Across from him, he could see a hint of amusement rise on Gerard’s face, just as it did every time Koob’s native accent came out, or even just a bit of common English slang.
Something that rarely happened, sliding in only when he didn’t care enough to hide it.
Or was supremely focused on something more important.
“Good,” Gerard said. “So you have a plan? A way to bring this to an end soon enough?”
Rising slightly from his seat, Koob reached into his pocket, extracting his cell phone. Wagging it once at Gerard, he returned to his seat, balancing it across his thigh.
“After she was arrested, it wasn’t too hard to find her car sitting unattended nearby. Hirsch slipped a little something under her bumper, giving us her every movement.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The events of the last two days were swirling in Reed Mattox’s head as he pulled up to the quaint ranch house in a bucolic neighborhood, the place no different than a thousand – a million – others just like it dotting the country.
Painted light blue with pale yellow shutters, the grass had already been cut once for the year, everything neat and trim.
It was nearly impossible to believe that just a few days before, that had been Reed, sitting on his back deck, enjoying what felt like the start of spring. With the competing smells of fresh cut grass and seared beef in his nostrils, it seemed like all was right with the world.
What a difference forty-eight hours can make.
Beginning with an unexpected call from his captain, the time since had been a swirl of blood spatter, pawn shops, realty companies, angry media, and now an ill-advised quasi-partnership with a woman he was reasonably certain he would never see again.
The scene at the apartment complex might have been a top three spectacle, but there was no doubt this case was going to climb even higher in his rankings before it was done, the outcome still a long way from certain.
Easing off the engine, Reed reached into the passenger seat, taking up a plastic grocery sack, the container crinkling loudly in his hand. Pulling it over onto his lap, he said, “Come on, girl.”
Not bothering to wait for the back door, Billie spilled between the front seats and down to the asphalt behind him, taking a few quick steps to slow her momentum before leveling out. Flipping the door shut, the two moved up the front walk and onto the stoop, Reed’s hand raised to shoulder height to knock when the door swung open.
Pausing, Reed stood with his mouth ajar, his fist raised by his side.
In all the times he had visited the place, never before had it opened without him banging at least a half dozen times.
And never had it opened to reveal the person he was there to see on the opposite side.
“Hey man,” Derrick Chamberlain said, a juice box in hand, the straw bent at an awkward angle above it.
Known as Deke to anybody that had known him for more than a few seconds, he was a college friend and neighbor of Reed’s former partner Riley.
A veritable idiot savant, while Riley had gone into law enforcement, where she met and partnered with Reed, Deke had parlayed his advanced computer science degree into a job working from his grandmother’s basement.
A job constructing and performing cybersecurity that just happened to net many times what the two police officers made annually.
Combined.
“Oh, hey,” Reed said, glancing to his fist before slowly lowering it. “Wasn’t expecting to see you standing here.”
Bringing his brow together for a moment, the comment seemed to genuinely confuse Deke before he shrugged, letting it go.
“Yeah, grandma’s watching Dancing with the Stars in the living room. I came up for a drink, saw you pull up.”
Not sure what to say, or even if he should, Reed only nodded.
“Come on down,” Deke said, turning away from the door. “Hey, Pooch.”
Stepping to the side, Reed let Billie pass through before following her inside, closing the door behind them. Moving across a small linoleum foyer, they stepped through a side door, the warm country motif of the main floor fading away.
Descending down a stairwell of plain wooden steps, each one took them deeper into a den of arrested development, the kind of place most would equate to an adolescent gamer.
Which wasn’t far from what Deke was, if one were to look past the occasional gray appearing in his wild mane of blonde hair or the wrinkles starting to frame his face, a stark contrast to his rail-thin body.
Beating Reed to the bottom by several steps, Deke moved across the floor, threading his way past the eighty-inch television sitting off to the left, running his fingers across the tops of the matching leather recliners sitting before it.
On the opposite side of the room, Reed could just make out the adjusted living quarters lit up by a host of neon signs announcing alcohols of various brands, a water bed with rumpled covers and a kitchenette barely visible.
“So,” Deke asked, walking to the enormous bank of electronics that comprised the middle portion of the room. Pulling a rolling desk chair out to the side, he flopped his elongated frame down into it, raising a woolen sock clad foot to the opposite knee, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
As little as six months ago, there was no way the visits would have been called a pleasure for either side.
The two had first met almost a decade before, both sides leery, a mutual affinity for Riley being the only thing that bridged the gap.
With her passing, footing between them had been a bit rocky at first, Reed only making the effort because the man before him was the absolute best at what he did.
Over time, things had begun to thaw, the two sides developing an appreciation for their respective skills, even if it wasn’t yet to a level that could quite be termed friendship.
“Need a favor,” Reed opened. Stepping forward, he extended the package in hand bottom first, waiting for Deke to accept it before retreating.
Keeping his juice box raised to the corner of his mouth, Deke balanced the offering on his thigh, peeling back the top of the bag to reveal the label of what was inside.
“Ooh,” he said, glancing down at it, “Remy Martin. We’re getting fancy these days, huh?”
Knowing that alcohol was the only form of payment Deke would accept from him, and the severity of the ask he was there to make, Reed hadn’t figured it was time to cut corners.
Even if he had never actually tasted the stuff, the kid behind the counter seemed to be thoroughly in awe of it.
“It came highly recommended,” Reed said, leaving it at that.
Regarding the label for another moment, looking at it the way others might stare at a picture of their wife or children, Deke eventually shook his head before pulling the wrapper back up and placing it off to the side.
“Alright,” Deke said, returning himself to upright and drawing out the last of his beverage, the sound of air bubbles being sucked through a straw audible, Billie’s ears rising on her head in kind. “What have you got for me?”
Extending his left hand, Reed ran his fingers through the thick hair atop Billie’s head, feeling her press tighter against his leg, returning the gesture.
“Vinson Gerard,” Reed said.
Bringing his brows together slightly, Deke raised his hands, lacing them behind his head.
“Hmm,” he said, pondering the name a moment, “never heard of him.”
“Nor should you,” Reed said. “Born and raised in London, supposed to be a bigtime magnate in scrap metal, junkyards, that sort of thing.”
“Magnate,” Deke repeated, “as in, he’s loaded.”
“As in,” Reed agreed.
“Meaning it’s likely all a front for something else,” Deke finished.
“There you go,” Reed replied.
“Hmm,” Deke said again, his lips pursed before him as he contemplated the request. “Okay, shouldn’t be a problem. What does this have to do with a detective in Columbus, if I might ask?”
>
Having worked together with Deke a number of times, Reed was well past having any qualms sharing details. Even Grimes had personally vetted him, giving a stamp of approval to bringing him in under certain situations.
Like with most things in life, being exceptionally good at something had a way of gaining one some leeway.
“A couple of nights ago, we had a double murder not far from here.”
“Oh shit,” Deke replied, “the Cantwell thing?”
Feeling his eyebrows slide up his forehead, Reed looked at Deke, making no effort to hide his surprise. “You heard about that?”
Tilting his head to the side, Deke made a face, extending a hand to either side. “Dude, come on.”
Not meaning to offend, Reed raised both palms in a gesture of apology. “Anyway, yeah, I caught that one, and it looks like Cantwell might have been just camouflage. The real target may have been the other girl, someone that was over here hiding.”
Returning his hands back to the top of his head, Deke asked, “From Gerard?”
“From Gerard,” Reed confirmed.
“Damn, what did the girl do?” Deke asked.
Opening his mouth, Reed contemplated responding before thinking better of it. Most of the story Sydney Rye had given him vacillated between salacious and infuriating, the kind of thing that didn’t need to be repeated many times over.
Not yet, anyway.
“It’s a long story,” Reed replied. “But apparently, he’s in the area, and he brought a crew with him.”
Pausing just long enough to let it be known that he noticed what Reed had done there, Deke said, “And I’m guessing he’s not shacking up at the Best Western.”
Coughing out a quick laugh, Reed replied, “No, I’m guessing not.”
“Alright,” Deke said, lowering one hand to his brow in a mock salute, “I’m on it. When I know something, you’ll know something.”
“Appreciate it,” Reed replied. Slapping at the leg of his jeans, he pulled Billie to his feet, both already shifting to the stairs.
Halfway there, he stopped, a new thought occurring to him as he turned back.
“Also, there’s one more thing...”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
No matter what the clock on the dash said, how much rest she might have missed while flying across multiple time zones, sleep was the furthest thing from Sydney Rye’s mind. Having gotten more than enough the night before was a start, the remainder fueled by the unbridled adrenaline surging into her system.
And the fact that there was no way she could go back to her motel, would even consider trying to find somewhere else to bed down, making her an easy target.
Not with Clarence Koob undoubtedly having hidden something in the undercarriage of her car, sitting somewhere close by, watching her every move.
If they could track her to the motel room based on nothing but internet search history, finding her in a small Midwestern suburb would be an easy feat.
Which meant she needed to get ready.
The trick she’d pulled the night before wasn’t going to work twice. She didn’t know the city well enough to bother going hunting again for an optimal location, and now that she knew definitively that Koob was involved, swiping another Beretta with aging firing mechanisms and questionable care wasn’t going to get it done.
Instead, she’d been forced to do something she really didn’t want to, tapping into her RoamZone and sending up a flare for help.
Had this incident occurred in London, or Bangkok, or Tokyo, or even New York, Rye would have had someone on speed dial. She could have made a couple quick inquiries, contacted the right person, placed her order as easy as if requesting a large pepperoni and mushroom with extra sauce.
This being Columbus, her network of contacts - and even their network – was glaringly scant, the closest anybody could do being in Cleveland almost three hours to the north. A round trip time of six hours, plus the meeting.
Time she just didn’t have, knew Blue would not appreciate being forced to sit through.
Also increasing the constraint was the detective, now armed with the name of Vinson Gerard. While Rye had many times seen how slow and cautious local law enforcement could be, she had gotten the distinct impression from him and his captain that they too were working under serious demands.
Based on the media gathered outside the apartment building earlier in the day, it wasn’t hard to imagine why.
Compounding things was the open distrust Mattox seemed to display for her and the situation, a feeling she was positive she would share if in his position.
Meaning there was a good chance something could be happening fast.
And there was no way she was going to be stuck on the road somewhere between Columbus and Cleveland when it did.
Perched behind the wheel of her rented SUV, Rye circled through the back streets of a suburb known as Reynoldsburg. Who Reynolds was or what they had done to earn their own chunk of town, Rye hadn’t the slightest idea, even less caring to parse it out as she wound her way through the streets.
With the phone clutched in the palm of her hand, she alternated glances between it and the street ahead, the glowing screen destroying her night vision, making it tough to pick out much detail of the world outside.
Not that there appeared to be a great deal to see.
Unlike The Bottoms she’d just come from, with its dilapidated homes and store fronts, this part of town seemed to be more industrial.
Or rather, had been at one point.
Large buildings sat silent and vacant to either side, weeds poking up through the parking lots, chain link gates sagging across the front drives.
Raising her foot off the gas so she did little more than idle forward, Rye rolled on, checking the scant signage outside against the number in her hand.
The responder was someone known as ZmBHntR, a moniker that didn’t give Rye a lot of confidence in the type of person she was going to meet, though it did instill a solid level of certainty that they would be able to fulfill her needs.
Crazy or not, people that believed the End of Days was coming – regardless what form it took – were committed.
And commitment meant being prepared.
Which was exactly what Rye was hoping to cash in on.
“Okay, here we are,” Rye said, coming to a complete stop in the road, the SUV parallel to a small brick structure nestled between two larger warehouses. Appearing like it might have at one point been an outpost of the two – a guard shack, or perhaps a generator shed – the place was windowless, a single door in the center of it, a bare bulb throwing down a thin light, just enough to illuminate the hand painted numbers strewn across it.
Otherwise, there were no signs of life.
No cars out front, not even a light pole with a clear view to place surveillance cameras.
Not that Rye had any doubt she was already being watched.
“Alright,” she whispered, the word pulling Blue’s head up through the front seats, his breath hot against her neck.
Tapping the gas once, she eased along the front drive, hearing gravel crunch beneath her tires. Putting the driver’s side door just to the right of the entrance, giving her the shortest possible distance to be exposed, Rye parked and stepped out.
As she did so, pinpricks of sensation ran the length of her spine, Rye forcing herself not to react, to not give even the slightest indication that anything was wrong.
Pulling open the backseat, Rye waited as Blue piled out behind her, more than a hundred pounds of charged muscle, the two of them approaching the front door together.
Just halfway there, the small squeal of a speaker could be heard, followed by a mechanized voice stating, “The dog stays behind.”
Flicking her gaze in quick order across the front of the building, Rye couldn’t see the speakers or the camera they were watching from, the shadows too heavy as they splayed across the front.
“No chance,” she said, twisting her chin just slightly
.
“Leave the dog,” the voice said again, the extra iron in the tone clear, everything else – even the speaker’s gender – indiscernible.
Raising her hands a few inches to either side, Rye splayed her fingers wide, displaying they were empty. Keeping her left in that position, she reached into her pocket with her right, extracting the roll of cash she’d snagged the night before, almost two inches thick, held in place with a rubber band.
There was no point in challenging them again on bringing Blue. That part was non-negotiable. She wasn’t going a step further without him by her side, no matter how many times they told her to.
Instead, she opted to appeal to them with the only thing that might be stronger than any reluctance they had.
“Look, I’ve got three thousand dollars in cash to spend. We doing this or what?”
Fueled by equal parts adrenaline and annoyance, Rye fixed her gaze straight at the door, waiting.
Twenty seconds later she was rewarded, the sound of an automated lock clicking open ringing out, beckoning them forward.
Returning the cash to her pocket, Rye moved for the door, Blue tight by her side. Reaching it at the same time, she twisted the knob and pushed it inward, a narrow hallway stretched out before them.
Ten feet in length, a line of bare bulbs in wire cages hung down from the ceiling, casting filmy light over a wood floor, the varnish starting to wear, some splinters beginning to stick up at odd intervals.
Beyond that was nothing but darkness, the hall ending abruptly.
Again feeling her heart rate rise, Rye paused in the doorframe, assessing what she saw.
Never before had she been to Ohio, had no familiarity with how to legally procure weapons, though she was near certain it would require things like paperwork and waiting times.
Things she had zero interest in putting up with at the moment.
She also knew there was no chance she could move on Koob unarmed, or even with limited firepower.
He would be holding an arsenal, and she needed to do the same.
And that meant stepping forward into the unknown, this being the only person that had responded to her ad.
Justice Page 14