Last Man Standing (46 page)

“Yeah, sure you will. Done a real good job of that so far, ain’t you?”

They heard the other men returning. “A name would be nice to go with the tunnels,” said Web, but Big F was already shaking
his head.

“Ain’t got none to give.”

When the two men came into sight, Big F motioned to one of them. “Make sure the two-way in the car ain’t working.”

The man nodded, slid into the front seat of Web’s car and fired two bullets into the government-issued radio and then ripped
out the hand-held microphone. He also popped the ammo clip out of Web’s gun, fired the round that was chambered into the dirt
and handed it back to him. The other man pulled out Web’s cell phone from his pocket, ceremoniously smashed it against a tree
and then handed it back to Web with a broad smile. “Ain’t making ’em like they used to.”

“We got to be going now,” said Big F. “And in case you thinking ’bout coming after my ass for pulling the trigger on Toona,
think ’bout this.” He paused and stared grimly at Web. “Anytime I want you dead, you dead. Anytime I want any of your friends
dead, they dead. You got a pet and I want it dead, it dead.”

Web eyed the man steadily. “You don’t want to go down that road, Francis. You really don’t.”

“What? You gonna kick my ass? You gonna hurt me bad? You gonna kill me?” He unbuttoned his shirt and stepped closer to Web.
Web had seen a lot in his line of work, yet he had never seen anything quite like this.

The man’s chest and belly were covered with knife wounds, bullets holes, thick, angry-looking scars, burn marks and what looked
to be tunnels of ripped flesh badly healed. To Web it seemed a painting collectively produced by an insane world.

“One hundred and twenty in nice little tidy-whitey years,” Big F said quietly. He closed the shirt and his face held, to Web’s
thinking, a look of obvious pride at surviving all that those scars represented. And right now, Web couldn’t deny the man
that.

Big F said, “You come after me, you better bring something to do the job right. And I’ll still cut off your dick and stuff
it down your throat.”

Big F turned away and it was all Web could do not to leap on the man’s back. Now was not Web’s time to settle this, yet he
couldn’t just leave it like this.

He called after Big F. “So I guess you’re grooming Kevin to inherit your empire. Your brother-son. I’m sure he’s real proud
of you.”

Big F turned back. “I said Kevin’s not your bizness.”

“We shared a lot back in that alley. He told me lots of stuff.” It was all a bluff, but a calculated one, if Web was reading
the signals right. Whoever had switched Kevin out might be Big F’s enemy. If that was the case, then playing one against the
other might not be such a bad idea. Web was thinking that Big F was not above lying about not being involved, but that didn’t
mean the street capitalist hadn’t done a joint venture with somebody else to knock off Charlie Team. If so, Web wanted everybody.
Everybody.

Big F walked up to Web and looked him over, as though gauging either his guts or his stupidity.

“If you want Kevin back, I expect some cooperation,” said Web. He hadn’t mentioned what Big F had told him. He figured Big
F wanted to keep the information about the tunnels under the target building between him and Web, which was why Big F had
sent the two men off to give Toona a burial in the river.

“Expect this,” said Big F.

Web managed to partially block the blow with his forearm, but the impact of Big F’s bowling-ball fist and his own arm against
his jaw still knocked him on top of the hood of the car, where his head smacked against the windshield, cracking it.

W
eb woke up a half hour later, slowly slid off the car hood and staggered around holding his arm and rubbing his jaw and head
and cursing. Calming down, he discovered that his jaw, arm and head did not appear broken and he wondered how that was possible.
He also wondered how many more concussions he could endure before his brain fell out of his head.

And then Web whirled and pointed his gun at the man who had just emerged from behind a stand of trees. The man was pointing
his own gun at Web.

“Nice try,” said the man, “but your gun doesn’t have any bullets.” He stepped forward and Web got a better look at him.

“Cove?”

Randall Cove put his gun away and leaned up against the car. He said, “That dude is one seriously dangerous person. Him blowing
away his own guy like that, that was a new one even for me.” He looked at Web’s face. “You’re gonna have some good bruises
tomorrow, but it’s better than a visit with the coroner.”

Web put his empty gun away and rubbed the back of his head. “I take it you had a ringside seat. Thanks for the assist.”

Cove looked at him grimly. “Look, man, I’m a fellow agent, under-cover or not. Carry the same creds, took the same oath, work
through the same bullshit you do at the Bureau. If they’d tried to take you out, you would have known my presence. But they
didn’t and so I didn’t. If it makes you feel any better, while you were unconscious, I shooed away some brothers who came
sniffing around your carcass.”

“Thanks, because I’m not done with this carcass yet.”

“We need to talk, but not here. Some of Big F’s boys might still be hanging around. And this place ain’t safe, not even for
armed lawmen.”

Web looked around. “Where, then? They knocked your old office down.”

Cove smiled. “You been talking to Sonny, I know. I guess if old Sonny Venables thinks you’re all right, you’re all right.
Boy’s got a nose for bad meat like the best hound dog I ever had me in Mississippi.”

“There’s a lot of shit going on. You been in touch with Bates lately?”

“We talk, but neither one of us is telling the other everything, and that’s cool. I know where Perce is coming from and he
knows where I’m standing.” He handed Web a slip of paper. “Meet me here in thirty minutes.”

Web looked at his watch. “I’m on special assignment. I’ve got to get back.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t take long. Oh, one more thing.” He climbed inside Web’s car and searched for a few moments before coming
back out holding something.

“Satellite-based tracking device. Good as the stuff we use,” said Cove.

“They’ve got a satellite,” said Web. “That’s comforting.”

“It’s got a wireless communicator too.”

So Web had been correct in deducing how they had relayed the directions to him after crossing over the Wilson Bridge.

Cove switched the device off and pocketed it. “Evidence is evidence. Surprised they didn’t take it,” he added before disappearing
into the woods.

Sufficiently recovered to keep both eyes open at the same time and seeing only double instead of in gauzy triplicate, Web
put the car in gear and headed out. He met Cove at the Mall downtown, at a bench near the Smithsonian Castle. When Web sat
down there, he heard a voice but didn’t react. All that had been on the paper. Web reasoned that Cove was behind a set of
bushes near the bench.

“So Bates said he filled you in on me.”

“He did. I’m sorry what happened to your family.”

“Yeah,” was all Cove said to that.

“I found the news clipping at your house, about you and Bates.”

“You are good. That hiding place has worked for years.”

“Why hide it?”

“Red herring. Somebody searching your house, it gives them something to find that really means nothing. Anything really important
I keep in my head.”

“So the clipping was just a dodge? Nothing important?”

Cove didn’t respond, so Web said, “Bates said you were on the butts of some big-time dealers, that they might have set up
my team.”

“That’s right. But this story is a long way from over. And I heard Westbrook tell you about the tunnels. I never figured that
one. Good way to get the computers out and the guns in.”

“I’m going to fill in Bates on that one ASAP and we’ll go take a look. You want in?”

Cove didn’t answer and it took a second for Web to figure out why. Across the street a man was walking by. He was dressed
like a homeless person, was staggering slightly as though he were drunk and he could very well have been both. However, Web
couldn’t take any chances and obviously neither could Cove. Web reached for his gun and realized again that it was empty.
He had a spare mag in the trunk of the car, but that was parked a good hundred feet away and he had forgotten to get the ammo
out, idiot that he was. As though in answer to his thoughts, Web felt something slide next to him through the back support
of the bench. He gripped the pistol that Cove had just handed him, whispered a thank-you and sat there, the gun held at his
side, its muzzle following each move of the man across the street until he moved off.

“You just never know what riffraff’s going to come on by,” Cove said.

“Bates said that you might have been working through one of Westbrook’s guys, maybe Peebles or Macy, and that they might’ve
set you up.”

“Macy and Peebles weren’t my inside connection. I think my guy was dealing straight with me, at least mostly, but I think
he
was set up.”

“So if the guy was shooting straight with you, any chance we can use him to get to the truth?”

“Not anymore.”

“How come?”

“Because my inside guy was Toona.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Big F’s guys skim all the time. That was just bullshit he was feeding you. He killed Toona for the ultimate sin, working
with the cops.”

“Did Toona think there were others involved besides Westbrook?”

“Toona was basically muscle, but he had some brains. I’ve been working with him for about six months. We nailed him on some
small stuff, but he’d already done four years in prison early on in his career and didn’t want to do any more. He told me
about this new group coming in that was handling some of the local crew’s distribution and even cleaning up their dirty money
through some legit operations. The service didn’t come cheap, but most of the crews apparently signed on—except Westbrook.
He doesn’t trust anybody that much. But even drug crews get tired of shooting each other up. And consolidation of operations
and cost-cutting works just as well in illegal businesses as it does legitimate ones. I’d been digging deep on this group
but couldn’t crack it. My undercover identity was as a point man for a drug crew looking to relocate from Arizona to rural
Virginia. We’d heard about this group and I got myself invited to look over their operation. At first I thought it was connected
to Westbrook’s piece. But when I saw what was there, I knew it was big-time stuff.”

“Bates mentioned the Oxycontin piece.”

“That’s what makes this one special. I think the product this group was principally supplying the locals with were prescription
drugs like Oxy, Percocet and the like. Low risk and huge profit margins. Now, Toona wasn’t in the ops side of the business,
but he seemed to think that too. It’d be a whole new paradigm in the District’s drug trade. And this new group wasn’t stopping
at D.C. I believe they’re moving the stuff up and down the East Coast.”

“Oxy started out rural.”

“Yeah, you heard of Rocky Mountain high? Well this is Appalachian high. But the Appalachian Mountains touch on about twenty
states, from Alabama all the way up to the Canadian border. And there’s lots of room there to carve out a new homegrown drug
empire on the backs of legitimate drugs. That’s why I called in WFO as soon as I realized the operation in that warehouse
was a lot bigger than Westbrook. Now, I could have kept digging and maybe got some more stuff, but I ran the risk of them
pulling out. I figured if we could get the bean counters to testify, we could bring this whole Oxy crew down. Man, I look
back at it now, and you know what I think?”

“That it was too good to be true?”

“You got it.” Cove stopped talking for a moment. “Look, Web, I’m sorry what happened to your guys. I never in a million years
smelled the setup. But I’ll take the responsibility because it was my screwup. And I’ll sacrifice everything I got left, even
my life, to make it right.”

“What you do for a living, I never could. I don’t know how you guys do it.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you. Now you go to those tunnels and figure out how they got that stuff in and
out. And maybe you’ll see something that’ll tell you who. And I’m not thinking that it’s Westbrook. There’s somebody else
out there, having a nice laugh at our expense.”

“You got any firmer thoughts on that?”

“I’m still feeling my way. Whoever it is, they are wired in tight somewhere important, because they seem to be able to keep
one step ahead of everybody.”

“Wired tight to who, somebody at the Bureau?”

“You said it, I didn’t.”

“You got proof of that?”

“My gut. You listen to yours?”

“All the time. I take it you feel like the odd man out.”

“What, you mean everybody and their brother thinking I turned traitor and helped burn a bunch of my own? Yeah, it has occupied
my thoughts of late.”

“You’re not alone there, Cove.”