Chapter 16 #2
She nodded. “Yep. They was arguing over who was gonna get the ice. I thought they was a couple’a knuckleheads. We get a lot of their type that time of year.”
“Type?” Candice asked. It was the first time she’d spoken since we came in.
“Yeah,” Sarah said. “You know, the conspiracy-theory types. The ones that believe the government controls the weather and is listening in on their phone calls and such. When they checked in, I asked ’em if they wanted the Wi-Fi password for their stay, and they just laughed at me.
I don’t think either one of ’em owns a cell phone. Some of those nuts really take it to the extreme, living off grid like Kaczynski did. There’s a reason he went crazy all alone in the wilderness, ya know. But I guess the brothers have each other, so maybe they’ll only stay a little nuts.”
“You said they were making the families around camp uncomfortable,” Candice continued. “What’s that about?”
Sarah frowned like she was sucking on something sour.
“The complaint came from two families with teenage daughters. Both sets of parents said that they’d caught Wally and Wade staring at their daughters all creepy like. And then the brothers took to trailing the families around the camp,
like they was waiting for an opportunity to catch the girls alone or somethin’.”
I studied Sarah while tamping down my anger.
If she’d just alerted the sheriff of the men’s suspicious activity, we would’ve had a record of the incident.
And a record of these men. And, maybe if they had a record, they would’ve been sitting in a jail cell on the morning my wife went to get some groceries, and Abby and I would be back home, cuddled around Eggy, making his last days as pleasant as possible.
“Why didn’t you mention this to our agents when they interviewed you?” I asked, my tone sharper than I’d intended.
Sarah stared at me with a stiffened spine.
I’d made her defensive. “I didn’t connect it. Wade and Wally left the night before that lady disappeared. I figured they’d be long gone by then. Besides, most people been saying the husband did it. I didn’t like the brothers,
but I didn’t want to bring a federal posse down on their heads just for getting up to a little mischief.”
I turned away from Sarah, reached for Eggy, who was still in Candice’s arms, all but pulling him into my own before I walked right out the door.
Candice followed me. “You, okay?”
I took a deep breath in and counted to ten before I exhaled. Then I answered her. “No, Candice. I’m not. But I haven’t been okay since last October, so this is nothing new.”
“If it helps, I really wanted to punch Sarah.”
I smirked but then shook my head. Still too uptight to talk.
“Why’d you take Eggy back?” she asked, stepping close to stroke his head again.
“I needed something to do with my hands.”
“I don’t follow?”
“You’re not the only one who wanted to punch someone.”
“Ah. Well, then, I’m glad you walked out. Raining down some violence wouldn’t get us any further along. Best to save that energy for the motherfuckers who deserve it.”
Oscar came out of the office and stopped in front of us. “Sarah’s sorry for calling you a murderer.”
I grunted. “Really?”
“No. Not really,” he conceded.
“We still got something out of it,” Candice said. “We have probable first names, and we might be able to whittle out a last name from the tattoo artist who did Wade’s or Wally’s ink.”
I pointed to the pickup. “Let’s roll.”
As we walked toward the truck, Oscar wiggled his phone. “I sent a message this morning to D.C. There’s an analyst I’ve heard of there who used to be assigned to tracking Three Percenters. He got reassigned last year…for obvious reasons.”
Candice scoffed. “Quelle surprise.”
“Anyway,” Oscar continued, “I have a call in to him. I’m hoping he still has access to the data and can help us track down who these brothers are.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” I cautioned. The Bureau had been all but gutted in recent months.
Many of the best agents had been fired, demoted, or reassigned to more unsavory posts in less-populated areas.
I knew so many guys who were absolutely miserable and thinking of hanging it up.
Much like I had, but for far different reasons.
Our Bureau in Austin had been growing in recent years, given our success rate for solving cases, but the allocation of resources that we used to be able to count on had been severely trimmed back.
And yet, Director Gaston always made sure the more dangerous politicized waters that had seeped into all corners of the FBI were kept largely at bay.
A ruthless billionaire, a deal with strings attached, and one inconvenient attraction.
If that sounds like your kind of evening, browse Lokepub.
“We gotta catch a break one of these days,” Oscar replied, and when I looked at him, I realized that the junior agent had been holding on to hope even more than I had.
I forced a half smile and said, “You’re right, buddy. We’re due.”
For the next three hours, we logged a hundred and ninety miles while also managing to avoid any awkward games of I Spy.
At last, we pulled into the worn and weathered parking lot of Hornby’s Tattoo Parlor. It didn’t regale me with welcoming vibes, but it reasonably passed as a place of business, I supposed.
I wrapped Eggy in his blankets and followed Candice and Oscar into the shop—which took walk-in appointments, apparently.
Behind the counter sat a guy with an impressive handlebar mustache, a beard down to his mid-chest, and a bandana over what was likely a receding hairline.
“Help ya?” he asked, looking us up and down with a glint of curiosity.
Oscar whipped out his badge before I even had a chance. “Agent Oscar Hernandez with the FBI. We’d like to ask you a couple of questions about a tattoo you might’ve done.
“I do a lot of tattoos,” he grumbled.
Candice slipped the folder I had nestled between my armpit and my torso away from me, opening it to the AI sketch of the tattoo described by Gwen.
“Ever ink something like this?” she asked, laying the sketch on the counter.
The guy behind the counter leaned forward to inspect it, then his eyes flicked up to her. “Maybe,” he said, sitting back again and crossing his arms obstinately.
Candice huffed a humorless laugh and copied his stance, crossing her own arms. “See, the thing of it is, Mr.—”
“Hornby,” he supplied.
“Mr. Hornby, my best friend was abducted by a guy with this tattoo, and if you have information about him, then we might be able to track her down.”
Hornby appeared nonplussed, and I could feel the vein at my temple begin to throb as my blood pressure rose and my hands began to curl into fists.
It was obvious to everyone present that he recognized the tat, and I was convinced he’d been the one to ink it and knew exactly whose arm he’d inked it on.
I was about to leap over the counter and shake the name out of him when Oscar shrugged out of his coat and began to roll up his sleeve. “The sign outside says walk-ins are welcome. That right?”
Hornby’s brow rose in surprise. “That’s right.”
Oscar nodded. He sported a couple of tattoos, mostly on his back and inside the forearm of his left arm. His right forearm was bare, and he displayed it for the old man. “I figure I need some new ink. You familiar with El Sagrado Corazón?”
Hornby studied him for a minute before answering. “The Sacred Heart. Yeah. I know it. I’ve inked it a couple’a times.”
Oscar nodded. “Great. How long’s it take?”
“Depending on the size, between two hours and five.”
“Let’s make it fun-size. How much?”
Again, Hornby studied him for a long beat before answering. “Three hundred without conversation, five hundred with.”
“Deal,” I said, reaching for my wallet.
Two hours later, the three of us walked out of Hornby’s. Oscar’s forearm was wrapped in white gauze, but underneath was a pretty great-looking piece of art.
But that wasn’t the only prize for the day. The other prize was a name. A full name for Wally and Wade Wechselmann. I’d already called Brice, and our team was on the brothers’ last-known address like white on rice.
As we headed to the car, I asked Oscar, “Why the Sacred Heart?”
He smiled at me before opening the driver’s side door. “El Sagrado Corazón is all about faith, sir. I figure that, as we close in on these fuckers, we need it now more than ever.”
I had to clear my throat, managing only to nod at him. His cell rang, saving me from embarrassing myself, but I felt Candice’s comforting hand on my back as I pulled my own door open.
“Hernandez,” Oscar said as he answered. Then, “Thanks for the callback brother. I’m hoping you can help out on a case we’re on. Two brothers. Three Percenters. Wally and Wade Wechselmann. Ever heard of ’em?”
I studied Oscar’s face for any hint that his guy in D.C. knew the brothers but was disappointed when Oscar said, “Got it. Call me back if you get a hit.”
We climbed into the truck and then we all decided to hang out in Wallace until someone called us back. Oscar found us a nearby diner, where we had lunch.
Eggy sat snuggled against me, sleeping soundly. I had him inside my coat, so none of the staff knew he was there.
Oscar ate his sandwich with gusto, but Candice and I both picked at our meals. And then Oscar’s phone rang again, and the whole table stiffened.
He pulled the phone from his pocket, looking at the display before he mouthed, “D.C.” and then answered the call. “Pete. Got something?”
Candice laid a hand on my arm. We both felt it. There was something in the air, like a long-awaited answer finally coming to us.
We watched Oscar’s eyes widen as he hastily wadded up his napkin, throwing it on his plate and scooting out of the booth.
Meanwhile, I threw some cash on the table—more than enough to cover the bill—and Candice scooted out quickly to make way for me.
“Text me the coordinates,” Oscar said, his voice loud with excitement. “And thanks again, brother. I owe you.”
We practically ran out of the diner, dashing to the truck, neither me nor Candice asking Oscar about the phone call. There was no need. His guy in D.C. had found them.