Deal Gone Bad - A Thriller (Frank Morrison Thriller Series Book 1) (22 page)

Morrison kept a straight
poker face.

It was not easy.
This
is not good, this is not good at all,
he kept thinking as they took him to
another room for the lineup
.

The young couple from the
apartment building was here at the station. In a minute, they would be staring
at him safely through a one-way mirror.

No, this is not good at
all.

There were four other men
assembled to act as fillers. They all looked like they were in their early
thirties, between five foot three and five foot seven. All were dressed similarly
to him, with blue jeans and a clean shirt.

The deputies passed around
some numbers printed in a big bold font on notepad sheets along with some bobby
pins. The deputy with the buzz cut instructed them to pin their number over
their heart. Morrison inherited number two. Then they were ordered to file into
the room all together, in sequential order.

The walls were painted in
a bright white. A deluge of neon light fell over them. There was nowhere to
hide. No way for him to conceal any of his features. When he was very young, he
had first hated his eyes. The fact that they were of different colors singled
him out. Provided an excuse for his white trash trailer park friends to deride
and mock him. In time, he had come to appreciate them. In fact, they had become
his staple. His pickup line when he wanted to meet women in bars. All he had to
do was walk up and stare at them with his peculiar gaze and a friendly smile.
Nine times out of ten,
they
would make an inquiring remark about his
eyes and the conversation would flow nice and smooth from there. That night,
vulnerable as they now made him, he didn’t remember ever hating them more.

The door closed behind
them. A canned voice came on the speaker. “Stand two feet apart from each other
and face the mirror. Keep your mouths shut. Speak only if we address you.”

He stood there in silence with
the fillers for more than a minute.

This was a very long time
when you had nothing to do but stare at your own image in the mirror.

Then the voice in the
speaker came back. “Turn around to your left,” it said.

They stayed like that for
a while.

“Turn around to your
right,” the voice said. He turned around with the other guys in the lineup.

Time had never crept so
slowly.

He could imagine the young
couple alternately focusing on each of them. Inspecting them with all their
attention.

It was unbearable.

They were ordered to turn
back to face the mirror again and left to wait.

One minute passed. Then two.
Then three.

Bloody eyes,
he kept thinking,
bloody
freakin’ eyes.

The voice came back over the
speaker.

“Number two, step
forward,” it said.

He moved two steps ahead.
His gaze fixed on the image of himself.

Two or three minutes
passed. Then the voice came back. “Number four, step forward,” it said.

The other man complied.
Morrison stared at his reflection in the mirror. Of the five men in the lineup,
that guy was the one who looked the most like him. He was the exact same height
and had a similar build.

They remained still for a
few more minutes, and then the voice dismissed them all.

Morrison filed out of the
room with all the others, and the deputy with the buzz cut walked him back to
the holding tank.

There was now an old man in
there. He squatted on the far bench, resting his back against the corner walls.
He was all disheveled. Wrinkled clothes. Wrinkled face. Bad haircut. Reeked of
stale old sweat. And looked drunk as well.

“Hey, you got a smoke,
buddy?” the old man said.

Morrison shook his head. “What
are you talking about? They wouldn’t leave cigarettes to anybody in here.”

The old man scratched his
head. “Oh, that’s right,” he said. “Sorry.”

Morrison sat down on the
bench in the middle of the place. All he had to do now was wait. He looked
around and saw a clock on the far wall. Nine o’clock. This was going to be a
long night.

“Why you here?” the
disheveled old man asked.

Morrison looked at him.
Despite his sorry state, his cell companion seemed to be in a talkative mood. For
his part, he had plenty of time.

“Nothing. Just got into
trouble at Flanagan’s. What about you?”

“DUI,” the old man said.
“Again.”

Morrison had no trouble
believing him. If he’d had a lighter, he swore he could have set the man’s breath
on fire.

The old man shook his
head. “Man,” he said, “I sure could use a drink right now.”

Morrison smiled. “Me too,”
he said.

They kept quiet for a
beat. Then the old man came back with a question. “Who is Mike?”

Morrison frowned. “Why do
you ask me that?”

“Some deputies were talking
at the desk before you came. They were saying, ‘Morrison is driving one of Mike
Palmer’s cars,’ like it was a big deal. I figure you’re Morrison, but I don’t
know who Mike is.”

Of course, they had looked
up the SUV with his set of keys. That didn’t surprise him one bit. They would
also probably examine his mobile phone to see who he had been in contact with. Johnson
used a prepaid phone like him. But Cowgirl did not. He had called her on her regular
mobile.

“He’s nobody in particular,”
he said. “What did they say about him?”

The old man made a face. “Not
much,” he said. “They looked surprised you had anything to do with him, that’s
all.”

“Did they add anything?”

“No, they just said they
were going to look him up.”

“Anything else you heard?”

The old man scratched his head
again. “Nope,” he said. “It was all pretty quiet after that.”

Morrison nodded. He
decided to lie down and close his eyes.

He was stuck in that
holding tank. There was nothing he could do about it. No spin he could put on
the situation, no pitch he could throw to anyone. Until 7:00 a.m. the next
morning, he was Sheriff Sanford’s personal guest and that was that.

There were more than a few
clouds hanging over his head. He had ample cause for worry.

That bloody couple. If
they had recognized him, Sanford would be able to keep him locked up in here
longer. A lot longer.

But Morrison decided to
block out these negative thoughts.

There was no point wasting
his energy, fretting about all that. For the time being, circumstances were
simply out of his control. So he decided to do the only sensible thing—use the
time to sleep. As much as possible.

For he felt he would need all
the rest he could get.

*

Morrison woke up to a
tearing sound that sent his heart racing.

He sat up on the bench, his
eyes wide open. Then he turned his head toward the source of that horrible noise.
The old drunk was snoring like a beached whale, just a few feet away. Had it even
worse than Johnson. The old man was sleeping on his back and had one arm sprawled
across the floor. Morrison looked around. The holding tank was still as brightly
lit as when he’d arrived in the early evening even though it was now 2:00 a.m.
Morrison stared down the corridor. A new deputy was manning the desk, a young
fellow with short brown hair. Must have been a shift change during his sleep.

He yawned, stretched and reclined
on the bench.

The old drunk was a bloody
nuisance. But at least, by waking him up, he had helped him realize that five
hours had passed since he’d gone to sleep.

Five hours during which
they hadn’t come up with additional charges.

Just not yet anyway.

*

The next time Morrison
woke up had nothing to do with the old drunk.

In fact, as far as he
could tell, the man was already awake when he opened his eyes. The natural
sounds signaling the end of the night had woken up Morrison. Some people shuffling
around in the distance. The short bursts of faint conversation that went along.
And the diffuse background animation coming from the street. He could hear some
birds chirping, some cars going by on the main road.

Morrison looked at the
clock on the wall. It was 6:30 a.m. He got up.

His back was stiff from
sleeping on such a hard surface, but his head felt crystal clear. He stretched
his legs, arched his back and massaged his neck. All in all, he felt pretty
good. Totally rested. And nobody had come to him with any new development yet.

He was also famished.
“Hey, sergeant,” he shouted through the corridor, “have you got anything to
eat?”

The deputy with the short
brown hair turned his head toward him. “Breakfast’s at seven thirty,” he said.

Morrison nodded. He wondered
what his chances of being released at seven looked like.

“Is Sheriff Sanford around?”
he shouted back.

The desk sergeant shook
his head. “No, she’s not here.”

Morrison smiled. Things
were looking up.

If they were to come up
with serious charges, he was pretty sure Sanford herself would be there to
communicate them to him. Something she would enjoy, no doubt.

But of course, there was
still a half-hour to go. So he made sure he kept his hopes in check.

The old drunk started to
shift on his bench. “Oh boy,” he said, “I really need a drink now.” His hands
were trembling, his face ashen.

Morrison smiled. “Hang in
there, old man,” he said.

The other acknowledged the
encouragement with a small gesture. After that, he didn’t say another word, just
sat with his back to the wall and his eyes closed. Seemed to be having a really
hard time.

The minutes began flying
by.

Six forty.

Morrison was staring
intently at the corridor. From time to time, other deputies were walking around
the desk sergeant. They would exchange a few words, share some paperwork.

Six fifty.

Still gazing at the
corridor. Nobody venturing in his direction yet.

Morrison went through the
last ten minutes like it was a NASA countdown for a Space Shuttle launch.

Finally, at seven sharp,
one of the officiating deputies came down the corridor. He held the key to the
tank in his hand.

“Frank Morrison,” he said.
“Come over here. You can go now.”

As soon as he got his
personal belongings back, Morrison walked out of the sheriff’s department
station like his pants were on fire.

First thing he did was to
call Cowgirl on his mobile phone. He let her know that he was on his way to her
place. Second was to check the call log on his phone. While he was locked up, Johnson
had tried to reach him. Twice. At five and six in the morning. Morrison called
him back immediately.

“Morrison, finally,” the
hacker said when he picked up.

“Sorry, man, I really
couldn’t take your calls. Long story. Did anybody try to call you?” he said.

“No, why?”

“It’s OK. Don’t bother. So
what do you have?”

“I’ve completed the audit
on banks number four and five.”

“Let me guess: they were
flushed two million dollars each.”

“Exactly,” Johnson said.
“Just like the other banks. The amounts taken from each account match perfectly
with those that were in your plan.”

Morrison nodded. That’s
what he thought. He paused for a beat. Then he added, “OK, man, thanks for your
help. Now just lay low. I’ll call you back when it’s safe for you to leave the
motel.”

He hung up and continued to
walk. It was a bright early morning. No doubt the day would be hot.
So we’re
really talking about eight millions dollars,
he thought.
Bloody Sanford.
That’s quite the jackpot for a simple sheriff.
He saw Elena’s dark green
awning up ahead and decided to stop and pick up something to eat.

Five minutes later, he
returned to the sidewalk with a bagful of warm pastries and polished off two cinnamon
buns before he even got back behind the wheel of his big black Navigator.

It was Sunday. The SUV sat
alone in its angled parking spot. A ticket was pinned underneath the wiper arm
on the driver’s side. Nice. Real nice. But it hardly mattered. If that was all
Sanford had against him, he was happy.

He picked up the piece of
paper, opened the door and stuffed it in the glove box. Then he eased the big
SUV out of its spot and started driving on Main Street. He kept scanning his rear-view
mirrors and the side streets in front of him. There was no movement around.
Nobody was following him. Good. One less thing to worry about.

He made it to Cowgirl’s
place in ten minutes.

The front door was still
unlocked. He shook his head.
That’s insane,
he thought as he let himself
in.

A great coffee smell drew
him to the kitchen, where a steaming cup was waiting for him. He dropped the
bag of cinnamon buns on the granite counter. Cowgirl stood in front of the sink
with a steaming cup of her own. She was already dressed in a pair of jeans and
a T-shirt. She looked ready to play ball.

“What happened last
night?” she asked.

Morrison told her about Angry
Eyes’ unexpected attack in the bathroom at Flanagan’s. How it was really done
in retaliation for him having knocked the guy out downtown two nights before.
He also told her about the role Angry Eyes had played in Harris’s shoddy ATM-skimming
deal. Cowgirl was surprised. She hadn’t known Harris stood behind that lousy
operation. She was all ears, munching quietly on a cinnamon bun and drinking
her coffee as he talked.

She broke her silence only
when he was done telling her about how he came to suspect that Sanford was the
real thief. The USB flash drive.

“I got busy on Sanford as
soon as the lawyer gave me your message,” she said. “But I wanted to know why
you needed to look into her. It sounded so strange to me. I couldn’t get my
head around it. But now I get it. The USB key was the only place where all the
information on these accounts was. And now she had it. Sanford and nobody else.
So the only logical conclusion was that this USB key had been the gateway to
the eight million dollars. Makes sense. Totally. But the other question I have
is how did she manage to put it to use so fast? First Collins Bank was hit two
days after your arrest. That’s a very short delay.”

Morrison shrugged. “When
there’s a will, there’s a way,” he said. “Sanford is a smart woman. When she
busted me, she saw that I had been able to extract two million dollars in a
matter of hours from Chelfington Bank. I guess that was enough to make her
wonder. Did we have anything more up our sleeve? When she interrogated me, she
kept coming back with that question. Were we planning to hit other banks? Of
course, I said no. I told her Chelfington Bank was the only one we had set out
to hit. Obviously, she didn’t believe me. And she turned to that USB key to get
her answers. With a spectacular success. I must confess some admiration for how
she went about it.”

She shook her head. “Sheriff
Sanford,” she said. “Who would’ve thought?”

“So, were you able to get
anything on her?” he asked.

Cowgirl nodded. “After I
got your message, I drove back home, switched to my service van and came to the
station. It’s a white van without any marking that I use for the stable
business. It’s very discreet. Anyway, I parked on the street a little past the
station and I waited. She stayed in there a long time. It was 1:00 a.m. when
she finally got out. At that point, she looked pissed. Mighty pissed.”

“That’s because she
couldn’t pin me down. I can only conclude that the young couple wasn’t able to
formally identify me in the lineup. And Sanford probably couldn’t get any
prints from the crime scene either. That must be the reason. Otherwise, if she
had anything she could use, I would still be locked up in the tank. I’m sure of
that.”

“Right, makes sense.”

“So, where did she go
then?”

“First, I saw her get into
her car, a kick-ass Mercedes. That’s when I began to understand why you wanted so
much to look into her. That’s a hell of a car for a sheriff, right?”

“Exactly.”

“So I started following
her. From very far away, of course. I was cautious to the point of losing touch
with her on a few occasions. But I did get to her place. And that was a
surprise—even bigger than seeing her shiny new Mercedes had been.”

“How come?”

“She lives in a really big
house on Wellington Road, out in the countryside. A two-story white mansion
with columns set on a big property. You know, the kind that has a long driveway
bordered with maple trees that look like they’ve been there forever? There were
stacks of branches all along, like they had been cleaning up the winter’s
damage. Very nice house for a sheriff, I thought. And again, very expensive.”

“Did you see anybody else
there? Did she make contact with anyone?”

“I couldn’t drive up the
alley, so I can’t tell you for sure. I stopped under a tree on the road and
kept my eye on the mouth of her driveway for a while. At 3:00 a.m., there
hadn’t been any movement, in or out. So I left and I came back home. And here
we are.”

Morrison nodded. “That’s a
start,” he said. “That’s a great start.”

“So how do you want to
play this?” she asked.

“Well, we need to corner
Sanford. And that begins with her entourage. It was impossible for her to act
alone. No way. She must have had accomplices. At least one person she could put
her full trust into to direct the proceedings. We need to find out who that is.
To begin with, is she married? Is she involved with someone?”

Cowgirl shook her head. “No
idea,” she said.

“We have to start with
this,” he said.

Cowgirl agreed. “We should
take the van to her place to sniff around. See what we can find out.”

“Good idea,” Morrison said.
His mobile buzzed. He looked at the screen. It displayed a phone number he
didn’t know. He answered anyway.

“I hear you were arrested
last night, Morrison?” That was Mike. “Anything I should know?”

“How do you know that?”

“I had a visit from a
sheriff’s deputy last night. Asking me all kinds of questions about you.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. But they asked
me why you were driving one of my Navigators. That was a bit embarrassing.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I didn’t know about
that. That I have many employees who could have lent it to you. You know I’ve
got some heat on me right now, Morrison. I don’t need any more because of you.”

Morrison frowned. “Why are
you calling me now? How did you know they released me?”

Mike chuckled. “I’ve got
my sources,” he said. “Only an idiot wouldn’t. So tell me, what does Sanford
now know about you that could get me into trouble?”

“Relax,” Morrison said. “She
doesn’t know anything. She’s been fishing around, that’s all. You don’t have to
worry about anything.”

“Well, why don’t you come in
here for a talk? These things are better done face to face. I got a couple more
questions of my own.”

He was hesitant to go back
there, not so sure it was safe for him at Mike’s house at the moment.
Especially with that blond maniac still around.

The more he thought about
it, the less he wanted to go back there alone.

But he had an idea. Something
that could diffuse that risk. Something that had to be done anyway.

“I’ll be there,” he said.
“But I won’t be coming alone. I learned a lot about our busted operation these
last two days, and I think it’s about time we had a partners’ meeting.”