The Legend of Kareem (8 page)

“I understand.”

I started from the beginning. Explained Kareem meeting me at the bar, the warning not to go to Dallas, the dead trainees, Wyatt Green’s conspiracy, my kidnapped wife. All of it. Everything up until my last conversation with Kareem, when he told me that he and my father had once been friends.

“Heath and Kareem worked together long ago,” he said. “They used to be very close, in fact. Then your father transformed into a monster.”

A monster. Was that true?

“Are we okay?” I said.

He waved a hand at the ignition, I started up, and we left the lot.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you the whole truth up front,” I said as we rejoined the highway. “Everything was so crazy back at Palm Grove, and I didn’t really have time to think it all through.”

Omar chewed on this for a full thirty seconds, watching the cars and trucks shift around us on the highway. “I understand. You will forgive me for being cautious, young Candle, but I will continue to travel with you until I know for certain whether or not I can trust you.”

It’s not as if he had any other choice, but a weight lifted from my shoulders anyway. “I appreciate that. I know you can’t tell me too much about this situation, but there’s one thing I’d hoped you could clear up for me.”

“I will try.”

“The night I met Kareem, he warned me about going to Dallas, because he said there was a man there who was dangerous. I’d assumed it was the trainee Darren, but now I’m not so sure. Is there someone pulling the strings of all this, someone I need to watch out for?”

Omar leaned forward and collected some garbage from the floor of the Honda, and then tossed it into the backseat. “There is always someone pulling the strings. It could have been Wyatt Green, or it could have been someone who works above him. Who do you think it is?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You must always be careful. Tell me this, what will you do once you have sent me across the border into Mexico?”

“I have some things to take care of for my father’s estate. There’s a woman who lives in Brownsville, who is apparently my half-sister, and he left something for her.”

Omar sunk into his seat, his eyes wide. “This woman, who is she?”

“Her name is Susan Palenti. Why?”

Omar drew in a sharp breath. “No, Candle, you must not. Palenti is a tool of your father.” He reached across the front seat and grabbed my shirt. “Please, you must not meet this woman. Nothing good will come of it.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Before we entered San Antonio proper, I diverted on I-410 to the little town of Kirby to find a cheap motel to stay for the night. A La Quinta right next to the highway gave us the best escape route, but there weren’t too many places in the running.

It wasn’t as chilly this far down south, but a distinct increase in the humidity made me shudder anytime I stepped outside. Cold and wet were two of my least favorite things, and another reason why I loved the dry high-desert climate of Colorado.

I parked in front of the motel office and watched Omar through the window as I checked in. My traveling companion seemed content to buckle and unbuckle his seat belt, his head bobbing as it moved. I didn’t know what to make of Omar Qureshi, but I was relieved that he’d stayed with me after he’d found out my real name. Not only was he weird, but he was also temperamental.

After securing a double room for us, I walked around to his side of the Honda. “You hungry?”

He nodded, so I parked in front of our room, then thought better of it, and found a spot behind the motel. We crossed the gravel parking lot to the little diner next door. It was a greasy spoon full of cowboy hats and glimmering belt buckles, with some twanging country music leaking from speakers in the corners of the room. Country music always sounded like nails on a chalkboard to me. Some people do seem to like it, so there must be something different in my genetic code.

The table had its own mini-jukebox, but—surprise, surprise—nothing but country music options to play. I checked every song to be sure.

I ordered a patty melt, and Omar ordered eggs with cheese, no meat. I wondered if he was a vegetarian, or maybe just didn’t dig pork. Considering our tenuous relationship, I didn’t ask.

He kept his eyes on his food, not offering up any information or anything in the way of chit chat.

Fifteen minutes into our meal, I couldn’t take the silence any longer. “How are you planning on continuing the fight?”

“What?”

“In Austin, you said you were going to continue the fight once I got you into Mexico. Can you tell me anything about that?”

He paused to drain his glass of ice water. “It was Kareem’s fight. He asked me to stay out of it, for my safety. But now that he is gone, I must finish what he started.”

“What did he start, Omar?”

He opened his mouth but stopped short. “It is still better for you if you do not know. After what you told me about the kidnapping of your wife, would you not rather know as little as possible, if even only for her safety?”

Valid point. But, then again, I knew enough that maybe IntelliCraft would come after both me and Grace again anyway. Which is why I wanted information to help us out if that happened.

The headlights of a turning car caught my eye, and I watched a shiny black sedan slow in the motel parking lot. From the passenger side emerged a man in a sharp suit, then two more men joined him: a man I’d never seen before, and Glenning.

“Oh, shit. I know one of those guys out there. He’s been following me since Dallas.”

“Who?” Omar said.

I stood up and dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table. “They found us, and we have to go, right now. I’m going to get you out of here.”

He stood, and I stopped him to point out that black car. “We’re going out the back. Find a place to hide, and stay there for a half hour. If you still see that black car here, stay away from the motel until it leaves.”

He wore a blank look on his face.

“Do you understand?” I said.

He nodded, so I took him by the wrist and we headed for the kitchen, with our waitress staring as we rushed past her. The double doors swung open as we emerged into the loud room.

Inside, a dozen workers in hairnets tossed pans, washed dishes, slopped food onto plates. A radio blared some
oompa-oompa
music. A few of them frowned at us.

“This way,” I shouted over the music, pointing at a door with a glowing EXIT sign. We sprinted toward it, both of us nearly slipping on the wet floor near the dishwashing area.

I burst through the door, practically dragging Omar with me. I could hear his rapid breathing, see the steam billowing from his mouth in the night air. “Listen to me,” I said, looking him in the eyes, “stay out of sight for at least thirty minutes. If things are settled before then, I’ll come find you. Whatever happens, I can’t let them get their hands on you.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I’m going to see if I can’t end this right now.”

***

I returned through the kitchen and out the front door of the diner as Glenning and the two other men were walking toward the motel office. Glenning noticed me, and he whistled to get the attention of the others.

I held my hands out, palms up. “Okay, guys, I know you’re here to see me, so there’s no need to do something silly like pretend it’s some big coincidence. I thought I’d make it easy for you.”

Glenning slipped a hand into his coat pocket, but the man in the sharp suit held up a finger. Glenning relaxed.

“Tucker Candle,” the man in the suit said, and he didn’t sound like he was from Texas. Ivy League kind of accent. “I’ve wanted to meet you for some time now.”

“Who are you?” I said.

The man approached me, shark smile releasing brilliant white teeth. “My name is Edgar Hartford. I’m the CEO of IntelliCraft.”

He held out his hand, and I just stared at it. I’d been an IntelliCraft employee for years, but I’d never heard the name before. Not surprising, since the company was massive, and management didn’t usually interact with commoners like me. I’d only met COO Wyatt Green because they’d been courting me for that job in Dallas.

“What do you want, Edgar?”

“I’d like to talk. Do you have a room here, somewhere we can go chat in private?”

“You think I believe that you don’t already know whether or not I have a room here? I’m not an idiot.”

Edgar frowned. “Seems like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. There’s been a lot of misinformation and misunderstanding. I’d like a chance to clear the air. Please, can we step inside?”

I’d given Omar thirty minutes. Maybe if I could keep them occupied for that long, he’d come out, see the black car, and run for it. Maybe that was his only hope, or else he’d be leaving Kirby in the trunk of that black sedan later tonight.

“Sure. Let’s talk in my room.”

They followed me over to the building, and I thanked God that we’d left our bags in the car so I wouldn’t have to explain the multiple suitcases. Glenning and the other man stayed a few paces behind Edgar, and I thought for a second they weren’t going to come into the room with us.

But the four of us entered the room, and I sat on the bed, my heart pounding a million beats per minute. Edgar unbuttoned his suit coat and sat on the opposite bed. Glenning and the other man stood by the door.

“Double room,” Edgar said, smoothing out the comforter on the bed. The shiny cufflinks on his suit probably cost more than my car, which irked me.

“I like to keep my luggage on one, and sleep in the other one. All that stuff you hear about hotel bedspreads, you know. How nasty they are.”

Edgar nodded. “You already know Stephen Glenning, is that correct?”

“I sure do. I broke his wrist a couple weeks ago after he threw me in a car and forced me to go hiking in Colorado. How’s the wrist feeling, there, Glenning?”

He stared at me, stone-faced. I smiled, trying to at least look like I wasn’t scared half to death. “Where is your hiking buddy Thomason?”

Glenning didn’t answer. Edgar cleared his throat. “Tucker, I want to clear the air. You had an unfortunate episode with Wyatt Green.”

Edgar was equal parts corporate-slick and charming-handsome. He had that twinkle in his eye that made you want to trust him, which would explain why he was the CEO of a major corporation. I’m sure he could charm his way through board meetings and powerpoint presentations about
global added value
and
leveraging vertical sales paradigms
with the best of them.

“I wouldn’t call it unfortunate,” I said. “I would call it malicious. He murdered people in cold blood and drugged my pregnant wife. Is that what you’d call unfortunate?”

Edgar sighed. “Wyatt was a vindictive man. I hold no ill will against you for what you were forced to do with him. The board wanted him gone long before that. Maybe not in such a violent manner, but it had become apparent that he was doing the company more harm than good. His petty revenge quest left us all in a difficult position, as I now understand there will be an FBI investigation.”

The carefree way he talked about all this reminded me of both Wyatt and the fake Detective Shelton. But also, if he was trying to get on my good side, distancing himself from Wyatt would be the smart move.

“I don’t understand you people at all,” I said. “How can you do these things? How can you live with yourselves?”

“Like I said, Wyatt was different. He represented a dangerous element at IntelliCraft, and I’ve made it my personal mission to root out problematic individuals. Wyatt Green, Stan Shelton, Darren Werner. I understand that you shot and killed all three of them.”

I nodded, checking Glenning’s face for a reaction. Didn’t get one.

“You did what you had to do under terrible circumstances. I’m sorry for what you had to go through. When you get back to Colorado, please go speak to the local HR person at your office. I’m sure we can work out some kind of compensation for your pain and suffering.”

“If this is about me signing away my rights to sue IntelliCraft, you can forget it. I’m still weighing my options about that.”

Truthfully, the idea of suing IntelliCraft hadn’t even occurred to me until that second. I’d been so wrapped up in everything else.

“Of course,” Edgar said. “I wouldn’t ask you to waive your rights to anything.”

I studied the third man, the one leaning against my motel room door. He seemed like a typical bruiser, with meaty arms straining the limits of his long sleeve t-shirt. “What I really want to know is: who shot at my car in Austin?”

Edgar seemed taken aback. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about it. Austin is a big city; lots of crime. I don’t much care for it, myself.”

“Okay, fine. What do you people want?”

“To clear the air,” Edgar said.

“Yeah, you told me that already. What do you specifically want from me? Why have you followed me all the way here? Couldn’t you have cleared the air over a phone call or an email?”