Highway to Vengeance: A Thomas Highway Thriller (8 page)

“Damn right you should,” Willis said. “And
I’ll forgive you this one last time. But don’t let it happen again,
or else I’ll have to fuck you up big time, widower or not.”

I laughed. It was good to have Willis back
in full swing, talking shit despite my situation. All the sympathy
I’d received over the past few days was making me sick. I wasn’t
big on being treated with kid gloves in the best of times, and in
times like this, the last thing I wanted was Willis joining in on
the act.

“Oh, is that right?” I said, offering him a
little smile.

He nodded vigorously, his smile cutting his
face in half.

“Then come on and try it, big man.”

“Oh, you don’t want that,” he said.
“Remember the last time we scrapped?”

Of course I remembered. We were freshman in
college, just starting to get to know each other. We were both
drunker than shit, and I was trying to see (as always back then)
how far I could push things. I found out the hard way, to the tune
of two cracked ribs and a bruised kidney. I had pissed blood for a
week.

“I don’t remember a thing about that night,”
I said. “I think it’s been permanently blocked from my memory
banks.”

“Yeah right,” Willis said. “You just wish
you’d forgotten about it.”

“That I do,” I said. “That I do indeed.”

Willis laughed and clapped me on the
shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, my friend.”

“It’s good to be back,” I said, even though
I knew I wasn’t truly all the way back. And wasn’t sure I’d ever
be. But I was definitely doing better. Action tends to do that for
me, even something as simple as breaking in to Russo’s house the
night before.

“So what did you find on our friend
Alvarez?” I asked, getting back to the business at hand.

“Well, let’s just say that he is far more
cognizant of his security than Russo was. He won’t be nearly as
easy to get to.”

This didn’t surprise me in the least. I knew
it was going to get progressively harder from here on out. The only
question was whether or not it was doable at all. “How bad is
it?”

“Pretty fucking bad,” Willis said. “His home
has a twelve-foot high security fence around it, four German
Shepherds, a top-of-the-line alarm system, plus he’s never alone.
Not only is he married with six kids, but there are three
‘servants’ that live at the home.”

“Let me guess. Bodyguards?”

Willis nodded. “At least one at all times,
but usually two or three, depending on the situation.”

“What about his work?”

“Not quite as secure as the house but not
easy to infiltrate by any stretch of the imagination.”

“How difficult are we talking about?”

“His office is on the twelfth floor of a
downtown high-rise with 24-hour security, private parking, a metal
detector and four guards at the door,” Willis said. “And even if
you can somehow get up to his office, he has ten other people in
there with him, any number of which could be there at any
time.”

I stared at Willis’s beer, suddenly wishing
I had one in front of me right now. “Not exactly what I was hoping
to hear.” I uttered a humorless laugh. I couldn’t take it anymore.
I reached across the table and snagged Willis’s beer, threw down
half of it in one drink.

“Feeling better?” Willis said.

“Not at all,” I said. “So basically I’m
fucked.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Willis said. “I
mean, if you just wanted to kill him, that wouldn’t be too
difficult. But capture and question him? That’s no cake walk by any
stretch. About the only thing you can do is follow him around for a
couple of weeks, try to find a weakness in his routine, a tiny
window of opportunity where you can snatch him and run like hell
and hope you can get back to the warehouse without getting gunned
down.”

“You know how much I hate tailing
people.”

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t see many other
choices right now. At least, not sane ones.”

I sighed and shook my head. “Then I guess
that’s what I’ll have to do.”

“I could put someone on it if you want.”

“No, it’s all right. I’ll give it a
shot.”

“You sure?” Willis said. “I’ve got a couple
of quality guys on the payroll who could use the work.”

“No thanks,” I said. “I’m going to try and
take care of it myself. The fewer people involved in this thing,
the better it is for everyone.”

“I hear you,” Willis said. He finished off
the last remnants of his beer. “So what are you going to do with
the rest of your day?”

“I figure I’ll go hang out downtown, try to
get a bead on Alvarez on his way home from work.”

“Sounds like a plan. Call me tonight, let me
know how it went.”

I nodded and started to stand.

“Oh, and Highway?”

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favor and don’t do anything
crazy.”

“Come on, Willis. You know me.”

“All too well,” he said. “Which is why I’ll
say it again: Don’t do anything crazy.”

CHAPTER NINE

I had been sitting in my car for almost two
hours when I spotted a Cadillac Escalade with familiar plates
leaving the parking garage adjacent to Alvarez’s office building.
The driver was a big, burly, bald guy wearing dark sunglasses, most
likely one of Alvarez’s bodyguards. The back seat of the vehicle
was heavily tinted, precluding me from seeing if there was another
bodyguard in the back seat, but I assumed there was.

The driveway leading from the building
exited onto a one-way street, allowing me the luxury of not having
to figure out which way the car was going to turn after leaving the
parking structure. I was parked on the near side of the street,
just behind the driveway, and easily slipped in behind Alvarez’s
Cadillac as it turned in front of me.

I hadn’t tailed anyone in more than a year,
ever since I’d screwed up a job I was doing for Willis by getting
in a minor traffic accident with the guy I was supposed to be
tailing. But even before that, I had always hated working a tail,
and it didn’t take long for me to be reminded why.

Everything went smoothly at first. It was
early enough in the afternoon that the downtown streets weren’t too
crowded, and I was able to keep one eye on the Alvarez’s Cadillac
and the other on the road without too much effort. I was five cars
behind the Cadillac and one lane to the right, and having no
problems staying in position for the first three blocks.

On the fourth block, however, the next
streetlight up turned yellow just before Alvarez got to the
intersection. The driver sped up and got through the intersection
just as the light switched over to red.

I wasn’t so lucky. I was stuck two cars back
from the line, sitting there watching as the Cadillac continued
ahead.

I tapped the steering wheel and waited
impatiently, my heart rate and frustration levels rising
incrementally with every passing second. I glanced back and forth
between the red light in front of me and the green one the next
intersection up, hoping that I wouldn’t lose sight of Alvarez’s
Cadillac.

Fortunately, the light at the next street
turned red before Alvarez got through it, allowing me to catch up
without difficulty.

My good fortune was short-lived however, as
two blocks later, edgy as ever with my recent near-failure still in
the forefront of my mind, I was so focused on keeping an eye on the
Cadillac and the pattern of the lights ahead that I failed to see a
Honda Civic in front of me slowing down to make a right turn into a
parking garage until it was almost too late.

I slammed on the brakes and swerved into the
next lane, narrowly avoiding the Civic and earning a flurry of
honks from drivers in the adjacent lanes. I glanced back to make
sure that I hadn’t started a chain-reaction accident of my own, and
by the time I looked back at the road ahead, Alvarez’s Cadillac had
disappeared.

I looked left, right, and left again. My
heart-rate spiked and I slammed my fist down on the steering wheel
and cursed aloud. It was impossible to overestimate how much I
hated this part of the job.

Then I saw the Cadillac half a block ahead,
making a left turn onto Market Street. I barked out a relieved
laugh, glanced in my rearview, saw a little opening, and cut across
two lanes of traffic to continue the tail.

Luckily the 163 freeway was less than two
blocks ahead. Alvarez’s Cadillac merged onto it and I followed.
Exhaling audibly, I allowed myself to relax a bit. Even I could
manage a decent tail on the freeway, especially during rush
hour.

I followed them all the way to Alvarez’s
house; despite the internal security measures, it was not located
in a gated neighborhood.

The Cadillac pulled into the driveway of an
immaculately adorned but subtle mansion. It proceeded through the
front gates of the property and towards the house beyond.

I drove past without slowing down or casting
a glance in the direction of the house.

I continued down the street until I came to
the next intersection. I made a left, then a right at the next
street, then two more rights, until I was back on Alvarez’s street
but the next block down. I made my way to the correct block and
parked as far down the street as I could while still being able to
see the front gate. I shut off the engine, threw WAVERING RADIANT
by ISIS into the CD player, and settled into my seat.

I had been waiting for about an hour when I
noticed the front gate opening. One of Alvarez’s other cars—a
Jaguar XJ8—exited, and much to my chagrin, turned right, towards my
parking spot.

I cursed under my breath and leaned over the
center console, pretending to search for something in the
passenger’s footwell. After counting to ten—figuring that was more
than enough time for Alvarez’s car to pass me at the speed it was
traveling, but not too much time that I’d miss which way it turned
at the intersection—I lifted my head back up to see the Jaguar
stopped in the middle of the street, directly to my right.

The driver had turned his head and was
staring right at me, his face impassive yet somehow condescending
at the same time. He gave me a long look, then returned his gaze to
the road ahead and took off down the street.

Fuck me. I had been made. Whether it had
happened while I was tailing Alvarez home or while I was sitting
outside the house, I had no idea. But it didn’t matter. There would
be no more following Alvarez on this afternoon, or ever again in
this car.

It was just as well, anyway. As I had proven
on the way over here, I was horrible at tailing, and I probably
would have just ended up in a situation worse than this if I had
tried to do it for any extended period of time.

It was time to come up with a new plan.

CHAPTER TEN

I briefly considered calling it a day after
the Alvarez tailing debacle, but I knew I was still way too wound
up to go back to the warehouse. The last thing I wanted to do was
sit around and stare at the ceiling, alone with my thoughts. I had
no doubt they would eventually turn to Josie, and I couldn’t deal
with that right now, especially after what I’d just done—or, more
accurately, had miserably failed to do.

My first thought was to find a bar and start
drinking heavily; the idea being that the only way I was going to
be able to sleep would be to pass out. But the more I thought about
it, the more I realized how bad an idea that would be.

I knew that right now my head wasn’t in a
good place, and if I started drinking (especially without Willis
around to keep me in check) I would eventually find someone to get
in a scrap with. It’s not like I’d start something, but there was
no doubt in my mind that I’d eventually find myself in a position
where something would get started, and then I’d have no choice but
to finish it.

And I didn’t want that.

Not only could it curtail me in the search
for Josie’s killer were something to go wrong, but hurting someone
else wouldn’t make me feel better. To be sure, it might do
something for my ego, right there, right then, but tomorrow I’d
wake up and deeply regret what I’d done.

I’d been there before, back in my pre-Josie
days, and it always ended the same way. I wasn’t going to revert
back to it now that she was gone.

So I decided on a different route and pulled
into the first place I saw on the way home, Gracie’s 24-hour diner.
I walked in and headed towards a booth near the back exit, just in
case. I had my choice of seats; there wasn’t another customer in
the place.

An extremely young, extremely pregnant
waitress came out from the kitchen and headed towards me, shuffling
along like she was sixty years old. The tops of her shoes were
scuffed, her hair was dirty and her nametag was blank but she was
putting on a good face for the customers.

“What can I get for ya?” she said in a
mock-enthusiastic voice.

“Give me your Farmer’s Breakfast,” I said.
“With two large orange juices.”

She nodded her head and wrote on her little
pad.

“Plus an order of hash browns, a large stack
of pancakes and a piece of cherry pie ala mode.”

She looked at me with raised eyebrows and
her head tilted slightly. “You trying to eat yourself to
death?”

“Nope, just into a coma. I figure it’s the
only way I’m going to get any sleep tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Things are that bad huh?”

“Not really,” I said, not wanting the poor
girl to feel sorry for me. She obviously had enough problems of her
own. “I’m just wound up, that’s all.”

“I hear you,” the waitress said. “Although
getting to sleep isn’t much of a problem for me these days. It’s
waking up that’s hard. Know what I mean?”

“That I do.”

Her gaze lingered for a moment and she
nodded her head absently. I could practically feel the exhaustion
radiating off her body.