38. Mac
38
Mac
And the Oscar goes to…
Since the van already has all the equipment, we just remove the decals and park it in a few streets down from the park. Eleanor takes deep, calming breaths as we mic her up and give her the rundown on the equipment she’s wearing. We talk her through this part of the plan, again, and I grab the tube of psoriasis cream I’d stuck in my pocket last minute on our way out. She seems to take comfort in the small contact as I rub it into the skin I noticed she’s been scratching.
She puts the earpiece in and fluffs her hair down, covering it after with a hat so she remembers not to tuck her hair behind her ears. “How does this work again?”
Wes is all business, in his element. He’s dressed in his winter running getup, black spandex with reflectors and a bright jacket. “You can turn it on now, all you have to do is tap the earpiece and we’ll be able to hear you. If you tap it again, you close the line on your end. Works the same way on the other side—like a call, but the other person doesn’t have to pick up.”
“My hair won’t accidentally turn it off, will it? That happens sometimes with earbuds.”
Wes smiles indulgently at her inexperience. “No, it won’t. If it does get tapped accidentally, act like you’re fixing your hair or something and just hit it again. You remember your story?”
“Yeah.” She taps her ear and her breathing picks up a little. “Okay. How much longer?”
I check my watch. It’s almost 4:00 on a weekday and the warmest day in February so far, even with the overcast sky. A preliminary sweep of the area showed us that the park is relatively full—parents with children, people using the wide paved trail for exercise and walkers holding leashed dogs. It settles me—McCloskey won’t try anything here. At most he’s got someone he trusts in plainclothes as backup, but that’s why Wes and I are here.
“Whenever you’re ready. I’m going to head out first, then I’ll let you know if it’s safe.”
She nods. “I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.”
Wes grins and stands, ducking in the low back of the van. “Chin up, love. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“Pick a different nickname,” I growl to him as he slides open the van door.
He laughs and disappears behind the closed door.
Eleanor and I sit in somewhat tense silence, waiting for Wes to come back on line. It doesn’t take long. “He’s here. A few spots over from the bench, ducked down and watching everyone like a hawk—like he can’t quite remember what she looks like. I don’t see any obvious backup. No one’s just sitting with a leashed dog, and every buggy’s got a baby.”
“So, I should go?” she asks me.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
She surprises me by leaning in towards me before I could do the same thing and brushing her lips against mine. “For luck.”
I grin and smack her ass lightly, mindful that it may be a bit sore. “You don’t need it.”
As she leaves the van, we hear Wes again. “Eleanor, sit on the far side of the bench. It’ll mean that he has to turn his back to the car to face you when you talk.”
“Okay.”
It’s weird hearing her voice in my ear like this—I’m so used to Wes or D's deep tones.
I’m the last out of the van and I lock it since I’m not coming back. Wes’s mustang is in a street spot about a block away from the park and I climb inside. From this vantage, and with my scope, she’s in my field of vision and McCloskey will be, too. If he tries anything, I won’t fucking hesitate. I don’t care that it’s still daylight and the park is full of kids.
I see her sit on the bench and nervously shuffle her hands under her thighs, like she’s sitting on them for warmth and restless with nervous energy. McCloskey watches her for a few minutes .
“Incoming. Thirty yards east,” I tell her as he gets out of his car.
“Mac,” she grinds out through lips that barely move. “I am not some kind of tactical mastermind or ship captain.”
“What?”
“Which way is east?” she hisses.
Wes guffaws.
“It’s to your left. You’re doing great, darlin’.”
McCloskey walks up to her and I see her body language change instantly. She straightens, pulls out her hands, and clasps them in her lap. He sits, facing forward, and she turns her body slightly to mimic his posture. She did that without anyone telling her to. Good girl.
“You wanted to meet?” he asks, gruff.
“We don’t have much time,” she says. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“The Russian?”
She nods. “I told him I was meeting a friend at the park.”
“Good. That’s what we are, right?” The suggestion is as greasy as his hair.
“I hope so,” she says, her voice wavering. She hands him the piece of folded up paper. Her hand shakes in the air between them and she immediately snatches it back when he gets his fingers around it. “Give this to the mayor,” she says, just like we practiced.
Predictably, McCloskey opens the paper immediately. “An address? What is this?”
Her eyes dart around, and I want to kiss her. She’s doing such a great job. “It’s what he’s been looking for,” she whispers.
“Who? The Russian?”
She shakes her head. “Your boss.”
For that one, I might kiss her. We told her to be vague, but that’s perfect. Let McCloskey decide who he thinks she means.
“You’re just giving me this?” he asks her. “Why?”
I speak clearly, knowing she’s not going to be able to speak and listen to me at the same time. But this is as good a time as any for her to take a moment to reply. “Okay baby, Wes is almost there. Don’t make eye contact with him. Remember when the mayor interrupted you with the chef? Pretend like he’s interrupting you the same way. You don’t need to say anything to him, but look kind of put out. Like, frown.”
“I—” she starts.
I watch Wes place his hand on the bench by McCloskey’s shoulder and bend over to reach for his shoe. “Aw, crap!”
McCloskey tenses and turns in his seat, shooting him a glare over the back of the bench. “Hey, buddy, we’re having a conversation here.”
“Oh, my bad,” Wes says, his British accent gone. “Just… got a damn rock in my shoe.”
With McCloskey’s attention on Wes’s face, he doesn’t notice or feel the small listening device being planted under the collar of his jacket in the back. For her part, Eleanor’s face is pale and her eyes are firmly on her hands in her lap.
“Got it,” he says, holding up a pebble with a triumphant grin. It’s our signal—the bugging was a success—and he takes off at his easy jogging pace, like nothing even happened. I start the car and ease out of my spot in the minimal traffic, taking a right at the end of the block.
“Well?” McCloskey asks. “Tell me why I should believe you, Miss Wilson.”
Anger flashes at the disdainful tone he uses when he says her name. Makes me want to carve out his voice box. “He’s just trying to intimidate you, to remind you he knows your full name. Do the answer we practiced that’ll get his sympathy, about not wanting to be involved,” I tell her as I park a block away.
A second later, I hear her. “He’s… a bad man. You have to believe me, I didn’t mean to get mixed up in this. I want to help, but I… I don’t want to die.”
I grin. “Good job. Now, look past his head, look surprised and say you have to go. If he tries to stop you, start making a scene and he’ll let you go.”
She executes it nearly perfectly—her gasp is maybe a bit over dramatic. “I have to go!”
“Wait! Who is he? What’s his name?” McCloskey demands.
“He’s the Ghost,” she stage-whispers.
There’s a beat of stunned silence on the line at her improv, then Wes chuckles. “And the Oscar goes to…”
Okay, yeah, now she’s getting a bit too dramatic. Better get her out of there now, before she goes any further off book. I hear her power walking away, but there’s no sound of shuffling or further cries from McCloskey, so I take it she didn’t have to resort to making a scene.
“Good job. Hang a right at the end of the block. Slow down and turn around, like you’re making sure you’re not being followed. If you see him, pretend you didn’t. Don’t make eye contact.”
“I’m almost there,” she says a second later. “He’s like 20 feet behind me. He didn’t duck behind a car fast enough so I saw him, and he’s definitely following me.”
“Good girl. Go into the alley on your left, try to look casual about it.”
“Try to look casual,” she repeats, scoffing. “My heart is fucking racing. I don’t think I can do that.”
“You’re almost there. I’m in the mustang. Get in.”
She’s breathless as she slams the door behind her. “Is he still there?”
“Running back to his car, I think. You did so good, baby. We’re almost done. Almost there.”
I put the car in gear. The mustang was a fully intentional choice—one of the easiest cars to pick out on the street, which is a good thing for the old cop who thinks he’s being sly, following us. I wait a few seconds, then ease out onto the main street slowly and go just above the speed limit.
Officer McCloskey is old school—he uses the two-cars-between rule of thumb. Luckily for us, Officer McCloskey isn’t old school enough to want to hold the phone, so he makes and takes the calls on his car’s Bluetooth. Wes’s bug broadcasts his voice to both of our ears.
“Ulysses Sheriff’s office,” comes the voice we both recognize from earlier.
“Hey, Irene.”
“Oh, hi, Chris,” she says, mustering up quite a bit more enthusiasm.
“Can you get me some info on this address?” He rattles off what’s written on the paper.
“Uh… sure. Hold on a sec.” There’s some slow typing and clicking. “Looks like a warehouse, a couple counties over.”
“A warehouse?” McCloskey repeats, his tone heavily confused.
“Yeah…” She laughs sharply. “Kind of a shitty one, too. I just pulled it up on maps. I went out that way once with my niece to a pumpkin patch. It’s all farms out there.”
“Who owns it? ”
“Uh… hold on a sec. These ancient computers… Ha! Some guy named Ivan Ivanokov. Is that really someone’s name you think?”
“Yeah… Okay, thanks,” he says slowly, not laughing at what I’m sure Wes thought was fuckin’ hilarious. “Do me another favor while you’re at it? Have Bill run me a plate.” He gives the mustang’s license plate.
“Okay, I’ll have him call you.”
“Great, thanks, hun.”
“I live to serve.”
He hangs up on her, and waits a little. We’re almost at the hotel when he makes another call.
“What happened with the girl?” comes Rossi’s voice immediately. He sounds pissed.
Eleanor and I exchange a look.
“Uh, we just met. She was real scared, shifty. Looked like she got in his car—I’m following them now.”
“What did she say?” he asks slowly, enunciating each syllable in a condescending tone.
I inhale. Now we find out if he’s Rossi’s man through and through or if that little tidbit about the warehouse was enough for the seed of doubt Eleanor planted with the mayor’s name to take root.
“She said she wants to help us.”
“I don’t give a fuck about her or what she wants. Did you get anything about the Russian? A name? Fucking anything?”
“Like I said, she was real shifty. I think they’re definitely together, and I got the sense she’s not there by choice—maybe she’s important to him?”
Rossi makes a thinking noise. “Hmm, if she is, we can use her. You’re on them now?”
“Yup. Pulling into the Tipward Hotel, looks like. Want me to nab him?”
“No,” Rossi is quick to say. “He’s got something of mine and it’s fucking personal now. I’m going rip his fucking balls off and make him eat ‘em. You stay on him, call me immediately if he moves.”
“Okie doke.” They hang up and McCloskey mutters, “ asshole…”
Eleanor’s laugh is more a sound of relief, though edged with some worry. I have to echo the sentiment. So far, so good, but we’re not out of the woods yet.
The room I was staying in before all the shit went down that day in the steam room still has a do not disturb sign on the door. I cringe, not really remembering the state of it and hoping I didn’t leave anything in the trash that’s now rotting. Fortunately, I tend to take the important stuff with me when I leave my hotel rooms for the day, but that does mean I haven’t been back to check.
As per usual, as long as someone is paying the bill, the hotel doesn’t care about whether the room is being used. Everything is untouched and there is a slight smell from the dirty takeout containers but the heat was turned way down, so it could be worse.
Once inside, I look immediately to the window and check that the gauzy first layer of curtains is still the only one closed. It is, so I turn on all the lights and move to stand by the window.
“Okay, slight change of plan,” I say, gesturing wildly. Her eyes follow the exaggerated movements of my arms and widen at how little they match my calm tone. “Come stand over here and move around like we’re having a fight. I’m going to pretend to hit you.”
Her frown is curious, but her attention is on the room around us, to the unmade bed and the bag of clothes on the ground. “Why?”
“Gotcha,” McCloskey says, proud of himself for finding the bait I laid out for him.
“He thinks I’m Dimitri, and this will help convince him that you’re working against Dimitri because you’re scared. We’re playing into the big, scarred Russian thug image.”
“I heard that,” Dimitri says dryly.
“Hey, man,” I say brightly, pointing at Eleanor and shaking my fist dramatically. “How’d it go?”
“Rossi got the package. He vomited. It was disgusting. I am at the mayor’s office now, waiting for my meeting.”
“Sounds good. Eleanor and I are at the hotel room, McCloskey’s outside. He called the precinct and looked into the address, but didn’t tell Rossi about the note. Wes? ”
“I’m en route to the warehouse.”
Eleanor looks at me, hope shining in her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re pulling this off.”
“ We’re pulling this off,” I correct, fisting my hands on my hips and pacing away from her. “Now come over here and look like you’re arguing back.”
She moves into place and throws her hands out to the side. “Like this? I feel silly.”
“That was fine, but now keep it small so it looks like you’re trying to calm me. After a few seconds, I’m going to spin around and make it look like I’m back handing you. I am not going to hit you, so try not to flinch prematurely. But snap your head to the side and lift your hand to hold your cheek like it hurts. Okay?”
“Got it.”
“My right hand is coming around and going to come at your right cheek on three. Not going to hit,” I remind her, knowing full well how hard it is to pretend to get hit without practicing. “One, two, three.”
Our performance is clunky, but apparently our cop buys it. “Whoa,” we hear him mutter. “Scumbag…”
“It’s so weird that we can hear him but he can’t hear us,” Eleanor observes a bit breathlessly, holding her cheek. “I keep thinking I have to whisper.”
“Turn away from me,” I instruct, then address her comment, “I know, it used to make me really nervous that something would go wrong and they’d be able to hear us, too. Wes explained to me that those bugs aren’t made with a speaker, only a mic.”
“That does make me feel a little bit better.”
“Okay, now we’re going to make up.” I walk to her, lay my hand on her shoulder, and press into her when she turns. My body instantly responds, not caring that we’re acting. Blood fills my cock at the instant heat in her gaze and rapid intake of breath. I slide my hand into her hair and hold her head in place.
She moans a little against my lips and her hands slide up my arms.
“Jesus, if you’re going to do that, at least mute yourselves,” Wes complains into our ear.
“Even the scumbag’s rakin’ ‘em in. I can’t catch a fuckin’ break…” McCloskey thinks he remarks to himself with a sigh.
“I think we’re good at this,” she says with a little smile.
I lift my brows at her. “Are you having fun?”
“Depends how far we can go to convince him we’re making up,” she says, a little mischievous sparkle in her eye.
I kiss her again, not caring that Wes and Dimitri are getting an earful of my tongue in her mouth, and back her up towards the bed.
“Fuck this,” McCloskey says.
We all hear his car start up.
“He’s on the move,” Wes informs us all.