The Murder Run Page 11

  On Sunday at 1:00 p.m., Tony stood on a corner across the street from Hightower Park. The sun was warm. Joggers, dog walkers, and couples moved along the park paths. Families were sprawled on blankets with their picnics. An elderly woman was throwing bits of bread to the ducks at the pond. The playground was full of squealing children, the parents standing at the edges watching the fun. Missy was sitting on a bench. Tony took another look around. He couldn’t see anyone who was as dangerous as he was. He glanced up to the roof of a ten-story apartment building catty-corner to his position and saw the glint of Nicole’s rifle scope. He breathed in and out slowly. It was time to move. He crossed at the crosswalk and strolled across the grass to the playground.

  “Missy.” He smiled and sat down beside her.

  “Kevlar’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

  “I’ve got trust issues. Let’s start with this picture.” He took out his phone and showed her the picture he took at the airport.

  “Clemens you know.”

  “He’s dead,” Tony replied.

  “I’m not surprised. Robertson I’ve known for years. He’s been a steady client. The older guy is named French; he’s a military contractor, I think. The other guy is one of his. I don’t know what their game is other than what you already know.”

  “But you were working me.”

  “Robertson promised me it was just to keep you out of the mix, that nothing would happen to you.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “He’s always been straight with me.”

  A kickball rolled over to the bench. Tony stopped it with his foot, then scooped it up and tossed it back toward a group of kids who were close by.

  “This can go two ways. I can assume you’re still trying to play me, and I can deal with you and your girlfriend—”

  “Betty’s got nothing to do with this.”

  “Or I can believe you’re being straight with me, in which case you’re willing to do your part to make this right.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  Tony raised up his arms as if he were stretching, Nicole’s signal to come down off the roof. “You’re going to set up a face-to-face with Robertson.”

  “Do I look that stupid?”

  “I’ll have your back. We need Robertson if we’re going to find French and his crew. You’re going to put a transmitter on him.”

  “How will I do that?”

  “You’re a big girl. Find a way to get it done.”

  “And then I’m out?”

  “So far as the heavy lifting.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I know you’re not a killer.”

  “I could drive you when you go for them.”

  “We’ll see where our trust level is when the time comes. You get in touch with Robertson. I’ll get the transmitter. We’ll meet at seven at the Gravy Boat Diner.”

  “That place over on Glendale?”

  “Yeah.”

  “See you then.”

  Missy took the path around the playground and cut across the park, skirting the pond. Tony got out his phone and speed-dialed Nicole. “You got her?”

  “She’s getting in a blue Audi. Got to go.”

  Nicole slipped into an on-street handicap parking space in her Camry and watched Missy get into her Audi about four cars ahead of her. What she pulled out, Nicole followed. Away from Hightower Park and the nearby restaurants, the downtown was Sunday afternoon deserted and the traffic was sparse, so Nicole had to stay well back, driving like a tourist who wasn’t sure of her destination. After Missy took a right turn, Nicole hid behind a city bus for three blocks. When the bus stopped, Nicole pulled right up behind Missy at the red light and looked down as if she were checking her smartphone. Missy took a left toward the freeway. The traffic picked up. Nicole stayed three cars back. Missy barreled up the entrance ramp, sped down the beltway to the next exit ramp, dropped her speed as if she were getting off, and then hit the gas and blew past that exit.

  At the following exit, she got off on Kennedy Boulevard and drove back into town, staying just under the speed limit. Nicole was still behind her. Missy drove into a neighborhood of newly built condos and parked on the street. Then she walked two blocks and crossed the street into a neighborhood of three-story walk-up apartments near Mitchellville College. A bearded guy dressed in a lumberjack shirt and jeans was sitting on the steps in front of one building. When he saw her, he pushed himself up off the steps. They shook hands, and he ushered her into the building.

  Nicole wrote down the building address and drove back to the motel. Tony was sitting up on the bed when she came through the door.

  “What’s up with Missy?”

  “Looks like she’s staying with some hipsters.”

  “Everybody owes her favors. As long as she thinks she’s safe, we know where to find her.”

  Nicole kicked off her shoes and padded over to the minifridge for a bottle of water. “Are you really going to let her off the hook?”

  “She does her part, I won’t kill her girlfriend, but I still haven’t made up my mind about her.”

  Missy stood in the living room of Barry’s apartment. Old wood floors, sagging sofa, a poster advertising a street party last year, dirty windows looking out onto the street. He came back in from the kitchen and handed her a bottle of beer.

  “When does everyone get back?” she asked.

  “Jackie gets off work at five. Miguel and Sophie? I haven’t seen them all weekend. Doesn’t matter. Nobody will care if you crash on the couch for a few days.”

  “Great.”

  “We are only talking about a few days?”

  “Maybe not even that long.” She took a pull off the bottle. “Don’t worry. I know how to take care of a friend. I’ll make sure you meet that guy.”

  “Thanks, Missy.”

  “I’ve got to make a private phone call, so I’m going into the bathroom.”

  “Mi casa, su casa.”

  She went down the narrow hallway to the tiny bathroom. There was a small window over the tub and peeling paint on the ceiling. It was as depressing as a prison cell. She put the lid down on the toilet and sat. It was time to pick a side. She got out her phone.

  “Robertson?”

  “Damn it, Missy, where have you been? Why did you run? I had you covered.”

  “I don’t trust those bastards you’re running with. They could have accidently killed me on purpose.”

  “I can protect you.”

  “I think we’ve had this conversation before. By the way, my guy is still alive.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Breathing and talking.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “Meet me at Lysistrata at nine.”

  “The lesbian bar downtown?”

  “The very one. By yourself. And Robertson? No guns.”

  She put her phone away and went back out to the living room. Barry was looking out the window with his beer in his hand. “Woman across the way does yoga in her underwear.”

  “She know you’re looking?”

  “She must. Jackie noticed her first.”

  Through the window across the street, they watched a slim dark-haired woman dressed only in a bra and panties working her way through a sun salutation.

  “Jackie’s got a great eye for a straight girl,” Missy said. An image of Betty, naked, her robe hanging loose from her shoulders, flashed through her mind.

  “You’re not kidding.”

  “You haven’t told anyone I’m staying here?”

  “No one. Jackie won’t even find out until she gets here.”

  “I really appreciate your help, Barry.”

  Robertson and French stood in the living room of a little farmhouse just outside the city limits. A For Sale sign stood in the front yard by the gravel driveway. Their trucks were parked in the backyard, and French’s men, three burly mercenaries, were unloading cots and equipment into the empty bedrooms. Robertson put away his phone.


  “Who was that?” French asked.

  “Missy.”

  He chuckled. “She decide to quit being afraid?”

  “The safecracker is still alive.”

  “That’s not possible. He was gut shot.”

  “Yeah, well, once you decided to kill him you should have made sure.”

  “You know we couldn’t risk staying there any longer than we did. She know where he is?”

  “She’s spooked. I’m meeting her tonight.”

  “I’ll put a couple of my guys on her.”

  “There’s no need to do that. She’s my CI.”

  “Paul, we’re not going to hurt her. You have my word. But we have to find this guy. If she’s too afraid to tell us, then we need to follow her to him. It’s the quickest way. Once that troublemaker is dealt with, we’re in the clear. It’s that simple.”

  At 7:00 p.m., Tony and Missy sat drinking coffee in a booth in the back corner of the Gravy Boat Diner. The restaurant was almost empty. An elderly couple were picking over the meatloaf and mashed potatoes they were sharing, and two teenage girls were drinking milkshakes and giggling over something they were looking at on a smartphone. Tony had a clear sight line out into the parking lot, and the door to the kitchen was only a few steps to his right. The back door was alarmed. Nicole was in her car across the street at the closed mechanic’s shop. If Missy had set him up, she’d be dead before she got to the street corner.

  He sipped his coffee. “You’re still alive. You must have a great safe house.”

  “I’m on the move.”

  “We think alike.” He passed her a small box containing the transmitter.

  She peeked inside. “It’s tiny.”

  “Welcome to the twenty-first century. GPS tracking. See the switch?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Turn it on ahead of time. He’s a suit guy, isn’t he?”

  She nodded.

  “Put it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Think about how free you’re going to feel when all these assholes are dead. You’ll find a way.”

  She slipped the box into her jacket pocket. “You know Lysistrata?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’re meeting at nine.”

  “Smart. French’s guys will have a hard time blending in.”

  “I’m going to get there at eight.”

  “We’ll be ready. Just make sure he’s wearing the transmitter when he leaves.”

  She slid out of the booth and walked away. Tony sat there sipping his coffee as he watched her cross the parking lot to a Toyota Yaris. He bet it was newly stolen. No flies on her. Which was why she couldn’t be trusted. She’d say anything or do anything to get out from under. One step at a time. Either she was going to put the transmitter on Robertson or she was going to make an excuse. And that would tell him everything he needed to know.

  Missy sat on a stool at the bar in Lysistrata. Even though it was Sunday, most of the tables and the seats at the bar were occupied. A folk duo played from a raised area in the back corner. The lights were dim, and the customers, women with a smattering of men, whispered to one another as they sipped their drinks. Missy didn’t like being here on business—the place wasn’t loud enough or dark enough, and the bartender was certainly going to remember a middle-aged man in a dark suit—but safety was her most important concern. No one was going to pull a woman out of this bar. And she’d easily escape out the back if someone were watching the front.

  Robertson came through the door. She waved. He looked as out of place as humanly possible. She turned to the bartender, a tattooed woman in a sleeveless top. “Give me another Chardonnay. My dad will have a whiskey on the rocks.”

  As he approached, she stood, took the transmitter from her pocket, hugged him as if she were frisking him, and slipped the device into his inside suit coat pocket.

  “Was that really necessary?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I ordered you a whiskey.”

  “Thanks.”

  She got back up on her stool.

  He leaned in close. “So tell me about the safecracker.”

  “Your guys tagged him.”

  “How bad?”

  “He’s not moving too fast.”

  “So where is he?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s willing to walk away if you are.”

  “Must be shot pretty bad. Find out where he’s staying.”

  “Why? Why should I do that? You told me nobody else was going to get hurt.”

  “That boat sailed when you couldn’t keep him from following us from the airport.”

  “Paul, really? You’re going to try to put this on me?”

  “Missy, take a breath. You’re not some stranger who knows too much. You’re with me. We have history. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “What about French?”

  “He has a tendency to overreact. I admit it. But once the safecracker is dealt with, there’s no more loose ends.”

  “You’re not inspiring confidence.”

  “Just find out where he’s staying. He can’t come after you if he’s dead, and I’ll kick in an extra two thousand.”

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You do that.”

  Robertson drained his glass and left the bar. Missy sat nursing her wine. The folk duo took a break. She wondered what Betty was doing. She should call her. She couldn’t have her start thinking that she didn’t really love her and was just living off her, but first she needed to deal with Tony. She got out her phone. “Hey, Tony.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s done.”

  “Great. If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

  He ended the call. She sipped her wine. Was it really done? Could he really deal with the mercs? He couldn’t possibly be planning to kill Robertson. Kill a Fed and you wind up dead. No, he was out of his depth, overmatched. He should have run. She wouldn’t be hearing from him again. She called Betty.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  “I am so glad to hear your voice. What’s that noise in the background? Where are you?”

  “Lysistrata.”

  “Without me?”

  “It’s strictly business. What are you doing?”

  “Hiding in the guest bedroom. C.J. has been driving me insane. She makes my OC seem completely normal. I don’t even think my brother is listening to her half the time.”

  “What about the kids?”

  “They’re monsters.”

  She laughed.

  “I’m not kidding. They’re sugar-fueled advertisements for sterilization.”

  “I miss you.”

  “When are we going home?”

  “Soon.”

  “That’s too long.”

  “We could meet somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “What’s the name of that hotel on Beech Street?”

  “That dump?”

  “This is what I’m reduced to. The bed can’t be that bad.”

  Betty signed. “I’ll text you with a room number.”

  Robertson left the Lysistrata parking lot in a Ford Explorer with Nicole and Tony, dressed in dark clothes, trailing after him in the Camry. It was a clear night. The traffic thinned out as they left the commercial district. Tony was following the transmitter on a GPS map on his phone. After Robertson took a right turn, Nicole dropped back a block. Robertson drove west, keeping just above the speed limit, driving as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As they reached the edge of town, the houses were farther and farther apart. Finally, Robertson turned down a gravel road. Nicole and Tony pulled off on the shoulder, turned off their headlights, and waited, keeping track of Robertson’s progress on the map. He came to a stop.

  They lowered the car windows and drove slowly down the gravel road by the light of the stars, listening for any noises that might mean trouble. Up ahead to the right, they saw light shinin
g out of the front windows of a little house, illuminating the Explorer parked in the front drive. Nicole turned left into the weeds, rolled over a shallow ditch, and parked up against a farm field fence. They opened the trunk, got out the AR-15 rifles, checked the magazines, and then started across the road, rifles at the ready. Tony felt relaxed, at peace with himself and the world. He took Nicole’s hand and whispered in her ear, “I always get that good feeling when I’m on a job with you.”

  She kissed his cheek.

  They crept up to the house, staying out of the light. Tony peeked through the front window into the living room. No one. They slipped around the left side, staying low to the ground. At the next window, Tony saw Robertson, French, and the thick-necked guy from the airport standing in the kitchen. Tony and Nicole squatted under the window to listen.

  “She’s onboard,” Robertson said. “You’ve got no reason to tail her. She’s going to come through.”

  “If that’s the case, Rick and Gary are just there to protect her,” French said.

  “She’s going to call as soon as she knows where he is.”

  “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “Keep me in the loop.”

  The front door slammed. Nicole crawled back to the corner and saw the Explorer drive away. In the meantime, Tony peeked into the backyard. There were two trucks parked on the grass. Tony and Nicole met back at the kitchen window. They could hear French speaking. “Robertson’s tougher than he looks. But if he can’t let that lesbian go, he’s not going to make it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Thick Neck replied.

  “I’m going to pick up the passports. You stay here.”

  French went out the back door and drove away in one of the trucks. Tony looked at Thick Neck through the window. He was a big guy, six two or three, and he was wearing a .45 in a shoulder rig, but no vest. He opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of beer, and twisted off the cap before he closed the refrigerator door. Tony and Nicole crouched under the window waiting until they couldn’t hear the truck anymore. They nodded to each other. Tony shouldered his AR-15 and stood up. Thick Neck was gone.