The Last Kind Word (30 page)

The thug is his only muscle,
my inner voice told me.
Probably he was more than enough until now. Fenelon doesn't count. The deputies, they're here just for show—no way they'd let Brand dirty their hands any more than he said. That's why he needs the Mexicans. If you can keep them involved, make sure they're at the exchange …

I took a chance and asked the Mexican how much Brand had promised him. “Mire, amigo, ¿cuánto le prometió ese hijo de puta? ¿La mitad?”

Brand took a step backward so he could see us both at the same time. “What are you saying?” he wanted to know.

The Mexican paused before answering. “Sí, la mitad.”

Half,
my inner voice translated.
Brand promised him half.

James and Williams were still leaning against their patrol car watching the scene as if it were a bad performance of Shakespeare in the Park. I used my thumb to point at them and told the Mexican that Brand had promised the deputies who allowed him to operate in their county the same thing. “La policía le permite a Brand hacer lo que quiere en este territorio. Él les prometió la mitad también.”

“¿Ah sí?”

“Stop it,” Brand said. “Speak English.”

“¿A quién crees que él va a engañar?” I asked.

The Mexican gazed at the deputies and then studied Brand with an expression that asked the same question—which of them was Brand planning on screwing over?

“What the hell are you talking about?” Brand wanted to know.

“Sabes que él no se está metiendo en todo este lio por nada,” I said.

“Pues claro que no,” the Mexican replied, agreeing that Brand wasn't likely to be doing all this for free. I offered advice.

“Si yo fuera tú, yo me iría al lugar del cambio con todas las armas y hombres que tengas.”

He nodded and smiled just a tiny bit as if to say that bringing all the men and guns he had to the exchange was a good idea. But he then suggested that trying to mess with him was most decidedly not. “Puede ser que los use contra ti.”

“Todo lo que quiero es esa chica sana y salva sin ningún daño,” I said. “Ustedes pueden resolver el resto por su cuenta.”

“Está bien,” the Mexican said, yet I wasn't sure if he actually believed that I didn't care what he and Brand did with the money as long as the girl was delivered safe and sound without a scratch on her—or if he cared one way or the other.

“Dammit, speak English,” Brand said. He turned toward Fenelon. “What did they say?”

Fenelon seemed confused. “I don't know exactly.”

“You speak Spanish.”

“Not that good, you know that.”

Brand turned his attention back to the Mexican. “I don't know what deal Dyson was trying to make with you…”

“No deal, hombre,” the Mexican said. “He warned to make sure the girl she not be harmed.”

“Brian?”

“That's what I got, what I could get,” Fenelon said. “Dyson said if the girl was harmed, there would be, what's the word, consequences.”

“Consequences, Dyson? Are you threatening me?”

“I'll be seeing you around, John,” I said.

I turned my back on Brand so he wouldn't see me smile. Both the Mexican and Fenelon were on board—at least they seemed to be—which meant the chance of rescuing Jill just improved greatly. I moved toward the Jeep Cherokee. The two Mexican sentries were clutching their rifles like they were teddy bears—very unprofessional—while watching the old man load the last of the ordnance in the back. Behind me I could hear Brand talking quickly to the Mexican gunrunner.

“Dyson's got nothing,” he said. “Nobody to help him. He's all talk.”

My only fear was that I overplayed my hand, that Brand would hurt Jill just to prove that he could. I tried to shake the thought from my head, but it held on too tightly.

“Get in the car,” I told the old man.

He did. At the same time, Brand's thug helped Jill into the backseat of the Subaru. From where I was standing it looked like he was being gentle about it.

“You coming?” I asked.

The thug waved Fenelon over and whispered something into his ear. A moment later he walked purposely to the Jeep Cherokee, opened the back door, and slid inside. He didn't say a word.

I turned my attention back to Brand. He was speaking earnestly with the Mexican gunrunner, who seemed to be hanging onto his every syllable.

“Tomorrow,” I said. “We'll pull the job tomorrow. I'll have the cash in hand by tomorrow night.”

“See that you do,” Brand said.

He was smirking. I refused to let it annoy me. There were so many better reasons for wanting to kill him.

*   *   *

I turned the Cherokee and drove down the makeshift road until we hit 425 and started backtracking toward Orr. The old man kept turning his head to look at the thug in the backseat. He wanted to talk but was afraid of being overheard. Finally he just came out with it.

“What are we going to do?” he asked.

“We're going to do what we always planned on doing,” I said. “Rob the remote vault near Lake Vermilion.”

“Then what?”

“Then take the money to Brand and his Mexican gunrunners and ransom Jillian.”

“Just like that?” The old man was speaking, yet in the back of my mind I could see Chad Bullert. It was to him that I was actually communicating—God help us if he didn't understand what I was saying.

“This time there won't be any surprises,” I said. “I'll take care of Jill, and everybody else can do what comes natural.”

“I hope you know what you're doing.”

“If everyone does what they're supposed to, there shouldn't be any problems.” I angled my head so I could see the thug in the rearview mirror. “You got a name?”

“Daniel.”

“Anyone ever call you Danny or Dann-o?”

“No.”

“How did a guy like you end up in a place like this?”

“Circumstances beyond my control.”

“Boy, does that sound familiar. I don't suppose you want to tell me where we're going to take the money after we steal it.”

“No.”

“I could make you.”

“I doubt it. Anyway, it would take more time than you have.”

“You're probably right. Well, in that case, Dann-o, strap on your sneakers.”

Daniel grimaced at the modification of his name, which was fine with me. I wasn't talking to him anyway.

*   *   *

We were nearly back at Orr before the old man asked the inevitable question. “What'll we do first?”

“First, we're going to Norman's One Stop and Motel so I can take a leak,” I said. I parked in the same spot as earlier that morning and shut down the Cherokee. “I'll be right back.”

“I'm going with you,” Daniel said.

“What? Are you my new potty pal?”

Daniel shook his head as if he had now heard everything and was disappointed by the achievement.

I pointed at the old man. “What about him?”

“I stay with you.”

“It's going to be a long couple of days.”

I left the Cherokee. Daniel followed. He paused only long enough to tell the old man not to do anything stupid. We entered the building, found a door in the back with a sign that read
MEN,
and went inside. There were two urinals and one stall. I moved to the stall, paused, said, “This is where I draw the line, Daniel,” went inside and locked the door.

I didn't actually need to use the toilet, yet I went through the motions just the same. Once I was sitting down, I slowly pulled the body bug off of my ribs—I didn't know what kind of tape the ATF's tech agent used; whatever it was it hurt like crazy coming off. I hoped Daniel would attribute whatever noise I made to something else. After removing the bug, I wrapped it in paper and set it behind the base of the toilet. I would have preferred to keep the bug, but I was afraid that Daniel might discover it—God knows what fresh hell that would bring. I could only hope that Bullert and the badge boys understood the references I had made earlier and would act accordingly.

I put myself back together, flushed the toilet for dramatic effect, and stepped out of the stall. Daniel was leaning against the far wall, his arms folded across his chest and staring at his reflection, a pensive expression on his face. I've seen him before—hell, I've
been
him before—the man looking in the mirror wondering who the hell it was looking back. I went to the sink and washed my hands.

“Just out of curiosity, what did you tell Fenelon back there before we left?” I asked.

“I told him that if anything happens to the girl, it had better happen to him first.”

I pulled a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and dried my hands. “You like her, too,” I said.

“You should never have involved her in your schemes.”

“Oh, I didn't. It was her nitwit husband.”

Daniel moved his hand to the side of his face where Roy had clipped him with the handgun, and for the first time I realized that there wasn't a mark on him.

“I think I met her husband,” Daniel said.

“Is there going to be a problem about that?”

“Not unless he causes it.”

“Roy's a hotheaded fellow. But I need him in one piece.”

“It's like you said before—I'm a professional.”

“Daniel, I think we're going to get along just fine.”

“I wouldn't bet my life on it if I were you.”

*   *   *

The Iron Range Bandits didn't take the news well. There was plenty of weeping and shouting and angry sounds that reminded me of those days when I was a cop knocking on doors late at night to tell bewildered parents about their children. The language they used—the Bandits didn't say anything that you couldn't hear on HBO, yet I found the words truly shocking coming from them. Roy wanted to throw down on Daniel right then and there; Skarda and Jimmy wanted to help—I had to step between them and stay between them for the longest time. It took a lot of talking, a lot of promises, to calm the group, especially Josie, who reminded me more than once that I had claimed there would be nothing to fear until after the job, until after we had the money. I apologized profusely for the mistake, yet that did little to assuage her rage. The old man did his best to help. He kept telling Roy, told anyone who would listen, that Jill hadn't been hurt. He repeated the words like a mantra—“She's all right, she's all right.” I suspected he was talking mostly to himself.

What genuinely impressed me was that no one wanted out; that every one of them wanted to help bring Jill home safely, including Claire.

“What can I do?” she asked.

“I bet you look sensational in a bikini,” I said.

Claire's eyes fell on Jimmy. “So I have been told.” He smiled broadly despite the context of the remark.

I pointed at Liz. “You, too.”

Liz turned her eyes on Skarda, who wasn't smiling at all.

“What do you have in mind, Dyson?” Josie asked.

I led them all onto the redwood deck and pointed at the pontoon boat. “Do we have a trailer for this?”

Josie answered slowly. “The stockbroker has one in the shed out back. Why?”

“How 'bout an ATV?”

“I have one,” Skarda said.

“Me, too,” said Roy.

“All right,” I said. “Now listen carefully. I'm going to tell you exactly what we're going to do and exactly how we're going to do it. We'll go over the plan again and again and again for the rest of the day and into the night so everyone will know what's expected of them. I don't want to hear any noes or maybes. If we're going to pull this off it's going to be yes all the time. Yes?”

There were a few spoken yeses in reply and the nodding of heads. If I were a basketball coach I would have repeated the question with the hope of a more boisterous response, except what I was planning could not remotely be considered fun and games.

Roy threw a thumb at Daniel. “What about him?” he asked.

“He gets to watch,” I said.

“That's bullshit.”

“Nonetheless.”

“We're going to do all the work, take all the risks, for what? So that he can take the money? So he can rape my wife?”

I stepped in front of Roy just in time to keep him from attacking Daniel again. For his part, Daniel didn't move a muscle, not to defend himself, not to get out of the way. Instead, he spoke softly to Roy.

“We want the money,” he said. “Make no mistake. As for your wife, taking her wasn't my idea, although I went along with it. I have since made it plain, however, to Brand and the others, that I will kill anyone who touches her.”

That quieted the deck considerably. While the threat wasn't particularly original—Roy, after all, had been saying pretty much the same thing most of the afternoon—the Bandits were obviously impressed by the sincerity with which it was expressed. If I seemed less dumbfounded than the others it was probably because I had determined earlier that Daniel was a lifelong bachelor like myself, and us bachelors, damn if we don't fall in love easily.

 

FIFTEEN

It was a pretty day. A clear blue sky, gentle wind, and if you breathed deeply, the sweet scent of pine and fir trees, an aroma that you only get in the North Woods. We were parked on Fourteenth Avenue and East Conan Street not too far from the Dairy Queen, although in Ely, you're never too far from anything. The
FOR SALE
sign in front of the house gave me a nervous start at first but made perfect sense once I had time to think about it.

I kept glancing at Skarda's watch strapped to my wrist and thinking disagreeable thoughts. So many things could go wrong. Start with the sight of four guys sitting in a Jeep Cherokee on a residential side street with the windows rolled down, just begging for someone to stroll up and ask, “What's going on?” Or a deputy on a routine patrol through the neighborhood—that would be perfect, just perfect.