by Rob Ashman
‘No sir. Her place is deserted and we have everyone looking for her.’
‘And are people being cooperative?’
‘Yes sir. The other firms have their guys out on the street looking too.’
‘Then where the fuck is she?’ He slammed both hands down on the table and spiky-haired man almost shit his pants.
‘Sir, we’ve got everyone out on the streets, she can’t hide for long.’
‘I want that woman wrapped in barbed wire, with her guts hanging out, pleading with me to kill her. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, boss, we have everyone on it. We’ll have her soon, I promise.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ Alonso’s low tone had returned, which sounded more chilling than his outburst.
He looked at the three photographs on the table.
‘You found these at Silverton’s place?’
‘Yes sir, they were half-hidden in a bookcase. Someone had already gone through the hotel suite before we got there. The drawers were prised open and it was difficult to tell what had been taken.’ Spiky-haired man thought it best not to mention that the person in question was still on the premises at the time. Probably a wise decision.
‘Do we know who they are?’
‘We know one.’ He handed Alonso a sheet of paper which he read in silence.
‘Now what would Harry Silverton be doing with a picture of an ex-cop in his possession? Anything on the other two?’
‘Not yet, our pet police officer got himself distracted.’
‘Then make sure he’s focused, I want to know who these people are.’ Bonelli pushed the photos across the table. ‘Do we have any intel?’
‘We checked the hotels and flight manifests and turns out our man is here in Vegas. We got a search underway as we speak, sir.’
‘As we can hardly ask Harry Silverton why these pictures are important enough to hide, we’ll have to ask him, so go find the son of a bitch.’
‘Yes sir.’ The guy collected up the photos and marched out.
Alonso didn’t have time to grieve the loss of his brother, he was too busy seeking vengeance.
Harper was partial to taking a mid-morning stroll around the Strip, or at least that’s what he told Lucas and Bassano.
‘I know it’s twenty-eight degrees outside but it keeps me fit,’ Harper told them whenever he went on his constitutional. No one wanted to join him in the sweltering Vegas heat, which was precisely what he banked on.
The Hooters bar was located three blocks from their hotel, a place where Harper could while away a pleasant hour doing the two things he liked the best – drinking beer and looking at pretty women. He had to be careful not to return drunk, which on occasion was a bit of a struggle.
He opened the glass door to be met with a rush of cold air. It wasn’t the smoky, claggy atmosphere he was used to, but then it did have a parade of spectacularly tight T-shirts to compensate.
Harper sat at the bar and checked out the scenery. The beers and solitude helped him to think. Putting himself forward to be a target for Mechanic was either a brave move or a really stupid one, he couldn’t decide. One thing was for sure, he needed closure and being so close to catching Mechanic only made him want it more.
The beers flowed nicely as did the procession of T-shirts. Harper read the paper, watched some sport and, for a glorious fifty minutes, completely forgot about everything.
He checked his watch and paid his bill, leaving a sizeable tip. The women called ‘Thank you’ after him as he walked outside into the Vegas heat. Harper pulled his baseball cap down to shield his eyes and made his way back down the Strip.
A car pulled up next to him at the kerb with its hazards flashing, and the passenger window slid down.
‘Hey, buddy, can you tell me the way to the Hacienda?’ Harper looked at the lone well-dressed driver with a street plan in his lap. ‘I know it’s round here somewhere but I can’t seem to find the damn place.’
Harper approached the car. ‘You need to carry on about three blocks then hang a left—’
From behind him a man stuck the muzzle of a gun in the side of Harper’s neck.
‘Get in old man.’ He reached around, opened the door and shoved him into the passenger seat. The back door slammed shut and Harper once more felt the gun cold against the back of his neck. The driver turned off his hazards and eased out into the flow of traffic.
53
The landscape changed from urban sprawl to barren desert as Harper was driven away from the Strip. The two men in the car said nothing despite Harper’s constant stream of questions. After about fifteen minutes he gave up.
Harper compiled a mental log of every detail: the roads they used, the type of car, what the guys were wearing, distinguishing marks, anything that might help him once this was over. He was desperately trying to work out who the hell they could be. The problem was the list of scumbags with a grudge against him was as long as his arm. The man sitting behind him, dressed in jeans and a jacket, pressed his gun hard into the back of Harper’s seat, the muzzle digging into his spine as a constant reminder.
The farther they drove away from the city the more Harper could feel a knot of panic growing inside him. This was not looking good. He was isolated, with no weapon and no idea what was in store for him. Harper normally remained cool under pressure but even he was beginning to crack.
The sun blazed through the windshield as they cruised across the Mojave wasteland. The driver slowed down and swung hard right onto a dirt track. He flicked the air-conditioning to off but that did little to stop the dust from blowing through the air vents.
‘Can I open a window?’ Harper asked, buzzing it down to allow some fresh air into the car. Bad idea, the dust nearly choked him.
After a couple of miles the car skidded to a halt. The driver switched off the engine, removed the keys and both the men got out. They stretched their legs and the man from the back seat lit up two cigarettes. He handed one over.
Harper was left sitting in the car. He was unsure if he was to stay in the vehicle or not. He elected for not.
He got out and patted himself down trying to shake out the red dust. The sun was blistering hot. His two captors sat on the hood of the car casually chatting, not paying any attention to him. Harper looked around at the flat, featureless terrain. He could run but to where? There was nowhere to hide. He was stranded.
‘Hey, can I have one of those?’ He called to the two guys smoking. The well-dressed one looked over, then turned back to continue his conversation. ‘I suppose that’s a no then,’ Harper said to no one in particular.
Harper checked his watch. They had been in the middle of nowhere for forty-five minutes. He sat on the ground in the shade with his back against the car, while the two guys still chatted about who knew what. Then he became aware of the distant sound of engines and tyres on dirt.
Harper got to his feet, shaded his eyes and looked towards the noise. Two vehicles approached sending a column of dust spiralling behind them. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.
The cars came to a halt about twenty feet away, the doors opened and four powerfully built men in white shirts stepped out. Harper’s captors wandered over and were slapped on the back by the new arrivals. Obviously for a job well done. He could hear the buzz of conversation. Two of the white-shirted men broke off from the group and walked towards him.
‘Dick Harper, ex-cop, thrown out of the force for threatening to punch his boss.’ It was Alonso Bonelli.
‘And you are?’ Harper tried his best to sound hard.
‘Fucking angry.’
Harper held his ground as Bonelli came closer.
‘Is that because you can’t get laid?’ Harper sneered.
‘Ha, so you’re a tough guy.’
‘Maybe. I notice you’ve brought your girlfriends with you for protection.’
‘You are a funny guy, Mr Harper, but it is not wise to tell jokes to an angry man.’
‘Then tell one of
your girls to get down and blow your dick. You know, release a bit of tension.’
Bonelli pulled his gun and pointed it at Harper.
‘Good idea, on your knees.’
Harper sank down, putting his hands on his head. Bonelli circled around him.
‘How do you know Harry Silverton?’
The question took Harper by surprise. ‘I don’t, never heard of him.’
Bonelli stopped directly in front of him, the gun levelled at his head.
‘Try again.’
‘I don’t know a Harry Silverton. That’s the truth.’ Harper’s bravado was evaporating.
‘Then how does he know you?’
‘I don’t know him, I swear I don’t.’ Harper tried to look Bonelli in the face but the sun blinded him.
Bonelli took a photograph from his pocket and dropped it on the ground in front of Harper.
‘Then why did we find this in his hotel room?’
Harper bent forward and picked it up. It was a picture of him.
Bonelli’s stare bored holes into Harper.
‘So I ask you again, how do you know Harry Silverton?’
‘And I tell you again, I’ve never heard of him.’ Harper gritted his teeth. ‘I have no idea why he would have my picture, maybe he’s someone I put away in the past and he wants revenge. I don’t know.’
Bonelli walked behind Harper and jammed the revolver against the back of his head. Harper recoiled from the weapon. ‘I never heard of Harry Silverton and I have no idea why he would have my picture. Please don’t, please—’
Bonelli fired the gun.
54
Moran rubbed the tiredness from her eyes and gazed at the collage of gory pictures on the wall. She was still reeling from her discussion with Mills.
What the hell had made him suddenly decide the two sets of crimes were connected was beyond her. And what had looked like an ideal scenario to divert the investigation away from Mechanic had bitten her squarely in the ass. The last thing she wanted was cops rummaging through Silverton’s business arrangements – Moran had to keep Mechanic out of the spotlight if she was going to deliver her head on a plate.
The other members of the team filed into the case room confused as to why they all had to attend an impromptu meeting. Mills marched in wearing a plain blue shirt and a smart suit.
‘Okay, guys, listen up, I want to brief you on our latest thinking regarding the gangland hits and the motel murders.’ He introduced both by waving his hand at the photos pinned to the wall.
‘This has all the trademarks of a turf war with a distinctive calling card.’ He pointed out the metal spike. ‘These murders, on the other hand, look like the work of a serial killer or killers, again with a very clear calling card.’ He pointed to the messages daubed in blood on the walls. ‘I think these are tit-for-tat murders …’
Mills droned on about how investigating the drug-related killings would shed light on the motel murders. It was total crap, and Moran waited patiently to make her move.
‘… so we need to find out more about the drug cases. Any questions?’ Mills eventually came to a stop.
‘I’ll take Silverton,’ said Moran before anyone could say a word, patently ignoring the fact it was not a question. ‘I went to the mortuary when his guys came in and I’ve already done some work on this.’
‘Okay, sounds good. Anyone else?’ Mills asked.
Moran had bagged her prize. Now all she needed to do was to make her enquiries last longer than three days.
The evidence file on Silverton was indeed big. Moran spent the next few hours trawling through the documentation looking for angles of attack. It was a difficult tightrope to walk, she had to be seen to be making progress while at the same time steering away from items related to Mechanic. The most telling piece related to the failed carjacking. It contained the documentation and transcripts of the interviews with Silverton, Walker and Mechanic or Jessica Hudson as she was referred to in the notes. It listed her address and permit details, which seemed like a good place to start because Moran knew that they would lead nowhere.
The next three hours flew by. Mills pulled the team together again to get an initial view on what they had uncovered and agree the next steps. Moran overstated the insight she had gleaned from the files and suggested paying a visit to Jessica Hudson and Silverton. Mills agreed enthusiastically and dismissed her.
Moran went through the motions at Mechanic’s apartment and filed for a search warrant, which she knew would take days to be sanctioned. She then headed over to see Lucas.
‘We got a problem,’ they said in unison.
‘Go on, you first,’ said Lucas.
‘There’s been another set of gangland murders involving drugs.’
‘I heard something about that on the news. There have been three now, haven’t there?’
‘Yeah that’s right. My partner has a bee in his bonnet about these being linked to the motel killings and he’s directing the investigation to focus on the drugs.’
‘But that’s okay it doesn’t affect us.’
‘It does. One of the gangs is run by a man named Harry Silverton and guess who his bodyguard is?’
There was a moment of silence.
‘Shit,’ said Lucas.
‘Exactly. Mechanic has been working for him since he came to Vegas. The way this is moving she’s bound to be taken in for questioning at some time, and if Mills is trying to find links between drug gangs and the motel murders, there’s one right there.’
‘Can you slow it down?’
‘I’m heading up the Silverton part of the investigation, so at least I can control the flow of information.’
‘Can you hold out long enough?’
‘I can try, but Mills has really got a stick up his ass about this, and he’s pushing hard.’
Lucas passed Moran a piece of paper. On it was written:
MECHANIC
OLD MAN SELECTED
‘I posted it this morning, it will appear in tomorrow’s edition.’
Moran nodded her approval.
‘I’m not sure what will happen next,’ said Lucas. ‘Mechanic might print another ad with instructions or try to take Harper out without warning. We need to be ready for both.’
Moran nodded again. ‘You said we had a problem?’ she asked.
Lucas scratched his head.
‘Yes, it’s probably nothing, but we can’t find Harper.’
55
The bullet thudded into the ground sending a shower of red sand into the air. Harper let out an involuntary scream.
‘You bastard!’
‘You were very rude.’
‘Shit man!’ Harper shouted getting to his feet, his right ear ringing from the blast.
Bonelli shoved him back down and he landed on his knees in the dirt.
‘I might not be so kind with the next one.’
‘I told you, man, I don’t know anyone called Silverton. I have no idea why he would have my picture.’
‘You said that already.’
‘And you must believe me since I’m still breathing.’
Bonelli walked around Harper staring intently at his prey. He pulled something from his pocket and threw two more photos onto the floor in front of Harper.
‘Look at them.’
Harper glanced down at the mug shots.
‘You don’t know Silverton. Do you know these two?’
Harper swallowed hard and tried desperately not to react. The pictures in the sand were of Lucas and Bassano.
He leaned forward and straightened up the photos, playing for time.
Harper shook his head. ‘No, never seen these before.’
Bonelli observed him carefully.
‘You sure about that?’
Harper picked up one of the photos, shook his head and dropped the picture back onto the floor.
‘Yup I’m sure. Were these in Silverton’s place as well?’
Bonelli didn’t answer. Harper’s mind was a
blur trying to figure out what his game was.
‘Look at them again.’ Harper felt the cold of the gun pressing into the back of his neck.
He picked up the photos and flipped them over and over in his hands.
‘Look, man, I don’t know who Silverton is and I don’t know who these guys are either.’ He turned to look at Bonelli.
The butt of the gun cracked against the side of his head. Harper was out cold before he hit the sand.
‘You’re lying.’
Mechanic parked her car half a mile from the Huxton place. The night air felt cool on her face as she walked along with the moon flitting between the clouds turning the landscape to greyscale. She was dressed head to foot in black with a rucksack over one shoulder and a baseball cap on her head. The houses quickly ran out and Mechanic saw Honeydew House standing alone. As usual every light in the place was on.
One last hug with her sister was not going to happen, however much she wanted it. Mechanic was already fighting with the risk she was taking going to the Huxtons’ in the first place. This was not a sensible thing to do, but she couldn’t leave without saying goodbye, even if it was from a distance.
Mechanic crouched down at the open-link fence surrounding the property and took the night-sight from her bag. She placed it to her eye and scanned the area, the distant house shone bright in the grainy green image. Nothing moved.
She approached the property, stopping every twenty yards to check all was clear. The mailbox was located at the entrance of the driveway. She took the FedEx parcel and dropped it into the box, then made her way to the porch. The floorboards creaked as she crept around the house peering through the windows.
The kitchen was a shambles with dishes and pots strewn across the worktops, Jenny-Jay was seriously slipping. The curtains in the lounge were open a crack, and Mechanic looked through. No one there either.
The TV was off and the lounge was empty. The coffee table was a mess of cups, plates and half-full glasses. Mechanic moved to the back of the house where the bedrooms were located. The first room contained a single bed with a hoist above it. The walls were painted clinical white and it was sparsely furnished. It was empty. The second had frosted glass and the third had the curtains closed. Shit, this was proving more difficult than she’d planned.