Donovan Creed 11 - Because We Can! (7 page)

“Brilliant.”

“Thanks.”

I pause a minute, then say, “But you can’t kill her. You know that, right?”

“We’ll see,” Callie says.

We climb in the chopper, take our seats. While awaiting lift-off, I eye Callie carefully. It doesn’t take much to set her off, and I hadn’t noticed it before, but she’s clearly on edge about something. While Callie’s not the only person on earth with bi-polar issues and a hair-trigger personality, she’s quite unique in how she expresses displeasure.

What I’m saying, when Callie gets like this, people die.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Peachy,” she says.

8.

Jill Whittaker.

JILL’S CELL PHONE is ringing?

Not possible.

Is it?

She answers, “Jack? Please tell me it’s you!”

“It’s me. What’s up?”

Shit,
she thinks. Then says, “Who
is
this? How’d you get my number?”

“It’s Jack. Talk to me.”

“Look, asshole. First of all, Jack doesn’t sound like a cartoon character. Second—”

“Yeah?”

She hangs up. No point in continuing the conversation. Whoever called obviously found her number on the top edge of the bathroom door where she left it for Jack.

How the hell did the door survive the blast?

And how could she let herself think for one minute Jack escaped? And how could she expect him to talk to her after Bobby cut out his vocal cords?

Simple. She thought those things because she
wanted
to. Because she’s an optimist. And because hope springs eternal.

But this is the real world. If Bobby claimed he removed Jack’s vocal cords, then Jack will never speak again, period. Not that it matters, since Jack’s either dead or soon will be.

It’s not that she loves Jack. She barely knows him. But she does feel responsible. That said, she needs to move along. Needs to take care of herself. Needs to get as far away from her crazy husband, Bobby, as possible.

Ryan Decker, the terrorist, went to a great deal of trouble to help her. He lied for her. Told Bobby she died in the explosion. Then gave her a ride to Memphis.

She should have ditched her phone in the lake last night, but she kept it, hoping the information she heard about Jack was wrong. By answering her phone just now, Bobby’s goons have learned she’s alive.

Assuming the call was made by one of Bobby’s goons.

But what if it wasn’t?

She presses the redial button.

“You’re right,” the voice says. “I’m not Jack. I’m Donovan Creed, with Homeland Security. I found your number on a piece of wood at a blast site. Who am I talking to?”

Jill hangs up. The good news is Bobby doesn’t know she survived the blast. The bad news is it wasn’t Jack who found the number.

The phone rings again.

They’re probably trying to trace it. Get her on the line, keep her talking. On TV when the suspect calls, the screen starts with a map of the U.S. and keeps updating to a region, then a state. On TV there are lots of glowing, pulsing signals. On TV the tracer guy says, “Keep her talking. We’re almost there! Another ten seconds and—” But then the suspect hangs up and the screen goes black. Never fails. Somehow the TV villains always know just how long it takes the cops to triangulate the location of the cell phone. Does that mean if she doesn’t answer, they won’t be able to find her?

Wait.

Donovan Creed’s in Willow Lake, Arkansas, and she’s in Memphis, Tennessee. So even if he traces her phone, she’ll have plenty of time to get away. She’s on foot, but men like her. She can catch a ride with someone in the lobby or parking lot. And if not, she can take the shuttle to the airport, which is just across the interstate.

The point is, Jill can safely take the call. If she wants to.

Does
she?

The phone stops ringing.

Should she wait till it rings again, or call back?

She presses the redial.

Creed answers. “Should I call you Emma?”

“That’ll work. For now.”

“Emma, I need your help.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“What do you want?”

“Are you kidding? I’m a woman.”

Creed chuckles. “Good answer. How much do you know about the bombing at Willow Lake?”

“Everything.”

“Perfect! Start at the beginning. Leave nothing out.”

“Sorry, pal. I don’t have that much time. But I’ll tell you the basics if you’ll do two things for me.”

“Name them.”

“I want you to rescue Jack Tallow.”

“Where is he?”

“Have you heard of Bobby DiPiese?”

“Bobby Dee? The mob boss? Yeah, sure. What about him?”

“He’s got a basement dungeon in his home, near La Pierre, Louisiana. Jack’s being held prisoner there, along with a bunch of others. You’ll recognize Jack right away. He’s the one who can’t talk.”

“Why can’t he talk?”

“Because Bobby cut his vocal cords out.”

“And you know this because?”

“The terrorist told me.”

“The one who blew up Jack’s lake house?”

“Yup.”

“You called him a terrorist, not a bomber, or dissident.”

“That’s how he identified himself. He said he’s an urban terrorist.”

“What’s his name?”

“I’ll tell you when you rescue Jack.”

“Consider it done. I’ll call you back as soon as I hear something.”

“Don’t. I’m ditching this phone. But give me your number and I’ll call you tomorrow. Save Jack, and I’ll give you the guy’s name and physical description.”

“Why should I believe you possess that information?”

“You’ll have to trust me.”

“You’re putting my life in danger with Bobby Dee and giving me nothing in return.”

“You’ll get what you want when I get what I want.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know. Just to whet my appetite.”

“Okay. I’m great in bed.”

Creed laughs. “I knew that already.”

“No you didn’t.”

“You had Jack’s house, credit card, and a huge stack of cash. You survived a physical assault from Darryl Rhodes and a bombing that leveled half the neighborhood.”

She laughs. “All of which tells you I’m good in bed?”

“The evidence screams it.”

“Well, how can we argue against the evidence?”

“We can’t. So tell me your real name.”

“Ask me something else.”

“The guy that fired the missile from the lake. The terrorist.”

“What about him?”

“He wrote BWC on the bodies of three survivors.”

“So?”

“Any idea what it means?”

“If I tell you, will you promise to rescue Jack?”

“Does it count if he’s dead?”

“No.”

“If he’s alive, I’ll rescue him. If not, I’ll recover him.”

“Because we can.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what BWC stands for.”

“
Because we can
? What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure. But Ryan says it’s going to be a household saying.”

“Ryan?”

“That’s his first name.”

“When’s he planning to strike?”

“Soon.”

“Shit.”

“Save Jack. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Emma?”

“Yeah?”

“I
will
find Jack. But hang onto your phone.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re at the airport hotel, Memphis, Tennessee, Room 232, and I’ve got an agent stationed outside your door. You’re not going anywhere till I get there. You’re going to help your country find this prick, Ryan, and I’ll make it worth your while by keeping you out of prison.”

She hangs up, runs to the door, opens it, sees a giant man standing there.

He smiles. “Hi Emma.”

She does a double-take.

Then smiles back and says, “I’ll be damned! Frank Sturgis.”

He says, “What are the chances?”

They hug.

She says, “You still driving the cab?”

“I am. And you’re still on the run?”

“Yup. Give me a lift?”

“Let’s talk a minute first.”

“I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“I know. But you may be in over your head this time. Can I tell you why?”

“Okay. But afterward, if I still want a ride?”

“I’ll take you where you want to go.”

“Thanks, Frank.”

As they enter her room his phone rings. He listens a while, then says, “Yes sir.”

When he hangs up, she asks, “Was that Donovan Creed?”

Frank nods.

“Is he really with Homeland Security?”

“Not exactly. But he kills terrorists for them.”

“But you can handle him.”

“No one can handle Creed. He’s the most dangerous person on earth.”

“You’re exaggerating. I just spoke to him twice. He’s all talk.”

“When Creed’s in Pamplona, the bulls run from
him
.”

She stares at him a minute. “I don’t have any idea what that means.”

“It means, don’t fuck with him.”

She laughs.

“I’m serious, Emma.”

“Call me Jill.”

“Why?”

“It’s my real name.”

He nods. “Thanks for sharing that. From what I gather, you’ve had quite a week.”

“Can I be frank?”

“No. I’m Frank.”

“Funny. But yeah, you might say I’ve had a rough week. I’ve been drugged, bound, robbed, kidnapped, and attacked by four drunken gay deer hunters. I escaped, met you, and you drove me to Willow Lake, where I was physically attacked by a 300-pound redneck who was suddenly murdered five feet from me by a terrorist hired by the mob to blow me up. He did, in fact, blow up the entire neighborhood, but as you can see, I managed to escape.”

“And here you are.”

“Yes. So I think I can handle a bureaucrat like Donovan Creed, who talks like a cartoon character.”

“Creed’s no bureaucrat. And the cartoon voice is an imitation.”

“Of what?”

“It’s a quirk. Whenever he tries to imitate someone, or disguise his voice, it comes out like Sponge Bob.”

“You’re joking.”

“Like I say, it’s a quirk.”

“And I’m supposed to fear this man?”

“Beyond all others.”

She thinks a minute. “Is it your opinion he could take down Bobby Dee?”

“Without batting an eye.”

“You’re serious?”

“Completely.”

Jill grins, grabs her phone, presses the redial button.

“How’s Frank treating you?” Creed says.

“No complaints. But it dawns on me I never told you my second demand.”

“Then tell me something else I don’t already know.”

“My maiden name’s Jill Whittaker. But don’t waste your time writing that down.”

“Too late. Thanks, Jill.”

“My married name is DiPiese. I’m Bobby’s wife.”

“Holy shit!”

Jill smiles. “Thought you might like that.”

Frank doesn’t. His eyes have gone huge.

Creed says, “The folks at Willow Lake will be surprised. They thought Jack was your fiancée.”

“That was our cover story, so I could stay at his place.”

“What do I owe you for the information?”

“I want you to kill Bobby.”

“When?”

She laughs. “I love that. You said when, not why. We’re going to get along swimmingly, Donovan. Not that it matters, but are you good-looking?”

“Yeah, but not by choice. My face has been reconstructed.”

“You don’t strike me as a vain man.”

“I won’t strike you at all, if you behave.”

“How good do I have to be?”

“Don’t flirt. I’m spoken for.”

“Pity.”

“I’m still 30 minutes out, but I’ve called a sketch artist who should be there in a few minutes. I’d like you to start without me. That way we can get the terrorist’s face in front of the public within the hour.”

“That’s not going to happen. Frank and I will be gone by then.”

Creed pauses a moment, then says. “You really
must
be good in bed! I’m impressed. On the other hand, I’m deeply disappointed in Frank. Have a safe trip, Jill.”

“I must say, you’re being an awfully good sport about this.”

“I’m a realist. I’m only sorry you’ll miss the reunion.”

“Which reunion is that?”

“I found Jack Tallow. I thought you might want to see him.”

Jill closes her eyes. “If you found him this quickly he’s obviously dead.”

“Actually, he’s alive and in deep shit with the Baton Rouge police department.”

“You’ve clearly found the wrong Jack Tallow.”

“You think? Let’s review. The Jack Tallow I’ve found has no vocal cords and is sporting savage, near-fatal hog bites.”

“Thank God!” she says.

“You’re happy about the hog bites?”

“Yes, of course. It means he escaped. He said he would, and he did. Why’s he in trouble with the cops?”

“I’ll tell you when I get there.”

9.

Donovan Creed.

WHEN WE LAND in Memphis I kiss Callie goodbye and keep Joe with me, so he can blow up Bobby Dee’s house in La Pierre, Louisiana, later tonight.

Before catching a cab I find a quiet spot and call Dr. Box’s cell phone.

No answer.

I call his apartment.

Bingo.

A young woman with a thick southern drawl says “Hi there! Who’s callin’?”

I can actually
feel
the smile in her voice. If I weren’t so pissed at Dr. Box, I’d smile back. “I’m Donovan Creed.”

“Well, hey there, Mr. Creed, I’m Trudy Lake. Pleased to meet you!”

It’s only a few words, but it takes her a long time to say them. I don’t mind. I love southern girls and the way they talk. Used to love them, I mean.

“Trudy Lake?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m going to take a wild guess you’re not from New York City.”

“Oh, Lord, no,” she says. “And if I knew the ball team here was called Yankees, I probably would’ve said no to livin’ here.”

I laugh. “Where are you from?”

“You know Ralston, Kentucky?”

“Nope.”

“Dead Horse Holler?”

“Nope.”

“Tate’s Crick?”

“Are you from any of those places?”

“No sir. I was just tryin’ to zero you in. Let’s just say I’m a western Kentucky girl, and leave it at that.”

“That’ll work. Are you the housekeeper?”

“I’m the girlfriend.”

“Dr. Box has a
girlfriend
? Or do I have the wrong number?”

“Hard to believe, but yeah, he’s got a girlfriend. And I’m her.”

“Is he there?”

“He sure is. Would you like to speak to him?”

“Not really. Not after talking to you. But I need to.”

“Hold on, I’ll get him.”

When Box gets on the phone he says, “I thought it went well with Kathleen last night, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I just started a relationship with Callie. I thought you knew that.”

“I did. But Kathleen wanted to see you, after all those years. She wanted you to meet Addie.”

“How is that any of your business?”

“I try to help where I can.”

“There’s a helluva lot more going on than you realize. With regard to me and Kathleen.”

“I only did it because I thought I was helping her.”

“Had I not just spoken to Trudy I would’ve bet money you set up the dinner date so you could make a play for Kathleen. You know, show her what a shit I really am, help her gain closure on our relationship. You’d be perfectly positioned to pick up the pieces afterward, have a chance to slide right into her life.”

He pauses. “That’s actually very astute. To be honest, that was my original plan, exactly. But days after setting up the dinner date with Kathleen I met Trudy. When we became a couple, I tried to cancel the dinner date, since there was nothing in it for me. But Kathleen put a big guilt trip on me about Addie. Said Addie had her heart set on meeting you, and it wasn’t right to take that opportunity away from her.”

“That sounds like Kathleen.”

“Later on, when I realized you and Callie were a couple, I called Kathleen to cancel. But she said if I didn’t go through with it she’d tell the hospital board what I did.”

“What did you do?”

“It’s a bit embarrassing.”

“Spit it out.”

He whispers, “After performing the surgical procedure that saved Addie’s life I asked Kathleen if she’d reward me with a blow job.”

“
What
?”

“I did the surgery for free. She was very grateful. She said she had no idea how she could ever repay me. So I suggested a blow job.”

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it. Did he really just say that? And did he actually
do
that?

I put the phone back to my ear and say, “Whatever the reason, you could’ve royally fucked up my life. I had my phone on the whole time. Callie was listening from outside the restaurant.”

“Well, that was bad judgment on your part. You can’t blame me for that.”

“I thought I was being ambushed. She was my backup.”

“Oh, please. I wouldn’t know how to ambush anyone. Not to mention you paid me a hundred million dollars to perform Callie’s surgery. Why on earth would I want to cause you harm?”

“You obviously know nothing about my world, or the people who frequent it.”

“Thank God for that.”

We’re quiet till I say, “How old is Trudy Lake?”

“She’ll be 19 on Friday.”

“She sounds delightful. Is she half as good-looking as she sounds?”

“She’s the sixth most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

“Why you?”

“Right place, right time. Lots of luck.”

“She sounds like a catch.”

“Trust me. She is.”

“It’d be a shame if anything ever happened to her.”

“A
shame
? It’d be a life tragedy! Wait. Are you saying—”

“Stay out of my personal life, Doc. I won’t tell you again.”

I hang up.

Joe and I catch a cab across the highway and knock on Jill’s hotel door. When Frank Sturgiss lets us in I give him a cold look to let him know what I think about his lack of loyalty. Then I introduce Joe and myself to Jill and the sketch artist and ask to see what he’s drawn.

“Nothing,” he says. “She refuses to talk.”

I look at Jill.

She says, “I’ll do the sketch when you kill Bobby.”

I tell her Joe and I plan to blow Bobby to hell shortly after midnight.

But that’s not good enough for her.

“He’s just a kid,” she says, looking at Joe. “Do you have any idea how powerful Bobby DiPiese is?”

“Bobby’s a pussy,” I say.

She looks at Frank, who says, “If Mr. Creed says the kid can kill Bobby, you can go ahead and order the headstone.”

I add, “Don’t forget I found Jack Tallow.”

“Finding him isn’t the same as rescuing him.”

“It won’t be easy getting him out of jail. He killed a guy.”

“Can they prove it?”

“I think so. He hung the dead body on the back of a tow truck and drove it through downtown Baton Rouge.”

She smiles. “Jack’s one of a kind. But if you’re planning to spring him from jail there’s something else you should know.”

“Tell me.”

“He killed some deer hunters near Jackson, Mississippi.”

“How many, specifically?”

“Four.”

“When?”

“Monday night.”

“It just gets better and better, doesn’t it?”

“The cops probably haven’t linked Jack to the deer hunters yet, but they will. So you’d better get your ass in gear if you want your sketch.”

“Excuse me?”

“Save Jack or kill Bobby. Your choice. Then you’ll get your sketch.”

I look at Frank. He clearly has a thing for Jill.

But he knows me.

And he’s worried.

As he should be.

He says, “Mr. Creed. Before you say or do anything, can I have a minute to talk to her?”

I wave him off while deciding if I should go ahead and beat the shit out of her and force her to do the sketch. It’s a tough call because although she’s delaying my investigation, I know her description will be more accurate if she’s cooperating. It’s hard to focus on features when you’re in pain.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I say. “Tell me the guy’s name, and I’ll take you to Baton Rouge to spring Jack. Then we’ll do the sketch.”

“How can I trust you?”

“You’ve got no choice. But I need to get Jack out of jail before they find out about the deer hunters.”

“I’ve told you my terms,” Jill says.

She’s a handful. She thinks she’s got the upper hand. But she doesn’t have shit.

I know it, Frank knows it.

“I won’t ask again,” I say.

Frank says, “Jill? Tell Mr. Creed what he wants to know. You have no idea how close you are to royally fucking up.”

She says, “Will you come with us to Baton Rouge?”

He says, “That’s up to Mr. Creed.”

I nod.

Jill says, “Fine. I’ll give you more than you’re asking for, to show good faith. The crop duster’s name was Mike. I don’t know his last name, but he ran drugs for Bobby. The terrorist’s name is Ryan Decker. Bobby hired Decker to blow up Jack’s lake house because he knew I was there. After I escaped, Decker decided to spare me, and told Bobby I died in the explosion. Happy?”

“No, but it’s a start.”

I thank the sketch artist for his time and escort him out. I’ll get someone in Baton Rouge to sketch Decker’s likeness after I spring Jack from the Baton Rouge jail.