Fade (2005) (21 page)

"Unbelievable!" Fade said, helping a man he knocked over to his feet.

"It's a car you could die in."

"So you like it?"

"Like it? I love it. You've really outdone yourself, Isidro."

The Latino bowed theatrically. "You're going to tell people about us , then? We could use the publicity. I've been dyin' to get into th e movie business ..."

"Don't even worry about it. If things go the way I think they will , you're going to get more publicity than you can handle."

Fade had been parked in the lot of a seemingly endless shopping mal l for almost an hour, watching cars slowly cruise by and listening to th e police scanner playing over the Caddy's ten thousand-dollar soun d system. He grabbed a beer from a cooler on the floor and held it ou t the door to open it, directing the spray at an old Subaru parked nex t to him. Satisfied that it was no longer dripping, he took a few sip s and then went back to scanning the lot with a small pair of binoculars.

Still nothing.

Another fifteen minutes and boredom started to set in. He turned of f the scanner and slipped in a rap CD thoughtfully provided by Isidro , but that only managed to hold his interest for another five minutes o r so. Finally, he reached for his phone and dialed a number fro m memory.

"Hello?"

"Why don't you quit that stupid job and come on the road with me? We'l l hit a few nice restaurants, go dancing, kill a few people .. . It'll b e good fun."

"Sounds great," Karen Manning responded. "Why don't you drop by m y house and pick me up?"

Fade laughed and grabbed for his binoculars again. A Lexus sedan wit h temporary tags was cruising for a space three rows down. When i t turned, he saw the ask me about my grandchildren bumper sticker on th e back. Nice.

"You reminded me of a joke," he said, picking up the tags he'd jus t removed from his car and making sure the electric screwdriver he'
d bought was charged. "How do porcupines mate?"

"I don't know, how?"

"Very carefully."

He put the phone in his shirt pocket and stuck the earpiece in his ear , then jumped out and started walking casually toward the gray-haire d woman easing herself from her Lexus. He slowed slightly and let he r get most of the way to the mall entrance before crouching down betwee n her front bumper and the bumper of the car in front of her. "So how'
s the five-oh doing finding me? I heard they tracked down my car. Ca n you believe that? I thought for sure that thing would have bee n stolen, painted, and sold to some guy in Nebraska by now. You jus t can't count on people anymore."

"Well, there wasn't much left of it."

"Get anything?"

"I don't know. I assume they're following up with the residents, bu t it's not a neighborhood known for cooperating with the police, and no w that it's come out that it's your car, I'm guessing it's gotten eve n harder. Cop killers are popular in that part of D
. C
."

Fade frowned slightly as he pulled off the car's tag and began screwin g his own on in its place. "Cop killer" was a label he could hav e happily lived his whole life without.

"You know what, Fade? You've caught me at a good time. I'm sitting i n my house all alone with nothing to do. Why don't you tell me you r story?"

"Oh, you don't want to hear me drone on about myself," Fade said, goin g around to the back of the car and trying to act natural as he bega n removing the rear tag. He doubted the cops would ever come up with th e fact that he'd bought the Caddy, but you could never be too careful.

"Actually, I do."

"Same old story, really. Poor Arab trash from New York joins the nav y because he's too dumb and lazy to go to college. Ends up a SEAL
b ecause of an uncontrollable rubber fetish. Runs around the worl d killing people who never did anything to him.. .. What about you?"

"If you have a TV, you already know everything there is to know abou t me. Everyone does." He was surprised that she didn't bother to hid e the bitterness in her voice.

"You're getting so much better at this, Karen. I feel almost compelle d to give you my address and an inventory of my weapons. So I've got t o know, were you really a debutante?"

There was a short pause, as one might expect. "Yes."

"I love that," he said, finishing with the back tag and then leanin g against the car trying to give the impression that he'd finished hi s chores and was now waiting for his mom to return from her errands. "Wh o picked the dress?"

This time she sounded a little irritated. "My mother."

"Nice."

"You know what they say. Once you've seen a girl in a hoop skirt , there isn't much more to "

"But what's the story behind the story, Karen? What's beneath tha t nice tan, the crushing incompetence, and the uncooperative attitude?"

"A lot of unresolved anger. Who's Strand?"

"Long story."

"I told you, I have time."

"Nah. Let's not talk about him. It kind of brings me down."

"Why don't you let me help you, Fade?"

"Help me how?"

She didn't immediately answer and he looked around him before walkin g back to attach the old lady's tags to his car.

"Look, Fade .. . The police are running this investigation wit h blinders on. They want to get you and they don't want to hear anythin g that doesn't relate to getting you."

"But don't you want exactly the same thing? Hell, if you could shoo t me personally, all your problems would be solved."

"I don't want to shoot you, Fade."

"Of course you do. Admit it. Why wouldn't you?"

"Because I don't want to shoot anyone. And even more, I don't want yo u to shoot any more of our people which is what might happen if we end u p in some kind of macho showdown. I believe you when you say you neve r meant to kill a bunch of cops and I assume you don't want to kill an y more. So why not just defuse the situation? Come in. Get a goo d lawyer. Survive this."

"Somehow I don't think anyone is going to be interested in me gettin g my story out and I imagine that giving myself up is going to get m e nothing but executed. I don't picture myself dying strapped to a tabl e with my victims' families watching. Hell, if you invited everybody , you'd have to rent a stadium .. ."

"But if "

"Look, Karen. My situation has certain .. . complications. But I a ppreciate your concern. I really do."

He finished with the tags and stood, trying to stretch the knot tha t had tied itself in his lower back and wondering if the Kmart across th e street sold BB guns.

"Fade "

"Thanks for the chat, Karen. But I gotta run."

Chapter
Twenty-Seven.

It took Egan six hours to get to the outskirts of New York and the n another two to wade through the vehicular anarchy that led to th e dangerous-looking neighborhood he'd been directed to.

It seemed to have become hotter since the sun went down and he steppe d out of the car into damp air that smelled of concrete and exhaust. Th e street was empty but there were a few people scattered along th e sidewalk and more sitting on steps leading to the dilapidate d brownstones that crowded the narrow avenue. All were engaged in th e same activity: staring directly at him. He made a move to cross th e road but first turned and ducked back into his car, locking his gu n into the glove compartment. Whether that was smart or suicidal woul d be determined later.

"Watch your car for you, mister?"

Egan slammed his door shut and turned toward the voice. The kid wa s probably thirteen, dressed in a pair of jeans and a clean white T-shir t oddly devoid of logos.

"You don't look that tough."

"Tougher'n you."

Egan laughed and looked around him again, confirming that everyone wa s still staring. He wondered if Fade had gotten the same reaction whe n he'd abandoned his car in D
. C
. With one significant difference, o f course. Anyone who hadn't been kicked in the head by a horse kne w instinctively that Fade was not to be fucked with. He, on the othe r hand, had settled into the look of exactly what he was a man who live d in the suburbs with a crazy wife and a daughter who was bearing down o n adolescence at the speed of light.

"Good investment, man. Guaranteed."

"Guaranteed, huh. How much?" The darkness and deep brown of the boy'
s eyes didn't hide the intelligence there. Either the car would b e completely safe or it would be long gone when he returned.

"Twenty bucks."

Egan pulled out his wallet and gave him a fifty.

"Do I look like I carry change, man?"

"Why don't you tell me where Javan Franklin lives and we'll call i t even."

An exasperated lungful of air escaped the boy. "Man, see how my mothe r makes me dress? My life's hard enough without running my mouth."

"I see your point," Egan said, starting toward a wide building at th e end of the block. "If the car's the way I left it when I get back , there's another fifty in it for you."

The young men crowded onto the steps in front of him were all standin g by the time he made it to within twenty feet, and no fewer than thre e were talking urgently into cell phones. At ten feet, about half flowe d down onto the sidewalk and surrounded him.

"What the fuck you doing here, boy? You lost or are you a cop?" on e of them said.

"Neither."

"Then you're one crazy bitch, aren't you?"

"I'm looking for Javan Franklin."

"Who?"

Egan turned toward the young man who was emerging as the mob'
s spokesman and pointed to the cell phone on his hip. "Why don't yo u give Javan a call and tell him a friend of Salam al Fayed is here t o see him."

The group fell silent, but kept inching toward him, closing to th e point where he wouldn't be able to do much but fall on the ground an d be beaten to death if they decided to attack. No, that wasn't entirel y true. He could probably get a hold of the one in front of him befor e he went down. Of course, there was no real point other than the fac t that he'd die a little happier with one of their broken necks in hi s hands.

Maybe the guy perceived what he was thinking, or maybe he kne w something about Fade, but after a moment, he retreated and was replace d by a wall of flesh barely contained by a Chicago Bulls T-shirt.

Egan couldn't hear what the kid was saying into his phone but when h e hung up he gave a short nod of his head and Egan felt himself bein g slammed facedown onto the sidewalk. He tried to get a grip on one o f the countless arms holding him, almost managing to grab a heavil y ringed finger tangled in his shirt before the fat guy who'd been i n front of him landed both knees in his back.

So that was it, he thought as he struggled to keep breathing beneat h the man's weight. The survivor of numerous missions behind enemy line s and the coordinator of many more was going to die in the Big Apple a t the hands of a bunch of teenagers. The thought of Elise and Kali gav e him a brief burst of strength that he used to get an arm free. Raisin g his head as far as he could off the sidewalk, he scanned the waistband s in front of him. One of these assholes had to have a gun. If he coul d just get to it ... He still hadn't spotted anything more deadly than a belt buckle when it occurred to him that he was more or less intact.

He'd absorbed no punches, kicks, blades, or bullets. The hands on hi m were just sliding up and down, looking for weapons and wires.

"Believe me. We've been through this."

"And we'll go through it again."

Egan was pushed into the wall and frisked again, this time with th e barrel of a .45 pressed behind his ear. "You just stay cool, huh?" th e man searching him suggested.

Finally, the man stepped back, grabbed him by the collar and shoved hi m through a kitchen that looked like it hadn't been used since th e fifties. The back bedroom of the large apartment turned out to be se t up with sofas and leather easy chairs in an arrangement that recalled a royal court. The apparent king, nestled in a red La-Z-Boy, was flanke d by two young men with shoulder holsters.

"I know a cop when I see one and that's a fucking cop," one of the m said.

The man in the chair appeared to be unarmed and was dressed in a whit e linen shirt, cream colored slacks, and bare feet. He nodded and one o f the men standing behind Egan grabbed his wallet and walked it over.

"Cute," the man in the chair said, holding up a picture of Kali.

"Yours?"

Egan nodded.

"So what is it I can do for you, Matt?" the man said, tossing th e wallet back to him.

"Are you Javan Franklin?"

His expression suggested that he wasn't inclined to answer tha t question.

"I want to talk to you about Salam al Fayed."

"Yeah? I'm hearing good things about Sal these days."

The other men in the room, seven in all now, snickered in unison.

"Have you talked to him recently?"

"What the fuck do you care? You said you're not a cop, right?"