A Voice from the Field (24 page)

She heard Connor's pickup start and glanced up in time to see him back out of the driveway. Shaking her head, she turned toward her bedroom, the dog following close behind.

 

THIRTY

Kane tucked the forty-five in his waistband, making sure the grip was plainly visible, then walked into the bar to meet Curtis Bell.
One last time,
he thought. Kane had come to realize this particular relationship had pretty much run its course. Bell sat alone at the bar, projecting his usual air of smug arrogance. Kane strode forward, Tanner tagging along behind. The smaller man's head hung low; his pockmarked face was stunned with disbelief. It was obvious to Kane that the pressure was getting to Tanner. He couldn't take much more of the high-stakes gambling. It was a good thing that it would all be over soon.

When Kane approached the bar, he saw Bell's gaze shift briefly to his gun, then move away. Kane couldn't help but be impressed with how calmly the man accepted the fact that the only gun in the conversation belonged to someone else. He knew Cobb had made Bell turn over his weapon at the door.

“It's delivery time, Kane,” Bell said by way of a greeting. “Your shipment is in the truck outside. How about my hundred grand? You got it?”

“Every dime of it.” Kane stood in the well so the bar was between them. “Big day for us. We oughta celebrate. How about a shot for old times' sake? What're you drinking, Curtis?”

Bell gave Kane a smirk. “Little early for me. Let's just get this done.”

“Aw, hell, Curtis. Couple of old bikers like us? It ain't never too early.” Kane stared at Bell, wanting it to come to the man piecemeal. He pulled the bottle of Jack Daniel's from under the bar, never taking his eyes off the other man. Grabbing two glasses, Kane poured a couple of healthy shots, pushed one toward Bell, and raised the other to his lips. “Here's to old times, friend.”

Kane held the shot in the air, waiting. He picked up on the slightest twitch of doubt in the man's face, impressed that he stayed in character. After a moment, Bell picked up his glass. “Old times, Gunther.”

Kane threw back his shot and Bell did the same. Both men grimaced briefly. Kane moved to pour two more shots, but Bell put his hand over his glass. “I'm good. Like I said, let's get this thing done.”

“God damn, boy. I've never known you to be in this big a hurry.” Kane looked at Tanner and winked. “I mean, you're always a bit prickly, but what the hell? You got a date?”

Kane saw a flicker of worry in Bell's eyes. To his credit, the man again recovered quickly. “I'm just not crazy about having a stolen arsenal sitting in a parking lot. I say we make the deal, tuck the equipment away, and then we can throw a damn party.”

Bell met Kane's gaze steadily, easily, looking like nothing other than a man ready to close a major arms deal.
Impressive
.

The head of the NAF poured himself another shot and threw it down, thinking,
Time to quit fucking around.
“Throw a party, huh? I guess we could do that, but tell me something, Curtis. Who would you invite? Some of your make-believe biker friends?”

The movement was small, but Kane was sure he saw Bell bite the inside of his cheek. Kane found himself enjoying the moment just as much as he had thought he would. The time had come to call the man out. “Or some of your real buddies in the federal government?”

As he said the last words, Kane pulled the forty-five from his waist and in one smooth motion centered the muzzle against Bell's forehead. Bell's mouth dropped open and Kane heard the air run out of the man and saw the life drain from his face. To his credit, Bell was able to muster real anger in his response.

“Jesus Christ, Kane. What are you talking about?” The man sat perfectly still.

Kane held the gun steady and shook his head. “Gig's up,
Delafield.
That is your real name, ain't it? Special Agent Curtis Delafield?”

“My name is Curtis Bell. You know that. Take that piece off my head. Jesus. What the hell is wrong with you?” Though Kane knew the man had to be scrambling for some kind of control, he had to admit Delafield was holding up a lot better than Tanner had under the same conditions. Tanner had nearly shit himself when Kane called him out.

“What's wrong with me?” Kane asked.

“Yeah, Kane. What the hell are you talking about? With what we've been through? You think I'm a cop? Get ahold of yourself for Christ sake.”

“I don't think, Curtis; I know. You are Curtis Delafield. You live at 5123 Old Ranch Road, Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Now, who you with?” Kane pulled the gun away from his prisoner's forehead long enough to wave it at the door and cock the hammer, then returned the muzzle to Delafield's skin. “Who's out there right now?”

The supposed arms dealer swallowed hard and said nothing. Kane grinned and went on, nodding at Tanner, who still stood nearby. “If you're wondering, it was this dipshit right here who blew your cover. Once I figured out Tanner was a snitch, I thought back to our first meeting. I'm damn embarrassed to tell you how long it took for it to come to me. You remember? Sturgis?”

Kane shook his head. “Looking back on it now, I swear, if I could kick myself in my own nuts I'd do it, and don't you know I'd deserve it. Dumb-ass old me. Jessup carried on about how he'd never really been to a bike rally before. All about the party at Sturgis. How he wanted to go and tear it up. ‘Come on, Gunther,' he said. ‘It's on me,' he said. ‘We'll kill it,' he said. Then I stumbled into a bar and happened to meet a man who changed my life. And dumb-ass old me, I bought it.”

Curtis raised his hands as if trying to reach Kane's more reasonable side. “Look, Kane, I don't know how you got this all in your head. Maybe your dumb-ass friend is a snitch, I don't know, but that ain't got shit to do with me. Now, I'm telling you. Take that piece off my head.”

Kane reached into the pocket of his denim vest. “And I'm telling you to save it. Game over, Delafield.”

He tossed the Polaroid pictures onto the bar. Delafield looked down, grabbed the photographs, and screamed, “
Jesus and Mary!
God damn, Kane. What have you done?”

Delafield stood so quickly his barstool fell and smacked hard against the floor with a sound like a shot from a gun. He held the pictures in shaking hands. Kane rammed the forty-five harder against his head.

“Get hold of yourself. You want to see them again, you will settle your ass down.”

Delafield fell to his knees, holding the pictures to his face as if he hadn't heard a word Kane said, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream. Kane knew he needed to reestablish control. He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his jeans pocket and threw them to Tanner.

“Get over here. Cuff him up. Move your ass.”

Tanner vaulted the bar and reached out to grab Delafield by the arms. The bigger man pulled away and shot a look of aggression at Tanner. Suddenly he seemed ready to go on the offensive. Kane shouted, “I swear, boy, you go with the program or I'll skin one of your little ones alive while you watch!”

Delafield sagged in place and offered no resistance when Jessup moved again to handcuff him. He turned to Kane and asked weakly, “How?”

“How? Well, I guess that really is on you, Curtis. I mean, you get a few miles from Waukesha County and you take on a whole different personality, don't you?”

Delafield looked confused. Kane smiled and let him have it. “You fucked up. Got a little too comfortable. Last time we met, I followed you to your little rendezvous with Mrs. Delafield. After you left the hotel, I hung out for a while in the parking lot. She headed straight down to Cedar Rapids, picked up the boys from the neighbors, and went home. That teenage daughter of yours? She must give you fits, huh?”

Kane let it all sink in and watched as the man realized his cover was blown all to hell. “Don't blame the wife, Curtis. It really comes back on you. Involving civilians in this sort of bullshit. I figured you'd be trained to know better than that.

“Don't that gnaw at you fellas that work these lying-ass assignments? That somehow you might screw up? Put your family in the crosshairs?”

Kane pulled the handcuffed man to his feet and sat him roughly in a chair. He picked the pictures up and spread them out across the table. One had been taken at an odd angle, showing a pretty brunette about the same age as Delafield lying on a carpet. She was staring at the photographer, her eyes filled with terror and her mouth covered in thick gray duct tape. From the size and shape of the shadow that fell over her Kane knew that Buster Cobb had taken the pictures himself.

“Seems like she's gone a little pudgy over the years, probably from pushing out all those children for you. That does play hell on a woman's body. Bet there was a time she could stop a clock, huh?” Kane's tone was conversational and he tapped a fat finger against the Polaroid. “But let's give credit where it's due. That is still a very fuckable woman.”

Delafield stared silently at the array of photographs, panting. Kane figured it best to give the man a few minutes. Cobb had done well. The entire Delafield family was laid out on the table.

Kane took a moment to study the images. The wife he'd already considered: she might be worth a go even though she was a bit on the old side for his taste. The teenage daughter, whose angry gaze shouted,
Put it anywhere near me and I'll bite it off,
was definitely one to spark a man's interest. But even Kane had to admit the picture of the twin boys was disturbing. They looked to be about four and the fear etched on their faces jumped out at him.

One of the blond boys stared straight into the camera, his face contorted in what could only be a mixture of a scream and a sob. The other sat with his tiny arm around the waist of his identical brother as if trying to comfort him or maybe seek comfort. But that boy's eyes haunted Kane. His gaze was focused somewhere off camera, reflecting a kind of emptiness. Kane figured all three children were already well beyond scarred for life.

“We've had a good run, you and me, Curtis. My understanding is, it was all supposed to end today. But I'm calling for a change of plans.” Kane grabbed Delafield's chin and forced the man to look him in the eye. “We got some business between us yet, and if it don't go the way I say I guarantee each of these precious folks will be boxed up in a shipping crate and headed to one of the four corners of the earth.”

Kane picked up the photo of the boys. “The market for little white boys in a few spots in Central America is off the hook. I'm just wondering how exciting it will be to offer a matched set. Damn, they're like bookends, huh?

“Now this one here,” he said, tapping the picture of the teenage girl, “I'll bet she's a handful. She'll bring top dollar, but it won't be pretty for her.”

He took the last photo, the woman, and stuck it an inch in front of Delafield's face. Kane's voice was dismissive. “Middle-aged housewives usually end up in domestic work. Mostly housecleaning and dick sucking.”

Delafield finally broke. His voice was hollow. “Listen, Kane. You can't do this. I'm a federal agent. You know what they will do to you?”

“Well, there we go.” Kane smacked Delafield with an open hand across the back of his head. “I'm glad we got that out in the open without having it get too ugly.”

“Let my family go and I'll do whatever you want. We can make whatever deal you want,” Delafield said. “Keep the money. The hardware, a hundred machine guns, is in the van. You can have all of it.”

Kane laughed. “Think about that, Curtis. Every word you've ever spoken to me for damn near three years has been pure bullshit.
Every fucking word.
Why would I believe a damn thing you say now?”

“I swear, Kane. I'll do whatever you say. Just let them go.” Delafield changed tactics. “You're HA, Kane. You don't do this. You don't involve civilians in this sort of thing.”

“Normally that would hold true, but I don't think that sort of professional courtesy should apply in this particular situation. Just my feeling on it.”

Delafield turned to the other man in the room. “Tanner, you're not involved in this shit. Do something before it's too late.”

“You think his dumb ass is going to help you?” Kane waved the gun in Tanner's general direction. “Hell, Curtis. The boy didn't even know what he was doing. All this time, he's been in the damn dark. Apparently you fellas paid him five hundred bucks to get my ass to Sturgis and shit for brains didn't even ask why. I'm the one that had to tell him you were a goddamn fed. I'm telling you, Curtis, the scary thing is, as far as the NAF goes, Tanner here is the brains of the operation.”

Delafield spoke, his voice full of defeat. “What do you want, Kane?”

Kane pulled up a chair and sat. “Are we there already, Curtis? Are we already to the point where we can discuss what I want?”

“Just tell me. Please. I don't want you to hurt them. I'll do whatever you say.”

Kane put the chair up close to the defeated agent and leaned in. “I'm glad you feel that way, Curtis. I thought maybe it'd be harder to break one of you G-man types. No offense, boy, but I've had strippers hold out longer on giving a half-price blow job.”

Kane clapped the man on the knee. “So tell me. What was the plan? How many of you boys are out there?”

Delafield hung his head. “I don't know. It's an arrest team. All tactical guys. Probably seven, eight guys. When you go out to the van and take possession of the weapons, you'll be arrested.”

“Nice and simple, huh? After two years of jerking me off, building me up, you plan on taking me down in the parking lot of my own joint, huh?”

Delafield's gaze had gone back to the photos spread out on the table. His voice was soft. “Just tell me what you want me to do. Then let my family go. You can keep me, Kane. I don't care. Just let them go.”