Eye for an Eye (An Owen Day Thriller)

by Rachel Ford

  I tried the coffee again. Still hot, but manageable. I took a sip and went back to the hash browns.

  Then the ad wrapped up, and the music kicked off. Some country singer I didn’t recognize started rapping about country living.

  I shook my head and shut it off. I’d listen to a lot of shit to pass the time, but even I had limits. And mediocre country singers who couldn’t rap to save their lives was one of those limits.

  It wasn’t that I had anything against country, or rap. I liked both just fine. But it seemed that with very few exceptions, most of the people who tried to combine the two excelled at neither. This guy, whoever he was, certainly fit the mold.

  So I listened to the hum of tires on pavement instead. I reached for the biscuit. It was hot, but not room temperature of hell hot. I decided to take a bite.

  A mistake. A big mistake. The outside of the biscuit was warmer than comfortable, but the inside felt like it had just come out of the oven.

  I choked the bite down, cursing under my breath once it was gone. “Son of a bitch.”

  Then, my phone rang. Owen Day. Finally. I glanced at the console screen for confirmation. Then, I frowned. It was a local number, one I didn’t recognize. But it wasn’t Owen Day.

  Still, the number on the display sported a local area code. So I accepted the call. I heard the hiss of static as it connected. I said, “Hello?”

  A peppy female voice answered with an emphatic, “Hello!”

  Too peppy, I thought. Too emphatic. This was some kind of marketing call.

  “This is Karina, with the Vehicle Protection Department. We’ve been trying to reach you about your vehicle’s extended warranty.”

  I stabbed the red disconnect button, and said, “Son of a bitch,” again. I’d been hoping for a break on the Joey Rabbitt case; and I’d got spam instead.

  I scowled out at the road ahead. I’d missed way too much sleep. I’d burned my mouth. And my temper had only gotten worse since I’d gotten up. It was going to be a long day.

  But, I could do something about it. I could call Day again, and if he didn’t get back to me this time, I could head out to his campsite.

  That put me in a better frame of mind. I didn’t have to wait for him to make up his mind. I could head over as soon as I clocked in. Hell, I could show up right now, on my way in to work. He can’t ignore me if I show up at his front door.

  I checked my mirrors and put on my turn signal. It’d only be a few minutes out of my way. I could–

  I paused, mid-planning. He can’t ignore me if I show up at his front door. That’s what I’d thought. It was not technically accurate, since he was tent camping. He didn’t have a door, front, side or otherwise.

  But I wasn’t thinking about Day’s tents anymore or his campsite. I was thinking about the ad for the real estate auction.

  Fifty-plus separate properties. Whatever you’re looking for, whatever your budget, it’ll be on the block.

  I checked the mirrors again, and pulled off the road onto the shoulder, kicking up dust and gravel as I went. Then I grabbed my phone and spun up Safari. I put in the URL for Frank and Ken’s Miltown Auctions. The real estate auction was right there, on the front page: the biggest event of the week.

  I clicked the link for more detail.

  There were fifty-three properties listed, and they really were a bit of everything. There were multiple lots in a business park in West Allis, an old dental building in downtown Milwaukee, an apartment complex in Sheboygan County. There were multimillion dollar luxury homes on the coast of Lake Michigan, and second and third generation fixer-uppers on the outskirts of the city.

  The properties had been the holdings of an LLC that had gone belly-up. There was money owed to the bank on all of them. A lot of money in some cases, and a little money in others. So a real estate auction had been the way to go.

  But at the bottom of the page was a link to an FAQ, and that’s where I found what I needed:

  A cash deposit of 20% of winning bids is required at the time of auction. Please plan ahead. If you are unable to pay the deposit at that time, your bid will be voided. The property will be returned to the block.

  I went back to the listings, and looked at the starting prices, and the estimated value. I sorted by price, low to high. At the start was a single-story dwelling in significant need of repairs. The estimated value field read $78,545.

  There was no guarantee they’d see the estimated value, of course. The amount owed was just shy of twenty thousand, which was the starting price. People interested in a fixer upper like that would be looking for a bargain. They’d want to undercut the estimated value. So maybe they’d pay forty or fifty thousand.

  That was still a deposit of eight or ten thousand. Almost as much from that one sale as Joey had scored in his first hit on a truck.

  I scrolled down, and the prices jumped by leaps and bounds. There were a few below half a million.

  $110,000

  $193,500

  $250,995

  There were a lot between half a million and a million. There were ten valued at over a million, and three valued at over five million.

  A cash deposit of 20% of winning bids is required at the time of auction.

  Not thousands of dollars, or tens of thousands. Not even hundreds of thousands. This auction would immediately net millions of dollars, even if things sold at a bargain.

  Millions of dollars that would need to be transported from the auction house to a bank, somewhere. Millions of dollars that would go in the back of an armored truck.

  Millions of reasons for Joey Rabbitt to pick Wisconsin of all places for his next attempted hit.

  Chapter Seventeen

  We didn’t get through the wall. We started up again right after breakfast, but we ran into problems immediately.

  First was Avery. He was fussy. He was having trouble pooping, Paige said, because he hadn’t had his oatmeal in two days.

  “He always has oatmeal for breakfast. I told them that, but they didn’t listen.”

  So we put the dresser back, and everyone resumed their spots, just in case someone came up to check on the crying baby. No one did. He screamed away until eventually he got it out of his system – the crying, and the rest.

  Cody crawled back through the closet a few minutes later. “God, that boy’s diaper smells worse than a hog farm.”

  “It’s not his fault,” Paige snapped. I couldn’t see her face. She was still in their room. But her tone sounded annoyed. “He’s not getting his usual diet.”

  Cody shook his head. “Of course it’s not his fault, honey. It doesn’t mean it’s not awful.”

  Then we moved the dresser again and got to work. We started slow, with gentle kicks. Something was wrong, though. I’d heard an empty, hollow sound in the closet. This was different.

  This was thick, and solid. “There’s something behind there,” I said. “Something right up against the wall.”

  “Another dresser?” he asked.

  “Maybe. Or a bed.”

  “Could be a night table.”

  I tried the upper laths and then the lower. The sound didn’t change. I shook my head. “It’s not a table. Too big for that.”

  “Maybe we can move it, once we get through. Shift a little, just enough for us to get by. We can move it more once we’re through.”

  “We won’t be able to break the plaster with something against the wall. Not quietly.”

  He thought for a long moment. “We could try another spot, further over.”

  “Then we’ll have two holes. We can hide one, but not two.”

  “We could move the bed over, so it’s covering the new one.”

  “They’re going to wonder why we’re rearranging furniture. These guys may not be rocket scientists, but they’re not complete morons.”

  He said nothing to that.

  “We could try your room,” I said. “Put one of the drawers underneath the hole, so it catches everything. No plaster dust on
the floor.”

  He shook his head. I saw the motion in the faint light from the closet. “No,” he said, his voice low. “No, Paige won’t like that. It won’t be good for Avery.”

  I considered our options. I didn’t see a better one. “Maybe I can talk to her. Explain the situation.”

  “No. No, I don’t want her to worry. Avery can pick up on it when she’s stressed. Then he gets upset, and he cries. And she gets worse.” He shook his head again. “No.”

  “Okay. So what do we do?”

  He thought for a long moment. Then he asked, “You have the bar, right? The one from the closet.”

  “Yes. I put it back in the closet. Why?”

  “I’ve got an idea.”

  “What kind of idea?”

  “We’ll see,” was all he said. He made his way back to the closet. I heard him fumbling around, and a moment later, he stepped out again. The pipe was a long, flat, line of darkness against the dim backlight.

  He rejoined me by the hole. “You might want to stand back.”

  Which, as a rule, was always good advice to follow. If someone said “you might want to stand back,” it meant something stupid or something dangerous was about to commence. Usually, something stupid and dangerous. It was practically some kind of universal constant.

  I stood back.

  He angled the pipe toward the wall and tapped gently. A low, dull thud sounded in the room.

  “It’s not going to work,” I said. “Whatever’s behind there is basically bracing the plaster. It’s not going to crack without a lot of force.

  “Just let me try,” he said, exasperation creeping back into his tone.

  I said nothing to that.

  He tapped away, and got an unchanging, solid thump, thump in response.

  Then he hit harder, a loud, forceful thwack.

  “Jesus,” I said. “They’re going to hear us.”

  “No they won’t.” He hit again, harder and louder.

  “Yeah, they will.”

  “Goddammit, will you just let me work?” He struck again and again, harder and faster. The laths didn’t break. They didn’t crack. They barely moved at all. Not with a piece of furniture on the other side, bracing them.

  “Enough, dammit. You’re going to get us caught.”

  He struck another blow. I moved toward him. I’d take the pipe from him if that’s what it took. But he wasn’t going to get us caught. He wasn’t going to put Dan and Mais in danger.

  Paige’s voice called from the other room, “What are you doing? What’s going on? They’re going to hear you.”

  At the same time, I heard voices from down below.

  I grabbed the bar. He struggled, but I held firm. “Enough, dammit,” I said again. “They can hear you.”

  “We need to get out of here,” he said, urgently, almost frantically. “We need to get out.”

  “Stop it,” I said. “We’re going to get out. But you’re going to get us caught this way.”

  “We need to get out,” he said again.

  Voices sounded again, distant and annoyed.

  “Dammit, Cody, you’re about two seconds away from a broken nose.”

  “What?”

  “Let go of the bar and get the hell back in your own room.”

  “We need to–”

  I twisted the pipe, hard and fast, and wrenched it out of his hand. He half-whimpered, half-yelped.

  “What’s going on?” Paige called from the other room. “Cody?”

  But the pain seemed to knock some sense into him. He took a step back, then nodded. “They’re coming.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “We need to get the dresser back.”

  I considered for a fraction of a second. I didn’t trust him. His emotional state seemed too fragile to be trusted. But he was right about that, at least. We did need to get the dresser back.

  I dropped the bar on the bed and said, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  We each took our side. The stairs started to squeak and squeal. Maisie and Daniel returned via the closet. “Someone’s coming, Uncle Owen.”

  “We’re going to get caught.”

  Cody and I got the dresser back in place. Then he scrambled for the closet. I put the bar in after him and shut the door.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall. Then the lock turned, and the door opened. Jimmy was there, and so were Tyler and Shannon. They all had guns.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Jimmy demanded.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Bullshit.”

  “It was us,” Maisie said. “I was kicking the wall.”

  “You? Why?”

  “Because I have to go poop,” Daniel said.

  “You already used the bathroom,” Jimmy said.

  “I need to go poop,” Daniel said again. “Right now.” This time, his voice was high and angry. He sounded like he was about to throw a tantrum, like he might start kicking and screaming at any second. It was a hell of a performance.

  “Jesus,” Shannon said. “I told Joey kids would be nothing but trouble.”

  “Come on,” Tyler said, motioning Daniel toward him. “If you got to poop, let’s go.”

  Jimmy stood aside to let him pass. Then, he waved the tip of his barrel at Maisie. “And you: you do any more kicking, maybe I’ll break your leg, yeah?”

  Then he shut the door, and darkness returned.

  “Dan’s right,” Maisie said in the silence.

  “About what?”

  “You need to shoot him.”

  * * *

  Deputy Austin Wagner, 7:23 AM

  I called Special Agent Travers when I got back to my desk. It was nearly eight-thirty where he was, at least, assuming he wasn’t already on the ground here. And if he was? Well, I didn’t feel terrible about calling him before eight.

  That could have been avoided with a little bit of cooperation.

  He didn’t answer on the first ring, or the second, or the third. He picked up on ring number four, and barked out a breathless, “Travers here.”

  “Agent Travers? Deputy Wagner. You know, Sheboygan County.”

  “What can I do for you, Deputy Wagner?”

  “Joey Rabbitt: why is he in Wisconsin?”

  “Well, we don’t know that he is.”

  “But if he is. Why do you think he’s here?”

  He started to BS me with a long, drawn out, “Well, I guess that’s anyone’s guess at this point.”

  At which point I interrupted. “Bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Bullshit. He’s here for the real estate auction, isn’t he? Frank and Ken’s Miltown Auctions. Fifty-plus properties. Millions of dollars in deposits and down payments.”

  Silence.

  “Am I on the right track, Agent?”

  “It’s a theory, of course.”

  “A theory…”

  “Deputy, we have no idea what his plans are. Everything at this point is speculation.”

  “Come on,” I said. “A guy doesn’t travel halfway across the country for no good reason. He’s here because there’s a mark. And it’d have to be a big one.”

  “That’s a theory,” he said again.

  “Have you talked to the Milwaukee County PD? Do they know this ‘theory’? Do they know they’ve got a serial robber – and murderer – potentially targeting them?”

  Travers sighed. “Look, Deputy, I appreciate what you’re trying to do.”

  “I’m trying to save lives.”

  “And I appreciate that. But – though I can’t comment on specifics – I can promise you, if we believe there is even the remotest chance that Joey Rabbitt and his crew are going to show up somewhere, we do not take chances.”

  “So the department does know?”

  “I told you, I can’t speak to specifics.”

  “Okay. Theoretically–”

  “I’m not playing that game, either.”

  “Theoretically,” I said again, “if you thought h
e might show up to a place with a target in mind, you’d communicate with the local department, right?”

  He paused. “Theoretically, if we deemed the likelihood warranted it, yes, we would.”

  I nodded at that. “Okay. Good.”

  “But, theoretically, we would also not want to widely disseminate that knowledge. Because, theoretically, we would be coordinating with that department to capture Rabbitt. And the more people aware of that fact, the more likely it is to leak. And the more likely Rabbitt is to slip past the snare.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was a pun or not. I ignored it. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “Your lips are sealed?” he asked, amusement in his tone.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Good. And Deputy?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you’re worried about saving lives, the most important thing you can do is ID that body. At this point, we have to assume Rabbitt has a live hostage. Any plan we may or may not form has to account for that fact.

  “But if there is no hostage…”

  I nodded again. Not that he could see. But I understood his meaning. If Callaghan was already dead, they didn’t have to tiptoe around Rabbitt and his crew. They could use whatever force they needed to take them down, without worrying that a hostage would be killed in the crossfire, or in retaliation.

  “Working on it.”

  “Well, with all due respect, work faster. Saturday is tomorrow already.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Maisie used the bathroom too. Then Jimmy locked the door and warned them all to behave themselves. “I hear a peep out of you clowns before dinner, and someone’s going to be hurting.”

  I waited until he’d gone. Then I hugged Daniel and Maisie. “You guys were brilliant,” I told them.

  “Cody is an idiot,” Daniel said. “He should have listened to you.”

  “Language,” I said. “But, yeah. I should have stopped him sooner.”

  “I can help you, Uncle Owen,” Maisie said. “We don’t need him.”

  “Me too,” Daniel said.

  I thought about it: about the time it would take to open a hole on one side, and then the other. I factored in a second hole, if we wound up in a locked room and needed to bore out of it too; or if we started at another blocked wall. I figured, worst case scenario, we’d be cutting it close, but we’d be alright