Devil's Fancy (Trackdown Book 2)

by Michael A. Black

  The smoke was irritating Cummins and he coughed.

  Or perhaps not. There was no way of telling what Fallotti’s orders to him had actually been.

  “Okay,” Cummins said.

  “And he wants me to hold on to your phone, too,” Zerbe said, slipping Cummins’s phone into his pocket.

  “What? No way.”

  Zerbe laughed. “Relax. I’m not going to deprive you of it. Just lock it in my room safe at the hotel.”

  Cummins didn’t like this one bit. He felt like they were laying the groundwork to erase him. He could refuse, but this South African prick was kind of tough. And they still had to work together. For the time being.

  “Okay,” Cummins said. “But I want the combination.”

  “Sure thing.” Zerbe blew out some more smoke and looked at the drone that had returned to their vicinity courtesy of the auto-return feature. “Let me replace that battery and we’ll see if our friends have left the gym.” He popped open the door and started to get out.

  “Just remember,” Cummins said. “I’m the only one that knows what this damn artifact looks like.”

  Zerbe paused and smiled. When he spoke each word was accompanied by a wisp of smoke. “We’re not about to forget how important you are.”

  We? Cummins thought. This South African prick’s already grouping himself with that damn Fallotti and that bastard Von Dien and leaving me on the outside.

  All of a sudden, a rush of bile snaked its way up his esophagus and flooded the back of his throat.

  Phoenix International Airport

  Phoenix, Arizona

  Wolf watched with a mild case of amusement as Mac wheeled the big Escalade into the hourly parking lane of the airport garage and lowered the window to grab the parking ticket. As soon as the gate in front of them lifted up, he zoomed through and drove up the ramp and into the structure, pausing to glance up through the moon roof.

  “At least around here we lost that damn drone that was hovering around Reno’s,” McNamara said. “You think that’s those damn feds keeping an eye on us?”

  “Hard to say. Those things are pretty popular.”

  “Yeah, well, if it comes over my property it’ll be the last place it ever flies.”

  Wolf smirked.

  They passed into the penumbra of the structured parking area.

  “Wouldn’t it be simpler to go to the cell phone lot and wait for them to call us after they got their bags?” Wolf said.

  “Huh-un. This way we can park and meet them just outside of the arrival’s gate.” McNamara smiled. “I don’t want to miss the chance of watching the three of them sashaying down the corridor.” He frowned and tapped his shirt. “Wish I would’ve had the chance to dress up a little better.”

  “You look fine,” Wolf said. “And they’ll probably be pretty casual, too. After all, they’re wearing their traveling clothes.”

  “With Ms. Dolly there ain’t no such thing as casual. She’s first class all the way.”

  Wolf remembered the first time he’d seen the three of them walking through the casino area of the Shamrock Hotel in Las Vegas a month or so ago looking so stunning that they could have been three fashion models on a Victoria’s Secret runway. Well, maybe not quite that revealing, but first class all the way was something of an understatement.

  “Didn’t have time to get those flowers, either,” McNamara said. “All because of them damn feds.”

  McNamara pulled into the third level and began negotiating the wide circular aisles which appeared pretty full. They passed the entrance to the terminal and began another rotation.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  Wolf glanced at his watch. “Thirteen-fifty-six. You want me to start counting down the seconds?”

  “Don’t be a smart ass,” McNamara said, his eyes continuing to scan the lot. Finally, he smiled as he saw a man and a woman moving toward a parked car near the entrance. He pulled to a stop in the center of the aisle and waited.

  “Let’s hope they’re in a hurry to get out of here,” he said, drumming his thumbs on the wheel. “Otherwise, I might have to pull out my Glock.”

  Wolf chuckled, imaging Mac making good on his threat.

  The man unlocked the car and opened the door for his female companion. He then waited for her to enter the car and closed the door. His head swiveled toward the Escalade and McNamara nodded, smiled, and waved. The wait stretched into the better part of a minute as the man loaded the luggage into the trunk, closed it, and then entered the car himself.

  “What the hell’s taking him so damn long?” McNamara said.

  Another car had pulled into the aisle behind them and honked.

  McNamara ignored it and continued to wait.

  The driver in the car behind them laid on his horn.

  McNamara exhaled slowly. “That guy’s pissin’ me off to a high degree of pisstastity.”

  Finally, the car in the parking spot backed out and McNamara pulled in. The car that had been behind then gave another derisive toot as it passed. McNamara waved.

  “Maybe I’ll have you drive on the way back,” he said, handing the keys to Wolf.

  McNamara seemed to be walking with a new spring in his step.

  Wolf pocketed the keys and grinned. “Is that so I’ll be the one paying the parking fee?”

  They went to a section of elevators and went down to the second level, then walked through an elevated walkway to the terminal building. Inside the followed the arrow prompts to the ARRIVALS section.

  “Time?” McNamara asked, studied the listings of flights arriving and landing.

  “Fourteen-oh-eight,” Wolf said.

  “Damn,” McNamara said. “Looks like their flight already landed. Hope we didn’t miss them.”

  “You want me to go down and check baggage return?”

  McNamara seemed to be considering this when suddenly his lips curled back into a smile. He shook his head, obviously looking past the TSA checkpoint and down the long corridor that led to the gates.

  Wolf looked, too, and then he saw them. The three women, one white, one Hispanic, and one black, were walking abreast, each tugging a small, carry-on size suitcase.

  All Louie Vuitton luggage, Wolf thought, remembering being in their suite in Las Vegas. All first-class babes.

  Ms. Dolly was in the center of the trio, flanked by Yolanda on the right and Brenda on the left. They were dressed in jeans and t-shirts. Ms. Dolly’s was white, and had some kind of flowery design and the letter T on the front of it, stretched tight by her substantial bosom. Brenda’s was a purplish mixture with ¿Ahora? in white letters across the front.

  Wolf centered his gaze on Yolanda and relished in the memory of their night together. Her hair was gathered back in the familiar ponytail, and she had on some dangling gold earrings that looked like Indian arrowheads. Her t-shirt was yellow and had Double Trouble written in red script across the front. She smiled when she saw them.

  Or maybe she’s smiling at me, Wolf thought.

  As they crossed the threshold Ms. Dolly and Brenda both leaned forward and kissed Mac, while Yolanda paused and embraced Wolf, planting a kiss on his lips.

  “I was hoping you hadn’t forgotten about me,” she whispered in his ear.

  “No way that’s gonna happen,” he whispered back.

  “Siempre buenos amantes,” Brenda said, rolling her eyes.

  Always beautiful lovers, Wolf translated in his mind and hoped it wasn’t too far from the truth.

  “Y’all been waiting long?” Ms. Dolly asked in her East-Texas drawl.

  “Just since the last time we saw you,” McNamara said.

  Ms. Dolly laughed. “Sugar, you can always make me laugh when I need it, and after dealing with those damn TSA idiots in Vegas, believe me, I need it.”

  “Don’t tell me they wanted to do a strip search,” McNamara said. “But if they did, I couldn’t blame ’em.”

  “You wouldn’t believe all the hoops they make you jump thr
ough just because you have some guns in your checked luggage.” Ms. Dolly glanced at Wolf. “So now that you and Yolanda are through swappin’ spit, how you doing, Steve?”

  Wolf emitted a self-conscious chuckle. The kiss had been more perfunctory than romantic.

  The trio of women all laughed and they proceeded toward a set of escalators.

  “Why’d you need to bring your guns along?” McNamara said as they descended. “I coulda loaned you some of mine.”

  “We’re here on business, sugar,” Ms. Dolly said, then added with a crafty smile, “But I’m sure we can put that off till tomorrow, like Scarlett O’Hara used to say.”

  “Great,” McNamara said. “I’ll make reservations at a nice restaurant. Where would you like to eat?”

  “How about that same place you took us to the last time? That steakhouse place.”

  “Ah, Mac,” Wolf started to say, remembering the scene in the Emergency Room the night before.

  “Charlie’s?” McNamara said, taking out his phone. “Consider it done. I’ll reserve my usual table and tell the piano player to brush up on ‘As Time Goes By.’ ”

  Wolf recalled the scene in Casablanca and remembered the result when Ingrid Bergman asked Dooley Wilson to “Play the song, Sam,” and hoped it wouldn’t lead to a similar result if Kasey had indeed switched her reservations there to this evening.

  Of all the gin joints in all the world, he thought. I hope she doesn’t walk into ours.

  The Elegant Suites Hotel

  Phoenix, Arizona

  Cummins chewed three more of the antacid tablets and washed them down with a substantial gulp of Mylanta. One thing was for sure, he was going to have to see a specialist about his stomach once this was over. Of course, once the stress of this whole thing ended, the perennial queasiness might just disappear. At least that’s what he now told himself. It would be a relief to get away from Zerbe, who sat stretched out on his bed drinking one of the miniature bottles of booze from the mini-bar and talking on his cell phone. Cummins thought about getting up and going back to his room, but his cell phone was still in Zerbe’s pocket and the prick hadn’t given him the combination to the room safe yet. He began to rethink this whole burner phone situation but didn’t know if he could get his phone back from the sleazy PI.

  Whatever I’m going to do, he thought, I’d better get it done before the goon squad gets here.

  It still niggled on him that Fallotti had told him to give the phone to Zerbe before.

  After all, I’ve got a safe in my room, too, Cummins thought.

  He listened to Zerbe’s end of the conversation and watched as he shook a cigarette out of his pack.

  “No, I don’t know shit about this place.” Zerbe placed the cigarette between his lips and lit it. “And I need to wait for my team leader to get here anyway.”

  Team leader … That had to mean that South African guy heading up the Lion Team. What had Zerbe called him? Lionus, or something?

  “Okay, Dill,” Zerbe said. “Call me when you get here and I’ll talk you in.” He sat listening, then added, “That won’t be a problem. After all, these guys are here teaching a desert warfare class.” Zerbe listened some more, then laughed. “Yeah, right. Me too.”

  He hung up, removed the cigarette from his mouth, and took another swig from the tiny bottle.

  “That was my associate, Dill.” Zerbe grinned so widely that Cummins could see the gold in the man’s back teeth. “Our equipment manager.”

  Cummins figured that meant the guy driving here from LA with the weapons. He wondered if he could get a gun, too.

  “When’s he arriving?” Cummins asked.

  “A couple more hours.”

  “And how about those Lion Team guys?”

  Zerbe smiled again. “Probably any time now. I figure once they get here and settle in, Luan and I can go meet Dill and pick up what we need.”

  “Where’s that gonna be?”

  Zerbe drank the last of the amber fluid in the tiny bottle before he answered.

  “I’ll let him pick the spot. He’ll call and give me the coordinates.” He snorted a laugh. “The guy’s a bit paranoid but who can blame him?” He took one more drag on the cigarette and dropped it into the bottle. The ash hissed and a trail of smoke wafted up through the tiny neck.

  “Give me back my phone,” Cummins said. “I need to make a call.”

  Zerbe shook his head. “Huh-un. Not a good idea. Boss’s orders, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember, all right. But how come you get to use your phone and I can’t use mine?”

  Zerbe sighed and rocked his head to the side, like he was trying to explain the concept of jurisprudence to a third-grader.

  “Because,” he said. “As I told you, Dill is on his way here with our equipment. He has my number, and I need to be in contact with him until we meet. Once that happens, and the transaction has been completed, my phone will go in the safe along with yours.” He paused and raised both eyebrows. “Capisci?”

  “I told you I don’t speak that South African shit.”

  Zerbe rolled his eyes. “That’s Italian, and just a word of warning, Luan and the boys are very nationalistic. Don’t say anything disparaging about South Africa in front of them.”

  “Hey, I’m still an important part of this operation,” Cummins said. “So don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do.”

  “Believe me, Luan’s not the man you want to make angry.”

  “Fuck him,” Cummins said. “And I want to use my phone. Give it back to me. Now.”

  Zerbe got up and walked to the wall safe. He pressed the keyboard and the safe beeped, then jerked open. He removed the cell phone from his pocket and slipped it inside. Cummins watched as Zerbe shut the door and input the locking code once more, but this time Cummins was watching more closely and saw it: P880.

  “Sorry,” Zerbe said. “Boss’s orders.”

  Cummins said nothing, but he thought: This asshole’s a real prick.

  They stood facing each other, saying nothing, and Cummins wondered if he could just bulldoze over the sleazebag and open the safe himself. He was bigger than Zerbe, but he’d never been good at fighting or intimidation. In the army he knew the enlisted men called him disparaging names behind his back, despite him being an officer. If Fallotti hadn’t pulled those strings to get him sent to Iraq and assigned to M.I. four years ago, he wouldn’t be in this fucking mess now. Back then, all he had to do was pay Eagan and his Viper team under the table to get the artifact and smuggle it back to the U.S. in hold-baggage. And they fucked that up royally killing those ragheads and framing Wolf. This South African prick was out of the same mold as the enlisted vermin.

  This guy makes his living walking on the shady side, he thought, while I’m an attorney. Better to wait.

  He looked away first and walked over to the mini-bar.

  “Hey,” Zerbe said. “Don’t drink up all my whiskey now.”

  His tone sounded almost cordial, but Cummins wasn’t fooled. Before he could answer the room phone rang.

  Zerbe strolled over by the desk and answered it.

  “Hello?” His mouth worked into a lips-only smile. “Yes, they’re the ones I mentioned. I’ll be right there.”

  He set the phone back in its cradle.

  “They’re here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Cummins continued to peruse the contents of the mini-bar and grabbed a candy bar. He began to unwrap it as Zerbe continued to the door, casting a quick glance back at the wall safe as if to confirm that he’d locked it before slipping out the door.

  As soon as the door had closed Cummins went to the safe and punched P880.

  The stupid prick, he thought as the door of the safe popped open. Did he think I wouldn’t see?

  Cummins reached inside and grabbed his phone. The LCD screen was blank, so he pressed the button to turn it on. It illuminated and Cummins immediately brought it to his mouth and said, “Call Fallotti.”

 
He waited for the voice activation program to begin dialing the selected number, but when he glanced at the screen again he saw a flashing message.

  NO SERVICE

  How could that be? He’d just charged it up this morning.

  He pressed the button to activate the phone lexicon and pressed the button.

  NO SERVICE flashed again.

  Then it dawned on him. Fallotti had somehow cancelled his phone service.

  Was this the first step in erasing him as well?

  He felt an uncontrollable urge to throw up, coupled this time with an overwhelming need to void his bowels. He shoved the phone back into the safe, closed the door, and input the locking code.

  Got to go bad, he thought, digging for the key to his own room.

  He rushed over to the door and pulled it open only to see Zerbe standing there grinning along with a bunch of the biggest, meanest, roughest looking guys he’d ever seen.

  Chapter Eleven

  Charlie’s Steakhouse

  Phoenix, Arizona

  They hadn’t even ordered their food yet and Wolf figured there was going to be trouble when the maître de seated Kasey and Shemp only a table away from their booth. Wolf and McNamara sat on either side with Yolanda, Brenda, and Ms. Dolly on the circular seat in between. Kasey’s eyes widened and then narrowed as she glared at them. Shemp’s eyebrows rose and a nervous smile stretched his lips. Kasey immediately grabbed the maître de’s arm and asked to be seated at another table.

  “Of course, madam,” the man said, looking a bit strained. “I’ll see what’s available.”

  Kasey and Shemp started to follow him, but McNamara was already out of his seat calling to her. He turned to address the booth.

  “Hey, it’s my daughter,” he said. “I’ll introduce you.”

  In two large steps he cut in front of them.

  Ms. Dolly leaned over the table and addressed Wolf in a low whisper.

  “Ain’t she the one that was at the airport when we dropped y’all off from getting’ back from Mexico?”

  Wolf nodded, not wanting to comment on how poorly that introduction had gone.