Diversion 2 - Collusion (22 page)

The next morning Lucky returned to his house to find the black-and-white feline on his porch. When he opened the door the cat darted inside. Lucky didn’t stop it.

He packed his bags, wishing he had two good legs to walk on instead of hopping around on crutches.
Oh well. No help for it now…

“Hey, kitty.” Bo stooped in the doorway, scratching the cat under the chin. “What’s his name?”
“I dunno. I call him ‘Nuisance.’” Under torture he wouldn’t admit to calling the critter “Lucky.”
“You’ve called me worse, I’m sure.”
Lucky didn’t believe he had, but couldn’t argue. Likely he’d soon have several choice names for the man, just like Bo’s pet name for him seemed to be “Damn it, Lucky!” It beat the hell out of “T-Rex.” Of course, Lucky’d been called worse—much worse.
“You ready?” Bo asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Bo placed the cat outside, grabbed Lucky’s bags, and headed for his Durango while Lucky locked up. They drove in silence to the airport. Lucky’d bought a ticket under his current name of Simon Harrison. Once Walterreceived the resignation letter, he’d easily guess Lucky’s plans. While Walter might not officially approve of such a direct breach of orders, Lucky counted on the man not trying to stop him.
Bo followed Lucky as far as the security line at the Atlanta International Airport, squeezing Lucky’s hand while handing over his laptop. “Getting through the security gate is gonna be hell with those crutches.” He stepped away, holding Lucky’s gaze. “Happy hunting.”
Lucky nodded and turned away. To himself he said, “Yeah, I love you, too.”

“Where’s a good place to get a drink?” Lucky asked, sliding into the backseat of a taxi.
“I take you place all Americans go,” replied the driver, whose ID labeled him “Gustavo.”
“No. I want don’t want a tourist hangout.” Lucky summoned a harmless good ole boy smile. “Cab drivers know the best local bars. Where would you go?”
The driver flashed a grin through the rearview mirror. “I know just the place, my friend.”
Twenty minutes later Lucky hit pay dirt, arriving at an out of the way bar surrounded by off-duty cabs. Twenty dollars, US, bought him Gustavo’s services for the afternoon as interpreter. Lucky strolled into the building and tossed a picture of Grayson on the bar. “That’s my brother-in-law. He done run off on my sister, leaving her with three small kids to feed. Anyone seen him?”
Gustavo translated in rapid-fire Spanish. Several men shook their heads or chattered away. “They haven’t seen him,” Gustavo replied. Three rounds of drinks loosened a few memories, two men recollecting picking Grayson up at a local hotel. One recalled driving him across town, and another swore the on-the-lam doctor was actually a famous American actor, in disguise.
Since no one in the bar appeared to be in any shape to drive, Lucky called another cab, using his drinking buddies’ suggestion of where to stay.
A little flirting lured information from a hotel maid, and Lucky didn’t even have to buy her a drink. He requested a room on the second floor, overlooking the pool. That night he texted his partner,
“In my sights.”
A quick email provided all the information Bo needed to issue an anonymous tip to the Cozumel police. The waiting game began.

Sipping orange juice while lounging by the pool, he observed his prey. The hammock rocked gently with his movements as Lucky lay on the webbing. He pulled his hat lower, pretending to study his drink while jabbing a plastic straw into his cast to scratch an itch. Damn, but he wanted the cast off. The garish blue wrapping made him stand out in a crowd. Lucky didn’t like standing out in crowds.

On the other side of the pool a man sat on a lounge chair, iPad on his lap. Lucky watched as two uniformed officers approached, witnessed the stooped shoulders, the downcast eyes, and extended wrists as Grayson stood and let the authorities lead him away. Lucky texted on his phone,
“1 down, 3 to go.”

For two days Lucky sat tight, waiting for his next move. Walter hadn’t called. Those less familiar with Walter might’ve been nervous. Lucky took the lack of interference as permission to “Do what you do.”

At last he received an email tagged “Vancouver,” most likely traceable back to a public library. A list appeared of pharmaceutical trade magazines and… What the fuck? Rasmussen advertised on Craigslist? A few ads were sent as attachments— copies of Rasmussen’s originals.

Bo signed the email,
“What you want for dinner?”
Lucky hit “reply” and typed in,
“You.”
He spent a few hours crafting a series of carefully worded

You placed a large order for cancer drugs for the Homer Women and Children’s hospital in Calgary. Any hits, forward to me.

He started to sign, “Rich” or “Richie” like he usua lly did, but ended up leaving the message unsigned. She’d understand who it came from by the email address.

If the bastards wouldn’t come to Lucky, he’d go to them. Surely they’d make a short hop from Vancouver to Alberta for a few thousand dollars.

Sitting at a desk in his modest hotel room, Lucky fired up his computer, logging into the account he’d set up in his sister’s name. He found two advertisements for dating sites, a badly misspelled letter informing Charlotte of an unknown relative’s lucrative bequest—requiring her to enter her checking account information—three offers for penis enhancers, and a message he’d been desperately waiting for.

The cloudy skies of Calgary appeared alien after the sunny skies of Mexico. At least the new walking cast, courtesy of a roadside Mexican clinic, made getting from point A to point B easier—made scratching easier, too. Lucky stood by the road at the Springbank airport, located on a flat plain, a few mountains visible in the distance. He hunkered down, watching the drama unfold through field glasses.

“That’s it, baby. Come to Papa,” he urged the Cessna approaching with landing gear out.
The plane came to a halt. Canadian Mounties surrounded the craft and the door opened. Damn, what Lucky wouldn’t give for one of Keith’s listening devices. After a small eternity, the Mounties led two men and a woman out of the plane and to waiting vehicles. “This one’s for you, Stephanie,” he said. He took a picture with his cell phone on highest magnification and sent the image to Bo.
“Whatcha looking at?” his cabbie asked.
“Just watching the planes,” he said, making his way to the cab on a single crutch. “Back to my hotel, please.”
The woman turned the car around, returning the way they’d come. “How long you in town for?” she asked.
“Not long. My flight leaves early tomorrow.” If he could, he’d go to China next, visualizing sending a factory up in flames. But no, he’d never actually resort to arson, no matter how tempting.
“You here on business or pleasure?”
Lucky didn’t really feel like talking, but lacked the energy for openly hostility. “Both.”
“Have you picked up any souvenirs for your family and friends?”
Souvenirs? “No.” He hoped his curt reply might discourage further friendliness. It didn’t work.
“There’s a really good shop up near your hotel, great selection, great prices.” She flashed him a used-car-salesman grin.
“Oh, and while I’m inside you leave the meter running, right?” He already owed her a fortune for the time spent at the airport, ensuring Rasmussen came to justice.
“No. I promise I’ll cut the time off.”
Lucky glaredat her earnest expression reflected in the cab’s rearview mirror. “What’s in it for you?”
A flush crept up the woman’s cheeks. “Nothing, really. My cousin owns the place and I try to advertise when I can. She really does offer the best bargains around.”
His next stop being Spokane, he supposed after years of not seeing Charlotte and the boys, not showing up empty-handed might go in his favor. “All right,” he conceded.
She pulled up at a small shop designed to look like a rustic cabin. A bell tinkled overhead when they walked in. “Look around,” the cabdriver said. “I wanna go say hello to Deb.”
Lucky puttered around the shop. What would his nephews like? What said, “Canada” to boys their age? He picked up two stuffed bears dressed like Mounties—they ought to do. He roamed some more, coming to a stop in front of a display of pendants. Charlotte liked jewelry, didn’t she?
His cabbie caught up with him. “Oh, those are nice,” she said, “and really big sellers, too.”
“My sister might like one.”
“Your sister? Cool! You know these aren’t ordinary trinkets, right?”
“What do you mean?” Lucky expected a sales pitch designed to separate him from the Canadian dollars he’d exchanged American bills for.
“These are spirit totems. You should choose one that matches her personality. Now, what’s she like?”
Lucky felt a glower settle into place before deciding,
What the hell
, and humoring the woman like he did his landlady. “Her family is very important to her, she’s loyal, kind, has a big heart— ”
The lady picked up an otter charm, holding it up for Lucky to read the attached card. Despite himself, he cracked a smile. “That’s Charlotte, all right. A sea otter.”
The woman grinned at him, eyeing his Mountie bears. “Anyone else on your list?”
“Well…” Lucky wondered if he should get Bo anything. Okay, not
if
he should, but
what
he should. “There is someone else,” he confessed. The woman would never see him again after dropping him at his hotel, what did he care if she knew about Bo?
“Man or woman?” She traced her finger across the back of a black-and-white orca.
Heat rushed to Lucky’s face. “Um…”
The woman threw back her head and laughed. “This is Canada,” she said, “we don’t care who you love up here, as long as you both watch hockey.”
“What if neither of us watch hockey?” Oh, damn, he’d as much as said he loved Bo. No way was Lucky ready to admit that out loud, but he’d never see this woman again. This whole “love” thing—he wasn’t even clear on how to tell Bo, or even
if
he should tell Bo. He’d been too busy worrying about his jaunt for justice to think much about the future. What now? What would he do for a job? The only thing he’d figured out for certain was that he still wanted to wake up to an armful of warm Bo.
The ice around saying the three life-changing words, even inside his own head, melted with the warmth of knowing they were true. Lucky studied the ornaments, debating. “I’m not sure about getting
him
a necklace,” he finally said.
“It’s not a necklace!” the woman shot back. “It’s a spirit totem! They offer power, teaching, protection, wisdom. All the good stuff.”
Protection? Lucky eyed a charm the size of his thumb. The pendants sure beat the toe-breaker good luck charm Bo got for him. Protection came in portable sizes, huh? “Which one do you suggest?”
“Remember, if you want the magic to work you have to match the totem to the person. What’s he like?”
Lucky scratched his fingers against his scalp. “Kinda hard to say.”
“How does he make you feel?”
A blaze raged up Lucky’s face all the way to the tips of his ears. Good question. How
did
Bo make him feel? God, but Lucky hated feelings, hated having to figure them out even more. He pictured the man who’d gotten under his skin. The mountains, without Bo. The longing, the regret. Then, at home, Bo fussing over him. Bo, warm and sleepy in Lucky’s bed. Peace.
“No matter what’s going on, no matter how bad things get, when I’m around him, everything seems better. He takes care of people, never putting himself first. He doesn’t let life get him down. Oh, and he’s a little too trusting at times.”
She reached to a top shelf and lifted down a pewter bird with jeweled eyes. “The hummingbird,” she said, turning the attached card for Lucky to see.
He read the legend, no doubt created a year ago to sell trinkets to tourists. “Joy, loyalty, beauty in living, quiet courage.” Yep, that was Bo all right. “I’ll take it,” Lucky said. Even if only a lure for tourist dollars, if Bo believed in charms, it’d be worth the price. After paying for his purchases, Lucky hobbled his way back to the cab and texted Bo.
“Done! 1 more stop & I’ll b home.”
Funny how when he keyed in “home” it wasn’t his duplex, but Bo who came to mind.

The house hadn’t changed much since Charlotte moved in thirteen years ago. Instead of a neglected, tumble-down dwelling beyond his single-mom-oftwo sister’s ability to maintain, Lucky found a well-kept cottage with neatly-trimmed grass, surrounded by beds of red, orange, and yellow flowers. Looked like Charlotte took good care of the place. Still, something twisted in his guts. He’d once promised to always look after her. He’d failed and she didn’t appear to need him. Which bothered him more?

He sat in a diner sipping coffee and studying the house across the road. A late model Ford Focus sat in the driveway. After a while a woman emerged, digging into her pocketbook while trotting down the steps. She wore her light brown hair pulled back in a bun, and had dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt.

Damn, but she’d aged, and lost weight, too! But wait, she was now past thirty. How damn long had it been since Lucky had seen her face-to-face? A fist closed around his heart.
I did this. I’m the reason I can’t run out there, take her in my arms and never let go. Sis, I’m sorry I fucked up. So, so sorry I can’t be the brother you deserve me to be.
The fist squeezed.

She stopped at the car, eyes trained straight at the diner. Lucky flinched and ducked behind a menu. Had she spotted him? Did she somehow know her brother was near? The house door opened and she turned, speaking to the two boys trailing behind. One stood a few inches taller than Charlotte, the other a few inches shorter. Both had their mother’s light brown hair, the younger boy’s more of a dirty blond, like Lucky’s. The older boy grinned, taking the keys from Charlotte’s hand. Todd was driving now? Lucky did a mental calculation. Damn, more time had passed than he’d thought. Maybe the boys were old enough to entrust with Uncle Rich’s secret, but he wouldn’t want to burden them. Chances were, they still spoke with Grandma and Grandpa on occasion, and wouldn’t understand why they had to pretend Uncle Rich was dead.