In The Absence Of Light (47 page)

I tried to sit back, and my knee hit the dash.

“You can adjust that. Lever’s under the front.”

I reached down and wound up smacking my forehead when he started moving again. “Never mind, it’s not that far. Take a right two lights down.” I pointed. “Why would you think he was working for Lorado but isn’t now?”

Jeff thrummed his fingers on the steering wheel.  “What was it you told me a thousand times over? There’s nothing on your client list Lorado would want.”

“Hines wants it.”

“Exactly.”

“I still don’t follow.”

“Lorado has no interest in your contacts because they don’t deal in the stuff he moves. You said yourself, he makes in a day in drugs what you do a month in stolen coin collections.”

I smirked. Then I thought about what Jeff said. He was right. “Then if they’re working together, why do you think Hines wants it?”

“I don’t know, but I think that unknown makes this situation ten times as scary.”

He pulled up to the motel’s curb and leaned forward, eyeing the place over the rim of his sunglasses. “You sure it’s safe to stay here?”

“Probably not, but I’ll be all right.” I started to get out, and Jeff stopped me.

“Tell me where you’re meeting him tomorrow, and I’ll help you.”

“How?”

“Keep him from killing you for starters. Then get enough evidence to put him in prison.”

Whether I liked it or not, Jeff was right. There were too many variables for this to be as simple as handing over my list. Whether Hines was in bed with Lorado or working out something on his own, I had no idea, but it was very unlikely he’d show up alone. And I had a very good chance of winding up dead.

“Nine o’clock at the old church near 76th.”

“Did he give you any specific instructions?”

“Come alone and unarmed.”

“Predictable.”

“He’ll kill you if he sees you.”

“He won’t see me.”

“What do you mean?”

Jeff opened the dash and took out a quarter-sized disk. “Wear a shirt with a collar or a jacket and stick this under it.”

“What is it?”

“The latest and greatest recording technology.”

“You just keep these lying around your car?”

“Boy Scout code, always be prepared.”

“Figures.”

He flipped it over and showed me how to turn it on by snapping the fitting down over the pin. “Make sure it doesn’t show, or he’ll know what it is on sight.” He put it in my hand. “I’m going to go by that church tonight when it’s dark, and find a place to set up.”

“Set up what?”

“I want to have a clear shot if I need it.” My confusion must have shown in my face. “I’m sure in all your digging you saw where I was in the Marines.”

I had, but he’d gotten honorably discharged after only a few years and there were no details.  “Yeah.”

“They wanted me to be a sniper after I graduated top of my class in Marine Scout Sniper School.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why were you discharged?”

Jeff took off his sunglasses and fiddled with the earpieces. “The CIA wanted me more.”

“But you work with the FBI as a field agent.”

“Yup.”

“If you have that kind of skill, why the hell are you wasting it out here?”

“Because I didn’t like the idea of the sole purpose of my job being to kill someone.”

“You would have had other duties.”

“Yeah, I would have. But the only skill they would have cared about was being able to get a kill shot. That wasn’t me.”

I looked at Jeff. Really looked at him. Maybe for the first time since all the bullshit blew up between us. And for the first time, in a long time, I saw the man I’d fallen in love with. I’d been wrong to think he was the FBI playing the common man, he was the common man playing the FBI.

“Why did you get into this job the first place?”

He shrugged and put his glasses back on. “Pays the bills.”

“Bullshit.”

He laughed. “Maybe. Doesn’t matter anyhow. Just know I’ll be there, okay?”

“Are you really going to be able to shoot Hines if he pulls a gun on me?”

“Absolutely.”

His tone left no doubt in my mind he meant it.

********

The Church of the Seven Patron Saints was long overdue for demolition. Why anyone would put a pub in the area, I had no idea other than the rent had to be cheap.

On the right of the church, a crumbling ice factory. On the left, a building of unknown history. It resembled a sanitarium to tell the truth. One of those from the forties when an institution was more of a house of horrors than a place of healing.

No wonder they put the church there. Those people needed all the prayers they could get.

Stone towers topped with metal roofs reached into the cloudless sky. The crosses on the peaks beacons of warning.

Broken windows were sightless eyes and fragments of stained glass lay spilled on the streets from where the neighborhood kids, or some bored drunk, had tossed pieces of brick through them. There was enough left in the arches to create jagged rainbow edges in the folded stonework. Faceted corners made the edge of the building and trash clogged the tiers at the base.

A cardboard sheet, empty cans, and a hypodermic needle marked a sleeping spot. The lack of bird droppings suggested the occupant had recently vacated.

I checked around the corner of the building. The rear of an SUV and sedan jutted out from beyond a pile of crates. There was no sign of Jeff on the building tops.

With the broken windows, a scope, and a good eye, there would be more than enough opportunity for a clear shot from any angle.

Just in case, I’d made a phone call and picked up a G19 and a GLOCK from a kid on a bike. The ankle holster and boots came from the pawnshop about a block from our exchange. It was the first time I’d bought a gun illegally, but I’d never needed one so fast. Considering what I was walking into, I figured I could make an exception.

Hines told me to come unarmed, but he also knew I wasn’t the type to follow orders. I expected him to find the GLOCK hidden in my coat. The pocket would be too obvious, the lining between the layers of material a little less.

I figured it would be enough feed his ego and get him to lower his guard, thinking he’d completely disarmed me.

The one in the ankle holster was less likely to be detected. First off, an ankle holster was the absolute worst place to hide a gun if you needed to get to it fast. Second, the boots would make getting to it even more difficult, so of course no one in their right mind would stick a gun there.

I’d also worn jeans, another obstacle, but again for appearance because I’d split the edge making it possible to yank it to my knee if I wanted. Tucking the hem into the boots concealed the tear.

I practiced getting to it a few times in my motel room only to come to the conclusion it was definitely going to be a last-ditch effort for me to defend myself.

Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. If it did, Jeff had better be good as he claimed.

The final touch to my wardrobe, the microphone hidden in the coat. I tried several spots, the collar, the chest, but I wanted to make sure wherever I stuck it, the sound would be clear. I settled on the arm of the jacket. It was black, three of the buttons running down the cuff were black and about the same size. I tore one off, stuck it in place, and as long as Hines didn’t inspect the details of my clothing I was pretty sure it would go unnoticed.

I wouldn’t have noticed it. But then I didn’t make a point in keeping up with the latest and greatest FBI surveillance equipment. For all I knew, the condoms Jeff and I used had hidden cameras in them.

A hard squeak echoed from the hinges and stray sheets of newspaper stuck to my shoes. Hines stood, arms crossed, with two other men who wore smug smiles.

“Welcome to the party, Grant. Glad you could join us,” Hines said.

“I’d say likewise but I hate to lie.” I stopped halfway down the aisle flanked by rotting pews and forgotten Bibles.

Hines waved me closer. “C’mon over, join the party.”  One of his men picked up a metal folding chair leaning against a table. It was too clean to have belonged there. Bringing seating arrangements was not a good sign.

“I’m fine right here.”

“Do as he says, Grant.” I don’t know what shocked me more, the sound of Jeff’s voice or the fact I’d walked right by him where he stood in the niche beside the main entrance. “I told you I’d be close.”

I’d never wanted to punch a grin off a man’s face as I did in that moment.

“Unzip your jacket.”

I hesitated.

“Don’t make me do it for you.”

The teeth on the zipper ticked.

“Now open it.”

I did.

He ran his hand along my ribs. “Turn around.”

I did.

He slid his fingers into the waist of my jeans deep enough to fondle my ass crack. His breath was hot against the shell of my ear. “I told you a long time ago, one way or the other, I was gonna fuck you.” The outside of my jacket was next. He groped the weighted edge. Jeff tore the opening in the seam until the gun practically leapt into his hand. “I thought it was understood you were to come unarmed.”

“I thought we agreed you weren’t a back stabbing son-of-a-bitch, so I guess we’re even.”

He continued down, squeezing my groin, running his hands down the leg of my jeans. He found the tear and pulled the leg out of the edge of my boot.

“You really should do something about your wardrobe.”

Any second he was going to find the ankle holster and I’d be up shit creek with a concrete block around my neck. Hell, I already was up shit creek with a concrete block.

He ran a look over my boots. “Jesus, Grant, you can’t even buy decent footwear. What are people going to say when they see you in those at your funeral? Or are Mountain Man mud stompers the redneck standard for Durstrand?” As he stood, he wiped his hands on his pants as if just touching the boots had left dirt behind.

Maybe they had. I didn’t really check their cleanliness status when I put them on. Beyond making sure there were no spiders in the toes.

Jeff tucked the gun into his jacket pocket.

“Should I hand over the listening device you gave me or is it even real?”

“Oh it’s real. Like your choice of location.” He indicated the cuff of my jacket. “But there’s no one to hear and if there was…”

He took out the small iPod shaped gadget, flipped it, and stuck it back in his pocket.

“Now.” Jeff shoved my shoulder. “Let’s get this done, shall we?”

Warm rays crossing the aisle caressed me in blue, red, and yellow as I was led to Hines and the men waiting for us at the front of the church. Jeff stopped me at the chair and pushed me into the seat.  The metal squeaked.

“You realize if you’d just cooperated, it would have never come to this.” Hines took out a pocket knife. “But that’s okay. You’re here now and that’s all that matters.” He flicked open a thin blade. Definitely not the first choice for killing someone.

Quickly.

“And since I have neither the time nor the patience, you’re going to answer my question.”  Hines knelt and held up the blade so I could see it.

“That’s why I’m here.” Sort of. I glared at Jeff. He met my gaze, but his expression remained blank.

Hines snapped his fingers at me. “Down here, Grant.” I obeyed.  “Now, I’m only going to ask you once, if you hesitate, if you give me any reason to doubt what you tell me, I’m going to start cutting pieces of you off, after Richey back there shoots you in the knees.”

I squinted at Richey. He’d been the driver of the Bronco and there at Toolies when they’d harassed Morgan. I almost hadn’t recognized him with a freshly broken nose.

“You’re gonna need a pen and paper,” I said. “Lot of names, dates, and places. Unless of course trained snipers have photographic memory.”

Jeff’s eye twitched. Hines looked back at him? “Trained sniper? Is that the line of shit he told you? Jeff couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.” Hines had already looked back at me when Jeff slid his gaze over to the man. There was something in the way he stared at the back of Hines head that sent a chill down my spine.

“Got that pen and paper yet?”

Hines tapped the blade of his knife on my knee. “I only have one question for you to answer.”

“What?”

“Tell me how you moved your loads.”

“How I… what?”

“I want to know how you moved your merchandise, Grant, and how Jeff never saw you do it. One day you’d have an Aston Martin; we’d pop the crate and you’d have a shipment of kit cars. And the paintings, the gold coins, anything and everything. How did you switch the containers with no one seeing you or move the stuff in and out with no one seeing you?”

“Why the hell do you care about how I moved my merchandise?”