Against All Enemies (30 page)

Jolie? Where the hell did that come from?
“Watch the ‘old’ shit,” Jonathan said. “I might feel like it in the mornings, but I’m not old yet.” Still, he got Boxers’ point. “Yeah, okay, Jolaine, you come with us.” He looked to Dylan and Rollins. “I’ll take a club sandwich and a Diet Coke. Won’t take long.”

“How about you, Big Guy?” Rollins said. “Which page of the menu should I order for you?”

“I think it’s time for you to run away, Stanley,” Boxers replied, and he started walking away.

Jolaine looked to Jonathan. “What is it with those two?”

“That’s a very, very long story,” Jonathan said. “Just let it lie.”

“But why—”

“Just let it lie.”

Boxers arrived at the door to Bud’s first, but walked past it and waited at the end of the block.

“I don’t get it,” Jolaine said as she and Jonathan joined him. “Aren’t we going in?”

“I didn’t want to gather in front to have this chat,” Boxers said. “Dickhead had a point back there. You two should go in and chat him up while I stay at the door and intimidate the townsfolk.”

Jolaine’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, Box . . .”

“What?” he said. “That sounded like pouting, didn’t it? No, I actually like intimidating townsfolk.”

Jonathan pulled on her elbow. “Really,” he said, “it’s one of his best things.” Sadly, that was a statement of fact. “I’ll go in first and just look around, then you come in and ask the questions. Okay?”

“Sure.”

As was his habit before walking into just about any place, Jonathan pressed his right elbow against his side to make sure that his .45 was nestled in the holster where it belonged. He normally preferred a more substantial cover garment than the T-shirt he was wearing, but to savvy observers, the presence of a jacket in this heat would raise unwelcome suspicions.

The sleigh bells slapped as he entered the dark, narrow space. At first the cluttered rectangular space looked empty, but then he saw movement in the back, where an older guy wearing a denim shirt and a pair of suspender-supported jeans emerged from what had to be a little office. “Can I help you?” the man called.

From this distance, Jonathan couldn’t actually see the firearm on the man’s hip, but he could tell from the pull of the waistband that it was there. That wasn’t a concern, necessarily, but it was a data point. “I’m in the market for a socket set,” Jonathan said. He had to be in the market for something, right?

The manager pointed to his own right, Jonathan’s left, to a point along the back wall. “Right back here. Got a pretty good selection, if I say so.”

Rather than walking directly toward the man, Jonathan turned and walked to the leftmost wall, then turned right to walk to the back of the store. He wanted to take in as much as he could. He noted the back door straight ahead. The lit EXIT sign above it seemed to contradict the heavy steel bar that blocked it shut. If nothing else, that was an indication that Bud—if that was the guy’s name—was concerned about break-ins. That could mean the presence of security cameras, and that, in turn, could mean their big break.

“Where’d you go?” the man asked.

“I’m coming.” Jonathan kept his tone light. “This is like stepping back into my childhood.”

The man with the gun appeared at the end of Jonathan’s aisle, a big smile on his face. “I get that a lot. Where you from?”

“Are you Bud?” Jonathan asked, sidestepping the question.

“Last time I checked.”

The sleigh bells announced the arrival of another customer. Jolaine, Jonathan presumed.

Bud held up a finger to interrupt himself, and then pointed to the shelf directly in front. “The socket sets are right there. Take your time. Got another customer.” He disappeared. “Well, hello, young lady. What can I do for you?”

It never failed, Jonathan thought. Something about the presence of a young woman made men transform.

“Hi,” Jolaine said from beyond the shelving. “I’m hoping you can help me.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

Jonathan examined the back door more closely. That iron bar was held into the steel door by welded brackets, and it spanned across both sides of the steel door frame, which in turn was mortared into the brick. “Well, that’s pretty close to impenetrable,” he mumbled.

“My uncle moved out here a few months ago, and I was wondering if you could help me find him.”

Jonathan cringed. He should have coached her on what to say. Her cover story had a verifiable element, and that was a mistake. The lesson he had to learn more often than any other, it seemed, was that it was always a mistake to overestimate people’s capabilities—even the most competent ones.

“Sounds more like a job for the police than a hardware store owner.”

“Well, we think he’s been here.”

Oh, shit.

“We? Who’s we?” Jonathan could hear the man’s guards falling into place.

Jolaine recovered as best she could. “My family and me.”

“Are they here with you?”

“No, sir, I took on this mission myself.”

“What’s this uncle’s name?”

“Victor Carrington.”

“Never heard of him. What makes you think I might have?”

Jonathan recognized the sound of shutting down. This wasn’t going to work.

“He sent my mother—his sister—a money order from here.”

“From here. You’re sure about that?”

Maybe this wasn’t going as badly as Jonathan had feared. He became aware that he needed to do something other than listen. How long could it take to pick out a socket set? He pulled one off the shelf and strolled along the back wall. He wanted to peek into Bud’s office.

“Positive,” Jolaine said.

“And when might that have been?”

As Jonathan had expected—hoped, actually—a tape deck and security monitor sat on Bud’s desk. That meant there was a camera, and that meant he had some work to do tonight.

“About a month ago.”

“What does your Uncle Victor look like?”

Shit!
And that was why you didn’t use verifiable references. Jonathan dropped the socket set. The metal case clanged against the tile floor. “Dammit!” he shouted.

“You okay back there?” Bud called.

“I’m fine,” Jonathan called back. “Just got some butter fingers is all.”

“You need help?”

Jonathan snatched the box up and walked toward the counter. “Sorry about the noise. I found what I wanted.” And indeed he had. The security camera was mounted high on the wall behind the cash register, aimed to record anyone who bought anything. He also noted the guns in the case and he realized why the security precautions were in place—including the cannon on Bud’s hip.

Jonathan nodded toward Jolaine. “Hi, Miss.”

“Hello.” She looked a little confused, but made no indication that they knew each other.

Bud turned back to her as well. “You were going to tell me what your uncle looks like.”

Okay, so the distraction didn’t take. It was worth a try.

“He’s sort of medium,” Jolaine said. “Medium height, medium build. I guess he’s in his fifties.” As bluffs go, it was a pretty good one. When in doubt, describe everyone in the world.

Bud turned his attention back to his paying customer, but said to Jolaine, “Nope, don’t know nobody who fits that description.”

Jonathan suppressed a smile. “Do people still buy money orders?” he asked. “Sorry for eavesdropping, but I haven’t seen a money order in years.”

“We don’t sell a lot,” Bud said. He looked up, as if sensing that he might have said something wrong. “But we sell enough to keep selling them. And I’m sorry, I never caught your name.”

“Horgan,” Jonathan said, extending his hand. “Rick Horgan.” And if he somehow dropped his wallet—not likely—it was filled with carefully forged documents that would confirm that.

“Any relation to Zeb Horgan up near Wheeling?”

“No, not that I know of. It’s not exactly a rare name. How much do I owe you?”

As Bud figured the retail price and tax on a calculator and transferred it to an old-fashioned NCR receipt book, Jonathan motioned with his eyes for Jolaine to leave.

“Can I give you a phone number in case you remember anything about my uncle?”

“I won’t remember anything,” Bud said.

Jolaine left. Jonathan said nothing.

“You movin’ in around these parts?” Bud asked as punched the numbers into an antique cash register that was older than anyone in the room.

“Just passing through. Seeing the sights.”

“And you just happened to want a socket set?”

Bud wasn’t buying any of this, and Jonathan wasn’t going to chase a lost cause. He paid in cash and left.

As he stepped out onto the sidewalk and turned toward Boxers and Jolaine, he mouthed, “Get out.”

Jolaine didn’t get it, but Boxers did, and he pulled her around the corner. They’d just disappeared when Bud stepped out the door, too. The Colt on Jonathan’s hip begged to leave its holster, but Jonathan ignored his inner paranoia. Instead, he turned and faced Bud, some twenty yards away. “Everything okay?” he asked. “Did I leave something in the store?”

Bud covered. “No,” he said. “I just wanted to test the weather.”

“While I’ve got you,” Jonathan said, “let me ask you. Is the food over at Mary’s good?”

“As good as you’re gonna get in this town,” Bud said. “Try the chicken-fried steak.”

Chapter Twenty-two

H
is belly full—his club sandwich was waiting for him, so he didn’t get a chance to try the chicken fried steak—Jonathan sat on a picnic bench at a roadside break station, surrounded by his team. Behind them, the Coal River flowed freely and heavily, testament to the first year of adequate rain and snowfall in quite some time. The Batmobile stood beside them. This was a place designed for families to kick back and stretch their legs after long hours on the road. Given the number of spiderwebs covering the area between the benches and the tabletops, and the lack of trash in the bins, Jonathan deduced that it hadn’t earned its price as a tourist concession.

Jonathan was in the middle of a strategy session for tonight’s operation. “If we get the security tapes—or disks or whatever—then we get a face. With a face, we have a shot at getting a name.”

“Sorry I couldn’t get anything on the goatee man,” Venice said through the computer on the table. “And for striking out on any more information on Victor Carrington.”

“That just means it’s an alias,” Jonathan said. “One he doesn’t use very often.”

“How are we getting in?” Rollins asked.

“You’re not getting in anywhere, Colonel,” Jonathan said. “I don’t want to have to construct a cover story for a Unit commander getting arrested. I want you and Dylan in the alley behind the store, keeping an eye out, just in case.”

“In case of what?” Dylan asked.

“In case of
anything.
”

“Where will I be?” Jolaine asked.

“Across the street in Mary’s, watching the front.”

“Won’t it be closed?”

Jonathan gave her a look, let her figure it out for herself.

“Oh,” she said. “We’re breaking in there, too, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are.”

She blushed, and Boxers put a tender hand on her shoulder. Sooner or later, Jonathan supposed he’d get used to using
tender
and
Big Guy
in the same thought string, but it was proving to be harder than he’d anticipated.

“We need a place that’s under cover so you can keep an eye on the street. Hanging out where people can see you will just raise a lot of questions. The good news is that I didn’t see any sign of alarm systems when we were there for lunch.”

“How do you plan to do all this breaking in, Boss?” Boxers asked. “You said the back door is impenetrable.”

“We could always use thermite,” Dylan said.

“Why not a load of C4?” Jonathan asked sarcastically.

Boxers clapped his hands together. “Now you’re talkin’.”

“In a perfect world we’ll be in and out and no one will know the difference,” Jonathan explained.

“So, what’s the plan?” Boxers asked.

“Old school. We pick the lock,” Jonathan said.

Boxers’ shoulders fell. “But that’s so boring.”

Coal River Road was as solid a definition of the phrase dead after dark as Jonathan had ever encountered. Granted, they’d waited until after midnight to move in, but even so, the buildings along the road seemed unusually dark. Only a couple of lights glowed from windows, and they were all from the second floors above the commercial buildings. Jonathan figured they must be apartments.

They’d parked the Batmobile in a pullout about half a mile away, then walked one at a time through the woods along the river to work their way to the edge of town. Jonathan made them travel light with their various burglar tools carried in day packs that looked on the outside just like any hiker’s day pack. Expecting no violence, Jonathan limited his team to their sidearms of choice and a couple of spare mags of ammo—nothing that couldn’t be explained away if they encountered a cop along the road.

In many ways, this was the kind of op that troubled Jonathan the most. Over the decades, his training had focused on speed and overwhelming force. Collecting intel via breaking and entering was a level of tradecraft that was better left to Agency guys.

Consistent with their loose cover story of being hikers on a trip, they wore woodland camouflage of the type normally worn by hunters. All black would have made them far less visible, but it also would have blown their cover. Life is balance, right?

The designated gathering spot was the Dumpster behind Mary’s Diner. Jonathan brought up the rear, and by the time he arrived, the others had already made their way inside. A wad of anger bloomed in his gut. Independent action was commendable to a point, but he didn’t like them breaking in without him being there. What if something had gone wrong? They hadn’t established comms yet, and—

“Get rid of the pinchy face, Boss,” Boxers said as Jonathan entered the kitchen through the open back door. “The door was unlocked.”

“Why?”

“How should I know?”

“Doesn’t that raise a concern with you?”