One of the Wicked: A Mick Callahan Novel (28 page)

My blood sang opera. Bone had scored the disc. We had the upper hand at last, but at a heavy cost. "Where should we meet you?"

Mandel wiped sweat from his forehead. "I'm getting out of here, it's not safe. Let me call your cell later on. We'll meet and go to my post office box together."

"Jacob, I. . . ." Mandel signed off. I looked at the white screen and logo for a long moment, then called Jerry and Hal. Jerry was already pulling up in front of my house, and came inside during the subsequent conversation.

"Oh, my word. I am so sorry, Mick." Hal was in his hotel room, walking back and forth in front of the camera.

I drank some more coffee. "I feel sick. Bone was a good man."

"You are going, of course."

"Of course, even if it's just to keep these bastards from getting away with it. Maybe we can get the disc and ransom Brandi, if she's still alive. Hal, why can't I just go alone, grab the package and fly back? Leave everyone else out of it?"

"We both know why, Mick. You said this Mandel seemed terrified. Thus, it would be unwise to vary from the specific instructions left by Mr. Stone, because if Mandel panics for any reason and refuses to cooperate. . . ."

"Understood."

"How about my shipment, did it arrive on schedule?" Hal was now several feet from the monitor, packing his suitcase. Jerry walked in, heard the question, and grabbed the FedEx package. He held it up to our camera. Hal nodded, went back to work. "I have a flight out this afternoon. I want to be there, too."

"What? Why?"

"First, to supervise a legal team in case anything goes wrong, and I have also placed a call to good friends who live in the Las Vegas area. You may need their support."

I shook my head. "You've done enough."

"Don't argue with me, stallion."

"Listen to me, Hal. Stay away from Vegas, so that you are free to help. Besides, no offense, but you're in your sixties. You'd only get in the way."

His shoulders slumped. "I despise these rare, annoying moments when you are irrefutably correct."

Jerry examined the false IDs and plane tickets in the package and whistled. "Man, this is beautiful work, really first class."

Darlene was sitting on the couch cleaning her Glock. Her mouth was a thin, dark line. Mary Kate was in the easy chair, still a little green from seeing what had been done to Joey Faber and Frank Toole. Hell, I was pretty sure I'd have a bad dream or two about that myself, somewhere along the way.

Mary Kate sipped orange juice. "Mick, why did you tell Mandel it would take all day when we'd already made arrangements to fly out this morning?"

"I want to get there ahead of time, just to size things up."

"And we can't be absolutely sure it's okay to trust this Jacob Mandel dude." Jerry tossed his fake driver's license to one side. "All we really know about him is that he claims to speak for Mick's friend Bud. Am I right, or am I right?" He rubbed absently at his burn scar. My little buddy was nervous. I loved him for his courage and loyalty, always respected him for overcoming his fear.

I looked at my new ID. Some guy named Mark Kaplan had my size and general look, but was a resident of San Diego, California, and needed glasses to drive. The package contained fake glasses and some bogus credit cards to back up the license. "Jerry, according to Bud this Jacob Mandel guy has been working for Little Nicky and can't get loose. Bud knows his family. Mandel is in as much trouble as we are."

"Is Lopez still out of the game?" That was Darlene, speaking for the first time in several minutes. "We could use another gun."

"I don't want this to come to guns if we can avoid it," I said. My heart tightened with grief. Poor Bone. "There's been enough dying. Sure, I want revenge, but I'll settle for putting these assholes in prison for life. Maybe we don't have to kill them."

Darlene stared up at me. "You want to put them in jail, Mick? That means going through channels, and they're not going to allow us to. You know that. I say we take them on there, once and for all, or we're going down."

Hal asked, "Have we heard anything new, Darlene?"

"A little, Mr. Solomon. Vegas PD is still crawling all over that old ranch house, trying to figure out what happened last night. Like Mick said, there was a nasty firefight, and at least three large explosions. When the cops arrived they found body parts everywhere. At first glance, it appears to be several Caucasian males, and all of them are dead."

Hal found my eyes. "I'm sorry, Mick."

"So am I, Hal."

"Are you going to say anything to his wife?"

I shook my head. "California is already looking for him. Sooner or later they'll put it all together and tell her. I can't risk giving away our involvement."

"No," Hal agreed. "I guess you're right. What a terrible shame."

"He said he was going to take it to them, and it appears he died trying." I got up, leaned against the computer desk. "Now it's our turn."

Jerry coughed. "I hope you don't mean it's our turn to die trying." The joke fell flat.

Darlene snapped her weapon together. "Let's get moving."

We went to the airport, separated in the covered parking lot, and walked in like strangers for the flight to Vegas. Darlene and Mary Kate dressed up enough to pass for expensive working girls coming back from a gig in LA. Jerry carried a specially modified backpack with plastic weaponry hidden in it, and wore a cowboy hat. He went off by himself, toyed with his laptop. I came in last, wearing those phony glasses, some belly padding, and a loose Hawaiian shirt. Darlene had done a lot of undercover work in her day, and managed to scan the crowd and look casual at the same time. She quietly flashed her badge and some kind of Homeland Security ID to the woman at the counter and was allowed to keep her gun.

There was no assigned seating, so we simply staggered getting onto the plane. We carried our scant luggage by hand. The brief flight was uneventful, the attendants bored and the honey roasted peanuts stale.

When we touched down in Las Vegas and stepped off the aircraft, the savage heat knocked us backwards. I went down the metal stairs first, and into the busy terminal. The others followed, several yards behind.

As before, McCarran International sang with the jangle of slot machines, dazzled with loud carpeting and flashing lights. We walked briskly, rode the silver speedway and went directly to the upper level. We had no luggage, so we just bypassed baggage claim.

My cell phone rang. It was Mandel.

"Mr. Callahan?"

"We're on our way, Jacob. Should be boarding soon."

"There is a big bowling alley two blocks south of the Wagon Wheel. It's almost directly across from the post office. Meet me in the bar at four-thirty." He broke the connection.

Mary Kate was the only person in the group likely to still be anonymous to the Pesci crowd, so she rented the car while Darlene stood watch from a few feet away. Jerry and I went outside. Jerry stopped, leaned on a pole. I walked to the far end of the row and waited at the entrance marked for a different airline.

The women brought the car around and picked us up. We went straight to a cheap motel a few blocks from the Wagon Wheel, a black-and-white, polka-dot wooden dump called The Rolling Dice. I went in with Darlene, Jerry with Mary Kate, and we rented adjoining rooms on the upper level. We kept the door open, turning the rooms into one small suite.

The rooms were awful but the air-conditioning felt arctic. It was wonderful. Darlene was certain we hadn't been followed. "So far, so good."

"Mandel's on top of it, anyway." Jerry had his laptop open. "ETA for the package has been pushed up a bit. Now you're looking at around four thirty-five." He checked his watch. "That's a little over an hour from now."

I looked at my friends, my sister. They all seemed tired. "Freshen up and stretch out then, guys. Get a little rest, we're probably going to need it." Mary Kate and Darlene found two cheap cardboard buckets with dice on them and left to get some ice. Jerry left his computer on, went to the sink and splashed water on his face. I took off the fake belly padding, went to the wall unit and held my shirt up to the air.

"So, we get this disc," Mary Kate said a few minutes later. She was lying on the couch with a cold rag on her forehead. "What then?"

I sipped a diet cola. "Hal is making some calls. With a little luck, he'll be able to cut some kind of a deal, find someone who can take it off our hands and get it back to the rightful owners of the information."

"I don't see how that helps you with the bad guys," Darlene said. "If anything, this Little Nicky dude is going to get even more pissed once he hears he's lost out."

"I hear you."

"So what are you planning on doing about
that
aspect of the situation?"

I shrugged, smiled. "Pray and then run like a stripe-assed ape, I suppose."

"Very funny."

Jerry called out, "One body from the shootout in Salt Lick has been identified. They say it's a guy name of Lucky Ligotti, and that he's a known associate of Big Paul Pesci."

"Big surprise, huh?" Mary Kate sat up and rubbed her feet. "Man, do I fucking hate high heels."

"Try working undercover as a hooker for a few months," Darlene said. "Gives you a new appreciation for drag queens."

"Oh, shit. Shit."

I sat up. "What, Jerry?"

"You're on the news, too, my man." He turned the computer. It was streaming a local TV station. The announcer said television and radio psychologist Mick Callahan was wanted for questioning. Something to do with the murder of a Pesci acquaintance named Sharkey Jackson. They cut to a commercial and Jerry hit MUTE. He rolled his eyes. "You ever even hear of this dude, man?"

"Nope. Okay, feedback. Why would they do this to me now?"

"Maybe they still just want you sweating bullets so you'll hustle," Darlene said, "but my guess is it's a bit more than that. They have to know Bud Stone is dead, along with their men. Could be they suspect he arranged to get something to you, and they want you in custody so you can't hook up with whoever it is Bud turned. If you're off the street, it's one less thing to worry about."

"I don't like that idea. That they're on to a traitor."

"Me, neither."

"One thing is for sure," I said, "if they had any idea it was Mandel, he wouldn't be above ground and setting up meetings."

Darlene shrugged. "Not unless this is a trap."

"Yeah," I said. "There's that."

It was pretty quiet from that point on. We left early and cruised around the block, checking out the bowling alley, the post office, and the general area. The bar had a long glass window that faced the street. We'd already discussed that Mandel would probably want to see a few people in my group, as per Bud's instructions, but there was no reason to stay clumped together in the same place. When the time came, Jerry and Mary Kate would stay in the bar, seated by the window. Darlene was armed, so she would stay in the doorway of the bowling alley. I would meet Mandel, cross the street with him, and pick up the package.

At four-twenty, I went through the bowling alley and into the cool, dark bar, again wearing the gut padding and the dumb shirt. The place was almost empty, except for a gum-chewing waitress with big hair, a young blond bartender with thick forearms who was busy drying beer mugs, and an elderly couple seated at a table counting winnings from the quarter slots. I passed them, walked to the window and sat down. Jerry and Mary Kate followed moments later and parked four tables away. As discussed, Darlene remained in the doorway, where she could see both the bar and the street. Our vehicle was parked a few yards away, and Darlene had the keys.

Jacob Mandel was prompt. He came in dressed in shorts and a green shirt, his balding head pink with sunburn. He was just a kid, shorter than I'd expected, and his eyes told me I was much larger than he'd pictured. Mandel sat down hurriedly, waved the waitress away. His arm pits were dark with sweat. "Where are the other people Bud wanted you to bring?"

"They're here, kind of blending in."

Mandel turned his head all the way around, but couldn't spot anyone out of place. "Okay, then. Ready?"

"Hang on a second, Jacob," I said calmly. "Take it easy. Do you know where you're going?"

"I know, but I'm not telling you."

"You're right, you shouldn't. I just wanted to be sure you'd made some plans. Do you need money? I have a friend helping me out, and he's got very deep pockets."

Mandel shook his head. "I've been saving up cash for months. Look, man, can we just get this over with before I crap my pants? I want to get out of town."

"One minute."

I surveyed the street. The post office seemed fairly quiet, just a customer or two coming and going. A couple of parked cars, no one sitting in them. A black rent-a-cop leaned against the wall, smoking and talking on a cell phone. A pretty red-haired woman in tight shorts and a halter waited at the bus stop, thumbing through a tourist magazine. A man was standing at the far end of the block, probably not close enough to constitute a threat. I caught Darlene's eye. She shrugged, as if to say, "I don't know, it's your call."

"Mr. Callahan? Please?"

"Okay, Jacob." I pushed away from the table, got to my feet. "Let's do this."

We went past the long, empty bar. The waitress was halfway to the ladies' room. The bartender with the immense forearms was mucking around in the cash register. He did not look up. We walked into the corridor, then the lobby. Mandel brushed past Darlene without realizing who she was, and I didn't bother to enlighten him. He went through the front door. I waited a moment and followed.

We went out into the afternoon heat. No one outside had moved more than a foot or two either direction.
Why not?
A tiny alarm went off in my gut, but Mandel was walking briskly, head down, arms pumping, and quickly entered the post office. I crossed the steaming black asphalt and went up the small staircase. I shaded my eyes, peered in through the glass door. Mandel was inside, at the counter. There was one man in front of him, an Asian in his thirties who turned almost immediately and came my way. I stepped to the side and allowed him to exit the building. He had some letters in his back pocket and did not look up or back once he'd passed.