Pawnbroker: A Thriller (16 page)

Chapter 67

WITCH DANCE CAMPGROUND

NATCHEZ TRACE PARKWAY

BETWEEN TUPELO AND MONTELLO

T
he sparse late-night traffic on the federal parkway made its many scenic and historical stops ideal for clandestine meetings. Ballard didn’t like getting this involved with the details, but the rate of attrition of his workforce had been a real bitch over the past few days. He worked quickly, moving the cardboard cartons from the cargo area of the van into the back of his Escalade. Each box was twelve inches square.

The driver of the van, a dealer named Bowser who had recently moved from Chicago to Memphis, was a dark-skinned Caucasian with a pocked face and tiny deep-sunk eyes beneath a crude tattoo of a dagger that ran diagonally across his forehead. He stood nearer the roadway, his muscular arms crossed, watching for any traffic that might decide to pull into the small rest area.

When Ballard put the last carton inside and closed the door, Bowser walked by and said, “Better get your shit together if you want to keep your territory.”

Ballard froze, but said nothing.

“I don’t like incompetent hicks,” Bowser continued. “They screw things up for everybody.”

Ballard cocked his head to the side and studied Bowser. The chirping sounds of night stopped, as if even the crickets and cicadae were shocked into silence. “What did you say?”

Bowser froze, his hand on the van door, then turned his head back toward Ballard, who was now walking toward Bowser. “I said, you fat pig, that I don—”

Ballard caught him just below the left cheekbone with a lead-filled leather sap. The jawbone gave way with a sickening crack that filled the night air and Bowser wailed and fell to his knees. He was trying to say something, but his mouth wouldn’t work. Ballard circled him, holding the sap in his right hand, slapping it into his left palm. Bowser was holding his shattered jaw with his left hand, moaning. On Ballard’s third trip around him, he swung the sap in a vicious backhand that broke the hand Bowser was holding to his face.

In a perfectly calm tone, Ballard said, “What were you saying?”

Bowser tried amid a series of moans and grunts to speak. “Thawy—thawy.” Blood poured from his mouth.

“Sorry? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

Bowser nodded emphatically. Ballard suddenly smiled a big smile. “Apology accepted.” The smile disappeared and he said, “You so much as look at me with disrespect again, and I’ll kill you. Now get out of my sight.”

As Bowser made his way into the van, Ballard pulled out a cell phone and dialed. “Got the extra units—no, no problems.” He listened for a moment. “Don’t worry, Docker is taking care of them right about now.”

Chapter 68

P
olice in front. Police behind. The narrow lane was sandwiched between the rear of the grocery store on my left, and a steep embankment on the right that the Lexus would never climb. I hit the brakes and hung a hard left into an open delivery bay and into the building. Straight ahead, I could see the wide swinging doors that led into the store proper. To the left, shelves loaded with cases of inventory. To the right, open space and another bay that led back outside.

I went right and then back out through that bay, which dumped me onto the delivery lane on the other side of the police cars that had been in front of us. We shot out from behind the store and hit a side street while the police were still trying to back out. We finally had a good lead.

Once we made it into a residential neighborhood, I slowed down and made frequent turns, always watching. By using the vehicle’s compass, I kept tending west and finally got dumped out on a road heading into the country. The rain had stopped and the clouds were breaking up. The road and the farmland on either side glowed dimly when the moon broke free of the clouds. I backed down to 30 MPH, killed the lights, and drove until we came to a small stand of woods with a dirt road cutting into them.

“How’s the four-wheel drive on this thing?” I said.

“Never used it.”

I pushed the button on the dash, felt a slight shudder as it engaged, and turned into the woods.

Chapter 69

H
idden in the woods and exhausted, we napped for about an hour. “What now?” Penny said, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

“We have to get back to Montello.”

That woke her up. “Are you nuts?”

“Probably, but we still have to go to Montello. That’s where the answers are.”

“Looks to me like this thing is scattered all over the place. At least the bad guys are.”

“Yeah, but the core issue, the thing that got it all started, was Homestead showing up in my pawn shop. It’s obviously drugs, the same thing my wife was on, and Homestead, and gosh knows who else.”

“We’ve already searched your shop, though.”

“We were looking for something unusual. The drugs are probably hidden in some ordinary household item.”

Penny chewed on that. “It’s still too dangerous to go back. Every cop in the state is looking for this vehicle by now.”

“So we get another one.”

“I have twenty-three bucks. What, we show up and fill out a credit app? Put it on a credit card? “

“I know a guy.”

Chapter 70

“G
uido? We’re hiding behind a mobile home—”

“It’s his office,” I said.

“—smack dab in the middle of town, waiting for a guy named Guido?” Penny said. “Guido?”

“Remember what they say about beggars, Miss Lane.”

She shook her head. “And which one of these six beauties have you picked out?”

“Kind of got my eye on that one.” I pointed.

“Surely you jest.”

I laughed for the first time in days, and it felt good. Call it fatigue-induced delirium or whatever, but I couldn’t stop laughing. The vehicle was a rusty AMC Gremlin that someone had made into a convertible by way of a cutting torch.

Penny started laughing, and pretty soon we were sitting on the ground, leaning against the Gremlin, tears running down our faces. We finally got it out of our system, wiped our eyes, sat there.

*          *          *

“Hey, my man Gray, wake up!”

I fought my eyelids open against what felt like glue, but was really a lot of dried and crusty sleep-crud. I raised a hand and Guido pulled me up.

Guido was of unknown ethnicity, and was one bizarre-looking fellow, black-skinned, slant-eyed, six-and-a-half feet tall and weighed maybe a buck-fifty. Penny had roused and was staring at him, which didn’t bother Guido. He knew he looked like a space alien.

“I need a ride for a few days, Guido.”

“Oh, I’ll make you a sweet deal, my man.”

“Yeah, it needs to be really sweet, because I have no money today.”

“No sweat, bro. How about this little cherry of a Gremlin?”

“Well...”

Penny kicked me.

“That old Dodge Ram would be better.”

“I don’t know, my man, that’s like my most choice ride.”

“Guido, I’m in a bind. Can we skip the bullshit, just this once?”

“Okay, okay.” Guido shook his head in defeat and walked into the trailer. He stepped back out and threw me a key.

I tossed him the keys to Penny’s Lexus. “Got a place you can store that till we get back?”

“No problemo.”

“I owe you one,” I said.

He waved me off. “Been listening to the scanner, my man. You stay low.”

Chapter 71

So much for a quiet entrance into Montello. The Ram’s muffler fell off about twenty miles outside of town, and we arrived sounding like the featured attraction at a redneck convention. Penny drove while I stayed slumped down in the seat with a cap pulled low.

“Everybody staring?” I said as we eased down
Main Street.

“Not bad, just stay down and we’ll be okay.”

“Where are we?”

“One block from your store.”

We roared slowly along for another thirty seconds or so. “Where should I park?” she said.

“Take the alley on the far side. Go to the back and pull in behind the store.”

The silence was dramatic and wonderful when she killed the engine. I dialed the store from the prepaid cell phone, and LungFao answered on the second ring.

“Fao,” I said, “any customers in the shop right now?”

“Nope.”

“Who’s working with you today, Michael?”

“Right.”

“Send him out to get lunch.”

“We’re not hungry yet.”

I drew a deep breath and counted to a million. “Fao, get hungry. Send—him—out. And do not mention that you’re talking to me, got it?”

“Oh, okay.”

“As soon as he’s gone, unlock the back door.”

“Got it.”

I punched off the call, waited until I heard a car leave the employee parking area on the side of the building. “Let’s go.”

We stepped in through the back door, into the pawn room. “Hey, Fao.”

“The police were here again this morning.”

“Not surprised. If they come back, you haven’t seen me, you haven’t heard from me.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just rubbed his hands together in this goofy way he does when he’s nervous. “You want me to lie to them?”

Close eyes. Breathe. Count to a billion. “Yes, I want you to lie to them because they may be some of the ones who want to kill me. You have a problem with that?”

“Kill you? Why?”
Rub rub rub.

“Don’t know. Do you have a problem with lying to them?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Great. Come on, Penny, let’s grab some supplies from the front while nobody’s here.”

I pulled a Kimber .45 from the showcase, along with five boxes of ammo. If a hundred rounds wasn’t enough, I’d probably die anyway. LungFao’s eyes were the size of moons.

“Larry, you sure you’re going to be okay if they come back?”

“Why are you mad at me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You never call me Larry unless you’re mad.”

I thought about praying for patience, but decided God probably didn’t want to hear from me, Grayson Bolton, killer. Grayson Bolton, almost adulterer. No, I’d best take care of my own patience.

“I’m not mad, I’m just a little edgy, okay?”

“Okay.”

Penny was prowling the shelves, looking for other things that might come in handy. I grabbed a bottle of gun oil and was lubing the Kimber when the door chimed. I flinched and squirted oil all down the front of my pants. It looked like I’d peed myself. I turned my back to the counter and crouched down to finish oiling the pistol.

“Hello, Moalgie,” Fao said.

Of all the times in the history of the universe for Moalgie Collins to show up, this had to be the worst.

Chapter 72

Moalgie, Mo-al-jee, was about two hundred years old and swore he was the one who taught Elvis to play the guitar up in Tupelo. He had a shock of white hair that stuck straight out and made him look like a mummified Don King.

“Hey there, boss man!” he said, and cackled in the high-pitched Moalgie way. Moalgie cackled a lot for no discernible reason. LungFao was doing his best to intercept him and take care of him, but Moalgie ignored him and headed straight for me, like always.

“Hello, Moalgie,” I said.

“Hee hee hee! What you doing, you gonna shoot somebody, boss man?”

Penny showed up with a Kabar knife, a night-vision goggle, a Mag-Lite flashlight the size of a baseball bat, and an armload of batteries. “I’ll put this stuff in the truck and then take another look around the pawn room.”

“Okay, I’ll be back there in just a second.” I glanced toward the street to make sure someone else didn’t slip in on me.

“Got you a girlfriend there, boss man? Hoo hoo hoo!”

“I’m married, Moalgie.”

“Hee hee hee! Ain’t never let that stop me. Course, I always did like the women.”

“Got to go, Moalgie. Good to see you.”

“I even had white women back when I was over to Tupelo teaching Elvis Presley.” Ev-lis. “He built hisself a city on what I teached him, you know.”

I waved good-bye to Moalgie and turned to walk into the pawn room. As I passed the phone, I grabbed the stack of pink phone-message slips and tucked them into a pocket.

“See anything?” I said to Penny.

“Did he really teach Elvis?”

“Who knows. Or cares. Found a stash yet?”

“No, but there are lots of things back here it could be hidden in. I’ve looked in everything on this shelf that it could be in.”

I laid the Kimber and ammo by the back door. “I’ll take this aisle, but we can’t stay long. Michael will be back soon. I don’t mind asking LungFao to lie, but Mike’s just a kid. I can’t involve him.”

“Understood,” Penny said.

We dug through bags of videotapes and DVDs, looked inside microwaves and toaster ovens, shook VCRs. Nothing. I heard the door chime, then Michael’s voice. “Time for us to go,” I said, already walking toward the back door. The aisles were made of gray metal shelving, deep enough that items could be stacked both front and back. The lowest shelf was about three feet above the floor, which gave us room to store TVs and other bulky items on the floor underneath the shelving.

Just as I turned the corner at the end of an aisle, I noticed a black nylon strap near the floor. I looked closer and saw that the strap was attached to a small black zippered bag of the sort used to carry digital cameras or other small electronic devices. The bag had fallen between two 25” TVs that were on the floor, back to back. Except for the strap sticking out, the bag would have been totally hidden.

I knelt and worked the bag up and out, then unzipped the top and looked inside. I drew a deep breath and my heart pounded. This was it.