Devil's Brigade (Trackdown Book 3) Read online

  Chapter Two

  The McNamara Ranch

  Phoenix, Arizona

  Just a little B and E, thought Wolf as he slipped into the white, long-sleeved coveralls. Mac had taken meticulous care to assure that both of the bogus uniforms had matching patches.

  Dangerous as all hell, considering they now had both the police and the FBI on their tail. But for once he agreed entirely with Mac. It was absolutely necessary. The last touch was the bandana and baseball cap that he slipped on. He left the bandana looped around his neck for the time being. There was no sense looking like an outlaw before the game began. After picking up his metal tool-case, he headed for the side door. When he emerged from the garage/apartment, McNamara was already waiting for him by a white pickup truck. As Wolf approached, Mac patted the side door, which had an emblem affixed to the driver’s door saying, Acorn Electronics. A Phoenix area address followed which Wolf assumed was bogus.

  “Had these babies specially made up,” McNamara said, peeling back the upper edge of the emblem slightly before letting it flip back into place with magnetic alacrity. “Whaddaya think?”

  “Pretty slick. Where’d you get the truck?”

  McNamara grinned. “Remember our buddy, Lonnie Coats?”

  They’d scooped up Coats a few weeks ago on a bench warrant for DUI and McNamara had convinced Manny Sutter to post bond for him once again. Mac had also helped Coats cover his abrupt absence from his job at an auto dealership. Coats had been so grateful he reciprocated by lending them vehicles from time to time.

  “Sweet,” Wolf said. He saw that McNamara was also clad in his coveralls and had a dangling mask attached to his left ear.

  “Got a dummy plate on the back end, too,” McNamara said. “Remember that one you found when you were running along the highway?”

  “Glad it was put to good use,” Wolf said.

  McNamara pulled open the door and slipped in behind the wheel. Wolf set the toolbox into the bed of the truck and got in the passenger side. He wasn’t looking forward to this morning’s task.

  “How’s Kasey doing?” Wolf asked.

  McNamara shrugged. “As good as to be expected, I guess.” He heaved a sigh. “You know, I’m feeling pretty low about the way I treated Shemp. I never really gave the poor son of a bitch much of a chance, did I?”

  Wolf agreed but said nothing.

  “I guess I was just scared she’d get involved with the wrong guy again,” McNamara said. “Which reminds me, we gotta get back as soon as we can. The asshole’s coming by to pick up Chad for his two weeks of custody.”

  Chad was Mac’s grandson by his daughter, Kasey. The asshole was Charles Riley, Kasey’s ex-husband. Wolf had never met the man even after having lived at Mac’s in the apartment above the garage for the past six months or so and from what he’d heard, he wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. He hoped he could keep Mac out of trouble because he’d become even more protective of his daughter and grandson of late.

  “I wish I would’ve been around to tell her not to marry that asshole in the first place,” McNamara said. He heaved a sigh. “Story of my life. Always off fighting somebody else’s wars, solving somebody else’s problems, never realizing I was missing out on my little girl growing up.”

  “What time’s he coming?” Wolf asked.

  “High noon.” McNamara said. “Just like that old movie.”

  Let’s hope it doesn’t turn out like that, Wolf thought.

  They rode the rest of the way to the downtown address in silence.

  Office of Emmanuel Sutter

  Bail Bondsman

  Phoenix, Arizona

  The day was turning to shit fast and when Cummins saw where they’d pulled into the run-down strip mall, he almost choked. There it was, sandwiched between a game shop and a laundromat, the yellow sign in the front window spelling out BAIL BONDSMAN in big black letters.

  Manny Sutter’s place, he thought. What if he recognizes me?

  His dyspepsia flared up immediately and as soon as the beat-up old Malibu stopped moving, he pushed open the rear door. After regurgitating the meager breakfast that Cherrie had prepared for the three of them onto the asphalt, he spat twice and wiped his mouth.

  “Shit, I didn’t think my cooking was that bad,” she said from her perch in the front seat.

  “It’s my stomach condition,” Cummins managed to say. His mouth still had that sour taste stuck in it. “It’s delicate.”

  “You ought to get that looked at,” Cherrie said. “But then again, you could stand to drop a few pounds anyway.”

  The remark irritated Cummins but he knew better than to show it.

  Smith popped open the driver’s door and got out, cocking his head to indicate they do the same.

  Cherrie pulled out a package of gum from her bra and offered him a stick. Smith took one and jabbed his thumb at Cummins. She popped her own gum, took the second to last stick, tore it in half, and then handed it to Cummins. “Here, have one. It’s Juicy Fruit.”

  Cummins reached out and accepted it with a measure of reluctance. He couldn’t afford to do anything that might offend these two hillbillies but he felt his revulsion grow as his fingers sensed the sweaty dampness on the wrapper. Anyway, that was the least of his problems. First, he’d gotten another no-answer from that damn Fallotti. Once again, his call had gone straight to voice mail. Cummins had left a cryptic, “Call me at this number,” and hung up. And now, Smith had pulled up in front of the same bail bondsman that Cummins had met before in Las Vegas setting up the fiasco in Mexico. If the bail bondsman remembered him and made the right connections, it could be disastrous. This son of a bitch was one of Wolf’s buddies.

  But we only met that one time, Cummins thought. And that was months ago. I look different now … the hair, the beard, the contacts … I’ve even lost a little weight.

  After unwrapping the half-stick and tossing the papers down onto the ground, Cummins slipped the gum into his mouth and pulled himself out of the vehicle. He was careful not to step in the puddle of vomit and this seemed to amuse Cherrie to no end.

  “Come on,” Smith said. “Shake a leg, both of you. I want to get him bonded out so’s we can go get his car next.”

  “And then what?” Cherrie asked. “Ain’t we all going out for beer and ice cream?”

  The thought of that combination made Cummins’s stomach tighten once again but this time the upward flood of bile only reached the base of his throat.

  “Later, sweetie pie,” Smith said. “I told you we got things to do this morning.”

  Cummins slowed his pace, still concerned about the possibility of being recognized. If that happened and this guy told Wolf …

  “Hey,” he said. “Aren’t we supposed to be wearing masks, or something.”

  “Nobody’s paying no attention to all that bullshit,” Smith said. “Come on. We got to look respectable.”

  Respectable, thought Cummins. Fat chance.

  Smith had slipped on a short-sleeved tan shirt and a pair of black gym shoes that looked like they’d found their way off the shelf of a second-hand store. He hadn’t bothered to shower after his workout and big half-moons of sweat stained the shirt under each arm. And Cherrie wasn’t looking all that classy, either. Even though she’d showered, for which Cummins was thankful, she’d slipped on a flimsy tank-top and a pair of blue jeans that were so tight you could see the cigarette lighter and the denominations of some coins in her pockets.

  But perhaps that’ll act in my favor, Cummins thought. Her figure’s pretty good and this bondsman will be more interested in her tits than scrutinizing me.

  Smith was holding the door open and scowling. Cherrie sashayed through with all the elegance of a stripper on stage and Cummins trundled in after her. The office itself was cluttered with two desks, three large filing cabinets, several padded chairs, and ubiquitous stacks of paper. The place had a musty smell and a myriad of dust mites floated in the interrupted flow of sunlight through the front windo
w. At least the air-conditioning seemed to be producing a nice steady flow of cool air.

  The room’s two occupants looked up as the procession entered the office. One was a thin guy who looked to be in his mid-twenties. He had a messy crop of red hair and a pair of thick glasses that sat unevenly on his hooked nose. The other one Cummins recognized as Emanuel Sutter or Manny to his friends and clients. He hadn’t changed much since their Las Vegas meeting a month or so ago, although in that one he’d seemed cleaner looking. Now his shaggy, bob-style haircut looked greasier and more unkempt. His upper body was still the size of a barrel and the padded leather chair in which he sat emitted a metallic squeal as he shifted his enormous bulk.

  This guy makes me look small, Cummins thought, as he watched the bigger man pop the last piece of a chocolate donut into his mouth. He held out an open palm and indicated that they should seat themselves in the row of four chairs in front of the messy desk.

  “Welcome,” he said while chewing the donut. “What can I do for you?”

  “A friend of ours got himself in a little trouble, sir,” Smith said. “We was looking to get him bonded out.”

  Smith’s use of the formality made Cummins wonder if he had military experience. That could explain his physical prowess. It also made Cummins realize he had very little knowledge of Smith’s background, not that the issue had been explored or even brought up. Cummins had been just as reluctant to divulge too much about himself to this tough hillbilly.

  “What kind of trouble?” Manny asked.

  He finished chewing and was rolling his tongue over his teeth now, staring at Cummins with interest.

  Oh, God, Cummins thought. Does he remember me?

  “Ah,” Smith said. “He’s in County on a trumped-up charge of grand larceny.”

  “A felony, I take it?” Manny was licking some chocolate off his fingers now. He shifted backwards a tiny bit and said, “Hey, Sherman, give me another one of them chocolate ones.”

  “There ain’t no more of them,” the kid with the red hair said. His mouth twisted in something akin to disgust or hatred. “And the name’s Fred, remember?”

  Manny pushed his chair back and grabbed a white box with several grease stains from the space between the two desks. He slammed it on top of his own desk and shuffled through the selection of remaining donuts, finally selecting one with an array of colored sprinkles on pink frosting. He bit into it and started to set the box aside, then hesitated and held it forward.

  “Care for one?” he said.

  Cummins shook his head, as did Smith but Cherrie reached over and grabbed one similar to the one Manny had.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” she said. “I kinda like these ones with the sprinkles, too.”

  Manny looked almost forlorn as she started eating, then set the box aside.

  “What’s the bond?” he asked.

  “Twenty-five thousand,” Smith said. “Ten percent.”

  Manny took another bite and considered the amount.

  “Your friend working?” he asked.

  Smith smiled one of those “good old boy” grins as he shook his head.

  “Well, he was,” he said. “But he got fired.”

  “How come?”

  The good old boy grin was still in place, giving Smith’s face an almost innocent cast.

  “Well, sir, the place where he worked was where he got caught stealing from.”

  “And where’s that?” Manny asked.

  This time the smile dissipated. “Imperial Armored.”

  “The armored car place?” Manny asked.

  “That’s right,” Smith said.

  Manny nodded, masticated some more, and then took another bite.

  “What’d he do there?”

  “Guard.”

  Manny was working his tongue over his front teeth again. Cummins noticed that Manny was paying close attention to him.

  Shit, he thought. He does recognize me.

  “Hey, we met before?” the big bail bondsman asked, his forehead wrinkling slightly. “You look kinda familiar.”

  The younger one, Fred, bumped his glasses up on his nose and stared as well.

  Cummins felt a bitter flood of bile creeping up his esophagus. “Don’t think so,” he said, intentionally trying to lower his voice to give it gravelly inflection.

  The big bail bondsman stared at him a few moments more, then shrugged and popped the remnants of the partially consumed donut onto his mouth.

  “It’ll come to me,” he said. “I never forget a face.”

  Oh shit, Cummins thought. He stood. “You mind if I use your bathroom?”

  He was still trying to keep his voice low.

  Manny pointed to the room off to the side.

  Cummins shuffled over and slammed the door. He barely managed to lift the seat in time to deposit the flood of bile into the bowl. He remained there, bent over the porcelain throne for several seconds.

  There’s no way he totally recognized me, he told himself. No way at all. It was almost two months ago and I don’t even look the same now.

  He could hear their voices through the closed door. After flushing the toilet, he rinsed his mouth in the adjacent sink and dried his face with a few paper towels. When he opened the door he saw Manny reaching for another donut.

  “Don’t eat no more, Uncle Manny,” the red-haired kid said. “Remember your sugar.”

  Manny’s hand froze above the box and he smiled.

  “Thanks for broadcasting it, Sherman,” he said then turned back to Smith. “I think we can do business. What you got for collateral?”

  Smith reached into his pants pocket and withdrew an envelope.

  “Got the deed to his mobile home.” He pronounced it mo-bile. “Worth a whole lot more than twenty-five grand.”

  Manny’s tongue flicked over his lips and he reached over and took the envelope.

  Cummins knew that the document was one of the fakes that Smith had obtained from the expert forger they’d used.

  This would be a good test to see how much of an expert that guy was.

  After perusing the deed, Manny replaced it into the envelope and handed it to his nephew, telling him to put it in the safe.

  The bail bondsman’s oversized head tiled to one side as he continued to scrutinize Cummins for a few seconds more, then shifted his gaze back to Smith.

  “All right,” he said. “What’s this guy’s name you want me to spring?”

  Cummins saw Smith’s face crack into a wide smile.

  “Riley,” Smith said. “Charles Riley.”

  The Von Dien Winter Estate South

  Belize

  “So this guy, Wolf was in prison, eh?” Soraces said pausing to take a drink of his iced tea. So far, the summation they’d given him seemed like it could be easily remedied. The question was why hadn’t that been done already?

  “He got four years in Leavenworth,” Fallotti said. “Courtesy of the little scenario we set up in Iraq.”

  “And you say there have been three unsuccessful attempts to neutralize him?”

  Fallotti and the fat Buddha exchanged glances. Von Dien gave a slight nod of his head, which Soraces took to mean that he was as good as hired.

  “Right,” Fallotti said.

  “Who did you use?”

  Again, the two men exchanged a quick glance, then the lawyer said, “In Leavenworth it was the Aryan Brotherhood. A contract thing set up by a mutual client. In Mexico we had employed a PMC known as the Vipers. A man named Eagan headed things up.”

  “I know him,” Soraces said.

  “Knew,” Fallotti said. “Past tense.”

  Soraces raised both eyebrows. Eagan had a pretty good rep and he and his team had performed well the times Soraces had used them.

  “Disgusting incompetence,” Von Dien said. “Vastly overrated as were that second group of cretins. From Africa. Overrated and all bluster. Wolf defeated them all and they purportedly had him outnumbered and blindsided.”

  Sor
aces assumed the fat man was referring to the South African group in the third attempt. It seemed this guy, Wolf, was not someone to be taken lightly.

  “One of my employees was also involved,” Fallotti said. “Jack Cummins. We had planned on jettisoning him but he may be of some use.”

  “The one you want me to track down?” Soraces said.

  “Right. He’s still in the Phoenix area but we’re not sure about his exact whereabouts at the moment.”

  “You’re sure that Wolf has this item that you want?” Soraces said. He still wasn’t sure exactly what that was. So far, they’d been dancing around any specifics in that department.

  “We believe so,” Fallotti said.

  “He has to have it,” Von Dien said. “And we must move quickly before it’s lost forever.”

  “And we’re uncertain as to whether or not he’s aware of the item’s significance?” Soraces asked, purposely using the plural personal pronoun now as a subtle way of establishing himself as already having been hired.

  “At this point, we’re not sure what he knows,” Fallotti said. “When we get hold of Cummins we should know more.”

  “He’s reached out to you by phone?”

  Fallotti nodded. “Twice, once just a little while ago. We’ve got some people checking on things and we know he was arrested. He’s apparently out on bond but we know precious little else. We’ve already scrubbed his association with the firm and his identity but we can’t do more until we locate him. He knows way too much and could be a potential problem down the road which is why we need someone on the ground to take charge. Someone capable. Highly capable.”

  And I do come highly recommended, Soraces thought. He deliberately delayed any response in favor of taking another long drink of the iced tea.

  Make ’em wait a little, he thought. Increase my marketability. It’s all about the money.

  “You know,” he said leaning forward and carefully setting the frothy glass back on the wooden coaster. “Maybe you’re going about this the wrong way.”