Chapter 36 #2
His thoughts were coming so fast, he was panting as though running full-tilt. “I’ve been looking at the people Malone whispers to conspiratorially when they leave the restaurant. The ones whose handshakes are hand-clasps.
“But this guy, no. He always breezes past Malone, never giving him a second glance before ducking into his chauffeur-driven car. He flaunts his wealth, he boasts about it, so nobody even thinks to question how he comes by it. And what better place to hide your identity than behind the face that every-fucking-body recognizes?” He laughed. “That clever son of a bitch.”
He stopped, suddenly realizing that he’d been speaking his thoughts out loud and Dylan was listening. “You’re a genius.” He made it around the table in two strides, pulled her up out of the chair, and kissed her hard.
Then the loose porch step knocked against its bearings.
In a mercurial motion that was virtually second nature, he pushed Dylan to the floor, while, with the other hand, he reached for his pistol where he’d placed it on top of the sideboard out of Andrew’s reach, and, dropping into a crouch, swung it toward the front door.
“Coming in! Don’t shoot us!”
The door flew open. John and Beth rushed in, propelled by a gust of rainy wind. John slammed the door shut.
Then the four of them froze, forming a bizarre tableau where the only thing moving was the rainwater dripping off the police-issue slickers John and Beth were wearing.
Eventually Mitch released his captured breath, lowered his pistol, and stood upright as he assisted Dylan to her feet. Crossly, he said, “You could have given me a second or two of advance warning. And, anyway, what the hell are you doing here?”
John made a show of taking a look around the room before coming back to him. “This is my house.”
Mitch noticed that Beth gave her husband a subtle nudge in the ribs. Unlike John, who stood there glowering, she smiled. “Good morning.” She pushed back the hood of her slicker and unsnapped it, revealing her very pregnant belly. “I apologize for barging in. I know it’s early, but John—”
“Aunt Bet!” Andrew came charging out of the guest room and tackled her around the knees. John reacted quickly to stabilize her. “Hey, partner. Careful there or you’ll shake the baby out.”
As soon as Beth had begun to show, she, John, and Mitch had sat him down and explained about the baby growing inside Aunt Beth’s tummy.
She’d used her Doppler kit to let him listen to the heartbeat.
It was still an abstraction to him, but when John cautioned him now, he patted Beth’s stomach.
Then he turned and pointed to Dylan. “That’s Dwon. She’s daddy’s friend.”
“I gathered.” Beth removed her slicker and passed it to John, who hung it along with his on the coat tree, then together they walked over to where Mitch and Dylan still stood close to each other near the dining table.
Disregarding Dylan’s deer-in-the-headlights expression, Mitch made the introductions. “Dylan, Lieutenant Bowie. John, Dr. Reede. Y’all have talked on the phone. About me.”
She extended her hand. As they shook, John shot Mitch a look and said, “I think we can move past the formalities. Nice to meet you in person, Dylan.”
“Likewise.”
“This is my wife, Beth.”
“Hello, Dylan.”
The two women shook hands, but Dylan’s embarrassment was obvious.
She said, “I’m sorry for imposing on your hospitality.
” Addressing John specifically, she said, “The gumbo was delicious.” Then to Beth, “I was about to wash the things I used.” She gestured at the pile of laundry on the floor.
“And I’ll replace your sneakers. The shoes I was wearing—”
Beth reached out and touched her arm to stop the flow. “I understand perfectly. I was involuntarily sequestered here once.”
“At least I bought you some clothes,” John muttered.
“No, you didn’t, I did,” Mitch said. “Remember, Beth?”
She looked at John and raised a shoulder. “He did. He took me shopping at Target.”
Mitch gave John a beatific smile. But the satisfying moment was ruined when Andrew announced, “I need to pee-pee.” He was looking frantic and pinching his bits. “Excuse us.” Mitch took his son’s hand. “Potty training is recent. He’s doing well, but sometimes his aim is off.”
“Which unfortunately will never improve,” Beth remarked in an undertone.
As Mitch led Andrew into the guest room, he heard John ask if there was any coffee left, and Dylan offered to brew a fresh pot. Mitch oversaw Andrew using the toilet then took off his pajamas and dressed him.
When they came back into the main room, the women were seated at the table, laughing as they compared their initial reactions to the fishing camp.
John had propped himself against the counter, but he didn’t appear to be tuned in to their chitchat.
Mitch recognized his familiar scowl of heavy-duty concentration.
Andrew spotted the box of Froot Loops and carton of milk already on the table and ran toward it. Dylan got up and hoisted him onto the stack of phone books in the other chair, saying as she handed him a spoon, “Show Aunt Beth how you use your manners.”
As Mitch was making his way over, John set down his mug of coffee and intercepted him. “I need to talk to you.”
“I need to talk to you, too. Your room or mine?” Mitch asked.
“Outside.”
“It’s raining.”
“All the better.” They went out onto the porch but stayed well under the overhang. “Any word on Hank?”
“Mary is supposed to call me after the angioplasty.” Mitch consulted his wristwatch. “Couple of hours yet. What’s up?”
“How’s your cut?”
Mitch raised the hem of his T-shirt to show him. “It’s closing.”
“Did Dr. Reede help you with placing the sticky things just so?” When Mitch failed to reply, John added, “It’s none of my business, except that—”
“Right. Not your business. I’m not accountable to you about my—my that.”
“No, but, Mitch, the timing—”
“Sucks. Yes. Thank you. I’m aware. It’s damned inconvenient, especially in light of what I need to tell you.”
“Okay, but first I need to tell you that—”
“No, I get to go first. I think I know who Oz is.”
John looked like he’d been hit between the eyes with a two-by-four. “Since when?”
“Since seconds before you barged in and I nearly made Beth a widow.”
“Who?”
“The King of Cash.”
John just looked at him, then sputtered. “That guy on TV? He’s an asshole. A clown.”
“That’s exactly what he wants everybody to think.”
“Is this one of your jokes?”
Solemnly, Mitch shook his head.
John held his gaze, and when he saw how dead serious he was, he said, “Give me a minute.” He walked the width of the porch and back again while stroking the dent between his eyebrows. “What’s his real name?”
“Allen Busby. I’ve seen it at the bottom of my TV screen so many times, it’s like it’s stenciled on my brain.”
John looked at him and shook his head. “Mitch, it’s ludicrous.”
“Which is why it works.”
“How did you come to the conclusion that it could be him?”
Mitch told him. “Dylan called it reconstructing. It’s hard to explain, but it’s a therapy technique that worked. But it doesn’t matter how I got to it. What matters is that I did. I’ve been looking at the stereotypes, like Malone is, and completely skipping over Busby.”
John was still skeptical. “I’m not doubting Dylan’s ability, and I see where you’re coming from, but without even an iota of evidence—”
“I know, I know.” He took a step closer to John as though that would help convince him.
He told him about Busby’s frequent visits to Malone’s restaurant.
“Busby is the only regular he virtually ignores. I think that in itself is a giveaway, because he makes a big deal over sports stars, socialites, and such. Then to practically ignore a TV personality like the King of Cash? Un-huh.”
John’s expression remained a study in skepticism.
“Okay, okay. Say I’m crazy. In any case, John, it’s imperative that we get Malone. He’s key. He’s the only one who can expose Oz, no matter who the hell he is. Malone knows his identity, the scope of his narcotics empire, and where the bodies are buried. Literally.”
“Mitch—”
“Wait, there’s more.” He gave John the bullet points of what Jim Tucker had told him about the payload Oz had stolen from the Mexican cartel.
“And, hello! El Paso is a Caballero plant. I’m guessing he was sent to find out where the stolen product will be delivered and to stage an ambush to recover it. ”
John took that in. “Makes sense.”
“To me, too.”
“How long have you had this information?”
“An hour, maybe.”
“Tucker?”
Mitch didn’t say, but he gave an affirmative indication.
“It was like pulling jaw teeth with a pair of eyebrow tweezers. He didn’t tell me everything, of course.
For instance, whether or not the goods are still in transit or already in New Orleans.
But I have a sneaking suspicion that they’ve arrived or will be here soon.
My friend was wound up tight. The way you get right before a raid. ”
“He’s always wound up tight.”
“Granted. But he knows, as I do, that there’s bound to be a reckoning when Malone realizes that El Paso is an infiltrator, and that the last thing El Paso is likely to feel is Malone’s garrote around his neck.
“If El Paso winds up facedown in Bayou Coeur, we lose the opportunity to get Malone. If we lose Malone, we lose Oz. We’ve got to act. We’ve got to act soon. We may have to get creative on the charge, but we’ve got to get Malone in custody for something.”
John took out his cell phone and began swiping and tapping.
Mitch huffed. “Have you heard a goddamn word I’ve said?”
“Yes. Shut up a minute and listen.”
“What?”
“This morning, a package addressed to you was delivered to headquarters by a courier service. Clarence called me at home, said maybe I should come in early, take a look.”
“Why?”
“It was leaking.”
“Leaking? The package?”
“When I got there, I took the liberty of opening your gift. I brought you a picture.”
John turned his phone around so that Mitch could see it. It was a closeup of a heap of standard, brown wrapping paper. It was obviously soggy with fresh blood that had drained from a severed pinkie finger lying in its midst, signet ring still attached.
The ruby stone had caught the flash of John’s phone camera.
Disbelieving what he was seeing, Mitch lowered himself onto the seat of the lawn chair and stared at the gruesome image, then raised his head and looked up at John, who said, “The rest of Roland Malone was found hanging from a hook in an old factory turned meat locker.”