The Perfect Candidate: A Lance Priest / Preacher Thriller (No. 1) (13 page)

Seibel was early. He parked his car, a silver Mercedes, at a meter on School Street just around the corner from the front entrance to the First District Headquarters of the DC Metropolitan Police. Lance took a guess it was Seibel approaching from the west on School Street in the German make a few minutes earlier. When the car pulled to the curb, Lance was sure. And he was positive when he saw Seibel reach down and pull a phone up to his ear.

“He’s got a car phone. Now I know he’s a big shot.” Lance snickered to himself and then took a look around to see if Seibel brought anyone else to the party. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for.

There were a good number of people around. Many on foot; many more in cars. Washington D.C. was a busy place at rush hour with thousands of workers leaving their government jobs and heading to homes outside of the Beltway. Lance couldn’t keep track of everyone and everything he was seeing, but he didn’t pick up any patterns. He thought his position, standing in a doorway across the street from the police station, was as good as any to survey the landscape.

He didn’t really have a plan, just wanted to see what would happen over the next few minutes. The fact that Seibel had a phone in his car changed his thinking a little. As he watched the government man walk up the sidewalk and stairs into the police station, Lance decided to take action. He pulled out a receipt from a 7-11 down the street and took the pen out of his jacket pocket. In the 40 minutes it had taken Seibel to arrive at the police station, Lance had walked the surrounding perimeter and stopped at two other pay phones and written down the numbers. The number he now wrote down was for a phone at the corner of 6
^th
and E. Street. He also wrote “Call me from your car phone.”

He walked directly across 4
^th
Street and then j-walked across School to Seibel’s parked Mercedes. Lance placed the receipt with the phone number under a windshield wiper and walked away casually. He stopped at the end of the street and positioned himself just at the edge of a building so that he could see down School all the way to 4
^th
.

Seibel came around the corner less than five minutes later. From this distance, about 300 yards, Lance couldn’t really make out the look on his face, but he was sure he saw a little frustration. It took Seibel about 20 seconds to make it to his car. He spotted the piece of paper on his windshield and stopped to look in all directions before grabbing it. He pulled the receipt off the glass and looked around.

Seibel opened the door and got in his car. Lance took his cue and turned toward the phone booth about 75 yards away across 6
^th
Street. He was pleased to see that no one was on the phone, but wouldn’t have minded keeping Seibel waiting with a busy signal for a few minutes.

Lance arrived at the phone and expected it to be ringing already. It wasn’t and didn’t ring for another four minutes. Strange. He stepped away from the phone toward a crowded bus stop 60 feet away. The phone rang and Lance took the few steps back over to it. A few people gathered round the bus stop looked up in curiosity at the ringing. But he noticed some of the folks nearby didn’t look up because they were already looking at him. Uh-oh.

Preacher picked it up after the second ring.

“Look to your south and east across E Street.” The voice was not Seibel’s. “See the gentlemen with the black cap?” Preacher stepped back from the phone booth and looked at the man in jeans, blue denim jacket and black ball cap with a big yellow Pittsburg Pirates “P.” The guy was looking right at him. Preacher still had the phone to his ear as the voice spoke again.

“Now turn around and look at the two men sitting on the building steps.”

Preacher turned to see two men in business suits with ties loosened. From this close, he could see the matching earpieces each had in their right ears. Both just looked at him with expressions unchanged.

Preacher kept his eyes on them as he spoke into the phone. “Any more?”

“About six. All within 200 yards of your location.” The faceless voice at the other end of the line waited for his next question. A city bus pulled up to the curb on E Street. The assembled mass cued up to get aboard. Lance looked at the bus then back to the two gents on the steps. They both stood up as if prompted by sounds in their ears. His mind raced.

The voice spoke again, “You could get on that bus, but our people would just get on with you.”

“But at least I’d be moving. A moving target is tougher to hit.” Preacher replied.

“It’s very likely that a D.C. Metro police patrol car with another patrol in support would stop that bus very soon to detain and if necessary arrest a suspect in a recent robbery or maybe it’s a homicide.”

“Don’t they need a warrant for that?” The line to get on the bus was moving quickly now. He would have to move within 10 seconds to get on.

“Not really. Not when national security is a concern.”

“National security? What did I do to threaten national security?”

“There are lots of things one can do to place the security of our great nation in danger.” Sarcasm tinged the voice on the phone.

The line at the bus was down to two people. The two suits on the steps took several steps toward the bus just in case Preacher bolted for it. The last bus rider was about to step on the bus but then turned back to look at Preacher. It was a black woman and surprise, surprise -- she had an earpiece in her right ear. Preacher looked from her to the two suits now only steps from him. He then glanced to his right and to no one’s surprise, saw another nice looking guy in slacks, sports coat and black earpiece.

The bus pulled away from the curb.

“What now?” Preacher asked.

But just as quickly as the bus pulled away, up pulled a silver Mercedes with Seibel behind the wheel.

“Looks like your ride is here.” The disembodied voice was probably attached to a man with a smile on his face.
They had him
. “No scenes, no funny stuff Lance.”

The passenger side window rolled down and Seibel’s smiling face greeted him.

“What if I don’t get in?” Preacher spoke quietly into the phone.

“Just get in.” The voice was a little gruff.

With that, Preacher hung up the phone and whistled as loud as he could. In seconds, six men approached from different directions. Unlike the well-dressed men in suits and earpieces, each of these gentlemen sported black jeans and flattop black heads. Each had various amounts of gold around their necks and each obviously carried weapons under baggy clothes.

“Whadup G?” One of the men shouted from the middle of 6
^th
Street. “We ain’t got no problem do we now?” He raised his arms in the air and beckoned each of his friends to take a position at the perimeter of the corner. One stood just off the bumper of Seibel’s Mercedes. Another stood just behind the guy in the blue sports coat. Another stood on the sidewalk behind the black woman. Each of the young men kept one hand tucked in clothing, gripping firearms.

“Don’t really know G.” Preacher affected an accent that sounded part Long Island, part Boston. “Like I said, I knew some folks was after me, but I didn’t know they was fake fuzz.”

“Fake fuzz. You got that down. These ain’t cops. You can tell by the threads. No cops got suits that nice. These here look like feds, but like you said, you ain’t done nothin wrong so the feds can’t just grab you.”

Lance moved from the phone toward the two suits. His walk had a definite saunter to it. Just a step away from them, he could tell by the blinking of their eyes they were getting messages in their earpieces. “I think these boys don’t want any kind of a scene out here G. I think they probably want to turn and walk away real quick like, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, that’s right. If they ain’t got no warrant and no cops backing them up then they ain’t got cause and need to step off.” The gang leader made his way into the center of the scene a few steps behind Preacher and only a few paces from the Mercedes.

Preacher turned to see Seibel talking on his phone. He spoke a few terse words into the receiver and hung up.

Preacher yelled at Seibel, “Hey man, that’s a no parking zone. You know you gonna get yourself a ticket hombre.”

As Seibel got out of his car, his jacket flapped open to reveal the gun holstered under his right armpit. His demeanor was now totally different from the multiple personas Preacher had encountered in Dallas or on the phone. Seibel walked past the young black gangster standing at his rear bumper and past the ringleader to Preacher. His smile now gone.

“Another excellent job Lance.” He was within two feet of Preacher and spoke in a low voice just above a whisper.

“How’s that?” Preacher tilted his head.

“This little circus; I assume you found your friends on some street corner and paid them a little tip to join in on some fun with folks in authority?”

Preacher smiled and looked over Seibel’s shoulder to TJ, the gang’s leader. “These fools think they got everything figured out man. They think you all are a street corner gang.”

TJ replied, “Oh I been on a few corners and this one right here just happens to be one of ours, especially after 6 p.m. You know we charge a permit fee to assemble here.”

Preacher laughed and turned back to Seibel. “What do you think about that? You all are going to have to pay a little tax for your show here Seibel.”

“How much?”

“TJ, what’s the goin rate for a… circus? I think that is the word for this.”

“This here looks like at least a $200 circus. That sound right boys?” TJ turned to his gang and received general agreement if not a plea for a higher fee.

Seibel just smiled and laughed. He then looked to each of his team members and nodded at each. “Lance, you do not fail to surprise at every turn.”

“Thanks, I try.”

Seibel leaned in close and TJ took a step closer. The gang leader was now invested in this deal. Seibel whispered in Preacher’s ear. “You have some very unique skills Preacher.”

“Something is either unique or not. There are no degrees of uniqueness.” Preacher whispered back.

“That’s your mother talking.”

Lance just looked at him and squinted. The fact that Seibel knew about his mother’s nasty habit of correcting others’ misspoken words and statements should have surprised him.

“What now?” Lance raised his eyebrows.

“Now you get in the car with me and we go get some dinner.”

“And then I sleep with the fishes?”

Seibel laughed again. “No, even worse.”

“Worse?”

“You join the Army, Private Priest.”

“But dinner first right?” Lance asked.

“Right.” Seibel smiled.

“Can TJ and his boys come along?” Lance asked.

Seibel turned from Lance and his demeanor once again changed completely. He was truly a chameleon. He put a broad smile on his face and raised his hands up above his shoulders and lowered them slightly. It was a signal. With that, each member of his team turned and walked from the corner. The two suits split; the woman headed east on E Street. The sports coat turned north on 6
^th
and got into a car idling at the curb that Lance had seen but not included in mix.

Seibel turned toward TJ and reached slowly to his back pocket to retrieve his wallet. From it he pulled several bills.

“Thank you for the use of your corner sir.” He spoke in a cockney accent. Damn funny.

TJ didn’t take the money right away. He looked to Lance. “Looks like show’s over hombre. You cool?”

“All our friends are leaving.” The streetwise urban accent Lance had affected moments ago was gone as well. “Thanks for your help.”