter was tall, broad and tanned, with a full
moustache which reached his chin, Mexican style. He looked like an NFL linebacker dressed in an expensive suit which fitted where it touched. Tufts of dark curly hair protruded from beneath their hats. The two looked like a couple of badly matching bookends.
Walker was bristling with passive aggression. She surveyed him coolly, it was a look she’d seen many times before. Guys like Walker were common in the forces – absolute world-beaters in the gym but scared little schoolboys pissing in their pants when faced with conflict in the field.
Mechanic pushed her way into the exuberant conversation between the hotel manager and Silverton. She smiled broadly.
‘Sir, do you have time to take me through your plans for your stay? I can suggest a few itinerary items you might like to consider.’
Silverton waved her away with a podgy hand. ‘Walker knows what to do, have a chat with him.’ He was too busy having a swell time with his new best friend, the hotel duty manager.
She looked over at Walker. He motioned for her to join him with a wave of his hand and took a street plan from his inside pocket.
Walker met her halfway and placed his left hand in the small of her back. He shook open the map and walked her to a quiet corner of the reception. Walker pulled Mechanic in close and placed his boot on her foot.
‘Now listen, missy, and listen real good,’ he said in a slow southern drawl.
‘Silverton doesn’t need extra security. So why don’t you make your excuses, smile sweetly and go back to waiting tables or whatever you do to pay the bills. I told Silverton we don’t need no girl scout.’ He leaned forward stepping hard on her toes. Mechanic didn’t flinch.
‘And how did that go?’ she said looking up into his face.
‘What?’
‘When you told Silverton he didn’t need extra security, how did that go? Because from where I’m standing it looks like he ignored your good advice, which tells me he doesn’t rate you, Mr Walker.’ She leaned in and sniffed at his lapel. ‘And neither do I, you don’t smell right to me.’
‘What the f—’
‘You’re wearing a pair of two-hundred-dollar, all-leather shoes – mine have rubber soles. On this marble floor I’d be ten yards ahead of you while you’d still be running on the spot like a cartoon character. Plus mine have steel toecaps, which come in handy when the school bully comes around to stand on your toes.’
Walker looked down and frowned. Mechanic continued, ‘And those sunglasses in your top pocket are a fully-fashioned item of beauty, Mr Walker. Things of beauty indeed.’ She mimicked his southern drone. ‘The problem is the reflective lenses distort the image, making distances difficult to judge.’ Walker flashed a glance down towards his hundred-dollar shades. ‘That means I doubt you could hit a rolling trash can at thirty yards with those on.’
Mechanic leaned in again and motioned for him to stoop down. She whispered into his ear. ‘Take a look under the map.’ Walker looked baffled.
She repeated the instruction, ‘Take a look under the map.’
Walker moved it away from his body to see Mechanic holding the razor edge of a throwing knife against the front of his pants, the point digging into the fabric.
He went to move away but Mechanic gripped his elbow. ‘Now I’m thinking, should I take both, or leave you with one. What do you think?’ He swallowed hard. ‘You see, Walker.’ Mechanic sniffed at his lapel. ‘You don’t smell right.’
She dug the blade in further. ‘For the next three days Mr Silverton has a guardian angel, and that’s me. So, while he is gambling, drinking and screwing himself to a standstill I intend to see he does it in complete safety. Are we clear?’ She jabbed the knife into Walker’s groin, he flinched.
‘Now, I’m going to do my job, while you …’ she flicked the knife downwards, ‘… find yourself a new pair of pants.’
Walker recoiled and thrust her away. He looked down at the two-inch gash in the material, right where he kept the family jewels.
Mechanic walked back to Silverton smiling broadly.
‘Hey,’ he said in a voice slightly too loud, waving his arm in Walker’s direction.
‘Great to see you guys are getting along.’
‘Yup,’ Mechanic replied. ‘We’re getting along just fine, Mr Silverton, just fine.’
5
‘You were fired?’ Harper asked, not quite understanding what his friend was telling him but finding it funny all the same.
‘Nope,’ replied Lucas.
‘You resigned?’ Harper had another go.
‘Nope.’
‘Then what?’
‘I’m suspended.’
Harper stifled a laugh. Lucas had the air of a naughty schoolboy telling his mom he had detention.
‘Hell man, that’s nothing,’ said Harper dismissing Lucas with a wave of his teaspoon. ‘In my day we used suspensions as a way to give people extra holiday.’
Lucas and Harper were sitting in their usual café. Lucas hated the place. It had an atmosphere which wrapped you in a hundred wet carpets as soon as you entered and left you stinking of stale smoke and bad personal hygiene. Even a short visit ensured your suit went straight to the dry cleaners or in the trash. At least Lucas wouldn’t need the services of a dry cleaner, since he wasn’t going back to work for a while.
Lucas continued to air his grievances.
‘They took my badge and my gun.’
‘I have a gun.’
‘Yes you have, and I still have the groove in my head where you shot me.’ Lucas ran his index finger along the furrow above his right ear.
‘So apart from getting yourself suspended, how did it go?’ Harper let out a belly laugh and drank the dark sludge from his chipped mug.
‘Not good.’
‘No shit.’
‘They were having none of it. They didn’t consider that the envelope and its contents constituted enough hard evidence to restart the enquiry. They point-blank refused to send a team to Louisiana to check it out.’
‘Not good then. But that hardly merits a suspension.’
‘I think I may have lost my rag and cursed at them.’
‘Oh dear, Lieutenant, that will never do.’ Harper was poking fun at his friend’s predicament. ‘So what next?’
‘Not sure, what do you think?’ Lucas raised his hand to the guy behind the counter to order a coffee. The guy stared straight at him, and then carried on as though he hadn’t seen him.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’
‘If you mean, am I sure I want to find and kill that murdering bitch? Then the answer is yes. Don’t you?’
‘I’ve wanted to take Mechanic down since before you were involved. She cost me everything and there’s nothing I want to see more than her face at the end my gun.’ Harper swigged from the mug, his hand steady. He was still off the booze.
‘You asked me what I think,’ Harper continued. ‘I think we should go to Baton Rouge and shake a few trees to see what falls out.’
Lucas stared at him and eventually said, ‘Do you think they’re right? Would we be on a wild goose chase? Do we want this so much it’s clouding our judgement?’
‘What does it feel like?’
‘It feels like we have a lead and should follow it up,’ said Lucas.
Harper returned his stare. ‘If you figure we should go on the basis of that envelope, you’re going to flip out over this.’ He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He flattened it on the table under the dim light. ‘Two weeks after she evaded capture, Mechanic cleared Olivia Dunn’s bank account. You’ll recall this was her false identity at the time of the second set of killings. She withdrew the money in a single cash transaction and left the account open with a zero balance.’
‘When did you find this out?’ Lucas was shaking his head in disbelief.
‘Three days ago, and I’ve had it verified by a guy I know in the bureau.’ The term ‘a guy’ was Harper-speak for the man he occasionally blackmailed for information.
&
nbsp; ‘How come I don’t know about this, damn it,’ said Lucas.
‘Because you, my friend, are persona non grata. They keep this stuff from you to stop you going crazy. Let’s be fair, even if you presented them with a fresh set of prints and signed invitation to Mechanic’s house you wouldn’t be allowed back onto the case. They’ve known about this for months and you’re not in the loop any more. Besides, do you think they want to open all that shit back up? The way they screwed up the first case was bad enough, then they send Dr Jo Sells, Mechanic’s twin sister, into the heart of the new investigation – and allow both of them to slip through the net. They don’t want that crap raked up, the press would eat them alive. They want to bury the file and get on with making a hash of something new.’
‘Shit,’ said Lucas lolling back in his chair.
Harper glanced up and felt his pain. He knew what he was going through because the force had done the same to him when the first Mechanic case concluded. It drove him to drink and despair. He was determined that Lucas didn’t follow the same path.
‘Look at the document.’ He offered it up and Lucas took it. ‘Read it.’
Lucas scanned the figures and dates and placed it back on the table. ‘So?’
‘Look at it again, read the letterhead.’
Both men stared at each other and smiled.
‘So we are going to Baton Rouge after all,’ said Lucas. ‘Because that’s where she drew the money out.’
6
Rebecca Moran pulled her car into one of the designated parking lots marked Private. She looked at the two-storey town house in front of her and smiled. The key to the ground-floor flat was no longer with the real-estate people, it was in her bag.
She checked the rear-view mirror and saw the removals van pass by, closely followed by the Ford sedan containing her mother and father. She cast her eyes to the heavens.
Moran had to concede she’d been a little naïve to think she would have the day to herself, a day spent moving her stuff into the new place and arranging things the way she wanted. Now she would have her possessions put where her mom thought they should be and spend the rest of the week trying to find them.