“Shucks,” Ms. Dolly said, turning to Brenda. “If this goes like the last time, remind me not to say anything later about daddy’s little girl.”
Brenda murmured something in Spanish that Wolf couldn’t quite discern and wondered if Ms. Dolly was fluent as well.
Both of them switched on their most radiant smiles, as did Yolanda, when Mac came walking back, holding both his daughter and Shemp by their left and right upper arms respectively. Shemp was dressed in a gray suit and red tie and Kasey wore the same low-cut evening style dress she’d worn the night before. Wolf and Mac, as well as the P-Patrol, were all casually dressed in blue jeans and running shoes.
“Ladies, this is my daughter, Kasey, and her fella.” He turned to face Kasey. “This is Ms. Dolly Kline, Ms. Brenda Carrera, and Ms. Yolanda Moore. They work in bail enforcement, just like me and Steve, and they call themselves the P—”
“Hell’s belles,” Ms. Dolly said, interrupting. “We’re thinkin’ of changing our name to that. My, y’all look so elegant. So how are ya?”
Both Brenda and Yolanda muttered the standard greetings. Wolf just sat there regretting he hadn’t dissuaded Mac from booking the reservations at this place.
Kasey raised one eyebrow and glanced away, making no effort to disguise that she wasn’t liking what she saw.
“Pleased to meet you,” Shemp said, the nervous smile still plastered in place.
“Actually,” Kasey said, “we met before. At the airport. The last time you were here.”
“That’s right,” Ms. Dolly said. “We did, didn’t we? Nice seein’ you again.”
“Yeah,” Kasey said. “Excuse us, we’re going to another table.”
With that, she extricated her arm from her father’s grip and started to move away, then stopped. “And, dad, Rod’s my fiancé, not my fella.”
Shemp emitted a half-hearted laugh followed by another quick smile as he trailed her back toward the front of the restaurant.
McNamara stood in the aisle in silence, looking after them with a wistful expression. He shook his head slightly and then resumed his seat next to Ms. Dolly.
“She’s a very pretty gal,” Ms. Dolly said.
McNamara nodded but said nothing.
The four of them in the booth sat in silence for several seconds and then McNamara muttered, “I’m sorry.”
Ms. Dolly slapped him on the shoulder and smiled. “Hey, don’t be. Ain’t nothin’ a drink or two won’t cure. Besides, this is a supposed to be a working dinner anyway. We got business to discuss.” She was wearing a sleeveless black blouse and when she lifted her arm to summon one of the waiters Wolf was surprised to see how muscular her arm looked.
“We need some libation,” she told the waiter, and then said, “Make mine a whiskey sour.”
McNamara, still looking forlorn, ordered a B and B, and the rest of them ordered wine. When the waiter left Ms. Dolly leaned forward and said with a grin, “Well, whaddya think? Should we change our name to Hell’s Belles, or what?”
“You’ll always be the P-Patrol to me,” McNamara said.
Ms. Dolly slapped his arm affectionately. “You got that right, sugar. So tell me, how are gonna grab this turkey, Krenshaw?”
McNamara seemed to snap out of his drudgery and said, “We’re already working on it.”
This surprised Wolf, who knew next to nothing about these efforts.
“I got Kasey looking into both the sister and the girlfriend’s credit card usage,” McNamara said. “Girlfriend rented a car before our boy Willard bailed out. Part of the conditions of his release were that he surrender his passport and appear in person at his next court date, which he didn’t. When he didn’t show up for his arraignment, his lawyer filed some kind of bullshit brief getting a two-week extension date, which is up this coming Monday. If our boy don’t show, the Pope’s on the line for the bond.”
“Lawyer on the lam,” Ms. Dolly said. “But we already know all that, sugar. The trail led here, right?”
McNamara nodded. “His sister lives here and as far as we can tell, she and girlfriend are running interference for him. Willard and his lady have been staying in a couple different hotels and motels in the area. Most likely trying to get some fake passports and some funds to fly the coop.”
“So it becomes a matter of following the paper trail to see where he’s hold up?” Ms. Dolly said.
McNamara nodded. “I’ve got Kasey working on that. She’s a whiz at tracing that kind of stuff down.”
Ms. Dolly’s eyes caught Wolf’s for a brief moment and then she said, “Well, that’s good. But I’ve got my hacker guy doin’ pretty much the same thing, so, hopefully, between the two of them, they’ll come up with some good locations.”
“Not to rain on this parade,” Wolf said. “But isn’t Organized Crime looking for this guy, too?”
“That’s the rumor,” Ms. Dolly said. “Which is why I told the Pope we were gonna need you two as backup for the muscle. Plus an increase in our bonus.”
“You can be our bodyguards,” Brenda said.
“We’ll make sure to do that,” McNamara said with a wink.
Wolf felt Yolanda’s hand squeeze his thigh under the table.
The waiter returned with a tray holding the drinks. The conversation paused while he set a glass in front of each of them, and then left.
Ms. Dolly lifted hers and held it high. “Sounds like this is gonna boil down to a good, old fashioned stakeout. Here’s to our success.”
Everybody drank to the toast, but Wolf only sipped his. He had the feeling he wanted to stay stone-cold sober from here on out until this lawyer on the lam case was done.
Luan Preetorius gazed out through the tinted front passenger window of the vehicle as Zerbe drove through the darkened streets. It was still relatively early, comparatively speaking, but he was feeling a bit of fatigue from the constant traveling. Flying from Johannesburg to Baltimore and then on to Phoenix had been taxing and he didn’t sleep well on planes. Still, the adrenaline boost of a new mission always revived him. Zerbe had explained it as a simple mission of staking out a couple of Americans and locating an item, a plaster statue. The surveillance equipment had looked first rate, including a fairly sophisticated surveillance drone and now they were going to procure some weaponry. There would be, Zerbe had told him, some tidying up of loose ends to do, but the money was substantial and to be paid in cash. Good old American greenbacks. Perhaps he and the rest of the team would take that much-needed R and R in Las Vegas while they were still in the States.
Or perhaps not. Canada or Mexico would offer as much appeal, maybe even Costa Rica. The monetary exchange rate, the liquor, and the women would be plentiful in any of them and if this mission involved some tactical neutralizations, it might be better to make a quick exit.
Vinnige inskywing, vinnige uitgang—Quick entry, quick exit.
That was his rule and it had served him well up until this point. No need to change what worked.
And this one had all the earmarks of simplicity. Observe and wait. Zerbe had said that the two adversaries they’d be facing both had American military experience and were to be considered formidable. Preetorius relished the thought of facing a pair of worthy foes. It had been a while. He was less impressed by the corpulent associate named Cummins, who now sat in the rear section of the vehicle next to Rensburg. Not only did this man have thick glasses and a morbid obesity, but they’d had to stop en route to this meeting to allow him to vomit on the side of the road. He was a weakling, and Preetorius had little tolerance for weakness. But they’d worked for soft, fat men before and as long as the money was good, it didn’t matter. This one apparently had connections to the power behind the operation.
The vehicle slowed and pulled into a strip mall. Zerbe stopped in the middle of the aisle and waited. Perhaps a hundred feet in the opposite direction another vehicle was backed-in on an angle, its headlights facing them. Zerbe switched his off, and then on again. The other vehicle didn’t move
and then Zerbe’s cell phone rang.
He answered it and muttered a few things that seemed to indicate that they’d made the connection they were supposed to make.
Zerbe lit up a cigarette and the smoke billowed around him like a translucent haze. He terminated the call and the vehicle rolled forward slowly.
Before he could say anything, Preetorius reached over and plucked the smoldering cigarette from between Zerbe’s lips. He cranked the window down and tossed it out.
“I don’t like those things,” he said, rolling the window back up.
Zerbe stared at him for several seconds, then said, “That’s them. They’re going to lead us to a more secluded spot.”
That activated a caution light in Preetorius’s mind.
“How well do you know this guy?” he asked Zerbe in Afrikaans.
“Pretty well,” Zerbe replied. “I’ve used him a time or two before, but …”
Preetorius turned to look at him.
“That’s not to say,” Zerbe continued, “that we shouldn’t exercise due caution. If he tries anything stupid, let’s consider him an expendable commodity.”
“The first of many, I assume,” Preetorius said.
“Correct,” Zerbe said, still speaking in Afrikaans. “As I told you, our employer has an aversion to loose ends.”
Preetorius smiled as his fingers caressed the textured handle of his K-bar, anticipating the pleasure of possibly getting a chance to use it again so soon.
Charlie’s Steakhouse
Phoenix, Arizona
Wolf and McNamara stood side-by-side at the urinals in the Men’s Washroom.
“The gals are all staying in one room at the hotel,” McNamara said.
“Yeah?”
“So Ms. Dolly and Brenda sort of suggested that I accompany them back there to discuss some more business.”
The way he said business told Wolf all he needed to know. He recalled that had also been the arrangement in Las Vegas.
“Well,” Wolf said, finishing up. “You are Special Forces. And I’m just a Ranger.”
McNamara laughed and said, “Besides, if I remember correctly, you and Yolanda probably have some similar things you’d like to discuss in private, right?”
Wolf had been hoping to spend some romantic time with her but wasn’t sure how this scenario was going to play out. He didn’t answer.
“So I was thinking that maybe you could maybe take a taxi or one of them Uber things back to the ranch and I’ll meet you there in the morning,” McNamara said. “I’ll keep the Escalade here with me.”
They both went to the array of sinks and began washing their hands.
“You sure you’re up to this?” Wolf asked.
“Oh, yeah.” McNamara chuckled and grinned. “Like you said, I am Special Forces.”
Wolf laughed, too. “I probably should ask Yolanda how she feels about this arrangement, don’t you think?”
McNamara shook his wet hands and reached for one of the paper towels.
“Might be a good idea, I guess. But I think Ms. Dolly already brokered the subject.”
As they walked out they saw the women were still apparently in the Ladies’ Room. McNamara told Wolf to wait for them and went up front to pay the bill. Presently the doors opened and the three of them pranced out. Yolanda walked up to him and smiled.
“Where’s Mac?” Ms. Dolly asked.
“He’s paying the bill,” Wolf said, trying to think of a way to unobtrusively invite Yolanda to go back to his place.
And then he thought about it. His place wasn’t exactly a plush bachelor pad. It was a two-room flat above a garage. What would a high-class lady like this think about the way he lived? Maybe it would be best to tell Mac to back off on his romantic plans.
Ms. Dolly and Brenda started walking toward the front entrance, which left Wolf and Yolanda standing alone in the hallway.
Wolf cleared his throat.
“I, umm …” He started to clear his throat again, giving himself time to search for the right words, still trying to predict her reaction.
Before he could speak she reached into her purse and took out her smartphone.
“What’s your address?” she asked. “I’ll order us up a ride, but we’ll have to stop by the hotel first so I can get my go-bag.”
Wolf felt both delighted and surprised. He wasn’t used to the woman making the command decisions, but in this case he wasn’t complaining, either.
I guess that settles that, he thought, and smiled.
Downtown Phoenix
The two vehicles sat back-to-back in the semi-darkness of the deserted underpass and Cummins watched as the two big South Africans inspected the array of weaponry: two long guns and an assortment of handguns. He wanted to grab one of them for himself but didn’t want to approach the group while they were involved in their selection. Zerbe stood next to Cummins and was smoking a cigarette. Dill, the black guy Zerbe knew from LA stood by the open rear of the dark, windowless van along with another black guy who was obviously armed with some sort of big handgun on his hip.
Zerbe blew out a plume of smoke and the warm night breeze blew it across to Cummins. He coughed.
At least the prick hadn’t been smoking that long in the car before that guy Preetorius guy took it away from him and that was a good thing.
My stomach was already on the ropes, Cummins thought.
The leader, the one called Luan, picked up a blue steel semi-auto, racked back the slide, checked the chamber, then eased the slide forward. He then shifted to a firing position and swiveled his body. The hammer made a dull snap and he relaxed and hefted the weapon in his hand.
“How many magazines do you have for this one?” he asked the black guy, Dill.
“I got two, and one of them’s extended,” Dill said.
“Let me see them,” Luan said.
The other South African, who was even bigger than Luan, picked up an AR-15, broke it open, and began field stripping it. He said something to Luan in what Cummins figured was their native language. He tried to remember that one’s name.
“You like it, Johannes?” Zerbe asked.
The big guy grinned. “It’s not my Denel, but it’ll do.” He turned to Dill. “Do you have an extended magazine for this one, too?”
“We should only need handguns for this one,” Zerbe said. “We need to keep it low key.”
“Too bad,” Johannes said. He slid the bolt back into place, snapped the upper and lower receivers together, pressed in the pin, and the passed the AR-15 back to Dill.
These guys spoke really good English and Cummins wondered why they’d been speaking in that other language in the car. It not only made him feel left out but he also wondered just what Zerbe had been saying about him.
Were they plotting against him?
First Fallotti and Von Dien had kept him isolated in that damn cabin for a couple of weeks then they’d sent him on this excursion where Zerbe was calling all the shots.
Then they told Zerbe to snatch my phone, he thought. And cancelled my service, which Zerbe hadn’t mentioned to him.
They needed him on scene to identify the artifact and probably as insurance that Zerbe wouldn’t try to abscond with the damn thing and renegotiate the deal. Cummins was also the logical choice that he’d be the one selected to take the artifact back to New York.
Or was he?
He watched as the perusal continued.
Zerbe took one last drag on the cigarette, dropped it, and ground it out beneath his shoe. He walked over to the van.
“You got that snub-nose I told you to bring?” he asked.
Dill, who seemed to be chewing on a toothpick, nodded and reached into the van. He withdrew a small, shiny revolver and flipped open the cylinder and handed it to Zerbe.
This is my chance, Cummins thought, and stepped over as well.
“I need one of those, too,” he said.
Zerbe glanced at him. “I thought you didn’t like to get your hands dirty
?”
“I don’t. But I also like some insurance, just in case.”
“In case of what?” Zerbe said. He snapped the cylinder closed, cocked back the hammer, and pointed it at Cummins. “Something like this?”
Cummins felt a rush of panic and outrage, even though he was pretty sure the damn thing wasn’t loaded.
“Quit fucking around,” Cummins said. It took him several seconds before he even thought of moving out of the line of fire. “You’re not supposed to point a gun at anybody you’re not intending to shoot.”
Zerbe dropped his hand. “You’re absolutely correct.” He flashed a quick grin. “So the next time I do it, you’ll know the jig’s up, won’t you?”
His laugh was staccato and phlegmy sounding.
The two South African goons laughed and the two gunrunners did as well, which irritated Cummins to no end.
“I want a gun, too,” he said.
“Dill,” Zerbe said. “What do you have for my corpulent friend who doesn’t like to get his hands dirty?”
Dill grinned and Cummins could see it was half-chewed toothpick that he had in the corner of his mouth. The black man looked to be sizing Cummins up.
“What you got in mind?” he asked.
Appropriate question, Cummins thought. One that I should be asking Zerbe.
McNamara Ranch
Phoenix, Arizona
The lights were on in the house as Wolf and Yolanda got out of the ride-share.com car and the motion-sensor light on the garage was activated. He reached for his wallet, but she shook her head.
“I’ll just put the tip on here,” she said. “Don’t want to mess up my rating.”
“Your rating?”
“You can rate the driver’s service, and he can give you a passenger rating, too. It stays on your record.”
Wolf was amazed. This had been his first time using such a service and he didn’t particularly care for it. The vehicle was a Honda Civic and had the feel of being somebody’s private ride, which it was. The setting seemed somehow less intimate and private than a cab and he found himself overcome with reticence.
Devil's Fancy (Trackdown Book 2) Page 19