Acoustic Shadows (19 page)

He learned Coody was looking for a huge cache of assault weapons, then toyed with him until the kid was practically announcing he was going to kill someone, a group of people, preferably, to show the liberal government it was powerless to stop him or anyone else from doing what must be done in order to, well, maintain order. It was all crazy gibberish to Moral, but it didn’t matter. The kid was a gun-carrying nut bag with a chip on his shoulder, and all he needed was a little push. That had to have been three, maybe four, months ago.

Moral had found the auction the Kentucky State Police Department conducted, but learned one had to have a dealer’s licence to buy the guns in a cache like that. He’d brought the plan to the Esperanzas, hoping it would finally make things good with them. Maybe they’d even loosen their grip on his daughter, or clean his slate one more time. They liked the idea and brought in the Vegas pawn shop guy to make the purchase from the Kentucky State PD. What was his name, Tito something or other?

The final piece had been scaring Erica Weisz out of her safe haven, first in Richmond, then the ‘B’ haven in Washington. That was easy. In Richmond, as in Cleveland before that, all he had to do was go into her place, ransack the drawers and closets a little and Erica was ready to run. But, in Washington, he’d gone a little farther. He’d fired a shot through her living room window as she sat watching an old movie one night. The downside of that plan had been his proximity to her place; as soon as the shot was fired, she called his cell. When it rang, he was sure she’d heard it. Instead of hiding like she was supposed to, follow escape protocol and get out of sight and away from windows, she had stepped outside. She’d actually looked around, forcing Moral to dive behind a hedge and hide for several minutes, while he tried quietly to talk her down and assure her he was on the way.

Meanwhile, he’d already set up her new place in Frosthaven, where Coody lived. A few more suggestions to Coody about why schools symbolized the epitome of government bureaucracy, wasteful spending, and the dumbing down of America, and he’d set Coody on a path from which he could not be deterred. Then, the Esperanzas had sent Frank Shadtz down to pick up the gun cache, befriend the troubled young Coody, and the thing was set. It was like putting a tiger into an enclosed cage with lambs. Sooner or later, that cat was going to go postal.

Moral tried to remember if he’d erased his hard drive on his laptop. Surely, he had. He wondered if Coody had. He remembered hearing on the news that the hard drives had been destroyed, but he still fretted over it.

On top of everything else, Julio Esperanza had declared Moral useless.
Fucker!
He had risked everything for their deal, and
they
had blown it. Shadtz was the problem. He might have agreed to do the shooting and the hit on Weisz, but he was no killer. Even though he was dying and they paid him good money, he must’ve hesitated, must’ve given Erica a moment to act. After all she’d been through in the past few years, a moment would have been all the time she needed. That woman had proven herself a survivalist time and again, and that was Moral’s shortcoming, in the end: he hadn’t considered what she’d turn into over time. He should have known; when you hunt something long enough, it fights back.

So, he was in a corner, pressure so intense he couldn’t breathe. He had to find her and, this time, he would kill her himself. He had no choice now. She
knew
he had betrayed her. She might not have proof, but she knew. If he didn’t kill her, the Esperanzas were going to kill him. So, it had come down to that: it was him or her.

Given the latest news broadcast, he knew he had to find her before the FBI did, before any more questions could arise about who she was and why, if she was in WITSEC, her location kept getting compromised. Without her, the investigation into the assault on Travis Hanks Elementary would fizzle, and the perception would be that it was just another school shooting that hurt the community, nothing more. No ties to him or the Esperanzas. She was the only one who could throw doubt on all that.

He tried not to think of the fear the Esperanzas instilled in him. It wasn’t just because they were one of the cartels responsible for killing tens of thousands of people in Mexico over the past five years. It was because they
owned
him. From the time they’d approached him in the casino, when he was already underwater by some two hundred grand at the craps tables, they owned him. He had sold himself to pay for his addiction.

It had been Julio who’d first greeted him, bought him a few drinks, then boldly told him what he needed to do
. Wasn’t it a thing he’d done before
, he’d asked,
a long time ago?
Did he remember the first time his gambling habit had written a cheque his ass couldn’t cash?
Moral had balked, telling Julio he didn’t know what he was talking about. He’d walked away incensed, but trembling with as much fear as anger. Had his past indiscretions been so indiscrete?

Julio caught up with him a few days later at a local bar he frequented, and told him a story that went like this: One of Julio’s associates had hooked up with Moral’s daughter, Amy, in LA, where she was trying to be a movie star. He’d been helping her get into movies. He also got her hooked on oxys. Seemed she liked them so much, she was willing to do anything to get them.
Anything
, he’d emphasized. Julio showed him a video on his phone. The picture was small, but Moral recognized his daughter, even
with
the five naked guys all over and in her.

Moral went along after that. What could he do? Who could he turn to? They took care of his debt, but he soon managed to drive it up again. And again. Esperanza’s men later
told
Amy it had all been a set-up, a debt collected because of her father. She never spoke to him again.

Now, the only time he saw his daughter was when he surfed the Internet looking for porn. She had got her wish and become a star, going by the name ImMoral Amy. She was known for her penchant for gang bangs – the more, the merrier. And, as much as he tried, Moral found he couldn’t stop watching her. He’d drink until he couldn’t see straight and watch her do things that, in spite of himself, aroused him, as well as his self-loathing.

Nothing the Esperanzas could have done to him would have been a more enduring torture. This was his miserable life.

Moral limped down to the lobby, a beaten man. Maybe he could get a boiled egg and a Bloody Mary at the bar. He ordered from a bartender who made the drink as thick as a salad, full of horseradish and celery sticks and booze. Moral took out his cell. He found the number to Erica’s new phone and, after much internal debate and three shots of vodka to bolster his courage, dialled it. He heard it ring. Then he heard a phone ring
behind
him. He glanced across the lobby and saw a woman, with tufts of blonde hair sticking out from under a straw fedora, frowning at her phone. She looked like she’d just stepped off a Greyhound bus. He looked closer. Was that a handcuff on her wrist?

Erica looked up, still wearing the sunglasses. She spied Moral at the lobby bar as the elevator doors opened behind her. Her lips parted and her mind raced, trying to accept the conclusion she’d already suspected. Now, if there had been any doubt, it was gone. Why else would her handler be at the same place the hitmen had come from? She turned and quickly darted inside the empty elevator, her heart seeming to rise into her throat as if she would spit it up.

Moral was running toward her, shuffling across the polished lobby floor as if he were wearing an artificial leg, his ass throbbing from Anichka’s kick the night before. He was still ten feet away when the doors closed.

As the car began to lift, Erica remembered the gun tucked into the waistband of her pants and cursed herself for not using it.

Thiery and Logan had fallen into bed after the interview with Gruber. They were exhausted and fell fast asleep.

Thiery was having a dream – an incredibly erotic dream – when he woke up. He looked over and saw that Logan’s head was no longer on the pillow. He looked down and saw it under the thin bed sheet, bobbing up and down above his pelvis, the Bluetooth light on her ear phone still blinking off and on. It looked like a firefly doing jumping jacks.

‘Oh,’ he said, groggy headed. ‘That’s where the dream came from.’

Her phone vibrated and she stopped what she was doing. ‘Yes? This is Logan. No, not now, let me call you back, I was just, uh, having breakfast.’

Logan, giggling, crawled up his chest, nibbling at the hair along the way, and popped out of the covers, playfully. ‘Good morning,’ she said and bent down to suck on his neck as she sat on top and pushed him inside of her. ‘I made a call to an associate of mine early this morning and was waiting for a call back but, uh, uh … got…uhm…dis… tracted… uhm.’

‘Uhmm,’ turned into ‘Mmmmm… My…God, MYGod, MYGOD!’ as she came in less than three minutes. Thiery lasted a little longer.

‘God,’ she said, panting. ‘Why did we stop doing this?’

‘Uh, because you’re married?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ she said, suddenly sobering from her lusty high. ‘And you had kids.’

‘I don’t regret that.’

Logan sat up, pouting now. She shook her head. ‘I … ’ she began.

Thiery stopped her. ‘Let’s not get into that again.’

She wanted to. She wanted to talk about things that might bring a resolution – a happy ending, so to speak – but she knew he wouldn’t go for it. ‘Kids are gone now, right?’

Thiery rolled out of bed and pulled his pants on. ‘Yep. And so is your timing.’

She pouted, trying to keep it light but sensing the after-sex fade. ‘Don’t be mean.’

Thiery reached down and kissed her on her head. ‘I’m not. I just don’t care to get my head fucked-up again, and you’re pretty good at that.’

She smiled up at him. ‘We’ll always have … Ormond Beach,’ she said, referring to her vacation home, a beach house fuck-pad.

He shrugged noncommittally at that. Then it was back to business. ‘You get anything back on the Lopez brothers?’

She nodded, reluctant now to get back into work. She sighed and picked up her phone. There was an email from Miko Tran. Logan read it aloud.

‘Alejandro and Eduardo Lopez. Interpol has a list of suspected hits in a half-dozen countries and ties to various drug lords in Mexico. Both brothers arrested several times, only Eduardo did time in a Chilean prison for a murder rap eventually downsized to a manslaughter charge because they couldn’t prove premeditation. That was four years ago. Last known residence for both of them is a small town called El Salto, just outside of Guadalajara, but they are regulars in Puerto Vallarta, where they go to shake down female American tourists when they’re not busy with contract hits.’

‘Not anymore,’ said Thiery, and smiled in spite of himself.

Logan smiled back, then twisted her mouth to one side as she thought of something. ‘You got their name from the rental car company, right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So, where is the rental car?’

‘I told you, I think Erica Weisz escaped in it last night. I don’t know where she would’ve gone. I’m hoping my boss can get some additional information from his connection with the US Marshal’s Office.’

‘You know, some rental car companies maintain GPS monitors on their cars.’

Thiery turned to her as if she’d goosed him and grinned. ‘Yeah, I’m waiting to hear back from Chief Dunham on that. He was following up on the rental agency. Maybe got side-tracked. I’ll call them.’

Logan inched over the side of the bed, wearing the white, now wrinkled, button down shirt and nothing else, her libido surging again. ‘I think you’re too tired, baby,’ she said, running her hands up his stomach. ‘And too pent up, poor thing.’

He smiled looking down at her, extricating her hands from under his shirt. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Thank you, doctor, for the assessment. But, I think I’m okay. Can we get a little police work done?’

‘But, you’re relieved of duty. You can’t work— ’

‘
You
can. Let’s go, Agent Logan. If this pans out, I’ll owe you again. Deal?’

‘Deal,’ she said eagerly, jumping out of bed. ‘God, you’re easy.’

Thiery called the rental car company whose information Dunham had sent to him. He identified himself and asked about the car rented by the Lopez brothers. They located the records while Thiery was on hold, listening to a cheesy pop music knock-off tune chosen by some corporate lemming. They confirmed the rental contract.

‘Do you happen to keep a location monitoring device on that car, like a Lo-Jack or GPS?’ asked Thiery. ‘In other words, can you find out where that car is currently?’

‘We don’t like to reveal that type of information, sir, but I understand this is an on-going police investigation?’

‘Yes, that’s correct.’

‘That’s fine. We do like to assist our law enforcement agencies when we can. Let’s see, now. I’m currently showing that car at 6000 West Osceola Parkway, in Kissimmee.’

Thiery jotted it down with Logan looking over his shoulder.

She nudged him in the ribs. ‘Hey, I know that address. That’s the Gaylord Palms, where I’m staying.’

Thiery thanked the man at Enterprise and turned to Logan, a quizzical look on his face. ‘So were the Lopez brothers.’

This time, it was Logan who dropped the playfulness. She finished buttoning up and sliding into her shoulder holster. She took out her gun, a Glock 22, .40 calibre, and checked it out, sliding the clip out then back in, checking the slide before placing it back in its holster.

‘Let’s go find your girl, Agent Thiery.’

‘Okay, but can we brush our teeth first?’

‘I’ve got chewing gum. Let’s go.’

When they got to Thiery’s car and started to get in, Logan said, ‘No way. This thing smells like an ashtray. Let’s take mine. Follow me, big guy.’

They walked briskly to a Porsche Cayenne sitting at the edge of the parking lot, away from other cars.

‘Nice,’ said Thiery, getting into the car. ‘Another Porsche.’

‘Tried to get you to come over to the FBI years ago, Justin. They pay better.’

She cranked, then over-revved the German motor, grinning, as the tyres barked on the pavement.

Thiery called Dunham as Logan began making some calls of her own.

‘I’ll have to rain check you on that breakfast, Chief,’ said Thiery. ‘We think we found where Erica Weisz might be.’

‘Thought you were on admin leave,’ said Dunham.

‘I am, but I’m assisting the FBI. They took the lead over for me.’

‘I saw that on THN. FBI agents are better looking than I remember them.’

‘Yeah, some of them are even women now, Chief.’

‘You don’t say. Well, let me know if you need any help.’

‘You were already a big help. I called that rental car company you found, and they have GPS locators on all their cars.’

‘Cool. They never got back to me. Must’ve been shift change when I talked to them. Hey, wanted to run this by you – I heard Coody, Junior was awake and talking – I thought I’d go see if he has anything to say.’

‘Is that going to upset your city manager?’

‘Too bad if it does. As first officer on scene, I still have an obligation to complete my report, and I can’t do that without talking to one of the suspects, if we have one. Seems we do.’

‘I hope it doesn’t get you into hot water, but I’d like to get a copy of that interview when you’re done.’

‘No problem. I’ll record our conversation and send you a copy as soon as I have it transcribed. One last thing. Remember we were wondering why more of the male staff weren’t shot at the school? Well, I was looking through the security videos and found an outside view. It showed three men I’ve identified as Ed Bremen, Tim Cress, and Randy Perry. They all worked there but ran out and hid in a tool shed behind the school when the shooting started.’

Thiery felt anger bubble up from his stomach, then let it settle.
Not all men are meant to be brave.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘At least Jim Swan, the janitor, made a stand.’

‘And that teacher. You let me know if you find her. I’d like to talk to her myself some time. Gotta be a story there, right?’

‘I’m sure. You got it, Chief Dunham. And thanks again.’

When he hung up, Logan was wiggling her eyebrows at him. ‘Guess what?’

‘You got me. Spill.’

‘I asked the young man at the front desk if anyone checked in matching our description of Weisz. He said no one with that name, but this morning a woman came in, seemed pretty strung out, wearing what looked like a handcuff bracelet. Came in saying she lost her purse last night and gave him the name of a guest staying there, so he gave her a room key.’

‘And?’

‘And the guest was
Alejandro Lopez
. The guy you put down last night.’

‘This just keeps getting weirder. What do you think about getting the Orlando PD over there?’

Logan scrunched up her brow while she chewed the inside of her cheek. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘This woman seems pretty gun shy. If she saw black and whites rolling in, she might be out the back door and gone again.’ She looked at her wristwatch. ‘I can get us there in twenty minutes. Trust me?’

Thiery squinted at her. ‘No … but that’s one of the things I like about you.’

Logan reached over and squeezed Thiery’s thigh, then let her hand drop to the Cayenne’s shifter and slammed the car into passing gear. It was early morning, the traffic light, and Logan dodged around the few cars on the road like a NASCAR driver.

Thiery’s phone rang. He looked at the number calling, but did not recognize it. He picked it up and said, ‘Hello?’

The caller was silent for a moment.

Thiery repeated, ‘Hello?’

‘Agent Thiery?’ asked a female voice.

A chill went down Thiery’s back and he sat up, his stomach, suddenly, inexplicably knotting up. ‘Yes, this is Justin Thiery, with the FDLE.’ He looked at Logan and she knew.

‘Huh, hello. This is Erica Weisz. I think you’ve been looking for me … ’