by Rob Ashman
Shit! It was Mechanic.
Even with the peak pulled down, Lucas was in no doubt. It was her.
Lucas felt a shudder run through his body.
Mechanic wore a tight green fleece and khaki pants, she had a long thin black backpack slung over one shoulder. She looked around and walked to the back of the building.
Lucas pressed the talk button.
Moran and Harper jumped as their radios emitted a squelch. Fuck, this is it.
They both gripped their guns, got up from their sitting positions and crouched down, their heart rates climbing rapidly.
Moran strained to hear the ladder creak as Mechanic made her way up, but all she could hear was the soft breeze. Harper had his back pressed against the metal, fighting the temptation to take a look over the top.
The minutes ticked by.
Harper looked at his watch, nine forty.
Moran was shifting her weight from one leg to the other.
The minutes ticked by.
What the hell was keeping her? Harper thought.
His watch said nine forty-seven. There was still no sign of her.
This was not allowing enough time for Mechanic to set up her rifle, calm her breathing, lower her heart rate and get in the zone.
Something was wrong.
He peeked around the metal box and broke cover. He ran to where Moran was hiding.
‘I think she must be in one of the rooms beneath us.’
‘She’s not here, that’s for sure. It’s the only other place.’
They both left the security of the switchgear cabinet and ran to the edge.
Moran jerked her weapon over the side and pointed it down the ladder. It was clear. She stepped over the wall and started to climb down, closely followed by Harper.
They reached the bottom.
It was nine fifty-one.
Moran took the left-hand side and Harper took the right. They ran up the stairs to the outside walkway on the third floor. Moran could see Harper looking into every window with his gun levelled as he traversed towards her. A woman came out of a room dragging a heavy case.
Shit, that was close!
Harper and Moran held their guns behind their backs and kept moving. Harper passed the woman and walked on.
Some rooms had their curtains closed while others were wide open.
Moran and Harper kept checking.
They met in the middle.
‘Nothing.’ Moran looked at her watch: 9.58.
Harper took out his field glasses and trained them on the back of the Mint. The grey metal partition was pulled across to the side and the black SUV was already easing its way into the slot.
‘Bonelli is in place.’
‘Where the fuck is she?’ Moran said.
Bonelli’s head appeared.
Moran ran past Harper looking through the motel windows.
Harper counted down.
One.
The man acknowledged Bonelli with a nod of his head and closed the door.
Two.
The front doors opened and two men got out.
Three.
Bonelli walked along the side of the SUV.
Four.
The entourage marched to the apex of the triangle.
Five.
One man opened the service door and moved to the side.
Six.
Bonelli stepped through the gap and was gone.
‘Fuck,’ Harper said.
‘What the hell just happened?’
Harper pressed the button on his walkie-talkie.
‘She is a no-show. Repeat, she is a no-show.’
They marched across the front of the motel, down the central stairwell and over to reception.
Moran was half-expecting to see Lucas walking towards them, but he wasn’t. They were ten yards away from the place where he had been hiding but they couldn’t see him.
Harper broke into a run and reached the small green area. The grass was pressed flat to the ground where he had been sitting, but there was no Lucas.
‘Lucas, come in please,’ Moran said into her radio.
They heard the crackling sound of her voice coming back at them. Harper swung around and switched his radio off.
‘Do it again.’
‘Lucas, can you come in please.’
The metallic voice was emanating from a set of bushes six feet away.
Harper stomped around and found the radio lying in the grass.
Moran joined him.
‘What in hell’s name are these?’ she asked.
She picked up a handful of small white paper squares.
Harper stared at them. His eyes filled up.
‘They’re sugar packets. Mechanic has taken Lucas.’
42
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ Harper stomped around in the bushes.
‘Stop it, Harper. Think, man, think,’ replied Moran.
‘She must have been here, right? Lucas buzzed us to say she was here.’ He continued stomping.
‘But then we heard nothing.’
‘He must have had eyes on Mechanic. How the fuck could she walk nearly thirty yards towards him without Lucas raising the alarm?’
‘She must have grabbed him. He should have shot her, that’s what he should have done.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t her,’ said Harper.
‘If anyone would be able to positively ID Mechanic it was Lucas. It was her alright.’
‘No, I mean maybe it wasn’t her that took Lucas.’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Lucas spots Mechanic and buzzes us to say she’s here. Then while he has his eyes focused on her, someone whacks him and takes him away.’
‘You wait in my car.’ Moran tossed Harper the keys and ran in the direction of the reception block.
Moran burst through the doors.
The young man with his hormones on fire looked up.
‘Hi, good to see you again.’
‘I need you to help me.’
‘Why of course, ma’am, what is it?’
‘I’ve got a delicate situation.’
The guy’s eyes widened. ‘They are my favourite type.’
‘My car has gone missing from the parking lot.’
‘Oh that is terrible, ma’am, have you called the cops?’
‘No, no, I haven’t.’
‘Do you want me to call them?’
‘No, no.’
‘But your car has been stolen, right?’
Moran gestured for the young guy to lean in. She whispered in his ear.
‘It’s embarrassing, I’m not supposed to be here.’
‘What? How do you mean?’
‘I’m not supposed to be in this motel.’
The young man stared at her with a look that said ‘I’m enjoying this, but please make sense, ma’am’. Then it all made sense.
‘You mean you are supposed to be somewhere else?’
‘Yes, I met a man here.’
‘And this man was not your husband or boyfriend?’
‘No, he wasn’t. And now my car has gone.’
The young guy nodded as though the situation she’d described was an everyday occurrence.
‘But if it has been stolen you will need to report it.’
‘It might not have been stolen.’
The boy was back to being confused.
‘My boyfriend may have taken it. Before I go and call the police I need to know if it’s him.’
‘And why do you think it could be your boyfriend?’
‘He’s done it before. You know, to teach me a lesson.’
The young guy raised an eyebrow, pleased that he’d been right all along – this woman was well up for sex.
‘How can I help?’
‘You have CCTV covering the parking lot?’
‘Yes, we do, but not at the side.’
‘Could you let me see the recording? That way I will know if it’s him or if I need to contact the police.’
‘Well, I suppose I could—’
‘Please, I would be so grateful,’ Moran interrupted.
The young man gave her a theatrical wink.
‘Step right this way, ma’am.’
He swung open a hatch and beckoned her in. The TV monitor she’d seen previously was on the desk at the back. She squeezed herself between him and the counter. She felt his body tense.
‘Where were you parked, ma’am?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What car were you driving?’
Moran scanned the screen. ‘Er, a blue one?’
‘What make and model?’
‘I don’t know.’
She berated herself for having just substantiated the stereotype of women and cars.
‘Can you wind the tape back?’ she said.
‘What am I looking for?’
‘I’ll know the car when I see it.’
The guy opened a cupboard on the wall above the desk and Moran saw the tape machine.
He pushed the reverse button.
The figures on the screen moved around like a Harold Lloyd movie, cars and trucks whizzing in, cars and trucks whizzing out.
He kept his finger on the button. Moran kept her eyes on the screen.
After fifteen seconds she said, ‘Stop.’
‘There.’ She pointed to a man getting into a blue car. ‘Let me do this.’
Moran shouldered him out of the way and took control of the video recorder.
‘Is that your boyfriend?’ asked the young man, his hip brushing against hers. Moran kept her cool, when all she wanted to do was deck him and take the tape.
‘Yes, it’s my boyfriend.’
The car backed out of a space and drove away.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, that’s him.’
The guy looked at the grainy figure on the screen. A sixty-year-old man with thinning hair and a beer gut was not what he was expecting. But Moran wasn’t looking at the man or the car, she was focused on the white van.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Can I take this?’
She pushed the eject button and the cassette tape slid out into her hand.
‘Er, no ma’am, you can’t take that.’
She slipped her arm around his waist and leaned against him.
‘I would be ever so grateful.’
He went weak at the knees.
Moran hurried from the reception, leaving the young guy wondering when he would get his reward. She jumped in the driver’s seat next to Harper.
‘Mechanic bundled Lucas into a white Ford Transit. The time stamp said 9.39.’
‘Shit, they’ve been gone forty minutes. How did he look?’
‘Not good, like he was drunk.’
Moran swung the car around and drove to the parking lot at the back.
‘There’s another thing.’
‘What.’
‘Mechanic had someone with her, a man.’
She continued to cruise around.
‘What did he look like?’
‘Tall, broad, wore a hunting jacket. Dark hair.’
‘Who the hell is he?’
Moran jammed on the brakes and leapt into the road leaving the door open. Harper followed. She stood in an empty parking space.
‘It was here. The Transit was parked here.’
Harper walked around the white line perimeter of the space.
‘Look,’ he said, kneeling down and touching the floor with his finger. ‘Lucas was hurt.’
He pointed his index finger at Moran. The tip was red with blood.
Moran got back in the car.
‘We need to get to my place. I got a video player.’
43
Moran drove like a woman possessed, cutting up other motorists and running red lights. They burst through the front door. Harper shoved the cassette into the video recorder and switched on the TV.
After much cursing and fiddling with the remotes the black and white image of the Jackpot parking lot came on the screen. Moran snatched the remote from his grasp and handed him a pen and paper.
‘There,’ she said. ‘That’s the Transit parking up at nine thirty.’ The white van pulled into a vacant slot with its back to the camera.
Mechanic got out and slid the side door open. She disappeared for a second then re-emerged with a black bag over one shoulder. She closed the door, made her way across the lot to the back of the motel, and walked out of shot. Moran hit pause.
‘I know, I’m getting it,’ Harper said scribbling down the licence plate.
‘Look at this.’ Moran pointed at the screen. Emblazoned across the back window was a sticker. ‘What does it say?’
Harper moved closer to the picture. ‘There are blue letters on a red background but I can’t make it out, it’s too blurred.’
Moran jumped up and rummaged amongst a pile of old newspapers.
‘I’ve seen that somewhere before.’ She rifled through the pages and held one up. ‘It’s from a car rental company.’ There in the classified ads section was a quarter page advert for Drive-Right Car Rentals. The ad had the same blue letters on a red background.
‘It must be them. It’s the same style and colour scheme.’
Moran tapped play and the tape ran forward.
Nothing happened for the next nine minutes. Then Mechanic staggered back into shot and the lights on the van blinked as the doors unlocked. She had her arm around Lucas’s waist while his arm was draped across her shoulder. A man was standing on the other side of Lucas doing the same thing. Lucas dragged his feet, unable to support his weight. His head lolled forward.
Mechanic left Lucas and opened up the side door. The man edged Lucas along the van. Lucas struggled and could be seen kicking his legs and flailing his arms around. The man hit him on the side of his face and he flopped inside. Mechanic jumped into the van and hauled Lucas inside. The man opened the driver’s door, and then turned to check the sliding door was secure. Moran hit the pause button.
The man’s face was partially obscured by the peak of the baseball cap.
‘That’s Jameson,’ said Harper.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yep, I’m sure.’
Moran pressed play and the Transit eased out of the lot and disappeared from view.
They were both sitting on the floor, stunned.
‘Jameson didn’t arrive in the van with Mechanic,’ Harper said. ‘He must have already been in place when she parked up.’
‘When you had your rehearsal last week, did you do it properly? Did you do exactly what we did today?’
‘Yes, while you were being given the run around by Mills we stuck to the plan: Lucas in his lookout position and me on the roof.’
‘They were there. Either Jameson, or Mechanic, or both of them were there. They watched you work through the plan. They knew Lucas was isolated. Mechanic turns up at the right place at the right time, Lucas sends the signal telling us it’s game on. And we’re holding our position on the roof, while they lifted Lucas.’
‘Shit. That bastard Jameson set us up from the beginning.’
Moran picked up the Drive-Right ad and stood up.
‘Let’s go talk to these people.’
Drive-Right was located in an out-of-town mall surrounded by outlet stores selling branded goods at knockdown prices. It was on the end of a row of shops and had a parking lot behind, full of cars ready to rent. Harper and Moran went inside.
A man in his early sixties sat behind the counter surrounded by pamphlets. He was sorting them into piles and placing them into zip-lock bags. He wore a company bomber jacket and a baseball cap with the logo splashed across the front. He looked up when they entered.
‘Can I help you?’
Moran took the lead.
‘We are looking for a couple who rented a white Transit van from you. We need to get hold of them.’
‘Okay, do you have a name?’
‘No, but we have the vehicle’s licence plate. I wo
ndered if you could help us.’
‘Why do you want to get hold of them?’
Moran flashed a look at Harper that said ‘I should have thought this through better’.
‘They hit our car and drove away,’ she replied all in a rush.
‘That’s not good. I’m sorry about that.’
‘I have the licence plate number here.’ Moran dug out the piece of paper from her pocket and gave it to the man. He consulted a thick file of rental agreements.
‘No, it wasn’t one of ours.’
‘It had your company logo on the back.’
‘You must have been mistaken, lady. It’s not one of our vehicles.’ The tone of his voice hardened.
‘No, this was the licence plate number and it had your logo on the back.’
‘I can only say again, it’s not our vehicle.’
‘It is. Can you look it up again?’
‘No. I’ve done it once, and now if you don’t mind I’m busy.’
The man turned and attended to his pamphlet packing.
Harper had heard enough.
He turned to the door and closed it, pulling down the blind. He unwrapped a fifty-dollar bill from the roll in his pocket and pulled his gun from the back of his belt. The guy looked up.
‘Hey! Now what are you doing?’
Harper put both his hands on the counter. Under one was the money and under the other was his gun.
‘When you read the licence plate number it registered in your face. You need to practice in front of a mirror more if you’re gonna lie. We are not interested in making an insurance claim if that’s what you’re worried about, but we are interested in the people who rented that Transit. My colleague has already asked nicely. Now I’m asking.’
The man didn’t know what to look at. His head flicked around as if he had a nervous tick –from Harper to the gun, from Moran to the gun, from the money to the gun.
‘I don’t want no trouble,’ he said, raising his hands in surrender.
‘Which one is it gonna be?’ Harper pushed the hand with the money under it towards him first, followed by the gun.
The man was paralysed. His eyes flitted between the two.
‘Which one?’ said Harper.
The man nervously fingered the note, tugged it from under Harper’s hand and stuffed it in his pocket. He returned to the register and unclipped a rental agreement from the file. He held it out, the end of the paper was shaking as Harper took it.