The Murder Run Read online

  “Stay put,” Nicole said. “If he comes to you, he’s leaking. I’m sure of it.”

  Tony leaned back against the wheel of the truck. “Missy!” he yelled.

  “Yeah?”

  “Turn off the kitchen lights and stay put until you hear the all clear.”

  The backyard went dark. Tony crawled under the truck and watched the farm field in back of the house. He couldn’t see or hear anything. The stars were bright, but not bright enough to light up the field. He slowed his breathing and kept scanning the distance. In a thicket off to his right—was a branch moving? He shifted his rifle.

  “Tony,” Nicole said. “I got him. I’m coming in from your right.”

  He saw her appear out of the dark, carrying two rifles. He crawled out from under the truck, sat on the bumper, and waited on her. “Good shooting.”

  “Thanks. How’s your wound?”

  “Sore, but I don’t think it’s bleeding.” He stood up. “Missy!” he yelled. “We’re coming in!”

  The kitchen lights switched on. Missy stood in the doorway holding French’s pistol. She looked at Nicole. “I was wondering when you’d turn up.”

  French and Gary were lying where they had fallen. Betty was sitting in a corner, head down, her arms wrapped around her legs. Tony squatted over Gary, turned out his pockets, and then moved on to French.

  “Find anything?” Nicole asked.

  “Phones, car keys, fake passports, hotel keycard, and a card from the downtown Hilton. Passports look pretty good.”

  Missy tucked French’s pistol into the pocket of her robe and helped Betty to her feet. “How did you get Paul to leave?”

  “I’ve got my ways.”

  “You knew French and his guy would fuck us up.”

  “I knew we could definitely kill two of them. Besides, you were playing both ends against the middle,” Tony said.

  “You would have done the same,” Missy replied.

  “Not to a partner.”

  She had her hand on the butt of her pistol. “I already told you I never meant for you or your guys to get hurt. That’s on this bastard.” She pushed at French with her foot.

  “You got in over your head relying on Robertson. I get that. But that’s all over now,” Tony said.

  Nicole handed Missy a set of car keys. “These should go to one of the trucks out back.”

  “You’re going to let us go?”

  Tony nodded. “You planted the transmitter, took your chances. That’s got to mean something.”

  “What are you going to do about this mess?”

  Tony surveyed the room. Two bodies, blood and spent bullets, fingerprints everywhere. And that was just the kitchen. “Burn it.”

  “Good luck,” Missy said. “Don’t bother to look for us. We’re leaving town.” Missy had her arm around Betty as they left through the back door.

  Tony and Nicole watched them get into the second truck. “We’ve got to move fast,” Nicole said.

  Tony nodded. “Garcia probably didn’t call the cops, but you never can tell.”

  “We didn’t bring any gasoline.”

  “What about the stove? It’s gas.”

  “Build a fire in a living room and break the gas line?”

  “That should do it.”

  “What about the guy in the yard?”

  “Not our fingerprints.”

  Nicole dragged the stove away from the wall. Tony pulled a carry-on bag from the front bedroom into the living room, where he opened the bag and flipped the clothes into a loose pile. Nicole brought him a piece of cardboard she’d lit at the stove. He held it to the piled-up clothing. The fire sputtered and caught hold. He stood in the living room where he could see Nicole in the kitchen and watched the fire until the flames licked up sides of the carry-on bag. The smoke smelled poisonous. “Do it!” he yelled.

  Nicole smashed the gas line fitting at the back of the stove with her rifle butt. Gas hissed out into the kitchen, filling the room with its rotten egg smell. They trotted out the front door and down the road to their car. They put their heavy gear in the trunk and turned the car around to leave. Then they sat in the dark and watched the house. The flames were bright through the broken windows.

  “You sure that’s all of them?” Nicole asked.

  “Yeah. Four of them, plus French.”

  “Feel better about Duke and Barker?”

  “Not really.”

  “We going to the Hilton?”

  “There’s nobody to stop us. Why skip dessert?”

  The explosion rocked the car. Bits of roofing, glass, and charred wood rained down around them. The farmhouse was an inferno.

  “That took longer than I thought it would,” Tony said.

  Nicole turned on the headlights, and they drove away.

  Meanwhile, Garcia and Robertson sat in a government sedan on the street across from the downtown Hilton. There were no pedestrians on the sidewalks, and only the occasional car drove by. Garcia opened a laptop, pulled up a video, and passed the laptop to Robertson. “This is the first video of you and the perps—this is last year in Kyrgyzstan. Go ahead and flip through them. Either you’re working undercover for the task force, in which case you write up everything you know, get a commendation, and retire at full pension. Or you’re a criminal, you tell everything as part of your plea deal, you lose your pension, and you go to prison. Either way works for me.”

  Robertson closed the laptop. “I just needed more retirement money.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  He looked out the window into the dark. “I’m working for the task force.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “I still don’t have enough money.”

  “Jesus, Paul. Do what everyone else does. J&R is always looking for consultants. Eight to five, no nights, no weekends. Everybody tells me it’s like getting free money. And you won’t be bothering your wife in the middle of the day.”

  He passed the laptop back to her. “You haven’t asked me for the envelope.”

  “Because you don’t have it.”

  He put his hand on the door handle.

  “Tomorrow morning, bright and early. And Paul, I know it looks bleak right now, but don’t go to a motel and kill yourself. It would be a waste.”

  He got out of the sedan. She watched him in her rearview mirror until she saw her operative start following him. Then she sat there, watching the front of the hotel, until she saw the con man and his old partner, dressed like business travelers, no luggage, walk through the heavy glass doors.

  Tony and Nicole strolled through the front door of the Hilton, past the sofas and potted plants, past the registration desk, and to the elevators, arm and arm, as if they’d had a very satisfying dinner followed by a number of drinks. There was no one else waiting. On the twelfth floor, they got off and walked down the empty hallway lined with the occasional Do Not Disturb sign hanging from a door or room service tray of dirty dishes sitting on the carpet. The keycard still worked. But the room was empty and clean. Nothing in the closet or the bathroom or the dresser drawers or the room safe or under the bed. They were ready to leave when there was a knock on the door. Tony pulled his Glock. “Into the closet,” he whispered.

  Nicole stepped into the dark side of the closet. Tony kept his pistol behind the door as he opened it. He smiled his most charming smile. “Agent Garcia.”

  She was carrying a shoulder bag. An automatic pistol was holstered on her hip. “You can put your gun away.”

  “Please come in.”

  He opened the door and holstered his Glock.

  Garcia closed the door and leaned back against it. “Your partner can come out.”

  Nicole stepped out of the closet.

  “What can we do for you?” Tony asked.

  “The envelope that contains the bank-account numbers. Don’t bother to act like you don’t have it. I’m sure you can be very convincing. Just hand it over.”

  “What about our deal?”

&n
bsp; “You broke our deal.”

  “I was going to bring it to you tomorrow.”

  “I’m losing my patience. You give me the envelope, or you’re going to jail.”

  “No, you don’t want this sad incident on the internet or in the papers. You keep the deal, and we keep quiet. It’s a win-win.”

  “You won’t be telling your story to anyone from a black site.”

  “We’ve created a video. It’s all set to go out on the internet if we don’t stop it. Wide broadcast. You’ll never take it down.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Do you want to find out? Wouldn’t it be easier just to play nice and take the win? You’ll have your bad player and the accounts. What more could you ask for?”

  She went to the desk by the window, took her laptop out of her bag, clicked on her secure browser, went into the FBI’s site, input her clearance password, and pulled up the case file. “Does this look familiar?”

  Tony read the page. Little Jimmy. The Crazy Devils. El Paso and Ciudad Juarez. “That’s the case. Close it up.”

  “The envelope.”

  He handed her the envelope. She read over the encryption and the translation. “That’s Clemens’s handwriting, all right.”

  “I sent you the photo of him at the airport. They got him to do the decryption, and then they murdered him.”

  She folded the paper into the envelope and put it into her pocket.

  “Do your thing,” he said.

  She input a few sentences, added her name and ID number, and pressed the return. “Take that one off your list. No big deal. The FBI has still got plenty of reasons to hunt you.”

  “But that case is closed. The physical evidence goes into deep storage.”

  “Yeah.” She logged out and put away her laptop. “I don’t want to see you again. You won’t get another pass from me.”

  He smiled. “Almost forgot. Here’s something extra.” He handed her the passports. “Just in case you start to think your boy Robertson was an innocent bystander.”

  They gave Garcia enough time to get on the elevator before they started down the hall to the stairwell. They walked down into the basement parking garage and came out of the garage onto a side street. The attendant in the office didn’t notice them. There was no one suspicious standing on the street or sitting in a parked car. They walked away from the Hilton.

  “Why did you care so much about the El Paso job?” Nicole asked.

  “The Crazy Devils never found out we double-crossed them. But the FBI would have known. It had to be in the evidence. Little Jimmy and his guys are locked up, but their business is still going, and the dirty cops are still being paid.”

  “And now those files are buried.”

  “Federal warehouse. Dirty cops can’t get to them.”

  “So that was the bonus.”

  Tony eyed the row of cars parked along the street. “We should dump the Camry.”

  “How about that Audi?” she asked.

  He popped the door locks and hotwired the car. “Somebody told me they were going to make these cars harder to steal.”

  “Who?”

  “Can’t remember. Somebody who didn’t know what they were talking about.”

  He drove over three blocks and double-parked in the street next to the Camry. They moved their gear into the trunk of the Audi. “Wipe it or burn it?” Nicole asked.

  “Let’s be extra careful.”

  The next day, Tony and Nicole sat at a table in a bar at the airport. They were both leaving Mitchellville, going in different directions. Nicole would eventually end up in San Francisco; Tony wasn’t sure where he would land yet. “Five grand plus the diamonds and twenty-five grand out of the safe. Not too shabby,” he said.

  “Plane fare, gear purchase, visit to the vet, two guys dead.”

  “True enough. But we sold the gear back, and there’re no loose ends.”

  “Except for Garcia and Robertson and Missy and her girl.”

  “Garcia we’re stuck with. Missy and her girl I don’t think we have to worry about. Robertson is on my to-do list.”

  “Isn’t he under Garcia’s protection?”

  “Don’t care. He’s a crook. He’s in the game, and he set me up to be murdered. Once he’s gone, she won’t be able to dig into it without exposing the rotten mess he was part of.”

  “She’ll still come after you.”

  “Maybe, but her honesty is her limitation.” He shifted his head to watch a man pulling a wheeled suitcase.

  “Someone we know?”

  “No. Looked a little like Buddy for a minute.”

  “That would be surprising.”

  “It would be.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s great to see you.”

  “It’s great to see you. But have you learned your lesson?”

  “Which one?”

  “Going off half-cocked. I’m beginning to think you’ve had one concussion too many.”

  He held up his right hand like he was taking an oath. “It’s back to basics for me, baby. When I deal with Robertson, I’m going to scout it out, take my time, plan out every detail, and double up on the escape routes. I don’t care how long it takes.”

  “Now you’re talking. Give me a call when it’s set.”

  “Maybe. You going to find a way to settle down when you’re with Denison?”

  “It’s so boring, Tony. Coming out here to help you, doing our thing, even for a few days—God, I miss it. The straight life is so empty: Nothing to think about, nothing to do. I just don’t know if I’m up for it long term. I’m actually looking forward to dealing with Lily’s little problem.”

  “You should just cut her loose.”

  “Please. This little project will be a walk in the park. With the info Kevin provided, we’ve got this asshole’s whole life. He’ll be begging for mercy in short order.”

  “If you’ve got the right guy.”

  “We’ve got him.”

  “And then you’ll have to settle down, protect your cover like you’re setting up a scam.”

  She pulled the straw from her rum and Coke and set it on the napkin. “Tell me, honestly: Could you do it?”

  “The straight life? If I had enough money, and it was just me and you—some tropical paradise—yeah, I think maybe I could.”

  “But now you’re off to Chicago.”

  “Layover. Remember that woman I met online last year? The one in Iowa?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “I’m hoping to reconnect with her. I dropped the ball while I was here, and it’s been a little while, but she seemed pretty needy. So if she texts me back, I’m going straight to the cold call.”

  “What’s your story?”

  “With her, I’m C.D. Abbot, semi-retired security consultant, so I’m going to say I was out of the country on a super-secret government contract. It just came up. I couldn’t get in touch with anyone.”

  “You’ll sell her.”

  “If she doesn’t have a man, I’m betting I’ll be moving in. Otherwise, I think I’m going to get lost in Miami for a few weeks.”

  Nicole glanced at the clock on her phone. “I need to go to my gate.”

  “Always thinking of you.”

  “Always thinking of you.”

  “Call me before you need me.”

  “You too.” She gave him a quick kiss, and she was gone.

  9

  Back in the Bay

  Nicole yo-yoed back and forth across the country, making sure she wasn’t being followed, spent the night at John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York City, and finally took a direct flight to San Francisco. She was exhausted. She caught a cab outside of baggage claim and rode into the city to Denison’s condo. No one was home. She texted Denison, took a shower, read his reply—Home in two hours. Love you—and went to bed.

  She heard him open the bedroom door to peek into the darkened room. “Hey, Jimmy. I’m awake,” she said.

  He sat down on the bed beside
her. “You look fine.”

  “Yeah. There was nothing to it. Tony needed my help. I got him to the doctor, nursed him until he got his strength back.”

  “Before you left, I think maybe I overreacted.”

  “No, James, you were right. I shouldn’t have been taking chances just to catch a thrill. Never again. I promise.”

  “What should we do about Lily?”

  “We’re not going to do anything. I’m going to take care of it.”

  “How?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “But no taking chances?”

  “No taking chances.”

  “Then how are you going to—”

  “Jimmy. Just relax. This isn’t Cricket Bay.”

  That evening, Nicole and Lily sat on stools at the kitchen island sipping white wine. Nicole had made the room off limits to Denison while they discussed their plans. “So,” Nicole asked, “where do we stand?”

  “Nothing’s changed. He’s got my driver’s license, my phone, and my wallet. He knows where I live. I may just be paranoid, but I thought someone was following me on Sunday. I tried to call you.”

  “Sunday was crazy. But like I told you, we’ve got all the info we need.” Nicole opened an accordion folder and pulled out a stack of papers paper-clipped into sections. “Copies of driver’s licenses are on top.”

  Lily flipped through the sections. She stopped at a driver’s license photo of a man with a shaved head and a droopy mustache and pulled it out of the pile. “That’s him.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded. “Definitely.” She passed that section to Nicole.

  “Your guy is Fred Sanders.” Nicole pulled the paper clip and glanced through the individual sheets. “We’ve got his insurance info, home address, work address, plus info off his computers and his smartphone.”

  “All that?”

  Nicole nodded.

  “What do we need his computer info for?”

  “Looking for something to trade. Hoping for some sick porn, but no luck. Looks like he’s a family man, wife and two kids—I’m guessing the daughter is fifteen—who’s out horndogging after young women.”