Cold reckoning, p.7
Cold Reckoning, page 7
“Will they find us?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
He squeezed her against him. “I just found you again. You think I’m gonna let you go?”
The beach was mostly rocks. Smooth and gritty. Not exactly unpleasant to walk on, but there was an incongruity to it. Her feet expected something, but got something else.
The first step from grass to stone was always jarring. Like taking a drink of a soda you think is Pepsi, but it turns out to be Coke.
“What if we don’t get through it?”
His laugh sounded bitter. “Then we won’t have to worry about it, will we?”
“No, I mean … what if we walked away? What would it look like then?”
They made it to the water before he answered. “It’s too late to give up now. If I walked away … It would be better to be dead than live with that. How could I forgive myself? How could you forgive me?”
“I couldn’t.”
He threw his hand out, and beer sloshed out of his bottle. “Then you have your answer.”
She turned to face him. “Then what makes you think I could live with it?”
He shook his head, and his face twisted in confusion. “What does that even mean?”
She spread her hands. “Am I not a part of this? Is this not the hundredth time we’ve had this discussion? I need you to see this through, Stan. But whether you like it or not, I’m with you.”
He looked out to sea. “I know you’re with me.”
“No matter what.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“Then act like it.”
“How do I not? Everything I do, I ask myself how it will affect you. How I can keep you safe.”
“But that’s the problem.”
“That I don’t want you to get hurt?” he shouted.
She put her hand on his chest. “No, babe. Because you’re only asking yourself. Since you know I’m here, ask me too. That’s all we really want. Equal share. To be a part of it because we are a part of it.”
He shook his head as he sighed. “I’m sorry, babe. I just … I don’t know if I can do it and keep you safe. Maybe walking away should be on the table.”
She leaned against him. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
“I know,” he whispered.
“There’s one more thing.”
He growled. “Here we go.”
“Have you thanked Gen?”
“For what?”
“Maybe saving your life?”
He pushed away. “She didn’t … I mean she helped, yeah.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?” he said, but he looked over her head.
“Did you thank her?”
“Of course.”
“Did you really, Stan?”
“I mean … she knows.”
She stared at him. He scratched his head. Opened his mouth. Closed it again. Hung his head in shame. “No, I didn’t.”
“Oh, Stan,” she said. “We’re not decorations or trophies.”
“I know that.”
She took another drink only to realize it was down to the watery part at the bottom. She sighed in disappointment. She didn’t remember drinking it all. “Could a decoration pick you up and carry you to safety?”
“Probably not.”
“More like what a strong, capable woman could do, right?”
“Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands up in defeat. “I see your point.”
“Good. ‘Cuz this is your last chance,” she said as she pressed up against him.
“Or else what?”
“Or you’ll be dancing alone from now on.”
As soon as she said it, she realized she had spoken his fear out loud.
He whispered something into her hair she couldn’t hear. Hugged her and started to sway. Small circles in the surf, and they danced. If it was all they ever did, it would be enough.
Chapter Fourteen
Jeanette had been staring at her phone when it rang. Dreading the call, but excited that it had finally happened.
Haggis asked her to meet him at the Cove. She’d been sitting in the Camaro at the edge of the U-Haul lot, watching the Astro Van. It had become clear that Mo wasn’t coming back for it.
He had obviously gotten a new vehicle from the dealership across the street, but she had nothing better to do. She could have gone back to her spot down the road from Stan’s new place, but that would have put her too far from Ossi-Pro.
A longer drive to meet Haggis.
She looked up at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Hardly any makeup. Hair needed a brush from the wind and moisture. She was almost as much a bear as he was.
When she wondered if he liked bears as much as she did, she blushed. Looked away from herself in surprise. “All right, Jeans,” she said. “This isn’t a date date. Just part of the investigation.”
Then she wondered why she was worried about what she looked like. About what a man might think.
She rolled her eyes as she put the Cove into the GPS. Pulled into traffic with the emotionless directions coming through the bluetooth of the Camaro’s stereo.
By the time she got there, the rain had stopped, but it was still dark and dreary. She pulled into a space well away from the door, near the old Chevy pickup she’d seen in Ossi-Pro’s lot.
Dodging the rain had kept her from seeing the details earlier. Two-tone paint. All the chrome. It didn’t seem to be modernized. Not lifted a foot in the air with giant knobby tires. It looked like how it would have when it rolled off the line back when it was new. Mid-‘70s, maybe?
It rocked when the driver’s door opened. Not a squeak or squeal of metal or rust. Just a smooth whisper of the hinge. His boots made more sound hitting the ground.
Dressed exactly as he had been earlier. Just like her.
“Hey there,” he said.
She tried not to grin like an idiot, but she couldn’t help it. She tried to remind herself that this was business, but his easy smile in the middle of that red beard was so inviting.
Much like the rest of him.
She put her hands behind her back and nodded. “Hey, yourself.”
He pointed to the bar. It looked like an old bowling alley. “They got decent food too. I can’t speak for you, but a guy could use a little something.”
She tipped her head. “I wouldn’t mind a bite.”
“Marvelous,” he said, and he offered his arm like a Victorian suitor.
She laughed as she hooked her arm into his and let him pull her to the front door. Opened it for her. Led her past the greeter — a little young thing in a tight black dress and a cake of makeup — to the bar.
A lively jazz band in a dark hollow past a room full of tables.
He waited for her to sit before taking his own stool. Slid a cocktail napkin in front of her as the skinny blonde bartender leaned over with a pint glass sliding into Haggis’ hand. Thick and dark with an inch of poofy tan foam.
She grinned, and the rings in her upper lip clicked against her white teeth. “There you go, Dan. You two want menus?”
Jeanette didn’t like being ignored, but she still waited patiently to be noticed.
It never happened.
“That’d be nice, Dee,” Haggis said. Then he turned to point at Jeanette. “You want to start with a drink?”
“Artemis Tull. Neat.”
His nod of approval made her smile. Then she frowned at herself for letting a man dictate how she felt about herself.
Dee disappeared without looking at her. Jeanette leaned toward Haggis. “She called you Dan.”
He shrugged. Took a drink that brought the glass down a third and wiped the foam from his mustache. “I only let my friends call me Haggis.”
“Friends? I’m a stranger.”
“People that I want to be friends with?”
“How do you know you want to be my friend?”
He looked uncomfortable. Knocked the rest of the beer back. Sighed as he slid the glass away. “’Cuz I think you’re pretty.” He held up his hand like she was about to protest. “Now, I know there’s more to a girl than her looks, but a guy’s interested in what he finds attractive.”
Dee came back with a fresh pour for Haggis. A heavy serving of whiskey for her. A menu that looked like it was covered in bacon grease. “I’ll give you a few minutes, Dan.”
He nodded with a smile. Jeanette watched Dee walk away. Maybe it was jewelry in her face. Or because she was too skinny. Or maybe she was dumb. In Jeanette’s opinion, she was certainly rude. Maybe that’s why Haggis didn’t think she was a friend.
“They all know you here though?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, I’m kind of a regular. Pretty much just this place, work, and home.”
“Doesn’t that make life boring?”
He shrugged. “Makes it safe.”
She took a sip of the whiskey. She had to be careful drinking it on an empty stomach. Pulled the little menu closer. “Maybe I’ll be your friend before the night’s over.”
“As long as you wanna be.”
That was oddly sweet. She hid her smile with another drink. “There’s always tomorrow.”
He wiped fresh foam from his lips. “My boss is heading out of town tomorrow morning. Not sure when he’ll be back. I might have some free time coming up. Who knows how many friends I’ll make?”
She felt a stab of guilt. He’d already let something slip. From clamping his mouth shut when she had first met him to opening up after just two beers. Maybe attraction helped grease the wheel too.
She shouldn’t feel that way. It was the job.
She pretended like he hadn’t just given her a juicy piece of information. Pointed to the boneless wings. Asked if the spicy honey barbecue sauce was any good. Switched to light beer when Dee came back.
He mentioned the name of Stan’s girlfriend. Ronnie. She repeated it under her breath to remember it. She didn’t think the name matched the appearance. The bouncy hair and belly dancer’s body. It seemed like she needed to have a name as big as what she imagined her personality to be. Like Majesty or Destiny.
He put his hand on her shoulder to direct her attention to the band. Brief contact at the start of a nice saxophone solo. She resisted dropping her face over to touch her cheek to his knuckles, then his hand fell away.
She wished it had stayed there.
She realized how lonely she’d been. Mark left so long ago. Took Jeanie with him. And there’d been no other in … she had to think back. Years. Five … six?
Men had shown interest before, but Mark had taught her a lesson about falling for somebody that wasn’t her type. Maybe this was different?
She had to ask him to repeat himself. Caught up in her own anxiety. Jumping at the opportunity to go out with him. Trying to tell herself it was about work.
Like those pathetic girls that chased attention. Girls she always made fun of. Ones that she usually ended up saving from abusive situations.
Girls like Dee.
She flushed with shame. That wasn’t fair. Dee may have been a strong woman in charge of her life and capable of making good decisions.
“Right?” Haggis said.
She gasped in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, but you need to say that one more time. My mind was wandering.”
He smiled. “I just wondered why food and drink always tasted better when you were with somebody. Drinking alone is effective, but not very much fun. Right?”
She laughed. “I would have to agree.”
And it was fun. The conversation taking the natural path of two people getting to know each other. When she finally let go of her responsibility, it got even better.
More than two hours, and she found out he was hurting too. Looking for something he couldn’t even put into words. And deep down, she hoped that thing was her. But she had to get an early start, so she came out with it.
“I checked out of my motel this morning. I got nowhere to sleep tonight, so how about your place?”
He sputtered on the remainder of his beer. Looked at her with his mouth hanging open.
She couldn’t help but laugh as she called Dee for the tab.
Chapter Fifteen
Ian read through the transcripts the recording app made of all the conversations they captured. Microphones planted in different rooms in Stan’s new rental. Inside Ossi-Pro. The bug on Jeanette Gustoff’s jacket.
The folder was open on the steering wheel. Up high to catch the grey light coming through the windshield. The rain had stopped in the night, but this morning was still cold and overcast.
The app didn’t produce any punctuation. No capital letters. Just one long run-on sentence. It could tell when different people were talking, separating into two different colored lines, but it was still like reading a nine-year-old’s text message.
He had an ear tuned to the radio chatter coming from the decoder. The various locked channels the other contractors were using. The bad guys.
He rolled his eyes at the phrase. Everybody was a bad guy to one degree or the other. It just depended on where you were standing.
He knew Shawna would argue. In spite of what she knew about the evil of the world — some of which she was responsible for — she still insisted that they were the good guys. Especially now that they were aligned with Stan. And Ian wouldn’t deny that saving children from abuse was a fairly righteous endeavor.
He just didn’t really believe in redemption. Just the reckoning that always came for each and every soul.
He wanted to believe. To think bad people had a chance to be better, but he wasn’t sure they could. Maybe some of them. Maybe even he was one of them.
He smiled to himself. He was only feeling this way because of all the sappy nonsense he kept reading from Stan’s place.
Intimate conversations where they seemed to be constantly hashing out the same problems. One couldn’t trust, and the other couldn’t be trusted. They both knew it, but neither was willing to admit it.
Stan and Ronnie were the worst. She would ask a question. He would sort of answer it. And there were never consequences for when he didn’t follow through.
Just the same old discussion again and again. The same half-assed promise to do better.
He shook his head. Glanced back to see Shawna concentrating on her screen. If he ever told her how he felt about her, she would believe it.
She looked up to catch him staring, and he turned away. Bent back over the transcripts to hide his blush.
A burst of static from the decoder saved him. Then a distorted voice. “Parker, come in. The office needs your location.”
Ian knew they weren’t going to get it. Jason Parker and another gentleman named Greg Whitman had been following Ian’s Household Services van. One of those hideous black Chargers.
A whole fleet of ex-police vehicles. Murdered out so they were black from bumper to bumper. Somebody’s idea of fitting in. Maybe if they didn’t send ‘em out twenty at a time …
Ian had the feeling that losing a bunch of cars and men while coming after him and his team might cause a shift in policy. Maybe the office would start changing up the vehicles in its fleet. Add some diversity to the cast.
Ian’s earpiece clicked. Mohammed’s voice floated into his ear. “Parker and Whitman are secure.”
Ian closed the folder. Snapped the decoder’s power off. “Roger,” he said. Looked up to the rearview mirror to see Shawna looking back. He tipped his head toward the door. Didn’t wait for her confirmation before hopping out of the van, but he smiled when he heard the side door slide open.
They’d been followed to the abandoned car dealership past the antiques mall next to the interstate. Ian knew they were amateurs when they pulled into the lot after he had parked his van at the rear of the building.
There was nowhere for the Charger to hide. No way to know which side of the building Ian was going to come back around. That meant they weren’t really here to follow.
They were going to come around the back of the building to eliminate.
Sloppy amateurs hired by an organization that didn’t know how to run a stealth mission. They probably had federal-level help, but they weren’t federal. Or Stan would have been dead a long time ago.
No, this had the feel of a task over the pay grade of the contractors involved. It felt like a state-level project.
“The office” was probably a code for whatever organization had been put in charge of the extended stakeout of Stan and his friends. Some shadow arm of a legitimate law enforcement division. State Patrol. Attorney General. Some joint county sheriff op.
That explained the union nature of the results. The organizational feel.
If it had been somebody more used to this kind of work — the CIA or a private security firm like Dark Water — Stan would be a memory already. But there was constant oversight. No autonomy.
Every decision by every operative — if he could even call them that — had to be triple-checked and confirmed. Most of every interaction captured on the decoder was somebody asking for permission to continue doing what they were already doing. Usually poorly. Occasionally, the office would escalate it, and even then there were check-ins and reaffirmations of intent. Like a small company trying to act like a bigger one.
He sighed as Shawna came up beside him. “I doubt if we’re going to get anything,” he said.
She nodded, her hair bouncing back from her face to show her red cheeks. She was excited. Prettier than usual. He almost told her so, then he clamped his mouth shut.
They walked through the roll-up door, skirted past the pit in the floor where the mechanics would have stood under the cars for maintenance, and made it inside past the service counter to find Mohammed standing guard over two … Ian shrugged. Operatives was as good a word as any.
Ian clapped his hands to get their attention. One looked up like his balance was off. A daze of twisting and swaying like a drunk. The other had more fire in his eyes. The one that wasn’t swollen shut anyways.
“Which one of you is Parker?” Ian said.
The one with the puffy eye spit on the floor. “Fuck you.”
