Last Call - A Thriller (Jacqueline "Jack" Daniels Mysteries Book 10) (6 page)

I frowned. “Phin is gone because she showed up. If something happens to him, Katie Glente is the one I’m going to blame.”

“Well, let’s get to it, partner,” McGlade said. He swung his legs out of bed, giving me an unwelcome view of his Captain America boxer-briefs.

Third leg my ass.

“Before we go anywhere,” I said, “You need to get dressed.”

“And dress I shall.” He looked around the bedroom floor. “But first, help me find my pantspants.”

H
e’d taken five grand in cash with him. Cash Jack didn’t know about. There was more where that came from, about $22k more, in a footlocker Phin kept in the garage rafters. Once upon a time, after he’d been diagnosed with cancer, Phin had taken to the streets and made money by robbing gang bangers and crack houses. It had been an empty, pointless, day-to-day-hand-to-mouth existence, and he’d spent much of what he’d stolen on drugs to take away his pain, both physical and emotional.

He might have also robbed a bank or three. But unlike his dealings with scumbags, Phin had always been nonviolent and polite when making those particular withdrawals.

When his cancer had gone into remission, and Jack had become a larger and larger part of his life, much of Phin’s humanity returned. He stopped being a criminal, and started being a responsible adult. Rather than feel bad about his past, Phin was reflective. But just because he’d recognized his mistakes didn’t mean he was going to give all the money back.

Besides, if anything happened to Phin, Jack would eventually find the cash, and at least part of Sam’s college would be taken care of.

After a quick trip to FedEx, he used a near-perfect fake ID (both driver’s license and passport he’d obtained through McGlade) and paid cash for his plane ticket at O’Hare. Phin endured an eight hour flight next to a chubby teen who snored, and after clearing Customs at General Rodolfo Sánchez Taboada International Airport he found a rental car place that accepted American cash instead of a credit card, provided he pay extra for the insurance.

His first night in Mexicali, he took a room at the Hotel Calafia, an upscale tourist destination with a well maintained pool and a workout room with flat screen TVs on the walls. He watched movies in his room until the front desk rang him to pick up the FedEx he sent to himself. It contained his FNS 9mm pistol, with four extra magazines, and a DoubleTap tactical pocket pistol. The DoubleTap was flat and no bigger than his wallet; thirteen ounces, 5/8” wide, and snag-proof. It held two rounds in the double barrel, with two extras in the pistol grip on a speed strip.

Phin appreciated the form and function; it was so small he could hold the gun in his palm and it was completely concealed by his hand. But even though it was the size of a .380 it packed the punch of a 9mm. The thin aluminum frame didn’t make it the most comfortable weapon to shoot, but as a back-up piece it was unmatched. The coolest thing about it was the barrel detached, and each piece was small enough to fit inside a hollowed-out secret compartment in his Tony Lama cowboy boots. The heels swung open on hinges, like in the classic TV show
Wild Wild West
. They wouldn’t get past TSA, but a thorough frisk wouldn’t find them, and in a life or death situation it was better to be armed than unarmed.

He’d also sent four boxes of Hornady Critical Defense Ammo, a Bradley butterfly knife with a 4” tanto blade, some brass knuckles, and a shoulder holster for the FNS.

Once his equipment arrived, Phin went hunting.

Usually, if Phin were trying to find someone in a strange city, he would go cab hopping. Taxi drivers were the lifeblood of an urban area. They saw things, heard things, knew things. Phin’s Spanish was
así así
, but he knew enough to ask the important questions.

Finding Luther Kite, however, would be challenging. This was a man who spent years, maybe decades, murdering people while staying in the shadows. Flashing around his picture asking, “¿Lo has visto?” wouldn’t get him anywhere. So instead, Phin did something he was familiar with.

He went looking for drugs.

Dealers, like pimps, were territorial creatures of habit. If they were paying off the cops, they owned their street corner and advertised their presence, like peacocks displaying plumage. If they weren’t protected, they still needed to be visible enough to sell their wares, but casual enough that they wouldn’t draw the attention of law enforcement. That would mean spotters, usually shorties with cell phones who could give them advance warning when the police rolled up.

Phin drove around for half a day and found six dealers in the low rent parts of town. He was looking for codeine. Both Luther, and his psycho girlfriend Lucy, had some serious medical conditions, brought on by extreme physical abuse. Phin guessed they wouldn’t be seeing a regular doctor for pain meds. He also guessed they were smart enough to avoid the really harsh stuff, like heroin and krokodil.

When Phin had been in his drug phase, cocaine was his palliative narcotic of choice. But to really take away the pain, he needed pills. Strangely, pills weren’t easy to come by in Mexico. At least, not of the opiate variety. Phin found ecstasy, meth, GHB, and ketamine, but nothing from the codeine family other than some grubby Tylenol-3 caplets that looked like knock-offs.

He went back to the hotel, ordered some room service enchiladas, and spent ten minutes staring at his cell phone, which was off.

No doubt Jack had called. Several times. He wanted to hear her voice, but if he knew Jack she was probably on her way back to Chicago, if not back already. If he turned his phone on, there was a possibility she could track it.

Best to leave it off. And to not take it with him.

If he did find Luther, and things went sour, he didn’t want anything that could be traced back to the woman he loved, and their daughter.

K
atie called a taxi, had the driver take her to a nearby McDonalds and wait in the lot while she forced down a burger, fries, and whatever energy drink was at the soda fountain. She kept herself in shape and usually ate well, but sometimes a girl just needed empty calories. A remnant of her past, when she’d gone days without eating. Powerless. A victim. Surviving on the whim of others.

Never again.

Jack had sounded hard on the phone. Cynical. Tough. Which was good. That’s what Katie had come for. The ex-police lieutenant was fifty years old, and had been out of the game since having her baby. Katie was concerned she wouldn’t be up to the task of hunting Luther. Hopefully Jack would be just as hard in person as she’d been on the phone.

After a second cup of caffeinated sugar water, enough to make Katie’s normally steady pulse tick a few more beats per minute, she returned to the cab and went back to Jack’s house. Hoisting her backpack, she once again approached the entrance, keeping her face neutral as she stared into the security camera.

The door opened, and Jack, wearing a smart pantsuit with fashionably wide lapels—Donna Karan?—said, “You have five minutes.”

Katie forced herself not to smile. She’d written, tangentially, about Jack Daniels in her non-fiction books, had read quite a bit about her, and had seen a lot of news footage, so Katie already knew what she looked like and how she sounded. But meeting her made Katie feel a little like a fan girl. Jack was greyer than her last press conference, and had put on a little weight, but she radiated authority like few people Katie had ever met. This woman had
presence
.

“I only need two,” Katie said.

Behind Jack, Duffy stood at attention, his tail ramrod straight. Jack opened the door wider, allowing Katie entry, and she saw Harry McGlade was on the love seat, a leg draped over the armrest.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“It’s taking all of my self-control not to climb on you right now,” Katie deadpanned.

She noted Jack’s mouth twitched in a small smile.

“I’ll be brief,” Katie said. “I want to find Luther Kite, and I want your help.”

“I don’t care about Kite. I care about my husband.”

“I know.”

Katie watched the realization seep into Jack’s face.

“You sent Phin after Kite because you knew I’d go after him.”

“I know more about Luther Kite than anyone. I’ve spent years tracing unsolved murders and disappearances back to him. I know how he thinks, what he’s capable of. That’s why I won’t go after him alone.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No. But I think he’s in Baja.”

“Do you know where Phin is?”

“No. He hasn’t been in touch since I met him yesterday.”

“You’ve trapped me into going after Luther. You’ve made it to the top of my shit list.”

“Luther should be at the top of your shit list. Him, and Lucy. I see how you live, Jack. You know they’re out there. You know they could come for you and your family someday. Phin decided on a pre-emptive strike. But he isn’t you. If anyone can find Luther, you can.”

“Why should I bring you along?”

“I can fight. I can shoot.”

“I can get my own crew to back me up.”

“You should. The more people we have on our side, the better chance we’ll have at finding Kite… and surviving.”

“And this is all for a book?”

Katie didn’t reply. She kept her face neutral, revealing nothing, which wasn’t easy because Jack seemed to be staring directly into Katie’s soul.

“You’ve experienced violence,” Jack said.

It was a statement, not a question, and Katie was a bit taken aback. “Yes.”

“This is personal for you.”

Katie chose not to lie. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Katie didn’t answer, but she held Jack’s penetrating gaze.

“Give me your pack,” Jack said.

Katie didn’t hesitate. She handed the pack over. As Jack went through it, Katie noticed that McGlade had a gigantic gun, a .44 Magnum, in his lap. He was still smiling.

“That’s a lot of firepower,” Katie said. “Overcompensating for something?”

Harry winked. “You’re welcome to discover that for yourself.”

“And what would you do if I actually took you up on that offer?”

“I’d make love to you in a rapid, clumsy fashion, disregarding your needs entirely, and then I’d send you out for some food.”

Katie had to give him points for honesty.

“How long have you been watching my house?” Jack asked.

“Since yesterday.”

“From the southwest? I noticed someone had cut down some branches in the woods.”

“You don’t miss much.”

“Where’s the bug?” Jack asked.

“On your dog’s collar.”

“And Phin didn’t catch that?”

“Your husband is… cautious. But he was more concerned about me attacking him than planting a microphone.”

“Did you plant a microphone at my office?” Harry asked.

“No. I assumed all I would hear is you surfing Internet porn.”

“I also spend a lot of time on YouTube, watching fat people trip and fall. Speaking of fatties, heard from Herb lately, Jack? I’ve got this idea, where I follow his fat ass around with a camera, waiting for him to trip and fall.”

Jack seemed to ignore Harry, which Katie could completely understand. She and Jack had a brief stare-down, with neither saying anything.

Jack finally broke the silence. “If I go after Phin without you, you’ll just follow me.”

“That’s the plan. Then I’ll catch some fish with my bare hands and hope I impress you enough to join the posse.”

Another small smile from Jack. She’d gotten the
Magnificent Seven
reference, where Horst Buchholz was originally rejected by the group, but then tagged along on their journey until they accepted him.

“I could make it difficult for you to follow,” Jack said. “By breaking your leg.”

Katie was younger than Jack, and stronger than Jack might assume, but there was a good possibility the older woman could make good on her threat.

“Yes. You could.”

“Cat fight,” Harry said. “Hot.”

“I need to make a few calls,” Jack said. “Have a seat. And since Harry mentioned cats, I have one. If it comes by, don’t try to pet it. Or make eye contact. It doesn’t like people.”