J.A. Konrath / Jack Kilborn Trilogy - Three Scary Thriller Novels (Origin, The List, Haunted House) (52 page)

“
Security is on the way up, Ms. DeVilliers.”

“We’re staying over at the Chinatown Holiday Inn. Here’s my cell phone number.” Tom tossed a card onto her desk. “Call if you need us.”

“Sure thing, President Jefferson. Now, I have some actual work to do. If you’ll pardon me.” Joan smiled. “Get it? Pardon me?”

Tom looked at her, hard. “Please, be careful.”

Joan met his stare, and for a second almost believed him. She came very close to calling them back in, but the moment passed and rationality took over. She was no more Joan of Arc than those guys were Einstein and Jefferson. The little guy did look like Einstein, but it was all too far removed from reality. She wasn’t buying.

But being stalked by some psycho—that was real. And they did have a picture of him, which implied some kind of connection. Joan didn’t perceive them as a threat—there was something very benign about the trio—but the smartest move would be to call the police department and tell them what happened. Let the professionals take care of it. Joan would show up for the trial.

She located the number of the cop who took her report the night before. But before doing that, she called Marty into her office and had him set up some interviews for personal bodyguards.

Until this Vlad lunatic was behind bars, Joan wasn’t going to take any chances. Even if she had to hire an entourage.

“W
ell, what now? She didn’t believe us.”

Roy put on his sunglasses. “We knew she wouldn’t. Be honest, I don’t either. I figure this is all just some big white-person conspiracy.”

They walked out of the building and stopped on the sidewalk. The California sun felt good. Tom inhaled deeply, trying to smell the ocean. He believed he caught a whiff of salt water behind the car fumes and the rotting garbage from the alley.

“At least we know Vlad is here. Roy, do we have any friends in the LAPD?”

“Not that I know of. We can always make some.”

“It’s a shot. I’d like to see those reports on Joan’s attack. Maybe we can catch Vlad before he makes his next move.”

“So, we’re just supposed to sit here and wait?”

“That’s the plan, Bert.” Tom held up his hand to hail a cab.

“How about Lincoln? While we’re here, Attila and Jack could be trying to kill him.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I’ll go after Abe.”

Tom turned away from traffic and frowned at Bert. Maybe all the jet lag had caught up with the little guy.

“Bad idea. These are dangerous guys.”

“If I want to go, you can’t stop me.”

“I could break your legs,” Roy suggested. “Then you don’t go nowhere.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Don’t matter. I can break your legs whether you’re afraid or not.”

Bert gave Roy his back and touched Tom’s shoulder. “I’d be dead right now if you didn’t show up when you did. Abe will be easier to convince. There’s a handwriting sample in the leather binder, and the guy already knows he looks like Lincoln. We have to warn him, or he’ll die.”

“And if we leave LA, we miss our shot at Vlad and Joan will die.”

“Why can’t we save them both?”

“Let’s vote.”

“No voting. You guys will team up against me again. The choice is simple—you let me go to Nebraska, or I’ll take off as soon as you both turn your backs.”

A cab stopped by the curb.

“We’ll discuss it back at the hotel.”

“We’ll discuss it now. There’s a beat cop right across the street. All I have to do is start screaming that you two have guns.”

Tom and Roy looked at each other. The cabbie leaned out the window. “You guys getting in or what?”

“I could keep an eye on him, make sure he’s okay.”

Tom couldn’t believe that came out of Roy’s mouth.

“You’re kidding.”

Bert was just as amazed. “You want to come with me?”

“No, damn you both. I don’t want to go with you. But if we don’t have a choice, I’ll go. We zip over there, warn the guy, make sure he’s safe, zip back here. Could be back by tonight. I’m anxious to get back on a plane anyway. Been so long.”

Tom considered it. Someone had to keep an eye on Joan, but it wasn’t very likely Vlad would attack her again so soon. And, honestly, it would be nice to be alone for a little while. Tom had some personal issues to sort out, a difficult task when surrounded by constant bickering.

“Fine. Let’s hit the hotel, we’ll come up with a game plan.”

The cabbie was fat, sweaty, and strongly smelled like a gym sock. The three of them climbed into the back seat. Roy was hesitant to sit down—Tom knew his donut was back at the hotel.

“You should have taken it with.”

“And do what with it? Carry it around on my neck?”

“This is LA. I don’t think anyone would notice. Slug bug red, no hit backs.” Bert popped him in the shoulder. “And there’s another one! Slug bug green, no hit backs.” Bert hit him again, same spot.

The cabbie scowled at Roy. “Buddy, you need to sit down.”

“I’m trying to sit down. This jackass keeps whacking me.”

Tom questioned his decision to sit between them. The front seat seemed like the lesser evil.

“Chinatown Holiday Inn.”

“Sweet Mary mother of Jesus wife of Joseph the carpenter!” Roy finally managed to sit down.

“So, you guys play the slug bug game?” The taxi driver grinned at them in his rearview. “I see that all the time. Lot of Beetles in Hollywood. Trendy.”

“There’s one.” Roy reached over and pounded Bert in the leg. “Slug bug black, no hit backs.”

“Where?”

“Right there.”

“That’s a BMW.” Bert smacked Roy twice. “Wrong car, double hit backs.”

“Can you guys quit this, please?” Tom looked ahead in the distance. “Oh God, no.”

“Here it is.” The cabbie pointed to his right. “Largest Volkswagen dealership in Los Angeles.”

It was ugly. Real ugly.

When they got to the hotel, Bert and Roy were still laughing.

“I hurt my hand, smacking you so much.”

“I got so many bruises, I’m going to be darker than you. How’s your arm?”

“I need a Vicodin. You hit me sixty-five times in the exact same spot. But the one who really nailed me was Tommy. Man, you hit hard.”

“No kidding.” Bert patted Tom on the back. “You were jabbing so fast your hands were a blur. I didn’t think you liked this game.”

“Yeah, Tom. Next time, though, you have to call out the color of the car. You forgot to say anything.”

“Did I?”

They entered the hotel lobby and got in the elevator. Their room was on the tenth floor. Tom opened the door with the keycard and made a beeline for the laptop. After logging onto Wifi, he went to the site he’d discovered last night after they got in
. Surveillance Technologies.

“You’re not taking your lures again, are you?”

“Everywhere I go.”

“Can’t you put them in the hotel safe?”

“I don’t trust safes.”

“But you trust the airlines? What if they lost your luggage?”

“Then they pay me the market value. I insure them every time I board.”

Tom took the tracer he’d liberated from Bert’s deodorant from his pocket and attached the lead terminal to the battery. Just below the battery, on the circuit board, there was a serial number followed the tiny word
BigTrack
. Rather than sleep last night, Tom had used these to trace the tracer back to its manufacturer.

Surveillance Technologies was an upscale spy store that sold bugging, tracking, and detecting equipment online. Their home page proudly advertised that the US government was one of their top customers. A disclaimer in somewhat smaller font stated that many of these products were illegal for civilian use.

The BigTrack series were tracers. By accessing the private area of the Surveillance Technology website, you could access the global positioning satellite to plot the tracer on an overlay as large as the western hemisphere, all the way down to a street map.

BigTracks were off limits for the public sector, and the tracking page required an ID and a password to access. Tom had spent almost two hours trying to get in. He used combinations of
ATTILA, JACK, RIPPER, HUN, CLONE, GENES, STANG, BARNETT
, and so on, hoping to luck into the right combination. He hit the jackpot with ID
MARY
and password
KELLY
. The Ripper’s final victim.

He tried it now, and then punched in the serial number on the tracer. The screen loaded a map of the United States, with a small blip on the West Coast. He zoomed in to California, then to LA, then to Chinatown, and finally down to the street the hotel was on. Tom wondered if zooming in further would show a floor plan of their suite, but it was already maxed out.

“We call each other every four hours, starting when you arrive. I can trace you guys with this.” Tom tossed the BigTrack to Bert. “Keep it on you.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Bert placed the transmitter into his thick wallet. Roy picked up Tom’s carryon—Roy’s had been lost in the fire in New Mexico. After the excruciating car trip back from Springfield, they’d stopped at their apartments to shower and change. Curiosity had prompted Tom to sweep his place with the Foxhound, and he found three bugs identical to Jessup’s. Trying to sound natural, they openly telegraphed their trip to California, hoping one of the bad guys was listening. To make the trail even easier to follow, they purchased their plane tickets with credit cards.

Tom logged onto a travel site and searched for the next direct flight to Lincoln, Nebraska out of LAX.

“Got one. Southwest, leaves in two hours.” He faced Roy. “Shall I also reserve a rental car for you, sir?”

“If you’d be so kind.”

“I’ll need a valid driver’s license and a major credit card, please.”

Roy tossed him his wallet. Tom followed the links and wound up at Hertz. He found an appropriate automobile and several keystrokes later, they had wheels.

“How did we survive before we had the Internet?” Tom wondered aloud.

“They were called telephones.” Roy took his wallet back and placed his gun in the fire box. “Now don’t be getting into any kind of trouble without me.”

“You guys be careful. The bad guys will be watching. Good luck.”

Bert offered Tom his hand, and they shook. “We’ll be fine. We’re gonna grab Lincoln, then maybe go see a play.”

It was funny, but Tom didn’t laugh. He felt uneasy all of a sudden.

“I don’t know if splitting up is the smart thing.”

“Why not?” Bert winked. “It always worked on Scooby-Doo.”

“You just worry about your end, partner. Not that it’ll be too hard guarding that body. She’s a looker, that Joan.”

“You think so?”

“Open your eyes, Tommy. If you’re so preoccupied you can’t see a beautiful woman right in front of you, it’s time to reevaluate your life.”

No kidding,
Tom thought.

“Call when you get there, Roy.”

They left the suite, leaving Tom alone.

Tom shut off the computer and closed his eyes, picturing Joan. Short blond hair. Blue eyes, small nose, full lips. Tom couldn’t get a sense of her height, as she’d been sitting down, but she looked in shape and had filled out that blouse nicely.

Roy was right. She was attractive. Tom frowned. Now, in addition to keeping her alive, he also had to make sure he looked his best.

He checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror and winced. Stubble, baggy eyes, rumpled suit. A butter stain on his shirt from the breakfast bag on the flight in. The facial bruise from where Attila hit him was fading to an ugly yellow. Tom tried a smile on, and found some food stuck in his front teeth. How long had that been there?

“You’re not living up to your potential,” he told the mirror.

The mirror agreed. Tom decided to postpone his breakdown until later, and got back to work. He had formulated a quasi-plan to deal with Joan; follow her around and keep his eyes open. Since she would probably still be jumpy from the attack, the smart thing would be to inform her of his intention.

Tom fished out the business card he’d taken while visiting her office and dialed it.

“JDP, how may I help you?”

Tom tried to sound important. “Gimme Joan.”