Double Doublecross (31 page)

Now he should call Sara and let her know Fennel was on the trail of Speed. He dialed the sequence of rings and Sara answered immediately.

She yawned. “What do you want now, Carl?”

“I've just finished talking to Phil. Last night I had some visitors. It was Fennel and Grover. I had to tell him and I thought you ought to know.”

“Who's Fennel?”

Carl told her about the visit and the threats.

“He gave me his number. Told me to call him with any information I could come up with about Phil.”

“What's the number?”

“What do you want it for?”

“You never know, Carl. There might come a time when I might need him,” she lied.

Carl gave her the number and rang off. Sara called Rick immediately and told him about the latest developments. He thanked her and continued to visit the self storage places, picking up the cash as he went, then stuffing it into the plastic bag. For a moment he sat in his car looking through the windshield as a fine drizzle started to fall. There was a strong Pacific storm off the coast of Washington forecasted to reach the area in a day or so. He broke out of his trance and continued to make the rounds to all the locations, leaving the bank lock boxes until last.

Finally he had it all together and drove to the nearest office supplies store. There he purchased a box of thin paper, a paper cutter and several ink cartridges for his computer.

By now it was getting late and darkness was falling. It was time to head for home. He had a full night's work ahead of him. After hearing the news from Sara, he decided to get things moving as expeditiously as possible. His target was twofold: to get a package ready for the two hoodlums and a further package as insurance for himself. He had little faith in those two and was not prepared to trust them as far as he could throw them with a broken arm. After dinner he excused himself and told Sara he would be in his den for a considerable length of time. She understood that he was preparing to get rid of the money at last.

Rick worked feverishly through the evening. First, he made several one-sided copies of several one hundred dollar bills. Then he reversed them and made copies of the other side on the same sheet of paper and duplicated this procedure many times. He understood and knew it was a federal offense to forge currency, but he knew he had to do it.

After many hours of copying and cutting, he had produced a large quantity of counterfeit bundles. He then took genuine hundred dollar bills and placed them three deep on the top and bottom of each bundle. Stopping, he stood back and looked at his work. To him, the bills looked like the real thing.

Next, he placed the phony bundles at the bottom of the sports bag, practically filling it to the top. Taking several bundles of authentic notes, he placed them two deep on top of the forgeries. There were roughly one hundred thousand genuine dollars on the top layer.

He smiled. “That should fool them for a while,” he said softly to himself.

The rest of the genuine notes he put in another bag similar to the first one. “This is my insurance,” he told himself. Now he was ready to make the drop.

Harry Fennel and Dan Grover had spent most of the night calling motels and hotels in the immediate area and beyond, looking for a Mr. Speed. At midnight they decided to call it a day and start afresh in the morning. They knew it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, but it was better to try the local areas first before looking any further. Las Vegas had been contacted, and a full search was being conducted there in the city that never sleeps, for there aren't any clocks to be seen in the hotels and motels. Las Vegas drew a blank.

At nine o'clock the next morning they started to call places in the Napa Valley, commencing at the most northerly town of Calistoga. It was nine-fifteen when Dan gave an excited cry.

“Got the bastard!”

“Where is he?” Fennel cried.

“Emerald Hotel. It's just about thirty minutes from here. I told the reception desk not to tell him—it was going be a pleasant surprise visit.”

“Nice work, Dan. By the way, Speed topped his shadow at the parking lot of Oakland Airport. Keep a lookout for a white SUV, shouldn't be too hard to spot.”

Phil Speed strolled casually up to the reception desk.

“I'd like to check out now,” he said.

“Yes, sir. By the way, some friends of yours called about twenty minutes ago, said it would be a surprise visit. You can
wait for them in the lobby if you like.”

Speed's mind went numb. Ice water ran through his veins.

“I'll wait for them outside.”

“It's raining hard out there, Mr. Speed.”

“Send them to the restaurant across the road; I'll meet them there before I go on to Reno.”

Phil Speed picked up his bags and practically ran to his car. He threw his bags onto the back seat, started the car and pulled quickly out of the parking lot. The problem was he had no idea what make of car they were driving, therefore identifying them would be difficult. Once on the main road, he drifted slowly in a southerly direction not knowing exactly where he was headed. He remembered telling the motel receptionist he would be heading for Reno and guessed this information would be passed on to Fennel and Grover who would then make a beeline for that city.

Eventually he came to a red traffic light and stopped, facing the oncoming traffic. The rain was now falling at a steady pace as he strained his eyes to look up through the windshield at the traffic light. He glanced ahead, and to his alarm, saw the face of Grover in the driver's seat of a white Ford Taurus talking to Fennel. Instantly, in a moment of pure panic, he turned off the windshield wipers to obscure the image of his face.

Had they seen him? ‘Probably not,' he thought. He crouched lower in the car seat trying to appear smaller, as if it would help. The rain was now coming down harder as he peered cautiously through the fingers of his right hand now rubbing the right side of his face to make it more indistinct.

They had not noticed him, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the light changed to green. A horn trumpeted behind him as he momentarily eased off the gas pedal to turn the
wipers on. He winced at the sound, but they didn't look in his direction. The road seemed a blur in front of him as he crashed through the barrier of rain. It was difficult to believe they were so close to him. It would be essential to find an abode in the most unlikely place, which would obviously be in the opposite direction to any route leading to Reno.

Harry Fennel and Dan Grover sauntered into the motel and walked over to the reception desk. Furtively, they looked around to see if Speed was anywhere in sight.

“Good morning. That is, if you can call it good,” he said amiably. “We called earlier for Phil Speed. We're friends of his, and we thought we would surprise him. Is he in his room?”

“I'm sorry, sir, you've just missed him. He checked out about ten minutes ago.”

“Which way did he go?” he rasped, the congenial attitude had left his disposition.

“He said he was going across the road to the restaurant and would meet you there before he set off for Reno.”

“Did he know we were coming to see him?”

“Yes, I asked him if he wanted to wait in the lobby. He said no and went outside.”

“Do you know what car he was driving?”

“Yes, let me see now, it was a white Ford Explorer.”

“Thanks,” Fennel said gruffly.

“Shit! We just missed him. He's driving a white Explorer. I can't remember seeing one, can you?” he shouted angrily at Dan Grover.

“I'm not sure, but I think I remember one at the traffic lights about a half a mile back.”

“Let's go. Put your foot down. Maybe we can catch up with him,” Fennel barked in a frustrated voice.

Phil Speed was driving as fast as he dare through the driving rain to put as much distance between himself and Fennel. He looked at the dashboard; he was very low on fuel. Before long he would have to get gas. Looking at his watch, he estimated he had about a fifteen minute start on them. He guessed the receptionist had given them a description of his car and the direction he was traveling. Casting his mind back, he remembered they were in a white Taurus or something like that.

Ahead he spotted a gas station on the corner of a crossroad. Pulling into the gas station, he swiftly jumped out of her car, and after what he imagined to be an eternity, his credit card was accepted and he commenced pumping fuel.

When the tank was full, he jumped in the car and gunned the engine into life. He was about to pull out onto the road when he recognized a white Taurus passing through the green light at the crossroad, and the head of Harry Fennel turned towards him, animating frantically to Dan Grover who was driving.

The white Taurus was braking hard, and the sound of screaming brakes, earsplitting horns and flashing lights of the following cars indicated to Phil Speed they had seen him. Recklessly they were looking for a place to double back.

At the crossroad Speed turned immediately to his right and powered up the car as fast as he could. He felt panic scream through his head, his legs were turning to jelly—fear and the dread of his destiny if he were caught ripped through his brain. He had to lose them as soon as possible and get rid of the car he was driving. His self-confidence was now completely shattered.

He turned right at the next corner and then right again expecting to be on the way to the main road once again.
To his horror he had turned into a dead end. Nervously, he turned back, hoping Grover and Fennel had not seen him make the first turn. Slowly, he retraced his route, and reaching the main road, once again set off at a blistering pace. He turned right at the next intersection and pulled into a crowded strip mall. He abandoned the Explorer behind the strip mall's shops close to the loading bays, retrieved his bags from the trunk and searched for the nearest public telephone, all the while keeping a wary eye open for Grover and Fennel.

He found a telephone next to the restrooms in a large department store where he called for a taxi to meet him at the side entrance. Within fifteen minutes a cab arrived.

“Where to?” the cab driver asked.

“Nearest car rental place would be fine.”

“There's one about ten minutes away.”

Arriving at the car hire office, he rented another vehicle, this time an anonymous looking front wheel drive sedan. Now that he had lost his adversaries, his next task was to find a place to stay. He decided to find a motel or hotel close to the apartment complex where Carl Regis was living. Time was running out. Sooner or later they would catch up with him. His best bet was to get the money and make a run for it.

Harry Fennel and Dan Grover pulled off the road and came to a halt outside a fast food burger restaurant.

“Let's grab a coffee and talk this thing through,” said Fennel.

They sat at a booth looking at each other.

“We were close,” said Grover.

“Not close enough,” complained Fennel. “Let's see what we have.”

He breathed a sigh and sat back, poked at his hamburger and looked hard at Grover.

“It seems obvious, at first, that he was the one who took the money. Now if you look at it from another angle, if you had made off with that kind of loot, you'd be as far away from this neck of the woods as possible. What do you think?”

“Makes sense to me. With the kind of fortune he might have in his grasp, you'd think he would be making straight away for Mexico or places beyond.”

“That's exactly what I think,” Fennel declared. “I'd be hauling ass in another direction as fast as I could travel.”

“So what's your best guess, Harry?”

“I don't think he's got the stuff yet. Maybe it's still around, and he's waiting to pick it up.”

“Do you think Regis has anything to do with it?”

“Possibly, but I don't think he has the balls for this kind of caper—but then again, you just don't know. We've got someone tailing him. Better tell him to stick to Regis like a flea on the back of an overfed dog,” said Fennel in a soft but menacing voice.

Fennel still felt he was right. Speed didn't have the stuff yet. It was quite possible they might find him if they cruised around for a while, but where would they cruise? They needed a lucky break or some help from an unknown source. Meanwhile, they would look for a place to stay in the immediate area. Obviously, Reno was out of the question as a destination now.

Meanwhile, Speed had found a small motel in San Ramon about half a mile from where Carl lived.

R
ick checked the two bags once again. He marked the bag of counterfeit bills with a yellow ribbon just as Sara had done before. He left the bag of genuine money unmarked. Both bags were placed in a cupboard behind his desk.

Outside it was still raining, and the temperature had dropped considerably into the upper forties. Rick gazed out the window at the large garden to the rear of the house. The thick laurel hedge ran around the perimeter of the lawn, providing the only vestige of color in addition to the manicured lawn.

The rose bushes just behind the patio needed cutting back, ready for the spring growth. Rick would talk to Louis about that when he came round on Tuesday.

Standing there looking out of the window, Rick ran through the tentative plan he had in mind to hand over the bag containing the notes to Carl Regis. Rick had decided not to make the exchange in his own backyard, but had made up his mind to carry out the action further away from home. He knew the ideal place would be the Lake Tahoe area, possibly
near the Squaw Valley Ski Resort, one of his favorite places for winter and summer activity.

“What are you daydreaming about?” Sara asked from behind him.

“Trying to figure out when the best time would be to make the transfer to Carl. One thing is for certain, I don't want the other rat around. What's his name again—Speed?”