Ian watched the parking lot through his binoculars. From his spot in the lobby of an abandoned credit union, he could see the whole restaurant. He scanned from the farthest spot all the way to the front door. White bricks, curved roof, American flag logo… a typical Sloppy’s.
He saw a wink of light reflect off of Mohammed’s scope from the upper window of the thrift store on the corner. He’d have to tell him to sit back in the dark a little.
Shawna clicked into his earpiece. She was watching from the van. “Car approaching.” Her voice was firm and emotionless, but he could imagine the excitement on her face. Maybe after today’s meeting he’d be able to tell her.
How great a job she was doing. How proud of her he was. How much he wanted her.
He laughed at himself. Nope. Not today. Maybe not ever.
“Red SUV. I believe it’s a Mountaineer.”
It splashed through a few puddles on its way to the handicapped space in front of the door. No tags, and the man getting out didn’t look like he needed the space, but that didn’t always mean anything.
Stan did not appear to be the kind of guy that would drive a Mercury Mountaineer with so much rust on it — the only thing holding it together was the trim. He looked like a Cadillac man. Or maybe a Corvette man.
Jeans and sneakers. A t-shirt tight enough to show off the effort he’d been putting in. Perfect hair.
Ian ran his fingers through his own hair. Retreating at the temples with diffuse thinning over his whole scalp. Guys like Stan didn’t know the subtle anxiety of creeping hair loss. Couldn’t figure out why a guy would spend so much time and energy and money on something that just didn’t matter so much.
Until it started falling out. Then it became the most important thing in the world.
Ian laughed as he dropped the binoculars to hang by the strap. “I’m following in five.”
“Roger,” Shawna said.
“Copy that.” Mohammed's voice was a whisper.
Ian had been listening to official chatter, digging through law enforcement servers for emails and department messages. There was nothing about Stan. Not even a veiled instruction to keep away from him.
With all the activity he’d seen lately, it was clear Stan had been targeted. Ian and his team hadn’t gone so far as to identify any of the bodies, but they had traced the vehicles to a dummy fleet company out of Tallahassee. The Camaro was a private citizen, but after seeing Stan talk to the owner at the Tranquility Hotel, it was clear Stan already knew that.
Ian sat back with a sigh. Work had already been thin, but since helping Stan the last time, his message board sat empty. Secure requests dried completely up. No other Household Services contractor would be foolish enough to go after him, but they keep work away for him. A service couldn’t last on a single client. The job always got done, the client always ran out of money, or the client died. Then it was time to move on. But what to do if there was nowhere to move on to.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. There were no rules, but there was an unwritten code. Household Services contractors were part of the business. He had seen whole wars fought using nothing but contractors. Firefight by day. Gossip around the water cooler by night.
It felt like a betrayal. But then, he and his team were the best. It made sense to remove the pros. More work for the rest of them.
He growled as he stood up. It was probably his fault. He had favored Stan for years. The work was interesting — sometimes exciting — and Stan always paid. And except for the occasional joke, he never complained about the price.
He keyed his link. “On my way.”
Shawna and Mohammed clicked twice in acknowledgement.
He walked through the empty office to the employee door. Stepped out as the rain started back up. Slapped his trucker hat on. Black with a white unicorn head on it. Shawna got it for him at a TA travel station.
He definitely needed to talk to her.
He jogged through the lot, dodging puddles on his way. He walked through the door into a fog of French fry oil and hamburger grease. He saw Stan at the giant soda machine, running his cup under every spout.
He sneered in disgust as he went to the counter. He looked at the menu. Almost overwhelmed by choice and calorie count. Determined to lose even more weight, Shawna had become meticulous with her diet. He wanted to tell her she was just fine, but it had become her secondary mission. It made her happy to pursue, so it made him happy to let her. He had stopped trying to do it with her. He was blessed with a wiry physique no matter what he ate, so he shrugged, and threw a number at the cashier.
“Gimme a number three.”
She grinned, her thin makeup cracking over her acne. “Would you like the Blitz?”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Oh, we upsize the fries and drink and add bacon. It’s only a dollar more.”
He grinned back. “I would love the Blitz.”
She seemed genuinely happy to do it. Chipper all through the exchange.
His earpiece clicked. “Silver Camaro. Backed into the bank drive-through.”
Ian pulled his phone from his pocket. Held it up to his ear as he keyed his com, pretending to take a call so nobody thought he was talking to himself. “What’s she doing?”
“Just watching.”
“Keep on her. Fill me in on any changes.”
Two clicks.
He dropped his phone back into his pocket in time to receive his tray. It couldn’t have been a whole minute. It was heavy, and he could feel the heat billowing up from the fries. The soda cup seemed like the size of a small trash can.
He filled it up with root beer. Mostly foam, but he didn’t really want that much to drink anyway. Sat right across from Stan. “It checked out. There’s nobody listening except for maybe that lady you stuck up in her room. Jeanette? Ex-deputy from Willet County?”
“Good to see you, Ian. And yes, she was. And I didn’t stick her up.”
Ian laughed as he tore the paper from his straw. “Looked like a robbery from where we were watching.”
“And why were you watching? I didn't pay for that.”
“Hey, I got interests too. Like how I’m interested in what you want.”
The number three was a giant breakfast burrito thing. It felt like it weighed a pound. Had bacon hanging out of the ends, and it was delicious. He chewed with his eyes closed. “I feel sick already.”
“I know. You wonder how it could be so good. And what was it? Six or seven bucks?”
Ian grabbed a fry. “Are these covered in maple syrup?”
Stan nodded. “Yes they are. This place is amazing.”
His earpiece clicked. “She’s out of the car, but she’s standing back in the shadows. Just watching. Stretching her legs.”
He nodded. “Your girl is certainly interested in you.”
“Who?”
“Jeanette Gustoff.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t think I’d actually chase her off. Just wanted her to know I knew she was there.”
Ian grinned. “She knows more than you think.”
Stan took a bite of a sandwich made from dripping meat between two thick waffles. Raised his eyebrows in question.
Ian stuffed more fries in before continuing. “I checked with that weasel at the front desk. Gave him fifty bucks and a number to call if she got any messages or mail. He called and told me she got a package, so I went over and took a look at it. And no, I didn’t open it. I just checked the postmark. It came from Seaside Lake. What a stupid name. It’s not by the seaside, and there are no lakes there. Just a little town in Cooke County.” He pointed at Stan like he had just thought of something. “Hey, ain’t that where your cousin was from? And that detective that wanted to eat his lunch, Mallory Black? And maybe a child rapist or two?”
Stan swallowed with a nod, like he was working an unchewed bite down his throat. “So, who sent the package? Is she on our side?”
Ian sat back in mock confusion. “Our?”
Stan shook his head. “Who is she working for?”
“Well, my guess is not the child rapists. Or else she’d be doing a little more than watching.”
“What if she’s calling them right now?”
Ian shook his head. “Inconsistent with what I’ve seen. She just watches.”
Stan wiped his mouth. Dropped the napkin on his empty tray. Ian couldn’t believe he had finished already. “You’ve been doing a lot of watching,” Stan said.
Ian shrugged. “I got no more work.”
“Why?”
“Because I helped you, and they know.”
“Who’s they?”
“Whoever the they are that wants me and my team out of it.”
“So are you going to help me?”
“If I do, I’ll compile expenses as I go to be paid on completion.”
“Deal.”
Ian held up his hand. “I said if.”
Stan sucked on his straw. Gurgling the last bit of liquid from the bottom of the cup. “I need a refill.”
Ian watched him run the cup down the line of dispensers again. He could only imagine how disgusting that must taste. Or maybe he was missing out on something special. It was all just colored sugar.
He waited until Stan sat down. “Like I said. If.”
Stan put his hands flat on the table. “Then what do I need to do?”
Ian smiled. “Just give me a reason.”
Stan narrowed his eyes in thought. Then he nodded. Reached behind him for his wallet. Ian almost wanted to roll his eyes. More money certainly wouldn’t convince him. But before he could protest, Stan said, “I’ve never shown this to anybody. Not even Frank.”
He slipped a small picture out. Set it on the table and slid it over. It was a little girl. The gloss on the surface was cracked and scored. Scuffed to a matte finish, but he could still see her bright eyes. The wide grin. A slight gap between the upper and lower teeth like she was about to burst into laughter. Her hair was in a complicated braid that ended in pigtails trailing down the back of her head.
“She’s beautiful.”
Stan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Jenny. Frank’s daughter. Technically my first cousin once removed, but I guess I could call her my niece. I never met her. Some stupid decision to keep her safe from the family insanity. And now I regret it every single day.”
He dug into his wallet for another picture. Slid it across the table, and Ian caught his breath.
A small pale body in the mud. Bloody. Bruised black in splotchy stains all over. Bound by something that had cut bloody trenches into her wrists and ankles. Her little face darkened by lack of air. Throat a ring of dark flesh from being strangled.
“They said she’d been held for days,” Stan said. “Raped so many times, they couldn’t count them. Tortured. Ruined. I thank God the animal that did it finally killed her, so she wouldn’t have to live with the memory of how he hurt her.” His voice caught. Tears tracked down his cheeks.
Stan grabbed the pictures. Slid them back into his wallet. “I’m asking for your help, but know this. I’m doing it no matter what. I will not stop until I can make a difference to that little girl. To apologize to her for never knowing her. For not being there, and maybe being able to stop what happened. Cuz when I die, I won’t be able to face Frank if I don’t … if I don’t see this through.”
He brought his drink up. Turned away to stare out the window while he drank.
Ian had seen many terrible things. He had even done some of them. But those two pictures … Stan crying … wondering what Shawna would say if he turned that little girl down. “We’ll start tomorrow,” he said.
Stan’s hands were shaking when he put his empty cup down. “Thank you. I’m sure you know where I’ll be.”
“I’ll find you.”
Stan took his trash away. Walked out into the rain.
The breakfast suddenly didn’t taste as good as it had when he started.