Caravan of Thieves (27 page)

“I’ll try a piece of that pumpkin pie,” Shaw said.

“Ain’t got no punkin pie,” said the waitress.

Shaw smiled at her. “How about a piece of that pie smiling at me in the mirror, the one that looks like pumpkin pie?”

“Ain’t got no punkin pie,” she repeated.

“I bet you say that to everyone who asks. I bet you do it just because you like saying it.”

She loved him. Her smile lit her face, making her attractive, probably for the first time in a while. Shaw sipped his coffee and looked at me. The waitress scooted away. “We know of eight active and retired senior officers involved in the plot.”

“All great fighters, I’m sure, but not enough to take over Kurdistan.”

“They have promises from many others. For when the time comes. But they haven’t done anything but talk up to now, so the money is a big deal. It gives us a crime.”

“So you’re going to bust them for receiving stolen goods?”

“Right now, the only person who is going to be busted is you. You still haven’t given me the money.”

“Remington was McColl’s commanding officer in both Iraq wars. Remington is one of your eight.”

“And you killed all the main witnesses against him.” I looked at Jessica, indicating that she should have the goods. He shook his head. “We need more. A lot more.”

“Let’s give him the money,” I said, and I watched Shaw closely. “Then you can bust him for having it. He’s not going to say no. You can use that to get him to lay out the whole plan and everyone involved.”

The waitress brought our food and waited to make sure Shaw liked the pie. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s worth bothering about.” I
moved my water glass out of the way because I was sure she was going to launch herself at him. Even Jessica, who rarely found a worthy rival, and certainly couldn’t be threatened by this woman, snarled a bit. Shaw said to me, “Keep going.”

I looked the waitress off while Shaw savored the pie. “I’ll take the money to him. All you have to do is find him for me.”

“Sounds so simple. Why is Remington going to see you? And why are you so charged up to see him?”

“It was his son I busted in Afghanistan. Remington has been after me ever since. He’ll see me.”

“So we find him, send you in there…”

“You don’t have to find him. Let him know where I am, with the money, and what I’ve done, killed McColl and his gang. He’ll find me.”

“He’ll bring reinforcements. Better if you surprise him.”

“Where is he now?”

Shaw turned to Jessica. She said, “If I told him to meet me at the ranch, he probably would.”

“He has a crush on you.” I said it as a statement and she did not refute it. This was her burden and she bore it the way tall guys bear remarks about the air up there. Talk of Remington and his vulnerable spot made me ache to get out of there, get moving. We still had to go all the way to Arrowhead for the money and my mind raced for ways to get Remington without the money. There were none. Dan was bothering me, but I shut him out and gobbled my burger and thought about how I would handle General Remington.

Shaw was taking forever with his damned pie. If that waitress poured him any more coffee, I was going to dump it on him.

Dan rode in the back of the car with me. He wanted to discuss Shaw. “
Smooth,
” he said. I did not want to discuss Shaw. He had let me slug him and escape, and had talked the cops in Phoenix into letting me out. Incompetence usually included some measure of officiousness, or at least formality, but Shaw had neither.

“
He’s matched every move you’ve made,
” Dan said.

“
He’s giving me what I want,
” I answered.

Jessica shook me awake just as the first pale light was sneaking around the mountains. “Are you okay?”

I nodded.

“Where to?” Shaw wanted to know.

The town was asleep, as still as Christmas morning. A fisherman flicked the end of his cigarette out the window as he went past us. One old car sat in the lot at the Miracle Diner. As color seeped in, so did activity. I was glad we arrived before the place filled up, before Loretta would be there. From inside the bakery, a woman unlocked the door and took down the “Closed” sign.

Outside I paused, remembering that first day, before meeting Loretta and wondering if I could deal with the smell on empty pockets. “There’s a key here for me,” I said when the woman came out from the back.

“What name?” she asked as if she had rehearsed it, expecting a wrong answer.

“No name,” I said. Her jaw fell and her face jutted forward as if she could not believe I gave the right answer. She hustled to the back and returned in a moment with the envelope containing the key. I ordered muffins and three coffees to go.

We parked outside the self-storage facility. “All together? Or you want me to wait here?”

“No, pal, you come along, too.”

If he was going to kill me, this was the best place for it. He could stuff me in that locker and it would take days for anyone to notice the smell. I led them down the walkway to my locker, number seven. As I put the key in the lock, I started to smile because it occurred to me that Loretta could have taken it all.

“This is not another trick, is it?”

“If it were, I wouldn’t give it away with a smile,” I said. And I held the key but did not put it in the lock. “And I don’t see you smiling.”

Shaw shrugged. “We came this far, might as well find out.”

I opened the door, flicked on the light, and stood aside. Shaw waited for Jessica to enter, then followed her in. He kneeled next to the body bag and unzipped it and pulled it open wide for Jessica to get a look. “How much is it?”

“Never counted it.”

“Mind if I do now? They’re going to ask me someday.”

He counted the money. There was $23,990,000. Shaw looked up at me.

“Expenses,” I said. “If you want to take a cut now, I’ll never tell.”

I watched him carefully as he zipped the bag and hoisted it on his shoulder. I didn’t see where Jessica could be hiding a gun, so it had to be Shaw’s move. I went out first. Jessica followed. I held the door for Shaw. But there was no move. We loaded the money into the trunk and headed down the mountain to make our move on Remington.

I
handed Jessica my knife. “Tear your jeans, too,” I said. The plan was for her to rush back to the ranch, torn up, breathless, and helpless, and inform Remington that I had killed McColl and company and that I definitely had the money and I was headed for the ranch. Then I would go in and get Remington, distracted by Jessica, to confess on the digital recorder we had stopped to buy. Shaw would secure the outside.

Shaw and I huddled low in the backseat while Jessica drove up to the gate and punched in the code. Cameras covered every angle. There were no lights along the driveway, which curved left through sparse pastureland for a half mile before the house came in sight. Jessica slowed and we tumbled out. The wind was strong and after a moment the sky showed the glow of the security lights that switched on when Jessica’s car pulled up to the house. We hustled to the far side of the corral and crouched against the posts.

We could see Remington comforting the distraught Jessica through the living room window. He sent her to slip into something easier to tear and he strode out to alert the troops in the barn.
A few moments later, three men carrying pistols raced out of the barn. Two took the driveway toward the gate. The third man was the cook with the white hair. He drifted toward the front door of the house and slunk away from the lights near the bushes and waited there.

We waited. Shaw, propped against the post, looked like he was missing a guitar and a piece of straw to chew on while he sang about the moon over the desert. I watched him, then turned to the cook tucked into the shadows next to the house as if it were shade. Shaw still puzzled me. I could not fit him into any mold, no matter how much I altered it. Not cop, not soldier, not conspirator. I felt disappointed that he had not tried to kill me at the locker. He confused me by seeming to be just what he said he was.

“Only three of them?” As soon as I said it I was sorry. I knew the answer. I just asked so I could hear his voice, search for something new in it. I hoped he didn’t sense my intention.

“If there are more, you’ll hear the shots. Just send Jess out when you’re ready for me.”

“
He’s in your head now,
” said Dan. “
Get him out of there.
”

“
Look who’s talking.
”

The door of the warehouse opened and General Remington strode out toward the house. A moment later another man, younger judging by his gait, joined him. The second man was partially blocked by the general. They marched in lockstep past the stable, where a light burned, then into darkness. “He’s got someone with him. I’ll go with you,” Shaw said.

“I need you out here.”

“Plans change. You didn’t count on him having help.”

“I got it.” I was too sharp, too eager.

“Who is he?”

“The general’s son. Junior.”

The cook saw them approaching the front door and stepped out to show he was on guard. Remington and Junior ignored him with the casual arrogance that was infuriating but earned in the general and just comical from Junior. By that time, I was on the side of the house so that the cook’s back was to me as he watched Remington enter. I hit him hard on the back of the head with the butt of my gun and yanked his long hair to take him down faster. I kicked his head a couple of times for good measure. When he had a chance to think about it, he would probably decide it was better than dying. I peeked through the big window. The living room was empty.

The money was in the trunk of our car. I slung it over my shoulder so it sat in two fat lumps like engorged saddlebags, and gun in my right hand, I slid through the door. A half-filled glass of scotch or bourbon with ice almost melted sat on a coaster on the coffee table in front of the cowhide couch. I set the money down in front of the couch. The dining room was also empty, clean and in order. I pushed into the kitchen. A pan sat on the electric burner, but it was empty and cold.

I did not have to wait long back in the living room. Junior came in, spotted the body bag, and just as he touched the zipper, I put my gun into his ear, again. He was not armed.

“Hello, Junior.”

“You keep putting guns in my ear. How’d that go for you last time?”

“Last time isn’t over. Call your daddy. Nice and calm.”

“Well, that’s just what I had in mind.” He started to rise, but I pushed him back to his knees. “General,” he yelled.

I stepped back. “Sit down on that chair. Facing away from me.” Junior complied. He did not seem worried at all.

The general came in, saw his son’s back and the body bag and turned to face my gun. He was wearing his Marine utility camo uniform, the brown desert version, but I could see him anyway. He was armed. His hand edged that way.

“Keep your hands still, General.” I tried to make my eyes look wild and I jumped forward to scare him a bit, but he did not seem too scared. I turned him around and took out his gun, a Beretta M9, the standard issue. The general was a hotshot “one in the chamber, fifteen in the clip” kind of guy. I held his gun low, flicked on the safety with my thumb, and set the gun on the long table behind the couch. Maybe his arrogance would combine with my luck and he would make a move for it. Junior sat in the chair; his only movement was to cross his legs.

Remington was a trim fifty-five-year-old man, short neat hair going to gray, parted on the left side. He had fine, little-man features. He could have had a career as a character actor playing corrupt corporate executives, but that would have meant quitting the conspiracy business. He wasn’t ready for that.

“Put your gun down, Lieutenant.”

“Well, sir, one of us is going to hold a gun on the other, and considering the way everyone has been treating me lately, I prefer to be that one.”

He sighed, like a teacher dealing with an especially dense student. “I’m going to pick up my drink. I won’t throw it in your face.” He moved toward the coffee table, but I stood in his way and shook my head. I liked the idea of him wanting something he couldn’t have. He stopped, quite close to me, then pushed me. Generals
don’t take no from lieutenants. How much harder would he have pushed if it were Jessica instead of a drink on that coaster?

I slapped him back and forth with my left hand. He was not a coward. He stood his ground and inhaled deeply, as if he were going to huff and puff and blow me down. The more he wanted that drink, the more I did not want him to have it. “You didn’t come here to kill me, Waters. That’s clear. So what do you want?” His breath stunk of booze.

“He wants to kill me. Or put me in jail,” said Junior.

I wanted a different start to this. I wanted him to believe I was here to make peace.

“What do you want, Lieutenant?”

“You’ve been after me since Afghanistan. Here’s your money. I want it to stop. I want to be left alone. Junior is free, and that’s what you wanted.”

“Is that all?”

“Let me go back to Afghanistan. Or work for you in Iraq. In Kurdistan.”